#i woke up from a nightmare with a panic attack for this

[seas-of-silver]

"Alya, we've talked about this hundreds of times - in all our lives we and our friends have never met someone called Marinette Dupain - Cheng - she is just a figment of your twisted imagination!"

‘Alya, we've talked about this hundreds of times - in all our lives we and our friends have never met someone called Marinette Dupain-Cheng - she is just a figment of your twisted imagination!’

Alya barely suppressed a growl as she glared at Nathaniel. ‘“Twisted imagination?” Seriously?’

Chloé scoffed. ‘Yeah, twisted. I mean, honestly - super-powered villains? Magical terrorists and superheroes? Who, by the way, are all animal themed and get their powers from tiny gods in jewellery? Alternate universes and time travel? Ugh! And the bit you’re flipping out about is some chick that supposedly meant to be in this class? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.’

‘Alya, we’re worried about you,’ Rose said, her wide blue eyes swimming in genuine concern. ‘You’ve been so different this past week; you look and sound and behave like our Alya, but what you’ve been saying is just so unlike yourself!’

‘It’s kinda like you’re living a nightmare in real time, or something,’ Juleka muttered, and the whole class nodded in agreement.

The whole class bar Adrien and Marinette.

Alya was smart. She had figured out something was seriously wrong when she woke up last week and found herself in her room instead of Marinette’s, where she had been sleeping over. It became even more concerning when she arrived at school and Marinette was nowhere in sight. Then she had started to panic when the seating arrangement was different, Adrien wasn’t at school either, and worst of all - Nino barely knew her.

She spent the first class trying to casually enquire about Adrien and Marinette, which led to confused responses and almost getting reprimanded by Ms Bustier, who was still their teacher and had apparently never had a child, and Chloé’s father was still Mayor of Paris.

One reassuring discovery Alya had made before lunchtime was that Adrien Agreste still existed in this weird world, but had apparently never been to their school. She also discovered that Lila Rossi had also never been to their school, but that good news was quickly soured when she found out that Lila now has strong ties to the Agreste family, and was frequently seen with them. But that didn’t stop Alya from trying to contact Adrien, though she had no success.

Alya had then started to research, and kept researching throughout the week. This weird world had no mention of recent Miraculous use; no Hawk Moth, Mayura, Ladybug or Chat Noir, and nothing of note in Shanghai or New York. Her Ladyblog was also non-existent, which was discomforting in and of itself. And there was no Marinette.

That was the part Alya was struggling to grasp. No Marinette? A world without Miraculouses was something Alya could wrap her head around, as was a reality where Adrien never went to their school, but no Marinette? So she had researched that too. Everything Alya had expected to exist were also missing - the sunglasses and album cover (and subsequent magazine article) Marinette made for Jagged Stone; Marinette’s winning submission in the derby hat competition held by Gabriel Agreste and the runway show it was displayed in; her fashion photoshoot she did with Adrien and Juleka… none of it could be found.

Alya knew this was no dream that she had found herself in - this felt more like some sort of akuma attack-related displacement… but Alya couldn’t remember there being an akuma attack while she was in Marinette’s room. The last thing Alya had remembered before waking up in this weird world was setting up for a girl’s night in while Marinette went on patrol with Chat Noir, as the new Butterfly villain, Malachite, had been annoyingly active as of recent. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

And now all her friends and classmates were looking at her like she was the weird one. Perhaps she was, at least to them.

‘You’re right, Juleka,’ Alya said sombrely, ‘this is a nightmare. Either I’ve somehow ended up in an alternate universe, or something god-awful must’ve happened for the whole world to forget about the Miraculouses in Paris, for Adrien to never have come to school here, for my own boyfriend to barely know me apart from just being one of his classmates, and for my best friend - a girl who meant so much to nearly everyone in this room - to completely vanish off the face of the earth!’

Everyone flinched at her raised voice, but she didn’t care. She was too angry, too confused, and too hurt to care about something as minor as that.

‘I- ugh! I feel like I’m going insane!’ Alya cried out, her eyes starting to sting. ‘I know what has happened here - I’ve lived it! I was a part of it! You all were part of it! But why don’t you remember? Why does no one remember? Ugh, it’s like, I don’t know, like someone’s messed with reality and gotten rid of any trace of Marinette and the Mira…cu…lou…ses…’

Alya felt violently ill. How could she have not thought of that? It all made perfect sense. But if that was really true, then Malachite must have…

‘Oh, God,’ Alya whimpered, sinking to the ground unsteadily.

The class bin suddenly appeared in front of her, just in the nick of time, and a kind, familiar hand held her hair back.

‘Can someone get the nurse or Ms Bustier?’ Nino’s voice came from right beside her. ‘She’s not doing good.’

People moved around her, but Alya could barely take it in. Her mind was overloaded with fear and horror. She needed to prove this horrific theory wrong.

‘Shh,’ came Nino’s voice again, his other hand starting to rub soothing circles on her back. ‘You’re not well, dude, and you’re shaking.’

She couldn’t dwell on that for long, as a loud commotion was happening outside and getting closer. Fear spiking within her, Alya forced herself to stand and get into a fighting position, ignoring Nino’s protests. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else, not without a fight.

The door slammed open, and Alya hesitated.

‘Alya? Thank goodness!’ Adrien cried, looking disheveled and winded. ‘I got your letters - you remember too?’

Her hands wavered. ‘Yeah. What do you remember?’

‘Oh, finally!’ Adrien exclaimed, relieved. ‘I thought I was going insane when I woke up to find Mother and Father alive and Lila-‘ he growled out, as if saying the name was like ash on his tongue, ‘-of all people was now a long-time family friend, which is revolting. But no one knows about the Miraculouses or Ladybug and Chat Noir or Hawk Moth or Malachite or akumas or anything!’ 

Alya wanted to cry - out of relief or grief, she wasn’t sure.

‘And you!’ Adrien said, pointing at Nino. ‘You hung up on me!’

Nino blinked. ‘So… that wasn’t a prank call?’

Adrien looked mortified. ‘You’ve… you’ve forgotten me? For real?’

Nino opened and closed his mouth, looking entirely uncertain about anything that was going on.

‘I was sure that you would remember me,’ Adrien continued, shaken, before looking back at Alya. ‘I tried to call everyone that I could remember the numbers of, but even Marinette isn’t picking up!’

Alya felt sick again at the mention of her name.

‘Surely you were able to get in contact with her,’ Adrien pleaded, putting his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’ve been stuck under Father’s and Lila’s thumbs for this past week, and I was only able to escape just now.’

