#like it’s Really obvious exactly what’s going to happen at least until the end at which point it becomes more unpredictable

[livwritesstuff]

you know that feeling where you’re having a god-awful day and all you really want is a hug but you’re at work so, like, that’s not gonna happen, and you basically just have to stew in all those shitty feelings and wait out the clock? yeah, me too, that’s kind of where this came from.

Eddie had a tough day.

It had started early that morning when the girls missed their school bus – not a huge deal, honestly, he was already gonna be leaving early to go get his car looked at.

But then he got shitty news from the mechanic, and then a meeting with his agent didn’t go the way he’d wanted at all, and then Hazel ended up being a total pain in the ass after he picked her up from kindergarten, and during her relentless haranguing, she knocked one of Eddie’s favorite mugs off the counter. It shattered, obviously, and she cried about it so he’d had to deal with both of those things at once, and it was just a day.

None of it was anything he couldn’t handle – the problem was the compounding nature of it and the way he basically just had to stew in it all until the next obstacle came along and made shit even worse.

All Eddie really wanted was Steve, and how Steve being around made dealing with this stuff so much easier, even if every other circumstance was the same.

He has to share Steve, though, and today he’s sharing him with Steve’s work until four o’clock.

It’s fine.

He can wait until four.

The older two girls got off their bus at half-past three, and, seriously, someone must have put something in the water this morning because they are in rare goddamn form today. If Hazel alone was bad, all three of them together were…well, thrice that. It’s like the universe said I see your bad day and I raise you three elementary schoolers hitting their peak annoyance thresholds simultaneously.

And it’s not like Eddie can even fucking fold, either.

It’s cold and kind of windy outside, which is Eddie’s least favorite weather and he’d thought maybe the girls would want to go right inside, but no. Of course they want to dig out the chalk that got stashed away in the garage last fall, and while Eddie is stuck shivering outside breaking up dumb arguments about who’s allowed to use which colors (he figured the answer was an obvious everyone, but apparently that’s incorrect), Steve leaves a message saying he tacked on an emergency session onto the end of his day and now he’s not out until five.

Eddie doesn’t hear it until he’s back inside, obviously, but when he does it’s like someone ran a whole fucking dagger through his chest.

He’s halfway through making dinner when Steve gets home (he’d actually be done making dinner if the pot of water hadn’t boiled off while he’d dealt with yet another stupid argument), and he drops everything to meet him at the door.

It’s like Steve can tell in an instant the kind of day Eddie had.

“What happened?” he asks as he toes off his shoes.

Eddie shakes his head, “Everything…nothing…I don’t even know. Just…one of those days.”

Steve nods his understanding, and as soon as he’s got his coat hung up he’s pulling Eddie into a hug.

It ends up being kind of a bone-crushing one — that’s on Eddie, though. He’d just fucking needed it. He knows he’d needed it when Steve’s arms tighten around his shoulders and he feels that much better.

“You okay?” Steve asks without letting him go, the breath of his words hitting warm against Eddie’s neck.

“Just tired,” he answers.

Steve pulls away.

“You can take a break, Ed,” he says, and there’s something in his eyes – not concern, exactly, but more like awareness, “I’ll be up in a bit.”

Eddie just nods and heads for the stairs. As he goes, he faintly hears Steve asking, “What the hell did you guys do to Dad today?”, followed by the girls’ defensive protests.

In their room, Eddie makes it through one full rerun of Star Trek and then the first few minutes of a second before Steve joins him.

He notices that it’s quiet downstairs for the first time that evening, and he tries not to take it too personally. He’s always been comfortable in the knowledge that Steve might be better at the whole parenting thing than him (psych degrees and all that), but, shit, if he’s that much better…

“What’d you do, strangle them?” Eddie asks as Steve swaps his jeans out for a pair of faded plaid pajama pants.

“No, I told them that if I hear a single peep in the next hour I’m beheading all their stuffed animals.”

Eddie blinks.

Okay, maybe better isn’t exactly the right word.

“So they’re on verbal lockdown, basically,” Steve finishes.

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Eddie shakes his head, “You’re kind of crazy.”

“Yeah, well, you were always gonna rub off on me one of these days — don’t.”

And Eddie couldn’t help the way he threw his head back and laughed.

#idk steve is just eddie's person #he gets him -- all the way down to his ear for a dirty joke #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 8] Unanswered Questions

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Satoru never thought that he’d be in this spot. He’s watching the woman he once loved or– His feelings are all over the place right now. He just knows that you’re treating him like a complete stranger. Although he can’t be mad since he asked for professionalism… You just treat him like you absolutely have no clue about him. Like you didn’t grow up together.

He can’t be mad. He asked for it. He tries not to think about it but he can’t stop. His eighteen-year-old self would be kicking himself if he knew about this reality. He really thought at eighteen that at this point of his life he’d be married… Which he is, but not with you. You were supposed to be together with a kid by this point, but now you’re playing secretary, one that acts as if you don’t know anything about him. Basic things about him seem to have slipped your mind.

He tries not to dwell on it… He doesn’t love you. At least not how he did five years ago. He’ll always have a soft spot for you, after all, you are his first love. He can’t help but wonder how life would be if he was married to you right at this moment.

“Mr. Gojo, I’m leaving.” You have to repeat yourself because Satoru is out of it. You walked in and he didn’t notice you, and he didn’t hear your voice the first time. His eyebrows raise, looking at his watch before nodding. You begin to walk away and he’s watching you.

“Actually–” He begins, making you stop. You turn to look at him, “Would you like joining me for dinner?”

“What for?” You respond. You’ve been working together for two weeks, and as much as you wish to say that you’ve grown close, you really haven’t. Satoru bites down on his lip, and he ends up shrugging. “I would rather not. Sayo is really sweet… But your mother isn’t exactly–”

“Why did you go to her? What happened to your studies?” He asks. Those questions bug his mind. When he left you, he thought that you’d be fine at the very least. You were studying to be so much more than what you are now.

“Not everyone is born with a golden spoon in their mouth. A lot came up in one moment and I couldn’t afford to study. It wasn’t because I decided that working for your mother was worth it.” You answer, leaving out the obvious details. Satoru slowly nods his head, and he clears his throat before speaking again,

“Well… I was asking you to dinner alone. There’s a new restaurant just around the corner and I don’t want to try it out alone.” He says, and you titl your head.

“What for? We have nothing to talk about, it’d just be awkward.” You respond, and his finger begins to tap against the hardwood desk. You try to smile at him but it comes off as insincere. “Thanks for the offer.”

“Are you sure? There’s a lot for us to unload… And since we’re working together, I think it’s best we get along.” He answers, and his hand begins to shake. He hides it under the desk so you can’t view it. The confident Satoru that he usually is isn’t all that confident now.

“I think it’s best if we don’t. That’s too personal considering we’re just working together.” You respond. He doesn’t have an idea but it seems that you’re desperate to leave, and it hurts him. Back then you would’ve jumped at the opportunity of having dinner together since you barely had any time to spare.

“It’ll just be for a short while.” He insists. He’s used to getting his way, he did grow up spoiled. He’s not stopping until you finally agree.

“Look, Satoru, I know you want to continue whatever you had with the previous secretary, and let me tell you this– I’ll remember our past for a minute or so. I’ve had you, and I don’t want you anymore. I have no idea what you have in mind but it’s not going to work with me.” You tell him, and he’s taken back by your response, but of course, he really wasn’t expecting much different. “Just let me go back home, I have a cat that’s waiting for me.”

“Why is this stupid cat so fucking important? I just want to talk.” He responds. He stands up from his chair. “It’s just dinner, the cat can fucking wait for an hour or so. There’s so much to talk about.”

“I’m the one that has a lot of questions that need to be answered, and I don’t want to hear it. I just want to go home, Satoru! Just leave me alone.” You slightly raise your voice, clearly annoyed. You just want to go home and see your son. “We have nothing to talk about. We must keep it professional.”

“You’ve grown so pathetic… Really, over a cat?” He pushes it, and it makes your blood boil. He’s simply just confused. He swore you were a dog person, but he guesses you’ve changed.

“Are you jealous over a fucking cat?” You question in disbelief. His jaw clenches, and he tries to take a deep breath. You have to remind him, “The fact gets priority over you. He always will. At least Ren didn’t fucking leave me and got married two months after you asked for a fucking break!”

“I–” Satoru can’t find the right words to say. Blood flows everywhere and Satoru’s face is flushed. He’s not sure what to say to that. “I had my reasons.”

“Then I have my reasons to not have dinner with you. If you’d excuse me, Mr. Gojo, I have to go home.”

Satoru’s mind feels as if it goes a thousand miles per hour. He’s thinking about you. You’re right, you’re rightfully upset but he’s so irritated with the fact that you’d rather spend the night with a fucking cat than have dinner with him. It’s on him– He knows it’s on him but he’s not thinking like that. 

“Hey, Satoru. How was work?” Sayo asks when she spots her husband. He’s not really in the mood… His feelings toward Sayo are weird. Sometimes he thinks he loves her, sometimes he can’t stand her. Tonight is one of those nights where he can’t stand her. He can’t even stand to look at her. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Where’s my mother?” He responds, and she shrugs. Of course she doesn’t know, Sayo and his mother don’t really get along that well, at least that’s what it looks like. Sayo is about to ask a question but he walks past her, completely ignoring her. He goes straight to his mother’s bedroom, and he presses his ear against the door, and once he hears her footsteps, he barges into the room. She’s startled, her hand going over her heart before she looks at her son who clearly isn’t happy.

“Satoru? You look mad, everything okay?” His mother sounds genuinely concerned.

“Why the hell did you hire her? I thought you couldn’t stand her. At one point you were begging for me to break up with her.” Satoru asks, and he tries to keep his cool, to not lose control, but it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard. “You’re just fucking with me.”

“She needed a job, I couldn’t just–”

“You do it with everyone else! Why do you suddenly care about her?” Satoru cuts her off, and maybe he could’ve worded it differently. He doesn’t want you to be jobless, and as you’re right, he was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, he doesn’t understand your struggles and he doesn’t want to leave you without a job just because he’s… Mad at you. “Why did you put her as my secretary? Couldn’t you just leave her with Shoko?”

“You needed someone and she was available.” She answers, but that’s not good enough. She must have an ulterior motive, even if it’s his mother. She’s cold hearted enough to hurt him, and it’s so upsetting to think about because that’s his mother. “I don’t see the big problem… What’s wrong?”

“I was planning on getting married to her! And this is the stunt you pull?” He’s raising his voice, and his mother doesn’t like the tone that he’s picked up. Her arms are crossed and she raises a brow. 

“Don’t talk to me like that.” She tells him, causing him to roll his eyes. “You’re in my house.”

“I’ll be moving out soon! And I’ll get a new secretary.” Satoru responds, causing her to scoff. The arrangement that’s happening isn’t permanent either way, the moment that Satoru finds a new secretary, you’ll go back to Shoko. They’re throwing you around as if you were a ball of sorts. 

“What the hell did she do to you… Why are you so upset?” His mother asks, curious as to why he barged into her room. He hasn’t cared up until now. Satoru shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck, too embarrassed to admit anything. He just doesn’t know how to handle this rejection.

“I just don’t get it. You were so set on us being apart and you do this?” Satoru’s voice is laced with disappointment. He’s never really counted on his parents for any type of support, they were always absent. He counted on you for a big part of his life and when he didn’t have you, he only had his mother. He hoped that he could finally count on her for once in his life, but he can’t. He wants to fall to his knees and cry because he doesn’t understand why his mother is doing this to him.

“Satoru, you wouldn’t understand.” She says. 

“You did this to me, don’t you forget.” He points his finger at her before he walks away. He doesn’t understand why he’s on the verge of tears. His own mother is making him work with a woman that he once loved– Or loves… He still can’t figure it out. Seeing you every day is bringing back his old emotions, and he doesn’t know if he’s actually in love with you or not. 

“Everything okay, Sato–” Sayo begins as Satoru walks past him, and she can’t even finish her sentence before he’s gone. He doesn’t care to stop, stomping away from the place. 

She slowly blinks, watching her husband walk away. She ends up shrugging before leaving to do something else.

#[changes] #gojo saturo #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x you #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #gojo angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo fanfic

[zeevawyte]

Ok so, this is so far outside my usual stuff it’s insane, but this literally won't leave my brain and I don't know if I have time to write it so-

RadioApple fic idea under the cut:

TW: blood, mentions of cannibalism (it's Alastor, duh), semi-unsafe dom/sub (no actual sex), sub drops

Starts out your normal "stop interfering with my relationship with my daughter & you can have a snack whenever you want" kinda deal, with Alastor taking full advantage of the fact that he's got the most powerful being in hell at his mercy. Dude has a serious power trip the first time, & between that and the taste is hooked immediately.

And of course Luci isn't exactly complaining. Other than the occasional jumpscare via shadow, it hasn't been too bad. Kind of enjoyable actually, not that he'd ever admit that to the demon's face. And it's not like he hasn't been tied up or held down before either.

But then during one of their ‘meetings’ he ends up going into sub space on accident… and it keeps happening.

This wouldn't be a problem except Alastor (for obvious reasons) has literally zero information/knowledge about that sort of thing. And, being the dramatic asshole that he is, enjoys getting the last word and leaving without a backwards glance. Which means he's not there when Luci drops.

Hard.

But it's fine! He's fine! He's the King of Hell, he doesn't need some sinner to help him deal with the consequences of an arrangement he proposed in the first place. He's totally fine on his own.

Except he's not.

He is very much not fine, and it starts to show. It gets so bad that one day Charlie actually asks him if he’s ok mid-conversation.

Enter Angel Dust.

Now, by this point Angel’s like 98% sure the two powerhouses are going at it. Alastor has been in a good mood for months now (coinciding suspiciously with the two of them not being at each other’s throats all the time - at least in public) & he’s seen Luci coming out of a room straightening his coat and hat on one of the upper floors. Not to mention the down-right flirty undertones to any barbs they shoot back and forth.

Husk agrees that something is going on but heavily doubts it’s what Angel thinks.

Determined to prove that he’s right, Angel starts wandering the upper floors or heading up just as Alastor heads down (subtly, he’s not an idiot). Anyway, he’s up there one day being nosy when he hears a crash from one of the rooms. He goes in only to find Lucifer on the floor, having tripped over a side table and knocked over a lamp, disheveled and absolutely shaking.

He recognizes what’s happening almost immediately (fuck you very much Val) and gathers the little king up onto the couch, helping him calm down until he doesn’t look like he’s going to either spontaneously start sobbing or throw up on the rug.

Luci is understandably embarrassed and tries to offer him a favor for his help, but Angel waves him off saying he’s been there & that Luci doesn’t owe him anything.

The next day when Lucifer is off doing something else, Angel grabs Alastor and all but drags him into a side room.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and short king, and frankly it’s none’a my business-”

“No, it isn’t. And if that really is all you wanted to speak with me about-”

“Shut up! I’m not jokin’ alright? I’m bein’ 100% serious. You’re fucking up big time, and I’m pretty sure you don’t even know it. So if you don’t want this whole thing to end in a big fuckin’ mess you need to listen to me.”

Cue a hilariously awkward conversation where an unusually serious Angel explains dom/sub dynamics and the effects/consequences therein to an incredibly-uncomfortable-but-desperately-not-showing-it Alastor.

It ends with something along the lines of

"And look, I don't know if you actually care about the guy or if it’s just about gettin’ your kicks, but honestly? It doesn't matter. You've got your whole gentleman thing right? Openin' doors for the ladies and shit?" *pokes him in the chest* "Well as a gentleman, you've dropped the fuckin' ball. Only self-centered dicks leave their sub to drop alone."

Now if there’s one thing Alastor will not abide, it’s a loss of manners. Being told he’s been unknowingly committing a social faux pas gets under his skin immediately. It itches at him. To the point that his smile almost slips. More than once.

He needs to fix it. As soon as possible.

He’s visibly twitchy the rest of the day.

Husk corners Angel to ask what the hell he said to Al, but only gets a vague, noncommittal answer about letting him know about some information he was missing.

And the next time he and Lucifer have a ‘meeting,’ Alastor stays.

#radioapple #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #alastor #fanfic #fic ideas #had to get this OUT OF MY BRAIN #so here #have a thing

[koolades-world]

happy april fools day!

what would april fools day be like with the them?

Lucifer

he doesn't look like he enjoys it, but he's behind several pranks that nobody else has laid claim to. when you get pranked when you least expect it, that sly smile on his face says it all. when you confront him and ask, he simply replies, "oh? is that today?" cheeky bastard lol

Mammon

he tries really hard, but somehow it never works out. they always backfire on him no matter what he does, especially if they're directed at one of his brothers. but he tries every year. can't help by admire that determination.

Levi

he's not leaving his room for sure today. he's seen the way it goes in his household and he wasn't about to get caught in the crossfire. not again. he might not even let you in if he thinks you don't have a good enough reason

Satan

he takes it seriously, but only when it comes to pranking lucifer. yeah, that's literally it for him. he just wants to be an ass to lucifer and he's happy. he would much prefer to spend his time doing something he deems worth it, but if belphie wants help pranking lucifer and others, he will contribute. do not prank him though. that's a time bomb waiting to go off

Asmo

he thinks it's fun as long as nobody takes it too seriously on him. yeah it's funny when it happens to someone else, but the minute someone messes with his things is the minute it's over. like satan, don't make him mad. that won't be pretty

Beel

he only knows about this holiday thanks to belphie and his love for it. otherwise, he could care less. to him, it's just another day. as long as the prank isn't having to eat solomon's cooking, he's fine. prank his food? he's good he'll eat it anyways lol

Belphie

watch your back today, he’s a menace. if you just plead, he might spare you at the cost of a cuddling session. however, if he forgets to disarm one of his pranks, or forgets to let you know not to touch a certain thing, you can request something in exchange as well

Diavolo

pulls all the cheesy pranks and is overjoyed when they work out it's always so obvious that they're about to happen and where they are based on his reaction, and how he's always conveniently nearby. don't burst his bubble please haha

Barbatos

Not amused with a capital N. it's not an issue until it interferes with his work. he works hard to keep everything tidy and in place, and it really messes with him when someone decides to swap to the salt and sugar (diavolo), but won't say anything since he knows exactly who did it

Simeon

he will join in if someone asks, but he's more than happy to just sit back and watch. he'll get popcorn and relax as mammon yet again fails to prank lucifer. he's another one nobody expects, so if you can't figure out who played that prank on you, look to him, since he's even more unassuming than lucifer

Luke

let's be real, he's probably on the receiving end of most pranks just because everyone loves to poke fun at him thanks to the reaction he gives. however, when he tries to give pranks back, it's almost endearing and most people just let it happen to them even if they see it coming to make him happy

Solomon

he understands this human custom/holiday the best, so his pranks, if they can even be called that, are minor at best. expect something simple and cute, like gifting you chocolates he claims is dark chocolate but it’s actually milk! haha how evilly cute

Mephisto

he doesn’t get it at first, but once he does and sees that dia is invested, he’s too into it. he’s the type to cut all the bristles off your toothbrush and then not understand why you’re mad. do something just as devious back to make him see why what he did was just infuriating

Thirteen

she’s probably the most invested out of everyone! her biggest competition is belphie, so he gets the most pranks his way. however, there’s something hidden around every corner for everyone. not even you’re safe, so say your prayers, or just ask lucifer haha

#obey me #obey me! #obey me x reader #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me levi #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me belphie #obey me simeon #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #obey me luke #obey me thirteen #obey me solomon #obey me mephisto #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me! shall we date

[bloompompom]

✧Extra Benefits✧

In which you treat Eren to some of the other benefits of your arrangement, and he gladly returns the favor.

♡ content: eren jaeger x fem!reader. one shot. modern au, friends with benefits, casual sex, smut & fluff, massaging, oral sex (f!receiving) in the shower, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, you're both little sluts, hickeys, brief mentions of alcohol, explicit sexual content, explicit language. reader discretion advised. 18+ ♡ word count: ~5.3k ♡ a/n: i swoon the idea of lovin' on an intimacy-starved man

You busy? Work was ass. Up to showering together?

You only had to read the text once. It wasn’t that hard to decipher.

It was the polite way of asking, ‘You up for some shower sex?’ To which your answer was always the same, whether a shower was involved or not.

Yes.

It was Friday night. You had spent the majority of it locked away in your apartment, dedicating hours to wining and dining yourself while gorging on trashy television. The place was tidy, your belly full, and the flame to your favorite candle lit the room with just its flicker. It was perfect. Your own slice of heaven, you imagined.

Part of you wanted to keep the night as it was—quiet. But you couldn’t complain if this already indulgent evening ended with some casual, not to mention really good, sex. You should probably start to clean up dinner.

His name was Eren, by the way. The friend-with-benefits. The fuckbuddy. Whatever you wished to call him. 

You met him in one of those friend-of-a-friend situations a while back. Once at a dinner, and a second time at Sasha’s birthday party. You thought he was cute, but you weren’t obvious about it. At least, you tried not to be obvious about it, but then again, you ended up here, didn’t you?

Seriously, though. Eren was the type of guy that’s distractingly good-looking. Like, ‘Where in the world did you come from?’ sort of gorgeous, you know?

Anyway, you had apparently spoken enough for him to recognize you on the third go-around. This time, at a bar and without the buffer of mutual friends. You were out with your own circle, him with his, and he was still ballsy enough to approach you. He slid over to you in that come here often way and bought you a drink before you had the chance to turn him down (which, to be clear, wouldn’t have happened).

He was so quick about it, so smooth, and yet you couldn’t help but wonder what took him so damn long; he could have had you in his bed the first time you met, if you were honest.

Eren was nice. Nice enough that you stayed out together until the bars closed. But he was more than nice, he was charming, that was for sure. You liked how he kept you close and asked if you’d like another drink before yours could empty, as if there were someone bold enough to swoop in with Eren prowling around you. 

You didn’t know how seriously you should take him, partly because you were sure he wasn’t taking you very seriously either. But that was good. That was what you were looking for. Something unserious with someone who knew what they were doing. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Eren fit the bill, smiling at you, all big and bright, as if he wasn’t fully aware that it was panty-dropping worthy. You couldn’t stand it.

So, as one could easily predict, you went back to his apartment. And yes, you fucked. After, Eren asked for your number. You prided yourself on it, even if he did go about it cheekily, rattling off something along the lines of 'We should do that again sometime.' You couldn’t exactly remember. But you had to admit it: after the second time, you were the one to suggest it become a regular thing, no strings attached.

And it had been just like this for the last three months. 

Eren gave you enough time to put away dinner and get the dishes into the sink. You were even left with a few minutes to freshen up. Not too much since you’d be showering, but you brushed your teeth at least. You didn’t bother to change, opting to stay in your sleep shorts and tank. They’d soon be on the floor.

You checked the time when you heard Eren knock. 9:03 p.m. You only noted it because he was still dressed for work when you opened the door, though his tie was hung rather loosely around his neck.

You didn’t have a moment to question it—or to close the door—because his lips had already crashed onto yours, his hands cupping your cheeks in an instant. He took a few steps inside, walking you along with him, and pressed you up against the wall. 

You froze. All but your lips, of course. You were swept up in his presence. His rough hands on your face, lips moving against yours and ridden with greed. You could still smell his cologne, faint and mixed with him, but it was still there. It was a scent you could only describe as masculine. 

You decidedly broke the kiss, offering only a peck between your words as you chuckled, “Hello to you, too.”

