#oh that makes this so much worse oh god i’m so sorry honey….

[aroace-poly-show]

OH FUCK ME. EMU IM SO SORRY. EMU I’M SO SORRY FOR DOING THIS TO YOU. OH CHRIST

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - ONE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: none (angst) chapter two┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

The bass from the speakers rattled the glass in your hand as you leaned against the porch railing, eyes scanning the backyard for him—Rafe.

It had been a long month.

Longer than you thought it would be. Usually, when you and Rafe had your little “breaks,” they lasted about a week, maybe two at most. It was always something stupid, a screaming match that ended with slammed doors and his truck peeling out of your driveway. But it never lasted. It couldn’t. You’d known each other too long, been through too much, and deep down, there was this unspoken truth—he’d always come back. Or, you would.

But this time was different.

This time, he wasn’t calling or showing up at your window in the middle of the night, eyes tired and sorry, pulling you into his arms. The space between you had been growing wider since his dad died. And sure, maybe it was your fault for what you said after Ward’s death—But it was the truth.

Still, you hadn’t expected him to shut you out completely. Two months. Two months of silence. And the only thing you’d heard about him since was through Ruthie, Topper’s new girlfriend, of all people. A random comment at Mase’s place—something about how Rafe had been hanging around some pogue girl named Sofia.

You’d rolled your eyes at that. Rafe? With some Pogue? Yeah, right. You’d pretended not to care when she tossed it out like it was nothing

You weren’t stupid.

You’d always known Rafe wasn’t the easiest guy to love. He was complicated, angry, reckless—but so were you. And in some messed-up way, that’s why you two worked. Or at least, why you thought you did. You were just as stubborn, just as damaged. But now, as you sipped your drink and looked around, something felt off. Your gut was tight, and that nagging feeling that’d been growing restless under your skin since the breakup only grew stronger the longer you stood there.

You pushed yourself off the railing, discarding your drink on a table before moving through the crowd, past people you knew but didn’t bother with. Your mind was set on one thing—Rafe. You were done with the break. You had your space. It’s time to get back together. It was never even really a question. It was just the way things worked with you two.

But then there was Ruthie—blocking your path, her wide smile dripping with the kind of smugness that set your teeth on edge. She looked like she was reveling in your misery and that little giggle she let out only made it worse.

"So glad you could make it!" she sang out, her voice too sweet, too bright. Her eyes flickered over you like she was sizing you up, taking stock of every inch of your perfectly put-together outfit.

You forced a smile, “Yeah, well, wouldn’t miss a party like this,” you said, keeping your tone casual.

You weren’t in the mood for whatever game she was playing.

“Oh, I just bet,” she replied, her smile growing wider. She stepped closer, her breath reeking of cheap wine, and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Ruthie always drank too much at these things.

What the hell was her problem? She always acted like she knew something you didn’t, like she held the keys to all the dirty little secrets in Kildare, and she loved dangling them in front of people just to watch them squirm.

“Ruthie, I swear to God—” you began, but she cut you off, her grin widening.

“Oh, honey,” she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy, “don’t get mad at me. I’m just the messenger. You should really be talking to Rafe about this.” She took a step back, still smiling, and glanced over her shoulder. “He’s around, you know. You can go find him yourself. See how cozy he’s gotten with her.”

You bit your tongue, jaw, forcing yourself to stay calm. She was trying to get under your skin, like the snake she’d always been. You couldn’t believe Top was lonely and horny enough to finally fall into her claws.

“Thanks for the tip,” you gave her a tight lipped grimace, brushing past her, didn’t try and wait for her reply.

You only caught glimpses of empty rooms along the way. You hadn’t seen him since the break, and part of you didn’t want to admit how much that messed you up. How much he messed you up. Your steps slowed as you neared the hall that led to the back of the house, the sound of voices filtering through the air. You recognized some, laughed at the drunken ramblings, until one voice cut through the noise. Rafe’s.

And then you heard hers. No fucking way.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You told yourself you just needed to see him, just talk to him, tell him this break had gone on long enough, that you were done with the games. That’s when you heard it again—her laugh. It was light, flirtatious, the kind of laugh that made your stomach turn into a million different directions because you knew exactly what it meant.

She was there, with him.

You moved forward, the hallway barely lit as you reached the half-closed bathroom door. Your breath hitched, hands trembling as you peeked through the small crack, unable to stop yourself from looking.

There they were.

She was smiling, laughing softly at something he’d said, her fingers brushing through her hair as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched his hands move, tying the knot in her bikini with such gentle precision like he’d done it a thousand times. The kind of softness he used to have with you. And then he said it, his voice teasing, amused like this was some kind of inside joke between them.

"God, this is just landing right in my lap, isn’t it?"

You froze.

He laughed quietly, his lips brushing against Sofia’s shoulder as he tied the last knot, and the way he touched her—like she was something to be savored—sent a rush of pure, burning humiliation straight through your chest.

You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your ears as Rafe’s words repeated over and over in your head. Landing right in my lap. What the fuck was this?

Your heart clenched, vision blurring as what you were seeing slammed right into you. You backed away, your hand flying to your mouth to stop the sob from escaping. But it didn’t help. Not even à little. The tears burned, and you turned quickly, practically running back through the house and out the door before anyone could see the humiliating mess you were becoming.

It was real. He moved on. In two fucking months.

That’s all it had taken for him to replace you. To be done with you. He was over you. Just like that.

After everything you’d been through together, after all the times you had to pull him out of his own darkness, after the nights spent in his arms when you thought you couldn’t breathe because your whole family was gone—after years of being his and him being yours—how the fuck could he move on when you’d been rotting away in self loathing for pushing him away?

Your head spun as you stumbled down the steps, out to the street where your car was parked. You couldn’t breathe. Your breaths were coming out too fast, too shallow, and your hands were shaking so hard you had to press them against your knees to hold yourself up.

What the hell was wrong with you? You hadn’t even had anything to drink.

But your stomach was rolling, twisting in knots so tight you could barely stand straight. You leaned against the side of your car, the cool metal grounding you to reality for a second before a wave of nausea hit, forcing you to double over and retch onto the pavement. Tears stung your eyes as you coughed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

You felt dizzy, disgusted even, everything you thought you knew, everything you thought was yours, had been ripped out from under you.

Without a single warning. Not a text, not a stupid call, just pure indifference. No respect or regard for you. None of them. Everything you’d just seen replayed in your mind—Rafe, her, the way he touched her like she meant something to him.

“Look who’s still standing!” Topper’s voice. He was laughing as he strolled over, hands shoved in his pockets, that same carefree grin on his face that he always had at parties. “Jesus, what did you have to drink? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Normally, you might have had something to say back, maybe a fiery insult or a roll of your eyes. But right now, everything felt like too much. You couldn’t say a word. You could barely breathe.

Your cousin stopped beside you, his grin dropping as he finally looked at you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He leaned down, trying to catch your eyes. “You good? You look kinda—"

You cut him off, the question was heavy, like a lump lodged in your throat. “Did you know?”

He blinked, the confusion spreading across his face. “Know what?”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as you forced the words out, your voice shaking. “About Rafe and Sofia.”

You hated saying her name.

Hated that you’d been forced to know it by heart. Topper’s smile dropped, his expression changing.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, you knew him well enough to read his micro expressions. You clenched your fists, it felt like you were the only one in the island who’d been let out of the secret.

Surely, your friends, your only family would’ve told you something right? It’s not like you were on a remote island away from them. You’d spent the last month in New York, not in the fucking jungle. You visited occasionally. You were a call away.

“Did everyone fucking know?”

Topper exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, we didn’t think it was serious. You know how it is with you two—you’ve done this before. Played with other people…”

Played with other people. Like you and Rafe were just some game, a revolving door of heartbreak and hookups. It didn’t make sense. You’d always known how it worked, understood how these things went—sure, you’d had your minor flings, and he’d had his, but it was never real.

You stumbled back, feeling like you might collapse. “Oh my God, I’m going to be sick again.”

He reached out, obviously concerned since he hadn’t seen you in this desperate state in years, “Hey, hey, calm down. Look, it’s not like it means anything. Rafe’s just—he’s going through a lot with his dad dying, and he… he’s just messing around. You know how he gets.”

But the words did nothing to soothe you. They only made it worse—how everyone knew. How they’d all watched Rafe move on, while you were stuck, still reeling from the breakup, thinking he’d come back like he always did. And he was just out there, with her.

With someone else. You pressed a hand to your stomach, your head hurting. The idea of Sofia, of Rafe being with someone else in ways that only you knew—ways that had always been yours—made you feel like you were being torn apart.

Topper was still talking, still trying to rationalize it, but his words were like static now, blending into the noise of the party behind you. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he was saying. “You know how it goes. You always end up back together. He’s just doing whatever to distract himself.”

That word. Distract himself. Like your entire relationship could be boiled down to that—a series of distractions until you decided to come back to each other, to pick up the pieces and pretend everything was okay.

You could still remember the night your life changed—the phone call, the horrible, gut-wrenching moment when you learned that your family’s private plane had gone down. Your parents. Your sister. Gone. Just like that. And Rafe had been the one to pull you through it. He was the one who had held you as you cried so hard you thought you were going to die, who sat with you in silence when you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, who stayed with you every single night because you were terrified to be alone in a haunted mansion that now felt like a mausoleum.

You had been seventeen, and losing them all at once had killed something inside of you. But he was there. He wasn’t perfect—far from it—but he knew what it was like to grieve.

He knew loss. He understood. Because you’d been there for him two years earlier, when his mom lost her battle to cancer. You could still see the look in his eyes that day—fourteen years old and already drowning in so much anger and sadness, like the world had ripped something essential out of him.

The way he cried at her funeral when he thought no one was watching, and you’d found him, sat beside him in the cold, letting him cry without saying a word. You hadn’t started dating yet, hadn’t crossed that line, but something had changed between you two in those moments.

A connection, a bond forged in shared pain, in the kind of trauma that no one else really got. Maybe that was why you were so obsessed with each other. Maybe it was fucked up, but you couldn’t imagine anyone else understanding you the way Rafe did.

How could it all come down to this? To you standing here, feeling like the world was ending while he moved on, laughing and touching someone else like nothing you had ever been through mattered?

Was that it? Did that one moment, that one argument about Ward, erase everything you’d done for him?

All the times you’d been there, the way you had comforted him when he felt like his life was spiraling? You remembered exactly what you’d said a month after the funeral, when your boyfriend blamed everyone but Ward for his own death. "He wasn’t a good person, baby. I know he was your dad, but you can’t pretend like he didn’t fuck you up."

You hadn’t even said it to hurt him, not really. It was just the truth. Ward had been a terrible father, controlling and manipulative, and you’d spent years watching Rafe try to live up to some impossible standard, chasing his father’s approval like it would ever be enough. But that didn’t make it easier for him to hear. You should have known better. You should have known how raw he was after losing his dad, how complicated his feelings were.

But instead, you’d been brutal. Honest, but brutal.

And now, two months later, here you were—staring at the empty street, wondering if you’d pushed him too far. If that one moment of honesty was enough to make him forget everything else. Now you were just the ex, the crazy one who didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.

“Fuck, why did I say that?” you whispered to yourself, voice shaking. Why couldn’t you have just let it go?

But then another clarity of anger took over you, pushing away the guilt that had been building inside. So you’d been too harsh about Ward. So you’d said what everyone else had been too scared to say. It wasn’t like you’d been wrong. Ward had messed Rafe up.

Everyone knew it. He knew it, deep down.

You gritted your teeth, staring out at the dark street, the low hum of the party still buzzing faintly behind you. You were never going to get that picture out of your head. Like they hadn’t just met, like you hadn’t spent years learning how to calm Rafe when he spiraled, how to hold him together when he couldn’t hold himself.

Your chest tightened again, a bitter taste rising in your throat.

You could still feel the weight of his head on your shoulder that night, years ago, when his mom passed. The silent sobs that shook his body, the way he’d held onto you. That was the real Rafe—the one he hid from everyone else. The one who was lost and broken underneath all the anger. And you’d seen him, really seen him in ways no one else ever could. Not Sofia. Not anyone.

"Look, you're emotional, okay? I get it. Maybe it's that time of the month or something. You know how you always get when your hormones go crazy."

The words got to you, but not in the way he probably thought they would. At first, it pissed you off, like it always did when people tried to downplay your emotions. Everyone always said you felt too much. That you were out of control.

