#i used to just tape that eye shut when i got them but the tape is itchy

[clairaworlds]

Hey thank you so much for this post. I'll admit i have both eyes but I need to ware a patch over my left eye every so often because of a headace condition I have. I sort of always tilt my head but I do it SO much more when I patch my bad eye. And ive noticed I walk closer to walls one eye days and bump my hand into literly everything. I could never tell if this was a universal thing or just me. Bc I'm not *always* down an eye, just sometimes (i don't have as much trouble gauging depth but that's probably bc when I have to patch my eye I'm ushally in enough pain that I avoid doing most activities for saftey reasons so i just dont run into the problem as often) this post made me feel so much better about the little habits I have when I ware my eyepatch. Like they're normal processes other people go through and not just me being really bad at life.

Seriously, thank you.

writing advice for characters with a missing eye: dear God does losing an eyes function fuck up your neck. Ever since mine crapped out I've been slowly and unconsciously shifting towards holding my head at an angle to put the good eye closer to the center. and human necks. are not meant to accommodate that sorta thing.

[lightseoul]

16 please 👀

Congrats btw for your 2K milestone!! 🎉 WAHOO

number 16, coming right up! thank you for playing and for the congratulations, lovely <3 i hope this one makes you laugh!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

16. "I WANT TO GO HOME TO MY WIFE." (0.7k)

it’s probably by the tenth sigh of the night—not that anyone’s counting—that poor kaminari finally snaps.

“seriously, dude?”

bakugou, who’s seated across from him with kirishima and sero adjacent to the both of them, only lazily raises an eyebrow in question.

at that, the electric hero pouts. “at least try to pretend you’re having fun.”

a few feet ahead of them—the men collectively chose to be seated at the back of the small dive bar despite kaminari’s protests—the stand-up comedian currently doing a set cracks another joke. an undercurrent of laughter flows across the room, but none of the four contribute to that.

“sorry, denki,” sero starts, a not-so-apologetic expression plastered on his face. “i’m with bakugou on this one.”

the slim, ebony-haired man glances at the stage, “the jokes aren’t landing for me either.”

“aww, come on, you guys!” kirishima, the ever-unfailing saint that he is, pipes up with a borderline overcompensating grin. “let’s just stay for a while longer for denki, alright?”

sero shrugs in response, but turns in his seat toward the stage anyway. bakugou, on the other hand, only grumbles before reaching for his phone in his right pocket.

thumbing his password under the table, his fingers click on the messages app, then to his number one favorite contact.

for a second, he debates whether or not to shoot you a text. you were so excited to finally get started on that anime you’ve been meaning to watch, that you almost seemed like you didn’t care that he was leaving you home for the night to hang out with the guys.

biting on his lip, he absentmindedly goes through your last exchange before finally deciding fuck it.

while typing out a well-crafted message, his eyes dart between his screen to his friends then back down again, trying to seem inconspicuous.

the last thing he needs is for the bored tape hero to tease him with that annoying ass shit-eating grin of his.

reading through it one last time, bakugou finally presses the send button.

much to his delight, it doesn’t even take you a minute to reply.

(8:43 PM) baby 🧡: heey! i’m still watching—am on episode 5 now. hbu? aren’t you busy with the boys?

the smile he wasn’t aware he’s been sporting immediately drops when he’s reminded of the predicament he’s in. peering back up at the front, he has to fight the groan that threatens to bubble from his mouth when another performer goes up.

oh, well. at least you’re texting him right now.

he quickly types out his response.

(8:45 PM) me: Busy being fucking tortured. This is the worst night ever.

“yo, bro, who got you smiling like that?”

bakugou whips to glare at the culprit, who’s now wearing the very same shit-eating grin he’s just been thinking about avoiding a few moments ago.

pocketing his phone, bakugou snarls at the man. “shut the fuck up. all that doom-scrolling is rotting your fucking brain.”

“i think you getting the reference says something about you, too, bakubro,” kirishima offers from beside him.

bakugou shoots the redhead a menacing scowl, which the unbreakable hero accepts in stride.

“are you guys even listening?” comes kaminari’s whine.

“sorry, denks,” sero replies, before turning to regard the rest of the group. “i thought we agreed to stop doing these guys’ night outs? none of us are as good at planning get-togethers as mina.”

at that slightest bit of opening, bakugou takes the opportunity and moves to stand up, grabbing his wallet and car keys before inserting them in his back pocket, surprising the three men.

before any of them can say a single word, though, bakugou tries to shrug nonchalantly, muttering his simple explanation.

“what was that?” came sero’s teasing tone.

“i want to go home to my wife, idiot,” bakugou barks before he can stop himself.

at that, kaminari finally throws his hands up in defeat.

kirishima only shrugs himself, “that clicks.”

while the menace snickers. “simp.”

[pucksandpower]

Piece of Cake

Lando Norris x McLaren reserve driver!Reader x platonic!Oscar Piastri

Summary: McLaren hands their drivers a blindfold, a pair of headphones, and a roll of duct tape to bake burn a cake … it goes about as well as can be expected

Based on this request

You stroll into the McLaren motorhome, gym bag slung over your shoulder, earbuds in as you listen to your pre-race pump-up playlist. Being the team’s reserve driver is a dream come true — you get to be around the cutting-edge of Formula 1 and some of the brightest minds in motorsport.

And if chance should have it, you could even sub in for one of the race drivers. The thrill of potential sends a tingle down your spine.

As you round the corner, you nearly walk straight into Lando, who’s got his jaw set in that brooding, focused way he gets right before a race weekend. His eyes light up when he sees you.

“Y/N! There you are,” he says, a dazzling smile emerging. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You pull out your earbuds. “What’s up? Everything okay for the race?”

He runs a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “Race? Oh, pfft, who cares about that? We’ve got bigger problems to solve today.”

You raise an eyebrow. Lando has a flair for the dramatic.

He goes on, “We’ve been roped into doing this absolutely mental social media challenge video. Something about �� baking? I dunno, to be honest, I stopped listening after they said one of us had to do it blindfolded.”

“Blindfolded?” You repeat, already regretting asking.

That’s when Oscar pops his head out from the kitchen area, hastily re-taping his mouth shut with bright orange duct tape. He flashes you a goofy thumbs up.

“So get this,” Lando continues, not missing a beat, “You’re the blindfolded one. I have to wear noise-canceling headphones so I can’t hear anything. And poor Oscar ...” He gestures over his shoulder at the other driver, who gives an exaggerated shrug. “Can’t speak a word, obviously.”

You look between the two of them, dumbfounded. “And we’re meant to … bake? Like, an actual cake or something?”

“Yep!” Lando says brightly. Too brightly. He claps you on the shoulder. “Should be a right laugh, eh? Let’s get started then!”

And just like that, the chaos begins.

After some shuffling about and giggling fits from the boys, you find yourself standing at the kitchen counter, a thick blindfold secured over your eyes.

You strain your other senses, trying to get your bearings. The hum of the overhead lights, the chemical tang of cleaning products, and was that … vanilla? You give an experimental sniff. Definitely vanilla.

A presence appears at your side and you nearly jump out of your skin when a hand grasps your wrist, guiding your fingers to what feels like … a whisk? Lando leans in close, his cologne surrounding you.

“Okay, I can’t hear myself think in these bloody headphones, but I’m going to talk you through the recipe step-by-step,” he murmurs, warm breath tickling your ear. You shiver involuntarily. “Just, y’know … do whatever feels right, I guess?”

With that enormously unhelpful advice, he releases your wrist and you feel him retreat. You’re flying blind — quite literally.

Then there’s a tap on your other arm. You turn, whisk at the ready, as Oscar’s unmistakable muffled laughter reaches your ears. Of course he’s going to be no help, sealed lips and all.

“Alright guys, very funny,” you say, aiming a withering look somewhere in their general direction though you can’t actually see them. “If I’m meant to be baking something edible out of this mess, you’re going to need to give me a bit more guidance.”

At that, Lando ambles back over, grasping your elbow to steer you somewhere — hopefully towards an actual baking ingredient and not, like, the rubbish bin. A few stumbling, giggle-filled steps later and you’re deposited in front of what sounds like … mixing bowls? Containers? You tentatively reach out a hand.

Your fingers brush over cool ceramic and you let out a relieved breath. Okay, progress. You dip the whisk in exploratorily and feel … something powdery. Flour? You raise it to your face to sniff, but Lando stops you just in time.

“Oi, oi, don’t go getting a lungful of whatever that is!” He laughs, somehow sounding even more handsome when he’s cheerfully chiding you. You bite your lip to stifle a grin.

Things begin to take shape after that, with Lando’s surprisingly not-too-horrible instruction and Oscar’s spirited gesticulating. You quickly work out the basics — butter, sugar, flour, eggs. The wet and dry ingredients get sloppily combined in separate bowls.

All fairly standard baking stuff.

Until, that is, Oscar tries miming out the need for baking soda and you obviously can’t see his dramatic gestures. You have no clue. He positions your hands with frantic motions as you measure out a hilarious amount of the mystery powder into your mixture.

Before long, a questionable batter has been produced. Oscar helps wrestle the cake pans away from you before you can completely muddle everything. The boys shuffle around for a bit, presumably prepping the pans and oven and such.

Then it’s time to pour in the batter. You feel Lando’s sturdy hands again, this time wrapping around yours to guide the bowl’s contents out. Immediately, the thick, lumpy globs start splattering over the sides and onto the counter. Oscar’s choked laughter fills the air. Lando curses under his breath, so close you can feel the rumble of his voice on your back.

Somehow, you all get the pans mostly filled without completely obliterating the kitchen. Oscar takes them to pop in the oven while Lando stays by your side. And that’s when you feel it — his free hand straying to rest on your hip. Reflexively, you lean back against his solid frame. The heat between your bodies builds deliciously.

For a long moment, it’s just the two of you standing there in peaceful suspension, chests rising and falling in tandem. Then Lando leans his head down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You’ve got a bit of … uh, whatever that yellow stuff was in the bowl … just there,” he murmurs, voice low and impossibly alluring.

You inhale shakily. “Yeah? Why don’t you get it for me then?”

There’s the barest hesitation before his lips are on your neck, tongue darting out to lick away the wayward batter. You sag back against him, surrendering to the electrifying sensation. A tiny moan escapes your lips.

God, you want this man.

Just then, the smoke alarm goes off with an ear-splitting shriek, shattering the spell. Lando leaps back like he’s been burned.

“Bollocks! I mean, uh … can’t hear anything, totally oblivious over here!” He makes a show of adjusting his headphones primly.

You snatch off the blindfold finally, blinking against the sudden light. Sure enough, thick grey smoke is billowing out of the oven. Oscar is doubled over wheezing, tears of laughter streaming down his face as he yanks the ruined cake out with oven-mitted hands. The charred remains plop lifelessly onto the counter.

Waving the smoke away, you gape at the pitiful offering. “Well, so much for our baking skills.”

Lando peeks over, coughing exaggeratedly. “What’s that? Did someone say they wanted a follow-along tutorial on how to burn down the motorhome?”

You roll your eyes, trying for a scandalized look but can’t quite fight the grin tugging at your lips. Oscar just loses it again at his teammate’s antics, wiping at his streaming eyes as Lando joins in, shoulders shaking with mirth.

Watching them, deliriously happy despite — or maybe because of — the ridiculous disaster around you, affection blooms in your chest as warm and gooey as the cake should’ve been. The fearless racers, top drivers of a top team, international celebrities … and also just two lovable goofballs who make your heart flip in the silliest of ways.

Their laughter is infectious. You find yourself dissolving into giggles right along with them. At last, Lando slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose side hug. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins down at you.

“Well, I don’t know about you two, but I could go for some proper dessert after that mess,” he says lightly. “My treat?”

Oscar immediately perks up, giving an enthusiastic double thumbs up and nodding vigorously.

You lean into Lando’s warmth, basking in the comfortable closeness. “You read my mind. Let’s get out of here before we burn something else down.”

With one last look at the charcoal brick that was once a cake, Oscar shakes his head ruefully. He strolls over and throws his arms around the two of you, squeezing tightly. For a moment, the three of you just stand there in a tangle of limbs and easy camaraderie, bodies shaking with residual laughter.

Pulling back at last, Oscar flashes you both a mischievous look as he points to his taped mouth, then mimes ripping it off. His silent way of asking if he can finally remove the duct tape obstacle.

“Oh, go on then, you’ve suffered enough,” Lando chuckles, waving a permissive hand.

Quick as a flash, Oscar yanks off the tape with a dramatic flourish, letting out a loud “FREEDOM!” He immediately grimaces, rubbing his jaw. “Oof, that stung a bit.”

“You’ll live, drama queen,” you tease, giving his arm a light shove.

He bumps you back with his hip, grinning impishly. “Well, it was all worth it to witness the two of you in absolute shambles from start to finish.”

Shouldering past you both, Oscar heads for the exit, shooting a roguish wink over his shoulder. “Now are we going to get some edible cake or what? I don’t know about you two, but I worked up an appetite with all the not talking I just did.”

Laughing again, you and Lando trail after him into the sunny paddock, bickering half-heartedly about who torched the baking attempt more thoroughly. A warm breeze riffles through the trees, carrying the scent of race fuel and possibility.

Another typical, wonderfully chaotic day at McLaren. You certainly wouldn’t have it any other way.

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[lovebugism]

can i request angst☹️☹️shy!reader barely ever talking and being soo hyperaware of everything and steve slowly breaks her out of her shell? then she overhears him saying she talks too much and she just feels bad and reverts into herself

Angst w happy endingn if possible please ily!!🫶🏼

ty for requesting!! — steve tells you he likes when you talk a lot (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 1k)

Your smile is wide and unknowing. Steve thinks there’s something extra special about it because you don’t even realize it’s there. “—And since Eddie was working the register, he let me take one of the new tapes for free. You know, to try it or whatever, and he was all like, ‘flattery works with me,’ and I was like, Steve would keel over if he was here right now.”

A giggle spills from your mouth when your rambling ceases, lips curling and eyes crinkling.

Steve blinks at you with his own absentminded beam, too busy thinking about how pretty you are to react properly to your story. 

Your smile sobers slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” he assures with the shake of his neatly styled head, rogue strands of chestnut hair draping his forehead. He shrugs and leans his elbows over the Family Video counter you stand across. “You’re just… You’re talking a lot. ’S nice.”

Your face heats. Your chest burns with a similar fire. Your eyes widen ‘cause you didn’t realize that you hadn’t shut up until now. “Oh… Sorry—”

“No, it’s good!” he tells you, laughing. “It’s a compliment.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah! I mean, I used to have to bribe you to get you to talk about your day. Remember that?”

Benny’s Burgers was your very best friend at the start of your relationship. Steve would always buy your dinner — not in exchange for you to talk exactly, but in the hopes that the additional time spent with you would help you open up. It did. Most of the time, anyway.

Your nose scrunches. “I thought you took me out because you liked me?”

“I took you out ‘cause I liked you and because the sugar rush from the milkshakes made you talk more.”

You nod once. “Right.”

The conversation ebbs. The store gets eerily silent without your voices to fill it. Steve, undeterred by the lapse in dialogue, flashes you a lopsided smile. “Wanna show me the tapes you bought?”

“Yeah,” you murmur and push off the counter. 

Steve watches you over his shoulder while you saunter down the hallway where your bag is kept. The breakroom door squeals open and shut again. A voice sounds suddenly from beside him. “Nice job, dingus,” Robin chides, gritty and montoned.

His head snaps to the other side, brows twisted with confusion. “What?”

“You hurt her feelings,” she answers like it’s obvious, dropping a stack of VHS tapes on the counter with a heavy thud.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You said she was talking a lot.”

“I said that I liked it!”

Robin rolls her ocean-blue eyes, huffing ‘cause he’s too oblivious to get the point. “Yeah, but if I said, Wow, you have a ton of gel in your hair— but it’s styled really nice today, it’d give you a whole complex. Wouldn’t it?”

The make-believe compliment is dreadfully backhanded. Steve’s face floods with a gentle horror, the realization of a fallacy he hadn’t realized he’d made. “Shit…”

“Exactly,” Robin deadpans. “Now go take care of your girlfriend, dingus.”

He finds you in the breakroom, idling in place. You’ve got the cassettes in your hands, and you fidget with them between anxious fingers — like you were planning to come out sometime, but not quite yet. 

You tense when the door creaks open, relaxing again when Steve enters.

“Whatcha doing?” he wonders with a crooked, pink smile.

“Getting the tapes,” you answer in a mousy voice, waving the pieces of plastic in your hand.

The door clicks shut behind him. He inches towards you, fond and terribly soft with it. “I missed you,” he confesses in a faint murmur. His wide palms settle on your sides. You warm instantly under his touch.

“I was gone for two seconds,” you respond with a quiet laugh.

“Yeah. And I felt like I was dying.”

