#I love this image. I love her. I love that bike.

[beeapocalypse]

OKAY goodnight for real now :-)

[murdrdocs]

just thinking thoughts abt luca and his muscles.. i KNOW that mf just manhandles you without even thinking abt it like. ur in the kitchen just yapping away abt some really interesting gossip and he's moving you around if ur in the way with a hand on your arm or waist like you weigh nothing. or you're outside walking somewhere and he's moving you outta the way from some asshole on a bike going dangerously fast and you're not paying attention to your surroundings. he has so much muscle obviously he's not putting it to use if it's not on me 🙄🙄[he makes me ILL]

i got this message and had to pace my kitchen btw casual manhandling; fluffy w suggestive undertones MDNI 18+ w/ LUCA (the bear)

luca's working diligently.

you would've worried about distracting him if he wasn't so visible focused, his head consistently dipped to keep his eyes focused on the cutting board. you don't know how he does it, how he's cooking and responding to your shitty and extremely confusing recollection of drama you heard from a friend this morning. his responses are simple, small nods and verbalized "mhm"'s, but they're effective.

"and then, come to find out, she told her that she was in the wrong, even though everyone knows she was literally just sticking up for herself..." you're getting to the climax of the story, the part that made you gasp and dramatically look around your apartment when you first heard the story over the phone. a smile is growing on your face as you wait for luca's reaction, but before it can come, you have to tell him the best part. and for that to happen, you have to continue speaking.

you don't even realize you've stopped speaking until luca prompts you to continue. but it takes you a second, because you need a moment to recover from how casually he has just moved you.

you've gone from standing in front of the spice cabinet, a place luca needed to reach, to standing in front of the sink. and you could've gotten there yourself if he spoke up and asked you to move, which he's done before. but you were in the middle of your story and he probably didn't want to interrupt you. so instead, he placed his hands on your hips, pushed you against the sink, and turned around to grab whatever seasonings he needed. like it was the most casual thing in the world.

and sure, you figure it is actually fairly casual. he's done it before, the most recent time being just a few days ago when you were furiously texting a group chat, too busy staring at the messages as they appeared to watch the sidewalk for any obstacles. before you could even realize that there was a bike coming towards you, luca had you moved out of the way and a middle finger thrown up towards the biker. it made you hot then, and it makes you hot now.

at your silence, luca looks up from his work.

"love? you were saying?"

you blink dumbly. it takes a second, but you try to recover. you resume your earlier position, arms crossed over your chest and ankles crossed over each other as you lean your weight back into the counter.

"yeah, right. where did i stop?"

"everyone knows she was just sticking up for herself but the other girl thought your friend's friend was in the wrong anyway—"

you take it from there, continuing your ramblings and exaggerating the story more and more as it builds, all while trying to push the image of luca's arms—tanned, big, and tattooed—to the back of your mind until you need that information.

which will likely be later in the night when you hope luca will manhandle you like that again.

[mayearies]

✩ ARCADE

arcade date hc/blurb with miles g morales. genre: fluff n crack bonus . another bonus

warnings: n word usage (?) a/n: i saw someone say miles would dominate in shadow boxing they right for that ‼️

e42 miles’ whole reason for dragging you out here is ‘cause he loves you—and video games. so, why not combine his two favorite things into one singular date? pretty genius of him (not sarcasm).

he rides a motorcycle, so its obvious he’s into those racing games. like fast and furious: super bikes—which he would dominate against every single time. he’s got a smart mouth too.

“ha! gon’ keep tellin’ me i cant win against you?” “look back at the screen, ma.” “…nigga-“

e42 miles would basically win every game yall played. he would let you win some to not bum you out.

say you play air hockey or somethin’—he would absolutely destroy you (not intentionally) or let you win (intentionally if he feels pity, unintentionally if he’s just out of it for that single game).

someone comes inturrupting your date you say? well, uh oh for them.

if someone walked up to you and started hitting on you, good god you will not see them for the rest of your life. and if you do, it would be the image of him provoking the dude before he is dragged away towards the bathrooms. don’t get the wrong idea, though. 9 times outta 10 there will be blood in that stall unless they feel sincere about their mistake.

“miles? what happened to that guy who came hittin’ on me?” “oh y’know, the usual.”

he’s not fond of talking to strangers, and vise versa. but if someone were to walk up to him and start talking he wouldn’t mind (if its not to get towards his girl) that’s actually how he makes friends. it could also be how you make friends.

✩—SCENARIO!

“watch me cook this guy, ma.”

MILES and you had ran into another guy and his girl, also on an arcade date. coincidence? probably. the dude challenged him to a round of shadowboxing as you and his girl stood off to the sides watching them, bein’ their lil’ hype girls.

“that way. that way, that way-“

you never understood some of the things he engaged in. nonetheless, was supportive. you were dating after all. his girl, however, looked uninterested and impatient at her boyfriend.

MILES rubbed his hands together as he bit his lip.“that way. that way, that way. that way, that way, smile for the camera, nigga.”

covering his face is absolute shame, MILES snapped a photo of his face which was actually fuckin’ hilarious.

“this is why i can’t go nowhere wit him.” “girl, i hear you.”

you two would share some food at the bar and play back the photo he took. sent this to your homegirl n she bust out laughin’ too. then he took you to the back of the arcade to make out real fast, maybe. possibly.

© mayeluvsu

[swrkn]

Hello!!! I really love your Oliver fic 😭 could you do joker or sangho just fluff if it's fine ofc I'm not forcing ❤️

𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

Joker (hajun) x g/n reader

Genre : fluff ; sfw

Author note : thank you so much for your request, and thank you for the compliment on my first fic :)) i have a fic for joker in my drafts, so for now im gonna do some headcanons , and I’ll publish it later ! Also those are my personal headcanons , so if you don’t think my headcanons are accurate, please don’t be mean 🙏

Author note 2 : i really enjoyed doing those headcanons so i think i’ll do more , and also some with sangho since you asked ;) My request are open !!

⇨ Protective

Joker is low-key protective of Y/N, though he'd never openly admit it. If they're biking together, he'll instinctively put himself on the side closer to traffic or obstacles, keeping an eye out without making a big deal of it.

When you and Hajun go for a night ride through busy streets, he'll always position himself on your left side, closer to traffic. You notices he does this every time but never points it out, as it's his way of protecting you. One night, a car honks a bit too close, and without thinking, Joker reaches out, gently steering her closer to him. "You alright?" he asks, trying to sound casual, but his hand stays on your arm until he's sure you’re safe.

⇨ Act Tough But Melts Around You

Joker has a "tough-guy" image, but you are the one person who can break through that. When you're alone, he's surprisingly affectionate and lets his guard down. Play with your hair, hold your hand, and even rest his head on your shoulder if he's tired.

After a tough day at practice, Joker shows up at your place looking frustrated and tired. You open the door, pulling him into a hug. He stiffens for a second, but then relaxes, letting himself melt into your warmth. He doesn't say much, just rests his head on your shoulder, breathing in deeply as she rubs his back.You tease him for "acting soft," and he just grumbles, "Only for you."

⇨ Late-Night Talks

Sometimes, You and Joker will have deep, late-night conversations that can last for hours.You both stay up talking about dreams, fears, and everything in between. He trusts you in a way he never trusted anyone, and you’re the one person he feels like he can be his true self around.He's opened up to you about his insecurities and what it's like balancing being a big brother with his own goals.

One summer night, you're lying side by side on a quiet rooftop, staring up at the stars. Joker starts talking about his childhood, sharing stories he rarely tells anyone, while you listen quietly, sometimes just holding his hand when he pauses. You opens up too, and you spend hours sharing memories and dreams, both of them feeling like they're closer than ever.He tells you things he never told anyone, realizing how much he trusts you.

⇨ Lets You Braid His Hair

One day, as a joke, you suggested to braid his hair, thinking he'd refuse. But to your surprise, he agreed, even if he tried to play it off like he didn't care.Now it's a little tradition between you and him. When you're just relaxing, you'll braid his hair, and he'll sit quietly, feeling oddly at peace. He actually finds it relaxing but would be mortified if anyone else knew.

During a lazy afternoon, you were both watching a movie a his house , with him leaning on you, letting you style his hair. As you braid, you notice he's relaxed, eyes half-closed, enjoying the quiet moment. Later, when his two littles brothers came in and burst out laughing, Joker just shrugs. "What ? She did a good job." he says nonchalantly, not caring about what his brothers are saying.

⇨ Always Comes Back to You

No matter how long his day's been or how tired he is, Joker always finds himself wanting to see you. You are his safe space, the person who keeps him grounded, and whenever he's with you, he feels like he finally found a place to rest. He doesn't say it often, but he thinks you are his world, and every ride, every victory, every day somehow feels better just knowing you are there , beside him

One evening, after an exhausting day, he texts you, asking if you’re free. When you agree to meet him, he feels his mood lift immediately. You don't have to do anything special; just being with you is enough to make everything feel better.

⇨ A Stubborn Romantic

Joker tries to act like he doesn't care about romance, but deep down, he's more romantic than he lets on. He'll surprise you by cooking your favorite meals, remember small things you mentioned about yourself, and even bring you your favourite treats every now and then. On special occasions, he'll even plan something for you, like a ride at dawn or a picnic by the river, even if he insists he's "not doing anything fancy."

For your birthday, Joker plans a quiet picnic next to a hidden river. He pretends it's "no big deal," but he packed your favorite snacks and even brought a small blanket to sit on. When you ask him if he went to all this trouble just for her, he simply says, "Don't get used to it." But the sparkle in your eyes , and seeing you this happy , was enough for him to know that if he can see you this happy , he would do it again and again.

✵

[sapphossparenoterbook]

May I please request Agatha x reader where the reader has a really bad anxiety disorder, like so bad they can't even work a normal job outside the house. And Agatha comforts them telling them that she loves them regardless?

Anxious

Agatha Harkness x Reader

TW: An annoying child...

Today sucked. Badly. You hadn’t realised that you’d run out of your anxiety meds until Agatha had already left the house for work. And then you were too nervous to call her and see if she had any free time during her break to go to the pharmacy and help you out with your shitty situation here. And even if you had the balls to call your girlfriend, you had about 10 important projects for work to finish up. At least working from home for your boring office job hasn’t backfired like everything else today.

By lunch, your day had slightly begun to get better. Agatha had made you your favourite lunch for you to find waiting for you in the fridge, your colleagues had emailed you to thank you for fishing your side of the project early so that they can get a head start on their reports, and you felt the pit of anxiety in your stomach slightly loosen at the easy-going atmosphere in your home. That was until Dottie, one of your neighbours, had knocked on the door and practically demanded you babysit her child for the evening while all but throwing the small girl into your hallway. 

Oh, god. This is bad. This kid was a brat and always was going to be, with a mother like Dottie teaching her everything she knows in how to be a spoiled little bitch. You’d been an eye witness of what happens when this little girl gets jealous of one of the other kids on the street for a new bike or toy they had, and had always managed to steer absolutely clear of this little demon child. 

And now here she sat, looking up at you with a pout and a mischievous look in her eyes, as if she was an apex predator that could smell your fear and was going to hunt you down in your own home. This very much felt like your favourite movie, Alien, had come to life specifically just to ruin your so far good day.

From this point, your anxiety wouldn't stop getting worse all day. You spent the rest of the day trying to finish more projects that you were sure really needed to be done early or your colleagues would be pissed, while also trying to keep this monster child calm by doting on her constantly. 

Agatha’s supply of chocolate ice cream was gone by two o’clock. Then there goes your supply of skittles you’d be saving for tonight. After that, all your sweet snacks were gone and the child was running in goddamn circles from a sugar high, and all of a sudden the image of Dottie banging on the door tomorrow because you’d given her child so much sugar that she hadn’t slept all night. 

“Just– just slow down!” You say, reaching out to gently grab the child’s arm before imaging her screeching and crying, telling everyone that you’d gripped her arm so hard you’d bruised her, causing the whole neighbourhood to never trust you around their kids. Ever. Okay, so maybe that’s not such a bad outcome… but still!

“Do you wanna watch some TV? Or… or a movie? I’ve got movies..!” You say, before rushing over to the shelf where you and Agatha keep all of your DVDs and BluRays, desperately looking through them for something much more PG than Goodfellas, and The Godfather, which would all probably get this kid’s annoying ass mother over the house in an instant. Just as you sift through the movies and find your old copy of Star Wars episode 4, the doorbell rings again, and you hope that it’s either Agatha or Dottie coming back to pick up her kid, and not another unwanted guest. Thankfully, when you open the door it’s both, and Agatha can tell by the look on your face as you open the door that you’re anxious and stressed, and need this kid out of the house instantly.

“Come on, honey! Grab all of your stuff, it’s time to go now!” Dottie calls to her daughter from the door, not even bothering to actually go and get her. Just as you turn around, you see the brat putting your Star Wars disc into her little unicorn backpack. “Uh, hold on a second… that’s mine, you can’t keep it sor–” 

“BUT YOU GAVE IT TO ME, YOU SAID I COULD WATCH IT! MUUUUUMMM, SHE’S YING, SHE’S LYING, SHE’S LYING–” You instantly flinch back as the brat begins to scream and shout, anxiety building that everything you’d imagined was about to come true, and her mother would shift the blame onto you rather than her lack of parenting skills. Before anyone can say anything, you rush away, off into your home office and locking the door behind you. 

For a long time, you sit in your office, spinning your chair and curling up into a tight ball, trying to ignore the sounds of Dottie shouting at Agatha over the Star Wars disc, and the sense of dread that it’s all your fault, and that you should’ve just noticed you were running low on meds earlier in the week so that this fucking bullshit wouldn’t have happened. You think Agatha is going to be mad at you, and that it’s going to spiral into something big, but somewhere under all your anxiety is the knowledge that Agatha would never do that to you. She hasn’t done it before, and she won’t now, and deep down that is pretty clear by the way she’s fighting like her life depends on it over a Star Wars disc that is very easily replaced.

“That’s not the goddamn point, Dottie!” You hear Agatha shout. “It’s not about the DVD! It’s about the fact that you’re teaching your daughter to just ransack my house and take whatever she wants! So yeah, I want the disc back!” She then pauses, and Dottie must have said something in her quiet but demeaning tone in that pause, because then Agatha’s loud shouts start back up again. “My girlfriend does have a job! She’s not just some housewife for you to drop your kids off at when you can’t be bothered to teach them manners–she works from home, she shouldn’t have to stop what she’s doing in the day just to dote over your brat! If you drop her off like that again, we’re telling your husband that he needs to pay for a babysitter. Not just for your kid, but for you too.” 

The front door slams, and through your slightly open window you hear Dottie’s entitled “Oh, how rude!” from outside, clearly trying to get the other neighbours attention and ruin their opinion of Agatha. But they all know the drill, no one gives Dottie the time of day anymore, which may be why she dropped her kid, Lottie, off at your house and not one of the other neighbour’s, clearly she’s out of options. You make sure to close your window too, and take a few deep breaths before you hear Agatha knocking at your office’s door.

“Baby, are you okay in there? It’s been a rough day, huh?” Agatha’s soft voice calls from behind the door, a stark contrast to the rough toe she’d used with Dottie and her child. “Do you wanna talk about it, or shall I leave you be for a little bit so you can gather your thoughts..?” 

You get up and unlock the door, and open it to see Agatha already looking down at you with a worried look in your eye. 

“Aw, hon… you look like a soggy puppy…” Agatha says, and you turn your head to the mirror in the hall and stare at your own face looking back at you. Wide, sad puppy dog eyes. A little pout on your lips, tense furrowed eyebrows, and a wobbly chin as you try not to cry. 

“No I don't, I just look stupid and sad…” You practically whine out your words like a toddler, overwhelmed with anxiety and stress, and Agatha’s lips move into a slightly pursed smile as she instantly clues in on what's gone on. 

