#i was writing half of this in the middle of the night

[fallenprophets]

I will never let you go

robert "bob" reynolds x reader

can be read as a sequel to told you I'll be waiting/hiding from the rainfall

summary: usually, he's the one having nightmares, waking you in the middle of the night with heavy breathing and anxious twitching. but this time is different. this time, you're the one plagued with memories. no use of y/n, gender neutral as always, still not proofread. no spoilers

warnings: swearing, mentions of drug addiction, mentions of a bad childhood, very brief mention of suicide?

a/n: WOAH back already? i know, it's insane. hope y'all enjoy this. i want to thank beyonce for inventing music so that i could listen to ethel cain while writing this. also thank you to my own experience with Feelings- who knew my ptsd would come in handy someday

He has nightmares often. 

Since the first night, he’s been living with me; won’t let me sleep on the couch or anything, insists that I stay with him. And who am I to deny those soft eyes, his grip on my waist or on my wrist a little too tight? 

So every night, I sleep next to him, even though the bed is almost too small. 

And almost every night, he has these nightmares. 

The first time, I thought someone had broken in. I was woken by strange sounds, and found him gone; so I pushed out of bed, tiptoed into the kitchen with the revolver I keep in the drawer next to my bed. Upon seeing him, though, I realised I was mistaken. 

It was only Bob, standing completely still in the middle of the room. His breathing was uneven; the only movement I could discern was the light rise and fall of his shoulders. 

He whirled around, eyes blown wide open and frightened. In an instant, I had dropped the revolver on the kitchen counter and almost run to him, catching him half-way as he stumbled into me. And we stayed like that, his arms so tight around me. 

He never remembers the nightmares- either that, or he’s lying to me. And I like to think that I can tell when he’s telling the truth, so I choose to believe him. All he recalls is a dark, empty, frightening feeling. Says that when he wakes up, he thinks everything is gone. Sometimes, I hear him mumble- something about a void.

But I don’t press, because I’m just happy to have him back by my side; in due time, he’ll talk to me, tell me exactly what happened between his disappearance in Malaysia and now. 

I’ve become a light sleeper, to say the least. 

But tonight, he’s not the one having the nightmare. 

Ever since the incident with the void, I’ve felt… strange. Like reliving those memories fucked me up somehow, took the box I’d created in my brain so carefully for my past and opened it. Tossed the contents all over the place, left me to pick them up with shaking hands. 

So, maybe Bob isn’t the only one having nightmares. 

Only this one is bad. It’s not like the others, which I have been able to push down, pretend that those aren’t my memories mixing with my imagination replaying freely when I sleep. This one is claustrophobic, and dark, and frightening- like something awful is reaching long fingers down my throat, clogging my veins, choking me slowly. 

I can’t claw my way out this time. Can’t kick and punch and scream- can’t even get high to pretend the walls aren’t closing in on me. 

I’m in the dream for what feels like years. The details are fuzzy around the edges, but one thing is crystal-clear: the feeling that something is missing. That I’ve lost something, somehow, and that I’m not getting it back. That I won’t even know what it is that’s gone until years later, when it’ll hit me and I’ll keel over and just- just die, and no one will notice. 

I’m still half in it when I wake up. 

I sit up all at once, gasping and choking, immediately reaching my fingers into my mouth to pull that suffocating darkness out, before it can fasten onto my lungs, where it’ll fester and rot and eventually, hopefully, kill me. The blinding panic that consumes me is overwhelmingly familiar; wrenches back memories of being a child all alone, of leaving home, of losing Bob. And the emptiness in my chest- that gaping hole of missing memories and a stolen childhood, of those few months before I checked myself into rehab when I was just drifting, barely alive.

I’m so scared, and for less than a second, I’m the only person on earth, about to be consumed and- and forgotten. 

Within moments, though, fingers wrap around my wrist, pull my hand away from my mouth. I lean over the edge of the bed, heaving and coughing and spluttering as terrified sobs tear through me, making my chest and throat burn. His hand is on my back, the other arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me against his chest. 

He begins to rock me backwards and forwards as I grab onto his arm, digging my nails in. In the back of my mind, I hope it doesn’t hurt. 

My heart races, jumping like a rabbit trapped in my ribcage. I’m still breathing heavily, but his thumb begins to draw circles between my shoulder blades. He holds both of my wrists down in one hand, like he’s worried I’ll try to claw my throat open if he lets go. The pressure is reassuring, so I don’t move to push him away. 

Eventually, I turn my head slightly. He nudges forward, his nose pressing into my cheek. I lean into him, try to breathe in his presence. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of my mouth once the weight has somewhat lifted itself off my windpipes. My voice still wavers pathetically, and I clear my throat, shutting my eyes against the tears that threaten to spill. “Didn’t- didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Hey.” His voice is so soft; the tears come all at once again, following the tear tracks already made only minutes ago. “Don’t apologise- hey.” 

His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb swiping away at the tears. He’s never been fantastic at comfort- remember when I’d have my freak outs while we were both high, he’d just squeeze my hand really tight, maybe kiss my shoulder or my neck for good measure. But now, as I feel his nose lightly graze my shoulder, the familiarity of it all is crushing. Seeking more of it, I tug my shirt down, expose the skin underneath to the cold of my room. He presses a soft, gentle kiss there, at the junction between my shoulder and my neck. There’s nothing sexual about it. We’ve never been like that- crumbling in moments of weakness, taking advantage of too many feelings at once. I think it’s why we were so good as a pair, in a way. 

Slowly, kindly, he moves up, pressing soft kisses up my neck, until he reaches my jawline. My face is still wet with tears; my skin probably tastes salty with it. I wonder if he notices. He must, because once again he brushes his thumb across my cheek, light and quick, a repeated motion. 

“Nightmare?” He asks finally, so quiet. I only nod. I can hardly remember the dream- just the aching sadness, the crushing hopelessness as I drowned. 

“I’ll be okay,” I say. My voice still shakes; I swipe at my face with the back of my hand as my lower lip starts to quiver again. 

His chin rests on my shoulder, and he draws me close. Neither of us are very good with words, and we’re used to silence; so I shuffle closer, turn my head so our noses bump. 

“Thank you,” I whisper finally. He smiles. It’s one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen, and once again, I am overwhelmed with the warmth of having him back in my life. I reach up and push his hair away from his face, trace his features with my fingertip. My heart still hammers in my chest, and I know that eventually, I’ll have to deal with the feelings, the stifling fear and sorrow of the nightmares I’ve been having. But for now, I’m with him, and I think that’s enough. 

I close the distance and kiss him again, letting my eyes flutter shut. 

This is the second time we’ve kissed. First time was his first night here, and we haven’t talked about it. But I don’t think he regrets it, because within half a second, he’s kissing me back, hand at the nape of my neck, drawing me closer. I tangle my fingers in his hair, tilting my head back ever so slightly. He’s kissing my neck, too, gentle, comforting; carefully moving the hem of my shirt out of the way again as he presses his mouth to my shoulder, then to my collarbone, right above my unevenly beating heart. 

He rests his forehead there, like he’s listening to my pulse thunder on. I let him, resting my chin on the top of his head. 

“I missed you,” I say softly, finally. “Think- think that’s maybe what the nightmare was about. Wanting you back. Like my brain hasn’t registered you’re here.” 

His grip on me tightens. 

“I love you,” he murmurs finally- quiet, vulnerable, maybe a little pathetic. 

“I love you too,” I answer, and it’s true- has been true for years. Maybe even from the moment I met him, I knew, somehow- I was stuck with him, and that really wasn’t so bad. 

I kiss his forehead, breathe in the warmth of him. “I’ll never let you go, y’know that?” I mumble. He nods- can feel it, before he shifts to rest his head on my shoulder, occasionally pressing a kiss to the crook of my neck. 

taglist - @foreverchangingmind

[paxaz535]

The Space Between Us (1)

paige bueckers x black!oc

synopsis :

Best friends since childhood, Kamiya and Paige always thought their bond was unbreakable. But when they reunite at the family cabin after years apart, the line between friendship and something more begins to blur. As the tension between them builds, they must face what they’ve always known deep down: they’ve been more than close all along.

(this contains smut [in next chapter] !)

—————

Kamiya and Paige had always been close—ever since they were five years old, playing together in the sandbox in Paige’s backyard.

Their fathers, Bob (Paige’s dad) and Jonathan (Kamiya’s dad), had been best friends since high school. They bonded over their shared love of basketball and had been inseparable ever since.

That love for the game carried on to Paige, who practically grew up with a ball in her hands. Kamiya, not so much. She was always more into volleyball than anything else. Bob and Jonathan tried getting her into basketball, but it just never stuck.

Still, Jonathan supported his daughter through it all—especially after Kamiya’s mom walked out on them one random Thursday night.

Ever since that night, things had changed. Kamiya didn’t talk about her mom much—not because she didn’t care, but because she had learned not to expect answers. Jonathan picked up the pieces the best he could, and Paige’s family helped fill in the gaps.

Sleepovers became more frequent. Paige’s step mom would braid Kamiya’s hair and pack her snacks for school when Jonathan had to work late. To Kamiya, the Bueckers’ house started to feel like a second home.

By the time middle school came around, Kamiya and Paige were more like sisters than friends. They did everything together—sat next to each other in every class, FaceTimed every night even when they had just seen each other, and had inside jokes that nobody else understood.

People used to say they were attached at the hip. And for a long time, they were.

But then high school happened.

-

At first, not much changed. They still walked to school together, still sat next to each other at lunch, still sent each other outfit pics every morning to coordinate. But little things started to creep in—new friends, different classes, separate teams.

Paige made varsity basketball her freshman year. It was a big deal. Suddenly, she was surrounded by older teammates, practices every afternoon, and the buzz of school recognition. Kamiya was proud of her—she really was—but it stung a little to see less of her.

Kamiya had joined the volleyball team, and while she loved it, it didn’t get nearly as much attention. Her games were barely half full, and no one was writing about her in the school newsletter. Paige always said, “You’re killing it out there,” but sometimes it felt like she was just being nice.

They were still close. Still best friends. But there were moments—between texts left on read, and the “sorry I can’t, I have practice”—where Kamiya wondered if Paige was outgrowing her.

And then came the real test: boys.

Or at least, that’s what everyone thought. Paige had never really shown much interest. Sure, she’d play along when the other girls gushed about whoever was “so fine” in third period, but Kamiya always noticed how quiet she got when the conversation got too deep.

Kamiya, on the other hand, was trying to figure it all out. She’d dated a guy in freshman year for about two weeks—Derrick, from biology—but it felt more like checking a box than actually liking someone. She laughed at his jokes, let him hold her hand in the hallway, but when he kissed her outside the gym after practice, all she could think was, Is that it?

Meanwhile, Paige seemed perfectly content not dating at all. When Kamiya brought it up once—just teasing, like: “So, when are you finally gonna get yourself a boyfriend?”—Paige had only shrugged, looking away.

“I don’t really like boys like that.”

Kamiya had blinked, caught off guard. “Oh.” She tried to play it cool, but her mind spun.

She’d never thought about it before. Not really. But that night, lying in bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not about Paige specifically—at least, not yet—but about how she’d felt when this girl from the volleyball team had called her pretty the other day. How her stomach flipped in a way it never did with Derrick.

Something was shifting.

And even though Kamiya didn’t have the words for it yet, a small part of her—buried deep and quiet—was starting to stir.

It started with the little things.

The way Paige would laugh so hard she’d throw her head back, eyes squeezed shut. The way she always remembered to bring Kamiya extra sour gummy worms on game days, even though she hated the smell of them. The way she always seemed to know when something was off, even when Kamiya hadn’t said a word.

One Friday night, they were at Paige’s house watching a movie. It was some cheesy rom-com they’d seen a million times, but Paige insisted it was tradition. They sat close—closer than usual—legs tangled under the blanket they always shared.

Halfway through the movie, Paige fell asleep. Her head rested on Kamiya’s shoulder, her breathing soft and even. Kamiya didn’t move. She just sat there, completely still, heart thudding in her chest.

She looked down at Paige, her face relaxed in sleep, and for the first time, she realized something terrifying.

She didn’t just love Paige.

She liked her.

Not in a best friend kind of way. Not in the way everyone joked about when they called them “a married couple.”

In the way that made her heart ache a little. In the way that made her scared to say it out loud.

She stared at the TV, not really seeing it anymore. Her throat felt tight.

Because what if this was just her?

What if Paige didn’t feel the same way?

What if it ruined everything?

Kamiya gently leaned her head on Paige’s, trying to quiet the storm in her chest.

She didn’t have the answers yet.

But she knew one thing for sure:

Something had changed.

The next morning, Kamiya acted like nothing had happened.

She cracked jokes, scrolled through TikTok with Paige like usual, and even teased her for drooling in her sleep. But inside, she was spiraling.

She kept replaying the night in her head—the weight of Paige’s head on her shoulder, the soft warmth of her breath, the way her heart had nearly exploded just sitting there.

And it only got worse from there.

At school, Paige was all smiles, greeting people in the hallway, dapping up her teammates, laughing with that same effortless energy that made everyone gravitate toward her. But Kamiya couldn’t stop watching her. Couldn’t stop feeling everything.

It was torture.

Especially when Paige hugged her from behind in the cafeteria like she always did—only now Kamiya felt her entire body freeze. Her brain screamed, Act normal.

She didn’t.

Paige noticed. “You good?” she asked later, brows furrowed as they sat outside during free period.

“Yeah,” Kamiya lied, eyes on her water bottle. “Just tired.”

Paige nudged her. “You’ve been weird all day.”

Kamiya shrugged. “You’re weird every day. Guess it’s contagious.”

Paige rolled her eyes, laughing. But her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The thing was, Kamiya didn’t know how to say what she was feeling. Didn’t know how to ask Paige if maybe—just maybe—there was something there between them too.

Because if she was wrong, it could ruin everything.

And for the first time in years, she felt like the distance between them was growing—and she didn’t know how to close it.

-

It happened at a party.

One of Paige’s teammates—Jas—was throwing a huge end-of-season thing. Kamiya didn’t even want to go, but Paige had begged her to come. “Please? Just for a little bit. I’ll even buy you your weird kombucha.”

So she went. Regretted it the second they walked in.

The music was loud. The lights were dim. And Paige? She lit up the second they walked through the door, dapping up her team, laughing, moving through the room like she belonged there.

Then there was her.

Nia. A sophomore who played soccer and looked like she belonged in a Nike ad. She and Paige had a class together—or so Kamiya had heard.

She watched from across the room as Nia leaned in, too close, whispering something into Paige’s ear. Paige laughed, hand brushing Nia’s arm.

Kamiya looked away fast, pretending not to care. Pretending she didn’t feel like someone had lit a match in her chest.

“I’m getting some air,” she mumbled to no one in particular, slipping out the back door.

She stayed out there for a while, letting the cold bite at her skin. Letting herself breathe.

Paige came out eventually, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Kamiya said, a little too fast. “Just needed some space.”

Paige nodded, but didn’t push. That almost made it worse.

-

“I got accepted!” Kamiya screamed, practically launching off the couch as the email loaded on her phone.

Jonathan, Bob, Paige, Drew, and Moe all erupted into cheers from around the living room. Jonathan pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her off the ground, his face split into the proudest grin she’d ever seen.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. “Knew you had it in you.”

Paige was the next to hug her—tight, warm, familiar.

“I told you!” Paige beamed. “I knew they’d want you.”

Kamiya laughed, still in shock. “Guess I’m college material now, huh?”

Paige nudged her. “You’ve always been.”

Kamiya’s acceptance came just a day after Paige found out she was headed to UConn on a partial basketball scholarship. Everyone had celebrated her news too—Jonathan and Bob had cracked open a bottle of champagne, and Moe had baked cupcakes with “UConn” spelled out in blue frosting.

Kamiya had been genuinely happy for her. Paige was going to a school that fit her. She’d be playing the sport she loved, living in a place where she could finally shine. It was perfect.

But there was a part of Kamiya—a quiet, insecure part—that wondered what it would mean for them.

They wouldn’t be at the same school. They wouldn’t walk the same hallways or eat lunch under the same tree anymore. It wouldn’t be FaceTime at midnight after a bad practice—it’d be maybe catching each other’s texts between classes or team meetings.

And what made it worse was… they still hadn’t talked about that night. The party. The way Kamiya had walked off. The way Paige had looked at her, confused, maybe even hurt.

So Kamiya smiled and celebrated like nothing was bothering her.

But deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something precious was slipping through her fingers.

-

Kamiya’s three years of college had been everything she hoped for. She made new friends, joined a cultural org that felt like family, traveled for tournaments with her volleyball team, and even landed a sweet internship sophomore year. She was proud of the woman she was becoming—confident, steady, doing things for her.

But this time of year always pulled her back.

It was May now. Finals were almost over. Her junior year was closing out, and soon she’d be stepping into her final year of undergrad. A part of her was thrilled—excited for what was ahead. But another part, quieter and heavier, kept tugging her back to something… someone.

Paige.

She hadn’t seen her in person since last summer. She’d heard about the injury—a torn ligament, maybe? Something that benched her for most of the season. Kamiya found out through Instagram before she heard it from Paige directly. That stung a little.

They still texted sometimes. Liked each other’s posts. Sent the occasional meme. But it wasn’t like before. Not even close.

And maybe that was okay. People grow apart.

But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

What haunted Kamiya most wasn’t the distance. It was the fact that she never told Paige how she felt. Not really. Not in a way that counted.

She could’ve said it a hundred times. At that party. Before they left for college. At the lake last summer by the fire, when Paige looked at her like she knew.