You meet his pout with a small smile, blinking up at him with sparkling doe eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I just love being around you, alright? Sue me,” he argues, squeezing softly at your hips. With a quieter smile, he confesses, “And when I said you were talking a lot— I didn’t mean anything by it, you know?”

You’d disappeared back here because you thought it was something silly to be so upset over. He’d told you it was a compliment, but it didn’t really feel like one. Your brain refused to be anything other than hurt by his well-intentioned remarks. The ache in your chest became unignorable, and you shrunk inside yourself accordingly.

“I know,” you murmur.

“I love hearing you talk,” he tells you, shy smirk widening to a lopsided beam. “It’s my favorite thing in the whole world, actually.”

Your lips purse to the side. Your anxious hands fidget with the plastic cassettes in your palms, aching to hold him. It takes you a moment or more to find the courage to speak. “I’m just… I’m normally super aware of… when I’m talking too much, you know? I was just… Excited, I guess.”

“You were. And it was really fuckin’ cute.” A laugh sputters from his lips. He wears all the love he has for you in the deep honey of his eyes, rich and swimming with warmth. “I love seeing you happy.”

“Well, you make me happy…” you whisper, gaze averted. “So, it fits…”

“Yeah, it does,” he murmurs in response, ducking down to kiss you. It’s chaste and terribly fleeting — lips locking together one moment and then smacking in protest when they separate the next. 

It takes your eyes a second too long to flutter open again after he’s pulled back from you. You find Steve already grinning as he nods to the tapes in your hands. “Wanna pop those into the radio? So we can listen to ‘em while I work?”

Your brows pinch with a distant worry. “Won’t Keith get mad?” 

“Probably,” Steve answers with an uncaring shrug. “You don’t have to worry about him, alright? I’ll take care of you.”

You melt.

[rinhaler]

Yooo, your plug!sukuna x reader fic has got me so feral imgggg

And it got me thinking

imagine Yuuji and Sukuna double teaming you???

this is not canon buuuuuuuuuuuuuuut... it is hot so hope u like this hehe

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, incest (itadori bro's sharing u), double penetration (one hole), degradation, praise, cheating mention, bruising, hair pulling, oral fixation, daddy kink mention, spanking, squirting, creampie.

words: 1.1k

“B-Baby I- fuck. How could y-ou? Fuck him of all- all people?” Yuuji wonders, fingers gripping into your sides deeply. You’re bound to bruise. With the way he’s fucking you and squeezing into your supple flesh, you can practically feel the broken blood vessels forming purple blooms with every thrust into your squelching cunt.

It isn’t deliberate.

He just wants you to remember who you belong to.

“’m sorry!” you cry, tears pelting down onto the mattress below as he batters your interior again and again. “I didn’t mean t’ fuck him.. I didn’t—!”

“Aht aht. None of that,” Sukuna speaks, his fingers lacing through your hair and yanking enough to elicit a pained yelp from you. Your eyes shimmer as you they reflect the stare of red irises that have become so easy to manipulate you. “Wasn’t like that when you were crying for me to ruin you, was it? In fact…” he pulls out his phone and quickly finds the home made sex tape he’d made without asking.

“D-Don’t…” you sob, though you don’t have it in you to really fight him. He pushes his thumb by the seam of your lips in a bid to shut you up. And in your cock drunk, dazed state, you begin to suck like a baby with a pacifier. You clench around Yuuji as the video begins to play and you hear how loud you’re moaning for your boyfriend’s elder brother. The sex was phenomenal and you’ll never forget it for as long as you live. “Remember this? Hm?” he questions as he swipes to a certain point of the video.

“Want you to br-uuise my c-cervix, daddy.”

You scream, a trail of drool connecting his thumb to your tongue as you can’t help yourself when Yuuji spanks your ass. He’s seen it before, of course, but it doesn’t make it any easier. God you sound desperate, and in that moment, you were.

“Think it’s okay to f-fuck my brother? Huh? You were meant to say no.” he reminds you. He pulls your back into his chest and holds each of your wrists in his hands and keeps them near the small of your back. And he uses them, for leverage, as he fucks his length into your weeping slit. “Beggin’ for him to bruise your cervix like that? Had no idea what a little slut you were. You want him to fuck you again, don’t you?”

“N-No!” you lie. You’d love Sukuna to ravage you again. To make a complete mess of your insides and churn your brain into mush. You don’t want to think about anything but getting destroyed by him and Yuuji.

You feel so spoilt.

Sukuna doesn’t say a word as he gets closer to you. His length runs through your folds and nudges your clit as Yuuji keeps you pinned in place. Your face twinkles as the light reflects off of your tear stricken cheeks.

Yuuji slows down as Sukuna helps you angle your hips.

Though you aren’t sure how it’s only just dawning on you now what is happening.

Sukuna’s heavy mushroom tip begins to split your cunt further open. Each yelp and cry silenced by Yuuji as he smothers your mouth and whispers into your ear.

“Shhhh, baby, you can take him. You’ve done it before, yeah? Good girl, sh sh sh…” he consoles you. His hands grope your tits and his lips smother your neck and shoulder in soft kisses as he tries to distract you from the stinging stretch being inflicted upon you. “That’s it… good fucking girl… you can take us both, yeah? You wan’ us to fuck you stupid, yeah?”

You hum, unsure if you’re agreeing or not. Nothing is really making sense when all you can focus on is the fact you’re somehow accommodating two Itadori cocks at once.

“Look at you… elastic little cunt.” Sukuna snarls, laughing as he drinks in the sight of you being double stuffed like a porn star. He grabs his phone, taking a quick picture so that Yuuji can see the view he’s seeing.

“Woah… you’re so good, baby. Takin’ us so well.” he praises, kissing the skin behind your ear before slowly rolling his hips again.

“Don’t fucking praise her yet, haven’t even moved.” Sukuna starts, his hips begin to move too. Their thrusts are off beat and your heart begins to pound. You aren’t getting a break to get used to the feeling. The tempo of their mismatched thrusts has your vision whiting out. Your head lolls backwards onto Yuuji’s shoulder as they continue to ruin you, and you swear you can’t breathe.

You aren’t sure if you’re even there.

“M-Maybe we should slow down,” Yuuji tells Sukuna, his hips already slowing before he finishes his sentence.

“Fuck that.” Sukuna grabs your jaw and forces you to look at him. Drool spills from your lips and your eyes can’t focus. But he knows you’re listening and he knows you’re looking. You’re in there somewhere, enjoying this. “We already know you’re a whore so don’t act shy now.”

“’m g’na c-um.” you manage to squeak out even in your dazed state. “H-aah!” you struggle, but your pussy does all the talking for you. The sound of liquid spilling out of you is deafening. The suctioning and squelching sounds that follow are just as boisterous as they continue to pound into you. And just as you think your high is drawing to a close, their sloppy thrusts pick up the pace.

Another stream of liquid gushes from your cunt as they abuse your sweet spot in independently. Your head falls forward onto Sukuna’s chest, now. And he uncharacteristically cradles the crown of your head as you rest there.

Yuuji lets go of the singular wrist he’s still holding so he can focus on fucking into you. And he does, loudly. His moans are raucous as he empties his balls into your greedy hole.

Sukuna soon follows, hissing through his teeth as he spills his seed soon after his brother. None of you want to move, least of all you. You’re still clenching around them both while you rest against Sukuna’s chest. Yuuji begins to kiss at your shoulder, telling you how perfect and beautiful you are. And you shudder when his kisses trail down the column of your spine.

The elder brother is silent as he pants, stroking your hair repeatedly as he contemplates what just happened. But he hurriedly moves his hand away when he sees Yuuji look up at him.

“Knew she could take us,” he smirks. “Your girlfriend’s a perfect little whore.”

© 2023 rinhaler

[dellalyra]

OMG I WAS JUST HAVING BRAINROT ABOUT GOJO AND Y/N IN THEIR TEEN YEARS AND

imagine that back then they had to participate in a talent show or something and megumi and the rest watch the old video tape they found in the darkest corner of the library on campus.

the tape was in a box with a label reading "the best jujutsu tech students' and its just filled with memories of their teen years.

they decide to watch the talent show one and its just chaotic as hell. mid way through megumi, nobara and yuuji get caught watching it lmao

𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨, 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖, 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣! 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴

A/N: this request. came in last night - and it’s all I’ve done today because it was so perfect it’s all I could think about. ur amazing ily

CW: swearing, weed, suggestive stuff, mdni i stg shoo

“Itadori! Bring these to the garbage!” Nobara shouts.

“Why me?! Why can’t you do it?!” He retorts as Megumi just rolls his eyes at the two of them, he wonders how they turned into siblings so easily.

“Fushiguro! Tell your boyfriend to take this to the garbage. It’s heavy and he should use his freaky wall-breaking strength for something useful!” She shouts back.

“Eh?! Is exorcising cursed and carrying you like a sack of flour not useful?! Or always carrying all your dumb shopping?!” They’ve broken into an all out sibling squabble by now, Megumi just turns away and continues the task of clearing out the storeroom behind the dojo in the school. Pushing boxes of old files and reports out of the way, he finds a box covered in doodles and stickers, taped shut at the top. He goes to inspect the very out of place container and finds words among the doodles of weirdly shaped beings and flowers.

‘The Best Jujutsu Tech Students.’

“Will you two shut up for two minutes, come look at this.” He says over his shoulder to the two, with Nobara releasing Yuuji from the headlock she somehow got him in.

“Ancient treasure! I told you we’d find something cool.” Yuuji shouts, pumping his fist into the air.

“What is this, Pirates of the Caribbean?! We’re clearing out a high school storage room, dumbass.” The girls rolls her eyes.

They inspect the box, trying to figure out the doodles.

“It doesn’t look super old? Open it, Itadori.” Nobara says.

“Will you quit telling me what to do?!” He says, huffing.

While they resumed the bickering, Megumi took a knife he had hidden in the shadows and sliced through the lines of tape holding the box together. The sound alerted the other two who peered into the box alongside him.

“Wait, are they… DVD’s?” Megumi asks.

“Yeah - but they’re homemade ones. Is there a label on them?” His boyfriend says, leaning in to get a closer looks.

The box itself was filled with small DVD cases of many colours - all labelled in a scrawling handwriting the kids felt like they knew.

“There’s a DVD player in the room where I hung out when I was dead.” Yuuji says, and hauls the box up and begins to walk. None of them even needed to discuss whether or not they’d be watching them, like a hive mind - but with maybe two shared brain cells.

They all made their way across campus, to a room in the same building as their Sensei’s office.

Nobara insisted on grabbing snacks from the vending machine en route, and they sat down on the sofa while Yuuji loaded the first date labelled ‘2003, December.” Well, that’s what they think it’s said. The handwriting was such a chicken scratch it almost looked like a doctor’s unintelligible writing.

The screen came to life - sounds buzzing and voices echoing (albeit muffled) as the screen panned from looking at the floor - to the sky, the the floor again. Then - a face came on screen.

A very familiar one - but… a hell of a lot younger.

“Wait… is that -?” Nobara asks.

“Shoko-sensei?!” Yuuji exclaims.

“That’s kinda how she looked when I was a kid. She’s in her uniform, so this must be when she was in school.” Megumi adds.

The camera pulls away from the close up on her face as another figure enters the shot - a man with odd bangs, silky black hair tied up into a bun and piercing dark eyes. He had a lazy smile in his face as he looked into the camera, poking a finger into Shoko’s cheek.

“What the fuck, Suguru?!” She says as she flicks his hand away.

“That’s - that’s Geto Suguru.” Megumi says. Geto had always been a bittersweet topic in their house, only getting worse in the last year and a half since… since he died.

The next action causes a gasp to echo across the room. A smiling face pops up between both figures.

Dark, circular sunglasses perched on a slim, pale nose and a wide, toothy, cheeky smile sat under a mop of shocking white, messy hair.

“Holy shit! That’s -” Yuuji starts.

“Dad.” Megumi whispers, seeing Satoru so young, probably around his age was amazing to him.

“Wow! It’s working! Is it on? Is it filming?” 16 year old Gojo says, voice eerily familiar, but much younger.

The three faces were all staring into the lens of the camera, only visible from the shoulders up. On screen, Shoko looked down and moved her arm and another head popped up from the bottom of the screen, trying to squeeze in.

The head of H/C hair and shiny eyes wiggled their way into the shot between Suguru and Shoko, and under Satoru.

“Did you say it’s on? It on recording right now?” The new figure pokes the camera.

“No fucking way… Fushiguro! That’s -” Nobara says, swirling to look at the taller boy.

“My mom.” He says, eyes fixed on screen. Your face was younger, hair the same as ever, eyes still full of excitement and curiosity and voice slightly higher than it is now. A hand pats the top of your head, a pale one - Satoru.

“Do a dance for the camera, Y/N.” Satoru says, smiling.

And you do a little wiggle in your spot squeezed between everyone as the other three burst out laughing.

The camera cuts off, and the screen changes to a view of the outside - all of them immediately recognising the training field.

In view is Geto and Gojo, sparring at such a ridiculously quick speed it’s barely visible. He could hear giggling behind the screen and recognised the voices of you and Shoko laughing about something that happened in class.

“They’re such show offs.” Your voice says.

“Geto genuinely wants to train, Gojo is just trying to impress you.” Shoko says, voice muffled by something - which he later sees as a lollipop, figuring it out when it gets launched across the field - presumably in retaliation for her comment by you.

“No way, Koko! That’s just dumb, he’s just a show off in general.” Your voice echoes.

“Whatever you say, Y/N.”

The camera cuts off again. The next thing they see is the night sky, and raucous laughter. The camera is being held by Shoko again, and she points it to a view of a rooftop - the flat part of the roof of the dorm building. The camera turns to one Suguru Geto, eyes hazy and smile even more languid than normal. In his hand was a smoking object - which he passed to Shoko.

They were both laughing together about Shoko saying she could see a constellation shaped like a penis, and the hysterical giggles and she rested her head on the boys shoulder told them that the joint in Shoko’s hand was very much affecting them.

There were clambering sounds.

“I can’t reach!” Came your voice, distant and off screen.

“C’mere shortstack, I’ll give you a boost.” The teasing lilt of Gojo’s voice came after.

“Thanks, Jack the Beanstalk.” Your retort sent the two original stars into another round of laughter before you and Gojo enter the frame, both holding a plastic bag of snacks.

Shoko gives you the joint as you sit, and you take a quick puff and pass it back to Suguru. Satoru declines it, saying it makes his eyes feel funny to which you all nod and say ‘makes sense’.

“Did you get me spicy chips?” Suguru asks, combing through the bags.

“Yes. But - you had to tell me you love me to get them.” Satoru says, smirking.

“Gojo Satoru - you are the light of my life, the centre of my world, the reason my heart beats, please, May I have my child you absolute fuckwad.” He says, as Satoru throws his head back laughing and throws a red bag of chips at him before tackling him to the ground demanding a kiss.

You laugh at the scene, turning to Shoko.

“See - that’s how Geto has at least one date every weekend.” You say, opening your chocolate.

“Man-whore.” She responds, sucking on a lollipop.

The screen flashes black. The same view is on the screen, but the atmosphere is much calmer. Suguru lay, head on Shoko’s lap and her deft fingers carding through his hair as he listens to whatever nonsense Gojo is spouting. The camera turns to a view that has Nobara and Yuuji cooing. Satoru is sitting, arm around your back to keep you upright with your head on his shoulder, eyes closed and clearly sleeping.

Suguru’s voice whispers into the camera.

“And these two say they’re not into each other.” Followed by a scoff from Shoko.

Next up is a view of the training field again, with a sight that made the three current first years laugh. Suguru was laying on the grass, and he was bench pressing you - his makeshift weight - as you lay relaxed horizontally reading a book, the casual nature made it clear this was a daily occurrence.

Once his reps are finished, he gently lets you down and you don’t even react, just laying on the grass continuing your book. He stands up and waves to Shoko, who he’s just noticed with her camera and proceeds to take off his shirt and let down his hair.

“Put your damn shirt back on!” Shoko shouts.

“God damn, maybe I should be a curse user.” Nobara utters, whistling and fanning herself.

The camera is next held up by Satoru - who smiles and puts a finger to his lips to symbolise silence, for some reason, like the camera would be unexpectedly loud. He turns the camera and in the backseat of a car is Shoko and you, both asleep and earphones split between you with a bright pink iPod on Shoko’s lap. Her head was resting in the crook of your neck, and you cheek rested on top of your head.

“They really have always been best friends, haven’t they?” Yuuji says. Megumi is reminded of last week, when Nobara and Yuuji fell asleep in the back of Ijichi’s car, in the exact same position.

The camera operator is back to Shoko now, who is filming the most beautiful scenery. Sakura petals are drifting through the air as throngs of people wander around what appears to be a festival. There’s food stalls and trinket stands and everyone around is in their finery.