“I checked your pill box after Dottie and that annoying brat left… Why didn’y you call me and say you needed some more, love? I could have easily gone to the pharmacy and got some more for you during your break, you know Jen always keeps them in stock just in case we’re unprepared…”

“I didn’t wanna bother you… I was worried you were too busy, and my call would’ve annoyed you or somethi–” Agatha stops you right there with her finger, making a shushing motion on your lips. 

“Honey, I’d never be annoyed at you just for asking me for help, and I wasn't even that busy today anyway, it was a real doozy actually…” 

You feel a sense of insecurity rising up in your chest, that and stupidity. Of course you could ask your girlfriend to do that for you! Why did you think differently for even a second?! For god's sake, you always do such stupid things that just make the situations so much worse all because you can’t handle your own goddamn feelings when it comes to slightly stressful stuff like this, for god's sake–! 

“Hey, hey, hey… where did your head go?” Agatha asks, gently holding your face in both of her hands and making you look into her eyes. 

“I… I just feel so stupid over this. Why didn’t I just tell you? For God’s sake, could’ve avoided all of this…” 

“Honey, it’s not your fault that you ran out of your meds. Normally we’re both so on top of getting your prescription on time, it’s not your fault that we were both too busy to notice, honey.” Agatha said, and gently drops her hands down to your wrists, and pulls you out of your office and back into the living room of your house, setting you on the couch next to her. 

“Here, much more relaxing than in that cramped office of yours.” 

You practically mould into Agatha’s side as you snuggle into her, and she rubs your back gently. “So, what happened? Aside from that annoying brat ransacking the house…” 

“Mmm, no… that was pretty much it. I was doing pretty well actually, got most of my work done early until Dottie came and ruined it all…” 

You take in a deep breath, and try to ease the insecurity in your chest. 

“Now I’m a little behind on my usual schedule, and my boss wouldn’t reply to my emails so it’s almost like he knows, and I feel so stupid because all I had to do was tell Dottie that I was too busy and I couldn’t even do that! How am I supposed to do my job if I can’t even say no to an annoying neighbour! And not only that, but I’m really stressed about having to go into the office next week for that meeting, and I’m too scared to ask them to do it over a zoom call or something for me, I just feel like such a burden–”

“Okay, woah, honey I’m gonna stop you there. I understand that you’re stressed about this, but you know just as well as I do that your boss and all of your colleagues love you! They’ve been so, so supportive about this for you, and they can’t even say you have to go into the office if they want to because they’ve said it themselves that you work so much faster when you work from home. Also, no one in the whole street can ever say no to Dottie. She doesn’t even let people speak while she gets them to do stuff, and when it comes down to it you know that the whole neighbourhood prefers you over Dottie.” 

Agatha pauses, and moves your head again so that you’re once again looking eye to eye. She stares down at you for a second with a little goofy smile on her face, before giving you a soft kiss on the lips and slowly pulling away, before kissing your nose too. 

“And besides… I love you regardless, and nothing’s gonna change that. Not even if Dottie comes over here saying you… killed her kid, or something.” 

You snort, “Well I’m not gonna do that… but that definitely says something about you more than it does me.”

Molly pauses, and looks back up at Agatha. “Are you sure, though? I mean… what if I screwed something up so bad that–” 

“Hey, no! That’s not how this is going to go, okay? I care about you, and I love you too much to just… flip a switch like that because we both forgot to grab your prescription yesterday. I promise you, your anxiety isn’t something that stops you from being like everyone else, everyone has things about themselves that they need to work around to be more like the person they wanna be. And I really don’t think your anxiety is one of those things you’re going to have to work around, I think you’re perfect as you are already, and no one is going to be able to change that. Not for me, at least.” 

Today sucked. Badly. But sitting here next to Agatha, in this little bubble of love and care, it doesn’t seem all that bad.

[haveihitanerve]

Bruce makes it in time to get to Jason. But… is it enough to save him?

“Master Bruce-“ “I’m almost there Alfred.” Bruce bites back, almost breaking his wrist by how hard he twists the motorcycle accelerator. And he is. He can see the warehouse. Bruce lands, not even bothering to slow, leaping off the bike as it crashes into the trees and he sprints for the doors, terrified he’ll make it too late, that he won’t be fast enough for his son. The door slams open, Bruce not even bothering to check if it’s locked or not, just plowing it down, and hurries inside, spotting his son within a moment. Jason opens his eyes in surprise, mouth curving to form a perfect O. “Br- Batman.” He whispers, voice hoarse with disbelief. Bruce rushes to his side, cupping his cheek, cradling the boy- his boy, to his chest. “Jay. Jay bird. Jaylad. Hey firecracker. Hey bud.” Jason’s eyes fill with tears and Bruce does his best to wipe them away, to press a kiss to his son's forehead. “You came.” Jason whispers, tears clogging his throat. “Of course baby.” Bruce murmurs, rocking back and forth. “Of course I came, baby. I will always come for you. Always.” He presses another kiss to Jason’s head. “I love you son. I love you, I love you, I love you.” “I love you too-“ Jason rasps, but his eyes catch something on the wall behind him. “Dad, wait- the bomb-“ the explosion shakes the very earth, and Gotham seems to curl in on herself, screaming with a pain and rage that is unimaginable. In a basement cave in the middle of Gotham, a butler's hands go cold. A man, wearing a blue mask a city over, suddenly feels a chill sweep over him, and something inside him, probably his heart, feels like it’s been torn in two.

Their bodies are found, or at least what’s left of them, two days later, the larger man wrapped almost completely around the smaller, cradling his boy to his chest. Nightwing almost beats Joker to death and is only stopped by three others, all of which seem just as inclined to kill him, but resist. Gotham mourns, earthquakes shaking the ground, warehouses crumbling to dust, and Joker is found drowned in the harbor, the fishes whisper of a presence so old and strong even the biggest fish feared her, and Aquaman shudders. Gothamites mourn their fallen Prince and his adopted son, but Gotham mourns her prodigal sons, her children, her oldest and youngest, and cradles the last survivor to her chest, cloaking him in shadows and gifting him all the things she did not give the others, the things she thought they wouldn’t need so long as they had each other, the things she had not yet granted them ready for. She drapes them over the young, jaded hero, gifting him sight and smell and sound, allowing him to control her shadows and her streets and most of all… gifting him flight, the way his namesake first claimed, the way her firstborn child and her youngest were never able to. The Vulture takes to the Gotham skyline like a moth to open flames, perhaps a little less withdrawn with his punches, perhaps a little more protective of young boys, but belonging to Gotham all the same. The Joker stole something from her, and she will never allow it to happen again. The Vulture gains followers, friends, the Starling, the Goldfinch, the Owl, the Crow, the Cardinal, and Robin, all under Gothams protection, and she has him watch, from his watery prison, as they protect her, defend their city from the ilk like him, not giving in to their rage and revenge, but helping, rebuilding Gotham in his image. Their image. The man who saw hope, and his son. Batman and Robin.

(In case it was unclear, the three people pulling dick away from Joker are Babs, Kate and Luke, and then the Vulture is dick, and his friends, in order as listed, are Stephanie, Duke, Babs, Cass, Tim, and Damian. Also Gotham does kill Joker because she knows dick cannot but she also keeps him half alive, suspended in time, destined to drown for all eternity and watch as the bats succeed in honor of Batman the man he fought against.)

[mysunshinetemptress]

Happily Ever after??

Leah Williamson x Jordan Nobbs x ChildWilliamson!Reader Warnings:Childhood Heartbreak

You don't know what to do, you don't know how to feel all you know is that your world has just ended, your older sister Leah and her long-term girlfriend Jordan have called time on their relationship and the mist of breaking each other's hearts with this conclusion they have also broken yours, your small ten-year-old heart.

The older girl's relationship has been going on the majority of your life, you don't remember a time without Jordan, Jordan your all-time best friend, Jordan who let you stay up just a bit later than Leah, who gave you chocolate on the weekdays, who picked you up from school, attended all of plays, all of your matches, who stood outside and helped you practice power shots in the pouring rain, who helped teach you how to ride a bike and made sure to be there for every birthday and Christmas was now gone.

Sure you could see her at Arsenal matches and talk afterwards but it wasn't the same.

Your older brother Jacob tells you it's been coming for a long time, that everyone knew it was going to happen, that they wouldn't last forever but you, you feel blindsided, they were the epitome of what love was, what love is supposed to be, how were you meant to fall in love and get married and live happily ever after if Leah and Jordan couldn't.

Leah had found herself seeking you out wanting to comfort you as well as comfort herself through the breakup, Leah knew how much you loved Jordan, how much she meant to you, and so she knew you wouldn't be dealing with the properly at all, how could you, you're ten.

What she wasn't expecting was for you to shut her out completely, for you to not want to talk to her, for you to want nothing to do with her.

"She doesn't understand Le." Leah sighed wrapping her hands around the warm mug "I know Mum but, what can I do." Amanda shrugged "She's heartbroken, she needs time to fix that, plus she feels torn." Leah looked at her mum confused "Torn." Amanda nodded "You're her big sister, she loves you, and adores you, but she also loves and adores Jordan and she feels like if she talks to or about Jordan she is being mean and upsetting you, and if she talks to or about you to Jordan she is being mean and upsetting Jordan."Leah felt her heart break at the thought of you feeling guilty for wanting to talk to Jordan, she had told Jordan amidst their break up that she wanted the pair of you to be just as close as you were.

Now Leah was seeing that it was easier said than done.

The days blurred together in a haze of sniffles and silent dinners. You retreated further into yourself, a fortress built from unspoken grief and a fractured picture of happily ever after. Leah tried everything – movie nights ended in tearful meltdowns at the slightest hint of romance, attempts at baking cookies were met with a slammed door to your room, even the promise of a brand new Arsenal jersey couldn't coax a smile.

Jacob, ever the pragmatist, tried a different approach. He'd barge into your room, not to pry, but to simply be a presence. He'd sprawl on the floor, launch into a ridiculous commentary of an imaginary football match, or share the latest embarrassing anecdote about a classmate. Sometimes, a flicker of a smile would peek through the cracks of your grief, a tiny spark of normalcy in the storm.

Today however was hard, your first match without Jordan, you played terribly unable to focus on the game at hand, your thoughts spiralling due to the older girl's absence.

You huddled under the covers, the sounds of the house muted by the thick cotton. Tears welled up again, blurring the image of the dusty Arsenal posters plastered on your wall. Leah had been right, seeing Jordan at Meadow Park wasn't the same. Sure, you'd chat, Jordan ruffling your hair with a strained smile, but the easy banter, the sleepovers with whispered secrets under fairy lights, those were gone.

Jacob's words echoed – "they wouldn't last forever." But forever was what you craved. Leah and Jordan were supposed to be the blueprint, the happily ever after you'd build your own love story on. Now, the blueprint was crumpled, tossed aside. Did that mean your own dreams were just as fragile?

Anger flickered, hot and unexpected. Maybe Leah didn't understand. Maybe no one did. They all expected you to "get over it," as if Jordan was just a stray sock, easily replaced. But Jordan wasn't a sock, she was a missing puzzle piece, leaving a gaping hole in your world.

A soft knock at the door startled you. It creaked open a sliver, revealing Leah's worried face. "Hey, can I come in?" she asked tentatively.

You hesitated. Talking meant acknowledging the gaping hole, the shattered dreams. But silence felt like a betrayal of the bond you shared. With a sigh, you mumbled, "Okay."

Leah crawled onto the bed, the familiar scent of her vanilla shampoo bringing a pang of comfort. She didn't try to talk, just sat there, a warm presence in the dim room. After a while, you found yourself reaching for her hand, the silence no longer a burden but a shared understanding.

"I miss her, Le," you whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Leah squeezed your hand. "I know, honey. I miss her too."

It wasn't the answer you wanted, but for the first time, you didn't feel alone in your grief.

Leah had made sure to keep her foot in the small crack of the door you had opened for her.

The weeks that followed were a slow dance of healing. Movie nights remained off-limits for a while, replaced by marathons of silly comedies Leah found on obscure streaming services. Baking sessions became a team effort, filled with flour-dusted giggles and the occasional mess that only siblings could create. The brand new Arsenal jersey remained folded on your chair, a silent promise for when you were ready to wear it with pride again.

Jacob's commentary continued, evolving from imaginary football matches to dramatic retellings of historical events, complete with him dressing up in mismatched clothes to portray the various characters. Sometimes you'd join in, adding your own witty remarks or mimicking the historical figures' accents, a flicker of your old self returning.

You had begun to get used to Jordan not showing up to your matches but today's match had been just as bad as the first one you had played without Jordan on the sidelines.

The final whistle blew, a harsh screech that echoed the hollowness in your chest. You slumped onto the bench, head hung low, the sting of defeat a dull ache compared to the gaping hole in your world. Your teammates, usually boisterous after a win (which this definitely wasn't), offered hesitant pats on the back, their usual celebratory whoops replaced with a quiet concern.

Jacob, ever perceptive, lingered at the edge of the field. He didn't push you to talk, just leaned against the fence, whistling a nonsensical tune you recognized from one of his childhood obsessions. As you started gathering your things, a familiar figure caught your eye across the field. Jordan, looking every bit as lost as you felt, stood awkwardly by the gate, a nervous energy radiating from her.

Suddenly, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface threatened to boil over. How dare she show up now? Did she think a few stolen glances from across the field could erase the months of silence, the absence that gnawed at your insides? You clenched your fists, ready to storm off, when a warm hand touched your shoulder.

It was Leah. Her eyes, red-rimmed but determined, held a silent plea. "Give her a chance," she mouthed, a small, hopeful smile playing on her lips.

Hesitantly, you turned towards Jordan. The distance between you felt like an uncrossable chasm. But then, a memory surfaced: you, a wobbly mess on two wheels, Jordan running alongside, her laughter echoing in the air as you finally found your balance. A small tear escaped your eye, tracing a warm path down your cheek.

Taking a deep breath, you started walking. Slowly, tentatively, you closed the gap. You weren't sure what to say, how to navigate this new terrain, but you knew one thing – building walls wouldn't bring back the sunshine. As you reached Jordan, a single word tumbled from your lips, a question hanging in the air.

"Hi?"

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken emotions. Jordan scuffed her toe on the ground, mirroring your hesitation. Then, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper.

"Hey, Champ. I..." she faltered, searching for the right words. "I came to see how you were doing."

You looked up, surprised. You hadn't expected her to reach out, to apologize, to acknowledge the pain she'd caused. A flicker of hope sparked in your chest, but you quickly tamped it down. It was too early to trust again.

"I'm okay," you mumbled, kicking at a stray pebble.

It wasn't entirely true. You were far from okay, but you weren't sure how to explain the confusing mix of emotions swirling inside you: anger, sadness, a longing for the way things used to be.

Jordan saw through your facade. She knelt down, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Can we talk?" she asked softly.

You hesitated, glancing back at Leah, who stood by the fence, offering a silent nod of encouragement. With a shaky breath, you nodded back at Jordan.

Finding a quiet corner away from the prying eyes of your teammates, you sat down on a grassy knoll. Jordan sat beside you, her gaze fixed on the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

The conversation wasn't easy. Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke of your disappointment, the feeling of being abandoned. Jordan listened patiently, her own voice thick with regret as she explained the complexities of the breakup, the reasons that had nothing to do with you.

Slowly, a bridge began to form between the chasm that had separated you. You learned that Jordan still cared about you deeply, that she missed your laughter, your company, your fierce determination on the football pitch. You realized that breakups weren't always about falling out of love, but sometimes about growing in different directions.

As the last rays of sunlight faded, you found yourself reaching for Jordan's hand. It wasn't the same easy camaraderie you once shared, but there was a tentative warmth, a flicker of hope for a new kind of relationship.