Eren stared down at you, eyes heavy, his expression dull. “Sorry. Just needed you.” He caught himself. “Not like that.”

You didn’t tease him for it because you understood what he meant by it. That was the whole reason you were doing this, right? Life was fucking stressful enough as it was, so why did sex have to be, too?

You lightly pushed on his arm to reach past him and toward the front door. “Let’s not give my neighbors a show this time, okay?”

He smiled. You expected more, at least a short laugh through his nose, because there was a story there. One that you didn't have the time to get into now.

With the door shut and locked, you kissed him this time. He kissed back, but it was rigid, forced. Like he was there but wasn’t really there, if that made sense. You've had sex with him after a bad day before, on plenty of occasions, too. That was some of the best sex you'd ever had, the occasions when he fucked you without restraint, but this was different.

You scanned his face. The only meaningful thing you could conclude was, “You look exhausted.” You weren’t sure if you meant to say it aloud. 

It was true, though. His eyes were sullen. The vibrancy they normally sported had vanished. He didn’t address it, instead brushing off your comment. “I’m fine. Just a long week at work.”

You decided not to ask any questions. That wasn’t a part of the arrangement you had going on. You each were here for one purpose, and one purpose only: to get each other off. And that was why when Eren went to kiss you again, you reminded yourself there wasn’t any use in prying, and you let him. 

Eren kept you against the wall, your arms strewn around his neck to hold him there with you. His large hands smoothed down your sides. They curved over your hips with authority, rolling them against him, using you to get himself hard. It was working. You could feel his cock stiffen with every tilt of your hips. It stole a tiny moan from you, and Eren seized the opportunity to swipe his tongue against yours. 

You brought a hand to the back of his neck, toying with his hair—barely tied back and looking like it had gone untouched since this morning—then down the collar of his shirt. You blindly attempted to undo his tie, but as you trailed over the crook of his neck, just where it met his shoulder, you noticed how tense he felt. The muscle barely gave when you rubbed over it with your thumb. Even so, you heard the little groan at the bottom of Eren’s throat, his head lolling to the other side. 

The poor guy needed a break. From what, you didn’t know, but one was certainly called for. 

You knew you weren’t supposed to care, but you weren’t heartless either. And while your relationship relied more on the benefits than your friendship, that wasn’t to say you didn’t like him. 

For what it was worth, you got along with Eren quite well. It came with the territory, you supposed, as it was easy to learn a thing or two about a person after seeing them a shameful number of times a week (a number you wouldn’t disclose), even if it was just for sex.

Well, there was an occasional sleepover. Here or there, and reserved solely for those late-night booty calls. You mutually decided it didn’t break the rules so long as no cuddling was involved.

The first time Eren slept over, you remembered him deadpanning, "Do I look like someone that wants to cuddle?" after you said he had to stay on his side of the bed. To be honest, he did look like a cuddler, and you told him just that. You called him a big softie, to which he only rolled his eyes. You had since discovered that was a sassy habit of his.

Truthfully, you’d argue you learn even more about a person this way. Fucking—just fucking—was nothing like dating. There wasn’t any shame in it. You didn’t need to act coy and you could ask each other for exactly what you wanted. Pull my hair. Talk to me—dirtier. You know the drill. Plus, you learned Eren liked some interesting positions. 

All that was to say, it was comfortable. You and Eren were comfortable. So you didn’t think he’d find it strange when you pulled back from the kiss and told him, “I have an idea.” 

You led him back to your bedroom, not the bathroom, and asked him to strip. “Down to your underwear.”

Eren looked at you with cautious curiosity, then started to take off his tie. His shirt next. He had the first two buttons unfastened when a smile poked at the corner of his lips. He appeared more like himself again when he glanced over to you.

“You sure you want me to leave the boxers on?”

You shot him some daggers—albeit playful ones—and said, “Yes.” As you left, you added, “And lie on the bed. Face down.”

“Kinky.”

You ignored it; your turn to return his infamous eye roll, even if he didn’t get to see it.

You were only gone for a flash. When you returned, a bottle of lotion in hand, Eren had undressed, his nice slacks reduced to a pile on your rug, but he remained at the edge of your bed. 

“What happened to our shower?” he asked in somewhat of a pout. His eyes narrowed once he noticed the lotion. As boyishly as ever, he questioned, “Don’t you have lube?”

You pointed past him and over to the pillows. “Lie down.”

You should have assumed getting Eren to listen would be an uphill battle for you. But to your surprise, after one last scrutinizing look, he conceded. He was reluctant, but he turned to lie on his stomach, somehow making your bed look small.

Any other day, he would have put up more of a fight, you were sure. Eren needed to be in control like that. The domineering type, always scoffing at your pitiful attempts at pinning him down. Even if you were on top, it was only because he had put you there, holding you into place for him to fuck up into. 

It’d bother you if it didn’t suit him so goddamn well. He wore it like a fine accessory—something he could pair with his favorite fitted tee and get just about anyone to bend to his will. 

So seeing him like this, vulnerable in just his black boxer briefs—well, you couldn't help but chuckle.

Eren’s head poked up. “Don’t laugh.”

You didn’t hide it when you giggled again, walking up the length of the bed on your knees. And just as he was about to snark at you for laughing, seconds away from flipping over and tapping out, you straddled him with his lower back between your thighs. 

“Oh, hush,” you said, nudging him back into the pillows. 

You took some lotion into your hands. Lavender and vanilla. You expected a snide remark about the girly scent, but he stayed silent.

The lotion was cold, and you did your best to warm it between your hands before you brought them to Eren’s shoulders. He shuddered at the feeling—whether it was the chill or the foreignness, you didn’t know—but as you put your hands to work, he practically melted into the billows of your duvet. 

Eren’s voice sounded smushed against the pillows when he said, “You really don’t have to do this.” The sound that followed, the weight in his exhale, said otherwise, right as your thumb dug into the divot of his shoulder blade. 

It was nothing you wouldn’t do for a friend. You had done it for friends, in fact. Perhaps that was why you felt so comfortable with it, even if he did have a much nicer back than anyone else you’ve had in this position. 

You smiled to yourself. “Don’t worry about it. Figured you could use this more than a blowjob, anyway.”

“I mean—”

“Don’t push it.” 

Eren chuckled, but it faded as soon as your fingers traveled higher, pressing against his neck.

You massaged from there, taking your sweet time before continuing toward the middle of his back. When your hands strained, you'd bridge every break by grazing your nails up and down his tanned skin. It was funny almost, how you had seen so much of him, but you never had admired his back before. When would you have had the chance?

From here, you could study the grooves of every muscle and each angle of his bones. Beneath your palms, he was smooth and warm—why was it that men always ran so hot? Like your own personal space heater or something. 

While you were busy thinking about that, Eren wondered if he should try and stop you. If he wasn’t so tired, he would have. That was what he told himself.

Of course, this wasn’t what he came here for, but he couldn’t bring himself to end it—to roll you over, fuck you, and fulfill the underlying promise to this visit. At least, not right now. Your dainty fingers prodded at him with precision, keen knuckles hitting just the right spot. For what was maybe the first time ever, sex was the last thing on his mind.

Eren didn’t know how to feel about it, or even if he should feel anything toward it. He didn’t know what to do with it—with this—at all. He found an unfamiliar comfort in it. After countless years and meaningless relationships, he couldn’t recall a time when his stress had been named and taken into someone else’s hands—quite literally. It was kneaded away with the heels of your palms. A pair of hands that touched him but didn’t ask anything of him. Not taking what you wanted from him, but giving, freely and of your own accord. 

It was intimate. It was something Eren realized he had never truly experienced before. Surely, it must cross one of those imaginary lines you had drawn in the sand so haphazardly together. But before he could think on it any longer, he was fast asleep. Out cold. 

You only noticed when his soft sounds whittled into steady, silent breaths. You peeked around to check and found that his eyes, barely visible behind his hair, loose strands quivering with every exhale, were shut without as much as a flutter. 

You stood from the bed then. Satisfied with your work and thinking it best to leave him be, you tossed a blanket over him before closing the door behind you.

You returned to your night, exactly where you had left it. You went back for that pint of ice cream you had saved for dessert, entirely unbothered as you cozied up into your nook on the couch.

About an hour or so had passed, with you an episode and a half deep into your show, when Eren reminded you he was still there with nothing more than the creaking of your bedroom door.

You held back your pestering ‘Morning, sleepy head’ comment when he emerged from your hallway, comparable to some sort of nocturnal animal, lazily dressed in his clothes again.

He immediately apologized, “I am so sorry.” Extra emphasis on that ‘so.’

You figured he might react like this, knowing he was the prideful type and whatnot, but he looked more like a kicked puppy than the man that fucked you senselessly on the regular. Up until now, you didn’t think he even had any sense of shame. 

You turned to him, handing him your full attention, and assured, “It’s fine! It happens!” It sounded a little fake, so you toned it down. “Really. It’s no big deal. You must have needed it.”

There was a pause, a long stare, and then Eren finally said, “I’ll get going. I shouldn’t have—”

“I’d still be up for that shower,” you chimed, interrupting him before he talked himself into a weird, uncomfortable hole. “If you are.”

Eren had a look on his face like he didn’t hear you correctly. How could you possibly still have any interest after he dropped by, borderline unannounced, on a Friday night only to nap in your bed? There was a fleeting moment, just as he was dressing, he believed you wouldn’t want to see him again. He was pissed at himself, thinking he screwed up a situationship that was practically handed down to him by God himself. 

But he didn’t think of it any longer because, right now—with that way you were eyeing him—he was only grateful. He watched you push yourself up from the couch, too-knowingly, because you already knew his answer. 

Fuck. Eren shoved his humiliation aside, just for now. He sighed, long but sharp, like you had vanquished him with a siren call. “Why not?”

The next thing you knew, Eren had you on the bathroom counter, thighs spread with him nestled between, swapping kisses to pass the time while the shower heated up. 

He yanked your tank top over your head, and you made even quicker work of his button-down. Each fell to the floor, pooling at Eren’s feet. Piece after piece, until there was nothing left between you.

For someone that tossed you a measly, ‘Why not?’ he sure was pretty eager. 

He kissed you deeply, with one hand around the nape of your neck, holding you still for him, while his other caressed your breast. He had your nipple between his fingers, rolling and pinching the sensitive skin until you tipped your head back with a mewl, offering him the expanse of your neck.

Eren obliged, sloppily licking and sucking the side of your throat. Like the efficient fuckbuddy he was, he had memorized where you liked for him to kiss. It wasn't rock science. The closer he was to that spot—the dip behind your ear—the needier you became. He knew you liked it even more when he nipped at it, so he did just that.

"No hickeys," you warned on a wanton breath.

Another rule. One that Eren often wrote off, but only because you were just as lenient with it. And tonight was no exception. When he began to bruise the delicate skin, small purrs of pleasure snuck past your lips. You clung to him then, your nails piercing into his shoulders—into the muscles you had just tended.

You wanted him to pull you down onto his cock right then, to bounce you against him over and over, and fuck you like making you come was the only cure to his awful week.

But he didn't. You felt his breath at your ear as he took the lobe between his teeth, murmuring to you, "Shower. Now."

Eren whisked you off the counter and over to the shower. He slid the glass door open for you to hop inside first. Like a true gentleman, and definitely not because he wanted to smack your ass on the way in. He’d never do that.

The water was hot, its steam thick and swirling around you. You let it run down your back as you kissed Eren again, wet mouths and hands slipping against each other’s bare flesh. 

Once again, the purpose here was to get off, not to get clean. You had done this before, experienced the fumbling and falling, and lived to tell the tale, so you knew already which positions worked.

You slid your hand down the ridges of his stomach, gliding your hand over his cock effortlessly, thanks to the water, and he groaned. But when you started to turn around so he could take you from behind, he stopped you with a hand around your wrist. 

“Let me,” Eren softly instructed.

You didn’t exactly know what he meant by it, but he started to kiss your neck again. Below your ear, then lower. Decorating your collarbone, and then your breasts. His mouth somehow felt warmer than even the scalding water as he took your nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. He didn’t neglect the other before wandering lower, crouching to his knees to peck at your navel and taste your hipbones. 

“What’re you—”

Eren cut in. “I want to make you feel good, too.” He kissed the crease of your thigh. “That’s why I came over, right?” 

It was a rhetorical question that you didn't answer. You couldn't even if you wanted to. Your words would have hitched in your throat, no greater than an embarrassing sputter, the second he pressed his lips to you. Right between your legs.

He didn’t go for it immediately, opting to bring his fingers to you before his tongue. He thumbed over your clit, letting his other fingers splay against your stomach, and began to rub deftly. You squeaked, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. He glanced up at you then, smirking, annoyingly aware of how easily he turned you to putty.

Eren dragged the pads of his fingertips down and angled his hand so he could tease at your entrance. He used only his middle finger, grazing it through you, up and down your slit. He wanted to comment on how wet you were already, but you’d say something smart back, he was sure of it. ‘We’re in the shower, dumbass.’ 

So when he did tease you for it—“Someone likes it when I play with her pussy, hm?”—he shut you up by pumping two fingers inside you. Your muscles fluttered around his knuckles, mouth dropping to a small ‘o’ as moans dripped from your lips. 

Eren curled his fingers just right, and you felt your heel start to inch out from beneath you. It was a fight to stay upright—a caveat of the elusive shower sex.

“Fuck—right there. Don’t stop,” you panted.

He continued to fuck you with his fingers, his eyes transfixed on where they disappeared inside you, the lewd sounds of wet skin on skin, but he didn’t want to just finger you. He wanted you to come, and he wanted you to come on his tongue. He needed a taste.

Eren knew that was what you wanted, too, your hips rocking, achingly begging for more.

Another, “Don’t stop,” spilled from you. 

He hummed, “I don’t know. Something tells me you want me to eat you out.”

Eren leaned in, real slow, lips ghosting over you. He slipped his fingers out of you and used them to spread you, just enough for him to lick at your clit. The heat of his tongue alone had your brain fuzzy, sparking like it could possibly short-circuit.

You immediately took hold of his head, your fingers weaving through sopping hair and searching for any support you could get. “Eren, ah—”

Even his kittenish licks, with only the tip of his tongue, had your back arching. He stabilized you with a hand on your hip. With his other, he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. He could have even more of you—taste even more of you—like this, and he delved in. 

His mouth closed over you, the flat of his tongue lapping at you with broad strokes. After months of practice, he was in tune with you by now. He mastered the craft of making you come, picking out the very moment his tongue becomes too much for you. Only then did he break to let the plush of his lips leave gentle, wet kisses against your clit. Each caused you to shiver, your skin prickling even in the heady temperature of your shower.

You propped yourself up with a hand against the glass door. Each time you faltered or twitched, the bathroom echoed with the indecent, smearing sound of your sweaty palm against the condensation. Slipping lower and lower until you had to smack it back into place. Then the process would repeat.

Eren’s tongue buried between you, hot, and dipping inside you. Each time, you fought the urge to rut against his face. You didn’t want to hide any of him. He looked so good there, eyes blazed and determined, his toned chest and pretty face flushed in a summer pink. You loved the telling hue, ruddy with humid lust. 

He wiped his face, cleared some of the water from his eyes, before parting you with his tongue again. Every sound he pulled from you—every whimper and every shaky breath—emboldened him. You were close, he knew it, as your voice turned pitchy. Your hips spasmed; you were holding back. With his hand on your ass, fingers squeezing the fat of it, he started to maneuver you, working you over his tongue. 

“Let go—that’s it. Ride my face." He spoke it against you, his voice a vibration buzzing through you, tapering off into groans once you did as you were told.

You were dizzy. The bottom of your stomach burned hotter, like blooms of fire or electricity or something else that was scorching to the touch—your thoughts were too scattered to choose. Whatever it was, you felt it at the base of your spine. You fanned it. You coaxed it out each time you helplessly rolled your hips over Eren’s mouth. It was filthy, all lips and tongue, kisses and licks, with him sucking at your clit. 

His eyes never left yours. They were heavy-lidded, fighting the water that threatened to dribble past his lashes, but they were fixed on you. God, you looked so fucking sexy above him, water trickling down the valley of your breasts. Your perfect pussy could suffocate him, and he’d thank you for it. 

Eren didn't need to say it; you could practically hear him. Hear the growl in his voice, the gravel of it as if his mouth was right against your ear and not stuffed between you. He wouldn't dare stop, but if his eyes could speak to you, he'd tell you—no, he'd demand that you come for him.

All at once, you tipped that edge. You cursed, your head lurching forward with your chin tucked into your chest. You had your eyes squeezed shut, so you didn’t see it but heard the clatter when your leg—the one over his shoulder—kicked a shampoo bottle to the shower floor. Neither of you even flinched, both of you wholly consumed with each other, even if it was only for this blissful blip in time. 

Well, maybe a bit more than a blip. It went on longer than usual. At least, Eren thought so, and it certainly felt like it to you. Your fingers were still knotted in his hair, keeping him in place for you to use—you had actually formed a fist now. He waited for your choked breaths to drawl out into whimpers, but it never happened, so he didn't slow.

The stimulation was so much, and it was so good. You didn’t want it to stop. Lost in the daze of pleasure, its ripples of it still pulsing through you, you had Eren lick at you for as long as you desired.

Until he eventually had to come up for air. You whined at the loss, glaring at him as he swatted some water from his face and grunted, “Hold on a second unless you want me to die.”

“Keep going. Please,” you urged, driving his head back once you decided he had enough of a break.

He didn’t argue it, only continuing to do the same thing as before. The same thing that kept you coming back for more, night after night, and sometimes on the occasional lunch break.

You rode the feeling out for as long as you could, sitting on the delicious fringes that were just shy of coming undone—of becoming utterly ruined. 

And when you came a second time, with Eren’s pointed tongue circling your clit, your mind went blurry to everything but the feeling. It was euphoric, radiating from your core until its warmth engulfed you like wildfire.

You yelped out his name, gasping for him in wracked sobs. Just like that, just like that. And, holy shit, was it fucking hot. Eren didn’t even mind your sudden roughness. If anything, he wanted to make you come a third time, just to hear that pathetic warble in your voice again. 

But you were sensitive now. Even his gentle pecks against your clit, his laps to savor everything you’d given him, were far too much. Your leg was quivering after stretching at a cramped angle for too long and fell from his shoulder. It was a miracle you were upright, even if you were folded into the corner of the shower. 

Eren stood to his feet, snickering to himself as he gave you a once-over. You looked fucked-out, with big and trembling breaths parting your lips. 

“You good?” he asked. Note: this could be construed as genuine, but do not let that fool you. Eren was just that smug. You knew this because he was still grinning down at you. That smile you couldn’t stand. 

Water droplets spattered your face. You smeared them away with your hands. 

“Yeah,” you answered, all dreamily, or so Eren thought, only inflating his already enormous ego. “Never better.”

You both stepped into this shower well aware that neither of you held any intention of getting clean. There was no point in pretending to soap up, not with your legs starting to noodle out, so you reached for the handle to shut off the water.

You dried off, embarrassingly sat on the toilet lid because you felt more like Jell-O than human, then scrambled together a fresh t-shirt and a pair of underwear to sleep in. You resigned to your bed with a final, contented sigh, melding with the covers as if they were clouds.

Moments later, Eren returned, dressed and at your bedside. He rested a hand on your shoulder to ensure you were still awake. 

“I’m going to head out,” he whispered. 

“You’re tired,” you said, your voice a staggered mutter into the pillow. “Just stay.”

Eren didn’t say anything back, but he didn’t leave either. Fuck it, he said to himself. He was way too exhausted to drive.

You heard him undress, the sound of fabric slinking to the floor, for what was the third time tonight. Hopefully the last.

You slithered to the far side of the bed to make room, only lugging your favorite pillow along with you since you didn't like to share. The mattress stuttered as Eren crawled underneath the blankets, only stilling once he relaxed into the bed.

Though he maintained the space between you, you felt him drape an arm over your waist. You couldn’t guess why, but for whatever reason, you let it slide. Just for tonight.

And only when he knew you were asleep—when he was absolutely positive of it—he gifted you a faint, “Thank you.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren smut #eren fluff #eren yeager x reader

[vikkirosko]

Hi I'm not sure if you write for velvette but if you do could you do a reader who makes weapons and is the youngest daughter of Carmilla with step dad zestial(I ship the two of them) I love a little family drama.

❤ Velvette x fem!Reader headcanons Family drama 🤍

Velvette and you have been in a relationship for a long time. She gave you the most beautiful outfits created by her hands, she invited you on dates and took a huge number of photos of you together. Velvette knew what your favorite colors were, she knew how beautiful your smile was, what you loved to eat and how often you could immerse yourself in your work, so much so that you could forget about sleeping and eating. Velvette knew that you were involved in the manufacture of weapons and that was all she knew about your work. She wouldn't have known any more if she hadn't come to the meeting of the overlords and seen you there with a calm expression on your face, sitting next to Clara and Odette. It was at this moment that Velvette noticed how obvious the similarities between you, Clara, Odette and Carmilla were. You were part of their family

Velvette didn't talk to you openly, but she smiled at you and winked, making you blush. This did not escape the eyes of your mother and Zestial, who was your foster father. That is why, as soon as the meeting ended, Carmilla in a firm voice told Velvette to stay. You both knew exactly what it was going to be about. As soon as the other overlords left, Velvette came up to you and hugged you around the waist, then pulled you to her and kissed you on the lips, causing surprised and confused expressions on your sisters' faces, concern on Zestial's face and anger on your mother's face. Velvette and Carmilla didn't get along, and the fact that you were dating Velvette didn't make her happy at all. Your girlfriend saw this and deliberately continued, as if wanting to show your mother how close you were

Velvette bluntly stated, looking at the faces of your family members, that you were dating her and she was not going to end your relationship. Carmilla had a lot to say, but Velvette took you away, saying that the most romantic date imaginable awaits you. It was only in the elevator that she asked you if you even planned to tell her that you were (Y/N) Carmine. You sighed heavily and honestly told me that you are the youngest daughter in your family and you usually make weapons, because this was what you always did best. You knew about the mutual hostility between your mother and your girlfriend, so you didn't tell Velvette about your family and you didn't tell your family that you have a girlfriend. You understood the chaos created by Velvette's actions and when you returned home you had to deal with everything

Upon returning home, you had a long conversation with your mother. Carmilla couldn't understand what you found in someone like Velvette, and you tried to convince your mom that your girlfriend wasn't as bad as she might seem. The result of your conversation was a quarrel, because of which you went to your room, where your sisters soon came, and Zestial tried to calm your mother, realizing that, although Velvette was not the most pleasant person, but you chose her yourself, which means you really loved her. In your room, you told Clara and Odette about how great Velvette could be, and you showed them some photos from your dates. Your sisters saw how happy you were together and how much you, their younger sister whom they cared about, were in love. It was the first time you were so happy and they weren't going to get in your way, at least not until Velvette did something to get them to step in

When you were alone, you called Velvette to tell her what happened. Soon your conversation turned to a completely different topic. Velvette loved hearing your joyful voice and you chatted for hours until you had to go to bed. You both didn't know that Carmilla was coming to your door, intending to talk to you, but when she heard you happily chatting with your girlfriend on the phone, she stopped, not daring to interrupt you. She hasn't heard your happy voice for a long time. It was really difficult for Carmilla to accept your relationship with Velvette, but the happiness and well-being of the family came first for her, and if you needed Velvette for happiness, then she had to try to accept it

#Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel x Reader #Hazbin Hotel headcanons #Velvette #Velvette x Reader

[icallhimjoey]

Your girl needs to know what happens in Part 5. Does Joe ACTUALLY sleep with someone else?! Does he ever get his Tupperware back?! Can’t wait for the next installment!!!!

well, we MADE him, didn't we? here's the last part <3 I hope you all enjoy! (and, for the last time, this is 18+ and you shouldnt read when 17 or younger, so kindly fuck off if you are underage thanks) Wordcount: 4.3K

---

More Than This

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

You were fine.