But then…

You stopped moving, blinking rapidly as his words spiraled around in your brain. ‘Time of the month’, he'd said.

Your heart started doing summersaults, your stomach dropping as the idea settled in. You grabbed your phone, hands trembling like leaves as you opened the calendar app. You scrolled, trying to think, trying to remember when you’d last…fuck.

You hadn’t had your period in… so long.

Almost two months. No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be some kind of fucked up joke.

You felt light-headed as you reached for your car again, your body shaking so badly you could barely stand against the door. "Shit."

How could you not have noticed?

Topper noticed the change in you instantly, his brow furrowing. "What’s wrong with you?" he asked, his tone softening a little. "You okay?"

You couldn’t even form a sentence. Your brain was too full of what-ifs. Two months late.

You hadn't even thought about it until now—everything had taken so much space in your head that you hadn't noticed the most obvious sign. This wasn’t possible. Your hand flew to your stomach, almost instinctively. You had no idea what to do with the panic creeping up your throat.

“Shit,” You hissed, this time louder, trying to push the growing dread down. But it wouldn't go away.

He was still staring at you, “What? What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

But you were already backing away, shaking your head, “I—I need to go,” You mumbled, barely hearing yourself.

Your cousin moved quickly to block your path as you tried to make your way toward the door. That kind of protective streak only made you want to shove past him even more.

"You’re not driving in this state." he warned you, voice firm, his hands up like he was trying to physically stop you.

You just glared at him, “Fucking watch me.”

He didn’t budge. "You get in that car and I'm calling Rafe," he said, sounding dead serious.

You couldn’t believe it. Your head was already spinning, and he was trying to guilt-trip you like this was some kind of helpful thing to do? You threw your hands up in frustration, voice rising, cracking. "He’s too busy fucking Sofia. Knock yourself out."

The words felt like venom in your mouth, the bitterness rolling off your tongue. You didn’t care how harsh they sounded. You didn’t care about anything anymore except getting away from this suffocating stupid place. Before he could say anything else, you made your move. You pushed past him with all your strength, chest hurting with the urge to feel something other than this suffocating mess of emotions and confusion.

Your hands shook as you fumbled for your keys. You managed to unlock the door, sliding into the driver’s seat, the cool leather biting into your skin.

You needed to think. But all you could think about was that one, terrifying realization: you might be pregnant.

Your breath hitched, terror swirling around your chest. The calendar app was still open on your phone, the dates staring back at you like a flashing red warning sign, daring you to confront the truth you’d been ignoring. Two months. Two months without a period. And you hadn’t even noticed. You pressed a hand to your stomach again, heart pounding as if it was trying to escape your chest. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not like this.

You weren’t thinking clearly—shit, you weren’t thinking at all, but you couldn’t stay here. Not with Topper trying to baby you, not with him out there, living his best life like you didn’t even exist.

You turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and just as you gripped the wheel, ready to peel out of the driveway, Topper bolted in front of the car, planting himself right there like some kind of human roadblock. Fucking idiot. His arms were stretched out wide, like he could somehow stop you by sheer willpower.

“You’re not doing this, I swear to God, you’re not!” he yelled, his voice frantic, echoing off the dark street. He looked panicked, pleading even, like he was convinced you’d actually go through with it.

You gritted your teeth, eyes narrowing on him through the windshield. “Top, I swear, you have three seconds before I run you over.”

“Are you serious right now?” he yelled, his voice cracking with disbelief. But he didn’t move. “You think I’m letting you drive like this? You’re out of your fuckin’ mind!”

Your fingers gripping the wheel so hard it hurt. You weren’t bluffing. You were too wound up, too out of control. The only thing keeping you from flooring him was the fact that, deep down, you knew your cousin didn’t deserve it.

You just needed to get out of here.

“Move!” you screamed, “I’m not joking’, Topper. Get the fuck out of my way!”

His face twisted with frustration as he looked over his shoulder, something catching his attention. He started waving, yelling at someone, his voice cutting through the night, “Rafe! Dude, get over here!”

Your brain stopped. It was like everything had been sucked out of you. Your hands froze on the wheel, your entire body locking up as you looked to your right and saw him—Rafe. Right there in the yard.

And she was with him. He had his arm draped around her casually, like she belonged there.

Like he belonged there, just standing in the open, so stupidly comfortable in his new life. His head turned when he heard Topper call out, and your eyes locked for a less than a second. A moment too long. A moment that broke something inside you.

While Topper was distracted, his attention on Rafe, you made your move. You slammed your foot on the gas, tires screeching as the car lurched forward, swerving just enough to dodge Topper’s stunned figure. You heard him yell after you, but his voice faded into the background noise as you sped away.

You didn’t look back. Not at Top, not at Rafe.

The only thing you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out everything else. You hated this. Hated that you were crying. Hated that you’d let yourself get to this point.

“God, what is wrong with me?” you muttered, your voice quavering as the words tumbled out. “Why the fuck am I crying over him? I shouldn’t be crying over him.” You slammed your palm against the steering wheel, angry, disgusted with yourself.

You’d told yourself you were stronger than this—that after everything you’d been through, you didn’t need him or anyone else. But here you were, falling apart like some pathetic excuse of a mess because of him. Because he had always been there, hadn’t he? After the crash, after you lost everything, he was the one constant, the one person who kept you from completely losing it. You’d relied on him so much. Too much.

“Fuck,” you hissed, tears streaming down your face. Your throat burned as the memories came flooding back, memories of all the nights you’d spent together, of him holding you while you cried yourself to sleep, of the way he’d pulled you out of the gloom when you thought you’d never get back up again. You thought he’d always be that person for you, the one who understood your broken pieces because he had his own. You’d always fit together perfectly.

You pulled into the parking lot of the nearest drugstore, your hands still shaking as you put the car in park. The tears had dried up on the drive over, replaced by a cold determination. You didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to even think about what you were about to do.

The moment you stepped out of your car and into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the drugstore, you felt completely out of place—like a stranger in your own skin. You hadn’t even thought about how ridiculous you must’ve looked until you caught your reflection in one of the store’s glass windows. Your hair, still perfect from earlier, framed your face in soft waves, and your makeup was flawless, despite the crying. The designer dress you were wearing—sleek, red, and worth more than half the shit in this store—with its sticky floors and white lights, it made you feel like an alien. Like you didn’t belong.

You caught the eyes of a couple of people loitering outside the entrance as you walked in, their stares lingering a little too long, murmuring to each other behind smirks. You knew they were talking about you. They always did, kook queen, overdressed, out of touch, bitch, whatever they wanted to call you.

The sliding doors let out a grating beep as you entered, and the air inside was stale and heavy, reeking of floor cleaner and cheap perfume. You adjusted your grip on your purse, strutting past the aisles with your head high even though everything inside you felt like it was falling apart.

You always did this—dressed to kill, head up, like armor. But there was no real glamour in buying pregnancy tests from some random pharmacy in the middle of the night. No way to mask the deep, growing hysteria in your bones.

The girl behind the register clocked you the second you stepped up to the counter, her eyes dragging over your like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. You could almost hear her thoughts: What the hell is someone like you doing here?

You didn’t even look at her. You just wanted to pay and leave without a scene. But of course, people always found a way to make things worse. She hesitated before scanning the tests, looking like she might say something. For her own good, you prayed she didn’t.

You threw the money on the counter before she could open her mouth, two crisp hundreds on top of the total. The cash hit the counter with a sharp thwap and you gave her the bitchiest look you could muster. “Take it. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”

She swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she slid the bills into the register. You didn’t care that she was young or nervous. You weren’t here to make friends. You weren’t here for anyone’s sympathy. The extra money would make sure she didn’t talk, that was all that mattered.

You walked out, your heels clicking against the linoleum, head high, even though every nerve in your body screamed for you to disappear. You slid into your truck, slamming the door shut, the silence finally hitting you. For all the designer clothes, the makeup, the money—none of it meant shit right now. You felt so small. So scared. Terribly lonely.

You sat there for what felt like forever, staring at the stupid bag in the passenger seat like it had the power to ruin your whole life—which, to be fair, it kind of did. You didn’t know what the fuck you were going to do. Not about any of it.

Your foot tapped nervously against the floor mat, the sound too loud in the quiet car. The bag crinkled as you glanced at it again, your stomach twisting all over again. A bunch of pregnancy tests. How had it come to this?

Rafe. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to think about him, not to picture his face when he found out. If he found out. Shit, what the hell was he going to do? He was with Sofia now, right? So was this going to ruin his life too? Did he even deserve to know?

It was probably nothing, you told yourself. Maybe the separation anxiety had gotten to you. Maybe your body was just fucked up from all the stress. Maybe your period was just late because you’d been so all over the place lately. There could be a million reasons. You didn’t even want to think about what would happen if it wasn’t nothing.

You didn’t want to cry anymore. Not after all of this. Not over Rafe. Not over your life turning into some fucking soap opera you didn’t even want to be a part of.

The second you were inside your house, the walls closed in around you. Your perfectly decorated place—the one you’d spent so much time making into a refuge, an escape—it didn’t feel like that anymore. Every designer pillow, every carefully chosen piece of art, mocking you.

Your phone buzzed in your bag, you reached for it. Of course, it was Rafe.

“I don’t know what the fuck that was but save the fucking dramatics, okay?”

The nerve. The fucking nerve of him to act like he was the center of your universe, acting like you were some inconvenience. Months of silence and this was the first thing he decided to text you? Knowing how much you despised when people called you a drama queen? Fucking piece of shit.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, a thousand different responses running through your mind. You wanted to tell him to shove something up his ass. But you did the only thing that felt right in that moment.

You blocked him. You stared at your phone, half expecting it to buzz again, half dreading that it wouldn’t. It was done. You cut him off, at least in that tiny, virtual way. You sat there for a minute, gripping the phone, trying to remember how to breathe.

This was supposed to feel empowering, right? You told yourself it would. That cutting him out would help you get back some control. But your mind wouldn’t settle. Those damn pregnancy tests were sitting in the bag next to you.

You were tired.

Exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with how late it was or how emotionally spent you were. You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter against the hardwood floor as you sank into the plush couch. Your house felt cold and unwelcoming tonight. Like a showroom. No comfort to be found. Not here, not in the muted tones of beige and white. Not in the sleek lines of furniture that were supposed to exude elegance and sophistication.

Maybe tomorrow you’d feel differently.

Maybe you’d wake up with a clear head, ready to take the stupid tests. Maybe you’d be strong again like you’d been so many times before.

Tonight, you were just tired. You leaned back against the cushions, closing your eyes for a moment, willing the noise in your head to quiet down. Sleep. That’s what you needed. Just a few hours to clear your mind, and in the morning, you’d deal with everything.

All of this would go away.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb

@rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2 @starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols

@icaqttt

[miupow]

꒰ 恋人へ ꒱ FOR LOVERS.

╭♡ pairing 〃kang taehyun x fem!reader genre 〃fluff, smut elements, slight angst, hurt/comfort ┊: warnings ◠ ﹐〃minors do not interact .ᐟrough sex, explicit language, bdsm elements, established relationship, safeword use, traffic light system, aftercare, dom!taehyun, sub!reader, pussy slapping, vaginal fingering, degredation + dirty talk, lots of pet names (and one use of "whore" and "slut"), cuddles and kisses, sharing a bath

you've never had to call out your safeword before, but during a rough punishment taehyun takes it too far-- luckily, he's right there to pick up the pieces when you fall apart.

♡ ⸝⸝ ꒰ 1.4k ꒱ ‧ ꒰ m.list ꒱ ‧ ꒰ reblogs and feedback appreciated! ꒱

the word teeters on the tip of your tongue, takes up space behind your quivering lips; you've never had to call out your safeword before, never had it even crossed your mind in all of the coutless times you and your boyfriend had played... yet it threatens to slip out of your mouth with every thrust of taehyun's fingers into your sore, abused cunt.

sparks of discomfort crept up on the overwhelming pleasure, your pussy overstimulated past it's limit— three times had he made you cum on his deft fingers, and he seemed to have no intention of stopping. you had told him you could take it, but then... you weren't so sure.