But she hadn’t. And now, she didn’t know if that window had already closed.

Still… something about this summer felt different.

It was just a feeling—an ache in her gut, a whisper in the back of her mind—but Kamiya knew.

Something was going to happen.

She just didn’t know if it would heal her…

Or break her completely.

-

Kamiya sat on the edge of her bed, her suitcase open but barely touched. Clothes were piled on the floor around her—sweatshirts she might need if it got chilly, the swimsuit Paige once joked she looked hot in, and an old T-shirt Paige had left behind years ago that Kamiya never returned.

She stared at it now, fingers brushing over the faded cotton.

There were a thousand things she wished she could say. She wanted to tell Paige she missed her. That she was proud of her. That the distance hadn’t changed how she felt—not really.

But those words had stayed stuck in her throat for three years.

Now she was going to see her again.

And it scared her.

Not just because of what she might feel—but because of what she might not feel. What if too much time had passed? What if Paige didn’t even think about her like that anymore—if she ever did?

Still, she packed the shirt. Just in case.

The driveway crunched under the tires as she pulled up, late afternoon sun dripping through the trees. Her chest was tight.

As she stepped out, the smell of pine and lake water hit her like a memory. She heard voices from the porch—laughter, low conversation, the familiar warmth of family that hadn’t changed.

Then she saw her.

Paige.

Sitting on the porch steps, wearing an oversized hoodie, her joggers hanging low on her waist. Her hair was longer now, tied in a messy bun. But her smile—when she looked up and saw Kamiya—was still the same.

Kamiya froze for half a second, unsure what to do with everything crashing through her.

Then Paige stood—slowly, carefully—and walked over.

“Three years and you still pack like you’re moving across the country,” she teased, eyeing Kamiya’s giant duffel.

Kamiya grinned, nerves tangled in her chest. “Some things never change.”

Paige’s eyes held hers for just a moment longer than they needed to. “Some things do.”

Kamiya’s heart skipped.

The words weren’t loud.

But the meaning behind them?

Louder than ever.

-

Kamiya was woken up by a huge splash of water. She shot up, gasping as the freezing cold soaked through her shirt and bonnet.

Laughter and hurried footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Go! G—go!”

She didn’t need to see them to know who it was—Drew and Paige.

Kamiya sat there for a moment, stunned, water dripping down her face. She knew they didn’t mean any harm by it—but come on. Waking her up with water? When she hadn’t asked to get wet? It pissed her off.

She jumped up with a loud scream, startling Bob and Jonathan, who were casually watching a random Lakers game on the living room couch.

Her bonnet clung to her head, soaked through. Her hair—freshly washed the night before—was completely drenched again.

“Paige! Drew!” she yelled, stomping down the stairs.

The two culprits were lounging on the couch chairs, feigning innocence.

“Why are you screaming?” Jonathan asked, turning his head, clearly confused.

“They poured water on me!” Kamiya snapped.

Paige and Drew exchanged a look. “No we didn’t—” Drew started.

“Don’t lie to me, Drew,” Kamiya cut in sharply.

That’s when she realized what she was wearing.

She looked down and groaned. The white sleep shirt she had on was now see-through, clinging to her like a second skin. Her red bra was very visible, and the soaked fabric hugged her curves like a compression top.

Moe was the first to notice, letting out a soft giggle as she covered her mouth. “Sweetie, you might want to go change.”

Kamiya closed her eyes and sighed, this whole morning already going to shit.

Paige looked up at her—and instantly turned pink.

Her eyes darted away too quickly, like she’d seen too much and wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Moe, you possibly couldn’t have brought weave.. could you?” Moe, already knowing just laughed.

“I have it, sweetie. We can start on your braids when you get changed.”

Kamiya didn’t say another word. She just spun around and stormed back upstairs, muttering curses under her breath.

-

Upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms, Kamiya sat cross-legged on a stool while Moe stood behind her, parting her hair with practiced fingers.

The soft pull of the comb, the gentle tap of Moe’s rings brushing her scalp—it all slowly started to calm her down.

“I swear,” Kamiya muttered, wincing as Moe gripped a stubborn section, “they think they’re so funny.”

“They’re just trying to get under your skin,” Moe said, amused. “That means they missed you.”

Kamiya rolled her eyes, even though a tiny part of her knew Moe was probably right. Still—water?

As Moe started the first braid, the smell of bacon and toast drifted up through the cracked bedroom door. Kamiya’s stomach growled on instinct.

Moe smirked. “Smells like guilt.”

Downstairs, Paige flipped another pancake, trying to act cool while internally panicking. “Is this too much syrup?” she asked, holding the bottle over a plate.

Drew looked at her, unimpressed. “You’ve poured it like five times already.”

“I just—she’s mad, Drew.”

“She should be! You soaked her like she was in a car wash,” he said, smacking her hand away from the syrup. “Just focus on the eggs.”

“I’m trying, okay?” Paige muttered, cheeks still flushed.

Back upstairs, Moe’s fingers moved quickly through Kamiya’s hair.

“You know,” she said gently, “there’s always a moment during braids where you gotta sit still and let yourself breathe. Might as well use the time to figure out what’s really bothering you.”

Kamiya didn’t respond at first. She stared out the window, watching the lake shimmer in the distance.

“I’m just tired,” she finally said. “And maybe… a little annoyed she looked at me like that.”

Moe raised a brow. “Like what?”

Kamiya hesitated, then sighed. “Like she saw something she wasn’t ready to see.”

Moe smiled to herself, fingers still moving. “Or maybe she saw something she’s just now realizing she likes seeing.”

Downstairs, Paige carefully placed a plate with pancakes, eggs, and turkey bacon on a tray. Drew added a glass of orange juice.

“She’s gonna throw this at us,” he whispered.

“She won’t,” Paige said, unsure.

They started up the stairs, holding the tray like it was a peace offering made of gold.

Upstairs, Kamiya sat quietly while Moe worked through her hair, parting and braiding each section with care. The gentle pull of the comb and the quiet hum of Moe’s voice were grounding—but her mind was still spinning.

She wasn’t even that mad anymore. Just… embarrassed. Caught off guard.

The soft creak of the door broke the silence.

“Uh… Kamiya?” Paige’s voice came gently, almost unsure.

Kamiya glanced over her shoulder. Paige stood in the doorway holding a tray, and Drew lingered behind her, both of them looking a little too nervous for comfort.

“We made you breakfast,” Paige said, her tone lighter now. “Kind of an apology-slash-peace-offering.”

Drew held up a mug like it was a trophy. “And coffee.”

Kamiya looked at them for a second, then at the tray. Pancakes, eggs, turkey bacon. Her stomach growled at the sight—and Paige heard it, a flicker of a smile pulling at her lips.

Moe gave Kamiya’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Smells good. You should eat before I finish the back.”

Kamiya exhaled, her walls softening. “I wasn’t that mad,” she said quietly, eyes shifting between them. “Just… surprised. I had just washed my hair.”

Paige nodded, her face full of guilt. “I know. I didn’t think it through. I’m sorry, Kami.”

Drew nodded too. “Same here. It was supposed to be funny, but we messed up.”

Kamiya gave a small shrug and glanced at the tray. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she mumbled, reaching slowly for the fork.

“We wanted to,” Paige said, her voice soft. “Especially me.”

Their eyes met—just for a second. It held longer than either expected.

Kamiya looked away first, trying to hide the tiny smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, okay,” she said, finally taking a bite. “This is good.”

Paige visibly relaxed, laughing a little. “Thank God. I was one burnt pancake away from giving up.”

Moe chuckled behind them. “And that’s why I stay in my lane.”

Kamiya giggled softly, chewing her food, her mood lighter now. “You’re lucky this is good,” she said, pointing her fork at Drew and Paige. “Next time y’all do something dumb, I’m pouring water back.”

“Fair,” Drew said with a grin.

Paige smiled. But hers lingered a bit longer, watching Kamiya with something more in her eyes. Something gentle. Unspoken.

And for once, Kamiya didn’t look away too fast.

-

The sun had started to dip behind the trees, casting a golden hue across the lake. The water shimmered, rippling softly from the occasional breeze. It was peaceful—so much calmer than the chaos of this morning.

Kamiya sat on the dock with her feet dangling just above the surface, her braids freshly done and pulled back in a loose ponytail. She hugged her knees to her chest, letting the quiet settle around her.

Footsteps approached, slow and unsure.

She didn’t need to look up to know it was Paige.

“You mind if I sit?” Paige asked softly.

Kamiya shrugged. “It’s your dock too.”

Paige eased down beside her, careful not to get too close. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Just the sound of birds in the distance, water lapping against the wood, and the hush of trees swaying in the wind.

“I really am sorry,” Paige said eventually, her voice low. “Not just about the water. About… everything.”

Kamiya turned to look at her. “What do you mean, everything?”

“I mean… I know we’ve drifted. And I didn’t try hard enough to stop it. I thought maybe I was giving you space, but maybe I was just scared you didn’t want to be that close anymore.”

Kamiya blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

“I never wanted to not be close,” she said. “But we were growing up. I figured you were just busy. And I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me,” Paige said quickly, her eyes locking with Kamiya’s. “Never.”

The air grew still for a moment. Their gazes held, longer this time. Kamiya’s chest tightened, heart starting to beat a little faster.

“I missed you,” Kamiya admitted, the words barely a whisper.

Paige swallowed. “I missed you too.”

There was something hanging in the air between them now—something unspoken but deeply felt.

Paige hesitated, then added, “Earlier… when your shirt was—uh, see-through…” She trailed off, cheeks already turning pink. “It wasn’t just the water that threw me off.”

Kamiya blinked. Her heart jumped.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Paige paused, searching for the right words. “I’ve always liked girls. You know that. But with you… I didn’t let myself think about it. Not really. Until today.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was electric.

Kamiya looked out over the lake again, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know what I like yet,” she said honestly. “But when you looked at me like that… it didn’t feel wrong.”

Paige turned toward her, eyes searching hers. “It didn’t?”

Kamiya shook her head. “No. It felt… different. But not wrong.”

A smile tugged at Paige’s lips. “So… maybe this summer’s gonna be different.”

Kamiya finally smiled too, soft but real. “Maybe it will.”

And for a moment, they just sat there—side by side—letting the possibility hang between them, warm and bright like the sunset behind the trees.

[juuuulez]

Now I usually don't send writing asks but I've got an idea that's rotted into my brain ever since I watched the finale: sometime during the winter, drunk Travis stumbling over to your hut late at night and things get freaky, maybe with some possessive undertones...? I need him to take his anger out on me [the crowd starts jeering and throwing tomatoes]

No pressure at all to write anything like this!! I just really like your work and it would save me the time of writing it myself 😭

okay but after the last hunt, when mari comes back with holes in her. travis is still half drunk and refuses to help prep, just like he refused to hunt, though it definitely breaks him a little to realise it was his trap that did this.

he wasn’t in on the plan, and he knows you wouldn’t have been, either. you also didn’t hunt, staying behind in a futile attempt to preserve the animal bodies that had all passed. there was no point in letting it all go to waste.

still, you thank shauna for the food, as she offers up mari’s corpse. travis knows you aren’t naive, just purposefully passive, quiet enough to not piss anyone off. and with shauna as the antler queen, you knew better than to ruffle feathers now.

travis is pissed off that you respect her; that you respect everyone, really. him, included. that you entertain misty’s stupid ideas, that you joke with tai van, that you help akilah with the animals.

how you used to look after javi, with this motherly type innocence. you were nice to a fault, and travis hated it.

so, he’s here now, standing in the doorway of your little hut. you have the audacity to smile at him, even though he’s drunk, even though it’s the middle of the night.

“your clothes,” he says, only having one thing in mind. “take them off.”

and you pout, despite how rude he was being, coming in here to order you around. “it’s cold out.”

of course it was cold. there was a small stick fire on the floor of your hut, but nothing more. the walls were made of bark and mud. they could hardly keep the canadian winter chill away.

travis came further into the space, standing in front of your kneeling form. somehow you look even sweeter like this, staring up at him. he wonders faintly if you’d be a better queen: probably not, you’re not firm enough.

but just for tonight, he would rather worship you than shauna.

“i’ll keep you warm.” travis ends up saying, after a long stretch of silence. he’s drunk but oddly aware, conscious of what he’s asking of you, the weight of it. “do you want to?”

and you’ll nod, because of course you do. you would do anything to help him feel better, and if this is what does it, then you won’t judge.

he’s far rougher than intended, your pants abandoned, his hips filling the space between your legs. travis grips onto your waist, using the leverage to fuck into you slow and deep, moaning into your shoulder.

his teeth worry at your skin, leaving behind marks, not that it matters anymore. you tug at his hair for leverage, breaths coming out in little gasps as his pace becomes punishing the closer he gets.

travis is drunk but smart enough to want to pull out, even when your legs cage against his back, pulling his twitching cock deeper inside. he moans against your lips, eyes hazy in a look of questioning. your expression is too innocent for the filthy things hes doing to you.

“stay.” you whisper into his mouth.

and travis does, he stays. he thrusts his seed deep inside, where it belongs. it’s a mark of what’s his, a physical proof that you’re his, and he’s yours.

[dodger432101]

Clocking in! - Lux Imperator/Mr Ring a Ding x Reader

[This is my first time writing a fanfic, hope you enjoy!]

The weekend was over. Always too soon, those days pass by and the time you have off comes to an end. Monday morning, bright and early, your alarm disturbs your peaceful sleep. It's time to get up. The sun greets your face with warm rays of light through your curtains, like it's trying to coerce you to get up. Like it knows you don't want to.

Shower, throw your uniform on, get some breakfast down you, out the door into the world. Luckily you'd managed to snag a place not far from Palazzo, so you got to enjoy a nice walk in the sun without rushing to catch a bus. It sure was bright out today! You soaked in the sunshine you could get before you made it to the theatre, trying to brighten your mood so you could deal with the general public that would pack into the seats and likely trash the theatre rooms. There were always a few.

Mr Pye liked to get in earlier than everyone else, so it didn't concern you when the side door for employees was already unlocked. You grab the cleaning equipment from the lockers and set off to check each room. Even with others doing rounds, sometimes pieces of popcorn or.. spills.. were missed. It was easier for everyone if they were found before some stuck up visitor or loud mother that just loved to complain about something did. You'd gotten into the routine of checking after the 4th time you were yelled at.

Lo and behold, there was stuff everywhere in this particular room. It's like they were trying to make your job a nightmare! 'At least I'm getting paid' kept repeating in your head as you sweep up the piles of popcorn and other treats on the floor. That's when something small hit you in the back of the head, making you whip round. No one. Not a soul other than yours. Looking down, it seemed a stray popcorn kernal had launched itself at you. "Oh sorry, did I miss that piece? Thanks for pointing it out." You sarcastically spoke out into the silence, sweeping it up into your pan with a sigh. It was probably some stray kid playing a prank on you, found the unlocked door and came in to cause trouble. You'll deal with that later. You move onto the next row, another sigh leaving through your nose. Who made all this mess? Who didn't do their damn job and clean it up?

"What on Earth are you doing here!?" You initially startle at the sudden voice before your brain kicks in and recognises the speaker. Mr Pye was peering down from the projection room, face paler than usual, panic setting in on his face.

"Mr Pye..? Are you alright? Didn't keep yourself up all night with a horror showing did you?" You try to keep the mood light, the expression on his face causing your blood to turn cold. What could possibly had frightened your boss like this? He wordlessly peckons you up with frantic movements, looking around the theatre room like something would jump out and attack you at any moment. Once you're in the projector room and face to face with him he heaves a sigh of relief, half throwing himself into his chair. "Sir... what's going on? Is someone in the building?" You quickly glance around the room. There wasn't much you could use to protect yourself and Reginald. Maybe strangle them with film strips, if they didn't break.

Your employer runs a hand down his face, still staring out into the theatre. "I... I don't even know how to explain what happened." His voice is shaking at this point, as are his hands. Just as you open your mouth to respond, the projector clicks on. Mr Pye jumps at the sound but you, curious about how it came to life by itself, move closer and peek out at what it's lighting up. The curtains are drawn, no picture plays, just the light shines down on the stage. There's a ruffle in the curtains, something pulls at the opening down the middle and..

"Ta-da!"

A little cartoon.. man? Pokes out and addresses the empty rows of seats. Oh, you've seen him! Mr Ring-A-Ding! His little cartoons have been playing from time to time when you've been on the clock. They're nothing to write home about, seemingly more for kids but Ring-A-Ding had some charm to him. Even if he was blue, balding.. and had a pig's nose. But he's a cartoon. On a screen. How is he.. there? "Mr Pye.." You keep your voice low but the shock is clear as day. He stays quiet, clutching a film reel in his arms as he leans back away from the gaps in the walls. Music starts to play - the cartoon's theme tune, you recognise almost immediately from the days you've been working while his show was on - as Ring-A-Ding begins to sing the lyrics and do his signature dance. Though about 5 words in there's a record scratch and he pauses, quite literally, seemingly noticing he's performing to an empty theatre. Mr Ring-A-Ding puts his hands on his hips and starts scanning each row of seats, a sliding sound effect playing as his cutout eyes go from left to right. Finally, he looks up at the projector room and spots you. His (admittedly quite cute) face lights up, a little exclamation mark popping up above his head. "Ah! There you are, sweetie pie! I was just wondering where you'd snuck off to" His chipper voice echoes up, it sounds the same as the cartoon.