Walking back towards Leah, you felt a lightness in your step, a sense of closure you hadn't expected. The gaping hole in your world wasn't filled entirely, but the sharp edges had softened. You knew Jordan wouldn't be cheering you on from the sidelines every game anymore, but you also knew that the love and support of your sister and the lessons learned from this heartbreak would stay with you forever.

Weeks later you looked like your old self, and you weren't anxious about your future love life (That was years down the line, if Leah had anything to do with it.)

Leah was getting ready to leave for Meadow park when you pocked your head into her room.

"Can I come?" you asked hesitantly.

Leah's smile was brighter than the morning sun. "Of course you can," she said, ruffling your hair.

The game itself was a blur. You barely registered the score, your focus entirely on Jordan and Leah. After the final whistle, you stood awkwardly by your Mum's side, unsure of what to do. Then, you saw them, walking towards you with a hesitant smile. Together like old times.

"Hey, champ," Jordan said, ruffling your hair just like she used to.

You mumbled a greeting, your cheeks burning. For a moment, there was an awkward silence. Then, Jordan surprised you both.

"You know," she said, kneeling down to your eye level, "even though things are different with Leah and me, that doesn't mean we can't still be friends. After all, who else will help you practice those power shots in the pouring rain?"

A hesitant smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Agreeing quietly, you felt the foundations of your world seeming to be formed and your heavy heart didn't feel so heavy anymore

[daydreaming-nerd]

Shadows and Sins (Ruhn Danaan x Reader)

Takes place pre HOFAS

My masterlist

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this for so long and guess what I GAVE HIM A BIKE HAHA biketok girls we ride at dawn. 

Summary: All is fair in love and war… (enemies to lovers inspired by House of Balloons by The Weeknd) 

Warnings: SA, intoxication, banter

Word count: 3981

Prince, starborn, bad boy, party animal, loose cannon and playboy, those were the words typically used to describe Ruhn Danaan. 

Asshole, spoiled brat, antagonizing, vexing and unfortunately handsome…those were the words I used to describe my best friend's brother.

Ruhn came into my life about a year ago when I started working at the archives with his younger sister Bryce, who I became friends with almost instantly. He came in one day demanding to speak to Bryce and since I thought he was just some lovesick guy like all the others who came panting after the redhead I promptly told him off. It wasn’t until 30 minutes of fighting back and forth that Bryce returned from lunch with Hunt that I found out I was wrong, and the prince never let me live it down. 

Since then, we were like oil and water, order and chaos, and love and war. Though I suppose all was fair when it came to that. 

We fought whenever we saw one another, which was often since him and Bryce had become reacquainted. At first she hated our squabbling, but with Athalar’s calming presence in her life she had grown to use it as free entertainment. So when the bell over the door to archives rang and her laugh echoed subsequently I knew I was in for a fight… 

“Brought your wallet,” called the voice I dreaded to hear. “You gotta stop leaving it at my place.”

“Thanks Ruhn,” Bryce chirped, confirming the worst. 

Sure enough I turned around to find Ruhn Danaan waltzing in like he owned the place, which I sure he could if he wanted to, he was a prince after all not that you could ever tell. In all the fairytales I had read as a little girl the prince’s always wore fine tunics and rode on white horses. But Ruhn opted for a black t-shirt and a speed bike and unfortunately if he had been anyone but who he is I would’ve found that incredibly hot.

“I still don’t know why you insist upon hanging out with the rabble,” Ruhn said to Bryce leaning his forearms against the countertop. 

Bryce shoots her brother a look that begs him to behave himself for once in his life, and part of me thought I should be the bigger person and not fight back. But I wasn’t a bigger person-I was a petty bitch, and I’ll be damned if I let Ruhn Danaan come into my place of employment and talk smack to me. 

“It’s probably because she needs at least one acquaintance who doesn’t need someone to wipe his ass for him,” I said with a fake smile, continuing to polish the silver chalice in my hand.

Bryce snorts as she shoves her wallet into her purse. Both of us turn to her to find her trying to hide her giggle at my comment. 

I cross my arms over my chest giving Ruhn a self satisfied look and as usual he won’t let me win that easily. 

“Funny you should mention it. I've been looking for someone else who would wipe it for me. Interested? I’m sure you’d love the view,” he smirks that godsdammned lip ring making an appearance. 

“One of these days I’m going to rip that ring right out of your lip,” I growl bracing my arms on the counter like I might do it right now. 

“Oh the women of Crescent City would weep at the loss of my beloved lip ring, they do so love when it grazes their-” 

“That’s enough!” Bryce shouts pushing Ruhn towards the door. “I do not want to hear about your bedroom activities!” 

“Same here I just ate lunch!” I shout from behind the desk. 

“Please, you're begging for more images of me to get off to!” Ruhn shouts from the threshold of the door as Bryce continues to push him. 

“If I wanted to see mediocre fucking I’m sure there’s a website for it!” I holler as Bryce closes the door. 

I smirk and waggle my fingers at him as he bangs on the door. Once again I got the last word and oh boy did it feel good. 

Bryce didn’t walk away from the door until the revving of Ruhn’s bike could be heard taking off down the road. She turned to me with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. My lip twitched up in amusement and her scorned look broke as both of us roared with laughter.

“Okay I have to admit the ass wiping bit was pretty good,” she chortled, coming around to help me polish again. 

“You like that one? I’ve been saving it.” I laugh remembering the look on his face when his own sister laughed at him. 

“I still hate that you two fight, but at least it’s like getting my own comedy show now,” she shakes her head. 

We finish our polishing in peace, talking over last night's episode of Fangs and Bangs, and our raucous plans for tonight. It was friday, which meant girls night was happening at The White Raven. It was honestly my favorite day of the week, I looked forward to it more than I cared to admit. Society called us vicious party girls, but how bad were we really? 

“So I’ll meet you there at 10?” Bryce asks, locking up the shop. 

“Yeah what are you wearing though?” I ask rummaging through my bag for the key to the lock on my scooter.

“I was going to wear that red silk dress, you know the one Hunt tried to tear off me,” she smirks, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“Ooo someones playing dirty trying to get laid tonight,” I muse, if Bryce did one thing well it was ruffle Hunt’s feathers everytime he had to pick her up after a girls night. 

“Like I even have to try that hard anymore,” she laughs tucking the keys into her bag. 

“Oh how I wish I had a man to carry me home from the bar and dick me down afterwards,” I sigh with fake longing, though we both know I was telling the truth.

“Prince Charming is out there and who knows you might meet him tonight,” she smiles as she begins to walk towards her apartment. “Wear the black and silver dress!” she calls back. 

I shake my head and continue walking towards the other side of town. I hadn’t planned to wear the black and silver dress tonight but Bryce was never wrong about fashion, so black and silver it was. 

The White Raven was alive and bouncing per usual. Couples coupling in dark corners, some drunk girls grinding on each other wearing bachelorette tiaras, men shouting at their friends to finish their beers. Among those rowdy men, Ruhn Danaan. 

He had kindly greeted Bryce and unkindly greeted me when he first arrived. Bryce promptly shooed him off letting him know that it was girls night and he said he’d rather chew glass than stick around. While he was across the bar it didn’t help with the awareness that he was there. 

Normally girls nights were carefree, Bryce and I might end up dancing on a bartop and of course they would call the Umbra Mortis to haul us over his shoulders. Sometimes we would kick Hunt out his own bed and force him to sleep on the couch so us girls could have a “sleep over”. 

Tonight was different. The last thing I needed was to commit some atrocious behavior that Ruhn could put in his arsenal of insults. I could already hear him jesting about how I made out with a lion shifter or fell over on the dancefloor. So Bryce and I stuck to sitting at the bar, sipping our drinks and talking shit like sophisticated women.  

Two drinks turned to four, and four turned to six. The colorful lights only made my head spin faster as I downed the rest of my drink. I looked to my right to find Bryce’s nearly untouched. Athalar had showed up about ten minutes ago after our bartender told him we were approaching being cut off. Of course the moment Bryce saw him all bet were off… she now stood with her tongue down his throat and he didn’t seem inclined to protest. Turns out she was right about that red dress. 

I roll my eyes and grab her martini and down it slamming it back on the bartop, not like she was going to need it.

“Bryce I’m heading out,” I say, putting my hand on her shoulder. 

She gave me a thumbs up as Hunt moved from her lips to her neck. I just shook my head and grabbed my purse. It wasn’t uncommon for me to go home alone, she had my location and we always kept tabs on one another.

The second I stood on my feet all the alcohol rushed to my head, and I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath to steady myself. I looked at my barstool and thought about sobering up, but the last thing I wanted to see was the mate makeout session, so I shook my head to try and clear my mind and sauntered out towards the door. 

The night air did little to sober me up, and my stilettos didn’t help with the wobbling. I pulled out my phone to try and find a ride home, but when the rideshare app quoted me $100 to go two miles I shoved my phone back in my purse with a huff and started walking towards my apartment. Like hell I was paying that for two miles.

My heels clicked on the pavement, echoing off the alley walls. Suddenly another pair of shoes echoed off the walls as well, not light and feminine steps, big clunky shoes. 

“Where are you going darling?” crooned a voice I didn’t recognize. 

I tried my best to pick up the pace, but the nature of my delicate shoes did little to give me any sort of advantage. My hands fumble with my purse trying to pull out the pepper spray Hunt got me for my birthday last year but those last two drinks were starting to catch up with me and my world was spinning. 

I feel a pair of hands grab my shoulders and slam me against the wall of the White Raven. My purse falls to the ground and I’m met with a pair of brown eyes. The guy had a backwards sunball hat and a blue shirt and he reeked of liquor. 

“Come on baby it’s not safe for pretty things like you to be out here,” he slurred, his body pressing closer to me. 

I cringe at the smell of his breath, “Get off of me creep!” I shout hoping that the alley isn’t that empty. 

My hands try to push him off but my intoxicated nature doesn't allow for much dexterity on my part.  

“Oh come on sweetheart don’t be that way,” he mumbled drunkenly, attaching his mouth to my neck. 

I try to push him off once more but I wobble, uneasy on my shoes. His hands fall from the small of my waist to the hem of my dress and I feel my blood run ice cold. 

“NO!” I shout scrumbling to get the sleeze off me. 

A hand grabs the back of the males collar and the sound of a fit making contact with his jaw reverberates through the alley as the male hits the ground. I stand shocked with my hands over my mouth as Ruhn Danaan shakes out the hand that delivered the punch and kicks the limp male. 

“You okay?” he asks nonchalantly, giving me a once over. 

I stand there still too stunned to speak, my eyes wandering from the male on the ground to Ruhn standing there with that damned black t-shirt clinging to his torso. 

He bends down to pick up my purse and shoves it into my arms. The gesture that finally breaks me out of shock. 

“T-thank you,” I mutter, still a little slow. 

“Where’s Bryce?” he asks looking around the alley, the sound of the club music inside still booming. 

I push myself off the wall stumbling a bit, “Inside sucking face with Athalar,” I slurr. 

“Thanks for the visual,” Ruhn purses his lips.

I straighten myself up and take a deep breath trying to act as sober as possible which probably was making me seem even more drunk, but I had to at least try. 

“Well thank you for uh…that,” I say gesturing towards the man still unconscious on the pavement. “I’ll see you around I guess.” 

I start wobbling down the alleyway once more, blinking my eyes rapidly to get my mind to clear and focus on walking home. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going princess?” he croons. 

Princess. Gods that fucking nickname. Most people would use it as a compliment or a pet name, but Ruhn knew how it drove me insane. He claimed I was just a spoiled princess one time and when I freaked out and yelled at him about it he proceeded to make that his nickname for me.

“I’m going home,” I sneer, trying to walk as best I can. 

“Like hell you’re walking home alone,” he growls, gripping my arm.

My eyes fly too the tattooed hand on my arm, and then up to those violet blue eyes that sparked with rage. 

“I do it all the time I’m fine,” I growl trying to rip my arm out of his grasp but I only succeed in making myself stumble more. 

He steadies me before speaking again, “Stop I’ll give you a ride,” he says motioning to his blacked out R1 parked in the alley. 

“I am not getting on that death trap with you after you’ve been drinking,” I scoff. 

“I’m not drunk, I don’t get drunk in public, it’s bad for appearances,” he says, irritation flitting across his unfairly handsome features. 

“Then how do I know you’re not going to dump me into Istros?” I sneer and the muscle in his jaw ticks and I can tell it’s taking everything in him not to fire back at me. 

“Because Bryce and I are finally on good terms and I’m pretty sure she would never forgive me if something happened to her best friend,” he explained, his words cold as ice. 

Maybe I was stupid, maybe I was drunk, maybe I was just cold and wanted to go home, but I actually believed him.

“Fine, let's go,” I say, walking towards his bike. 

I had to admit I always wanted to ride a motorcycle. Now riding on the back of Ruhn’s while I was drunk wasn’t exactly the time I wanted to do it, but I suppose beggars couldn’t be choosers. The bike was large and completely blacked out, if the moon hadn’t illuminated it just right I wouldn’t have been able to see it. 

Ruhn approaches the bike and starts the engine, every movement is like second nature to him. He takes the helmet off the seat and goes to put it on himself but then stops, turns to me, and punks it down on my head. The darkness of the visor mixed with the late hour making it impossible to see. I huff and flip it up, giving him a pointed glare. 

“I don’t have both helmets so this will have to do,” he says studying the way it fits me a little big. 

Tattooed fingers brush under my chin, tilting it up so he can buckle the strap for me. I would protest and say I’m capable of doing it myself but in my drunken state I’m not so sure. When he clips the buckle it pinches my skin for a moment and I yip.

“Ouch you pinched me!” I yelp smacking him in the arm. 

“Well if you stopped squirming I wouldn’t have pinched you,” he smirks, throwing his leg over the bike. “Now swing your leg over the bike and put your feet on these pegs,” he instructs me. 

I do as I’m told, using his broad shoulders as support as standing on one leg, drunk, in stilettos was never a good idea. Once I’m seated I keep my hands on his shoulders lightly and my bum on the edge of the seat, putting as much distance away from each other as possible. 

“You gotta hold on or you’ll fall off sweetheart,” he laughs, somehow finding humor in the precarious situation we’re in. 

“Yeah fucking right, like I’m going to wrap my arms around you like a little lovesick puppy,” I huff. “Just drive.” 

He shakes his head and revs the engine making the bike jerk forward. The momentum has my bum moving further into the seat and my arms instinctively wrapping around his middle, like I was afraid to fall off.

“There we go much better,” he smirks before revving the engine a couple of times. “Hold on tight princess.” 

I’m not given another warning before he speeds out onto the streets. Thankfully there aren’t a lot of cars and people out this late at night, but it doesn’t stop the crown prince from weaving around traffic that is there. He goes so fast I feel compelled to hold onto him with a deathgrip. 

By the time we pull up to my apartment my stomach is queasy. I swing my leg off the bike and nearly fall over until Ruhn catches my arms and hauls me up. 

“Woah there princess, maybe we better keep the helmet on, you’re a walking liability.” he laughs clearly enjoying seeing me in a vulnerable moment. 

“Take it off,” I grumble as I stand up straight again. 

He repeats the motion from earlier, tilting up my chin to help me take the damned thing off instead this time he ruffles my hair when he’s done. 

“You did pretty good for your first time as a backpack,” he smirks as I glare at him. 

I go to walk up my front steps and slip on my damned heels again, the ones that were definitely going to the back of the closet after this outing. Arm wraps under my shoulders and I feel Ruhn helping me up the steps to my second floor apartment. 

“You don’t have to do that, I can make it,” I grumble. 

“Trying to stay in Bryce’s good graces remember,” he says as I fumble with my keys.

My apartment wasn’t the nicest. It wasn’t a dump by any means, I did my best to keep it homey and clean, but it also wasn’t as nice as Bryce’s. Well I suppose Bryce and Hunt’s apartment now. God she was definitely having a better night than me. 