“Suguru! Show the camera your best pose.” Shoko says, as Suguru appears on screen decked out in a black and grey kimono with his hair in a half up, half down style.

He throws a peace sign at the camera and then takes it so he can film Shoko who’s in a pretty red Yukata pattered with black and white koi. She smiles and then waves as she looks off camera.

“You’re late, Satoru. Where’s Y/N?” She says as Gojo comes on screen.

He’s wearing a dark blue and silver hakama which looks like it cost the same as a house, Suguru wolf whistles and Satoru pretends to fawn over him.

“She was having lunch with her mom, she’s probably going to be here - holy shit.” Satoru says, but cuts himself off halfway as his jaw drops open.

The camera pans messily as Suguru turns to where Satoru is looking.

You’re walking toward them, smile on your face and usually messy hair styled in a beautiful updo, make up making your skin glow in the afternoon sun. You were wearing a light pink, billowy, gauzy hanfu with tiny pale green flowers and leaves around the edges. You did truly look incredibly stunning. You had a little bag in your hand, and the camera flew back to look at Satoru who was gaping at your approaching figure. His usually pale skin flushed with a pink dusting.

His mouth moves, and it seems unconscious when he whispers to himself.

“Beautiful…”

You walk into the frame, smiling brightly and hugging Shoko and then freezing when you see Satoru, eyes widening at the strikingly handsome figure he makes, every inch a fairytale Prince. The pink on your cheek matches your outfit as you stammer out a breathy,

“Hi, Satoru.”

“Hey, Y/N.” He says, mouthing opening and closing as you look at him through fluttering lashes.

There’s a jolt as it seems Suguru holding the camera elbows his best friend and whispers in his ear, just audible to the camera.

“Bro, tell her she looks beautiful, damn it.”

“You… you look um - beautiful, Y/N.” He stammers out, and the three first years watching laugh at how their oh-so-smooth sensei was once such a mess he needed prompting to flirt from his friends.

You flush even deeper.

“Thank you, Satoru. You look really good too. The um… the blue really suits you. The restaurant I had lunch with my mom had Sakura mochi, so I - I got you some.” You say as you shove a small nicely wrapped box at him and Satoru seems to melt. Shoko appears on screen, making a circle with one hand and poking a finger through it repeatedly in a very lewd gesture that has Suguru cackling.

“Wait - they’re not even together yet. They didn’t get together until the end of their second year.” Megumi muses, smirking.

“So they’ve always been this whipped for each other.” Nobara laughs.

The DVD ends there, and Yuuji jumps up to put in the next one, labelled ‘second year’.

The video begins with you sprinting toward Shoko and her catching you in her arms.

“I missed you so much! A whole summer without you, it was torture. How was the medical camp?” You ask her, barely taking a breath between words.

“Did you not miss me, lil’ lady?” Came a smooth voice as one Geto Suguru wraps his arms around you too, and you squeal in excitement. The three standing are then abruptly tackled to the ground as a blur of white and black whizzes toward them.

“Satoru!” Came three scolding voices.

“How the fuck did you do that, you lanky - oh.” Shoko is stopped abruptly as they all stand up and the change in Satoru is clearly visible. Long gone is the beanstalk boy of their first year, all arms and legs at 16 and now at almost 18 - a broad shouldered, 6ft 3, sharper jawline and longer hair Gojo stands before them. You look like you might faint.

The video stops and then resumes looking at a very familiar blackboard, and a much younger Yaga beside it.

In front of the blackboard there’s two students in Jujutsu High uniforms - both in party hats and standing under a banners with ‘Welcome First Years!’ written in big bubble writing on it, the sounds of streamers and party poppers came through the room as the camera was set down on a desk.

Gojo comes on screen and waves his arms as if to show off the two students. One looked incredibly happy, a beaming smile full of excitement and the other looking absolutely miserable, but given how painfully 2005 emo he looked - it wasn’t surprising. Megumi smirked, seeing the blond boy on screen and knowing exactly who it was from photo albums you kept - but he waited to see when the other two would notice.

“Welcome to Yu Haibara! Please - introduce yourself!” Gojo says, pointing a bottle of cola at him like a microphone.

“Hi! I’m Yu! I’m 16 and I like rice and people!” He says, voice full of enthusiasm.

“Thank you! Next up, Gerard Way!” Satoru smiles and point the mock microphone to the other boy.

“Do I have to? This feels unnecessary.” He says, grimacing.

“Yes! You do!”

“Fine. My name is Nanami Kento -”

Megumi didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as a chorus of ‘What the fuck!?’ Echoes from the two beside him.

“Nobara, rewind that - I think I heard it wrong, I thought the emo kid said his name was Nanami, hah!” Yuuji exclaims.

“No need. You heard right.” Megumi smirks.

“No fucking way! That’s Nanamin?!” Yuuji is smiling so wide at the sight of his mentor as a moody teen.

“Yup. I remember his hair like that, he had a lip ring and a nose ring too. Geto Suguru pierced his nose with Shoko’s med kit for him when they drank too much whiskey at my mom’s 18th. There’s a picture of them doing it framed in their room at home.” Megumi scoffs a laugh, the other two in shock at the revelation.

The camera stops again and next time is looking from an upstairs window as voices whisper.

“What is she doing?” Shoko asks.

“It looks like she’s talking?” Geto asks.

“There’s a tiny spike in her cursed energy - wait, I’ll try see if there’s someone around.” He says and the clink of his sunglasses hitting the windowsill breaks the quiet.

On screen, there’s you in a pair of fluffy blue pyjamas and a winter knitted hat as you seem to be kneeling and ushering something small out of a bush. Satoru seems to have gotten distracted and the camera pans to him - who’s just staring out the window with the most dopey, lovestruck smile on his face.

“Satoru.” Suguru says, flicking his ear.

He snarls, but blushes.

“I - I can’t tell but, it kinda seems like? She is trying to talk to something.” He says, as they all crane their necks as you pull something into your arms and stand up, taking off your hat and tucking whatever you found into it and scurrying back inside.

An obnoxious ringtone of crazy frog blasts through the room and Satoru flips open his phone and answers it.

Since it’s you, he puts it on speaker.

“Hey, Satoru - are you still at the store? I - kinda need something, urgently.” Your voice asks.

“Eh - yeah, I’m at the store. What do you need?” He says, trying to hush the two sniggering traitors beside him who are fully aware that he came back from the store an hour ago and is sitting in Suguru’s dorm with them.

“I - um, I need kitten milk.” Your voice says, just as the camera cuts off.

The next few videos are just videos on videos on you and a tiny, tiny kitten, feeding it from a small bottle and it sleeping on your chest, or Satoru playing with it and a ball of wool in hysterical laughter. One video is taken by Shoko with Suguru in the frame playing with the kitten who is trying to catch his bangs and on the sofa, is you sitting on Satoru’s lap, as he looks at you adoringly and you giggle and place a kiss on his lips. Given that it’s about 3/4 of the way through your second year, it means you’re freshly together after torturing your friends with mutual pining.

Megumi looks closer at the kitten, and the tabby is very recognisable to him - given that to this day, the hairs of that kitten, now 13 years old and still thriving due to your unwavering spoiling, still decorate any black fabric in your home.

“Is that baby grumpy George?!” Nobara asks, hitting the nail on the head.

The video fades again, and then the screen is illuminated by a makeshift stage in the school sports hall. Another large banner is on the wall, with ‘Talent Show’ written in large writing, Megumi now noticed the big bubble writing was the same as had been on every ‘happy birthday’ banner he’d had every year.

The announcer, he recognises as a smiling principal Yaga - even though this is surely not a school organised or endorsed event, but probably the work of the couple he now calls his parents.

“Welcome to Jujutsu Talent Show! The rules of tonight are as follows a) no cursed techniques or cursed energy and absolutely no sabotaging! Panda! Do you want to say who’s going first?” Yaga announced as he lifts up a baby panda and the voice of the baby says “Nanami and Yu!”.

Yu skips on stage, decked out in a cape patterned with stars and a large top hat, followed by a very sullen Nanami Kento, adorned with a nose and lip ring now.

“Ladies, gentlemen, cursed corpses! My name is Yu the Magic Man and this is my assistant, the Fantastical Nanamin! Does anyone here like rabbits?” He announced, and takes off his hat, revealing a stuffed rabbit on his head - commencing the world’s worst magic show. The highlight was definitely Yu asking Nanami to pull the scarf from his sleeve and after pulling and pulling and pulling, a very frustrated Kento growls ‘Fucking hell, Yu - how long is this thing?’ Completely breaking what little mysticism surrounded the performance. Geto didn’t help, when he muttered ‘that’s what she said’ after Nanami’s complaint, setting the second years off.

After a bow to his rapt audience, and lots of cheering and supportive clapping from you all - the first years leave and Yaga announces the next performance.

A loud bang echoes through the room,

“Holy shit!” Your voice, the 28 year old you, carries through the room as three heads spin around to see their sensei’s back, arms supporting the thighs around his waist, belonging to his wife who’s lipstick is smudged across her cheek and her husband’s face. The white haired man’s white shirt was partially unbuttoned and your sweater had fallen completely off you shoulder - combined with the position you entered the room and the ruined cosmetics it was quite clear why the teachers had stumbled into this forgotten room of jujutsu tech.

“Get a fucking room.” Megumi grumbles.

“We were! But you’re here! And just for that I’m gonna tell you that the sofa you’re sitting on was where Akio was conceived.” Gojo retorts, trying to fix himself as all the kids groan.

“Both of you, hush. ‘Toru - look at the screen.” You were transfixed on the paused screen.

“Wait! Is that - that’s our talent show! From second year! Where did you guys find this?” Satoru says, leaping over the back of the sofa and plopping down but not before turning around and picking you up by the waist and sitting you in his lap.

“I thought all the DVD’s were lost! Koko couldn’t find them after we graduated!” You say, as you keep staring at the screen.

“We were clearing out the storage room, like Ijichi asked and we found a funky box with DVD’s in it.” Yuuji says.

“Oh my god! Press play!” You say, clapping.

“Look at angry Nanamin!” Gojo says, smiling.

“Next up is Y/N and Shoko!” Screen Yaga announces.

You and Shoko are dressed in the most colourful outfits ever, you’re beaming and Shoko looks exhausted. Large headbands, crimped hair, tutu skirts, leggings, neon leg warmers and beads were the costume of choice as Geto stood on one side of the stage.

“Welcome to - Y/N and Shoko’s dance bonanza!” You both say, and Geto presses play so that Girl’s Just Wanna Have Fun plays to match the 80s Cyndi Lauper style outfits. Having danced ballet as a little girl, and being a big fan of Just Dance and Dance Dance Revolution - you decided that you and Shoko would do this for the show, exhausted and unenthusiastic - but endlessly loyal to her best friend and determined to not let Gojo win the show. You guys danced a perfectly in sync routine with 28 year old you shouting ‘Oh my god, I still remember the routine!’ Halfway through. Yuuji was hopping along on the sofa beside Megumi.

Before Shoko could collapse into a heap as the song finished, she was thrown over Suguru’s shoulder and hauled off stage with Gojo doing the same for you.

After a brief intermission, Geto and Gojo were welcomed on stage in matching black tuxedo’s, off camera your voice could be heard saying ‘ugh, I’m gonna climb that man like a tree later, suits are the best.’

“Ladies, gents - tonight welcome to The GS squared stand up comedy show, enjoy your night and Geto’s number is available after the show.” Gojo drawls into the mic.

Megumi didn’t expect the routine to be as funny as it was, everyone especially enjoyed the part where they did impressions of different Jujutsu Elders, including Naobito Zen’in and Principal Gakuganji - which were unnervingly accurate but highly offensive to them, especially when Gojo got on his knees to imitate how short the elder Kyoto principal was and Geto kept playing Looney Tunes on the projector to show Naobito’s ‘cursed technique’.

When the audience were thoroughly hysterically laughing, with the audience being Yaga, MeiMei, Panda, Y/N, Shoko, Yu, Kento and Utahime who was visiting Shoko for the weekend, the boys bowed, winked and walked off stage and the camera caught Gojo bending down to whisper something in his ear which had you looking at the sky and blushing - still getting used to openly loving each other.

The voting wasn’t recorded, but the winners announcement was and it was shown to be Yu and Nanami - who everyone, except for themselves had voted for.

“Oh my god, these are priceless! I can’t believe I got even funnier with age, and look at your cute little outfit, princess!” Satoru coos.

“There’s a whole box of them, we’ve only watched 2!” Yuuji says, bouncing and handing the box to you and Satoru.

“No way, it’s the whole box! I remember decorating it with Koko! Hold on, I’m gonna ring her to come here.” You say as you take out your phone, smiling at the lockscreen of Satoru, Megumi and your 6 month old son and pulling up Shoko’s contact to ring her to ‘get her ass down here for a surprise’.

“Oh, ‘toru! I bet our DVD of our trip together to Fiji in the summer of third year, Shoko lent us her came for it!” You say, wrapping your arms around him and settling in while Yuuji loads the next DVD.

“Classes are cancelled, I’ve decided it’s home movie day - do we have any popcorn?” Satoru says, smiling at how fondly Megumi is looking at the screen, a still pause screen of himself and you smiling in the training yard together - still looking as lovingly at each other 13 years later. Yuuji has his arm wrapped and Megumi’s shoulders and is leaning into him, as the dark haired boy rubs circles on his boyfriend’s knee - Nobara has her legs stretched across the laps of both boys as the newest video begins.

The door swings open, Shoko entering -

“No fucking way! You found them! Kids, move up - let Aunty Koko sit.” She says, plopping herself between the arm and her two best friends, her nephew and their bonus kids.

She’s glad she bought that camera.

[ddejavvu]

'oh, you LOVE me!' - send me a request for a baby blurb! give me a character, and a plotline, and i'll write you a little fanfiction :)

The team visiting Spencer for one reason or another on their day off & reader opens the door (maybe even wearing one of Spence's shirts) and that's how they all find out Spencer is in a relationship?

The doorbell rings, and even if Spencer weren't hobbling around on crutches with a rolled ankle, you'd have bolted to answer the door. You've got new shoes coming, a treat from your boyfriend himself, and they're set to arrive today before 9PM. It's 6, and you're eager to finally put them on.

However, it's not the mailman at the door, not unless the US Postal Service has gotten a huge budget increase. The man that stands at the door is dressed in a fine suit, something you're sure cost more than double what your shoes had, and he seems mildly surprised to see you behind the door.

There's a posse of people behind him, and you wonder if this is some sort of special delivery system. But no one seems to have your package, and you tilt your head at an angle, "Can I help you?"

His eyes narrow infinitesimally, curiously, "Yes, we're here to see Dr. Spencer Reid," The man speaks up, his voice deep and smooth, "Did we have the wrong address?"

"No- No! Hotch," Spencer shouts from his place on the couch, and you hear the clatter of crutches, "Hotch, wait!"

"Spencer," You gush, ditching the door to make sure he doesn't tip himself over in his sudden pursuit of his callers, "Spence, go slow, you'll trip."

"I'm fine," He pants, moving as fast as he can to the door, his cheeks unusually rosy, "Uh, what- what do you guys need?"

Upon sighting him, the rest of the people behind the door exchange glances with each other, like they hadn't quite believed just his voice. You're hovering awkwardly behind Spencer now, looking up at your houseguests curiously, and waiting for them to speak.

"We brought you cookies," A blonde woman behind the man in the suit pipes up, hands decked out in jewelry as she brandishes a ziploc bag of treats, "And- and Morgan has medical tape he thinks you should use on your ankle, and JJ made a casserole, and we just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I was going to offer to hire you a live-in nurse," An older man pipes up from the back, a suit jacket draped over his shoulders, glancing back at you with a small smirk, "But I'm not sure that's necessary."

"Thank you for the stuff." Spencer reaches out for the bag, keeping his crutch stabilized beneath his shoulder, "Y/N, can you- the casserole, um-"

"I got it," You jump forward to help, taking a dish from another blonde woman standing beside the first. The bottom is warmed, and she smiles kindly at you as she passes it off, nodding at your thnaks.

"Here's the tape," A man pipes up, muscles straining the t-shirt he's wearing as he sets a roll of medtape over the foil on the casserole. He grins at you, and the expression shifts more into a teasing one when he speaks to Spencer, "Sorry for interrupting."

"Oh, you weren't interrupting," You shake your head, "Are you- you're Spencer's coworkers, right?"

At their round of nods, you readjust your grip on the casserole, "Would you want to come eat with us? We could-"

"Our apartment is messy," Spencer cuts you off, hand already on the door to shut it on their shit-eating grins, "Thanks for the food, sorry you can't stay. See you tomorrow."

He shuts the door without offering them another word, and you gasp, "Spencer! That's rude, open the door!"

