#but i have to be awake to turn it back on is the catch here

[wosospacegirl]

Legally binding - Part 3

Summary: Alexia Putellas didn’t plan to become anyone’s legal guardian. But a very determined 12-year-old with a forged Barça contract has other ideas—and she’s already moved in.

Warnings: Alexia and the kid argue again; Alexia wishes she could just drop the kid off at her mom's house, and apparently, twelve-year-old kids are learning about reproduction in science class.

Word count: 6.8k

Legally binding masterlist here

Alexia woke to pressure at her feet. Something heavy and warm, she was still half-asleep when she shifted and kicked it gently, assuming one of her pillows.  

She frowned and opened her eyes, being hit by the morning light coming out of the windows. Then she lifted the duvet.

She saw a head.. A tiny and messy-haired head. 

The girl.

 She was wearing that familiar too tight pyjama top.

Alexia sat up slowly and stared, unsure if she was still dreaming. For a moment, she had even forgotten what happened, had forgotten about the girl, but there she was curled up at the foot of the bed.

Her position looked uncomfortable, she was lying sideways with one arm dangling off the edge of the bed, her head was turned into an awkward angle. 

She looked small. And for a few seconds, Alexia could only sit there, blankly trying to catch up to the sigh in front of her. Alexia just wasn’t expecting it to happen, although she had, and still did, get into her mother's bed when the world was too much to handle.

Although Eli, Alexia’s mom, had chosen to have her, Alexia didn’t appear in her mom's living room, saying she was now her guardian.

Alexia dropped back into the bed with a groan, burying her face in one of the pillows. Maybe she could sleep a bit more, forget this was all happening, pretend she was the only one living in the house.

But she just couldn't, her mind kept circling back to what was happening in her life.

There was a kid in her bed. Her bed.

Was she her kid? Alexia still wasn't sure. All she knew was that it was her real life now, she had to get used to it, just for a little while, at least.

The girl stirred and stretched her arms above her head, then she sat up like it was the most common thing in the world…waking up in the bed of Alexia Putellas.

“Buenos días,” [good morning] she mumbled.

Alexia turned her head slightly. 

“Hi,” Alexia said simply.

The girl rubbed her eyes and blinked at the other side of the room.

“That's your bathroom?” she asked, pointing at the door to the right of the bed.

“Uh... yeah?”

“Great,” the girl said, hopping off the bed and walking to the bathroom.

Alexia just lay there, still in her sheets and staring at the ceiling.  Her brain was trying to decide if she should laugh, scream, or go back to sleep.

She just lost her bathroom privacy to a child. Great.

Alexia should be getting up soon, she had training in two hours. Hell, she had a routine that she was supposed to be starting right now. 

First, she had to do her morning stretching and work out; after that, she had to drink a lot of water while listening to the news, then she had to go over some tactile stuff Romeu had sent her, all that before her morning training at the training ground.

But now she had a twelve-year-old in her en suite bathroom. And she didn’t know what to do with her. It was like her life had gone completely out of her control.

Even when she did her ACL and she had to rely on others for absolutely everything, she still had more control over her own life than right now.

As if the girl sensed Alexia's spiralling thoughts, she reappears from the bathroom, looking much more awake than Alexia, that was for sure.

The kid paused in the doorway, her eyes looking at the bed, at the spot she was sleeping minutes ago, then she looked at Alexia, eyes wide, waiting…like she wasn't sure she was allowed to speak.

“Do you need anything ?” Alexia asked, forcing a smile on her face.

“I... uh... slept in your bed last night,” she said, her voice low and unsure. “Sorry about that,”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Alexia said. “I didn’t see you coming in, or else I would have, hm, given you a pillow, I gue,ss.”

The girl looked at the floor. There was something in her, something that hadn't been there before. Or at least, Alexia hadn’t noticed before. As if the girl had grown nervous overnight..

Alexia watched her closely. Alexia wasn't the best at reading emotions, but it felt like the girl had a hint of embarrassment. on her face, but it was so subtle that it could have been missed.

The kid had never looked embarrassed before…Not when she broke into her apartment. Not when she revealed Alexia had ‘adopted her’

“Well…” the kid started, lifting her eyes to look at Alexia, her cheeks turning pink. “You turned off the lights.”

Alexia blinked, feeling slightly taken aback. “Oh, you don't like that? The dark, I mean.”

The girl shook her head. “It scares me,” she admitted. “I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't see anything. It felt like I was back at the orphanage.”

The words hit Alexia like a slap to the face. She hadn't expected that. She obviously didn't think when she left a kid in a completely dark room. Her mami would always light a night light for her and Alba when they were little, maybe Alexia could do the same next time?

“Oh,” Alexia said softly, “I didn't know. I'm sorry... hm, maybe we can keep them on if you like?”

The girl shrugged.

“It's okay,” she murmured. “I found your room, it wasn't so scary anymore.”

The kid said it like it was the most natural solution, as if going to Alexia’s bed in the middle of the night was the right thing to do when she felt scared

Alexia didn't know what to say. But something about it lingered. Alexia had never been the one people went to when they were scared; she was the one people went to when they needed a word of comfort (football-related) or when they needed to know in what area they needed to get better at to become a great player.

She had never been held to a standard of being someone's safe haven. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing; Alexia was happy that she could help the kid somehow, but it still felt like another weight she had to carry.

Was this weight normal? Did all parents feel that? Did her mom feel that when Alexia was born and she was suddenly responsible for a new life?

..

The omelette was in the pan, and the warm scent of butter and eggs was filling the kitchen with a smell Alexia knew very well. It had become one of her favourite scents. It meant a new day was starting, a new start over, a new beginning for Alexia.

Alexia loved mornings ever since she was a kid. She also always made omelette, so it was nice that at least one aspect of her life was still the same.

She hummed quietly under her breath and was focusing on not burning her breakfast...Well, their breakfasts.

But then Alexia heard it: footsteps in the hallway. They were very quick, as if in a hurry.

“Bye!” The word barely registered at first.

Bye?

Alexia she turned off the stove, and stepped out of the kitchen just in time to see the girl by the front door, one hand was already on the knob.

Alexia moved fast, stepping in front of it. Her arms were already crossed, and her jaw tensed. 

“Bye?”Alexia said in disbelief.. “Where exactly do you think you're going?”

“La Masia,” the girl replied, as if it was obvious. “I have training today…I can still only go once a week, but once you sign me up for the academy, I can go every day.”

And then, the kid just smiled and reached for the door again.

Alexia didn't budge. “No. You're not going anywhere.”

The girl blinked up at her. “Huuhh? Why not? I got my shoes and everything?”

“Because you're twelve,” Alexia said, brows raised. “You can't just walk out of the house like that.”

The girl tilted her head, looking confused. “I told you, Ale, you don't need to parent me. I just need a place to stay and someone to register me for La Masia. That's it.”

Ale. She had never called her that before. Just Alexia.

The girl just stood there, smiling like she couldn't possibly understand why Alexia wasn't going along with this plan, her plan.

Alexia rubbed her temples, trying to bring down an urge to scream.  The kid was stubborn. No, persistent. That was the word. Definitely better than stubborn.

When the girl tried the doorknob again, Alexia placed a hand on it, firm.

“No,” she said again. “Absolutely not. First of all, you can't just walk into La Masia with no guardian papers. Second, this city is dangerous. Third…”

She took a breath, trying not to lose her temper.

“....You're twelve. You don't even know where the nearest store is, let alone how to use public transportation by yourself.”

“But I have been on the metro before!” the girl said proudly. “Well, it was only once, but I know my way around, I can read those metro maps to find my way.”

“That’s not the point.”. Alexia raised her voice slightly, The kid couldn’t possibly think that the only survival skill she needed was to know how to read metro maps.

“The point is that you can't just go running off on your own, okay?” Alexia continued and began to walk around in the living room while the kid just stood there, watching her. “

“I'm responsible for you now. That means you don't leave this house without me knowing where you are, end of story.”

The girl immediately dropped herself onto the sofa dramatically, as if she had just been wounded by Alexia. Then she sat back and crossed her arms, a pouting on her face. “You're being overdramatic.”

Alexia froze.

Overdramatic?

Alexia slowly turned to face the girl, eyes narrowing.

“I'm being what?” she asked, voice dangerous, the same one her mom used to use on her when Alexia was the one sneaking out to play football with some neighbours. 

The girl shrugged, looking bored..

Alexia could feel it. Her patience was already wearing thin.

“You're being all 'parenty,'” the girl said as if Alexia wanting to protect her from getting abducted was some sort of overreaction. 

“I'm independent, Alexia, I’ve been on my own for a very long time, I know how to take care of myself.”

Alexia sighed. Right, yeah, of course, a little kid would know how to ‘take care of herself’.

“No, you don’t,” Alexia said sternly “I don’t care if you think you are street-smart enough to move around Barcelona alone. From now on, you aren’t leaving anywhere without an adult.”

“You are not the boss of me!” The girl said, her voice extremely angry, which matched the frown on her face. “You can’t just ruin my plans like that!!”

Alexia looked at the girl. Well, now who was overreacting?

The kids' cheeks were turning red, if she were a few decades older, Alexia would be concerned about her bursting a vein on her forehead.

For a second, Alexia genuinely considered letting her go. 

Just opening the door, waving goodbye, and letting the kid see for herself how much of a mess and unsafe the world could be.

 But no. She pulled herself together, took a deep breath through her nose. 

Guardian, she was a guardian. She was the responsible adult here, not the kid. The girl was too small and her feelings were just too big.

But if this kid thought she was old enough to manage everything, then fine. Alexia would be honest, at least.

“Look,” she said, kneeling in front of her. “I didn't ask for this either. I didn't ask for a kid to show up on my doorstep and make me responsible for her entire existence.”

The girl frowned even more, clearly not enjoying the direction the conversation was going.

“I was just getting home after training…”Alexia said, gesturing vaguely. “And then you showed up, and now I have a small human thinking she can go out and play football without so much as a lunchbox!”

The girl's expression changed.

“Okay, okay, ” the kid said. “We can get a lunch box and then I’ll go to La masia, how does that sound?”

Alexia blinked. Then dragged both hands down her face. It was going to be a long morning.

“Have you listened to anything I just told you?” Alexias asked tiredly.

“I did listen to you,” the girl replied, crossing her arms. “But I feel like you're the one not listening to me.”

Alexia started, exasperated. “How am I not listening to you? We’re having a conversation, I am talking to you.”

“You just don’t listen!” The kid said. “I have told you my plan, but when I try to do something about it, you are just like ‘no, no, no and no’... You don’t let me do anything!”

“I don’t let you do anything on your plan because it is not a plan.” Alexia snapped, sounding harsher than she meant, “Plans are realistic, they have reasonable steps you can take, what you have is a dream, dreams are not plans.”

The girl looked at Alexia, betrayed. 

“You said in that interview that you supported every child’s dream, and that you wished all of us kids would make our dreams come true! And now you’re saying my dreams are just dreams!” 

“I never said that your dreams are just dreams,” Alexia said slowly. “I said that dreams need realistic plans, and that your plan is not realistic.”

“You didn’t say that.” The girl rolled her eyes.

Briefly, Alexia imagined driving to her mother's house and just dropping the girl off. 

No explanation. No warning. Just let her mom think the kid had chosen her instead of Alexia. Maybe she would believe it. Well, Eli would be a way better mom, or guardian, than Alexia, that was for sure.

“Look, if you insist, you can drop me off, okay?” the girl offered. “I don't mind.”

Alexia was seconds from losing it.

“What part of 'you are not going to La Masia today' did you not understand?" she asked, rising to her full height, hands on her hips now. 

The whole gentle parenting attempt had clearly failed. Miserably. Maybe Alexia should try…rough parenting, instead? Was there such a thing? She should buy some parenting books, maybe that would help.

“You can’t just prohibit me from going,” the girl insisted. “I’m good enough, and, as much as you don’t like it, I have things figured out, you know? I just need you to register me full- time and things will work out.”

“Oh yeah,” Alexia muttered, throwing her arms in the air. “So you're telling me that you, a kid, have it all figured out. Meanwhile, I'm just a clueless adult trying to stop you from becoming the next missing child in Barcelona."

“You're not a clueless adult,” the girl replied, her face had a very innocent and cute expression that made Alexia almost forget why she was mad in the first place. “You're just getting in the way–I need to be there at nine.”

“I'm getting in the way??!” Alexia's blood pressure was spiking, and the kid was to blame.

The girl simply nodded and sat up straighter on the sofa.

“I know the contract said you have to care for my well-being and health and stuff, but really, you don't have to, I’m independent.

Alexia rolled her eyes. Not this conversation again. It was like the kid discovered the word independent and was running with it. They had spent the last thirty minutes going over and over the exact same thing.

“Oh, you're independent, huh?" Alexia said, challenging. “Have you brushed your teeth yet? Have you packed something to eat during training? If you get hurt, who will La Masia call? Do you know my phone number?”

The girl opened her mouth to respond, then paused and closed it again. Finally, realisation settling in her face, because right. She didn’t have it all figured out.

Alexia sighed, pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose. “You're not going to La Masia,” Alexia said her voice firm. “Not today. We need to figure things out first.”

The girl's eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yes”, Alexia said. “You don't have any school papers. You don't have a guardian note. You don't have– nothing! Not even a proper ID on you!”

The girl looked down, sadness growing on her face as she slowly realised that becoming a professional footballer wasn’t just about kicking a ball around.

When Alexia thought the girl had finally learned that her lesson, that this whole plan was not so easy, the girl opened her mouth again.

“So…can I go tomorrow, at least? I can take a taxi if you don’t want me taking the metro.” She looked up at Alexia, eyes big.

There was a moment of silence.

“You're going to give me grey hairs,” Alexia muttered finally, shaking her head and giving up on the whole parenting thing.

The girl didn't miss a beat. “You already have one.”

Alexia stared, deadpan. “Go set the table. Now.’

“Ughhh, fine.”

The girl pushed herself off the sofa and walked into the kitchen, grabbing two plates and setting them on the table. Alexia returned to the stove, her hands slightly trembling.

She stared down at the omelette.

Was this what parenting was? She had asked that question at least a thousand times, and it was barely nine am.

But is it? Is that what parenting is about? Explaining the obvious? Repeating yourself? Arguing with someone who thought you were the one being unreasonable?

She reached for the spatula with a sigh.

Apparently yes. Yes, it was.

As they sat down to eat, Alexia knew she had to take control of the situation. The morning had already spiralled far past her comfort zone, and if there was one thing she could do was set some rules.

“First rule,” she began as she served the omelette.

“Wait, wait!” the girl interrupted, hopping up from her chair and walking to her room, well, Alexia’s guest bedroom.

“I need to write it down, or else I’ll forget,” she called back. “Sister Maria always made me write rules like…fifty times.”

Well, Sister Maria didn’t sound very fun.

The girl returned moments later with crayons and a single piece of paper clutched in her hand.

Alexia leaned closer to inspect it and frowned.

“Hey!”  she said, taking the paper gently from the girl’s grip. “Where did you get this? This is a prescription slip...you can’t draw on this!”

The girl froze as Alexia held it up. “Oh,” she said, startled. “I didn’t know it was an important paper.”

Her eyes dropped to the floor. There was something in her posture that once again made Alexia's chest ache. Alexia sighed, then she got up and walked over to the coffee table, and sifted through the mess until she found some other paper.

“Here,” she said, handing it to her. “You can draw or write on this, alright? I need the other one.”

“Okay,” the girl replied.

“Now sit back, please.”

The girl did as she was told. 

She had a full plate of omelette in front of her, crayons on her left, and a glass of orange juice on her right. Alexia wasn’t sure how much vitamin C kids actually needed, but she made sure to fill the glass.

“Alright,” Alexia said, clearing her throat. “Back to the rules.”

She took a breath.

“Rule number one: Absolutely not leaving this house without me. Understand? You’re a kid, and this city is dangerous. I don’t care if you know the way to La Masia or not.”

The girl nodded reluctantly while writing it down in pink crayon.

“Rule two,” Alexia continued. “You can’t tell anyone about the guardianship. Not a single person. Okay? We need to keep this between us.”

“Why?” the girl asked, crayon paused mid-scribble.

Alexia hesitated, and her throat tightened. She couldn’t explain the truth, not yet. 

Couldn’t say that the arrangement was only temporary. That in four months, if all went well, she wouldn’t be the kid’s legal guardian anymore. Pedro had promised it was just for the season.

Alexia opened her mouth, but then closed it. The words felt too heavy.

“Because I said so,” she said finally, forcing a smile. “Just… trust me on this.”

The girl nodded without protest, and that only made Alexia feel worse.

“Rule three,” she added. “You’re not going to La Masia until you’re registered in a school. You can’t play football full-time until that’s sorted.”

The girl sat up straighter. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She put her crayon down with a bit more force than necessary.

“How am I going to play football if I’m going to be in school?” she whined. “I need to focus on football”

Yeah, me too, Alexia thought. I also need to focus on football.

But now? She was going to have to skip training to find a school for this kid. 

Should Alexia choose the school with the best reputation or the one closest to home? What about a private one? Should she care more about the ambience of the school or how academically challenging it was? Her head already hurt.

“Look,” she said aloud. “Just because you want to play football doesn’t mean you can skip everything else. School’s part of everyone's life, and you’ll go, no arguing in that.”

“I’m not a kid!” the girl shot back, arms crossed tightly. “I’m twelve! I should be able to choose whether I want school or not.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. This girl couldn't be serious right now.

“Twelve-year-olds are still kids,” Alexia said. “You get to choose a lot of stuff in life, school isn’t one of them.”

The girl slumped in her chair, grumbling under her breath. “That’s not fair.”

Alexia sighed again, leaning back. Alexia understood, she really did.  This kid had probably been forced to grow up too fast, and she was probably not treated like a kid back at the orphanage.

“You know,” Alexia said gently, “footballers don’t just wake up and become footballers. You don’t skip all the hard stuff, you know? It takes discipline, work, and sacrifices, which means doing stuff you don’t want to do, like going to school.”

She just pouted. “This isn’t going how I thought it would,” she complained. “This is worse! way worse than I thought.”

Alexia blinked. Oh this is not how she wanted?

“Oh, you think this is bad? Did you think I wanted a kid to look after?” Alexia snapped, unable to hold back. “You think I woke up and said, ‘today’s a great day to be a parent? Let me go look for some kids!”

The girl flinched, and her eyes widened, before narrowing again. 

“Well,” the girl said, “okay, no need to be harsh.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, but her chest softened. It wasn’t easy for the kid either, even if she was the one who put both of them in that situation. She did it out of despair, fearing she wouldn’t be able to follow her dream.

The kid--Y/n--as Pedro had told her, might act tough, but Alexia saw through it.

“Alright, alright, sorry” Alexia muttered, nudging the plate a little closer. “Now eat, and if you’re still hungry, take more.”

The girl stared at her, but then smiled in that cute way she did.

She picked up her fork and finally started eating, no more complaining about La Masia or school.

They didn't say anything during breakfast, but the silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable; it was nice, in some weird way. 

They just sat there and enjoyed their breakfast like they hadn’t just yelled at each other.

Like they were... figuring it out.

..

This was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

Y/n sat in the back seat of Alexia’s car with arms crossed tightly in front of her chest, her eyes fixed firmly on the window.

She had plans. Big plans. The kind of plans that ended with a Ballon d’Or by the time she turned fourteen. But getting dragged around to some school by Alexia wasn’t on her plans, absolutely not.

She was frustrated, and she barely knew what ‘frustrated’ meant.  Maybe she could still get away; she could sneak off under the La Masia bleachers and hide and sleep there. At least she would be close to training.

School? School was a complete waste of time. No matter how important Alexia said it was.

“You can be mad all you want,” Alexia said. “But you’ll go to school next Monday, either you go to school, or you just don’t train at all.”

Y/n didn’t respond. She lifted her chin higher.

“That little contract of yours? It says I have to put you in school, or else I’ll get arrested.” Alexia tried again, wanting to get the girl to say something. She had been quiet ever since she and Pedro had taken the kid to get signed up for the Spain Academy for Girls.

Y/n’s fingers curled into fists in her lap.

Arrested? Good.

Maybe if Alexia went to jail, she would stop interfering and trying to ruin everything Y/n had so carefully planned.

“If that means I’ll finally have the freedom I was promised,” Y/n snapped, turning her head just slightly, “then yes. Go ahead, get yourself arrested.”

The sharpness in her voice surprised even her. Y/b didn’t like being rude. Didn’t like being ungrateful. Especially not to someone who had let her eat as many servings of dinner as she wanted. 

But she was furious. No one was listening to her. No one understood that she didn’t want any of this. She just wanted to play football. That was it.

Alexia’s grip tightened around the steering wheel. Her gaze moved to the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Y/n for just a second before she looked away again.

“You weren’t promised any freedom,” Alexia said quietly. “You made that up in your head. Now you, well, we have to deal with the real consequences of this guardianship, Y/n.”

Y/n. There it was again. She hated it when Alexia used her name. Her real name. She preferred kid. But now? Now, Alexia had gone through her file, she knew her real name, and her story, possibly her medical records as well.

Y/n just wanted to get out of the orphanage and become something. That was her goal, her plan and her dream.

And it had been a good plan, too; it was structured. 

She had just picked the wrong adult to drag into it. She should have chosen someone who didn’t care if she was in school, someone who wouldn’t bother about paperwork or rules.

“I still don’t like it,” she muttered, turning her chin up stubbornly. “This whole school thing.”

Alexia didn’t miss a beat.

“It’s okay,” Alexia said, her voice dry. “You don’t have to like it, you just have to go.”

..

“I don’t want it,” Y/n said while shaking her head, her mouth in a pout, Alexia had come to recognise it as her normal response to being told what to do.

Alexia held up the strawberry-print pyjamas again, this time closer to the girl’s face, as if she could see the tiny fruits on it, she would like it. 

“Please? This is the fifth one I have shown you. You need clothes, ones that fit you.”

“No.”

Right after registering her for the school (a private school) Alexia had called Romeu to say she wouldn’t make it to training. He had sounded nervous, because she never missed training. But when Alexia said it was for ‘personal reasons’ he didn’t push.

Now here she was, in the middle of a kids’ clothing store in the mall, trying (and failing) to convince her twelve-year-old to pick out anything.

“Why not?” Alexia asked, exasperated. “This one is soft and cute. The one you have is too small, it barely covers your ankles!”

“Mine fits just fine,” Y/n said. “I can still wear it.”

“Por Dios, why are you so stubborn?” Alexia let out a quiet groan.

Then, a sales assistant appeared. “Hello! Can I help you two with anything today?”

It was kind of funny, actually, how fast Y/n transformed into a shy kid; she was ducking behind Alexia’s side like it was a safe place,

Apparently, she didn’t like strangers. Alexia wasn’t sure how she had managed to trust her so quickly.

“Hi!” Alexia greeted  “I’m just trying to get some clothes for this one,” she added, nodding at Y/n, “but she doesn’t seem to like anything. Do you have more options?”

Y/n pinched her in the side for that comment. Alexia ignored it.