I walk inside and go to close the door but that damned tattooed hand stops me. 

“Not going to invite me in? That’s not very friendly,” Ruhn tuts walking right past me.

I scoff at him, walking in like he owns the place. Part of me wants to drag him out by his ear, but the logical part of me bends over to get myself out of these death trap shoes. I throw them across the room as punishment for their crimes tonight. 

When I walk further into my apartment I find Ruhn has completely made himself at home by grabbing a beer out of my refrigerator and cracking it open. 

“Are you serious?” I scoff walking to the sink across from him and getting myself a glass of water. 

“Consider it payment for the free ride home, I’ll take my thanks at any time you know?” he says smugly, taking another sip.

“Thank you for the ride,” I sigh. “Now will you please go?” 

He furrows his brows, “And waste a freshly opened beer? I don’t think so.” he says. 

I lean against the counter adjacent to him and sip my water. I can’t help but roll my eyes at the male. This was just like Ruhn, finding simple ways to get under my skin. I hated the fact that I liked the way he looked in my kitchen, black t-shirt in jeans, hair tied to the nape of his neck. 

Ruhn’s eyes flicker with amusement and then he chuckles, “I really do get under that delicate skin of yours don’t I princess?” he croons. 

“I told you. Don’t. Call. Me. Princess.” I snap at him, oh god if looks could kill. 

He pushes himself off  the counter, “Then stop fucking acting like one,”  he says low prowling forward with every step. 

The closer he gets the taller he looms. I know this little scare tactic, him trying to invade my space and make me feel small. It’s not like I have much of a choice either, not with the way my back is pressed into the counter. 

I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the expensive cologne pouring off him but there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that is so damn arousing. A fucked up part of me wanted him to stick his tongue down my throat but I quickly threw that thought away. 

He was mere inches away from me when I started to think he would do just that. My pulse raced and my thighs clenched. But when his arm reached up brushing the shell of my ear it just kept reaching until it came to the top shelf of my cabinets and plucked the bag of chips off the shelf. 

My shoulders sag as I realize he was just reaching for a snack to go with his beer, and I mentally cursed myself for hoping it would be more. 

He chuckles, opening the bag of chips and popping one into his mouth, not moving from where he stood just inches away from me. He clearly was loving this little power trip he was on. 

“You look disappointed, princess,” he chuckles, fishing another chip from the bag. 

I roll my eyes and look to the side, unable to meet the predatory gaze that almost had me throwing my moral code out the window just minutes ago. 

His hand drifts under my chin pulling my gaze to his as he takes a step forward again. 

“Did you think I was going to kiss you?” he asks low, his thumb and forefinger pinching my chin so I can’t look away. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. My logic screams to shove him, my alcohol induced brain says to kiss him and my mouth can’t find the words to speak. 

Ruhn smiles, lowering his head to me, “Maybe I should kiss you, it would be good to shut you up,” he laughs, voice gravely. 

His lips are so close to mine I can feel the warmth of his breath, I swear the cool metal of that damn lip ring brushes my mouth. My body leans forward of its own accord but then he reaches his other hand up and pops another chip in his mouth thoroughly running the moment.

“No I don’t think I will kiss you, even though it’s clear that you want me to,” he smiles, that damn knee wobbling smile he gives every woman to bring them to their knees. 

I stand in a state of shock as he back up to his side of the kitchen again, he plucks his keys off the counter and twirls them in his hand as he walks towards the front door. 

“Have a good night, princess,” he says on the way out, putting an emphasis on the name that drives me crazy. 

I’m left standing alone in my kitchen, glass of water long since forgotten and mouth agape. Ruhn Danaan almost just kissed me, and the fucked up part of it was I wanted him to.

part 2 coming... Lmk if you want to be on the taglist for this little mini series.

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[biteofcherry]

His harlot starlet

Cherry Masterlist

enforcer!Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings: x-plicit; no plot just holes 🤭; consensual; mild power imbalance; a tiny bit of degradation; spitting; unprotected;

Author's note: This is a short little sprinkling of filth, because I couldn't get the image out of my head. It sets after at least a few dates between Steve and Cherry, so they're quite established, but Cherry is still very new to all the dirty things Steve does to her.

Minors DNI; this work is only 18+

Your thighs shake. The strain in your muscles is a novelty you never expected to experience, since you considered yourself in moderate shape with all the bike rides you liked to take on weekends.

It seemed riding a bike, or even running after your energetic nephew, had little in common with surviving sex with Steve.

Or maybe it was the position you weren't used to maintain for so long.

On your knees, your upper body bent forward and pressed into the mattress as Steve ruined you.

Your fingers clenched on the sheets, your breathy whimpers and spots of saliva forming a stain on the fabric. He kept you in that position in what felt like hours, feasting on your pussy from behind.

Big hands held you in place, Steve's calloused fingers digging into your soft flesh. He licked you in reverence, sucking one orgasm after another, until you were quivering and begging.

You didn't think it was the pleading that made Steve stop. He was always very attentive to your reactions, but despite his soft cooing he rarely showed mercy. And you secretly loved that he pushed you further, beyond any limits you imagined you had.

So when he relented, you knew it wasn't because you were oversensitive, but rather because his own desire to sink his cock inside your fluttering, sopping cunt was too high for him to ignore.

A strangled cry fell from your lips when Steve tapped the head of his cock against your swollen clit, then dragged it between your slick folds to your opening.

The head barely caught in and you let out a desperate moan.

It was astonishing, the types of sounds Steve could draw from you. Never before him had you made more than some soft, little moans when you had sex, or played with yourself. With Steve, however, you couldn't help the cries, the whimpers and wailing, the stretched-out groans and mewling.

Each new sensation, each new wicked debauchery, elicited a new kind of sound.

So it shouldn't be a surprise to hear yourself make a strange, pitiful squeak, when Steve took your wrists and placed your hands on your ass as he ordered you:

"Spread yourself for me."

You felt a wave of scorching embarrassment wash over you; your forehead pressing into the sheets to hide your shame as you complied.

Fingers slightly trembling, you pulled your buttcheeks apart, trying hard not to imagine how it had too look for Steve from his point of view.

Your naked body presented for him so lewdly; no resistance from you, no matter what dirty, degrading things Steve asked of you.

"You look so fucking hot, Cherry," Steve praised, running one of his hands along your back and over the globe of your ass.

He squeezed your fingers in short reassurance, before splaying his fingers over your ass, thumb rubbing along the crease.

"Always looking beautiful and sexy, my good girl." He rewarded you sinking a few inches further into you, humming at your breathy moan as his girth stretched you.

"You are my good girl, aren't you?" You couldn't help the shudder that rocked your whole body when Steve's thumb circled your anus.

"Yes, Steve," though he didn't ask it of you, the praise and reminder of being his, made you even more eager to please Steve.

You tried arching your back more, pressing your face into the crumpled sheets, your fingers strained as you held yourself spread wider apart.

"Always want to be your good girl." It was a need as desperate as your need to come, maybe even stronger.

There was that calm hum again, as if Steve was considering something as he pushed the rest of his dick in. Filling you to the brim.

His thumb ran over your tight hole again, then stopped above it. A short pause in any movement, filled with the hammering of your heartbeat echoing in your head.

Then a small, wet splash landed on your puckered hole.

Your toes curled and your grip on the sheets tightened as a ragged gasp bubbled on your lips.

Steve spat on your asshole.

Shock and shame, and unrecognizable dirty arousal filled your body.

Your walls clenched around Steve's cock and he moaned a quiet curse.

"You liked that, Cherry," he didn't ask, he stated; thumb smearing his saliva around your rim.

"My sweet little Cherry," still teasing your hole, Steve started fucking you in slow, deep strokes, "spreading herself for me like a needy slut. Getting turned on when I spit on her tight asshole."

"My harlot starlet."

His words were like a hot jolt, stiffening your nipples and zinging to your clit. Bordering on degrading, but Steve spoke them so sweetly, with no malice, that they felt like a caress of a poetic compliment.

"You want more, baby?" His hips slapped against your backside, jolting you forward as his thrusts gained in force.

"Please, Steve," you weren't sure what you begged for, too overwhelmed with the coil that tightened in your belly.

Another dollop of saliva landed on your asshole and your pussy reacted with the same excited flutter.

Then Steve's thumb was gathering that wetness and pushing it inside, his digit stretching your yet unused hole.

A softened, broken shriek of your climax filled the bedroom, transforming into a string of tiny, sharp cries as Steve's thrust continued to spear you.

His cock was relentlessly abusing your walls, despite the strangling tightness; as he kept his thumb lodged in your ass.

"I've got you, Cherry," Steve's voice turned strained, his grunts matching your moans. "That's it, just take it. Take it like the good little slut you are."

His other hand moved from its bruising grip on your hip to clench on your shoulder. Steve leaned forward, draping more of his weight over you as he kept fucking you in a rough, fast pace.

With this angle the head of his cock repeatedly nudged a particularly sensitive spot in your channel, that had you rapidly reaching another peak.

The thumb in your ass rotated, sensation of it making you shudder and gasp. It teased you with the image of your hole being stretched wider. With more fingers. Maybe with Steve's cock.

Hot breath fanned your year when Steve pressed his cheek to the side of your head; his scruff scratching the overheated skin of your cheek.

"Maybe next time, I'll spit in your mouth."

Your eyes opened wide then fluttered close and your lips parted on a pitiful moan as another orgasm cinched your muscles.

"Fuck!" Steve cursed when you leaked around him.

"Cherry, baby," he kept blabbering, his face nestled in the crook of your neck as Steve chased his own release in jerky thrusts.

Consciousness swimming in the clouds and body completely pliant beneath Steve, you didn't wonder why the idea of Steve spitting made you come so hard. Nor why the sweetly voiced degradation made you melt for him.

As you didn't think why, once again, you forgot about the condom.

[heaven444child]

How and in which situation you will meet your future spouse ✨🍀

Pick an image

Pick one picture🌌 AND Read these readings mindfully 👻and if you want a personal reading then DM me✨🍀

Pile 1🌸

pile 1 You can meet Your future spouse in the 🌼 spring season. And your situation may be such that one of you will be at a place which even you don't know, then you ask someone for help to ask the address of a place. and the person from whom you ask for help will be your future spouse.but then he will not pay attention to you because he will be in 🫨 shock 😲, when you called him by placing your hand on his shoulder.it is possible that he got shocked to see you suddenly but you thought that he also doesn't know the address. maybe that is why he is not saying anything to me. then you go ahead and your future spouse gets confused as to why he couldn't say anything in front of you. It is possible that you will that meet Your future spouse when you travel somewhere related to your career or job. it is possible that at that time you are focusing on your career only and you don't trust people easily at that time. maybe 🤔 at that time you consider yourself less beautiful, but if I tell the truth then you are a very beautiful girl/ handsome boy, so please 🥺 Stop underestimate yourself and keep yourself ready for receive love. because soon you will have a partner in your life who will understand both your mind or ❤️ heart.

( I hope this pile resonates with you )

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Pile 2 🌧️

pile 2 When you meet Your future spouse, it maybe 🌧️ rainy day. both of you will help each other that day. your situation maybe such that one of you doesn't have an umbrella ☔ and you must be standing somewhere to avoid the rain. there you meet Your future spouse and he looks at you and says that I can share my umbrella with you .he may also ask you where are you going,then he tells you that I am also going there .then you can sit on my bike 🏍️ and hold this umbrella ☔, look, don't misunderstand me🫣, I just want both of us to be saved from the 🌧️ rain. when both of you reach your destination, you say thanku to him and then you say that oh.....I didn't even ask you Your name 🫢😱then your spouse tells his name to you and you tell him that nice meeting 🤝❤️ you and then he also says the same......and when you leave, Your future spouse is smiling ☺️☺️ at you and it maybe that you or your future spouse are a little flirtatious. and both of you felt like this after meeting each other maybe this is the person who is made for me and this person or you talk straight forward if he ever flirts with you then he will be flirt openly. he will not feel shy at all🫡😳🤫, rather you will feel shy🫠🫣

( I hope this pile resonates with you )

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Pile 3🏫🫶

pile 3 You can meet Your future spouse at school 🏫 or college or any institute where you go to study. it is also a possibility that you can meet your future spouse just as you have thought. the situation of both of you will be such that you both will bump into each other and it is also a possibility that your future spouse may get a ball shape Mark on his forehead. and you may touch that mark but then he angrily ask you what are you doing🤨then you leave from there. it is possible that you or your future spouse likes to play sports and while playing games, he/she might be about to get hurt but you don't let him/her get hurt.❤️then you leave form there without saying anything and he tries to stop you. says why aren't you listening to me,🤔 I was just thanking you💮because you saved me from getting hurt🤕but you ignoring/avoiding me why..... why😔why are you doing this to me.then you said I also didn't do anything at that time but you were getting angry😡on me. this situation shows that when you meet Your future spouse, there can be a fight or misunderstanding between you two and when both of you solve your misunderstanding, then both of you will be happy 🌸.you make the journey from enemy to friends, friends to lover, lover to partner. ❤️❤and it is also possible that you or your future spouse always stalk or notice each other🫣and your future spouse has a lot of influence on everyone. and everyone believes in him.

( I hope this pile resonates with you )

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Stay blessed ✨🍀 AND thankyou for your support 🫶❤️

[orchidsangel]

MY BABY, MY BABY. YOU'RE MY BABY, SAY IT TO ME. (JT)

notes/cw ~ fluff, minor(ish) angst, fem!reader, talks of having a baby, idk i just had really bad dad!jason brain rot and i felt like i had to share it with my lovely angels, (2.3k)

The sound of laughter rings through your house like jingle bells during the holiday season, pitter patters of tiny feet tumbling against hardwood floors, and bigger ones chasing after them invade your ears. Squeals of laughter pour out through an open window as you pull bags of groceries out of the trunk of your car, the sound of running dying down when the trunk closes with a thump. "Is mommy home?" You hear a familiarly sweet voice say. "I think she is. Come on, let's see if we can beat her to the door."

Bags in hand, you walk up the pathway to the entrance of your house. The street of your suburban neighborhood, mostly empty on this chilly winter night, save for some residents walking their dogs before lights get turned off. The sound of a lock clicks before you're even halfway up the path, and soon after, you're met with Jason and your daughter standing in the doorway looking ridiculous, goofy grins on both of their faces. Red bows are hidden amongst his hair, some tied around short braids, some just hanging loosely on a few strands bunched together. Pink pajama pants peek out from under the red tutu she's wearing, and she dons pink ballet slippers on her feet as if she's about to perform the Nutcracker. 

He steps outside, meeting you at the top of the steps, hooking his fingers under the canvas straps of your reusable tote bags—an investment you'd made to offset some of the carbon emissions from his bike—and takes them into his hands. "New hair, huh?" you ask, eyeing the variety of red satin ribbons tied in knots littering the expanse of his head. "Yeah, you like?" He asks, turning towards you, lowering his head a bit so you can get a better look. You roll your eyes, but there's a smile playing on your lips at the image of Jason sitting down while your daughter's tiny hands play hairdresser with bows and barrettes.

You close the front door behind him as he makes his way toward the kitchen to unpack the groceries, turning your attention to the little girl in front of you sporting a toothy grin. "I thought ballet ended hours ago," you say, eyeing the layers of bright red tulle you had previously hidden to avoid the specks of glitter that shed every time she moved. "She had to practice her pirouettes." you hear Jason say from inside the fridge. "Yeah, mommy. I was practicing my pirouettes." She pouts her lips and cocks her head to the side, small hands fidgeting as she tries to use cuteness to get out of trouble. You cross your arms and squint your eyes at her, "Uh huh. And the hair?" You gesture to Jason, walking toward you. "What does that have to do with pirouettes?" 