With Adrien so close, she could see the anxiety, desperation and fear that was threatening to consume him.

‘Please, Alya,’ he begged, ‘please tell me you found her and she’s okay. She’s in danger, and I need to ensure she’s safe.’

All Alya could do was shake her head. She felt Adrien’s hands tremble and saw his eyes fill with tears as he began to hyperventilate, before he crumbled to the floor and let out a soul-crushing cry that shattered her heart.

[the-kipsabian]

kip sabian-less ppv (preshow included) should be illegal send post

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

that time when onyx got sick :(

Winged Servant drabble from when he was a servant! Sorry, Onyx's pov was not remotely compelling to me so for some reason this is third person from Cardan. Anyway here we go!

content warnings: fever, delirium, crying, begging, the pov is not thinking nice things about whumpee, carewhumper, a joking mention of murder, a seperate very serious mention of murder, it really is lighter than I'm making it sound

masterlist

Onyx let out a sudden sob, sitting straight up in bed. Cardan looked over at him, tilting his head at the angel. “You know, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

He jolted, as if he hadn’t noticed the prince’s presence. “I- no, no, I- I need- fuck, Tom-”

“Yeah, no. You’re sick, which means you’re not even fun to mess with. So lay back down and get better already so that you stop acting so… pathetic.” And annoying. He was always pathetic and annoying, but not always this pathetic and annoying.

There was no reason that Onyx needed to be in the princes’ room, but Ryan had insisted. Said it would be easier to “keep an eye on him” or something. But Ryan had left to check on something, which meant that the angel was Cardan’s problem now. Cardan had tried to object earlier, when Ryan had brought it up the first time., but Ryan had done that thing he was so good at—anytime anyone contradicted him, he twisted it around to make everyone else sound like hypocrites and himself the voice of reason. He’d had the nerve to call Cardan the dramatic one for his objections to a servant napping in Ryan’s bed.

Dramatic.

Cardan.

And after Ryan had been the one to start pampering the angel like this. It was a fever, not a death sentence.

“Tommie?” Onyx asked, beginning to cry. “I- I need- Tom, Tom, I-” He started to stand up unsteadily, and Cardan groaned.

“Ryan is going to hang me if he thinks I woke you up. Go back to sleep.”

“No, no,” he mumbled, somehow managing to stumble all the way to the door. He practically fell onto the support of the doorknob as he tried to open it. “No, please, please-”

“Cardan, what the fuck did you do?” Ryan asked from the doorway. Evidently, he’d returned from checking on something.

“Literally nothing,” Cardan called back. “Your angel is the one bugging me, actually. My bad for not doting on him the way you’ve started doing.”

“I am not doting,” Ryan snapped. And he was probably about to come up with some quick and witty comeback, except that he was interrupted by a sob from Onyx. And there went the quick and witty comeback, ignored in favor of murmuring something gentle in response to the angel, and Cardan rolled his eyes.

Not doting. Yeah, right. Ryan wouldn’t have been so defensive if he actually believed himself. Not only was he doting, he knew he was doing it and just kept going.

Whatever. It didn’t matter to Cardan. It wasn’t like the angel was a threat or anything, unless-

Well. Unless.

No one liked to talk about the upcoming assassination, but ignoring it wouldn’t make it any less inevitable. The Rao brothers would not ever be able to rule side by side. But Onyx couldn’t be part of that.

Could he?

No. No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be a good enough diplomat to replace Cardan. Besides, Ryan wouldn’t stoop low enough for an angel spouse.

No. Onyx was harmless. Ryan’s doting was annoying, but also harmless. After all, Cardan had acted the same way about his first pet.

~

taglist: @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox @rainydaywhump @risk606 @jay--o

@fuckcapitalismasshole @cepheusgalaxy

[kitaurita]

I’ve been watching Dressrosa at breakneck speeds and this resulted in me having a dream where some friends and I were held captive and forced to work for Doflamingo.

We met up at a diner and (speaking in code) planned to fake a commitment far away and try to go off grid and not be found. We get in the car and start heading north, and I (without remembering going unconscious) wake up in the backseat of a car going 90 up a highway with no one in the drivers seat and a fucking transponder snail ringing on the center console. It’s Doflamingo. He tells me to get in the drivers seat and pretend nothing’s wrong, so I do. He goes “how was your lunch? I know what you talked about over it.”

I woke up irl hyperventilating and in a puddle of my own sweat

[somethings-monstrous]

Flashing vent gifs below the cut. I don't know why this helps, but it does.

[semiotomatics]

trying to understand the reasoning behind my anxiety "flare-ups" as if there's anything logical about an anxiety disorder

[onlythebravest]

.

[hadoriel]

Hey, I've had a really bad last couple of days, but I was wondering if anyone had any particularly good crisis lines, people/groups to talk to, resources etc for specifically panic attacks, anxiety, depression? Not just suicide prevention ones, but general therapy or grounding for panic attacks

[vitiateoriginator]

Today has not been good :'3

[cathnospam]

Trigger warning to those that don’t like panic attacks, but becomes fluffy at the end

“Katsuki?”

His eyes were dark, he looks like he haven’t slept in weeks, and it’s only been a year since the war ended. Granted, everybody was finally able to sleep regularly again, but apparently you must have been wrong.

“I—“

He couldn’t get the words out, his fits were shaking from how hard we was clenching them, his tired eyes began to water, you knew.

“C’mere.” You pull him into your arms, you feel your shoulder dampening and it was a signal for you to squeeze tighter once you shut your door. You couldn’t even move feeling his arms squeeze tighter against your waist. “I’m right here.”

Even though Bakugo managed to live. Managed to pass though rehab, managed to become a big part of fighting against AFO he still has nightmares.

They started off as just seeing himself nearly die but he wakes up right before it happens. But now he’s having nightmares about you. How you took his place instead of him.

This nightmare he seen your body, lying there, tears dried by your eyes, by the time bakugo ran to you Shigiraki turned your body into dust.

It was horrifying.

He woke up in a frenzy, hot, sweating, immediately running out his room to your dorm, his heavy feet nearly sprinting to your room he needed to just double check he almost bust down your door if you haven’t opened it right as he arrived.

“You—-“

“It’s okay….you’re okay—“

“BUT YOU WEREN’T…you…you….” His voice was so shattered. He couldn’t explain it to you, but you had an inkling what he could’ve meant.

He has been going to your dorm a lot lately. Using the excuse “I’m just checking up on YOU.” But in reality it’s you checking on him. He’ll come right before bed and sleep over or come in while you’re sleep and lay on your couch and once with you on the opposite side of your bed.