“Of course,” the salesgirl said and gestured toward the other section of the store. “We’ve got some great stuff for preteens over here. That age is difficult, right…”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Alexia muttered.

The woman led them to more clothing racks and then went away.

Alexia flipped through the rack and pulled out a navy-blue pyjama set with a whale on the front. It looked warm and cozy. Good.

“Look, this one’s cute…and it’s fleece-lined, so you would be warm.”

“I don’t want it,” Y/n snapped, this time sharper than before.

“Okay. What’s going on?” Alexia frowned and lowered the hanger.

Y/n looked down at her shoes and then to the side. “I just... I don’t have any money with me right now,” she whispered.

“What?” Alexia was so confused right now, she barely knew what to say or what to do.

Y/n moved her feet, not meeting Alexia’s eyes. “I said I don’t have money.”

“And?...”

“To pay for it,” Y/n mumbled. “I’m the one who’s gonna wear it.”

“Wait, you thought you had to pay for it?” If this were the case, then her attitude made sense. The kid wasn't just being grumpy.

Y/n shrugged like it was obvious. “Yeah?”

For a second, Alexia just looked at her. “Nena… you’re a kid, you don’t pay for things like this…It’s my job.”

“But I’m the one who needs it,” Y/n said quickly, arms crossing again. “So it should come from me.” 

Alexia crouched a little to meet her eye, holding the pyjamas gently between them.  “Look, I know you’re used to handling things on your own. I get it. But this? This isn’t one of those things, yeah? Taking care of you, it’s not some sort of favour.  It’s just... being responsible for someone, alright?”

Y/n’s eyes moved to hers for a split second before darting away again. 

“You don’t owe me anything for pyjamas, okay? Or food. Or school. That’s on me now.”

Y/n didn’t answer. But she didn’t argue either. She just stood there.

Alexia gave the pyjama a gentle wiggle. “So... do we hate the whales, or can I take this one to the register?”

Y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t move. 

“The strawberries were better,” she said shyly. 

Alexia grinned. “Good, I liked that one better, too.”

After the pyjamas, Alexia led her into another store, this one for everyday clothes. She was hoping that now that the ice had cracked a little, Y/n might actually help pick things out.

She wasn’t saying no to everything anymore, which was progress. But she wasn’t saying yes, either. Just quietly trailing behind, hands in her pockets, eyes darting across racks without landing on anything.

Alexia held up two jackets. One was a deep forest green, while the other was bright pink and puffy.

“Okay,” Alexia said. “So you like this one–” she shook the green one lightly, “-or this one?”

She looked over to find Y/n staring up at her with the biggest, roundest eyes. Then on the jackets. Then back at her.

She said nothing. Not a nod, not a shrug, just silence...again.

Alexia lowered both jackets slightly. “Nena? You can pick, you know. I’m not gonna be mad, it would actually help me a lot if you told me what you like.”

Then she finally spoke.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to want.”

The words hit harder than Alexia expected.

“You’re not supposed to want anything. Just… pick what you like, what you think is pretty.”

Y/n’s mouth pressed into a tight line. She didn’t answer,  but she did point at the pink one.

Alexia smiled. “Yayy!” she said, a little too enthusiastically. “Okay, this one’s warm, good for the weather this season.”

She folded the jacket over her arm and gently took Y/n’s hand, leading her toward the shirt section now. “I’ve never been in one of these,” the girl said suddenly.

Alexia glanced at her. “Where? This mall? Me neither–”

“No. A store,” Y/n clarified. “I’ve never been in a store.”

Alexia paused. “Wait, never?”

The girl shook her head. “It’s confusing. And big. And it has… a lot of stuff. At the orphanage, we just got clothes…we didn’t pick. I don’t know how to pick.”

Seeing her look so small, so unsure, did something strange to Alexia’s chest. She would take grumpy, stubborn Y/n over this quiet, unsure version of her any day.

“That’s okay,” Alexia said gently. “I’ll show you how to pick. Come here.”

Y/n took a step closer, watching her carefully.

“First, you think about what you need,” Alexia explained, flipping through hangers. “You need everything, but right now we’re looking for everyday shirts. It’s autumn, so we want clothes that are warm, but not too warm.”

The girl tilted her head slightly, paying attention, and for the first time since they had started this guardianship, Alexia felt like Y/n was really listening.

“This one’s a good example,” Alexia said, holding up a long-sleeved black shirt. “It’s simple, it goes with everything, and you can wear it when it’s chilly. If it gets colder, you can just put a jacket over.”

“So…” Y/n said slowly, “…think about the weather first?”

Alexia grinned. “Exactly. That’s a good place to start.”

Y/n nodded, then she pointed at another shirt, a navy blue one with, it had stars all over.

Alexia didn’t say anything; she just added it to the bag. They continued shopping, and it was easier now.

The girl was still quiet, but she started pointing at the things she liked. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And for Alexia, that was more than enough.

By the time they reached the checkout, they had managed to get seven shirts, two jackets, two pairs of pants, two pairs of shoes and one more pyjama set (thank God! This one had the barça logo in it) and some socks. 

It wasn’t everything the kid needed, not even close, but Alexia didn’t want to overwhelm her. Baby steps, maybe she could bring her back another day.

Afterwards, Alexia decided that they should eat. They sat down to eat at one of Alexia's favourite restaurants, and Alexia ordered her usual salad without even thinking, but then she looked at the girl.

“What do you want?”

Y/n stared up at the menu board confused. Her eyes darted from item to item.

“Hmm…” She looked at Alexia, then back at the menu . “I don’t know. hm… whatever you’re having?”

Alexia raised an eyebrow, amused. “Salad? You want salad?”

Y/n hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “Not really.”

“I didn’t think so. What about some pasta?” Alexia smiled. “ And we’ll get a little salad on the side. Sounds good?”

The girl tilted her head like she was considering, but she nodded slowly. Alexia watched her as she turned her attention back to the table, running her finger along the edge. It struck Alexia again, like it had back in the store, just how much this girl had gone without what she needed.

Not just clothes or choices, but small things. Like being asked what she wanted for lunch.

And god, she was just a kid.

A kid who had forged a contract because she wanted to be a footballer so badly that she had  tricked a stranger into becoming her legal guardian.

Alexia still didn’t know what to do with that. Or how she was going to tell her the truth, that she wasn’t going to stay with Alexia much longer. 

The truth was: Alexia wasn’t fit to keep her.

Alexia knew nothing about raising a kid. She didn’t even remember to feed them properly; they were having lunch at 3 pm, because she had lost track of time and the girl hadn’t reminded her. 

Probably didn’t think she was allowed to?

Sure, Alexia had bought the girl clothes, but none of them actually matched, because she had just let the girl point at things, she didn’t have the heart to say no when an item looked…too much.

So now the sneakers didn’t go with the pants, the jackets didn’t match with half the shirts. But Y/n had looked… proud, almost, when she handed them over. And Alexia wasn’t going to ruin that.

And then…

Fuck

The books. The school book, and the uniform. 

Alexia’s stomach sank, and she even put her salad aside. She had forgotten to buy them. How was she supposed to be responsible for a child when she couldn’t even manage a damn shopping list?

She was a disaster. As a parent. As a guardian. Whatever label people wanted to put on it, she wasn’t cut out for it.

..

When they got home, Alexia was carrying what felt like a hundred shopping bags, her arms sore, and her fingers red from the handles digging into her skin. 

Not even the kid got away with it, Y/n was holding the stack of brand new schoolbooks, her body was slightly bent under the weight.

“Put them on the table,” Alexia said, closing the door behind them and dumping the bags on the sofa with a tired sigh.

Alexia stared at the mess for a moment: shirts, pants, jackets, shoes, socks…everywhere. She was going to have to organise it all. Probably fold it and fit it into the girl’s wardrobe somehow. 

It wasn’t even that much, not really, but Alexia had never folded clothes this small before.

Behind her, Y/n dropped the textbooks onto the dining table, groaning as she shook out her arms. “How much reading does this school want me to do?” she asked, staring down at the books.

“A lot, apparently,” Alexia muttered, rubbing her forehead.

Y/n flipped one of the books open, frowned at the text, then looked up at Alexia, her face scrunched.

“How am I supposed to play football with this many pages to do?”

Alexia rolled her eyes and walked past her toward the kitchen. 

“Forget about football for a moment, yeah? We have got other things to focus on.”

There was a pause, just a second. “You have other things to focus on. I don’t.” Y/n said sharply

Alexia stopped.

Turned halfway around.

She didn’t like that tone, not the words exactly. She also didn’t like that they were circling back to football again, for what felt like the seventh time that day.

“Alright,” Alexia said, voice tight. “Don’t use that tone. It’s not nice.”

Y/n didn’t say anything, she just stared at her, her arms were arms crossed in a very defiant way

Alexia took another deep breath. 

She wasn’t good at this, at talking to kids, at parenting, at figuring out when to push and when to let things go. And today? Today, she felt like she was doing everything wrong.

Alexia crossed the room slowly,and  rested a hand on the back of one of the chairs.

“I know football matters to you,” she said, more gently now. “But you’re still a kid. And school isn’t an enemy, it's not something that's in the way of your dream”

“But if I don’t work harder than everyone else at La Masia, I’ll fall behind, and be bad, bad at football! And then what?”

Alexia didn’t have an answer, at least not one the kid would accept. So instead, she pulled out the chair and sat down.

“Then we figure it out,” she said. “Together.”

Y/n looked at her for a moment, and for a second, Alexia thought she might say something. But instead, the girl just nodded once, and looked away.

Alexia let out a small sigh of relief..

“Good,” she said, voice firmer now. “Now you can start your homework.”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “Homework??”

“Sí,” Alexia replied, already heading back to the pile of shopping bags. “Science. Page thirty. The school sent me an email, they said you could get a head start on the work you missed while you were at the orphanage.”

Y/n picked up the textbook and flipped to page thirty, putting it down at the table. 

She looked at the words for a moment, eyebrows knitting together, then she cleared her throat and began to read aloud.

“In this section, we are going to study how reproduction works and–”

Alexia’s face went completely red as she ran forward, snatched the book from Y/n’s hands and slammed it shut.

“Actually,” she stammered, trying to put the science book aside, “go study Spanish.”

Y/n frowned. “Spanish?”

“Sí, Spanish. Page twelve. The one with conjugations.”

Y/n hesitated, then shrugged and picked up the Spanish workbook. Alexia sank into her chair across from her, exhaling very hard.

Well, at least that crisis was prevented.

..

A/n: Hope you guys liked it <3

[headdinthewall]

MARRIED MORNINGS ──  g.clarke  ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : the first morning and the second challenge of inside is expensive and messy a/n : sorry this took so long guys, tumblr kept deleting it when i was writing :( content : friends to lovers ,, challenge involving spiders

─────── YOU WERE AWAKE before the lights went back on, so you shifted in your duvet, turning over and being greeted with the gorgeous sight of a half-awake George Clarke. He smiled lazily at you and you gave a small wave back. You rubbed your eyes and tugged the duvet up to your chin, trying to preserve as much warmth as possible.

The lights gradually turned on, and the toxic voice of KSI shouted through the cameras: “Hello, motherfuckers! It’s time to get up! Get your ass up now!”

George moved so that he was half sat up, throwing on arm over his duvet, “That is the worst noise I could hear in the morning.”

“No, the worst thing was the light. Fuck the noise.” Farah debated.

You whined at the lights, rolling over onto your front and burying your face in the pillow.

“C’mon little miss, didn’t you hear KSI? It’s time to get up.” George teased, digging his fingers into your sides.

You wriggled like a salt-covered worm, and he didn’t stop until you were fully sat up. You slapped his chest and pushed him away like a stroppy child.

“I … I slept like a little French baby, with my father next to me, just every now and then,” George mimicked the sound of snoring. “And my fidgeting friend beside me, just … constantly ruffling her bedsheets.” He turned to look at you.

“I honestly don’t give a fuck what you have to say about my sleep right now, because I’m tired as shit.” You yawned, rubbing your eye, “I’m just glad I got my lashes done before I came here, because no way will you catch me getting up this early and doing strip lashes.”

“Yeah, me too.” George batted his eyelashes.

“Shut up.”

“I’m gonna shower.” You got up leisurely, stretching your arms high above your head.

“Do you wanna shower together?” Milli joked, winking at you. “Body heat will counter the cold water.”

“Absolutely.” You kissed her cheek as you went past. “Wait, has anyone used the shower yet? Cuz I cant get fully naked, there’s a camera right there.”

“Have you got any, like, tiny shorts or a bikini?” Mya asked.

You gasped, “Good shout.”

Luckily, for some odd reason, you had packed a bikini, just in case your temptation was a hot tub or you had to do some sort of swimming challenge. You packed for every possible occasion.

“Oh my God, that’s so cute, what the fuck?!” Mandi said, looking over at the bikini you’d bought.

It was white and red striped that tied at the back and at the hips.

“Yeah, so wear that and some shorts over the top, and just shower in that.” Mya advised.

“Thank you!” You shouted over your shoulder, going into the dressing room to change.

When you came out, all the girls let out little ‘ooo’s’ and cheers of hype.

“Guys, stop.” You laughed, cheeks burning slightly. “I’m literally just going to shower.”

“You know if we were dating I’d have you naked all the time.” Milli stated, curling her hair.

“Yeah? Even like this?” You put your shower cap on.

“Still sexy.”

You rolled your eyes and waved her off as you made your way towards the shower area, “Oh, morning Patrice.” You smiled as he was getting ready to get into the shower next to you.

“Hello, morning.” He said back.

“Where are you going looking like that?” George chipped as he sauntered past. “Is there a hot tub we don’t know about?”

You scoffed at his poor joke, “No, dumbass. I’m going to shower, but I’m not doing it naked because of this!” You gestured to the camera, flipping it off in the process.

“I’ll stand in front of it.” George wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“You’re not seeing me naked, George.” You muttered under your breath as you organised the counter for when you got out.

“No?” He smirked.

“Don’t, George.”

“I think it’ll come out in the time that we’re in here.” He whispered softly, sincerely.

“Well, I’d like it to be a secret for as long as possible, please.” You whispered back, noticing the dejected look in his eyes, “Don’t give me that look. You know it’s nothing against you.”

He hummed and squeezed your shoulder before walking off. You huffed and widened your eyes slightly before rolling your shoulders and getting in the shower. You screamed at the initial touch of water before settling into it. You heard Mandi laughing as she walked past and you cursed her over the loud sound of your spraying water.

By the time you got out of the shower, Dylan was getting into the one opposite and he smiled at you, which you returned.

The bedroom was thankfully empty, so you took your time getting ready, wearing a white tank top and the navy blue joggers that matched everyone else that where extremely comfy and you were definitely stealing, whether the Sidemen allowed it or not.

When you were done, excluding your makeup which you were to do after you’d eaten, you made your way to the shop but frowned upon the sight of the empty counter top.

Shuffling into the living room and seeing everyone gathered around the stone table, you asked, “Did anyone save me breakfast?” to which George held up the brown pot, not wanting to talk through the food in his mouth.

You sat next to him, still drained and tired from your lack of productive sleep and caffeine. You rested your head against his arm as you ate the lukewarm porridge.

“Here, I bought honey, my love.” Mandi covered her mouth as she spoke, pushing the small white container towards you. “Use the other half of it.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, pouring it over your porridge to make it taste just that little bit better.

George fiddled with the spoon in is now empty pot.

You ate your porridge slowly, trying to savour the sweet taste as you didn’t want to have to buy any snacks later on in the day unnecessarily.

Once you were finished, you wiped your mouth with your thumb and stretched your back out, feeling it go stiff from being hunched over.

“I’m gonna go do my makeup.” You announced, nails casually drawing patterns on the palm of George’s hand.

“I’ll come with.” Mandi nodded, standing with you.

In the makeup room, you sat beside each other. Mandi didn’t do much makeup, just filled in her eyebrows and put on a bit of lip liner and mascara, whereas you were doing your full routine as usual.

“I’m actually jealous of how you do your makeup, y'know. It’s so smooth all the time.” Mandi observed as you did your usual routine, “Also, that’s dedication, to be doing a full face every single day.”

“I just got used to doing it. I’ve been doing it since secondary school.” You hummed, pulling a face as you stretched your skin to apply loose powder.

“Secondary school?! Damn, girl. I know you was a bad bitch then.” She laughed.

“Not even. Remove the bad, babe. I sucked in secondary school. Ask George.” You said, shaking your head softly.

“You and George went to the same school?!”

“Yeah, but I was one of those really loud and annoying girls that didn’t know when to shut up. Glad I’ve mellowed out now, ‘coz … Jesus.” You told her, cringing slightly as you thought back on your old self. “He was more quiet than I was.”

“What, so you were a bit like a Farah?” Mandi muttered, and you noticed the slight dig.

You jaw dropped and you let out an awkward sort of laugh, which she caught on to and chuckled herself. “Mandi!”

“She’s a bit loud, though. No?”

“Yeah, but I think it adds, like, personality to the house. I think it would be a bit dead otherwise. She’s very out there.”

“Whatever you say girl.” Mandi clicked her tongue, picking up your bronzer, “Can I borrow this?”

You nodded while brushing your powder off and applying blush before taking the bronzer off of her and using it yourself.

When you two returned to the living room, everyone was sat in a circle, cross-legged as Patrice and Jason seemed to be leading a meditation session.

“Oh good, the loud ones are here.” Patrice scoffed, gesturing for everyone to move up so they could fit you and Mandi in.

“Us?! Loud?!” Mandi exclaimed as she sat down and your knees cracked as you lowered yourself between hee and George.

“You’re shouting now.” George laughed, patting your knee as a silent acknowledgement of your presence.

“If someone speak when you start to meditate, we vote him out.” Patrice said to Jason.

“Yeah, okay, okay, yeah.” He nodded in agreement.

“Take a deep breath. Close your eyes.” Jason mentored, making sure everyone was doing it properly. “Five seconds of silent real quick. Envision yourself with a waterfall. Think of how the water sounds.”

You were distracted from your meditating as you felt George shift next to you. You cracked your eye open just in time to catch him fake spluttering and fighting off the splashes from the imaginary waterfall.

“Okay? Everyone, take a deep breath in.” Jason continued to instruct, unaware of the havoc that was about to occur.

As you breathed in, you uncrossed your legs and brought your foot up, nudging George’s lips with your sock-covered toes.

Mya burst out laughing and George’s eyes snapped open, looking at you with an over exaggerated disgusted expression. He grabbed your ankle firmly and started tickling the sole of your feet.

You screamed loudly, thrashing like a fish on land and trying to wriggle your foot out of his grip.

“They’re all out. All three of them.” Patrice tutted.

You couldn’t care less about the meditation right now, all you wanted was your foot back and the tickling torture to cease.

“George!” You screeched. “George stop! I don’t like it!”

He cackled and pushed your feet away, “Stop trying to make me eat your toes then! No one does that at a waterfall!”

“I do. I’m doing yoga positions on the rocks for my Getty Images debut.” You laughed, tucking you foot beneath you.

─────── SOMEHOW PK HAD managed to wrangle the entire house into performing an ‘African wedding ceremony’ for the ‘union’ of him and Mya. Her and all you girls had gotten ready, topping up makeup and fixing your hair — you opted to straighten it.

George and Cinna were the ring bearers, carrying them out on pillows as Jason crouched in front of them, dramatically throwing ‘flower petals’ (it was ripped up paper) and Patrice walked Mya down the aisle behind it all.

You were seated next to Farah and behind Whitney. Everyone put on fake crying faces and pretended to be emotional about the ceremony.

“All arise.” DDG’s deep voice caught you off guard and you burst out laughing.

All heads snapped towards you and George’s cheeks puffed out as he suppressed his amusement at your outburst, pressing his fist to his lips.

“Sorry. Sorry.” You apologised, holding your hands up, “D, I’m sorry that was mean. You just sounded a bit like Batman if he was less ominous and more rapper-y.”

Farah cackled from beside you and DDG just shook his head, probably feeling a slight amount of embarrassment.

“We are here today to gather Mya and PK for their holy matrimony.” He continued, “PK, would you like to start off with your vows?”

“Never in a million years did I think I was gonna get married to someone as beautiful as you.” PK begun, causing some chuckles from the audience. “The day I set eyes on you.”

“Yesterday.” You muttered under your breath, which Whitney repeated, just louder than you.

PK ignored the call out, “I knew it was real. I carried your suitcase, even though it was 500kg, and I persevered and in this relationship, from the start and the end, I’ll persevere through thick and thin. Through health.”

“In sickness and in health. For richer or for poorer. For better or for worse.” You guided them along.

“Yep, all of those things.” PK gestured to you as you practically recited his vows for him, “You are my saving grace.”

“Mya, would you like to say your vows?”

Ignoring George’s exclamation of laughter, Mya nodded, “Percy, we just met less than 24 hours ago … and I got forced into this, but here we are.”

Everyone guffawed at the complete opposite sentimental value to the vows.

“And … um, we’ll see it through.”

“PK, do you take Mya as your wife?” DDG asked.

“Yes.” He said.

“Mya, do you take him as your husband?”

“Yes, I do.” Mya answered.

“Is there anyone that objects?”

“I object.” Patrice said without a moment of hesitation, making his way down the aisle with a coffee mug in hand.

Yes, very father of the bride.

“Why do you object, if you don’t mind me asking?” PK questioned.

“Uh, I object because I don’t trust you. Uh, for me, it’s a really sad day. Letting my daughter going. You know, I was changing her nappy—“

“Just yesterday.” George joked and Mya tagged on, “Yeah, it was yesterday I wore it.”

“She’s growing up so fast, and it’s tough. But, at the end, I will respect her choice, even if I’m against it. So, uh, you know, I trust you now.”

“I feel like, as a man, I’ll do everything to protect her.” PK assured Patrice.

“Are you sure about that?” Patrice pushed.

“100%”

“Make sure you don’t fucked up.” Patrice said in, what you were sure was supposed to be a menacing tone.

“‘Make sure you don’t fucked up’!” Whitney repeated Patrice’s disorganisation of words, laughing loudly at his slip up, which you frowned at slightly, not seeing why it was so funny that his English wasn’t up to her standards.

“You may kiss the bride.” DDG announced, stepping back.

“No! I object too!” Mandi spoke up, strutting towards the loving couple. She plucked the rings from the pillows, delivering one to you and the other to George, “They’re the ones that should really be getting married!”

Everyone gasped and burst out laughing, but you went bright red, covering your face with your hand and looking at George, who had an expression on his face that you could only describe as smug and shocked at the same time.

─────── THE CHALLENGE HAD been announced and you all found yourselves in the Challenge Arena, being told what the rules were. Each of the Insiders would take part in a different round, where your challenge would have to take place in complete silence, which included the participant and the spectators.

The first round included Milli and DDG, in which they had to launch cupcakes piled with icing at each other’s faces. It wasn’t a problem for them to be quiet, it was more so difficult for those watching. You were doing incredibly well until DDG launched the fattest cake at Milli, which sent her backwards and to the floor, making you giggle a little louder than you were allowed to. Thankfully, you didn’t have to take all the blame for the money loss, as George, Whitney and Farah had also made too much noise, contributing to the loss of £10,000.

