Peachy Satan

Sad Slut 25

[lovertate]

my insomnia has been bad lately. enjoy this self indulgent blurb <3

husband!simon “ghost” riley x partner!reader (no gendered terms used, so gender neutral reader)

cw: none. fluffy cuddling <3

you haven’t slept for more than 6 hours total in the past 3 days. not from lack of trying. sleep was just avoiding you, for some unknown reason. you’d lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while simon snored softly next to you.

you are jealous of the man, who seemingly falls asleep about 5 minutes after closing his eyes each night. meanwhile, you’re tossing and turning, trying your damndest to close your eyes and just sleep, but somehow your eyes would just open on their own.

you know it’s bad. unhealthy, even. your brain needs to rest to function properly, and you’re starting to feel the effects of little sleep more and more.

you huff slightly, throwing a leg out from under the covers, before deciding its too cold for that after a few seconds. you try laying on your side. but pretty soon your arm falls asleep and becomes unbearably uncomfortable to lay on.

it’s not like you’re stressed about anything. or nervous. you’re content. happy, even. your husband is home, keeping you safe.

you just can’t fall asleep.

as you flop onto your back, simon rolls onto his side to face you.

“love,” he mumbles in that half asleep way that makes you feel bad for moving around so much and waking him up.

“sorry, si,” you whisper.

“c’mere,” he hums. his arm slinks around your waist and pulls you into his chest. you tuck your head under his chin, inhaling a mixture of him and his body wash deeply. he tightens his grip, then rolls onto his back, pulling you to lay fully on top of him with your cheek pressed into his bare chest.

you wiggle in his grip slightly. readjusting yourself to get more comfortable. after a few seconds, his arms tighten around you.

“quit movin’ s’much.”

you still. his hands pull at the shirt you stole from his side of the closet, lifting it until your back is exposed. slowly, he rakes his nails down your back. then back up. it sends a small chill through your body, but it feels so good. you can feel yourself relaxing into him at each pass. his heartbeat thrums steadily in your ear. your eyelids start to feel heavy.

“that’s it,” simon says lowly.

he rests a hand on your head, the other rubbing gentle circles into the center of your back.

pretty quickly, you’ve dozed off. with your mouth slightly parted, and little breaths fanning simon’s chest.

he slows his hand, but keeps rubbing gentle circles into your skin. his eyes close. he won’t be able to fall back asleep like this, but he doesn’t care.

yea, i imagine ghost can fall asleep pretty quickly when he wants to…

[liberalsarecool]

Conservative men are addicted to sexism and rape culture.

[mayanneaa]

his girl - ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ.

PAIRING : soft!rafe cameron x reader

SUMMARY : after a tiring party, rafe helps you get ready for bed.

WARNING(S) : none! pure fluff hehe

A/N : short n’ sweet. haha get it?????? (divider by @roseraris )

WC : 0.4k

masterlist.

It’s surely past two in the morning when you finally get into your room, struggling to keep your eyes open.

You agreed to go to a Kook party with Rafe, as Topper and Kelce had to beg him to go out. He spent most of his time with you, even just being in the same room felt enough for him.

At first, it wasn’t that bad. You had a few drinks, nothing crazy. But the music got louder, Rafe’s friends more annoying than usually and you knew it was time to go home.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, Rafe following you close behind. You groan as you bend to unbuckle your heels, but feel his strong hand on your leg.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” he whispers, taking care of the shoes. He easily pulls the clasps and slides them off your feet.

You send him a soft smile, leaning in to leave a kiss on his cheek.

“Get up, baby.” he commands and chuckles when you pout. “We’ll get you ready for sleep, ‘kay?”

You sigh and stumble onto your feet. He keeps his hand on your waist as he’s leading you to the bathroom. You climb up on the counter as he gets to work. Rafe takes a cotton pad with some micellar water and gently rubs your eye, taking off the mascara you’ve put on before leaving.

You feel his warm breath fanning your face as he focuses on getting everything off. When you open your eyes, you see him with his brows knit together and tongue slightly out, and you can’t help but giggle.

“What? Can’t a good boyfriend help his girl out?”

You nod, a sleepy smile plastered to your face. When he’s finally done, you brush your teeth and take a quick shower while Rafe gets your pajamas for you.

When he comes back he waits for you change, of course not without staring at you for the whole time. You feel your cheeks flush, and everything you want right now is to just lay down with him, finally getting a peaceful moment.

“Are you ready?” he asks, but you’re already making your way to the bed.

You jump on it with all the energy you have left, eyes closing almost immediately after you lay your head on your soft pillow. The mattress bends under Rafe’s weight, and you feel his arms wrap around you. He buries his face into your neck, leaving a few kisses.

“Thank you,” you whisper in the silence, “For being here, y’know.”

His cheeks turn a delicate shade of pink, and he can’t help but smile. “Everything for my girl. Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, Rafe.”

[juliennevalery]

Thinking bout Simon's truck being so big he has to lift you up by the waist to get you inside every time. The thing is, you can't even reach the fucking handle, so you don't bother trying to get in anymore after failing miserably a couple of times. His Ford's just impossible to get into gracefully.

So, you simply wait by the door, standing there pretty and patient until he's towering behind you, and you feel the warmth of his tattooed arms effortlessly scooping you up to sit your ass on the seat.

It's actually funny because you're perfectly capable of getting in yourself, but over time you started doing it on purpose. He'd never tell you that, but he knows it too. The way your face lights up every damn time you wait for him gives you away immediately. Still, he'd never dare ruin your little game.

"Si, come pick me up, please?"

You stood in front of the monster he drove until you heard the door to your house click shut and his heavy boots against the driveway.

You didn't even bother to turn around. The low, amused huff that left Simon told you everything you needed to know.

The car unlocked with a click.

"Y'know," he drawled, coming to a stop behind you, "for someone who runs their mouth as much as you do, you're awful helpless, love."

A grin tugged at your lips as you felt his hands settle on your hips, giving them a light squeeze.

"Mhm."

He snorted.

"Such a fuckin' brat."

One second your feet were planted firmly on the ground; the next, they were kicking in the air as he hauled you up against his warm chest. A squeal escaped you before you could stop it.

"Simon!" You grabbed onto his forearms.

"What?" His voice was full of that stupid satisfaction he got whenever he managed to get a reaction out of you. "Thought you wanted me to help." He murmured close to your ear, sending shivers through your body.

You loved how easy he made it look and hated how your stomach flipped every time.

But fuck, what you loved most was being manhandled by him.

By the time he set you down on the passenger seat, your face was all warm.

His hand lingered on your thigh for a second longer before he stepped back.

You narrowed your eyes. Simon looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"Creep."

"Got in the truck, didn't ya?"

You pouted.

"Buckle your seatbelt!" Simon barked out a laugh and shut the door.

"You fuckin' buckle my ass," you huffed under your breath.

The driver's side door opened.

"Did ya say something?"

"Love you, Si!"

[livfastdieyoung69]

I just read your frank fic with spoiled reader and I loved it!

Can I request Frank with spoiled reader but instead she’s really sweet? Like the whole “spoiled but never rotten” thing?

grrrr i love him!! i love writing 4 this fine ass man so much i truly am still single cuz i just look at a man and go….but he’s not jon bernthal!!

Frank Castle who spoils his sweet girl to no end

Frank takes offense when people call you spoiled. You aren’t, he’ll argue, it’s what a good woman like yourself deserves. He hates it even more when you’re the one to say so.

He’ll bring you flowers home, smiling to himself just at the thought of your face brightening from such a small thing before he can round the corner to where you eat a snack in the kitchen.

“Frank?” You call out, hearing the door shut and the sound of his big boots being torn off. He puts them on the rack, because you asked once after he accidentally left them on the floor, and you’ve never had to ask him the same thing twice. The loose hinged cabinet? Tightened right up. The painting you wanted hung up? On the wall when you come back home from work. The laundry needs to be switched over and you have to leave? He’s got a timer on his phone.

But you aren’t spoiled, he claims, while he ties your shoes because you asked so nicely gleaming up at him with those sweet eyes. You didn’t want to bend over, how could he say no to his sweet baby? He just knows how to treat a woman right, and you say please and thank you all nice. He gets kisses on the cheek, too, often accompanied by a drawn out hug where you wrap yourself around him as tightly as possible.

“Yeah, s’me, baby,” He finally turns into the kitchen with a grin over his face, finding you sitting on the counter attempting to peel an orange. You see the flowers in his hand and your head falls back against the cabinet he fixed last week.

“Frank,” You scold softly, like there isn’t a grin growing on your face to match his. You take the flowers from him when he’s close enough, tilting forward into him. “Thank you.”

See. Not spoiled. A spoiled girl wouldn’t say thank you, especially not like that. Like it’s the nicest thing in the world, a fifteen buck bouquet of flowers from the grocery store.

“S’nothing,” Frank kisses your head, smiling down at you before letting his hand tangle over yours at the stems of the flowers. “Here, lemme see,”

You let him take them with no hesitation and then watch as he ducks to get one of the vases you keep under the counter.

“Frank,” You try again when he starts to fill it with water.

“What, sweetheart?” It’s always sweetheart from Frank. Always. Since the first day you met him, blushing all pretty and apologizing so sweetly for bumping into the booth he sat in. He’d grinned up at you, placing his mug full of black coffee back down on the diners table. Don’t worry ‘bout it, sweetheart, he’d said, little thing like you not hurtin’ nothin’, and you’d only gotten more bashful.

“I can do that, y’know,” Your legs kick against the counter. Frank scoffs, like the idea is unimaginable while he places the filled vase next to you.