You couldn’t move, hearing his sniffles tore your heart a little, his breathing was shallow you could feel his heart rate grow faster, his body was shaking and you immediately began to fall on your knees, back on the wall rubbing his back .”I’m right here Katsuki…it’s okay just match my breathing.”

Not wanting to panic either you regulated your breathing for him to copy you, his teeth were gritting to hard you felt it against your shoulder, “C’mon there you go…..just breathe….”

After a few minutes He began to calm down. Your shirt was damp with tears but you knew better than to force him to look at you. So you waited until he did the first move.

Bakugo covered his face with his palm, pausing before attempting to wipe all his tears off his face.

He failed.

You took his hand, palms so sweaty it was nearly slippery to hold up with a firm grip you guided him to your bed. “Stay here tonight.”

He didn’t reply nor negate, he just followed suit. He’d usually have his back facing you, but felt himself willingly fall onto your chest.

“They’re soft right?” You weakly joke about your breast he is laid on, trying to see if he’ll respond, you smile hearing a weak chuckle come out his nose before he snuggles himself between them deeper.

Your fingers run though his soft hair, his heartbeat was in tandem with yours as you felt his chest against your belly.

Bakugo usually handles his panic attacks alone, but for the first time he actually was so happy to have someone like you there with him. His teary eye peaks from the side, you wipe the remnant of tears from his cheek and he nearly melts to your touch.

It was probably the best sleep he has ever had in months thanks to you.

[milo-is-rambling]

Had a nightmare last night that many different large scary animals were trying to break into the house I lived in in New Hampshire and I kept running around and locking doors and screaming and crying and begging for my family to help me and they were just sitting and laughing or sleeping or living their lives and I was watching huge black bears pound on glass sliding doors and fog them up with their breath as they drool over the idea of demolishing my family and there were like big mountain lions finding small holes to crawl through trying to get in and I’m sobbing and bleeding and kicking them and trying to get my family to do something and they don’t even notice and act like I’m crazy

[i2sunric]

𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗞 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨 (p.sh)

PAIRING: sunghoon x reader (f)

SUMMARY: in the depth of the night, when the bad dreams try to drown you, sunghoon is always there to pull you from the tide.

WARNING: established relationships, mentions of a fight, nightmares, mentions of an anxiety attack, fluff, comfort, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 28th November 2024

WC: 1k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @senascoooop @mitmit01

a/n: i just wrote this for myself and thought i’d share lol. i need someone like this ngl

The fight was stupid, like most of your fights with Sunghoon. A misunderstanding that snowballed into frustration and sharp words. You couldn’t even remember what had caused it, you just know that the both of you had gone to bed angry. With unspoke and built up frustration.

Now, hours later, the room was dark and quiet, save for the occasional rustle of sheets and the soft hum of the air conditioning.

Sunghoon lay on his side of the bed, his back facing you. He had barely looked at you as he climbed into bed, his jaw tight, his arms crossed before he pulled the blanket over himself. He hadn’t said goodnight, and you hadn’t, either.

Minutes transformed into hours before you managed to close your eyes and drift off to sleep.

It wasn’t long before the nightmares found you.

You didn’t remember how it started, only the suffocating sense of fear that wrapped around you like a vice.

They were almost a routine, but usually they were just work or university related.

Though, when you were stressed, those nightmares took the forms of your worst fears. Plane crashes, other tragedies that you couldn’t stop, the ocean.

You woke up to one, but fortunately, you were able to fall back to sleep a little later. It wasn’t that bad.

Not until another one found you, darker and creepier than the previous one. It made your heart pound, your breath uneven as anxiety pricked your skin.

You woke with a gasp, your chest heaving, the sheets damp with sweat. The room was still dark, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, and the shadows in the corners of the room suddenly felt alive.

Your hands trembled as you pulled the blanket closer, pressing your face into your knees to muffle the sobs that threatened to spill out. You couldn’t wake Sunghoon. Not tonight. Not after the fight.

But the harder you tried to stay quiet, the harder it became to hold back the tears.

He knew all about how troubled you were after your nightmares. Because in all efficiency, you loved sleeping. You loved the feeling of the warm sheets hugging your skin, the smell of fresh and safe.

Sunghoon had shifted through the night, he was wearing a sleeveless white shirt, the sheets covering until his stomach.

When he heard the muffled sound of your sobs, his brows furrowed, his heart squeezing in his chest.

“Y/n?” His voice was groggy but tinged with concern.

You froze, cursing yourself for not being quieter. You didn’t answer, hoping he’d think he imagined it and go back to sleep.

But then you felt the bed shift as he rolled over, the weight of his gaze heavy even in the dark.

“Are you crying?”

You shook your head quickly, your voice breaking as you croaked, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” His voice softened, and a moment later, you felt his hand on your shoulder, gently pulling you back so he could see your face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” you whispered, wiping at your cheeks. “Just a bad dream.”

His jaw clenched, guilt flickering in his eyes as he noticed how your shoulders trembled. You were clearly shaken, your breaths uneven, and he hated that you were going through yet another panic.

Sunghoon sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair. The loose fabric of his sleeveless shirt shifted as he leaned closer, his arm brushing against yours. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

You hesitated, your voice small. “I didn’t want to bother you. You were already mad at me.”

His heart sank at your words. He could be stubborn, but hearing the tremor in your voice made him realize how much he’d let his pride get in the way.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I shouldn’t have gone to bed angry, we promised not to do it..”

You shook your head, biting your lip. “It wasn’t just you. I was being stubborn too.”

He sighed, his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment before he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You hesitated but quickly melted into his warmth, the scent of him — clean and familiar — grounding you.

“You should have woken me up,” he said again, his tone gentle but firm. “I don’t care if we fight, I’d never want you to deal with this alone.”

Your tears spilled over again, this time not from fear but from the overwhelming comfort of his words. Sunghoon held you tighter, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your arm.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a while, his voice low.

You shook your head, burying your face in his chest. “No. I just… I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“Ok,” he whispered. “Then we won’t.”

He shifted, lying back against the pillows and pulling you with him so your head rested against his shoulder. His other hand reached for yours, threading your fingers together.

He used the other one to gently caress your back, tracing different soothing patterns.

For a while, neither of you spoke, the silence between you no longer heavy with tension but filled with unspoken understanding.

Sunghoon tilted his head to press a kiss to your temple, his voice a soft murmur. “I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, your grip on his hand tightening as your breathing finally evened out.