Round two was PK on his own, and he had to wear drunk goggles while trying to pop balloons with a needle attached to his waist. He did it in a very … interesting fashion. Unfortunately, the third balloon was filled with fart spray, making him exclaim loudly and everyone covered their noses. All was well until Milli clapped a little too loud at the end, but thankfully Ethan let it pass because of the flavoursome way in which PK gyrated his hips to pop the balloons.

In round three, Jason and Cinna were challenged with passing as much water as they could from one box to the other, but only being allowed to transport it through eight champagne glasses at a time whilst enduring spontaneous electric shocks. You felt bad for them, knowing just how bad the shocks felt. Cinna was very smart and put her jumper hoodie in her mouth so that she didn’t make any noise, whereas Jason freestyles it, which kicked him in the ass as he ended up practically vibrating from the shocks, and spilling the water all over himself. Eventually, they managed to pass the water about twice, but it all came to nothing when Mandi loudly proclaimed,

“I thought we were gonna be here till fucking tomorrow, man.” Ethan gaped at her and Mandi panicked, “There’s no fucking way. The challenge was over.”

Unfortunately, it cost them £20,000 as Ethan declared that it was two obvious rule breaks.

During round four, Patrice and Mandi were partnered up with squeaky chicken toys in their mouths and had to snap elastic bands on each other’s calves. The activity itself caused you to cringe and wince more than anything, but it was the squawking noises that came from the chicken toys when Mandi bit down really hard. You’d managed to contain yourself, but George — standing behind you — noticed you struggling and placed his palm over your mouth to muffle your laughter.

“Task completed guys,” Ethan said through laughter, “Patrice and Mandi, very well done on your task. However, Whitney, Milli, George and reader have made a sound, which means we will deduct £10,000 from the prize fund!”

Your eyes widened and you dramatically gestured to George’s firm hand which was clamped over your mouth.

You groaned as Ethan gestured for you to take the floor, and you stood in the middle of the carpet, anxious and waiting.

“Reader — your past athleticism has come into account when forming your challenge. Today, you will perform a split handstand for one minute, whilst spiders crawl over you.” Ethan announced.

Your eyes widened and you shook your head as the animal control people walked in, carrying three containers, each with a spider in it.

“Please, get into position.”

You gestured for someone to give you their hoodie, and DDG offered his up to you. You gave him a nod in acknowledgement and planted your hands on the floor, kicking your legs up and keeping them in a split position. You took one hand off the floor to take the hoodie and stuff the sleeve of it into your mouth in hopes that it would absorb or muffle any of the whimpers you let out.

You flinched as you felt the first spider being placed on your calf, another on your chest and the third directly on your hand.

You desperately wanted to cry, so you squeezed your eyes shut and bit down hard on the jumper.

Your leg spasmed as the ticklish legs of the spider found its way to your bare ankle, and you heard Ethan cackle. The spider on your hand was oddly still and you couldn’t bare to open your eyes, afraid it would jump at your face. You didn’t even think about anyone else. All that mattered right now was that you were on the verge of tears because these spiders were crawling all over you, and your wrists were starting to hurt.

You nearly screamed as the spider on your torso found its way to the bare skin of your chest, trying to shuffle its way under your shirt and seemingly wanting to bury itself in your cleavage.

Thank God you wore a tight tank top and not a loose one.

Ethan laughed again, “It’s trying to burrow, bruv.”

You shook your head, trying to convey your lack of amusement at the situation. This was really not fun. The singular minute that you had to suffer felt like hours and you couldn’t even come down until you were sure all the spiders were collected.

“Good job, reader. Well done.” Ethan clapped and everyone tried to silently show their support. “But unfortunately, there was a rule break.”

Your eyes widened and you threw your hands up in frustration, swallowing thickly.

“Whitney, you let a small scream out.” Ethan revealed, which everyone knew except you apparently, too busy being wrapped up in your spider infested body.

Surely he was joking. She wasn’t even the one with spiders on her. How was she the one fucking screaming?

“£10,000 has been deducted.”

You just shrugged and walked towards George, who angled his head to try and look at your face, but it was tilted downwards out of embarrassment because, once again, you were nearly crying.

You had actually just endured something incredibly frightening and did it all for the team, and it was proved worthless because Whitney couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Your hands were shaking and your eyes burned with unshed tears.

George frowned and put his hands on your shoulders but you just stood to the side of him, facing the book cases with your back to the camera as you pressed your lips together.

“Is she alright?” JME asked George, who was only slightly laughing at your overreaction, and took you into his arms, patting your head.

Once you had gathered yourself, you stood with your back to George’s chest as Ethan explained the penultimate challenge.

Dylan, George, Farah and Whitney were all selected to pie different Insiders in the face depending on the prompt given on the card. Unfortunately for the spectators, they didn’t know what the card said.

Farah pied Milli. Mya pied Dylan with the with the most amount of force yet. Whitney pied Patrice as quickly as possible, feeling bad, and Dylan practically slammed the pie into Farah’s face, which astounded everyone.

When it was George’s turn, he made unfortunate eye contact with you and you looked over your shoulder, pretending there was someone else there.

“Reader, he’s picked you, come forwards.” Ethan ordered.

You sighed, weaving through Farah and PK and standing before George. You gave him begging eyes and gestured to your face full of makeup.

“You don’t need it.” He mouthed at you, readying the pie.

You closed your eyes, expecting the force to come, but it never did. When you opened your eyes, Ethan was covered in white cream and everyone’s hands were over their mouths.

Your jaw dropped and you tried not to laugh, moving towards George and wrapping your arms around his waist, and his came up to encase your upper back.

“Right. This one will be taken to VAR.” Ethan wiped his face with a towel. “We’re possibly looking at a five-match ban. Serious intent of foul play. George, after serious foul play, we’re gonna have to deduct £10,000 from the prize fund.”

Everyone was up in arms about that, hands on heads and stressed faces.

“Be happy it wasn’t any more. It was going to be £20,000, but we took into consideration the distress reader felt from her previous round.”

Last but not least was Mya, who had to lie in a box with snakes slithering on her. You would’ve taken that over the spiders any day of the week. She did it successfully, and although Mandi started speaking, it was taken away because of Mya’s braveness. You were insulted and gestured to yourself, wondering why Whitney’s scream wasn’t deducted for your challenge.

“Well, it would’ve been, but then George pied me, so you would’ve lost £20,000 either way.” Ethan said and you rolled your eyes at this.

When Mya was out of the box, Ethan concluded the challenge, “For your bravery, you will receive a shop token, that you can redeem in the shop at any time. The silence is now over. Please make your way back to the house.”

On the way back, George placed his hands on your waist, “You alright?” He mumbled.

“Pissed off.” You replied, walking faster.

“I wasn’t crying just because of my challenge — although that was rough and nasty of you lot. It was more that, like, I did all that, was literally nearly crying, but then it didn’t mean shit ‘coz Whitney screamed. Like, why are you screaming? The spider wasn’t fucking on you.”

@oliviaohanessian1 @wherethezoes-at @clarkey4life @kneelforloki @edgyficuselastica

[monzabee]

dreamcatcher - s. reid

criminal minds masterlist ||

Summary: just dancing with your boyfriend to escape from bad dreams. 

Pairing: early seasons!spencer reid x bau!reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: mention of a case (but no details), crying, nightmares, fluff

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

You know this job comes with certain baggage. No matter how many times you lock your gun away or scrub your hands raw in the shower, it stays with you. It’s in the flickering hallway light of your apartment, the creak of your floorboards, the static on your TV at 2:17 AM. 

And you want nothing more than to get a good night’s sleep, preferably in your boyfriend’s arms sans all the gory details of your last case—but here you are, having woken up from a nightmare about your latest victims.  

You jolt awake with a gasp, like surfacing from ice water. The room is dark, quiet, and your shirt clings to your skin, damp with sweat. Your heart hammers, too loud in the silence. Your throat is unbearably dry, which you realize with a wince as you try to swallow. You blink, trying to orient yourself, eyes adjusting slowly to the familiar outlines of your bedroom. The faint city lights leak in through the blinds, painting soft stripes across the walls. 

You try your best not to wake Spencer up as you sit up, though when you turn to check on him, he’s already blinking the sleep away. He makes a soft, sleepy sound, turning toward you instinctively. “Hey,” he mumbles, voice thick and hoarse, “you okay?” 

You nod at first—automatic, reflexive. But then you pause. The lie catches in your throat, heavier than your own heartbeat, and leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You shake your head. “No,” you whisper, the word barely audible as you try your best to push the urge to start sobbing down. 

He’s fully awake now. Spencer sits up without hesitation, pushing his messy hair out of his face. Concern floods his features as he studies you in the dim light. “Was it... her?” 

You don’t need to answer. You see it in his eyes—he already knows. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes and exhale slowly, trying to push the images back into the dark corner of your mind where they belong. “I promised her mom.” 

Spencer shifts closer, his hand moving to your back, rubbing soft, grounding circles between your shoulder blades. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t speak right away. He just lets the small sobs that come from you subside on their own.  

“I told her I’d bring her home,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I promised her.” You finally look at him, and the guilt is written all over your face—in the crease of your brow, the tremble in your lip, the way your eyes can’t quite hold his. 

But Spencer’s expression doesn’t change. There’s no judgment, no disbelief, just a quiet, steady kind of sorrow. The kind only someone in your line of work can truly understand. “You did everything you could,” he says gently. “You always do.”  

“I know,” you whisper, but the truth of it doesn’t reach your heart. You’d appreciate his attempt at comfort if it didn’t feel so far away—like someone tossing you a life preserver in a storm you’ve already drowned in. The words are kind, but they don’t stop the echo of her mother’s voice in your head or the weight of the promise you couldn’t keep. “I’d believe it more,” you murmur, “if I didn’t keep seeing her face every time I close my eyes.” 

A tear escapes before you can stop it, tracing a warm line down your cheek. Spencer catches it with his thumb. His hand lingers there, holding your face like it’s something delicate—something worth protecting. “Come here,” he murmurs. You let him pull you into his arms, tucking yourself into the soft space under his chin, breathing him in. His heartbeat is a slow, steady rhythm against your cheek. Safe. Familiar. Real. Neither of you says anything for a long time. That is until Spencer breaks the silence, of course. “Did you know the hippocampus is the part of the brain responsible for turning short-term memories into long-term ones?” he says, voice low, a little hesitant. “It’s also where emotional memories get processed—especially fear.” 

You huff a laugh against his chest. It’s barely more than a breath, but it’s the most you can muster up at the moment. “Why are you telling me about the brain, again?” 

He tilts his head just enough to rest his cheek against your hair. “I just… I think your brain is holding on because it knows how much you cared. Because you fought for her.” 

Your arms tighten around him, and you close your eyes—not because you want to sleep again, but because this time, it doesn’t feel quite so terrifying. “It still hurts.” 

“I know,” he says. And you believe him. Another beat of silence passes before Spencer shifts slightly. “Wait here,” he whispers, and you let him go reluctantly, watching as he pads barefoot into the living room. A few moments later, the soft crackle of the record player fills the air, followed by the first warm notes of an old jazz tune. You recognize it instantly—it’s Billie Holiday, one of your favorites. 

“Spencer!” You call out to him, “What are you doing there?” 

He comes back and offers you his hand, the corners of his lips lifting in the gentlest smile. “Dance with me?” 

You hesitate, because it’s absurd. Because it’s three-thirty in the morning, and your eyes are swollen from crying, and the grief in your chest still feels like an open wound. But Spencer waits—silent and patient, the way he always is with you. 

And so you take his hand. 

He pulls you close, arms wrapping around your waist like you’re something precious, and you settle your head on his shoulder. The music sways and so do you, bare feet shifting gently against the floor, bodies moving like they’ve always known how to find each other in the dark. His voice is low, close to your ear. “I’ve got you,” he says. “And I always will.” 

And in this moment—this quiet, swaying, three-in-the-morning kind of moment—you believe him. 

[agathariosslut]

Little One

Vampire!WandaNat x fem!reader

Warnings: dark fic, noncon, naive!Reader, blood sucking, daddy!Natasha, mommy!Wanda, overestimation, gp!Natasha, blowjobs, pussy eating. Spanking, slightest bit of mind control if you squint. Pls let me know if I missed anything! Btw sorry for the random paragraph breaks, tumblr wouldn’t let me upload!

This all started with you going out with some friends to the bar to celebrate your birthday. While they all took shots and drank strong cocktails, you were very caustically sat on the bar stool with your margarita. It was very fitting for them to have their fun & to leave you behind, forgotten. This isn’t even what you wanted to do for your birthday. Sitting in your apartment curled up with your favorite book was the original plan, you curse yourself for letting them talk you into this mess. The loud laughter of your drunk friends seemed to further piss you off. You came to the realization that they wouldn’t even notice if you had left, so you did.

You made the very brave decision of not calling an uber, opting to walk home instead. It was a few streets down, what’s the worse that could happen? Plus you carried your pocket knife every where you went just in case some creep tried anything. You began your walk home, you decided earlier to wear the high heels that always made you uncomfortable,so you cut through a couples alleyways for a shorter arrival, until you made it to the last one. You had a pit in your stomach along with your brain telling you to turn around. You did not listen, you refused to let the anxiety get to you. As you began walking you started to hear faint foot steps behind you. You told yourself that it was simply a rodent running behind you, but you couldn’t even convince yourself. You started to pick of the pace of your walk, almost running. You turn around to check behind you, seeing a red haired woman paired with a blonde woman staring at you like prey. Were their eyes glowing? You couldn’t help but feel like you were in a trance, it’s like you couldn’t move. You were only able to stand and stare. The muscular one of the pair whispers something into the other ear before speaking loud enough for you to hear, “Such a sweet looking girl Wands, can’t wait to taste her.” You gasp in shock as you realize they’re anything but pure intentions. You try to run away, but you can’t run. All of the sudden arousal washes over you like a wave. The woman that the blonde one called “Wands” is stalking towards you, wearing a smug expression. “Don’t fight it malysh, we’re here to make you feel good. Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours, just come with us.” Wanda takes your hand and gently guides you to their car. Your brain is so fuzzy you don’t bother questioning or fighting it. Once you get in the car Wanda starts whispering and laughing wickedly to the blonde one. You could only hear the name, Natasha. The name rolls off her tongue beautifully, in what you believe is a sokovian accent. Natasha keeps looking at you in the rear view mirror of the purring car. God they’re beautiful. Natasha breaks her silence. “You look a little sleepy back there kotonok, lay down sweet girl, we’ll be there shortly.” Be where? You wonder off in your own hazy thoughts as you begin to drift asleep.

You wake up in a bed that’s not yours. No longer feeling foggy as you did when they approached you. Panic finally sets in when you realize that your wrists are tied to the long bed posts. You start screaming instinctively. Down stairs laughing can be heard. “Sounds like our girl is finally awake, Wands.”

As you stop screaming in order to catch your breath, you hear footsteps approaching. Wanda is once again grinning with a predatory glow is her eyes. “Crying already my love? Don’t worry Natty and I are gonna make it all better.” That’s the last thing you hear before she climbs in bed beside and starts kissing you roughly, you fight the kiss. Refusing to let her in. She slaps you hard, the rings on her finger only adding insult to injury. “Shh, mommy only wants to take care of you.” Natasha takes a seat beside you on the bed, mirroring Wanda. She begins roughly groping you and pinching your nipples. You yelp into the kiss while attempting to kick her away. Wanda stops and joins Natasha. “Stop fighting me slut, I can feel the wet spot on your pretty little panties.” Embarrassment flows through you, she’s right. You are enjoying this,.. does that make you fucked up in the head? What is wrong with you, you wonder.

Wanda breaks you out of your train of thoughts. “Aww it’s okay baby, you can’t help being a filthy little whore.” Natasha stands up, rubbing her prominent bulge through her pants. “You’re gonna make daddy feel good now pretty girl.” She undos her belt and strips of her clothing. Fuck. Her cock stands at attention, large with precum leaking. She climbs over top of you, and straddles your neck. She forces her cock into your mouth and roughly makes you take her entire length down your throat. You start gagging and tears roll down your face. “Fuck baby, you’re so pretty like this. Crying and taking daddy’s cock like a good little girl.” You’re beyond turned on right now. You make a desperate attempt to squeeze your thighs together for any bit of relief at all. Wanda very quickly puts a stops to that. Pushing your legs open and giving your needy pussy a hard series of slaps . “No no detka, not yet.” Natasha pulls her dick out of your throat, slapping your face with her cock. You whine at the loss. Your mourning doesn’t last very long as Wanda begins biting at your inner thighs and diving into your pussy. You yell out loudly in pleasure. The way she’s sucking your clit has you close to your orgasm already. She shoves two fingers inside you, curling them against your g spot perfectly. Natasha notices that blissed out look on your face. “Look mommy, our little toy wants to cum already.” Wanda looks up at you with hazy eyes, “Beg me for it.” You swallow what little bit of pride you have left in you, and beg. “Please mommy I need to cum! Please I can’t hold it!” Wanda gives Natasha a knowing look. “Cum for us baby, give it to mommy and daddy.” You obey. Your orgasm hits you like a bus. Wanda gives you a second to recover, before grabbing a wand. She throws it to Natasha, as Nat positions her self at your entrance. “Daddy’s gonna ruin this pretty little pussy kitten, can’t fucking wait.” She slides her dick through your slit, sending a jolt of pleasure to your sensitive clit. She pushes her big cock in your tight hole, murmuring in Russian about how amazing you feel around her cock. “Fuck…god sweet girl you so tight around me, squeezing me like a good little whore. Take it all detka.” She says as she completely bottoms out, you think you’re in heaven… or maybe this is hell. Either way you wanted more. Natasha grants your silent wish and she turns the vibrator on high speed, pressing it hard against your throbbing clit. She only pounds you rougher, I which you didn’t even know that was possible. Wanda suckles and tugs on your sensitive nipples.

The pleasure is to much, you need to cum already.

Natasha already knows based on how you’re squeezing down around her cock even harder, and shaking like a leaf. “Please daddy let me cum!” Natasha tuts. “Just what would make you think you deserve that slut? Tell daddy.” You moan out realizing you can’t hold it much longer, “Daddy please let me cum! I’ll be a good little fuck toy… just do whatever you want to me but please let me cum!!”

You very quickly regret your words, knowing you have to eat them later. She smirks, “cum for me kotenok.” You cum so hard that you don’t even realize you squirted on Natasha. “Look at our little whore daddy, little fucking thing came all over you.” As you take in your words embarrassed leaves your face flush. Nothing goes unnoticed by Natasha. “Don’t get all shy on us now princess, you were just yelling out about how you were a good little fuck toy.” What are you doing here. Going from crying to begging for more. What the actual fuck is wrong with you.

Those thoughts are very quickly shut down and replaced with arousal as Natasha continues pounding into you. Vibrator never slowing. You’re so sensitive you think you may cum again. Wanda climbs on top of you and straddles your face, she lays her pussy down on your mouth. “Make mommy feel good slut.” You do as she says instantly, making her moan out in pleasure beautifully. “If you want to cum all you have to do is ask pretty girl.” Natasha says knowing that you can barely breathe. You make a desperate attempt at trying to speak, but Wanda doesn’t even dare pull herself away. “What was that doll, mommy and daddy’s can’t hear you.” Natasha slaps your tits, “Answer her slut” you muffle out the words, “please wanna cum for you both!!” They act is if they can’t hear you, but you can’t hold it much longer.

You reach your peak, and you feel impending doom as you cum. Wanda pulls off of you with a stoic expression, meanwhile nat is laughing. “You’re in trouble now little one.” Natasha pulls out of you and stops the vibrator completely. You miss the feeling of being filled up with her cock. Wanda turns to nat, “how should we punish her daddy?” Natasha has her signature smirk on her face once again, “I think a good spanking would benefit our bad girl.” Fast forward to you being bent of Natasha lap face down add up. She starts without warning. Her slaps are harsh, and the occasional slaps to your sensitive pussy makes it even worse. “Tell mommy and daddy you’re sorry for being a brat.” You sigh out, not unnoticed. “I’m sorry for being a greedy whore!! Please stop now daddy… can’t take anymore!” She finally stops. Wanda speaks up, “Enough of this. Daddy, I think the real fun should begin.” You look in confusion, they only laugh at you.

Their eyes start glowing a shade of deep red. Are those fangs? Fear hits you, but before it can take its course you start to feel hazy again. Fear is suddenly replaced with arousal. Wanda speaks up, “It’s okay sweet girl… just stay calm for us. This is gonna hurt, but then it’ll feel good.” Natasha wastes no time with sinking her fangs into your neck. You scream, the pain is awful. Maybe it’s the masochist in you, but pleasure is also very prominent in this absolutely insane situation. Wanda goes next, to drained to scream you close your eyes and let them continue. Not that you really have a choice. They finish drinking from you, and you feel a thick rope of cum shoot right over your pussy. Nat came untouched. Fuck that’s hot. “Look at what you did to daddy baby… taste too fucking sweet for your own good.” Mommy follows behind her rubbing her clit rapidly, she soon cums and the expression on the face reads of pure ecstasy. You feel so sleepy and loopy from the loss of blood. They lay down on opposite sides of you. Wanda pulls you to her side, “You did so well for us, dove.” Natasha chimes in, “Too good for your own benefit… seems we’ll just have to keep you around, little one.”

[netflixbingger]

Beneath Rebel Skies - Chapter 9

Characters: Cassian x Reader Summary: You and Cassian Andor were childhood friends on Ferrix—until your parents suddenly tore you away without warning. Years later, you reunite during a mission for the Rebellion. Old memories clash with new tension as you’re forced to work together, navigating the lines between friendship, loyalty, and something more. Word Count: 3,370 words Warnings: Violence, Loss, Mild Language, Blood, Descriptions of wounds, Reader lowkey having a panic attack, mentions of death Previous Chapter

The world came back in pieces.

First, the hum. Low and constant. Mechanical. Then the sting in your ribs—dull, distant, like it was happening to someone else. Then the weight of the air, thick and too still.

And Kiira’s voice.

“Y/N?”

You blinked slowly, lashes heavy, vision fogged. She was sitting beside you, dark circles carved beneath her eyes, hair pulled back in a sloppy knot like she hadn’t bothered in days. Relief hit her so fast it nearly knocked the chair back.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, scrambling to grab your hand. “You’re awake. You’re actually - thank the Maker.”

You tried to speak, but your throat was raw. Dry.

“How long?” you croaked.

Kiira exhaled shakily. “Four days.” She gave a watery laugh. “Makers, Y/N. You scared the hell out of me.”

You frowned, trying to catch up, but your body still felt like it was made of stone.

“There was so much blood,” Kiira murmured, almost to herself. “I’ve never seen that much blood before. I didn’t even know someone could lose that much and still - ” She stopped, jaw tight. “I thought you were gone.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. The weight in your chest felt too thick, too sharp to shape into words.

“You stubborn bitch,” she added, trying for humor but not quite making it. Her voice cracked near the end.

You managed a weak breath. “Still here.”

Kiira gave a shaky laugh and swiped at her face. “Yeah, well, don’t do that again. Ever. I swear, if I ever have to carry your half-dead ass through a hallway again, I’m quitting the rebellion.”