“You want me to bring my girl flowers home and make her do the work with ‘em? Kinda man you think I am?” He cuts the stems, sprinkles the weird powder stuff into the water and places them in the pretty vase, the one he brought home with the first bunch of flowers he’d ever gotten you. What if you didn’t have one already? He couldn’t bear the thought of you having to go buy something because of him, even if it’s because of a gift.

“Thank you, Frankie,” Your swinging legs reach out to tap his thighs. He grabs your feet, hands trailing from the pedicured toes he paid for (like he does every month) up to your thighs. “They’re beautiful.”

“Always, sweetheart.” Frank cups your face, kissing your forehead. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones before he lets go and takes the orange from your hands. “Lemme see that,”

“Frank!”

“What?” He’s peeling your fucking orange for you, and is offended that you think it’s ridiculous.

“This—“ You cut yourself off with a stammer. “You spoil me too much.”

Franks eyebrows furrow, head jerking back like you’d tried to reach out and slap him, and he’s immediately pouting at your words.

“Kinda nonsense you talking about? No I don’t.” He holds a slice up to your mouth. It had all of the gross stringy bits peeled away, because of course Frank knows you hate that part.

Your eyebrows raise as you give him your best oh-really-now look. Says the man who buys you flowers just because and fixes your appliances after one ask and feeds you oranges he already peeled and will be making you dinner in an hour. Says the man who lets you sleep in everyday and fills your gas tank and pays for your nails and hair appointments and the groceries and every dinner date. Says the man who ties your shoes and hangs your wall decor. Says the man who kisses the ground you walk on and draws a minimum of two orgasms from you daily.

“You ain’t spoiled,” He reiterates, raising his eyebrows right back until you take the slice into your mouth. “You’re loved.”

[clawxmoon]

── .✦ I'll warm you up

surviving cold winter cabin days with your husband frank!!

ᯓ tags │fluffy, established relationship, kissing│word count: 2.4k

a/n: I know summer JUST started but I already miss colder weather:(

rain taps softly against the cabin roof, against the windows, against the world outside, creating that peaceful sort of white noise that makes it impossible to know what time it is. the room is dim and gray, wrapped in the kind of soft rainy light that makes staying in bed feel less like laziness and more like a perfectly reasonable life decision.

under the blankets, everything is warm. your feet are tucked beneath the comforter, your head resting against frank's chest, one of his arms around your waist while the other is trapped somewhere beneath the pillow. at some point during the night you'd apparently stolen most of the blanket, because it's wrapped around you like a cocoon while only half covers him. somehow he doesn't seem to care.

you stir first, pressing your face deeper against his shirt for a moment before opening your eyes. frank is still asleep, or at least he looks asleep. his breathing is slow and even, his jaw relaxed in a way it rarely is when he's awake. outside, rain continues falling through the forest surrounding the cabin. the trees sway gently in the wind, their dark silhouettes visible through a gap in the curtains.

it's cold enough outside that the windows have started to fog slightly around the edges. meanwhile inside the bed feels impossibly warm. you shift your legs, searching for a more comfortable position, and accidentally brush against a colder spot in the sheets. immediately you pull back with a small shiver. the reaction is tiny, barely noticeable. unfortunately, frank notices everything. his eyes open immediately.

"cold?" he asks, voice rough from sleep.

you smile. "good morning to you too."

"you cold?"

"maybe a little."

his arm tightens around your waist before you've even finished speaking. then he shifts, pulling you closer until you're practically draped across him. one large hand slides slowly up and down your back through the fabric of your shirt, sharing warmth without even thinking about it. you feel his chin settle lightly on top of your head.

"c'mere," he murmurs. "lemme warm you up." there's something so simple and automatic about the way he says it that your chest immediately feels lighter. you tuck yourself closer against him and feel his arm tighten a little more.

"better?" he asks after a minute.

"a little," you admit.

"little?" he repeats skeptically. "a little aint enough."

"frank, i'm fine." you smile up at him and hide your face in his neck.

the rain continues outside while the room remains perfectly still. frank's fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm beneath the blanket, absentminded and comforting. eventually you glance up and discover he's looking at you. he kind of look that says he's checking whether you're comfortable. checking whether you're happy. checking whether you're still cold.

"what?" you ask.

"nothin'."

"you're staring."

"so what? can't stare at my girl anymore?" he lets out a sleepy huff that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh. then his gaze drifts toward the rain-covered windows. "don' wanna get up," he mutters.

you blink. "what?" he doesn't answer. "did frank castle just admit he doesn't want to get out of bed?"

now he looks annoyed. "don't start." frank simply pulls you back down onto his chest before you can continue arguing. "discussion over."

the rain grows heavier as the morning continues. every now and then water slides down the windows in long silver streaks. the cabin feels smaller in the best possible way. cozy. sheltered. hidden from the rest of the world. neither of you has checked your phone in hours. there's nowhere to be. nobody expecting anything.

just the two of you wrapped beneath warm blankets while the weather does whatever it wants outside. frank's hand remains settled against your back the entire time. whenever you shift away even slightly, he unconsciously follows.

when your feet brush against his legs, he immediately moves closer. at one point you try creating a little distance just to test something. less than thirty seconds later his arm automatically pulls you back.

"you know you're clingy, right?" you tell him.

he looks genuinely offended. "says the person usin' me as a pillow."

another long silence followed, the comfortable kind. the kind married couples have after years together where neither person feels pressure to fill every second with conversation. rain taps against the roof. the blankets are warm. frank's fingers lazily trace circles against your shoulder while your eyes drift toward closing again.

every so often one of you says something random. comments on the weather. wonders whether there's enough coffee downstairs. debates whether breakfast counts as brunch if neither of you gets out of bed before ten. the conversation goes nowhere and somehow that makes it perfect.

you leaned in for a kiss slowly, hesitantly, like you weren’t sure if frank would even allow it. but the second your lips touched his - soft and chaste, the air between you shifted.

frank didn’t hesitate for long. within a breath, he deepened it, tilting his head just slightly to angle better and pressing back. his large hands slid from your cheeks down to cradle the sides of your neck.

his lips moved against yours with tenderness. each press was deliberate, a soft parting of mouths before meeting again deeper this time, testing how far you’d let him go.

the kiss lingered - long, peaceful and unhurried. frank’s mouth stayed warm and patient against yours. frank shifted carefully beneath you, not pushing you down or pulling you closer too fast, but simply adjusting so he could hold your body better.

his right arm slid around your shoulders while his left hand came up to rest low on your back, palm flat between your shoulder blades, cradling every curve gently as if afraid of breaking something precious.

eventually you tilt your head up and find frank already looking at you again. this time neither of you says anything. he simply brushes a strand of hair away from your face before pulling the blanket a little higher around your shoulders.

"there," he mutters.

"frank, I'm not cold anymore."

his expression softens slightly. just enough for you to notice.

eventually, despite neither of you wanting to move, the promise of coffee becomes impossible to ignore. it starts with frank glancing toward the bedroom door, then toward the window, then back at you as though calculating whether staying in bed is worth the caffeine deprivation.

judging by the reluctant look on his face, the answer is very nearly yes. unfortunately, you know him well enough to recognize the exact moment he gives in.

"okay, let's go, c'mon" he lets out a long sigh, the kind that sounds personally offended by the existence of responsibilities, and carefully shifts upright.

cold air immediately slips beneath the blankets, making you pull the comforter tighter around yourself. before standing, frank pauses long enough to tug the blanket around your shoulders, making sure it's wrapped securely despite the fact that you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself.

when you point this out, he simply ignores you. his hand briefly squeezes your shoulder as he climbs out of bed, and for a moment you find yourself watching him move around the room while snow continues drifting outside the window.

the cabin feels warm and cozy, the kind of place that encourages people to move slowly. sunlight filters through the clouds in pale silver beams, catching on the snow-covered branches outside. everything feels peaceful in a way that seems increasingly rare.

downstairs, the cabin is even cozier than the bedroom. the fireplace has long since burned down to embers, but the lingering warmth remains, mixing with the scent of cedarwood and old pine.

the kitchen sits beside a large window overlooking the forest, and through the glass you can see snow piled high on the porch railing and scattered across the surrounding trees. while frank starts the coffee maker, you begin gathering ingredients for breakfast.

neither of you is particularly talkative yet. it's the comfortable quiet of two people who don't feel the need to perform wakefulness for each other. mugs are set on the counter.

drawers open and close. somewhere outside, a bird lands briefly on a branch before disappearing again. by the time you begin mixing ingredients, the smell of fresh coffee has started filling the entire cabin.

frank appears behind you before you even realize he's left the coffee maker. one moment you're focused on cooking, and the next two familiar arms are wrapping around your waist from behind.

"clingy frankie"

"shush" his chest settles against your back, warm even through both layers of clothing, and his chin comes to rest lightly on your shoulder.

he simply stands there holding you while you continue trying to work around him. it would be easier if he moved. significantly easier. unfortunately, frank seems perfectly content where he is.

every time you shift to reach something, he shifts with you. every time you step sideways, he follows. at one point you attempt to open a cabinet and discover that doing so while dragging an attached six-foot-tall man around the kitchen is surprisingly difficult.

still, you can't really find it in yourself to complain. there is something deeply comforting about the quiet weight of him against your back. one of his hands remains loosely clasped over your stomach while the other occasionally rubs slow circles against your side.

he doesn't seem to need conversation this morning. just proximity. every now and then you glance over your shoulder and find him watching you with that soft, sleepy expression he only ever wears in private. his eyes follow your movements around the kitchen.

when you smile, something faint and almost invisible tugs at the corner of his mouth. it isn't quite a smile. more the beginning of one. the possibility of one.

by the time everything is finished, steam curls from both mugs of coffee and the entire kitchen smells warm and inviting. outside, snow continues falling in lazy drifts, transforming the forest into something that looks almost unreal.

the two of you settle at the small wooden table near the window, and for a while the only sounds are the clink of silverware and the occasional creak of the cabin settling around you. sunlight briefly breaks through the clouds, scattering diamonds of light across the snow outside.