Far too curious for your own good, in awe at this living cartoon, you miss Mr Pye's hand reaching out to you as you leave the projector room and return to the theatre, slowly moving down the steps as you approach Ring-A-Ding. The celluoid stays in place on the stage, smiling up at you with his hands still on his hips, waiting for you to come closer. At the bottom of the stairs, you realise just how small he is. He's probably not even 3ft! You inwardly gush at the adorable little man, stepping up onto the stage. You realise you've been silent since he noticed you and clear your throat. "Uh.. hello, Mr Ring-A-Ding..?" You wave to the cartoon, the absurdness of the situation finally kicking in. You're waving to a cartoon, that's in the real world, standing there like it's always existed like this. It even has sound effects! How is any of this possible?!

"...Yoohoo?" You're interrupted from your attempts to reason Ring-A-Ding's existence by the very cartoon leaning in and waving a blue four-fingered hand close to your face. You blink and move back slightly. "Don't ya know it's rude to stare, sunshine? What, never seen a cartoon before?" He spreads his arms out, like he's showing off his form to you. "Though, don't say I blame you for gawkin'. Quite the looker aren't I?" His voice lowers in pitch and he smirks at you, eyebrows moving up and down accompanied by another sound effect.

"Uhhhh..." You can't find words to respond with, baffled still by the, again, LIVING CARTOON in front of you and his unexpected question. At your silence, Ring-A-Ding begins to frown, a sad violin playing from.. well it's hard to say. As you look around for the source of the music, the cartoon holds his little yellow hat and begins his guilt-tripping.

"Why the silence, sweetheart? I know I'm not the mirror image of you humans, but.." He sniffles, making you look back down to him. His pie eyes now have 2 white dots in them, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. Seeing he has your attention, he squeezes his eyes shut to get more tears flowing, clutching his hat to his chest. "Nothing at all? Come on, dolly, humor a 'toon! You can't leave me hanging like this!" Ring-A-Ding pouts up at you, hat in his hands under his chin, eyes wide still sparkling with unshed tears. At this pitiful display you frown guiltily, getting down on one knee so you're eye-level with the sad little celluoid.

"Oh.. oh, Ring.. I'm sorry." Without thinking you reach a hand out to wipe his tears away, surprising yourself when you actually make contact with the cartoon. He's warm like a lightbulb, his skin somewhat rubbery. The tears are like any other's as you gently stroke them away, both hands now on either cheek. Only after you finish wiping the 'toon's face do you realise the violin stopped and Ring-A-Ding has been still and silent the entire time. You slowly remove one hand from his face, worried you upset him further by touching him. But as you go to take the other away and apologise, he leans into it and puts his hand on top of yours. You glance at it, then back to his face. He has that smirk on again, his eyes half lidded with a smug expression.

"Quite forward aren't you toots?" Ring-A-Ding has a playful tone to his voice now, slinking closer to you as he rubs his cheek into your hand, the hand not holding yours putting his hat back on his head. The proximity, tone, words, all join forces to make you blush a bright red and knock you off your knee, now sitting back as the cartoon follows. The smug expression only grows now at your lack of response, Ring being ever so slightly taller with you on the stage. "Why don't I try.. being forward too? Hm?" Your hand is moved down, onto his shoulder and behind his head, fingers ever so close to the little amount of hair he has. Ring-A-Ding moves between your spread legs, the hand that held yours moving to cup your jawline, drawing a barely audible gasp from you. But with you two so close, it's no surprise he hears it. His smirk opens to a charming little grin as he angles your head and only then does it occur to you what he's doing. This cartoon, brought to the real world through means you still don't know, is about to kiss you! You're going to kiss a cartoon. God you kind of want this as well. There's worse things to put your lips against, you decide to reason to yourself. Ring puts his other hand on your shoulder, then slides it up to the side of your neck, eyes barely open as he angles himself down, your faces so so close..

"Mr Ring-A-Ding, sir, I'm sorry but I can't let you hurt them!" You jump so hard you practically gain air, Ring only leaning back slightly to glare up at Reginald at the top of the stairs, his smirk instantly gone. His pig nose wrinkles as he snorts, moving both hands from you and stepping over your leg as he marches over to Mr Pye, waving a finger. He's saying something but the words don't reach you. You're still reeling from the near-kiss you just had with the cartoon. The cartoon that isn't on screen. You're gonna have to ask Mr Pye what the hell's going on. You get yourself off your butt and turn, seeing your boss and Ring-A-Ding are moving to the projector's room. With a heavy sigh, you hop off stage and follow them up the stairs.

Today's gonna be a long, long day.

[itrainswhenurhere]

party 4 you 2 frat!rafe x sorority!reader

18+ mature

mlist

a/n: finally part 2!! (part 1) probably best not read as a standalone but if ur just here for the smut then sure🤷🏼‍♀️ i’m debating making it an au or just a two shot cos this one is lowkey just pure smut but i wanna write more for them but but and and and

you had woken up with the most pounding headache in the world, barely making it downstairs to greet all of your similarly hungover sisters.

it was 1:30 and hanna was unsurprisingly, still in bed. you go to find to sarah, one of the only girls in the house without a splitting feeling deep in her brain, to ask if she’s seen the advil.

you had never been someone who didn’t have to face the consequences of their drinking, almost always waking up like this after a night out, even when you occasionally weren’t even that gone.

it’s only when you take a second to register everything that you remember the events of the prior night.

not the sweaty bodies surrounding you and your misery from the beginning of the night. not the numerous men that had tried, and failed. not even the ringing of the bass that still faintly haunts your ears.

rafe cameron.

ohhhhh fuck. sarah’s gonna be so pissed, is your first thought.

your second one is of his hands, his sapphire eyes burning into yours, the feeling of his leg underneath your hot cun-

“i feel like fucking death.” the sound cuts through your thoughts quick enough that you almost jump.

you turn around sloppily to see kiara is now stumbling into the shared kitchen you had walked into looking for sarah, probably for the same thing.

“have you seen sarah?” she questions lowly, one hand leaning against the island, the other rubbing over her still mascara stained shut eyes.

you’re now facing her, coffee in both hands like it’s the middle of winter, your face permanently scrunched in disgust like there’s a taste in your mouth you just can’t get out, though a little more awake due to your previous thoughts.

“jesus i know, she’ll be with hanna though.” if you had the energy to giggle, you would. “god that girl parties hard.” kiara lets out a breathy laugh.

kiaras eyes open more than they have in the last half hour, glancing at you in remembrance and still groggy excitement.

“soooo…” she starts. “how was the dick???” she raises her eyebrows, eyes still swollen.

for a split second you think she knows about rafe, but no, sarah and hanna must’ve come in and announced to everyone that they could that you didn’t come home with them because you were ‘getting fucked hard,’ which has happened more than once.

“hmf, i don’t kiss and tell.” your voice is slow and slurred and tired, but carries a playful energy nonetheless. “but..”

kiara let’s out a ‘pfttt’ before you continue. “we like didn’t even fuck.”

“okay who though??” she leans curiously at you, now sitting on the counter, pulling yourself up cautiously.

“okay but you have to wait till after i go over to his today, which yeah he invited me over again,” you smile and look to the side, smug. “but no wait to tell sarah cos i’m gonna anyways, maybe be we can be like real sisters.” you joke.

kiaras still foggy mind takes a second to process, but when it does, her eyebrows lift as if to say ‘really???’ and her jaw slacks in surprise and astonishment.

“no fucking way!!!” her enthusiasm shines through her tired voice. “rafe is like, kind of not good news though.” she says, lowering her voice at her words and looking around the room, still smiling through the shock.

“babe i know, he wouldn’t fuck me aswell.. he just like…” you grit teeth and pull your smile back. “..you know.” you breathe out, scratching the nape of your neck awkwardly at your last sentence.

“wait why??” kiara pries. “i don’t know, i think it was cos he realised how drunk i was.” you shrug, face still twisting in occasional discomfort at your headache.

“wait why is he being so… caring?? and he wants to see you again? this was not cecilys description of rafe.”

you and kiara both take a second to recount her stories of how you he would fuck hard and then send them all home without a care, not that she had minded though, apparently she had ‘left satisfied anyways.’

after you both lock eyes again, you shrug at her. “like i honestly don’t know, he had asked hanna before to see if i was drunk anyways.” kiaras mouth opens like she’s going to speak, before she takes another second to think and then finally shares her opinion.

“so he wants you bad.” she concludes with a nod and a lift of her shoulders.

“hm, we’ll see.” you smile excitedly. “i’m gonna find sarah for some form of pain relief and then go over like he said.” you hop off the counter with a still slightly slow and clenched spring in your step, sparing kiara a glance of acknowledgment before moving through the girls in the living room, who are also severely hungover, some of them still wearing yesterdays party clothes.

once you find sarah and she points you to the medicine, you head for the shower, hoping to wash away the lingering smell of sex and alcohol from the party.

you put on a nice skirt and the smallest top you can find, slowly regaining full consciousness and the ability to move your joints.

once your hair is nice enough and kiara gives you the once over, approving lazily of your outfit, still in sweats and a tank, you make your way to the frat.

the place still looks and smells like a war zone when the someone answers your knock.

“hey, rafe told me to come over.” you deadpan vaguely, recognising the boy as the one that you ran into in the kitchen trying to get hannas phone back.

“oh, ok.” he replies, slightly confused but mostly struggling to not fall asleep on the spot.

yeah, they clearly had not gotten round to cleaning yet.

the house still stank of sweat and aftermath, articles of clothing, drinks and the occasional phone or pair of car keys littered all over the floor.

rude. you thought. yeah sure just invite me over to your pigsty. it was around 4 now and atleast half of the men were still passed out on couches.

you make your way upstairs and try to remap the house for his particular room, but he finds you before you find him.

“hey.” you hear from behind you, turning around to see the man who’s thigh you had shamelessly humped the night before.

“i’m glad you came.”

embarrassment almost rushes through your veins at seeing him in broad daylight, which is weird, you don’t think you’ve ever been nervous about a man you had just met.

“let’s go to my room, it’s uh- the only clean room in the house.” he’s smirking slightly, something glossing over his eyes.

he guides you with a hand on the small of your back, mirroring his actions from the night before, although you are now hyper aware of everything because, it’s just him.

he and you both promptly ignore what sounds like man fever coming from some of the rooms, groans and whines of frustration about how they’re ‘literally going to die.’

he eventually clicks open the door of his room and gestures you to sit down.

“so, why am i here?” you make an attempt at indifference.

you try a different question as he locks the door behind him. “what did you mean last night?” that grabs his attention.

“hm?” he questions, moving to sit beside you on the bed.

“like the whole waiting thing? i’ve waited before so i can wait one more night,” you quote “i don’t remember speaking to you before… then.” you deliberately make it sound like you haven’t heard in excruciating detail how his dick feels.

“i see you around.” he gestures. you shift so your legs are in a basket, facing his side before he turns his torso and meets you directly.

“stalker.” you giggle at his confession.

a smirk creeps onto his face at your teasing tone “maybe. bet sarah wouldn’t be happy.”

“i won’t tell if you don’t.” you furrow your eyebrows in mock concentration and inspection.

you definitely will be telling.

he grabs your waist and pulls you down onto the bed, climbing over you.

you giggle and laugh until a single finger trails down your sternum to the waistband of your skirt, to which you shut up.

you figure you’ll worry about why he’s being like this with you and only you later, probably once he’s done fingering you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

his fingers had swiftly moved to push your skirt down and over your ankles before landing on your underwear and pulling them to the side. they feel so different from anything you have ever experienced before, you realise.

calloused rough fingertips open you wide with their length, nothing like your feeble attempts with your own small ones, usually reaching nowhere pleasurable.

you’re now gasping and fighting to contain yourself as he leans over your figure, thrusting his fingers in and out of you, gaping at where they connect like it’s him being pleasured.

his touch is everywhere and nowhere all at once. it’s sometimes too much and always too little.

you squeeze your eyes shut in hope that you don’t moan too loud when his thumbs begins to toy with your clit- a little less shameless than yesterday.

his fingers move with fervour and wet gushing sounds echo around the room. “you close?” he strains, like he can’t already tell with the way you’re tightening around him.

“hmff, y-yeah.” you struggle out.

when rafe, in response, presses and holds down on that bundle of nerves inside you, you snap, head turning to the side in hopes of hiding the strangled whimpers and cries that escape you.

he doesn’t stop. his eyes are now trained on you, your every reaction going straight to his dick, which is paining him for not already being inside you.

his fingers continue their attack on your most sensitive areas until you start to tremble from overstimulation, in which he slows and slows until he’s going at a pace that lets you atleast slightly recover, and you whine when you feel him leave you.

wow. you don’t think you’ve ever cum that quickly.

well, excluding the night previous.

you would be embarrassed was rafe not now kneeling up and fumbling with his belt at such speed you’d think it was a competition.

his hand that had just previously left your cunt was wet with his spit, having licked up your release.

when he returns to his place on top of you, now free from the containments of his boxers, you feel his hard on lying heavy on your hip bone as he pulls you in for a searing kiss.

his mouth meets yours with such passion that it knocks the wind out of you. his left hand cradles (paws at) your face while the other holds himself up on his mattress.

it’s needy and messy and disgusting and turns you on so, so much.

the two of you are vigorously swapping spit for maybe 30 seconds before you grow impatient and reach down to grab his length.

when he feels you wrap around him, he disconnects with your mouth and you marvel at the long string of spit connecting between you.

you look down at your hand and suddenly anxiety spikes. there’s is no way that he’s going to fit.

sure you had heard all about how big he was, but seeing it up close? your pussy paling in comparison at his length sitting comfortably in your hand right next to it.

you slowly drift from the bottom to the top of him, thumb brushing over his tip.

he groans and drops his head into your shoulder, murmuring a curse word you can’t quite make out.

“hm?” you mock, now stroking him him increasingly faster.

“fuck, s-sto-” he cuts himself off, and a selfish part of him wants to let you continue, but he soon realises he needs to actually stop you before he does something he doesn’t think his ego would ever recover from- finish embarrassingly early in your singular hand.

his hand on your face reaches down and grabs your wrist with much more force than he’d like, unable to contain himself.

he stutters your hand away and replaces it with his own, moving to line up with his entrance.

his head is still buried in the crook of your neck, slightly ashamed at his neediness, when his head cranes down further and he takes in his cock directly on top of your pussy, he and you share a thought.

fuck, how is he going to fit.

sure, his version is a little more riddled with arousal, but he speaks up to ease your worries.

“relax.” he reaches up to gently peck between your eyebrows, highly contrasting what he’s about to do to you. “it’s fine, it’ll fit.”

hopefully.

with his cock in his hand, he starts to push into you, stroking your face, the both of your mouths hanging open.

“god, you’re tight.” he moans out, feeling the stretch around him. your warm heat surrounds him and he doesn’t think he could stop himself from pushing deeper if he tried.

when he finally bottoms out, tip nudging at your cervix, he gives you a second to accommodate him.

“move.. p-please.” you whimper, not realising you had that kind of begging in you.

he’s more than happy to comply, pushing almost fully out before slamming himself back in.

“oh god.” you practically scream out at him hitting your g-spot directly, definitely understanding what all the fuss is about.

“jesus fuck.” he groans into your mouth, breath hot against you as he keeps up his destroying pace.

he’s slamming into you so loudly you’re sure half of the frat can hear him, wet squelching sounds and rhythmic slapping bouncing off the walls.

you’re both absolute messes for eachother, either of you occasionally whimpering while you make attempts at kissing, basically just licking at each others open mouths.

he moves his free hand to scrunch up your top and rest it just above your breasts, fondling with them eagerly, watching them bounce.

fuck, he’s already so close. your first impression of him cannot be that he came deep inside your guts before you could even finish.

he rests his full body weight on you, not letting up his pace for even a second (except maybe to stutter his hips,) as he reaches the hand that was holding himself up to play with your clit.

your mouth falls open in a silent scream, tightening around him in a way he almost whimpers at.

it’s all too much, his hands on your tits and your pussy, his cock violently splitting you open.

you release in a loud cry, wetness coating rafes dick and up his hips. the pleasure goes white hot and you swear you lose consciousness for a split second.

“oh fuck, y-yeah, good girl.” he breathily cries into your cheek, thick spurts of his cum splashing your insides.

your hips are rutting up into him desperately chasing the last bit of pleasure as he sporadically does the same, losing all rhythm.

once both of your highs finally wash over, you and rafe are left gasping for breaths above and beneath one another, mouths still hanging open and eyes lazily shut, still rolling back.

rafe is the first to speak through bated breaths.

“can i uh, get your number?”

[quintells]

Hii! I love your works, they’re super good and you’re an amazing writer! I was wondering if, perhaps, you could write a one-shot of maybe a human Alastor x fem! Reader who’s his wife but also the daughter of Candyman? The Daniel Robitaille one.

Maybe they’ve been happily married for some time but suddenly she gets glimpses of her father, her sanity slowly unraveling until it’s to the point of no return and she’s constantly talking about candyman and how he’s her dad and so on.

What would Alastor’s reaction to it all be? Watching his wife’s spiral downwards?

Perhaps it could start off as more of a fluff piece but slowly turns into more of an angst?

If you can’t do it, that’s fine! I hope you have a great rest of your day! ^^

~ 🕷️

A/N: EEEHHH!!! I literally squealed reading your request, thank you (ToT) I feel super happy hearing that! An excellent request that I hope to meet your expectations! I love Daniel Robitaille’s Candyman, I wished they had gone with the original storyline where it was gonna be a bit romantic but it still delivered! I didn’t know how to exactly plan it out since Candyman takes place in Chicago and Alastor lives in New Orleans but I hope my attempt is still enjoyable :) It’ll take a bit to get to the Candyman relation but just hold on.