He joins the two of you in the living room holding up a container of Gerber baby puffs, using them as a distraction to get both him and his little girl out of trouble. "What?" You ask, deadpan. "What d'ya mean what? We've got an infant I don't know about?" Your daughter gasps, eyes lighting up suddenly. "A sibling!" He laughs, turning towards you with a raised eyebrow. "No, you jerk. Him, not you, honey," you say, quickly correcting yourself. "They're for me." You snatch the container of blueberry-flavored rice puffs out of his hand, peeling off the lid and shoving a handful into your mouth. "God forbid women enjoy things." 

You pop a few more into your mouth before feeling a tug at the coat you still hadn't taken off. When you look down, you're met with your daughter, mouth open and waiting for you to share. She stares at you with wide eyes, using your inability to say no to her to her advantage. Sighing, you raise the container a bit and pause, "Only a few, and you have to get ready for bed after." she nods her head, mouth still open, and you tilt and pour out a substantial amount. She closes her mouth and displays her adorable little smile once again before running off to the bathroom to brush her teeth. "Hold on," Jason shouts down the hallway. "Say thank you to your mom!" You hear feet running again, and soon enough, feel the soft squeeze of your daughter giving you a hug; she presses her head into your lower abdomen as you bring your hand up to softly stroke her hair. "Thank you, Mommy." She says before moving on to Jason and giving an equally soft hug despite using all her might. "And thank you, Daddy, for letting me do your hair." She lets go and scurries off again, leaving a trail of red glitter in her wake for you to clean up.

She disappears into the bathroom, and you watch the hallway, now empty, as she gets ready for bed. You sigh, listening to the sound of water running while she independently does her end-of-the-night tasks, something you'd still helped her with not too long ago. Jason's arms creep around your waist, pulling you against him. His chin rests on your shoulder, and you feel something tickle your neck, but you're not sure if it's his hair or a ribbon. He notices the solemn look in your eyes, a stark contrast to the liveliness he'd seen in you just a few moments ago. "What's wrong? Is it the glitter? Because I can clean that up." He says. "No, not that." You nibble on your bottom lip, lost in thought, trying to organize your feelings. "Just… she's gotten so big." He hums in acknowledgment, his way of saying he shares the sentiment. "I just don't know where the time went." You mumble, overcome with an unexpected sadness. "She's only five." He says into your neck, bringing his hands up to your shoulders and gently pulling off the coat you'd forgotten to take off. "Yeah, but she was just a baby not that long ago. I swear."

The both of you watch her move between her bedroom and the bathroom, soft dark brown curls bouncing with every movement. At five, she was already more responsible than most children her age, having a pretty concrete idea of right and wrong well before most kids do. Responsible for her age, but still just a baby in the grand scheme of everything, and sometimes the two of you would wonder if Jason's occupation might end up inadvertently affecting her and warping her idea of justice, but those fears were almost always disproven as soon as they came and oftentimes you didn't worry more than a few minutes. "We're doing a good job." He says from behind you, rubbing your back in an attempt to take away some of the worry. Normally, it would go away with ease, today, not so much. "We're not bad parents." You say with conviction, but you both know you're just trying to convince yourself of it. "We're not. You know we're not." 

He turns you around to face him, away from the hallway, so you can't dwell any longer. His hands move to your upper arms, kneading gently as he searches for your eyes. "What's wrong? Talk to me." You struggle to make eye contact, unsure of your next words. "I think…I think I want another baby." You breathe out, looking down, unable to meet his gaze. Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes, and you barely breathe while you wait for his reaction. Not a single thing in the universe could've prepared you for the words that come out of his mouth. "Is that all? Is that what you were sulking about?" You look up at him, eyes wide, as he lets out a breathy laugh. Oh Jason, your Jason, taking your face in his hands and leaning down so he can look you in your eyes. "Don't scare me like that again, okay? Do you know how fucked up shit has to be for me to be the optimist out of the two of us?" It's your turn to laugh now, a weight having been lifted off your shoulders. "Language," you warn. "Aw, come on, she's way out of earshot." He bends down and presses his lips against yours; you close your eyes, leaning into him, hands finding his chest as you feel all of your worries melt away.

"Blegh." 

The sudden sound of a disgusted child, your disgusted child, pulls you away from Jason, and you wipe your mouth in embarrassment. It's just your daughter, but you still feel like a kid who's just been caught stealing candy and is about to get lectured into oblivion; Jason, however, handles it with ease. Taking on a playfully stern tone and pointing an accusatory finger at her, he asks, "Why are you up, little lady? Shouldn't you be in bed?" She mirrors his action, pointing a finger at him now. "You didn't tuck me in or read me my bedtime story." He puts his thumb and forefinger on his chin, seemingly thinking it over. "Hmmm, seems you've got me there." He shrugs before picking her up into his arms and giving her a kiss on the forehead. "You've gone soft," you say with a laugh, the embarrassment of being caught having passed. "What can I say? She's bossy. Gets it from her mama." You nudge his shoulder lightly as he turns in the direction of her room. "Alright, that's enough out of you." 

He leaves the door to her bedroom slightly cracked, and you can hear their whispers as they do their nightly routine of picking out a book to read, followed by her falling asleep in his arms. "What do you have in mind tonight?" He asks, laying her down gently on the bed adorned with princess sheets and stuffed animals he'd bought for her during trips around the world. "Can we finish Lord of the Rings?" She grabs her favorite stuffie, a gray bunny with droopy ears and button eyes, and holds it close to her chest as Jason climbs in beside her. "I don't think we can finish it, but we can fit a few pages in before it's time for you to go to sleep. That work for you?" He leans over the side of the bed and picks up a worn copy of Lord of the Rings that had been sitting on top of a stack of books he kept in her room solely for the purpose of bedtime. She nods her head at his question and snuggles further into him as he flips to the page they left off at.

You hear the sound of rustling and know the bedtime story has commenced, leaving you to clean up the mess of glitter and ribbons. Broom in hand, you start to sweep up the remnants of her "pirouette practice." Going up and down the hallway, sweeping back and forth. You catch a glimpse of the photos in the frames lining your wall before coming to a full stop and reminiscing about how far you guys have come. There were some pictures from when it was just the two of you, but most of those were kept digital, hidden amongst miscellaneous screenshots and disorganized photo albums. The majority of the framed photos came after she was born; something so special about being able to hold a photo of the three of you in your hands, to have it on display in your home proudly saying this is my family. Corny, maybe, but you'd never regretted starting the collection, especially since it had been Jason's idea. He'd been insistent that you keep a scrapbook to commemorate your ever-changing lives, but after realizing neither of you had the knack for cutting and gluing bits of paper onto pretty pages, you'd settled on the wall. Now, you look at them so often and always with fondness. Oh, how things had changed since that day, you'd met so long ago.

You don't know how long you'd been standing there, but you hear a door closing softly, and you turn to see Jason trying to make his way into the hallway with minimal noise. "Is she asleep?" You ask, barely above a whisper. "Out like a light." He says, joining you in front of the framed memories. A picture of her as a newborn, freshly discharged from the hospital, catches his eye, "she was really tiny, wasn't she?" He says, voice cracking a little as he remembers the overwhelming fear he'd experienced when you were in labor and how it all went away once he had held her in his arms. You hum in agreement as you both get lost in pictures of her from the past. Birthdays and holidays, family events and major milestones, there was a picture for everything.

There was one of her on his shoulders; she couldn't have been more than two at the time, her tiny fingers laced through locks of jet-black hair. You remember like it was yesterday; she had just watched Ratatouille and was trying to imitate Remy. He had played into it, and he couldn't get her off his shoulders for days after that. Another, taken from her first trip to the beach. You sit behind her, keeping her upright and holding her arms out, making one wave at Jason, who was behind the camera. You smile to yourself, the two of you standing outside of your daughter's bedroom, mostly content, remembering what it was like to have a baby in your arms. The memory of bringing her home floods his brain; how nervous he was yet so insanely happy he couldn't control the smile on his face. A shaky laugh falls from his lips as he pulls down a picture of the three of you still in the hospital, thumb pressed against the glass like he's trying to physically feel the moment. "Yeah…I could do it again." 

been working on this almost non stop for 9 hours, literally my longest fic yet (only by like 600 words, but still !!!), special thanks to @kiyozu (my beloved) for giving me this idea !! eek, hope you guys enjoyed it <33 (user orchidsangel is going to sleep now) (also tried following up dialogue with actions this time, gonna see how that goes bc if it’s too hard to follow along with i’ll just go back to he said she said)

[lostsyren]

Lol, this almost happend to me with my ex so it gave me a request idea of it happening between them: Sofia sneaks over to Rafe’s place wanting to surprise him. Rafe thinks there is an intruder/robbery hearing noise. Surprise meeting around a corner in the house and Rafe hits her (not domestic violence in that way, because obv he would never hurt HER, mistaken identity thinking it’s a dangerous situation) – Super regretful attentive Rafe who is super lovey and feels bad <3

── .✦ surprise

{summary: sofia decides she wants to pay rafe a surprise visit, but little does she know, rafe hates surprises}

{a/n: hi lovely thank you for the request and story time, I hope you like it and I hope you’re ok from the scare!}

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Being let off work early had given her this idea. Sofia knew that Rafe wanted to see her, but she had to decline, due to her night shift at the club. So when her boss had graciously let her go home, Sofia thrummed with excitement at the prospect of finally being the one to surprise Rafe.

It always irked her how he’d sneak up behind her– silent, despite his lanky frame– and loop his arms around her waist causing her to bristle in shock. Or how he’d suddenly yell out in the dark while they’d be sitting nestled on the couch with a horror movie he put on. Sofia would scream and Rafe would laugh, bundling her up in a hug as the nerve-inducing soundtrack screeched in the background.

So that’s the reason she ended up pulling into the driveway of his house, sneaking in through the side door she knew he never locked, under the cover of darkness.

She wanted to get him back.

Rafe was a home– she could tell by the car and the bike both parked up in the front. Usually in the evening he’d be in the study, probably arranging another property deal.

Sofia padded quietly across the wooden floors, her lips caught between her teeth as she tried to still her breathing. She didn’t really have a plan, just to pop up when he least expected. So she drifted noiselessly through the empty rooms, eyeing the yellow light spilling out of the study.

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He didn’t even realise how dark it had had gotten, nighttime settling undoubtedly on the skyline. Rafe let out a small groan, his eyes straining from the lurid laptop light. Shuffling out of the leather chair, he stood up and headed to the kitchen, ready to finally eat something. He wanted to go get dinner with Sofia tonight but she had work, to his dismay. He hated when she wasn’t with him– the thought of those asshole golfers and cardigan wearing yuppies chatting her up at the bar made him sick. Rafe ignored how he started off as one of those assholes. But that was different, he told himself. He was different– Sofia even said so herself.

Rafe wondered how her shift was going as he exited the study, about to pull out his phone to text her, when he noticed the side door from across the open plan space slightly ajar. The sound of its hinges rattled as it was knocked about by the breeze filtering in. He hadn’t left it open…that meant someone else had opened it. Goosebumps splayed across the sensitive skin on his nape. They could be in the house.

The gun. Shit. It was upstairs. Rafe’s eyes frantically scanned his surroundings, searching for a sign– a dark figure in the corner, a set of footprints, an askew painting. But everything looked the same, as much as it could’ve done in the shadow painted room.

That’s when he heard it. The faintest sound of footsteps above him. Someone was upstairs.

With all that he had experienced–the violence, the bloodshed– Rafe’s brain conjured up equally violent and bloody scenarios of a dire home invasion, a grisly robbery, a sinister payback. God knew he had enough people who hated him to do something like that.

So he approached the stairs with a wary stride, eyes manic and fists balled. The image of the gun laying in his drawer was in his mind. Get the gun and he’d be fine– that’s what he told himself.

So he made a dash for the bedroom. But his frantic steps slowed on hearing a small creaking sound emanate from the slit in the door. They were inside.

Rafe approached the bedroom, his heart galloping in his chest, adrenaline pumping across his veins.

All the heady rush of emotions and hormones slammed into him like a truck when he saw the door peep open, a shadow cutting across the sweep of moonlight.

Rafe just swung his arm instinctively.

His first feeling was confusion, when he heard the little squeak of a scream the ‘intruder’ let out. It only became even more confusing to him when it wasn’t a 6 ft burly guy who keeled down in pain, but a 5’4 wisp of a person.

It took a second for his brain to whirr and piece together what had just unfolded.

“Sofia?”

Rafe’s mouth hung wide open, confusion quickly bleeding into distress.

He’d just…he just hit Sofia. Rafe felt sick, a frigid chill prickling across his skin.

Sofia’s hands flew to her face, her dark curls falling softly into her eyes, so he couldn’t see her expression. She had swayed backwards slightly, catching herself on the door frame.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

Rafe scampered toward her, bending down to hover his hands over her face. His fingers carded through her hair, trying to see the damage he’d done.

“Ow,” she whimpered, the sound making his heart vault into his chest

Rafe tried to gently move her hands away, to see her eyes scrunched shut, a bright red mark on the left side of her face.

“Are you ok? Sofia?” He asked, voice breaking, threatening to erupt into tears.

He felt horrible, all the things people would call him (monster, psycho, killer) had gushed forward and inundated him once again. He was reminded of the reason why he was heading to the bedroom in the first place– to get the gun. Imagine if he had shot her? The image of Sofia looking at him, betrayal etched across her features, blood blossoming from her chest, flashed across his mind making him nauseous.

“I’m fine,” she laughed softly, “just trying to get my vision back.” Sofia smiled up at him through her eyelashes with an impish grin, tone humorous.

But he still spiralled into panic, his hands cupping her face, his body bent down to level with hers.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, bringing his lips to the skin he’d hit, that burned an angry crimson. Rafe brushed a litany of kisses across her cheeks, her brows, her jaw, trying his best to kiss it better, to reverse what had just happened.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against her smarting skin, kissing it again, “sorry,” kiss, “sorry,” kiss, “sorry”.

He only stopped when Sofia’s hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him away from her.

“It’s ok Rafe, it was a mistake. I just wanted to surprise you, sorry for scaring you ok?” She said with wide, imploring eyes, her fingers rubbing little circles into his jaw.

Rafe tried to clam himself down, using the sweet sound of her voice to soothe him. His hands rested on her shoulders, clinging to them like an anchor.

“I’m ok, you’re ok…we’re fine Rafe.” Sofia whispered, words draping over him like velvet.

He didn’t notice when his breaths began to come out as ragged lurches, his chest jerking erratically, his throat confined by barbed wire.

Sofia seemed to notice though, his rapid descent into apprehension snuffing out the humour in her eyes and replacing it with a shining concern.

He never wanted to hurt her– the image of Sarah flailing under the water, Kie’s face strangulated and ashen, his father hunched over, bleeding out to die, projected in full colour on his mind.

So he tried his best to hone in on her voice.

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She was sitting on the cold marble countertop in the kitchen, watching Rafe as he prepared an ice ice pack for her. He was wearing a sweater, the dark blue one she liked.

Sofia was still thinking about his over reaction upstairs. The way his hands shook as they cupped her face, his heavy breaths, his bombardment of kisses.

She kept trying to tell it was fine, that she knew he didn’t mean it, that she knew it was an accident.

But Rafe continued to radiate with guilt. She could feel it even now, with his back turned to her, rolling hot waves of regret emanating from his body.

He walked over, ice pack in hand, almost at equal height with her sitting on the barstool and him standing. Fingers brushing against the her hair, he curled the strands behind her ear, placing the ice on her inflamed skin.

They sat in silence, Rafe focusing on the ice pack and Sofia transfixed on his eyes.

“I won’t sneak up on you again, I promise,” Sofia teased, trying to alleviate the suffocating tension. She ghosted her fingers over the veins of his hand.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Rafe said, voice uncharacteristically serious. He was usually so playful and cocky, but his lips had no smile and his eyes were deep with a stony gravitas.