"They are relentless," Spencer locks it, heading towards you and backing you against the kitchen counter where you set the casserole, "If you let them in, they'll tease us both until our ears bleed, angel. They're not offended, and you can meet them some other time," He promises, kissing your forehead where you stand frowning at him, "When we're at someone else's house, and my ankle is healed so that we can run to the car and leave early when they lay into us."

[sweetiecutie]

Warnings: mdni, adult content, p links BEWARE, sex tape, adult movies making

Idea about creating a porn account was very spontaneous. You were a panting spent mess covered in sweat spit and saliva, curling up next to Simon’s side, nuzzling your cheek against his hairy chest. Gazing up at the small screen attached to an old video camera that man was holding in his huge hand, Riley was rewatching the most recent video you two just spent about an hour to record.

Making sex tapes was nothing new for the two of you and, surprisingly, it was Simon’s idea originally, claiming that he needed some good jerk off material for when he’s deployed and web porn disgusted him. The words slipped off your tongue before your freshly fucked-out brain could even register them:

- Why don’t we post it? - you mumbled, words a bit slurred from four orgasms your boyfriend forced upon you. Simon’s brow shoot up, chocolate eyes gazing down at your flushed face inquisitively. - I mean, we’ll blur our faces and beep all the times we used our names. I think people will like our videos.

And to your astonishment Simon agreed. It took you a few hours to figure out what video redactor to use and how it worked, but in the end you got a 20 min tape of you two fucking, shameless moans and grunts coming from laptop speakers, you made sure that video didn’t contain any obvious information about your identities.

After creating an account on PH and twitter you uploaded the video after letting Simon give it some nasty name like “pounding my hot baby until she forgets her own name”, which made you cringe for the next five minutes. Pressing the “post” button you then shut down your laptop, crawling into Simon’s tight embrace and putting on a movie to watch, both of you wondering how many views your video will get.

And fucking yes, did it blow up.

1m views in one week.

Reference links containing porn!!!‼️🚨

Minors go fucking away and never come back‼️

One || Two || Three || Four

[halfwayhearted]

I Love You, I’m Sorry — Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Summary: Since your abrupt (and rather dramatic) departure, Spencer’s been tormented by his thoughts. It’s unsettling how he only seems to grasp that it’s always been you when you’re critically injured in the field.

Word Count: 1.4K+

Disclaimer/s — Mention of guns, violence, gunshot wound, hospitals, no use of Y/N, angst to comfort, I think that’s it!

A/N: Read part one here! ^_^ Did Reader lowkey forgive him a little too easily orrrrrrr… gulps.

You weren’t exactly sure about what went wrong.

You trailed behind SSA Luke Alvez, who moved with a tense urgency up the stairs. His silent signal directed you to the rooms further away while he tackled the ones closer to him. With a deep breath, you pushed forward, every step heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

Pushing open the door, your eyes widen at the sight of the woman reported missing just three days ago. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth is taped shut. Without thinking, you rush toward her. You don’t pay too much attention to the way she shakes her head vigorously and sobs even louder than before. You wish you had. Just as you rip the tape off her mouth, you hear a cold, menacing voice sound from behind you.

“Drop the gun,” he murmured, using the tip of his foot to gently close the door. “Or I’ll shoot. And trust me, I will shoot. Just ask her.”

Her blue eyes, now glossed over with a new wave of tears, slowly shut while she nods her head at his statement. He’ll shoot.

He will shoot.

Steadily turning around, you tilt your head, raising your gun and aiming it at him. Your voice is stern, “You know I can’t do that. I will if you drop yours.”

“Oh, bullshit. Drop it, or so help me, I’ll kill her right now,” the man snapped, clicking off the safety of his weapon.

Where is Luke? Backup? Hell, Spencer?

“Okay! Okay. Look, I’m putting it down, see?” You relent, kneeling slowly and placing the gun on the ground. He seems satisfied, but the tension in his eyes tells you it’s not enough.

“Now, slide it over.”

Reluctantly, you place your foot behind the firearm and kick it toward him.

A small, bitter laugh escapes his lips. “Now get up. Onto your feet, come on.”

“Okay,” you muttered, ignoring his instructions. Instead, you subtly felt around your ankle, your fingers brushing against the second gun you had stashed there. You cursed yourself under your breath, realizing that Spencer was right again.

Carrying two was incredibly helpful.

“I said get up!” He yelled, his mistake. The sound of shuffling outside the door catches his attention, and that distraction is all you need. You take it out, click off the safety, and aim it at him just as he turns to face you, his eyes widening.

Then, gunshots. Exactly two of them.

Your body crashes against the wall, and your ears are filled with a piercing ringing. The door bursts open, and you hear footsteps rushing toward you.

Did you get him? Did you hit him? You don’t know.

Hands find their way to your abdomen, eliciting a pained whimper from your lips. The person mutters a frantic string of apologies, making you open your eyes to see who it was.

Spencer.

It’s Spencer.

You’re still so, so mad at him. But his expression is worrisome. He’s worried about you.

Looking ahead, you see the UnSub clutching his arm, pain etched across his face, with Luke and another officer roughly dragging him outside. You got him. A small, relieved smile struggles to form on your lips, that’s when it finally registers. There were two gunshots. You were shot.

Your eyes trail up to meet his. “Will I be okay?” You question, your voice soft. He couldn't help but feel himself choking up, he had to be strong. You needed reassurance. He knew that.

“You’re okay.” He tells you, “You’ll be okay.”

Letting out a hum, your eyes welled up with tears that quickly spilled over. He was just telling you what you wanted to hear, and deep down, you knew it. You didn’t feel okay, not even close.

You could barely keep your eyes open.

Spencer says your name, low but loud enough for you to hear. “Stay awake, hm? Can you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s try, okay? Keep your eyes open.”

Fluttering your eyes open, you meet his panicked gaze. He’s saying something—no, he’s yelling something. Medical. Medics. “Medics!”

Just then, three paramedics burst in, dropping to the ground beside you and swiftly but carefully lifting you onto a stretcher. His desperate words echo in your mind: “You’ll be okay.” But you couldn’t fight the darkness much longer. They were here. You’d be okay, right? You’d hope so.

So, you surrender to the sudden exhaustion, darkness consuming your vision as your body goes completely limp on the gurney.

That was when he knew.

A life without you wasn’t a life at all.

…

Once he came to that realization, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the hospital. Not until he knew you were okay. Not until he knew you were alive. The weight of his mistake crushed him. How could he have been so stupid? So utterly foolish to let you leave. So reckless for letting you go.

He only left when he was informed that your surgery was successful and that he should come back tomorrow since you were now resting.

The tension in his shoulders faded, and they slumped against his frame.

You were alive.

The next day, he was right there by your bedside, his calloused hand holding onto yours with a desperation that betrayed his calm facade. He had spent a sleepless night consumed by thoughts of what he would say to you. But the problem was, he wasn’t actually sure.

Though it seems he’d have to figure it out now rather than later, when he hears you stir in your sleep, leading to your eyes blinking open.

The first thing you did was panic. All you remember was being on the floor, with Spencer and the paramedics surrounding you. That was when he quickly stood up and leaned over to look at you, saying, “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe, okay? Look. Hospital.”

At the sight of him, you relaxed. “Right.”

“Good,” Spencer nodded, squeezing your hand once, “You’re okay. How are you feeling?”

“Like I was shot.”

He couldn’t help but wince at that. Too soon. “I’d expect nothing less. Do you need anything?”

You don’t answer, too consumed by the fact that he was actually here. Despite everything that’s happened, he was here. Maybe you should’ve expected it. This is Spencer, after all. He’d be here even if it were someone else.

You weren’t entirely sure if you were only trying to convince yourself to shield from the emotions that had quickly loomed. Still, you couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, “Why are you here?”

His figure tensed, yet without hesitation, he responded, “For you.”

When you don’t reply, he continues, his voice breaking, “I’m so—God, I’m so sorry. For not telling you what I was thinking. For not reassuring you. For letting you think I didn’t care. I do care. You needed me to talk to you, communicate, and I didn’t. I… I don’t know why. What JJ said, it didn’t mean anything to me. You mean everything to me. And I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you that when you asked. I shouldn’t have even questioned it. I shouldn’t have pulled back from you. And it shouldn’t have taken me so long to realize that. I love you. I love you, and I’m sorry.”

I love you, I’m sorry.

You could see the way his eyes watered, and you couldn’t help but pull him toward you, his upper body bending down slightly while you wrapped your arms around his neck. Both of his hands reluctantly settled on your waist; he didn’t want to hurt you. However, when he didn’t feel any signs of you being uncomfortable, he rested them fully before choking out, “I thought I’d lost you.”

Your heart broke. “I’m right here,” you whispered, pulling back and taking his hand to place it over your heart. It was beating a little fast, but still beating nonetheless. “See? I’m okay, I promise.”

Spencer looked down at his hand that still covered your heart, then flickered his gaze to meet yours. You met his with a soft expression, something he hadn’t seen in the past few weeks and had wished to. “Will you come home?”

A small smile made its way onto your face. You nodded. “Maybe.” A pause. “Yes.”

He released a sigh of relief, leaning down to place a tender kiss to your temple. His lips lingered there, savoring the moment longer than needed, and you welcomed the warmth. He settled back into the chair beside your bed, his hand instantly finding yours when you reached out. His thumb brushing back and forth across your knuckles, a gentle and soothing rhythm that spoke volumes.

“Hey, Spence?” You started. When you heard him say your name in return, you asked, “Do you think you can get me some jello?”

The man smiled and nodded, “Of course.”

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr + @writtenbyhollywood ! ౨ৎ

[tender-rosiey]

First of all I love how kind you’ve been to non English speaking anon because as someone who had to learn English, it’s not easy!

Second of all I feel like we don’t see enough fics of jjk men rescuing us from danger! Like imagine gojo saving us from a curse and being like “you know there are better ways to get my attention?” IDUNNO I FELT THE NEED TO SHARE THIS ISDEA 😭

one more — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: it’s nothing <3 a lot of us, including myself, were in there place before so it should be the normal to be patient with them <3

you’re done for, completely and utterly done for.

you’re going to die today and it won’t be because of being stabbed by someone or something normal. no. you were going to get eat by, possibly, the most disgusting and slimy creature you’ve ever seen.

you don’t falter and still fight though, thrashing around in its hold, “let me go you two-toed slimy sewer looking rat!”

the curse seems to have taken great offense to your words cause it frowns then starts swinging you around. It would probably sue you if it could but it settles for preparing to eat you. you start screaming and letting your colorful vocabulary of curses at it.

your cursed technique long forgotten since lo and behold that curse was your natural enemy. so you have nothing to do except to curse it out till it starts crying or something.

just before you’re dropped in its mouth, a figure swiftly catches you and teleports you somewhere safe, a little far away from said curse. you look up and are met with a grinning gojo, “y’know…there are better ways to get my attention than this.”

he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, “you don’t need to be in danger for me to notice you, sweets.”

you snap out of your daze, “I wasn’t trying to get your attention!” you huff as you try to get down but his hold on you doesn’t falter, “oh great, I am released from the shackles of a curse only to be trapped in yours.”

he pouts, pulling you closer and nuzzling your noses together, “aw come on now; I deserve a kiss for this, wifey.”

you shake your head and he sulks, turning to walk away from the scene. you look at the curse then up at him like he has grown two heads, “satoru, what’re you doing?”

“I am not fighting until you give me a kiss.”

you gasp and turn to look at the curse once again. it is contained and won’t harm anyone but you can’t just leave it like that so you look back at your crazy attention-loving husband, “you can’t be serious.”

“I am one hundred percent serious,” he announces but he stops, smirking at you, “so?”

he should be smacked for his smugness but that will be saved for later especially when he continues talking, “I was the brave and strong husband who just saved you, after all.”

so you take a hold of his collar and pull him down, smashing your lips against his. he kisses you back instantly and you guys keep at it a for a while until you smack his shoulder, remembering that there is a curse roaming around.

“that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he says after pulling back, grinning from ear to ear.

you pat his cheek softly and roll your eyes, “haha, very funny,” you point at the audacious curse, “now go deal with it!”

he puts you down then salutes, “yes ma’am!”

satoru then turns around to walk towards it but he suddenly stops in his track. you, who sat on the ground with your favorite drink that satoru got, groan, “what is it now?”

tilting his head so he can meet your eyes, he smiles, “what about one more kiss?”

you are about to reprimand him yet again but then he interrupts you, “on the cheek! so you don’t have to worry about it getting anywhere—at least not now!“

“I should put tape on your mouth so you shut up for a bit,” you stand up and walk towards him, “satoru, you make me think that I spoil you too much,” you hum, straightening his collar.

he puffs his chest with a pout, “is it bad that I want affection from my wife?”

you shake your head as you signal for him for him to bend down and he does so gladly, “no, but you need to get your priorities straight.”

he hums a thank you when you give him the anticipated kiss before he replies, “this is my priorities being straight.”

you roll your eyes with a chuckle, “then I have to explain to you how to prioritize correctly.”

he leans close, lips mere centimeters apart from your own, “a private lesson, huh? I don’t mind—“

you push him away with your index finger, “but later! you have a curse to deal with mister.”

reluctantly, he walks towards it, steps heavy. he looks back at you with a pout, trying to convince you once again, but you don’t falter. you’re already used to his antics and can resist them—to an extent.

giving up, satoru looks at the curse, “you ready to get beaten?”

the curses shakes its head quickly and satoru shrugs, “well, you will anyway,” the curse cries but satoru continues, “and in a heartbeat cause I have a pretty wife to get back to.”

the curses attempts to run away but satoru quickly blasts it and it’s nowhere to be found anymore.

a smile is plastered on his face and there is a spring in his step as he walks—or rather runs back to you, “date time, y/n!”

you don’t know why, but you run away, “but I wanna sleep!”

perhaps instinct.

there is no time to think about it, though, since satoru gasps offended before quickly responding, “we can just cuddle then,” he teleports right in front do you and you bump into his chest.

you grumble and he laughs while holding you up, “so what do you say? some cuddling will be pretty nice.”

“yeah, whatever,” you mumble as your arms wrap around him and you nuzzle into his chest. he presses a loud smooch to your head, ready for at least an hour of cuddling.

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[topguncortez]

matt rempe with angst prompt “they’re lying to you” maybe she’s hughes sister and the boys don’t like her with a ranger player

Loving the Enemy - Matt Rempe

hockey masterlist || g's graduation celebration

synopsis: What was supposed to be an amazing night supporting her boyfriend's first NHL game, turns into a fight amongst siblings which leads to a broken heart. or in which Y/N Hughes is in love with the enemy.

word count: 4.5k

warnings: hockey inaccuracies, language, fighting, mentions of smut, break ups, angst

Being a Hughes sibling wasn’t easy. Being the only girl Hughes sibling was even harder. It wasn’t necessarily that you were a surprise, but your parents didn’t think that they would have a little girl after having three boys in a row. But you were their prized possession, and they would never say it out loud, but you were the favorite child. 

You were close with all your brothers, being the youngest, they had been absolutely enthralled with you when you were born. Quinn had always been more than delighted to be an older sibling, and having a little sister was like getting ice cream before dinner. Jack was a bit indifferent towards you until you were about thirteen and he had accidentally body checked you during a scrimmage. He instantly expected tears, like had happened anytime he accidentally (or purposely) bodychecked you, but instead, you hopped back up and delivered a high stick to him about five minutes later. 

But out of the three Hughes brothers, it was Luke, who you were the closest with. Only 18 months apart, some people believed that you two were twins. Not only did you both get the curly hair, but you both got the height gene that somehow missed Quinn and Jack. The two of you were also the quiet ones of the family, choosing to stick together and out of the spotlight. Luke was the first one you told that you didn’t like hockey, and you were the first one who Luke told he wasn’t going to go to the draft right away. But it wasn’t just the verbal communication that you two had, it was the silent glances and head nods that were understood from across the room. 

And it was because of that bond, that Luke knew there was something you were hiding. He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something off about you. He could hear you late at night talking and giggling with someone over the phone. You had been coming home late at night, using some excuse that you had been out with a friend or studying at a cafe. He even noticed that you were wearing a shirt he had never known you owned the other day. And right now, he knew that you were hiding away in your bedroom, which was uncharacteristically off for you. Usually you loved sitting on the beanbag, making fun of him, Jack, and Nico for playing NHL. 

“Why is he here?” You whispered, peeking through the crack in your door, which gave you the perfect view of the living room, “I thought they were going to his place. Why are they here!?” 

A low chuckle sounded out from behind you, making you turn your head towards the tall, muscular, still half naked man on your bed, “And this is funny to you? You realize if they see you here, you’re dead.” 

“You don’t think I can’t fight them? Jack is what. . . five nine?”

You rolled your eyes, closing your door softly and walking back to your bed, flopping down next to him, “Five eleven and he’ll get out the measuring tape if you even doubt it.” 