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Reader’s mental health spiraling, self-inflicted wounds, probably OOC Alastor but it serves its purpose

7.5k ~ Words

Synopsis: Alastor lives a double life, one of tranquility and one of… carnage. Making sure to not entangle them, he takes great care of his beloved wife, ignorance is bliss. But the whispers to herself start to alert him, has someone been harming his darling wife? Why is she screaming at night? Does she know of the terrors he’s committed… or of someone else’s?

When you had first arrived in New Orleans years ago, Alastor thought you seemed utterly clueless. Standing in the middle of the street with just a suitcase in hand while looking around, probably for any open rooms to accept a singular woman, clearly not from the south, his brain queued in an idea. It being that he could use you as a cover up, being a 20-year-old unmarried man and of his looks along with success, it would become a suspicious image, one he didn’t need, plus, the bachelor life didn’t suit him, all the parties and suck-up conversations bored him, leaving little time for his hunting activities.

On the other hand, it was true, you were looking for a room, any room. You had traveled all the way to New Orleans with all you had left behind whatever was left of yourself in Chicago, a place up north that only brought up pain and suffering if mentioned. Walking ahead while still looking around, you felt yourself collide against a chest, looking up you saw what you could only describe as the most darling looking young man that you had seen in your years of living. He smiled down at you, his hand at your waist, holding you close incase you were at risk of falling. You had an alluring appearance to say the least, to him, you looked like a lost doe in finding a strong stag to protect you, serve you, to care for all your needs, you seemed innocent. Weirdly enough, he’d come to think of you as his only gift from Heaven. 

“I had not a clue in the world that angels fell all the way to New Orleans.” He spoke softly, his half-lidded eyes staring down at you, still holding you in place. 

Your ears felt hot from the interaction, your face soon joining in, perhaps you could blame the heat. You smiled back at him, “Lucky day you’re having, ain’t it?” Your humor was something he’d come to enjoy, clicking with him instantly.  Finally clicking out of the moment (but not fully), you both stood a couple of inches apart, offering your hands to one another. Looking down at them, you two laugh then shake hands. 

“___, it’s lovely to meet you, sir.” You introduced yourself, tugging some hair behind your ear. 

“You may call me Alastor, sweetheart. It is a pleasure to meet a beauty like you.” He said, raising your hand to his lips and giving it a small kiss. 

You went from being in the guest room to being in his bedroom, sleeping soundly at his side, married within months. It wasn’t as quick as it may seem, Alastor wanted to truly give you a romantic suave story for you to tell others of his charms and mannerisms, so they could be truly be captured by his doting husband persona, however, his true attitude did become that, he had relinquished the title of heartless for he had found his heart once again after his mother’s death, Alastor was lovestrucked by you. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint when his feelings developed, when he stopped pretending and truly acted upon what his heart commanded, perhaps it was how you’d slither into his office, carrying a cup of coffee made to his specific liking, if not better, you invited yourself into his space, initially not enjoying your presence like a cat but as you continued to come and even announced your creative ideas, he was more than pleased and willing to inform you he’d be in his office, leaving the door wide open for you to come. People in town started speaking, whispering amongst themselves that the handsome bachelor had found himself within arms reach of the new bachelorette, making others jealous or curious. 

Taking leisure walks outside only brought more attention, you’ve never felt so famous… only infamous before but who’s to focus on that now? No one in this town knew that of you. Rumors were going around, specifically from the other ladies that grew envious of your essence, were you the mistress of an old lord back in your hometown? Thrown out due to shame? Did you capture hearts for fun, for luxury, for what?

On a more positive note, you were respected even with no title, people flocking to you for fashion advice, you became part of the elite by association, your job literally being your presence. This boosted Alastor’s pride, using you here and there for deals he would make with others, an unspoken agreement you both had. He made sure to never involve you physically though, after all you were his bride to be! (you didn’t know this yet though) Yours and his charisma combined were just as fatal as a bullet, hypnotizing any ogling dumbass or desperate idiot. 

“What if we use candidate Orwell?” He asked for your opinion. 

Removing your cigarette holder from your lips and letting out a puff, you grumble while thinking, looking out the window of Alastor’s study. “No, he won’t do, darling. I had asked Mimzy to find some details on him and let me tell you…” You leaned down, pulling one of his drawers and taking out pictures of the said senator. “He’s deadweight, his money runs low ‘cause he’s busy pounding hookers and buying drinks that are sure to make his liver look like rocks.”

Alastor shook his head, his curls swaying side to side. Leaning your cigarette at him, he held it and took a puff, recognizing in his mind that your lips had just been on it. His hand went through his hair, pushing it back, “Maybe he’ll be easier to move around?” He said, studying the pictures on his desk, your bottom sat at the corner of it, he felt tempted.

You closed your eyes, sighing, unwrapping a piece of candy that you had grabbed from Alastor desk. “No, I do not like him one bit. That’s not the only thing Mimzy uncovered…” Your hand moved to soothe your temple.

His brow raised, “What is it that you mean, mon cher?” He noticed you tense up, his smile faltering a bit. Has this man disturbed you?

Not looking back at him, you play with your hands. “Mimzy said he beats them, the hookers… til they’re all bloody, hardly able to get up.” Your shoulders slumped.

Your heart was his grace. Your morality never ceased to amaze him, you were fine with fucking up the lives of others (as long as it wasn’t death) but you still had a better understanding and a grasp of empathy than most when it came to certain situations. Alastor reached out, caressing your back. 

His smile widened, unbeknownst to you. “I see, do not fret. I won’t deal with him, dear.” Only that, he will be dealing with him in some other way though. 

Alastor wasn’t particularly fond of it, but he could not risk you waking up in the middle of the night wondering where he’s at. Before heading to bed each night, he’d fix you up a drink, swearing that it would help with your insomnia. It did, but you weren’t going to like the idea of you being drugged here and there for his sake, for his murderous sake. While Orwell hadn’t physically harmed you, he did hurt you still, and that does not run well with Alastor, any harm to you, emotional or physical, will be cleared by him. So that night after putting you to sleep and placing a kiss on your forehead, he snuck out through the back, the woods calling him again. The next morning, you prepared breakfast, Alastor reading the newspaper out loud to you, a routine you both grew accustomed to while either of you cooked. 

“And~ ____ makes another fashion shift with her elegant and buoyant looks! Do you see the way she carries herself? It is enough to make a pious man seek her, even within the confinements of Hell, itself. A radiance follows her anywhere she goes, had it been later times one would think her beauty is a curse! A witch! But no, for you see dear readers, that is beauty constructed by God Almighty, the angels choosing to bless us, gifting us a belle from the Heavens. A queen bee.” Alastor read, dramatically, his hand gesturing upwards. 

You rolled your eyes while flipping an egg. “Oh my, how theatrical.” You turned to him, placing the eggs on the tray. “Do you make them write all that?” You ask, turning back to the stove, taking off the apron.

Alastor laughed. “No, they come up with it all by themselves… if it was me, it would sound better.” He whispered the last part. 

You purse your lips, not catching the last statement. “What was that?” Sitting next to him, your chairs were always skewered so closely.

Shoving his coffee to his mouth, “Nothing, just commenting on the tastefulness of the meal.” He stated.

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Why thank you, Al. Hopefully they’re good enough to find me a husband.” You commented comically.

Behind his drink, he frowned. He didn’t think it was that funny, or funny at all. The idea of you sitting so close to a man that wasn’t him made him feel… jealous. He had already forgotten his initial reason for attempting to court you, now it was in full truth. He put a smile back up, setting his drink down. 

“Well, have there been any?” He asked, almost wanting to jab the butter knife into his throat.

You hummed, cutting a slice of your hotcakes. “Mm, maybe, maybe not,” Were you pushing his buttons on purpose?

He brought the newspaper up again, covering his expression, his smile sharp and expressing irritation. “Well, out with it…” He pressed on.

You hadn’t exchanged a look his way, clueless to the violent imagery he was having of this mystery man. “He’s a real charmer, a businessman, the ladies would hate me even more, but I believe it is worth it.”

Alastor stayed silent, you were killing him with how long you were dragging it, did you perhaps want to join the man’s fate? He would kill out of jealousy. His knuckles turned pale, scrunching, ripping the newspaper that he wasn’t even reading at this point. 

“You know Alastor… have I ever told you… of my arrival to New Orleans?” You questioned, still avoiding his eyes, continuing to pick at your breakfast. 

He took a deep breath, attempting to relax. Why the sudden change of topic? It seemed important either way, “No, dear. People come and go, I used to think you would too.”

Finally looking at him, your head turned quickly. “Do you want me to leave?” You questioned him, your voice becoming quieter at the end. 

Alastor put his paper down, quickly, throwing it to the side, his hand reached under your chin, his thumb rubbing it. “No never, ___, I adore your company. You have proven to be the only one who can bring me true peace…” His eyes stare deeply into yours. He genuinely meant it, he was good with words but when it came to being in love? It was his first and only time, he felt clueless as to how to truly sway you, especially now with another man in the picture. 

Your hand reached out to the one under his, you placed a kiss on it. “My dearest companion, I must confess so much to you…” You look at him again. “I love you, Alastor.” You delivered the line with all the truth that you found in your heart. 

The brunet stayed quiet for a moment. It was him? He was imagining gutting himself, dismembering, and burying the body, only to find out it was him who you loved. Alastor stood up holding you close, spinning around as he laughed joyously. 

“Mon amour! You made me worried for a second there!” He spoke, stopping his spins to look at you, his hands to your cheeks, feeling the warmth of your face. Alive you were, and him too, even killing didn’t make him feel this content.  “I love you too, ___” He confessed back, leaning his face forward, your lips connecting. It felt as though it were the first time he got his first radio, gifted from his mother, but with a hit of ecstasy. 

The disappearance of Orwell went over everybody’s heads, especially after the fine announcement of the beloved duo, Al and you were all that New Orleans could talk about, even spreading outside the city, beyond borders. Newsboys up-selling any announcements that featured you both in the cover page, other lower-end radio hosts inviting others who claimed to know you both best to discuss the wedding. Alastor would avoid talking about anything personal in radio, but here and there, he’d let his listeners tune in to your lovely voice, telling jokes, giving small opinions, both of you entertaining the audience. 

You were both orphans at young ages, ones who managed to become very successful not just in business relations but as well as looks and personalities, and now you were together, a story that people liked to share amongst themselves. Children and teenagers filled with giddy when copying anything that resembled the married couple, they wanted to be just like you two, but one shouldn’t trust image so easily. 

Years had passed. You became the Mrs. Radio of Louisiana even if it hadn’t been your thing at all, Mr. Radio, Al, loved the title. Traveling here and there, either for Alastor’s business ventures or for your fashion shows, the only place you ever avoided was Chicago. It only ever brought memories you did not want to relive, Alastor knew that feeling so whenever he’d have to travel to the bustling city, he would only inform you once, and that was all. As far as he knew, you had come from an abusive orphanage, one that would leave you starved for days, beat you if you made a creak, nothing good or worth remembering. He did wonder how such a kind heart like yours ever made it out, if it had been him… he would’ve felt the warmth of the orphanage but through the flames he’d have set. 

“I’ll accompany you.” You said, folding Alastor’s clothing into a suitcase.

He stopped tying his bow-tie, turning away from the mirror to look at you. “And you are sure of this?” He questioned.

You nodded, setting stuff down and walking to Alastor, hugging him. “I cannot stand the thought of not seeing you for weeks… each time you go… I get these nightmares.” 

He leaned further into the hug, his chin resting on your head, his hand moved to soothe your back. “What are they, love?”

You whimpered. “I don’t want you to deem me insane.”

You feel him shake his head. “No, never, if I have to meet your insanity, then that I will, my love.”

“He calls to me… my father. He is in Hell, I see him burn and scream, cry my name out, saying that I’m next.” Tears begin streaming down your face, sobbing. “I don’t know what I’ve done, I do not seek him, I do not mourn him. I simply wish to forget.” You choke out. 

Alastor’s soft smiles again, for the second time with you in his life. Nightmares? They have your body trembling, this was torment. He holds you closer if possible, “I’m here, dear. I’ll be with you forever.” Except in death, a voice inside his head spoke.

 The travel to Chicago had been spend nicely, that is until one sunny day out in the shade while drinking sweet tea a bee had stung you. You groaned in pain, waving your finger around. Alastor laughed and you shouted in pain. 

“It is not amusing at all, Al! It genuinely hurts.” You told your husband. 

Alastor grabbed some ice within his cup, holding your wrist and placing the ice cube on your index finger. “Let us just hope you are not allergic to some fuzzy insect, mon amour.” 

You grumbled, wiping tears away, your other hand shoving a piece of candy into your mouth. “And on my last day here too! How cursed am I?” You spoke, moving the candy around in your mouth.

He shook his head, clicking his tongue, he loved how dramatic you were. “You’re acting like Louisiana has no bees.” 

“They’re much nicer, showin’ southern hospitality of sorts.” You groaned out.

Back home, Alastor observed some differences. You seemed downer than usual, not even bothering to fix yourself or anything, not that he minded your natural beauty whatsoever but it was unusual for you to be so… not yourself. The first sign might have been the one night he woke up to go out for his hunt, only to find that you weren’t next to him in bed. Alastor slipped on his robe, holding a candle as he walked around the townhome you both owned. 

“My dear?” He spoke out to the darkness, an uneasy feeling creeping into his gut, something very unusual as well. Very.

He heard whispers, yours, frequent. Finally walking around the corner of the hallway, he saw your form staring out the window, a full moon illuminating you, you seemed holy even with your frantic whispers. 

“Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman…” You repeated, looking out the window. 

Alastor’s hand reached out, tapping your shoulder, causing you to jump. A confused smile adorned his face, his head tilted to the side. 

“Are you alright, ___?” He questioned, genuinely worried. 

Your eyes were half-lidded, turning your head to look around. “Wh… what am I doing here?” You asked, heavily confused. 

He wasn’t sure what to answer since he had no clue either, he did drug your drink, right? This would be the first time he’d forgotten if so. Moving his free hand to your waist, Alastor guided you to the bedroom. “Let’s sleep, my doe.” Was all he could say. 

Alastor decided to stay in that night, there was something happening, a feeling of worry crept into his heart, but he could only hope it had been a one time thing. Once morning hit, Alastor prepared breakfast, you had come down after resting a bit more, noticing that he had made your favorite. You let out a giggle and hugged him from behind. His smile grew, turning his body to you and his arms caging you in. 

“Good morning, sweetheart!” He said. “Morning, Mr. Radio.” You spoke softly, letting go of his hug and sitting down. 

As Alastor joined you, he looked at you cut into your meal. “Dear, who is ‘Candyman’?” 

You stopped completely. “Why do you ask?” 

He smiled nervously, another sign things are not normal. “It’s just that… last night when I found you in the hallway, you repeated it.”

You looked at him, your expression serious. “Is that all I said?”

He nodded.

You move back to cut your food, “Then it's nothing to worry about…”

Alastor furrowed his brows. Clearly it was something to worry about, but maybe he was being too much of a doting husband, maybe his worries were nonexistent. How he wished he pushed further. 

The nights grew longer, pushing his kills even further, his thirst for blood growing. Night after night, he’d wake up to your screams, your cries, he came to find out that the drugs, no matter the dosage, wouldn’t work. Your hands would reach out above you, towards the ceiling, your eyes straining backwards as you shouted once again. “CANDYMAN, CANDYMAN, GET AWAY FROM ME! PLEASE! STOP! NO!” You’d sobbed.

He grew alert each night, ready to hold you in his arms, the only thing that would calm you down, but slowly. First you’d try to fight him off only to find out it was your beloved husband holding you, he’d shush you reassuringly, petting your hair back, wiping the cold sweat off you. Your body trembling, jumping, it took hours of comforting you for you to finally slip into sleep again, only in his arms, if he left you for even a second, he hears a wailing outside the door. Nights were harsh. The daytime was much easier to handle, yet, you’d only walk around the house, doing small activities to distract yourself while Alastor worked.

You stood outside your bathtub, the door left open as your husband requested, the steam escaping the room into the hallway. You could only sigh tiringly, you felt weak to even put a towel on. Looking in the mirror, you saw eyebags appear onto your skin, sunken eyes accompanying the look, you didn’t feel like Mrs. Radio, you felt… weak. During breakfast, you could tell Alastor was hiding away a section of the daily newspaper from you, growing suspicious, once out of sight, you had taken a look only to be informed about the public wondering about your whereabouts, many guessing a pregnancy. You’d rather say illness first but all these townspeople were good for was gossip and that’s it, they had meaningless lives so their only source of joy was someone who had something they don’t. You open your mirror cabinet, looking for a formula to give you back your glow, but once you closed it, he was there instead of your face. Your father.

He stared back at you, menacingly. Raising his hooked hand, “Join me in Hell, ___. It will be more familiar than you think!” 

You shook your head, stepping backward hurriedly as you swung at the mirror with the glass formute in your hand, breaking the mirror into pieces. You screamed in great fear that he’d crawl out of it and come get you. Your nude back met the wall, your legs still attempting to scoot away as you scream echoed throughout the house.

Alastor had been hosting from home ever since… your illness began to act up more. His broadcast stopped abruptly, a scream interrupting his announcements. He was sure the mic picked them up. He stood up, looking out his door. 

“Ah, just a moment folks, I’ll be right back.” He informed, switching to a random repetitive hit song. 