You didn’t know why you knocked over about five cups when going to grab just the one from the cabinet, but you were fine.

Joe hadn’t texted you in over two weeks.

You were fine.

You ordered a whole new wardrobe on Asos, one you definitely didn’t have the budget for, but you were fine.

Two weeks.

Fine.

You didn’t really want to text another hook-up, but then when you finally did, they said they were busy, and you were so totally fine.

It was sort of mad how fine you were.

Sixteen days and counting. So fine.

It didn’t even really do anything to you when you had to throw out your own left-overs, some chicken corn korma that you’d kept in one of Joe’s Tupperware containers, because it was just... it was bad. You didn’t know how to cook and how to make things taste nice, and if you were being honest, it was already not the best the first time ‘round. You weren’t even sure why you kept the rest of it to eat at another time.

You were fine as you tipped it over into the bin.

Then you looked at the empty tub, bin still open, and threw that in as well.

Fine.

You knew that you weren’t going to see Joe again.

You had his T-shirt now, and considered it a weird sort of momentum. A parting gift. A here you go, keep this part of me and let it teach you something piece of clothing for you to keep in a drawer and forget about eventually.

You’d worn the T-shirt like he’d asked, and he was going to have sex with at least two other people like you’d asked. You had only half-realised that all of it kind of meant the end of whatever you and Joe had going before.

Joe wasn’t made for what you asked of him.

Joe wasn’t just going to have sex with two random people and then text you to reconnect.

Joe was going to woo someone off their feet and then fall in love with them immediately and you’d change from the girl he texted whenever he wanted to get his dick wet to a small little part of his past that he’d forget about eventually.

Like you’d forget about his T-shirt in that one drawer you never fucking used.

Bit by bit, the big bag of wet cement slowly set into something solid. The solid thing being that you’d never see Joe again.

That made you all kinds of uncomfortable because that wasn’t what you wanted. But it was predictable. And you liked predictability, so you were fine.

Sometimes it was nice to drop a pen, because you knew the next step would be to pick it up.

Sometimes you’d drink until you felt sick because that meant you knew exactly how you’d feel in the morning.

That last time had been the real last time. Problem was, if that was true, you should’ve started putting defences in place before that last time had actually happened. And you hadn’t. So now for whatever stupid reason your heart felt all heavy, and Sarah was forward enough to approach you about it at work.

“You don’t quite seem like yourself...”

And she was right. You didn’t feel like yourself at all.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m just... distracted, I guess. Is it obvious?”

Of course it was fucking obvious. You saw how Sarah’s eyes scanned all the baby hairs around the perimeter of your face, none of them smoothed down into your hair, but all wild, standing up and visible. She gave an empathetic smile filled with pity.

“Oh poppet,” she started and clasped your shoulder. “It just feels like you lost yourself a little. Maybe see if you can go find her again.”

Yea, well, what if you did and you didn’t like her? Would rather have her be lost still?

You were fine. Your comfort zone was inside the predictability of it all – not in comfort.

None of this was comfortable.

But you were fine.

You’d been fine for sixteen days and were mentally preparing for that number to turn into seventeen when your phone buzzed.

“hi”

Fuck.

A million thoughts happened at once. What did Joe texting hi even mean? 

There wasn't much else to do but to keep your cards close to your chest and carefully dip a toe in.

“hi”

Safe.

“are you at home rn?”

“yes”

You'd not even seen the second blue checkmark fully appear before the doorbell rang. That was stupidly quick and revealed Joe'd made his way over to your flat before even checking if you were in. 

Unpredictable. 

Yikes.

This wasn't following any of the scripts that you knew. Was Joe coming over for what he always came over for? Or was he there for an adult conversation to end whatever the two of you had been for a couple of months? Half a year. Actually, just over half a year, if you were really counting. 

Joe seemed like the type of guy to need a concluding chat.

Yea he was probably - definitely - there to tell you how messed up you were and then be all nice, tell you shit like, you deserve better, or whatever.

You let Joe into the building and went to wait by the front door to your flat. Stood in the doorway, leant against the doorframe and tried to imagine what you looked like to Joe. What he'd see when he'd walk up, and you didn't know how to hold yourself. What to do with your face. Were you going to up the sexy? Were you going to cross your arms over your chest and keep to yourself? Look all happy? Sort of sad? Why was Joe even here?

Anxiety got a hold of you in a way you didn't like. 

There was no control. 

How could you take back some control? 

When you heard footsteps coming down the hallway, you took one step out and leant forward to see him. 

Mistake.

Mistake, mistake, mistake. 

Your legs moved and moved fast before your brain even knew what was happening. You were running. Felt emotion thick in your throat as your legs carried your seemingly weightless body over to crash itself into Joe. 

Joe was just quick enough to shake his hands from his pockets and to brace for impact. 

You audibly knocked the wind right out of him, and then for a moment, you just stood there. Arms around his neck, legs around his waist, side of your face pressed tightly against his. 

Now what?

Just hold, your brain said. Just hold him for a bit.

“Hey,” Joe whispered, grip strengthening for a second, shifting and adjusting his hold on you to slowly start moving towards your flat. 

“Hi,” you said back and you hated how that sounded like you were about to cry, because you weren't. You weren't going to cry. There wasn't anything to cry about. 

What was going to happen when you made it into your flat? Once that door closed? You didn't have much time to think about it, just let it happen. When the door fell into its lock behind you as Joe shut it, the sudden silence and privacy made you lean back enough to get your face in front of Joe's.

He kissed you immediately. 

Predictable.

Amazing.

You were fine.

This was script you knew how to follow.

Joe inhaled you, pressed his nose into your cheek and licked his way into your mouth like a starved man. Made you feel totally fine about sneaking your hands under the straps of his backpack to get them off of his shoulders before you tried to do the same for his jacket.

Joe put you down because he had to. Didn't stop the kissing, though.

“Did you,” you started, had to stop because Joe was very persistent about his lips staying close to yours. “Did you do what I asked?”

You had no idea how you wanted him to answer that question, but you needed to know.

“I did,” Joe breathed, and upon learning that, you knew exactly how you had wanted Joe to answer that question. 

No.

This was the wrong answer. The bad answer. Joe wasn't to listen to you. You were an idiot, did he not know?

“Was awful,” Joe shook his jacket down his arms and got his fingers on the buttons of his shirt. “Never make me do that again.”

And, oh my God.

That was the sexiest shit Joe'd ever said to you.

Made you pull him into you by his belt loops which he welcomed greedily. 

Yours. This was all yours. Fuck those other girls.

You both knew the pathway to your bed blindly and made your way there like you had so many times before. Clothes dropping to the floor, more skin finding more skin to touch, and to grab, and to squeeze, and to bite. Mouths barely left each other, hungry kisses shared, and when you reached the bed, Joe blindly reached for your bedside table in preparation for what he was there for. 

You saw how his fingers found the metal drawer pull, and noticed Joe was wearing a hair tie around his wrist.

Yours.

That was your hair tie - the thick, good one. The one you'd turned the whole bathroom upside down for because you hadn't been able to find it.

Must have left it over at his the last time you'd been there.

The drawer got pulled open, but then, Joe stopped himself. He let you drop onto your bed on your back, just in your underwear and a lone sock now, and hovered over you a second before he said, "Wait, hang on," and took small jogging steps out of your bedroom. Confused, you sat up enough to lean onto your elbows, to hang into your shoulders.

What.

Down your hallway, you heard rustling of fabric. A zipper. 

Joe was getting something from his backpack. 

Then footsteps that... didn't come back towards your bedroom, but instead turned into your living room. Your kitchen.

What the fuck.

You got up and decided to go investigate.

Never in a fucking million years could you have predicted what you walked in on.

You'd just walked in on Joe, half naked, stood in front of your opened fridge whilst he held onto his opened backpack, shoving Tupperware container after Tupperware container onto the glass shelves.

“Um, what the fuck are you doing?”

Joe looked over his shoulder a little sheepishly. “I've got– there's just a lot, I don't– they're just some left-overs, don't worry about it,” Joe stumbled through his explanation as he kept neatly stacking tubs. 

Big sigh.

“No, Joe. Stop it, no,” you walked over, rushed a little panicked with anxiety in your legs, and reached up to start reversing whatever Joe was doing. Wanted to get all of the colourful pastas back into Joe's backpack. 

“Just– have it,” Joe fought back, moved around your arms and managed to avoid them for a bit.

“You can't– I–” you grabbed his wrist, caught him. The one with your hair tie on.

For a moment you both just stood there, frozen in place. Your eyes were trained on where you were holding Joe, and then he saw that you'd seen. That was your hair tie around Joe's wrist.

Deep breaths, everyone.

“You cannot do this, Joe. This isn't, we're not– we just have sex and that's it, all right? Don't feed me– you can't just fill up my fridge with food, that's not how this works...”

Unsuccesful in the eye-contact department, you got the words out that you wanted to get out and felt oddly proud of yourself.

Maybe this is what Sarah meant when she said to go and find yourself.

You successfully moved his arm down, the one that held the fifth Tupperware container that he'd tried to get into your fridge. The both of you looked at it as he placed it down on the counter, but didn't let go just yet. He left his hand on top because the counter was just a temporary spot for it, wasn't it?

It'd go into the fridge alongside all the other ones, Joe thought.

It'd go back into his backpack, you knew, as you closed the fridge door.

Then Joe sighed, and asked, “Why?”

“Because,” easy answer.

Joe had gone and slept with two other people and had hated it but he'd done it just so he could get back into bed with you. Into bed. Bed. Where you touched each other inappropriately. That was all you were. And you were fine with that.

“Well,” Joe started, voice a little softer than before. “What if I want to?”

No.

“You can't,”

Joe finally let go of the left-overs and turned to face you a little more.

“I can't want this?” his hands searched for yours and found them. Curling them into his chest, he held you there a second.

“No,” you swallowed. “You're not allowed.”

That made Joe groan, drop your hands and roll his whole head at you rather than just his eyes.

“Well, tough. I still want to. I want to share my left-overs with you.”

You were about to interupt and interject with your wise words of keeping the distance, but Joe beat you to it. “Yes, I want to get you in the bed and,” Joe gestured with a wild arm. “Do all of that,”

“We're very good at all of that,”

“We are,” Joe smiled, and it felt like the first little bit of warmth from him. It was nice agreeing on something together.

“But I also want to, I don't know,” Joe's eyes darted around, tried to find the answers as if they were scattered around your kitchen. “Take you to dinner, I want to go for drinks, take you- there's a play I really want to see and I want to take you with me to go see it together, I'm just... I can't pretend I don't want those things anymore. I'm done pretending.”

Fuck Joe and his big wet brown eyes. All rounded. All soft.

“I don't think you've ever pretended,” you scoffed, and in a stupid baby voice Joe said, “I'm bad at pretending,”

You barked a laugh because of how stupid that statement was.

“You're an actor,”

“Well, you see?” Joe started, and like it was the most natural thing to do, he pulled your hair tie from his wrist and started swiping your hair back. Got all of it out of your face. “It's a testament of how much I want it,” and with big boy hands far too scared to hurt you, Joe tried tieing your hair up whilst stood in front of you. If you shook your head twice, the hair tie would slip right back out, but Joe was pleased with what he'd done and took hold of you by the shoulders to duck down and look you in the eye. “Want you.”

“I'm...” you closed your eyes a second, tried to regroup, and managed to straighten your shoulders. “I'm sorry. I can't.”

“Why? Why don't you want more?”

“I'm not... I'm not made for more.”

You truly believed you weren't. You were good at what you were currently doing. Anything that came closer, that tried to break through your walls, was scary and intimidating and you didn't need any of that.

But Joe didn't really care about your walls.

Sure, you'd built those presumably so no one could hurt you. But Joe could see that without anyone checking in on you in there, you had free range to keep hurting yourself over and over and over and over.

Joe wasn't trying to break down walls to hurt you.

Joe was trying to break down walls to stop you from hurting yourself.

“Do you like me?”

Easy question. You'd been sleeping with each other for months.

“Yes.”

That was hardly vulnerable.

"Good, because I love you."

Like a clean chef's knife that had just been sharpened, that pierced right through your chest without any resistance. It angered you immediately. Shot blood straight into your face where you felt the skin just underneath your eyes heat up.

“Fuck you.” you spat, because what the fuck was Joe doing?!

“Fuck me because I love you?” Joe remained stupidly calm, just asked for clarification with raised eyebrows.

He was impossible.

“Why are you– you're messing– why are you messing everything up?” you genuinly didn't understand. What you had going was fine, wasn't it? It was fun enough for Joe to come back to you. It was fun enough for you to actively miss it while you didn't have it. Why was Joe so adamant to stop all of the fun?

What you hadn't considered though, was how much of it wasn't fun for Joe.

“It's what people do!” Joe started, voice raised because, you just weren't getting it, were you? “They go to concerts together, to artshows, they go out in the daytime, they spend a lot of time together until they miss each other so much when they're apart, they buy a house together, and then they get married and then–”

“What's wrong with what we're doing? It's working. We don't have to argue, we don't have to fight, we don't–”

“Yea, well, what if I want to fight?”

“I don't want to fight,” you pulled the loose elastic from your hair, undoing Joe's barely there ponytail and held onto the hair tie.

Had Joe worn this around his wrist since the last time you'd been over? Had he worn it when he'd been with those other girls?

“Do you like me?” Joe asked, stepping forward. Closer. You kept your eyes trained on the hair tie that you were twisting around your fingers. Joe closed his palm over it and made you look up at him before he asked again, “Do you like me?”

“Joe...”

“It's the only thing that matters. Do you like me?”

“You know I like you,”

Joe studied your face for a moment before he cleared his throat and nodded.

“Good.”

Then he stepped back, got back to the left-overs and picked up the Tupperware that had been left out on the counter before opening the fridge again.

“All right,” he said, looking over his shoulder and holding up the last tub, “This is fettuchini alfredo,” which he then placed inside. Then, he started tapping every other container of his left-overs and explained what each of them were.

“That's- carbonara, regular bolognaise, baked feta pasta and I tried a crispy gnocchi that's, actually, never mind, this one's bad, I tried to follow a recipe and I don't think it turned out right, it's–”

Joe was about to remove the crispy gnocchi, but you stopped him.

“It's all pasta...” you stared at your fridge, all filled up.

“Yea, well... you like pasta. It's always the left-over pasta that I find rogue forks stuck in...”

Joe was a sap, you thought, like the thought of Joe specifically making all kinds of different pasta dishes for you didn't make your chest swell.

There was something difinitive about you letting Joe put that last Tupperware container in the fridge and closing the door.

You liked Joe, and apparently that was all that mattered.

All right.

That sounded easy enough, didn't it?

“You're still Joe No Twist in my phone,” it was a joke, but it wasn't. Joe really was Joe No Twist still.

“Be with me.”

That made you recoil.

“No.” you said through a snorted laugh that, if you clocked it correctly, got a little grin out of Joe as well. “But I'll eat your pasta.”

It was as good as it was going to get for now, you were afraid.

“Even the crispy gnocchi?”

Joe was going to take it.

“Even the crispy gnocchi.”

“Are you sure? It's really bad.” Arms reached out and found yours to pull in for a hug.

“Mhmm, I'm going to love it.”

For a while, you stood in your kitchen and hugged. Were hugged by Joe in a sort of all consuming manner where it felt like his arms looped around you twice. Proper good embrace.

Kisses were pressed into your hair. A few, and then a lot, and then one longer last one.

“Okay. Good. I'm heading out.” Joe grabbed you by the face and gave you a peck.

Just a quick chaste peck right on the lips.

“Remember, hob, pan, olive oil,”

Confusion. Joe was going to leave and your bedroom didn't smell of condom lube.

“What, but we didn't...”

“Yea, I'm gonna... I'm going to start doing that now. Come over and keep my clothes on the whole time.” Joe found his backpack and zipped it closed.

“The whole time?”

“The whole time.”

Stupid smirk. Made you slump your shoulders because Joe thought he was being funny.

“So boring.”

It sucked that he kind of was being funny.

You followed Joe out into the hallway where you watched him step back into the clothes he'd gotten out of with your help a little earlier. Weird. This was so weird.

If you thought about it, Joe had just come over to kiss you and touch you a little bit, and then... that was it. Left food in your fridge and was now going to leave.

This was new territory and it was unpredictable and you didn't like it.

You liked things that were known.

Of which you knew the script.

Where you held all the control.

And then, in a fleeting moment of confidence, you opened your mouth and just let your thoughts come out.

“Hey, um... before you, before you go, do you– are you doing anything on Sunday?”

“This upcoming one?” Joe pressed a heel into a shoe and looked up at you from his bent over position. “Why?”

“I've got this...”

Oh fucking fuck. You were going to do this. You'd started it and had quickly felt every single ounce of pride leave your body, and now you had to finish it all raw.

Joe saw how you tried to power through, but it was so awkward, he couldn't help but stand up straight and give you his undivided attention for a second.

Something felt off. Important. This was new territory, Joe understood.

“So, I'm heading over to Norwich,” you pointed over your shoulder, which made no sense, but made you feel a bit more casual about the whole thing. “Because my cousin, she's... she's getting married, or whatever, it's honestly– no big deal,”

You were struggling, and if Joe was honest, he kind of loved it. Couldn't help the little smile that snuck onto his face.

“You're going to your cousin's wedding?”

“Yea,”

“On Sunday?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, and Jesus Christ, you were shaking.

It was obvious what you meant. Come with me, you mentally shouted at him, but didn't let the words escape you.

“Wow... that's quite a leap,”

Oh no, Joe was going to be a little shit about it.

“Artshow, gig, a dinner, sure... but, a wedding of a family member?”

“Shut up.”

You were well aware. Didn't need Joe pointing it out. You were trying, okay? Felt like you'd ripped open your chest and were letting Joe get a look at all of your secrets. Secrets that were making him purse his lips into a sly little smile that you didn't like the look of.

Your shut up got a hearty laugh out of Joe, one of his deep ones that you knew you were going to hear the echoes of hours later.

Instead of answering though, Joe collected his things. Slung his backpack, now empty and weightless, over his shoulders and went to open the door.

“So, you're going to a wedding...” Joe started, said it all slow like he was contemplating something, and then stepped out of your flat.

“Sounds cool.” Joe said over his shoulder, face practically beaming with joy. “Have fun.”

And then he left.

Just, walked away.

The little shit.

Motherfucker.

And yea, all right, you deserved that a little didn't you?

But, what the fuck?

Joe had just turned down a daytime activity with you.

Joe was always asking you to go do things with him and you always turned him down.

That was how it was. What you were. The asker and the turn-downer.

Joe was a dickhead.

And, why the fuck could you not stop smiling?

About five minutes later, when you'd already dumped a full container of left-overs, the crispy gnocchi, into a pan with a little bit of olive oil as instructed by Joe, your phone buzzed.

You'd barely heard it over the noise of the extractor fan, but your lit-up screen caught your attention.

Text.

You got a text from Joe No Twist.

“What colour's your dress?”

Motherfucker.

You smiled at your phone and decided to text back later. Let him wait a little bit. Pay him back for the shit he'd just pulled.

But then a follow-up text came in.

“If you don't tell me we won't match”

Yea, you liked Joe.

You liked Joe and, like he'd said, that was the only thing that really mattered.

Later you'd text Joe a picture of your dress, and you'd tell him his gnocchi fucking sucked.

Everything was fine.

Fine.

And you liked Joe.

That was the only thing that really mattered.

the end

---

The Taglisted

@a-time-for-wolvess, @adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddie-joe-munson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @ohmeg, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thefemininemystiquee, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @yelyahcardella

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #18+ #more than this #part 5 #icallhimjoey

[atlabeth]

leave the door open - anthony lockwood

summary: no matter what happens, there's always the light underneath the door. the sign that, when you're ready, he'll let you back in with open arms.

a/n: obviously inspired by leave the door open by silk sonic because i could (and have) listen to it on repeat for hours. this spiraled way out of control but im honestly really happy with it and i hope you all are too!

wc: 8.2k

warning(s): mild angst, arguing, hurt/comfort, mildly serious injury, short scene with a gun/gunshot wound, but the whole first half of the fic is fluff and it is all wrapped up w a fluffy ending

127.

128.

129.

13–

Your focus was broken as police sirens blared past your window, and you let out a long-lasting sigh. This was the fifth time your count had been interrupted, and you weren’t starting over again. 

Trying to sleep was a fruitless endeavor at this point, and that wasn’t going to change no matter how many notches in the wall you counted—you might as well accept it.

You’d never been much for sleeping through the night, but your new home boded worse for it all. A new room, a new house, a new city, a new agency. Being in the thick of it all after what felt like so long on your own was overwhelming, and it still felt like it could all fall apart. Being given the job all because you passed a few tests in the living room didn’t exactly feel like security. 

You sighed as you slipped on a sweatshirt and walked out of the attic— your room, at least for now— carefully moving down the steps in an effort to not make much noise. 

35 Portland Row was filled with warmth, that much was obvious from your short time here, but that warmth had not yet penetrated your skin. It was all too foreign. 

You meant to go to the kitchen and make a midnight cup of tea, but your eyes were drawn to a slightly open door, light spilling out in the cracks. The library, if you remembered correctly from Lockwood’s tour.

It must have been George. You didn’t know much about him, but the way Lockwood described him certainly made him seem like the type to be up pouring over books until the early hours of the morning.

It wouldn’t hurt to say hi. Let him know that they’d added another restless soul into their agency.

You pushed the door open a bit more, knocking on the wall as you leaned against the door frame, and your eyebrows rose slightly when the boy looked up. 

“Lockwood,” you said, tamping down on your surprise.

He said your name with a slight smile and a bow of his head. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You nodded. “Have you got room for one more?”

“Always,” he said with a gesture at the seat across from him. 

You closed the door behind you and took the offered chair, glancing down at the papers in front of him. “What’s got you up?”

“Bills,” he said dryly. “The mortgage, the utilities, our certification, and now—” he looked at you— “another agent on the payroll.”

“I’ll be sure to try and bring in more than you spend on me,” you said, and he smiled as he set his pen down. 

“How thoughtful.” Lockwood laced his fingers together before he leveled his gaze fully at you. “And what’s got you up?”

“Just what I said,” you answered with a shrug. “I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t gotten used to this place yet.”

“Hopefully it doesn’t take too long, because you’re going to hit the ground running,” Lockwood said. “We’ve got a meeting tomorrow with a client, and if all goes well we’ll be having tea with a Visitor by noon.”

“Honestly, that would make me feel like I fit in more,” you said. “I’m much better with the ‘nearly dying’ part of this job than the settling in part.”

He cracked a small smile. “I’m hoping we’ll avoid that part, especially with your help.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You’ve got that much faith in me?”

“I assumed you knew the amount of faith I have in you when I hired you,” Lockwood joked. “Your Touch is just what we’ve been missing.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me,” you said. “There’s always uncertainty about freelance agents because we work on our own, but I promise I’ll try my best to merge back into a group.”

“Like I said,” Lockwood’s eyes twinkled, “I’ve got full faith in you.”