He instantly pulled your body into his, making you rest your hand on his peck, “So, you’re telling me you’ve never had a boy in your room before?” A shit eating grin arose on his cheeks, making heat flood yours, “Are you saying that I took your precious-” 

“Oh shut up, Rempe,” You shook your head with a giggle, “It’s not cause you’re a boy, it’s because you’re a fucking Ranger.” 

It wasn’t like you meant for it to happen. 

You were sworn enemies. Well, supposed to be sworn enemies. The rivalry between the New Jersey Devils and the New York Rangers went farther back than you had been alive. The “cross river rivals”, just 10 miles away from each other. Though you hadn’t been a Devils fan until your brother Jack got drafted in 2019, and even then, you still kept somewhat mutual in your cheering for them. But when Luke got drafted three years later, you had sworn your allegiance to the team (even though you swore you would still put on a blue Canucks jersey to support Quinn. . . and even he knew that would only happen when the Canucks weren’t playing the Devils). 

You met Matt by accident. You had been leaving a coffee shop late after working on a research paper. Jack and Luke had told you over and over again to never go out walking in Jersey City alone at night by yourself. But you had never feared being out by yourself. There were plenty of times at UMich where you would leave the library by yourself and walk across campus to your dorm alone. Never had you felt terrified or in danger. But for some reason that night, you felt a shadow looming over your shoulder. 

You had just gathered your things, ready to step out the door and head for the subway, when a voice in your head told you not to go. Your eyes had darted around the shop, looking for someone who you could sit with or strike up a conversation long enough for you to text one of your brothers to come get you. The shop was basically vacant, and the barista behind the counter looked like she was waiting for you to leave so she could lock up. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your backpack, placing your keys in between your fingers just in case. You had barely opened the door when someone placed their hand on your elbow. 

“Daphne? Oh my god, I thought it was you! How the hell have you been?” The man said to you. You could see it in his eyes he was begging for you to go along with it and there was something about him, that you knew you could trust him. 

“Kyle! Holy shit, where have you been!? It’s been what. . . four years?!” You said, overly excited. The barista from behind the counter cleared her throat, her eyes fleeting towards the clock behind her, “I was just about to hit up another spot, do you want to come with?” 

“I would love to, we have some catching up to do.” 

You felt a sigh of relief as you walked out of the coffee shop, the looming darkness fading away the further away you got, “Thank you for. . . that,” You muttered to him. 

“No problem,” He said back, “I’m Matt, by the way.” 

“Y/N,” You looked up at him, “I uh. . . I think I’m going to call an uber now or-” 

“I can take you. . . home. . .” He scratched the back of his neck nervously, “God, I just saved you from one creep now you probably think I’m a fucking creep but I promise I just want to make sure you get home safe and I-” 

“It’s okay,” You giggled, cutting off his rambling, “I would like a ride home, if that’s not too much of a struggle. I trust you. . . even if I just met you.” 

You thought he was good looking before, but the smile that arose on his face amplified that by a thousand. His brown eyes were soft as he held his large calloused and slightly bruised hand out towards you, which you took without second thought. The two of you walked down the street towards a black BMW. You slid your backpack off your shoulder, and he gently took it from your hand, opening the door with his other. He jogged around the back of the car after tossing your backpack in the backseat. 

“Sorry if it smells like a gym in here, I usually hit up Blair’s after practice,” He explained, though there was no smell at all, probably due to the air fresheners he had hanging around his rearview mirror. 

“Smells like winter apple,” You said, reading the label, “What sport do you play?” 

Matt placed his hand on the back of your seat as he backed out of the parking space, and you hated how attractive that was, “Hockey.” A cough spluttered out of your lips as you choked on your own spit at his revelation, “What? Not a hockey fan?” He asked with a nervous chuckle. 

“Who do you play for?” You asked, ignoring his question. 

“Hartford Wolf Pack, but I got signed with the Ranges-” 

“Oh god,” You groaned, holding your face in your hands, “Of course, I was standing in Rangers’ territory.” 

Matt’s brown eyes glanced over at you before looking back at the road in front of him, “Well, I’m sorry,” He shifted in his seat, “Are you like an Islanders fan or something?” 

“Even worse,” You mumbled, “My hot knight in shining armor, turns out to be a Ranger, just my luck.” You sighed, “My brothers play for the Devils.” 

“Wait,” Matt stepped on the brakes, “Brothers? Plural? Are you related to the Hugheses?” 

“Those would be the ones.” 

Matt shook his head, a laugh falling from his lips, “Wow, really fucked up here didn’t we?” You couldn’t help but smile, “Well, Miss Hughes,” Matt said as he pulled up in front of the high rise apartment building, “Is it crossing enemy lines if I ask for your number?” 

You bit your bottom lip, trying to hide the blush arising on your cheeks, “It is. . . but I’ve never been one to swear allegiance to just one place.” 

That night was six months ago, but for you it felt like it was just yesterday. There was a certain thrill about sneaking around with Matt, meeting when your brothers were gone or his roommates were out. You hated the rap he had developed in the AHL. He wasn’t the bad boy goonish hockey player with the fiery temper. He was a sweet, gentle giant, who loved to be the little spoon and have his hair played with. He sent you flowers and money to go get food cause he knew you forget to eat when you are in intense study sessions. Matt had become your everything in such a short amount of time, that you hated keeping him and your relationship from your family. 

It wasn’t that you wanted to keep your relationship a secret on purpose, but you both decided it was going to be the best for both sides. Matt was starting his second season with Hartford and then moving up to play for the Rangers in the Stadium Series. For you, Luke was starting his rookie season, and you were doing everything you can to remain lowkey and out of trouble for his sake. Mentioning that you not only had a boyfriend, but that said boyfriend was Matt Rempe. . . the whole house would be flipped on its side. 

“I have something to tell you,” Matt muttered, grabbing your hand and playing with your fingers. You loved the way that one of Matt’s hands could encase both of yours. You looked up into his soft brown eyes, that you swear resembled those of a baby cow, “The Rangers called. . . they want me to play in the Stadium Series.” 

You gasped in shock, climbing on top of Matt’s lap and grabbing his face in your hands, “They want you to play!? Matt! This is amazing!” 

A smile crawled across his lips, “Thank you,” You watched as a shadow of doubt and unease filled his eyes, “I want you there.” 

“I’ll be there,” You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips, “I’ll be the loudest one there.” 

“Oh you better,” Matt said, one of his hands gliding up to rest on your ass, the other one tangling in your hair, “You know I love you, right.” 

“I love you too,” You smiled. Those three words would never fail to put a smile on your face. 

“Good,” Matt smirked, “Cause right now, I need you to be very, very quiet.” 

— — — 

You didn’t really think it through when you told Matt that you would be there for the Stadium Series game. Not only did you have to sneak past your brothers to take the train to MetLife, you had to also sneak past your parents. Being the youngest of three boys, your parents had perfected the craft of knowing when one of their kids was hiding something. 

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” Luke asked, standing in the doorway of your room. 

“Positive,” You did your best trying to pretend you were sick, “My body just aches and my head hurts. I think I’m getting sick.” You hated lying to your brother. You hated lying to any of your brothers, but especially Luke. 

Luke frowned, “I hate that you’re missing this dinner.” Nico had decided to host a dinner for all the parents, friends and family that came into town to watch them play in yesterday’s stadium game. You also hated that you were missing spending time with your family, but it's Matt’s first game. You weren’t going to miss that for the world. 

“Can you bring me back some fries?” You asked meekly. 

“Of course, ducky,” Luke nodded, using the childhood nickname he gave you, “Text me if you need anything.” 

You waited until the front door closed, before climbing out of bed and getting dressed. You threw on a pair of black jeans and a white Rangers sweatshirt. You finished the outfit with a hat and your coat, hoping to conceal your identity amongst the crowd. The train ride to MetLife was short, and you followed the crowd into the stadium. Matt had done good with getting you a ticket, sitting you a few rows behind the Rangers bench. You had gotten there in time to see them warming up, Matt’s large frame skating around the ice with ease. 

It was as if he could sense that you were there, his brown eyes searching the stands until he found you. He sent you a small wave, which made your heart flutter as you returned the gesture. He looked extremely good in his white Rangers jersey and the eye black on his cheeks. You knew how important this game was to him, not only was it his first game, but it also fell on the anniversary of his dad’s death. You knew that all he wanted in the world was for his dad to see him play the sport they both loved. 

Within minutes of the puck dropping, the Rangers took control. You felt the familiar anxiety that you would get when watching your brothers take the ice, when Matt got off the bench. You clenched your fists tightly as the Rangers moved down the ice, skating flawlessly and making a goal. You stood up and cheered with the crowd as the goal horn went off, high fiving strangers and screaming in joy.

However the giddy feeling quickly went away, as you looked back towards the center, and saw your boyfriend in a fist fight. You knew he was a fighter at Hartford, and it wasn’t your favorite thing about his hockey game. He was a gifted player, with the height and reach other players would die for. You hated that the Wolfpack had set him up to be a goon within his first season there. 

You watched with bated breath as the refs let him and the Islanders player battle it out. Punches delivered from both players, until they finally came to a draw. You shook your head as Matt raised his arms, trying to get the crowd fired up as he skated towards the penalty box. His first NHL game and his first five minute penalty for fighting. 

As Matt sat down, taking the bag of ice from his trainer, he turned to scan the crowd, looking for you. He easily spotted you, standing out amongst the crowd as you gave him a look. 

“You okay?” You mouthed and Matt nodded, holding up his bruised hand. You playfully rolled your eyes, “Pay attention,” and pointed back to the game. Matt smirked, giving you a mock salute before turning back towards his team on the ice. 

When the game ended, in a Rangers victory, you left quickly. You wanted to stay and see Matt and hug him, but you knew that you would be cutting it close to when your brothers and parents would be back. You settled for sending him a text, and telling him you would come over as soon as you could to help celebrate with him. 

The apartment was dark when you arrived back, your siblings still out at the dinner with the team. You let out a sigh of relief, dashing back to your room and changing back into your pajamas. By the time you had settled down and turned on some cheesy romcom, the front door opened and the familiar sounds of your brothers and parents filtered into the apartment. 

“Ducky!” Luke shouted. 

“She’s probably sleeping, asshole,” Jack scolded him. 

“Don’t call your brother an asshole,” Your mom chided. 

“Ducky!” Luke called again, “I got you fries!” 

You giggled, pushing the covers back and going to greet your family. Their smiles were big and comforting as you sat down at the island, opening the to-go container of fries. Jack filled you in on everything you missed at dinner, your mother sitting behind you and playing with the ends of your hair like she used to do when you were younger. It felt like old times, the only person missing was Quinn. You knew he was doing great things out in Vancouver, but you missed having him around. The facetime calls weren’t enough. 

“So what did you do tonight, duck?” Your dad asked. 

“Oh uh,” You cleared your throat, “Just watched some movies and slept.” 

“You missed an exciting hockey game,” He said, “That Rempe kid is going to be a menace.” 

“Yeah,” You tried to hide the blush arising on your cheeks, “I’m gonna go back and lay down, still not feeling the best.” 

“Okay, sweetheart,” Your mom squeezed your shoulder, “We’ll see you in the morning.” 

You nodded your head, “Yeah, maybe we can go to that bakery on the corner-” 

“What the fuck were you doing at MetLife?” Luke’s cut you off. You looked at him, your heart thundering in your chest. 

“I-I wasn’t at M-MetLife,” You cursed your nervous stutter. 

“Bullshit,” Luke cursed, putting his phone on the counter, and clear as day there was a picture of you, in your white Rangers sweatshirt, sitting behind the bench, “I thought you were sick.” 

Tears began to cloud your eyes as you looked at your parents and then your brothers, “I’m sorry.” 

“Why did you lie, Y/N?” Your mom asked. And suddenly you felt like you were a child all over again, being scolded by your parents. You hated getting in trouble, you hated looking at your parents and seeing disappointment in their eyes. The only time you ever really cried was when you were in trouble. 

“I. . .” You huffed, “I went to watch Matt play in his first NHL game.” 

“Matt?” Luke asked, “. . . Matt fucking Rempe?” You nodded your head. You felt your mom shift behind you, her stance going into protective mode, “Why the fuck would you go watch Matt fucking Rempe play-” 

“Language, Luke,” Your mom spoke. 

“Because we are dating.” 

Silence spread across the kitchen for a moment, before laughter sounded out. A cruel sounding laughter as you looked at Luke. It was the fake sounding, teasing laughter that made you feel like a child. 

“No you’re not,” Luke shook his head, “There’s no way.” 

“Why?” You asked softly, “We’ve been together for six months.” 

“No,” Luke chuckled again, “You aren’t dating him. You are not dating a hockey player, let alone one that has more penalty minutes than time on the ice. You aren’t dating him, you might be fucking him-” 

“Luke!” 

“But you aren’t dating him.” 

You shook your head, tears falling down your cheeks, “He loves me.” 

“Yeah and when did he say that? Before or after you fucked-” 

“Enough!” Your mom stood up, her hands on the counter, “Y/N, you shouldn’t have lied to us about going to the game. If you wanted to go to support Matt, that’s all you needed to say,” You nodded, looking down at the counter, “Luke, you do not get to say those things about your sister and her relationship. You do not get to say those things about any woman for that matter. Now, apologize.” 

You looked up at your brother, expecting to see remorse in his eyes, but all you saw was anger. Luke looked at you, before grabbing his phone and going to his room. You closed your eyes, feeling regret and guilt rising in your body. You mom put her hand on your shoulder, as a small sob left your lips. 

— — — 

It had been two weeks since your fight with Luke. Your parents had flown back to Michigan, leaving Jack to play the mediator between the two of you. Your mom had not so secretly texted Quinn to tell him what happened. He had called you the night after they left, which led to another tearful confession about your relationship with Matt. Quinn, being the big brother that he is, said he was upset that you felt like you couldn’t tell him about your relationship, but was nonetheless happy for you as long as you were happy. 

But you weren’t sure if you were happy. Luke had refused to talk to you, or even be near you. If you entered the same room he was in, he would leave. He wouldn’t fix you a plate of food like he usually did, or tell you when he was leaving for the arena for a home game. He wouldn’t even respond in the groupchat when you would ask him a question directly. 

But your strained relationship with Luke wasn’t the only relationship on the rocks. You hadn’t talked to Matt since the night of the stadium series. He had sent you countless text messages and left voicemails. He even went as far as sending flowers daily to the apartment, which Luke would toss out if you weren’t quick enough to grab them.

You were laying in your bed, half watching an episode of Bridgerton, like you had been for the past two weeks. Normally, you would be out in the living room with your brothers, but your bedroom felt like the only safe space in the entire apartment. You could hear the occasional shout or jest from your brothers as they were playing some video game on their night off. Beside you, on your bedside table, your phone buzzed for probably the tenth time this evening, another missed call from the same person. 

You weren’t sure what you were doing. You knew it was hurtful to string Matt along like this, but you also didn’t have the heart to break up with him. These past two weeks had felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest, and to even think about living a life without him in it hurt too much. 

You let out a slow breath as you closed your eyes, listening as the buzzing of your phone finally stopped. However, the loud sound of knocking pulled you from your moment of peace. 

“Did you order something?” Jack’s muffled voice sounded out. 

“No,” Luke said back. There was shuffling as the front door opened and the knocking ceased, “Oh you’re fucking kidding me. Why the hell are you here?” 

“Where’s Y/N?” Your heart sped up at the sound of the all too familiar voice. You quickly jumped up from your bed, opening your door and running to the living room. There in all his tall glory, stood the man you loved, “Y/N.” 

It felt like the air had been drawn back into your lungs as you looked at him, “Matt.” 

“I uh. . .I just needed to see that you were okay. You haven’t been answering my calls or my texts,” Matt scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, looking at you and then your two brothers, “I’m gonna go now.” 

“Wait,” You said, taking a step forward, “Can I talk to you?” Matt nodded his head, looking like a lost puppy dog. You looked at your two brothers, “Can I talk to him alone?” 

“Yeah, c’mon Moose, we got game film to look at,” Jack said. Luke looked Matt up and down once, before letting him into the apartment and following his older brother down the hall towards the office room. 

You silently walked over to the couch, Matt following behind you. The two of you sat there in silence for a moment, before you broke the ice. 

“Do you love me?” 

Matt’s head snapped towards you, as your eyes looked straight ahead at the tv, “What?” 

“Do you love me?” You looked over at him, “Do you mean it when you say-” 

“Yes,” Matt answered quickly, “Yes, I do love you. I mean it every single time I say it. Why are you asking me this?” 

You shook your head, “Luke said something and I-” 

“He’s lying to you,” Matt moved from the couch to kneel down in front of you. He took your hands in his, “I love you, Y/N Hughes. I know we’ve only been together for six months but it’s been the happiest six months of my life. Not even hockey fills me with the joy as being with you does. So yes, I love you. I love you so fucking much.” 