"tyunnie," you hiccup, squirming underneath his broad frame as he cages you to the bed, his thick muscled arms flexing from the exertion of pumping his fingers in and out inside of you. "slow down!"

taehyun tuts, swiftly pulling his fingers out of your wet hole, and for a swift second you breathe out a sigh of relief-- but his hand quickly returns with a harsh slap to your pussy lips, right over your throbbing clit. you shriek from the surprise and the pain, writhing against the bedsheets and pulling hard at the ropes that tied your hands up above your head. your wrists stung from the friction, the pain clashing with the ache in your body in a way that made your head pound. “i said don’t speak unless spoken to, whore. stupid slut can’t even follow simple directions... take your punishment like a good girl. what’s your color?” taehyun growls with a smirk, hot breath caressing the shell of your ear, still completely absorbed in the scene even while checking in on you. his calloused fingertips circle your swollen pearl with practiced precision, your little body trapped underneath him with one of your shaking legs hiked up over his shoulder.

even deep in his dominant headspace, punishing you for breaking his rules, he still always put you and your pleasure first.

“g-green.” you whimper despite your growing qualms. you couldn’t bring yourself to even call out a yellow; you’ve done plenty like this before, plenty worse than this, and never once did it make you feel this way, bother you this much. surely you could take it. you were just being dramatic. 

"good girl," taehyun hums. the defined, honeyed muscles of his abdomen and biceps looked so gorgeous in the lamp light you didn’t have the focus to prepare yourself for another wet, messy slap to your pussy lips, this time even harder. 

it was an act you usually enjoyed, begged for even, couldn’t get enough of; but something different was building inside of you. something you had never felt before— at least, not with taehyun. instead of dripping desire, there was overstimulation and discomfort… too much for you to bear. 

you thought you would never have to say it, but one more pass over your clit has you shrieking out from underneath him, “red!”

immediately, taehyun jerks back like he had been burned, big brown eyes wide in shock. “oh god, baby, are you okay?” he gasps, shaking hands rushing to untie your wrists from the headboard, “did i hurt you? i’m so sorry, angel, where does it hurt—?” you weren’t sure how you expected him to act, but you certainly didn’t expect him to act like this. you’ve never seen him so anxious before. 

“i’m okay—“ you start, but never get the chance to finish; taehyun gathers up your wrists in his hands and brings them to his face to inspect them for injuries, rope burn… your squirming and pulling had caused the cords to dig tight into your wrists, bite irritated pink marks into your skin, but you hadn’t even noticed they were hurting until taehyun freed them. his worried gaze is so intense it burns into your skin, sends your tummy erupting with butterflies. you can’t help but let out a weak watery giggle as he soothes over the marks with his thumbs. “tyunnie, i’m okay, i promise. it wasn’t the ropes.” 

“what was it then? what happened, honey?” he presses still, voice soft and gentle, though his stare seemed a bit less wild than before. “what do you need?”

“it was just… too much.” you mutter meekly, averting your eyes, face hot. it sounded so trivial when said aloud— you were beginning to worry that maybe you had overreacted. 

“too much?” taehyun echoes, cupping your cheek in his palm. “what was too much?” 

“…everything.” you admit after a moment of hesitation. “kind of. i don’t know. it’s stupid.” 

“it’s not stupid.” taehyun retorts immediately. any attempt you made to soothe his worry didn’t seem to work. 

“i don’t know what’s wrong with me, everything just felt off—“

“hey.” he snaps, cutting you off; he bends his head to look you deep in the eyes, cinnamon honey brown gaze so sharp and passionate that it takes your breath away. “nothing is wrong with you, (y/n). it’s okay for it to be too much sometimes. don’t you dare feel guilty about stopping me.”

“well, i—“

“i mean it. please, baby, i don’t ever want to hurt you.”

your bottom lip wobbles a bit as you try to think of something to say. luckily, taehyun beats it to you. “what do you need, angel?”

“you.” you whimper, gingerly reaching out to wrap your arms around his shoulders. “hold me, please?” 

you’re enveloped in taehyuns thick arms in an instant, strong and warm as he cradles you against his chest, tucks your head underneath his chin. you’re completely surrounded by him, and it feels like heaven. tears wet your eyelashes and you blink frantically to keep them from overflowing. 

“of course, baby, i love you so much. do you want me to run you a bath? we can take it together if you’d like— i’ll wash you, take care of you. i’ll take care of you all night.”

and he does.

the warm bath water washes away all of your worries, left your mind blissfully blank as taehyun’s worked shampoo through your hair; with your back to his broad chest, snug in between his legs in the tub, you had never felt safer, more at home. 

his princess, protected from all of the evil in the world. pampered with gentle kisses as you lean your head back against his shoulder and close your eyes.

“baby?” taehyun asks quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. his soft lips ghost your temple, feather light against your warm skin. it’s difficult to focus on what he’s saying and not just the rough, husky timber of his usually light voice. 

“hm?”

“why didn’t you stop me sooner?” 

you crack your eyes open. “…what do you mean?”

“why did you push yourself like that instead of telling me when things stopped feeling good? we use the light system for this exact reason.” taehyun goes quiet for a moment before timidly adding “.. you trust me, right?” 

“of course i trust you, tyun!” you rush to reassure him, turning to face him. water sloshes over the side of the tub from your movements, but neither of you pay any mind. “it wasn’t you, baby, i just… i don’t know. i didn’t want to disappoint you. it was a punishment.”

to your dismay, taehyuns face crumples at your admission. he tucks a strand of wet soapy hair behind your ear. “oh, (y/n)… using your safeword would never disappoint me. i don't care if it was a punishment-- i want you to use it, honey. anytime you need to. i want you to let me know how you’re feeling.” 

“…i’m sorry.” you whisper, bowing your head— taehyun was quick to lift it back up with his knuckle beneath your chin. looking into his big beautiful eyes was like looking directly into the sun. 

“don’t be sorry. never be afraid to use your safewords, okay?” 

“okay.” you echo, a small smile creeping it’s way onto your face. “i love you.” 

taehyun presses his lips to yours in the chastest, sweetest kiss of any he had given that night. “i love you more.”

[blushweddinggowns]

 “So let me get this straight. You met a hot guy, conned him into a date with you, lied about who you were to get into his pants and still failed. Then kept going, bought a new phone and rented a fake apartment, fell in love him, continued this elaborate ruse for four months, and now you want me to figure out a way for you to get out of it?”

“...yes?”

“Oh my fucking god,” Chrissy nearly screeched into his ear, “That is what you have been doing? Have you lost your damn mind?!”

“Obviously, yes!” Eddie yelled right back, feeling fraught as hell. He was pacing back and forth, a cigarette in hand as he spoke, “I never planned on ending up here!”

“Really? Because this whole shit show seemed to need a lot of planning. Is this really what happens when I leave you unsupervised? I am never letting you out of the house again.”

Eddie was well aware he deserved the ribbing. He deserved much worse, but that didn’t change the fact that he was desperate, “Chris, I’m serious. I need help.”

“Eddie, I love you but come on. You need a plane ticket and an apology muffin basket and to move on. This guy doesn’t even know you.”

“It’s not like that,” Eddie said as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “It’s-okay. I’m still me with him. It’s like…I’m acting like who I would have been if I was never famous. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“Have you tried delusional? Also, can I get a picture of this guy? How hot can one dude be to drive you-”

“I’m serious,” Eddie interupted, irritation coloring his voice, “I told him everything. The shit about my parents, Wayne, the drugs, you, everything.”

“You realize that everything would include your real name right? And again, a picture for the love of god would really help put this in perspective-”

“You know what I mean,” Eddie sighed. She still wasn’t getting it, “I’m in love with him. Like Chris, he was made for me. And if I had just stuck to tattooing instead of doing the music shit then I’m pretty sure he’d think the same of me.”

He could hear a small intake of breath on her end, her voice coming out a bit more concerned than before, “Eds, are you serious?”

“Dead. I… I think he’s the one,” No, that was another lie. Eddie took a deep breathe before admitting the truth, “He is the one. And… I don’t want to lose him. I can’t lose him.”

“Honey, it’s an infatuation. A really, really strong one, but still-”

“Chrissy. Listen to me. I want to marry him. Do you understand me now?”

If that didn’t get through to her nothing else would. Because Chrissy Cunningham had spent hours upon hours of listening to Eddie complain about the institution of marriage since fucking highschool. How it was all a farce, just some bullshit people pulled for tax reasons and patriarchal idealism. And now here he was, fucking day dreaming about the perfect happily ever after with the love of his life. 

“Oh Jesus,” Chrissy groaned, the sineritcy Eddie was looking for finally creeping into her voice, “Sweetie, I’m so sorry… but I think you might have fucked yourself too big on this one.”

“Isn’t there something I can do?” Eddie pleaded into the phone, like Chrissy actually had all the power in the world to fix this, “What if I just lead a double life? Couldn’t that work?” 

He had seen a movie about that once or twice. It was a thing. Or if it wasn’t then he could make it one.

But Chrissy didn’t seem too convinced, “Eddie, honey, you’re describing the plot of Hannah Montana like it can actually be a solution. Do you realize how insane that is? Do you not get how far you’ve fallen?”

from the next chapter of this fic

[sideysvault]

๋࣭ ⭑ How Deadpool would react to normie!reader getting hurt ๋࣭ ⭑

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Reader

Wc: 814

Warnings: Mentions of canon typical violence and injuries.

────────

It all happened so quickly. It would have been easy to miss among all the rubble, the screaming, and the blood. The truth was that she was not even supposed to be there. It was just a cruel fortuity.

Deadpool isn’t one to squirm at violence. He finds himself enjoying it in most cases. Even when it was directed to him. All the experiences he had gone through have made sure to desensitize him from savagery. But not when it came to her. Hell, even if it sounded irrational, he still swore to this day that his heart really did stop for a moment when he realized you were hurt.

His first reaction was to run straight into your arms. An unpleasant feeling hit him like a wave. It felt like drowning from the inside out. But he was sure of one thing. This was no place to lose his temper. The priority is to seem reliable and strong so you don’t freak out. After all, it was Wade’s fault that you were in this situation on the first place. He needs to make right by you and make you feel safe and protected. Wade held you, sweetly swept the hair out of your face and began to evaluate the injuries. He was almost certain that it wasn’t anything atrociously bad. You would recover. So the man allowed himself a small moment of relief.

But it was different for him. As much as he felt pain, he suddenly realized that he probably didn’t understand how a civilian would react to this situation. At the end of the day, she was still a normal woman. She had never been in a fight before. Much less lacerated and being beaten up like this. She lived in the nice part of the neighborhood and always said hello to the neighbors.

In an almost self soothing manner, Pool quickly begins to blurt out a million of obnoxious jokes. He hoped they wouldn’t just calm him down, but distract you from the immense pain and fear you must be feeling right this second. You made an effort to answer playfully to his banter. You knew he was just trying to smother you with sweet, witty nothings.

Despite the circumstances, you tried your best to remain calm. You knew Wade would blame himself. And you did not want to make him feel worse by losing control and showing how much pain you were feeling. But you were terrified, your head was spinning and you felt violently disgusted by the open wound that adorned your skin. It was like anything else you’d seen before.

The good intentions you held where thrown out of the window by the puke that came out of your mouth at the sight of your wound. You finally entered in shock. Adrenaline couldn’t last forever.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Oh God, Pool. I don’t wanna see it. Please. I’m sorry. Do whatever but fix it quickly. Just don’t let me see it again”

“Fuck. Honey, what the fuck did you have for breakfast? You are going to make me puke too. All over your wound. It will get infected, you know?”

The injury was worse than he originally thought. So Deadpool insisted you should stay with him and Al while you recovered completely. The jokes continued. And Wade would exaggerate and act as if he’s an underpaid nurse forced to attend to some nagging old lady.

The truth he was trying so hard to conceal was rather simple: The day he saw you injured he almost died of terror and guilt. And he would definitely die for real if it happened again. You’d follow along with this little routine you’ve had created for yourselves. You’d state that ‘It wasn’t even that bad’ and tried so hard to mask how grateful you were for his protection and care. You truly felt secure with him. Even with a hole in your stomach, all it mattered to you was that Wade was by your side.

At the end of the day, no matter how much he dismissed it, how hard Pool would try to joke and deflect from it, you knew he really did care about you. You knew it by the softness of his touch when he changed the bandages. The fact that he always remembered to give you the medicine on time. By the third day of your stay with him and Al, he had memorized how you liked your coffee, your tea, and what you preferred to have for breakfast.

You were certain he cared about you in the same way you did about him. You knew by the way he quietly sat beside your bed all night while he thought you were fast asleep, just to check up on you until he was able to convince himself that you were okay and that you weren’t going anywhere.