"your hands are cold." frank mentions.

"they're fine."

he reaches over and grabs one anyway. "cold." frank rubs his thumb across your knuckles.

you find yourself staring out the window, mesmerized by the view. when you look back, you catch frank watching you rather than the scenery. his gaze shifts away almost immediately when he realizes he's been caught, but not before you see the softness there.

there is something about winter mornings that seems to make time slower. breakfast stretches comfortably into late morning. coffee is refilled. conversation drifts lazily from one topic to another without any urgency. plans for the day are mentioned and then abandoned.

"you're smiling." you point out. he looks away toward the trees. which only proves your point. "frank."

"what."

"you like me."

he groans immediately. "married you, didn't I."

"that doesn't answer the question."

"pretty sure it does." he lets out a breathy chuckle as he kisses your temple.

neither of you seems particularly interested in doing much beyond existing in the same space. eventually you push your chair back and start gathering dishes, only for frank to stand at the exact same moment and quietly take the plates from your hands. there isn't any discussion about it. there rarely is.

he simply takes over with the calm certainty of someone who has already made up his mind. while he carries dishes to the sink, you lean against the counter watching him for a moment.

there is something oddly domestic about the sight. sleeves rolled up. shoulders relaxed. warm winter light filtering through the kitchen window while snow falls outside. frank standing at the sink washing dishes should not affect you as much as it does, and yet it always seems to. perhaps because it is such a normal thing.

he catches you watching and lifts an eyebrow in silent question. you shake your head with a smile he narrows his eyes slightly, unconvinced, but returns to cleaning anyway.

when the dishes are finally done, you carry your coffee onto the front porch. the cold greets you immediately, crisp and clean without being unpleasant. the wooden boards creak softly beneath your feet as you settle into one of the large chairs facing the forest.

from here, the view is breathtaking. endless trees draped in white. snowflakes drifting lazily through the air. distant hills softened by winter haze. the world looks untouched. peaceful. as though someone has pressed pause on everything beyond the cabin.

you wrap both hands around your mug and breathe in the scent of coffee while watching the snowfall. for several minutes you're alone, listening to the gentle hush of winter. then the front door opens behind you. you don't need to turn around to know it's frank.

his footsteps are instantly familiar. slow and steady across the porch boards. a second later he appears beside you carrying his own mug, and rather than choosing the empty chair farther away, he drags the closest one directly beside yours before sitting down.

the legs scrape softly across the wood. close enough that your shoulders touch. close enough that you can feel his warmth even through your coat.

for a long time neither of you says much. the silence isn't empty. it's shared. the kind of silence built through years of knowing each other. frank leans back in his chair, one hand wrapped around his coffee mug, his gaze fixed on the snowy landscape stretching beyond the porch.

the cold has painted a faint flush across his cheeks. his expression is calm in a way few people ever get to witness. there are no sharp edges here. no tension. only quiet contentment. every now and then he takes a sip of coffee, and each time he lowers the mug his shoulder brushes lightly against yours again.

"if a bear showed up right now, what would you do?"

frank looks at you over his mug.

"why."

"just answer."

"depends."

"on what?"

"whether he's bothering us."

you immediately start laughing. "you're gonna evaluate the bear first?"

"maybe he's minding his own business."

"frank."

"what."

"that's insane."

eventually you shift closer, resting your head against him as you smile. immediately frank adjusts without looking away from the scenery. his arm drapes across the back of your chair. his shoulder angles slightly toward you.

somehow he manages to make the space between you disappear entirely. you watch snowflakes tumble through the trees while warm coffee heats your hands and winter air nips gently at your face. behind you, the cabin glows with warmth. ahead of you, the forest stretches endlessly beneath fresh snow.

and sitting there together, wrapped in winter silence and the comfort of familiar company, it becomes impossible to imagine a place you'd rather be. some mornings aren't memorable for anything extraordinary. just coffee, snowfall, a quiet cabin in the woods, and the simple comfort of sharing it with the person who feels most like home.

[dirtylittlediary]

i don't share - frank castle

pairing : frank castle x f!reader

summary : when trouble comes knocking, frank gets to punching

warnings : violence, blood, mentions of stalking, degrading and gender driven insults, angst, fluff

word count : 4.8 k

a/n: not proofread and based on this rq ! (also no idk why i have beef with guys called ethan leave me alone)

It starts small.

Small enough that you don't tell Frank.

At first.

The first time you see Ethan, you're leaving a coffee shop two blocks from the apartment. You almost walk right past him. Then he says your name. Your entire body goes cold. Because you know that voice.

Three years together will do that. You turn. And there he is.

Looking at you like no time has passed. Like he didn't cheat on you. Like he didn't leave you for your best friend. Like he didn't shatter your heart and then disappear.

"Hey." You stare.

"Wow." His smile grows.

"It's good to see you."

"No," you say honestly. "It really isn't." Then you leave. Simple. Done. Or at least it should be.

But Ethan has always had a habit of hearing only what he wants to hear. And apparently he decides your reaction means there's still something there.

The second time happens outside work.

The third time happens at the grocery store.

The fourth time happens at a bookstore.

The fifth time happens at a restaurant across town.

That's when your stomach starts twisting. Because that's not coincidence anymore. That's effort.

Intentional effort.

You confront him.

"What are you doing?" He smiles.

"Running into you."

"No."

"What?"

"No, you're not." His smile falters. You point at him. "You're following me."

"I'm not following you."

"Then why are you everywhere?" His expression softens. The same manipulative expression he used to wear when he wanted something.

"Because I miss you." Your eyes nearly roll out of your head.

"Ethan."

"I'm serious."

"You cheated on me."

"I made a mistake."

"You slept with my best friend." His jaw tightens.

"You don't have to keep bringing that up." The audacity is genuinely impressive. You laugh directly in his face. Then leave. Again.

You don't tell Frank. Not because you're scared. Because you're annoyed. Because Ethan has always been convinced the world revolves around him. And because you know exactly what he'll say. You should've told me sooner. So you keep handling it yourself.

Until Ethan starts escalating. Flowers appear on your windshield.You throw them away. The next day there's another bouquet.

Then another. Then another.

Your work receptionist tells you someone keeps calling and asking if you're available. A handwritten note gets slipped under your windshield wiper. Then another. Then another.

You throw every single one away without reading them. Then one night you leave work late. And Ethan is waiting beside your car. Your heart nearly stops. Not because you're happy to see him. Because he's standing beside your car like he belongs there. Like he's entitled to be there.

"What the hell?"

"Can we talk?"

"No."

"You won't answer my calls."

"No shit." His expression darkens.

"You're being difficult." You actually laugh.

"Difficult?"

"I'm trying here."

"You cheated on me."

"For God's sake—"

"You left me." His jaw clenches.

"You act like I murdered somebody." The words hit you like ice water. And suddenly you realize something. Ethan genuinely doesn't think he did anything that bad. Not really. Not deep down. He thinks enough time has passed. He thinks you'll eventually get over it. He thinks he deserves another chance.

"You know what your problem is?" you ask quietly. His eyebrows pull together.

"What?"

"You still think this is a conversation." Then you get in your car and leave. Two days later he shows up outside the apartment.

Your apartment.

The apartment you share with Frank. The apartment you've never told him about. The apartment that isn't on social media. The apartment he had to actively search for. You're carrying takeout upstairs when his voice appears behind you.

"Still avoiding me?" Every muscle in your body locks. Slowly. Very slowly. You turn around. Ethan is standing there. Smiling. Like this is normal. Like showing up outside your home isn't completely insane. Fear crawls down your spine.

Real fear.

The kind you haven't felt before.

"How did you find me?" His smile slips. Just slightly.

"Does it matter?" Your stomach drops. Because that's not an answer.

"Ethan."

"Look, can we just talk?"

"No."

"Why?" You actually stare at him.

"Why?"

"Yeah." The look on his face is so sincere it's disturbing. Like he genuinely doesn't understand.

"I loved you." The words make your skin crawl. "Past tense." His expression hardens.

"No." You freeze.

"No?"

"No." His eyes lock onto yours. "You still do." The certainty in his voice is terrifying. Not hopeful. Not questioning. Certain. Like he's convinced of it. Like it's a fact.

"I hate you."

"You don't mean that." You laugh. A short, disbelieving laugh.

"Oh my God."

"You don't."

"You are out of your mind."

"You would've forgiven me." You stare.

"What?"

"If he wasn't around." The implication hits immediately.

Frank. He's talking about Frank.

Like Frank is somehow the obstacle. Like Frank is the reason you don't want him.

Not his cheating. Not his lies. Not his betrayal. Frank. Your stomach turns.

"You need to leave."

"I'm serious."

"You need to leave."

"You loved me."

"I don't." His eyes flash.

"You're lying." The words come out immediately. Sharp. Possessive. Angry. And suddenly you don't see the boy you dated. You see a stranger. A man who has built an entire fantasy in his head. A fantasy where you still belong to him. Where Frank stole something that was his. Where all he has to do is convince you. "You still love me. I know you do. If you hadn't decided to whore yourself out and find the next willing warm body to lie with." The words hit you so hard you actually go still.

For a second. Just one second.

Then every ounce of shock evaporates and leaves nothing but fury.

"What did you just say?" Ethan immediately realizes he's crossed a line. Not because he's sorry. Because of the look on your face. Still, he doubles down.

"You heard me." Your laugh is sharp. Disbelieving. Almost dangerous.

"Oh my God."