Safe in his arms, the shadows of your nightmare faded, replaced by the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

“I love you.” you whispered gently, and Sunghoon tightened his grip on you “I love you too, baby.”

And as you finally drifted back to sleep, you heard a faint “I’ll always protect you.”

[roundclowns]

Category 6 autistic sibling event going on in the family group chat as we all get hyped about weighted blankets

[mockerycrow]

UNDER THE SURFACE (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — ghost icon by @yumethefrostypanda concept post here!

authors note; this is not my best work tbh, i wish i could improve it somehow, but i’m hoping you guys will like it anyway. Pretty sure this is my longest singular post, too! 4.7k words :-)

[WARNINGS: angst, spiraling thoughts, near panic attack, hurt/comfort, inaccurate medical stuff, vague descriptions of physical violence, very brief mention of possible self harm.]

YOU WERE USED to Simon being gone for long periods of time; you have been his roommate for two years now, nearly three. You know he’s military, it’s part of the reason why you were able to score being his roommate in the first place. At first, it was a very awkward arrangement. Simon himself wasn’t a very awkward person, no—he’s actually quite charismatic in his own way, a way that you could get along with. One of the reasons why the arrangement was strange at first was because you weren’t exactly able to get a one on one tour of the flat before agreeing, but you were a bit more trusting of this mysterious man because a mutual friend—Kate—sent you his contact information, considering you were looking for a new place to live since your lease was up.

Simon’s flat was void of any personality, really. Yes, you could tell by the way he organized everything that he had been in the military, probably for quite a while—but there weren’t any photos. No gaming systems; you discovered he did have a bookcase of quite a few books, but it was covered in a layer of dust. Despite this, when examining the books he owned, you could tell they were worn down—definitely loved. It made you smile a bit, seeing the different variety of books. A bit of personality, you think. Besides his room, it was like a completely furnished, no personality flat. You weren’t allowed in his room, not unless he gave you explicit permission, which you honored his boundaries. Simon was kind enough to offer you a space in his home—but you know he was quite weary of you, which was understandable. He helped you move in and you could tell he was watching you and your body language. Searching you for danger—but he slowly warmed up to you.

Another thing that you discovered that Simon was quite emotionally.. constipated. Over the first few months, you could tell he didn’t sleep as much as he probably should. He was always awake before you, and you would always find him in the kitchen, sipping on a hot cup of tea. After a few weeks of this routine—Simon rising much earlier than you, you figured maybe he couldn’t break the military’s strict routines.. Until one night you woke up from the sound of his heavy footsteps walking down the hall. You tensed in your bed and you sat up because Simon was silent as a ghost all the time. You didn’t even know if it was him at first, so in your half-asleep panicked state, you felt for your phone and you texted Simon’s contact, asking a messily texted “is that you walking around?” You blink your sleepiness away and wipe your eye as your phone vibrates with a “yeah. sorry.”

That was the first time you got some notion that Simon was thrown off guard from something, after another week of awakening from his noises, you began to realize that he was experiencing night terrors every couple of nights. His nightmares were never a thing you two discussed, exactly.. It was more of an unspoken rule to not talk about it. You would occasionally find yourself in the kitchen around the time you calculated when Simon would wake up—and you were right nearly every time—and you just.. coincidentally made him a cup of tea. To Simon’s pleasant surprise, you managed to get his tea right every single time. You’ve had your fair share of night terrors, so you knew how it could be sometimes. You wanted to do something nice for him, and he seemed flustered every time.

It took you a while to get used to him being gone for long periods of time. Simon appreciated that you never questioned too deeply into his career, even the times he would come home sporting a new injury, you were always willing to play doctor for him. Simon saw the concern in your eyes and sometimes he would share small stories of what happened, or maybe to get you to stop thinking about his injuries, a small story about his teammates. You slowly learned their names over the course of a year and a half, and you learned Simon’s rank as well. He is a lieutenant, and there’s a man called Captain Price, another man named Sergeant Kyle Garrick, and one more man named Sergeant John MacTavish, who Simon referred to as “Johnny” fondly.

It wasn’t common that Simon talked about work, which is the reason why it took about a year and a half to even get the information you did out of him. Over the time you’ve lived with him, you had decorated the flat to feel more comfortable and home-y. Simon only had a few requests, which you honored, and one of them was no pictures of him with his face showing. You shot him a curious and questioning look, but as always—you didn’t question him, and he was very thankful. You had gotten a few indoor plants as well that didn’t need much caring for and you wanted to liven up the place, y’know? You were okay with Simon not sharing much about his past or his work, because he was willing to listen to your little rambles about your interests and work. You were a bit hesitant, but Simon was very emotive and he never seemed annoyed or brushed you off.

Despite Simon’s reluctance to share anything of his own, he always heard you out if you needed to vent about something. He made sure you knew you could talk to him, even on days where you felt like you had no one to go to. You spent an entire night with him, just talking about anything and everything. It was the first real conversation you felt like you have had with anyone in such a long time. It was also the first night Simon really saw you. He watched as your eyebrows furrowed from uncomfortableness, the vulnerability being nearly too much to handle; something he could relate to on a personal level. So when you started showing these signs, he knew exactly when to change the subject. Simon quickly realized how to read you, and he somehow knew what you needed at different moments.

Simon flies into the airport late at night with a small duffel bag, tagged as a military bag. He sends you a quick “be home soon.” text. Simon doesn’t expect you to answer due to it being around 3 in the morning, and you indeed don’t answer him. He catches a taxi to your shared flat. Simon collects his things from the taxi before paying the driver and sending them off, and Simon lets out a slow breath as he takes in the achingly familiar sight of the place he lives in. He tugs the hood that remains sitting over his head closer to his face, which is covered by a black surgical mask. His hand tightens on the straps of the duffel bag before he approaches the flat building, taking out his keys as he approaches the elevator. Once Simon reaches the third floor, he wastes no time getting to the front door, and he isn’t sure why, but his heart is pounding inside of his chest.

Simon unlocks both the top lock and the doorknob to enter the flat—something he had taught you to do every single time. He pockets his keys as he enters and Simon pauses for a moment because he can’t put his finger on it, but something feels off the second he glanced inside. His eyes trail the living room which is clean, not one thing out of place. Simon takes a deep breath and he doesn’t brush off the weird feeling, because even when there’s no evidence something happened—he’s usually right. The blanket on the couch is perfectly folded and laid over the back cushions, the mini bookcase by the TV is dusted as always, your shoes.. Are not by the front door, but a different pair are..? These either are not your shoes, or they are new. You always warned Simon about bringing people over, and you definitely would’ve told him this time. The lamp is on in the living room, but it seems the lights are out everywhere else. Simon silently goes through his routine when he gets back late at night—taking his jacket off and hanging it up, he leaves his boots by the door, and he drops his keys into the dish.