Notes: Ok this is my first fic ever and it’s 2am! Hope you liked it. Please dissect it and give me criticism so I can be better at this! (Be nice tho). I’ve been so obsessed with him lately that after years of being a passive reader I decided to write something of my own <3

xxo - sidey

[mohavesun]

leon roommate au part 2 :) pt 1 is here

warnings: 18+, leon being pathetic, begging, worshipping (?), degrading kink, masturbation, dom/sub, reader is dominant. a bit of overstimulation.

———————————————————————

leon’s behavior only got worse as time went on.

it was a one-time occurrence, and he never intended it to repeat.

but it did.

one, then twice, then three times.

what made it worse was that he was still leon, still the boy you considered your best friend. he was sweet, considerate, always bringing you your favorite pastry from the lounge, always helping you with your studies. he couldn’t only imagine how you would feel if you knew how perverted he had become.

it all came to a standstill when you came back early from class.

leon had reached a new low—now, instead of using your clean, fresh underwear to huff while jerking himself off, he had graduated to using the pair of underwear you had worn the night before.

he just couldn’t help it. once you left the room, he saw the light pink fabric of the lacy panties with a bow on the front, just sitting in your hamper, begging for his attention. he fished it out, mouth watering when he saw the slightly darker fabric, right were your cunt would be pressed against the clothing. you must’ve been wet at some point during the day, because the fabric was still slightly moist.

oh, god. this was a dream come true for your sweet, innocent roommate. almost like an animal, he brought the panties to his face, sniffing the scent of your vagina, licking the wetness that tasted like honey on his tongue. he was so caught in the bliss of finally—finally tasting you, he completely ignored how hard his cock was. he let out a soft groan, still knelt by your wicker basket of dirty clothes, pressing the panties into his face as though it was the most delectable thing in the world. his lust was something else entirely now. obsession? maybe. all he knew for sure was that he was deeply in love with you. and that he was absolutely, horribly pathetic.

his tongue lapped at the remains of your sweet nectar, desperate to taste every last drop, hopelessly and shamelessly, to the point that he almost even felt guilty for being such a creep.

he was so lost in the heavenly sensation of your panties, that he didn’t even hear the door open. all he heard was the drop of a backpack, snapping him out of his haze, snapping his head to look at where the thud had originated from.

your face alone sent a sinking feeling into his stomach.

your eyes were wide with shock, brows raised and mouth fallen agape. those beautiful lips that he loved so, so much, hanging open in surprise (and maybe disgust? he was far too horny to be able to read anything right).

“leon?” was all you stammered out. you had noticed some of your underwear going missing, only to return to your drawer the next day. but leon? leon would never. leon was sweet, he was gentle, caring, and not at all disrespectful or dirty. or were you just not paying attention? had you been so absorbed into idolizing him that you forgot he was, at the end of the day, a man?

and yet, there he was. your roommate, your study-buddy, your crush, your best friend—with a pair of your panties in his mouth, lips open and tongue resting on his bottom teeth. there was no way.

“oh—fuck.” was all leon could say, swallowing hard, the adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he did. his mind was scrambling for some sort of sorry excuse, but nothing could come to mind. he was far too lost in his hormones to be able to form a proper thought. and to make it worse, to have him watch you in the act? it sent a throb to his cock.

that’s when your eyes fell from his face, to his erection, which was blatantly visible through his joggers.

“what… the fuck.” your mouth was dry, shock taking hold of every ounce of your being. he had never been creepy with you, never crude or lewd. hell, you’ve never even seen him checking out any woman.

“i’m so… so sorry!” leon finally came to his senses, dropping the underwear and nervously chewing his bottom lip. “i-it’s not… i, i mean, it’s not what you…”

“what are you doing?” you slam the door behind you, bounding over to him and swiping the panties from the floor. “were you… are you stealing my underwear?”

leon shook his head vehemently. “no! no, no, i swear!” it was true. he hadn’t stolen your underwear. merely sniffing them and jerking off… which is not any better, really.

you frowned, an obvious sign of disappointment. “is that why my underwear randomly goes missing for a day, only to show up the next? oh my god. i cant believe it. you’re a perv! you’re… you’re a total creep.”

he flinched at your words. despite the burning sensation of shame, your words sent a wave of arousal through him. he had never suspected he was into degradation, but…

you could tell he was even more turned on, his cheeks growing even darker, as if it were possible. “oh my god. you like that?” you scoff, crossing your arms with a smug expression, brows creased.

all he could say was, “i’m sorry.” in his defense, he really did seem sorry. he was almost on the brink of tears, looking like a lost puppy on the floor, still on his knees. “i-i’m sorry.”

“leon…” you say slowly, as if weighing the odds. okay, you did have a crush on him, and of course you had lusted after him ever since you met him. and it was a little charming, seeing him so desperate and pleasing at your feet. eventually, you found the words you wanted. “beg.”

his eyes widened. “beg?” he repeated, trying to understand what you mean.

oh. oh!

he clasped his hands together. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry, please, please forgive me. please. you don’t know how sorry i am.” his voice was wavering—he was being serious. despite his serious desire to please you, he was also painfully aware of how hard he was.

you smiled at him.

his heart fluttered. how absolutely precious it was to him, to see you smile, despite how much you ought to hate him.

“oh.” he whispered, looking up at you in adoration, waiting for your next command. eventually, a moment of silence, he hopefully asks, “so… you aren’t mad?”

maybe you should be mad. he’s invaded your privacy, he’s violated your very innocence. and yet… he looked so sweet when he looked up at you with wide, glassy eyes. and now was the time to live your dream, right?

“leon. if you really want me to forgive you…” your eyes scanned his body. he was knelt on his knees, hands held together. his shoulders were slumped, hopeless, degenerate. and between his legs, his throbbing erection painted a slightly dark stain on his gray sweatpants. you held out the pair of panties in front of him. “keep going.”

keep going? his heart skipped a beat. he didn’t even question you. he snagged the panties from your hands, pressing them into his face, his tongue dragging across the slightly sticky fabric, the tangy taste like heaven. and now that you were watching? he felt like he was going to blow up, his cock almost hurting from how hard he was. his left hand pressed the fabric to his face, his right hand fishing his thick hard-on from his pants. his movements were slow, embarrassed. there was no doubt about it— he was shy.

despite his shaking fingers, he slipped his cock free from its confines, and his eyes watched you as your tongue licked your top lip.

pre-cum seeped down the tip, sticky, his veins throbbing from neglecting his desires for so long. he let out a muffled cry as his hands slowly pumped his shaft. it was only them that you spoke again.

“you’re so pathetic. hold out your hand.” you commanded, arms crossed. leon followed your request, holding his hand out.

you spat onto his hand, gracing him with your saliva to jack himself off with. he let out a sigh. “oh, god… thank you. thank you,” leon stammered, immediately going back to pumping his thick, throbbing manhood. the feeling of spit—your spit—slicked up and down his dick was insane. “so—so pretty. oh, god, you’re so beautiful, i… fuck, fuck… i-i’m so… you’re so perfect…” he felt like he could bust right there, his balls twitching from the intensity.

“please… can i… can i cum?” he begs, eyes wide and looking pleadingly at you for permission.

“but you just started,” you raise a brow, grinning as you looked at him. “you can’t stop now. keep going.”

leon let out a high-pitched whine, jerking himself off faster, only to slow down once more, his breath heavy and uneven. he could feel your gaze on him, almost is if you enjoyed watching him torture himself.

but god, it felt good. better than when he touched himself all alone. he had no idea shame could feel so good.

“please. please, i… oh, god, i can’t do this much longer,” leon whimpered, sniffing and huffing your panties like he was running out of air. he let out a series of low cries, his hips beginning to buck sloppily into his fist, his pace growing uneven. he moaned, pleading, “please. please, i-i can’t… i…”

you felt a stirring sensation of guilt for making him torture himself. but you’d be lying if your panties weren’t soaked right now… which gave you an entirely new idea. you reached under your skirt slowly, thumbs hooking the sides of your panties, pulling them down slowly.

his eyes were wide. as if he knew what was going on, he dropped the panties he had previously been sniffing.

stepping out of the underwear, you took the fabric in your hands, placing it on your palm before shoving it into his face. he gasped, licking ferociously at your soaked panties, as if it was your pussy itself. he couldn’t take it anymore. the taste of your fresh slick was enough for him to cum, his seed shooting onto the floor, spilling on his knuckles. his moaning and crying was muffled by the panties you held on his mouth, but his eyes rolled back, and his hips were stuttering, thighs quivering.

“god, you’re desperate…” you mused, watching his orgasm tear through him.

leon babbled something that you couldn’t quite understand as you pulled the panties from his face, dropping them to the floor. he was quick to scoop up the underwear, holding it in his hands like a precious jewel. drool dribbled down his chin as he came down from his high, arguably the most intense orgasm of his life.

you just smiled at him, shaking your head. “you’re forgiven.”

[dayasusays]

hii! can u write some hurt/comfort sex w bruce? mayb after an argument where he’s said some hurtful things and then makes it up to reader? thank youu,🫶

warnings ! — SMUT, fem!reader, cunnilingus, fingering

summary ? — bruce’s way to apologise after an argument.

౿ . . ` ౨ৎ ENJOY 🦇

“wait,” you whisper, gently touching his hair and flipping it while bruce groans, “wait a minute…”

“yes, love?” he pulls away from you though, a string of saliva pulling from your entrance to his lips as wayne kisses your clit, “almost cumming already?” he murmurs, clamping your clit between his index and middle finger. you nod as he begins to tease your entrance with his tongue again.

the way he looks down at you makes everything inside you turn upside down and the walls clench around his tongue.

the way he skillfully combines caresses with words, making you squirm in that damn chair in his office. bruce's lips stretch into a little satisfied smile when you ask him to use his fingers. you ask just like a good girl: with a pleading look, sliding off the chair even closer to his face, and of course, with a resigned “please” on your lips.

the way his rough fingers stretch you is almost unbearably pleasurable. but it only gets worse when he presses against your sensitive walls, continuing to slowly suck on your clit. it's almost unbearable, because bruce himself starts to moan, oh god, how delicious you were for him, how wet you were especially for him. wayne is impatient when it comes to pleasing you, and you know it, using it right every time.

now he feels you everywhere. and he likes it so much he's ready to scream your name in his voice.

“so pretty and sweet,” bruce whispers, pressing himself even more into your folds. the vibrations from his words are felt on your clit, and you moan louder, clutching at his hair.

you whisper feverishly that you're about to cum; wayne only increases the pace of his own fingers as his tongue circles your clit, nibbling lightly from time to time, “can you forgive me, honey?”

when you cum on his face, bruce just mumbles contentedly, smiling and licking you clean.

“you did a good job,” he leaves a short kiss on the inside of your thigh and rests his cheek against it, “thank you, my love. you know i’m sorry.”

🦇 m.lists | abt me | inbox 📨 reqs are open

[heartsandstars46]

Comfort

Fem reader x bf tasm!Peter after a rough night as Spider-Man. Some angst/Gwen PTSD, but mostly love and care for our favorite bug boy. 🩷🩷 (word count: under 1k)

You rolled over in bed, instinctively trying to burrow into Peter’s arms. But the sheets on his side of the bed were empty and cold. Sunlight was starting to peek through the blinds; he was usually home from patrolling by now.

You bolted upright in bed and felt your heart start to pound.

“Hey, hey.” There was that familiar voice and soft, almost apologetic smile. Peter was sitting in a chair next to the bed, still in his Spider-Man suit, his face streaked with dirt and blood.

“Oh, thank god,” you breathed, trying to get your heart to slow down and catch up to what was in front of you. Peter was here, he was back, he was in one piece. Everything was okay.

Except that he looked haunted and hadn’t gotten back into bed with you the way he usually did after nights like this.

You crawled to the edge of the bed. “Are you okay? Did something happen?” And then, worse: “Is that your blood?”

“Maybe. I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

“Peter? Peter, what happened?”

He pulled his hand away, but you could see him welling up. “Just… some nights have no hero,” he said, chuckling bitterly.

You tried to catch his gaze, but he wouldn’t look at you, his eyes glazed with tears.

“I couldn’t save her, this poor little girl. I tried, but I couldn’t save her from falling, and her screams….” His voice broke and his shoulders shook as he started to sob. “I just, I can’t stop hearing them.”

As horrific as that sounded, you knew he must have been having flashbacks to Gwen too, and that made your heart ache for him.