She wanted to make a joke, something along the lines of ‘well you can’t be too happy, you just hit me in the face’ but she didn’t want Rafe to start feeling bad again.

“Me too,” she smiled instead.

Setting the ice pack down on the counter, Rafe let out a heavy sigh.

“Hey baby, don’t worry ok?” She soothed, her hand resting on his shoulders, squeezing hard.

“I hurt you Sofia. That’s not nothing.” His words were rasped, as if it hurt to say out loud.

Sofia’s eyes flickered between his, her other hand inching up his arm.

“You wanna make me feel better?” She said, voice low and sultry, trying to coax Rafe out of his dread state.

He definitely picked up what she was putting down, his mouth opening slightly as his eyes drank her in.

“Sofia…” he began, tone almost chastising as he tried to step back.

But Sofia’s grip on him tightened. “Shhhh answer the question Rafe.”

“Of course I do.”

“Well then, let’s go upstairs then, shall we?” She murmured, standing up to wrap her fingers around his wrist, tugging him slightly.

She turned around to lead the way, before she felt Rafe’s hand drop from hers. Sofia was about to turn around to face him before she felt his big arms wrap around her waist, hoisting her up into his embrace.

Gasping in shock, her hands flew around his neck for support.

“Changed your mind?” Sofia teased, eyes crinkling in a smile.

“Need to show you how sorry I am,” he said voice low, bringing his lips to kiss her cheek.

“I’ve already forgiven you Rafe.” She said softly, against his jaw.

Rafe didn’t look at her, his face in the crook of her neck, almost in repentance. “I haven’t forgiven myself yet.”

Sofia didn’t know why, but that made her heart break. She traced her fingers over the planes of his face, making him look at her. Her fingertips were feathering and gentle, her touch inviting. She slowly leaned up to brush a kiss over his closed mouth.

She felt Rafe hesitate at first, his body freezing, before his lips dissolved into the kiss, a heady concession of muted passion.

As he continued to pepper kisses across her skin: her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, he moved across to where the couch was, gently laying her down.

The house was quiet and empty– the only sound that could be heard was Rafe showing Sofia just how sorry he was, the night bringing more surprises than Sofia thought it would.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆⭒˚｡

[reallyromealone]

Hear me out. Bonten Mikey x omega male reader

A few years after mikey and m/n broke up, mikey discovered that m/n has a 6 year old daughter who looks like a copy of mikey, and mike like connects rhe timeline and realizes m/n was pregnant at the time of their break up but m/n never told him bc he didnt want his kid to be involved in the mafia/gang shit

-🐰 (late birthday gift for me 🥹?)

It's A VERY LATE FIC I'M SO SORRY

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

(Name) smiled as he put his little pups hair in pigtails, her bangs/fringe pinned back with a cute bubble hair band, today they were visiting Draken and Inui and little (daughters name) wanted to dress her best for her favorite uncles--- don't tell the others.

(Daughters name) was (name)s world, the sweetest little pup in the world who was absolutely precious.

Though sometimes it hurt to look at her, she was literally a spitting image of her father-- (name) never realized how feminine Mikey looked till his pup came into the world, but he loved her so much. She was the kindest and most selfless little thing ever. It wasn't the easiest at times but with the support of his friends he managed. Just starting first grade, (name) was thankful to work at the bike shop and being able to collect his little sunshine.

"Don't forget the cookies papa!" (Daughters name) said excitedly as left for their visit, without a care in the world.

Many would ask "where's the sire" upon learning (name) was a single parent, the question annoying and invasive but (name) always lied and made up an excuse about the father being overseas and such.

He refused to let anyone know about the actual reason, that being (daughters name)a father was the most dangerous man in Tokyo, (name) was thankful as much as he was hurt that Mikey dumped him.

He refused to let anyone go through what he did with Kanto Manji Gang.

With what Mikey was quickly becoming.

It was sheer /fucking/ chance that Mikey was waiting for the light to change in his limo as (name) stood at the cross walk holding hands with--

Holy s h i t.

"...boss are you seeing what we're seeing" Kakucho and Sanzu stared in Shellshock as they looked at a tiny Mikey with pigtails and a little dress, all of them doing the mental math and coming to a quick realization that holy fuck (name) was pregnant.

He was pregnant that day, oh my god that's what he wanted to talk to Mikey about!

"What are your thoughts on kids?" (Name) asked awkardly as they ate dinner, Mikey surpisingly home for once to do so "annoying, would get in the way" the blond said simply "a liability"

(Name) forced himself not to place his hand on his stomach, anxiety riddling his body "I see..."

"Why?"

"Just curious"

Mikey was always so disinterested in (name) these days, (name) always suspected that he was cheating, never saying anything though.

(Name) wanted to just scream.

Mikey remembered that night.

It was the night Mikey dumped him, a rash decision on his end and during one of his dark impulse moments.

He immediately regretted it after, the pained look on (name)s face and they hadn't seen each other since.

(Name) had many expectations of life, but seeing his ex sitting on his couch after he put his pup to bed, noticing the other Bonten men guarding the apartment "the fuck are you doing here" Mikey expected (name)a hostility and glanced up "that's my kid"

"What do you want Mikey" (name) wasn't having any conversation, he wanted to know what the hell he was doing here "I want to meet my kid"

"And get involved in your bullshit? Absolutely not! "Babies are a liability" remember that Mikey?" He hissed out and Mikey sighed, knowing this wasn't going to be easy "I deserve to meet her"

"You lost that chance when you broke up with me, I'm not letting my daughter deal with your shit, Mikey you're /dangerous/! She's six and I don't want her to ever go through what I went through!"

"I can keep you both safe!"

"YOU COULDN'T EVEN KEEP ME SAFE!" (name) was crying at this point, so angry at his once beloveds audacity"I kept her away for a reason Mikey, you are dangerous! She gets to play with her friends and have sleep overs! Has sleep overs at the friends you left behind! She gets to have a childhood that isn't currupted!"

"Why can't you let her have that?" (Name)s voice was broken and his body shaking, he would sacrifice everything for his daughter and at this moment he would stand his ground.

Bonten would poison her.

"Can...can I just please /know/ my daughter"

(Name) was tired, he was tired of it all "if you can /promise/ me that nothing will happen to her, I will let you meet her but one slip up Sano and I will never let you see her again"

[baby-tini]

May I ask for Mikey x fem oc or reader, in the last arc scenario when mikey goes back to the past with his memories intact and tries to find her but couldn't, and only finds her again when both of them are adults with their own jobs and everything...(Also just for it to be a little angsty maybe she died before the last time).... I'm sorry I'm so bad at this 😭

A/N- You're all good, sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy it nonetheless.\ TW- Readers death and Manjiros attempted suicide in the Bonten timeline. He looked for you, he looked everywhere for you, but you weren't anywhere too be found. He searched for you for days, then those days turned into weeks and unfortunately months. The last image he has of you, is when you died in his arms, during his Bonten days. He remembered he didn't eat or sleep for days. You were the only light in his dark life. The only thing that actually kept him going. The only reason he even thought about getting up in the morning, that's the main reason he tried too jump off that building in the first place, but then, Takemichi had saved him and promised everything would be better for him and everyone, including you. But as he went through his life, happy to have all of his friends and family alive he was grateful, don't get him wrong, but he missed you, deeply he missed you. He's never loved and cared about someone so deeply and intimately before. He never forgot about you, not even once, you were always stuck in his head as the same questions continuously ran through his mind. Where were you? Were you okay? Were you thinking about him too? If you were, were you thinking about him nearly as much as he thought of you every. single. day. It was a chance meeting in all honesty, your friend was really into motorcycles so, of course she wanted too watch the races, so when she bought tickets, and her boyfriend wasn't available, she asked you too go with her instead. You really didn't want too go at first, given motorcycles weren't really your thing, but in true bestfriend fashion, she had pleaded with you until gave in. Giving you the little puppy dog eyes as she clung to your arm with a multitude of pleas. Then demanding you get ready when you finally gave into her. When you did finally get to the racing stadium, she went crazy, telling you all about the racers and who they were. How skilled they were and what type of motorcycles they were driving. Again, being someone who really wasn't into motorcycles, you weren't really listening, just watching the bikes speed around the track until they were done and finally announced their winner, but you didn't really stay for that, instead quickly leaving too busy yourself at the taiyaki stand. You've always liked taiyaki, it being your favorite snack and all. Especially when you think about the memories you'd occasionally get, eating it with a man that you couldn't give a face or a name. "Hey, just make double and I'll pay for it." That voice... sounded so familiar, the deep rasp hitting your ears as it sent your brain into deja vu. A man, with a black undercut walked towards the stand as he pulled out his card, still dressed in a racing uniform. As he turned to look at you and your eyes locked on his, you both froze. There was a feeling of electricity that shot through the both you, as your eyes met his. The beautiful obsidian that felt so familiar yet so.. distant. "...Baby?" The mans eyes held a recognition in them as those lost memories of yours came back, clearer then before. Finally giving the man a face and a name, "Manjiro..?" The way his name fell from your lips sent a shiver up his back, as though he had been dunked in ice water. It was quick, more on instinct then anything really, as you both grabbed at each other. Clinging to the other as you ran your hands over the other. His hands running through your hair, then grabbing at your face and staring deep into your eyes while his watered.

Quickly pulling you away from the crowded area, he led you into a back alley. Quickly trapping you in his arms, chest-to-chest, he held you as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. Wrapping your arms around his waist you held him tightly, taking in the smell of his cologne, Hugo Boss, you'd never forget that smell, it would always drive you crazy whenever he wore. The smell nearly as comforting as his arms, the tan, muscular limbs wrapping around you in a vice. You both pulled back after long minutes of the tight embrace, before you could say anything though, his lips were already on yours as he buried his hands deep into your hair. Your hands coming up to run up under his shirt, feeling the hard muscle of his chest and abs, trying too recite everything to memory as he pulled closer. Only pulling back too catch his breath before diving back in and holding your face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks, as if, too also recite everything to memory. Reluctantly pulling away, he leaned his forehead against yours as he panted against your lips, your breath mixing with his as he stared you down with those wide black eyes, no longer empty and cold. Instead they were warm and loving, his pupils dilated as he took you in, the image of you dying in his arms coming back as he held you closer while he felt his eyes got wet, the salty liquid dripping down his cheeks. "Don't ever leave me again... I can't be without you baby, you're all I ever think about, I need you, I love you so much."

[transmascutena]

utena text posts part uh... 7?

[ID: a series of screencaps from revolutionary girl utena with text posts edited on to them:

Utena having just transformed into a car + "There is a massive problem with the body image issue. I remember as a kid having transformers and I hated myself because I couldn't morph into a corvette.

Touga and Saionji on their bike + "I do gay shit as a joke it's called irony grow up"

Shiori sitting in her room + an anonymous tumblr ask that says "Is it bad that I kinda wanna hit my crush with a car and then nurse her back to health like a baby bird or it normal? :)"

Nanami with her dueling sword + "i think i should be allowed to kill if im jealous"

Anthy crying on the rooftop + "not evil anymore i want to be loved now" followed by Anthy about to stab Utena + "evil again"

Utena sitting curled up in her dorm room + "we all have that one homie who never fully recovered from the incident"

Utena + "im basically normal if you really don't think about it"

Anthy seeing the cowbell on TV + "shoutout to girls who do not understand the difference between 'the bit' and 'waging psychological warfare'"

Touga and Saionji in the motorcycle and sidecar + a text conversation that goes "God I do not like a single thing about u" "Tell me more" "This isn't sexting" "It's better than sexting tbh"

/End ID]

[loverboykirstein]

biting the bullet // kinktober pt. 4/5

sam (sdv) x afab! reader

wc: 7,574

mdni -> warnings: mentions of addiction/neglect/throwing up/mental illness, unprotected sex, breeding, possession

***“go. whatever happened, whatever-“ he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “whatever happened, fix it. go-” another sigh, covering up his lack of words. “you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own,”. 

you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own. 

you did break his heart, right? 

you..

a deep breath, the last swig from the bottle that had mixed with the night sky’s tears of solidarity. 

on his feet, another deep breath for the road. 

“samson, go,”.***

the mismatched pattering of his heartbeat in his ears began to close his throat, chest cavity torn apart by the weight of a passing phrase. 

“can we do tomorrow? i’m taking them to the look-out on my bike tonight,”. 

what..? 

it was happening again. he let his guard down for just a moment, a fraction of a second, and his lungs and heart and every nerve ending were spilling out of his ripped apart being, invisible to all but him. 

you..seb..? of course you want seb. everyone does. we each have a role, right? just like mom? like dad? 

is there something that wrong with me? how do i atone for my sins in my past life to mediate the bullshit i’ve drug into this one? that’s the only explanation, right? 

it followed him everywhere, a sick joke that didn’t even have a punchline. in its wake, it simply stole his soul away, piece by piece, a sick treasure hunt of trying to rebuild and rebuild and rebuild. 

for what cause? to sit up and stare at his ceiling, snapping the rubber band on his wrist over and over and over again, a piss-poor attempt to calm himself down that never seemed to work. 

what was he supposed to do? he hadn’t even been handed the short end of the stick, simply tempted with it like a dumb dog and locked in a collar for the rest of time as punishment for his greed. 

the desperate, aching, bruising desire for a life. 

to be more than a secondary, to figure out who he was. 

to fall in love and not get hurt. 

to begin to trust without losing his joints in the process, left a brittle mess of grinding bones at the end of it all. 

to make the decision to live for himself, not for the need of the image of others. 

to make it out of a war-torn cage, to never follow in his fathers footsteps. 

to build a family that was wanted, unlike his. 

he wanted that with you. 

he never knew why he existed, or what the point was. 

then he heard your laugh for the first time, handing him an extra maple bar you had made and he nearly collapsed at the life that made his fingers numb and filled his lungs instantaneously. 

but now,  quiet trembles rustled through his bloodied fingers, too busy taking out anything he could on anything he could. 

near the edge of the valley, beyond leah’s quaint home lied a hidden little cave, behind bushes and trees and the occasional critter or two. 

his blood stained parts of the exposed rock, the only thing he could hit without feeling bad. far enough away, no one ever finding him out there. 

for no one to hear his violent sobs, his screams out to whoever was behind all of this, why, why, why. over and over and over, prayers for a reason as to why things had to be this way. 

but if he wasn’t home to set the table, his mother would lose her temper before the oven timer even rang. the sun finding its way back to the never-ending horizon was her queue, the so-called ‘acceptable’ time of day to numb the sorrow crawling near, pushing it onto the son she never wanted in the first place. 

which left vincent to his own devices, luckily not alone, but he knew he wasn’t doing well, penny not focused enough on teaching, more on playing, as she glued herself to the novel of the day, explicit enough to be banned from the library entirely. in front of the kids? really? 

so he would swallow his heartbeat, coughing up a stable voice through his constricted windpipe that built a facade good enough to fool just about everyone. 

he sat on his floor for hours. the hum of the washing machine was echoing through the paper thin walls. 

everything was else felt silent, felt quiet. 

except the unrelenting grave digging itself wide open in the middle of his messy bedroom. 

because things weren’t quiet. dad was fighting for god knows what, narrowly missing shrapnel with each breath. 

mom was mixing pills and booze, manic-depressive in nature and waiting until the very edge before it was too late. 

but the worst was knowing that you and seb weren’t being quiet. you weren’t asleep in your bed, cuddled up with your cat under a quilt and your childhood blanket held close. 

you were clinging onto him, body pressed against his. sharing a spot of the world that he had only seen once, seeing the city ahead of him that he could barely remember being a part of. 

the most he could remember was his childhood therapist, the only one who saw past his so-called laxidasical disposition and class-clown behavior. struggling with reading, a common case of adhd and anxiety all jumbled up inside of a first grader. 

a hint of dyslexia, and the guilt of his mothers cries he could hear against the locked doors, mourning a life without children. 

nothing a child should have to bear, tiptoeing as to not crack the paper thin ice that made up his floorboards. 

craving attention from the ones who created him, from the one who carried him in her womb. 

father rarely around, making up for the lack of stability in the form of a paycheck and health insurance. 

reprimand after reprimand, the only way to get his mother to look him in the eyes. 

acting out as a cry for help, at validation, at fucking anything. 

from the comedy covered pain,  he learned to always know how to make someone laugh. to make sure they could exhale a little bit of whatever was holding them back, even if it meant that he had to let it settle in his lungs so it wouldn’t fall back into theirs one day. 

he promised himself that he would never open up the small little lock on his exterior for anyone. ever. 

maybe he didn���t notice, or maybe you tripped the wires first, but the alarm bells never rang. no emergency protocol, no swot team to barricade his entire being shut. 

you left the door open, not even bothering to worry about the heat being on, letting all the cold air in. 

or maybe you didn’t even know, the key hidden in the corner of your room, under your bed mixed with dust and other lost memories. 

how was he supposed to face you again? he had planned on inviting you to the band’s first show, your excitement bouncing off the walls at the thought, when he mentioned the idea. 

even though they only had a few songs, rough drafts at best, poor attempts at writing lyrics in an attempt to give abi and seb the spotlight. 

also in fear, knowing someone would put the pieces together, that someone would connect the dots. that they would see the unrepairable shattered glass of his being behind it all. 

that you would figure it out, never looking at him the same way again. 