Next step to his routine is to step into the kitchen and get a cup of actually good quality tea, unlike the shit the military provides him. He fills up the electric kettle and sets a timer on it, grabbing his favorite mug and the box of his favorite tea from the cabinets. Simon glances down the dark hall—he’s seeking for a sign of life from you because you’re usually getting up around this time to greet him. No matter what, you always seem to know when he returns—yet you aren’t leaving your room. There’s no light emitting from the hall nor underneath the doors, and fuck, it’s eating at him. Something is wrong—and what the fuck is it? Simon stands there for a moment, turning his head to watch the blue light blinking on the electric kettle. He watches it blink slowly as he tries to rack his brain for what could be wrong—maybe those shoes are someone else’s, but he could just have a stern conversation with you about it later. Maybe you came back from drinking with friends—no, if that was the case, he knows for a fact your belongings would be everywhere, maybe even a spilled glass of water in the kitchen. He’s had to clean that up a couple of times.

He raises his wrist and pulls up his sleeve a bit to look at his digital watch; it’s nearly 0400 now. Simon puts his hands on the counter, leaning his body weight against it. Did something happen at work, maybe that’s why it feels off? You’ve always had a commanding presence like he has, so maybe— “Fuck.” Simon hisses quietly, hooking a finger into the strap of his black face mask and he rips it off, tossing it without care onto the counter. He leans forward and checks the kettles timer for a second, and then he’s walking towards the hall. Simon passes by his room and he walks up to yours, and he tries to turn the doorknob to peak in to check on you, but—it’s locked? Simon lets out a harsh breath before trying the door again, and yeah, it’s locked. Simon swears under his breath and he knocks on the door, his stomach twisting and turning. Something is wrong, very very wrong, very fucking wrong—

You unlock the door and you open it just enough for you to peak out, and you use your phone flashlight to shine it in Simon’s face. He squints and puts his hand up, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Hey—you locked your door.” He points out quietly, and you’re just staring at him, your eyes wide and alert. Simon’s anxiety lessens, but your reaction doesn’t make it go away. “Y’alright?” Simon drawls out, his hand on the wood panel of the door. You let out a harsh breath and you let go of your phone, letting out a quiet, “Simon..” before you suddenly pull your door completely open, and you wrap your arms around his thick torso into a hug. Simon swears his heart jumps into his throat and then into his stomach, bouncing back into his chest because you hugged him. You two were never particularly touchy like that, maybe a fleeting touch here or two, usual drunken affection from you—but you barely ever hugged him like this, even when he returned from deployments. Your touch burns hot through his clothes, and he knows you wouldn’t touch him without asking, so when you do? He wraps an arm around you, his free arm resting on your shoulder. “Hey..” Simon breathes out, lost for words.

You don’t hold on long enough for the uncomfortable worry to creep up his spine just yet. You rip yourself away from him like he burned you, his hands falling to his sides. You offer a tight, weak smile—one that you could easily play off as a sign of fatigue. Simon’s breath stutters as he watches your hands linger near your chest in a subconscious defensive gesture, your fingers closing into a fist for a moment; as if you’re uncomfortable, almost overstimulated. Simon feels the way for the light switch and he flips it on, and your room looks normal—but you look.. off. You look a bit clammy, almost like you’re sick or bouncing off the walls with anxiety. His eyes flick to your fingers and the skin besides your thumbnail and your middle finger are picked to all hell, and you just.. don’t seem right. All of these.. signs, you’re showing are actually very subtle—he just notices everything about you. Simon knows what food you favor, what your favorite color is, what social situations what you tick, what makes you mad—he knows it all. “Three months went by slow,” You murmur, trying to start a conversation. Simon’s eyes narrow at you for a moment as he watches you back up to your bed; no, you don’t turn around, you back up. You don’t turn your back to Simon at all. Fuck. He watches you lift your mattress, causing him to lift an eyebrow. “They did,” Simon confirms. “What happened while I was gone?”

This wasn’t an unusual question for Simon to ask; but it had a completely different meaning to you this time. You feel your muscles tense as you grab something from under your mattress, and you put it back down. It glints from the overhead light in your bedroom—a.. pocket knife of some sort, a switchblade perhaps. Simon’s eyes narrow at how you pocket it oh so quickly into your pocket. “Nothing much,” You reply quickly, smoothing out your shirt. “Same old same old, work has been fine, uh..” You trail off for a moment, clearing your throat. “Look, let me take a shower—I’m sure you’re itching for something to eat, huh?” Simon watches you open your drawers and pick out some pants and a shirt. The knife comes to mind—why are you taking it with you? “I can make it myself.” Simon responds, his feet planted firmly where he had been standing the whole time. You shake your head and close the drawers once you collect your clothes.

“It’s tradition, Simon. I gotta.” You offer a stronger smile as you make your way towards the door, still avoiding showing your back towards him. Simon watches as you glance at your bedroom window before exiting your room, muttering a quiet “close the door when you leave”, which Simon obeys. He shuts the door with a click, and he watches you quickly scurry down the hall towards the bathroom. “Just let me shower first.” And with that, you step into the bathroom, close the door and you lock it before Simon can interject. He stands there for a moment, stunned. His chest tightens for a moment because you just felt so far away. You’ve created such unwanted distance—even as you’re not very touchy with him, you still bother him for every detail he’s willing to give up when he returns. You are constantly making jokes, inviting him into the kitchen when you’re about to make a welcome home meal—but this time? You were hiding in your room, locking your door, bringing a knife with you—in front of him. Did you think that could slip past him? Did something happen whilst he was gone, to cause you to bring it with you? Is it for self defense against something or someone?— Is it to use on yourself?

Simon feels his stomach turn at his thoughts. He shakes his head and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He walks past the bathroom, his footsteps stuttering for a moment in front of the door before he presses his lips into a thin line, returning to the kitchen to make himself some tea, the electric kettle had beeped long ago.