You turned your head slowly to look at her. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t be. Just… maybe warn me next time.”

You let your eyes fall closed for a beat. The ache behind your ribs hadn’t faded - it had just dulled into something deeper. Something tired. You didn’t want to think about the firefight. Or the little girl. Or the moment everything went sideways. Not yet.

Kiira shifted in her seat, rubbing her hands over her face like she was trying to stay present. Then she straightened suddenly.

Kiira sighed. “They hooked you up to the bacta chamber the second we touched down. You’ve been floating in there like a damn fish for four days. I kept coming back. Kept checking the monitors. Every time your vitals spiked, I thought…” She didn’t finish the sentence. “But you held on.”

You looked over at her, really looked this time. Her face was worn thin. Like she hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time. Like she'd been holding her breath.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Kiira just shook her head. “Don’t do that. Don’t thank me for being scared out of my mind.”

You stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, letting her words settle. Everything inside you felt unsteady - like if you breathed too deep, the cracks might widen.

Kiira sat forward again, suddenly remembering. “Shit. I gotta ping Cassian. I told him I would the second you - ”

Your eyes opened again at that name, too quickly. It hurt.

“Where is he?” you asked, trying to sound casual. It didn’t quite land.

Kiira paused mid-reach for her comm. Her mouth pulled into a tight line. “They shipped him out.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Not even ten minutes after we landed,” she said, setting the comm back down without activating it. “Didn’t even get the blood off his jacket. Orders came in, and he was gone.”

Your chest felt tight again, but not from the injury. “Did he… did he say anything?”

“I told him I’d let him know when you woke up,” Kiira said simply. “That’s all you need to worry about.”

You stared at her, trying to read between the words, but Kiira was already standing, fussing with a blanket near your feet like it mattered.

“When’s he getting back?”

She didn’t look at you. “I don’t know. But it’s not important right now.”

The quiet that followed was heavy. Not awkward, just weighted. Like there were too many things you both weren’t saying.

So you said nothing. Just let your head fall back against the pillow, the muscles in your neck too tired to hold anything up.

Kiira finally glanced back at you, her face softening. “Get some rest. You look like shit.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The next few days passed in fragments.

Faces came and went. Voices, too. Most blurred together -squadmates dropping by with crooked smiles and awkward jokes, a nurse who kept scolding you for trying to sit up too fast.

Cade visited on the second day.

He brought a flower from the vendor on some nearby planet, the kind that glowed faintly at the tips. “Tacky, I know,” he said with a sheepish smile, setting it on the tray beside your cot. “But it reminded me of that dumb mission we took on Telerath.”

You smiled politely. He talked for a while, filling the space with stories you barely processed. You were grateful for the noise - grateful, even, when he hesitated near the end and said, “For what it’s worth… I think he’s been a mess.”

You didn’t ask who he meant. You didn’t have to. You just shifted beneath the blanket and said nothing, letting the silence stand for you.

By the end of the fifth day, the nurses deemed you stable. The wound itself had closed thanks to the bacta unit - but your strength hadn’t caught up. Every limb still felt waterlogged. Heavy. You were cleared for release, but not for duty.

Three weeks of maintenance shift rotation. Light labor. No field work.

You nodded when they told you. Said thank you. Pretended it didn’t sting.

Kiira showed up later that afternoon with your clean clothes and a quiet look.

“Ready to go home?”

You nodded again, slower this time.

The walk back to your room was quiet.

Kiira stayed close, not saying much, but you could feel her watching you -subtle glances every few steps, like she was waiting for you to tip sideways. You didn’t. You wouldn’t. Not until you were alone.

When the door to your quarters slid open, it almost startled you.

Everything was the same. The same boots by the wall. The same half-folded blanket on your bed.

Kiira helped you over the threshold and glanced around like she expected something to jump out at her. “Still smells like that shitty caf you drink,” she muttered, more for your benefit than her own.

You didn’t laugh. But you appreciated the effort.

She moved to strip the sheets off your bed. “I’ll swap these...just in case you don’t feel like sleeping in two-week-old sweat.”

You nodded.

When she finished, she paused in the doorway. “You good?”

You nodded again, slower this time.

“Okay.” She lingered for a second, then softened. “I’ll check in later. Try to rest, alright?”

The door sealed behind her.

Silence.

You peeled off your jacket, then your shirt, and moved stiffly to the refresher. The mirror was already fogging by the time you stepped under the water. You didn’t rush. Let it soak through your hair. Let it sting along the healing skin at your ribs. Watched the water spiral down the drain, tinged faintly pink.

You didn’t look at the wound. Not yet.

You dried off slowly, wrapping the towel around your torso. The room was quiet enough to hear the hum of the base in the walls - air systems, distant footsteps. Normal life. Continuing as if you hadn’t almost bled out in the dirt.

When you stepped out of the refresher and back into your room, the mirror was clearing. That’s when you saw it.

The wound. Ugly, inflamed, puckered with healing skin and faint bacta residue. A mark of what had happened. Of what had nearly happened.

Your breath hitched.

You stared at it for a long moment, unmoving. And then, like something cut loose in your chest, you sank to the edge of your bed and let your head fall into your hands.

The tears came quiet at first. Just a sting in your eyes, a shake in your shoulders. But then they swelled into something deep and gutting. You sobbed into your palms, trying to keep the sound in, like someone might hear you. 

The market. The panic. The little girl. The pain. The fear in Cassian’s voice. The absence that came after.

You folded forward, elbows on your knees, and let out a sob that sounded like it had been buried for days. It ripped out of your throat before you could stop it. You pressed your palms harder against your eyes, trying to make it stop, trying to breathe past it, but it kept coming. Louder. Uglier.

Then your hand hit the edge of the metal tray on your nightstand. The empty water cup rattled, toppled. You stared at it for a beat and then threw it. Hard. It hit the far wall and shattered into pieces, skidding across the floor.

You didn’t stop there.

You grabbed the closest thing you could - your old commlink, and hurled that too. It clattered uselessly near the corner. You hated the way it sounded. Too quiet. Not enough.

Your towel slipped, and you didn’t care.

You dropped to your knees, knuckles pressed to the cold floor, gasping like you couldn’t catch up to your own grief. 

You screamed.

Not words. Just sound. Just rage. At the pain. At the fear. At everything you had to swallow while everyone around you kept moving like nothing had changed. At the fact that it had taken you bleeding out on the floor of a marketplace to finally fall apart.

You cried for everything that ever happened in your life. Leaving Ferrix. Your parents death. The Empire. The little girl from the market. Your teammates sacrifices. The rebellion. Cassian.

You screamed again. Louder. Until your throat hurt.

Until your chest hurt.

Until there was nothing left but the echo of it in your ears and the slow, creeping silence that came after.

And then you just sat there.

Crying. Breathing. Shaking.

Alone. 

The room was dim now. You hadn’t bothered turning the lights back on after the breakdown. Just curled into bed, damp hair pressed to the pillow, wearing a shirt two sizes too big that still smelled like the medbay. The window let in just enough light to make out the edges of furniture, the flicker of stars far beyond.

You’d stopped crying hours ago. Now, there was just the ache. The heaviness in your chest that didn’t seem to move, no matter how you shifted. You lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, arms limp at your sides. Too wired to sleep. Too worn down to move.

Your fingers brushed absently at the edge of the blanket. Everything in the room felt like it belonged to someone else.

Then - A knock.

You blinked.

It wasn’t loud. Just two soft raps against the metal. Not urgent. Not tentative either. Like someone standing on the other side wasn’t sure if they should be.

Your heart stuttered. You already knew.

You pushed yourself upright slowly, limbs aching, breath shaky. Crossed the floor barefoot. The knock didn’t come again.

You opened the door.

And there he was.

Cassian. Hair slightly messy, circles under his eyes, uniform wrinkled like he hadn’t slept much either. He froze when he saw you. His eyes scanned your face - your posture - your wound, even though he couldn’t see it.

His mouth opened. No words came.

Neither of you said anything. You just stared at each other. The only sound was the soft hum of the hallway behind him.

You stared at him.

Cassian didn’t speak. Just stood there, motionless in the doorway like he didn’t trust himself to take the first step. His eyes flicked over you again - your damp hair, your oversized shirt, the exhaustion carved beneath your eyes. The silence stretched.

“I shouldn’t have come this late,” he said finally, voice low. “I just - ”

You stepped aside without a word, the door sliding open a little wider.

He hesitated. Only a second.

Then he stepped in.

The air shifted the moment he crossed the threshold - like the room itself tensed with him. He didn’t move far, just a few feet past the doorway, his hands still at his sides. You closed the door behind him, the soft hiss sealing the quiet between you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You could feel the heat coming off him, the weight of everything that hadn’t been said. He was close enough now that you could smell the faint trace of smoke and engine oil clinging to his jacket.

Your throat felt tight.

“You look…” He trailed off, as if realizing there wasn’t a safe word to follow that. His brows drew together, like the sight of you hurt.

“Like someone who got shot?” you said, voice brittle.

He exhaled, gaze dropping. “Yeah. That.”

Another beat of silence. You crossed your arms, not because you were cold, but because it gave your hands somewhere to go.

“I came as soon as I landed,” he said.

You squeezed your arms, not answering right away. The silence stretched just long enough to sting.

“I didn’t mean to disappear,” he added, voice lower. “They pulled me out before your blood was even dry. I didn’t want to leave like that.”

Your throat tightened. “Then why didn’t you com?”

He looked at you, and for once, didn’t have anything ready to say.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Every time I thought about calling, it felt… wrong.”

You frowned. “Wrong?”

His jaw clenched. “I left you bleeding on that bench. You were shaking. I didn’t even know if you’d still be breathing by the time I got back. And they pulled me before I could even - ” He cut himself off, eyes flicking away like the memory still burned.

“You were there,” you said, softer now - instinctively trying to ease his guilt. “You didn’t leave until you had to. You kept me awake. Alive”

His gaze lifted. And for a second, the weight he always carried behind his eyes cracked wide open.

“I’ve seen people die from hits like that,” he said. “I’ve seen people die with less. I thought that was it..”

Your arms tightened across your chest.

“I asked Kiira to tell me when you woke up. I checked in every time I landed. Every chance I got.”

You flinched.

Because it sounded like he cared. And that’s what made it worse. He did care—he’d shown it, again and again, in ways that weren’t nothing. But that was the problem. You couldn’t let yourself get close, just for him to decide it was too much. He didn’t get to do that.

He can’t sit there and pour his heart out to you - not if he was going to run away the moment you got close again.

“That’s not fair,” you said low, the words cracking through the quiet like glass.

Cassian froze, caught mid-step. His mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out.

“You can’t say things like that,” you said, your voice trembling even as you forced it steady. “You can’t show up after days - weeks - and act like you’ve been carrying this all along. Not if you’re going to pretend tomorrow like none of it happened.”

“I’m not -”

“No, listen to me.” Your arms folded across your chest again, not out of defense, but desperation - like holding yourself together was the only option. “You don’t get to pick and choose when I matter to you, Cassian. You can’t go cold one day and then show up saying you thought you lost me. I can’t do this - ”

You broke off, the emotion finally catching up to your breath, “I can’t go back to being close to you without knowing if it means anything.”

Cassian’s face shifted - pain, guilt, regret, all crashing into one tight expression. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve been a bastard. I know I’ve been... cruel.”

You shook your head, eyes burning. “It’s not about cruel. It’s about being careless. With me. With us. You disappear, and I try to act like I don’t care. Then you come back and look at me like that - and I don’t know how to protect myself from it.”

His jaw clenched, chest rising like he was fighting the urge to speak- but he didn’t interrupt.

“So if this is just another moment,” you whispered, “another fleeting thing before you shut down again… I need you to walk away now. Please.”

The silence that followed stretched so long it hurt.

Then, Cassian took one slow step forward. And another.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, quiet but unwavering.

You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, not fully.

“I kept telling myself it was safer to stay away,” he went on. “But I watched you bleed out in my arms and realized- ” he broke off for a second, voice tight, “I’ve been a coward.”

You blinked hard, throat closing. The words hit something sharp inside you, something that had been barely stitched together.

“You haven’t been a coward,” you said quietly. “You’ve been smart.”

Cassian stilled, his brows knitting.

You swallowed. “It is safer to stay away. We don’t get luxuries in this life. Not real ones. Not the kind that last. Being close, it just makes everything worse when something happens. And something always happens.”

The truth of it hung between you like smoke. He knew it. You both did.

“It’s easier to keep space,” you added, voice softer now. “To pretend it doesn’t matter. Because if it does… if we let it… then losing it would be…”

You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.

He shook his head slightly, jaw tense. “No. That’s wrong.”

You blinked.

“I was scared,” he admitted, voice low. “But after that day. after watching you bleed out on that bench, after thinking I’d never hear your voice again-” he broke off, eyes dark, throat working as he searched for the words, “I didn’t feel fear. I felt regret. All I could think about was how much time I’d wasted trying not to want this. Not to want you.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t want to feel that again,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t want to keep pushing you away just to protect something that’s already broken. I want you in my life. However I can have you.”

He took another step forward, gaze never leaving yours. His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “So I’m staying. If you let me.”

You didn’t answer right away.

But your arms slowly lowered.

And your eyes didn’t leave his.

The silence wasn’t sharp anymore. It felt heavy now, dense and full of everything you’d been holding back since the hangar, since the mission, since before all of it. You took a step back—not away from him, just to breathe. Your legs were still shaky. You hated that he noticed.

Cassian watched you carefully, like he was afraid to move too fast. Like you might vanish if he reached for you.

“I’m so tired,” you said softly, voice hoarse. “Of pretending you don’t affect me.”

His brow creased.

“You have no idea what it’s been like,” you continued, pushing your hair back, your hand trembling slightly. “Lying in that medbay, trying to convince myself I didn’t care that you weren’t there. That it didn’t mean something.”

You laughed once - flat and bitter. “You haunt me, Cassian. Even when you’re gone, you’re everywhere. And I hate it. I hate how much I want you.”

That cracked something in him.

Cassian crossed the room in two steps.

His hands hovered near your arms but didn’t touch - not until you looked up at him. Your eyes met his, and in that breath of quiet, something shifted between you. The ache didn’t go away. But it changed.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he said, voice rough. “I’m done pretending.”

Your mouth parted slightly, words sitting on the tip of your tongue - but they didn’t come.

He stepped closer. Close enough for the tension to vibrate between your bodies. His hand lifted, brushing your cheek gently - like he still wasn’t sure he had the right.

You leaned into it.

Just enough to let him know he did.

You shifted, moving closer. The ache in your ribs made it slow, but his hand was there immediately, steadying you with gentle pressure. His fingers ghosted along your side, careful of the bruises and bandages. You were close enough to feel his breath against your cheek.

He tilted his forehead to yours. “You’re still healing.”

“I know,” you whispered.

But neither of you moved.

His hand stayed on your side, thumb brushing the edge of the bandage like he needed the reminder- like if he wasn’t careful, you’d fall apart in his hands.

“Cassian,” you said softly.

He didn’t answer.

So you leaned in, slow and unsure, your forehead resting against his. The space between you narrowed into something fragile, electric. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t speak.

And then, carefully, like it might break him, he tilted his head and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t practiced.

It was quiet, hesitant, like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed. His lips moved against yours with a softness that caught you off guard - no heat, no desperation. Just a promise.

When you finally pulled back, your breath was unsteady. So was his.

But he didn’t move away.

And neither did you.

Just stood there, in the quiet hum of your room, with the space between you finally closed.

I feel like the chapters have felt rushed, but I didn’t wanna drag this on for too long!! But I hoped you guys enjoyed their confession!!! 👀

Taglist: @buzzyandbadatmath

[http-tokki]

cough medicine- viktor ~viktor x fem!reader ~ tags/cw: established friendship/partnership, suggestive content, crushes, late night conversation, misuse of medication, idk ~ w/c: 1.1k ~a/n: not proofread. idk man, its 2am, i just took cough medicine cause i can't sleep and this was born. don't so what I did and be smart and only take medicine when you need it ily be safe x

"Should you really be doing that?"

A familiar voice from behind has you freezing in place. Pink liquid oozes from the bottle in your right hand, a silver spoon held between the fingers of your left, and for a moment, you worry that syrup will overflow and spill onto the counter below. You quickly correct the almost accident, tipping the bottle back upright and setting it down atop the marble before turning your attention to the spoon that trembles slightly. You're quick to duck forward and gulp down the cough medicine that you had poured out, the saccharine sweet taste a welcome reprieve from all the others you had tried before.

With quick hands, you pocket the evidence in your jumper, afraid to leave the bottle out in case he caught sight of the bright logo.

"Doing what?" You turn, hands gripping the counter behind you to stabilise yourself as the world spins a little too fast for your brain's liking. Before you stands your lab partner, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he takes in your night attire. It is well past your usual bedtime, having left the lab around eleven with the proclamation that you were so beyond exhausted you didn't think you'd make it to your room yet here you were just shy of three in the morning looking awake as ever.

"Are you sick?" Viktor asks, exhaustion lingering in his voice as he steps towards you. He is slower in his movements, his own fatigue a heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders.

"No," you shake your head, "Why are you asking?"

"Why are you taking medicine if you're not sick?" He presses, footfalls sharp against the tiled floor. The medical wing is empty, any sound made by either of you would be echoed tenfold.

"I didn't." you lie, fingers coming to brush over your pocket to smooth out the lump of the utensil hidden within.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I couldn't sleep and I thought I would make some tea to calm me down."

"In the infirmary?" Viktor deadpans, closing the gap with each step.

Your heart begins to race, pulse-quickening in your ears with a roar.

"Yep." you hold fast to your lie, not needing to have your misuse of medication turned into a lecture. "Sometimes they keep the good tea in here." a half-truth. There are herbal remedies within the cupboards for those who don't want to take conventional medicine however chamomile and lavender were about as useful as an umbrella in a hurricane when it came to your racing mind.

Viktor comes to a stop a foot away from you. Close enough to feel the heat of his body, to smell the familiar pine and leather, to catch the way his golden eyes shifted in the light as he scanned your face.

"Why are you lying?" Viktor knows he is right and you know he is right but you're not going to let him know that.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are." the corner of his mouth twitches up as he leans in closer. "I know when you are lying and I just caught you, so why continue the lie."

The smell of parchment and ink wraps around you, an undertone that you can only really get if you stand close to him. Your eyes narrow, jaw clenching slightly as you stand your ground, defeat is never an option when it comes to Viktor.

"Why would I be-"

You are cut off by fingers gripping your chin. Viktor uses the leverage on your face to pull your jaw down, mouth opening involuntarily as he leans further in.

"Tongue out," he instructs and for some gods forsaken reason, you obey.

You hold your tongue obediently as he continues to stare, brows rising in amusement at his victory. There is no doubt that the medicine stained your tongue, the artificial pink way too strong against your flesh. Fuck. Why did you follow his command? Had the syrup been laced with some sort of brainwashing agent that made you fall prey to the slightest suggestion? Was it the late hour that had your mind shutting down and your body acting on impulse? Was it the crush that had been blooming for the past few months manifesting itself in a way that wanted to appeal to Viktor's good side? To show him that you were a good obedient girl who would do anything he told you?

Viktor loosens his grip but does not pull back, a smirk creeping across his face as he relishes in the win.

"See? I know when you are lying," he teases, fingers trailing up to your cheek. "So why are you here in the middle of the night taking medicine you do not need?" he pushes your hair behind your ear.

"Because I couldn't sleep."

"Miláčku," the pet name is a warning.

"I'm not lying," you reinforce your now truth with an unblinking stare at your partner. "Anymore."

Viktor curls his fingers under your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek now.

"I just wanted something to help me sleep." you find yourself leaning into Viktor's palm, his skin warm against your freezing cheek. "I'm just tired, Vik and I didn't want to get lectured about the dangers of misusing medication. I just want to sleep."

Viktor hums in response.

"Can I go now?" You don't mean for it to come out so gruff, but your body was beginning to feel heavy, eyelids dropping as the medication began to work.

There is stillness and silence for a few moments as Viktor continues to stroke your cheek, his eyes narrowed on your mouth, and you're worried that maybe he has fallen asleep standing up, the bags under his eyes rivalling your own. But he blinks and inhales long and slow.

"Let me walk you to your room." his offer is polite as he removes his hand from your face, taking a tentative step back out of your space, and you immediately regret asking to go to bed. The cold air hits your cheek where his hand had been seconds ago, and you miss it already.

"Are you gonna rat me out?" Hesitation laces your voice.

"Perhaps," he shrugs, offering up his bent elbow for you to loop your arm through, a habit you had formed over months of walking home late at night. "Depends."

"On?"

The closeness of his body is comforting once again.

"If you're going to share this secret medicine," he knocks into you as you begin to walk.

It's your turn to hum, feeling the lightness of the bottle in your jumper pocket.

"There isn't any left," you admit, an exaggerated frown etched into your face.

"That's a shame, I will miss you after you are expelled for illicit drug use." Viktor teases, leaning on your heavier the weight of the night pressing down on him.

"I might have some left on my tongue. I can spit in your mouth if you want?" You joke, opening your mouth to showcase your bright pink tongue that had been your downfall minutes ago.

Viktor huffs a laugh. "Do not make promises you can't keep, Lasko"

[fivescocoa]

Kandreil thoughts?

for wip game 6/4 | prev wip post for kandreil thoughts

ive been sitting on this oneshot for MONTHS at this point. i just can't get myself to finish it. it deserves to see the light of day bc therere so many parts im proud of but like. I STRUGGLE TO FINISH ANYTHING RIP

📌 a whole scene from kandreil thoughts:

Kevin rested his head on top of Neil’s, with arms hung over his shoulders and chest leaned against him. They both only had one class this morning, but in the few hours they’d been away from the dorm, a chill had infested the place. Between the two of them, Neil ran colder, but Kevin would be lying if he said he was only clinging for Neil’s benefit. The Nest was frigid like this which left Kevin uneasy, and stealing Neil’s warmth grounded him firmly. Neil was spreading cream cheese on his freshly toasted bagel when a strangled huff escaped him. It reverberated up through Kevin’s chest. He hummed a questioning noise in response and dropped his head, so their temples rested together. “Just thinking about practice.” Neil’s hands paused, clenching the butter knife. His body stiffened at the admission, in a way that Exy alone would never cause. “About practice? Or about Jack?” The shrug Neil gave pushed against Kevin’s limply hung arms. “He challenges every decision I make, on and off court. It’s—” Neil gestured wildly with the butter knife as he searched for words to describe Jack. “He doesn’t think you should be vice-captain.” “No kidding.” “Do you think you should be vice-captain?” “Yes." Neil bit back immediately, then paused a beat, truly thinking the question over. “No. I don’t know.” “With the way you’ve been handling him, that uncertainty is apparent. It’s like blood in the water. Can you really blame the shark?” “Fuck you.” Neil went back to spreading his cream cheese. Kevin pulled out of his warm orbit, accepting the chilly air in favor of facing Neil. He leaned against the counter next to him, crossing his arms as he stooped his head to catch those piercingly beautiful blue eyes. “Start acting like you earned your place here because you did. You’re going to be Court, Neil.” “Careful or I might think you’re complimenting me.” “Is that so hard to believe?” Neil barked a laugh at that and turned back to his half-done bagel. Admittedly, Kevin was hard on the team. He demanded their best and pushed their limits to garner his desired results. But he was working on doling out positive reinforcement as much as he did critiques. Kindness wasn’t apart of Evermore’s curriculum. No one applauded when you were succeeding. You either were meeting their high standards or were baring an amount of bruises equal to your failure. Weeks where he got to play without those painful, colorful reminders littering the places armor didn’t protect were how he knew he was getting better. But even on his good weeks, the guilt never stopped. He’d laid awake at night sick to his stomach about every lost scrimmage, every hesitated pass, every slip in attention to the ball’s position. This concept of contrition was etched so deeply into his relationship with the world that he was doomed to forever be on his knees begging for absolution. Before coming to Palmetto, he couldn’t have imagined anything besides shame and pain inspiring change. He knew now, from experience with the Foxes, that encouragement could play a vital role in building a players' confidence. But even with this knowledge, breaking the habit of throwing people’s mistakes in their face was a challenge. He couldn’t get it through his head that his teammates didn’t share the same pride and relief when they started practice with their body a clean slate, free of aching bruises on their thighs and coaches looking for a reason to inflict more. He was trying though. He wished Neil knew that he was serious about his praise.