"You run straight into another guy's bed and somehow I'm the bad guy?"

You stare at him. Actually stare. Trying to figure out how the hell this is the same man you once loved. Trying to find the person you spent three years with. You can't. Because he's gone. Maybe he always was.

"You know what's funny?" you ask quietly. Ethan frowns.

"What?"

"I spent years wondering what I did wrong." His expression shifts. "I spent years wondering why I wasn't enough." You take a step forward. "And now?" Another step. "I look at you and I realize I wasn't the problem."

"Baby—"

"No." You cut him off. "No, you don't get to do that." His jaw tightens.

"Do what?"

"Act like you're the victim." Your voice rises. For the first time since this conversation started, you're angry enough to stop being afraid. "You cheated on me." Silence. "You lied to me." Silence. "You slept with my best friend." His face darkens. You keep going. "You destroyed every friendship I had. You humiliated me."

"I said I was sorry."

"No." You laugh. "No, you weren't." His expression hardens.

"I came here to fix things."

"No." Another step. "You came here because she left you." That lands. Hard. The color drains from his face. Because it's true. You both know it's true. "You don't miss me."

"Stop—"

"You miss having someone who loved you no matter what." His hands clench.

"You think he's better than me?" There it is. Not love. Competition. Ego. Possession.

You suddenly feel exhausted.

"Yes." The answer comes immediately. Without hesitation.Without guilt. Without regret. Ethan blinks.

"What?"

"Yes." You shrug. "Frank is better than you." His face goes red.

"You don't mean that." You smile. A cold smile. One that doesn't reach your eyes.

"I really do."

"You don't."

"He doesn't cheat." Silence. "He doesn't lie." More silence. "He doesn't make me feel small." His jaw clenches so hard you hear it. "He doesn't make me question whether I'm enough."The words hit their target.

Good.

Because you've carried them long enough.

"And you know the biggest difference?" Ethan says nothing. You smile again. This one softer. Warmer. Because now you're thinking about Frank.

About home. About safety. About love.

"Frank never had to convince me to stay." Silence. "He never had to chase me." More silence. "He never had to manipulate me." Ethan looks away. For the first time all evening. "And he definitely never had to stalk me." That one lands too. You see it. The tiny flicker of shame. Gone almost immediately.

But there. You point toward the street.

"Leave."

"Wait—"

"Leave." His face twists. Humiliation. Resentment All at once.

"You'll regret this." The threat hangs between you. So you slam the door shut. That's when you finally call Frank.

Frank gets home twenty minutes later.

You tell him everything. Everything.

The flowers. The notes. The calls. The apartment. The conversation. The part where Ethan insists you still love him.

Frank listens. Silent. Very silent.

Which is somehow worse than yelling. When you finish, he sits there for a moment.

Then asks:

"He found our apartment?" You nod. Frank's jaw flexes. "Our apartment." Another nod. His eyes close.

Slowly. When they open again, they're cold.

"Okay." That's all he says. Just: "Okay." You sigh out a heavy breath, shaking your head.

"I should've told you sooner." Frank's eyes immediately find yours.

"Yeah." You wince.

"Frank."

"What?"

"I really am sorry." His expression softens a little. Not much. Just enough. You rub your face. "I thought I could handle it."

"You shouldn't have had to."

"I know."

"You call me when somebody's makin' you uncomfortable."

"I know."

"You call me before it gets to the point where some asshole is showin' up outside our apartment."

"I know." You groan and drop your head onto his shoulder. "I know." Frank wraps an arm around you immediately. Automatic. Instinctive. Like breathing. For a minute neither of you says anything. Then:

"He said you whored yourself out?" You freeze. Uh oh. Frank's voice is very calm. Very calm. Which is significantly worse than yelling. You slowly lift your head.

"…Frank."

"He called you a whore?" You immediately regret repeating that part of the conversation.

"Frank."

"He said that."

"It's not important." His stare is flat. The kind that says he might commit a felony.

"It sounds important."

"Frank."

"He cheated on you."

"Yes."

"Left you."

"Yes."

"Stalked you."

"Yes."

"Found our apartment."

"Yes."

"And then called you a whore." You close your eyes. Because hearing it all listed together somehow makes it sound worse. Frank lets out a slow breath through his nose. Not angry. Past angry. The kind of calm that comes right before something breaks. You know that look. You've seen it exactly three times. None of those times ended well for the other person.

"Frank."

"What?"

"Don't do anything stupid." He actually looks offended.

"I ain't gonna do anything stupid." You stare. He stares back.

"Frank."

"Sweetheart."

"Frank."

"What, baby ?"

"You have that face."

"What face?"

"The face." He looks genuinely confused. Which means he's lying. "You know exactly what face."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do." Frank's mouth twitches. Barely. The tiniest hint of amusement. Which somehow makes this worse. "Frank."

"I'm not gonna do anything."

"You promise?" Silence. Your eyes narrow. "Frank."

"I promise I ain't gonna start anything." You immediately catch the wording.

"Start anything?" Frank shrugs.

"You asked if I'd do anything stupid."

"Frank."

"I'm sayin' if he leaves us alone, we're good."

"And if he doesn't?" Frank's expression goes completely blank.

"There won't be a third conversation." The room goes quiet. Not because he's threatening. Because he's stating a fact. A simple fact. Like saying the sky is blue. You stare at him. He stares back. Then his expression softens again. Immediately. Like a switch flipping.

One second dangerous. The next your Frank. He reaches over. Tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

"You okay?" The question catches you off guard. Because somehow you're the one he's worried about. Despite everything. You nod.

"Yeah." Frank studies you. Making sure. Actually making sure. Then he leans down and presses a kiss against your forehead.

Slow. Gentle. Safe.

The exact opposite of Ethan. The exact opposite of everything Ethan ever made you feel. And suddenly your eyes sting. Because for years you thought love was supposed to be hard.

Messy. Painful. Something you had to earn.

Then Frank came along. And somehow made it easy. Not perfect. Just easy.

The way home is easy. The way breathing is easy. The way safety is easy. Frank notices the tears immediately. Of course he does.

"Hey."

"I'm fine."

"Liar." You laugh. A little. He pulls you closer.

"C'mere, my pretty baby. You ain't gotta deal with him anymore." Your throat tightens.

"Frank—"

"No." His hand rubs slowly up and down your back. "You dealt with enough." For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then:

"What if he comes back?" Frank doesn't hesitate. Not even a little.

"He won't." The certainty in his voice makes something unclench in your chest.

The next day Frank acts normal.

Almost suspiciously normal. Kisses you goodbye. Makes your coffee. Tells you he loves you. Nothing unusual. You don't realize he's following you until later. Because Frank doesn't tell you. He just decides he'd like to see Ethan for himself. And sure enough— There he is.

Outside your office.

Watching. Waiting.

Just standing there staring at the building. Frank watches him for ten minutes. Then fifteen. Then twenty. Long enough to remove any possible doubt. Long enough to know exactly what's happening. Then he gets out of the truck. Ethan notices him immediately.

And for the first time since all this started— He smiles.

Actually smiles. Like this is what he wanted. Like he finally gets to talk to the competition. The idiot.

"You Frank?" Frank stops in front of him.

"Yeah." Ethan nods. Looks pleased.

"I figured." Frank says nothing. Ethan shifts his weight. "I should probably tell you something." That gets Frank's attention.

Barely. Ethan smiles. The confident smile of a man who thinks he's about to win.

"She still loves me." Silence. Frank just looks at him. Which somehow encourages Ethan. Big mistake. "We were together for three years." Still silence. "You don't just get over that." Nothing. "I know her." Frank finally speaks. One sentence.

"No, you don't." Ethan's smile falters.

"I do."

"You don't."

"She loved me." Frank nods once.

"Probably." Ethan looks relieved. Then Frank continues. "Then you cheated on her." The relief disappears.

"You don't understand—"

"No." Frank takes a step closer. Ethan has to tilt his head slightly upward. "I don't understand." Another step. "You had her." Another. "And you threw her away." Another. "Like a fucking idiot. Now somebody else treats her right.' Another. "And suddenly you want her back. And let me tell you, bud. I don't fucking share." Ethan's face reddens.

"You think you're better than me?" Frank's answer is immediate.

"Yeah." No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just fact. Ethan's jaw clenches.

"You know, she talks about you like you're perfect." Frank shrugs.

"I'm not."

"Then why'd she pick you?" Frank actually laughs. A short laugh. Disbelieving. Because the answer is so obvious.

"She didn't pick me." Ethan blinks.

"What?"

"She chose me." The distinction lands like a punch. Frank's eyes go cold. "And every day she keeps choosin' me." Silence. Then Frank leans slightly closer. Not threatening. Not loud. Just final.

"You show up near her again." Ethan opens his mouth. Frank cuts him off. "You call her." Silence. "You text her." More silence. "You send flowers." Even more silence. "You come within a hundred feet of our home." The emphasis on our makes Ethan flinch. And finally— Finally— Frank smiles. Not warmly. Not kindly. The kind of smile that makes smart people leave. "You and me are gonna have a very different conversation." Frank huffs and steps back, turning on his heel.

Just when he's about to reach his truck, Ethan calls out behind him.

"Yeah, thats right ! Run back to your slut ! The only good thing about that girl is the cunt between her legs." Ethan's words hang in the air. For exactly one second. Frank stops walking.

Just stops. His hand is still on the truck door. Still. Completely still.

Ethan smirks. Because Ethan mistakes silence for weakness. Because Ethan has never understood what real self-control looks like.

Slowly, Frank turns around. The parking lot suddenly feels very quiet. Ethan spreads his arms.

"What?" he says. "Truth hurts?" Frank starts walking back. Not fast. Not angry. Just walking. And somehow that's worse.