He ran downstairs, jumping a couple steps, turning to you from the stairs, running quickly to your dishevelled form. He kneeled down, clinging to your naked body, turning his head to the bathroom where the shattered pieces of your skin care and the mirror layed. Leaving you to grab a towel, he kicked any shards near you away.

“Alastor, Alastor! Don’t leave me!” You shouted.

Grabbing a towel and covering you as he rubbed a part of it into your wet face, a soft concerned smile looked back at you. “No, no, I won’t leave you no matter what. Just explain to me what happened, dear.”

You pointed to the now destroyed bathroom cabinet, “He was there! Candyman… My father! I want him to leave me alone! He wants to drag me to Hell with him!”

He felt a jab in his heart when seeing you in such pain, you were so sweet, what in the hell was punishing you so much? Was this God’s doing? Your deceased father hunting you from the grave? Alastor dabbled in the dark arts, he knew about souls, spirits and such, his family studied voodoo afterall, but this may be different. This is a haunting. His thoughts leaned back, he didn’t want to assume it was that right away, maybe there was still a chance that an illness had befallen you, something curable he hoped. Alastor carried you to bed, dressing you in a loose nightgown, he checked your forehead, cold, sweaty, your breathing slow. He held your hand, walking you to his office, sitting you down on a couch that faces his controls/desk, Alastor held a blanket over you, hunching over and petting your head. 

“Rest here, just be silent like… a doe.” He spoke softly.

Your eyes look up at him, your head nodding slowly. “Okay…” You whispered. 

He resumed his work once he sat back down, he could feel you eyeing, almost like you didn’t blink at all, he hadn’t caught you doing so at least. Is this how his prey felt? He’d stop to give you a reassuring smile here and there, but you’d just return it with an expressionless look, very unlike you. You were completely silent, as though nothing had happened, even before you’d whisper little risqué jokes at him that would get him going, something he'd look forward to after his sessions. It’s not like it was your job to please him whenever he wished, it was the other way around, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, so this lack of ‘you’ made him feel so concerned. He wondered back to his listeners, the scream, if it is true that they heard it, he knew the newspaper would have a run with it, regardless though, he’d still be there for his wife no matter what. 

“Well, that’s all for tonight folks, may you all have a lovely night and remember to tune it for tomorrow!” He said in a singing tone, shutting it off completely. 

Alastor picked up a pen, dipping it in ink and scribbling some things down on a piece of paper. “Are you feeling better, dear?” He asked.

You stayed silent for a moment. “Will you be going out tonight…” Your voice asked coldly. 

He stayed still for a moment, the ink of his pen creating a big drip on his paper. There is no way in Hell he heard you right. “Excuse me?”

Your head leaned on your palm that was set on the couch’s arm. “My father… he spoke to me… he told me you need to go out, by yourself.”

Dropping the pen down, “Is this… ‘Candyman’ you are speaking of?” He questioned, his eyes focused on your figure. 

“Yes…” Was all you said.

Lips were sealed, his smile faltering but still remaining, it became hard for it to stay put nowadays. “... I don’t know what you mean, my love… I reside my nights aside you…” 

You stood up, walking out the door. “Liar…” You whispered to yourself.

Alastor tilted his head, not catching what you had said. “Speak again, my dear?”

You turned to him in the doorway. “I will be going to sleep.” Walking away to what he hoped was your shared bedroom. 

He noticed he was hunched over, straightening his back into the chair, he took a deep breath, hands rummaging through his hair. A previous night, he heard you whisper a name… Daniel Robitaille. Only that, this introduction wasn’t through your voice, but that of a man. Alastor reached into his drawer, one in which he kept most secrets of information, grabbing a letter that had arrived from Chicago, Illinois. He threw the letter on his desk, grabbing a letter cutter to open it. Within it he read the information of a man, the one you claimed to be your father, Candyman. Reading the man's history, it initially seemed like another misfortune, killed due to hatred and love. But as he continued to further investigate within the sheet of paper in between his thumbs, he learned of the hauntings, the one thing he had hoped wasn’t true. 

Deaths upon deaths, and the man wasn’t even alive. Bees were a sign, and well, the candy, it’s always been there, you had a sweet tooth, always carrying candy with you to either eat or give away. Had it all truly begun when that bee had stung you? Was it your father doing? If so, what a miserable bastard. Alastor crumbled up the paper, throwing it somewhere in the room, he became frustrated that you were being tormented, and now, he also had a snitch at bay! He didn’t want this all to stress you further but it’s becoming impossible to hide, especially with how many days he’s gone without hunting. Alastor stood up from his desk, rubbing his knuckles, he must get rest while he can. Entering the room quietly, there you laid, soundly for the first time in a while. He laid next to you, holding your hand in his, dozing off to sleep.

A scream woke him. Yours. You thrashed in the bed, the moon once again lighting you, Alastor saw you claw open your nightgown, your scratched harshly at your chest, blood dripping everywhere. Alastor panicked, shouting your name repeatedly for you to break out of the trance. You could only scream, your throat burning, you had to get them out, they were inside you, buzzing within your chest, prickling your heart and lungs. Alastor held you, his nails digging into your shoulders, shaking you as hard as he could without breaking you. He needed you to snap out of it, reaching for your hands, attempting to stop them from tearing your chest open. 

“___ WAKE UP! HE’S NOT REAL! WAKE UP!” It’s like you couldn’t hear him.

Deciding there was nothing else to do, he raised his hand up high, slapping you across the face, causing you to wake up from the torment. You cried out to him, what have you become? You’ve made your sweet loving husband do something you knew would torture his heart. Alastor pressed you against his body, muffling your cries. He kissed your forehead as he apologized. 

The doctor had come in, binding your wounds with cloth. Alastor stayed inside, forbidding the man from even thinking of asking him to leave. The doctor checked your pulse, it was faint but it was there, you seemed tired, as though you had gone through labor. Your husband could only stare at the scene, speechless, his smile was gone for tonight. Standing up and walking up to Mr. Radio, the doctor held his case, sucking his lip in momentarily.

“She is not well…” He spoke.

Bringing his hand to his head, he looked to the side, “No shit, of course she’d not fucking well, no one who’s well would make a bloody mess out of there chest.” He replied frustrated. 

The doctor took a moment, hesitating, “Why don’t you send her to… a specialised hospital?” 

Alastor turned back to him, sharply. His hand grabbing the man by the collar and bringing him close, “Do not ever, EVER, suggest that…” He threatened. 

The doctor had sweat dripping down quickly. “My apologies, sir.” He quickly moved to leave.

The brunet glared as the old man scurried like a coward, how dare he suggest even more distress upon his beloved? Why he oughta gut him. Alastor walked towards you, restraints had been put on you in order to deter you from hurting yourself. He wasn’t pleased by the sight at all, but he didn’t see any other way to stop you. The doctor hadn’t helped much besides bandaging you and treating your wounds, something he could have done himself, he would’ve too if he knew the doctor would be completely useless. He kneeled next to your sleeping body, the doctor had given you strong medicine to fall asleep. Alastor laid his head next to your body, holding your hand. What could he do? 

He bit his lip, thinking. What could he do? Contact your father perhaps but he doubts he’d take kindly to such an approach… What was the harm in trying though? Alastor checked if the restraints were tight, a rope tying you to where you both usually laid, to rest and to love. Gathering some items from his study and putting them in a bag, he headed back again to you, untying the rope that held you down to the bed and carrying you out into the car, seating you behind the passenger seat. Alastor moved quickly, throwing the bag upfront, next to him, driving immediately to his hidden cabin, one he had told you nothing about. It was a risky move but it was all for you, for the love he had for you, if you finding out all his secrets was the only way to liberate from all this mess, then he’d do it, no questions asked. The streets were surprisingly empty, New Orleans was a constant party so seeing no one out should have been a sign that something was going to go wrong. He paid no mind to this fact, only focusing on your breathing, the only thing keeping him sane. He drove past the long woods, making his own road of dirt, then stopping. Slinging the back over his shoulder, he turned back, you were still unconscious, and hopefully it stayed that way for the remainder of this hour. He laid a long kiss on your forehead, then made sure you laid as comfortably as possible.

“I will be back, my love.” He whispered. 

Alastor left the car, walking to the cabin, he entered in a rushed manner, as soon as he was able to enter, he hurried to the basement, where all his deals and black magic occurred. He had just been here last night, thinking he wouldn’t be back so soon. Could he make two deals at once? Probably not, but maybe there’s a chance he could offer something. He placed the bag down, unzipped it, his hands reached in, grabbing a mirror and setting it in front of him, reaching in again, he sat some of the candy you’d usually eat ahead of the mirror. Soon, he began his incantation. 

“Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, come forth…” You bastard, he thought.

It really didn’t take much, perhaps his father-in-law was awaiting this moment. 

Daniel Robitaille presented himself, the same glare growing more intense as his eyes laid upon another sinner. Alastor smiled at him, mockingly. He snuck his hand inside his dress shirt, revealing a locket with a picture of his wife inside. He presented it to the man within the mirror. 

Alastor leaned forward, “She is my pride and honor, my one and only love. The only thing in this cruel forsaken world that brings me warm feelings, regrets, joy, and so much more.”

Robitaille remained unmoved. “I do not care.” He spoke.

His brows furrowed at his comment. “Well I do, and I’m here to do whatever you want for you to release her, let her be back to her normal self, happy and unharmed.” Alastor said, a hint of desperateness in his voice.

Candyman squinted his eyes, “You think, I am here for her soul? I want nothing of that sort,... I simply want my child.” 

What the hell does that entitle him to? “I fear I do not follow.” 

“Trust me child, I am gifting people a greater story. I am aiding her before you even know it. Heed my words… leave it all be.” He spoke in a whisper.

Everything he said made Alastor enraged at all the confusion. “Stop it with these damn-”

“Do you not realize it is too late? She is on the move! Nothing you can do to stop it!” He laughed at the sinner in front of him. 

Alastor dropped his locket, hitting his chest. His eyes widened as he ran up the stairs, the booming laughter echoing throughout the cabin. Running out, he saw the car's door wide open, your restraints ripped apart. Alastor began running into the woods, shouting your name but only the return of crickets could be heard. The bayou nearby did not make it any safer. His heartbeat wouldn’t stop, the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he tried to find any clue of you, the moon was hidden this time. All that repeated in his head was the laughter of the man who claimed to be your father, Candyman.

You couldn’t find your mind, being in the woods didn’t make it any easier. Your bare feet covered in mood and cuts, the nightgown you wore had tears at the ends. You groaned repeatedly, moaned in pain, all you could hear was the annoying incessant buzzing of bees. You wanted it all to stop, to go back to Alastor and sleep, but that seemed impossible. Your father was calling to you, demanding your presence in Hell. You were terrified of what you could do, if you harmed your beloved husband, yoo could never forgive yourself, so away you must, even if it pains him. 

Two men sat near a fire, their guns next to their sides as they ate out of their canned beans. It had been like this every so often, the two brothers would go out hunting for deer, sell it in the market, using everything it had to offer. One brother swiped his mouth clean with his sleeve, taking his hat off to air himself. He looked at his brother in front of him.

“I’m gonna take another look ‘round here…” He said.

The younger brother nodded, scooping any leftover beans from his can. The older one standing, holding his shotgun, walking into the forest. Today's hunting trip hadn’t been as fortunate, the two had spent hours here but no deer had shown up, perhaps it truly was a quiet night. A moan echoed in his area. The brother turned around, setting his can to the side as he quickly grabbed his gun. He had a bad feeling that caused the hairs of his neck to rise. Pointing the gun into the night, sweat dripping down his temple.

“Who goes there? Ain’t want no trouble.” His voice trembled.

The bushes swayed from the wind, shaking even after it had stopped. Aiming his gun at the spot, he put his finger on the trigger, ready to pull it. He had to be prepared for whatever was coming. A hand popped out of the night, your form appearing slowly, shakingly falling to the ground on your knees and palms. The man's eyes widened, recognizing you from the newspaper he’d see around town, immediately pushing his shotgun to his side and hurriedly picking up your fragile form. He held your body, noticing how cold you were from simply wearing a dishevelled nightgown. Seating you on the broken tree bark he sat on before, he studied your form. 

You were completely out of it. “Are you well, miss?” He asked.

Your eyes focused on the fire, reminding you of the Hell your father promised. You were left dazed, unable to think straight. 

“Miss?” He called out again. 

Your head turned to him, staring at him dead in the eyes, he felt frightened by your cold look. You threw yourself at him, pinning his shoulders to the ground. 

You growled, “GET. THEM. OUT. OF. ME!!!” Your nails dug furiously through his clothes. 

The man became petrified as you opened your mouth, a large amount of bees pouring out.

Alastor shouted your name, running as fast as his legs could take him after hearing your voice. “___! ___! DEAR! STOP!” He could only say, finally arriving at the scene.

The man’s face became covered in bees, his cries muffled by the loud buzzing. Alastor’s eyes moved to you, your mouth stretched wide, a size that surpassed humans. God fucking Hell, he knew demonic shit existed cause he dealt with it but he’d never seen something like this, out of this world. He could only think about hurting, did you know what you were doing? This would pain you if you did. Alastor ran to you, pulling you with all his strength. It was hard, your body just clung onto the screaming man as more bees exited your mouth. 

“___, stop! It’s Candyman! Not you!” He shouted through his struggle. He didn’t want to lose you.

Your head turned to him, your eyes a crimson red. “FUCK OFF!” You screeched, your arm swinging backwards and throwing his entire body into the forest.

He couldn’t react quick enough, before he knew it, his back hit a tree, the air being completely knocked out of his lungs. And before he knew, all he could hear was the sound of a shotgun going off, and then another one, a piercing scream heard.

The man’s older brother had heard the commotion, he ran quickly only to come across a scene that involved Satan himself. A woman straddled his brother's body as her mouth stretched open, bees flying out and onto his brother's head. He was horrified as he aimed the shotgun, a bullet hitting your ribcage, a wide wound pouring bloodied bees out. You stood up, angrily, a monstrous shriek frightening the man to shoot again, this time at your chest, he turned to run. Your hand reached to the bullet wound, near your heart, you began shaking, finally feeling the pain, the buzzing had ended. You gulp, falling to the ground on your knees, then your body dropping down backwards, you stared at the moon.

Alastor ran again, his wounds forgotten about, “___!” He shouted, sinking to your side. 

You couldn’t respond, you felt much too tired now that you thought about it, but at least the buzzing sound had stopped.

His hands go in to hold you close, noticing the wounds, you were surely to bleed out. His voice quivered as he repeated no, tears falling from his eyes onto you. 

“Alastor… I love you...” You spoke slowly, the air escaping. Your tears drown your eyes, creating a blurred vision.

He could only shake his head, “Don’t. leave. ME!” He spoke the last part through his teeth, burying himself into the crook of her neck. 

You couldn’t feel your legs, your arms, you now noticed how much strength it required to keep your eyes open, strength you didn’t have. You stare at Alastor one last time then closed your eyes, slipping away.

Alastor let out a loud sob, shaking. His fingers clung onto you close, not caring for any grim or blood, your body was all he had. He sat there close to you, breaking down at the realization that this was it, you were not coming back. Tomorrow there won’t be a breakfast you have together, no inside jokes, no you. You died leaving him behind, you were his soul, the only thing that made him feel human rather than just a monster. You were no monster, you were never insane to him, all of this was your fathers fault, dirtying your name. He picked up your body, walking to the fire and laying you down near it. He walked to the man's body, his face filled with open wounds and bumps, puss and blood out in the open. Alastor didn’t want to hear any slander of you, this wasn’t you after all. You were delicate, kind, and sweet, not a murder like him or your father. Grabbing the man's feet, he dragged him through the forest, thinking about hunting the other son of a bitch, dismembering him alive, making sure he’d feel everything, and even then, that pain couldn’t amount to yours or what Alastor felt. 

His nails dug deep into the ankles of the man’s body, “I’ll fucking kill you…” He whispered to himself, as he thought about the coward that ran away. 

And then he heard, his laugh, Candyman’s laugh. Alastor looked around furiously, a stick crunching at his feet, then he heard the click of a gun, but it was all too late for him as well.

---------

Somewhere in Hell -

“But yeah, that’s how we died!” Your hand reached out to hold Alastors, his smile staying consistent as he drank his coffee.

Alastor sighed, “A true love story all the way til the end!” He said joyously. 

You both sat in separate chairs, right next to one another. Angel had been sitting on the floor next to Nifty, he raised a brow. “Did you guys even fuck?” He asked.

Alastor’s eyes widened, what an atrocious question. “How is that even a necessary question?” He asked, unamused at the spider's antics.

Your small wings fluttered, you were used to it but it did leave you a bit irritated. “Well, anyways, my father will be visiting the hotel this afternoon, so please, please, don’t mention that in front of him.” You pleaded to Angel. 

Husk rolled his eyes, he hated that guy. “Why does he even bother? Listen, I enjoy him doggin’ on Alastor, I mean the guy needs some humbling…” Husk said as he looked at the Radio Demon, the red man’s eyes switching to Radio dials, Husk cringed. “But, he becomes everyone's pain in the ass.” 

Everyone nods their heads in agreement, including you, your antenna’s moving so cutely in Alastor’s perspective. Charlie squealed, seeming to be the only one happy for his visit. 

“He’s not that bad! He’s well respected in Hell! So maybe good old Candyman can get us some… uh… good free advertising?” She replied, holding her index finger up. 

Alastor waved his cane at her. “Why would we need him when we have moi, here?” He was feeling himself too much. 

Husk took a swig of his liquor bottle, “Humble…” He whispered to himself.

You let out a chuckle, leaning to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, some things never change.