[solarstranger]

a/n. i'm starting to realize it's impossible to write anything but angst and/or hurt/comfort when you're just starting to explore one's characterization because of all the data on one's internal conflicts and cognitive functions. shouto is a very daunting character to tackle, and while i did as much research as i could into his psyche, i'm still half-and-half about my approach with him (get it?). still, i hope you enjoy this! (1.1k)

in hindsight, shouto would’ve probably slept through the entire duration of the car ride and then some if it weren’t for the begrudging ‘oi’ that he didn’t quite catch, followed by the not-so-friendly, sobering punch to the shoulder that he did catch—effectively startling him awake, much to his drunken chagrin.

“i’m not asking you again,” comes the ash-blonde’s familiar warning not even a second later, although shouto knows better than to rush himself to get out and into what seems to be his condominium complex in his inebriation. even in his intoxicated haze, it’s obvious which would grant him more of a deafening earful between being a slowpoke and puking over his close friend’s brand-new porsche.

still, nobody said he wouldn’t get one either way, although he supposes he’s lucky bakugou’s only muttering something about his “fucking” luck being the designated driver for tonight instead of shouting expletives in his sensitive, already-throbbing-from-the-alcohol ears.

“thanks,” shouto mumbles more to himself than bakugou as he scoops his backpack from the backseat, careful not to make any sudden, mind-shifting movements lest he ends up hitting two dynamight-shaped birds with one stone.

“whatever. it’s nothing,” comes the ash-blonde’s relatively good-natured reply, a seemingly harmless retort that any ordinary person would look past—although shouto surmises he’s far from being ordinary, and that bakugou is anything but effortlessly good-natured.

which could only mean one thing—

“shouto.”

despite himself, and the fact that he saw this coming from about three meters away, shouto tenses in his seat.

“…what,” the half-and-half hero eventually manages to get out, not stopping his shifting to gather his belongings. he needs to get the fuck out of here—asap.

“you know i don’t like being all up in anybody’s fucking business,” bakugou starts—cautious—and it takes everything in shouto not to further stiffen at the former’s introductory spiel. still, he forces out a grunt as he hurriedly stuffs his phone into his bag’s front pocket.

any minute now.

“and i hate that i have to be the one to fucking ask this, but—” the ash-blonde sighs, shaking his head, before fixing his gaze firmly onto the bi-eyed male. “is everything okay at home?”

shouto barely bites back a choke.

thankfully, he manages to gather his bearings quicker than he’d usually expect from himself in this state. “of course.”

at that, bakugou’s features twitch ever so minutely, as if trying to fight back a frown. similarly, shouto resists the urge to unlock the door and bolt—to where, he doesn’t know.

the ash-blonde opens his mouth to say something, although whatever he was planning to state dies in his throat because he visibly hesitates, before pulling his lips into a tight line.

“if you say so,” bakugou finally shrugs—resigned—turning his torso towards the steering wheel. “now, get the fuck out of here.”

it takes shouto approximately three minutes of frustrated silence to find his key, insert it into the hole, and finally unlock the door knob—a fact that he’d normally not get embarrassed by—just slightly bothered, maybe, if he were alone.

something he realizes he most definitely isn’t—the moment his eyes land on the couch.

or, rather, the image of you curled up comfortably on the couch, your tired face regrettably turned towards him.

jesus. when did you looking at him start becoming something regrettable?

“shouto?”

“y-yeah, it’s me,” the pro-hero finds himself saying anyway, before toeing off his shoes by the foyer and dropping his backpack on the floor. and, before he can talk himself out of it, he quietly steps towards your spacious living room, until he’s kneeling right in front of where you’re lying, still wordlessly looming over your bent frame despite already being on his knees.

the instant he arrives at the position, though, he realizes his rookie mistake.

“have you been drinking?” you suddenly ask, at—probably, the first whiff of him—lips that were once formed into an unsure smile now turned downwards, before propping yourself further upright on your elbow.

and, because there’s not much he can say to that but the full and honest truth, shouto nods.

your frown, however, only deepens. “i-is it because of what i said earlier today?”

at the mention of this morning, shouto bristles, a reaction that unfortunately doesn’t go unnoticed by you, who only stares at him, lethargy long tossed out of the metaphorical window, and what were once drowsy eyes now wide awake.

“shouto,” you try again, finally stirring to sit up, “when i said that, i didn’t mean to—”

“i know,” he cuts you off before he can think better against it, not sure exactly what he’s asserting he knows.

he could guess, although theorizing why you suggested you start doing couples therapy isn’t exactly his idea of a fun time at the moment.

nor is the foreboding—not to mention terrifying—thought that he’s becoming his father’s son, and that your relationship is as doomed to fail as his parents’.

“i don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but i can tell it’s not something good.”

surprised, shouto looks up to meet your gaze, his bewilderment only increasing tenfold when he merely finds you peering fondly at him, as if he didn’t just hurt you with his unintentional callousness earlier this morning when you brought up the suggestion, or with everything else that has led you to the suggestion in the first place, which—frankly—he’s not exactly ready to face at present.

“i got you, didn’t i?” you grin—despite the situation—and shouto finds himself relaxing at the sight of you, even more so when you reach out to cup his cheek, nestling further into your hold like this morning didn’t just happen.

you probably stay that way for a few minutes—with shouto’s big hands planted firmly on your blanketed hips while yours caress his smooth cheeks—at least, up until shouto shifts on his knees and clears his throat.

“i-i’m sorry,” he begins, voice gruff with disuse, focus downcast, “that i went drinking again.”

“i know.”

“i g-guess your proposition just took me by surprise,” shouto finds himself admitting, absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles on your clothed flesh—perhaps more to ground himself than anything.

“i didn’t mean to hurt you by bringing that up,” you murmur honestly, shaking your head. “i only want what i think is best for us. always.”

“i know,” shouto nods, before leaning in to press a soft peck on your lips. “me, too, love. me, too.”

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[angelhyun]

back to sleep - ldh

[a/n]: happy birthday to my gemini twin ayyy

pairing: bf!lee donghyuck x reader

[wc]: 626

-> cw: none, just pure fluff :)

prelude: Hyuck never got days off. Everybody knew that, especially the poor man himself, working harder than anyone you've ever known. That’s why it catches you by surprise when you wake up with him in bed next to you, making you feel like it was your birthday instead of his. TLDR: A cute, lazy morning in bed with Hyuck on his birthday.

11:59pm

You anxiously waited until midnight, a minute going by way slower than it would on a normal day. Your fingers danced over the keyboard as you prepared to hit the send button, your message already typed and ready to go.

12:00am

happy birthday baby!!! i love u so much more than words could ever express and i hope u never forget how unconditionally proud i am of u. you’re truly my full sun in a world that can be so gloomy :,) hope to celebrate with u soon my love, sleep well <3

You stay on your chat for a bit, hoping to see him typing, but you knew he was likely with his members. It didn’t upset you, as you knew they loved and cared for him just as much as you did. Content with the thought, you put your phone down, curling up into your blankets as you drifted off to sleep.

His hands were running through your hair as your head laid comfortably on his lap. He was leaning against a cherry blossom tree, the petals drifting through the wind, surrounding you both in a peaceful pink haze. “Hyuck,” you started, looking up at him. He looked ethereal, dark brown bangs resting beautifully on his honey skin—the laidback look in his eyes as he gazed down at you, albeit full of love. He didn’t answer, eyes simply boring into yours. “I love you.” you say softly. He remains still, as if he already knows, the words having no drastic effect on him.

Your eyes suddenly open, the sun beaming through your windows, casting a bright light that you assumed woke you up in addition to your dream. You dreamt of your boyfriend quite often, which he found very endearing. He’d cockily tease that he was always on your mind, though you’d never admit he was right. Despite feeling quite refreshed, you felt like you hadn’t even gone to sleep—as if time didn’t pass since your head hit your pillow.

You decide to turn to grab your phone, wanting to check the time. What you didn’t expect, when you turned, was to have a figure laying next to you. That same dark brown hair from your dream was the only thing that was visible above the covers, making you sit up in surprise, waking the man with your sudden sharp movement. “Baby…” he croaks, voice hoarse from the sudden awakening.

You furrow your brows. Was this still part of the dream? You pinch yourself, concluding that it wasn’t. “Hyuck?” you question softly. He turns to face you, now hugging your waist. “Go back to sleep,” he whines. “It’s too early to be awake.” You immediately lie back down, snuggling yourself closer to your man. You were so surprised. He was home earlier than expected, meaning you’d get to celebrate together.

“Happy birthday, baby.” you whisper into the crook of his neck, a smile adorning your face. “Thank you, honey.” he says sleepily. “Did you get my text?” you ask, clearly not reading the room. He yawns before nodding. “It was cute. Thank you again.” he puts on a tired smile, eyes still closed.

“Since you’re here, does that mean we can celebrate later?” you ask, clearly excited about the day to come. “Yes, later.” he croaks again. “I’m jet lagged. Let’s just cuddle and go back to sleep, yeah?” he asks. You nod and give him a gentle kiss, him reciprocating. “Okay, Hyuckie.” you grin, happy with the compromise. “I’m so lucky,” you coo, fingers playing with his hair like he did in your dream. “It’s not even my birthday, yet you’re surprising me.”

“I know, I’m just perfect, aren’t I?” he teases, earning a playful flick on the forehead from you.

[a/n]: literally just got home now (at 1am) and felt the urge to write smth for haechan’s birthday 🙂‍↕️ i’m dedicated to my craft. anyways, please stay tuned for partition part 2–not too sure if i’m going to give it another name yet or just call it that LMAO also i’m posting on mobile for the first time so sorry if the layout is scuffed. as always, thank u for reading ^3^

[runforthehillsbestie]

Broken Lullaby

Part 5 - trial and error

Pairing - Brahms Heelshire x Female reader

Read the story context and warnings here

That night, Brahms doesn't get a kiss. You lock your door and go to sleep, resisting the urge to relive what happened earlier with the help of your vibrator. He could be watching. In fact, you do not doubt that he is. The house is ominously quiet, so you're glad when it starts to drizzle, a soft patter against the window panes that lulls you to sleep.

The next morning the weather is nice, so you dress in a baggy printed t-shirt and some shorts before you head downstairs to scrounge up some breakfast. There's no sign of Brahms, but the doll is sitting in the foyer facing the stairs when you descend. Out of habit you take it with you into the kitchen and whip up some scrambled eggs and toast. Does Brahms like coffee or tea? Or maybe juice? You look around the quiet kitchen, regretting your decision to send him away.

You make plenty of everything just in case and leave it set out on the table. He doesn't have to hide from you anymore, so he can eat whenever he likes. You've just finished cleaning up when the phone rings in the foyer. When you pick it up the shrill voice that blasts into your ear almost makes you drop the receiver.

"I have been trying to call you forever!" Alex hollers.

"I thought the doll had come alive and killed you or something."

You stifle a smile at the irony. "Calls don't always come through and I was out yesterday, so I might've missed your call."

"Oh, you went out!" Alex croons.

"Well, not it in the way you're thinking," you reply.

"Where to then?"

"You know the groundskeeper I told you about?"

"Thorne?"

"Thorton," you correct. "Turns out he lives on a farm not too far away with his wife. I picked up my groceries from there yesterday and got a tour of the place." Alex laughs. "Must've been charming for a city girl like you, eh?"

You joke back and forth a little and Alex updates you on what's going on in London.

"Anyway, how are things coming along? You are writing, right?"

"Yes. I'm on schedule too."

"So the countryside is doing you some good! That's wonderful. I can't wait till you get back so I can see the fruits of your labor. I've missed your scholarly despair. The apartment has been too quiet."

"How sweet," you laugh.

"Well, just nine more days to go!" Alex says. A doorbell rings in the distance. "Oh, that's my takeout. I'm having someone over. Sort of like a date. I suppose I'll try to catch you again another day. Bye!"

You hang up. Nine days. Suddenly the thought of returning to the city isn't as appealing as it used to be. You take your laptop to the porch so you can make the most of the nice weather and work for a couple of hours. When it begins to get windy and cold you relocate to a couch inside and grab some wine. After you have a glass you begin to get drowsy and once the words start to swim on your screen, you call it a day. While it's past twelve, you still want to make a late lunch, but you're so comfy that you decide to curl up on the couch for a nap.

You're slowly dragged back to consciousness sometime later by a touch against your leg. You're lying on your side facing the back of the couch, so Brahms doesn't immediately notice you're awake as he crouches beside the couch. You have a knot in your side from the single position you've been sleeping in, but you keep your eyes closed and pretend to still be asleep so you can figure out what he's doing. He strokes your skin, keeping his touch light as he traces a path from your ankle to your knee, then up to your thigh and back down again. You almost shoot off the couch when you feel his breath against your skin. Is he not wearing the mask? The temptation to turn over and look is huge, but you force it down. If he wants you to see his face he'll show it to you. Right now, he thinks you're asleep and you'll only scare him off if you move. The tip of his nose drags over your skin.

What on earth is he doing?

You're unsure what to do but you decide to let him entertain himself because it's harmless, right? That is, until his lips--his chapped, dry lips--press to your thigh and you feel the tiniest bit of suction. You almost make a startled sound. A small part of you is irrationally disappointed that he didn't kiss you on the lips first. You feign waking up, rolling onto your back and stretching with a yawn. You don't hear a single floorboard squeak but when you open your eyes, you're alone. You sit up and examine your thigh. There's a tender spot there, the beginnings of a hickey.

You shuffle into the kitchen and begin making a late lunch, rubbing your thigh now and then. You've been subconsciously making bigger meals than you'd usually do, and today is no different. There's leftover chicken in the fridge, so you decide to make a chicken salad with rice. You forget that you need to boil the rice until you're done with everything else and since the package says it needs to boil for forty-five minutes, you decide to take a quick shower while it cooks. You stop in the drawing room to put some music on so that you can cross that off the list, reminding yourself to read aloud later. It's what you're being paid to do, after all.

Maybe I can coax Brahms to come out with that, you muse.

The water is heavenly against your skin. You tilt your face up to the spray and let the water rush over you. The only way you know the bathroom door has opened is because you feel a cold draft through the shower curtain. As you turn around soap suds sting your eyes, forcing you to squeeze them shut.

"Brahms?"

"Yes?" The word is drawn out, distracted.

You rinse your face and blink your eyes open. You can see his hazy form through the shower curtain, which is mostly clear. He's clutching the door frame, leaving dusty greyish fingerprints behind. His gaze is dark and heavy behind the mask and his cock is tenting his pants, straining against the material which already has a wet spot seeping into it. You can trace the outline of his shaft with your eyes as it swells against his thigh and as you look, the wet spot grows. He makes a small sound in his throat, almost a whimper. You don't bother trying to hide yourself from him. Instead, you tilt your head to the side.

"Since you're here, you might as well take a shower with me. Come here."

He hesitates, eyeing the water.

"It won't hurt, it's not hot. You can test it if you like."

He shuffles closer and parts the curtain, holds his hand under the stream. The moment the water touches his skin a thin rivulet of greyish runoff drips down his elbow.

"Remove your clothes and get in," you instruct.

He fumbles out of his clothes and you have to suppress a smile at his eagerness. The pants come off last, joining the pile of fabric on the floor. His chest and belly are dark with hair which tapers into a happy trail. You can't help but follow it with your eyes as it leads to bushy pubic hair and a cock which is thick and swollen, with a purplish head that drools precum.

Poor boy, you think.

The shower is just about big enough for the two of you. You step back as far as you can so that the water is spraying on him instead and get a generous squirt of shower gel and rub it between your hands to form a lather. He almost falls forward when you touch him for the first time, his knees going weak. His hands press against the wall of the shower to steady himself, boxing you in. His cock throbs so hard it brushes against your belly in pulses and he shivers but makes no attempt to intentionally rub against you--even though he probably wants to.

"I'm sorry for being bad," he chokes out, lowering his head to rest it against your shoulder, cool porcelain lips pressing against your skin.

"We all make mistakes, Brahms," you say gently. "What's important is that we learn from them, okay?"

He nods fervently.

"If you want something, you have to ask. And when someone tells you no, you have to listen. Especially when it's me."

He nods again, his now-wet curls bouncing. "I'll listen, I will."

"Good." You spread the lather over his shoulders, feeling muscle bunch and shift under your hands.

While you're aware that he's enjoying you touching him, you also just want to get him clean, so you treat this more like a task, allowing him to press his nose against your hair as you work. Your fingertips slide over a scar just below his ribcage, not a wide one, like whatever caused it was not too big. Brahms goes very still when your fingertips run over it.

"What happened here, Brahms?"

"A screwdriver. Greta," he whispers.

"A woman did this? Was she a previous nanny?"

He nods, his eyes fixed on your face.

"Oh, Brahms. It must have hurt," you murmur and switch to a soft loofah, scrubbing and rinsing his torso off till the water runs soapy but clear into the drain.

You could keep going lower, but it makes sense to try and wash his hair first. It turns out Brahms does not want your hands anywhere near his head or face. He freaks out and stumbles back, bumping into the wall and nearly yanking the shower curtain off. He loses his hard-on in mere moments, growing confused and suspicious all at once, pressing a hand against his mask and rising to his full height above you.

"No," he says.

"Okay. Do you want to wash your hair then?" You keep your voice gentle.

He hesitates.

"How about you do the rest yourself?" You rinse off and step out, wrapping a towel around yourself. "I'll just dry my hair over here, okay? Sorry if it's loud."

You switch the blow-drier on and proceed to do just that. He keeps his eyes on you while he scrubs his soapy hands in his hair, only closing his eyes briefly when the soap runs into them.

"Do you want me to leave so you can remove your mask and wash your face?"

"No. Don't go," his tone grows sharp and you wonder if he'll ever begin to trust that you're not just going to grab your suitcases and sneak away.

You turn your back to him instead and drop the towel to put on your clothes. You can feel the heat of his gaze on you. By the time you're dressed, the shower turns off and Brahms stands dripping onto the bath mat, squeaky clean and smelling of your shower gel. His skin has a bit of a sickly undertone from the lack of sunlight and you make a mental note to add vitamins to your grocery list. You hand him a clean towel.

"Dry off and we'll get you some of Mr. Heelshire's clothes to wear."

Brahms doesn't react at all to the mention of his father's name. He follows you to his parent's bedroom. You feel like you're not supposed to be in here as you pick out some clothes. Mr. Heelshire is wider around the middle, which explains the suspenders Brahms wears. It doesn't look like Mr. Heelshire owns any belts. A few minutes later he's dressed in brown slacks and a flannel shirt that's a little too small on him, revealing his wrists.

"Okay, now that we're both clean, how about a snack and some reading?" Brahms nods, shadowing you as you head downstairs.

"How do you like your tea?" You ask as you fix two cups of Earl Grey.

"Milk and sugar, please."

"You sound so prim," you tell him with a smile, arranging some tea cakes on a plate. "Like a proper uppity Victorian child."

He reaches out and presses his thumb wonderously to the corner of your smiling mouth.

"What is it?" You ask.

He looks at you with puppy eyes. "Kiss?"

You oblige, getting up on your tiptoes to meet him halfway. Brahms seems to need to touch you whenever he gets a kiss and this time one large hand cups your waist while the other curls gently around your neck. You practically feel your ovaries explode and a flame of arousal burns through you so hotly that you pull away after the briefest peck against his mask. You've never had someone do that before and you had no idea you'd even like that. The discovery shakes you up.

"Let's go read," you announce.

Your hands are trembling, so you ask him to hold the tray. He follows you, unaware of how much he has affected you. Luckily, reading gives you a chance to cool off and you tuck away this little incident to analyze later. It doesn't take long before you're lost in the rhythm of the words. The last sip of your tea has gone cold, forgotten on the side table. Brahms has been sitting beside you on the couch but now, to your surprise, he tucks his big body onto the couch and lays his head in your lap, resting his hand against your thigh.

"Such a darling," you can't help but coo, stroking his arm. "You'll be good, won't you Brahms?"

He nods, his eyes flickering shut behind the mask. You feel warm and gooey inside, like you've just gotten a neglected puppy to trust you for the first time. You're not sure if he's fallen asleep or he's only pretending he has, but you let him use your lap as a pillow. You've never had anyone be this cuddly with you and you're enjoying the weight and warmth of him, getting lost in your thoughts, until you eventually doze off yourself.

You wake up to the disorienting sound of the doorbell. You rub your cheek and sit up to find yourself alone in the room. The book slid from your hands at some point and is now resting on the floor. You pick it up and set it on the coffee table. The doorbell rings again.

"Just a minute!" You call out. Who on earth is that? Thorton?

You stride over to the door and open it to find a young man and an older woman in cycling clothes and helmets. The young man is at the bottom of the porch stairs, leaning on a professional racing bicycle. He gives you a brief wave but his eyes quickly shift away.

"Hello," the woman says brightly, crow's feet appearing at the corner of her eyes when she smiles. "Sorry to trouble you, but we took a wrong turn somewhere and I'm afraid we're lost. How do we get to the nearest town?"

"It's not too far from here. Half an hour, maybe, if you double back until you reach the fork in the road," you reply.

"Excellent!" She hesitates, then holds up two empty water bottles. "Could we have some water? I'd be glad to pay you for it."

"Of course, and there's no need to pay me." You open the door. "Come to the kitchen and I'll get those filled for you."

"Thank you," the woman says, unclipping her helmet and tossing it to the young man. "I'll be back, you wait here," she says to him, smoothing a hand through her greying hair and following you inside.

She'll be in and out in five minutes, you think to yourself. Brahms might not even notice.

"So, do you cycle a lot?" You ask as you fill the two bottles.

"At least once a week," the woman says. "It was a family thing until my husband passed away. Now it's just me and my son."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was two years ago," the woman shrugs, looking around the kitchen. "May I use your washroom?"

"It's just down the hall to the right," you tell her.