You weren’t an especially affectionate person, but Peter drew it out of you. He could reach some part of your heart that other people simply couldn’t access. And when he was hurting, you just wanted to touch him, hold him, console him. So you climbed slowly into his lap. He didn’t object, so you held him with your entire body—legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. He buried his face in your neck and cried. You just held him. You could feel tears on your face and you weren’t sure if they were yours or his.

“Honey, you’re shaking,” you whispered, kissing him on the forehead. “And why are you over here in the first place? Why didn’t you get into bed with me?”

He gulped, shaking his head. “I had to watch over you, make sure you were okay.”

“You can be next to me and do that, you know.”

He started shaking his head frantically. “No, no! I had to stay awake, I had to watch over you.” Then he locked eyes with you, and you could see the panic and desperation as he whispered, “I can’t lose you too. I can’t lose you too,” like a mantra.

You pulled him into the tightest hug you could manage and rubbed his back.

“I’m here,” you softly reminded him. “Thank you for watching over me. I’m here.”

“Ah, god, I’m sorry I’m being like this, I’m just kind of freaking out….”

“Hey, no apologies—it sounds like you had a horrific night. I love you.” You pressed your forehead to his and whispered it again, a new mantra. “I love you.”

His grip on you tightened. “I just don’t want… I’ve hurt people before, and I can’t have that happen to you. I was supposed to stay away from Gwen, but I didn’t and…. I don’t want to stay away from you either, but I can’t put someone I love in danger again, and I, I….”

“You don’t put me in danger, though,” you murmured. “You can’t have me around when you’re doing your Spider-Man thing, and that’s fine with me. All you need to do is come home to me afterward.”

His body was still trembling, but he seemed to be breathing a bit less raggedly.

“I am very happy with our arrangement.” You ran your fingers through his hair and added bashfully, “and to be the girl you love.”

He took your hand, interlacing your fingers, and looked up at you, his eyes shining with tears. “You’re incredible. I love you so much. Oh.” Suddenly, he gave a sad little laugh and pulled back. “You might not love me, though—I’ve gotten dirt and blood all over you.”

You drew him in closer and kissed his neck. “That’s okay. That just means we get to clean up together.”

PART 2!

[mayearies]

… ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

❛ WUSYANAME ❜

miles morales

˚ʚ property of ©hiimayee ɞ˚

alt title: none! genre: fluff | warnings: characterized reader, mention of gwen (like twice) authors input: i like giving up sometimes

summary: miles meets someone new and starts obsessing over them ♬ song: WUSYANAME by tyler, the creator . nba youngboy . ty dolla $ign

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next ->

e1610 miles had never been in a relationship before. but he wanted to be in one. he honestly was interested in someone not in his orbit, and he didn’t expect that to change. well, not change so soon.

—miles’ school attendance wasn’t the best because of the whole double life he was living. hell, when he did go to school he didn’t pay attention that much. that’s how his grades stayed relatively average. he knew he could get them back up later.

today was a busy day, though. right before school started, something happened down the street which called for spiderman’s attention a little longer than it should’ve. now he was late. trying to duck and dodge people in the hallways so he could make the bell. but that didn’t work out either. maybe for the better?

“hey, you good?”

he bumped into you and stumbled a bit. like, head first into your shoulder. he groaned a little, but he’s felt worse. “yeah, i’m good sor-“

now that he could actually process what he was looking at, you were pretty. really pretty. ‘gorgeous’ he would say—in his head. not gonna lie, he felt a little intimidated by you. your two-toned, shiny lips, your chocolate skin, and how good you looked in your uniform. a lot to take in, yeah?

“you seem a little frozen, you sure you’re okay?”

oh, and he already forgot what you sounded like. your voice sounded sweet, as sweet as honey. call him down bad but you could tell him to do whatever and he would do it. he didn’t even feel this way about gwen.

you snapped your fingers in his face, he looked petty spaced out. he was looking at your eyes, though. “hello??”

“oh- what? sorry, sorry. i didn’t mean to do that.” “no, it’s okay. but you’re sure you’re fine?” “more or less. this happens all the time.”

that was an exaggeration. he would just turn invisible sometimes and crawl on walls to get by. but it was cute how awkward he was being. at least you found it to be. he didn’t realize he had been so lost that both of you had missed the bell. but it’s not like it was the top of either of your minds right now. you hadn’t seen him before, but you were interested.

“i haven’t seen you before. are you new?” “no? i’ve been here since freshman year.”

okay, well thank god he didn’t skip school today or he might not have met you. as maybe he was more absent than he would like to believe. he wanted to talk to you some more, but the hall monitor’s yelling disrupted that.

“well, i guess we both gotta go. it was nice meeting you.” “yeah, it was. wait, uh-“

˚ʚ WUSYANAME, girlfriend-

“what’s your name?”

©hiimayee masterlist <- <-

[fayesia]

Hello, I hope this doesn't bother you but I had an idea for mike schmidt. Imagine him and the reader are fighting and the reader leaves him. Ever since the reader left him he starts to loose his mind cause he needs the reader to function. Abby notices her brother's situation so she makes it her mission to get him and the reader back together.

Short and Sweet — mike schmidt x reader

a/n: Hiii ofc u r not bothering me! Thank you for the request, congrats you’re the first one so i’m very much appreciative!!! I hope i did justice to your idea, again i’m kind of new to all of this but hopefully you like it :D

“god your so selfish do you even think before you act!!”

You can feel the eyes of people passing by as they return to their cars and pack away their shopping. Except you don’t care, not when this is the third time Mike has forgotten to pick Abby up from school.

“come on at least say something!”

“GODDAMNIT, i’m sorry ok!!”

“well sorry’s not enough Mike! Because when i get home from work and she comes running into my arms having already had a bad day at school it’s on you for making it worse” you exclaim back to him slamming the car door shut.

He does the same, quickly started the engine and driving with rough movements.

“oh yeah, now what? you’re gonna get us both in a car crash, leave your sister alone again-“

“oh my god ENOUGH OK shut up!!”

You fumble with your fingers looking out the window, not in sadness or fear but rather an immense amount of anger. You knew that your emotions would take over your response and you were not going to cry in front of Mike as if what he said effected you.

He parks in the driveway, opens the trunk to collect the groceries and rushes through the front door. You follow after him entering the bedroom and collecting all your things from the closet and bathroom. carrying your duffel bag, you make your way retrieving any items left around the house. Your wallet, keys, shoes and a picture of you and abby are collected as you leave back outside to your car parked across the road.

Sitting down in the drivers seat you stare blankly ahead slowly lowering your head to rest against the steering wheel, soft crys quickly turning into loud sobs that rack through your body. They continue until you reach your apartment, gloomily walking into the place you haven’t been in for months, having spent most days of the week at Mikes house. This place doesn’t feel homely like his though, rather it’s cold and depressing reflecting how you felt right now, which really wasn’t helping.

You’re pulled away from these thoughts as your phone starts ringing. ‘Abby bear’ flashes on your screen as you clear your throat to remove any hints of you crying.

“Hi Abby what’s up?”

“why did you leave” her shaky voice almost has you in tears again.

“what did mike say honey? i’m not leaving forever i just needed to get some stuff from my place”

“he said you were gonna be gone for awhile but would come back. I think he’s lying though his eyes are all red like he’s been crying and he hasn’t moved from your spot on the couch”.

As you listen to her soft voice explain all of this more tears drop down to your chin.

“i’m sorry abby i just think we need a break from each other i don’t know for how long but its something that needed to happen sooner rather than later. I promise i’ll come by and visit you soon, maybe Friday for this weeks movie night?”

“Yayy ok sounds good”

“i have to go now sweetie but make sure you finish all your homework and then you can relax”

“ok byee y/n love u”

“bye abby bear i love you too”

ending the call, you’re left with a gut wrenching feeling spending the rest of the evening crying yourself to sleep on the couch. pitiful? maybe. but you really needed this and now was the right time.

While you spent hours sleeping the pain away, Mike was basically doing the same thing. Abby walked up to him handing him a tub of ice cream “i heard from a movie that eating ice cream makes you less sad after a breakup”

“that’s not true Abby”

her face drops a little at this, Mike quickly trying to cover up his mistake.

“but thank you, why don’t we both eat ice cream and watch a movie”

“ok!!” she settles herself next to him, cuddling into his side with blankets strewn across their laps.

Abby was not very knowledgeable about breakups, only being ten years old herself, and the most she experienced in the romance department was having a crush on the fastest runner in her class.

She did know however that the way Mike was acting was not healthy for him. He spent hours on the couch or in bed, barely eating and if he wasn’t doing that then he would be at work or picking Abby up from school, sometimes they would go and get frozen yogurt which Abby loved the most. She just wished you were there with them like before, when the three of you would go together and spend hours having fun at park.

Abby knew she had to do something, anything she could to get things back to the way they were and she knew just the way to do that.

It had been a week since the break up and neither you or mike seemed to be doing to well in Abby’s opinion but she had a plan set up and tonight she was putting it into action.

Mike received a message from you, his eyes widening as he read, “meet at the park 6pm” a short and simple text. Effective too with the way Mike jumped up running to the closet to pull out his nicest shirt and trousers, and then to the bathroom to shower and prepare him for the night to come.

Abby giggled to herself as she heard the commotion from her brother, taking his phone she started phase two of the plan.

‘bzzz’ you flayed your arm around in an attempt to grab your phone, a yelp coming from your throat as you read the message on the screen. A singular sentence from Mike that read, “meet at the park 6pm”. You expected to read more but that seemed to be it. Short and sweet. You layed out a simple long sleeve top and your favourite pair of jeans, readying yourself for an everything shower.

Soon it was 5:55 and both you and Mike climbed up opposite ends of the hill to the park situated right at the top. There in the middle was a bench and that bench was surrounded by rose petals, with a rose bouquet in the middle, and the bench itself was surrounded by mini lights illuminating the area with a gentle yellow tone similar to the sky’s as the sun set. All of this of course was done courtesy of Abby and you were quick to realise when mikes face was filled with shock when stumbling over one of the yellow lamps, it was clear he was not the one who had set this up. However that didn’t matter to you, the feeling of being swept off your feet into Mikes arms instead was all you were thinking about. He pulled you close to his chest whispering how sorry he was over and over again into your hair as your head rested against his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. You silently basked in the feeling of his comfort you dearly missed for that lonesome week the two of you spent apart, not quite ready yet to utter the words ‘i forgive you’ and he knew that after all the hateful words he’d said.

Instead you both sat together on the bench looking out at the setting sun, content with each other presence and no words. As nightfall was falling upon the park Mike grabbed your hand “gotta get back now, Abby will be waiting” he brushed your hand with his thumb for awhile almost hesitant to say something as you waited patiently. “do you want to come?” you break out into a smile, “of course, i always want to go with you”, you reply already dragging him by the arm to the directions of his house.

His house which you knew inside had a very nervous ten year old girl who would see you both walk through the door holding hands and celebrate the most out of all of you.