You sniffled, tears falling from your eyes. Matt quickly wiped his thumb over your cheekbone, “I’m sorry. I. . . It all fell apart so quickly. Luke found out I lied and went to the game, and then he got so mad. I didn’t want to have to choose between-” 

“No, you shouldn’t have to choose,” Matt said, tears brimming his own eyes. He was silent for a moment, warring thoughts in his head as he thought of what to say, “It would absolutely break me to pieces, but I won’t be the reason why you and your siblings don’t talk anymore. I. . . I can’t do that to you.” 

“Are you breaking up with me?” You gasped. 

“I don’t want you and Luke to not talk to each other because of me.” 

“No,” You shook your head, “It will be okay, I promise. He’ll get over it.” 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Matt said, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, “I know your family means everything to you, and I can’t stand to be the one who ruins that. I’m so, so sorry,” Matt leaned forward, placing a kiss on your forehead, “I’ll always love you. No matter what. You are it for me.” You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of his warmth, “Goodbye Y/N.” 

You sat there, unmoving as Matt stood up and walked towards the door. Your eyes fluttered open at the sounds of your brothers' footsteps, moving towards you.

“Are you happy?” You sneered at Luke, “He broke up with me.” 

“Ducky-” Luke sighed. 

“No,” You stood up shaking your head, “The love of my life just walked out the door because he knows that I care too much about you and your opinion. So Luke, are you happy?”

[hotwritergf]

Bestfriend Reader in a skirt casually sitting on eddies lap and when she gets up/or maybe eddie realizes she left a wet patch on his leg

Bestfriend!Eddie gets cockwarmed. Eddie Munson x female reader. Smut. Blurb.

(I got so carried away here!! Thank you for this prompt<3)

Eddie’s trailer wasn’t the most spacious of places, but when he offered to have movie night there rather than the Harrington mansion, you all politely agreed.

That’s how you got in this situation. Robin and Vickie were nestled up under a blanket on the floor surrounded by pillows, they seriously looked like something from a cheesy teen movie, it was such an adorable sight. Nancy and Jonathan sat side by side on the couch, his head leaning on her left shoulder and her fingers combing through his fringe, muttering something about him needing a hair cut. Steve was sat to the right of you cradling a pillow. He looked sweet all cuddled into it, his nose wrinkled up as his face pushes into the pillow, and you, were sat on Eddie’s lap.

It wasn’t an unusual thing for you to be physically affectionate with Eddie, you’d known each other since you were three. He’d showered and taken baths with you when you were kids when the Munson’s water supply was cut off from tough times with money and your mom always let them use your bath tub and shower when they needed it. He’d seen you grow from a little toddler into what you are today, 5’5 and 21 years old. He’d seen all of your style experiments to try and figure out who you were, but you were always so jealous of Eddie. He knew who he was from a young age. I mean he forced you to listen to KISS and Metallica when you were pre-teens. He knew what he wanted and what he liked, you admired that. You admired him.

Your back facing his chest, heat radiating under the blanket he’d hauled over the pair of you. You didn’t bat an eyelid when his hand snuck under your shirt, drawing little patterns with his finger tips on your skin. Tracing your spine and writing curse words with his nails, it tickled. It was soft and oh so soothing. He walked his fingers up your back, pretending as if his pointer and middle fingers were a persons legs. Getting closer and closer to the back of your neck and your head tilted back with a jolt. You turn around to face him, a look of playful annoyance plastered over your face but ruined with a smile when you were met with Eddie’s devious smirk.

He pouts, silently saying how he’ll make it up to you. He didn’t say that with words, but you knew. You and Eddie could almost read each other’s minds, it was a little scary. His fingers swoop over your back again, but this time slower and gentler. It was a barely there touch. His fingers felt featherlight as they grazed up and down your back, with both hands added now. Lifting your hand to cover your smile, a feeling of relaxation washed over you. Whilst whatever movie Robin had chosen seemed interesting, all you could think about and feel, was Eddie.

Before you knew it, you felt your throat let out a groan. A guttural moan, it was quiet and thankfully covered up by the background sound of the movie. But Eddie’s hands didn’t stop, they teased your sides, open palm rubbing up and down them. You squint your eyes shut tightly, but your brain is filled with thoughts. Thoughts of the night when the tension got too much for you, the night Eddie leant in and kissed you. He tasted of weed, you were both as high as a kite but the melody of his playing corroded coffin tape set the scene so well. He rubbed your sides just like this when you were sat on his lap last time. Only last time, he was inside you.

The burning desire in the pit of your stomach ached for more again. Rutting your body slowly across Eddie’s thigh, rolling your hips just like you did on his cock before. The feel of his denim clad thigh harsh against your clothed clit, you hide to bite your lip to hold back a moan. Eddie just felt so good. He definitely knew what you were doing, he began to bounce you on his thigh, slowly at first but picking up the pace when he felt your hands find their way to his. He rocks you, backwards and forwards, rubbing your clit against him. Pleasure washes over you completely, you’re blissed out. He begins to buck his hips beneath you, feeling his hard cock hit against your ass. You just wished he’d slide your panties aside and let you cock warm here right here, right now. He thrusts against you again, you wonder if he’s leaking in his boxers. You’d do anything to taste his pearlescent beads of cum, so you wriggle your ass in his lap. You get away with it too, pretending like you’re dancing to the music the movie is playing. Teasing him and feeling him grow harder and harder underneath you, letting him thrust against the small of your back.

Until he stops. Turns you to face him by his finger and thumb grasping your chin, “Not here, behave and you can have a special treat later.” He teases, not missing your eyes widening and the blush spread across your face at his words. After he plants a soft kiss on your forehead, you turn back and try to focus on the movie but your mind is elsewhere. It’s so fucking tedious, even if you weren’t distracted you’d find this movie boring, you make a mental note to joke about the plot holes of this film with Steve later, he definitely feels the same about Robin’s movie choices because he is in fact snoring into the pillow.

It all feels never ending, you’re so turned on and there’s nothing you can do but sit and wait, feeling Eddie’s cock deflate and turn soft underneath you. But after 40 excruciatingly long minutes when all you can feel is the throbbing between your thighs and the uncomfortable sensation of your soaked panties, cold and wet against your pussy, the movie finishes.

The party clear up their mess and the guests leave, Nancy and Jonathan drive Steve home. Robin and Vickie walk back to Vickie’s parent’s house, a “slumber party” they had told them. Leaving you and Eddie, alone. You stand up for the first time in hours, stretching your arms above your head. Eddie’s arms clasp around your middle, and he pulls you back onto the couch, pinning your arms to the cushion.

Pointing at the now dampened and discoloured material of his jeans, “look at that. You soaked me through, princess. Your pussy drenched my thigh, in front of all of our friends. So dirty.” He cooed, his voice breathy and drowning in need. Eddie’s hand lets go of your wrists and begins to palm over his jeans, a tent shape that had been there for a while now. His pants looked tight, like the button was about to pop off and his cock spring out. “Had me so fucking hard for so long, now it’s time for your treat huh?”

[ikarakie]

one of the known, undisputed rules of riding in steve harrington's car: passenger seat gets music privileges.

if you brought your own tape, and won the usually vicious battle for shotgun, there was a 100% chance that the drive would be backed with music of your choice. hell, there was even a small collection growing in steve's glove box of music that wasn’t his, because people left them behind either on accident or on purpose. no one really knew what steve liked to listen to- maybe minus robin- but he always seemed happy with whatever the passenger put in.

until one day, when dustin and lucas and mike climbed into his car. dustin had won passenger seat privileges, after a rather tense game of rock, paper, scissors, and instantly reached for the tape player.

steve smacked his hand down. "paws off, henderson." he scolded, not unkindly. all three kids stared at him like he'd grown a third limb as he pulled out of the wheeler's driveway. electric guitar played at a semi-low volume.

"what the hell?!" dustin squawked. "why can't i change the tape?" steve rolled his eyes, fingers tapping along to the rhythm of the beat on the wheel. none of the kids recognised the song, and it certainly didn't seem the kind of thing steve harrington would willingly listen to.

"is it so surprising i want to listen to my own tape in my car?" steve asks. dustin shouts an affronted, 'YES!' to which steve just shakes his head and continues driving.

the man on the track sings over heavy drums and guitar, talking about how he needed someone to 'show me the things that make true happiness' and 'he must be blind.' then, there's a guitar solo that steve smiles at.

"who are you?" mike asked, suspicious. "what did you do with our steve?"

"oh, shut up, wheeler." steve meets his eye in the rearview mirror. "next one to complain loses tape privileges for their next three turns."

that does shut them up. they make idle conversation over a couple more songs before they pull up to their destination. mostly threatening each other over high scores and making bets. steve waves them off with the usual 'don't be stupid' lecture and pulls out of the arcade parking lot, the bass of whatever the next track had been audible even through his closed doors and windows.

after that, steve retains ownership of his stereo every now and then, always playing some form of heavy metal. it just becomes the norm, though never fails to confound whoever's in the car. (because, seriously? polo shirt wearing steve harrington and heavy metal?)

they only ever hear anyone else listen to it after they join hellfire. eddie invites them to his trailer to create their characters together, and when they walk in one of the songs from that dumb tape is playing from a record in the corner.

"woah! you like this music too?" lucas asks. eddie nods excitedly.

"yeah, man! you a fan?" his smile dims a little when lucas shakes his head, but dustin is quick to jump in.

"our friend steve is always listening to a dumb mixtape with this sorta stuff on it." he explains, missing how eddie's eyes light up and his smile turns a little bashful. "he used to let us play whatever we want, but ever since he got that tape he makes us listen to it sometimes when he drives us around."

"well," eddie sighs, fiddling with one of his chunky silver rings. "seems this steve knows someone with very good taste in music." there's a warm look in his eyes before he claps his hands and diverts their attention to the character sheets he printed out.

later that night, steve gets a call.

"you told me you only listened to that tape once." the voice on the other end drawls. it's low and teasing, but it's undercut with obvious wonder and fondness. steve doesn't even bother pretending to be confused.

"well, it's good." (it makes me think of you) he replies, like it pains him. eddie giggles, and steve eyes the tape in question. sat on his bedside table, 'for my stevie' scrawled across it in eddie's neatest handwriting. shitty little hearts drawn around his name and an even shittier skull at the end. "how'd you know?"

"recognised my mötörhead record." eddie coos, "told me how you revoke their music privileges to listen to it." a pause. "you're so fucking cute."

steve can't help the dorky smile that spreads over his face. the way he twirls the phone cord like a fucking lovesick loser. he cracks a joke about making eddie a mixtape featuring the likes of duran duran and tears for fears, which makes him fake retch. they chat for a little while longer, whispering 'i love you's through the phones like it was their first time saying it.

the tape stays firmly in the bmw's music rotation.

[the-thing-withfeathers]

exceeded caution part 6

i get it now

series masterlist | previous part | next part

a/n: OKAY OKAY this is a super fucking long chapter i am so sorry but i had to finish up the rest of the canon and add some cheeky little sam and tara moments for y'all. plsplspls forgive me.

pairing: ex!tara carpenter x f!reader into sam carpenter x f!reader

warnings: LONG ASS CHAPTER. cursing, threatening language, gun usage, knife usage, major character deaths, stabbing, blood, gore, descriptions of murder, straight up murder. 6.7k words.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

“you’re not woodsboro.”

sam’s voice rang in your ears as your head pounded. you were in pain, your arm stung, your eyes felt heavy. it’s like you were coming out of a coma.

when you regained consciousness, you saw that danny was already awake. you tried to speak but you found that there were several layers of duct tape holding your mouth shut. you tried to move then realised you were restrained— that’s why your arm hurt so much.

you were tied to something. you tried to turn your head and you felt a rough, coarse material against your cheek. looking further, you were tied to a mannequin.

you turned over to danny and saw that he was trying to figure out where you were. the room was nearly completely dark, you guys were working only with the light that was shining through cracks in the door.

you deduced that you were probably inside the theater, you were just unsure about where exactly. you knew how you got here, it wasn’t hard to figure that part out. a part of you was frustrated that you allowed it to happen.

you heard commotion outside. it sounded like rattling.

and then it was screaming.

it sounded like tara for a second, you tried to fight against the rope that tied your hands together. you had no idea what was happening out there but there’s no way it was any good.

as the sound got further away, the door clicked open, revealing bailey.

you tried to speak against the tape on your mouth, asking him for help. as he tilted his head, looking at you mockingly, you quickly put together that he wasn't here to help.

"you were just too easy of a target." he said, the shift in his tone was unmissable. he had gone from a man that you relied on to a ruthless killer. "and now sam is gonna suffer the consequences of her actions."

he was a ghostface walking in to collect you and danny. danny tried to fight against the movement but you knew it was no use. the ghostface wheeled you to the stage, setting you on the right side of the glass enclosure that held billy loomis’ get-up. danny was placed on the opposite side.

god, you felt like you were about to throw up. they trusted him. you even trusted him. he was police, he was supposed to make you feel safe.

you suddenly felt a mesh fabric fall over your head. you were wearing one of the ghostface cloaks. you had no idea who it belonged to but you were uncomfortable knowing it belonged to someone that died.

you saw him do the same to danny. your cloaks looked similar, as if they were a part of a matching set. you looked straight ahead and squinted your eyes. the lights were blinding, the fact that there was a sheet in the way wasn’t helping.

you managed to make out shadows running towards the cinema’s entrance door. two, to be exact.

when the doors swung open, you saw sam and tara running into the room. where was chad? and mindy? and ethan? and kirby? you had too many questions. they were down too many people.

strength in numbers.

suddenly, you heard footsteps trade places with each other. one was running towards you and the other was walking away. someone in a ghostface attire brushed past you, you turned to see bailey walking backstage.

you watched as the ghostface leaped down the stage through the sheet. you only had a sliver of vision to work with. you tried crying out again once you saw the two girls come closer, but it was no use. they were too occupied by... two ghostfaces?

fuck. there were three of them.

only two sisters.

a gust of wind opened up more of the sheet. you watched as sam grabbed two bricks and handed one to tara. smart girl. you heard tara cry out for her sister, you felt yourself start to cry at the girl's helpless pleas.

"ready?" you heard sam ask, it was only met with tara's breathless sobs. "i need you to be ready. you ready?"

they were about to fight. you were scared shitless. they had bricks. the killers had knives. it could go any way. you knew that the girls were more than capable, but that didn't stop the images of their dead bodies on the carpet flooding through your head.

"come on motherfucker!" you heard tara scream. there she fucking was. a fire in you was lit when you heard that, you felt yourself ready to spring into action the second you were free.

suddenly, gunshots.

"it's okay!" you heard kirby walk out from the other side of the sheet. fuck, if only she saw you.

"stay the fuck back!" sam yelled at her. what the fuck was going on? why did sam suddenly distrust kirby too?

"we know it's you, kirby." tara said. you saw sam step back, bringing tara along with her.

bailey must have said something to them. him and kirby were in the same field but they butted heads too much. you knew he would try and turn them against her.

"somebody knocked me out!" kirby said in a begging tone, she needed sam and tara to believe her.

"kirby, stop!" you heard that deep authoritative voice again. he switched over too quickly. "get away from the girls!" you saw him come down the aisle with his gun drawn.

"what are you doing?" kirby asked him.

"did you kill quinn? did you kill my daughter?" his act was convincing. if you didn't know any better, you'd believe him too.

wait. quinn. why would he kill his own daughter? unless... oh my god.

"jesus christ!" kirby exclaimed. "whatever he's been saying to you, please don't listen to him. he's probably the killer."

please, please, please.

believe her. please.

the sheet covered your vision again, you had no idea what to think when you heard "behind you!" and three shots fired.

when your field of view increased again, you realised kirby was nowhere to be seen.

no!

you couldn't make out anything more. you heard faint voices but not enough to make anything clear out of it. for a theater, it had horrible acoustics.

you watched as the reveal happened.

ethan went first. he took of his mask, a sinister smile on his face. mindy was right, she was always right.

"fuck it felt good to kill him!" was the only thing you could make out from ethan's speech. him? chad? you had no idea where he was. you hoped that he didn't mean chad.

and then there she was, in all her very much alive glory. quinn.

you knew he wouldn't kill his own daughter.

it was eerily impressive, how they faked her death. you had to hand it to them for that one, it broke hearts. it tore down their morale.

you saw ethan and quinn disappear from your view, replaced by bailey wielding billy loomis' mask, handing it to sam. he wanted her to put it on, she looked repulsed by it.

"if you don't put it on... well..." ethan and quinn worked together to yank the sheet down, revealing you and danny. two spotlights were pointed directly at you. there was also a series of clips projected onto your skin, you couldn't make out exactly what they were.

sam and tara turned around to face you. the looks on their faces were a mix of things; fear, anger, worry, and most importantly, regret.

you were crying.

crying so much that your chest felt tight.

sam wanted more than anything to just run to you and set you free. she owed you a million apologies when you got out of this, but it was her call that ended with you in this position, so she didn't know if you would ever forgive her.

and tara would never forgive her either. seeing your snot and tear covered face broke her to pieces. she still cared for you, and she never wished this on you.