She thanks you again. You finish filling the bottles and take them out to give them to the young man, except he isn't there, and his bicycle is toppled on its side. You turn and hurry back inside, your stomach already dropping.

"Brahms, please tell me you didn't--"

The young man steps out of one of the rooms and into your path. You stop short, surprised to see that he's unharmed.

"Where's Hattie?" He asks.

"She had to use the toilet. Um, what are you doing with that?"

He looks down at the small statue he's holding.

"This thing can probably sell for a lot of money, you know," he says casually.

Your eyebrows raise, uncomprehending. Before you can say anything Hattie appears at the top of the stairs.

There's a toilet downstairs. Why is she up there?

"It looks like you're all alone at the moment," she calls. "Now that's a pity."

"Wait, what are you doing?" You protest.

"Just taking a couple of items off your hands," the young man says, dropping the statue into his backpack.

For a moment you just stand there in stunned silence, and all you can think of is Brahms. Brahms in the walls, watching strangers in his home, taking his stuff.

"No," you breathe.

"This house is like a museum, dear. You have so many things, surely you won't miss much," Hattie says, trotting down the stairs with a painting of a desolate, windswept plain tucked under her arm. "This is a De Bruin original, by the way," she adds.

"Please don't," you say. "Stealing from here will get you killed."

"Because it's haunted? Yeah, we've heard the stories. Whoo, I'm terrified," The young man snorts, pulling a knife out of his backpack, tossing and catching it before pointing it at you. "Look here, if you don't make this a problem for us, we won't make this a problem for you."

"But--"

"Shut up!" He yells, coming closer and waving the blade in your face.

You back away and bump against the wall.

"Don't scare the poor bird," Hattie laughs going up the stairs again, surprisingly spry for her age. "I spotted an attic! Maybe there's some old jewelry up there. Give me a few minutes," she calls over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. Just hurry up!" The young man shouts back.

"You don't understand," you press, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead. "What you're doing is dangerous."

"I told you to keep your mouth shut," the man says, growing antsy the longer his companion takes. "Hattie, hurry up!"

There's a heavy thump from above and a startled yelp, and Brahms appears at the top of the stairs, dragging Hattie. He grabs her and lifts her off her feet with ease. She coughs and chokes as the collar of her shirt digs into her neck, her feet kicking fruitlessly.

"Brahms, no!" You scream.

He shoves her down the stairs. She tumbles and thuds all the way down, coming to a dazed stop at the bottom. There's a cut over her eyebrow that's bleeding profusely. The man swears and grabs you, pressing the blade against your neck.

"Look, we don't want any trouble," he says shakily. "You let us go and I won't do anything to her."

Brahms descends the stairs, stepping over Hattie. His hands curl into fists and his head tilts to the side as he studies the man. His eyes are burning with cold fire. He takes a step forward.

"Brahms, just let them go," you say, your voice thin and high with fear.

"I'll do it, I'll hurt her," the man insists, pressing the blade harder into your skin. "Get back!"

The man is trembling so hard that you're sure he'll end up cutting you by accident. You feel a slight sting and a warm drop of blood rolls down your neck. Time stops. Brahms seems larger than life, possessed with unholy anger. He rushes at the man, who shoves you away so he can meet Brahms head-on instead.

His attempt at defense is pathetic. His swing goes wide, and Brahms pushes him against the wall, slamming his wrist against it over and over again until the knife drops from his numbed fingers. Before the man can move to grab it Brahms punches him in the gut and when he doubles over he does it again, smashing his fist into the man's face. You gasp when you see a tooth drop out of the man's mouth and bounce across the floor.

"Brahms, stop!" You cry out, but he isn't listening to you.

He throws the man to the floor and starts to kick him viciously in the ribs. The broken sound the man utters makes your stomach turn.

"Stop it!" You grab Brahms by the arm, trying to pull him away.

He turns on you, shoving you against the wall. He's so angry, glaring into your eyes as he squeezes your throat just hard enough for you to struggle to draw in your next breath.

"Brahms," you squeak. "Don't do this."

His eyes soften a little and he releases your neck. His bloodies hand strokes your face. A second later he's stumbling to the floor from the impact of a bat against the side of his head. You scream in horror as blood splatters against the floorboards and you drop to your knees beside him.

"Oh my god, Brahms!"

He shoves you to the floor, covering you with his body moments before the bat comes down again. It makes a solid thwacking sound across his back. You catch a glimpse of ruined skin where the mask shattered and cut into his face. Brahms stares down at you, his pupils dilated. Blood soaks into his beard and drips onto your chest.

"Motherfucker!" The young man snarls, lifting the bat again.

Brahms turns around and catches the next swing with his forearm, absorbing the brunt of the impact with a grunt. He rips the bat out of the man's hands and swings it into his ribcage. You swear you hear something shatter and the man crumples to the floor.

"No," Hattie cries from the bottom of the stairs, reaching out a pleading hand. "He's sorry! We're sorry. We'll leave. Please!"

Brahms raises the bat above his head and brings it down with all the force in his body. There's a sickening crunch, followed by a sudden stillness. You've covered your face with your hands, too afraid to look. You can hear Brahms breathing in ragged, hitching gasps. His footsteps are wet as he crosses the foyer. Hattie makes a thin animal sound of fear, and then there's a snap and she too goes silent.

"Oh my god," you whisper into your palms. "Brahms, what have you done?"

"I had to," he responds, his voice pitching into that eerie, childlike voice. "They wanted to hurt you."

"You didn't have to kill them," you choke. "I told you no! They begged you to stop!"

"I had to protect you," he says.

You flinch when he crouches in front of you and tries to pull you into his arms. His hands and shirt are warm and sticky. Wet with blood. You shove him away and scramble to your feet, almost losing your balance on the slippery floor. You try not to look at the bodies. Brahms lowers his head, staring you down.

"I had to do it," he says, his voice growing deeper. "For you."

You shake your head. He reaches for you again and you spin around and run towards the door.

"No!" He roars, and you scream and burst out onto the porch.

Brahms freezes at the threshold, catching himself against the door. He can't follow you out for some reason. There's a familiar car pulling into the driveway. It's Thorton. Brahms backs away before spinning on his heel and stalking down the hallway, stepping apathetically over the bodies and disappearing further into the house. Thorton gets out of his car, all jolly and smiling. He starts to greet you and then sees the blood on your clothes and the expression on your face.

"What in god's name happened?" He asks, and you burst into tears.

"He k-killed people," you stammer, shivering as the wind cools the blood on your shirt. "They're dead."

"Tell me everything, but first let's get you inside, dear."

You can't stop shaking, but you shake your head. "The bodies are right there. I don't want to see them."

Thorton runs a hand through his hair. "Wait here."

He disappears inside, and you hear him muttering in dismay. He returns a minute later with a thick blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders.

"What are we going to do?" You whisper.

Thorton shifts his weight and clears his throat. "I've called in a favor with someone. It'll be taken care of."

You sit on the porch steps with a thump.

"This has happened before, hasn't it? What about the repairman? Brahms killed him too, didn't he?"

Thorton sighs, and you bristle.

"You lied to me."

"I didn't want to scare you off." With a pained groan, he sinks onto the steps next to you.

"Brahms doesn't hurt people unless he's provoked. He has tremendous anger issues and he doesn't know his own strength, and that combination tends to go badly."

You rub your neck where the ghostly feeling of Brahms's hand remains, so rough compared to earlier when he kissed you. It's hard to reconcile the two sides of him.

"Brahms is an extremely unstable individual. He has grown up isolated and alone, and I'm certain his parents were of no help either. They were ashamed of him, of what people said he'd done. Whether it was true or not, they chose to bury the past and him with it," Thorton says. "None of this is right, but I can't say Brahms can be fit in a box. He's much too complicated for that."

"He didn't listen to me," you whisper, staring at the man's bicycle that is still resting on its side. "God, I shouldn't have let the woman in the house. This is all my fault."

"No." Thorton clamps his hand on your shoulder. "Don't blame yourself."

"I don't know what to do.'

"One step at a time," Thorton says. "It's cold. Let me make you a cup of something warm, yes?"

You nod slowly. Time passes in one big blur, and you hardly notice when Thorton brings you a cup of tea. You can only manage a few sips, but at least it warms up your hands. A nondescript white van comes up the driveway, and a man in dark coveralls out.

"Where?" He asks you.

"Just inside," you mumble.

You huddle in the blanket and wait. Fifteen minutes later the man comes out again, carrying a wrapped body. You avert your eyes as he brings out the second one and heaves them into the back of the van. He exchanges a few words with Thorton and drives away. You jump when Thorton touches your shoulder.

"You'll catch a cold like this. Please come inside."

You step inside. The air is tinged with the scent of disinfectant and the floor is clean. There's no sign that two people just died in here, and that makes you want to throw up.

Part 6 - see me for what I am (Coming Soon!)

@fromsaltandsea and @lovelymindescape asked to be tagged! <3

@runforthehillsbestie

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Call Me

The tile was cold against your back. Blood was warm beneath your hand. Sticky. Fast.

You didn’t mean to call anyone.

You told yourself you could handle it, that it wasn’t that deep, that you’d seen worse, been worse. But when your vision blurred and your knees buckled, your fingers found the rotary dial.

Not Javier.

You hadn’t spoken in weeks. Not since that fight in the safe house. Not since the last op went sideways and you went with Carillo instead.

You called Steve.

You don’t even remember saying a word. Just the sound of your breathing, the echo of his voice over the line: “Where are you? Hello? Hello-?”

And then silence.

Until now.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice is like thunder—sharp, panicked, thick with fear. “Hey- hey. Hey, I got you. It’s okay.”

You blink, slow, head lolling against the wall. You’re sitting on the bathroom floor, legs sprawled, shirt soaked through. You don’t know how long you’ve been here.

Steve drops to his knees. Hands on your shoulders, face pale.

“Don’t move. Okay? I need to stop the bleeding.”

He presses something- towel? Shirt? Pressed hard against your side. You flinch.

“Sorry. Sorry.” His voice breaks. “What the fuck happened?”

“Went out with Carillo,” you murmur. “Wasn't clean intel.”

“No shit,” he growls. “This is bad. Really bad.”

You try to wave him off, but your arm falls uselessly to the floor.

He grabs your phone. You know who he’s calling before he says a word.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“I’m not watching you die in your bathroom just ‘cause the two of you can’t get your shit together.”

You want to protest, but everything’s fading.

You close your eyes.

You hear the door slam open minutes later. Fast footsteps. A voice like gravel and fury.

“Where is she?”

Steve calls out something, but you’re not listening anymore. Your vision is full of him-Javier Peña, storming into the bathroom like the world is ending, like it already did the second he saw you on the floor.

He’s on his knees in front of you, eyes wild. You’ve never seen him look like this.

“What the fuck did you do?” he says, but it’s not anger. It’s fear.

You try to speak. Can’t.

His hands hover, then settle on your face, your neck, your side. “Stay with me,” he whispers, voice cracking. “You hear me? You stay with me.”

Steve watches from the doorway, jaw tight. “I couldn’t get it to stop. She’s losing a lot-”

“I’ve got it.” Javier’s already tearing open the med kit, barking instructions like he’s trying to take back every second he wasn’t there.

You’re barely conscious. But you see his hands shake.

“You wait ‘til you’re half-dead to let me back in?” he says, pressing gauze to your ribs. “What the hell is that?”

You manage a faint smile. “Didn’t think you wanted back in.”

“Don’t- don’t fucking do that.” His voice catches. “Don’t joke like that right now.”

You feel his hand slide down, lacing with yours.

“You should have called me,” he mutters.

“Keep up Javi, we hate each other at the moment. Remember?”

His eyes close, and he bows his head. Like it’s too much. Like it’s all too much.

“You idiot,” he breathes. “I never stopped caring.”

And this time, when you slip under again, it’s to the feel of his hand holding yours. Fierce. Steady. Unshakable.

***

The beeping is slow and steady.

Too steady.

You blink hard against the overhead light, throat dry, body aching in places you can’t fully track. There’s an IV in your arm. Bandages on your side. And Connie sitting in the chair beside you, eyes puffy, book in her lap, staring past it like she hasn’t turned a page in a while.

When you shift and groan, her head snaps up.

“You’re awake,” she says, relief flooding her face. “Jesus. You scared the hell out of us.”

You try to speak, but your mouth’s like sandpaper. She brings you water. Helps you sip.

It takes a minute before your voice works.

“Steve…?”

“He’s here,” she says. “Down the hall. Talking to the doctor.”

You wince as you shift again, the pain a reminder of how close it was. How much blood you lost.

“I'm sorry I called him,” you whisper. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“He said you were barely standing when he got there,” Connie murmurs, her voice soft. “Bleeding all over the bathroom tiles. Scared the shit out of him.”

You nod slowly, guilt tightening in your chest.

She hesitates. “He called Javi.”

Your heart stumbles, you'd forgotten that part. “What?”

“He didn’t even think about it. Just picked up the phone and told him to get there. Said you were in trouble.”

You look away. “I didn’t want him to see me like that.”

Connie’s voice hardens, just slightly. “Well, he did. Steve couldn’t stop him. And Javi wouldn’t have let him anyway.”

You blink hard. “Is he still here?”

She nods. “Hasn’t left since they brought you in. You were in surgery for three hours, and he didn’t sit down once. Just paced the floor like he was about to explode.”

You say nothing.

“I’m gonna go get the nurse,” she says gently. “Let them know you’re up.”

But before she can reach the door, it opens.

And Javier Peña stands there like something out of a storm. Eyes bloodshot, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he hasn’t exhaled since he walked into that hospital.

He sees you.

And whatever cold detachment he might’ve been holding onto shatters.

He moves past Connie without a word.

The hospital room is dim when you speak.

Your voice is quiet. Raw.

“Why are you here, Javi?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just sits there, hands knotted in his lap, eyes dark and unreadable.

“I didn’t call you,” you go on. “I haven’t called you in weeks. I’ve done nothing to deserve you sitting here, checking on me like you… like you give a shit.”

The silence stretches, and you almost regret it, you almost take it back.

Then:

“I never stopped caring.”

Your breath catches.

“I thought…” You shake your head. “After the last time we talked- after what you said…”

“I said a lotta shit I didn’t mean,” he mutters. “Because I was scared. Because caring about you made things harder. Not easier.”

You look away. You don’t know what to say to that.

He stays until dawn, slumped in a chair, arms crossed, but he doesn’t sleep. Not for a second.

***

You discharge yourself against medical advice.

You can still feel the stitches pulling when you walk, your ribs scream with every breath, but you ignore it. You’ve ignored worse.

You're outside the hospital, trying to flag a taxi, one arm clutched tight around your middle when a familiar truck pulls up fast to the curb.

Javi leans out the window.

“You outta your goddamn mind?”

You don’t answer.

He throws the door open anyway. “Get in.”

You hesitate for just a beat- then climb in.

You ride in silence for a few minutes. The sun is too bright. Your body hurts. But your mind's already racing ahead.

“Can I borrow your phone?” you ask, finally.

He glances at you. “Why?”

“I need to call Carillo. We need to plan the next move. Figure out what the cartel’s gonna do in response-”

He brakes hard and pulls off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as the car jerks to a stop.

You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He turns toward you, slowly. “Are you hearing yourself?”

“I need to finish what I started-”

“You almost died.”

“I didn’t.”

“You nearly bled out on your goddamn bathroom floor!”

You go quiet. He’s never raised his voice like this. Not at you.

His voice drops, but it’s worse now- low and tight and wrecked.

“You think I stayed at that hospital all night just to watch you throw yourself back into a war zone? Like none of this meant anything? Like you mean nothing?”

Your lip trembles. You bite it hard.

“I don’t know how else to be,” you whisper. “I can’t sit still, Javi. Not when this city’s still bleeding.”

He leans forward, elbows on the steering wheel. Doesn’t look at you when he says:

“I get it. You’re good at this job. Maybe too good. But don’t pretend it hasn’t cost you. Don’t pretend it hasn’t cost me.”

That lands sharp in your chest.

He finally turns to look at you again- eyes raw, unreadable.

“I let you walk away before. I thought it was safer. Cleaner. But I swear to God- if you go out there like this again, if you get yourself killed trying to be the one who fixes everything…”

He shakes his head, jaw tight.

“I won’t survive it.”

You don’t speak.

There’s nothing you can say.

Just the sound of your breathing, your heartbeat, and the quiet confession hanging in the space between you.

[bts-preference]

1. How he looks at you

Namjoon: Like you’re the answer to everything - He had always devoured books at lightning speed, which he rationalized as his way of searching for answers to make sense of this crazy, fucked up world. Yet, now, when he looks at you, everything seems to fall in place. With you in front of him, a wave of relief and contentment envelops him. To him, everything seems calmer, orderly, sensible. He realizes he had been looking for answers in the wrong places this whole time. "How do you do it?" he eventually asks you one evening after you catch him staring. When you ask him what he means, he expands, "Make me feel like everything is going to be OK."

Jin: With tears in his eyes - With his schedule, it had been a few days since you last saw one another. So when you were finally able to spend an evening together, he brought with him an arsenal of jokes -knock-knock jokes, puns, nothing was off the table - he had been saving these jokes just for you. As he fired them off, you gave him your best, polite laugh (even when they were actually funny, you held back, not wanting to boost his ego too much). However, when he turned to you to truly gauge your approval of the jokes, you could see tears welling up in his eyes. Of course he would make himself cry from laughing so hard at his own jokes.

Yoongi: With sleepy eyes - It is no surprise to you when you find his side of your shared bed empty at 3 a.m. After slipping out of bed, you find him hunched over his computer, brooding over contemplating a melody that came to him when he was in a half-awake/half-asleep state. As you move to stand next to him, gently putting a hand on his shoulder, he turns and looks at you with heavy eyes. Most nights, he would send you back to bed, promising that he would only be five more minutes. But tonight, he takes your hand and lets you lead him back to bed. "Everything will be still here after you get some sleep," you promise him.

Hoseok: With a knowing look - Even in the busiest, most crowded places - when you are across the room from one another - you and Hoseok have learned to communicate effectively with your eyes. "You good? I'm good." "Time to go." "What even just happened?" "Can you believe this person?" All messages sent and received with a quick glance at one another. No one else notices these looks. They are just for you and him. And you always revisit the latter looks after you have left wherever you're coming from. Nearly bursting from having to hold it in, he will need to gossip debrief to make sure you got the same read on the person and/or situation in question.

Jimin: With passion and desire - It started with quick glances from across the table as you, he, and your friend group had dinner together. As the night wore on, his eyes lingered more. At one point, as you talked with your friend sitting next to you, you could feel him undressing you with his eyes. You did your best to not acknowledge him (as it would only encourage him), but your ears began turning red, giving you away. When you got home, he pulled you into his arms immediately. He nuzzled his face into your neck before peppering soft kisses across your collarbones. "Did I tell you how beautiful you looked tonight?" he whispered.

Taehyung: With love, that's it - Is that him, or the heart eyes emoji personified? Because when he looks at you, there really is no difference. When you began dating, the way he looked at you would turn your cheeks red as butterflies fluttered in your stomach. You had never felt such intensity so it took a while to get used to, but now you do your best to return such looks. Everything he does (from how he looks at you; to what he says to you; to what he does for you), he does with the intention of making sure you feel loved by him. And when you question if you are doing enough to make him feel loved, he does not hesitate to say, "You are everything to me."

Jungkook: In awe, with wonderment - He always catches you off-guard when you find him staring at you with his brown, boba eyes. "What?" you ask him, gently. "Nothing," he says, quickly looking away. But after thinking about it for a moment, he looks back at you, "You know you're amazing, right?" This conversation is a common occurrence in your relationship - it comes after you cook his favorite meal; after you get a nearly perfect score during one of your karaoke session; after you throw a quick, neat jab when he has asked you to be his sparring partner. You always take him by surprise, in the best way possible.

Note: It has been such a long time since I've tried writing a preference/reaction/imagine. Scrolling through Tumblr, so much has changed, but I wanted to give writing a try again. Let me know if you would like more. I will gladly take requests (I prefer writing fluff). xx

[lokistemptress]

As usual, everything with mary has eating disorder, depressive, guilt, trauma, and a bunch of other themes. 

j.b.b “The Enchantress” ii

Slow melodious beeps.

Pure white lights.

Soft linen sheets, the steady stream of air conditioning.

I can feel myself awake before I actually feel awake. I can sense everything around me. The footsteps of people pacing around the room, I can hear people chattering about too. A feeling of dread washes over me. I'm not dead yet, and I highly doubt I ever will be dead. 

A sudden breath of air shocks my lungs and I sit upright, grasping the blanket on my body. It's too cold in here. I breathe in a few breaths. There's a window directly ahead of me, letting in golden streams of light. Wakanda is beautiful at sunset. The sky turning all different kinds of shades of pink, purple, and blue. Sometimes it's a little windy, and it blows the trees leaves against each other in all directions and you can hear it like a whisper. To my right, is a TV screen, it's on, playing on a low setting. Probably the voices I heard while I was sleeping. To my left is a door, and window to look at the hallway outside. But the blinds were shut, the door open. Leaning against the frame was Shuri. Her arms were crossed over her chest. "I'd say you're getting better, you haven't had an accident like this in two months but I think I know better." she speaks up. Her voice is a bit muffled, and my vision isn't all there too but I feel healthier than I have in a while and it makes me sick. 

She's not entirely wrong. Although I haven't dropped like this in two months, I've had moments where I'm in my house and everything goes black. I awake in the morning with no recollection of what happened the night before. "Sorry." I apologized. It's really all I know how to do nowadays. She scoffs and shakes her head, walking over to me and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I hate having to worry about you working out in the fields all the day. You know if it wasn't for the man, no one would have known you were sick at all."

The man?

I tilt my head in confusion. I don't remember a man. I don't remember anything, as usual. Shuri just sighs and offers a smile. She doesn't explain who 'the man' is, but my brain seems to have an answer, like it knows, but it won't communicate with the rest of me. "You're bed ridden for two weeks. You've got to get your energy back."

"I feel energetic."

"That's the medication."

She knows better than anyone, I hate being bed ridden. I feel like a weakling, just lying in bed when I have so many chores that need to be done. "And, don't even think about getting out of it, we have someone who's going to finish all your chores for you."

"Who?"

"You know who." a chill runs down my spine. It clicks. "He touched me?" I asked, feeling my skin crawl. It wasn't very common for me to touch people, mostly just Shuri when we hugged, but it took me a while to do that. I always feel like I'm putting her in danger, but the witch inside me seems to enjoy my friends. She's had terrible thoughts about people in passing, I can hear her whispers in my head. Kill. Destroy. Burn. Chaos. She puts images in my head, and it often leads to killer headaches. But she likes Shuri, she thinks she's smart. Plus, Shuri always makes sure I get nursed back to full health, or at least partial health. Helping me means helping the enchantress, so really it's all the same. It doesn't make me feel like she'd be safe though. 

Additionally, the fact I wasn't even conscious for it, makes me feel worse. "He picked you up with one hand and through you over his shoulder like a ragdoll." she explained, like she enjoyed it. Her eyes were wide, like she thought it was funny. "I've never seen you like that before." she continued, her eyes dimming down a bit. "You're not going to be working out in the field anymore. You can sleep in your own home, and read on Tuesdays, but from now on, you won't be farming." she stands up from the bed but I catch her wrist. There's no way she's going to tell me I'm no longer farming, and then just leave me here to wallow in my own self pity. "You can't do that."