~unedited~

[littlemissthunderstorms]

tempestuous phase- drabble (alex turner x reader)

———

you’d gotten into a fight. over something incredibly stupid. you two were both busy with work and stressed out and let out all those tumultuous feelings onto each other when you shouldn’t have. alex had stormed out, saying he needed ‘a walk to clear his mind’.

so now, you were tucked up in the guest bedroom trying to sob yourself to sleep. you hated when alex was mad at you, and you hated being mad at him. especially in times like these where you needed to rely on one another for love and support. all these thoughts kept you up and made you anxious. you’d never had a fight this bad, what if the tension never leaves? what if it simmers up and boils over until you just can’t be together anymore?

you were being silly, you thought. the immense love and respect you two had for each other couldn’t be broken by some stupid fight. still, anxiety gnawed at you, keeping the flow of tears steady as they ran down your cheeks and onto the plush pillow.

eventually, you’d exhausted yourself so much that you’d fallen asleep. while you were sleeping, alex came home to silence. worry consumed him when he checked the bedroom and you weren’t in there. he checked every room, bathroom, living room, studio, until finally he slowly creaked the guest bedroom door open and saw your figure tangled in the sheets.

he slowly walked over to you, watching you tentatively. a soft lamp was on in the corner, making it easy for him to see the tear stains on your reddened face, a wet spot on the pillow from your tears. it made his heart ache, a pool of sadness residing in his stomach. he regretted everything he said.

alex took his coat off and quietly discarded it onto the floor, as well as his shoes. this left him only in his pajamas that he’d had on prior to the fight. sitting on the opposite side of the bed, he tenderly brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “baby,” he spoke softly, resting his hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

you awoke and turned over a bit to see him. his eyes were worrisome, hair all mussed and astray like he’d ran his fingers through it one to many times. “cm’ere, can i hug you?”

you looked up at him with soft, watery eyes. you slowly, silently sat up, scooting over to him. immediately, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, kissing the top of your head. “god, i’m so sorry,” his voice broke. “s’ okay,” you mumbled quietly. “no, no it’s not. i shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” he gulped, his voice wavering, “i’m so sorry honey, you know i love you so much.”

he continued. “the stress got the best of me and i let it out on you when i shouldn’t have. i regret it so much. i don’t ever want to make you cry like that sweetheart.” his heart throbbed, a tear rolled down his face. alex didn’t cry often, but when he did it made you want to sob. you wrapped your arms around his middle, crying into his shoulder. “oh baby don’t cry,” he held your face so you’d look up at him.

you laughed softly through your tears. “you’re the one making me cry,” you mustered. he chuckled, eyes watery as they looked down at you. “i’m sorry too.. i made it worse by yelling back and-“ alex interrupted, solely focused on you. “don’t be sorry, it wasn’t your fault.”

you shook your head. “i think we’re just both stressed out and exhausted. i forgive you alex.” his heart fluttered as he lay down, pulling you into his chest. “i agree, we need some sleep. we’ll talk more in the morning, alright?” his hand held yours to his chest, fingertips moving in languid circles along the back of your palm.

you nodded, tucking into him. alex ducked his head down, giving you a tender kiss, a silent promise that he’d love you no matter what. after a few whispered sweet nothings, you two drifted off to sleep intwined in eachother, hearts beating together as your chests touched.

———

taglist: @ultragirrl @inmyownfantasywrld @almluv @raven-ql @ohladymoon @yourstartreatment @missbabyjay @andulina567 @blair-s-world @rentsturner @indierockgirrl @kittyrob0t @averyzversi0n @michelleisheres-blog @kennedy-brooke (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 25

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: My baby bird, dove!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You sit staring at the television, tucked into the corner of the couch as Andy sits on the other end. He has his feet up, still nursing his back, as he watches the game. You try to keep up with the outs and runs and all that but you don’t really get all that. You can’t focus anyway, all you can think about is how rotten you are.

You wanted to go to your room but he didn’t let you. He said you shouldn’t hide away from your mistakes. That he’s not mad and if you’re going to move forward, you can’t just sleep off your guilt. You don’t argue. He’s right.

“Honey,” Andy groans, “pills are wearing off.”

He touches his lower back as you wince and glance over at him. You pout as the bruise under his eye stares back at you starkly. You’re horrible. You can’t believe you did that to him. You cup your elbow before quickly ripping your hand away.

“You want more?” You ask.

“No, I can’t,” he mopes, “can only have so many a day–”

He goes to lean forward and hisses, clutching his hip as he pulls his legs off the ottoman. He curls his shoulders and whimpers as you hop up to your feet. You go towards him but don’t reach out to him.

“What can I do?” You offer.

“The cream,” he pushes himself back with some effort, “sweetie,” he gasps, “oh, god– help me up.”

“No, you should stay–”

“I can’t stay on the couch,” he grits as he latches onto your arm, jarring you. You squeak but don’t pull back. He’s too strong and you’re too afraid. “Help me to bed. It’ll help.”

“Um, okay,” you help him up as best as you can. “I’m sorry–”

“It’s fine,” he snarls through his teeth, “I just need to lay down.”

“Alright, uh, oh, wait,” you stop and angle away from him to snatch up the tube of cream, “got it.”

He puts his hand on your shoulder, gripping firmly, “good girl.”

You suck in your lower lip and nod. You just want him to feel better. Or maybe you just want to feel better. You get rid of the sour bile eating away at your stomach. The hot guilt that burns a hole inside of you.

He limps, one hand on his back, as he hunches awkwardly, and you take each stunted step with him. At the stairs, you take each one at a time, as he clings to the railing with other hand. He lets out a series of rasps grumbles as you ascend.

Earlier, he seemed to be getting better. When you sat down and talked, you don’t remember him slouching or flinching. Maybe the pills helped. You heard those things can sometimes make people feel better so they hurt themselves worse in the end by doing too much.

You turn down the hallway with him, nearly tripping as you look ahead to his bedroom door. You’ve never been in there. You have no place there. You feel like enough of an intruder. He needs your help and you need to stop being selfish.

You shuffle down to the door and push it open ahead the both of you. You get him past the threshold as he staggers. The room smells of him. The hint of his cologne and a strand of sweat cloying from the bed. 

You put your arm around his back as he yelps and you manage to get him to the bed. He drops down so harshly, he takes you with him. You land beside him, your arm trapped beneath him as you grip the cream in your other. He grumbles into a soft laugh.

“Sorry, dove,” he gives a strained smile, “I… I’m going to end up throwing your back out too at this rate.”

“Um, it’s…” you yank on your arm, several times before you manage to get free. You sit up on the edge of the bed and look back at him, “it’s okay. Er…”

He wriggles and reaches for you again. You do your best to help as he gets himself straight and you pile his pillows at the head of the bed. You step back and reclaim the tube of cream. He bends and arm up and tugs at the back of his shirt, whining and letting his hand fall to his lap.

“Dove…”

You get up onto the mattress and set the tube beside your leg. You gently roll his shirt up and get it over his head. He curls his neck as he struggles to get his arms higher than his shoulders. You leave the shirt to droop down his arms as he raises his head.

“Oh, uh,” you once more grab the lotion.

“Same place as before, dove,” he says.

“Alright,” you uncap the cream.

He moves slowly and lowers himself onto one side, his back facing you. You squeeze out a dollop and stare at it as the smell tickles your nose. You exhale and turn your palm, pressing it to his back before you can force yourself to watch. 

There’s something strange about touching him. You don’t touch others and they don’t touch you. You must just not be used to it. You rub the cream in, tracing the line of his shoulder blade up to his neck. He lets out a long moan and balls his hand around the corner of the pillow. The noises he makes are just as odd to you.

“That’s so nice,” he purrs, “thank you, dove.”

“Mhmm,” you put the lid on and back off the bed. You put the cream on the nightstand as you get to your feet, “I’m gonna wash my hand.”

“Sure, sure,” he murmurs, “will you come back? I don’t want to be alone.”

You round the bed and stop at the foot. You peek back at him. You want to say no. You want to go and sleep. It’s been a terribly long day. A terrible day in all ways. But he needs you and you’re being selfish.

“I’ll come back,” you promise.

“Thank you,” he sounds close to tears, “you could… bring your tablet and watch something.”

You consider him. You’ve never seen him look anything close to small but as he lays on his side, shoulders slumped, he doesn’t seem so scary. You sniff and keep your hand away from your shirt as you fall back into step.

“Sure.”

“And… and you could wear some of your new pajamas?” He suggests.

You stop in the doorway and don’t look back, “yes.”

You leave him and stop in the bathroom to wash off your hand. It’s starting to feel weird from the cream. You shut off the faucet and look over as the speaker keeps flashing. You frown. You forgot to tell him.

You cross the hall to your bedroom and dig out your tablet. You’ve been so distracted, you haven’t done much drawing. The days feel like a muddled mess behind you and you expect those ahead of you don’t seem much better.

You rest the tablet on the bed and go to the dresser, still crooked and displaced. You change into the pair of pajamas Andy chose. The ones with the little teddy bears. You like the pattern but not the cut. The top is long-sleeved but cut high around the stomach and the shorts are less preferable than pants. Maybe you can just hide under the blanket.

You bring your tablet with you and stop just before you get to his door. That sinking in your stomach plummets. You have a very bad feeling. A feeling that you never wanted to have again.

You enter as he lays in the dim room. The lamp is turned low and the corns webbed in shadow. You near the side of the bed and Andy pats the space beside him. You don’t let him see your reluctance as you climb up next to him.

“Thank you,” he croaks, “it’s not so bad, is it, dove? Working together… being better.”

“Yes,” you murmur as you unlock your tablet. “I… I’m trying.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he hums.

He rests his hand on your thigh, making your jump. You try to ignore it as you scroll on Youtube. You drag your finger over the screen as he slips onto the bare skin along the hem of the shorts. You blink, frozen as he kneads your flesh.

“I don’t… I don’t have Netflix,” you utter, “or anything…”

“That’s okay,” he wiggles closer, a few strenuous grunts in the process. He lifts his head and leans over, kissing just along your shoulder, “I just like having you close.”

“Please, don’t hurt yourself,” you plead as you keep from shrugging him away, “you have to relax.”

“Oh, dove, I know you care about me,” he lets himself back down, “I can feel how much you do.”

“Mhmm,” you tap on a video, a top ten list. They’re pretty lame but you don’t want to think too much. You prop up the tablet on your lap and ease back against the single pillow behind you.

Andy’s hand lingers. He lets it trail down to your knee and back up. He plays with the bottom of the shorts.

“These look so good on you,” his finger tickles you until goosebumps rise.

“Thanks,” your eyes stick to the small screen in front of you. Your ears are ringing and hot.

“Everything looks good on you,” he breathes.

“Um, Andy,” you eke out, “I… the speaker in the bathroom is broken.”

He’s quiet as his fingers continue to swirl over your skin, “speaker?” He says at last.

“Yeah, the speaker. It keeps flashing.”

“Huh, uh– ohhhh, yeah, the speaker,” he chuckles, “I keep forgetting to charge it. I’ll have to do that later. It will stop flashing soon enough.”

“Oh, alright,” you fold your hands over your stomach, “just thought I’d let you know.”

“And I appreciate it,” his fingers poke under your shorts, “you see how good you can be to me when you try?”

“Yes,” your voice crackles as he nestles closer, drawing his hand back only to sling his arm across your lap.

“I’m gonna rest my eyes,” he hugs your thighs, “is that okay, sweetie?”

“Sure,” you agree. If he’s asleep, he can’t be mad or touchy or anything else. If he sleeps, he won’t be in pain.

🕊️

Once more, your body takes over. You don’t remember the video changing or the tablet going black. Yet you wake on your side, head on the pillow, and your tablet screen down on the mattress in front of your legs.

Behind you is a blaze of heat. It’s just like before. Andy’s flush to you, his arm swept around you, his breath puffing around your head. But this time, you make yourself stay still. You squeeze your eyes shut and fight against the tide rising inside of you.

It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. You blow out a breath and force your eyes open. You focus on the wall and try to remember those tricks Amber showed you. Just count to ten and breathe.

You do it. All on your. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. You feel your heart calming, not all the way, but some. Enough to keep from flailing.

You lay awake, resigned to the trap of Andy’s arm. It isn’t so bad. It’s warm, at least. 

He exhales ahead you, the soft gristle of his snore rising and falling in a rhythm. His hand is tucked under you, his body right against yours. You shift, wanting to fidget but afraid to wake him up. Your heartbeat begins to pick up again.

He moves but doesn’t wake. He holds you even closer and you feel something against you. Something hard. You frown, uncertain what it could be. You’re pretty sure you put the tube on the night table and it feels bigger than that.

You try to shimmy away but you can’t get far against his arm. You should just go back to sleep. The night will end sooner if you do.

You close your eyes but the noise in your head won’t stop. You’re not going to be able to fall asleep with all these thoughts. Not with him so close. Not being so aware of that fact.

Then you realise. You know what it is, pressing against you. That’s a part of him. Your cheeks are alight with embarrassment. For him, for you. Oh god. If you woke him up and he knew. You don’t want him to know.

You make yourself still, bound by the dread of him waking up. Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep. You can’t, you just can’t. Not with his arm around you, not with his hot breath searing down your neck, not with his thing against you!

How can you ever sleep knowing you can’t be what he wants you to be? Or needs you to be? It’s all just too much for you. It’s so scary.

You want to love him like he says you do but you’re just lost. You must be broken. Andy loves you, he's taken care of you, he's been patient with you. And you are just as messed up as you've always been.

You hope Andy is right. You hope Dr. Kemp can help.

You squeeze your eyes tight. Just count to ten. You can make it to the morning.

[preservationofnormalcy]

[It is January of 2022. I’m entering a wing of the DC Office site that looks older than the others. The carpets are a strange brown, vintage looking, and the lighting casts an almost yellow pallor over the wood paneled walls. I can practically smell the cigarettes. I pass by an empty room labeled “social media office” - boxes piled up by the door. Maybe they’re going to be using it soon. They’ll need it.