You chuckled and nodded, and you tapped the desk before you stood up. “I’ll leave you to your devices. Thank you for the talk, Lockwood.”

“Try and get some sleep,” Lockwood said. “After all, tomorrow is when you prove yourself.”

“Ah,” you said sagely. “Tomorrow will determine whether I have a job or I’m back on the streets.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he said, and he looked wholly genuine. “You’re part of Lockwood & Co now, and we take care of our own.”

You nodded, your lips quirking into a small smile. It had been a long time since someone had so clearly said to you that they would watch out for you— that they saw you as more than just your Touch. 

“Thank you,” you said softly. 

Lockwood nodded, his expression turning slightly wry. “Besides, the only real reason I think I’d fire you is if you got us all killed.”

“You can’t fire me if we’re all dead.”

“I suppose that means you’re thoroughly employed,” Lockwood said with a smile. 

You chuckled. “Good to know.”

“Truly, though, try and get some sleep.” He picked up his pen again, clicking it a few times. “We might be London’s smallest agency, but we take cases the likes of Fittes would handle.”

“As long as you try and get some too,” you said.

Lockwood smiled, but there was a notable absence of a promise. “Goodnight.”

“Are you always in the library?” you asked suddenly. “Because I— I find myself awake a lot at night. It would be nice to know when you’re open to chat and when you just want to be alone.” 

He nodded. “I’ll leave the door open for you. Just like tonight.” 

You stared at him for a moment more, taking in his slightly ruffled hair, his undone tie and rolled up sleeves. The dark circles under his eyes. 

“Perfect,” you responded softly. “Goodnight, Lockwood.”

"Goodnight," he repeated, that same small smile on his lips.

You closed the door behind you.

You fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

-

It was another two weeks until your next sleepless night. 

Kept busy with countless cases, you were exhausted near every time you stumbled back through the doors of Portland Row. Part of it was from adjusting back into an agency after being on your own for so long, the other part was the seriously intense jobs that Lockwood kept taking. 

And you did adjust, that was true. 

You didn’t know if you and George were exactly friends, but he allowed you to help when he cleaned up in the kitchen, and you’d already spent a few afternoons in the archives together—today had been the best, him sharing all the material he found with you and willing to listen to your theories and look at your notes. He was warming up to you, at least. 

Lockwood was completely different. He exuded charm, all easy smiles and plying words meant to get someone’s guard down. It was how he operated, how he had to live—everyone underestimated him so he took it upon himself to prove everyone wrong. His name was on the door, after all, as he liked to remind you all. 

Maybe that was why he was always up, you thought, because as you slowly moved down the stairs, rubbing grogginess out of your eyes, you noticed that the light was on in the library again. Door slightly cracked open. 

You huffed a laugh before you knocked on the frame again, pushing it open to see Lockwood in almost the exact same position as last time. Instead of a variety of papers, though, he was hunched over a map. 

He said your name, a small smile already pulling at his lips. “So we meet again.” 

“We live in the same house,” you said wryly, “and we work together.” 

“All the more reason to be thankful that you put up with me past billing hours,” Lockwood said. You chuckled, and he gestured at the chair across from him. “Take a seat.” 

You did, and you tapped your fingers on the table before you took a look at the map. “What’s got you up so late?” 

“I’m scouting out a potential job,” he said. “A very old, very haunted mansion owned by a very rich family.” 

“I like the sound of that,” you mused. 

“So do I.” That spark was in his eye again, and you found yourself watching him as he talked. “The patriarch called me last night, and I met with him and his wife while you and George were at the archives today. He offered the job of clearing his ancestral home, and I told him I would get back to him after I consulted my colleagues.” 

“Colleagues,” you hummed. “I like the sound of that too.” 

Lockwood chuckled. “I thought after freelancing for so long you would be against working so closely with a team.” 

You shrugged. “I needed a change. You lot have been a pretty good one.” 

“It’s certainly an honor,” Lockwood said with mock austerity, and you rolled your eyes with a laugh. 

“Just get on with it, Lockwood.” 

He nodded, and he pushed the map over to you. “I was going to lay it all out for you two tomorrow morning, but since you’re here, I might as well get your opinion on it.” 

You took a moment to fully examine it. “Well, it’s certainly very big.” You glanced back up at Lockwood. “How much are they willing to pay?” 

He smiled. “Fifty thousand pounds.” 

Your eyes about burst out of your head, and you slid the map back over to him. “That’s all I need to hear. I’m in.” 

Lockwood laughed and he took it back from you. “You don’t even know anything else about it. You could be walking into a death trap.” 

“Every job I did on my own was a possible death trap, and none of them were for fifty thousand pounds,” you said. “I’m in—I don’t care if half of England is haunting that house.” 

His smile faded a bit, and he cleared his throat as he looked you in the eye. “You know, you haven't talked much about why you were a freelance agent. Even during the interview.”

Your brows furrowed at the sudden question and you shrugged. “I wanted to be.” 

“Everyone knows it’s a lot more dangerous than being in an agency,” Lockwood said. “Ghosts are hard enough to deal with in a group— going on your own is asking for trouble.” 

“Before I came in, it was just you and George,” you countered. “You’ve got no supervisors, just the two of you hoping for the best. I’d say that’s asking for trouble.” 

“You’re deflecting,” Lockwood said. 

You glanced away, finally letting out a sigh as you leaned back in your chair.

“You don’t have to—” 

“Because from the moment I discovered my Talent, I’ve heard horror stories from agencies. Entire teams going down on doomed missions, sole survivors left to live with the guilt for the rest of their lives. It happened to one of the teams in my agency, and I knew I wasn’t going to wait for it to happen to me.”

Lockwood’s eyes softened, and he stayed silent as you continued. 

“I have no team, I have no roommates—when I’m on my own, no one has to worry about me,” you said quietly. “If something goes wrong, and I die, that’s it. No guilt, no problems, no legal trouble. No mourners.”

Lockwood frowned. “That’s not a very good way to look at it.”

“Never said it was,” you said wryly. “It’s just the way I look at it.” 

“Your family would care.” 

You shook your head. “They wouldn’t.”

He was silent for a good moment, and then he reached over and took your hand. It was a shock at first, your eyes widening slightly as they darted up to meet his, but he was calm as ever. 

“You’ve got us now,” he said. “Lockwood & Co. Me and George. And we’d care very much if you were to die, so I’d appreciate it if you refrained from that.” 

That got a watery laugh out of you, and you felt the beginnings of tears behind your eyes for some reason. “I don’t think that was in my contract.” 

“It was in the fine print,” Lockwood assured. He looked so much younger when he smiled, like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.  

“That changes everything then.” Your voice was slightly stilted as you pulled away, and you turned slightly as you wiped at your eyes so he couldn’t see. If Lockwood noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

“Try and get some sleep,” he murmured. “If George is on board, we’ve got a very long day tomorrow.” 

You nodded, clearing your throat as you stood up. “You too. Can’t go into battle without our fearless leader.” 

He chuckled and nodded, his eyes never leaving you as you walked to the door. You paused, setting your hand on the frame, and turned around. 

“Thank you, Lockwood,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I mean it.” 

He smiled, and you found yourself lost in it for a moment. He really was beautiful. “Any time.” 

-

And so your days continued on as a certified member of Lockwood & Co, becoming more integrated by the hour. 

It wasn’t much longer before George took to you, and when you found a break in a case that saved you hours of potential digging through the archives, your spot as ‘respected colleague and potential friend’ was cemented. 

Lockwood already knew more about you than most, putting him in the ‘weird friend, weird boss’ category. The man literally never slept, and all the information he knew about you was willingly given to him through late night vulnerability. You needed to start forcing yourself to stay in bed, if not solely to keep some secrets between you. 

But— yeah, he was nice. Easy to joke around with, easy to work with, easy on the eyes. You’d smiled and laughed more in a single month at Portland Row than you had in three years as a freelance agent. Far better than the lonely studio apartment you holed up in between cases. 

The warmth was beginning to penetrate your skin, you thought with a slight smile. 

“What in the world are you doing?”

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a voice. You looked up from the baking sheet to see Lockwood waiting in the doorway with a small smile.

“Stress baking,” you said with a slight chuckle as you continued scooping dough onto the tray.

“At two in the morning?”

You shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and extra research wasn’t doing me any good. I had to get the nerves out somehow, and unless I fancied a nice bout with a Visitor, I couldn’t exactly go for a run.”

“So you decided on cookies instead,” he said wryly. “You know, you really should try and get more sleep.”

“Says you.” You finished filling up the tray and you picked it up, glancing at Lockwood as you walked over to the oven. “Every night that I’m up, you’re up too. That’s got to be unhealthy.”

“I’m a busy man,” he responded. “I can’t have half of my employees running around sleep deprived.”

You chuckled. “Good to know you care.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Always.” 

“But you have to care about yourself, too.” You shut the oven and set a timer on your watch, then gestured at the counter where an already finished tray sat. “Try one.”

“Sugar so close to bed?” he joked.

“Oh, please,” you brushed your hand through the air, “we both know you’re not falling asleep any time soon.”

Lockwood cracked a smile as he walked over, picking up a cookie from the sheet. “Chocolate chip?”

“The best,” you confirmed.

He took a bite and he hummed as his eyebrows rose. “Surprisingly good,” he said after he swallowed.

“‘Surprisingly’?” you repeated. “Why can’t they just be normally good?”

“You may have noticed, but George is our resident chef.” Lockwood finished the rest of the cookie, much to your silent delight, and he went to the fridge. “I’m just surprised we’ve got two culinary experts on the team now.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’m not anywhere near an expert. I’m much better at baking than cooking, so George has that market cornered.”

Lockwood smiled, and he finished his cup of water. “He’ll be happy to know that. He’d probably love to share some of his recipes with you.”

“I’d love that more,” you said. “His halva the other day was incredible.”

“I’ll let him know. Of course,” his eyes twinkled, “he’d probably be more flattered if you told him yourself. If there’s one thing he’s prouder of than his work in the archives, it’s his work in the kitchen.” 

“I’ll be sure to,” you agreed. 

“Are you going to sleep anytime soon?” Lockwood asked as usual. 

As usual, you rolled your eyes, bit back your smile. “I’ve got two more trays worth of dough. I promise I’ll go after they’re done.” 

“Good,” he said with a nod. “Do you also promise to leave some for us?” 

You laughed. “Of course. I didn’t make them just for stress relief, you know.” 

“Good,” Lockwood repeated. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. The later morning, rather.” 

“You get some sleep too,” you said, pointing your spatula at him, “or else all of these are going to George.” 

He placed his fist over his chest. “Cross my heart.” 

“Good. Now get out of here.” 

Lockwood chuckled as he walked out, spurring a smile of your own. You picked up a cookie and took a bite, humming in approval at the taste. 

“Normally good,” you murmured to yourself as you watched the oven. “Not surprisingly good.” 

-

(When Lockwood came down the next morning, there were two plates of cookies sitting on the counter. He moved to take one, but then he noticed the Post-its. 

One read GEORGE and one read LOCKWOOD, each in front of their own separate plates. There was another at the top—NO STEALING :) or I will never make cookies again 

He chuckled, his mind wandering to you as he finally took one—from his plate, of course—and bit into it. 

Normally good, he thought with a slight smile. 

A fine addition to the team indeed.)

-

You yawned as you walked down the hallway, rubbing at your groggy eyes. You couldn’t sleep, as was per usual when you were working on such a big case, but that didn’t mean you had to like it. 

Your mind ran a thousand kilometers a minute any time you even tried to close your eyes. Truly, you had no idea how George functioned with a brain like his. 

You were about to go into the kitchen to make yourself your usual midnight cup of tea, hoping it would work its usual magic, when you saw the door to the library cracked open. 

You couldn’t help but smile. He’d told you and George to go to bed early to make sure you were all ready for the job the next day, and here he was. Restless as ever and still a liar. 

You pushed the door the rest of the way open, blinking a bit at the lights as you leaned against the frame. “Up late again, Lockwood?” you asked, and he started when he turned to you and said your name. 

“You should be asleep,” he said.

“So should you.” 

“I’m looking over the floorplans one last time,” Lockwood said. “This place is huge, and I want to make sure I know every part of it.” 

“We’ve drilled the exits a thousand times,” you said. “We already know the mansion inside out—cramming at midnight isn’t going to help anyone. Actually being rested for once will.” 

Lockwood gave you a wry look. “Awfully strong words coming from you.” 

“I was going to the kitchen to make some tea,” you defended. “And then I was going to go right back to sleep.” 

He smiled as he looked at you, and then he nodded and stood up. “Alright. Come on.” 

You raised your eyebrows as Lockwood started walking, and then he took your hand and started pulling you along. 

“Oh my god,” you said with a laugh, “I can walk on my own.” 

All he said was, “I know,” in that annoyingly cocky tone of his, and you continued following him as you went up the stairs. When he pulled open the door of his room, you 

“Neither of us are very good at staying asleep,” Lockwood said wryly, “and I really don’t trust you to get enough in the face of tomorrow. So…” 

“You think sleeping in the same bed will help,” you surmised. 

He shrugged. “At the very least, I’ll be able to make sure you do fall asleep.” 

“Then the same goes for you.” 

“Obviously.” 

You stared at him for a moment. You didn’t exactly… know what to do. 

The words rushed out of his mouth. “Of course if you don’t want to—” 

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “No, it’s alright. I want to.” 

His lips quirked into a smile. “Alright.” 

You pulled back the covers, clearing your throat as you took your side and Lockwood took his after turning the lamp off. You didn’t know why this was so awkward, sharing a bed with the boy you’d worked with for the past few months, but it was. You’d faced down countless ghosts together, but this was apparently too much. 

“Your bed’s comfortable,” you said, desperate to break the silence. You stared at his wall, your back turned to him, Lockwood in the same position. 

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know how you’re ever not sleeping through the night with a mattress like this.” 

Lockwood chuckled. “Sight isn’t my only talent.” 

You smiled. “Very true.” 

“Why are you always up?” he asked. “I know my old bed isn’t the most comfortable, but it seems you’re always up.” 

“It seems you’re always up.” 

“Deflecting,” he said. Your mind flashed back to the first night in the library. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I’ve always been a restless person, but being an agent has just… worsened it. I had a couple of bad months working on my own and I don’t think I’ve fully recovered.” 

“Ah.” You could feel his breathing in the slight shifts of the bed, and it was oddly comforting. “I hope that we haven’t made it worse.” 

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “If anything, you’ve made it better. Portland Row is the embodiment of warmth, and you two are fantastic.” 

“Well, we aren’t going anywhere,” Lockwood assured. “...I’m not going anywhere. So if you ever need anything, please tell us.”  

Your voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Thank you.” 

“Always.” 

-

Your sleepless nights varied in frequency as the months went on. 

Sometimes you were so exhausted when you staggered through the doors of Portland Row that you felt as if you could sleep the night away on the couch. Other times, despite being worked to the bone from a difficult job, you would find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your room, unable to get the visions from the day out of your head. 

That was the lovely thing about Touch. The way you saw it, you gave a small part of yourself over each time you used it, and once you got it back, the things you’d seen were embedded in it—in you. It was awfully difficult to separate yourself from your jobs when you threw yourself so fully into it, when you had no other choice but to do so. 

Lockwood and George had become accustomed to how deep you felt things. When you needed to be alone after a job, when you needed one of them to talk nonstop to keep you distracted, when you just needed to sit with them in silence and be assured that this too would pass, no matter how slow. That was the nicest thing about being part of the group—you didn’t have to lick your wounds on your own.  

When it got really bad—and sometimes it did—you and Lockwood would share his room. His presence was unparalleled in bringing you comfort, and whispered conversations in the dark made you feel some sort of way. He was practically your savior. 

When he wasn’t helping you through the night, more often than not, Lockwood would be up at the same hour as you. It was concerning, though you couldn’t say anything about it. He would just throw it back at you, claiming you should be asleep as well. At least George was exempt from the criticism. Bless him. 

He found you in a lot of positions. Sitting on the floor of the kitchen scrubbing furiously at the plasm stains on your boots. Sitting on the floor of their living room, one of their case files in your lap as you recounted a previous case. Sitting on the floor of the basement, measuring out salt for bombs and ensuring their flares were stocked. You liked sitting on the floor while you did things, apparently—Lockwood had figured that out after a few weeks of sleepless nights. It was strange. 

And of course, the occasional bout of stress baking, ranging from cookies to brownies to pastries and more. You once even baked an entire cake in the middle of the night out of pure anger, the result of a frustrating loss to a Fittes team. Not getting the case hurt a little bit less the next morning when you all had cake to dull the pain. 

You found him just as many times. Sometimes getting his own cups of tea in the kitchen, sometimes reading those gossip magazines he was fond of, sometimes doing his own restocks of your supplies. Usually, though, he was just sitting in the library stressed over one thing or another.

You noticed he always tried to hide it from you, covering it with his easy smiles and well-placed jokes. It couldn’t be easy to run an agency as a teenager, no matter how small—you wondered how many restless evenings you would have to share together for him to drop the mask. 

Eventually, though, it was decided that another agent was needed. Lockwood and his Sight, you and your Touch, George as an all-arounder—he was your only source for Listening, but it had never been his strong suit. After you nearly got ghost-touched because of that blatant lack of Listening, Lockwood put his foot down and put out an ad. 

Enter one Lucy Carlyle: excellent Listener, skilled in Touch, a myriad of opinions. You liked her the moment you met her, her image only sullied by her taking two biscuits. You could hardly blame her though, the way George pushed her. He loved to push. 

Due to a lack of rooms but an imminent need for Talent, it was decided that Lucy would room in the attic with you. You were able to get one of the spare beds all the way up to the attic between the four of you, and when you all promptly collapsed on the ground together, it was agreed upon that Lockwood & Company would stick to ghosts. Very good for team bonding, though. 

It took Lucy a bit to get used to you, especially in such close quarters, but soon enough you were joking around and talking like you’d known each other for years. You knew she was good, but witnessing her listening was awe-inspiring. You almost couldn’t believe you’d gotten her over Fittes or Atkinson and Armstrong, but you weren’t going to complain. You felt as if your motley crew could do anything. 

“I can’t believe he did this,” you seethed. 

Well, there were certain things your motley crew did not need to do. Especially your leader. 

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Lucy said. 

“I can’t believe he did this!” you repeated, louder and more annoyed as you threw yourself against the wall. “How stupid can one boy be?” 

“He was trying to save you, y’know,” Lucy said dryly. 

“I didn’t need to be saved,” you grumbled. “He did it because he’s reckless and stupid.” 

“...That’s fair,” Lucy said after a moment. “He is quite reckless.” 

“Don’t forget stupid.” 

Her lips twitched for a moment. “Perhaps you shouldn’t speak ill of the injured.” 

“That’s just the dead,” you muttered. “And we speak plenty of ill of them.” 

This was all because of a job that went wrong. And you were certain it wouldn’t have gone wrong if Lockwood could hold himself back for a moment. 

-

“Are you sure that’s him?” you murmured, disguising your words with your cup of sparkling cider. 

“Positive,” Lockwood confirmed. “Arthur Torres, one of Sunrise Corporation’s many useless executives.” 

“Lovely.” You finished your drink. “I distract and you steal, right?” 

“Actually,” Lockwood said, and you didn’t like that at all, “you steal, I distract.” 

Your brows furrowed. “That wasn’t the plan.” 

“I make the plans,” he said, “I can change them.” 

“Not when we spend hours going over them to ensure they’re flawless,” you said tartly. 

“Relax.” He smiled at you, and somehow it managed to carve through your irritation. He slipped the keycard out of his pocket and pressed it into your hand. “I’m very good at improvising.” 

“Lockw—” You didn’t have the chance to chastise him the way he deserved before he slipped off, a very convenient waiter filling the space he left before you could dart after him. You scoffed as you placed your empty glass on their tray, your eyes narrowed as you glared at Lockwood from beyond. 

He paid no attention to you, not until he made the signal. He ‘accidentally’ bumped into Mr. Torres, spilling his wine all over his jacket, and before the first apology could fall from his lips, you were gone. 

You muttered curses under your breath the entire way, slipping past guards and security the best you could on the way to the stairwell. You took them two at a time as you hurried to the fourth floor, and though you were completely out of breath by the time you made it, you were pleased that there were no guards. George said he would have the security cameras disabled before you got there, so you just had to trust in him. 

You continued to take in and let out deep breaths as you walked up to the door, and they turned into a sigh of relief when you scanned the keycard and it opened. You heard footsteps behind you and whirled around, your hand flying on instinct for the rapier that wasn’t there, and your eyes widened yet again when you saw it was Lockwood. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” you hissed. 

He held up his hands in defense, as he stopped jogging, and then he brushed out the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “I came to help you.” 

“You’re meant to be distracting Mr. Torres,” you said incredulously. “Lockwood, do you even care for the sanctity of plans?” 

“I care about your safety,” he said, calm in the face of your anger. “That’s why I’m here.” 

“And where is he? Hopefully not in reach of his various guards that could ruin us and our careers at any second.” 

“I left him in the washroom,” Lockwood said. “How are you doing?” 

You set your jaw, and you sighed as you gestured with your head into the now-open office. “Let’s just find this source so we can get out of here.” 

Now came the not-so-legal part, that some may even call theft. Lockwood called it discreetly fixing mistakes, you called it your shoddy morals. Not that you were torn up about stealing from an executive businessman, you just didn’t particularly fancy losing your license over it. 

A rich family had hired Lockwood & Co to find and return a source that was important to their family, and of course it was housed by Mr. Torres of the Sunrise Corporation. You’d no idea what it was with wealthy people and their flaunting of sources, but you’d had enough of it. They paid handsomely for the risk though, hence your shoddy morals. 

This, honestly, was the easy part. You touched a few things, concentrated until your head hurt, and it led you right to it. Quite disappointing—you didn’t know why the Paladinos would keep a paperweight in the family, and more importantly how it came about to be a source, but that didn’t really matter. It sat on Torres’s desk, surrounded by Sunrise Corporation silver-glass, and just for extra measure Lockwood put it into a metal box of your own. You shoved it into your backpack, and the job was halfway done. 

The other half was getting out without being spotted. 

The two of you worked quickly to erase all traces of your being there, and soon enough you were hurrying through the halls together. 

“That was good work.” 

You ignored him. 

“The Paladinos’ money will do a lot of good for us.” 

You ignored him.

“Seriously. You work well on the fly.” 

“We shouldn’t have had to work on the fly,” you finally said bitterly. 

“Why are you so mad?” Lockwood asked with a slight laugh. God, his nerve. “It all worked out. We’ve got the source, we’ll get the payment, and we didn’t even have to deal with any Visitors. Torres is still clueless.” 

“That’s not the point, Lockwood,” you hissed. You forced your expression back into neutrality as you walked out of the stairwell and back into the midst of the party, and you and Lockwood moved at a normal pace. He offered occasional smiles and nods to people in the crowd, and you both nodded at the guards at the exit when you left. 

You couldn’t even relish in your victory, because once you’d gotten out of hearing distance, around the corner where no guards or partygoers could see or hear you, Lockwood stopped you. 

“What is the point then?” he asked. “If none of what I said is the point, then what is the point?” 

“The point is that you don’t trust me!” you exclaimed. 

He immediately frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“Why did you even follow me in the first place?” you asked. “It was your decision to switch it up at the last moment, and you couldn’t even follow through with that?” 

Lockwood didn’t say anything, and you shook your head. 

“You don’t trust me,” you repeated quietly. 