Much worse. Ethan's smile starts to slip.

"Look, man—" Frank keeps walking. "She ain't exactly innocent." Another step. "She used to beg me to pay attention to her like the needy whore she—" The punch lands before he finishes the sentence. A brutal right hook. Fast enough Ethan doesn't even see it coming.

One second he's talking. The next he's on the pavement. Blood splatters across the concrete. Ethan makes a choked sound. Frank stands over him.

Breathing evenly. Calm. Terrifyingly calm.

Ethan tries to push himself up. Frank grabs the front of his shirt and hauls him back to his feet.

And then he punches him again.

And again.

And again.

Until Ethan's face was torn apart and bleeding and he was coughing up blood, begging for Frank to stop. His teeth are scattered on the pavement beside him, and one is lodged in Frank's knuckle.

Blood is running from his nose. His lip is split. One eye is already swelling.

Frank doesn't look angry. That's the terrifying part. He looks calm.

Cold.

The same way a storm looks calm right before it tears a roof off a house. Ethan coughs.

"Y-you psycho—" Frank lifts him clean off the floor and slams him against the side of a parked car. The metal dents. Ethan wheezes.

"Listen to me." Frank's voice is quiet. Very quiet. The kind of quiet that forces people to listen. Ethan tries to shove him away. Fails.

"You breathe near her again," Another shove against the car. "You think about her again," Another. "And I will fucking find you." Another. "I will find you- and I will do way worse than knocking out a few of your teeth." Ethan winces. Frank leans closer. For the first time, genuine fear appears in Ethan's eyes.

Because this isn't about jealousy.

It isn't about competition. It isn't about Frank's pride.

It's about you.

And that makes it worse. Way worse. Because Frank can forgive insults aimed at himself. He cannot forgive somebody hurting you. Ethan swallows.

"I-I was just trying —" Frank's hand tightens in his shirt.

"I don't care."

"I didn't mean—"

"I don't care."

"She used to be my—"

"No." The word cuts through him. Sharp as a knife. "No she wasn't." Ethan blinks. Frank's stare never wavers. "She ain't property." Silence. "She ain't something you own." More silence. "And she sure as fuck ain't yours." Ethan looks away first. Of course he does. Frank releases him. Ethan nearly collapses. For one hopeful second he thinks it's over. Then Frank grabs the front of his shirt again and gets right in his face, and then Frank shoves him backward.

Hard. Ethan stumbles. Falls. Hits the pavement again. And this time Frank doesn't follow. He just stands there looking down at him.

"Stay away from my girl." Then he turns around. Gets in his truck. And drives away.

------

Later that evening, the door slams shut behind you as you rush in.

"Frank !" Frank winces at the pitch of your voice, flinching as he readies himself for you to yell at him.

Frank has beat up his fair share of men for you- and every time you've gotten annoyed with him. Not because he did it, but because you can defend yourself, and he knows that.

Instead, when you round the corner into the living room to find Frank sitting on the couch, bracing for a fight- the look on your face makes him leap up from his perch.

You look terrified. Worried. Panicked.

There aren't enough words in the dictionary that could describe the look on your face, and even less to describe the way Frank's heart drops.

"Woah- Hey, hey-" He rasps, stepping towards you as you drop your bag on the floor and launch yourself into his arms, arms flying around your neck, fingers digging into his hair as you cling to him. Frank catches you automatically.

One arm around your waist. The other cupping the back of your head.

You pull back from him, your eyes crazed and your hands trembling as you cup his cheeks.

"Oh my god- Are you hurt ?" You grab his face, tilting it in all angles, checking for new bruising, new cuts. "Did he hit you ?" Frank stares at you, dumbfounded as you fuss over him.

"Frank - for fuck's sake- answer me ! Did he hurt you ?" You rasp, your eyes welling up with tears. Frank just stares at you. For a second.

Then another.

Because of all the reactions he'd expected?

This wasn't one of them.

Not even close. You aren't angry. You aren't yelling. You aren't lecturing him. You're standing there looking like your heart is about to stop because you're worried about him.

"Baby—"

"Did he hit you?" Your hands move over his face again. Checking. Searching. Looking for bruises. Cuts. Anything. Frank catches your wrists gently.

"Sweetheart."

"Frank."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not." Your voice cracks. "Oh my God, your hand—" Only then does he remember. The blood. Most of it isn't his. But there's enough on his knuckles to look alarming. Your face immediately goes white.

"Jesus Christ."

"Baby—" You sniffle, shaking your head.

"Oh my god- Is that a tooth ?" Your thumb pokes at a shagged piece of tooth stuck in his knuckle and he winces. Frank hisses through his teeth.

"Yeah." Your eyes get even wider.

"Frank!"

"What?" he says, sounding genuinely confused.

"What do you mean what?" You point at his hand. "There's a tooth in your knuckle!" Frank glances down.

"Oh."

"Oh?" you repeat, horrified. He shrugs.

"I'll get it out." You stare at him. Then at the tooth. Then back at him. And suddenly your eyes fill again. Because he doesn't understand. Of course he doesn't understand. Frank thinks you're upset because he got into a fight.

You're not.

You're upset because Ethan is dangerous. Not to you. Never to you. But you've seen him angry. You've seen him throw punches in parking lots because somebody looked at him wrong. You've seen him put holes in walls. You've seen him break a guy's nose outside a bar and laugh about it afterward. You've seen the way his temper explodes. And all day you've been imagining what could have happened.

Imagining Ethan pulling a knife.

Imagining Ethan having a gun.

Imagining Frank getting hurt because of you.

"Baby?" Frank's voice softens immediately. Your bottom lip trembles.

His thumbs brush beneath your eyes.

Catching the tears gathered there.

"Why're you cryin'?"

The question comes out impossibly gentle.

Your face crumples.

"Oh, screw you." You break away from him, slumping down on the couch. Frank follows.

Frank immediately laughs.

A real laugh this time.

"That's not an answer."

"You got into a fight."

"He deserved it."

"Frank."

"He did."

"Frank."

"He called you a—"

"I don't care."

That finally shuts him up.

You swallow hard.

"I don't care what he called me."

Silence.

"I care that you got hurt."

Frank freezes.

Just a little.

Because that's it.

That's the whole thing.

Not the fight.

Not Ethan.

Not revenge.

Him.

You were worried about him.

Your fingers slide into his hair.

"I know he looks pathetic," you whisper. "I know he looks like some loser ex that won't leave me alone."

"Baby—"

"No." You shake your head. "Listen to me." Frank goes silent. "I've seen him get into fights." Your voice is shaking. "I've seen him smash bottles over people's heads." Frank's jaw tightens. "I've seen him punch walls." More silence. "He got arrested once for fighting outside a club." That gets Frank's attention. Your eyes close. "And every time he got angry he looked…" You swallow hard. "Different." Frank's arms tighten around you.

"Different how?" You hesitate. Then:

"Like he stopped caring." The room goes quiet. Frank knows exactly what that means. Probably better than anyone. You shake your head. "When I heard what happened today I-" Your voice cracks. "I was so scared." Something flashes across Frank's face. Not guilt. Not regret. Understanding.

"Sweetheart—"

"What if he'd had a knife?" Frank immediately opens his mouth. "What if he'd had a gun?" Silence. "What if he'd jumped you from behind?" Frank's expression softens. Because now he gets it. This isn't about Ethan.

This is about him. The possibility of losing him. You press your forehead against his chest.

"What if I lost you too ?" Your voice is tiny. The words hit Frank right in the chest.

Hard. His eyes close briefly. Then his arms wrap around you tighter. Not possessive. Protective. Like he's trying to hold all your fear for you.

And suddenly Frank feels about two inches tall.

Because now he gets it.

You aren't angry.

You're scared. The same way he'd be scared if the situation was reversed. The same way he'd lose his damn mind if somebody called him and said you'd been hurt. His arms slide around your waist.

Pulling you directly into his lap.

You go willingly. Too emotionally exhausted to fight. Frank buries his face against your neck. His grip tightens.

"I didn't think about it like that, sweetheart." Frank presses a kiss beneath your jaw. Then another. Then another.

"I'm okay." The words are supposed to help.

They don't. Because people always say that. People say I'm okay right up until they aren't. Your fingers curl tighter into his shirt.

"I spent the last three hours thinking somebody was gonna call me and tell me you were in the hospital." Frank's expression immediately softens.

"Sweetheart…"

"I mean it." You wipe angrily at your eyes.

"I kept checking my phone." His hand slides over your back. Your voice cracks. "I was sitting at my desk trying not to throw up because all I could think about was Ethan getting lucky." Frank's jaw tightens.

Not because you're talking about Ethan. Because you're crying. Because you're scared. Because he caused it.

"What if he'd had a weapon?" You laugh weakly. "What if he hit his head wrong?" Another laugh. More broken this time. "What if he got friends involved?" Frank reaches up and cups your face.

"Hey." You don't stop.

"He was out there waiting for me, Frank. If you got hurt because of me, i would never forgive-"

"Hey." His thumb brushes beneath your eye. Your voice dies immediately. Because Frank is looking at you like you're the only thing in the room. Like nothing else exists.

"I'm okay." You shake your head.

"Frank—"

"I'm okay." His forehead presses against yours. "I'm right here." Your breath catches. Frank rarely talks about fear. Rarely talks about feelings. Rarely says exactly what's in his head.

But right now? He's trying. For you.

"I ain't in a hospital." You sniffle. "I ain't dead."

"Frank."

"I'm sittin' right here." The words hit harder than they should. Because he's right. He's here. Warm. Solid. Alive. Your eyes squeeze shut.