"I can do that actually. If I see you in the fields, I'll have no other choice but to make you leave Wakanda." Shuri tugs her wrist back. "I feel like the longer we continue this pattern, the more you're setting yourself up for failure. I gave you a pass before, but it's gone on too long. I won't sit around watching you destroy yourself." she stares at me sadly, before turning and walking off. I can't believe I'm letting a kid scold me. I pull myself up to sit in the bed. I stare out at Wakanda through the large window. I can see the trees, swaying in the breeze.

If I weren't human, I think I'd be a tree. They stand tall, grow old, and could probably tell so many stories about all people they've encountered. Some grow fruits, some have flowers or nuts, all are surrounded by other trees, it's never lonely. I wish I was a tree. 

Two weeks later, I'm a free woman. A free woman with new guidelines and rules. I can visit the animals as much as I wish, but I'm not allowed to bathe or feed them. I can live in my own home, but Shuri or Okoye, sometimes even T'Challa himself if he's not too busy, will come check on me. I join Shuri for every meal, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and it's non-optional. If I miss even one meal, without checking in first, I have to leave Wakanda and live in the real world. If I am found feed the animals or bathing them, I leave Wakanda. I know to some it sounds rather harsh, but it's lighting a fire under my feet to keep me going. I guess it's going to be good for me, for whatever reason. That man who brought me to Shuri, I want to curse his entire bloodline, but I fear the witch would take it to literally and actually try. So, I try not to think of him too much. 

It is dinner now, and I've visited Shuri for breakfast and lunch already. The cool air flows through Wakanda this evening as we get closer to autumn. We're hosting a bonfire tonight. Lots of chicken and other meat are to be burnt. One of the oldest members of their tribe has their birthday today, it's a huge celebration for everyone, celebrating their life. It makes it better, cause you wouldn't expect them to be turning 97 today. She doesn't look any older than 60.

I sit with Shuri against a wooden log, while one of the many bonfires go on around us. I keep tossing in wood every few seconds, and Shuri makes sure I'm drinking water, and handing me pieces of chicken. It tastes good, and I hardly ever eat meat. I don't like eating animals, but Shuri makes sure to shush those voices. I wash it down with water anyway. The bonfire is warm against my skin, and I'm already sweating a thin layer after only being there for a few minutes. Today, for this special celebration, I'm wearing a yellow long skirt, and a cropped, off the shoulder top. The yellows match perfectly. I'm also not wearing my veil tonight, but my hair is still wrapped up in a messy bun at the nape of my neck.

Shuri and I laugh and smile, watching as her people beat drums and sing, others dance around in circles. It's not long before Shuri and I are dragged in for the celebrations. There were many thing's I learned to do while in Wakanda. I've learned their stories, and history, I've learned a few words in Xhosa, I'm far from fluent but some people only speak the language and no English. Some Tuesdays, I teach the kids English through my stories. I've learned how to braid hair too. I usually have nothing better to do. On my strolls through the Kingdom, often times I'll be roped into helping the girls while they braid. I find it quite calming and don't mind the long processes. My favorite thing, are their dances and songs. I love to dance around and have fun. It's not something I got to do throughout my life during the whole, Hydra thing. It's not often I even got the chance to smile. Nothing was funny when you're a soldier.

Shuri and I stick together, but the heat from the fire is making me dizzy, so I sit out a bit. Plus, I can see his eyes. He too sat against a log, legs spread just a bit. I completely forgot about him in the two weeks I was on bed rest. I want to thank him, I think I do. I also kind of want to punch him for staring at me all the time. I sit against a log to catch my breath, and sip on more water. I can see him on the opposite sides of the flames. He just stares back at me, curiously. I fear if I take my eyes off him, he'll disappear. It's been so long since I last saw him, he's grown in some facial hair, his hair longer, almost reaching his shoulders.

I drop my head down after a few seconds. Maybe Shuri is right, I can't run from him forever. Talking about the healing process sounds so simple, but actually progressing is going to take time.  What I needed when I came to Wakanda is an escape from reality. Somewhere I felt safe, somewhere I knew could shut me down if I got out of hand. I needed to pretend like the old me was just a fable. Now I don't exactly know what this Winter Solider wants from Wakanda, or if he even knows what his purpose is, but I could try and help. I won't just be helping him, it'll be helping me too. I look up again, directly across the bonfire to where he was sitting but he's gone now. My heart feels crushed for a moment, but I can feel a presence beside me and I look over. It's him. He's making his way around the bonfire, and standing a few paces away from me. I stare up at him, his features illuminated by the whisps of fire. He's taller than I remember. His attire is the same as the last time I saw him, a cloth draped over his shoulder. Interesting. He has a plate in his hand, and he motions it towards a spot right next to me and I nod. "You can sit." I agree. So he does, but not too close. Another person could fit comfortable in between us, maybe two if they squished. He stares ahead at the fire, picking at the pieces of meat on his plate. "I remember you."

I suck in a deep breath and nod. "I remember you too." my heart is beating so fast. I've never had such a strong connection to my past. Sure, I have my memories, but all the times I was strung up like a marionette and had my brain scrambled, I'm not sure what's true or what's a dream. It makes me feel sick. I can see pictures of us, small little moments. I can hear his screams in my head, and that, that I know to be true. You cannot imagine sounds as heart shattering as those. He sets the plate down in between us. "You helped me, the other day, when I was sick." I said, taking in all his features. He nods. "Watched you drop, it scared me."

"I wanted to say thank you earlier, but I wasn't allowed to leave my room." I explained and he nodded, and then finally looked at me completely. Before, he just stared into the fire like it was the most interesting thing in the world. I haven't gotten this close to him before. "You don't have to thank me."

"I do."

We sit quietly for a while but it isn't awkward. It's just silent, and I like when people can sit in pure silence. Nothing needs to be said for everyone to be okay. "I'm being moved to the meadow so I can watch you-that sounds wrong, I mean keep an eye on you. Shuri thinks it'd be good to give me something to do." I let out a breathless laugh at the mix up. "So you're the one coming in and stealing my job?" I accused jokingly and his eyes widen. "No, no you can have your job-"

"I'm kidding. I got demoted when I dropped." he lets out a deep breath and nods. "What happened to you anyway?" he asks slowly, carefully choosing his words. "It's kind of a long story." I play with the strings on my top, staring down at the yellow linen fabric. More hooting and hollering, and the birthday girl comes around, and everyone smiles as she's celebrated. This is the most easy going I think I've ever felt. I feel safe, warm. The smoke from the bonfire fills my lungs, and it tastes sweet but burnt. "We got all the time in the world." he lifts the plate again, showing me the pieces of chicken as, I assume, to be a peace offering. How can I say no to that? I take a couple pieces, and chew on it slowly, offering him a smile of thanks in return. "I'm James, but everyone just calls me Bucky." even though I knew him, a little, I had never learned his name. I always called him The Winter Soldier. 

It makes him feel more human, the name. Calling him The Winter Soldier made him feel like just that, just a soldier. And he is so much more than just a soldier. The same way I am more than just The Enchantress, more than just a witch. "I'm Marylin, but you can just call me Mary I guess." chuckling awkwardly at the introduction. I've never been good at that. Sometimes, I feel like my name isn't even mine. I learned it's called disassociation. "It's nice to meet you Mary." and he smiles, a nice smile. Not something forced but it's sweet. It suits him.

[arcadian-litterateur]

i believed love would be black and white (but it's golden)

liam mairi x mini goldendoodle!reader

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

summary: liam visits your father's grave with you and honors him in a way that makes you fall in love with the man all over again.

word count: 3.4k

a/n: my submission for @empyreanevents Liam Week Day One: Honor. not beta'd, so feel free to lmk in the comments if u see any typos

“Baby,” came the gentle, low voice of your boyfriend, Liam, as he stroked your head. The dappled light from your window highlighted the golden sheen of his hair, soft and well-groomed just like Liam liked it. He was already dressed, his tunic freshly ironed and his face still damp from his morning shave. He'd obviously taken the time before you woke to get himself ready for the day’s journey, knowing you’d inevitably sleep in. 

You slowly sat up in bed at his gentle coaxing, squinting in the sunlight as he handed you the neatly folded stack of clothes you’d set out last night, knowing you wouldn't be awake enough to choose something nice so early in the morning. You smiled gratefully, holding the clothes to your chest as you pressed a kiss to his lips, breathing in his soothing scent of pine and citrus. 

“I'm going to put these on in the bath chamber and do my hair,” you told him as you slipped out of bed. Ten minutes later, you were done, your hair styled and your night clothes placed in the hamper. Liam was lounging in his armchair, skimming through the novel that had been sitting on your bedside table. When you walked over, he looked up sheepishly, as if getting caught reading was a crime. You just laughed, plucking the book from his hands.

“If you want to get into romance, the seventh book in a series is not the place to start.” He chuckled and followed you over to your nightstand, wrapping his arms around his waist to pull you into him. His chin hooked over your shoulder as he said,

“Just wanted to see who had my princess giggling and kicking her feet last night.” 

“And?” you grinned.

“I don't think there's much competition,” he chuckled. “He's just a mafia boss. I'm a dragon rider. Much more impressive.” You turned yourself around in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck and guiding his lips to yours.

“I agree, love,” you murmured before kissing him deeply, lost in the ocean of love you had for this man. Before you could get too wrapped up in it, Liam pulled away, returning your pout with a smirk.

“I want to kiss you, baby, but we need to get going.” You sighed, knowing he was right. 

“Fine, but can I have a piggyback ride to breakfast?” 

“Of course you can,” Liam chuckled, letting you clamber onto his back before wrapping his arms securely around your thighs. “Feel secure?” he asked. You smiled gratefully at his instinctual thoughtfulness. 

“Yeah, I do. Do you feel good?” He nodded and then, with just one moment of warning, began racing to the dining room. You laughed at his antics, bouncing around a bit uncomfortably, but it was worth it to see the look of pure joy on his face as you passed a laughing Xaden and an eye-rolling Imogen. 

You slid off Liam's back once you reached the resplendent dining room, Liam catching his breath from exertion while you stood there losing breath in awe yet again of the beauty of Riorson House. Being in Aretia, though completely new to you, was a blessing in itself because here, you were fighting for a good cause. 

You still couldn't get over the fact that Xaden had been so readily open-armed when it came to letting your mother move into Riorson House, too, especially while her health deteriorated from an unknown chronic ailment. He'd accepted her without question when you'd told him that you wanted to fight the good fight, but couldn't leave your sick mother behind in Navarre. Now, she was here in Aretia with you, where she'd been able to gain some mobility back after days in the sun. Liam appreciated the opportunity to get to know her, too, since she was the only immediate blood relative you had left (and could tell him all sorts of embarrassing tales about your childhood antics).

Most of your life was in Aretia now; your mother, the friends who had become like family to you, and your dragon. But there were two pieces of your heart that were still in Navarre, unable to be moved to Aretia with you. One was your aunt and uncle, who had helped your mother raise you after your father died when you were ten, because their farm was their livelihood and they couldn't bear to leave it, even if they believed the truth about the venin and the wards. And the other was your father, buried on your aunt and uncle's farm amidst the aspen trees he used to help you climb. 

Liam hadn't gotten to visit the farm, and by extension, your father's grave. That's what today's trip was—a low-profile trip into Navarre so that Liam could meet your aunt and uncle, help you seal their farm with protection runes, and meet your father, if only in spirit. The two of you had wanted to take the trip ever since leaving Navarre, but it hadn't been safe until Garrick had figured out a new combination of runes that acted like a cloaking device. You'd be able to go in undetected, do your business, and come right back to Aretia with minimal risk.

Still, as you ate a hearty helping of delicious breakfast food, you felt nerves dance down your spine. It wasn't one hundred percent guaranteed that the trip would be risk-free—nothing ever was. And part of you wondered if the reward was worth the risk. But every time you asked Liam if he was sure meeting your aunt and uncle and sort of meeting your father was worth it, he said yes vehemently. So you would go, and it would be okay. You would pray to every god you knew that it would be okay.

Once you finished eating, Xaden found a few first years to carry your bags out to the flight field for you, even though you protested that you could carry your own. Liam, who would most definitely carry anyone's bag on a normal day, was so distracted hugging and well-wishing everyone that he didn't even notice Xaden using his scary dog privileges with questionable ethics. You let it go with an eye roll directed Xaden's way, receiving a satisfied smirk back. 

Did Xaden scare you when you first met him? Hell, yes. But now you saw him for what he truly was: a golden retriever puppy who was really good at pretending to be a big, grown-up german shepherd.

You thought you saw his eyes get wide and then pouty for a second after you thought that, but you shook your head. Surely you were just imagining it.

A Healer had rolled your mom out of the infirmary in a wheelchair to say goodbye, and you hugged her tight, kissing her cheek before promising to be safe at her firm insistence. She gave you one of her big, winning smiles before turning to the Healer and matter-of-factly stating that she wished to go nap now. You giggled at her antics, so like your own, just different enough to make her her.

“Be safe,” Violet told you, squeezing you tight. You hugged her back, promising to do your best. 

“Ready to go?” Liam asked you once the goodbyes were done. You nodded happily, taking his hand as the two of you walked to the flight field, your nerves turning to excitement as you saw your dragons waiting for you. Breaking away from your boyfriend, you ran to your dragon, Móinéar, her pecan-colored scales shimmering in the daylight as sun rays glinted off her daggertail. Next to her loomed Deigh, who wasn’t so sure about you before, but had slowly warmed to your presence in Liam’s life. He greeted you with a bow of his head, and you bobbed your own to accept his greeting before turning to Móinéar with a smile.

“You ready?” you asked her. 

I’ve been ready, she responded, and you could almost see the smirk so evident in her words. You and your boy are the ones holding us up. You rolled your eyes, causing her to huff and blow hot air in your face, which you waved away with a playful scowl. 

“Liam, I think we better get going, because Móinéar is getting antsy,” you sing-songed, receiving a light nip on the elbow for your remark. He laughed and patted Deigh’s shoulder, mounting his dragon with ease as you climbed onto Móinéar’s back. 

“Careful, love, or Móinéar might just lose her temper,” he said wryly. You grinned, rubbing Móinéar’s favorite spot where the scales of her neck met her back. She snuffled appreciatively.

“No, she loves me too much,” you shot back. Before Liam could respond, the amused voice of Garrick drifted up.

“If you two are done bantering, should I activate the runes now?” he chuckled, that insufferable smirk on his face. You stuck your tongue out at him, which he reciprocated easily, both of you too stubborn to back down even if you were acting childish. After a few back and forth jabs, Garrick got back to business, shaping the runes in a beautiful pattern before setting them on Deigh and Móinéar. “There, you should be all set,” he grinned. “Just say my name and then ‘activate’ and you should be good.” Before Garrick and I could start up another insult war, Liam had thanked him and sent him on his way, turning to me with a grin.

“You know I love watching you and Garrick in your roast battles, but we really don’t have time for it right now.” 

“I know,” you sighed. “It’s just so hard to resist.” 

“Trust me, I know,” Liam laughed. You giggled with him before Móinéar shifted impatiently under you again. Liam noticed, “Ah, we should get going, shouldn’t we?” 

“Probably,” you chuckled. “Alright, Móinéar, let’s go!” With a few impressive beats of her wings, Móinéar took flight, Deigh close behind as you activated the cloaking runes. You could see Liam, and Liam could see you, but no one else would be able to see the two of you until you deactivated them.

A few hours into the flight, you got hungry, twisting around and reaching into your saddlebags to pull out a snack. Be careful! Móinéar warned as you shifted slightly in your seat. At this point, I’m not sure I’d catch you if you fell. 

Low blow, Móinéar! you laughed through the bond. She huffed.

You kept singing that blasted song earlier. I feel like you deserve it. You rolled your eyes affectionately, securing yourself in your seat once again after opening a granola bar and beginning to eat it.

It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate good music.

I appreciate good music, Móinéar retorted, and your idea of good music is not accurate. 

You laughed at that, pressing a kiss to the back of Móinéar’s neck. I love you, Móinéar, you know. 

Yes, I know, your dragon answered grouchily. I have yet to decide if that is a good thing or a nuisance. 

This banter went on for the rest of the flight, keeping you occupied throughout the trip. It was too hard to talk with Liam during flights like this—yelling over the wind was a good way to get caught in enemy territory—and so the two of you kept yourselves occupied by talking with your dragons. You didn’t know how Deigh liked it, but Móinéar definitely had a love-hate relationship with your yapping tendencies.

Finally, Móinéar grumbled through the bond as your aunt and uncle’s farm became visible below. I think I would go insane from your chattering if it lasted much longer. You sent the mental equivalent of an offended huff back to her as Liam deactivated the cloaking runes, but your playful annoyance with your dragon was forgotten as you got closer to land, seeing your aunt and uncle waiting for the two of you with big smiles. Deigh and Móinéar touched down in one of the fields that had already been harvested. You leaped down from your seat with a grin, stumbling a bit as you landed but quickly recovering so you could run into your aunt’s open arms.

“Oh, dearie!” she exclaimed. “I’ve missed you so much! Look how you’ve grown.” 

“I don’t think I’ve grown at all since entering the Riders Quadrant, Auntie,” you laughed, but she just waved your comment away, tugging your uncle closer so he could hug you, too. You gave him a quick squeeze, knowing that physical affection was definitely not his love language, and that he’d rather show his love for you by spending time with you. “Hi, Uncle,” you grinned. He nodded in response, quiet as ever but still so smiley.

“You must be Liam,” your aunt exclaimed as your boyfriend strode up carrying the saddlebags. In your excitement to see your aunt and uncle, you’d forgotten to help get the luggage. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, but Liam just smiled,

“No worries, baby. It wasn’t hard for me to get it all.” Then he turned to your aunt and uncle, “Yes, I’m Liam Mairi. Pleased to meet you, I’ve heard so many great things about you both.” Your aunt cooed over his manners as your uncle gathered some of the luggage, insisting that Liam let him carry some of it. You grinned as they ushered the two of you into the house, your aunt already talking about the scones and tea she’d prepared for your arrival. Liam didn’t look a bit phased at your aunt’s chattering. After all, you’d gotten it from your dad’s side, and she was your dad’s sister. He already knew how to keep up with your chattering, and your aunt was much the same as you in that regard.

“Do you want a scone, darling?” your aunt asked as your uncle placed your bags in the spare bedroom. “I made your favorite!” 

“The gingerbread ones?” you grinned. 

“Yes! And that earl grey tea you always ask for.” With a satisfied smile, your aunt ushered you and Liam into the dining room where, sure enough, she’d set up a plate of scones and a pot of your favorite tea. The flight to the farm had been long enough that you were starving, and you polished off a scone and two cups of tea in no time, Liam doing the same next to you. As if your aunt was watching you two like hawks (which she probably was, if you were honest), she swept in to clear the dirty dishes the second you both were done. You looked at Liam out of the corner of your eye once she was gone, barely holding in a fit of laughter. You could see the expression mirrored on his face. 

“They’re a bit much, I know,” you told him later, sitting on the bed in the guestroom while he whittled in the corner. 

“I like them,” he shrugged. “They’re sweet, and they obviously love you very much. That makes them good in my book.” You smiled softly at your boyfriend’s sweet nature.

“Thank you, Liam.” He shrugged as if this wasn’t a big deal, but you knew deep down that you were very lucky to have found someone like him. 

This became all the more clear the next day as you walked out to your father’s grave, just the two of you. Your shoulders were stiff, like they always were when you visited your dad. You loved visiting his grave, but your whole body felt tight whenever you had to confront your grief headfirst.

“You okay, love?” Liam asked, rubbing your shoulders as you neared the little clearing where your father was buried. “Do you want me to give you some space?”

“No,” you said, grabbing his hand for comfort. “I want you here. It's just always a bit hard to come here. I know it's silly; it's been so long since he passed, but—”

“Your grief is not silly,” Liam interrupted, his fingers under your chin turning your head towards his. Looking you in the eyes, he softly added, “You are allowed to grieve however you need, whether he died yesterday or fifty years ago.” You smiled gratefully, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“Thank you, babe.” 

Once you reached the grave, you knelt on the ground next to the headstone, pressing a kiss to the cold stone. The rough carving bore his name and epitaph, Loving son, husband, and father. A day in your embrace is a blessing more bountiful than an eternity without you. You felt Liam at your shoulder, a respectful distance away, but close enough that you could pull him to you if you needed.

“Hey, Dad,” you whispered. “This is my boyfriend, Liam. He's here to meet you.” Liam knelt beside you at your signal, a genuine smile on his face as you shared such a special moment. 

“Hello, Sir. I wish I could have met you. I've heard great things about you.” You grinned at his words, touched by his sweet nature (which occurred often, considering how much of a golden retriever he was). But what he did next brought you to tears—the good kind, the kind that occur when something magical is happening and you just can't hold the feelings in. 

“Sir, I'm in love with your daughter, and though you aren't here, I know how much you meant to her. How you are part of the reason she is the woman I love today. And so though you are not here with us, I still wish to honor you and your place in her life by observing tradition and asking you for your blessing to marry her.” 

You gasped, turning to Liam with surprise, teardrops budding in the corners of your eyes. Had he been planning this the whole time? From the reverential look on his face, yes, he had. 

The sun broke through the clouds and shone down on the two of you, beautiful as it dappled the headstone and the aspens. Liam jumped up and spun around with a laugh, pulling you up with him. You giggled in excited confusion, still trying to process what he'd said before. He wanted to…marry you?

“Thank you!” Liam called up at the sky as he basked in the sunshine. “If you say yes, then all that's left to do is ask her!” With that, he turned to you, grasping your hands and bending down on one knee, pulling a gorgeous ring out of his pocket. It was made of your favorite metal, accented with your favorite gemstones, and you marveled again at how well this man knew you. You couldn't contain your smile, tears of joy dripping your face as he said, 

“My darling, my love, my life. I love you with every fiber of my being, and I never want to be without you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It would be my honor to be your husband. Will you marry me?” 

If you were honest, you'd imagined this moment hundreds of times, even before you’d said “I love you” to Liam. And yet, nothing could be better than how it truly was. No scene in your imagination could capture the sheer love you felt for the man kneeling before you. And all you could do amidst the tears leaking from your eyes was gasp out,

“Yes!” His face lit up at your response, sliding the ring on your finger before jumping to his feet and twirling you around. When he set you on your own two feet again, you barely had a moment to breathe as he crushed his lips to yours, hands tangling in your hair. A laugh of pure joy bubbled up from your lips as you basked in his love and affection. 

“I love you so much,” he mumbled into your neck after you finally pulled away for air. 

“I love you, too,” you whispered back. 

Yes, there was a war coming, and your mother's health was declining, and nothing felt certain, but you knew that no matter what, Liam's love for you would not change, and that love was the best thing that had ever been yours. 

So no matter what, it would all be okay. Because you had Liam. Your boyfriend—now your fiance, your love, your life.