He said your name then, a slightly wild look in his eyes as he turned to you. “That’s not it.” 

“It is.” A muscle worked in your jaw. “Because if you thought I could do it, you would have let me do it instead of risking both of our lives. You wouldn’t have switched our roles in the first place.” 

“Torres was suspicious,” he insisted. “He— he was saying things, talking about how he had to make his guards check on his office. He’s a paranoid man, and you could have been in much more danger if I hadn’t abandoned him.” 

“That is bullshit!” you exclaimed. “God, it was your bloody idea in the first place! Is it suddenly not good enough? Am I not good enough?” 

“That is not what this is about,” Lockwood snapped. 

“Then what is it about?” you marveled. “Why did you switch roles in the first place? You’ve told me I could talk my way out of anything, but when the time comes, you shake things up for no reason. For no reason, Lockwood.” 

“People know my face better than they know yours,” Lockwood said. “Torres was more willing to talk with the head of a rising agency, you were able to slip around easier because of who you are.” 

“Why didn’t you think of that before we were in the thick of it all?” you asked incredulously, and you laughed. “I’ve saved your life multiple times, Lockwood, and you’ve done the same for me. You talk me up all the time to my face, saying I’m what this agency was missing, that I’m part of your family, that— that you’ll never let me go. But that’s all it is, isn’t it?” A shaky smile formed for just a moment before it broke. “Just talk.” 

Lockwood said your name desperately, but you shook your head. “No. Justify it however you want, but you nearly sabotaged the entire job just because you didn’t have enough faith in me. That’s it.”

“I’m telling you, that’s not it.” He let out a ragged sigh, running a distressed hand through his hair, when he suddenly froze. 

“Good evening, sir!” he called, confident as ever, like your argument hadn’t just happened. “We’re just—” 

His voice broke off mid sentence, and then he yelled your name. You whirled around.  

It was a guard, and he was armed. He must have spotted you when you were leaving the office, or maybe George had missed a camera and he’d seen your thievery—there were about a thousand things that could have gone wrong. For a split second, you stared down the barrel of the gun. Funny how you’d stared down what felt like hundreds of ghosts, and a bit of metal was what had you frozen. 

The guard pulled the trigger. 

Lockwood lunged. 

You screamed. 

-

“He’s lucky DEPRAC didn’t find the source in my bag,” you muttered. “They already interrogated me to hell and back while he was in the hospital. Luckily, it usually doesn’t look too good when an adult shoots a teenager and can hardly defend himself against it.” 

“The bloke deserved to be fired,” Lucy said. “A paperweight is certainly not worth shooting someone over.” 

“And it’s certainly not worth getting shot for,” you added. 

“It’s kind of funny,” Lucy said offhandedly. “He’s the one that got shot for you, and yet he’s apologizing to you.” 

“Because it’s his fault that he got us in that situation in the first place!” you exclaimed. You winced as your words sunk in, and you looked over at Lucy. “That was too harsh, wasn’t it?” 

“...A bit,” she admitted. 

You sighed dramatically and hit your head against the side of the wall. “I’m acting like a child.” 

“A bit.” 

“I just don’t know how he expects me to face him,” you said. “I’ve been working with him for the better part of a year, and somehow he still doesn’t trust me.” 

“I… don’t think that’s it,” Lucy said. 

“How could it not be it?” you said. “He wouldn’t have acted like he did if he trusted me.” 

She shrugged. “Have you thought that it’s because he cares about you?” 

“He cares about all of us, Luce.” 

“He cares about you more,” she said plainly. “In a different way.” 

Your head whipped towards her, and you stared at her for a good five seconds. “You are not saying what I think you’re saying.” 

“If you think I’m saying it, it’s for good reason,” she said. 

“We are colleagues,” you said slowly. “Nothing less, nothing more.” 

Lucy said your name with a slight laugh. “He took a bullet for you.” 

“He shuffled our assignments because he didn’t trust me,” you said. 

“He shuffled your assignments because he was worried about you,” she countered. “He didn’t want you with Torres because if you were found out, Lockwood didn’t want him to remember your face. And he abandoned his post because he was worried about you, that something would go wrong and he wouldn’t be there to help.” 

You stared at her before you continued your pacing. “You’re insane. You’re kicked out of the agency.” 

“I’m right,” she said wryly. “And may I remind you again that he took a bloody bullet for you?” 

“I’ve already given him that,” you said. “I lost my damn mind when it happened—almost tore the guard apart with my bare hands. I freaked out the entire way to the hospital with him.” 

“And now you’re almost completely ignoring him,” Lucy said. “Face it: you like him. You just don’t want to admit it because it would mean having an actual conversation with him about it all rather than pacing a hole in the floor.” 

“You’re wrong.” You huffed and leaned back against the wall. “You’re wrong.” 

Lucy sighed and she offered a faint smile as she stood up. “You take some time to realize all this. I’m stealing George for an Arif’s run.” 

“Leaving us alone,” you said flatly, staring ahead as she walked out. “You’re not clever, Lucy Carlyle!”

“Thank you!” she called with a laugh, and you hit your head against the wall once more when she closed the door behind her. 

Sometimes you really hated your friends. 

-

It wasn’t like you were avoiding Lockwood. That would be cruel. 

Stupid as he was, he got shot, and he got shot for you. Avoiding him would be ridiculous. 

You were just… strategically not talking to him. 

And that was arguably worse, yes, letting him see you but not deigning to say a single thing to him that wasn’t business related. 

It was even worse than worse because you’d inadvertently proven Lucy right. If this were any normal annoyance between friends, like the squabbles you and George were prone to or the bouts that your boys got into over patience and its virtues, it wouldn’t be this strong. 

You’d held grudges against Lockwood before. When he forgot to soak your boots overnight so you had to go into an important job with plasm stains, when he ate the strawberry sprinkled donut just to spite you, when you and George were still in rocky territory and he made you marathon the archives with him for nine hours straight. 

All of those, annoying as they were, were forgiven rather quickly. And yes, maybe this grudge was especially strong because of the severity of his injury, but… 

You could admit it. Normal people didn’t hold grudges over their best friend throwing themselves in front of them to prevent them from getting shot. Normal people were thankful. Normal people could talk about their feelings when they realized it was the reason for their strife. 

You, apparently, were not normal. And neither was anyone in this bloody agency, because nobody deigned to make it any easier for you.

Perhaps it was a bit stupid on your part, but you walked down to the kitchen anyway. You needed some tea to clear your mind. Instead, you were met with a half-shirtless Lockwood. 

“Ah,” he said your name, looking up from his spot against the counter, “nice of you to finally grace me with your presence.” 

“What are you doing?” you asked. It was almost embarrassing—you were meant to be holding a grudge and ignoring your feelings, and instead you were staring at him like a girl in primary school. Remarkable how quickly you forgot your objectives. 

“The doctor said I had to redress my wound every day for the first week,” he said. “Lucy and George just went out, so I figured I would do it now.” 

Your brows furrowed. “How do you feel?” 

“Better now that you’re here,” he said. Lucy’s words pounded in your ears. “I don’t think you avoiding me is good for my health.” 

You bit your lip and remained silent. Rocky territory, this was. 

“It’s alright if you just want to stand there.” Lockwood grimaced a bit as he pressed the alcohol-soaked pad to his wound. “Moral support is very helpful.” 

Remarkable how quickly the dam broke. You sighed and closed the distance, holding out your hand when you stopped a few meters in front of him. “Give it to me.” 

Lockwood’s eyebrows rose. 

“Give it to me,” you repeated. “I’ve dealt with many of my own wounds over the years. It’ll be a lot faster if I do it for you.” 

His lips quirked into a slight smile as he handed the cloth over. “This is better than moral support.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile of your own as you started to dab at the surrounding blood on his chest, innately aware of your proximity but trying your best to ignore it. “This doesn’t look too bad, honestly.” 

“I was shot,” he said dryly. “I think I deserve a few style points for that.” 

“You’ve already earned them all, Lockwood.” 

“That makes sense.” You felt his eyes on you as you continued to work, pointedly ignoring his gaze. “You know, they didn’t take the bullet out. Said it would be worse to take it out, and it’s not causing any problems inside. So I’ve got a bullet in me now.” 

Your brows furrowed. “Interesting.” 

“Indeed. I’ll be going off in airports for the rest of my life.” 

Your fingers hovered over his chest for a moment, and you pulled away with a sigh. “I’m sorry.” 

It was his turn to frown. “What for?” 

“For—” you let out another sigh, rougher this time. “For this.” 

“It wasn’t your fault I got shot,” he said. “I quite clearly remember pushing you out of the way.” 

“I know,” you said. “I— I am quite sorry that you got shot, though.” 

“Obviously,” he said coyly, and you let out a breathy laugh. 

“I’m sorry for this grudge. It’s probably the stupidest out of all the ones I’ve held against you so far.” 

“George keeps a running list,” Lockwood said. “I’m sure we can figure that out.” 

“I’m serious.” Your hand lingered on Lockwood’s chest for a moment, his body warmth almost shocking, before you set the cloth down on the counter. You started to put a fresh bandage on, but you finally mustered the strength to look at him. “I was so upset at the thought that you didn’t trust me because your opinion means a lot to me, Lockwood. The way you think of me means a lot to me.” You cleared your throat, averting your eyes for a moment. “You mean a lot to me.” 

Lockwood gently tipped your chin back towards him, your eyes meeting his. He really was beautiful—eyes that were softer than ever, his tousled hair, the slope of his jaw. Slightly chapped lips, the bags under his eyes that seemed to be permanent, the weight of the world on his shoulders that seemed to diminish ever so slightly when you were around. 

Your Lockwood. 

“You mean a lot to me as well,” he said. “Why do you think I reassigned us last minute? Why do you think I took a bullet for you?” 

“Because you’re a reckless idiot?” 

“Because I panic around you,” he said, “in addition to being a reckless idiot. Whenever we’re on a job, half of my mind is focused on ghosts, and the other half is making sure nothing happens to you. You drive me the best kind of insane.” 

You couldn’t help but stare at him. You wanted to kiss him more than anything, to root your hands in that tousled hair and make it an even bigger mess. You wanted to make him realize he didn’t have to worry about you, because you weren’t going anywhere without him. 

The words stuck in your throat. You finished applying his bandage, and you took a step away.

“Thank you,” you said. 

He didn’t look angry or annoyed or irritated—he understood. He understood you. 

“Always.” 

And it was as simple as that. 

-

It wasn’t really a surprise you couldn’t sleep that night. You hadn’t exactly talked to Lockwood since your show of emotion in the kitchen, embarrassing as it was. You made Lucy check downstairs before you went down for supper, and that was just so you could make the quickest sandwich of your life and immediately hurry back upstairs. 

Pathetic, really. You mustered the strength to tell the boy you liked him, he returned it, you ran off and locked yourself in the attic. 

And it wasn’t because it was too much. You just… you didn’t know. You might’ve driven Lockwood insane, but he turned you into a complete idiot. It was ridiculous. And you were not ridiculous. 

So when night rolled around, when Lucy and George were sound asleep and the ghost lamps flickered on every three minutes and you had only the owls outside your window for company, you knew what you were going to do. 

You threw on your sweatshirt, carefully padded across the floor and out the door so as to not wake Lucy, and you went down the stairs. 

Surprisingly, you’d never felt calmer. 

The light was on in the library. The door was slightly pushed open, the nondescript act that had turned into a beacon for the two of you. 

You knocked on the wall before you pushed the door open some more, not waiting for an answer as you leaned against the doorframe. 

Lockwood sat in his armchair, a magazine half open but neglected on his lap. His eyes shined the moment you stepped inside. 

“Got room for one more?” you asked softly.

Lockwood’s shoulders relaxed, his throat bobbing for a moment before that damn smile pulled at his lips.

“Always.”

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co #x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

[insxghtt]

opposites attract — aemond targaryen x reader

You and Aemond were complete opposites, but he kind of loved it.

warnings: aegon being an asshole, mentions of blood, lots of fluff

this was based on this request. i have to say it again, english is not my first language so i’m really sorry if you find some mistakes here. anyway, i hope you like it!

Aemond was completely in love with you. Since the day that you walked in the castle for the first time, at 6 years old, complaining about the uncomfortable dress you father, Lord Lyonel Strong, made you wear. At that time, you were the only one who never made fun of him for not having a dragon. And when he lost his eye and nobody dared to look at his face, you were the one making him feel better.

“I look like a monster”, he said.

“Are you mad? You look like a fucking warrior, Aemond”, you smiled. “It is part of your history now and I think it’s beautiful.”

That was the moment he realized you were the one. He never said it out loud, but you were not stupid. The way he looked at you was very obvious, so you gave the first step.

He would never forget the day he took you to meet Vhagar. She was surprisingly kind to you. Aemond was smiling and it was impossible to hold back your urge to kiss his lips. So, you did. And since then, you two became something. None of you gave it a name, but it did not seem necessary. He was yours and you were his and that was all that mattered.

Your relationship was a secret for most people, but it was clear that you two cared a lot about each other. Sometimes you wondered if he would marry you. You were not an heir to anything. A marriage would not be exactly benefic to his family since your father was already an ally to the Targaryens.

When you were 15, you decided you wanted to fight. Ser Criston Cole refused to teach you, so Aemond would come to you after every lesson to train with you. You fell in love with the adrenaline, so once or twice you’d sneak out of the castle to pick on boys your age. It was funny to see their faces when they realized they just lost a fight to a girl.

Aemond hated it. Sometimes you came back with bruises and cuts. You and him would have long arguments and in the end, he would just take care of the wounds so you didn’t have to tell anyone.

But it was too much for him when, at 16 years old, you came back with a black eye and a lip cut. He made you promise that you would never get into fights again and, well, you couldn’t say no to him.

By the age of 18, you were just as good as him when it came to fighting. The problem was that, even though you were very ladylike most of the time, some people like Aegon could make you so angry that you lost all your composure.

It was what happened that night. You were invited to supper with all of his family and, as always, Aegon was drunk. Aemond was holding your hand under the table, trying to make you feel more comfortable. It worked for a while. At least until Aegon’s comments were directed to Aemond.

“So, when are you going to find yourself a wife, brother?”, he asked. “Maybe you should start to look for a blind one. It will be easier to make her say yes if she cannot see you face.”

“Do not worry about me”, Aemond smiled, taking a sip of wine. “It must be already exhausting to worry about all your bastards outside these walls.”

You coughed, trying to hide your laugh.

“Aemond!”, Alicent scolded him.

“Forgive me, mother. I was merely expressing my concern for my dear brother.”

“I’m not offended”, Aegon said and looked at you. “It just seems to me that my brother’s whore has not been pleasing him enough.”

The comment made your blood boil. He was right there, calling you a whore in front of everyone, making fun of his brother, and nothing would happen to him.

Alicent slammed her hand on the table. “That is enough! All of you to your chambers”, she said but nobody moved. “Now!”

Her voice was loud and it made all of you stand and leave the room. You knew that the right thing to do was just to ignore Aegon’s words. But still, you were so angry that your cheeks turned red. As soon as the door behind you closed and Aegon turned away to walk to his chambers, you could not control yourself.

“Aegon!”, you called him, ignoring Aemond’s voice telling you to stop.

It was too late. Aegon turned around and all he could see was your fist. The punch hit him so hard on the nose that he fell to the ground. He took his hands to his face and saw blood.

Helaena got scared with the sound of the punch and ran back to the dining room. Aemond held your waist, stopping you from throwing another punch on his brother.

“Are you fucking insane?”, Aegon yelled.

“Insane? You haven’t seen me insane!”, you tried to wriggle out of Aemond’s arms, but he held you tighter, easily lifting you off the ground.

“What is this?”, the voice of Alicent made you stop but still, Aemond didn’t put you on the ground. She looked at Aegon, who was still on the floor with his hand on his nose, trying to stop the bleeding. “Who did this?”

“I did”, Aemond said and you looked at him surprised.

Obviously, it had been you. You were being held, there was blood on your hand. But Alicent couldn’t blame you, Aegon would never assume that he was punched by a girl, Helaena was your friend and Aemond would never snitch on you.

“What?”, you whispered to him and he put you down.

“Aegon was being an idiot, so I punched him”, he ignored you and kept talking.

“Is this true, Aegon?”, she asked.

Aegon just looked at you with anger and snorted. “Yes, mother.”

Alicent sighed and helped her son to stand up. She removed his hand that was covering the wound to take a look at it. “You just had your nose broken for being an imbecile. Congratulations.”

You wanted to laugh, but you were feeling too guilty to do so. You didn’t regret breaking Aegon’s nose, but you felt bad because now Aemond was taking the blame.

She turned to you and Aemond and you felt your body stiffen. “You two. Go to your chambers now before I change my mind”, you nodded and started to walk away. “And Aemond”, she called and you stopped next to him. “We will discuss this in the morning.”

He just nodded. You and Aemond walked through the halls of the castle in silence until you finally got to your bedchamber. Before you opened the door, you turned to him.

“You didn’t have to...”, you started, but he didn’t let you finish.

“I wanted to.”

You gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be”, he said with a smirk. “That was quite nice to watch. You are getting better every day.”

You rolled your eyes at his flirty comment. “Your mother is furious, Aemond.”

“She’ll understand.”

“No, I promised you I wouldn’t fight like this again. I was impulsive and reckless and...”, you could not finish the sentence once again, because this time he shut you up with a kiss.

Aemond had the best kisses. They made you feel warm inside, it was like his lips were made to touch yours. First, he liked to put his hand on your neck, with his thumb touching your chin. Then, he gently pressed his lips against yours.

Aemond was always so delicate when it came to you that it was impossible not to melt. During the day, he didn't have much physical contact with you. Part of him liked that, because he could see how much of an impact just one of his touches had on you.

“You are perfect”, he whispered when he pulled away.

He was still so close to you and now his thumb touched your lips. For a moment, it felt like you were drunk, but you knew that it was just the effect that he had over you.

And then, suddenly, he turned and started to walk to his room, leaving you standing there. Your lips were parted and your eyes wide in shock. He was just going to leave?

“Is this some kind of cruel punishment?”, you asked.

All you heard was his laugh as he continued to walk away. You wanted to go after him and make him stay, but you were just too proud to do that. So, you just walked inside your bedchamber and spend the rest of the night thinking about that kiss.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond imagine #house of the dragon #hotd x you #house of the dragon x you #house targaryen #aemond fanfiction #ewan mitchell x reader #house of the dragon aemond #aemond one eye #writers on tumblr #writing

[kisses4lao]

kung lao x reader where they are like secretly dating and little by little making it more obvious to everyone??? Like, leaving hickeys, bite marks etc, until they start noticing and pointing it out??? Sorry if its confusing😭

I'm a sucker for a good secret dating romance, I gotchu anon

Tw/cw: gn reader I think??? Idk do correct me if I'm wrong, not really NSFW but mentions of sex, a lot of marking and Kung Lao being a tease, cursing

Not proofread as per usual

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were a really good friend of Johnny's, just so happened to be one of Liu Kangs pupils as well. Although you didn't have super strength like your best friend did, you were highly trained by him.

When everything started going to shit and everyone had to go team up at the request of Liu Kang, you were quick to try and make friends with everyone, making it less awkward for potential missions.

You made quick friends with Kenshi, Tomas, even Raiden. But you had a very odd relationship with Kung Lao. According to Johnny, he'd often times catch Kung Lao, eyes drifting over you, not leaving unless you looked directly at him.

Other times, he'd say Kung Lao would attempt to talk to you, but Johnny could sense by his body language he was nervous.

You couldn't help but admit Kung Lao was attractive. He was exactly your type and everything you wanted in a man. But to his credit, you were nervous as well, not wanting to make small talk either.

That all changed when you two were sent on a mission together, basically just to scout something out or some shit. To be fair, Liu Kang seemed like he was making this mission up on the spot. Almost as if he knew you two had feelings for each other.

When you got to the spot he told you to scout out, it was a waterfall. A fucking waterfall. You both were told to stay there for the entire day, at a waterfall.

Either there was something actually going on or Liu Kang just has a twisted sense of humor when it comes to this sort of thing.

Truth be told, Liu Kang could tell you two liked each other. He could feel the perverted thoughts of each other just bubbling in your minds and decided he couldn't take it anymore. So, he decided to basically send you two on a date. Completed with nice scenery, no one around, and he even gave you guys a basket full of little finger sandwiches. How cute.

The two of you ended up just talking the entire time bonding over such a silly fear you both shared. You both had eventually realized what was going on and why you were sent on this "mission" and decided to make the most of your alone time.

During that "making the most of it", you had taken each others firsts, under the pale moonlight while the sounds of the waterfall next to you drowned everything else out. All you could think about in that moment was each other.

The original plan was to make it so that nobody found out at first. However, Kung Lao had gotten extremely caught up in the moment and ended up leaving hickeys on you in visible places. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

The love bites on your neck and the scratch marks on his back were very evident the day after, however. While you were upset that they were so visible, Kung Lao was more than happy to show off his back to everyone. He even offered another round just to get more.

He assured you that everything was gonna be alright, a few marks isn't gonna kill you and it shows your affection for one another, which is why he loved his scratches so much.

Neither of you thought it would be a good time to say you guys were dating, so you decided to try and keep things on the down low. You did, at least. However, with the hickeys he'd leave on you, it became very hard to come up with excuses on the spot.

When the two of you got back from your little mission, mostly everyone could sense something was different. Raiden was consistently asking Kung Lao why he has scratches on his back because he decided today was the day he'd train shirtless (because of course he would), and Johnny would NOT leave you alone.

Johnny just would not stop asking you where you got the hickeys from, even though he knew the answer. You would always blush from embarrassment when he asked though, eyeing Kung Lao as you did.

When it came to night time, Kung Lao made it a point to sit next to you. This made Johnny sit across from you, which you could tell he wasn't very happy about. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, arms crossed as he watched you and Kung Lao talk like there was no one else at the table.

Mostly everyone picked up on the small touches you'd leave on his arm and the way he'd caress your thigh. The way the both of you were laughing made it seem like you'd known each other for years.

Over the next few days, you'd continue to sleep together. You'd start leaving hickeys on Kung Lao as a lesson, but instead of being upset , he was ecstatic at the way you'd left a mark on him. He'd ask you over and over leave more marks on more visible places.

Practically everyone in your group knew you were together, you'd just stopped hiding it. You'd occasionally climb onto his lap while he was sitting down and watching him train, while he'd give you small kisses and wrap his arms around your waist very often.

Johnny had decided he's had enough with your very obvious mutual pining and asked the question that should've been clear.

"are you two fucking?"

EVERYONE snapped their heads to look at the three of you. Kung Lao has his arms around you and you were hugging into his chest, while Johnny was in front of the both of you with his hands on his hips.

The silence from the both of you was enough for the answer to be known. Raiden and Kenshi let out small disappointed sighs as Johnny scolded you about keeping this from him.

All the whole Liu Kang was internally patting himself on the back for being a good wingman

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: if my fics ever become proofread, immediately assume my account has been hacked. You guys ever go over shit you wrote??? That's embarrassing, I'm not doing that.

#mk1 #mortal kombat #mortal kombat smut #mortal kombat x reader #kung lao x reader #kung lao mortal kombat #kung lao smut #kung lao mk1 #kung lao #mortal kombat kung lao #mortal kombat x reader smut #kung lao x reader smut

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Yippy! Once you have the time to write, how would the Creeps (any of your choosing) feel when y/n surprise them with a drink or meal? Like after a hard day.