I approach a door labeled Necrocommunications, knock lightly twice, then enter. 

I am greeted with the sound of a voice drifting softly across the room. A few chairs and tables sit around me, the same vintage style as the hallway before, the same browns and yellows. A high desk is across the room, and a woman is seated at a control panel. She has black curly hair, done up in an old fashioned style, a polka dotted blouse, and though she’s facing away from me, I can see the edges of cats-eye glasses. 

The panel she’s working at is huge, and resembles the type of switchboards they used to use in the ‘50s, dozens of physical wire connections crisscrossing the device and attaching via plugs. The woman has a headset, one ear covered in a bulky speaker, with a microphone near her mouth. She speaks casually, with an incredibly heavy New Jersey accent.]

I] Oh, him? He’s circled, babe. Taken as hell. Mhmm. And he still asked you? Ain't that a bite. So now you know he’s out of the question and yarding on. Dodged a bullet, hun.

M] Irene? 

I] Oh, god, hold on. My appointment is here. Yeah. I’ll call you later, beautiful. Caio. 

[She hung up the call, taking her headset off and turning to me. She looked like she was straight out of my grandfather’s high school photo album, including the color. Her skin was almost grey, it was so pale, but she didn’t seem like she was sick. She looked me over with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, leaning forward on her desk.]

I] Well, hello Miss Meghan Hendricks. What can I do for you, sugar? 

M] I’m here to interview you for my audit, Ms Donofrio. 

I] All business, aincha? 

M] This is my job.  

I] ….yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I don’t get cute visitors much. 

M] Right. 

I] Pull up a chair, hun. 

M] I’ll just stand. This won’t be long. I came here because of your Occult Communication Tools poster. 

[She sits back with a dramatic sigh.]

I] Yeah, took me forever to convince them to let me do that. We had agents using spirit boards, pendulums, casting runes, tarot cards, ghost boxes, all kinds of shit they brought from home. Bought from Walmart, or worse, a thrift store. I was always telling them, honey, baby, you gotta use our stuff, we maintain it, we disinfect it of ectoplasmic residue, lockout-tagout procedures, the works. It’s so, so unsafe to use anything but our tools. Sure, you gotta do paperwork when you check it out, but it’s better than somethin’ following you home…

M] Right into it, I guess. That’s what Necrocommunications does, right? Talk to the dead? 

I] You bet, sugar. The dead, demons, angels sometimes when they ain’t on our plane or in realspace. Other little spiritual twerps and bugaboos. 

M] I’ve been asking this a lot in the last few months, but…you can do that? Consistently? 

I] Consistent enough to make it worthwhile. S’not perfect. Fails most of the time, depending on who you’re calling. 

M] How so? 

I] Well, some people don’t wanna be called. Some people are chatterboxes. We got a list of likely contacts who we suggest people contact, but…we do other people sometimes, too. Always worth a shot, I say.

M] How does it work? 

[At that, Irene winced slightly and wagged her head from side to side.]

I] We got theories, but more importantly we got procedures. We know different things work for different people. Sometimes it’s cultural. The method that contacts Mr Smith may not work for Mr Chan, y’know? 

M] It’s mostly for information gathering, then. Like the Board of Infernal Affairs.

I] Information gathering’s a big part of it. Someone died with a secret? See if they got loose lips now. Also, y’know, helps with hauntings or gettin’ rid of little jerk spirits. 

M] You mentioned disinfection….

I] Yeah, yeah, there’s….risks, y’know. Sometimes the person you contact ain’t a fink, you know, and they start a whole new haunting. Sometimes one spirit’ll lie and say they’re another. Then they follow you home, start leeching your energy. Happens less when we cleanse the tools. Which is why there’s procedures for this, and every Office staff member in the building is trained on at least the basics.

M] Is it….is it only for Office personnel? Is it something I could…

[Irene’s face grows into a playful smirk as she hears the hesitation in my voice, leaning her face in her hand.] 

I] You got fifty cents? 

[She leads me into a back area of the office. Lining the walls in storage containers are row upon row of spirit boards, each box with a paper listing the dates each was used and then cleaned, along with the name of the person who did it. There are other items, too - pendulums, bags of runes, spirit boxes like you see on ghost hunting shows, and other devices and artifacts I don’t recognize. Irene’s attention, however, is on a phone booth at the end of the room. It’s clean but battered, clearly old and used. It has no door, but an open front, and above the phone itself is a depiction of a figure on a boat, with one word beside it: “Charon.”]

I] We confiscated these in the 80’s. It’s easier to use this one than have to sign out spirit board, y’know.

M] Weren’t you just complaining about that?

I] I complain about a lot of things, sugar. 

[I approach, standing before the phone in disbelief. Irene senses my hesitation.] 

I] Put in the money, then use the keypad to type out the person’s name. It’ll take it from there. Who you gonna call? Grandma? Mom?

M] My brother. 

I] Ah. Shit, honey.

M] He died in California. Two summers ago.

[As I reach for the receiver, I see Irene’s face freeze in some sort of concern.]

I] H-honey, that…was he in—

M] Yes. 

[I put my hand on the receiver, and I feel her hand on mine. She’s cold. She’s so cold and clammy that I jump slightly and look her in the eyes. Her face is sorrowful and scared, searching me.]

I] Honey…you won’t be able to—

M] You said—

I] If he was in…there’s no one there, sugar. He’s gone. 

M] I know he’s gone, but you said I could—

I] No, no, he’s…if he was…he’s gone, gone. There’s nothing left of him. You can pump quarters into that thing all night long and you won’t get anyone.  

M] H…how? I was…I was on the phone with him when it—

[As I watch, her eyes go wide, and she covers her mouth.]

I] Th-that’s how you remember, isn’t it? Thought you were just…in the Office but you hadn’t known about…that’s how you remember.

[I let go of the receiver. I can’t feel my fingers. I’m shivering, but not from the cold.]

M] I know how I remember. What I want to know is why everyone else forgot.

[corpsebasil]

Modern Prince Nikolai Part Fouuuur

Warnings: smut anyways

The trip couldn’t come soon enough, and the first day was a nightmare.

Nikolai had picked you up, as promised, and you spent the uncomfortable ride to the airport together with small-talk and updates on what the both of you had been doing since your breakup. For Nikolai, lots of meetings, travel, and work on his graduate school degree. For you…mostly nothing.

Lovely.

Thank God for Oliver and Jenna, though. They’d met the two of you at the private airport and had spent the entire time talking your ear off, forcing you to play card games and drink way too much champagne. For a few hours it had felt like old times. When it was time for bed and you’d curled up in the luxurious area on the plane, it’d felt like so many flights before with the royals around you.

And as you’d closed your eyes, the bed across from yours being Nikolai’s, you could’ve sworn he’d been watching you before you’d fallen asleep.

-

The moment you’d landed Hell had broken loose. Nikolai’s mother embarrassed everyone involved by apologizing profusely for the entire scandal and, with teary eyes, swore she saw you as a second daughter. It had taken everything in you not to cry as you forced a smile, Nikolai reaching out to press a reassuring hand to the small of your back before he thought better of it.

He hadn’t touched you since the cafe.

That night there was an excruciating dinner where Oliver’s friends had asked questions about the, as they referred to it, ‘Commoner Dating Thing’. The drunker they’d gotten the worse they were until Oliver, drunk himself, threatened to personally hang the next person who brought up your relationship.

You’d loved Oliver more than ever before in that moment.

Nikolai, though, had offered to take you home alone in his private car that night. You, feeling humiliated and exhausted, accepted.

“I’m sorry.” He’d whispered, head tipped close to yours as the car drives silently towards your hotel. You could only imagine how Olly’s limo looked then; there was a stripper pole and way too many bottles of champagne—as is usual for Lantsovs—inside of it the last time you saw it. “I’m sorry for them.”

You sighed, leaning your temple against his on instinct as you drove along. Somehow—you weren’t sure when—his hand had ended up on your knee. His thumb was caressing the joint leisurely, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke.

“They’re idiots.” He said, thumb stroking a bit higher up your thigh. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“People wonder, Nik.” You said back, your eyes finding his in the near blackness of the tinted car. “People are always going to talk about what you did.”

“I know, I know.” Nikolai sighed, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, threading the stands through the digits. “But I’m going to have to get you to forgive me.”

You laughed, only half amused, and shook your head.

“Nikolai, I don’t—”

“Forgive me.” He murmured, voice warm and sweet as honey. “Love me again, Y/N.”

His hand slid to the back of your neck and tilted your face up to his, eyes scanning yours for permission. When you only stared back, slightly breathless, he made a small noise of relief and pressed his mouth to yours.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Oh, You.

“Y/N,” he sighed, kissing you deeper as his fingers tightened. Nikolai, your mind echoed. Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai.

His lips were warm and soft, roving over yours with a gentleness you hadn’t expected. He was taking his time, his tongue sliding carefully against your own as your eyes practically rolled back into your head. Making another small sound he tugged your leg up over his, his other hand darting to your seatbelt. With a click you were pulled onto him, your thighs sliding around his as he yanked you even closer, fingers digging into your skin.

“Mmm..” you hummed into his mouth, his hands sliding up under your shirt to feel along your ribcage, his warm palms seeking the underside of your breasts. “Nik—”

“Ssshh.” He murmured, thumbs gliding over your nipples as you gasped, clutching the front of his t-shirt.

Oh.

As you gripped him his left hand traveled south, his mouth finding yours again as he dipped his fingers below the hem of your leggings. At the first stroke of his fingers against your clothed center you jolted, a small groan leaving Nikolai as he felt how damp you already were for him.

“Let me touch you.” He begged, thumb pressing hard against your clit and circling the lace hiding it from him. You moaned involuntarily, lips moving to his neck. “Please, I—”

Was that a fucking cough in the background?

At the same time you both turned your heads to glance at the tinted partition between yourselves and the driver; when that had been rolled up, you couldn’t recall. Embarrassed and pink in the face you turned back to Nikolai, another sharp gasp leaving you when he ducked his head to suck one nipple between his lips.

“Stop.” You warned, red and breathless as you climbed off, buckling yourself back up. “Control yourself.”

“I cant around you.”

Despite yourself you’d smiled, crossing your arms over your chest as you caught your breath.

Y/N: Good lord

Sorry guys I couldn’t wait any longer

[sanyu-thewitch05]

I got this Yandere imagine that's based on The Heathers from the Heathers musical:

Honestly never told anyone about this before but this fandom does need more appreciation

So we got Darling who's meek and shy,but she's smart and overall a good student, though she can't say she hates the jocks,she would rather not associate with them. Until the main Jocks trio in the school took notice of her,specifically their leader,Hunter

Let's say Hunter is a dominant man,he just suddenly show up more in front of her after she helped him with a school project

Sure he thinks nerds are boring but Darling is an exception,like she's a introverted,unsociable girl but she takes no shit from others

Hunter thinks Darling is very cute and she needed a makeover~

After the makeover, Darling did like her new look,it got some guys to catcall her which is annoying but it wasn't that bad. She still didn't like the jocks much,she only hanged out with Hunter afterwards bcuz of the favour

However,Hunter started to get more touchy, putting his arm on her shoulder or her waist,she even heard the rumors of her being his girlfriend. She decided to avoid Hunter so as not to take it any further

Hunter didn't like it at all, why is she walking to another guy and talk to him when she should've gotten to him like the good girl she is?!!! She shouldn't talk to some stupid unimportant guys!!!

Hunter is rich and famous,his family owns a big company and he's the future CEO. As his future wife,she should get close to him instead of other guys

He couldn't bare the obvious intentional ignorance towards him so one day he just dragged her into a classroom and snapped at her

He said how she belongs to him and she shouldn't even think of leaving him,she won't escape even when they graduate and go to college, because he will attend as the same college as hers. Things got sexually heated there, I'll leave that part to you

Let's just say afterwards,Darling has to be the obedient girlfriend to Hunter. He even force her to sit on his laps right in the school cafeteria to show up his good little honey and no guys should lay hands on her cuz she's his

Sorry, this took so long to answer. I’m out of school for Labor Day weekend.

All characters in my works are 18+

TW: Noncon, stalking, dubcon, catcalling, sexual harassment

Oh God, not again. Here they come.