⊹ ࣪ ˖

weeks flew by in aching stretches, avoiding contact with anyone,  his only bandaid over the wound. declining invitations that could maybe bring you close, making your laugh ring in his ears or the smell of your perfume that would replace his train of thought. 

all his time spent sleeping, the sun becoming his worst enemy. 

braving the light only upon vincent’s summertime pleas, just to lie and say that dad was okay, that there was nothing to worry about. 

flickering his eyes between his brother and the beach entrance, hoping, praying, you wouldn’t appear behind him, or anyone for that matter. not strong enough to explain his absence, to explain the proverbial last straw that chewed up and spit out his barricaded soul. 

you would stop by, questioning his mother on his wordless disappearance. she didn’t have an honest answer, blaming it on music school? 

weeks turned to months, watching the seasons pass by. he couldn’t figure out why it hurt so goddamn bad. 

trying to process two decades worth of grief, wrapped up in his dna as he grew inside his mothers unwanting body. 

every effort, every last ditch grasp with a mildly politically incorrect joke, another brick laid on his wall of lies. 

why did this become his downfall? the dramatic, be all end all suffocating downfall. 

what did his subconscious craft while he wasn’t fixing up the cracks? too busy lost in your stories that filled him with a mix of worry and thrill all at the same time, the small scrunch of your nose, and the way you bit your lip when you lost your train of thought. 

two weeks after the attempt harvey made to check up on him, to ‘have a talk’, a government letter arrived through the mail slot on the door. 

kent was coming home. dad is coming home. dad is coming… home..? 

arriving in a week, realizing he had a week to build the wall back up. 

to rid his eyes of the rubbed-raw corners, saltwater leaving a red hue around his lashes. 

to cover up his sullen cheeks, too fucked to get up and take care of himself beyond the minimum. 

the hole in his chest mirrored the grave he had to step around when he got the courage to move, too deep and vacant to see the bottom. 

he couldn’t figure out why you were the one to kick all of this off, you weren’t even that close? sure, friends who saw each other all the time, near habitual meetings that would worry the other when routines changed. 

but you weren’t together, did he even have the right to blame you? 

you didn’t cause every ounce of pain he had endured through the fabric of his life, you didn’t stitch pain into the pattern of his fingerprints. 

but every goddamn thought came back to you. you, you, you. 

all he fucking wanted was you. 

it was pathetic, a childlike reaction to not getting something he made no effort to get. to try and make, to try and prove himself to you. 

you were probably waiting for the next rain by now, already modifying your cabin to accommodate your soon to be husband. 

FUCK. 

the 7 letters managed to make him ill, rushing past the all consuming ending cornering him against his wall. 

knees melting the cold tile, reaching to turn on the sink and the fan so that no one could hear him try and expel the hell of that idea. 

that he would get to sleep next to you every night, he would want love songs about you, he would get the chance to see the most intimate parts of you and so much more. 

everything sam wanted, gone. stripped away. 

but it was never his to begin with, was it? 

⊹ ࣪ ˖

a blur of days meshed together, world now sideways as a version of his mother he had never seen cleaned every corner of the house, paint chips repaired, hiding every dark secret she tucked away in his absence. 

the dread made him want to hurl, want to really disappear. how was he supposed to face a version of his father he didn’t know at all? 

two bags in hand at the doorstep, his mother and vincent sobbing in unison at their reunion. but he saw it. the visions in his eyes, the forced image of being alive was like looking in a mirror. 

he didn’t know what to do. he was stripped of anything he ever knew. any hopes of his life ahead. 

except his was lost in a real war, fighting for some sort of cause that came with a paycheck and praise and thank-you’s. 

sam’s was a selfish mess, ruining himself over the idea of something that wasn’t real over a goddamn sentence. 

a look of unblinking eyes, both bloodshot and sad, a nod of mutual understanding but also complete confusion. 

kent wondering what went wrong with his eldest as he was gone, mouth running dry when he recognized the look plastered on his son. 

a hot meal, the first real one kent had eaten without the threat of an air strike in god knows how long, mixed with his favorite beer he could finally share with his eldest. 

despite the distaste, sam took the opportunity to drink, no reprimands on something that would make him feel less. 

but it seemed to do the opposite as he stepped out into the pouring rain, clouds appearing out of nowhere as the sun took its leave. 

letting the cold, wet air settle the heat of panic in his stomach, he jumped half to death when his father tapped his arm with an open beer bottle. 

“take it,” kent tipped the bottle towards him, watching the rain patter on the glass. 

he nodded, nearly losing his grip as he swung back far too heavy of a drink, not wanting to taste it anymore. it tasted like guilt, disappointment. 

“kid, spill it. i didn’t stay alive to see the same look in your eyes,” kent’s demand knocked sam’s brain around in his skull, stunting his breathing and blacking out his vision. 

“what?” he coughed, knowing it wouldn’t work worth a damn on his unhappy father, who seemed to already know what happened, yet equally clueless as he had never asked about sam’s feelings before. 

“samson, c’mon kid. i-” he sighed, eyes tracking the rain on the porch make its way to the sidewalk. “i want to help you. i want to be a father, at least a friend. i realized that, alone out there. i can smell it on you, so talk,”. 

a lingering, sulfur filled silence crushed his passageways, nearly collapsing into his father like a small child after scraping his knee on the playground. 

‘i want to be a father’. 

“look kid, if you don’t wanna talk, that’s fine,” kent leaned up against the painted exterior of what felt like a new home. “just, whatever it is, you can’t run away forever. it doesn’t wor-”

“I DONT KNOW WHATS WRONG WITH ME, DAD,”. 

the first time he had ever spoken up to his father, that he had raised his voice. 

a cracked voice still managed to let the sorrow spill, pooling over his lash line and mixing with the rain. 

“i can’t fucking take it anymore-i-FUCK,”. 

his syllables were broken, caught between desperate gasps for air in his first cry for help. 

paper mache hands disappearing under the diluted salt, crouching down as if to save them. 

“she’s-” his words barely coherent, choking up his pathetic admittance. “she’s probably already gotten that stupid fucking pendant god damn it all,”. 

broken laughter, a mix of every feeling known to man, choked up with gravel and acid. 

“i never fucking did anything about it, either,” running his arthritic bones through his sopping wet hair, he looked up at the man who had just been through the troubles of war. 

real war. 

not the emotional one, the near psychosis-like state of a few months passed. 

“so do something about it,”. kent was cut and dry, the only way he knew how to cover up his heartache. 

his eldest, the one he held the most guilt for, the most agony for. the one he prayed for every night, the one who was his first thought every time a bullet flew past a little too close. 

he didn’t want to break, knowing that if his son watched him collapse at the sight, he would never forgive himself. 

“what?” nothing more than a scoff, but a halt of accidental waterboarding at the gasps for air. 

“go. whatever happened, whatever-“ he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “whatever happened, fix it. go-” another sigh, covering up his lack of words. “you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own,”. 

you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own. 

you did break his heart, right? 

you..

a deep breath, the last swig from the bottle that had mixed with the night sky’s tears of solidarity. 

on his feet, another deep breath for the road. 

“samson, go,”. 

his fathers gruff tone, eyes sharp and stern sent his feet moving, running. 

barely able to see in the dark, pouring rain, letting nothing but his burning blood carry his body to the place you called home. 

i have to fix this i have to fix this i have to- 

over and over and over again, repeating like a broken record, the only words left engrained. 

even though you didn’t know that anything needed to be fixed, he needed to fix things for him. he couldn’t look at his father the same if he at least didn’t try. 

soaking wet, hair in his eyes and catching on his tear stained blinks, out of breath and on your front porch. 

the only shield left was your front door, metal handle illuminated from your porch light. 

do it, you already got here, do it. 

scattered shallow breaths from running turned to shaky heavy ones, raising his still-bruised hand to your wooden door. 

two knocks, two seconds, two more. the way he always did before his self-inflicted imprisonment. 

“sam..?” you rubbed your eyes, shocked awake by his unnerving knocks in the dark. “what are you-come in, you’re soaked,”. 

you looked panicked, not bothering to worry about anything other than him being soaking wet and out of breath. 

he took his sopping wet shoes off at your door, leaving them to sit on your porch next to your rain boots.  with less than a passing second, you had disappeared and returned with a towel and a change of clothes. 

“sam what the fuck-are you-” running around in your pajamas, a short pair of flannel shorts and a tshirt that nearly covered them entirely, turning the heat on and running a kettle on the stove, his drying eyes were too focused on you. 

questioning why you weren’t out as late as you used to, knowing marlon had found you passed out cold on one too many occasions. 

“y/n it’s-it’s fine, i uh-” he stood still, shaking his head as if to force himself to blink. 

“go, go change before you freeze half to death in my house,” busy standing on your tip-toes to reach the top cabinet, barely able to grab the box of tea you kept specifically for him. 

peeling his eyes from your strained calves and your ass peeking out of the bottom of your sleepwear, he hurried off the other way towards your bathroom. 

the sight of your overly exposed legs was enough for him to twitch, his mind such a goddamn mess that he couldn’t really even remember what he was going to say. 

suffocating in your perfume that had soaked into your walls, he forced his rain soaked clothes off his shivering body. the purple hue on his lips, aching joints. 

hands on either side of the counter, flushed cheeks and sunken eyes, sam caught his breath, stealing any strength he could from the hardwood holding his hands. 

i have to fix this. don’t be a fucking bitch. suck it the fuck up, you fucking moron. 

hanging his clothes over the bathtub, towel still in hand, he caught sight of you pacing back and forth in your kitchen. 

chewing on your thumbnail, something you only did when you were stressed. brows furrowed, only snapped out of your endless loop by the kettle whistling loud. 

“better?” you asked, back turned to him as you poured him a mug full, adding a bag of his favorite tea from the traveling merchant in to simmer. 

“y-yeah. thank you,” rustling his hair with the towel, worn and faded, trying to rid it of any extra sorrow carried inside. 

“sit, mister,” you pointed at your couch, eyes stern almost like a mothers. 

he did as he was told, slowly caving in on himself as he felt like a bigger burden than ever before. 

“here, i’ll be right back,”. 

gently handing him the warm blue ceramic mug, the one vincent had given you after you spent your afternoons helping him learn to read, the corners of your mouth turned up slightly at the lax in sam’s shoulders once his joints found warm relief. 

grabbing a comb from under the bathroom sink, you came back wordlessly, floorboards creaking below your hurried feet. 

in a matter of minutes, you went from fast asleep on the couch, tv paused  from lack of activity when asked, cuddled up closely to your cat and your blanket, to wide awake and flustered, worried beyond belief. 

you knew that kent had come home, and you had planned to introduce yourself in a few days, allowing him time to settle in. 

rattling your skull was the fear that something horrid had happened, so bad that sam had run in the fucking rain to your cabin of all places after the endless era of radio silence. 

“so,” you sighed standing behind him, a small shadow casting over him as your body blocked the light in your entry way. “you gonna tell me what the hell has been going on?” 

your words were harsher than you wanted them to be, but fuck man, you hadn’t seen him in months, no matter how many attempts you made. 

pulling his head back a little, you began to comb through his incredibly tangled hair, feeling him dissolve under the slightly bit of affection. 

“can-can i ask a question..first?” his eyes were closed, mindlessly rubbing his thumb into his opposite palm. 

“only, if you pinky promise to tell me everything after,”. you stuck out your pinky, and he didn’t hesitate to reach yours. locking in his fate, peeling away the plastic film that was the only bit of his shield still remaining, your fingers crossed and released as the promise was sealed. 

“how are uh, how are you and seb?” it felt like blood came up as he spoke, riddled with sorrow filled expectations of what your response would be. 

“what?” you hands stopped their attempt to comb through his tangled blonde mess, stunned at the question. “were..fine? have you not talked to him recently?” 

huh? 

“no i uh- no i haven’t. i thought you guys were like…” 

“sam, you don’t think we’re dating, do you?” 

you-

“you’re..not?” covering his face with his hands, trying to hold any bit left of him together. 

“no? sam i-”. your breaths were deep, focusing all your downright confusion into releasing the knots through his hair. 

“oh,”. 

oh. 

“alright, now that your speculations on my nonexistent sex life are over can you please explain why you are here right now?” 

a black hole, all consuming, everything everywhere all at the same time. the inside of his skull, spinning, spinning, spinning. 

“i um-fuck, im so sorry, y/n. i’m so sorry,”. leaning his head back, fully into your overworked fingertips, soaking in every ounce of touch he could. 

“why are you sorry? sam you didn’t do anything, other than give me a goddamn heart attack,”. 

how are you not mad? 

how are you so casual about this? 

“i-” 

“if this is because of seb i swear to god i’m going to beat the shit out of you samson,” he could feel you shake your head in disbelief, as if he should have known or as if there was this big sign that was supposed to be placed in front of him that he managed to look right through. 

“y/n, i-”

he couldn’t cough the words he wanted out, embarrassment flooding his entire being, shame mixing in at a searing rate. 

he felt you silently leave, pulling his airways closed the further you went. 

so pathetic, so goddamn fucking pathetic. cant even tell her, what am i doing- 

“sammy, come back from whatever planet you're on please,” you were sat on the coffee table, knees touching his. two shot glasses in one hand, a bottle of liquor in the other. 

you set them both on the table, filling them each to the brim. dark amber syrup, so foolishly innocent, burning its way all the way past your lips. 

as if your voice didn’t make him dizzy enough, the liquor you kept on hand was always the strongest, outshining anything else he had ever had before. 

“each shot, we each share something. okay?” 

handing him his glass, clinking them together and kicking it back. 

he winced at the burn, the warmth bubbling in his stomach. 

he watched you drink it far too easily, better than you did the last time you drank together. your eyes, your soul looked tired, gone unnoticed in his own self-pity. 

soon the heater was shut off, both of you warm enough from the poison seeping into mutual bloodstreams. 

shot after shot, losing track in storytelling as he listened to you speak on your adventures in the newly found desert, all of the new weapons you learned to use. 

how he had tried to teach alex to skateboard, his first time getting high, struggling to find any reason to talk about himself when you were sat in front of him, inches away. 

he was simply infatuated, beyond infatuated, soaking up every breath to make up for lost time.

“oh! sammy, sammy,” you nearly whined, placing a hand on either one of his thighs. “will you pleaseee tell me where you’ve been all this time?” 

your slightly jutted lip, flushed cheeks and steadfast grip on his legs froze his surroundings, eyes locked on your pleading heart. 

just fucking bite the damn bullet. 