"we have two of your very dear friends to use as leverage!" bailey laughed, stepping closer to the two girls. "the more the merrier!"

quinn stepped closer to you, roughly ripping the tape off your mouth. the skin that held the adhesive grew hot, stinging. ethan walked back down the stage to join his father.

your voice was choked down by saliva and breathlessness, but you still managed.

"sam!!" you shouted at her. you were going to say more but quinn stepped behind you, holding a knife to your throat. you backed your head up as far as you could against the mannequin.

"stay the fuck away from her!" sam barked an order at quinn. but quinn knew she had the upper hand.

"hey tara!" quinn called out to the younger girl. tara turned to look at her, a glare on her face.

"the fuck do you want, quinn?" tara hissed at her.

"isn't it ironic that she's wearing your girl's cloak?" quinn tilted her head. "we thought it would be a little bit symbolic. you wanted her to be so much like amber and now here she is, sporting her wardrobe."

that was revolting. you wanted to take this thing off and take a five-hour long shower. you wanted to claw and itch at the fabric until it was torn into shreds.

"and not just that! sam... your boy toy is wearing richie!" ethan covered his mouth to mock snicker at her. "it's just too good!"

"you made it so easy, sam. when you made that call to leave them outside? we thought we would have to work harder." bailey sneered. "i bet you're regretting it now."

he was right. she was regretting it. she should have trusted you. and even if you ended up being the killer, she would have found a way. sam always finds a way.

"why the fuck are you doing this? you did this as a family?!" sam asked bailey, simultaneously spinning around to keep an eye on you and danny as well.

"oh yeah, bitch! you should know better than anyone!" quinn snapped at her.

"they're still not getting it!" ethan ridiculed them.

"i don't know what you believe but i didn't commit those murders in woodsboro! it wasn't me!" sam was trying to multitask figuring something out, how you could all get out of this alive.

"of course you didn’t! you think this is about that conspiracy theory bullshit?" bailey scoffed. "who do you think started those rumors about you in the first place?"

from behind you, quinn raised her hand.

"do you know how easy it was to turn sam from the hero of woodsboro to the villain?" you weren't surprised. you knew how tech-savvy quinn was, even outside of ghostface. "how easy it is to convince the world to believe the worst in people rather than the best?"

while ethan went on about destroying someone's character, your eyes scanned your surroundings. maybe you could figure out your own way of escaping so tara and sam had less to focus on.

"ah, ah, ah. eyes up, pretty girl. can't take any chances." quinn said, nudging your chin up with her knife. she leaned closer to your ear. "you know, it's a shame tara got to you first, i think you and i could have been fun."

you rolled your eyes at her, "dream on, quinn."

"i never had a chance anyway. i heard you have a thing for carpenters." she giggled. "i wonder how you're gonna feel when we slaughter them both in front of you."

"fuck off, quinn!" you spat at her. she just laughed softly and stood back upright.

"so when dad here 'discovers' your horribly mutilated bodies posed with sam wearing her father’s mask? he’ll say some poor dumb bastard must have read on the internet that you’re the real ghostface and took matters into their own deluded hands!"

it was an interesting plan, you thought, they would get what they wanted. they would get sam out of the way and get away with their own crimes. the only way for you all to get out of it though? kill them first.

"and even better! we'll say you went crazy and wanted to relive what you had with richie, so you dressed poor danny up in his clothes and killed him!" ethan's laughter hurt to hear.

"that's why it’s the perfect alibi!" bailey was practically jumping for joy. "because like all the best lies are based on a truth - you’re a killer, just like your father was."

"don't listen to them, sam!" you interrupted him. bold, you knew. but you had to say something to get her to focus on the real goal. she looked at you and nodded.

"i'm not a killer!" sam screeched.

"yes you are motherfucker, you killed our brother!" quinn's voice was piercing your ears. she had raised her voice and you had to recoil to avoid your eardrums being burst again.

"your brother?" tara started. "your brother died in a car accident."

"people lie, tara!" ethan interjected. "our brother died in woodsboro... at the hands of your bitch sister!"

sam blinks for a beat. she looks at ethan, then at quinn, then at he detective. she saw him in them. she just had to look hard enough. there was only one person it could have been.

"richie?" she pauses. "you're richie's family?"

ethan lunged forward, driving his knife into her collar. you let out a scream as sam clutched her wound, tara holding her up to support her.

"ding-ding-ding! she's getting it now!" ethan said, stepping back again.

you watched as tara and sam knocked over a statue and made their way to the side of the theater.

ethan gave chase,. tara swung a brick towards him, nearly nicking him.

"come on!!" you roared, trying to push them. you were about to scream again until you felt a sharp pain at your side. your cry of fury turned into a cry of pain. quinn had stabbed you, her knife completely inserted into your side. "fuck!" you cried out.

sam and tara both turned their attention to you. the knife hanging out of your side was enough to send both their lunches back up. sam's eyes hardened, like she was turning into a completely different person. she swore that she would wrangle the life out of quinn, even if it was the last thing she did.

"there she is." quinn smirked at sam. "there's the fucking killer."

you felt the wind sucked out of you when she retracted the blade, blood trickling down into your hipbone. the pain was unbearable, you didn't know how sam recovered so quickly after being stabbed.

"nice job with the parenting." tara mocked bailey.

"shut up!" ethan yelled, shoving tara and sam back over to the middle aisle. "get over there!"

bailey huffed. "am i a perfect dad? no. did i overindulge richie's fascination with these silly movies a little too much? maybe." he held his hand out. "for me, they're just a little dark."

you agreed with him. they made your stomach churn. you first watched them with mindy when you discovered the series of killings in woodsboro. she wanted to show you the films to give you a better insight on what happened. yes, they were overexaggerated but they still played a big part in the franchise.

"but... richie really loved them." he feigned a crying tone. "he even made a few of his own."

you realised that the clips being projected on your body were richie's films.

bailey ascended the steps, moving closer to you and danny. quinn made her way over to danny too, you knew that if the sisters tried anything, he would suffer an injury too.

"richie was a very passionate collector, as you can see." bailey gestured to the entire theater.

"this... this was all his?" sam asked, her voice stuttering.

you had grown to hate this richie guy. you hated the idea of him hunting sam down and earning her trust, only to turn out to be an obsessive creep.

"it was. and he even seemed to inspire others. so we had to kill those wannabe's... because we wanted the privilege of taking your life." bailey shrugged. "i built this shrine for him after he died to honour his memory." he turned around to watch his son's film again. "which is why this is where you have to die, sam."

"what happens next? after you're done with us, what? you just disappear?" sam asked, shaking her head.

"no!" bailey waved his hand at her in dismissal. "we gotta hurry over to the hospital to make sure mindy and gale don't pull through!"

mindy. mindy was at the hospital. you knew something was wrong when you didn't see her come in with everyone else.

"because everybody dies, sam!" bailey raised his gun to point the barrel at sam. "everyone who had anything to do with the death of my son! suffers. and dies."

"fuck yeah!" quinn and ethan cheered for their father. they were pumped up and ready to slash their knives at anything.

"now put on the mask." bailey ordered her.

you watched as sam looked at the ground. her face changed. she had all that pent up rage brewing deep down inside of her. it was reaching its boiling point. you almost leaned forward in anticipation.

"he was..." sam breathed slowly. "so pathetic."

yes, he was. cause anyone who decided that it would be fun to cross sam was absolutely fucking pathetic.

bailey stumbled over his words, his voice turning nasal. "that's... that's not true!"

sam was drawing them in, poking at all their weak spots. she was trying to rile them up then shoot them down. tara knew what she was doing, she understood her sister more than anyone.

"yeah... he was a man-baby." she prodded further, "who made his girlfriend do all the killing."

you wish you could see the detective's face right now, he was beginning to crack. you found amusement in it.

"he was a strong, virile young man?" jesus, who uses virile?

"he was a limp-dick little fuck." she stressed her words. "who cried before i slit his throat."

there she was, that was your sam. the sam that carried the rage of a thousand suns and the sam that wouldn't hesitate to use it to save the ones she loved.

"shut the fuck up!" quinn yelled from the stage, running straight towards tara. she jumped down and tara swung the brick at her. you swear you saw her teeth fly out of her mouth.

kirby suddenly rose from her state, firing bullets at detective bailey. tara ran straight for you, grabbing a blade from one of the cases. as she cut you loose, you watched kirby get tackled to the floor by ethan.

sam turned around to help her. as he plunged his knife into her, sam hit him in the head with a brick. she yanked the blade out of kirby as ethan recovered, a hand on the back of his head.

"got it!" tara declared, undoing the ropes. you put a hand to your side, it was still bleeding but you were confident you could pull through.

"go help danny!" you told her. she was about to turn but you pulled her back suddenly. "thank you. you did well." you said to her, she nodded and turned back around to run to danny.

danny ran out the back door, tara pushed a prop closet in front of it to block it. she sent him to get help and wanted to maximise your chances of getting it.

you faced sam again, only to see her jabbing her knife into ethan's chest, multiple times.

good, you should do it more. you said in your mind.

more. more more.

she stopped after tara got her attention, staring to climb the ladder to the second floor. sam ran to where you were standing at the bottom. she wanted to throw her arms around you, but you weren't even looking at her.

you wanted her to do the same but not now. she left you earlier, she left you to get taken. sure, she didn't mean to serve you up on a silver platter.

but she broke her promise to you.

you couldn't face her but you had no choice.

"i can't do it. my arm." you had been working on regaining mobility in your hand, but your arm wasn't strong enough yet.

"tara! i need your help!" sam called out to her sister, who was already up there. she then turned to you. "it's okay, we'll get you up there."

you had zero confidence in yourself at the moment. you knew it was going to be incredibly hard for you, but wishful thinking sometimes gets you places.

you put your foot onto one of the steps, using your good arm to hoist yourself up a bit more, climbing the steps you could make. you leaned back a little then lunged your body forward, grabbing the next railing. tara leaned over the banister, reaching a hand down to help you in that last bit.

you had gotten a fair amount up, before quinn suddenly shoved sam out of the way, knocking her down and grabbing you by the shirt. she yanked you down and you fell on your back, groaning.

quinn dragged you by the hair to the middle of the stage. sam was about to follow but you stopped her.

"no, sam!" you commanded her. "tara needs you! i've got this!"

she hesitated. but you were firm in your choice. you would get angry with her if you had to.

"go! now!" she made her way up the ladder and joined tara upstairs. you caught them slowly making their way through the ruins of the abandoned theater.

quinn dropped your hair and took a few paces away from you. you managed to get yourself up but you were slightly hunched over due to the pain from your side.

"hey, pretty girl." quinn taunted you. "you look good covered in blood. maybe you should join our little troupe here." she twisted her blade around her fingers.

"like hell." you scowled at her.

"what? you can't blame a girl for trying!" she chuckled. "come on, you're the perfect killer! just like sam, maybe that's what makes you good for each other, actually."

you tried to regain your breath and strength back as quinn monologued. you winced as you applied pressure on your stab wound.

"you're kind and very very injured. nobody would ever suspect you." she said, her voice turning sultry. "don't you wanna hurt tara for what she did to you? that was your first real heartbreak, wasn't it?"

she took your silence for an answer.

"don't you see? these carpenters are fucked up. they're scum. it would be so much better if the world went on without them." she pointed the knife at the two sisters. "use that fire in you."

you were letting your anger get the best of you now. you wanted to kill quinn for even thinking badly about them. but the question is, could you actually kill someone?

the thought was repulsive. you hated pain, blood, it wasn't something you could take. you didn't think you could take someone's life as easy as anyone else in the room. nevertheless, you wanted her subdued.

"shut up, quinn. you wouldn't know about fire even if it was burning your eyebrows off." you spit out a little bit of blood that was filling your mouth, glaring at her. "this is so fucking boring, you're all talk. where's the fight?"

your head turned sharply at a clattering noise. tara was dangling from the second floor, sam was holding onto her for dear life. ethan took the chance and started swinging at her feet. quinn screeched and charged at you, her blade in the air as she knocked you down to the floor with her shoulder.

she immediately went for your weak arm, stepping down on it and applying her entire body weight on it. you shouted at the sting, you felt like you were a kid all over again, remembering how you felt when it first happened.

she straddled you, one knee on each of your sides. you struggled against her as she used two hands to bring the blade down on you, you were able to get your hands to push against hers.

good! your arm was functional but extremely weak and painful. you had functionality of your fingers still, giving you less of a disadvantage.

you gritted your teeth as you tried to overpower her.

you saw tara still hanging in the corner of your eye. you had to do something now.

you swung your leg up to knee quinn in the back, throwing her off balance. you shoved her until she rolled off you. you stood up to go after her and at least knock her unconscious.

your head practically turned on its own when you heard crashing behind you. tara had fallen off the balcony and into ethan’s knife. your eyes widened as you watched the knife enter her stomach.

your attention flickered to sam on the second level who was coming face to face with bailey.

quinn battled cried behind you, recovering from her stumble. she thrusted her knife into your shoulder, you wailed out in pain. you shouldn’t have gotten distracted. you had to focus.

you kicked her again, ramming the heel of your foot into her thigh. her leg gave out, releasing her knife that was still inside you. you clamped your hand over it’s handle and pulled it out of you with a grunt.

you swerved sideways and switched places with quinn, standing directly behind her. you stomped down on the back of her other leg, getting her to kneel in front of you. you grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her head up.

could you really do it? you had the upper hand now, you had a choice to make. did you have it in you to rob quinn of the rest of her life? this was so far from how you made yourself out to be. you thrived on being good to others in hopes that they would do the same for you.

on the contrary, you were good to quinn. and here she was, ready to end your life if given the chance.

as the sight of her brother taking a blade to the mouth unraveled in front of her, you thought that maybe death was too generous for quinn. she could continue to live a life without her family. you watched as tara twisted the knife in ethan's mouth, a proud smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

you almost released quinn and succumbed to your desire to simply knock her out and tie her up so she couldn't interfere anymore.

but then you remembered.

"the last two people that fucked with us ended up dead."

and so has everyone that has fucked with them since. and so has everyone that tried to before. who were you to break the pattern?

"how do you like it now, quinn?" you leaned forward, whispering into her ear. you placed the blade against her throat. "down two brothers." you chuckled, pressing the blade down against her skin.

you watched as sam and bailey fell off the railing in a fight. sam hit the floor while the detective hit the glass case. you were worried for a split second before reminding yourself where you were. you weren't going to give up this advantage.

"and now your father will join you too. i hope you all have a nice family dinner in hell."

front and center stage, you dragged the knife across quinn's throat. the blood spilled like a gushing river. you couldn't watch even as you committed the act. you averted your eyes as you let her body drop to the floor.

you stepped down from the stage, holding onto your wounds. you let your severely damaged arm hang from your side. you felt like a zombie.

you rejoined sam and tara. you saw that tara was holding onto her own battle scar. you coughed up blood but chose to ignore it, wanting to check on the other two.

the three of you stood above the detective's unconscious body. you turned to the two sisters. this really was a damn family matter.

"so... what now?" you asked them. sam sighed softly, relieved that she didn't have to worry about two more of them anymore. she had her sights on bailey.

"i have an idea. but you and tara should take a second." sam put a hand on her sister's shoulder. tara nodded, slowly starting to make her way towards the seats. you followed behind her.

sam grabbed your wrist to stop you. you couldn't do this now. you yanked your hand away, just as she did to your hand when you tried to hold hers. she looked hurt, but understanding. she expected this reaction out of you.

"not now, sam." you shook her off. "i'm not having it."

and truth was, you geniunely weren't. you didn't want to deal with apologies right now, you wanted to make sure everyone was okay.

she was at least thankful for your honestly. she sadly nodded at you and turned back to bailey. you watched her take the stage, opening the glass enclosure that held her father's attire. she gripped it tight in her hands then put it on.

you sat next to tara, grunting as your back hit the seat. tara cautiously leaned her head on your shoulder, you found that you didn't mind the contact. you were glad that she was there with you, very much alive.

"i get it now." you murmured. "well... not to your extent, obviously. but i get it now."

she looked at you, a confused look on her face.

"never gonna be okay after this." was all you could get out.

she sat upright again and turned her body to face you. "i'm so sorry." she bit down on her lip, not knowing how to reassure you.

"we'll have each other though, right?" you asked her. she nodded quickly.

"always." she grabbed your hands, holding them in hers. your eyes trickled from her to sam, she glanced over at her sister too.

"you know she didn't mean what she said." tara turned back to you as she said that. "when she left you behind outside?"