-🪱 anon

As usual, when given free reign with characters, i do my characters that are most popular at the time, so i hope you enjoy!

Thank you so much for requesting!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toby

Usually its pretty obvious when Toby's having a bad/rough day

He is one of the few creeps who doesn't mind wearing his emotions on his sleeve

So when he comes home from work an hour or so late, more twigs and dirt in his hair and on his face than usual, and doesnt even bother to bid you hello, you know somethings up

So you make a quick trip to McDonald's, and get him his favorite

10 piece chicken nugget meal with sweet and sour sauce, and a medium sweet tea

When you get back to the manor, there is no sign of Toby anywhere

So you go ahead and go up to his room, where you hear the shower running

You put his food on his nightstand, turn off the lights, light a few candles and pull up his favorite tv show

While you wait, you go ahead and pick up his very dirty uniform that reeks of dirt and dead things, and go ahead and put it in the washer for him

About 30 minutes later, he emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist and another towel in his hands that he uses to dry his hair

He jumps a little bit when seeing someone in his room, but when he notices that it's you, he calms down

He doesn't speak to you as he shuffles over to his dresser and picks out some sweatpants and a baggy band t-shirt he got from Tim

After putting his clothes on, he comes to lay on his bed with you, putting his head on your chest and awaiting the headrubs

You wrap an arm around him lazily and use your other hand to stroke his damp hair "do you wanna talk about it?"

He shakes his head

"Ok. I got you some food" you say, offering a fry

He takes and eats it, before sitting up and eating the rest of his meal

All the food is gone and he is still sipping on his drink when he finally speaks "thank you." Is all he says

You smile and kiss his shoulder "of course, love"

Jeff

Jeff is another one that you can easily tell when he's upset

He has very explosive anger that can sometimes get out of control

And depending on what hes done and who hes hurt, he can sometimes feel very guilty when he comes to

Which is exactly what happened this time

He's punching walls, throwing things, screaming, you name it

No one really knows what triggered this, but Liu eventually tries to step in

Liu is almost immediately shut down, because as soon as he tries to say anything, jeff is shoving him up against a wall and screaming at him next

Which of course, triggers Sully to front

So now Jeff and Sully are in an all out fist fight, and Jeff ends up hurting him pretty bad

Sully ends up with a gnarly concussion and has to spend the night in the medical wing

Now, jeff doesnt feel bad about hurting sully at all, but he does feel bad that he hurt his brother's body

So he shamefully locks himself away in his room, refusing to come out for anything

After an hour of trying to convince him to at least let you in, you instead decide to go get him a tasty treat to make him feel better

You go to a sushi restaurant and get him his favorite rolls, then make a trip to a gas station to get him some arizona tea, mango flavored

When you get home, you slide his food under his door (pretend it wouldve fit 💀) and await a response

You are met with him taking the food and eating slowly, before he eventually lets you in

You spend the rest of the night consolling him, sitting in his lap and telling him that it'll all be ok

He does end up thanking you for the sushi, but its not until a week later when his ego is all better

And in the morning, you take him to see Liu, who is totally playing it up to make jeff feel exxxxtra bad (lmao what losers)

Eyeless Jack

Unlike the other two, jack is very hard to read

He almost always has the same, neutral expression on his face

His emotions only show if he especially vulnerable, like during a blood moon or around other demons, etc

And even then, he tries his hardest to remain nonchalant

So when you finally find him in the library, pacing around, you know somethings bugging him

You know its not gonna be easy to get it out of him though, so you go to his favorite steakhouse and get him steak, loaded mashed potatoes, and water

You come back to the library where he is still pacing, seemingly very deep in thought

You place his food down on one of the long library tables, and watch as his pointy nose twitches, and his eyes flick over to the food

He comes over to the table, where you are now sitting and points at the food "is this for me?" He asks

You nod and he sits next to you, beginning to eat in a way that looks quite weird, almost like hes trying to eat the way a human would, but is failing miserably due to his large teeth and multiple tongues

"What's on your mind?" You ask as he finishes his potatoes

"This and that" he mutters

"This and that being...?" You trail

"Just...a lot" he says, finally finishing his food and taking a sip of water

"I see." You say, standing and coming to drape your arms around his shoulders

"Did the food help? At least a little?" You ask, pressing a kiss to his sharp ear

"Yeah, it was nice. Thank you, dear" he says, turning his head and kissing your nose

"Anytime" you respond, allowing him to kiss you several more times all over your face

#creepypasta #slender mansion #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x female reader #ticci toby #jeff the killer #ticci toby x reader #toby erin rogers #jeffery woods #jeff the killer x reader #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack creepypasta #eyeless jack #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x y/n #ticci toby x y/n #ticci toby x you #🪱 anon

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Secret Secret Chapter 5

OT8 Straykids x reader, ABO AU

Masterlist | Part 4

Sooyoung realized it immediately when she walked in.

“Oh wow, someone’s in preheat.”

You sighed. “Is it that noticeable?”

She dropped her bag on the counter. “Honey, it smells like you took a shower in unicorn pee.”

“Unicorn pee?”

“I can’t imagine anything else smelling so good and yet so overwhelmingly bad,” she said with a shrug, turning to rummage around the cabinets. “You going to take the day off when your heat hits?”

“Oh, um.” You shrunk down in your seat on the couch. “Not exactly.”

The alpha paused, turning around slowly with narrowed eyes. “What did you do?”

“Look, hear me out,” You started. “It’s only Monday. My heat will probably hit on Thursday, and then I’ll have to call in sick for two days.”

“Wow, two days off work. How tragic,” Sooyoung said sarcastically, still standing with her arms crossed.

You gave her a look. “However, if I can hold off my heat until after work on Friday, I can ride my heat out during the weekend. No need to call in sick at all!”

“Right. And go back to work immediately after your heat?”

You could tell that her alpha wasn’t pleased with the idea of you working after such a harsh experience. Most omegas took at least a few days off after their heat to recover, but it wasn’t impossible for you to function the day after.

Betas wouldn’t need a day off to recover.

“It’s only my second week at this job, Youngie. I can’t afford to be using up my sick days so soon!”

“And yet I know for a fact that you’ll use some other excuse the next time your heat comes up.” She paused, narrowing her eyes as she realized something. “Wait. The only way you’ll manage to delay your heat is with suppressants.”

You looked down.

“You know how badly those affect you!”

“It’s only two days!”

Sooyoung threw her hands up into the air. “Fine, you know what? Do what you like. You’re a grown adult capable of making her own stupid decisions. But don’t come crying to me at the end of the day when those symptoms wreak havoc on you.”

You watched through silent fury as your roommate practically stomped to her room. The door slammed loudly behind her, and you were tempted to comment on it just to get the last word in, but you held your tongue.

In reality, you knew she had every right to be worried. Heat suppressants were normally only used for emergencies, not because they had any negative consequences on the body itself, but because the symptoms were so horrible that no normal person would willingly subject themselves to them unless they absolutely had to.

Headaches, fatigue, heightened senses, heat flashes, brain fog, stomach cramps. Heat suppressants forced the production of pre-heat hormones and suppressed the actual heat from happening for a short period of time, but, as an unfortunate side effect, it enhanced all the pre-heat symptoms and dialed them up to a 100.

Compared to the milder heat symptoms (slick production and high libido) it seemed odd to want to endure two days of all that. But your heat would make your scent so strong, to the point that your scent blockers wouldn’t work anymore, so it was a necessity.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

-0-0-

You weren’t sure what to expect from the Alpha you were bringing home. The entire ride in his car, besides giving out directions, nothing was said between the both of you. Even now, awkwardly standing in your kitchen, he looked like he was losing the motivation he originally had, and you wondered if you would end up being left high and dry.

“Do you want some water? Or something else to drink?” You leaned against your counter, hoping that a simple conversation would help him relax.

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? You look like your seconds away from bolting.”

“Ah, am I that obvious?” He let out a chuckle, reaching up to scratch at his forehead. “I’ve never really done something like this before.”

You tilted your head in interest. “Oh? What makes me so special?”

He didn’t say anything at first, instead choosing to move forward until he was leaning against the other side of the counter. The two of you were close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted, but part of you was curious to see if he would make the first move.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

“You sure it’s not my charmingly good looks?” You said it jokingly, but he rested his chin against his hand.

“No, it’s something else. Something … special.”

You felt your omega perk up at the compliment, and you could smell your scent begin to grow. You pulled back from the counter to stand up straight. If things were going to progress any further, you needed to take this back to your room. You didn’t want Sooyoung to have to deal with the scent of arousal lingering in the communal areas.

“Well then, mr. charmer. How about we take this to my room?” You held out your hand, and he took it.

His hand was warm and heavy in yours.

You opened up your bedroom door, and you found yourself staring at his ass as he passed. “What’s your real name anyways?”

“My real name?” The alpha looked around your room with a thoughtful look. “It’s not that important.”

You raised your eyebrows” What do I call you, then?”

“Hmmm.” You couldn’t see his face through his mask, but the way he gazed at you made you feel like you were being stripped apart to your bare bones, and you could imagine the curl of his lips. “You can call me Alpha.”

His scent began to come out stronger, like a breeze on a hot day, and you found yourself hoping it would linger long after he was gone.

You shut the door.

“Well, alpha,” You said, deliberately drawing the word out. “You going to wear that mask all night?”

He seemed to grow almost … shy. “I- actually, I think I’d prefer to keep it on.”

“It’s okay,” You assure him, not wanting him to feel insecure.

“I mean, I do want to kiss you,” He started, taking a step towards you. You could see the moment he hesitated to reach out to you, his hand dropping down to his side in a clenched fist. “If you want, that is.”

You let out a bark of laughter. “Oh sweetie, I’m pretty sure inviting you over was an invitation for much more than just a little kiss.”

This time he didn’t stop himself from reaching out to you, his hands lingering on your waist as his eyes flittered across your space. You reached up for his mask, the idea of kissing him the only thing you can think of. You wanted to know what he looked like. How soft his lips would be.

He grabbed your wrist. “I can’t let you see my face.” He sounded almost regretful.

“It’s okay,” You reassured him once more. “I can close my eyes.”

And you did. You stood there, eyes closed, and let your smile grow as he dropped your wrist, the sound of fabric shifting in front of you. For a second, he left you waiting. You didn’t open your eyes, but you did reach out to place your hand against his bare jaw.

His lips were as soft as you hoped they would be.

Your hands roamed down from his face to his neck, using your grip on his to pull him closer. It felt like he was inhaling your very essence, His scent covered you, and you moaned against his lips as his body pressed against yours. He smiled, lips still pressed against yours.

You pulled away from the kiss, but immediately pushed your face into his shoulder to keep yourself from the temptation of opening your eyes.

“You good?”

“I think it’s going to be a little hard to remember to keep my eyes close if you keep kissing me dumb like that.”

His chest rumbled as he laughed, grip on your waist tightening. “Sorry?”

“Hmmm, it’s not a complaint. Just an observation.” You pulled out of his hold completely, waving your hand in his direction. “Turn around for a second.”

You didn’t wait to see if he did as you asked, moving towards your closet with a goal in mind. It took a little bit of rummaging in the farthest corner of one of your drawers, but eventually you managed to find what you were looking for. You pulled it out with a shout of triumph.

“Is that a blindfold?”

“Yup!” You slapped a hand over your eyes and turned around, wiggling the cloth out in front of you. “Genius, right?”

“You just happened to have that lying around?”

The cloth was pulled out of your hands, and you turned around. “What can I say, I’m full of surprises.”

Warm arms wrapped around your waist. The heat of his body was hot against your back, and as his hands began to trace up and down your sides, you felt something in you shifting. You shuddered, body responding by releasing a wave of your scent, and he responded with his own scent of arousal that made your body feel almost pliant.

“So you are.” The blindfold was pulled over your eyes, and you shut them instinctively. The cloth brushed over your eyelids as he began to form a knot at the base of your head. “Tell me if it’s too tight.”

Your mind began to grow heavy as your omega pushed forward, the smell of alpha heavy on your tongue. When he finished tying off the blindfold, he leaned against your back, his mouth pressing a soft kiss to the juncture of your neck. You tilted your head to the side, an ache to feel his teeth pressing against the skin running through you and causing slick to drip down your thighs.

You let out a whine.

“Easy baby girl. I got you.”

His warmth disappeared, and you opened your eyes. The blindfold made it so that you could make out the shadows of the dark room, a vague shape of a person as they removed their clothes. You reached down to grab the hem of your own shirt.

“No, don’t,” He said, voice thick. “Let me.”

You grabbed his hands, using your newfound sight to reach out wrap your hands around his neck. This time, you were the one to initiate the kiss, eyes falling closed not out of necessity but on instinct.

“You okay?” He asked you again when your knees suddenly buckled.

“Like I said. Those kisses of yours are dangerous,” you breathed out.

He decided to take it as an invitation to pull you back in for another kiss, although this one was quicker and sweeter.

It almost felt like love.

His lips pressed against yours once, twice, and then a third time before he trailed them down to your jaw, sliding them slowly down to your neck. When he began to suck against the skin there, you pulled away with a whine.

"No marks, please. I have work."

He moved his hands under your shirt and began to pull it up. You could only barely see his figure as he leaned down, his lips reappearing against the tops of your now exposed breasts.

"I assume you mean no marks where they can be seen?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm." He pressed a kiss to your skin, tongue darting out to glide from the tops of your breast towards your nipples. He teasingly pulled against them as he passed, moving to press another kiss just to the side. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," You said, voice breathless.

He pulled your shirt off completely, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He began to lead you towards the bed. Even without your sight, the mattress was familiar under your body, and you instinctively relaxed into the sheets.

You made grabby hands at him. He laughed, kneeling on the bed next to you and allowing your hands to roam across his skin. He still had on his boxers, and when you moved to pull them down, he grabbed your hands and pressed them gently down against the bed.

“Patience,” He told you, his voice rumbling.

You pouted, and he kissed your lips with another laugh. He continued where he had left off, his mouth on your breasts as his hands grabbed your thighs, pulling them apart so he could slot himself in between them. The motion pressed his clothed cock against your center, and you moaned at the feeling.

“Please,” you found yourself breathing out.

His mouth trailed kisses down your body, hands swiftly pulling both your pants and underwear down in one go. “Got to get you ready first, sweetheart.”

“Awfully confident in yourself, huh?” You joked.

“Hmm, something like that,” He drawled.

You expected him to get straight to it, but he took his sweet time. Laying kisses along your inner thigh, caressing your legs up to your hips. You wiggled your hips impatiently, but he just smiled against your skin.

“You’re doing a really good job at getting under my skin,” You told him, running your fingers through his hair. “If you don’t hurry up, I might just have to get myself off.”

He nosed your center, and your body flared up with want. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Alpha, please.”

“That’s it.” He rewarded you by finally mouthing at your core, licking a stripe up to your clit where he sucked gently.

You were already wet with slick from all the teasing and foreplay, but his mouth on you made you gush, your core clenching around nothing, When he pressed a finger into you, you bucked your hips, and he laid a hand across your stomach to keep you from moving.

You let out a moan, fingers gripping his hair tightly as he ate you out. He added another finger, and the sound was filled with wet squelching sounds as he fingered you gently, softly crooking his fingers to press against your spongey insides as he sucked against your clit.

Your orgasm built up slowly, but it hit you quicker than you expected, your body writhing under him as you whined. He pulled away, his other hand reaching up towards his face, and you could only imagine the sight he made.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he said, finger rubbing small circles against your clit. “Could stay here forever.”

“Please, alpha,” You whined.

“Please what?”

“I need you.”

He moved up your body. “Need me to what?”

“I want you to fuck me,” You said impatiently.

He grabbed your body and flipped you over so quickly that it made your head spin, and you pressed you forehead to your pillow with a gasp, “Ask and you shall receive,” He told you, and you could feel him moving around behind you.

You lifted your hips and presented for the alpha, your omega instincts taking over. His scent intoxicated you, filling your senses and making you feel dizzy, wanting nothing more than to submit to him in every way possible.

He took his sweet time once again, rubbing his member through your folds before he slowly pressed into you. He was right to have prepared you because he was thick, stretching you and filling you up completely. You couldn’t even moan, like your breath had been stolen. Your fingers dug into your blankets, eyes shutting behind the blindfold.

“Fuck.”

The alpha gave you a second to adjust once he had bottomed out, rubbing against your sides gently. “You good, omega?”

“So good,” You mumbled.

When he started to move, it made you whine. He thrust into you slowly at first, but his hips began to speed up slowly, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. You let out a moan as his fingers gripped your thighs, sure to leave marks. You pressed your knees against the mattress and moved to sit up, hands reaching behind you in an attempt to feel his skin against yours. He pressed himself to your back without having to be asked.

His warm breath against your shoulder, mouth teasingly close to your scent gland, had you reaching your release quickly.

You let out a whine.

“Shh, I got you,” he whispered into your ear. His hands roamed from your thighs up your chest and towards your neck, fingers gently pressing against your throat. “God, you’re so tight.”

You whined. “Alpha, please!”

“Just a little longer. You can hold on just a little longer, cant you? Hmm? Don’t you want to be good for your Alpha?”

You were so close. Your body felt like it was on fire and your head spun, the darkness that seemed to engulf you left your nerve endings so sensitive, and you couldn’t see him, could think, couldn’t do anything more than accept the pleasure he was giving you. He seemed to know that you were at your breaking point, because as a whine began to build in your throat, he pulled away.

His fingers pressed right where you needed them most, and you found yourself spiraling.

“Cum for me, Omega.”

You woke up with a start, your mind still heavy with lust and sleep. It took you a moment to realize that you had been dreaming, and then you were falling back to your bed with a groan, swiping a hand down your face.

It was your memories from that night with Chan.

It seemed like your pre-heat sex dreams were making their appearance. Usually they were some random fantasies, but you supposed it made sense that you would be hit with a memory this time around.

Your thoughts wandered to the shirt still in your drawer. It almost seemed to be calling for you.

You let out another groan.

This was going to be a long week.

-0-0-

You were convinced that heat suppressants had to have been created as a form of torture.

The headache made every noise feel like a punch to the brain, not helped by the fact that your hearing was so sensitive that everything above a cough sounded like an airhorn to your brain. Even the painkillers you took that morning were doing little to dull the hammering in your head.

And yet, you tried your best to keep a smile on your face, made ever difficult from having to deal with the managers.

You had been thrown for a loop when you found out on Tuesday morning that Felix had gone into heat. It was all the staff members were talking about. You hoped that the idol’s heat and rut cycles weren’t normally a topic of interest for the company, but you understood why this time they all were freaking out about it.

Stray Kids’ comeback was scheduled for next week.

It would be hard for you to have to go back to work the day after your heat ended, but finding out that Felix was expected to be on stage and promoting less than a week after his almost made you feral.

“What do you mean the comeback will continue as planned?”

Jeonhui gave you a hard look. You knew that as a new employee, and only a translator who was in the meeting to be kept up to date with the upcoming schedule, the idea of speaking out was unheard of. But when the news that the comeback would still be happening on the expected date, your mouth opened before your brain could catch up.

The head manager, Soojin, gave you a puzzled look. “Is there a reason we shouldn’t?”

The entire room was looking at you, but you forced yourself to focus only on the manager. “Felix finished his heat less than a day ago.”

“Yes?”

“Even for a normal person, a comeback is stressful. Long nights, early mornings, practices and schedules and stage performances and interviews … do you really think that’s the best thing for an omega who just had their heat to deal with?”

There was a moment where Soojin looked almost understanding, his eyes soft and a small smile on his face. You thought that you might have actually gotten through to him. You thought for a second that maybe you could make an impact on this company, give them some knowledge of the artists they were supposed to be managing and caring for, and that you could actually change the way the industry worked.

But it shattered with his next words.

“I appreciate the concern, but I assure you our omega’s can handle the load just fine. We’ve had both omegas and alphas going back to work right after heats and ruts, and there’s never been a complaint in the past.” The other staff managers nodded along as if what he was saying was common knowledge. “If they needed more time to recover, they would have said something.”

You thought about the pressure building in your head, the way your skin felt like it was crawling, the constant cramped pain your stomach was enduring, all so that you wouldn’t go into heat. All so you could keep pretending to a room full of betas.

All so that those same betas could make decisions about omega’s and alphas they knew nothing about.

It made you want to scream.

“Maybe,” You managed through clenched teeth. “They never say anything because they know that if they do, the company would use it as proof that omegas are more trouble than their worth.”

Soojin and the other managers gave you a surprised look. From the corner of the room, Maya was given you a proud smile, but the other stylists around her looked confused and even annoyed.

“Why do you care so much about this anyways? What are you, an omega expert?” One of them said.

And his words felt like a bucket of water had been dumped over your slightly overheated body. You immediately bowed your head, realizing that you had brought more attention on your head than was necessary, and it was obvious you were fighting a losing battle.

“I’m just … worried. Just seems like those boys could use some rest,” You mumbled in excuse.

Stupid. How could you be so stupid.

Now everyone would know you as that one translator who argued about an omegas needs. At best they would think you were out of line, but at worst …

“It’s quite alright,” Soojin assured you, although the look Jeonhui gave you told you that the two of you would be talking later. “But like you said, comeback is stressful for all of us, including the staff. This is why we put in all the hard work! I want to take a moment to thank all of the staff for helping make this a possibility-“

And just like that, your little outburst seemed to be forgotten.

It didn’t make you feel any better to know that your words were so easily dismissed. As Thursday turned into Friday, you made the conscious decision to not take your heat suppressants that morning, knowing you would need your heat to start either than night or early Saturday morning if you wanted your heat to end by Sunday night.

You ignored the looks Sooyoung gave you as you left for work.

Just as promised, you had been avoiding her all week. When the cramps hit you late at night and you cried out, you muffled the sound with your pillow to avoid waking her. She didn’t mention the quickly dwindling supply of pain medication (you reminded yourself to pick some up after work).

It made a part of you ache to know you had disappointed your friend. But it also made you feel proud to know that you were still doing what you had dreamed of doing for so long.

You just had to keep moving forward.

Friday went by normally, and almost easier than the past three days. The suppressants started to flush out of your system around noon, and the symptoms you had been dealing with started to fade, making it easier for you to work. The heat symptoms would come around soon, but you weren’t too worried about it hitting you fully until you were back home.

You were just finishing up your last assignment of the day when you caught the scent of a familiar smell.

“Oh no.”

Minho appeared at your doorway within seconds, and you secretly cursed the enhanced sense of smell that had yet to wear off, because the strong scent of alpha had your omega perking her metaphorical ears up instantly.

He had probably just finished dance practice judging by the sweat covered shirt he had yet to change out of.

You forced your eyes away from him and back to your screen. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry.”

You paused your typing, risking a glance to look at his face. He looked straight faced, almost bored at first, but you could smell the shame that was hidden beneath the rest of his scent, and you turned to face him completely.

“What are you sorry for?” You asked him.

He looked away. “I yelled at you when we first met. It was … inappropriate.”

“You were protecting your pack,” You corrected him, turning back to your work. “You did what you thought was right.”

Minho continued to stare at you from the doorway, not saying anything. You finished what you were working on and began to wrap everything up so you could leave. In the few minutes it took you to do that, he didn’t say anything.

You grabbed the files you had to drop off to your manager before you left. “I’m serious, Minho. It’s fine.”

When you stood up, a few papers that had been caught under your files fluttered to the ground. Before you could move to grab them, Minho was there, picking up the papers and tapping them on the ground so that they would be stacked up together, lifting his head up to look at you.