The next late morning, not much was different. Simon only slept a few hours, three or four—as per usual, he still woke up before you. He threw on a pair of sweatpants, and a black hoodie. He made his tea, made you a cup of what you prefer to drink in the morning, and he made a light breakfast for you both. Despite being in the military for a while and relying on cooks as well as MRE’s to get through his days, Simon is a decent cook. He made himself some sausage and fried eggs, and he made a plate or a bowl of what you prefer to eat in the morning. Simon sighs for a moment as he glances at the time—around 1100, and you still haven’t emerged from your room which is odd, especially now that Simon just came back home. He takes a moment to look at his food, and he decides then and there he will drag you out if he has to. Simon scoops up his plate as well as your food, and he heads down the hall towards your room. With his hands full, Simon balances for a second as he gently kicks the door as a way to knock, and then he stands on both of his feet again. “Oi, wake up!” Simon shouts, leaning close to the door to listen for your movement.

It takes a good minute and when Simon is about to knock again; he hears your doorknob unlock and you peak out the door, your eyes wide and alert again, although it’s obvious you had just woken up. You seem to relax when your tired mind’s gears turn and you realize it’s just Simon. You open your door wider and you rub your eye, and he spots the knife in your hand, partially obscured by the door. “Mm, sorry. I overslept.” You say, your voice heavy with sleep, vibrating in your chest. Simon makes a noncommittal noise before holding out your food, which you stare at for a moment you take it, your lips twitching into a weak smile. “Thanks, Simon.” He waits a few seconds, and you nearly shut your door on him.

Thanks, Simon. That’s all??

“Can I eat in your room wit’you?” Simon gruffs out, feeling sudden determination from this weird act you have going on. You blink for a moment and then you nod. “Just give me a sec.” You murmur. You shut the door in his face and he hears you shuffling about, moving something—sounds like your mattress. Are you putting your knife away??—and then you open your door, gesturing for Simon to walk into your room. Surely you don’t think you can hide this type of thing from him of all people, right? Why are you hiding it from him?

Simon enters your room, and you close the door behind him. You never used to do that—“What happened?” Simon stares at you for an answer, watching your face contort in a bit of confusion. You don’t say anything at first, and when you were about to open your mouth, Simon speaks. “I mean this in the nicest way possible—do ya take me f’a wanker?” Your jaw drops for a moment, your eyebrows furrowing. “What? No, of course not, Simon. Nothing happened, I’m not sure why—“

“Don’t,” Simon interrupts, putting his plate of food on your dresser. “Something has happened, and you’re lyin’ to me. You’re jumpy, you’re carryin’ a blood knife around, lovie—don’t think you can get that past me—and you won’t turn your back on me.” His lips press into a line as he watches your shoulder hunch up a bit, in an all too familiar defensive, tense position. The pit in Simon’s stomach begins to grow as you avert your eyes from, too. “You are barely talkin’ when you bloody damn near talk my ear off when I come home—you said, ‘Thanks, Simon.’ Not an over the top reaction about me doing something for th’both of’us, not a invite in, and last night—you’ve been locking your door.” You put your food down near yourself, and Simon catches the way your fingers are trembling. “I.. I’m allowed to lock my door, Simon. You don’t need to question me.” You say, attempting to hold a steady voice which barely works, your voice nearly cracking on the last word. Your heart is racing out of your chest and all you want to do is bolt at the door; which Simon catches on to. You watch him as he slowly begins to step in front of the door. “You tell me everything—even how your damn showers go. Why won’t you tell me this?” He demands, and his heart is pounding against his ribcage, too.

He watches your face contort into several different emotions and feelings; panic, sadness, anger, relief—the whole nine yards. Simon walks towards you when you begin to sob, and you sit down on your bed to avoid collapsing. His chest tightens as he murmurs name, wondering if he went too far. You reach your hands for him and not for one second does Simon hesitate this time. He wraps his arms around you, sitting right next to you on your mattress, your thighs touching together. He reaches up and rubs the nape of your neck as you openly sob and shutter into the crook of his neck and in his arms. His skin burns from your heat seeping into his clothes, a lively warmth that burns so hot but he welcomes so much more than he remembers that he used to. Your tears are hot, burning his skin with every drop that slides onto his neck, but he welcomes the sensation. “It’s alright, lovie. Let it out.” Simon murmurs, one of his arms tugging your body closer to his. He holds you in almost protective stance, like someone is threatening to drag you away from his grasp. You grab at the back of his hoodie, your chest beginning to heave. “Mm, no, c’mere; look at me, yeah?” Simon beckons you, his voice smooth and soft—which is extremely rare. Simon cups your cheek and lifts your head from where it rests in the crook of his neck, his hand instantly getting covered in the wetness of your tears that are streaming down your cheeks. You inhale sharply as you try to look at Simon, your eyes unfocused and you try so hard to focus on his pretty brown eyes, but you can’t seem to get ahold of yourself. You let out a panicked sob as your hand now tug on the front of his hoodie, and his voice is so far away, but his hand is molding to the curve of your jaw, like it belongs there.

You shut your eyes for a moment and you let Simon move you around as he wants, which he ends up guiding your head to his chest, and his grip loosens some so you don’t feel trapped. It takes you a moment to catch your breath, to catch your bearings; you can hear a faint ringing sound that you didn’t notice before, but you do note it’s slowly fading away, and in fades is Simon’s voice. He’s murmuring praises—and oh, he’s laying against the headboard of your bed frame now, with you laying on his chest. You feel yourself trembling against him, and embarrassment hits you hard. You’re tense—you don’t want to talk about any of it at all, but you know Simon. He will push you until you snap, even if it’s in your best interest to tell him. You reach up and play with a hoodie string of his, listening to his soft breathing. You hesitate for a moment before your lips part. “It was a week after you left.” Simon’s heart skips a beat, which you hear—you vaguely find it amusing, but he’s silent to allow you to continue. One of his hands is on your back, his thumb moving back and forth. “I..” You swallow spit so you don’t croak, as you’re convinced you might sound pathetic. As if Simon would ever think of you that way. “I was walking home from the pub, y’know, the one only just a few blocks away? It was late at night, I think the police said it was around 2 am. I stayed until closing, I was with some of my friends, uh..” You trail off for a moment, trying to recall everything that happened. Your hand pauses, and Simon senses your state. He begins to rub your back full on, murmuring, “It’s alright. Go on, then.”