"she definitely said it with her chest, tara." you breathed out through your nose. you know sam wanted to protect everyone, but you couldn't help but feel upset that she didn't trust you enough. "even then, she was right. i'm not woodsboro, i'll never understand fully what you all went through."

"yeah, i know. but that doesn't mean that you aren't one of us." tara said. "and she knows that. you're important to her. she was doing it to protect you too."

sam was wielding her father's own blade. she looked like she was in her element, which was strange as you never saw her as a killer. even when she did have a higher kill count than most people. but you knew it was her will power to end this whole thing that was driving her.

she walked over to the middle aisle, picking up billy's mask and putting it on herself. she looked frightening under the mask. it sent a shiver through you.

sam departed from the aisle, moving back towards the stage. you spotted bailey starting to stir, you grabbed tara and ran off. you took her to the backstage area, both of you deciding that you would stick around for sam.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

"what's your favorite scary movie?"

she embodied ghostface well. you admired her dedication to the bit. you knew it would scare the daylight out of bailey, to have the tables turned on him this time.

you watched as bailey ridiculously fired his gun at the mannequins. you flinched at the loud noises and held onto tara as she did the same. you didn't know where sam was, you were watching from the shadows.

"stop fuckin' around and show yourself!" he growled into the phone. he was trembling, sam had him right where she wanted him.

quiet.

"i’m a fucking police officer! what are you gonna do, huh? who do you think they’re gonna believe?" he spun around, trying to keep an eye on all his blind spots.

"probably the one that's still alive."

that shook him. he threw his phone away out of frustration.

from the shadows emerged sam's silhouette. as bailey turns at the last second, sam rams the knife into him. into his shoulder, his chest, everything she could get.

she was a fucking force of nature. a powerhouse if you'd ever seen one. the legacy her father held, she rewrote it herself.

she retracted her blade and lifted the mask off her face. and she was sam again. she was panting softly, the force she used to mutilate bailey took some energy out of her.

you and tara joined her on stage just as she was about to take another hit. she paused, her gaze softening at the two of you.

you looked at her. really looked at her.

you tried to keep your thoughts to yourself but you couldn't help it.

she looked good.

"my father was a murderer." she lowered the knife. "no matter what you think. i’m better than that."

bailey thanked her for her mercy. but then she looked to tara, as did you. tara tilted her head, as if giving her permission to change her mind. and then she looked to you. you read tara's expression and knew what sam was looking for in your eyes.

you met her stare, before looking away. you gave her a single nod. and you almost missed the smug smile that was plastered across her face.

"but you did fuck with our family so..."

the detective didn't even take a breath before sam jabbed the knife into his eye socket, all the way in.

he groaned in pain, his body shaking. he tried to raise his arms to fight back but it was too late.

you had looked away in time. you still felt your stomach churn at the sight of another dead body.

you heard his blood gurgle in his mouth as he took his last breath.

"nice." tara awkwardly said, trying to break the silence.

"are you guys okay?" sam asked, starting to take off the cloak.

"hell no." tara said. sam looked over to you and you shook your head too.

tara walked back down to the steps of the stage, sitting down on it.

you were about to follow then you spotted quinn's body. you felt yourself grow increasingly repelled at the sight. you reached for the sheet that was torn down to reveal all the masks and cloaks and threw it over her. it was the last good thing you'd ever do for her.

you let sam and tara have their moment to talk. you figured that they didn't have many talks together over the past few days, always being surrounded by others.

you walked over to the gate that locked you all inside the theater, hearing footsteps outside.

just then, ethan resurfaced, screaming his lungs out at the girls. you were about to run back to them but he was quickly stopped by a tv flying at his head. you almost laughed.

"saw that in a scary movie once." kirby joked through her injuries.

"you'll have to show me that one." you joked back.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

danny came in with reinforcements shortly after.

you watched as tara and sam talked to kirby who was now lying on a stretcher. when she was wheeled into the ambulance, you rejoined them.

you and tara both had your left arms in casts.

"hehe... matching." you said, nudging her side. she appreciated the banter returning.

"we should try cooking together like this or something." tara's dimples were flashed at you as you saw her crack a smile.

"that could be really fun." you snickered.

sam approached the two of you and tara got the hint.

"i'll give you two a second." she said, walking away and towards a group of officers.

sam rubbed her hands nervously, not knowing what to say to you.

"i'm sorry for leaving you." she started off. you admit, it was a good start. it was what you wanted to hear. unfortunately, she wasn't going to get a pass.

"you broke your promise to me." you gritted your teeth at her. "you said you wouldn't leave me alone."

"i know, i know. and i regret it. so much." she bit down on her bottom lip to try and stop tears from falling.

"i opened myself up to you, sam!" you choked down your own sobs. you were so afraid that you were going to die without saying anything to her because she left you behind. "i thought we were... i thought we had something!" you prodded your pointer finger against her chest.

"we do! we do have something!" sam dropped her jacket, opting to grab your hands and hold them against her. "i never meant to make you feel like i didn't want you. i just wanted to protect everyone. i thought that by leaving you behind, you wouldn't be hurt." she shook her head. "i never meant any of that, i just knew you would be determined to join us inside. and i couldn't have you hurt."

she was so sweet sometimes, she knew exactly what to say to pull you in. you were still angry at her, but you saw where she was coming from a bit clearer now.

you scoffed in her face, rolling your eyes. "that's bullshit!" you sneered at her. "we said we'd protect each other. i would have been safest next to you. i will always be safest next to you."

"you don't know that. this could happen again." she had to be realistic about the situation no matter how devoted you were being.

"i know. and i will be right here no matter what. the least you can do is return the favor."

"okay... i'll never leave you behind ever again." sam said, kissing your knuckles.

"you can do better than that." you grumbled, not wanting to settle for just a kiss to your hands.

sam grinned at you, stepping closer and wrapping her hands around your waist. she pulled you closer and captured your lips in a soft but passionate kiss. she was being gentle with you, trying not to hurt you. you found it sickeningly adorable. it was a juxtaposition from the intensity you saw from her earlier. your good arm wrapped around her neck, pulling her in closer. it was your way of saying that she wasn't going to break you.

"chad!" you heard tara yell. you quickly pulled away and saw chad being wheeled out on a stretcher.

thank god.

you and sam jogged over to chad.

"how are you alive?" sam asked. he raised his hand with four fingers up. mindy quickly came running in.

"are you guys okay?! i know who the killer is! it's ethan and bailey!" she said, stopping in her tracks.

"and quinn." sam added.

"and quinn? fuck!" mindy's hands slapped against her side in frustration. "did i miss the monologue again?"

you smiled at the sight of the four of them together. mindy was mumbling incoherent words to tara and chad. you giggled softly as she exclaimed that you all made it out alive.

you turned to sam again, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"hey, you." you poked her side, trying to get her attention.

"yeah?" she asked, turning to you with a smile on her face. it was to die for.

"i'm kinda starving." you chuckled, your stomach grumbled. fighting off a masked killer was hard work.

"okay well, we can go and get something to eat at the hospital." sam suggested.

you groaned softly at her not getting the memo.

"okay. that's fair. but i'll be kinda starving in a few days too so how about we go on an actual date then?" you flashed a sheepish smile her way.

she laughed at your attempt to ask her out.

"okay sweetheart." she pressed a kiss to your temple.

"promise?"

"hell yeah."

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

authors journal OKAY I KNOW IT LOOKS LIKE THE SERIES IS DONE BUT IT ISNT I PROMISE I HAVE LIKE 3 MORE PARTS UP MY SLEEVE. anyways i am SO SORRY for how long this chapter was, bailey fucking talks so much in the movie and i was trying to keep a lot of the final fight elements in. this literally took me a full 12 hours to write. anyways, back to MY yapping this time. i figured i should probably mention that i didnt forget about the tara kiss and i will bring it back for later. its my secret mousekatool. i also wanted to talk a bit more about the title of the series. i was thinking of changing it to 'promises, promises' cause obviously thats a thing with sam and the reader but i actually got it from a song! it's this one right here.

it actually has nothing too much to do with the series itself but i love the song heaps and i think the reader would too. its about getting away from something that was ruined for you by a relationship, i think thats pretty symbolic still. i also really wanna know what side stuff you guys want! i do have a few headcanons that i wanna write up but i wanna know if there's anything specific you want like blurbs or specific headcanons. i have one for 'if the reader chose tara' coming up which is pretty fun. overall, i hope you guys have been enjoying so far and i wanna hear everythinggggg you guys have to say. whether its in comments or reblogs or my inboxes, i'm so happy to read all of it. anyways, i shall stop yapping now. much love to everyone that has supported me in this so far. xx.

[yelenasdiary]

Hi how about an enemy to lovers with Yelena were in their last mission they somehow get handcuffed to each other and until the team can get them off they are off duty and having to deal with eachother (their feelings)

Cuffin' Season

Pairing: Yelena Belova x GN! Reader

Summary: You and Yelena find yourselves in a situation neither of you want to be in

Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Language Warning | 1.8K

AC: Thank you for sending this! Sorry it took so long; please ignore the cringe title lmao! I hope you enjoy it! x

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You groaned, throwing your head back against the wall. Yelena sighed heavily, for the last 20 minutes or so, the two of you have been trying to escape a from each other. Yelena still trying to wrap her head around how on earth the target tricked you both and was able to keep you both hostage, not the classic tried to a chair with duct tape across your lips. No, this was the worst kind of being kept hostage. 

“Stop tugging!” Yelena said, rolling her eyes. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, does that hurt? Is being tugged by the fucking wrist hurt the tough Russian spy?” You snapped in frustration. “You know, if it wasn’t for Natasha needing Kate, she’d be the one hand cuffed to you and I wouldn’t be sitting here wishing THEY WOULD KILL ME ALREADY!” You added, yelling out to your kidnappers. 

“They’re not going to kill us” Yelena said. 

“I wish they would!” 

“Alright, what the hell is your problem?” Yelena snapped, looking to you. “What do you mean? You’re the one with the problem” you argued. 

Yelena cocked a brow, “you think I’m the one with the problem? You’ve never liked me; you can’t even stand to be in the same room with me” she replied watching you try to squeeze your hand out of the handcuff. “Nope, that’s all you, spy! I’ve never been nothing by nice to you, but I guess you’re too high and mighty to see that and now thanks to you, we’re trapped and I’m probably going to die handcuffed to you”

“Thanks to me?” Yelena frowned, “do you hear yourself right now? You’re the one the fell for the damn trap. I followed you to stop you, don’t you remember that? Probably not because you can’t do any wrong!” She added causing you to stop your actions and look at her with anger in your eyes. 

“You want to do this now? Right now? Instead of trying to escape you want to play the damn blame game?!” 

“If the shoe fits, why not” Yelena spat. 

“Agh! You’re so unbearable! I can’t believe you think this is my fault! You’re the one who told me to go ahead, it’s like you knew this was going to happen” you argued. 

“I was talking to Kate! I had to wait for you to shut your pipe hole for a second so she could finish her sentence, I said “go ahead, Kate” Yelena corrected you, your mind having a small flash back to that moment. You were so annoyed that you had been paired with the one person who hated you the most that you when you heard her say ‘go ahead’ you took it as her giving you instructions. 

Silence fell, you rolled your eyes once more at the blonde before trying yet another pointless attempt to set yourself free. “Seriously, stop tugging!” Yelena tugged her left wrist, pulling your right wrist to her. 

“Ouch!” You groaned at the pain, before tugging back. Yelena took a deep breath to keep herself from exploding over your childlike behavior, the two of you hated being cuffed together, if anything, this was the most that the two of you had ever spoken to one another. When you first met Yelena, she gave you a similar vibe that Natasha did when you first met her, so you just assumed it would be a little bit of work to break the widow and the two of you would get along after but no, not Yelena. You’ve been on two other missions with her in the past, both missions went quick and rather smoothly but again, such little conversation was ever exchanged between you both. 

Outside of work, Yelena simply made it obvious to you that she wasn’t a fan of you. So naturally, you stopped trying to win the assassin over and found yourself giving her the same cold vibe she would give you. It made things harder given that you were both great friends of Kate’s and the poor archer hated seeing her two closest friends hating one another. But what you didn’t know was the little secret that Yelena had let slip to Kate one night after a few too many shots of Vodka. 

As time passed, you and Yelena sat in silence. Both of you quietly tried to work out a plan to get out of the situation you were in but neither of you wanted to bring your ideas to the table first. “If we work together, we can get out of here” Yelena says with a light sigh, breaking the silence. 

“What do you think I’ve tried to do this entire mission?” You replied, not trying to snap back at her but her comment slightly annoyed you. “You just hate working with me” you added. 

Yelena looked over at you, “how about once we get out of here, we never have to work together again” she says in a calm tone. 

“Perfect! Can’t wait” you gave her a fake smile before her eyes quickly turned to the banging sound of guns outside the door. The two of you instantly went into fight or flight, just waiting for whatever was going to happen come through that door. 

You let out a sigh of relief when you saw Natasha standing in the doorway with a cocked brow, Kate standing slightly behind her. “Well, don’t you two look cozy” Nat commented, earning herself a death stare from her sister. “Have you got the keys?” You asked, ignoring the comment from the older widow. 

“I’ll go find them” you heard Kate say before rushing off. Natasha stood still with a growing smirk as she looked at the two of you, “which one of you wants to tell me how this happened?” She asked before letting out a chuckle. 

“Shut up!” Yelena spat. 

----

Back at the compound, free from being cuffed to Yelena, you just sat down on the edge of your bed, letting out a heavy sigh as you rubbed the handcuff markings on your wrist. Your mind replaying everything that had happened on the mission, trying to work out if you were the one that put you and Yelena in that situation or if it was just a case of bad lucky. Did you the two of you let your hatred for one another get in the way of a mission or was it something much more than that? These thoughts circled your mind until you heard a knock at your bedroom door. 

You opened it only to see Yelena standing there, “can I help you?” You asked kindly although Yelena was the last person you wanted to see right now. 

“Can I come in?” She asked taking you by surprise. You nodded and opened the door wider for her to enter. She walked in and noticed the little things about your room layout, where your perfume sat on a shelf, how neatly your close were hanging in your opened closet, your favorite movie as a poster on one of the walls, all these little things she smiled softly to herself about. 

“If you’re come to give me a lecture about the mission, I won’t want to hear it” you said as you wandered over to your dresser to apply some cream to your hands and wrists. Yelena turned around to face you, “I didn’t come here to lecture you. I came here to tell you that I don’t hate you” she replied. You frowned slightly as you looked back at her, “you don’t?” You questioned. 

Yelena shook her head, “I’ve never hated you” 

“T-then why you act like you do?” 

Yelena took a deep breath and took a seat at the end of your bed, placing her hands in her lap before she looked up at you once more. “I told Kate what happened today, and she said it would be best if I just come clean to you” she started. 

“Clean to me?” You questioned. 

“I don’t hate you, in fact, it’s the opposite to hate” 

Her reply only added to your confusion, “so you what? Dislike me? Or is it you can tolerate me?” You asked. It was your words that quickly told Yelena that this wasn’t going how she thought it would and quickly tried to fix it before this would escalate into yet another argument. 

“Try, I have feelings for you” she replied, her eyes slightly dropping to your feet. Her confession took you back, not once did you ever think that Yelena’s behavior towards you was because she had possible feelings for you. “I know it’s probably not what you expected but putting Kate’s advice aside for a moment, after today and the way we talked to one another wasn’t okay. I didn’t know that’s how you felt until today. I didn’t think that I was giving you the impression that I hated you” she paused as you slowly rubbed the cream into your skin while listening to her continue. 

“I’ve never looked at somebody and have my heart skip a beat, I’ve never heard somebody talk to me and wish they would never stop, I’ve never had somebody smile at me and that make me nervous. I guess I was so cold to you because I didn’t know how to be around you so I guess I thought that if I was distant with you that I wouldn’t feel these things, but I spoke to Kate and she told me that what I feel is okay” she went on. 

You wandered over to her and sat beside her, “well, I can say I’m so glad that you came to me. I thought I was going mad” you looked to her, “you’re not the only one who has feelings in this” you added.

Yelena’s eyes lit up, “do you mean y-“ 

You nodded before she could finish her question, “I don’t like the saying ‘if they’re mean to you it’s because they like you’ but I guess it has some kind of truth” you added, making you both chuckle. Gently, you took Yelena’s left hand into yours, “we don’t have to act on these feelings if you don’t want too or not ready, I don’t ever want to push you” you assured her. 

“Being handcuffed to you has been the highlight of my week, I would like to explore these feelings more, but it needs to be slowly” Yelena replies. You couldn’t help but smile softly at her, “we have all the time in the world, there is no need to rush anything”

You noticed Yelena blush a little at your words and you swore, if you could, you’d kiss her right then and there but you wanted this to work and right now, you were finally able to see a side of Yelena you wish you saw sooner.

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