And suddenly all that fear you've been carrying since Ethan came back crashes into you at once. You start crying again. Not pretty crying. Not movie crying. The ugly kind. The exhausted kind. The kind that comes after you've been holding yourself together for too long.

"Oh, sweetheart." Frank immediately gathers you closer. One hand in your hair. One rubbing your back. Patient. Steady. Like he can feel every piece of tension leaving your body. His thumb traces your cheek.

"I'm sorry, baby." You immediately shake your head.

"No."

"Sweetheart—"

"No." You grab his face with both hands. "Do not apologize for defending me." Frank freezes. "You hear me?" His eyes lock onto yours. "Frank." A pause. Then:

"Okay." You nod.

"Good. if i wasn't so scared for your safety, it would've been really hot." A corner of his mouth twitches. Because you're still crying. Still emotional. Still sitting in his lap. And somehow you're managing to boss him around. His favorite thing about you. You finally glance down at his hand again.

Immediately grimace.

"Oh my God." Frank follows your gaze.

"The tooth?"

"The tooth, Frank." He shrugs. You look horrified. Frank looks amused.

"You cannot just have somebody else's tooth stuck in your hand."

"Why not?" Your jaw drops.

"Because that's disgusting. Who knows what diseases that ass had in his mouth ? " Frank starts laughing. Actually laughing. The deep kind. The kind that rumbles through his chest. You glare.

"It isn't funny."

"It kinda is."

"It is not."

"Sweetheart."

"No." He grins. You point dramatically at his hand. "Bathroom. Now." Frank raises an eyebrow.

"You're givin' me orders?"

"Yes."

"Interesting."

"Frank."

"Yes, ma'am."

taglist !

@overdrive1975 , @alialuvsreid, @nanni197, @goawayplease95 , @yesshewrites1, @carolinaxvz , @sofianotvergara , @bearisbored , @jbrownta , @cafieeee, @hardnightmarekitten, @kikibear33, @sweetbabygirlsworld, @rainyapricotcreatorparty , @gingin3-blog , @pinkypiezzz

[rafeslittlepup]

rafe wants you to move in with him

you’re sitting criss-cross on your pink silk bedspread, still in your tiny nightgown and fuzzy socks. the scent of your vanilla cupcake body spray lingers in the air.

rafe is standing in the doorway of your childhood bedroom, arms crossed, wearing that smug smirk like he already knows you’re gonna give in.

“you can’t live here forever, baby,” he says. “come to tannyhill, alright? let me take care of you.”

you blink up at him, lashes clumped from the half-done mascara, lip gloss glimmering.

“rafe, i’m eighteen.”

“and I’m not waitin’ another year to fall asleep with you in my arms every night.”

you swallow hard, glancing at the baby-pink walls and the framed family photos.

“you know my mom would lose her mind.”

“your mom’s a bored and drunk golf lady who thinks sugar-free jello counts as dinner,” he snaps.

“well, she- she says you’re too… intense.” you say embarrassed

rafe shrugs, stepping into the room.

“maybe... but I’m the only one who actually gives a damn about you, in this house at least”

your silence is telling, you know he’s right. rafe comes closer, kneeling in front of you, pressing his forehead to yours like it’s something sacred.

“bunny,” he whispers, “i already built the closet for you. pink velvet hangers... room just for your shoes… clawfoot tub and a vanity. i’ll get you a puppy if that’s what it takes.”

and you laugh softly, this was very tempting. but he’s dead serious.

“i don’t want you playin’ house here anymore. you’re mine, move in. you already know our plan.”

and when you hesitate again, all doe-eyed and unsure, he cups your chin and says

“you wear my ring, you sleep in my bed… that’s just how this works, baby.”

[barebearbows]

Home

summary: telling boyfriend!rafe you want to go home when you initially were gonna sleepover at his house.

warnings: suggestive, fluff, strong language.

Nightfall at tannyhill was always quiet.

Usually, the moonlight would brighten up Rafe's gloomy room as he sat at his desk, finishing up work for the day.

You were on his bed, tucked into his sheets, scrolling on your phone— When suddenly, an idea washed upon you.

A few days ago, you saved a tiktok.

It was so sweet, you just could not resist trying it on your..not so sweet man.

So, how would Rafe react?

"Baby?" You called out, stretching on the bed as you sat up.

Rafe didnt turn around from his desk, his back still towards you.

"mhm?" He hummed, still hunched onto his desk.

"I think..I'm gonna go home now." You said casually.

He immediately sprang up, not even bothering to close what he was working on as he walked towards the bed.

"You are home." He said, soft but firm.

"No like— My house." You stated.

He walked to the foot of the bed, resting his hands against it.

"Are you deadass?" He said, as if he was not effected by it.

You nodded, casually.

"Fine, go." He said, shrugging, walking back towards his desk, not sitting down, just leaning against it.

You were a bit surprised, but by his tone you could tell he was not giving you permission, he was challenging you.

You stared at him for a second, before grabbing your phone and getting off his bed.

He watched you get up, put on your jacket, fix your hair, and still didnt comment.

Until, you went towards the door. Thats when he moved, he grabbed your wrist and with one firm movement, your back hit the door.

He was on you, towering over you as you looked up at him.

He didnt say anything, his hands moved down to your thighs, then wrapped around your back, picking you up in one swift movement.

You shrieked "Raaafeee—"

He then walked towards the desk, sitting on the chair before carefully placing you on his lap.

He put his chin on your shoulder, one hand gripping your waist and the other a handful of your thigh.

"You are going to sit here until im done, do you understand me?" His grip went tighter.

"Yes, rafe" you said, a little breathy, leaning against him.

"Good girl, no more fuckin' rebelious stunts, do you get me?" He looked back onto his laptop.

"Yeah." You leaned your head back, kissing his cheek, he moved his face and captured it into a messy kiss.

His hands moved on the laptop, as you watched, his facial expression was cold and clearly mad.

He murmured.

"Talkin' about some going home" he mocked.

Then his face came down to your neck to press a wet kiss all over your throat.

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

a/n: thank you to @yungleanswerving for this idea. I really hope i did justice to it!

[rivstiglione]

thinking about doting husband frank who takes care of his pregnant wife — 💕💗🎀🩷🌷

You were only a couple weeks out of your first trimester, just beginning to show and Frank was on high alert. Frank always had a protective nature about him and in fact it was one of the things that made you swoon terribly about him. So when you told him you were pregnant, you saw he lingered a bit more, took groceries in, and constantly asks you if you had eaten. Still with these changes, he gave you your space and allowed you to be independent.

But when he caught you standing in your shared bathroom turned side ways to admire the beginning of the undeniable swell of your child, something shifted in his head completely. It was like he could no longer deny the fact that you were carrying his child and suddenly the protectiveness was kicked into high gear. Your activities were limited, he refused to let you wear socks unless they had grips on the bottom, and you were absolutely not allowed to go out and run errands by yourself. He hovered constantly by checking your feet weren’t swollen, that you had taken your prenatal vitamins, and even made sure he ran you mandatory baths every week because he read somewhere it was “good for expecting mothers to always be pampered.” If you were with anyone else this would drive you crazy, but you know your husband only wants the best for you and your child.

Which, speaking of. . .

“Frank, I am not made of glass.” You were arguing as you two walk through the door of your shared home. A steady hand is on your back as he guides you through the threshold.

“Might as well be, sweetheart,” he says, closing the door, “you’re carrying my kid in there.” He nods his head to your stomach as you begin to slip out of your shoes. You roll your eyes as he promptly shuts the door. Before you an argue he drops to the ground, helping your foot out of your shoe without a second thought.

“I already know what you’re about to say—” You start but Frank isn’t hearing it.

“Should’ve told me your feet were hurtin’,” Frank shakes his head as he rises to his feet, “couch. Now.” Frank orders, pointing to the living room. You roll your eyes but allow him to guide you with his hand on your back.

“What about dinner? I said I was going to cook.” You attempt to argue as you walk over to the couch, knowing its your hormones wanting to entertain a battle you knew you were going to lose. Frank helps you as you lower onto the couch before speaking.

“And you told me your feet were fine.” He counters and you sigh with a mix of drama and forfeit.

“Okay fine you win.” You huff as he throws a blanket over your legs. He chuckles, leaning down and kissing your head of curls.

“Just relax I got dinner,” Frank assures you before kissing your lips, “you just relax here, mama.” Frank says to you and you respond first by kissing his lips.

“I love you, you’re so good to me.” You tell him after he pulls away.

“Yeah remember that the next time you cuss me out because I won’t let you left something heavy, bunny.” He tells you before turning and heading to the kitchen. You throw one of the decorative pillows at him (it misses).

“Asshole!”

“I love you too.” Frank says and you hear the smile in his voice as be replies. You hear the clattering of pots and pans from the kitchen and you settle deeper into the couch to allow your muscle to relax. The tensions in your pregnant body releasing as you turn on the television and listen to the sounds of your husband in the kitchen.

With a gentle hand you slide it over your belly, a happy and content smile coming onto your face. You may grumble and complain about his hovering, but at the end of the day Frank made you so damn happy.

And you wouldn’t rather be carrying anyone else’s baby

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

©𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞

[agirlcandream84]

Can I please have Frankie’s sex headcanon with pregnant reader? 👉🏻👈🏻

This would be sooooooooo conflicting for Frank. On the one hand, you being pregnant is basically the most feral he's gonna get. This is the embodiment of his breeding kink. On the other hand, he would be so so SO worried about hurting you or the baby.

At first, he's not even comfortable doing it. He doesn't say it to you and instead hopes that maybe you won't notice if he's just super gratuitous with eating you out but after three days (a long time by Frank's standards) you finally ask, "Frank.. are you... not attracted to me anymore??" because wwhhhyyyy else won't he put it in you??