“i-seb canceled on me, that night he took you to the lookout. and i-” he leaned forward, heaviest sigh blowing fear out of the way. “i realized i couldn’t handle that. i couldn’t handle you being with-”

“sam-”

“i couldn’t handle seeing you with someone else when all i ever wanted was you, i just,”. 

“sam-”. 

“i knew that wasn’t fair to you and i just, i didn’t realize how much i-”

guilt ridden words cut short, your liquor stained lips shutting his. entire body pushed into him, not even enough time for him to fully register what was happening. 

is she..? 

“you’re fucking stupid,” you pulled away for a moments time to mutter that to him, pressing your forehead against his. “it has been you this whole time, idiot”. 

what? 

“what?” his eyes forced rapid blinks, unable to process what you had just said, what you had just done. 

“i-god damn it all sam LISTEN TO ME, i never went with seb that night, i wanted to do that with you,”. 

shock was the only way to think of it, the world frozen on its titled axis as it listened to your confession, to his heart that was on the brink of collapse as it beat so hard it shook the ground. 

a few short stutters, words falling flat. months of self-imposed torture, losing everything he knew, breaking his father’s heart, really was selfish, too scared to do anything. 

if he had swallowed his fear, faced the music, done something, anything. 

don’t let this get away. don’t fuck it up. don’t fuck it up. 

lifting his hands from his awkward side, roughly placed on either side of your hips. 

using a newfound strength, he pulled you from the table, right into his lap. 

falling into his wordless surrender, you let your body collapse into his, legs straddled on either side. 

your clothed cunt immediately rolled against his length, pulling all of the blood from his body to an aching throb under you. 

addicted to the sheer desperation in the air, gravity itself forced your lips back together, making up for months of time apart. 

feverish from the first touch, wildfire to a field of wilted grass, burning oxygen faster than it could be replaced. 

each heavy breath another exposed confession, his grip pushing you into him even harder another apology for leaving you for so long. 

tongues fighting for a chance at forgiveness, soaking up the words that were too hard to exhale. 

he let out a soft whine at your separation, instant drop of his stomach as you pulled away from his bruised lips. 

dropping your head to the side, he shivered under your heated breaths against the side of his neck. heartbeat nearly visible, your swollen lips pressed slow praises down, not leaving an inch untouched. 

opposite hand keeping his jaw turned, you trailed your tongue back up, a smirk hitting your lips at the twitch you felt against your spread legs. 

no permission, no hesitation, just a gasp from his aching lungs as you sucking a mark of sheer possession in the form of broken blood vessels. grazing your teeth along with your vampiric latch, leaving a bruise dark enough no amount of makeup could cover. 

your hips now indented with the lines of his fingerprints, permanently etched into your skeletal structure. 

“bedroom,” you whispered into his ear, sin coating your voice in blatant need. 

body driven by nothing but lust, he stood from the couch as you wrapped your legs around him, one hand cupping your ass while the other was itching to open the door to a new life. 

it was all happening so fucking fast. 

you wanted him. 

this whole time, you wanted him. 

letting your head hit the plush of your bedding, he loomed over you with two devilish sparkles in his eyes. 

one glistening as his broken heart glued itself back together, your touch ensuring that every piece was perfectly aligned. 

the other shimmering in primal greed, suffocating any thought other than possession. to not lose the chance to keep you all to himself. 

a needy look twitched in your jutted-lip pout, a wordless plea for him to take what was his this whole. time. 

now fluid joints, unphased by the ache in his tortured hands, hooked under your shorts, no underwear in between. 

warm fingers against exposed skin, the small bit of decency on the floor with one swift effort. 

cold air hit your already wet cunt, a small trail of your sticky pleads following your clothing to the floor. 

“can i..?” he looked up at you for a moments time, not wanting to lose sight of your glistening slit like his life depended on it. 

you nodded, not letting the small voice of insecurity speak up before your aching heart did, unprepared for intimacy to this degree. 

or intimacy at all for that matter. 

a touchy subject, too used to getting hurt. leaving your life behind in the smog coated city, one night stands back in the poorly painted walls of your studio apartment. 

you thought you knew what love was, the overwhelming panic, the world ending promises to be better, to be prettier, to be someone they wanted. 

forcing the thought out of your mind, each synapse in your aching brain going fuzzy at the first swipe of his hesitant tongue. 

it had been so long since you had been touched, too afraid to ruin a friendship in such a small town. to not overstep your place as the new addition in an already woven community. 

too exhausted to do it yourself most of the time, the thoughts only settling in when it came to him. 

a single brush of your fragile bud make your ears buzz, the sheer ache to feel it again, and again, and again. 

silent prayers answered, waters tested, sam’s tongue writing apologies and months worth of confessions in your pooling slick, feeding him the first meal of his life. 

placing your hand over your mouth, muffled whimpers replaced exhales, sharp inhales through your nose not providing nearly enough oxygen to your racing heart. 

“don’t hide, pretty girl,” his slightly slurred voice stuck like honey, pulling your hand away without a second thought. 

his plea a few octaves deeper, your walls clenching around nothing at all and with his drunken confidence. 

like he would die of hunger if he strayed away any longer, you lost sight of him between your legs, tongue teasing your pleading hole. 

“sammy please,” you couldn’t do anything but whine, a fistful of his hair in your shaking fingertips. 

pushing his flushed face deeper, nose pressed against your clit, shoving his tongue in as far as he could. 

muffled vibrations of his satisfied moans shook your core to near collapse, the slight movement of his nose making your legs quiver against the side of his head. 

thighs increasing their strength, ensuring he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to, the telltale that you were already on the brink of release. 

the first of many, just the beginning to a man who would never forgive himself for leaving you for what felt like an eternity. 

no time for warning, words broken into a mess of jumbled up letters, your salty-sweet slick flooding his overworked taste buds at an alarming rate. 

nerve endings twitching, spine forced to endure repeated bolts of serenity with each spasm. all ten of his fingers bruising your thighs as he held onto them so tightly, a feeble attempt to keep you still until you rode out your first high of the night, your first in so, so long. 

finally able to breathe at the weakening of your hips, legs shakier than you would have liked them to be. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, more than enough of you on him, and he loved it. 

meeting your blown out eyes, you couldn’t stop the nervous giggle that bubbled over, dragging his long lost smile out of the dark with each little sound. 

both hands covering your face, embarrassed, nervous. 

how a man like him, so gorgeous, so gentle, would want a single thing to do with you, you didn’t understand. 

hiding away your feelings for him for what felt like ages, heart shredded when he took his reclusive leave, without a word on why. 

weeks spent spiraling, wondering what you did wrong, how you could fix what you didn’t even know. 

“nuh-uh, no thank you,” his tsks were so thick, so heavy as he pulled both your hands away from your face, eyes softening just enough at the sight of your embarrassment. 

“do you want to keep going?” question so very gentle, not assuming like you had always known. 

and it was fucking hot. 

a quick nod, a little shy at the urgency in your reaction, but needing him anywhere was all you could think of. 

you watched him stand beside you, a better angle to strip himself of his clothes. 

nearly drooling at the sight, you could have died and gone to the highest bits of heaven, and it wouldn’t compare to the feeling of him looking down at you with his hand on his cock, thumb tracing over his pre-coated pink tip, silver bar glistening. 

oh fuck. 

each scar that covered his arms, each muscle contracting with labored breaths, made a whimper fall out of you, like a bitch in heat. 

“needy girl, aren’t you?” he climbed on top of you, urging you to sit up just a little so he could tear away the fabric hiding the rest of you. “haven’t been touched in so. very. long. huh?” 

usually, patronizing teases would have angered you to the third degree, but it had you melting into his palms like ice cream on a midsummers day. 

feeling his fingertips graze over your whole body, thumbs baaareely drawing circles around your nipples, another guilty whine for more, more of him. 

“think you can take me without stretching ya out?” his demeanor turned a little cocky, nearly pulling a bratty remark out of you, just to run his tongue against your over-sensitive chest. 

palming one tit, mouth fixed on the other, you nodded without thinking. a muffled ‘mhm’ and a handful of hair, pulling his fixated mouth away. 

“tell me if it hurts, okay?” a sliver of seriousness caught in the bubbling excitement pooling inside his blood, you knew he really did mean it. 

length in hand, he lightly traced his leaking head up and down your already swollen cunt, a small attempt at teasing you before he plunged inside your screaming walls, begging to pull him in and not let go. 

both hitching in air through gritted teeth, holding onto the last molecule you could manage as he slid inside, so. goddamn. slow. 

maybe in fear of hurting you, but really trying to gather himself at the sheer grip you had on him, regretting his own choice to not stretch you at least a little before letting his greed take over. 

so warm, so wet, better than any drug he had ever taken, or ever would. 

“s-sam, m-more, please?” you begged, batting your lashes ever so slowly to not give him a choice, but needing him so, so much deeper. 

any sense of restraint lost as your pleading eyes surrendered to him, and who was he to say no? 

he would never say no to you, not after what he did. 

an obedient dog, snapping his hips into you, flush against you. knocking the wind straight out of you, only thing you could feel was him. 

settling in, head dropping as he lost all of his strength, losing it all to restraining his urge to breed you right then and there. 

“fff-fucking hell,” his sputters were whiny, causing a slight spasm around him. the sound of struggling, barely keeping it together drove you fucking. insane. 

feeling full, feeling whole, wanting nothing more than for him to destroy you, molding your walls to the shape of him. 

“sammy, please,” you shifted your hips slightly, pushing against his hip bones, brushing the sweet, sinfully sweet spot you don’t think had ever been reached. 

his blacked out eyes, taking photos of the scene to never forget how goddamn angelic you looked under him, committing a cardinal sin. 

white-knuckle grip on your sides, bruising your bone marrow with his desperate grasp. 

jaw slacked, eyes locked on the mess of slick you coated him in, a slight clench in his jaw. 

free of his chain link leash, a feral animal let free for the first time since its previous carnation, learning to live again. 

focused on nothing else but you, your pleas for him to claim you, to mark up your insides far beyond recognition, begging for him at every breath beyond this moment in time. 

his whimpers mixed with low hums and exhales with each violating thrust, veins pulsing, a sick smirk pulling on his lips as he ruined you. 

instinctually squirming away, the urge of another trip over the edge already settling in, overstimulation hitting you like a bullet train without its lights on. 

feeling the slight quiver of your legs against his hyperactive body, a hand released your side, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder without a falter in rhythm. 

held hostage, you swore you could feel him in your chest as he fucked into you again, and again, and again. 

hypnotized by the furrow of his brow, glossy lips swollen from his hyper focused bite, holding back his own profanities as he tried to hold back his own release, never wanting the moment to end. 

if heaven existed, it was buried deep in your cunt, chest bouncing with each relentless thrust. it was the dig of your nails, grasping on to whatever they could. 

it was your fucked out eyes, watering at the corners in desperate need, in submission to his every want, his every dream. 

since that very first day, you were the thought at hand when he was fucking into it, edging himself for hours as punishment for thinking of you that way. 

but your innocent glances, and hard to read gestures every friday, the time you wore a that dress, dancing along with abi at the flower dance. 

taking the masculine role while dressed in a white skirt, a little too short for such a windy day, excusing himself to the depths of the forest. 

back against an oak tree, knowing seb would come looking for him at any moment, and god did it excite him in such a twisted way. 

he couldn’t fuck his fist hard enough to get the thought of taking you then and there out of his mind, flipping up your skirt and pulling your panties to the side. 

making you carry his cum around all day, slowly dripping out of you as you spoke to his mother. 

but this, the real thing, was better than any fantasy he could ever imagine, the sound of your sopping wet cunt pornograohically loud, each wall of your unpainted cabin holding onto your sobs for more, more, more. 

hiccups caught in your throat, back arched and nails leaving crescent moon cuts in his arms as your second snap pulled him in harder, deeper. 

watching you fall apart was the sweetest thing, spilling out onto your bedding as he refused to let up. 

a dangerous game, knowing he was teetering on his own edge from the start. 

“m-‘ya gotta let me know if this is gonna be-”, his words cut off by the purposeful squeeze of your walls, offering a raised eyebrow and your bottom lip bitten. 

nearly knocking the wind right out of you, he flipped you onto your stomach, forcing you onto your knees. 

“you think it’s funny, huh?” leaning over you to purr in your ear, only focusing on how empty you felt, needing his pierced tip beating the life out of your cunt. 

“mm-no,” you shook your head, face red, pushing your ass into him just a smidge, hoping he would grant you your wordless wish. 

a palm to your ass, red hot and stinging, a startled gasp slipping out as he lined himself up with your dripping hole. 

without a warning, his hips were pressed against your ass, one hand forcing your arch deeper, the other holding your hip to keep you upright as he rammed into you. 

mine, mine, mine. 

over, and over, and over. 

sobs of overwhelming everything spilled out of you, moans nearly cut silent by the permanent bruising to every inch of you. 

sucking him off so well, pulling him back in with a force greater than gravity itself, his jumbled profanities mumbled under his breath only making it that much harder to hold on to reality. 

“wanna-” stuttered breathing, feeling the twitch of his cock buried inside you flash like a warning sign. “wanna fill you up- m-make you mi-mine,”. 

higher pitched, through clenched teeth, you had never heard a man so shattered, so beyond steady that his eyes blurred. 

the most you could offer was the push of your ass against him, too close to your own unraveling again  to remember a single word. 

his hand slid from your hip to your swollen, battered clit, squirming against him as the warm pad of his middle finger matched his sacrilegious pace. 

a matter of seconds is all it took, suffocating his overworked length that much tighter, too lost in your own ecstasy to feel the ropes of sin inside you, met with a loss of rhythm and short gasps for air. 

a weak attempt to catch your breath, feeling him slowly relax inside you, blood making its way back to his shaking hands and overworked core. 

releasing himself from your now relaxed grip, his fingers ran small circles on your back, delicate whispers that slowed your heart rate to normal. 

drained, all the energy stored in the form of internalized anxiety depleted, no control over your emotions anymore. 

a silent sob, tears of everything allowed to flow free at your relaxed inhibitions. 

“shhh-shhh it’s okay, it’s all okay,”. he pulled you up from your knees, gentle fingers moving you to his lap. 

head against his chest like a child, he rocked back and forth ever so slowly, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back his own tears at the sight of you upset. 

what happened ? is she okay ? what- 

“never-” your muffled words caught behind a screen of hyperventilation. “never run away like that again,”. 

your heaving body against his, his heart paralyzed at the sheer heartbreak rooted in your syllables. 

so goddamn mad at himself for bringing you to tears, but so fucking relieved that you wanted him to stay. 

“i-” a tear stained hiccup, an attempt to bury yourself inside of him completely, “i thought you left and didn’t say goodbye,”. 

she-she thought i would do that..? 

“shhhh, no no no, i’m not going anywhere,” cradling your face, letting a small stream pool over his lash line. holding his breath enough to mask the sputtering spasms thrashing around in his chest. “i would never, ever, do that to you. i promise,”. 

“pinky promise?” you pulled your face away from his chest, blurry eyes meeting his. raising your fragile hand, awaiting his interlocked promise. 

“pinky promise,”. interlocking without hesitation, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“will you stay tonight?” body running cold, the fear of him leaving settling in your stomach, overtaking the bubbling acid. 

“i will stay with you forever if you asked me to,”. gentle, soft. thumb against your cheek. 

“will you stay forever, then?” 

“anything for you,”. a gentle kiss on the nose, a sigh of relief mutually exhaled. 

tears dissolving, mending two broken hearts as they dried. 

matched breathing, hearts beating in unison. 

anything for you.

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

long time no see! so sorry this was so delayed, i had to work an insane amount of overtime at work and had a massive lyme flare up.

i have an alex fic in the works, who else would you like to see?

lots of love to @justwolosers for being there through all this!

mwuah! ᥫ᭡。