[lyricalt]

PK2025: 05. Kiss on the Palm

Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025

TF2 - same fraction sniperspy - rated: T

----

It’s the second time that they’ve fallen asleep in each other’s beds. The first time happened on accident in Sniper’s camper, where the sex had apparently been fantastic enough Spy had simply dozed off until morning, woke up looking slightly annoyed, and detangled himself from Sniper’s koala hold with impressive grace and nonchalance. Ultimately, Spy didn’t have too much to say on it. Sniper, following Spy’s lead, didn’t see any reason to point it out either, and so Spy had left after a brief good-bye, leaving Sniper to feel some type of way about how things were between them—a fractional shift, a little puzzling but not too troubling. It was an accident, neither good nor bad, but shouldn’t really be repeated.

And now, in their typical tit-for-tat manner, Sniper wakes up in Spy’s overly plush bed, similarly annoyed, and then more miffed at the fact that apparently he’s got a habit of clinging and snuggling if he’s got an extra body sleeping next to him. Spy is laying under Sniper’s arm and leg on his side, facing away from Sniper. His breathing is even and he isn’t wiggling, but that doesn’t really mean anything when it comes to spies being truly asleep.

Sniper’s got none of Spy’s slinky finesse, but he clearly can’t stay here now that he’s awake. He knows the value of waiting and patience, and this isn’t one of those times where he can wait out the next move. It’d be worse if he doesn’t take his own initiative, as embarrassing as the entire thing is, and if Spy wakes up knowing Sniper had just laid there like an idiot then the embarrassment will turn straight into floor-swallowing mortification.

Sniper sits up. He’d spent so much time committing to the act of leaving, he forgets the details of where his limbs ought to go and in what order. The movement startles Spy into turning to face him—so Spy had been awake all this time—which leaves Sniper awkwardly braced on one elbow while his other hand is over Spy’s chest, hovering over Spy. 

Spy blinks. 

Sniper quickly slides his leg off from Spy’s hip. (One other extremity he’s forgotten to remove from Spy.) Just his luck it gets tangled in Spy’s stupid silk sheets—shouldn’t they be slippery enough to not have that problem? And the sheet pulls down, exposing Spy’s bare chest to the waist, not to mention falling off from Sniper completely.

“You slept well,” Spy says, completely unbothered, or making the deliberate choice to look unbothered. He even stretches, right under Sniper, though maybe he’s due for a quick stretch after being under Sniper for half the night. His chest is littered with bite marks and hickies.

Sniper grunts. It doesn’t seem right to apologize for overstaying. After all, Spy hadn’t made any excuses when he’d done it. With a sigh, he lightly smacks Spy’s shoulder. “You didn’t wake me.”

Spy shrugs and catches Sniper’s hand before a second smack can be initiated. He pecks a small kiss under Sniper’s palm.

“How flattering that you think I can also wake up with all my faculties intact, ready to kick you out,” Spy mumbles against Sniper’s skin. He drops Sniper’s hand. Despite his statement, he looks more alert than ever. “You look like you are in a hurry.”

Sniper probably looks like a lot of things in the moment, which might read to Spy that he’s in a hurry. His palm tingles, and he hadn’t realized his hand had curled into a nervous fist, like somehow he wants to keep the feel of Spy’s mouth inside his palm. 

“Uh, yeah. I’m starved,” he says, scooting off the bed. The fucking bedsheet’s got a mind of its own, following his feet to the floor. Now Spy’s completely exposed, but Sniper ain’t looking. His clothes are scattered but he only needs to pull on the trousers and shirt. “Y’want anything?”

Spy’s leering at him, watching him dress, which actually makes Sniper feel better. “No. I’ll likely waste away in bed for a while longer.”

Sniper scoffs as Spy settles back into the bed, now comfortably sprawled with the extra space. Still naked. “Suit yourself.”

Spy makes a noise of indifference, though he glances over at Sniper again, eyes now assessing. “Something wrong with your firing hand, by the way?”

Sniper realizes he’s still making a fist, fingers growing sweaty. He shakes out his hand, like he’s got a cramp. 

“Nah, nothing to worry about,” Sniper says, as casually as he can, and flees the room.

[humanjarvis]

caught in a lie

synopsis: when you ignore caleb’s calls, he catches you trying to run from the consequences. you make a false promise to appease his anger, not expecting your lie to unravel. but almost immediately, it does.  

tags: based loosely on caleb's "hidden waves" memory, porn with plot, manipulative!caleb x manipulative!reader, brat!reader, mean(ish) dom!caleb, caleb makes out with your cunt for an hour, reader cries, belly bulge, 3 brother mentions but they’re done ironically/out of spite, humiliation, semi-public sex (caleb makes you call and cancel plans with that friend while he fucks you), lines lifted directly from hidden waves in bold pairing: caleb x fem!reader  word count: 3.9k

a/n: love the scene this is based on bc it reminds me of my favorite book from the wattpad era in 300 BC. also this is my first time writing full-on smut and omfg i don't know how people write like 10k of it u guys are wizards. but the response to this will determine how explicitly i write going forward, no pressure

As the Skyhaven nightscape twinkles around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting something. 

You’d had a great night: Simone had invited you to a cute café, the owners had given you a free muffin, and the raging storm from this afternoon had dwindled into a drizzle. But still, a sense of foreboding loomed over you, threatening to taint the precious memories you’d made tonight.

“...And next week we can go to this new bar downtown! I heard they have the best drinks, and there’s even a puppy mascot they let walk around and play with guests. Doesn’t that sound fun?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you agree absently, Simone’s words going in one ear and out the other. “I’ll be there.”

As you walk farther down the sidewalk, the vibrant city atmosphere melts away your worries. People of all ages were out splashing in leftover puddles, trying new food stalls, and window shopping in the strip of stores that lit your path. Gradually, you give up on trying to place your unease, surrendering fully to the comfort of the cool night air.

“Hey!” you exclaim, an idea popping into your head. “Do you want to find a photobooth and take some pictures? I want something to remember tonight by.”

“Oh my gosh, absolutely,” Simone responds. “There should be one not too far from here. I went with my brother a few months back! It was really fun.”

At her words, you stop in your tracks. Her enthusiasm is no match for the dread building in your chest. 

Caleb.

Caleb who’d told you to text him when you got to the café, when you were about to leave, and when you were almost home. 

Caleb was what—or who—you were forgetting.

Slowly, you reach your hand into your purse until you feel your phone, digging it out and staring as if it were a venomous animal. Taking a deep breath, you tap the screen awake and immediately lose the air you’d just inhaled. 

7 Unread messages

4 Missed calls

3 New voicemails

Fuck.

“Uh, actually,” you start, chucking the device back into your bag, “I just realized I didn’t bring a brush! There’s no way I can take pictures without fixing my hair—it’s like a bird’s nest up there,” you ramble, giggling nervously. “Can we end the night here?”

“O…kay?” Simone says, clearly confused by the sudden shift in your mood. “Yeah, we can go back now. Your hair looks fine, though.”

Thanking the universe for giving you such an agreeable friend, you walk back to her car, the quickness of your usually unhurried steps betraying your agitation.

He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, you think. 

As the familiar outline of Simone’s car comes into view, she turns to face you. “Do you want a ride to the train station? I told my girlfriend I’d be home at 1:30—I have another hour.”

“Wait!” you cry, throwing your hands out in front of you. She looks at you as if the intensity in your voice is unnecessary. Which is true, because she’s standing a foot away. Quieter this time, you ask, “Would it be okay if I spent the night at your place? Just this once, I promise.” 

“...If you really need to,” she agrees warily. “As long as you don’t mind cat hair.”

When you reach her car, Simone gestures for you to wait as she walks around to the passenger’s side. “I just need to clean up real quick. The granola bar wrappers build up when you’re constantly called in early for emergencies.” 

But when Simone pulls on the door handle, it doesn’t open. “Weird,” she mutters, wiping raindrops onto her jeans. “I swear I unlocked it.” 

She clicks a button on her keys and tries again. Inexplicably, the door still doesn’t budge. “It’s like some force is holding it shut or something,” she says. At that, an alarm sounds in the back of your mind. But before it can reach your consciousness, she continues. “Well, I have a locksmith on speed dial anyway—I’m always losing my keys. But before I call, seriously, are you ok? The way you asked me to stay over….Is there something scary waiting for you at home? Why do you look so worried?”

"It’s probably because I’m home,” the all-too-familiar voice rings out behind you. 

In an instant, your entire body goes rigid. Your now-pounding heart screams at you to run, but you can’t obey without making a scene in front of your friend. 

Plastering a smile on your face, you turn around slowly, as if the longer you took to face him, the more likely he’d be to disappear.  

You had no such luck. Towering over you, umbrella in hand, was Caleb, his normally expressive face a wall of stone. 

Despite his obvious anger, he steps forward to shield you from the downpour and you refrain from taking a step back—against your better judgment.

“Caleb!” you remark, your voice shrill with unease. “What a surprise!”

Ignoring your greeting, Caleb turns his attention to Simone. “Skyhaven isn’t very safe tonight,” he says coolly. “You’d better get home.”

The finality in his words makes it clear: you won’t be joining her. 

“Um, sure,” Simone trails off, wary eyes searching yours. “Will you be alright?”

“...Yes, it’s okay.”

Though your words don’t seem to convince her, Caleb’s penetrating glare does. She quickly walks to the driver’s side and effortlessly pops the door open—surprise, surprise—before jumping in. Giving you one last look, your only chance at salvation drives into the night.

The ride back to Caleb’s house is silent. You scoot as close as you can to the window beside you, paying no mind to the intensifying patter of rain against the glass. All that you notice is how he grips the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

When you pull into his driveway and exit the car, he walks closely behind you, preventing any more last-minute escape attempts. His imposing presence follows you inside and all the way to his bedroom. 

When you both cross the threshold, the air thickens with tension as you stand in silence, unmoving. 

“Well, goodnight!” you call when you can’t take it anymore. But before you can take one step, Caleb swings the door shut with his Evol. Huh, you think. Doors must be his speciality tonight.

“Where do you think you could possibly be going after the night you gave me?” he asks, steely voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Listen—” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“You ordered coffee three times. Burst out into laughter I could hear from outside six times. And yet, you somehow managed to check your phone zero times.”

“If you’d just given me more time, I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Because here’s what I think would have happened: If I hadn’t picked you up, you would’ve gone to your friend’s place, right? Then, you’d message me with an apology. Oh, throw in a cute emoji as the cherry on top,” he snorts. 

“With that done, you’d put your phone away and curl up into a ball to sleep. You wouldn’t even dare to check my response. You’d wait it out and believe I wouldn’t be upset. And once I’m away on a mission or somethin’...you would sneak back into the house and pretend nothing happened. Tell me,” he challenges you. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong—not about your habits, at least. 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you snap. “I thought you said you were ‘done playing games’? You don't have to act so big brother-y all the time.”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s head rears back, his eyes going wide in incredulity before he scoffs. 

Alright, you sigh, time to turn on the waterworks. 

Taking a deep breath, you force tears into your eyes. “Caleb,” you begin, “I really didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just having so much fun. S-someone brought their puppy to the café and I got distracted.” The café hadn’t allowed pets, but you needed all the sympathy you could get. You’d have to thank Simone for telling you about that new bar later. “I won’t do it again. I won’t even go out at night anymore—promise.”

As he takes in your pitiful expression, you see Caleb’s resolve start to crack, the twitch in his right eye giving away how much he wants to console you. Maintaining your pout, you internally grin like a Cheshire cat. He could never say no to you. He could never le—

Your phone rings.

You thought you’d turned it off in the car, but your fucking phone rings. Right when you have him where you want him. 

The shrill tone sucks the air out of the room, and with it, any hope for your escape.

“Answer it. Speaker.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Visibly shaken, you fish your phone out of your bag and accept the call. “H-hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s Simone. I’m calling to check on you—that guy who took you home was kinda scary. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything. Are you okay?”

At the insinuation that he’d ever harm you, Caleb’s face turns thunderous, his jaw clenching so hard you’re afraid it’ll snap. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Thanks for worrying though, that’s really sweet,” you add, your eyes darting up and immediately back down after meeting Caleb’s glower. 

“That’s great, I really was worried,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “Well, before you hang up, are we still on for same time next week at the bar I mentio—”

You hang up as soon as she reveals your plans, throwing your phone so abruptly it bounces off the chair where your purse sits and onto the carpet. But it was too late. There was no sweet-talking the irate scowl off of Caleb’s face. You’d lied. 

Like a deer in headlights, you stand frozen and helpless as Caleb stalks toward you. 

“You almost had me,” he chuckles darkly, squishing your cheeks between one hand. “And I bet you knew it, too. Remind me to thank Simone for being such a good friend later.”

His grip tightens when you try to respond, and he pulls your face closer to his instead. “I think I’ve had enough of you talking for now. No point in hearing it if you’re just gonna lie to me again.”

With uncanny speed, he lifts you by your legs and tosses you onto the mattress. When you attempt to sit up, hoping to crawl away, he captures both of your wrists in his hand and claims your lips in a bruising kiss. 

“Don’t talk.” A kiss. “Don’t move.” Another. “Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do, and I might not chain you to this bed.” You’re so distracted by his final kiss—the exclamation point—that you barely register when he yanks your loose pants down, baring your cotton panties to him. 

When he spots the wet patch spreading through the middle, he moans, shifting to push his nose into your center. The deep inhales he takes seem to calm him down, and his voice loses some of its earlier edge when he murmurs, “Can’t believe you were keepin’ her from me tonight. Look at how much she missed me.”

He demonstrates by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your panties, tasting you as you leak harder under his tongue. The whimper you let out falls on deaf ears as you remember his command: Don’t talk. 

Licking a stripe up your clothed folds, Caleb sighs into you in contentment. “Gonna see her in a second,” he breathes. “Just can’t give her too much at once, or she’ll get greedy.” 

He’s too far gone, you think, closing your eyes in preparation of what’s to come. But nothing prepares you for the way the seemingly sedated Caleb rips your panties open at the seam, exposing your hot skin to the cool air. 

With no hesitation, he plants a long kiss onto your core, his lips smacking against the fat of your outer folds. Covering your skin with a flurry of pecks, he moans into you, his intermittent licks becoming sloppy, appreciative kisses. 

Caleb was making out with your cunt like your brain wasn't in the room, kissing it like he hadn’t seen it in years. The sensations and lewd squelches make your arousal unbearable, but when you try to grind into his mouth—to get him to do something more—he pushes your hips into the mattress. 

“Don’t interrupt us,” he mumbles, lips still latched onto your unspread cunt. Heat rushing to your cheeks, you flop your head back down, defeated as the man ignores you to have his heartfelt reunion with your core. 

An agonizing few minutes later, you feel him press a last hard kiss against your skin before finally spreading your soaked folds. “Can’t believe you ever thought you could hide from me,” he growls, eyes sparkling. “I’ll show you you can’t. Make you never want to again.”

Slowly, he licks up and down your wetness, teasing his tongue around your entrance. You try to relax during his ministrations, knowing he won’t give you what you want this early, but he catches you off guard when he buries his tongue into your weeping, sputtering hole. 

A strangled moan escapes you as he fucks you with his tongue, twisting, turning, and circling himself inside you. 

One pulse has your walls flexing with desperation, and Caleb pulls back slightly when he feels you tighten around him. “Look at that, I think she’s kissin’ me back,” he coos, a string of his saliva refusing to part from your quivering cunt. 

Spurred on by the whine you give him, he flashes you a wicked grin before diving back in, plunging his tongue in and out at a punishing pace. 

All the while, he studiously avoids where you need him most, licking and kissing everywhere but your twitching clit—neglecting it like you did him earlier in the night.

Suddenly, he lifts his head up, flashing you a quick smirk. “You know,” he starts, licking his glistening lips. “When you were givin’ me all those crocodile tears and cryin’ about puppies earlier, you never did say sorry for trying to run. How about now, hmm?” he asks, pressing a wet kiss to your center. “You sorry?”

You pant out an incoherent moan, and he nips at your clit—the first time he’s touched it all night. Ignoring your squeal, he gives you another kiss. “I don’t know what that means. Try again.” 

You go to speak again, but Caleb suddenly rubs his nose against your clit, your resulting gasp sending your back shooting off the bed. He swiftly slams you back down with his Evol, giving you another nip. “Just two words, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Two words, loud and clear. Want to know you mean it.”

You don’t know what it is—the last strands of your pride clinging on for dear life, your stupor after being toyed with for almost an hour, or pure stubbornness—but you can’t bring yourself to say it. With a whimper, you clamp your mouth shut, staring at the ceiling in rebellion. 

“Hmmm,” he hums, looking up at you briefly. Before you can even process it, Caleb covers your clit with his mouth and sucks, simultaneously groaning into you. The combined sensations set your nerves on fire, and you come in his mouth with a prolonged cry. 

“I’m sorry!” you wail, the tears in your eyes genuine this time. As Caleb laps up your release, chants of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—oh—I’m sorry,” fall through your lips, your earlier defiance reduced to blubbering submission. “Should’ve checked my phone and called you back, I’m so sorry.” 

You’ve apologized ten times over, it feels, but he won’t let up. He suckles you until it aches, and there’s nothing you can do but lie there and sob as his Evol keeps you pinned down. When he’s finally had his fill, he presses a reverent thank-you kiss to your cunt before crawling up your body, nestling in between your thighs. 

“Aw, none of that, now,” he coos, wiping under your eyes. “I forgive you, alright? I forgive you for getting distracted, baby.” Still crying, you nod frantically, leaning into his gentle touch. “But if you ever run from me again, whoever you’re with won’t like what happens when I catch you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your forehead before plunging into you. 

Though his pace is relentless, your walls draw him in, his earlier date with your cunt letting you take his thick length with ease. 

When the pressure builds and you shy away from his brutal thrusts, he turns your chin toward him, pressing an ironically chaste kiss to your mouth. “No running, remember?” 

As you hurtle toward your release, he leans close, kissing you briefly before speaking into your lips. “The next time you wanna ignore me—next time you wanna hide from me and lie to me sayin’ you’ll be good from now on—I want you to think of this, to think of me right here,” he murmurs, palming his cock through your belly. You squeal at the foreign feeling, but he only adds more force, and you think you’re about to pass out.   

“My baby,” he chides. “Loves to act out but she can’t handle the consequences.” While he speaks, he folds your left leg up, pushing it to your chest so he can penetrate you deeper.

“Please, Caleb!” you beg, the new angle making stars float across your vision. As your body rocks with the force of his strokes, you cry, “I said I was sorry!” 

“Mm, you did,” he nods, absorbing a tear on your cheek with a kiss. “But I don’t think you really are. Not yet.”

Without warning, he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach before sliding back in. Resuming his thrusts, he uses his Evol to pick your forgotten phone up off the floor. “Call her back. Speaker,” he orders. 

At first, you're flustered into hesitation, but as he holds the phone ahead of you and taps through your history to do it himself, you pull yourself together. “Wait,” you wail. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

You do it.

When Simone picks up, Caleb shows you mercy by decreasing his pace so the sound of slick skin colliding doesn’t travel through the phone. 

“Hey Y/N, what’s up? Is it about earlier? …Did something happen?” she asks in concern.

Frantically, you twist your head to look up at Caleb, not knowing what to say. 

Leisurely, he folds forward over you, his chest flush with your spine so he can whisper in your ear. Throughout his dramatics, your time to respond without raising suspicion wanes, and you grow more desperate by the second.

“Hi Simone,” Caleb finally whispers, pressing kisses to your ear in time with his languid strokes.

“H-hi Simone,” you repeat louder, a slight tremble in your voice.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for checking in. That guy, the one from earlier—he can be so mean sometimes,” Caleb murmurs, pouting his lips in ridicule. 

“I just wanted…wanted to say thanks again for checking in. The guy from earlier—hah—can be so mean sometimes,” you echo, breathless from the impact of Caleb’s hips rocking into yours.

“Can we reschedule our plans for next week? My big brother’s,” he emphasizes, mocking your earlier jab with two deep thrusts, “coming home, and he really misses me.” As he feeds you lines, the taunts in his words break through the softness of his whispers. 

As softly as you dare to, you whimper for him, hoping it’s enough for him to end his torture.

But as the phone screen goes black from inactivity, you see his smirking reflection looming over your humiliated one. The only way out is by appeasing him. 

“C-can we reschedule our plans for next week? My…my friend—” 

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Caleb lifts off of you slightly, landing a harsh smack on your ass.

“Y/N? What was that noise? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you all but moan as he bites your neck, reprimanding you further for breaking his script. 

“My friend is visiting next week, and he really misses me,” you finish, waiting with bated breath for her—and Caleb’s—reactions. 

“Oh…sure, Y/N. That’s fine with me. That’s a lot better than I was expecting, you sounded like you were in trouble for a second.” Caleb smirks against your ear. “Just let me know when you want to reschedule.”

“Sounds good,” you breathe as Caleb’s thrusts return to a faster pace. “I-I gotta go, I’ll see you later!” you rush, almost squealing as you end the call. 

For the nth time that night, you want to burst into tears. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you whine, your voice mixing with the renewed slaps of skin on skin. 

Chuckling, Caleb lifts off of you, his sudden absence from your cunt making you shudder. In an instant, he flips you over so you’re face-to-face before entering you again. 

“Technically, you just did that,” he smirks, his thrusts now lazy and sporadic. “I don’t remember pressing ‘call.’” His matter-of-fact tone is teasing, but you knew that if you hadn’t canceled on Simone, he’d have made good on his earlier threat. He always does. 

As you open your mouth to retort, Caleb’s face grows serious, and all your neurons responsible for making witty comebacks seem to atrophy at once. 

Caleb leans down, light bites on your throat punctuating his confession. “I can’t stop at wanting you not to run from me anymore. I want you to stay with me. To choose to, for as long as we live, for the next hundred years.” 

“But what if…” you trail off, but he understands what you’d been implying. 

At that, his eyes darken. Rutting into you with renewed fervor, he grasps your chin tightly, holding you captive in his gaze. “You’ll be around for however many years I’m alive and kicking,” he growls. And you believe him. 

Nerves alight, mind numb, and core throbbing from your impending climax, you nod as much as his iron grip allows you to. “I’ll stay,” you whisper, kissing his thumb near your lip. “Wanna stay—with you.” 

Letting out a strangled huff, Caleb surges forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. He bites your bottom lip as he presses down on your stomach once again, and you careen over the edge, feeling the hot spurts of his release intensify the flood inside your cunt. 

With a shuttering groan, Caleb collapses to your left, immediately closing the space between you with a hug. You stay like that for a while, your sore body curled into his arms as you face each other on the bed. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly, rubbing circles into your hip. “I know it was a bit much.”

“Forgive you,” you mumble into his chest. “Felt good.”

He chuckles, tapping your nose twice. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily. Or else I’ll want to keep testing your limits.” 

When you fall asleep in his warm embrace, Caleb looks down at you intently, trying to brand the visual into any part of his commandeered mind that’d take it. Daring to disrupt the image, he gently untangles your bodies, lifting you before laying you back down on top of him. 

At peace for the first time that night, Caleb looks out the window, smiling to himself. The rain has stopped.