A/N: I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS!!! Started at work, finished it at work, hehe. Gosh but seriously anon, thank you so much for requesting this wonderful idea, I hope that I managed to make it enjoyable. I just wanted to give some lil joy if anyone decides to read the last part, I just thought that the idea of the reader being a bee in Hell was kind of cute (probably haunted her for a while though) Keep those request coming!

[sugardollcurse]

Could you write something where is reader has OCD? preferably with john?<3

𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆

꒰ pairing ꒱ john lennon x reader

꒰ contains ꒱ obsessive-compulsive disorder, intrusive thoughts, compulsions, self-stigma

꒰ summary ꒱ john doesn’t understand why you do the things you do... until he finally listens

꒰ note ꒱ angel this one means a lot ♡ i tried to approach it with the care it deserves, so i really hope it resonates with you ☁︎︎ also got my sister to help out with this cuz she's actually got ocd too :b

The first time John says something, it’s not cruel.

It’s just careless.

You’re in a dressing room in Manchester, one of those tiny white-tiled hellholes that stinks of hair oil and nerves. John’s flopped back on the couch like he owns the place, legs open, one foot on the table. You’ve just gone to the sink again... for what must be the third time in ten minutes, and are scrubbing your hands so hard it squeaks.

He watches you over his sunglasses.

“You worried they’ll fall off, or what?”

You blink. “What?”

“Your hands,” he says, gesturing vaguely with a half-smoked cig. “Keep washin’ ’em like a surgeon, don’t you?”

You glance down at your fingers. Red, cracked at the knuckles. You can still feel the ghost of the doorknob you touched five minutes ago. Still don’t know if it was clean enough.

You dry them with a paper towel. Too rough. Start again with another.

John makes a little laugh. Not mean. But it lands hard anyway. “Careful, you’ll wear ’em down to the bone.”

Paul looks up. “Leave off, John.”

“Just sayin’.” He shrugs. “They’re practically smokin’.”

You go back to the sink.

John stops talking after that. But you can feel him watching.

━━

It’s not new. Not really.

The need to check, to repeat, to tap the side of a lamp three times or else something terrible will happen. It’s been with you as long as you can remember. Most people didn’t notice, or at least, they didn’t say anything. You were quiet, polite, efficient. Easy to dismiss. Easy to smile at, and then ignore.

But with John, it’s different.

He’s not like anyone you’ve met. Not kind, exactly, not at first. Not gentle. But he sees things. Picks up on shit no one else does. And that’s the problem.

Because once he notices a thing, he doesn’t let it go.

━━

You’re on the tour bus, three nights later.

He’s sitting across from you, knees knocking the table. You’ve got a book open, but haven’t turned the page in ten minutes. You’re watching the trees go by, counting them in fours. Always fours. Has to be fours. Otherwise-

“You do that all the time?”

You flinch. Look up. “What?”

“Countin’,” John says, nodding at your fingers. You hadn’t realized you were tapping... index, middle, ring, pinky. Four beats, soft on the page edge. Over and over.

You pull your hand away.

He leans in, narrowing his eyes. “Y’think you’ll die if you don’t, or somethin’?”

You say nothing.

“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning to himself. “Bloody weird, that.”

“Okay, John,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t grin at that.

━━

You try to hide it better.

But the stress is getting worse.

Every room, every handshake, every doorknob, contaminated. You start to recheck your bag six, seven, eight times a day. You wipe your shoes. You refuse to touch shared water bottles. George asks once, politely, if you want a bite of something. You tell him no, even though your stomach’s been empty since childhood.

And John, John just watches.

Like he’s trying to figure it out. Like you’re a puzzle someone forgot to give him the box lid for.

Then one night, it’s too much.

It’s late. You’ve been left behind at the hotel while the boys go to a press dinner “Didn’t think you’d want to come,” Paul had said gently, and you knew he meant well, and you’re standing in the bathroom again, raw-skinned, washing, washing, washing. You’ve got your palm under scalding water.

Someone knocks.

You freeze.

“Oi,” comes John’s voice, muffled through the door. “You in there?”

You don’t answer.

“Look, I know you are. You left your room open. That’s dangerous, you know. Might get germs.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Go away,” you whisper.

He doesn’t.

Instead: “You alright?”

You blink. Water still running. The question is too soft. It throws you off.

“No,” you admit, barely audible.

There’s a pause.

Then the knob turns, and he opens the door.

“Jesus,” he mutters when he sees you.

You’re still by the sink. Water running red from your chapped hands. Shirt sleeves wet to the elbow.

He steps in. Shuts the door behind him. Looks around like he expects to see blood.

“You been cryin’?”

You shake your head, then nod.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Alright. Right.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Tries to put one in his pocket, fails, runs it through his hair instead.

“You… do this a lot?”

“Only when I don’t want to die,” you say.

The silence sharpens.

He looks at you for a long time.

Then: “It’s really like that?”

You nod. “I don’t want it to be. But it is.”

“Thought you were just…” He trails off. Waves a hand vaguely. “You know. Bit fidgety.”

“John.”

“What?”

You meet his eyes. “It’s not funny.”

And for the first time, he doesn’t smile.

“I didn’t think it was,” he says, quietly.

You stare at him.

“You laughed,” you remind him.

He breathes in. Doesn’t look away.

“Didn’t get it,” he says. “Still don’t. Not really. But I can see it’s not… you’re not takin’ the piss. It’s real.”

You don’t say anything. Just stare at the sink.

He scratches his jaw. “C’mon. Sit down.”

You hesitate.

“I’m not gonna bite,” he says, then sighs. “Unless you’re into that, which, hey, bit of fun, but maybe not now.”

You snort despite yourself.

“There’s the smile,” he says, pulling you gently away from the basin.

You collapse onto the closed toilet lid. Arms around your knees.

John crouches in front of you. Not touching. Just looking.

“D’you want me to leave?”

You shake your head.

“Alright,” he says. “Then I’ll stay.”

And he does.

For nearly an hour.

━━

You’re in Paris when he asks.

“What’s it like? In your head.”

You pause. You’re sitting on the floor in the hotel hallway, late at night. Everyone else asleep. John’s got a drink in his hand, but it’s mostly melted ice now.

You consider.

“Loud,” you say finally.

“Loud how?”

“Like… there’s always a siren. And if I don’t do exactly what the siren wants, something will explode. I don’t know what. Just... everything.”

He watches you.

“Sounds like a fuckin’ nightmare.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Can’t just ignore it?”

“Would you ignore a bomb ticking?”

He huffs. “Suppose not.”

You look over at him.

“Most people think it’s weird,” you say.

“I think it’s mad,” he says, “but not in a bad way. More like, fuck, if I had a brain like yours, I’d have jumped in the Thames by now. You’re tough.”

You blink.

He shrugs. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean it.”

You smile. Just a little.

He sips his watered-down drink. Then glances at you.

“You’re not mad at me? For bein’ a right prick about it at first?”

You tilt your head. “You were. But you’re not now.”

“Yeah. Guess I needed a slap.”

You grin. “Next time, I won’t hold back.”

He laughs, really laughs, and leans his head against your shoulder.

You sit like that until the sun rises.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[r7leee]

ever thought of Dominic x famousgf!reader doing it backstage on his concert but the mic accidentally still being on so everyone could hear..?

oh GOD this one wins. this was actually so fun to write, hope this lives up to expectations <33

pairing: dominic fike x fem!famous!reader

summary: after an exhausting show, all dom wants to do is lay down with you. well, maybe more than lay down…

warnings: cursing, smut (duh), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT PLEASE), embarrassment ig?? also be warned it’s a very long buildup i apologize 😭😭🙏🏻

word count: 4,580 (i am so sorry.)

@saf-the-great

it wasn’t supposed to happen. the media wouldn’t be harassing your privacy, fans wouldn’t be repetitively posting on socials, you wouldn’t be a disappointment to your label if it all wasn’t for some stupid mistake.

arguably, it could’ve been prevented if dominic wasn’t a complete star-stricken mess over you, but you wouldn’t ever wish that. not when he’d coax those pretty noises out you like witchcraft.

which was what he did that night.

between the two of you, it was pretty safe to say you could handle tour. you were both relatively known artists who’d been in the industry for a few years. hopping on a bus and seeing the world for a few months wasn’t hard.

the thing that made it difficult this time was the relationship. it wasn’t an issue for dominic in the past, his tours being relatively small, meaning the homesickness for his past lovers was minuscule.

but, with his new rise to fame, larger venues were booked with more stops. and for some reason, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to go that whole time without seeing you at least once. it scared him.

see, you never had this issue, as you’d been between relationships during tours. this would be new to both of you.

you promised to keep in touch as much as possible, daily updates on life back in the city and how the latest show went. you told each other it could work.

and it did. for a while, at least. you honestly expected it to happen sooner.

it was about four weeks in when you didn’t know much longer you could take it. his side of the bed no longer smelled like him. all the messes he made in your apartment were cleaned. his collection, however sparse, of his items on the bathroom counter were gone. you missed it.

he missed it too. every morning, he would wake up, half expecting your figure to be lying next to him in a half-awake haze, until he realized all that was there was a pillow he’d been grabbing on to.

you especially knew it was time when he started asking for photos. videos. whatever he could get his hands on (literally).

dominic and you had a very…honest relationship. whatever the two of you wanted, you promised to say it. so, when you found the courage to speak to him about taking photos, he wasn’t one to deny.

he found himself enjoying it after a while, reaching over in the middle of his dick practically splitting you in two to grab his phone and take a video of the rapid in and out and how your tits bounced.

so, there was no shortage of photos and videos on either of your phones. which is why it surprised you when the message came down on your screen at a particularly late time at night.

“babyy ik it’s late but i miss your 🍒”

“can i see 😩”

of course, you had no opposition to it: it took you literally two seconds to just lift up your shirt. but, it made you think. he’d never done this before, not in the 8 months you’d been dating. that had to mean a lot.

it was only two days after you decided it was time. you called your manager and told her you were booking the soonest flight to cincinnati. she replied with a dissatisfied tone and a whiny “are you sure?”, but she got over it after your prominent insistence.

you packed about two weeks worth of outfits, your makeup, skincare, and other essentials, before promptly leaving for ohio.

one day later, and you were standing in the cincinnati airport with zero direction of the world around you. you wore a hat and sunglasses as you hunched awkwardly in a corner, texting reed, dominic’s manager.

he seemed surprised you flew all the way there, which you found funny. what kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t?

reed gave you the venue he’d be playing that night, promising he’d alert the staff you could get in for free. he also offered to hook you up with a hotel for the night, compliments of him.

you smiled at the courtesy, but told him it wasn’t necessary and that you already booked one before leaving. his reply made you raise an eyebrow.

“good. you’re gonna want one.”

the indication of what that meant was unclear, but you just shrugged. maybe he was simply suggesting the bus wouldn’t be a comfortable place to spend the night.

after everything was arranged, you ended the conversation and stepped out into the summer air. you flagged down the nearest cab and directed it to your hotel.

the whole day, you decided to keep the knowledge of you being in the city to yourself. when dominic texted, you acted like you were at home and he was none the wiser. you found it funny, even if he had no way of knowing.

downtown ohio wasn’t really on your bucket list of places to visit, so you mostly spent the day to yourself. that was until 5:00 pm rolled around.

you’d always cared about your appearance; you wouldn’t be caught dead with a single hair out of place, a fear of the paparazzi making you susceptible to beauty trends. but this wasn’t the fear you normally felt. you just wanted to look pretty for dom.

you weren’t sure why you were worrying. your boyfriend usually didn’t give two shits how you looked; hell, he’d fucked you in the shower with a shower cap on. but, this was extra special. you knew he needed attention, and you wanted to deliver.

it took you an hour to get ready. your hair was done neatly in a style you knew he liked, your makeup creaseless and effortlessly blended (but catered to run if the events called for it), and your outfit was skimpy, but popped enough to be considered chic. you were perfect.

you left an hour early for the show. hiding your face with its usual camera disguise, you called an uber to the venue. as instructed by reed, once you were dropped off, you made your way to the back.

when you pulled up, you could see a long line of people, all fans of your boyfriend. it sometimes shocked you how many people actually listened. it was crazy to know it wasn’t just you sometimes.

the sound of your heels clicked as you walked around to the back. you were sure somebody would stop you, some worker would tell you the area was employees only and you’d have to plead your case.

but, to your surprise, there was nothing: only a dumpster, a semi truck, and a creepy looking alley. you weren’t sure which option was better.

you found yourself sitting on a staircase leading to the back, hoping the dirt wouldn’t ruin your dress. you pulled the material taught to your skin as the sun started to set, causing the air to cool. when was he gonna be out here?

it wasn’t quick, but after a while, a sound from the door behind you emitted. it made you jump, but you immediately calmed down when you saw reed’s tall figure in the doorway.

you gave him a small smile as you stood up, now pulling your dress down. “what’s good?” he asked with a smile, pulling you in for a quick hug. you and reed had gotten to know each other ever since dom and you had been together, and the relationship you had was something in its own category. he looked out for you.

you replied back with a simple, “not much. my boyfriend’s doing all the fun stuff.” you stepped inside as reed shut the door. the area was small, meaning you could hear the chaos of the backstage area outside pretty clearly.

“speaking of,” he started, walking up to stand beside you, “he’s in his dressing room right now if you wanna see him.” he looked you up and down. “sure he’d be happy to see you.”

even just thinking about him made your cheeks flush. “ya, where is that?”

he walked ahead of you, giving you a “come here” motion. he popped open the door, revealing the commotion outside. “i’ll show you.”

you carefully walked out of the door and into the chaos that was the backstage. crew members were running around, making sure the spotlights were working, the band’s instruments set up properly, the mic being adjusted at the right volume.

it’d been a year or two since this chaos was centered around you. and you kind of missed it. but this wasn’t about you. you snapped out of your daydream, following reed, who was now a few steps ahead of you.

a small walk later, and you arrived at a wooden door with the word “dominic” lazily taped on. he gave you a smirk as he tapped on the door. a distinct “what?” came from the other side of the door. his voice was a bit irritated, similar in tone to when you two would be caught by paparazzi.

“yo,” reed called out, opening the door without an invitation. he looked at you one more time. “he’s all yours,” he whispered before walking away, giving you a small salute.

your heart beat fast as you opened the door fully. there he was. messy brown curls and pretty brown eyes angled perfectly to meet yours.

it didn’t take him more than a second to register the fact you were here. right in front of him. his eyes widened, staring like that for a second before he stood up, clumsily, like he couldn’t believe he wouldn’t do it in the first place.

“baby.” that was all he said at first, walking up to cup his hands on your cheeks. you were sure he could feel the heat there.

“hi.” the word made him laugh softly, before immediately pulling you close to his body.

“baby, oh my god. how are you?” his voice was high, in that pitch only you got to hear.

“fine,” you responded, teeth full on display in a wide smile. he kept laughing and shaking his head, not fully grasping onto the fact yet.

he moved his hands to your waist in a simple action before whispering, “come here.” next thing you know, his lips were on yours. chapped and dry and somehow still so perfect. you missed this.

but, much to both your dismay, there wasn’t much time to be catching up. dominic was to be on stage in an hour, and he still needed to get his mic pack on and any final touches.

you still followed him, though, your manicured hand slotting in his. you filled each other in on your lives, how the bus had been and how la was still as hot as ever.

the chatter couldn’t have lasted longer, you thought, as you prepared to watch your boyfriend go on stage. you stood behind him, gently massaging his shoulders. “you’re gonna do great,” you whispered in his ear. as much as he didn’t want to admit it, praise did him wonders sometimes.

he laughed softly, causing you to feel his muscles rise and fall. “ya, i know i will,” he replied, turning around.

“ya, ya. i shouldn’t be supplying your ego,” you teased. he rolled his eyes, both of you knowing he barely had one. suddenly, a voice from beside you caught you off guard.

“dom, you’re up in two,” a crew member told him. you groaned, not wanting him to go.

dominic nodded, replying with a signature, “thanks, man.” the crew member nodded, then ran back to whatever he was doing. dom sighed, turning back to you. “i’ll be back soon enough.”

“i know.” you were staring at the ground before looking back up at him. one last kiss later and a large shriek of the crowd, and he was on stage.

there was something about dominic’s concerts you always loved, and it wasn’t just because he was your boyfriend. there was something so special seeing him perform these songs for people other than you. seeing how his silly little lyrics brought him to a venue filled with intent fans.

at some point, dominic had stopped to take a break. he leaned against the mic, staring out to the crowd. to his success. he stood with a smile, before speaking.

“i know i’ve been thanking y’all for comin’ out tonight…but i also wanna thank someone very special.” his head turned to yours, and when his eyes met yours, you swore it was like the first time you met all over again.

“wanna thank my girl in the wings here.” the crowd cheered, the hardcore fans knowing exactly who you were. some tried to move their position to spot you. if you weren’t so hooked up with your boyfriend, you’d be a little mad.

but all you could focus on was his eyes. his smile. how he was so genuine. he seemed to feel the same way too, ducking his head slightly. “wanna dedicate this next one to her.”

you weren’t sure what to expect when the opening chords of the song started. but, a few seconds later, you recognized the song to be what kinda woman. it was one of your favorites, one he often played while you were falling asleep, resting your head on his shoulder.

during the song, he stole a few peaks at you, singing different verses that held heavy meaning. it made your heart clench.

once it was over, a big smile overtook his face, his gaze still laying upon you. he brought the mic up to his face and announced a simple, “i love you,” before continuing on with the rest of the set.

at the end of the show, you were eagerly waiting backstage. what was going to happen was beyond you, either a tired or a worked up dom ready to approach.

the second dominic got off stage and managed to make his way through the huge crowd of crew, he ran to you. you smiled, running into his arms. he was sweaty and panting but you didn’t care.