You let out a shaky breath before continuing. “I was absolutely wasted, and there was this guy—grabbed me and I tried to get out of his hold, but he ended up fucking stabbing me. Robbed me of my shit.” Your voice cracks and the silence is deafening. Simon feels his heart drop into his stomach. You got stabbed? “Fuckin’ hell.. Why didn’t you call me? Or at least let me know?” Simon’s voice treats carefully, knowing that you’re still freaking out by the way you’re incredibly tense against him. “I know how important your focus is when you’re gone,” You respond, your voice staying quiet as well. You don’t look at Simon’s face because you know that you’ll break once again. You pick at the fabric of his hoodie, seeking comfort in his warmth, despite how you usually aren’t like this with him. “I didn’t want to take your focus because I know you, Simon. You would’ve backed out of whatever you were trying to do to come and help me.” Simon presses his lips into a thin line, staying quiet because you both know that you’re correct. Simon would drop everything to come home to you, to help you. “The guy nicked my lung, was in the hospital for a while.” Simon’s hand stutters for a moment, the smooth pattern of his palm rubbing your back being interrupted from shock. “Jesus—“ Simon hisses, and he can’t help but tug you closer. “You should’ve told me anyway, lovie.”

You sniffle and you rub your face into his hoodie, a muffled noncommittal noise coming from the back of your throat. He doesn’t say anything further, nor do you. Simon lays there with you on top of him, one of his hands caressing your back, the other wrapped around your body, sometimes coming up to rub the back of your neck. You don’t mention the way he doesn’t seem to tell you to move, and he doesn’t mention how touchy you’re being. Simon doesn’t want this moment to end—one where you’re vulnerable and trusting with him, one where you’re alive and well. He can’t help but wonder if he ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell him something? Simon feels simmering, muffled anger in his stomach because you didn’t want to interrupt his work for being stabbed, nicking a vital organ no less—he makes a mental note to sit you down and make you promise to call him if an issue or an injury like that ever arises again. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to push away what would happen if you didn’t do that—if that guy were to come back to try to finish the job and Simon wasn’t here, would you call him? Would you pick up your phone and dial his number? Would you text him? What if you got hurt again—would you call him?—Or would the hospital? He always imagined you’d be getting the call of his death, and not the other way around. Simon swears under his breath for a moment and opens his eyes; he doesn’t want to think about that anymore. He wants to stay in this moment with you—both himself and you alive. He glances down, your tear stained cheeks slowly drying, your eyelids closed. His fingers slide from the nape of your neck to the side, and he presses his fingers against your pulse.

Being here with you—he wants you to trust him, too; like he trusts you. That’s all he wants.

tag: @zzzennin

[oceantornadoo]

lavender haze (price x f!reader, explicit use of weed/smoking mention)

it was the happiest day of your life. john was on one knee, smiling and holding a ring box up to you. your smile was too big for your face. as you reached forward for him, the ground shook, causing you to look up. that wasn’t right - you were in a hellscape. the air clogged your lungs, buildings were burning and screams rang out. the cries of innocents permeated the air. john was still on his knee, smiling. a popping sound surrounded you, then he wasn’t smiling anymore. the ring lay in a pool of blood as your captain’s eyes glazed over…

“wake up, lieutenant.”

you couldn’t stop looking into john’s eyes. and where was his hat? he never went to battle without it.

“c’mon, you need to wake up.”

you could hear them coming for you. the same footsteps that killed john. they were right behind you and-

“baby please, wake up.”

you woke up with a gasp, the room pitch black around you. a lamp flicked on, casting the motel room in an eerie glow, illuminating the man next to you. your captain, decidedly and platonically just that, was a bit flustered, his hand on your back to track your breathing. “y’ were having’ a nightmare.” you nodded, sucking in greedy amounts of air into your lungs as you calmed down your body. it was routine now, waking up in the middle of the night and walking yourself off the ledge of a panic attack. unfortunately, this time had to be when you shared a bed with your captain. platonically. for the mission.

“i find a smoke helps when i can’t sleep.” he’s still here, rubbing your back in small circles. your heart jumps and you kill it with a reminder of how he fist bumps and shoulder taps the men on your team. it means nothing, he’s just being a good captain. “don’t have anything on me.” your voice is gravel, hoarse from the phantom screams in your dreams. “‘s ok. i could use a smoke too.” he drops his hand, moving to get out of the rickety mattress this establishment calls a bed. you avert your eyes at the sight of him in a casual t-shirt and boxers, willing your overactive imagination to go away. the imagination that thinks about how he’d look after a one-night stand or a casual lie-in with his lover. the one that inserts you into the fantasy.

“c’mere.” the room has a small balcony, barely enough room for two, but he gestures to you anyways as he unlocks the door. there is something in his hand, but your sleepy brain tells you it’s too small to be a cigar. odd. when you walk outside, you’re immediately met with the edge of the balcony. it’s truly standing room only. a glance to your left reveals your captain looking for threats in the night sky, finally satisfied when his shoulders drop an inch. he takes out a lighter, something with the image of a santa claus that you can imagine gaz gave him as part of his old man jokes. john raises something to his mouth. the smell is odd, not that of his regular cigars, and it takes you a second to process as you wrack your brain. “is that…weed?” he exhales in a partial laugh, restraining a cough since you ruined his proper exhale. “surprised, lieutenant?” you scoff, reaching for the joint. his fingers brush yours, the joint really too long for that to be necessary, calluses on calluses setting your body aflame. you take a hit, trying to remember how to inhale correctly as it’s been a while since you’ve smoked weed on a balcony with someone. not to mention, your captain. “big inhale, lieutenant. not just a mouth breath.” you hum as you exhale, satisfied you’re able to follow his instructions. “good girl.” he is too, apparently. you shake off any underlying message.

“can’t believe my captain smokes weed.” he takes the joint back wordlessly, fingers brushing yours again. “rarely. jus’ for nightmare occasions. never on a mission.” funny, since you're both waiting for exfil the next morning. a bit closer to a mission than you imagined he usually did. “technically, we’re still on a mission.” you were on your third hit now, time going fast when it was just you and john on this lonely balcony. “necessary exception. can’t have my best lieutenant runnin’ on an empty tank.”

you bit back a smile at his compliment. “i won’t tell ghost if you won’t.” john rewarded you with a chuckle, a deep belly laugh you’d only heard once or twice. so this is what he was like high - a man who allowed himself to have fun. you could work with that. “won’t matter. y’ve got him wrapped ‘round your finger.” a jilted gasp escaped you as you refrained from stomping your feet. “no way! if anything it’s soap since ghost calls him johnny. i couldn't get away with half of the things soap does.” the joint was almost finished and you hadn’t even realized. he offered you one last hit before putting it out on the railing. disappointment sank heavy in your stomach, a feeling that the moment was almost gone.

your captain turned to you, a string pulling you closer until you were standing under him. his eyes were red, smile lines fresh. “you look good. sorry, relaxed. i see why you smoke now.” you murmured. his hand reached out into the space between you, then dropped back down. weird for him of all people to make an uncertain move. “think soap is to ghost what you are t’ me.” this had to be a cruel trick the universe was playing on you. “you mean you’re wrapped around my finger?” he nodded slow, the weed sinking its claws into him. “you’re just high, captain.” he frowned unexpectedly. “‘s john.” oh. oh. you nodded silently. the next steps were fuzzy, a dance you’d never learned.