Frank is too stunned to speak for a moment because the literal opposite is true -- you're more attractive than you have ever been to him.

"Sweetheart," he says, the word breathy and needy as he lands his hands on your stomach, "you are... you're... unbelievable. I've never been more attracted to you babydoll. Thinkin' about you all goddamn day," he adds, stopping to make sure you're looking him straight in the eye.

"Then why won't you have sex with me??" you ask, tears spilling out of your eyes and your breath stuttering.

"Baby I... I don't wanna hurt you. Or the baby. You know how I am," he says, distrusting his own instincts.

"Frank, you would never, never, hurt me. I know you wouldn't," you assure him, adding "And not to bruise your ego but, you're not gonna hurt the baby. You're not THAT big Frank," poking him in the chest at the last part.

And that was enough to convince him that it was safe to do it but it doesn't mean he wouldn't hold back, a lot.

First, no positions with you on your stomach, ever. He only allows doggy style when you assure him it's actually more comfortable than having the weight of your whole stomach on top of you.

Second, you gotta wait til the baby is born for him to do anything remotely fast. He just won't do a punishing pace that might accidentally get out of hand.

Third, he's avoiding anything that gets too deep and for Frank, this takes a lot of concerted effort because Frank is just... big. At first you think he's being dramatic but as you get bigger and your cervix gets more sensitive, it does get a little painful and you nearly don't tell him. It's only after some very mild spotting (and a rushed trip to the ER) that he gets really strict about it, mostly favoring a position with you on your side, hugging a pillow slightly.

Fourth, he just eats you out with frequency because he swears you taste different while you're pregnant. He's like a fiend for it, it's almost unhinged.

Fifth, no blow jobs. None. No exceptions. He could not possibly, in good conscious, have his pregnant partner on her knees in service to him. It felt downright immoral to him.

[rawme-price]

How do you think Price would react the next morning if he got drunk and hit reader like they were one of his soldiers?

Ohhh nonny I don't think price is surviving to the next morning if he hits you.

If he comes home well and truly drunk, pissed enough to be yelling at you over something, so far gone that he hits you? There will he a split second of clarity the moment after the hit, realizing the boundary he's crossed, before he doubles down and refuses to apologize.

He yells more, gets in your face and tears you down like he would a soldier after a fight. Until you're physically shaking and flinching away from him, making price feel like a real man. Like someone in control before he stomps off to sleep.

Which leaves you, terrified tucked behind the sofa you bought with john when you first moved in. You do the only thing you can think of, face already bruising, and call the number john gave you "only for emergencies. Doesn't matter what, he'll help you."

"...ello?" The voice that picks up is rough, grainy.

"I...I didn't know who to call...." you choke on a sob. Terrified. "I don't know what to do."

Which is how, two hours later you're drinking a milk-shake in some diner parking lot, legs dangling over the bed of ghosts truck while he makes phonecalls far away enough you can't hear anything. You don't know what to feel. You love john, of course you do he's the man of your dreams but...but you've never feared for your life like that before.

It's fine. You decide not to think about it. Simon will handle it, he assured you. He even promised not to kill john when you had panicked and begged him to be nice, explaining that john was just drunk and he's usually never like that—

Yeah. Simon said he'll just talk to price, set things straight.

He doesn't tell you that said talking to will happen in the middle of the woods with a baseball bat and duct tape.

[sweetsstrawberryys]

"Drowned in You"

Summary: König never expected to walk in and find his girlfriend completely swallowed by his favorite hoodie. Now he doesn’t know whether to tease her, marry her, or never let her out of his arms again.

Rating: pure fluff, cuddles, and König being soft as hell.

Masterlist

---

König froze in the doorway, halfway through removing his gloves, when he saw you padding across the room—completely swallowed in one of his hoodies.

His hoodie.

The one he always wore around base, faded black and oversized even on his massive frame. On you, it looked like a full-body blanket. The hem nearly brushed your knees, the sleeves dangled way past your fingertips, and the hood drooped so low it almost swallowed your whole face.

You blinked up at him innocently. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, eyes wide beneath the fabric of his mask. Then he cleared his throat—twice.

“Mein Gott…” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You look so… tiny.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “I am tiny. Especially next to you.”

König stepped forward, slower than usual, like he was afraid if he moved too fast, the image might vanish. His eyes were glued to the way the sleeves swung when you moved. You tugged the collar up to your nose, burying your smile into the soft fabric.

“It’s warm,” you said, muffled. “And it smells like you.”

His heart did something strange—stuttered, then raced. “That’s my favorite hoodie.”

“Not anymore,” you chirped, spinning slightly in place. “It’s mine now. ”

He huffed a laugh, the tension melting from his shoulders as he reached out, wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling you against his chest. You disappeared into him just as much as you disappeared in the hoodie.

“You can keep it,” he murmured into your hair, “but only if I get to hold you every time you wear it.”

You tilted your head back, grinning up at him. “Deal.”

He stared at you a moment longer, then sighed dramatically. “You can’t wear this outside. Someone will fall in love with you.”

You snorted. “Is my big, scary soldier getting jealous?”

“I’m not scary,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead through the hood. “I’m just very… protective.”

“Same thing.”

His arms tightened a little. “Especially when you look this adorable.”

[07x1x4x1]

Simon Riley who has really found his match.

× read previous part here

cw: 18+ | omegaverse; plus-size!omega!reader; a/b/o dynamics; possessiveness/jealousy

It happens again, and this time, Simon can't blame it on a fight he had to break up.

The scent is too cloying, too pungent, the way it sticks to his uniform and his skin—like someone keeps lingering and touching him for hours on end.

When you confront him about it, Simon crumbles and spills the truth, albeit utterly embarrassed—one of the new rookies who follows him like a second shadow, despite you scent-marking him every morning before he leaves for work.

She hasn't seen the mating mark on his neck yet, the mark that stakes your claim on your alpha just the way he's claimed you. Simon always wears his mask on duty, but sometimes you wish he wouldn't.

It's making you furious, turning you borderline feral, but Simon enjoys it—the bastard. And why wouldn't he, if you always end up ravishing him in a way that leaves his pale body covered in aggressive lovebites and utterly boneless?

He sure won't complain, because he knows he's faithful to you. No other omega compares, and the rookie with a crush on him is more like an obnoxious fly in his peripherals. One he can't crush with his palm, because... there are rules and regulations. Duty.

So, you end up taking matters into your own hands.

Your heels clack against the floor as a young alpha soldier leads you through the 141 HQ.

You're dolled up in a way that you rarely indulge in, but nevertheless enjoy.

Clad in a form-fitting dress, armed with freshly manicured and deep red-painted nails, the tiniest bit of makeup and a spritz if perfume that helps enhance your own natural musk.

A modern-day Aphrodite gracing their halls; dressed in an aura of confidence that borders on territorial possessiveness.

The air is laced with so many different smells here that it leaves you the slightest bit overwhelmed while you try to catch the scent of the omega who has been trying to get close to your mate—and thus disrespecting you.

Eventually, the young soldier leads you to the training facility within the building, the gym.

Opening the door for you like a proper gentleman, his throat bobs as you brush your hand along his clean-shaven jawline in thanks as you pass by him to step inside.

The fluorescent lights are terrible and so is the smell—too much in one place and badly covered with military-issued suppressants at that—but you quickly find what you're looking for.

The group of rookies is surrounding a few sparring mats while Simon barks commands at them, commenting their matches. Standing next to him like guard dogs are Johnny and Kyle, following and supporting the training session.

Seeing your massive alpha in his most natural environment, directing the scenery while oozing dominance, makes your omega purr for a few seconds—until you see her.

Standing close to Simon, you notice the sparkle in her eyes as she peers up at him as if he hung the moon for her—while he blatantly ignores her, like a good boy should. She doesn't even have the decency to be discreet about her crush; about the way she's offering herself.

It makes your blood boil with rage, hackles raising as your nose twitches in a beginning snarl.

Slowly, you saunter closer, and even in heels you manage to be graceful, like a lioness eyeing her next prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

And while Simon's focus is entirely on the training at hand while he keeps shouting orders and correcting their forms, he remains blissfully unaware of your approach.

Johnny, however, has caught a whiff of your scent, spicy with rage. His gaze flicks to the door, and when he spots you, his bright blue eyes widen slightly, gleaming with surprise. He elbows Kyle subtly and nods his scarred chin in your direction.

The group stays oblivious to the real danger prowling right behind their backs, too enthralled with Simon's instructions to notice the sudden shift in the room.

Meanwhile, Johnny watches you closely, a toothy and wild smirk spreading on his lips as he changes his stance and crosses his arms, bracing himself for the chaos that is clearly about to unfold while Kyle's face twists in silent terror.

As you stalk closer, you finally let your instincts take over as your inner omega paces with simmering, terrifyingly calm fury and protectiveness.

You don't even pay mind to your mate as sneak past him behind his back, already subtly making her aware of you with a call, a low and quiet chirp. Your heart pounds harshly yet slow against your ribcage as you imagine the fear in her eyes when she realizes how badly she fucked up.

And the omega, completely engrossed in the training and Simon's commanding presence, doesn't notice you until it's too late.

When your scent becomes more and more prominent, even to her distracted senses, she suddenly stiffens, her gaze shifting from Simon's side profile to you.

Her grey eyes widen, her heartrate quickens. It's the natural response of an omega sensing the presence and intent of a more dominant, mated one. She takes a small step back, all colour draining from her face.

She's taller than you, lean and muscular, but thanks to your heels, you're right on eye-level with her. When she tries to get away, your right hand comes up to curl around the back of her neck as you grab her by the scruff like a helpless bunny, sharp nails digging into her skin and her virgin mating gland.