“you did so good,” you told him. he smiled at the praise before pulling your head out of his shoulder to kiss you. it was a perfect mix of gentle and passionate.

“thanks,” he replied after pulling away.

naturally, dominic wanted to get cooled down after the show. so, you both headed to his dressing room. he immediately sprawled out on the couch in an exaggerated form, all of his limbs spread out.

you felt the need to do something, so you offered to grab him a water bottle. he replied with a tired, lifeless, “yes, please,” which made you laugh.

you popped out of the room for a couple seconds before grabbing one in a nearby cooler. you walked back to the room, spotting dom still in the same posture. his eyes moved to look at you, your location making it to where he had to tilt his head back. it almost kind of looked like-

“you good?”

two words that made you snap out of your thoughts. god, what were you doing?

with a curt nod and a dry throat, you replied with a simple “ya.” it made his eyebrows crease, the way it sounded so forced.

after a few more seconds of observing his features, you handed him the water. his fingers grazed against yours and you swore your whole body was on fire. now was not the time.

he thanked you while you found a seat on the other side of the room. you couldn’t be feeling like this, but at the same time, you couldn’t look away.

you wouldn’t dare redirect your gaze as his fingers encased the lid and unscrewed it. as he put the bottle to his lips, you could only feel your cheeks getting hotter. your thighs clenching together.

you didn’t even realize you were staring until he warned you, voice slightly raspy from the show minutes ago. “baby? babe, you good?”

your eyes snapped up, similar to a hollywood movie where a character was caught daydreaming. “hm? ya. ‘m good.” your lips suddenly felt dry, your tongue jolting out to lick them.

and for some reason, with some unbeknownst instincts, he knew what was happening. he knew the ache between your thighs from all the nights spent taking care of yourself and he knew damn well he could help.

he also knew he shouldn’t. be he wanted to. and sometimes that was all that mattered.

dominic beckoned you closer, the energy in him minimal. right now, he was saving it all for you.

you crept forward until you were hovering over him. his sweat dripped face and shirt already discarded on the floor weren’t doing you favors right now. “come here.” he patted the area right next to him on the couch.

you hesitated, wondering what would happen. he patted again, louder. “seriously, sit.” you didn’t need to be told again.

the couch shifted under your weight as dominic sat up. your faces were mere inches away from each other now. there were no words exchanged. all that happened was a press of lips to another.

kissing was always something dom was good at. he could sense how to navigate it, when to pull away, when to trail down. and that shone its light now.

the kiss was soft at first. you needed to make up for all the small kisses, after all. all the kisses before rushing out the door, all the kisses of getting home, all the kisses in the mornings…

but that quickly faded. the hunger you both inevitably felt was taking over. it was only natural after being so far apart.

you could barely even feel it, too caught up in the moment, but your back was pushed to lay flat against the couch. when you pulled away, only for more obscene activities, there was a string of saliva dangling between you two. how stereotypical.

dom paid no mind, wiping his mouth with a tattooed hand. his position over you was one you’d longed for months to come. what you missed more, though, were his hands.

they trailed from the back of your head, nestled in your hair, to down your back. his nimble fingers gripped the zipper of your dress with practiced precision.

for a second, he looked at you so sweet and sincere. anyone who doubted him as a nice person was wrong. they just weren’t looking hard enough.

but, the second your head nodded in compliance, it was gone. it took him mere seconds to get the dress off and throw it across the floor, landing on some nearby chair.

you felt under his mercy but at the same time, you almost liked being picked apart like this. you liked how his hands knew just how to get your bra off, liked how he was so fast, so precise.

“god, i missed these.” his breath was raspy as your tits were freed from the confines of the lace. if he were in a calmer mood, he’d likely make a joke about “his girls,” maybe give them a small slap to make you laugh. but he wasn’t exactly in a laughing mood right now.

he slid down ever so slightly, immediately taking a bud into his mouth. it elicited a gasp from you. sure, you’d roll a nipple between your fingers to get you going, but it was nothing like this.

the combined slick of his saliva and slight coolness made you flush bright red. you pawed at the couch behind you as he bobbed his head slightly, letting out little “mhm”s.

after giving ample attention to one, his mouth was only off you for a second before switching to the other. it was like if he was gone for too long, it’d kill him.

his tongue continued to swirl in tantalizing patterns until he deemed it ready. he pulled off with a small “pop!”, then massaged the areas he had his mouth on. almost like he was trying to infect the saliva into your skin. it made you moan.

you watched him, after a few seconds of rubbing, shift downwards with his hands sliding down to your hips. dominic lowered his body down on the ground, knees hitting the cement floor beneath him.

you could barely contain your excitement as his fingers practically ripped your panties down, also now on the floor.

when you were now spread on the couch, naked and vulnerable, all he could do was stare. he got lost in the curves and twists of your body. you were sure he’d gone paralyzed or something, the way he was just gazing.

you laughed, turning your head. “what?”

his eyes immediately trailed up to meet yours. it made your breath hitch. he just had some kind of look that his layers of yearning beneath it. “let me look, k?”

so you shut up fast. let him look at you like a feast he was ready to dig into before his hands nudged your legs wider. he grabbed one leg with his rough fingers and propped it over his shoulder.

with the other, his thumb landed on your clit. it traced a couple seconds, then trailed immediately down to your entrance. it shocked you, making you elicit the tiniest little gasp. you could see a hint of a smile on his face.

he spread your lips open to see the wetness pooling there. it made him groan. “don’t worry, it’s gonna feel so good.”

and without a further warning, two fingers were immediately inside your aching cunt. it took everything in you not to practically scream.

see, there was a difference between your fingers and his. yours were long, but skinny. they hit that special spot with ease, but they could never truly fill you completely. you were always left feeling a little underwhelmed.

but dominic’s hands did just the trick. his fingers were a perfect combo: long and slightly larger than yours. and not only that, but his countless guitar sessions made him experienced with moving. grabbing. thrusting.

so to finally, finally feel them within your walls again was angelic. orgasmic.

dominic’s fingers kept a steady rhythm. in and out, in and out, like the beat of a crude song. you didn’t know what to do, slapping your hand over your mouth. your whines were a stark contrast to the sound of wetness filling the room.

and when his fingers curled up, you swore your body was levitating. out of every lover, every toy, every quick fuck, this was the best you’d ever felt. no sounds came out of your mouth, anything other than basking in pure pleasure being too exhausting.

his words weren’t helping you much, either. “god, still so tight…shit, might have to warm you up more for this dick…you look so pretty…think you can take another, baby?”

which is why when his fingers left, you immediately retaliated. your eyes shot open, hand coming off your mouth. you couldn’t even open your mouth to speak before he cut you off. “don’t whine, ‘s gonna be alright. gonna get this…dick inside you.”

he trailed off, almost confused, but you swore you’d never seen anyone take off their pants faster. the fly was unzipped, button undone, and the whole material pooling at his ankles before kicking them off in a matter of seconds.

he was left in his boxers, earrings, and a necklace with his logo on it as he moved up the couch to lay down. he patted his thigh. “want you to ride it.”

you weren’t one to complain. definitely not when he pulled his boxers down and you saw him completely hard and waiting.

so, you moved to hover over his lap, knees stabilizing you. then, with a wide smile, you sank down. your head was immediately thrown back and a shared sound of pleasure emitted between you two.

you weren’t sure what it was, but right then, you were hyper-sensitive: you could feel everything. could feel your walls tightening, could feel even the smallest veins on his hard dick.

so, it was almost a challenge to move your own hips. but you wanted to make him proud.

you picked your hips up, moving up about halfway on his length before letting your pussy sink back down.

the feeling of it all made you go slow at first. you wanted to bask in the feeling of having him in you, here, right now. but, apparently, dominic wasn’t feeling it.

his hand came around your body to smack your ass. not hard, just enough to send a message. “you can go faster, c’mon.” it was more of a demand than a reassurance. you could tell.

so you picked up the pace. you weren’t sure how you were doing it, his dick penetrating you over and over again feeling like pure euphoria.

and it stayed that way for a good minute. deep moans and wet sounds of hips slapping together until it wasn’t.

you were lost in the moment, when suddenly, a loud bang on the door that could disrupt the deepest sleeper shot you out of your thoughts.

presented with fight or flight in this situation, you froze. your eyes launched open, head moved back in place, and you stayed split open on dominic’s dick. you could barely hear what the person on the other end of the door was saying. “dominic! stop!”

you didn’t recognize the voice, making your heart beat pick up as his head tilted towards the door. “what the fuck do you want?”

“for you to put your clothes on and come to this goddamn door!”

your heart dropped to your feet. you could see it in your boyfriend’s fave, too, as he remained still for a few seconds. “fuck.”

he looked up at you apologetically before rushing across the room to find his clothes. it took him a minute, his hands a little shaky as threw his shirt back on.

he was kind enough to throw you your dress, which you changed into shortly after him. you weren’t sure what was happening, but it was likely the backstage crew had heard you. simple as that.

dominic approached the door and opened it. what you didn’t expect was a crowd of people worthy to make up a whole musical cast to be on the other side. even worse, they all looked horrified. this couldn’t be just a simple leak.

your boyfriend shut the door, but left a small crack. you didn’t want to be caught up in the drama, but you wanted to at least know what was going on.

you stood behind the door, slightly peeking your head out to hear. it was clear you missed some parts of the conversation, but there were lots of words thrown around that were repeated. everyone. malfunction. serious. fuck. why. your name. microphone.

it made you sweat bullets. your body was still in slight shock from the subtle interruption, but the small piece of your brain still working was slowly piecing everything together.

if dominic’s mic pack was still on…and there was an error with the system…wait-

your puzzle piecing barley even registered before your boyfriend was standing in front of you again. his eyes were locked on yours, a look of fear in them.

“everybody in the venue just heard that.”

[emeraldserenade]

omg can u please do a fic where reader gets hurt and joaquin is freaking out, and after that every time she tries to do something kinda dangerous (like picking up heavy stuff or climbing up high to get something) he becomes very protective and is like “let me do that fo you” 😭😭

Let Me Help ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: you just wanted to swap out the blankets

tw: fem!reader, fiancée!reader, car accident, injuries from car accident, barely edited

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

I hope you love this, I loved writing it.

➽──────────────❥

Joaquín got the call that you were in the hospital in the middle of the night, you were out to pick up your friend when a drunk guy ran a red light and t-boned you. Time seemed to stop as he moved to get dressed, his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. Joaquín pushed the speed limit, praying that you were ok. He was barely told anything except that there was an accident and you were in the hospital.

"I'm here to see y/n," Joaquín rushed out, his voice and movements frantic.

"Are you family?" The older lady behind the desk asked.

"I'm her fiancé," Joaquín told her and she nodded, standing and gesturing him to follow. She took him down a few halls and into a room where you were asleep on a bed.

"The doctor will be in shortly," she informed Joaquín, he just nodded as he took the seat to your left. It broke his heart to see you like that, with tubes and wires. There were too many bandages for his liking and he could only see what wasn't covered.

"You must be miss l/n's fiancé, I'm Doctor Rugen," the doctor walked in, she had a kind smile as she greeted Joaquín.

"What happened? Is she ok?" Joaquín questioned.

"She got into a car accident, someone ran the red light and t-boned her. She suffered some minor injuries as well as some internal bleeding, we managed to get it under control in the OR. We gave her some medicine for the pain; however, it does make her drowsy so she will probably be out for a little while longer," doctor Rugen explained before bidding farewell and leaving.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

It was an hour later when you woke, you remembered the last time you woke up Joaquín wasn't there yet but they told you everything. You looked to your left and saw Joaquín sitting there with his head down and holding your hand with both of his.

"Joaquín?" You mumbled, even without a head injury, your head hurt. You watched as his head shot up to look at you.

"You're awake, thank god," he jumped up from his chair kissed your forehead.

"I am," you let him have a moment to relax before asking your question. "Could you dim the lights?" You sheepishly looked at him and he nodded.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You had spent just over a moth and a half in the hospital, you're internal bleeding was more severe than they thought and you had to go back into surgery. You were home though, and Joaquín had taken to taking care of you very seriously.

"Angel, do you need anything?" Joaquín walked back into the living room after his shower.

"No, I'm ok," you told him, you were capable of doing things on your own but it was nice knowing he wanted to help.

"Hm, if you're sure," he plopped down on the couch next to you and you immediately curled into him.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín was't home when you decided to grab the box of extra blankets from the closet. You wished he was because it hurt to have to reach up that high, you went to grab the ladder.

The scene Joaquín walked into gripped his heart in fear. You were standing on the ladder while reaching for something.

"Wait, baby, let me grab that for you," Joaquín rushed to you, placing his gym bag on the floor by the front door. He helped you down before moving the ladder and grabbing the blankets for you.

"Thank you," you pressed a kiss to his cheek before going to your living room to swap blankets for fresh ones.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You noticed it late, the way Joaquín was always watching and offering to help. You wanted to be annoyed, you were a grown adult that can do anything she wants, but there was something about him helping you that you loved. Maybe it was the freeing feeling from not having to tedious tasks or maybe you just really loved the princess treatment. You started to abuse it a little, nothing major just getting him to hand you things just out of your reach instead of getting up to grab them. Joaquín noticed, he didn't care, but he noticed. He loved helping you and if this made sure you weren't over exerting yourself, he was more than happy to help.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[lieslab]

Right now, I wish you were here with me

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Han X gn reader

Summary: After an argument, your boyfriend assumes you left for good.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Honestly, I really wanted to write more for this request, but every time I tried to write certain scenes, I felt so sad. I think we've all seen clips of Han when he's not feeling the best and that makes me want to cry. It turns out, I feel like a horrible person when I try to write sad Han. I'm afraid this is as good as you're going to get until I figure out how to wrangle my emotions 🥲 (I am so sorry)

_ _ _

Tucked between the ventricles of Han’s heart, he always feared losing you. Without you, there would be no him. When he fell in love, it happened so quickly. So fast, he didn’t know how to live without you. He wasn’t just fond of you, it was much deeper than that. Nobody would know him without knowing you. 

Last night’s argument shattered his heart. The two of you were exhausted in your own different ways. At the company building, he’d been dancing his heart out and recording like crazy. On the other hand, you had been staying over later and later for work. Not because you wanted to, but because your boss requested you to work some overtime. 

Exhausted and tired, neither of you felt good lately. The time shared between the two of you, it became limited. Date nights fell away. The space the two of you carved out for one another, it became harder and harder to keep. 

Meals for two shifted into meals for one. You ate cold leftovers at your job. Han grabbed something warm from the building’s canteen. Meals were eaten between tasks and with bleary eyes. Hung heads. Pulled muscles. It never ended. 

When you arrived home, both of you were exhausted. Housework felt overwhelming. It all spiraled out of control. Bodies ached. Brown eye bags morphed into a plum purple. Love between the two of you started to become secondary. 

It’s not that you hated Han Jisung and he didn’t hate you. Life was much more difficult when life tugged you in two different directions. Instead of making your relationship work properly, the two of you were barely coasting along. 

Your days off consisted of housework. Sometimes Han was called back into the studio for one reason, or another. Occasionally, your boss called and seeked your input on something back in the office. 

So where did the two of you find time for each other outside of that? You still loved one another. Your hands reached out in the middle of your hazy sleep. You grabbed the fabric of his shirt in the darkened room. 

After getting up from the bathroom, Han would grab your waist and tug you back in his arms, right where you belonged. His head tucked into your neck, the warmth of his breath would lull your half-asleep self back into a blissful sleep. Two bodies in harmony, but the love sprinkled between the two of you became few and far between. 

It came to a boiling point the previous night. You asked Han something. A grumbling and grumpy mess, he mumbled a response. You were already at your wits end and when he didn’t respond properly, you snapped. He angrily yelled back. Between the two of you, it rolled into something unbearable. 

Both of you separated and seeped in your own hurt. The argument tore through the elephant in the room. Maybe things were falling apart and it wasn’t meant to be. Two different people, two different directions, and if you couldn’t fix it now, you’d never be able to fix it again. 

You fell asleep first. Exhausted and curled up on the far side of the bed, Han thought he might cry. Your arms tucked around your body and you curled into yourself, clearly hurt and upset by his words from earlier. 

It stung his heart. He didn’t mean to take his anger out on you. You didn’t mean to buck heads from your exhaustion. Two people at their wits end, it didn’t bode together well. 

He cautiously slipped into the bed. He stared at you for a brief moment, longingly wanting to grab you from behind and tug you to his chest, but he didn’t. The idea of tugging you close to him and you pulling away half-asleep, he couldn’t stand it. 

Instead, he shifted around and faced the closet. His back to you, neither of you looked at the other. He sniffled and pawed at his nose with the back of his hand. Maybe tomorrow, the two of you could talk and try again. 

~ ~ ~ 

The previous evening’s argument drifted away from the haze clinging to his brain. Han reached out with shut eyes, trying to find your body and pull you closer to him. When his arm met an empty bed and cold blankets, his eyes groggily opened. “Baby?” He croaked. 

You didn’t respond. Your side of the bed sat with tangled blankets and an imprint in your pillow. Worried, he got up and glanced over at the shared bathroom. The door sat open and the room laid in darkness. 

“Babe?” He shoved himself up and sauntered out into the living room. From the halls, the living room, and the kitchen, you weren’t there.