“what was your nightmare about?” that was not what you thought he would ask. “um. the usual. the battlefield and dying and…yeah.” this time, his hand had a direction. it raised to your hairline, tracing the skin gently as his thumb led the way down to the curve of your ear. he felt that too, seemingly enamored with the softness of your earlobe before dropping his hand completely, like it never happened.

“you said my name, before you woke up. screamed it, practically gave me a heart attack.” his eyes were questioning, burning into yours like an interrogation. “oh. yeah, it was, um. youwereinmydreamandyoudied.” you practically spit the last part out, turning your head to study the skyline instead of finding whatever was on his face. unexpectedly, the weed made you both talkative and shy, a combination you didn’t expect. maybe it was sativa. “what happened before i died?” it was like he knew what happened, even though there was no way. right? you couldn’t resist a sideways glance, tracking the open earnestness of his face. “you were…proposing.” the last word was a whisper. “which is crazy, obviously. just a stupid dream.” you cut in before he could open his mouth. there was that frown again, one he rarely directed towards you. before tonight, that was.

“like this?” there was a yearning in his voice and when you blinked, he was on one knee. somber, not smiling like in your dream. he was realer, a wrinkle here and a gray hair there. your feet took you closer until his view was your thighs. that’s when you remembered you’d gone to bed in only a t-shirt and underwear, not having packed for an extra night in a motel. the triangle of your panties peeked out from your shirt and embarrassment creeped up your skin.

“i’m sorry, this is inappropriate. i shouldn’t be dressed like this, i'm sorry, captain.” his gaze hadn’t moved. “john.” a low exhale escaped him, like you saying his name had lifted a weight from him. unlikely, but a nice visual.

“‘ve never heard you say my name.” he was still on his knees, but he moved his head until he made eye contact. “guess i never had a reason.” he tilted his head to the side. “what’s your reason now?” you were scrambling off the edge of something you couldn’t see. you didn’t know this game you were playing. “you- you told me to.” he nodded, raising back to his full height off his knee. for some reason, you were disappointed. “you’d do anything i ask you?” it was the weed, surely, that made you nod vigorously. “get on the bed, then.”

you got on the bed. could feel him vibrating behind you as you walked towards it. turning, you sat on the very edge, legs tightly pressed together. “you’re high.” he shook his head. “barely. bein’ high doesn’t make me lie, sweetheart. quite the opposite, in fact.” you had no mental energy to get into the word sweetheart. it had already warmed your belly and turned you inside out.

“i’m high.” he said nothing. “barely.” you added with a whisper. “out of excuses yet?” you spread your legs instead of answering, letting him step in between them. he bent down slowly, turning your chin to him like you were something precious, something to take his time with. the kiss was slow, both of you tasting bitter because of the weed, and it was magical. you wrapped your legs behind him until he got the message, pushing you down. he grinded into you, hard and wanting.

“i’d propose to you now, y’know. jus’ don’t carry the ring with me on missions.” it took a second for the message to get through, especially since his lips moved to your neck, biting and sucking. “there’s a, fuck john, there’s a ring?” he was leaving hickies, surely. the weed had turned him into a teenager, and you giggled at the thought. he misinterpreted your laugh, pulling back until his eyes met yours.

“you got a problem with a ring?” you whined at the loss of him on you. “no. no. c’mere.” he leaned down for a kiss and you flipped the both of you over, straddling him with ease. his hands landed on your ass, pushing you closer until you could feel his hardness. he was such a possessive kisser, biting you when you drew back for a millisecond. his scruff scratched you pleasantly and you hummed like a cat in the sun. his neck felt so delicious under your fingers and you decided to explore it, small kisses and kitten licks until he was growling.

“you wet f’ me, baby?” his tone unlocked a memory. “you called me baby earlier. when i was sleeping.” john didn’t give you an answer, staring at you expressionless. “and?” it sent you sputtering. “you can’t call women baby when they’re asleep.” there was that frown again. “‘m not callin’ women baby. ‘m callin’ you baby. because you’re mine. got a problem with that?” you shut him up with a kiss. he was infuriating.

the wetness between your thighs was concerning. your hips were grinding of their own accord, the feeling of his clothed cock between your folds addicting. the weed supplied you with confidence, fingers reaching down to move your panties to the side. he let out a groan at the feel of your bare cunt against his boxers, soaking them through.

“not fuckin’ you like this, baby. not here.” you nodded against his skin, tongue darting out to lick at the beads of sweat that hard formed. “still want to come, though.” if weed made him laugh like this, you were determined to get him high every day. his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you harder and faster against him. the angle was perfect, the contours of his body catching your clit with every grind. his eyes were open, tracking your every movement.

“john,” and he understood you completely, catching your mouth with his lips again. he tasted like yours. pressure coiled in your stomach at the thought. john was yours. “captain,” you groaned against his lips, reveling in the strained sound he let out. “gonna make me come before you do, sweetheart.” his mouth left yours, instead biting your breast over your shirt. it was too much: the sweat, the grinding, the bites he delivered with vigor. he pushed you down harder, the motion brushing your clit and sending you over the edge.

“fuck, baby.” it sounded like you both said it at the feeling of his cock leaking cum beneath his boxers, the fabric soaked both ways. time stopped as you both looked down, taking a second to take in the sight. it was absolutely carnal, the grinding without fucking. a claiming.

“‘m tired.” you whispered. neither of you had a change of clothes so you both stripped them off, reveling in the sight of your naked bodies together. he pulled you into him, tucking you under his chin as you wrapped yourself in his body heat. so strong, so capable. your hands traced his chest, tangling in his body hair, until sleep overtook you. finally, a nightmare-free sleep.

--

i have no idea what made me write this since i haven't smoked in like over a year. if my depictions of being high are inaccurate, welp. also yes i headcanon price as a smoker but very occasionally just when he's stressed

[rocknpebbles]

goofy doodles based on an art req

usopp immediately woke up from his nightmare screaming and knocked sanji out with his elbow

got a simple request in my inbox to draw usopp sleeping on sanjis shoulder while he has a panic attack over it and I had to complicate it. I didn’t even draw him having a panic attack 😭😭😭😭 dw I’ll get to that request.