She squeaks. Her pulse spikes, throbs against your fingertips, and her breath audibly hitches as you lean in slowly to nose along her throat.

And to anyone who might not know omegas and their nature—this might even look sweet to outsiders.

A sharp gasp escapes her lips as your nails press into her untouched gland—the most vulnerable place for an omega, meant only for their mate. Her whole body trembles under your touch, frozen in primal terror.

Johnny’s smirk vanishes instantly, replaced by wary understanding. Kyle inhales sharply through his teeth but doesn’t intervene like the smart lad he is. The other present rookies go dead silent, some instinctively backing away from the scene unfolding before them.

Simon finally turns at the sudden shift in atmosphere—and his blood runs cold when he sees you hovering over the omega with a predator’s grace and possessive fury lighting up your gaze like wildfire beneath false sweetness.

His voice is low and urgent when he speaks your name, and you bristle at his voice voice, cutting through the tension, but you don't stop yet.

The omega is holding her breath, close to pissing her cargo pants.

"I could rip your throat out right now... and I would get away with it," you whisper into her ear, nails digging a harder into her skin while your lips brush over her earlobe.

"You will stay away from my mate. You will keep your eyes lowered from him and your disgusting scent to yourself, am I clear?" Then you huff against her throat with a feral snarl, canines glinting in the lights.

"Next time I catch your stench on him, I'm going to kill you, puppy."

She whimpers, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks as she gives a frantic nod—too terrified to even form words.

Simon takes one purposeful stride forward, but Johnny throws out an arm to stop him with a warning glare that translates to not your fight, big guy.

You release the omega with a sharp shove that sends her stumbling back into the crowd of stunned rookies, their murmurs erupting like frantic Morse codes around you. She scrambles away without another glance in Simon’s direction, clutching at her neck where your nails left crescent-shaped marks.

Turning on your heel, you finally meet his dark gaze—his expression is unreadable behind his mask, but tension rolls off him in waves through your mating bond: frustration warring with something darker...

Approval?

But before he can speak or reach for you—

"Lieutenant Riley." Price's voice cuts through from the doorway like thunder. The Captain stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, disapproval etched into every line of his weathered face.

And Simon stiffens immediately under that commanding tone, along with the spectating Sergeants.

Oh, good, you think coolly as you adjust your dress sleeves calmly while passing Price towards the exit without another word, now everyone gets to deal with consequences tonight.

Your heels click against the linoleum as you stride past the captain, the scent of distressed omega still clinging to your fingertips. And Price doesn't stop you, though his narrowed eyes track your exit before swinging back toward Simon with a look that promises a brutal debriefing.

Through the bond, you feel it: Simon's pulse spiking in frustrated arousal even as his shoulders tense under his superiors glare. His gloved fingers twitch at his sides—caught between chasing after you and facing disciplinary action.

You push through the heavy gym doors into cooler hallway air, exhaling slowly as adrenaline still thrums through your veins. Footsteps approach behind you—not Simon's measured tread, but Johnny's lighter, almost cheerful gait breaking into a jog to catch up.

"Christ alive," he breathes out when he reaches you, rubbing at his jaw where stubble darkens his grin. "Remind me never tae piss ye off, doll." There’s awe in his voice, a hint of nervous respect from one predator recognizing another.

Somewhere down the hall, Kyle is herding shell-shocked rookies toward lockers while muttering about ‘domestic bloody warfare’.

You smile sweetly at Johnny (the way that makes lesser men flinch) and pat his scruffy cheek twice before continuing your exit without another word—leaving chaos simmering in your wake like perfume and gunpowder.

Let your mate explain this mess to Price. Let him burn for it tonight when he finally comes home to you.

And let every bastard and bitch on this base remember exactly whose claim stands above all others.

[beardedmrbean]

[liberalsarecool]

Cosign.

[sabrlne]

ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ʀɪʟᴇʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

{ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ} "ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3"

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 , ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

You jolt up screaming, face sweaty and hands shaky…

Another nightmare, another time your mind hitting the replay button to that night.

You start panting heavily as your heart feels like it’s going to escape from your chest, nothing makes sense to you, you feel nothing but fear and panic, and you do not even realize you were not breathing well.

“Breathe,” a voice comes out of nowhere, it breaks into the cloud of the intense feeling you’re experiencing now, you don’t even recognize who it is.

“Please don’t- please-,” you choke out, your mind is playing sick tricks with you, making you feel like you’re back to that night again, like the stalker is right in front of you, like the blade is shining in his grip.

“Y/n, breathe with me,” the voice replies urgently and firmly.

“Don’t kill me please- please don’t-,” you say as you put your hands over your ears and shut your eyes with full force, hoping that will even make this stop.

The voice says something but you can’t make it out, it’s blocked by your hands.

“Please please, please I’m begging you,” you cry out, repeating the exact same words you did while trying to save your life.

Then your ears barrier –your hands– gets removed, you don’t understand what’s happening, so you open your eyes panting in fear.

And there he was.

Simon was looking at you, his own eyes wide, reflecting panic and helplessness.

He has been here since you woke up, or… let’s say, since he found you asleep on the couch.

He still never leaves home whenever he leaves the base, no more pubs at night, no more escaping.

And it’s one of those regular nights where he stays like a protective shadow around you, not crowding you, but always watching.

So when he came out of the shower, and saw you asleep on the couch, he felt relief at seeing you relaxed and at peace.

So he gently covered you up with your blanket and sat on the ground.

He watched you as you slept, counting each eyelash, each breath you took.

He didn’t leave, he didn’t fall asleep, he just guarded you, just like how he always should have done.

And when he heard you whining in your sleep, his heartbeat started raising, and he shook you to wake up.

But you didn’t know any of this… you didn’t know he was with you the whole time.

“Y/n look at me, listen to me,” he says, his voice deep, as he tries to stop it from shaking, this wasn’t about his emotions, to him, it was about you and only you.

You reply with a whine as you try to put your hands over your ears, because seeing him now, makes you feel more confused, and it raises more sorrow in you.

Because to you, you know Simon feels guilty, you know he regrets every single second he stayed away from you that night instead of staying and protecting you.

You know that he is trying to show you, that if he could reverse time, if he hadn’t been coward enough to hide from you and from what you made him feel, you wouldn’t have been this hurt.

So he stops you from covering your ears, holding back your wrists firmly.

“No, none of that, focus on me.”

You shake your head, “It hurts,” you whimper out.

He nods, “I know, I swear to God I know, but please just focus on me.”

You continue crying, it’s very hard for you to gain control over your body when your whole nerves are screaming for danger ahead.

“I don’t want to die.”

You cry out, and that sentence pierced right through Simon’s heart.

His heart that is breaking at the sight of you like this, who’s wanting to just make you feel safe again, feel secure in your own mind.

He knows that there’s a long way to go, and considering what happened between you, it seems impossible.

But he can’t lose you, not when he almost did, not when he found you again.

“You’re not dying, I swear I’ll never let anyone harm you, just breathe in.”

He inhales, “and out,” he exhales.

Your body shakes in rejection of any help, but you try, that small aware part of your mind knows what’s happening, so you inhale slowly, shaken, cut off by crying hiccups, but you try.

“Good, very good, just like that, now out,” Simon exhales, demonstrating gently, a flicker of hope raises in his chest as he sees you trying.

You follow, and exhale, still not perfect, but you’re trying, Simon continues.

“Good girl, don’t stop, you’re doing great.”

He praises you gently, trying to convince you that there is no danger surrounding you, that you were protected, right here, right where he exists.

“I- s-,” you try to speak, but Simon cuts you off.

“Shhh… no, just breathe.”

The storm inside your head finally starting to cool down, still hiccuping, you stare at Simon.

And since that night, since everything, you felt a strange feeling as you stared at him, it bloomed in your chest like a cool bucket of water after being thirsty for decades.

It was comfort.

You felt your heart pace slowing down, your hands less shaky now, and you just stare at Simon.

Simon stares back, holding eye contact as he nods slowly.

“Yes, there you are.”

He says gently, he knows you’re calming down, and hell if that didn’t feel like one of his greatest achievements throughout his life.

Then slowly, and so delicately, he lifts his hand and guides yours towards your chest, pressing your palm right above your heart.

“You feel that? That’s you, alive, breathing, your heart beating…”

You just stare at him, even after the storm, even when your mind is still fragile, you’re stunned by the man in front of you.

The one who treated you like less than an afterthought, is now trying his best to make sure you’re okay.

Then he speaks again.

“You’re safe with me, and you always will be.”

You take a shuddering breath at that, it’s very hard for you to trust what he’s saying, but his tone, that look in his eyes, reveal that this man, is willing to put his words into actions and more.

And with the last shred of panic leaving you, your body felt weak, like someone just pressed the ‘turn off’ button, and you shut down.

Your body goes limp in Simon’s arms, but he holds you tight, making sure you won’t fall from the couch.

He stares at your face, now eyes closed, hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, tear trails over your cheeks, which are red too and so is your nose.

He puts an arm beneath your knees, and he lifts you, walking slowly through the dim hall as he makes his way to your room.

He makes his way in and he puts you down into your bed, your head leaning to the side as your hair fans over the pillow.

And he thinks to himself, ‘how can someone look so beautiful even in the hardest moments of their life?’

He covers you up again, just like before, and he sits on the edge of the bed, watching you sleep again.

Simon knows what you just gone through by heart, he carries more baggage that no normal human can endure.

But it doesn’t matter to him anymore, you’re what matters.

Because even when physical scars fade into another story of your life, the mental ones don’t fade in the same way.

The mental scars don’t fade, they come back, and the worst part is, you never know when, or in what form they will…

“Sleep angel…,” he says quietly, knowing for a fact, he doesn’t think he can let you sleep alone ever again.