And you immediately felt something in your stomach twist, and your head spun.

He stood back up, unaware of your internal freak out, and handed you the papers. You took them with shaking hands.

“Thanks,” You breathed out.

Minho frowned. “Are you okay?”

No, you wanted to scream at him. I’m going into heat and a stupidly handsome alpha was on his knees looking up at me and now I’m losing my goddamn mind.

But instead, you forced a smile on your face. “Fine.” It came out squeaky, and you winced. “I, uh. Gotta go!”

You rushed out of there as quickly as you could.

As if your day couldn’t get any worse, you completely missed an equally sweaty and tired looking Chan as he was walking out of the elevator, and he had to grab your shoulders to keep you from running him over. His scent, equally as strong, only made your chest ache more.

Chan smiled. “Ah, just who I was looking for!”

You eyed him curiously. “Wow, I’m really popular these days, huh?”

“What?”

“What did you need?” You asked him as you walked into the elevator. He followed you in.

“I wanted to let you know that I talked with Felix.”

“Oh, how is he, by the way? I heard about what happened.”

Chan gave you a soft smile. “Ah, he’s fine. He …. He wants to meet with you.”

The elevator opened, and someone stepped in. It was a random staff member you didn’t recognize, probably not even a stray kid’s staff member, but both you and Chan remained silent until she left. You turned to Chan as the elevator made its way up to your manager’s floor.

“I think we should wait until after your comeback,” You told him.

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” Chan sighed. “We’ll have enough on our shoulders this week.”

You scowled. “Ugh, don’t even remind me.”

He let out a laugh. “Ah, I heard about what you did yesterday.”

You covered your face in embarrassment as the elevator door opened. “Uh, I’m just going to go before I say anything even worse.”

Chan was still laughing as you left, but he called out for you before the doors closed. His smile was one of the last things you saw as his words reached you.

“Thank you.”

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x you #skz x you #chan x reader #chan x you #bangchan x reader #bangchan x you #changbin x reader #changbin x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #minho x reader #minho x you #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #han x you #han x reader #jisung x reader #jisung x you #felix x you #felix x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #in x you #in x reader #jeongin x reader #jeongin x you #stray kids fanfic #abo au

[jupitercomet]

Unique in All the World

summary - He feels you smile against his lips and, in the back of his mind, Bradley thinks that he could get used to this. The feeling of somebody being so excited to see him, they couldn’t even wait longer than a second. But just not somebody, you.

And when Bradley loads his luggage into your trunk and you scamper up to him with a bouquet of flowers in your hand, he really feels it then too.

or 

Three times you help heal Bradley’s inner child.

warnings - age gap relationship (Bradley is 38, reader is 25), language, talks of Bradley’s childhood, talks of death, I kind of made up Bradley’s timeline just go with it

word count - 3.9k

listen!! Bradley Bradshaw’s inner child is so personal to me. so yes I’m writing about these two four times in a row. they’re simply too powerful, it’s not my fault - bugs

i ain’t worried ‘bout it masterlist

The first time Bradley remembers it happening was a time as mundane as a Saturday morning.

He woke up to a completely empty bed, the sheets only holding the lingering warmth of your body temperature. It was quiet too, no sound of you rummaging through the kitchen or getting ready in the bathroom.

With a yawn and a stretch of his arms, Bradley gets up and meanders out of the bedroom. This is not the first, or second, or third time he’s spent the night at your place, so he navigates the apartment with ease. The morning sunlight is still a golden glow though the windows which is only more puzzling. Years of service have made Bradley a consistently early riser and you… are not, so it’s unusual for you to be out of bed and awake before him. Especially when it’s still early enough to catch the ends of sunrise.

When he steps into the small living area, he finds you sitting on the couch eating Lucky Charms and watching television. 

“Hey,” you look up with a smile when you hear Bradley’s heavy footsteps. “Sorry, I was really craving cereal.”

“You weren’t there when I woke up. I missed you.”

“I’m here now—” You close your mouth abruptly when Bradley shuffles over to the couch only to pick up Pooh and hug him to his chest. “You’re real funny, Teddy.”

Bradley gives you a cheeky grin, sitting down next to you, Pooh still tucked under his arm. “What’re you watching?”

“Spongebob,” you shovel another spoonful of Lucky Charms into your mouth.

“...Why?”

You look at him like it’s obvious. “It’s Saturday morning and I’m eating cereal in my pajamas. We stick to theme around here, Bradshaw. Didn’t you ever watch morning cartoons as a kid?”

Bradley does not think he had a bad childhood by any means. He grew up with a mom who loved him more than anything and, though it is still somewhat painful to think about now, Maverick did his best to fill all the roles that Goose couldn’t. 

But people always tend to equate being young with being stupid because they all acted like Bradley couldn’t see, clear as day, how much they were suffering—at least the first few years.

Bradley learned at age four and three quarters that Saturday mornings were somewhat hard for his mom. Carol would turn the portable radio on and whip up breakfast in the kitchen, and then suddenly a song would come on and she’d just stop moving, staring numbly into the bowl of pancake batter for several minutes.

And Bradley didn’t exactly know why his mother did this, but he knew that she did—because he was four and three quarters, not stupid. So he gave up Saturday cartoons to keep his mother company in the kitchen. He’d talk about what dream he had or what he did in preschool the day before or whatever his current favorite animal was and why it was still a shark, until Carol could hardly tell which song from which over her son’s rambling. And it wasn’t like he didn’t want to do that. But at four and three quarters, Bradley made the decision that he’d just have to be a kid later and he’s been putting it off ever since.

Bradley isn’t quite sure how to articulate this to you, and he must have been taking too long to respond anyway, because your features soften in understanding and you get up from the couch. “Wait here.”

You come back with another bowl of Lucky Charms, handing it to him with a kiss on his forehead before you sit back down with your own bowl. “As the guest of honor, you can pick which cartoon we watch.” You search for the remote, but Bradley can only look down at the floating marshmallows in his cereal.

“Uh, Spongebob is fine.”

Bradley doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels so awkward, but the way he’s taking a bite of Lucky Charms is like an alien who’s never seen food before. Honestly he can’t remember the last time he had cereal, much less one as sugary as Lucky Charms. He keeps Cheerios or Raisin Bran stocked in his pantry, but that’s really just for show more than anything else. Jake got him hooked on “properly made” protein shakes back when they were still students at TOPGUN and Bradley has been living by those ever since.

You snuggle up to Bradley’s side, already reimmersing yourself in the colorful cartoon. “Spongebob is actually more than fine, but you’re new at this so I’ll let it slide.”

He watches as you happily munch on another bite of your cereal, indulging in the sugary treat easily as if you aren’t a grown adult who has grown adult Saturday mornings. Bradley takes in a second spoonful of Lucky Charms and chews slowly. He notices, between one of his next bites, that you’re saving most of the marshmallows for the end and he smiles because of course you do that—he starts saving them for the end too.

Before he knows it, Bradley’s finished his bowl of cereal, setting it aside on the coffee table, and is now laying his head in your lap, cheek squished against your thighs as he watches the TV intently. Your fingers are coming through his curls, taming his morning hair, and Bradley can’t help but press a kiss to the top of your knee whenever you giggle at something funny that happened on the screen.

Before you, Bradley didn’t watch a lot of TV—and certainly not kids cartoons like Spongebob—but there’s something nice about just being able to turn his brain off for a bit. That, for the morning, he can just watch something bright and nonsensical while you play with his hair and laugh against the back of his head.

Bradley’s smile grows when he sees three new characters entire the Spongebob episode. “Hey, honey?”

“Yeah, Teddy?”

“You wanna know something cool about sharks?”

Bradley didn’t like to think about his high school graduation. Over time he’d grown used to having no one there for graduations, or holiday breaks, or when he returned from deployment, but his high school graduation was the first time he felt that feeling. Walking off the stage with his high school diploma was the first time he remembered that “Oh. There’s nobody here but me.” feeling.

Because his mom had died and he wasn’t speaking to Maverick after he found out the older man pulled his papers from the academy. So on the day of Bradley’s graduation, he weaved through the crowds of families and other seniors, threw his cap and gown in the backseat of his car, stopped at a Dairy Queen drive-thru, and celebrated by eating ice cream alone.

Bradley only became more and more familiar with his feeling, but at 17 it still tasted bitter so his high school graduation hurt the most. If he had to put a positive spin on it, he’d say it prepared him for the many, many deployments he’d come back from without anyone waiting for him. It didn’t hurt so much see everyone else in his squad get greeted excitedly by family and loved ones.

And so Bradley walked to the baggage claim of LAX, listening Jake go on about some college football game to his right, fully ready to succumb to that “Oh.” feeling he’s so familiar with.

“TEDDY!”

Bradley only has a second to drop his carry on before you’re launching yourself into his arms. He stumbles back slightly, having to plant his feet against the tiled floor of the airport before you knock him over. You’re clinging to him like a koala, both your arms and legs locked around him, and Bradley’s hands have moved instinctively to support you around your middle.

“Sorry,” you pant, pulling away from his neck to hold his cheeks in excitement. “I know I should’ve waited for you to, like, weave through a wave of people to find me, ‘cause then it’s all romantic. But you were taking way too long and your old man eyes would’ve missed your suitcase like eight times before you realized it was yours and I couldn’t— Mmph!” 

Contrary to popular belief, Bradley is not the biggest fan of PDA. He likes the actual affection part of it, the small things like holding hands or giving you quick pecks, but he has a philosophy that anything he wouldn’t do in front of Maverick, he wouldn’t do in front of strangers. Maybe his friends make fun of him too much, or maybe he is getting old, but Bradley is not the type to push you up against a wall and kiss you silly—no matter how crowded the Hard Deck might be.

But right now, Bradley is allowing himself an exception as he kisses you deeply smack dab in the middle of the LAX airport. Because, for the first time in two decades, Bradley Bradshaw walked out expecting to feel that “Oh.” feeling and instead he was met with an “Oh!” feeling and your weight in his hands. 

“Damn, little lady, that homecoming for everybody?”

Despite your rocky introduction, you and Jake were on much better terms now. He apologized for his comments—due in part to threats from Bradley and Javy, but he did genuinely find himself meaning them when you presented a peace offering of yarn you thought “might look cool as a dog sweater maybe”. Since then, Bradley was horrified to find out, the two of you have become almost friends.

“No.” Bradley answers for you, narrowing his eyes at Jake, who only holds his hands up teasingly.

You’re still somewhat recovering from Bradley’s kiss when you hop down from his chest, so you just smile at Jake and welcome him home too while you grab Bradley’s hand.

“I brought you flowers,” you confess as Bradley picks up his carry on and leads you both to the baggage claim. “But I knew I’d probably get excited and squish them, so I left them in the car.”

It’s still hitting Bradley that he can hear you, and see you, and feel you, and again he can’t stop himself from ducking down for another—this time much shorter—kiss. He feels you smile against his lips and, in the back of his mind, Bradley thinks that he could get used to this. The feeling of somebody being so excited to see him, they couldn’t even wait longer than a second. But not just somebody, you.

And when Bradley loads his luggage into your trunk and you scamper up to him with a bouquet of flowers in your hand, he really feels it then too.

“Pfft,” you laugh when he takes them from you. “Kinda feels like you just graduated or something.” 

Bradley’s hands freeze around the bouquet.

You lift yourself up on your toes, moving his ball cap from one side of his head to the other as a stand in tassel. “And look at that! Bradley Bradshaw - the super, super, super, super, super senior has finally graduated! The crowd goes wild—” You cup your hands over your mouth to emulate a cheering sound, before you stop and wrinkle your nose. “Sorry, that was lame. I’m just really excited to see you.”

“No, honey, it’s perfect,” he places a much softer kiss on your lips and he thinks he’s going to ask you how to press flowers because he wants to keep the ones in his hands forever. “I’m really excited to see you too.”

You always kind of knew when Bradley had a rough day. Maybe it was something about how the wind blew, maybe you had a spidey sense but for men who look like they shop exclusively at Kohl’s, but whatever it was you just knew when Bradley would come home in a sour mood.

So when Bradley came home, closing the door a little harder than necessary, and only greeting you with a quick peck before he left to take a shower, you weren’t surprised. For the most part, Bradley stewed in his emotions. You always do your best to remind him that you’re there if he needs it, but you know better than to push him and, mostly, he chooses to keep his bad mood to himself.

So you are somewhat surprised when, as you both sit on the couch a little after dinner, he starts talking suddenly.

“My dad died when I was four.”

You look up from your phone in wordless confusion.

“And, you know, I don’t even remember being four. I didn’t, like, watch him die. My mom didn’t even tell me what happened until I was 15,” Bradley takes a breath, yanking a frustrated hand through his hair. “But, for some fucking reason, I get in the air and suddenly it’s all I can think about.”

You watch as Bradley gets up from the couch, still lost in his head as he starts pacing the living room. “It happened 34 years ago and I didn’t even— I can’t even run simulations without thinking ‘oh, this is how my dad died, what if I die like this too?’. And now Mav’s talking again about how maybe I’m not ready—”

“Bradley—”

“And it’s bullshit, because if he had just let me when I was—”

“Bradley—”

“—It’s fucking pathetic! You know, Hangman used to bring it up constantly, and I couldn’t even say anything because he was right. I’m just—”

“Bradley, stop it!”

Bradley freezes, his chest heaving, his feet frozen mid-pace. 

You take a breath and try to smile, but it’s weak and you have to bite your lip to keep your eyes from watering as you walk up to him slowly. “You were a kid,” you tell him and, gently, you cup his face in your hands. “You were just a kid, Bradley. Do you understand that? You did everything a kid could do, more than you ever should have had to. And I am so, so proud of you.”

Between your palms, Bradley’s face is unreadable. You’ve given up on holding back your tears, you can feel them welling up as you stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs. Bradley’s own eyes look glassy, that’s his only tell—every other feature stoic.

“I am so proud of you,” you whisper. “And I love you. With my whole heart. But I love that little boy in there too,” you drop a hand from his cheek to press it against his chest. “The one who’s so brave, and strong, and kind. I love him so much, Bradley. So I won’t sit here and listen to you talk about him like he isn’t good enough.”

You feel his heartbeat underneath your palm, a steady rhythm that’s so predictable, so reliable. Bradley still hasn’t looked away from you, doing nothing more than swallowing thickly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob, taking in the scars of his neck, the way they rise off his skin in thin, light lines. 

Sucking in a breath, you suddenly feel self conscious, your thumb faltering from where it strokes Bradley’s cheek. “So— So, yeah, um—”

It takes only a second and then Bradley’s arms are wrapping around you, pushing the hand you have resting on his chest between the two of you. You feel him nose your hair, his arms tightening around you like he thinks you’ll run away from him if he lets go. You won’t though, you never would.

Slowly your hands meet at his back. There’s never really been a time that you felt as though you were holding Bradley—not when he’s so big and broad and solid all on his own—but right now you feel it, that he’s finally letting you hold him. 

There’s a shake of his shoulders, a choked whimper, and then he’s unleashing painful sobs into your hair. His breath is ragged against your temple, coming out of his mouth audibly and shakily. Your own tears spill over your cheeks at the sound of his sheer grief and you rock your bodies slowly, your hand moving up to hold the back of his head.

Bradley’s back racks with sobs, you can feel them wetting your ear and temple. He breathes you in like you’re oxygen, like it’s the scent of your shampoo that pumps blood through his veins and the lingering notes of your perfume that cause his heart to pump at all.

His blunt fingernails dig into your skin. He holds you like the climax of a film—desperate, and raw, and so unsure of everything but you. And you hold him too, but like the end of a film—certain, and healed, and not quite back again but you know that you’ll get there. You hold Bradley like he’s worth staying for the credits, because you want to know every person in every role that makes up the movie of the man he is. 

Bradley cries. And you don’t shush him, or tell him that it’ll be okay, or make promises that you both know you can’t keep. You hold him, and scratch his scalp, and rock him gently.

Bradley cries, but you know it’s not quite your Bradley who’s crying. It’s Bradley at age four, who cries muffled in his pillow because he knows it makes his mom upset to see him cry and he never wants to make his mom upset. It’s Bradley at age 17, who cries silently at a funeral, biting down on his cheek so hard he can taste blood as he tries to keep his composure. It’s Bradley at age 17 and 7 months, who cries loudly and unabashedly because he’s finally accepted the bitter truth that it doesn’t matter now because there’s not a single person left to hear him.

And you hold all of them, as tightly as you can, and, even though it’s not exactly your Bradley who’s crying, he’s finally allowing the rest of them to cry, so you hold him too.

You stroke his curls softly. “I’m so proud of you,” you whisper against the shell of his ear.

You repeat it over and over. Once for Bradley at age four. Once for Bradley at age 17. Once for Bradley at age 17 and 7 months. And once for Bradley at age 38. And you know it doesn’t fix everything, or make it all go away, but you don’t think that’s what Bradley wants anyway.

It’s a beautiful thing to be acknowledged. For someone to recognize that you’re here despite. When you say you’re proud of Bradley, you mean it. You’re proud of him when he presses a gentle kiss on your forehead every Wednesday morning because, for whatever reason, he and Natasha choose to surf at the ungodly hour of 6:00 am. You’re proud of him every time he plays piano at the Hard Deck, or drives his Bronco, or goes to work. You’re proud of him because he does all of that despite. He laughs, and sings, and forgives, and loves despite everything.

You feel Bradley pull away from you finally and he keeps one hand holding you as the other comes to wipe his eyes. “God, I— I haven’t cried like that in a long time,” he tries to joke.

“I know,” you let your hand drop to his neck, letting your fingers trace the skin. “And I’m proud of you for that too.”

Bradley looks at you almost like he doesn’t believe you're real. His lips quirk up into a small smile. “How do you always know just what to say?”

“Copious amounts of therapy,” you shrug lightly, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

Bradley lets out a watery laugh. “Right, of course.”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “I think I knew that one day I was gonna fall in love with an emotionally unavailable man who uses facial hair maintenance as a coping skill and that I needed to be prepared.”

“Oh, is that what you were doing while I was being an angsty teen?”

“Well, actually, when you were a teen, I think I was, like, learning what colors were, but— Teddy!” You let out a shriek when Bradley suddenly throws you over his shoulder.

You cling to the fabric of his shirt, resigning to the position as Bradley carries you into your bedroom. He drops you on the mattress with a teasing lack of care, but you can’t find it in yourself to so much as glare at him. Because when you look up, he’s staring at you with soft eyes.

“Thank you.” And you don’t entirely know what he’s thanking you for, but you know that he doesn’t have to, that you’d do it for him a thousand times and more.

You open your arms up for him and Bradley settles between them, laying on your chest as you weave your fingers through his hair. You like being in bed with Bradley, there’s something about it that feels like problems can’t touch you there. Both you and Bradley do your best to never go to bed angry, to never taint the little sanctuary you’ve found between cotton sheets and bodies only capable of love.

“Hey, Teddy?”

Bradley’s grip tightens around your waist. “Yeah, honey?”

“You know you’re my favorite person, right?” It comes out soft—vulnerable.

Bradley’s quiet for a moment, and then, “Yeah, honey.”

“And you know that I love you, right?” You swallow, keeping your gaze trained on your fingers that are lost in his caramel locks.

“Yeah, honey.”

“Good, because I do. So much.” your voice wavers as your hands tighten some in his hair. It’s silent for a moment and then you wet your lips. “Did you ever read The Little Prince as a kid?”

Bradley shakes his head against your collar bone.

“Well, in it, there’s this fox and he tells the Little Prince that the only way he’ll understand the fox and be the fox’s friend is if he tames him. And once the Little Prince tames him, they’ll need each other and be unique in all the world. But, he tells the Little Prince, that the thing everyone forgets is that you become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed—”

Bradley’s lashes brush against your skin and you know his eyes are closed.

“—As a kid, I remember thinking that forever seemed like a really long time to be responsible for something and so that must mean you really have to love that something if you’re going to tame it,” you pause, scratching Bradley’s scalp gently. “I think I knew from the minute I heard you laugh that you’d be unique in all the world to me.”

It takes a minute for you to get a reply, for a second you think he might have fallen asleep, exhausted from all the emotions that had cycled through him. But then his voice comes out hoarse, “Can you say it again?”

“You’re unique in all the world to me, Bradley Bradshaw,” you whisper against his temple.

You feel feather light kisses on your clavicle, his weight on you heavy and familiar as his lips move against your skin. “You’re unique in all the world to me,” he whispers back.

And you don’t quite fix everything, or make it go away. But to Bradley, you do something better. You love him despite. And you know that he loves you despite too.

I don’t have a taglist but feel free to follow my library @jupitercometgold​​ if you want to be notified when I post

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster imagine #rooster imagines #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #rooster angst #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #i ain't worried 'bout it #buggy's got a pen

[lovebugism]

omg i can't remember if i ever placed a request for your summer fic fest or not so i'm placing this one just in case! if i did, feel free to write whichever you like better 🫶🏻

could you do "it's nine in the morning, are you seriously already in swimming trunks?" from this prompt list with dad!steve? 💗

hope you're well, love you 🫶🏻💗✨️

hi angel! thanks for your request!! hope you like it!! — the one where you and steve spend a chaotic morning with your baby girls (dad!steve, fluff, 3.1k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Little Ava wakes you up at seven o’clock on the dot.

Well, that isn’t exactly true. You were already awake by then. You and Steve are up with the sun most mornings, especially after baby number two. 

The early mornings are the only ones you get alone together. Your days are often too full of babies and toddlers — or rather, baby and toddler. Most of the time, you’re so exhausted by the end of the day that bedtime for both your girls is bedtime for the both of you, too.

But Steve usually has the hardest time going to sleep, which means he has a harder time waking up than you do — which also means you don’t get as much time together as you’d like. He’s developed a complex about the whole thing that you’ve tried hopelessly to squash.

He wakes up about fifteen minutes after you do, with a hearty groan and gentle stretch. The mattress shifts under his weight when he rolls over to curl into your back. With one arm curled beneath his head and the other thrown round your stomach, he presses you into his warmth and melts with you.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he grouses drowsily into your neck, in between the little kisses he presses up and down the skin there.

You fight back a shiver when his plush pink lips dot behind the shell of your ear. 

“‘Cause you were sleeping,” you reply with a gentle laugh. You press your smile into your pillow when his mouth brushes along a tendon on your neck and lingers there. The answer is obvious to you, but you get what he means. “You’ve been crazy exhausted recently. I thought we could just sleep in.”

“But now we only have, like, eight minutes minutes to ourselves,” he whines.

You laugh at his early morning dramatics, a soft giggle weighed down by fatigue, though you’re just as grieved by it as he is. “Well, a lot can happen in fifteen minutes, Harrington,” you tease in a low lilt.

You feel his chuckle rumble in his bare chest, pressed so intently against your back. His smile curls along your neck, shaking breaths warm as they fan along your skin. “Yeah. I think Nellie was conceived in about two.”

Nellie — sweet, sassy Eleanor — was your oldest. The best newborn in the history of the whole world. She never really cried like most babies, just fussed to herself until she got what she wanted. She was quiet and curious and independent. She went down for naps like it was nothing, often asking when bedtime was coming when she was old enough to form halfway intelligible sentences.

Ava wasn’t nearly as easy, but you and Steve weren’t exactly new at the whole parenting thing by the time she came around. Nell was almost three when you found out you were pregnant, and the two of you had had a world of practice by then. 

She was the best big sister and Steve was the best father. 

They made navigating motherhood much, much easier on you.