It was only the third month of school, and everything was going great so far. You were getting A's and even joined the local majorette team. That's when everything went downhill. For some reason, Heath and Henry were at the town's Halloween festival. The best friends of Hunter McClaire. The best football player in school. They were also the best quarterbacks in school. You were on the angel side of the team, and your white uniform glittered in the moonlight. Not only that, but the white boots helped add to your dance routine. You were squatting down, preparing to do a death drop, and then you saw Heath and Henry. Their smiles made you sick. You continued the routine as usual and quickly walked away once finished. You tried to avoid them, but they stopped you as you walked home.

"Hey, Angel! Where are you going?" Heath catcalled, following close behind you.

"Home," You hissed, walking faster.

"Oh, don't be like that. We enjoyed the performance. I wish you showed more of that ass around the school. I honestly didn't think you had any good qualities besides your brain," Henry commented, making you growl.

"Listen, jackass! Leave me alone before I rip your nutsacks out!" You yelled, finally facing them.

"Ok! Ok! Ok! We'll leave you, nerd girl," Heath says, stopping at the sidewalk to watch you walk away.

They focused on your butt and smirked.

"God, I wish I could tap that ass," Henry murmured, hiding his boner. 

It only got worse when you went to school after that. Hunter was there asking for your help on a history project. 

"Look, if this is something Heath and Henry told you, please don't tell anyone. I just want to stay out of the spotlight and graduate," You said, trying to walk away from Hunter.

"Uh, they haven't told me anything like that. Anyway, I came to ask for help on my 20th-century history project. I got assigned the topic of fashion, and Henry and Heath said you might be able to help," Hunter said, sitting next to you.

"Fine, I'll help you," You begrudgingly agreed, tying your hair up.

For two nights, the two of you worked on Hunter's project. When he turned it in, he got an A+ and even brought his grade in history class a couple of points. As a thank you, Hunter gave you a makeover. You thought you looked fine, but you'll accept the spa treatment and new clothes any day. Wearing the jeans that hugged your ass and the lace corset top to school earned you unwanted remarks from other students. But it wasn't that bad. 

You went about your school day and made friends with Hunter. Surprisingly, Hunter and you got along pretty well. You didn't like Hunter's friends. But you didn't hate them either. After a week, Hunter started to get more touchy. His hands roamed your back, his arm always around your shoulder. It even got to the point where rumors were swirling around that you were dating. You couldn't deal with it anymore, so you decided to avoid Hunter for a while, which is how you got into this current predicament.

"Hey," Hunter greets, sitting next to you at lunch. 

You ignore him and continue eating your food. 

"Why are you ignoring me? What did I do?" Hunter says, his arm around your waist. "Is it because you didn't like the panties I set you? They seemed like your style."

You didn't say anything, but Henry puts a hand on your thigh to make you pay attention to Hunter. His thigh moves towards your crotch, and you pack up your stuff. You get up, throw your tray away, and leave for your next class. You did the same routine of avoiding Hunter and his friends for the next two weeks. 

"Charles, are you ready for the next book club?" You ask your tall, freckle-faced, white, black-haired friend. 

"You bet! I'm so glad you joined! Are you sure you can handle it while being on the majorette team?" Charles asks, closing his locker. 

"I'll be fine. Besides, my practice starts at 6 pm. Book club should be over by then," You respond, smiling at Charles.

"Cool! I'll see you later!" Charles exclaims, hugging you.

You reciprocate the hug and wave goodbye to Charles. Unbeknownst to you, a furious Hunter is watching you.

"Damn, dude! You're practically breaking the wall," Henry laughs, looking at his friend.

"Why is she even talking to him?! Sure, she's a nerd, but she's not fucking boring like the rest of them! Not only that, but it's Charles! The dude who can't even throw a dodgeball straight! Why talk to him of all people!" Hunter rants, punching the wall and glaring at you.

"You need to do something, Hunter. Soon enough, she'll be spending all her time with him and none with you," Heath comments, looking at your smile.

"You're right. I'll show her I'm the right choice. She'll have no choice but to see it," Hunter replies, secretly following after you.

You walk by an empty classroom and get pushed inside. You fall to the floor and hear the door lock.

"Don't even try to scream for help. Heath and Henry gave me the keys and are currently erasing the security footage," Hunter says, twirling the keys around his index fingers.

"Hunter, what the hell?" You yell, rubbing your butt and standing up.

Hunter picks you up and places you on top of a desk. He strokes your cheek and puts a strand of hair behind your ear. Hunter suddenly roughly kisses you and holds your body still. You try to get away, but Hunter is too strong. He grabs your hair and forces you to bend over onto the desk.

"Hunter, what are you doing?" You scream, squirming in his hold.

"You need to understand. You're mine!" Hunter growls, fiercely spanking your ass. "Always mine! You! Belong! To! Me"

"Oh! Ouch! Aw!" You groan between each spanking. 

Hunter suddenly flips you over and lets go of your hair. 

"Strip. Now," Hunter commands, pulling out his dick.

"I-"

"NOW!"

You whimper and slowly strip your clothes. 

"Now then, you'll strip a piece of clothing for every sentence I say. You're lucky I'm taking it easy on you and speaking slowly. Got that?"

You nod your head, but this only irritates Hunter more.

"I need verbal confirmation," Hunter barks, grabbing a ruler and slamming it on the teacher's desk.

"Yes, Hunter!" You squeal, trying not to collapse to the floor.

"Good."

Hunter pulls up a chair and sits in while stroking his cock.

"Now, let's begin. You are my girlfriend, and you belong to me.”

You take off your shirt.

"Don't even think of leaving me because we'll always be together! Even during college when we go to the best Ivy League school! And don't even try to apply to some small liberal arts school because we both know we can do better!"

You quickly take off your bra and shorts.

"I'm rich. I'll inherit my father's company and become CEO. I'll take care of you as my future wife," Hunter finishes, watching you strip your panties, socks, and shoes. "Come closer. I need to teach you how to serve me."

You walk to him, and he pushes you down to his crotch.

"You know what to do," Hunter says, rubbing your head softly.

You put his cock into your mouth, intimately licking the body part. Hunter shivers, and soon, you're both high on pleasure. 

"Oh, yes~ Suck it more! Earn hubby's cum!" Hunter moans, pushing your head up and down on his dick.

You kiss the base of his cock, and he spills his seed all over you. Some of it ends up on your face, and most of it ends up in your mouth. You stand up and try to leave, but Hunter grabs your hand.

"I thought you only wanted me to suck you off?" You question forcibly straddling Hunter.

"If I only wanted a blow job, I would only want your shirt off. I want more," Hunter says, pulling his pants down. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

Hunter kisses your cheek and puts a condom on. You hold onto him for support. He sticks his dick into you and moans, throwing his head back.

"Oh, baby!" Hunter moans, making a slow but steady thrust pattern.

Your breath hitches as pleasure flows through your body. Hunter kisses your lips, and you start to melt into each other.

"Faster!" You moan, barely holding onto Hunter.

Hunter immediately follows your plea and starts thrusting faster. You both moan like crazy and eventually, you yell that your climax is coming.

"I'm cumming too!" Hunter yells, rapidly thrusting into you a couple more times. "Hah!"

Hunter cums into you, and you shiver. You relax onto Hunter's chest and let him rub your back.

"So, can I still go to book club?" You ask, looking into Hunter's green eyes.

"Nope. You're staying with me for a while," Hunter replies, smacking your ass in response to your question.

~~~~~~~~

"Yo! Dude, how's the relationship with your darling?" Henry asks, high-fiving Hunter as he sits next to him during lunch. 

"Pretty good. I taught her a lesson, and now we're the perfect couple," Hunter replies, sitting you on his lap. "Charles won't even go near her."

"Hunter, please," You say, feeling his boner.

"Oh, sorry, darling. You're going have to deal with this dick for a long time," Hunter replies, kissing your cheeks. "Keep complaining, and I'll have to make sure you'll know to appreciate it."

You are stuck with him. Forever, and ever, until the day you die.  

[mooodyblue]

Hiiii I’m having a hard time with anxiety tonight bc I have emetephobia (fear of vomit) and I’m feeling nauseous

Could I request cg!e with little!reader who has emetephobia a and she’s REALLY NAUSEOUS so she’s losing her mind with fear and anxiety so bad she can’t stop shaking, she wants to curl in a ball and daddy really is trying yo comfort her?

I hope I gave you enough detail !!! Thank you so much ❤️❤️❤️

a/n: sorry this took me forever to write. ty for the request!

pairing: elvis x little!gn!reader

wc: 891

warnings: vomit mention, no actual vomiting involved

-> masterlist

elvis knew he messed up the moment he rented out a ranch too far from graceland, especially when he was the one doing the driving and you would be in the passenger seat. you didn't do well with long car rides, he learned that the hard way. but his stubborn self rented it out not knowing how far it was. he got it just for the two of you, and now he didn't even know if you'd make it there.

the reality of it all didn't hit him until thirty minutes in to the drive. he glanced over at you waking up from your nap, your arms stretching over your head as you glanced out the window. "still not there?" you asked with a pout on your face.

"no, baby. we still got a bit of time to go." he sighed. "you want a snack? how 'bout some juice?"

"no, i'm okay." you shook your head, facing forward and watching the clouds from the windshield.

some time when by when you began to get antsy, tired of sitting in the same seat for so long. you knew you sometimes got motion sickness, but always tried to take something beforehand to stop it. you turned your head to look at elvis, already feeling a little woozy. "did you bring my pills?"

he bit his lip nervously before giving you a quick glance then back at the road, "no, baby. i'm sorry. i completely forgot."

"oh. okay." you replied nervously. "that's okay."

of course, it wasn't okay. the more he drove, the more you felt yourself begin to get nervous. your body felt weird, there was the queasiness in your stomach, yet your heart felt like it was going at a million beats per hour. you wanted the feeling to pass so badly. your legs bounced up and down nervously, picking at your nails and trying to not think about the odd sensation in your stomach.

elvis noticed, glancing at you. "what's going on? you alright? need me to pull over?"

you wanted to say yes, yes, yes. but you didn't want to go off schedule if elvis had one. "baby, talk to me." he said, interrupting your thoughts and setting a hand on your knee.

"i don't feel good, daddy. i-i don't wanna get sick. i don't...." your eyes started welling up with tears. "don't wanna puke, daddy. i don't wanna."

his heart dropped, unsure of what to do. he knew how you got whenever you felt sick. anytime he, or anyone he knew was about to get sick—they'd be out of the house or he'd make sure you were in the other room. even then, he knew you couldn't stop thinking about the fact someone near you was still getting sick despite being away from it all.

it was worse when it was you. you can't escape from yourself.

"alright, alright. take a deep breath, honey." he said softly, his hand moving to rub at your back. "we'll figure this out. i'm gonna pull over at this lil' gas station and let you take a breather."

you were in tears, hiccuping and fighting off that awful urge to puke—your hands shaking and body trembling as you tried to let that feeling pass. you shook your hands at your sides to try and soothe yourself as elvis pulled into the parking lot, quickly getting out and heading over to your side. he knealt down as he opened the passenger door, taking your hands. "baby, hey. look at me." he looked right into your eyes, "i know you don't wanna get sick. if you need to, then just do it. it's scary, i know. but sometimes your body can't control it."

you let out a soft cry, squeezing at his hands. "i don't wanna."

"i know, baby. god, i know." his tone was sympathetic, doing his best to soothe you in the best way he can. "you wanna sit for a minute and let it pass? i'll go inside and see if they got somethin' for your poor lil' tummy."

you really didn't want him to go, but you took it like a champ and nodded, sniffling and sitting in the car with your stomach churning and head pounding. elvis returned as quickly as he could, hopping back into the driver seat and taking out a couple pills for you. "here," he opened your hand and dumped them into your palm. "these outta make you feel a little better, we can sit here till you feel comfortable again. that sounds alright?" he asked, handing you a tiny juice pouch.

his heart truly ached for you, he hated seeing you like this and always wished he could take that fear away from you, but he understood it was just something you couldn't control or get over.

he smiled as you took the two pills, finishing off your juice and nodding. "thank you, daddy. 'm sorry." you said shakily, wiping at your eyes.

"honey, don't even be sorry." he frowned. "i'm the dummy who forgot your pills. i bought a few extra just in case those wear off. you gonna be okay, lil'?"

"can we wait a little longer before you start drivin' again?" you nervously asked.

he gave you a soft smile, petting at your hair. "of course, sweetheart. of course."