He panicked, calling your name louder. Your usual shoes weren’t beside his. His heart hammered in his chest and he rushed back into the bedroom. With a shaky hand, he searched everywhere on your dresser. Your car keys and wallet were gone. 

You were gone and his heart burst. 

~ ~ ~ 

As you worked, you checked your phone like usual. You couldn’t help it. You were used to sneaking and responding to Han’s messages, but they never showed up. You frowned, worried that he was still upset about last night’s argument. You never met a word of it, but as time went on and he didn’t text, your worry grew stronger. 

When you could leave, you packed your stuff up quickly and hurried home. You shoved the key in the lock and twisted, trying to get inside as quickly as possible. You kicked off your shoes, nearly tripping over them in the process. 

“Jisung?” Your voice echoed throughout the living room. The TV stayed off. The kitchen didn’t buzz with the gurgle of the rice cooker. Everything felt too still. “Jisung?” 

You rushed to your shared bedroom. Your heart bloomed with worry and you shoved the door open. A human-sized ball laid with multiple blue blankets covered over their body. “Han?” 

You hurried over, grabbing the blankets and yanking them off. Beneath them, your boyfriend’s teary eyes met yours. “Why did you do that?” 

“What?” 

“Why did you leave me? I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to get upset. Please don’t break up with me.” His bottom lip trembled and it broke your heart. 

“Leave you?” You reached out, gently brushing away a fallen tear. “Baby, I’m not going to leave you. I forgot to leave you a note this morning. I was late for work and left in a rush.” 

“Huh?” 

“I must not have sent you the text earlier. I swore I texted you. I waited for a text from you all day, but you never sent me anything.” 

“I-I thought you were mad at me because of last night.” 

Your face fell and guilt sunk your heart. Strands of your hair shook as you shook your head. “No! No! No! I’m so sorry. I swear, I’m not leaving you. Last night was stupid. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset over something so petty. I’m sorry.” 

“You're not mad at me?” 

“No. I can never be mad at you for long. You’re my biggest weakness. I thought you knew that.” You sank to your knees, so you were even with his face near the mattress. “You’ll always be a weak point for me.” 

“I thought I fucked us up forever.” 

“I’m really sorry. I’ll do better, so this won’t happen again. I shouldn’t have started a fight last night. It was so pointless.” You leaned forward, letting your lips press against the warmth of his forehead. 

His eyes fluttered shut. Love swaddled him once more. He reached out and gently grabbed your upper arm. “Lay with me?” 

You pulled away and shoved yourself onto the bed with a knee. You flopped over his body and laid beside him. He shifted, rolling over so he could face you. Your limbs tangled over one another and you gripped him tight. His faint sniffles cut through the hum of the ceiling fan. 

No matter how exhausted and tired you were, you could never give these little moments up; not even if you tried. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[quiet-desperationn]

Boiling Sea of Light and Sound

Concert with Silenced Microphones

Powerful and beautiful soundscapes melted together with a psychedelic color orgy, where blue, green, yellow, and red light spheres rubbed and pressed against each other, finally exploding in a massive proliferation. The English group The Pink Floyd made a strong impression at their Danish debut at Boom Dancing Center.

Never before have so many visited Boom. Well over 1,000 were let in before the doors were shut... and there was still an hour and a half before the concert began. It's estimated that another thousand people were turned away.

Crying, whining, threatening, or cursing, countless people tried to bribe the ushers with up to 50 kroner to be let in to the ticket booth.

In every way, it was the biggest youth-music show Aarhus has ever seen, and it contradicts the mayor’s statement on TV last night that young people aren't keen on attending concerts together. If the upcoming festival week in Aarhus offers something worth seeing, the youth will definitely show up.

I spoke with Pink Floyd after the concert: — What happened to your vocals? They were barely audible. — Not surprising, the microphones didn’t work. In the end, we just turned them off.

It might seem strained to claim that a concert by a group known for strong vocals—like Pink Floyd, as heard on the LP “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn”—can succeed with silenced microphones.

But the truth is that so many other things demanded our sensory attention that many of us nearly forgot the vocal backdrop.

The members of the group—Syd Barrett (guitar), Nick Mason (drums), Roger Waters (bass), and Rick Wright (organ)—should have been properly introduced to the audience, as is customary when major bands visit Boom. This was supposed to happen after the new Aarhus Top Ten list was presented.

But by the time number four on the list had played, the group suddenly appeared on stage, and before anyone could turn down the turntables, they were already performing.

Lightning ripped through the air, and a few devices emitted light in such short bursts that the human eye fell out of sync, transforming the four Englishmen into burning ghosts.

We only heard three tracks from the LP, all of them transformed into something unrecognizable.

On stage, almost all songs were built the same way. Syd Barrett and Rick Wright would start off on a very short motif, repeated almost endlessly, with drums and bass gradually joining in—then it all broke loose. Often moving in completely different directions, the music unfolded while Nick Mason, at center stage, attacked his drums with the strength of someone chopping down trees.

The group’s electronic equipment is an enormous force in both light and sound.

The light doesn’t accompany the music—it’s part of it. The light doesn't appear as images, but as a space in which the sensory-expanding (psychedelic) feeling arises. Pink Floyd is considered the world’s first “total group” for a reason.

A psychedelic concert works much like a little bit of hash. Impressions in all forms are amplified and concentrated. It’s a reversed brainwashing. When the music is already simplified to the primitive, the impact naturally becomes intense.

It’s clear this is Syd Barrett’s band. He writes and arranges the songs, and with his unique and strange face, he stands bowed on stage, possessing that personal quality that separates the seriously working musician from the blowhard who stands in the spotlight only because someone had the money for the necessary PR.

Syd’s only comment after the concert: — Wow, the audience really screamed. Doesn’t anyone clap their hands in this country?

Pink Floyd performs tonight in Copenhagen.

Poul Blak

(top photo description) Toward the end of the concert, our photographer captured this image. In the center, Nick Mason can be seen with his drums, and to the right, Syd Barrett.

(middle photo description) Pink Floyd after the concert, dripping with sweat and disappointed about the microphones — but with nothing to be ashamed of. From left: Roger Waters, Rick Wright, Nick Mason, and Syd Barrett.

Pink Floyd Boom Dancing Center, Aarhus Denmark. September 9 1967

[crimson-lair]

help i just sent that previous ask without elaborating LMAO i just saw your. uh. banner? thingy? and its suspect r and let me tell you before zoya's appearance in the story changed my life it was suspect r who hooked me to the story. like whoa. we are entering into this world with boobs in my face okay. so. i know for a fact its so difficult to figure anything about that woman (granted i, yes, still havent budged from 9-10 but i am nearly done leveling laby up so i dont know if she ever appears after the first two times) but we do know she has our back, and even in the worst moments (we are almost dead) she is just 'haha silly girl so silly' and then there is that ao3 fic about her creating the chief or something so- there is a lot of potential ykwim. i am making hand gestures to the screen to get the point across. a bot made for her would probably be ooc or whatever but. big puppy eyes. idec if its platonic or otherwise i just. i should stop using periods so much. if you have any ideas, you can just you know post it here you dont even need to make a bot. i just need something to feed my brain worms thank you zio-nim

i second this statement

suspect R, the woman you are..

The first thing you woke up to was literally the pure fragrance of her body (boobs) that was contaminated by the smell of blood. (yes, i can smell 2d women)

"Did you have nightmare? Tell me what you're dreaming about."

Asking you with concern, like a wife would gently wake you up from a nightmare- if not for the fact that her clothes were stained with bloods, sounds of gunshots, and the broken ceiling above her head indicating that this situation was not as peaceful and harmonious.

like- MA'AM WHAT ARE WE??? (delulu self-aware I'm her wife 👰)

the plot was like- chief lost her memory and then forgot her lover or something 👀

(you're still stuck there? 🤣 good luck comrade)

honestly, you're asking the wrong person to feed your brain worms. im not a writer 😌

[remxedmoon]

(You don’t know how much longer you can do this.)

hi the wip for this was absolutely not supposed to blow up. why does that have 1k notes. horrifying. anyways!!!! it’s update time baby!!!! 64 new assets this time around!

so that’s what the caption was supposed to be. this update was already pretty damn big and took a ton of time to make!!! and i was finally done!! but then my hand slipped and now we’re at 143 new assets. super sorry for the delay! That Was Not Supposed To Happen.

i’ll go more indepth below the cut, but this update encompasses all menu/profile art for both isat and sasasaap, battle portraits for sasasaap, every single pixel icon in isat (to my knowledge anyways), the dialogue skipping animations, and a few miscellaneous additions.

also i spent too much time on these to put them below the cut so Please God Look At My Icon Resprites I Spent 16 Hours On Them. enjoy!

okay first things first. why the hell is this batch 143 assets. so. i HEAVILY underestimated how many times the menu drawings are used in the games. even removing all of the custom art, it’s still ≈30-40 variations! that’s a lot! and once i finally finished everything, i got Posting Anxiety and somehow convinced myself that attempting Animation And Pixel Art (two things i haven’t done in YEARS) would be easier than writing a normal post. so here we are.

the custom art here is pretty much par for the course at this point. extra menu art for bonnie, extra expressions for the party in act 5, we’ve done this enough times that it’s expected. i am aware that bonnie’s custom menu art gets completely covered by the ui. i kept it in because it’s really funny (and also i didn’t feel like extending the sprite (but then the sasasaap version forced me to extend the sprite anyways so Whartever)).

once again, provided a spritesheet for sasasaap’s battle portraits! i do intend to cover both games, it’s just a slightly lower priority atm. unlike isat though, i’ve got Less (read “No”) experience with sasasaap, so there might be more issues with those assets?? apologies if there are, i’ll try to fix any issues that come up!

the Miscellaneous Additions i mentioned above are the sprites used on the teleport map and the loading screen, which is just a tiny version of the skipping animation. they were pretty small, so i figured i might as well get them out of the way!

not actually much to say about the 75 icons surprisingly! i haven’t done pixel art in about 5 years?? and that’s a Travesty actually these were super fun to make. i did make mockups for the overworld sprites earlier, but they aren’t Officially part of the redraws (yet) so they’re getting posted seperately

and also!! some exciting news!! this project might actually become a Proper Published Mod pretty soon!! i’ve been in contact with someone who’s willing to help me get everything set up, and i’ll be getting a Usable Computer around the end of the year!!!! it’ll still be at least a month before it’s up (i’d like to get the enemy art finished beforehand wauaua) but!!! still exciting!

okay, i think that’s everything relevant to the update!! i Definitely can’t fit all of the relevant assets here lol. but i’ll try my best ! please enjoy !!

[verascrow]

Thinking about Firefighter!Price.

Imagine him coming home after a long, exhausting day of working, keys jingling as he unlocks the door at some ungodly hour of the night, footsteps falling heavy against the floor as he walks inside, exhaustion and fatigue lingering along his form.

He's still dressed in his station wear - a fitted, navy blue t-shirt with Station 141's logo printed onto the front of it, small, right on the right side of his chest, and a pair of trousers in the same color to match, hanging loosely onto him.

He should take a shower, he knows he should. He smells of sweat and sulfur, the scents clinging to his clothes and skin like a second skin, and he know that the two of you'll have to wash the bedding come morning.

But god, the sight of you in bed, dressed in a loose pair of your own shorts and one of his spare shirts, face smushed against one of the pillows as your breathing comes slow, in and out, steady - it's far too enticing to pass up so easily.

So he unbuckles his belt in a daze, stripping off his shirt, undershirt and trouser, tossing the articles haphazardly onto the floor (he tries to toss them towards the hamper, but he knows he misses, given the way his belt buckle clanks loudly against the hardwood floor of the bedroom, but, honestly, he could care less).

And he gets right into bed beside you, fingers grazing lightly over the exposed skin of your thighs, traversing upwards, fingers splayed as his palm travels over the fabric of your shorts, sneaking their way under the loose shirt of his that you wear, hand pressing against your tummy as he pulls you close.

He presses his nose into your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as he deeply inhales the scent of your body wash, softly shushing you as you start to rouse, the way your body gently begins to shuffle as you let out the softest, sleepiest yawn, listening as he grumbles softly against your skin.

"Didn't mean to wake you, love. Go back to sleep."

His voice is so hoarse, so strained and rough from the events of the day - yelling and barking out commands to the firefighters within the ladder and engine crews that he guides - but, at the same time, it's runs smooth like honey, settling just right in your sleepy, hazy mind.

He hugs you tighter, pressing your back flush against his chest as he curls his body around you in a subtly protective manner, littering tender kisses against your neck, trying to coax you back to sleep as he lets out a soft sigh, infatuated with the way your body molds perfectly into his.

"Mmm... s'fine, John. Wha... what time s'it?"

"None of your business, that's what time. Go back to sleep. I'll be here in the mornin'... promise you that. Okay?"

He doesn't let you ask your questions. If you try to think, he knows you'll wake up, and he already feels guilty about waking you up in the first place, so he doesn't even entertain your sleepy question, giving you a promise - two, technically. That he's here now and that it'll stay that way until the two of you wake up in the dawn.

"Stubborn..."

"Always. We c'n talk in the mornin'. Sleep."

"Mmm... glad you're back home safe. Love you."

"Love you, too."

But by the time he says the words, you've already fallen back asleep, and a deep, rumbling chuckle erupts from within his chest, amused, pressing one last kiss to the corner of your jaw before letting himself fall asleep behind you, his breaths, his heartbeat falling into sync with your own.

[wikiangela]

you're the sun to me

Buck's in the middle of cooking dinner when there's a knock at the door. Before he can even move or open his mouth to tell his guest to come in, the door is opening, and his boyfriend walks in. Buck grins at him from where he's stirring in the pot, heart swelling just at the sight of him. It's supposed to be just a regular evening, not really a date, just eating dinner together like they try to at least once a week whenever their schedules allow.

"Hey." Tommy says, kicking off his shoes at the door. Buck instantly notices that he has his arm hidden behind his back, and is careful to face Buck at all times as he walks over to him. Huh.

"Hi, Tommy." Buck responds, raising an eyebrow. "What-" he starts, but just as he's about to ask what Tommy's hiding, he's already right next to Buck, spinning him with one hand to press him against the counter, and kissing him hello. Buck instinctively closes his eyes and kisses back, smiling into Tommy's lips. Kissing him is still one of his favorite activities ever, and he doesn't think it's ever going to change.

The kiss is sweet and soft, and way too short, Tommy pulling away way too quickly for Buck's liking. He's about to pout and complain about it, and probably get another delicious, deeper kiss, like usual, but when he opens his eyes, he's a little stunned. Because he finds himself staring into a bouquet of sunflowers, that Tommy's holding up to him in the hand previously hidden behind his back. Oh, okay. That makes sense. Or, does it?

"Um. What's that?" Buck asks dumbly, as if he's never seen flowers before.

"Sunflowers for my sunshine." Tommy responds, a beaming smile on his face. Buck's heart is racing and he thinks he's going to melt into a puddle. He thinks there are tears welling up in his eyes, and he blinks them away, feeling so silly. "Is that... okay?" Tommy asks when Buck's been silent for a minute, still staring at the yellow flowers.

"Of course." Buck whispers, then clears his throat, lifting his eyes to look into Tommy's. "It's just- no one has ever gotten me flowers before."

"Hm. Well, we gotta change that, then. I can buy you flowers all the time. If you want. If you like them." Tommy shrugs, seeming a little self-conscious now, and Buck can't have that. He's wonderful, and always manages to surprise Buck in the best ways possible.

"I do, I really do. It's- it's really nice. Thank you," he says, just amazed. He'd never expect this, he'd never expect he might want this, but now that it's here, now that Tommy bought him flowers, he's actually really touched. It's stupid, it's just flowers. Still, it feels like a big deal. "But why- what's the occasion?"

"No occasion." Tommy looks down at the bouquet in his hand, smiling softly. "I was walking by the market near my house today, and saw these, and they made me think of you," he shrugs again. "So bright and happy and beautiful. Like my Evan." He grins, eyes soft and full of love and adoration, and Buck's face is burning. God, this is silly. It's such a simple gesture, but somehow it's one of the nicest and most thoughtful things a partner has ever done for him. It's sunflowers, the flower of loyalty and adoration, and happiness. And they made Tommy think of him. He called him his sunshine, didn't he? God, he's the sweetest. "To brighten your day, like you brighten my life." Tommy adds so casually, as if it wasn't one of the most beautiful things anyone's ever said to him.

"I love you." Buck sighs, and tries to lean in to kiss Tommy, but there are flowers in the way, still in Tommy's hand, extended to Buck, probably expecting him to take them, but he was too surprised to think about that. He slowly lifts his hand, placing it over Tommy's on the flowers.

"I love you, too, Evan." Tommy responds, smiling fondly. "Now, do you have a vase or something to put them in?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I think I have-" Buck goes to look for a vase, stirring in the pot again on his way. He doesn't stop smiling the rest of the evening. The flowers stand on the kitchen table for weeks, slowly wilting, and when they do, Tommy replaces them. Buck thinks he wants to buy his boyfriend flowers, too, so he does, researching the meanings of specific flowers and their amount. He finds it a good way to show Tommy how exactly he feels when simple words don't seem like enough anymore.

___

Years later, when they stand at the altar about to vow to love each other forever, both of them have little sunflower boutonnieres. Tommy's the one who insisted on the flower being present at their wedding. The dork proclaimed sunflowers their flower, and it's equally silly and adorable. Buck had never given much thought to what his favorite flower might be. Now, the answer is obvious.

[alexjcrowley]

The Hobbit or Bilbo Baggins's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad, Not At All Fun Steppe Vacation