“Give yourself a little credit, c’mon,” you smirk, twisting on the mattress until you’re lying on your back. Your tired, mischievously twinkling eyes meet Steve’s honeyed ones — swollen with sleep and sparkling just the same. “It was at least three.”

“Those were the days, huh?” he wonders in a whimsical sigh. 

A soft smile breaks out on his puffy cheeks, sprinkled with chestnut hair. He hasn’t shaven in a few days, too busy chasing after his girls to tend to himself as much as he used to. You like him best like this, with wild hair and a scruffy face. He looks more like home this way.

Your hand reaches for his cheek before you realize it. You scratch softly at his prickly facial hair, an electric touch that makes him sigh in contentment.

“The days we could fuck without having to put babies to sleep first?” you joke.

“Yeah. Or having to, like, lock the door. Or make a schedule.”

A fond smile tugs at your lips. You shake your head at the man leaning above you, brows raised as you smirk at him. “You wanted this, Stevie…”

“And I wouldn’t change it for the goddamn world,” he replies without missing a beat, fatigued features glowing with sincerity. “I love our girls— I love being a daddy.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re so good at it.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugs with a lopsided smile. He’s not exactly being humble about it, but you figure the world’s best father shouldn’t have to be. “I had a lot of practice…”

Your brows pinch together. “With Nell?” you wonder with a distant smile. A chuckle spills from them right after. “She was an accident— there was no practice to have.”

Perhaps calling her an accident wasn’t the best turn of phrase. It was more so a depiction of your and Steve’s carelessness — the utter lack of planning on your part after having your life laid out since you were twelve. You much rather preferred to call her a surprise. It sounded a lot more poetic that way.

“Well… Before Nell,” Steve teases lowly.

Your face twists further in confusion, then grows lax with realization. 

Only halfway unamused with his crude joke, your arm darts out to swat at him. His bubbly, fatigued laughter fills the bedroom. It’s as golden as the sunshine peeking through the curtains.

“Steve. Harrington,” you bite like a scolding parent.

“Sorry,” he hums with an inflection that sounds less than sincere. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re incorrigible…”

His smile widens. His twinkling eyes dart between your own. “You love me, though.”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “I guess so.”

He’s beaming down at you before he knows he’s doing it. 

Nell took after him in a lot of ways — the hair, the nose, the eyes. You complained about the likelihood of having more children that didn’t look a thing the person they came from until Ava was born. She was pretty much a mini version of you. You don’t realize just how much of your personality Nellie has, though.

Every day, you’re more and more surprised by her sass — like she didn’t get all of it from you.

Steve’s eyes dart past you to the alarm clock on your nightstand. His bushy brows raise when he turns back to you. “We’ve got, like, five minutes before Ave wakes up… Wanna try for baby number three?”

“We talked about this, Harrington,” you reply, firm in your refusal despite how desperately you ache to be touched by him. “We decided to wait until she’s at least two.”

The agreement was that your youngest be potty trained before you even thought about having another kid. Other than Nellie being the easiest baby in the world, her being established in toddlerhood made kid number two much easier on you and Steve. He’s often too jaded by baby fever to care about that kind of logic, though.

Steve’s brows scrunch in contempt at your rejection. His pout looks too much like Nell’s. “But that’s so far away,” he whines.

“Babe,” you hum sympathetically. “She was born last week, and now she’s almost one. It’s not as far away as you think.”

“Yeah. Maybe don’t remind me,” he mumbles, growing suddenly soft. “It’s too early to cry.”

A baby’s whine crackles through the monitor on your nightstand, then. 

Too early to cry, indeed.

Ava was ten months old now. You’re not entirely sure where the time went. She sleeps through the night for the most part now. She doesn’t need a feeding in the latest hours of the night anymore, either. And even though she keeps on growing — far too fast for your liking — she’s never been able to shake those early mornings.

Your baby wakes up at seven o’clock sharp. Every morning. Like clockwork.

She’s got her mother’s knack for routine, it seems. 

You and Steve share a similar look. “You wanna get her, or should I?” he asks.

It was hardly a bargaining tactic. It never was, actually. Steve would get out of bed to do every feeding and midnight changing if you let him. You gave him two of the best girls in the entire world — as far as he was concerned, you did everything you needed to.

You humored him for a while. Childbirth was hard on you, as it would be for anyone. It was easier to let Steve take care of you and your girls than it was to fight him about who had to go warm up a bottle. Now, though, you’re more apt to protest.

“I’ll get her,” you answer with a huff, already climbing out of bed before he can argue.

Steve watches, still propped up on his elbow, while you flit around the bedroom. It wasn’t clean by any means, but rather dreadfully lived in — with all the trappings of two parents trying desperately to take care of two rambunctious little girls.

There were piles of clothes on the floor, some clean and needing to be folded and others dirty and needing to be washed. Nellie’s blankets and stuffed animals peek out from every crevice, as though playing hide and seek with you. A few of Ava’s brightly colored toys litter the ground too, but your backs’ ache too much to bend down to pick them up.

Despite the nagging mess, Steve can’t take his eyes off of you — his wife, the mother of his kids. You wear a loose-fitting tank top littered with milk stains and a pair of cotton underwear, a sight hotter than any expensive lingerie you could wear for him.

You still carry the weight — the stretch marks and the pudge. The softness of motherhood contrasts heavily with the scars from the life before it.

You’ve traded monster hunting for parenthood, and even though both look equally perfect on you, he’d be lying if he said you weren’t the hottest damn mom on the planet.

“I’ll probably take her to the grocery store or something while you get Nellie up,” you tell him, rifling through the drawers for a pair of bottoms. You reach for sweatpants and tug them over your full hips. “We’re low on diapers and those puffs Ave likes— you want anything?”

“Nothing other than my best girls to get back home, no,” Steve shakes his head with a rosy, sincere smile.

Despite the swelling in your chest, your eyes narrow in response. “You’re such a cheeseball…”

“And you’re the one who married the cheese ball, so who’s really the weirdo here?”

Your head tilts to your shoulder. With a fond smile on your mouth you don’t even know is there, you answer, “It’s always gonna be you, Steve Harrington.”

—————

Girlhood isn’t so different from motherhood. 

The majority of it is spent with your hands full in the most literal sense — carrying everything you own because your jeans have fake pockets (which you never did quite understand).  It’s a superpower of sorts, strong palms and dexterous fingers that can hold just about anything.

It’s why you halfway effortlessly carry Ava in one arm and three bags of groceries in the other. And she’s a chubby little baby, with the chunkiest cheeks and legs and stomach. You’re honestly a little proud of yourself.

You and Ava share similar smiles as you walk into the living room. Hers is a drool-slick, toothless one, though her bottom front teeth are slowly growing in. 

She giggles throughout your halfway intelligible conversation — coos of “who’s the sweetest baby in the whole wide world?” and “you’re so cute, when’d you get so cute?”

Honestly, you can hardly understand yourself, but she seems to get you, anyway.

Similarly, your Stevie and the tinier version of him sit together in the kitchen. Nellie’s got his honeyed locks and his structured nose that scrunches every time she smiles. 

She sits on the counter in her sparkling mermaid bathing suit, a one-piece number with rainbow scales and a frilly teal skirt. Steve stands in front of her in his own swim trunks and fitted t-shirt, cutting into a plate of pancakes which he feeds most delicately to his baby girl.

“What are you guys wearing?” you exclaim in the place of any actual greeting.

Nellie beams when she realizes you’re home again. “Bathing suits! Duh!” she answers, sounding too much like you.

You situate Ava on your hip as you gingerly sit down the plastic bags of groceries — diapers, formula, a few snacks, and a bathing suit for Nell because you just couldn’t resist. She’s been living in the pool since she stopped being scared of it this summer. Which also means you’ve been absolutely terrified all season long.

“It’s nine in the morning,” you scold lightheartedly, an adoring smile on your mouth. “The water’s probably freezing cold, Nellie— you’ll turn into a little ice cube!”

“I checked. It’s alright,” Steve tells you, quelling the worry you cover up with a joke. 

Of course, behind Nell’s overhasty excitement, is her daredevil of a father backing her up. 

His mouth parts absentmindedly as he feeds Nell another bite of pancakes. He sets the syrupy plate down and reaches for the cooled-off stack by the stove. He rips off a chewable piece for Ava and holds it out to her when you walk further into the kitchen.

“Here you go, babe. You love Dada’s pancakes, don’t you?” Steve asks his littlest girl, eyes sparkling as he smiles down at her.

Ava babbles as she smiles a toothless grin up at him. “Dada, Dada, Dada,” she blathers. That was a newish word for her these days, after spending so many months only saying Mama. You figured you were owed that much. The only word Nell liked to say for ages was daddy.

The baby on our hip takes the tiny piece of pancake from Steve. She grips it in her tiny baby fist, squealing softly in excitement and waving it in her hand.

“Little Aba wants to swim, too,” Nellie singsongs, kicking her tiny legs on the countertop. She had a hard time saying her V’s when her little sister was born. She knows the difference now, you think, but the nickname seemingly stuck.

“No, she does not,” you retort with wide eyes and a loud laugh. Your eyes squint like Ava’s when you giggle and turn down to look at her. “Do you, Aba? You’re too tiny to swim, huh?”

“Can we swim, Mommy?” Nell pleads, blinking up at you with wide, honey eyes.

You could never say no to Steve when he looked at you like that. It’s exponentially harder when it’s a tinier version of him doing it.

“Pleeeaaase,” she drawls.

“Did you eat your breakfast?” you interrogate half-heartedly as you bounce Ava on your hip. Your eyes narrow playfully at her because you can see the empty plate beside her.

She nods enthusiastically, wild waves of pulled-back hair swaying behind her. “Uh-huh.”

“And drink all your juice?”

“Two cups!” she exclaims with pride. Her little fingers struggle to curl as she holds up the number to you.

Your chest deflates with a teasing huff. “Fine. You can swim now, but you have to get out at lunchtime, okay? No arguing!”

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Nellie shouts as she descends from the countertop.

She doesn’t need Steve’s help like she used to, having seemingly possessed his athleticism in the last couple months. Her bare feet pad against the kitchen tile as she rushes for the backdoor. 

“Wait for me to come outside before you get in!” Steve calls to her as she slides it open.

“Okay!” she promises, already outside in the blink of an eye.

She closes the door shut again despite the strength it takes with her tiny arms. Through the door and the wide windows, you and Steve watch to make sure she doesn’t do anything rash. Your sweet, sassy Eleanor listens to her father — staying under the shaded patio and rummaging through the chest for her pool floats and toys.

Your wide, worried eyes flit to Steve as you shake your head at him. “She’s as relentless as you are sometimes, you know that?”

“Hey. You’re the one that said she had my looks,” the man dismisses with a grin. “That means she has your personality, babe.”

“Shut up,” you grumble with a smile as you pass Ava into the arms aching to hold her. 

Steve gasps with a gaping gaze as he sits her squarely between his forearm and bicep. “Did you hear that? That was so mean, wasn’t it, Aba? Your mommy used to be so nice to daddy…”

“Don’t lie to them like that,” you tease, reaching out a hand to wipe the pancake crumbs from the side of the girl’s chubby cheeks. She continues to gnaw at the cold breakfast in her fist. “Now, go watch your daughter before she implodes from excitement.”

She’s still under the patio, clutching about five mermaid dolls in her arms in anticipation of her father’s arrival.

“Go get your bathing suit on, Mama,” Steve instructs with a pink smirk on his scruffy face.

“I am not swimming. It’s way too cold. Me and Ava will happily watch from the sidelines,” you reject the man in front of you, then smile at the baby in his arms. “Won’t we, Aba?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t care. Just sit out there and look pretty for me, yeah?”

He leans down to smack a kiss on your cheek. With the hand not holding his daughter, he swats the side of your thigh — mere inches from your ass.

It’s nothing more than a swift pat over the leggings you’d changed into after a quick shower. A colliding of his palm with your skin and then a leaving. It’s only halfway innocuous, though.

It’s one of those swift touches you’re forced to share throughout the day because you’ve always got a toddler to watch and a baby to hold. It’s a god, I wish I could touch you more than this, but I have to make sure our oldest doesn’t drown.

Steve chuckles at your gaping. He flashes you a sunshine smile, twinkling with mischief as he heads out behind Nellie. He stands in his flip-flops on the patio with Ava on his hip and gives the go-ahead for the tinier version of him to get in the pool.

The feeling of his palm still lingers on your skin. It’s not a stinging, exactly, but a tingling of your need for him. 

Maybe baby number three isn’t as far away as you think.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #bug's summer fic fest!

[kyupidos]

08/28/23’s delivery 🏹✉️ twisted wonderland

and if a double decker busヽ( ･∀･)ﾉ_θ彡☆Σ(ノ `Д´)ノ,ヽ( ･∀･)ﾉ_θ彡☆Σ(ノ `Д´)ノ ;; summary. ‘the unconscious things they do when they’re in love with you.’

characters. heartslabyul , scarabia , pomefiore : riddle rosehearts , jamil viper , vil schoenheit ( separate ) ;; romantic . 🖇️ tags. reader is gender neutral ( you/your ), reader may or may not be yuu ( up to the reader ), romantic fluff

📡 _a/n. been listening to ‘there is a light that never goes out’ on repeat lately, so i did what i had to and themed a post around it !! riddle jamil and vil came to mind first to this song so i chose them <3

r. rosehearts

— more lenient on you, and doesn’t riddle doesn’t even realize it until he overhears ace whisper complaining about it— and whispering terribly, might he add. but that no longer matters, because right now the heat is rising to his face as he realizes that unfortunately enough, ace is absolutely correct. but even despite having this sudden acknowledgment, he just can’t bring himself to be stricter with you as he is with the others. he always ends up making an exception, just for you.

— as you spend more time together, he ends up subtly mimicking the way you express yourself, as well. not exactly so, but every now and then he comes to the realization that he is. let’s say if you tap your feet when you’re excited, you might hear the light clacking of riddle’s heels when everything goes well and accordingly to the queen of heart’s rules, for once. it’s very little, but it means a lot to him. after all, isn’t it a common saying that lovers mirror each other?

j. viper

— of course, jamil always ends up packing an extra box lunch for you, even though he doesn’t particularly mean to. he just happened to be thinking about your well-being, if you’d eaten yet that day, and with his overthinking; well, there sat a lovely little mini meal right there for you. and it wasn’t like he could waste it or anything— so, he ended up giving it to you. under the pretext of predating, he’d probably try to come up with some sort of excuse. sometimes it’s believable, and sometimes it’s quite obvious that he just wanted to give you a little something.

— though whether you’re dating or not, every now and then jamil’s mind will randomly wander to the idea of phsyical intimacy with you, and he always ends up flustered when he catches himself. he daydreams about things like kissing your cheek and vice versa, hand holding, leaning on each other’s shoulders, and he even daydreams about giving you a kiss on the lips if he’s feeling ‘scandalous’. and when you do interact and you act out those little fantasies of his, he can only hide his face with his hood and be flustered even more.

v. schoenheit

— it’s nothing much really— at least for him—, but vil tends to accidentally prepare a matching outfit for you when he’s getting ready for the day, or going to an outing. half of the time you’re not even going to said place with him, it’s just a little thing he does when he’s not being rushed on time. most of the time he doesn’t even realize it until he’s finished changing and he notices a similarly styled outfit on his best, the slight differences being more tailored to fit you. and yes, he has clothes that fit your style in his closet. who would he be if he didn’t have any sort of clothing his lover enjoyed wearing?

— speaking of the outings he goes on, if there are shops and souvenir shops ( let’s face it, why wouldn’t there be if it’s somewhere he’s going? ), then there’s a good chance he’s going to end up buying something he knows you’ll like. though he doesn’t even notice that he grabbed onto it until he gets to actually paying for the items—he looks at the items only to think, ‘what’s that doing there?’ only to remember that his last thought was ‘ah, they’d probably like that.’ and of course, he buys it anyway.

#🦢 swan signed ! #kyupidos #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twst x gender neutral reader #twst fluff #twst hcs #twst headcanons #heartslabyul #twst heartslabyul #book 1 #twst book 1 #scarabia #twst scarabia #book 4 #twst book 4 #pomefiore #twst pomefiore #book 5 #twst book 5 #riddle x reader #riddle x gn reader #jamil x reader #jamil x gn reader #vil x reader #vil x gn reader

[lucy90712]

hi love💃 could write something with Jude Bellingham x girlfriend reader where she's out with her girlfriends and jude see her in a instagramm story talking to some guy. And he's just jelous and angry and calls reader like 20 times and goes to the club to get reader

wc: 1.9k

Since getting back from uni I have been getting ready to go out with my friends for a girls night as we haven't been out in so long. All of us have been so busy recently that we haven't been able to get together but finally we all have one night free and I'm so excited to go out and enjoy the night with them. I also haven't been out in forever so I decided to put a bit extra effort in as I wanted to feel good about myself as although I know that the way I look doesn't mean everything it's still nice to look good and feel good about myself. For the occasion I got a new dress which I have really been looking forward to wearing so of course I had to put on some makeup and do my hair to go with it. Usually I dress more casually with less makeup on but every now and then I like to go all out just to show that I can look as good as all those models on Instagram that want to take my boyfriend from me. 

Just as I finished putting my makeup on the bedroom door opened to reveal Jude who had obviously just got home. He smiled at me so I got up to greet him but instead of giving me a hug and kissing me like he usually would I noticed him look me up and down and then meet my eyes with a look which only ever means one thing. To distract him I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading downstairs to grab my purse and shoes. Like clockwork Jude followed behind me like a shadow wanting me to give him a proper kiss and whining until I did so. 

"Where are you going looking so gorgeous?" He asked 

"I'm going out with my friends it's girls night remember which means that you can't come" I said 

"Thats a shame I was hoping to see more of you looking like that but have fun you deserve it" he said 

"You will see me later I don't plan to be out for too long" I said 

"It's ok go and enjoy yourself but remember if anything happens call me" he said before giving me one last kiss 

We said goodbye to each other as I left and got into the Uber that was waiting for me with all of my friends in it. Right away they gave me loads of compliments on my outfit and makeup which made me feel even better about myself than I did before. Until we got to the club we were all catching up on what has happened since we last saw each other which was a lot as between us we live pretty crazy lives. When we got to the club we split up with a few of us going to get drinks while the rest found somewhere to sit for a while. As we walked through the crowd I could feel eyes on me but it's something I've grown quite used to as people often like to take pictures or judge me wherever I go because of Jude. This time it did feel a little different though and I found myself pulling my dress down and covering my chest to draw less attention to myself. 

Somehow after a while I ended up alone with some of my friends at the bar others in the bathroom and some on the dance floor. Usually I'm ok on my own but this time as soon as I was left alone a guy came over to try and talk to me but he left after I completely ignored him. A few more tried it before some of my friends came back which is when I was left alone or at least the attempts to flirt were less obvious. I have been in situations like these before but Jude has always been there to either tell these guys to stop or show them that I'm not single but this time I have to figure our what to do on my own. 

I still wanted to enjoy my night so I chose not to let a bunch of drunk guys ruin it and got up to dance for a bit. Dancing isn't really my thing but when I'm out with friends I have learnt to forget about what I look like and just have fun. That's exactly what I was doing finally letting go of the stress I have been carry for the last few weeks and completely forgetting that anyone else was in the room until I felt a hand on my waist. When I turned around there was a guy stood behind me trying to get me to dance with him so I politely told him I didn't want to dance with him but he wasn't happy with that and insisted on talking to me in the middle of the dance floor. 

Jude's POV

Sitting alone at home with a movie on was incredibly boring it would be made so much better if y/n was here but she's out with her friends having fun. She's been so busy recently that she definitely needed a night with her friends to just relax as I know she has been super stressed but that doesn't mean I don't miss her company. It doesn't help that she looked so beautiful when she left I just wanted to stare at her forever but I had to let her go and just hope that there aren't too many other guys staring at her tonight. 

The movie was so boring that I picked my phone up out of habit to look at anything else going on. I was scrolling through my instagram and skipping through peoples stories until y/n's friends story popped up which I paid more attention to so I could see what they were doing. There was a few stories of them all dancing and having fun but it was the last one that caught my attention the most. It showed all of her friends dancing with y/n in the background talking to a guy who I could tell was into her from just the story. Seeing that made me feel really jealous as even though I completely trust y/n and know she wouldn’t cheat or even entertain the idea of another guy this guy was with her and I wasn't. He was getting to see her look so pretty while I was just at home which annoyed me and I couldn't stop myself from texting her just to check she was ok. 

I sent a couple of texts to her which went unread so I called her a few times instead but she didn't pick up and they all went to her voicemail. I wanted to just forget about it and let her have fun but I had a nagging feeling in my mind that I needed to go and make sure she was ok. My mind was at war with itself as on one hand I wanted to go and make sure y/n was ok but on the other hand I know I need to let her have fun and that she can handle herself if she needed to. After going back and forth for a while I decided that I couldn't just sit there incase she was out wishing I was there to help her. I decided that I would go and check on her and if she was fine I would just leave and wait for her to come home. 

Once I had decided I was going I wasted no time in heading upstairs to change and then grabbing my keys to get in the car. The drive to the club wasn't that long especially when you go a bit over the speed limit. As soon as I got there I parked the car in record time before jumping out and heading straight into the club ignoring anyone who recognised me and wanted to talk. Like every club there was loads of people in there but I fought my way through and found y/n stood to the side with some guy. I couldn't see his face but I could see hers and from a mile away you could tell she was uncomfortable which just made me angry as this guy clearly had no respect for her. 

Your POV

Any shred of enjoyment at being out with my friends was gone by this point as I never got any time alone with them every two seconds a different guy was trying to flirt with me and it was getting annoying. After a while I stopped responding at all and just stood there wishing Jude was here as he would put them in their place as these guys might actually listen to him. This one guy that had been pretty persistent all night was stood probably trying to flirt with me but I wasn't listening I was just thinking about finally getting out of here and going home. As I was plotting my escape I saw Jude walking towards me and to start with I thought I was seeing things but as he got closer I realised he was actually here and I can't lie I was happy that he had crashed girls night. He came right over to me and put his arm around my waist to pull me into his side. He was staring down the guy in front of me and if looks could kill the guy would definitely be dead.

"Hey baby who is this?" Jude asked 

"I don't know he just came over to talk me" I said 

"I think the better question is who are you?" The guy asked 

"I'm her boyfriend not that it should matter as she clearly didn't want to talk to you and you just couldn't get the hint" Jude said 

"How about we go and have some fun now that you are here" I suggested to get us both out of this situation 

Jude followed me away from the guy but instead of actually going to the dance floor I headed for the exit while texting my friends to let them know I was leaving. As we left he still had a tight grip on my hand which he was holding and I could tell he was tense so I tired to reassure him without actually saying anything. He led me to his car which wasn't parked too far from the club and we started driving back home in an uncomfortable silence. 

"Is everything ok Jude?" I asked 

"Everything's fine it's just I saw that guy with you in your friends story and I couldn't help but get jealous as you looked so good when you left that I didn't want other guys getting to stare at my girlfriend" he admitted 

"Oh Jude you know that I don't care about any other guy so what if they stare at me I still come home to you everyday" I said 

"And I'm the only one that gets to see you without that dress" he added 

"See that's a better attitude" I laughed 

After that Jude seemed happier and when we got home he carried me straight upstairs but instead of doing what I thought he would he helped me do my usual routine and then we got into bed to just cuddle. He held me tightly and just whispered how much he loved me in my ear until I fell asleep. 

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagines