#sobs thank you for sending this in i live another day thanks to you

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 14)

{tw for coercion}

Even several days after he'd transferred the money into your account, you were still trying to process the fact that your brother's tuition was paid in full. You cried and ran through its every iteration, weeping, sobbing, moping around, because while you were grateful, you knew that you'd never be able to repay Cillian for this grand act of kindness. When you decided you were finally able to see him without bursting into tears, you figured the least you could do to show your appreciation was purchase him something from his favorite cafe.

You didn't want to ruin the surprise, so you scrolled through your contacts until you found someone you hadn't talked with since graduating secondary school. Cillian's mother quickly responded, sending you their address. Inputting it into an online map, you were pleasantly surprised to discover that he lived within walking distance. The true shock came when you finally arrived at his house.

You only recalled that stout, faded brick building on the same street as yours. You hadn't visited Cillian after he moved households, and now, as you stared at the grand structure, felt a pang of envy and rage, the latter at how he'd kept his luxurious lifestyle hidden. Suddenly, you felt insecure about offering a measly cake in thanks.

Nevertheless, you steeled your nerves and approached, not minding how an elderly neighbor eyed you with suspicion. Before knocking on the door, you pressed your collar down and smoothed your skirt. Your palms felt sweaty as you grabbed the knocker and released it, allowing it to pummel the door. Almost as if they'd been waiting, someone instantly opened it. She had the same set of eyes and shaped lips. She didn't quite have the same jaw or the same nose, but otherwise, she was the spitting image of Cillian.

"Y/N!" She pulled you into an embrace, quickly pulling away to tuck flyaway strands behind your ears. "It's so nice to see you again! Cillian's been looking forward to your visit all day."

You blinked, certain you'd told her your visit was intended as a surprise. "Thanks? Are you alright?"

Nodding, she seized your shoulders and ushered you inside, using a tender force to push you through the hallway and into the living room. In her haste, she jostled you around. The cake you'd packed to snack on jostled around in your arms. You stumbled into the foyer, gawking as she slammed the door shut.

Left alone, you traced each crystal hanging from the chandelier on the ceiling, the expensive decor. You hadn't been to Cillian's house since his family 'made it,' and now, you understood why. Cillian must've known that, instead of feeling comfort or recalling a fond memory from your childhood, you'd only feel like you didn't belong.

Another voice stirred the silence, somewhat warming you.

"What are you doing here?"

"Lee," you started, relieved at the sight of him. "Hey! I thought you would like this." You lifted the take-out bag to display the contents, but he tilted his head. "Got it from that cafe you love." 

"Why did you come here?" he bluntly asked.

Smile faltering, you stumbled over your words. "Do I need a reason?"

"Not at all," he breezily said. "It’s just… Nothing. Never mind. I'm happy you're here." Huang Muchen stepped forward, and in the light you could see how his hair wasn't yet dried, causing his green locks to appear darker than they should be. "What happened?"

You half-heartedly smiled at him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. Even when he was dressed casually, with a simple black shirt and sweatpants, he eluded beauty and grace. You would have barely recognized that those were his home clothes. 

"I just brought you a cake to say thanks," you dryly said. "You still fine with me staying? Or should I leave?"

"Why would you leave?" Cillian marched towards you, seizing the bag. Then, setting it aside on the couch, he swept you into his arms. "I'd have to be insane to pass up time with my girl."

Shrieking, you laugh and beg him to put you down. When had he gotten so strong? He lifts you as if you're nothing, going against your wishes and spinning around, causing you to feel vertigo.

What had caused his spontaneous nature today? Usually, Cillian was stiff-faced and severe, dutifully maintaining his image. You didn't know, but you were pleasantly surprised by this hidden playful side. And of course, by how strong he was. Thrown over his shoulder, you felt some muscles you hadn't noticed before. You felt him moving, propelling you to some unknown destination, trailing down a long hall lined with dark oak tiles.

He tossed you onto his bed. Silky sheets billowed around you, temporarily engulfing the world. When they fell back against the mattress, you were startled to find Cillian kneeling over you, arms caging you in on either side.

"Hi," you stuttered, startled by his handsomeness at such proximity.

"Hi," he responded.

You counted the moments with each thud of your heart against your ribcage. One, two, three anxious flutters, then his lips were on yours, ravenous as he siphoned the breath from your lungs. Mind on overdrive, you tried returning his zeal, grabbing his collar for leverage. Your body tingled, but you ignored the strange pit forming in your stomach. Cillian's desires weren't odd. Neither was him acting on them. He was your boyfriend. You were going to have to get used to this sooner or later.

That was what you told yourself, but when his hand crept from your waist to the waistband of your jeans, you felt a sudden jolt of panic and seized his wrist, sheepishly grinning. When he looked up, his eyes lacked their usual sheen. Gulping, you quickly tried to set things straight. It wasn't that you didn't want him, too. Only...

"You don't think it's too soon?" You whispered, refusing to meet his gaze. "I mean… We barely started dating. I don't know if—"

He answered your question with one of his own, sharply and slightly defensive. Huffing, "You trust me, don’t you?"

"Of course," you instantly confirmed, feeling your heart stutter.

"So just trust the timing," he replied, toying with the hem of your shirt. "It'd make me happy if you’ll just be good. I want us to enjoy each other."

The bedroom, dimly lit by the soft glow of a single bedside lamp, seemed to pulse with an electric charge as he guided you into his embrace. His lips crushed down on yours, devouring your mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue dominated yours, stilling your breath as he explored your mouth. Meanwhile, his hands roamed beneath your shirt, thumbs encircling your nipples.

"Please," you panted, head falling back to reveal more of your neck, abandoning any vestiges of shame. Your hands slipped into his hair, holding him against you. "Touch me."

He murmured in agreement, his breath hot against your skin and he undressed you painfully slow, pausing between articles to press open-mouthed kisses to the newly barred flesh. The soft rustle of fabric and the sound of your breath hitched in your throat filled the room as Cillian finally stripped you bare, save for your underwear. The glasses, he let you keep, too. He wanted you to see him.

"Do you want me to show you what to do?" He asked, his voice low and smooth. "Or do you want me to make you feel good first?"

Yuqing hesitated, her glasses slipping down her nose as she nervously met his gaze. That need to please him, to maintain the love she cherished, gnawed at her. But there was another truth, one she couldn't keep hidden any longer.

"I—I should tell you," you stammered, your eyes darting around the room, seeking something else to help anchor you to the moment. "You're not... you're not the first person I've been with. The first time wasn't that great, but I trust—"

The tension in the room tightened like a coiled snake as Muchen's expression faltered. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened with an emotion that seemed to swim between hurt and anger. A silent storm raged behind his eyes as he processed her words, his initial shock quickly turning into a seething jealousy. The air in the room thickened, charged with tension as if a thunderstorm loomed overhead.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly.

"I've been with someone else before," you sheepishly admitted, quivering under the intensity of his stare.

"Is that so?" His face contorted with possessiveness. "Then let me try something first to see how he ruined you."

Sharply inhaling, you decided to take the plunge. Nodding, you stared at the ceiling, releasing an anxious huff when Cillian's pried your knees apart. Smoothly, he positioned himself between your legs. He tilted his head, nipping at her inner thigh. You felt a gust of warm breath and shivered as his teeth grazed your tender skin. Desperate for him, your hands threading through his hair, guiding him where you wanted him most. But Cillian was in control, and he resisted your attempt to direct him.

"Cillian," you choked out, voice wavering. "I've never done this. It feels weird."

"You'll be fine," he murmured. Hooking his fingers around the side of your panties, he tugged them off your hips, discarding the pair onto his bedside table. "I need to make sure your pretty little pussy is ready to take me."

His kisses trailed higher, over your hips, then back down the insides of your thighs. You whimpered at the lack of attention, and Cillian's eyes locked with yours, a devilish glint in his gaze. Finally, without warning, he lowered his head, his tongue flicking over your clit. You threaded your fingers through the sheets as he sucked and licked, an arm resting across your hips to keep you where he wanted, while the fingers on his other hand spread you open, allowing him to delve deeper.

Cillian whimpered and groaned, mindlessly muttering praise as he devoured you. Your hips bucked, grinding against his face, desperate to feel more, but Cillian took his time, exploring your hole with his tongue before pulling away with a raunchy smack. Lips glistening, he greeted you with a smile. You frowned, displeased at the lack of attention, but he didn't seem keen to allow that expression to remain for long.

"Ready, baby?"

Breathless, you began, "Ready for—"

His head dropped back between your legs. His mouth reattached to your clit. Groaning against you, Cillian inserted a finger into your tight hole, slowly easing you open, scissoring and curling agonizingly slow while he continued to suck and lick your clit, not even stopping while your legs began to quiver around his head. If anything, your reactions spurred his frenzy. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending you higher. He added a second finger, stretching her further, his tongue never ceasing its magic.

Cillian continued pounding his fingers into you, scissoring and curling until you released a moan, announcing that he'd found that spot that had you seeing stars with every thrust. Your mind was lost, your body convulsing as your release flowed over his fingers and mouth.

"That’s it, love," Cillian praised, his fingers never ceasing their motion, milking every last drop of pleasure from you. Grabbing your legs, Cillian tugged you back down so you were facing him. Momentarily, you were face to face with his wide smile. The sight of the lower half of his face glistening with your slickness caused a wave of embarrassment to wash over you. "Silly girl. I'm not done with you just yet."

"What do you mean?" You asked, your eyes widening as you felt his hard member pressing against your thigh.

"Need to feel that sweet cunt around my cock," Cillian said, positioning himself at your entrance. Teasingly, he rubbed the tip against the hole.

"Lee," you moaned. "Too sensitive. Let me suck you for now."

Too focused on your studies, you hadn't been with someone in such a long time. All of the attention he was giving you was overwhelming, touching you so eagerly, and in ways you'd never before experienced.

Instead of jumping at the offer, Cillian glared. "Did he teach you that?" he demanded.

Meekly, you shook your head. "Wanna make you feel good, too."

Expression returning to his signature smile, he pressed his lips against yours. You tasted the remnants of yourself on him, saw yourself reflecting in his love-struck eyes. You'd never felt so desired. So wanted. He was desperate to have you, and you were ready to give and do anything for him in return.

"We can get to that later," he said. "For now, you'll take what I give you. Need to make you forget anyone else."

In your dazed state, it took you a moment to realize who he was talking about. When you realized, you flinched, a blush creeping up your cheeks at the memory. Cillian noticed your expression, and his nails pressed into the plump flesh of your thighs.

You whined, hips futilely rising to meet his. "Keep going, Lee. Please. Need you so bad."

You hoped your pleas would spur his hips into motion, but he continued, slopping thrusting into you. The lack of friction was driving you insane. Biting your lip, you permitted his teasing ministrations. Whatever jealous streak Cillian was going through, you'd just have to permit.

"But I need to know," he insisted, suddenly picking up the pace. He punctuated each word with a sharp snap of his hips, pounding into you. "I need to know everything he did to this so I can do it better and make you forget him completely."

"His name was…" you began, the words catching in your throat as he dragged his thick cock against your walls, slamming into a spot that had you seeing stars. "Cillian!" You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist. You relented your grip on the sheets in favor of digging your nails into his skins

"Good girl, marking me up." Cillian's jaw clenched, but his hips continued moving at their languid pace, almost as if he were torturing you. "You're driving me crazy. So good for me." Save for his soft grunts and your moans, the only sounds filling the room was your sweat-slick skin against his as he picked up the pace, growing more frantic and rough as he chased his release. His voice grew less coherent with every thrust. "Gonna be my perfect girl and let me finish inside?" He pleaded, mouth falling to the crook of your neck, teeth sinking in. "Please, love. Wanna see my pretty doll stuffed with my cum. Wanna see it dripping out of you."

 Feeling a coil in your stomach, you squirmed, but he kept you pinned beneath him with a bruising hold, keeping you flush against him as thick, warm ropes of cum flooded your pussy. Vision blurred and mind suddenly clearer than ever, you lay there, staring at the clock against the wall as the room swam in and out of focus. Your body was a confusing mix of sensations, sore, yet strangely satisfied. With the sun dipping on the horizon, pale sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting eerie shadows.

You tried to move, but Cillian merely whined and pulled out, watching his cum spill out. He tried to scoop some up and prod your hole, but you hissed in protest, sharing your exhaustion. Almost mournfully, he relented: he had left no part of you untouched and still seemed keen to explore some more. Even then, he held fast to you, fingers tracing idle circles on your side, brushing aside the sweat-slick strands of your hair so he could view the marks he'd left on your neck.

You tried to ignore the tingling sensation where he had marked you and the numbness of your legs as he pulled you closer until your back was flush against his chest. Feeling his still-hard cock against your back, you couldn't help but shiver.

"Y/N," Cillian murmured, his voice suddenly tinged with a hint of remorse. It took you aback. You tried to turn and face him, but with a hand pressing down on your hip, he held you firmly in place. "I'm sorry if I acted odd. I just... I love you, you know? Always have. I just hate knowing that I didn't get to have you first. I don't like the idea of anyone else having you at all." He pressed a chaste kiss against your shoulder blade. You felt him rub his cock against you, felt him kneading the flesh of your ass. "So can I be the first to have you here? I'll make it feel good."

As you stared into Cillian's eyes, you felt the icy tendrils of your own destruction beginning to take root. You were thankful for everything he'd done so far, so it couldn't hurt...

It would, but you'd push through the pain with him wiping your tears, whispering sweet nothings as you finally gave him something no one else would ever steal from him, something that only he alone would have the chance to cherish.

this was my first time actually writing smut instead of only implying it so i'm sorry if it seems rushed/awkward/scattered 😅

[yazmarina]

close to you

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight, just let me be" (close to you by gracie abrams)

oscar piastri (f1) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: smut, protected sex, cunnilingus, first date, basically you match with oscar on a dating app lol

a/n: what a weekend guys. have this as the cherry on top <3

You never really expected anything much to come out of it.

You swiped right on the app, highly suspicious if this was really even him, but for the plot (as the kids say), you wanted to try anyway.

The screen graphics confirmed that it was a match and you felt your blood run cold.

Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver, had matched with you on a dating app.

You locked your phone and paced about the room for a solid five minutes, refusing to pick your device back up. You yelped as you saw the screen light up. You shoved it under your pillow, rushing out of the room and pacing even more, but this time, around your living room.

It took another ten minutes for you to gingerly return to your room, your trembling hand flipping your phone upright to expose your notifications.

Oscar: Hey :)

You nearly dashed out onto your balcony and leaped off the edge right then. With bated breath, you tapped on the notification, thoughts cycling seemingly a million miles a second.

You: Hi! Fancy seeing you here haha

You groaned immediately after sending the message, cringing at the utter lack of eloquence.

A sob nearly escapes your lips when you see his reply.

Oscar: Don't tell on me, then ;) I take it you're a fan?

"You have no idea, Oscar Piastri," you whispered to yourself as you tried to maintain a semblance of composure in your following messages.

You really should have practiced restraint, a cautious approach to this whole situation. What if it was some sort of poser? What if whichever dickhead pretending to be Oscar posts your responses online to dunk on you? Your face was exposed, goddammit.

But after two hours of messaging and a selfie sent from his side to prove that, yes, he really was Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastri, the two of you agreed to meet the next day.

You're still not fully convinced at that point but you decided to go with it. You sent a vague yet urgent message to your friend who lives nearby, in case you need an escape plan.

You covered all your bases, said all your prayers, and plucked every stray eyebrow into perfection.

Your heart nearly gives out now as you look up to see Oscar approaching your table, the sun gleaming down, casting a glow on his wavy brown hair. You're seated just outside the restaurant doors, the breeze gently displacing some of your own hair.

A nervous giggle escapes you as you tuck your hair back in place. Oscar beams and pulls the chair out in front of you.

"Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting."

You shake your head almost instantly. "No, it's okay. I wasn't here for long."

Oscar smiles even wider and you clamp your hands together under the table to stop them from shaking.

"It's nice to meet you," Oscar says, reaching his hand out. You chuckle at the formality but grasp his hand in yours nonetheless.

"Same here. Though, I'm a little nervous," you reply.

"Though, I hope you aren't super weirded out about going on a date with a fan," you rush out. "I just really enjoy the sport and I think you're a great driver."

You see a hint of pink dusting Oscar's cheeks. Your own face heats up at the realization.

"It's fine," Oscar consoles. "Thanks, by the way. I mean, you're gorgeous, so you're not the only one in awe here."

Oscar's eyes widen as he realizes the words that had come tumbling out of his mouth. Your own jaw slackens and another nervous laugh rises from your chest.

"Thank you," you manage to splutter out. "I-I don't know what else to say to that without sounding like some lovesick fan."

Oscar bursts out laughing, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. You realize that every inch of skin above his shirt collar is tinged with red.

"I think that's our signal to order," Oscar offers, flipping through the menu in front of him.

You nod silently, doing the same.

-

The text you send to your friend after your lunch with Oscar is just as vague, if not a little more.

You tell them that your date went well and that you'll be moving to another place. You don't exactly clarify what this other place is, but with the way your friend tells you to be safe and call immediately if anything goes wrong, you know that they're aware of where this is going.

You lean back, comfortable in the passenger seat of Oscar's car. You set your phone down, sneaking a peek at the man beside you, and for a split second your eyes meet.

"You good?" Oscar asks, his eyes trained back on the road. There's an easy smile playing on his lips and you can still see pink on his cheeks.

"Yeah," you say, digging through your purse and retrieving some breath mints. You pop two in your mouth and you offer Oscar the container.

You smile knowingly as Oscar glances at your outstretched hand, his smile widening into a bashful grin.

"Want some?" you offer, toying with the candy in your mouth. Just then, you come upon a stoplight and Oscar turns to you fully.

He holds up his palm and you shake out two more mints onto his awaiting hand. Oscar places them in his mouth, watching as you put the candies away.

"Any particular reason you'd be needing breath mints?" Oscar asks almost playfully.

You snicker. "Not really. Just wanted to get the taste of food out of my mouth."

Oscar hums, eyes trailing down your face. You can see him continue to suck on the mints but he soon loses his patience and bites down, grinding his teeth.

Yours are all dissolved, the fresh sting of spearmint settling on your tongue.

"I don't really do this," Oscar suddenly declares.

You raise both of your eyebrows. "Do what?"

"Take girls home on the first date."

A grin settles on your face as you hear the words. You lean in closer, over the center console, noting the way Oscar inhales as you do so.

"I'm flattered," you admit. Oscar laughs, mirroring your posture, the proximity between you two diminishing.

Oscar kisses you, tenderly at first, his hand automatically coming up to hold you in place. It's easy to forget that it's the middle of the day in sunny Monaco, the tint on his car windows not the ideal shade to necessarily hide what you're doing.

You pull, back glancing at the stoplight just as it turns green.

It takes a honk from the car behind you to get Oscar out of his daze.

-

Oscar is a gracious host, as you quickly learn. Gracious in a way that his hands immediately cradle you close the second his front door latches shut. His lips are just as welcoming as they trail down your neck, careful and almost nervous. It's also so hospitable how he so eagerly ushers you into his room, settling you down on the sheets as he does all the work for you.

Your clothes are stripped one by one and the familiar anxiety rises back up in your throat. Oscar senses the shift in your mood and pauses just as he's undoing his own pants.

"We don't have to," Oscar offers, taking ahold of one side of your face.

You kick yourself in your mind. This is an opportunity you would never pass up and it's right in the palm of your hand.

You shake your head. "I want to. I really want to. With you."

Oscar grins and practically tackles you down on the bed. It takes some effort but the rest of his clothes finally come off and the two of you lay bare on his bed.

You can feel the desperation in his movements and you reciprocate with as much eagerness. You think for a moment what it could have been in your lunch that caused the both of you to just want to jump in bed together, but you ultimately doubt that the tapas had anything to do with it.

It feels surreal, having Oscar's mouth on your core, and even more unbelievable the way his fingers work as if they already know you, how to please you. You're trembling by the time Oscar comes back up, lips smeared with your arousal.

You blink the tears out of your eyes as you watch Oscar reach over to his nightstand, expertly dispensing a condom, rolling it down on his rock-hard shaft.

You scramble to get him close, not even caring about how quick he plunges inside you, the stretch eliciting a hiss from between your teeth. You relax and Oscar takes this as a sign to start moving.

"Jesus, fuck—" Oscar curses. "You're fucking tight."

You let out a breath, holding Oscar's body close as he fucks you, steady and unrelenting.

You don't particularly care if everything he's said up to this point is a lie. You could be his fifth this week, you could be herded out his apartment the moment he finishes. You really don't mind, not when he feels this good inside you.

"Oscar," you gasp as he starts to pick up his pace. Even that doesn't seem real. The way his name rolls off your tongue registers like a faraway dream to you.

Oscar pulls back to look at you, his hair falling over his eyes. You've gushed about this exact look a few times online. The thought embarrasses you a bit and you can't help the blush that creeps up your neck.

"What?" Oscar asks, the corners of his mouth turning up as he watches you.

You shake your head. "Nothing. Don't look at me like that."

Oscar smirks, pressing his mouth to yours in a heady kiss. Your whines and moans are muffled as Oscar takes you closer and closer to your release. You claw at his back, digging your nails into his supple skin. Your hips start to move along with his, your own orgasm now within reach.

The two of you cum almost simultaneously and Oscar stills inside of you, his mouth hanging open as the euphoria completely washes over him. You're panting, eyes unfocused, even as Oscar pulls out to discard the condom.

Oscar plops back down beside you and you can't help the giggles that erupt as the two of you catch each other's eye.

"That was great," Oscar muses, staring at the ceiling, his hand patting around the bed until it finally finds yours. He slots his fingers between the spaces of your own.

You risk a peek at him and you take it all in. A strange feeling blooms in your chest.

Oscar turns to you and you quickly look away.

"It's kind of cute how you think I don't notice you looking," Oscar says, scooting closer.

You meet his eyes again and the strange feeling only flourishes. Pessimistically, you think of that one quote about never meeting your heroes. You start to think that it might be true.

The illusion is shattered. You've come too close. Icarus reincarnated, the sun staring you right back in the face.

You anticipate the sugarcoated rejection.

"Wanna stay over?"

You blink.

"Stay over?" You repeat rather plainly. Oscar nods.

"Yeah. I'll get us dinner." Oscar tucks your hair behind your ear. "Unless you'd rather I drive you home."

A giddy sort of sensation shoots through your body. You tentatively reach out, laying a hand on Oscar's face.

Maybe you could get just a little closer to the sun.

You peck his lips briefly, smiling as you pull away.

"No. I guess you can have me overnight."

[exhaslo]

Puzzle Pieces (Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Part 1 of who knows how many parts :)

Warning: Eventual Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The heavy sound of rain flood the streets of Nueva York. The dim street lights felt faded as the mist blocked their glow. Despite the downpour that washed the streets, the stench of blood still lingered. A foul odor that could never truly be cleaned from this city.

Nueva York was riddled with crime. Each part of the city was owned and govern by their own mafia. Drugs, alcohol and fights were always a topic and always a cause to stay indoors. Only the smart stayed away from the mafia. They were the ones to survive this city unscathed. They were the ones to avoid trouble.

You had just moved into the city, unaware of its true face, nor did you really have a choice. You were desperate to get away from your old life. Despite for a fresh start. So much so, that you landed in one of the worst parts of the city. The place you rented was small, but it was enough to keep you hidden.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you near cried at the sight of a roach. Tears threaten to spill as you sprayed the roach spray against the foul creature for dear life. You had just moved into the place. You were warned by your friends and family of the filth of the city, but they didn't know anything. They didn't know the pain you were in.

"Ew, ew!" You whined as you grabbed the broom, throwing the roach away.

Once you were freed from that horrid task, you continued to clean and unpack. You double checked everything for roaches and mice, wanting to sleep soundly for once. You shuddered at the thought as you pulled out old photographs of your high school days. Within those pictures was the cause of your depature.

Your ex.

You had fled your hometown due to your abusive ex-boyfriend, Eddie Brock. The man was so kind to you at first, treating you well until you officially started dating. Your college life was cut short due to his beatings and yelling. You were always at fault. You could never be good enough for him. You were always the problem.

The thought made you sob. You moved to this city on a whim thanks to your small job. You just wanted to stop living in that hell. Everyone loved your ex. They never truly saw what he was. They never even asked how you were.

"I-I need to s-stop crying." You whispered to yourself as you looked out the window, "I-I have work tomorrow. I...I need to be ready."

-----------

Meanwhile, a few blocks over, Miguel was sitting before his large patio, watching the rain. He held a glass of vodka in his hand, watching the lightening brighten the sky more than the city lights itself. He inhaled to the loud roar of thunder before being interrupted by a knock at his door.

"Que? (What)" He hissed lowly. Lyla smiled as she walked over with a folder, placing them on his desk,

"Just something for the morning." She chirped and approached the door, "There's another one waiting outside. Shall I send her in?"

"Ha, and get some fake praises. She can only come in if she wants a quick fuck. I won't deal with gold diggers." Miguel grumbled.

Lyla just hummed in response before shutting the door. Miguel could only groan in annoyance as he placed his glass down. His night would have been better off alone. Closing the blinds to his patio, Miguel approached his desk to the file. It was going to be another long day tomorrow.

---------

There was a scurry to your step as you tried to please your new boss. It was your first day working in the chain supermarket, and you were stressed. This version of your old job was far busier, louder and ruder than what you were used to. You were a shy and quiet person, so having so many people yell and pull you around was breaking you.

"(Y/N)! Deli needs a hand, you ever did that?" One of your coworkers asked. You flinched at the sudden yell,

"I-I have helped packaged an-"

"Good enough, go help and put a kick in it!"

You just agreed and hurried to the deli. You grabbed a hair net and gasped lowly at your fellow coworkers there. They were all so tall and mean looking. You were like a deer in headlights the moment they saw you enter their kitchen. You just bowed your head slightly and quietly made your way to the meat wrapping station.

"Why'd they put her here? She don't know anything yet," One of the taller men whispered. You're ears perked up since whispers weren't exactly in their volcabulary,

"She's a scaredy cat. Ain't nothing comin' outta her mouth. Same like the rest of us,"

You wanted to ask them what they were talking about, but you were too scared to find out. That, and you learned the harsh lesson of minding your own business. Dear ol' Eddie gave you that cruel lesson. Shaking your head at the thought, you didn't want to be known as the employee who cried on their first day.

"Hey, new kid," One of your coworkers called out, approaching you, "Yer new here, so let me warn you. We got three freezers in the deli. One is full of the fresh meat we get. Leave that to us big guys. You can enter the second freezer with the small cuts for the customers. The third freezer, you never enter. Don't ask questions about it. Don't peak into it. Just pretend it never exists. Oh, and don't make eye contact with those who enter it."

"Okay,"

Hell fucking no. You were going to stay far away from dear freezer number three. That was a lot more information than you even wanted to hear. Hell, you weren't a fan of entering freezer number two. Once your coworkers were reassured by your understanding, they returned to work.

Your hands trembled over your station as you tried to focus on your job with the seven men yelling around you. This was your sad new life. You had to get used to this. You were either going to make it in the city or die trying.

--------

Miguel lazily glanced out his window seat, spotting the upcoming supermarket. There was a rumble in his throat as he leaned back in his seat. His men tailing behind him in different cars. Miguel told his driver to stop, wanting to walk the rest of the way while his men parked around back.

"Peter, take our guest into the freezer. I'm going to make a pit stop at the deli," Miguel said over the phone.

"Miguel, we talked about this. You're the boss, let us handle the work." Peter tried reasoning over the phone.

Miguel wasn't even paying attention. He hung up and proceeded to enter the supermarket. His presence alone made the managers cower and the workers silent. Of course, none of the regular customers knew anything. None of them suspected that he, Miguel O'Hara, CEO of Alchemax, was the leader of the Spider Mafia. One of the biggest and ruthless mafia in town.

"The usual?" One of the deli men questioned. Miguel glanced over his shoulder, noticing you shaking like a leaf while avoiding your coworkers,

"And they say I'm cruel. New hire?"

"Transfer from out of town," The man replied.

Miguel raised a brow towards you. You were pale in the face as you apologized for getting in people's way. Miguel couldn't help but snort. It was cute. Something he was not used too. Returning his attention to the deli worker, Miguel could only smirk as he watched his men drag their guest into freezer number three.

"The bird needs to be plucked." Was all Miguel said for the man to understand.

-------

You whimpered softly as you moved away from everyone's path. It had gotten far too busy for your liking. Once you caught a break, you noticed the deli supervisor talking to a handsome man. You tilted your head, stealing a glance. The man was tall and gorgeous. He wore a slick all black suit. Something very fancy for this part of town.

The man took notice of you and smiled. Your cheeks immediately started to heat up as you quickly returned to your job. As you did, you noticed some men enter the third freezer. You paled instantly. It was your first day! Biting you lower lip, you tried to focus on your work. Right as you did, you noticed the handsome man from earlier walk by you and towards the freezer,

"Keep up the good work, conejita (bunny)." He whispered.

You felt your heart race as the door shut. His voice was so deep and low. If only he hadn't entered the freezer. Perhaps, you would have gotten to know him as a regular.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Chapter!

[azzibuckets]

now that we don’t talk part 1 [paige bueckers]

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: you and paige break up and neither of you know how to move on properly with your life

a/n: decided to go for some angst again…didn’t really have an aim or a direction when writing this so not sure if i should turn this into a series or not ? lmk what yall think

word count: 1.5k

masterlist | next

The First Week

In the first week, Paige had fallen into her daily routine. Her moments of forgetfulness were instinctual; she’d laid a dollop of minty Crest toothpaste on her blue toothbrush before doing the same thing to your red one, leaving it hanging over the edge of the counter.

The first time she did it, she’d hadn’t even noticed. It was only when she’d turned her mouth to catch the water under the faucet that she’d spotted your toothbrush that she’d set up, ready with Crest, as if you’d pop in any moment to stick it in your mouth and start scrubbing. Paige had almost choked on the water she’d been gurgling, grief worming its way up her throat and making it hard to breathe.

Heaving, she’d stood over the sink, hand gripping both sides of the counter to support herself until her knuckles turned white. It took all her strength not to buckle over from the precipitous wave of agony that had collided into her with gut-wrenching speed.

But for some reason, Paige had stuck your toothbrush under the stream of water then placed it carefully back in its cup. And so she’d made the same mistake the day after. This time, when she realized what she’d done, it wasn’t the weight of sadness that compressed her lungs, but a brewing storm of fury. Her vision had gone red, and she’d grabbed the toothbrush and hurled it against the wall as hard as she could, with a strength that she didn’t even know that she’d still had. And this time, when Paige stared at the toothpaste dripping slowly down the wall, mocking her as it made a mess on the floor, the counter couldn’t save her. She’d succumbed to the force of her fury dragging her down, and had crumpled to the floor, sobs racking her body.

The First Month

Your room was dark, in almost sub-freezing temperatures with the windows wide open to welcome in the frosty, bone-chilling winter air that Connecticut was known for. The only light in the room came from the dim glow of your laptop screen, opened live to the UConn women’s basketball game playing live on ESPN.

At first, you’d attempted to be nonchalant whenever Paige sunk yet another basket with ease, making the crowd and commentators going feral as she celebrated with her signature moves. But as the game between UConn and Stanford got closer and closer, you couldn’t help but smile when Paige crossed over her defense, sending them flying to the floor and leaving her wide open to score yet another 3. It reminded you all too well of the Paige you’d met and fallen in love with, whose confidence on the court had made you start viewing her as more than just your teammate.

But any trace of smile on your face quickly vanished once you watched Paige’s post-game interview during the livestream. “You’ve had quite a run this season despite being out for most of your sophomore and junior year due to injury. Who would you like to thank for your unpredented comeback?”

“I’d like to thank God. He’s been with me through everything, given me trials to test my resilience. In fact, he’s made me stronger than ever.” Paige had paused. You’d recognized her hesitance; the way she nibbled her bottom lip, her mouth half open as she debated a response, the uncertainty in her eyes as they flickered. But she seemed to recover from any reluctance, and what she said next made your heart drop. “I’d also like to thank my girlfriend, Leslie.” She motioned to someone off camera, and soon the frame was filled with tousled brown hair and soft green eyes.

Paige pulled her in close, and your world spun as you watched Paige, your Paige, press her lips against the brunette. Your hands had reached up to tear your headphones off your head, unable to further listen to the claps and hoots of the crowd along with the cooing of the commentators without feeling the need to throw up. But before you could, Paige had started speaking again. Your hands froze. You hated yourself for it, but you had to listen.

“She’s been with me through everything, from freshman year to now. She was my number one supporter when I got injured.” She wrapped her arm around Leslie’s waist, staring intently at the camera, and never before had you been this sickened staring at the blue eyes you’d once adored, could’ve spent hours getting lost in. “But even outside of my injury, Les has been on my side. Especially with all the immature drama that happened on the court last year, she was really a clear voice in all of that. So I’m pretty grateful for her.”

Leslie’s mouth split into a grin, and she turned to pull Paige in for another kiss, and that was when you slammed your laptop so hard that when you opened it the next morning, you were surprised to see that the screen hadn’t shattered.

You were not someone who cried. Your family members, your friends, Paige could all attest to that. But the torment that was clawing its way through your body, threatening to suffocate you, finally exploded. Tears had surged from your eyes, seemingly never ending, and you’d cried so much that night that it suddenly made sense why you’d almost never cried before; it was like all the tears in your life had been pent up, waiting for this moment, for when the pin fell.

That night was the lowest you’d ever felt in your life, and possibly even the lowest you’ve ever acted - blinded by a jealous rage over the girl that Paige had always promised you not to worry about, the girl Paige was basically making out with on live television just one month after you guys had broken up (and when it’d taken her two years to show PDA with you), you’d gone on all your social media accounts and blocked Paige on every single one of them.

Then an idea came to you. An act of retaliation that would hurt Paige as much as she hurt you. So you’d reopened Twitter, unblocked Paige. You’d scrolled until you found the perfect tweet. Your thumb had hovered for a split second over the like button, haunted by images of Paige’s hand trailing your stomach, her hair brushing your eyes, her mouth on your neck, before it was violently replaced by the image of Paige locking lips with the brunette flooding your mind, causing you to jam your thumb down with ferocity on the like button. You’d slammed the final nail in the coffin by deleting the app so that you couldn’t go back and undo your action before word got around to Paige.

The First Year

You thought you knew grief. You thought you’d familiarized yourself with every aspect of mourning: the realization in the morning, when your eyes open and you lose the blissful state of dreaming and you’re confronted with the harsh truths of the world. Or the late nights, when you’re restless and can’t sleep because of jealousy plaguing your mind. Even the deep longing of missing someone’s touch so bad that you swear that you can almost almost smell their perfume.

So you thought you knew grief - until your grandma died. It had been a matter of time. She’d had breast cancer, and for years now the doctors had been saying any time. But that still didn’t prepare you for the overwhelming pain that consumed all your senses, making it hard to think or eat or sleep or even breathe.

The first few nights after you received the news, you stared at the ceiling, unblinking until the early hours of the morning when the sun started creeping up through your windows. But you couldn’t even cry; you felt like a broken faucet. What the fuck was wrong with you? Sobbing over your stupid ex that you’d broken up with an entire year ago, but unable to shed a tear for your grandma, the woman who had single-handedly raised you. You were exhausted to the point of no return. When would everything stop hurting?

You’d only torn your eyes from your ceiling when your phone had lit up. It was 4 AM, and you wondered who it could be. You checked your phone, and every part of your body froze when you read the notifications.

TWITTER

From: paigebueckers1

I’m so sorry

TWITTER

From: paigebueckers1

I just heard the news

TWITTER

From: paigebueckers1

Don’t know if you’re even active on here anymore but it’s the only way I could reach you. If you see this, I just want to ask you to not keep your grief to yourself. Isolating yourself won’t make the pain go away. Make sure to talk to someone

Your heart had ached, your phone trembling in your hand. Because Paige had cared enough to send you a message, on the same app where you’d given the tabloids a wet dream and caused the UConn fandom to go into a spiral by liking a hate tweet about Paige. She’d cared enough to disregard all that to make sure you were okay. But she still hadn’t cared enough to offer to be that someone that she wanted you to talk to so bad.

So you’d left her on read, without responding. Had slipped back into your sheets, your head pounding and your lungs aching. This time the tears fell out easily.

[not-neverland06]

How About a Nuke?

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: I just want to thank you all for the love, support, and wonderful messages you’ve been sending me because of this series. Summary: You’ll never survive if you don’t learn to depend on yourself. But this world is harsher and crueler than you’re prepared for. Still, you can’t let that hold you back, you need to try and live without Cooper.

He shot up at the sound of a gunshot. It echoed through the trees, closer than he was comfortable with. Instinctively, he reached out to shake her awake, prepared to tell her to grab her shit and run. His hand hit nothing but air and he sighed when he remembered the way she’d stalked off. 

He threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards her. He couldn’t see much until he rounded the tree, her bag was gone and so was she. Another shot rang out through the forest. He sighed and made his way back towards the fire. He grabbed a lit stick and used it to illuminate the forest floor to get a better look at the footprints around the area. 

As far as he could tell no one else had passed through here while he’d been sleeping. So where the fuck was she? Another shot went off followed by the sound of her scream. “Fuck,” he ripped the gun out of his holster and followed the tracks as best he could. 

The closer he got, the more it sounded like two wild animals fighting. She was cussing up a storm, screaming at whoever was trying to grab her. He still hadn’t managed to get a good luck at where she was. It seemed darker in this section of the forest, like it was purposefully trying to keep him from her. 

There was the thud of a body hitting the ground and then someone was running. He could hear them trampling through the undergrowth going right past him. Someone was whimpering in pain and he instantly thought of her on the ground bleeding out. Without much aim he shot in the general direction of whoever had run off, he heard a yelp but they didn’t stop. 

“You alright sweetheart?” He heard more than saw anything as she scrambled to her feet and ran off into the forest. “It’s only me!” He gave her a minute to realize she’d run from the wrong person before he figured that she knew exactly who she was running from. She must have still been pissed at him for what he'd said earlier. Rolling his eyes he tracked her limping gait through the steps in the mud. 

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” you whimpered, teeth digging painfully into your lip while you peeled your clothes away from the wound on your side. You slowed down, unable to stay on your feet with how quickly the blood was oozing out of the hole near your ribs. You slumped over, letting yourself fall against a tree and stripped off the top half of your clothes. 

Your fingers pressed weakly against the hole and you let out a choked sob. Dammit, hurt like a fucking bitch. With shaking hands you dug blindly through the bag at your side. You’d lost most of your supplies in the fight but you were hoping the stimpak Cooper had given you earlier was still in here. 

You weren’t sure exactly how these worked but he’d told you it would heal nearly everything. Though, he’d said if a wound was bad enough even a stimpak couldn’t bring you back from the edge. You were praying that this would work, but after the past few days you didn’t have much faith in your luck.

The injector shook in your hands and you knew if you didn’t use it soon you weren’t going to make it. Taking in a deep breath you slid the needle into the skin, as close to the wound as you could get it. You could feel holes on your back and front, you were grateful at least that you didn’t have to worry about trying to dig a bullet out. 

You pressed down and let yourself sink back against the tree as medicine rushed through you. You ripped the injector once it felt like you’d gotten everything. 

With nothing to occupy them your hands fell limply to the ground. You needed to get up, try and reorient yourself and make it to Filly. But you were so tired. You barely noticed the way the wound continued to pulse, the slow dribble of blood leaking onto your hands. All you could see were the stars, so many more than you were used to. 

With no one left to pollute them, they were boundless. You let out a weak sigh and your eyes drifted shut. You thought of Cooper before it all went black. The way he was before, the way you were before. 

It was too dark to really track much but he was sure he was getting close. He could hear her whimpering in pain and figured she’d slow down soon enough. She shuffled around like a wounded animal, graceless and stumbling. 

He tried and justified this to himself, he needed her to deal with Ma June. Honestly, though, he knew he didn’t. He could just give up, set up camp again and wait for morning to come. She’s the one who decided she didn’t need him anymore. No fucking reason to keep going after her. She’d dug her own grave, it was time to let her lie in it. 

Still, he kept going. He ignored the nagging voice that pushed him to stop and turn back around. He pushed anything down that wasn’t useful in the moment. 

She should stop soon, she was just putting herself in more danger by continuing on like this. But, he figured she was pissed off and just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of needing his help. She had always been stubborn to a fault, he guesses even that hasn’t changed. 

Though, if she wanted to make it out here she was going to need tougher skin. It didn’t matter if what he said was true or not. You can’t afford attachments out here.

The sooner she learned that the better. 

There was a loud cry of pain and then he heard the sound of her keeling over against a tree. He grinned, ready to pounce on the opportunity to get on her about being so fucking stupid. “See, this is why you shouldn’t run!” He called out. 

Something lit up the path ahead and he ducked behind a tree instinctively. He peered around the trunk and marked the direction the torches were coming from. They weren’t close enough to be a problem, not yet at least. If he was lucky it would just be some travelers. He might even be able to get some supplies off of them. If he wasn’t, it would be raiders. 

Seeing as she seemed to be his own personal jinx, he figured they only had a few minutes until the raiders were on them. She wouldn’t be much use to him bleeding out. He strode over to her curled up form, she had a hand wrapped around her stomach and in the dark he could barely make out the blue of her uniform. “Come on, let’s go.” He nudged her with his boot but she didn’t move. She didn’t even make a sound. “Come on,” he tried again, kicking harder this time while he watched the torchlight get closer. 

Angry, he knelt down and rolled her over. But the face staring up at him wasn’t hers, it was some fucking raider. Must have been whoever she was fighting with. Shit, that meant he’d shot her. Cooper rubbed his forehead in irritation. Nothing could ever be easy with her could it?

Footsteps sounded closer and Cooper knew his time had run out. Whoever this woman on the ground belonged to had come to collect. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Cooper’s hand moved to his holster and he looked up at them, a grin on his face, “Gentlemen.”

“Grab her legs. Come on, hurry up, don’t have all day!” Hands wrapped around your ankles and you jolted awake. You kicked out, eyes blind to anything but the memory of the raiders from before. The old woman at your feet jumped away from your weak attack and frowned down at you. 

“Well, shit, she’s alive.”

An old man walked out from behind you. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He crouched down, groaning as his knees cracked in protest. He leaned towards you and you flinched back, eyes wide as you watched him reach out to you. His hand hovered your face and you braced yourself for an attack. He only poked you, though, frowning when you winced away from the prodding of your bruises. “I’ll be damned, she is.”

The old woman sighed and threw a bag over her shoulders. You watched in horror as she tucked a pack of surgical tools into the pocket of her large skirt. Were these people about to carve into you?

What the fuck was wrong with this goddamn place?

The old man held out his arm and she limped over to him, taking it and walking away from you. You glanced around, still confused on what the hell was going on. “Hey!” You croaked. Your hand wrapped around your waist, prodding the wound. You were shocked to find it healed over, only a dull ache left in its place. “Hey!” You shouted again. 

The woman turned around and glared at you. “What?” She screeched and you winced at the way it echoed through the trees. 

“Where’s Filly?”

She shared a look with the old man and they both stared at you like you were crazy. “Right behind you,” they walked off without another word, seeming sorely disappointed that they hadn’t been able to dig into you. 

You groped blindly through the dirt and grass around you until your fingers felt the handle of your bag. You curled your hand into a weak fist and tugged it towards you. You felt completely drained. But you couldn’t stay here, not unless you wanted to be turned into someone’s next meal. 

You groaned and forced yourself to your feet, head swimming with pain and nausea. You zipped your suit back up and winced at how it stuck to your skin. Your blood still hadn’t dried completely, you looked down and grimaced at the crimson stains covering you. No wonder it hadn’t dried, it looked like someone had dunked a bucket of red paint over you. How the hell were you still standing? 

You’re not sure what’s worse right now, that you’re not surprised you got shot or that you can’t figure out whether he shot you on purpose or not. 

He’d made it clear what exactly you were to him. A hole to fill, as he’d so eloquently told you. And you’re pretty sure you’d made it clear that you weren’t interested in filling that role for him ever again. At least you hoped you did, last night was an adrenaline fueled blur and you weren’t positive you were remembering everything properly. 

You can barely recall that raider jumping you, you just know you’d shot your gun off and made a run for it. The bullet hole hadn’t even caught up to you until you were about half a mile away. Maybe Cooper had shot you on purpose. It’s not like you contributed much and you doubted he really needed your help in Filly. 

Made you wonder why he bothered keeping you around for as long as he did. 

You could hear it now, Filly, you’re not sure how you didn’t before. You couldn’t see it yet, but you could hear people calling out their wares and haggling about prices. You hurried as much as you could, one leg dragging behind you slightly. You’re not sure when that got hurt, but you could barely work your right hip properly. 

Little houses were popping up around you. They were sparse and resembled shacks more than anything, but it was just another sign that you’re one step closer to not having to worry about getting shot at every five minutes. 

In front of one of the nicer homes was a clothesline. You slowly approached, eyes on the clean clothes that were beckoning you closer. You kept your hand on the handle of your gun just in case the owner of the home spotted you. What you really didn’t need was getting killed over a shirt. 

You glanced around, not seeing anyone watching you. Your gaze went back to the clothes and you frowned. If there was one thing Cooper taught you it was that no one asked in this world, they took. You ripped the clothes off the line and ducked behind a tree to change. 

Even with the blood still caked onto your skin, you felt cleaner than you had the whole time you’d been up here. Getting rid of that ridiculous suit was good for a few things. You’d blend in better with the people here in a tank top and ratty old brown pants. And you almost felt like you were getting rid of the memories attached to that suit.

It was as close as you could get without grating your skin off at least. 

You dumped your old outfit behind the house and near their clothesline. A transaction of sorts. They could have your blood soaked clothes and you could have their clean ones. Not a fair trade, but better than anything else they’d find up here. 

It didn’t take long to find the entrance to Filly, once you did you found yourself nearly cowering at the sight of all the people bustling through. Sure, it wasn’t a lot compared to California. But you’d been traveling with no one but Cooper for the past week through a barren desert. Not counting the raiders as human, you’d almost forgotten that other people existed. 

A man jumped at you and shoved a skewer of meat in your face. “Dogmeat, get your dogmeat!” You grimaced and backed away from him. So, not as civilized as you’d hoped, but you’d take what you could get. 

The biggest one nodded towards him, “Grab him.”

He grinned and shook his head, “I wouldn’t.”

The boy on the far left had his head blown off before he could even try and charge at him. He ripped the shotgun off his back and shot the other two in quick succession. He didn’t bother with them, seeing if they lived or died. He kicked at the woman at his feet again and she winced in pain. 

“The woman you fought. Where is she?”

She shook her head and curled further into herself. He sighed and grabbed her chin, wrenching it up to his and letting her get a good look at his disfigured face. She tried to shrink away from him but he tsked and shook her so hard he could hear what few remaining teeth she had rattle. 

“I don’t know,” she cried out, batting uselessly at his hands. 

“I really think you do.”

He reached down, groping over her torso and digging his fingers into the bullet hole on her side. She cried out in agony, writhing like an animal caught in a snare. “Filly, she was heading for Filly!”

He grinned and dropped her to the ground, her head thudding loudly against the large tree root. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

She looked up at him in fear, “You’ll let me go?”

He tilted his head, looking her over and taking in the sight of blood on her clothes. “Well, you did attack my friend,” he lifted his gun and she cowered away from him. “I don’t take well to others damaging what’s mine.”

Her brain splattered against the trunk and he stepped over her twitching body to follow the light he noticed further down the forest. He didn’t often find himself exploring these woods at night, he figured he was close enough to Filly but he needed her to confirm it. 

For a moment he lets himself doubt that she was really abandoning him in the middle of the night. Maybe she’d gotten up for a piss and been caught off guard. He dismisses the idea when he remembers that she’d taken her bag with her when she’d gone. 

He doesn’t let himself linger on it too long, pissed off that it’s bothering him at all. 

He’d seen the hope starting to form in her eyes when she’d look at him. She was getting a little loose with what she was calling him too. A little while longer together and he’s sure he’d be hearing his name again. Saying what he had was a favor to them both. Better to cut that off before anything came of it. 

Stupid fucking girl, he shouldn’t even be thinking about this anymore. He shouldn’t be looking for her, either. The confirmation that she’d left him was enough. Their time together was done, it should have ended a long time ago. He’s pretty sure he liked it better when he just thought she was a two-timing slut. 

Hate was easier than whatever the fuck this was. 

He spotted smoke through the trees and then the raiders camp. They were laughing at something and ripping into a roast that looked suspiciously like a human leg. He pulled his gun out and snuck behind them. He just needed a distraction, he’d be over this once he helped himself to their meals and their bedrolls. 

“What?” 

“Caps,” the girl’s voice was distorted by whatever metal oddity she had connected to her throat. She glanced at you, completely uninterested once she’d realized you didn’t have any payment for her. Not that you really understood the payment required. 

Who’d decided bottle caps were a good currency? 

“Well, do you know where I could get them?” She nodded towards a building adjacent to her stall and you frowned. 

The store she pointed to you clearly advertised, WE BUY TEETH. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Or,” you glanced at her with hope, “you go to that alley over there and get on your knees. You could probably get five caps off someone if you suck good enough.”

You glared at her and started walking away from her stall in anger. “I’d get more for my fucking teeth!” You shouted over your shoulder. She shrugged and went back to fiddling with the metal tools on her table. 

You stood in the middle of the marketplace, desperately trying to figure out where you should go. You almost missed Cooper right now, he might be a dick but at least he understood how this place worked. 

You felt an intense ache of betrayal and longing and immediately dismissed any thoughts of Cooper. He could go and get himself shot for all you cared. You loved him, and would have loved him no matter how he looked. It didn’t matter that he was changed, disfigured, you didn’t give a shit about any of that. You just wanted him. And all he cared about was having a pretty body warming his bed. 

You would do this without him. 

You glared against the bright sunlight, scanning each storefront and trying to find something that could help you. You’d already tried to talk to Ma June but she hadn’t been as pleasant as you had been hoping. She wasn’t looking for workers and apparently not charity cases either. 

You didn’t think you were a charity case but apparently having all your fingers and teeth made you an outsider here. You needed to get out of this sun, you didn’t want these clothes to start stinking with sweat so soon. You were trying to keep them as clean as possible for as long as you could. 

You spotted the bar and decided to try your luck there. Maybe you could be a waitress or something. If they still had whores they had to at least have servers here. 

Right?

Maybe you were a fucking charity case. You shook off the thought and ducked inside. You were never going to get far on your own if you kept doubting yourself. You might be a bit naive to how this world works but you’re a fast learner, you’ll catch on soon enough. 

You still wished someone was here to help you. 

He sat down on a log, ripping a piece of meat off the skewer and sinking back into his seat. He ate his food and picked at his teeth, bored while he surveyed the damage he’d done to the camp. She wasn’t exactly a heavy conversationalist, but at least she was something. 

It was startling just how quiet and still the night felt without her sitting across the fire with him. He loathed to admit it, but her company had at least provided him with some entertainment if nothing else. Now everything felt too quiet, too lonely. 

He sighed and shook his head, this was stupid. Two hundred years he’s been on his own. A few nights with her wasn’t going to change who he was. It wasn’t going to fix him and magically turn him into her Prince Charming again. 

Unbidden he thought of her face when he’d grabbed her from those raiders in the old neighborhood. It’s the first time anyone’s ever looked relieved to see him since he’d changed. He’d had to pry her off of him and even then she seemed like she barely wanted to let him go. 

He hadn’t made anyone feel safe in a very long time and he worried a bit for her sanity if she thought he was trustworthy. He was only doing more harm trying to go after her. But something in him couldn’t let go. It was like the love you used to share had been warped alongside him. 

He didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting their hands on her. She was his to fuck with and torment, anyone else would push too much. He felt confident, despite tonight’s incident, that he knew how to poke her without going too far. 

Once he was full he shoved a freshly killed raider off their bedroll and settled down to sleep. He figured he’d have better luck recognizing where he was once the sun came up. 

The next morning he went through the raiders’ pockets and bags, lucky enough to find some Radaway among their junk. Maybe he was right, maybe she was a bad luck charm. Maybe he was being stupid last night, thinking about what they used to be. There’s no point in dwelling in the past, he can never go back to that and neither can she. 

Still, he could leave her alone. Give her a chance to make it on her own without him there to torment her. 

He considered it for about two seconds before he dismissed the thought. You’d both had a deal and she had rescinded on that deal. He didn’t take to kindly to people screwing him over, he’d just have to teach her not to fuck with him. 

He tossed his bag over his shoulder and made his way out of the raider’s camp. He had a better idea of where he was now. It wouldn’t be much further until he reached Filly and found her again. He was intent on making sure she stayed with him this time. 

He’d leash her if he had to. 

“There’s nothing I could do for a few caps?”

“I could think of something darlin’,” a man hollered at you from across the makeshift bar. The building was in pretty good shape, though the alcohol looked questionable. The owner seemed nice enough, a wrinkled old man whose hands shook too hard for him to pour a drink without spilling it. 

“Don’t need any help.” The old man muttered under his breath, tottering over to the other side of the room to pour another cup. He ended up knocking it into the man’s lap and cussing as the alcohol poured across the floor. 

“Right,” you muttered. You let your head fall in your hands, rubbing your face in frustration while you tried to think of what to do. You’d made a deal with yourself that if you couldn’t find work by the end of the day, you would sell your teeth. 

You were hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but with the way your stomach was rumbling and how everyone seemed to keep turning you away it was seeming more and more likely. You slumped over the bar, trying to think of a solution or another idea. 

You’d been propositioned by enough men to know you could make plenty of caps in the back alley behind the bar. But everytime you even remotely considered it, you felt yourself shrinking up. Your adrenaline would spike like you were readying yourself for a fight. 

You figured it would be a while before you could even safely consider that. “You seem a might rundown, hun.”

You didn’t bother lifting your head. You knew it was the man who’d been staring at you since you walked in. You could smell him even with your head down. You did your best to ignore him but he didn’t seem to take too kindly to that. 

“Hey,” he shoved at your shoulder and the impact was enough to force your head up. “Are you fucking deaf?”

”No,” you muttered through gritted teeth. Your hand hovered behind your back, itching for the gun tucked in your pants. “I’m not fucking interested.”

He lifted his hand and muttered, “Bitch,” a loud smack followed and echoed through the bar. Your head whipped to the side so hard you worried it might fly off. You clutched your cheek, spitting blood onto the wood of the counter. 

Your hand was already on your gun when you heard the sound of a hammer being pulled back. “Oh,” you turned, shocked to find Cooper standing behind the man. His gun was leveled with the man’s face and he shook his head in disappointment. “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

Men stood up from their tables and drew their guns, pointing all of them at Cooper. You’d seen the signs with the anti-ghoul symbols but you didn’t think they’d really follow through. Apparently it was the only law they obeyed around here. 

Cooper smiled as the men cocked their guns, eyes alight with a challenge. Then they landed on you and he frowned again. He raised his hands in surrender and tucked his gun back in his holster. He darted forward and grabbed you. He yanked you into his chest and you stumbled over your feet, scowling at him. He leaned next to your ear, gravelly voice sending chills down your back, “We’re leaving.”

He didn’t leave you much choice, dragging you despite the way you tried to fight against him. “The lady stays,” the man who’d hit you ordered. His friends took a step forward, blocking Cooper from the exit. He chuckled and glanced over at the man. 

“That was a mistake, friend.” Before you knew what was happening he was shoving you to the ground and shots were going off. Not willing to get shot again, you crawled on all fours towards the door. The sound of bullets whizzing over your head had you ducking every now and again, trying to protect yourself as much as you could. 

You could hear Cooper taunting them, and after every remark another body would hit the floor. You yelped and jumped back when one fell in front of you. A bullet embedded itself in the floor beside you, the wood splintering and exploding upward, just barely missing your face. 

You crawled over the dead bodies and threw yourself out the door, trying to outrun the sound of gunfire. But it was too late. The rest of Filly had heard the fight and those that were stupid enough to stay were starting to draw the fight out into the marketplace.

It was almost like a game, ducking under bullets and the spray of blood. Whatever Cooper was shooting them with was making them light up like the Fourth of July. By the time you’d managed to hide yourself behind a building, you looked like you’d been hosed down with blood. So much for keeping the clothes clean. 

Your head thudded against the side of the building and you clenched your eyes shut, breathing heavily through your open mouth. You could feel your heart pounding against your chest. But you didn’t feel like you were going to have a heart attack this time, maybe you were starting to adapt to all this. 

Feet scrambled across the sand and someone threw themselves down next to you. You tensed and opened your eyes, you didn’t relax much when you realized it was Cooper. He grinned at you and glanced over his shoulder, checking no one had seen him. 

The other’s didn’t seem to care that the man that had started the fight was no longer a part of it. You’re pretty sure they just needed an excuse to shoot each other. Cooper popped his gun open and reloaded the chamber. 

He glanced at your blood soaked form and scoffed, “You look like you’re doing well.”

You refused to look at him, “Yeah, no thanks to you.”

He didn’t take well to the way you were avoiding him. He darted forward, fingers digging into your chin and forcing you to look at him. “Sweetheart, who left who?”

You ripped your face out of his hand and glared at him. “Don’t try and pretend like you didn’t leave me a long time before I woke up. You wrote me off copper. You assumed the worst about me and you gave up.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something when a noise behind you interrupted him. He gave you a long look and got to his feet. “If you’re not here when I come back, I’ll shoot you. Understand me?”

You looked at him for a long moment, body tensed with rage before you nodded your head. “Understood.”

SERIES TAGLIST: @pixelatedprofilepic @o0mellowdramatic0o @bisasterbisexual @julianmarie @v3nix @coolrobloxkid28 @sunnexaltation @fiftyshadesofokay @ktdragonborn @ambivertdreamer @one-of-thewalkingdead @hellolettuce444 @ghcstvibess @qardasngan @foreverwing223 @leo4242564 @1-800shootmeplease @awkwardly-bucky @fallout-girl219 @the-faceless-bride @milk-ducts @dramaticpandabear @ladiadia @rockerchick05 @raviolisenpai @cupid-club @alastorsw1f3 @sarapaprikas-blog @sgt-barnesveins @weakling-grace

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[bahrtofane]

promises under the stars

It's strange. When kisses under stairwells and behind his parents house turns to no more than passing gazes. To hatred. But this is the life you live, the life you have chosen. So you live. You will live.

Jude x fem!reader

Word count - 6.3K+ (yikes !!)

Watch it - angst with minimal fluff. enjoy ?

p.s. - i took a few creative liberties with the time lines an what not so plz take it with a grain of salt and dont think too deeply about it thank u

you can read Judes pov here !

—-----

“Jude, “ you sigh. He doesn't look at you, he's afraid of what he’ll see and you know it.

It's a warm summer night, and you sit side by side on the bleachers of his training field. You waited for hours for him to be done, all for just a few moments together. In full honesty, you're not even supposed to be here, you've been threatened from both sides. And even family overseas have joined in. it's a mess. You think you told them you were off to the library, something like that. 

You pulled so many strings just to be let inside to watch training, likewise for Jude. But you're here, he's here. That's all that matters.

Only the lights on the field illuminate you, but you have memorized his face to need no light to see him. Your fingers grab into the seat under you, knuckles turning white. You're afraid. Oh so afraid. 

“Please,” you try again, soft and steady, patient. 

He finds the courage to face you, ripping himself from the doubt that surrounds him. 

You are what plants him to reality, keeps him steady. Your smile is enough to calm any worry, wave away any woe. He hates what he has to do. 

“You know this is the last time I’ll see you,” he mumbles. He can't keep risking things the way they are. There's so many eyes on you as it is. He won't put you into harm's way, even if it means parting ways to do so. He wrings his hands together. Breathe, he tries to remind himself. Breathe. 

You nod, swift and curt, “I know.” oh how you know. You've been dreading this day to come for a while now. And now that it's here, what can you do? 

He picks at the cuffs of his training jacket,“I told them I would marry you, but my agent said it would be unwise.”

“You would marry me?” you whisper, eyes wide. 

“A thousand times over. “ he finds your hand, gently lacing it together.

“I wish things were different.” a knot in your throat forms, and tears well in your eyes.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, gently bringing you snug against him as you sob. You will never understand why your families are so adamantly against you two all of the sudden. Your whole childhood was filled with teasing and jokes of marrying one another, giggles when you would be forced to stand in pictures, but now that it was to be true suddenly the jokes faded and anger took its place. 

He is good for you as you are good for him. Jude is a man like no other, patient, caring, kind, soft and easy to you yet firm to all else. He holds each door open, never forgets flowers, even when he's away. Surprises you with your favorite sweets, never misses a good night or good morning text. Buys you things you mentioned casually in a fleeting conversation, all because it comes from your lips. If you were to wish for the world he would buy it all, tied neatly and delivered to your window sill. 

He takes each burden off your mind with a smile, carries your things, sends a ride to any place you wish to be. (he's working on the actual license).

You fully expected your families to be static, jumping for joy and diving straight to wedding planning. Instead you were met with a brisk, “no.”

No? No to the man who has overtaken your heart and mind? No to the man who wishes to see your flourish and bloom in every regard, every aspect, every part of life? It's cruel in a way. You once used to grimace at the idea when you were younger, fake gagging and instead choosing to wrestle with him in the grass. And now you beg to be allowed to see him. 

To ban your union is one thing, but to see him at all brings too much weight on your heart. 

You fought every step of the way, every step until now. It gets to be too much at a certain point, when you have to watch your very move in fear of being caught, of being seen with him. When eyes wash over you with lips upturned in sneers and whispers soon following. 

The delicate facade you've built is beginning to crack at the seams. Soon there will be nothing left to keep you together. You fear going mad. 

So you choose to let him go.

Your phone buzzes, prying the two of you apart. Your heart leaps to your throat. Have you been found out ?

It's just a twitter notification. 

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. He rubs gentle circles on your knee. His hands are warm. Just like you remember, just like you dream of. In the gentle quiet of your room you close your eyes and wish for him. 

“We can't see each other but I want to keep in touch. I'll wait for you. If you'll wait for me.” he whispers.

You see the tears begin to roll down his cheeks. Ever thoughtful Jude, waiting for you to finish crying to allow himself to do so. 

“I'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. “ you nod, leaning on his shoulder. 

And you do just that. 

Youre forced apart when a teammate tells him to get going. 

He scowls, “hold on.”

The teammate, whose name alludes you, shrugs and jogs back inside.

You stand, watching him shake the tension out of his shoulders. 

“This is it then,” you mumble, lip quivering. 

“Yeah,” he takes your hands in his, “guess so.”

You bit your lip to stop any more cries. He unlatches a hand from yours, brining it to cup your face gently, wiping the streaks of dried treats left on your cheeks. 

“I love you,” he leans down, pressing a single kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” you nod, chasing his lips. He gives them to you. Soft and easy. You screw your eyes shut. Oh you're crying again. 

You part when you can no longer breathe, foreheads pressed together while your chests heave.

“My angel,” he sobs.

“Ill find a way back,” you kiss his cheek.

He nods, here,” shaking his training jacket off and putting it on you. 

Someone yells his name and he sighs. One last kiss to your forehead. 

You watch him sprint down the stands, giving you one last smile before disappearing in the tunnel. 

—--

Dortmund is kind to him, you watch as you flourish on the field, never missing a game. You know it's too much to go in person so you stay tucked into bed, laptop out and always always waiting for his name to be announced. Giddy as he looks at the camera. Some days you even convince yourself he's looking right at you.

He calls when he can, facetime you when he's at the facilities. Obnoxiously flexing to the camera while you laugh. You treasure these moments. The few minutes a day when the time difference allows for an overlap. Just enough to get you through to the next day. He always blows a kiss to the camera, and you alway catch it. No matter how cheesy. 

“I stubbed my toe.” he whines on the other end.

You laugh, “and whose fault is that.”

“Yours.” he decides. 

“Uh huh.” you shake your head fondly, raising a brow at your phone that sits on a window sill. Today you're at a cafe getting some work done. And he just finished dinner. 

“Think you'll be able to come to a game soon?” he asks, voice barely a whisper. 

You stop typing, frowning, “Jude…”

He shakes his head, “I'm sorry. I know. We can't.”

“Maybe in a year or so? Things should be cooled down by then.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, “they still giving you a hard time?”

You blow air through your nose, “hard time is an understatement, they've practically banned sports.” making light of the outrages situation helps you feel better some days. Jude joining in helps. He always helps. 

“So dramatic.” he tuts. 

You nod, “so dramatic.”

—--

The year comes and goes. The texts slow down till they are few and far inbetween. You can't blame him. You watch him dominate the field in each appearance, breaking records and showing the world what you've always known, showing just how special he is.

His following count skyrockets and he gets a blue check. You feel special to be one of the few he follows. No matter how silly. Even when he doesn't reply to you and posts on his story you try not to take it too hard (you let it get to your head on bad days.)

You wait for each reply patiently like a lifeline nonetheless, connecting the two of you together. You drop everything the moment his name flashes on the screen. You try to ease the butterflies that float and twist in your stomach, the jitters that make it hard to type out responses right. But you can't help it. 

He wins the German cup. And you get a call late into the night, bleary as you reach for your phone, groaning while you put it to your ear. Skipping over his face that illuminates the screen, smiling. Cheeks flush and eyes blown wide. 

He giggles, “hi.” 

“Hi,” you mumble back. 

He giggles again, “m in your ear.”

You squint, bringing the phone in front of you and getting your first good look of him of the night. 

“Hey Jude.”

“Hey love.” he sighs dreamily. 

You come to your senses soon enough, scooting to sit upright, pushing your pillows around getting comfortable. 

“Are you drunk?” You laugh. 

“Shhh…” he puts a finger to his lips, “secret.”

You raise a brow, “you’re not doing a very good job at keeping it that way.”

Bursts of laughter bubble from his lips. Swaying side to side while. He blinks, hard, mouth open while he stares.

“ ‘M fine.” He nods. Proud of himself. 

You frown, “Are you going to be okay? Are you alone?”

“Erlings with me. My best roommate.”

“Okay good. Be safe.” 

“You’re so pretty.” Is what he manages to get out. 

“Thank you. You should go to bed.” You smile. He’s sweet, no matter how drunk. 

“But I missed you.” He pouts, bottom lip quivering and for a second you think he’s about to cry. Instead he blows a kiss to you. Of course you catch it. 

“I missed you too. But it’s late, for both of us.” You lean against your pillow, blinking against the dark of your room. 

He hums, tapping his finger against his chin. “I won the cup.” He blurts. 

“I know love. I watched.”

His eyes go wide, “you watched me.”

You nod, “the whole game.”

He scrunches his nose, “wow.”

“You did amazing.”

“Wow.” He repeats.

You yawn, squinting against the time in the little corner of your phone. 

“Jude.”

“Hm?”

“Head to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

He sighs, shoulders sagging, “fine.”

“I love you. “

He perks right back up. “I love you. You. You.”

You give him a little kiss to the screen and he manages to fall back on his bed sighing happily. You hear erling come in and decide to hang up. You hope he manages to get out of his kit for the night. 

——

Things start to calm down on your end. It's almost like everyone's choosing to forget about the hell they've put you through. But you don't make a fuss, you are happy to have peace of mind, no matter how fleeting it may seem. It's just one step closer to being able to have him. Fully and wholly. 

He calls you early into the morning. He's sitting in his house, shirt off, smiling. 

“Uh oh. What's this about? “ 

He only smiles wider, bringing an ipad out of nowhere and showing it to you. 

You squint, “jude i can't see that. “

He huffs, “here,” picking up his phone and flipping the camera to where his ipad now sits on his lap. 

On the screen reads flight information, for about 2 weeks out, destination is to you. Your eyes go wide and you hear him chuckle on the other end. 

“No way. No way oh my god.” you all but squeal.

He flips the camera back around, “Can't wait to see you again,” he beams. 

“I missed you so much.” 

“Me too.” he mumbles, lips curling in a smile. 

——-

You greet him at the airport, flowers in hand. No you don’t care how cheesy it is. Even if you have to wait in the most obscure place, car parked and nerves rising. Playing with every button and switch on your dashboard, picking at every spec of dust you can reach. You got it detailed yesterday and you’re already nitpicking. 

You check and recheck your phone, picking at the petals of the flowers that rest in your passenger, until his contact illuminates your screen. 

You frantically answer, “hey.”

“TSA was being a bitch.” He groans. 

You chuckle, “that bad.”

“The worst. Where you at?”

You look around for signs, “arrivals, right next to the luggage cart return thing. It says door D5. “

“D5. Okay okay I’m coming.”

You hum, hanging up and drumming your hands on the wheel. 

He calls you again, “okay I’m walking out the door. Can you help me with the luggage?”

“Yeah-“ you unbuckle your seatbelt, putting your hazards on and stepping out of the car. You see him walk out the door and you almost drop your phone while rushing up to him. 

He lets go of his carry on, opening his arms and you slip right into them. 

“Hey,” he hums into your hair.

You laugh,“hey.” 

You unlatch far too soon for your liking out the sounds and rush of the airport pushes you to get him in your car and outta here. 

You grab his things, one carry on and one checked bag, clicking your keys and opening your trunk. He doesn’t let you do much else, lifting the suitcase and sliding it inside. Your little 4 door sedan manages to fit the checked bag in your truck. With not enough room for the carry in, it slides into your back seat. 

You close the door, patting the top of your car affectionately, “there. All good to go?”

He nods, opening the door to your passenger and gasping, “flowers?” Eyes going wide, eyebrows shooting in and looking at you. Lips parted. 

Oh yes. You forgot about those. “Haha. Yeah. Flowers.”

He picks them up gingerly, setting them into his lap as he gets into the seat. “Are these for me?”

You hop to the driver's side, buckling your seatbelt, “duh.” 

He giggles,”they’re sweet.”

“Smell them.” 

He does, putting his face in the petals, “woah.”

“Best flowers in town.” 

“Smells like. Fresh laundry.” He nods. 

“Laundry. You called my flowers laundry.” You sigh. 

He swats your arm, “it’s a compliment jeez. Just landed and you’re giving me a hard time.”

“Yeah yeah buckle up.” You flick his arm. 

The ride home is one filled with animated stories to catch up the time between you two. Completely oblivious to anything else as you drive with one hand, and the other plays with his fingers. 

You get to your little apartment, parking and getting his things out. Sliding your key card over the sensor and you guide him to the lobby. 

You roll over to the elevator and hit the button. Sniffling while it heads up. 

“Are you sick?” He narrows his eyes at you. 

“Nah.”

“Mkay.”

The elevator dings and you find your way to your little home, unlocking the door and motioning him inside. 

“Ta da!”

He snorts, “I’m excited.”

“You should be. Best house this side of the equator.”

He rolls his things inside, shaking his head, “so there’s better on the other side?”

You shrug, “there might be.”

He collapses on your couch the moment he sees it. Closing his eyes and sighing deeply. 

“Shoes off at the door Jude.” You slide yours off and set them next to your shoe rack. 

He groans, kicking them off and trudging back to set them next to yours. 

By the time you put his things in your room, he's out like a light, snoring softly. 

—--

You let him sleep, by the time he comes back to it it's dinner time. Groggy and cranky he pads over to your dining table, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes but reaching for you.

He finds you eventually, plating the last bit of food while he wraps his arms around you, leaning into your back. You stifle a laugh  while he mumbles something about you being mean. You only roll your eyes, unlatching his grip.

“Time to eat baby.”

He only purses his lips, leaning against yours. You give him what he wants. Pressing a gentle kiss and guiding him to his seat. A sleep Jude is a clingy one you've learned. 

He eats all you make, complimenting and praising you after every bite. 

“You're so good at this.” he sighs, taking a sip of his water. 

“Anything for my favorite boy.”

He preens at this, smiling wide.

He's only here for the next three days but you'll take anything you can get. 

——-

Jude worries for you. 

Even in the gentle lull of your ac that fans his face while you're fast asleep against him.

He wonders who much longer he can keep doing this. Holding onto hope that down the line he will still have you.

His time is running out with you. It feels just like the day you parted at the stadium. Crying. He noticed you kept the jacket, neatly tucked in your closet.

It makes him frown. Making you waste your youth waiting for him. 

Part of him wants to keep you for him and only him. Keep waiting and hoping things will work out. Another part of him, much less excited, wishes for you to look him in the eye and tell him you don't love him anymore.

One of you has to do it, he thinks. 

Even if you move in with him and you get married. Is it worth the fall out? His mother hates you. His father cant stand hearing your name at the dinner table on the few days they eat together.

He knows the sentiment is shared on your end.

But he loves you. Oh how he loves you. 

—--

After he leaves you don't hear from him for months on end your worry rises, and when the replies also shorten, your fear takes a hold of you. Sensibility out the window and in comes every insecure thought. 

He's found a hot shot model to be with hasn't he. Or better yet a female player. Reporter perhaps? You're not dumb or blind, you know you're not the only one who sees how handsome he is. He's growing into his features beautifully. But does he see you?

Is he leaving you behind now, as his life and career continue to accelerate at speeds you can barely keep up with, is he no longer waiting for you ?

—--

Jude finds his routine once again. Training playing, training playing. It's a little dull, he thinks.

Much better if you would be here. 

But he can't have that. 

He stops himself from talking to you. It feels wrong. He can't shake off the feeling that he's only doing you wrong by making you keep up with him. So he slowly distances himself. 

—--

He cant stay away. Not even if he tries. 

He surprises you near your birthday. Completely unannounced while you're in the middle of cleaning. 

You open the door to a jittery Jude who grabs you close, pressing his lips firm to yours.

“Hello to you too,” you giggle in between kisses. 

Peck! “You're so-” peck!, “beautiful.”

You shoo him away, getting his things inside as he takes his shoes off at the door. 

“I missed you so much, “ he mumbles against the crook of your neck.

“Me too,” you sigh, clutching into his hands like a lifeline. 

“I got you tickets?”

You look up at him, “okay. Ill go.”

He attacks you with a hundred more kisses, bursts of laughter spilling from the both of you. You dont think youve ever been happier. 

—--

You do go. Sitting in the fancy VIP section while watching him warm up. You almost forgot he’s at Madrid now. Big leagues huh. 

He sends small waves your way in between exercises. And you only watch fondly.

When it's time for the actual match, you can't believe you get to watch him score. And he points right to you. 

You love him. Oh how you love him.

He finds you after it's all set and done. Kissing you silly while he ignores the hundreds of notifications that make his phone buzz and sputter on the table.

You frown, “who is that.”

He chews his lip, “prolly just the guys,” leaning back into your lips.

You're forced to part ways when the calls flood in, promising to see you soon when he takes care of things.

He doesn't come back to see you, instead leaving you to head back to your hotel alone. You try not to think too deeply into it. But you fear you are already starting to lose him. After everything really has passed and fizzled out to nothing but memories. You fear it's all too late. 

—--

You see him only once more during your stay in madrid. When youre all packed and leaving. He presses kisses to your skin whispering promises. And you believe him.

When you land back home you go back to your routine of watching him from afar. And again the replies shorten. So much so you only get the odd text every few weeks. Until it turns to months. And you're back to radio silence. 

It's almost a self pity party, trying to keep up with him. Even now that you can go see him, he can come see you, does he even want that anymore?

You crave to talk to him, to know him, to go back to the closeness you once shared. You know that's no longer your place in his life. You were someone he once treasured. Now you're another unanswered dm that lays in his inbox. 

Does it hurt you as much as it does him? You don't think so. Not when pictures of him on vacation with his “friends” surface. Who even are these people? You don't recognize a single face. It fills you with rage.

Almost like he's trying to erase his past life with this new squeaky clean image of the perfect player with the perfect life. Friends and all. 

Is he ashamed of you?

You fight the urge to call his mom and stir up trouble from the past. So instead you hunker down in your room and try to keep yourself busy and mind off of Jude. This turns out to be much easier said than done. 

—--

Jude finds himself in another after party, wearing clothes much too expensive to be getting champagne sprayed all over them. But what else can he do?

He crafted this image delicately. Can't turn back now. 

There's a woman who keeps whispering into his ear. She's not you. No matter how much his teammates howl and egg him on. He can't bring himself to do so much as face her.

He's not interested, gently moving her aside while he nurses his drink. 

She scoffs, calling him a slew of names. He frowns, excusing himself and making a beeline for the bathrooms. Locking himself inside a stall and leaning on its walls. 

He calls you. Of course he does. And you pick up.

“Hey Jude.” he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Hey love.”

“What's up?” 

He sighs, long and drawn out, “I just miss you.”

You snort, “really because it seems like you've been having a blast on beaches with people i've never heard of.”

Oh.

“It's not like that-”

“Jude. don't lie to me. If you've found someone else, tell me now.”

“I havent I swear. They really are just friends.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were going?” you whisper.

There's a beat of silence. And Jude can't find the answer. Looking at the ceiling of the club like it will magically come to life and give him just the right combination of words to make both of you happy. 

You sigh, “if we are going to make anything work I can't be out of the loop this much Jude. I can't know things after paparazzi do okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, meek. 

“Where even are you?” 

He licks his lips, “this after party thing.”

“Its in a club isn't it.”

He doesn't answer but it's confirmation nonetheless.

“Dont be stupid and start calling me more.”

He opens his mouth to answer, but you've already hung up. He rubs his eyes and head out the stall. Washing his hands and splashing some water on his face.

When he gets back out there, he decides to call it a night. Ignoring the groans and frowns he gets.

When he's back in bed. He's looking at flights to see you again. 

—--

Jude gets a call a few weeks later. 

It's right after he gets back from training. Hasn't even changed yet. 

The number is unknown and he ignores it the first time. Setting his phone on the dinning table and kicking his shoes off. 

When it calls back two more times he picks up. 

“Hello?” he scratches the back of his head. 

“You know why im calling.” its your father. 

Jude scrambles to take a seat, chewing his lips. What does he mean know why. He hasn't talked to you in a few days. 

“Um, I really don't know-” he gets cut off.

“This will be my last warning to you. You are not going to ruin my daughter's life i dont give a damn how old you are, how old she is. None of this player nonsense. She has a proper education. You aren't going to ruin that for her, do you understand?”

Silence. 

“I swear if I hear you coming around her or talking to her I will sue you and your whole family.”

The line goes dead and Jude sighs. Great. Just great. 

He calls his lawyer, seeing if it would be legal to sue. 

His lawyer hums, “well they can come at you from any angle really. Emotional distress possible defamation. Id lay low for now.”

So he does just that. Yet again going silent on you.

—--

He hears wind that people have put two and two together. Your instagram has been flooded with requests. You've always had it private but you've been forced to change your user name and picture.

You don't know how but pictures from when you saw him in Madrid have resurfaced. 

And have gone more than just viral. It's all people are talking about. 

Your work life has gone from just pleasantries and work only talk to people crowding around you begging to know more. You've had people show up to your workplace for god's sake. Begging to be let in so they can see you. 

Jude calls you, worried. “I'm so sorry I don't know how pics were even taken. I'm so sorry im so sorry.”

“I don't know what to do Jude i've never dealt with this kinda stuff.” you mumble.

“Hey, hey its okay. Ill get you in contact with a security company dont worry leave it to me.”

“Okay.”

“For now. I dont think ill be able to see you anytime soon.”

“Thats okay.”

“Be safe yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—--

Your family is in a complete uproar. They blame Jude. of course they do. Your father talks about suing him but you turn it down. 

“He didnt mean for this to happen.”

Your mother shakes her head, “this is why we told you to stay away from him.”

You dont regret any moments with him. 

It takes a while. A grueling few months for your life to finally go back to normal. But Jude rarely comes back like before.

You watch the months turn to years flashing by. Facetimes become a luxury of your past self. Calls are reserved for special occasions like an aged wine. Only brought out sparelily. You get one on your birthday but it feels forced. Heavy and filled with all too much silence. 

You've tried calling, texting. Rarely receiving the time of day. Who is Jude to you anymore? 

“Hey, “ he smiles. A picture perfect rehearsed one. You almost forgot what he sounded like when speaking to you. How long has it been now?

“Hi.” You mumble. 

“Happy birthday. Sorry I couldn’t be there.” 

You shrug, “it’s okay.”

Silence while you pick your nails. 

“Any plans?”

“I don’t know, maybe dinner with friends.”

“Oh Emily?”

You want to roll your eyes. You haven’t spoken to Emily in years.

“No Jude. We’re not in touch anymore. New friends I’ve met”

He mouths a silent “oh”. 

He wants to tell you why he's been gone for so long. But unfortunately he's caught up in a legal battle. Your father actually went ahead with it. And he's stuck trying to make sense of it.

The maniac got good lawyers. And he's using every last bit of the law to win it. Using the leaked pictures that caused you so much trouble as his main leverage. 

He's been advised not to talk to you. But it's your birthday. And now seeing you moved on, new friends, new life. It feels like it's time to let go. 

For your sake. He's only brought problems into your life. And you live a life now without him. He just hopes you're happy. 

—--

You see him once, passing by through the city center. You want to run after him, grab his shoulders and shake him awake, scream and yell, beg for him to remember your promise. But you do none of that. The second your gaze meets his, your heart leaps to your throat, you blink and he's gone.

You get a text from him a few days later, first since your birthday. 

Was nice seeing you.

You want to cry. What did he see? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It wasn't nice. Not at all. It was awful. It ripped any piece of sense out of you and made you sick. 

You dont reply. 

—--

You wish you had. He gets called to the national team, and suddenly your family begins to boast of your connection to him. And that's just it. Your connection. Not theirs. Yours. You know him, you love him. Or you knew him. 

After so many years of cursing his name now they all but sing it. 

The local community is hosting watch parties, you refuse to go. 

You know the gossip around you as is. You don't need it said to your face. These people are unforgiving on their best days, cruel on their worst. More so the older generation who seems to hold not an ounce of basic human decency. 

And somehow you find yourself in a room painted in blue and white, you look away at the stares you get when you walk in. You're regretting coming at all.  You're wearing a blank jersey you've had for a while, slumped in the corner of the room, watching. Waiting for the comments to pour in sooner or later. 

But they don't, not for now. Instead, the room erupts with cheers and applause as Jude scores a goal, you smile. Not bad for a midfielder huh. The air is electric with excitement, but you feel detached, as if you're watching the scene unfold from a distance, picking at the plate of sweets that rests on your knee. 

As the game progresses, you can't help but steal glances at Jude on the screen. He looks different now, more confident, more assured. He's cut his hair, clean and precise. And yet, there's a sadness in his eyes that mirrors your own.

You wonder if he thinks of you, if he remembers the promise he made all those years ago. Has it really been years? But the thought is fleeting, lost amidst the chaos of the crowd and the weight of your own heartache. And soon I have a headache. 

When the final whistle blows and England emerges victorious, the room erupts into celebration once again. But you slip out quietly, unnoticed, lost in your own thoughts.

Outside, the night air is cool against your skin as you make your way home. You're not waiting on anyone, and it's a short walk away. The streets are quiet, the sounds of celebration fading into the distance.

You pause for a moment, taking in the stillness of the night. And in that moment, you make a decision.

You may not have chased after him when you had the chance, but you refuse to let this be the end of your story. You refuse to let fear and doubt hold you back any longer. There is no use to let yourself be defined by what ifs. 

With a determined step, you pull out your phone and type out a message to Jude.

Watched you play tonight. I'm proud of you.

It's a small gesture, but it's a start. And as you hit send, you feel a glimmer of hope stir within you.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn't goodbye after all. Maybe there's still a chance for the two of you to find your way back to each other, to rewrite the ending of your story.

But for now, all you can do is wait. Wait for his reply, wait for the future to unfold, and wait for the day when you can finally be together again, without fear or hesitation. In a way he'll always be your Jude. 

——

News reaches you in the form of an instagram post on a summer day.  Not family, not friends, not him. It’s your explore page that plasters it on your screen, in the middle of your morning routine you see him all tidied up in a suit, facing away from the camera, the side of his face illuminated by soft light. Next to his side is a woman in white, you only see a peek of her face but you call tell shes smiling. 

“Just married.”

Married. Just. Married. 

Oh. 

You don't register it at first, the words looking more like a foreign language than any coherent sentence. So you finish brushing your teeth and your hair. Moisturizing your face, slipping back into bed and rereading it over and over and over again till it finally does click for you.

He gave up on waiting.

You keep going back to the picture. He's grown into a proper man now. His features are full and bright. He's gotten a different haircut. Leaving behind the one of his youth. You read through the comments of teammates and old friends congratulating him. 

You realize the tie he's wearing is the one his dad got him when he first left for dortmund. You think you're gonna be sick. 

No one bothers to ask why you've been crying all day. It's safe to assume everyone knows by now, hell the whole population probably does. 

What changed his mind? What made it that he couldn't even bother to let you know beforehand?

And yet there's a stupid prick of hope that can't seem to go away. You're still waiting for him aren't you. 

—--

As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, the reality of his marriage settles heavily on your shoulders. You can't help but wonder if he thinks of you, if he remembers the promises made under the stars, if he regrets the choice he made. But you push those thoughts aside, burying them deep within you, because what good would they do?

A sick twisted idea of wrecking his home blooms in your mind, but you know you can't. You just can't. Not to him. You can't take away something like this from him. 

Life goes on, as it always does, but the ache in your chest remains, a constant reminder of what could have been. You try to distract yourself with work, with friends, with anything that will keep your mind from wandering back to him. Yet, he's always there, lingering in the back of your thoughts like stardust. 

You hear snippets of his life through mutual acquaintances, through social media posts, through the grapevine of gossip that always seems to find its way to you. He's thriving, it seems, his career reaching new heights, his personal life seemingly content. Apparently he has a kid on the way, would you look at that. And you can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. To top it all off you still have no clue on who this woman is. Not who she is, what she does, where she's from. Absolutely nothing, it drives you mad to say the least. 

He hasn't spoken to you. Not since that day in the city center. 

Maybe if you would have known all that was to come you would've gone after him. Chasing him endlessly through cobblestone stress and crowded walkways. Would he have even stopped? Given you a moment of his day?

The same man who spent his days off in your apartment kissing your worries away and promising you a tomorrow you still cling to. 

You're a foolish foolish woman. And for some reason, you don't hate him. You don't think you ever could. Even after everything, every single year that's passed. A part of you will always love him. 

—--

[owls-longings]

Yandere!Jiaoqiu: Short Drabbles and headcanons

Warning: Dark content, Yandere, Force-Feeding, Drug Use, Non-Con, Kidnapping, Forced Marriages, Very unhealthy romantic relationships and power dynamics

(Written before 2.5)

Some short drabbles about Jiaoqiu that I wrote a while back- before it was kept in my vault of a head for a long time LMAO. Feel free to let me know what you think!

Yandere!Jiaoqiu who loves force feeding you his cooking.

He practically shovels spoonful after spoonful of his food down your throat, even managing to hit the back of your throat with it.

You can only cough and splutter, but all it does is give him more openings to shove another spoonful in.

By the end of each feeding session, you're just wretching and sobbing.

It burns-- it hurts-- yet, despite your incessant sobbing, Jiaoqiu merely looks into your teary eyes with a cold smile.

"You know- I wouldn't have to do this, if you would just behave and eat your meals." He says as he picks up the cutlery and empty bowl; walking out and leaving you writhing on the floor.

Yandere Jiaoqiu who keeps you drugged all the time while he's away

You don't even get the luxury of relishing the time away from him. You wake up, then get drugged out of your mind for several hours.

By the time the drug wears off-- he's already come home, and then it's all about spending time with him until it's time for you to sleep again.

Rinse and repeat. Again. And again. And again.

You find that you dream a lot in these drugged out states. You dream of being as far away from him as possible.

You dream of your home, your family, and your friends.

But it scares you that as days, weeks and months go by, the faces of your loved ones in your dreams; your only solace in your shitty living arrangements with Jiaoqiu, are growing increasingly blurred with each passing dream.

Yandere!Jiaoqiu who uses your family as leverage to strike a one-sided deal

You beg the Foxian to let you go see your family-- even just once. You bargain and plead, promising him that he can accompany you, and you wouldn't run away anymore. Just please, let you see them again.

"Please, I'll do anything-- I just need to see them one more time--"

You should have known you were practically making a deal with a demon as he smiled at your helpless plea; how he had so eagerly agreed to make the arrangements.

The next time you see your family, they're crying and congratulating you on your wedding with Jiaoqiu.

Singing him lavish praises of how your marriage to him has helped them so much. Didn't you know? Jiaoqiu has been providing them with a seemingly endless supply of credits and helping with medication you could only dream of affording with your previous, meager paycheck.

Your parents are practically sobbing tears of joy as they talk about how they can finally afford to send your brothers to a prestigious school.

And as they cry and thank Jiaoqiu profusely, you can feel despair creeping up on you as you realize this man has your entire family wrapped around his finger.

"If you want them to stay happy; you'll have to behave more from now on, no?"

He practically whispers into your ear with a chuckle.

[repulsiveliquidation]

without you || Ona Batlle

warnings : angst w/ happy ending, i promise. mentions of illness and death. based on the poem above. enjoy :)

last night you were in my dreams

looked me in the eye

god

it felt so real

her side of the bed’s empty. there’s no note left for you in her pretty writing. her car is gone from its place next to yours in the driveway. her pillow smells so much like her, it’s almost like she’s still here. the tears. you hate the tears. they fall without your permission. they wet your pillow, “I’m sorry,” you whisper, the lump in your throat made it hard to swallow.

you roll over to her side of the bed, the cold sheets solidify your loneliness. Ona’s gone. she left this morning, bags seemingly packed for such a long time that there was a little dust bunny at the back of the closet from where she hid the duffle bags.

the sun shines into your room just a little, the window left open from the night before. you had shared a glass of wine there, laughing so loud that the old man who lived across from you yelled for you two to go to bed. his wife scolded him and apologized for his behavior, blowing you a kiss and a promise of fresh pastries she would send you the next morning.

you opened the front door and there they were, neatly packed in a little basket. they were Miguelitos, Ona’s favorite. tears filled your eyes again, picking up the pretty basket with an unsteady hand. the old lady calls from across the road and you force a smile, voice breaking when you yell a thank you in a terrible attempt at Spanish. she smiles and nods anyway, watching as you tread back into the house and she sees you wiping a tear away.

they’re still warm so you leave them on the kitchen uncovered. you call Jonatan and tell him you feel like, faking a sniffle that he doesn’t buy but he gives you the day off anyway. suspiciously, Ona calls him not three minutes later with the same excuse. normally you’d call and tell him you were both under the weather but separate calls raise flags in his mind.

you crawl back into bed and begin to sob, hot tears staining your cheeks and pillow. you pull her pillow close to your chest and try to calm yourself, knowing it was no use when all you wanted was your girlfriend to hold you close and tell you everything was going to be alright.

she had done this two times before. Ona was a perfectionist, a master of her craft. every pass, tackle, dribble, and kick had to be perfect. one loose ball that was her fault meant another hour on the pitch perfecting the pass till her toes hurt from kicking the ball. the first time you had to physically throw her over your shoulder and drag her home, having a strict conversation with Alexia as she cleaned up. you made her promise to take her health seriously or Alexia would wait for the green light from you to be benched until she bucked up.

the message got to her head for about six months until a badly timed tackle earned her a second yellow of the game and the send-off. she ran off the pitch in anger, lashing out at Vicky who was comforting her as she walked off. you were on the bench with a little ankle sprain and waddled after her with Alexia, Mapi, and Pina in tow. you were ready to give her an earful when you heard muffled sobbing in the changing room. you told the others you would handle it and they backed off, faces full of concern for their friend.

“Ona?” you called, walking into the room slowly. she wiped her tears away, trying to look like she wasn’t crying. she refused to raise her head, eyes fixed on her muddy cleats.

“Amor, it’s just me,” you comfort, sitting beside her and rubbing her back. she flinches but leans into your shoulder, crying into your pressed shirt. you rock her a little and let her cry it out, gripping your coat tight as she shook in your arms.

“shh, it was just badly timed princesa. it happens.”

“I’ve let the team down, they need me…” she cried harder, snot running down her face. you reach into your pocket and pull out some tissues, reminding yourself to ask the girls which one of them stuffed it into your pocket. you wipe her face and kiss her nose.

“the girls are fine, we’re five goals up with ten minutes to go. we’ve got this game in the bag.”

“but the next games…”

“should give you a chance to rest and regroup. you’ve been working yourself to the bone again.”

“I’ve been sloppy at training, I can’t afford to make mistakes!” she yelled standing up and storming into the showers.

you lean back and decide to give her some space to breathe, hearing the loud chattering of girls high off another win and a clean sheet. you smile and congratulate them, not wanting them to worry about their teammate. Ona comes out from the showers second to last, hair wet and cheek rosy from the hot water. you sit in her cubby patiently waiting and she kisses you.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she apologizes, fiddling with her fingers. you nod and smile at her, standing up gingerly since your legs have gone numb. she changes and you notice that she’s got one of your ratty t-shirts on and your training sweats. you shake your head and walk out the door, yelling that you’d have the car warmed up for in the front in five.

she scrambles into the car and relaxes into the seat, muscles visibly melting into the warm upholstery. you drive leisurely back home, the Barcelona sunset to your left. Ona snores in the passenger seat softly, not even waking up when the scent of the Chinese takeout you pick up fills the car.

she rouses when you park in front of your house, feeling the familiar cobblestone that you have to drive over just before bringing the car into park. she smacks her lips and feels your lips press a soft kiss on her cheek.

“We’re home, my love.”

she smiles and stretches her arms, climbing out of the car sleepily. you’ve brought all the bags into the house, already cleaning out her kit bag. she rummages through the bags of food and smiles when she smells her favorite. maybe taking a break wasn’t such a bad idea.

it was as if you were here again

deep down inside me feel

Ona locks herself in her room. the sheets feel foreign, itching her skin. you always had the softest sheets, catering to her sensitive skin. the bonus was that they always smelled like you and she made sure to take deep breaths when you changed the sheets every week.

the room smelled stale too. an expected circumstance since she was rarely over here anyway. your house was closer to the pitch and she already had half the closet to herself, why make the trip every time?

there was a knock on the door about twenty minutes after she got home. she knew it was Aitana with a billion questions but all she wanted was to be alone. really she wanted to be with you but she’d fucked that up. she didn’t even know why she ran, the pressure of performing was becoming too much and she didn’t want to be a burden. she couldn’t bear to see that look of disappointment she saw glimmer over your face when she got her first red card with Barça.

the banging on her bedroom door was what woke her up hours later. Aitana mentioned breakfast in the oven and coffee in the coffee pot before the front door slammed shut. she checked her phone and there was radio silence, half hoping that you had left an angry voicemail telling her to come home. instead, she was met with her wallpaper of you holding Coco over the summer at her parent’s house.  

tears pool in her eyes as she scrolls through her camera roll, swiping through all the silly photos you made her take that night. she threw her phone on the bed and screamed into the mattress, hoping deep down inside she was braver in another lifetime.

and when the light came to wake me,

and you slowly starting to fade away,

my soul was longing for you to take me,

Ona walked onto the pitch three days later, heart aching to see you. she stepped onto the pitch and spotted you talking to the girls, Ingrid slapping you on the back laughing at a joke Mapi told the group. she decides to avoid you, too cowardly to face the music. you notice her and smile but she turns away quickly, busying herself with her laces. you decide to try and corner her at the end of practice you do, needing the help of the girls to keep her from running to her car the moment Jonatan blows his whistle.

“why did you run away like that, Oni?” you ask her quietly, the rest of the team filtering out when Alexia begins to shepherd them outside.

“it’s none of your business,” she growls, tears flowing down her cheeks as she packs her kit bag. you grab her shoulder and she turns around with anger seething in her eyes. you’ve never seen hatred in her eyes before, it was unlike her; unlike your cheerful, noisy, playful but shy girlfriend.

“Ona? what’s gotten into you?” you ask, feeling tired of all the secrets she’s been harboring. for weeks you’ve been concerned about her odd behavior. she’s been making frequent visits to the medics, getting off practice earlier and staying longer sometimes, random trips to the ‘store’ for hours on end. you thought that she was planning something since your anniversary was coming up and she liked to make a big thing about it but when she left that morning it hit you that she was probably preparing to leave. this time though, it was for good.

it's her third round of dialysis this week. Ona sat in the lumpy chair of her dialysis center when her doctor walks in.

“how does it look, doctor?”

“it’s fourth-stage renal failure, Ona. you need a transplant or else you’re never playing football again. frankly, I don’t know how you’ve kept playing this long.”

“Jonatan knows.”

“I see,” he says and sits. “does your girlfriend know?”

“she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

“did you decide that for her, or did she have any say?”

Ona looks up at him in shock. she tries not to jostle the machine as she sits up.

“How did you know?”

“you looked like you didn’t want to believe it when you said it.”

“she deserves better than,” she gestures to the machine, “this.”

“she deserves you,” he says and stands. as he walks away and Ona is about to cry, he turns and clears his throat. “she’s donated blood here before, she’s a perfect donor match.”

Ona tries to cry into her palm quietly, the weight of her decision bearing down on her shoulders.

but instead,

i must live without you,

for another day.

you wake up feeling groggy, and the sound of steady heartbeats fills the room. there’s another heartbeat that deep down sounds familiar and it puts a smile on your face.

a chilling call from Jonatan put you in this hospital bed. he explained that Ona needed a transplant and that you were a perfect match. you cried in his office, body shaking with anger at yourself more than at Ona. you knew that it ran in her family and that her age was when the onset was. the extra visits to the doctor and ‘shop’ trips all made sense now. you punched a wall on your way out dramatically, crying like a baby all the way home. you barged into her house, Aitana following behind you like a puppy.

“so you were just going to run and wait for you to die?” you yelled at her, body shaking in fury. she just stared at her fingers, fiddling with the end of the throw blanket in her lap.

“answer me!”

“you don’t deserve this!” she screamed back, tears running down her face. “you don’t deserve someone who is dying to be your girlfriend!”

tears flood down your cheeks and you hear her door click closed, Aitana in front of it.

“you had no right to decide that for me, Oni!”

“I couldn’t put you through this. if I don’t get a kidney soon, first it’ll be football then it’ll be me!”

“I know I’m a match.”

her head whips up to look at you so fast, you’re sure she’s gone and given herself another ailment.

“no.”

“I’m a perfect match, Onita.”

“I could never ask you to do that!”

“you’re not asking if I’ve already asked them to make sure it goes to you.”  

“Bebé, I–”

“no, you would do the same for me. I love you too much to see you like this,” you kneel in front of her as she sits on the bed, feeling overwhelmed. “Please, Oni,” you beg with your head in her lap, “Please let me help you.”

Ona wakes up and looks over at you, sighing in relief that the surgery was a success. the nurses have pushed your beds close enough together that you stretch your arm out and she does the same, fingers laced together with an unspoken promise to face every challenge that comes your way the only way you knew was right; together.

[stormhearty]

Pairings: Former Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Triggers: nightmares, mentions of blood, death, depression

Summary: It has been several years since your death and your tenth death anniversary is coming up once more. It had, and always will be, a difficult time for the Inner Circle — the regret and remorse evident in the River House. Even though it had been a decade, the evidence of the loss of your light still echoed heavily throughout Pyrthian. Here are how the Inner Circle copes and mourns during the death anniversary.

Note: From this request! Thank you for sending this request and for loving Pushed to the Edge! I do hope this is a bit of extra angst for the ending. It's mostly in Azriel and a bit of Rhysand's POV. We all know that Feyre mourns often the reader's death (since she goes to Day Court during the burial), so I thought it would be good just to mostly focus on Azriel's and a bit of Rhysand's. Also, the meanings of the flowers I placed in the description for Helion’s ceremony for the reader’s death:

Calla - beauty Cattail - peace White Heather - protection Purple Hyacinths - sorrow Ivy - affection White Poppies - Consolation, eternal sleep Tea and dark crimson roses - Mourning and I’ll always remember Sweetpea & Cyclamen - Goodbye, departure Amaryllis - Pride Pink Carnations - I’ll never forget you Iris - Your friendship means so much to me

I hope you all enjoy!

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

His hands shook as they dripped in blood, warm and sticky. Hazel hues followed the trail of blood to a familiar body.

A cry of grief escaped his lips as he crawled over to your body, Truth-Teller piercing through your chest. Your body was unmoving from its prone position. Azriel gently cradled your body in his arms, tears blurring his vision as he looked at your features — one that was etched with so much pain that his heart ached at the sight of it.

“I’m so sorry, my love… I… I’m sorry that I abandoned you, I’m sorry for my infidelity towards you… I’m sorry that I killed you. I’m just… so sorry…” He was sorry for many things. There were too many things he could apologize for but none of them he could whisper to you to bring you back to him. He would have to pay for his transgressions for the rest of his immortal life — the Gods would never give him another chance with her; the Gods would never gift him with another mate as amazing as her.

He was about to press another kiss against your forehead only to watch shadows, his shadows, rise from the ground and slowly start to wrap around your body.

Azriel growled at them, “Leave us alone, leave her with me.. that's all I ask. Don't you fucking dare take her…!”

They didn't listen to him as tendrils of darkness fully wrapped your body before taking your body in whips of shadow. He tried to grab your body before it disappeared but failed.

“No…!!!”

Azriel woke up with a start, chest heaving as he painted, his hand stretched out as if to grab something — your body — from the shadows. His body wracked with a strong shiver, before he slumped against the headboard, a groan escaping his chest as he ran his hand over his face.

Another nightmare.

Every night, for the last decade, he would dream of you — in all different scenarios — ones he would have you in his arms, in bed, sweet and gentle moments; others ( and most of the time ) it was your death, feeling the echo of the mating bond resonate in his chest, watching your body die in his arms, or even watching himself stab you through your heart.

Ever since that fateful day, he has not gotten a decent night’s sleep. Dark circles stained underneath his hazel eyes and those hazel eyes, that used to shine for you, have dullened. Very little things had made him brighten up nowadays — probably the only thing was the birth of his nephew, Nyx. And Nyx has been the only thing that has kept him surviving all these years — along with living with the guilt and pain of your death.

Azriel let out a muffled sob, pressing a hand against his lips as he allowed the nightmare to pass wracks of shivers through his body. Hazel hues shifting from his sweat-stained bed to the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the glow of the full moon beaming down into his room.

He knew he wasn't going to get another wink of sleep tonight. Slipping out of bed, bare feet pressing against the cool wooden floors, he slipped on a simple black tee and sweatpants before stepping out of his room, and down the spiral staircase to the massive garden of the River House.

Azriel usually avoided the gardens, knowing that Elain would be there tending to them.

Their relationship was non-existent at this point. After your death, he cut off all contact and interactions with her, feeling disgusted with himself with even just the sight of her.

For the first couple of months, Elain tried to rebuild her relationship with the Inner Circle; however, after her lies were exposed, it had been a tough road. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel had ignored her, to the point that Rhysand had ordered Elain to live in the old Townhouse to give comfort to the rest of the family. She would only come to the River House when Feyre would ask her to help tend the gardens. Otherwise, even the Archeron sisters had little contact with the middle sister.

Azriel’s feet led him to a familiar part of the gardens, the only place he would go to that would calm the echo of the empty mating bond in his chest.

After your burial, Feyre sent the image of the statue that Helion had created in your making to the Inner Circle. And in honor of you, Rhysand made one as well — a statue of you, but in Night Court fashion — the opposite of your image in Day Court. Wearing a dark blue dress, one covered with stars, with a moon circlet on your head.

Azriel basked in the statue’s liking to you, seeing the moon’s light radiate behind the statue like a halo made him smile — just a tiny bit. He shifted, sitting down on the bench that was in front of the statue. He leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto his thighs.

“…Hi my love…” he whispered as he looked up at the statue, “Another nightmare… brings me to you.”

A sigh escaped his lips as he felt tears prick the edge of his eyes, and he blinked to fight them away. He has fought so many tears every night, that Azriel felt like his whole body had dried up with how many tears he had shed since your death. He knows he shouldn’t complain, that his grief was evidence that he deserved all the things he had done to you. We all will continue to live with our betrayal. Live and regret, as Rhysand and Cassian told him that day.

Staring back up at the statue, his eyes glanced up at the twinkling stars above Valeris and muttered the singular wish, a wish he had wished for every year, “I hope that at Starfall I will see your light twinkling in the skies above, where you will streak across that beautiful night sky, finding your peace…”

After sitting in front of that statue for several hours, he decided to fly up to the House of Wind to the training balcony and train there. He forgone his black shirt and focused on his training, using every ounce of pain and grieving to train. He stayed up there, time passing quickly until he felt the claws of his brother scrape down his mental shields. Azriel sighed and looked up at the bright blue sky, not even noticing how the day had become midday, the hot sun beating down against his sweaty skin.

“…Azriel…” a light, airy voice called his name.

He let out an animalistic growl before he grabbed his shirt from the chair he had flung it onto, slipping it on his form before spreading his wings to fly. He heard the quickened steps, seeing Elain in his peripherals, the middle Archeron’s sister’s eyes begging at him to look at her.

“…Stay away from me, Elain… I swear to the Gods, if you try to look for me again, I’ll have my High Lord and High Lady dump you on the borders of the human realm to leave you to their discretion…”

Elain frowned at him, stepping into his view, “You cannot put all the blame on me. I have tried to win you and my family’s graces back… I don’t know what I can do to get on your good graces again…”

Azriel glared at the Made-Fae, “… No, I cannot put all the blame on you, I blame mostly myself on falling for you. I never realized why I had after being mated to (Y/N) for nearly fifty years… I could have had my forever with her… And yet, my blind infatuation with you cost us that. I don’t want to do anything with you, as my way to repent… my way to live and regret for the rest of my immortal life without her…”

With one last glare, and without letting the Made-Fae say anything else, Azriel shot off into the mid-day sky, waving through the cool air of Valeris and back to the River House. He landed on the balcony and entered, walking into the large dining room where his family was situated. He noticed the solemn air that coated the room as he sat down in his usual spot, next to Mor and across from Cassian. Hazel eyes wandered the table and noticed the absence of his High Lady.

Rhysand noticed the look from his Spymaster and answered the unasked question, “Feyre went to Day Court this morning…”

That was all it took for realization to hit Azriel — it was your tenth death anniversary this week. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back against his chair — ten years without your light. No wonder he felt horrible that day, no wonder why his nightmares seemed to be worse than ever before.

It was as if his subconscious knew.

Azriel knew that after this breakfast, he would be able to crawl back into bed and cry there — he didn’t have to do anything for the rest of that week. He would be able to wallow in his depression in the comfort of his room.

Rhysand, after the first year of your death, had declared that week a period of silence — a mourning period that allowed Valeris and most of Night Court to grieve over your death. To repent and live. It was a week where he didn’t send anyone on missions, and stores throughout Valeris were closed over the week.

The Inner Circle ate in silence, the clattering of silverware was the only thing that echoed in the grand space. No one said a word, though Azriel could feel the shifting gazes towards his way. His fingers gripped the silverware in his hands, feeling the metal bend in his strength. A frown tugged on his features, suddenly losing his appetite. He placed the utensils down, the evidence of his slight anger on the bent pieces of metal, before standing up.

He could see Mor, in his peripheral shift slightly. Azriel huffed slightly, unaware of the looming energy he was radiating until he felt a tap against his mental shields. Hazel eyes looked over to his High Lord who had given him a raised brow.

“Reign in your anger, brother… We are just worried, as usual,” Rhysand had whispered into his head.

They know how hard it has been for him over the past decade. The Inner Circle had been present through every nightmare, every depressive episode, every self-loathing that Azriel had gone through — and is still going through to this day. All of them had tried to help him lessen the burden of regret; however, they knew that the Spymaster would never let anyone shoulder his pain — not when he was the cause of it.

Azriel felt his tears line his reddened eyes, “…I know, and I thank you for that, brother… May I just grieve on my own… May I be excused?”

Hazel and violet eyes stared at each other for a moment before Rhysand nodded his head, “I will tap on your shields again when Feyre is at the ceremony…”

His head nodded before the Spymaster stalked out of the dining room, feeling all eyes on him. He climbed up those spiral staircases again before entering his bedroom with a slam of his door. A shiver wracked through his body, eyes shutting close as he tried to prevent another breakdown. He shuffled his feet, towards the bed and lay there.

He will never be okay — no matter how many decades, how many centuries have passed, he will always feel that emptiness of the bond in his chest. He would never feel you tug on that golden string that connected the two of you, nor he won’t hear your laugh whenever Cassian or Mor would tell you a joke. He won’t feel your fingers trace along his scars or place ointment on his hands whenever they were cramped and strained after a mission.

There were days — which were the worse of them — when he would hallucinate you were still alive. In that very bedroom, he would feel, smell, and see your very figure walking through that room. He could see your light, he could hear your voice… but whenever he would reach out to try to hold you, touch you, you would be gone in a whisp of light.

Azriel hated those days. He would find himself in a heap on the ground, crying. His brothers or even Mor would find him in that state at the end of the day and would plead for him to go to bed and rest. And with their help, he would lay in that large bed, bigger than his wings would span out to, to just stare at the expanses of that ceiling. Rest would never come to him easily anymore, not without a tonic from Madja or if Rhysand would slip into his mind and coax him to sleep.

He would continue to live on as an empty shell — one that would continue life without feeling your light.

Rhysand let out a shaky breath after Azriel had left the dining room, a hand running through his dark locks as he slumped against his chair.

It had been difficult, the last decade was like walking on broken glass around Azriel. The High Lord knew that his brother was suffering, but Rhysand also knew it was the consequences of his actions — of all of their actions against (Y/N). All of them, especially himself and Azriel, would continue to suffer for it.

Rhysand was thankful to the Mother that Feyre had been there throughout the past decade to help shoulder the pain, to shoulder the regret. And he had tried to do the same with Azriel; however, the former Shadowsinger wouldn’t let anyone touch him, wouldn’t let anyone help him through his emotions. And he watched as Azriel broke himself apart because of his pain. The High Lord watched every single day, every year, for the past decade, his brother becoming a shell. Even when he had sent Azriel on missions, the Fae would come back, finishing his assignment quickly and swiftly, though Rhysand could see blood and bruises that contrasted against leather.

Every time, every single time, Azriel had returned from those missions, Rhysand had seen the increased amount of wounds against immortal skin. And when confronted, Azriel had whispered in truth, “It’s the only time I feel pain… To feel the echo of the pain against my skin… Any other time, I can’t feel anything…”

That had broken the High Lord.

He had banned, much to his dismay and Azriel’s anger, the former Spymaster to go on said missions. He had changed Azriel’s title, and became an emissary, along with Mor to the Continent. Azriel hated him — and probably still hated him to this day. But it was the only way to keep his brother from hurting himself, from being hurt, and to keep his family together — as much as possible.

The High Lord stood up from his chair, giving a small smile to his family as he left the dining room and walked his way to his office, allowing the silence to seep into his body. Rhysand busied himself with work, the only thing that would occupy his time and mind during the week of mourning. If he didn’t, he would, like his brother, be stuck in his mind — in his nightmares — of failing you as your High Lord.

He felt a tap of his mental shields, his mate scraping and sending down a wave of love towards his end.

"Are you okay?” Feyre asked him and Rhysand leaned against his chair and allowed his mate to send visions of her time at Day Court.

“I think so… Just, trying to keep myself occupied you know. How is it at Day? How is Helion?”

“He’s probably the same as you and Azriel.. all of us, mourning. But he’s keeping up appearances, he is ensuring this year’s ceremony will be grand. It is her tenth year being gone from this world…”

Rhysand wouldn’t hold it against Helion if this ceremony would be a grand, beautiful one to celebrate your life… to mourn for your death. You had, after all, deserved it. You had risked your life, your light, to protect all of Prythian… you had to be celebrated one way or another.

He watched the vision of the grand Day Court halls, lined with Calla, Cattail, White Heather, Purple Hyacinths, Ivy, White Poppies, and Tea and dark crimson roses — all flowers that echoed the sentiments of all of Prythian. It was a gorgeous sight, one that Rhysand wished to see in person. Tears pricked his eyes as he wiped them away with a finger, as he felt another wave of support from his mate.

"Be safe, darling Feyre… If you need me to take Nyx, do just call me… I can take him from your hands…"

A small laugh echoed, and in his head he could see the image of Nyx standing next to his mother, looking up at the golden statue of you.

"I think he deserves to know who she is, Rhys… He will be fine…"

With one last tug on that bond, Rhysand closed the connection between the two of them.

A book, he had thought, a book would be good to immortalize your story. With ink and paper, he started to write… determined to ensure your story would be known for centuries to come.

A tap against his shields started Azriel from his stupor. He straightened in the armchair he had occupied in his bedroom, eyes darting to the window to see what time of day it was. He hadn’t slept for the past few days, his nightmares plaguing him even while awake. He would mindlessly walk around that room, keeping himself occupied to keep the nightmares at bay. He didn’t sleep, he hadn’t showered — he wallowed in his sadness.

And so when that scrape of darkness against his mind startled him out of his sadness, he lowered it slightly to allow his High Lord to send him the vision that his High Lady was sending him.

Tears pricked at the edge of his eyes as he saw that magnificent statue of you at your grave.

Oh, how he wished and begged for the Mother to allow him, even for a brief moment, to bask in that golden statue — to feel Day Court’s sun mimic the warmth that you had always radiated.

He watched from that armchair the ceremony, hearing Helion speak so fondly of you. Azriel could hear the High Lord’s voice crack and break at every mention of your name. He could see the pain in his features as he talked about how it had been ten years since your death. He watched as Helion looked at that statue with so much fondness — a father, mourning the loss of his child.

The ceremony lasted a couple of hours, allowing people to walk up to the statue to place all types of flowers on top of that gravesite. He watched as the familiar hands of his High lady held up a bouquet — a mixture of Sweetpea, Amaryllis, Pink Carnations, Cyclamen, and Iris — to the statue before placing it down on the grave as well.

He heard her whisper words of fondness, love, and regret before stepping away and back to her spot in the crowd.

The last thing he heard, was from his nephew, who whispered to his mother, “I wish to have known her… She is well loved, even after she has died…”

That had choked not only Azriel up, but he could feel the pain in Feyre’s voice as she looked down at the boy who was merely ten years into his immortal life.

“…I wish you could have known her as well, Nyx… She was a light in everyone’s life. She had made your uncle’s life the best it had been when she was still with us. We wish we could have done so much better to her…”

Azriel watched as Feyre caressed the black locks of his nephew before the vision passed. And all Azriel could do was cry — cry his love, his sorrow, his regret.

[junedenim]

kiss me now before it gets too cute

part one

if you already fucked him, might as well keep doing it

warnings: smut, a little angsty, a little fluffy, a lot of fucking in various ways, etc.

word count: 4.4k

His hands are inching your legs. You've got him on his knees. He's unbuckled your little black-heeled Mary Janes. He's playing with your left leg's stocking, toying with the nylon, reaching the lacy trim. The detail irritates his skin. He looks up burning desire through you. "You get all dressed up for me?"

"I wear this all the time," you reason. These stockings were freshly purchased from Harrods but you don't like to let your desperation be known.

He shakes his head as he pulls the stocking down. "No, you don't. I know what you wear. I have to look at you every day."

"Have to?" You run your fingers through his soft ruffles of hair.

He smirks up at you as he throws the stocking behind him. "Want to." He moves over to your right leg. The tips of his fingers travel up the leg, sending goosebumps through you. He grips his thigh tightly, leaning in to kiss your knee, then up your inner thigh.

"Did you see what Gunner wore today?" You ask as he pulls off your other stocking.

Alex chuckles. "That stupid bowtie?"

You laugh through your nose. "With the little skulls all over it."

Alex looks up with a gasp. "I didn't see those." He shakes his head and nonchalantly takes off your panties. "God, Gunner is so stupid."

"The guy does design work for a living and I have never seen someone dress more like an idiot."

"Uh-huh." Without warning, his mouth is on you, charged and gnawing. It's heat and his nails digging into your thighs and you can’t help buck against him, but he seems to like that if the satisfied sounds he makes are anything to go by. He fucks you with his tongue, stroking your clit, teasing it, tugging it, pulling a string of obscenities from you that fall out alongside sob-like moans. “God,” you rasp, tugging on his hair, “higher,” and he shifts, accommodating, devouring, until—“God, yes—” and he doesn’t let you go until you've ridden out every wave. The next thing you know, you're on her back, legs shaking, your whole body covered in goosebumps.

His body crawls over you. "Did you bring a change of clothes?" You're dazed but nod. He kisses you. "Good." The next moment you open your eyes, he's taken his shirt off. You reach up to undo his buckle. "I can give you a ride to work tomorrow if you want."

"I drove here." You haven't really done that yet. You don't want to do that because this isn't something serious and he's your boss and even if allowed by your company, you want a career, the kind that he has. He'll be viewed in the same light as before but any success you get from that point forward will be labeled as being because of him. Maybe you're overthinking. He's never mentioned doing more than this but he is a nice guy for offering the ride. "But thank you."

He nods and is unaffected by your decline, too busy distracting you with a kiss. It's suffocating how good he is. He stands up to take his pants off while you dispose of your top and bra. It's rushed. The way you guys fuck is always rushed.

He's on top of you, pinning you down with his body. He enters you in an instant and hits the back of you. You fight to push your hips up but his weight prevents you. The pleasure is too much and has you writhing around as he rapidly thrusts into you. You moan in his ear and he groans in yours. His breath is hot in your ear, muttering, "Fuck."

It's sweaty and something about it seems gross but it's too pleasurable and too quick to even think about what either of you are doing and how his sweat mixes with yours. Your eyes are closed, clutching him, and he's stuttering noises as you're hit with an orgasm. He pulls out and his cum lands on you. You get the thought that another part of him has made a mess on you.

He's landed beside you, stomach caving with heavy breaths. You roll over. "You know, you can come in me if you like."

"Oh," he says. His eyes flutter open, staring up at you, all doe-eyed brown. "Okay. I didn't think...I didn't know you'd be cool with that. I didn't think we were doing that."

Your cheeks flush and you feel silly like some lovestruck teenager too naive to realize that you might not be alone. "Yeah. Right."

"I mean, I just—I didn't know you'd be comfortable with that." He turns his head in your direction. "I'm, you know, clean if that's what you're wondering. I'm not, like, fucking around with anyone else either."

"Okay. I'm not either. But if you wanted to you could."

You had been doing this for a couple of weeks, closing in on a month, and you rarely talked about what you were actually doing. You two talked. You learned about him, he learned about you, you laughed, he laughed. It was all sweet and light-hearted but you never went beyond that. You'd make fun of co-workers and you'd tell funny stories from university but you never talked about the hard things and the haunts of each other's lives. You know they are there. You've spotted things in his house that have been tucked away. The curtains in his room are too feminine to have been picked out by him and the conditioner he lets you use when you shower here isn't his. You remembered when he used to bring a woman to the office's Christmas party. You don't talk, not really.

"Yeah." He nods aggressively. "Same to you."

"Cool."

*

Work is dull. Elizabeth is out sick, which means there's nobody to talk to while working, and Alex and you have kept your relationship at work, strictly work-based and secret glances, you know, minus that one time in his office.

You're eating lunch in the breakroom, strategically taking your break when nobody else would be so you wouldn't be forced into any conversations. You're reading from a magazine with your feet propped up on another chair, stabbing at your salad leftover from one Alex made for dinner yesterday. There's an intimacy to it that you consciously choose to avoid.

The door to the breakroom opens causing you to sit up and remove your feet from the chair quickly. It's Alex and his empty mug. He looks so serious until he makes eye contact with you and a smile etches itself on him. "Don't stop on my account," he tells you. The door closes behind him and he walks over to the coffee machine.

You relax back, returning your feet to the chair, but keeping your eyes on him. "The whole office should pitch in and get you a coffee IV drip."

"Well," he brings the mug filled with steaming liquid to his face, "I was up late last night." He takes a sip from it but you can still see that smirk peeking out.

"By choice." You flip your magazine open, a smile playing on your lips as you read.

You hear him walking up behind you, his stare on you. "What are you reading? The Sun?"

You scoff, "It's The Economist."

"How intelligent," he comments.

"I stole it from Elizabeth's office." You laugh and close the magazine, tossing the issue onto the table. "I'm done with my lunch anyway."

He sits in the chair opposite of you. "Keep me company for a little."

"You have trouble occupying yourself?" You joke.

Alex chuckles. "No, I just, you know, like talking to you." It's too serious for work. He's staring at you and this is more intimate than when he fingered you on his desk. This should be reported to HR.

The door swings open again and you stand with your (Alex's) empty Tupperware. Gunner walks in with a jig in his step that makes you laugh under your breath. "Oh, hey!" He looks over at you. "A group of us are going out for drinks after work if you want to join." It's directed at you, he doesn't spare a glance at Alex.

You ignore loose plans you made with Alex about another night of sex and decide to say, "Sure."

"Great!" He cheers. Alex stands up, moving toward the exit. "Oh, uh, Alex, man," Gunner stutters, "you can come too if you'd like."

He shakes his head. "No thanks, Gunner. I've got plans." You're left confused if he's lying to Gunner or if he lied to you. But then again, you don't have the right to care.

Gunner exhales a sigh of relief. "The boss, am I right? I didn't exactly want him spoiling the fun. He scares me."

You shrug. "He's fine."

"Yeah, I mean, he's nice, and all, but he's leering, if you know what I mean."

Yeah, you know. You can practically feel him leering over you from a hallway away.

*

You can feel him leering over you at a bar he's nowhere near. It feels like his presence follows you everywhere these days. Maybe it's because you're with people from work. Maybe it's because he won't leave your mind ever.

Later that night, when you're drunk and at home lying in bed. Alex calls you. The sound of his voice and his simple ‘hey’ make your whole body buzz. Alcohol has made you loose and his voice makes you looser. You're hanging on him and his every word.

He continues, “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much,” you giggle.

“Oh, yeah? You have a fun night with Gunner?” He mocks.

"Yeah. What did you get up to?"

“Some work I've fallen behind on. I didn't really want to hang out with Gunner and all of you.”

“Even me?” You pout even if he can't see you. You're lost in a haze.

There’s a long enough pause that allows you to think that either he's waiting for you to talk or unwilling to answer. Things have felt awkward since last night. You realize he’s waiting for you to fix it. “What’s up, Alex?”

“I was just thinking about you.”

Fuck fucking fucked. Your heart starts beating a little faster. “Oh?”

“You wanna come over?"

“That’s not a good idea,” you say and bite your lip. You tug the covers over you, not for warmth, but to have something keeping you grounded. "I'm drunk."

"I could come and get you."

You're giggly saying, "No, don't. I'm in bed. I'm comfy in bed."

"Oh, yeah?"

You stretch out and emit a moan of pleasure. "Mhmm."

“Fuck.” He clears his throat. “I’m fucking hard just thinking about you.”

“Oh?”

“I really wanna fuck you.”

What is it with those words? It’s not like you haven’t heard them before. Go to any bar before closing, find a group of sad men or drunk frat boys, and you’ll hear that phrase 100 times over. But he says them and it shoots through you like a laser.

You try not to sound out of breath, a task that’s becoming harder and harder by the second. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Are you gonna make me beg?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Fuck.”

“Take off your pants,” you command.

“Okay.”

You hear the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being opened and dropping to the floor. He breathes loud enough you can imagine he’s next to you.

“Now touch yourself,” you say in your most breathy whisper. Through the grunts and groans, hums and murmurs, you hear him swearing under his breath. You draw out the words, “Are you hard?”

His answer is more urgent, more agitated. “Really fucking hard.”

“What do you need?”

“You. I need you.”

Drunk with your newfound power, you take pleasure in letting him wait, listening to his every moan as he plays with himself on your command; thinking of you, listening to the sound of your voice, possibly imagining his hands being yours. Your skin prickles and your body craves friction. You tremble with anticipation, getting increasingly frustrated by your lonesome state wishing you did let him drive over here.

“You fucking like that?” You ask.

“Mmhm," Alex hums. "What are you doing?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you playing with yourself?"

Your hand lays over your cloth shorts. You could creep your hand down and do it but you wait. "No."

"Touch yourself, yeah? For me? Think about me touching you." The thought had already entered your mind before he said it. You itch, desperate and wanting him. Your hand reaches down and you shiver at your own touch.

Your breath is heavy against your phone as you ask, "How bad do you want me?"

"Really fucking bad. I want you fucking me."

"What are you going to do?"

“Yeah, fuck, I’m gonna—”

His loss of words turns you on even more. Your thighs rub together like they have a mind of their own and your fingers work away on you.

“Are you gonna fuck my mouth?” You ask. You can practically hear him working away on himself.

“Oh—”

“Fuck my mouth, Alex,” you say, his incoherent noises ramping up your performance even further. “Fuck. It.”

“Mmhm.”

“Are you gonna come?”

“Yes,” he breathes out. "You?"

You don't want him to know about you. The way he's made you rub yourself so intensely there's not even a chance to think. “Yeah," you moan into the phone.

“Yes. Oh fuck—”

There's silence on his end and you feel yourself overcome with bliss. Then, before either of you can say anything, you hang up the phone.

*

For the first weekend in about a month, you don't see him. Neither of you reached out and you're not sure if it's because of Friday's phone sex or if he really does have plans. You can never tell with Alex.

When you wake up Monday morning you're greeted with a text from Alex.

Wear something sexy for me?

You're not sure what to say back. He isn't usually this upfront, not since you first started this fucking thing. Since then there's been an unspoken understanding of what you're doing. Every move you've made to catch the other's eyes has been through choice. Never through soliciting.

What about you?

Are you going to wear something sexy for me?

He replies, Isn't a bowtie all you need?

You drop the phone like it's turned into hot lava in your hand. You have tried to will yourself to forget kissing Gunner at the bar like you did. It was a minimal makeout a handful of rounds in before he got you a taxi and you went home. You didn't want to deal with Gunner today at work and you definitely didn't want to deal with Alex ever knowing.

You wear what you want to wear and if it's sexy then that's completely unintentional. Even if your ass looks good in these jeans. He'll look sexy either way in his suit. So fucking annoying.

Elizabeth is back at work, which is nice, though you decide to spend most of your day in your cubicle, scared of being cornered by Alex or Gunner. God, are you the office slut?

You have your head buried in your hands when he knocks on the door. Your head snaps up and there he stands, smug and smirking. "I had a fun time on Friday."

"Yeah. I was really drunk."

He laughs, "I know." He inches closer and you hate yourself with every step he takes. "Let's do it sober sometime?"

Then, Alex walks in. "Oh, sorry," he apologizes.

"No, no, no," you insist. "You're fine."

"I just, uh, need to talk to you. Come to my office when you get the chance." You wish he would scoop you up in his arms and take you away. Instead, you're left to suffer with Gunner.

"I should probably go talk to him," you say to Gunner as you stand up from your chair.

"Boss calls. But let's hang out sometime, yeah?" He offers.

You don't bother answering. You walk out of the cubicle to Alex's office. Your heart thumps in time with every step. You give a light knock on the door and open it to see him, mimicking you. His feet are propped up on his desk and he relaxes in his chair riding The Economist.

"Very funny," you note as you shut the door.

He looks up and plays clueless. "What?"

"Shut up," you laugh as you sit in the chair across from his desk.

"You're wearing jeans," he remarks.

You rub your hands on the denim. "How observant of you."

He shakes his head. "Too casual for work."

"Half the staff wears jeans. You and Ed are the only ones who bother dressing up for some reason."

Alex shakes his head again. "I don't like you in jeans."

You frown dramatically. "That sounds really sad."

He chuckles. "I wanted easy access."

You quickly reply, "I'm not fucking you in your office."

"Okay."

"Okay."

You stare at each other from opposing sides of the room; the room that only feels to be getting smaller and smaller.

"What were you and Gunner talking about?" Alex inquires.

"I thought we were talking about work," you counter.

"I thought you were brighter than that."

You roll your eyes. "Personal business."

"How were after-work drinks?"

"Fine. I made out with Gunner." You're not sure if you're telling him to make him jealous or if you just need someone else to save you from the embarrassment of doing it.

Alex stares at you for a moment. Once he detects you are serious, he starts laughing. "Seriously? Really that desperate?"

You scoff at him. "I was really that drunk. You should know that from our phone call. I would have to be drunk to do that with you."

"You seemed to enjoy yourself." His smirk is only growing. "Even if you hung up on me."

That makes you smirk, challenging him and raising an eyebrow. "Whoops."

"Whoops?" He repeats. "It should be a punishable offense what you did to me."

"You gonna spank me at work? That's definitely an HR violation."

"Fuck HR."

"That's disturbing."

"Yeah, sorry." He seems genuine. "I just really want to fuck you right now."

You look down at your thumbs, twiddling them. "Then why didn't you call me this weekend?"

"I was busy," he excuses.

"Sure," you say entirely not believing him. "You weren't embarrassed?"

"What would I be embarrassed over?"

You shrug and look back up at him. "I certainly had you in the palm of my hand."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't know if you were the type of man who liked that." He was always dominating with you and while you two did have a decently equal level of power with one another it was hard to deny when Alex was shoving his cock down your throat that he had the upper hand. Let alone the fact that he is higher up in the company.

"Do you know how fucking hot you are?"

You laugh confused by him, furrowing your brows and squinting your eyes. "What?"

He leans forward on his elbows across his desk. "Do you even know what you do to me? I'd do whatever you say."

"I don't believe you."

"Yeah, you probably shouldn't." His eyes look down at the floor and you're unsure where his somberly remorseful tone comes from. "But I'd do anything you tell me to. Well, within reason."

You laugh. "You knew I was about to dare you to do some dumb shit."

He points his finger. "I could see the look in your eyes."

"Well," you sigh, "you know me too well." That intimacy creep comes up and it sends chills down your spine. Sometimes you want to go back to when he was a stranger to you. Sometimes you want him for yourself. Instead, you're left wondering whether he was out with someone all weekend and if you even have the right to care.

His silence seems to say the same thing. He leans back in his chair with no emotion on his face before a smile cracks on his lips. "So, Gunner, huh?"

"Shut up!"

*

Alex corners you at the end of the work day. The timing is too perfect for you to not think it's planned as you step on the elevator together. "Come over tonight?" He asks you.

"Why can't you come over to mine? Why do I have to be inconvenienced?"

Alex blows a puff of air out. "Don't let power go to your head."

You shrug. "Your choice."

"I'll be over in an hour. I'll bring dinner."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

You separate in the parking lot and an hour later, he shows up at your door, a paper bag of takeaway in his hand. You eat on your couch because you don't have a table and he wears his suit while you wear your pajamas—your nice pajamas. His eyes stare at the spaghetti straps on the tank top as they slide off your shoulders. He notes that there isn't any bra underneath.

"Why'd you hang up on me?" He asks.

"Hmm," you say like you have no clue what he's referring to even though you definitely do and you want to push it down completely.

"On Friday, why did you hang up on me?"

"Because I finished," you say, even if it's not the full truth that you're terrified of him like Gunner is. That this could be something more but you aren't sure if you want it to be. That he picked up dinner from a restaurant you love and you know that's why he went there on his way here. That he hates your apartment because it's small and further from work and he gets stuck in traffic on the way here every time but he still came with no fight. That you looked over at him on Thursday night and thought about him coming inside you and wanted it so badly. That he really has all the power because you're so scared to make the next move.

"Okay." You can't figure out if that hurts that he doesn't care. You hate the confusion. You hate that you let him get to you at all. You hate that he's not fucking you right now.

Alex takes your plates and goes to the kitchen to wash them. You pad across the floor, coming up behind him. His hands scrub away at the plate and the water is loud enough that he hasn't noticed you.

You reach down to his belt and you feel him tense up. "What are you doing?" He asks as he shuts off the water.

You unbutton his trousers and touch him over his underwear. "Giving you a handjob." You pull his cock out and start tugging on it. He's moaning and you feel uncontrollable.

"Stop. I want fuck you." He pulls your hand away.

"Yeah?" You giggle.

Heat surges through him as he cups your face and kisses you. You travel backward, heading toward the couch. You open your mouth under the seeking pressure of Alex's. You curl your hand around the back of his neck and rest it there, keeping him close.

You land on the couch with him on top of you, strong in his kiss. You push him to lay back and straddle his lap, settling with your thighs spread wide and your body leaning heavily into Alex's. You curl your fingers into the front of his shirt and kiss with hunger.

"Alex," you whine as Alex twists your nipples over your tank top. "I want—"

You moan helplessly into his mouth. "How wet are you right now?" He's dirty with it. Always lacked a cleanliness in his teasing during sex. "You need attention? I can feel how hot you are, grinding against my cock. You don’t even realize you’re doing it, huh?"

"Then do something about it," you tell him.

He's quick in moving you to tug your shorts down. "Fuck," he groans, realizing you're not even wearing panties.

He runs his finger through you, making you quiver. "God, it's like no one has ever touched you."

"Shut up," you mutter as his fingers enter you. He's quick and you don't allow much room for yourself to breathe as you dig your head into the crook of his neck as his two fingers work away at you. "Fuck me," you moan.

And he takes it literally. He takes his fingers out and directs you onto his now hard cock.

"Fuck, you feel so good,” he gasps, hips twitching up. You start riding him, rhythmically moving your hips, which Alex's hands initially clutch onto.

Heat rushes into your face at the words, the way they make you squeeze around his cock, cling to his shoulders, and moving yourself deeper into him.

Alex reaches down to rub at your clit with the hand, little bursts of pleasure. "Oh, god," you mumble.

You can hear the smile in Alex's voice when he says, “Yeah? You like that?”

"Uh-huh." He lays you down on the couch and starts thrusting into you, a deep ache you feel all the way to your toes.

"You feel so good, so tight around my cock." His voice sounds strained now, a little breathier and hoarse as his hips snap forward.

You capture him in a cage with your legs around his waist, urging him deeper and deeper into you. "Harder," you whine. He fills you again in one thrust and doesn’t stop, fucking hard into you, hard enough that you can’t focus on anything else but the way it makes you feel.

You're close and his form is sloppy, which means he's close. "Fuck,” you cry as you come.

"Can I do it in you?" He asks quickly and breathlessly. You nod rapidly and he lets go his cum filling you. He collapses on top of you and you wished you had done this in your bed because he's heavy and you can feel his cum oozing out of you.

"I have to clean up."

"Okay."

*

You're brushing your teeth before bed and you see him in the mirror, standing in the door jamb looking at you. The sight is so domestic-looking that it nearly makes you sick if it didn't feel so sweet. He's standing in his boxers watching you brush your teeth.

"What?" You utter with toothpaste in your mouth.

He looks down at the floor. "I, uh, didn't do anything this weekend, if that's what you think."

You spit out your toothpaste. "You can do whatever you want, Alex. I'm not the boss of you."

"I know, but we are kind of..."

You shut the running water off. "Kind of?"

"Look whatever this is I just want you to know you don't have to worry about anything." He's evasive.

You're blunt with it. "You mean STDs?"

"Yeah," he lightly chuckles.

You look at him through the mirror. "You don't have to worry about me either."

"Gunner doesn't have anything?" He jokes.

"I don't think Gunner has ever actually been with a woman." You share a laugh with him. You rest your hands on the edge of the sink and calm yourself, telling him, "But I don't want to do that with Gunner."

"Who would?" He chuckles, pleased with his own joke.

"Yeah." You smile at him before looking down at the sink basin, staring at the drain. "Well, I'm not going to do that with anyone, you know, as long as you're not going to do it with anyone."

"I'm not going to do it with anyone." And then he disappears off into your bedroom.

*

a/n: i guess this is a series just like everything else. what can i say? i can never leave anything well enough alone.

[rainba]

I read that u write dark content sooo,,,,

What would be both boys reaction to MC trying to comit suicide?(Succesfully or unsuccessfully)

U dont need to answer if it makes you feel uncomfy!!!

Such interesting questions... ( ´ ꒳ ` ) Thank you for sending them!

Warning for extremely dark content up ahead!

CW: suicide, violence, typical yandere behaviors

If Kairos’ darling committed suicide and succeeded, his mind would absolutely spiral out of control. He wouldn’t be able to think straight anymore; he'd be so overwhelmed with grief that the mere act of breathing becomes an impossible task. There’s really only two ways this scenario could end.

The first scenario: he isn’t the one who discovers your body. Through some other source, he hears that you’ve committed suicide… He wouldn’t believe it at first. He would think that he’s being pranked– someone in this world is testing him. Kairos would go through hell and back just to confirm that you’re actually dead. And when the truth finally settles in…?

He would be destroyed with guilt. 

He could’ve done something– he should have done something. Anything! It’s all his fault that you ended your own life– if he had just been watching you closer, you would’ve never done it. If he had loved you harder, you would've been happy in this world.

Kairos would collapse onto the floor as he clutches his head. The only thing he can think is: “it’s all my fault.”

Kairos can’t live in this world without you. 

When the day of your funeral finally comes, he’ll attend it while dressed in his finest gothic clothes. Around his neck is a black locket in the shape of a heart, and your picture is safely resting within it. He’ll walk up to your casket and lovingly grab your hand, smiling warmly with tears in his eyes. And then he’d whisper…

“I’ll see you soon, my love.”

In front of everyone, he would pull out a pre-sharpened knife, then slice open his own throat.

Kairos' blood will splatter all over your corpse. Everyone who knows you can only helplessly watch as he bleeds out and clings to your cold body.

This way, everyone will always associate the two of you together, even after the both of you have died...!

Everyone will know just how much he loved you.

The second scenario: Kairos is the one who discovers your body.

Kairos would drop to his knees the moment he sees your corpse– his jaw hanging wide open as silent screams escape his lungs. He wouldn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t know what to say. It’s as if his mind becomes full of static, cracking and disconnecting from reality.

His pale hands would grip your arms as he shakes you, begging you to wake up– but you never do. His heart shatters.

Just like in the last scenario, all he can feel is guilt.

Kairos wouldn’t call the police. After all, if he calls the police, they’ll take you away–!! He needs to be by your side! What if you wake up? What if his mind is playing tricks on him? What if this is just another one of his fucked-up nightmares?

Kairos sobs and shakes as he wraps his arms and legs around you, refusing to let you go. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t drink, he really doesn’t move at all. All he can do is absent mindedly stroke your hair as your body enters rigor mortis, slowly decaying in his loving embrace.

It would take a few days for his mind to return somewhat back to normal. You haven’t moved– not even once… He finally accepts that this is reality. You truly are dead.

It’s over. Everything’s over. His life is over. You’re gone… There’s no point in living anymore.

And it would end the same way as the last: while holding your hands, he’ll slice open his throat, and he’ll bleed out right beside you. He makes sure to intertwine his fingers with yours, wanting his last moments on earth to be romantic.

As for Luka: he would be enraged. Hurt. Bitter.

How could you…? How could you commit suicide like this?? 

Did you do it just to hurt him? Did you hate him that much? Was life just that cruel to you, and you couldn’t take it anymore…? 

Luka would have to take multiple weeks off of work; he can barely function. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to cook anything, and he’d lose tons of weight. Dark bags would form under his eyes. His tail would look disheveled and nearly matted. The only thing Luka does after your passing is lay in bed, staring at the empty space right beside him… The space that you were supposed to occupy.

He’d spend hours blankly staring at framed photographs of you. Rereading your old texts, listening to old voicemails, all while yearning so badly for your touch. Every time he passes out from exhaustion, all he sees is your perfect face.

When he dreams, the two of you are running around in a bright and sunny field– he’s always playfully chasing you, pouncing on you before showering you in loving kisses. In his dreams, you’re still alive, safe and sound. In his dreams, you're always smiling.

Luka despises waking up.

It's agonizing. He would often wish that he'd just die in his sleep.

But unlike Kairos, he wouldn’t go through with kill himself– he can’t bring himself to do so. Instead, he just constantly surrounds himself with things that remind him of you.

His phone's wallpaper is a picture of you. His ringtone is your favorite song. He wears jewelry that reminds him of you. He gets a tattoo of your name across his chest.

Everywhere Luka goes, he’s haunted by your ghost. He’d never be able to recover from losing you.

You were the first person to ever make him feel alive; now he’ll forever be an empty shell, doomed to never feel anything ever again.

[lovelikealcoholic]

Can I request a till (from alien stage) x reader who is emotionally weak/damaged please 🥺 or just anything with till 🥺

what u think abiut the nmew song....... i liked it..............

You've been by Till's side since you were children, supporting him no matter what behind the scenes, but he always seemed to have his eyes gazing at someone else.

Ivan and you would sometimes glare at each other before brushing it off. Till too oblivious to notice, or well, he pretends to be oblivious.

After Mizi went missing, he came crashing down on you, holding you by the shoulders as he laid his head on the crook of your neck, sobbing, and all you could do was be at his side.

You'd play with his hair until he fell asleep, and when he had to perform off-stage, you were there to beat his owner up for hurting him, which resulted in a beating from your own, but you mentally smile through it because you know Till will feel less down.

He's sleeping in the small room, his head on the seat of the couch, as you shakely walk up to him before curling in his arms to feel warm. When he wakes up, he's startled by your bruises and scratches, but you don't seem to mind.

You never do,

Before Till faced off against Ivan, you hugged him and tried cheering him up so he could win and live to see another day.

He'd remember all the times you were with him at that moment.

You picked fights with Ivan when he was bothering Till.

You taught him how to make flower crowns.

You lifted him up whenever he felt like he was down.

He closes his eyes and leans closer into the hug, mumbling incoherent words.

"thank you."

You start tearing up right then and there; he looks extremely confused, but you just hold him tighter.

He was so distracted in his second round because of it.

After his round, he goes to you and tries to comfort you. He's bad at it, though.

You tell him everything, and you tell him how tired you are of seeing him so sad. You are already struggling with your owner sending you off to be disciplined.

You'd take turns to comfort each other. You guys hugged and cried and fell asleep together.

Seeing him so broken up on that stage brought you to tears, and he knew.

He'd kiss your forehead and when you look up at him,

You swore you saw the light in his eyes again.

hope that was okay,,,,,,, im a bit rusty........................

[intynidad]

yayayayayayayya!

Imagine a Soldier, a DILF,Huge, muscular, and so intimidating! But there are a few drawbacks.. He is VERY possessive and overprotective! (Yandere)

He can’t see you with another man! Or even the thought of a man breathing in your direction is enough for him to throw a sharpened knife at his head.. Even women are rivals to him.. He is a MaleWife! I’m his free time he wants to take care of you! like imagine the pink frills and bows but with camouflage pants and dog tags..

And the way he looks at you.. with so much adoration and love.. Even after transforming into a beast a few moments ago and glaring at the one who dared to even look at his sweet darling!

Scary dog privileges!! A huge almost 7 foot man stalking behind you with a preditorial gaze.. Sending death glares at anyone who passes near you..

you don’t know how he is so stealthyfor being so huge..

Has a huge and muscular body! So he has huge hands and arms.. With lots of bulging veins!

(Imagine grabbing his moobies after a hard day of work.. He would moan and whimper like a bitch in heat.. a string of Thank yous coming out his mouth..)

I imagine he has a hidden piercing probably on his tongue.. but no one knows.. except you.. but isn’t noticeable because he wears a balaclava at work!

Petnames!: Darling, Sweethear, Angel, My love, Princess, Lovely

It took some time but i really like how it came out owo

I got a little lazy on the end but is still good

TW: yandere behavior, description of violence(not towards reader), use of pet names (sugar cube and darling), female oriented reader ??? Tell me if i miss anything owo

Enjoy !

War was not kind to anyone.

First, your father was drafted to fight on the front lines. He tried to write every time he could, but one day, you and your mother stopped getting any letters. That's when you knew it - that your father was dead.

Your now-widowed mother was absolutely heartbroken. You tried to initiate a conversation, saying, -"Hello, Mom,"- but were only met with silence. This is how things have been going since the news of your father. It’s been a lonely and difficult time for your family.

You often found yourself staring out of the window, watching the seasons change. The world outside seemed to carry on as if nothing had happened, while inside your home, there was a void that couldn't be filled.

You saw how the war started to consume your little neighborhood, first your father, then your mother, and now your friends.

"I can't believe it," you said with a shaky voice. "You can't leave me."

You clutched the small phone in your hands while the other person on the line gave a low chuckle, full of sadness. "I know, I know. It's not like I want to."

"Dylan, please," you begged, your voice choked with a sob. "You're sick. You can't go to fight."

"I can't just stay still while the war consumes our lives, sugar cube," Dylan replied with determination. "Listen, I'm going to do everything I can to stay in contact, but I refuse to stay still while our enemies burn our homes and kill our people."

You understood his sentiment, but the fear of losing yet another person you loved was overwhelming. The war had taken so much from you already, and you didn't want to lose Dylan as well.

"Dylan, promise me you'll be safe. Promise me you'll come back," you pleaded.

"I promise I'll do my best, sugar cube," Dylan said softly. "And I promise we'll be together again when this nightmare is over."

As the call ended, you clutched the phone tightly, tears streaming down your face, thinking of the destiny of one of your closest friends. With your vision blurry, that's when you saw it:

[Be the hero of our heroes!]

[Become a war nurse and help today!]

——-

The training was fairly easy, but the hardest part was saying goodbye to your mother. It wasn't because of the response she gave you, but rather the lack of it. The war had taken so much from her, and you leaving to join the medical corps was another sacrifice she had to bear in silence.

After three months of training and preparation, you reached your destination - the front lines. Well, it wasn't exactly the front lines where bullets flew, but it was a place where you felt like you were helping. The makeshift field hospital was a hive of activity, with wounded soldiers being brought in, and the dedicated medical team doing their best to save lives and ease suffering.

Your heart swelled with a mix of fear and determination as you donned your nurse's uniform. You had a newfound respect for the doctors and nurses who worked tirelessly in these conditions, and now, you were one of them.

Every day, you encounter injured soldiers, each with their own story of bravery and sacrifice. You offered comfort, administered care, and listened to their fears and hopes. It was a harsh environment, but the camaraderie and shared purpose among the medical staff gave you strength.

As you continued your work on the front lines, you knew that this was where you were meant to be, where you could honor your father's memory, support your friends, and be a beacon of hope in the darkness of war.

That was until one particularly slow day. Well, as slow as it could be in a war hospital. You were preparing some medical supplies for the medics to take to their respective camps when a superior of yours called you.

-"Y/N! Could you come over and take care of this new patient? I'm kinda busy right now,"- the woman said in a calm tone.

-"Sure, just send them back here, and I'll take care of them,"- you responded.

Her tone was pretty chill, so it was probably just a bruise or maybe a cold. You were preparing some medicine and band-aids when you felt a small tap on your shoulder.

-"I'm sorry to keep you waiting; please have a sea-" When you turned around, you were shocked to see a man - no, a practical giant - towering over you.

The soldier was immense, with a rugged face that bore the scars of battle. He had a stern, almost intimidating expression, and it was clear that he had seen his fair share of combat. As he hunched down to enter the tent, you couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and trepidation.

-“Captain Samuel Reynolds, a pleasure to make your acquaintance"- he said in a deep, gravelly voice. His uniform was tattered and stained, and he clutched his side in obvious pain.

-"Y/N,"- you replied, trying to regain your composure. You quickly gestured for him to sit on one of the makeshift beds. As he eased himself down, it became apparent that he was wounded, a bandage around his abdomen stained with blood.

-"I heard you're the best nurse in this place,"- he said, his voice filled with both gratitude and a touch of humor.

You blushed at the compliment. The reality was that you were just doing your best, like all the others in the medical corps. You started to assess his injuries, trying to hide your nervousness as you worked to remove the soiled bandage.

-"You've been through quite a lot,"- you commented as you cleaned the wound.

Samuel winced, but he nodded. -"The front lines aren't a picnic, that's for sure. But I've seen worse."

As you stitched up his wound and administered medication, you couldn't help but feel watched as his gaze practically pierced through you. But you continued to do your work, focused on providing the best care you could.

-"Okay, that should do for the bleeding, Mr. Reynolds. Let me go grab some bandages and some painkillers for you,"- you said.

His response caught you off guard, -"...why?"- Samuel said, almost confused about your reasoning.

-"Because, um, you are hurt?"- You stammered, wondering if you had said something wrong.

-"Thanks for the offer, sweetheart, but this pain won't kill me. Plus, there are some other people around that probably need those painkillers and bandages more than me,"- Samuel said matter-of-factly. He expected it to be the end of the conversation. You would probably tell him okay and assign him a bed, and that would be the end of it.

But you surprised him with your firm resolve. -"No,"- you said.

-"Thanks, so I will be going to my bed, then,"- Samuel was more than confused when he registered your words.

-"Wait, what?"- he asked.

-"I'm sorry, Captain, but with all due respect, I will not allow you to do that,"- you said firmly.

-"Do what?"- Samuel was clearly taken aback.

-"I'm sorry, but as long as you are here, I'm in charge of you, and I won't let any of my patients go suffering when they can perfectly take some rest and medication,"- you said, giving him a small, determined smile. It was clear that you weren't going to back down.

Samuel's eyes met yours, and he seemed to be processing your words. His tough exterior had met its match in your unwavering dedication to your patients' well-being.

As you delicately applied pressure to his wounds to wrap them up in bandages, Samuel couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat. The way your hands worked so skillfully and delicately had a calming effect, and he found himself strangely drawn to your touch. It was as if your care had the power to make his pain vanish.

However, the sensation of your fingers on his skin made him nervous. His heart raced, and he couldn't quite understand why he felt this way. Samuel, a battle-hardened captain, suddenly felt a wave of discomfort.

-"I'm sorry, but are you okay?"- you asked, looking into his eyes as you reached your hand to his forehead. -"You're a little bit hot."

-"I'm f-fine,"- he stammered, full of shame. How was it possible that he was suddenly stuttering? What was happening to him?

Samuel couldn't quite comprehend the mix of emotions he was experiencing. Here he was, a soldier used to facing danger and making difficult decisions, and yet in this moment, your caring presence and gentle touch had him feeling vulnerable in a way he had never felt before.

A couple of weeks passed, and you continued to care for him. It didn't take much time for Samuel to realize that he was in love. A cold-blooded soldier had become completely enamored by a tiny (in comparison to him) nurse. He couldn't help but follow you with his gaze as you waltzed around the hospital, tending to the wounded and offering comfort with your warm smile.

He felt a profound happiness with you in his life. The war, which had taken so much from him, had also given him something unexpected – love.

One day, when his wounds were practically all healed up, he went for a run around the hospital perimeters. Part of it was to use some of the energy he had built up during his recovery, but deep down, he also wanted to make sure you were safe.

During his run, he stumbled upon a small river with water lilies floating on its surface. They were small in comparison to his massive hands, delicate and beautiful, just like you. Samuel found himself captivated by their fragility and elegance.

He decided then and there. He would confess his feelings to you when the sun went down. Those lilies, a symbol of the tenderness he had discovered in the midst of war, would be his gift to you. They represented the love that had grown in his heart, unexpected and pure, just like the delicate blossoms on the river.

He advanced with a spark to his feet, feeling his heart sincronice to each step he took.

At the entrance of your “office” (it was just a big tent but you liked to call it that) , he called out to you, -"Um, Miss Y/N, are you there?"- He couldn't help but feel a certain nervousness in his voice. It was an unfamiliar feeling for him, like he was a teenager again, not a battle-hardened soldier.

When he didn’t hear anything he decided to just enter and wait for you.

It was weird. You usually would check for medical supplies and then come back to your tent to put on your uniform and THEN start the day…not like he had your whole schedule memorized of anything.

He started to worry. Maybe you had been distracted or were in some kind of danger. The concern for your well-being began to overshadow his initial nervousness. He scanned the tent, looking for any signs of where you might be or if there was trouble.

He bolted to his feet again running to the “hospital”, full with worry.

When he got there he asked to another nurse if they had see you

-“oh, Y/N. O boy let me tell´ya. They been all lovely dovey with somebody on the back”-

-…what- Samuel felt his heart freeze

The nurse continued without noticing -“ya’ apparently it was an old friend of them. Let me tell’ya boy. The moment that guy enter she almost fainted of happiness. She was like “omg its been so long and””-

Samuel stopped listening half way through. He didn’t care about that guy.

He cared about you.

Who was this guy

How do you know him

He was dangerous?

Was he an enemy ?

He walked with a heavy step. Until he hear a small voice sniffling.

Samuel froze. It was you.

-“aww don’t worry sugar cube. I’m alright told ya’”- a voice he didn’t recognize talked to you

He cringed at the nickname the stranger gave you. Sugar cube

Yes you were sweet and all of that but he had no right to call you that.

-im sorry Dylan is just that *sob* the tears don’t stop- you responded

Dylan huh…where did he heard that name before.

He peeked a little and what he saw made his blood boil.

You were there with tears staining your beautiful face. And that disgusting man was kissing them away. Like he had any right to do that.

He continued to observe in silence.

He saw how this man sat you on his lap while kissing you.

At this point the lilies were long forgotten crushed to mere crumbs into his hands.

And when he saw Dylan slowly caress your leg he couldn’t stand there any longer.

He opened the curtain that separated you three and walked with a heavy step.

-“may i know what you are doing, soldier?”- his voice low and authoritative

Dylan that was not paying attention, bolted his head toward him and with super speed put you down on his side

-S-Sir i'm sorry is- Dylan tried to explain himself while he brushed up his uniform

-“I don’t want to hear it,soldier. Identify yourself and your section”-

-“Dylan Ramirez sir. I just got transfer to site 2-A sir.”-

Ah. That where he knew him. He was a new transfer to HIS section.

-why are you in this stablishment and not reporting to me of your arrival- samuel said with maybe a little to much volume

-“i wanted to say hello to nurse Y/N sir. She is an old friend sir.”-

Friend…he didn’t believe that bullcrap

-i want you out and to run 10 laps around the perimeter.NOW-

And with that Dylan rise to his feet and run towards the exit.

You that were looking at the whole exchange. Felt slightly intimidated. Like the first time you met Samuel. He been so nice with you that you forgot that he is a high rank in the troops.

When your two sights encounter you couldn’t help but look to the ground.

-“are you alright?”- say Samuel on a voice much, much softer than the one he used with Dylan.

You didn’t say anything.

-“is just that…I heard you cry and got worried”- that was partially the truth but he was sure you wouldn’t mind.

-“yea i apologize for the whole scene…Mr Samuel”- you said with a hint of shame on your voice

-“you don’t have to apologize for anything,darling. Is just we are going tomorrow to the front lines again and maybe im a little nervous”- another half truth but alas it was for the best.

-“can i ask you to do something for me?”- you said, still looking at the ground

Oh if only you knew what he would do for you

-whatever you need-

-Please take care of Dylan on the front lines. He is a very important person to me-

Why. Why he was such an important person to you?.

Why does he had that he didn’t?

Why you looked at them without fear and when you looked at him your gaze was on the ground?

Why

Why

WHY

-“sure. Ill make sure Dylan is taken care of”- samuel say after a moment

-“thank you”- you said with a small smile

…..

He still though of that small interaction. He almost felt a hint of guilt for breaking his promise. Almost

He choose Dylan as his second in command to investigate a supposedly abandoned enemy base. That way they could maybe find supplies or a hint to end this war.

He had done this dozens of times.

The feeling of the bone breaking and the warmth of the blood on his hands. But the adrenaline on his veins this time made it a little different. Almost like if it was more personal.

If he had to compare Dylan to an animal it would probably be a deer of some kind.

A frail and sickly one but still a deer

First it was a shoot to the leg. He screamed in pain as he fell to the ground but we both knew that nobody would come.

Then Samuel stepped on his hand with all his force. It made a crack that send a pleasant chill to his own spine.

The beating continued for a while. For too little time on Samuel’s opinion and if Dylan had the ability to speak he probably said it was for far too long.

But no one can really talk with a broken jaw and without a tongue.

When he came back to the base. Nobody question the story of an ambush.

Nobody question that fact that his knife was missing.

Why would they?

After all he was the first in command. He was the commander Samuel

But the acting when he came back to you was supreme. Maybe he should had been an actor instead of a soldier but anyway.

You cried and screamed and punched the air.

It did broke his heart that you looked so sad. But don’t worry he would be here for you as long as you need him

And you wouldn’t need anybody else.

[riverbutghost]

hello !!! I love your writing and all your prompts, I was just wondering if you’d be willing to do an extreme angst one where Everyone especially Simon notices The readers mental health go downhill , and on one of the missions reader goes berserk, or purposely tries getting themselves killed , thinking they’re doing a good thing ?

Try for me

yea yes yes. omg. thank you so much i love your support !!

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader (I didn’t know what to use so I used female pronouns<3)

Warnings: military stuff,, angst but happy ending! Also, the reader’s call sign is Crow.

Also this is phenomenal.

Gripping your gun tighter, you stumbled into the room. You quickly looked through the room and got out.

“If any of you find something, inform me so I can send help.”

Price’s voice came through the comms, and you sighed. If it was a month ago, you would have said something like ‘yes sir’ or anything. But now, you just wanted to deal with every single soldier by yourself.

It wasn’t a healthy thought for sure. But you just felt like you couldn’t do it anymore. You tried, so fucking hard but to no avail.

-

“I’ll pass on that.”

You smiled politely at your friends, who looked a bit skeptical. You saw from the corner of your eye that Soap and Ghost shared a knowing look. You didn’t care. All you cared was to sleep the day off.

“C’mere now, you love to play darts.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned to look at them.

“I’m just tired, see you tomorrow.”

They knew something was wrong, but didn’t press on it.

-

“Crow, you copy?”

You shook your head to clear your mind, but still your vision was blurred with tears. You didn’t know why, but it happened all the time. Your throat would wobble and your eyes would water, but you didn’t cry. You couldn’t. Because you were never alone by yourself. Not when you were on a long mission.

“Yeah?”

You answered Price, sighing softly.

“I told you to-“

The line was cut off immediately, and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Captain?”

You gulped after hearing no sign from him. You took a good look around you, but couldn’t comprehend anything.

“Fuck, not now.”

You mumbled to yourself as you harshly kicked a rock. Your chest started tightening, your headache got worse. All you needed was to cry, but you couldn’t.

-

Pursing your lips tighter, you held back a sob after the door opened. You gripped the blanket over your head, pretending to sleep on the couch.

The footsteps stopped right in front of you, and you tried to even your breathing.

“Crow..?”

You cursed your body for shaking slightly. You peeked your head through the blanket.

“Hey, uhm..”

Simon’s eyes scanned your face and he sat down.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice was abnormally soft, and you felt your eyes watering again. Getting softness from a guy who was intimidating and wore masks and kill people was what made the situation worse for you.

“Hey, hey..easy. S’fine, just wanted t’know because you don’t seem okay.”

You sniffed and pulled the blanket over you again, not wanting to ugly cry in front of your lieutenant.

“Is it about the mission..? Are you.. stressed? Sure, it is a hard one, but you have us. And we have you..”

You sobbed quietly as his hand traced patterns on your knees, touch soft as ever.

It wasn’t about the mission.

-

Loosening your grip on your gun, you sighed and threw it away. You could practically hear Price’s disappointed screams, harsh words that would go in one ear and out the other. But you were alone now.

Maybe if you just went to the soldiers and ask them to kill you, it would be easier.

You stared at the enemy, talking with each other about their daily lives. Not giving a single shit about killing people, torturing their kids and families.

You sighed and sat down behind a tree, holding your knees in a tight hug.

Closing your eyes, your lips wobbled a little but you sighed.

-

“Aye, Lt. What’s wrong with her?”

Soap muttered under his breath to Ghost, and he looked at you.

You were sitting down next to another rookie. Everyone was chatting around the camp fire, relaxing their minds for the upcoming mission.

That was Gaz’ idea. The camp fire.

Everyone was laughing, having a good time. You were sitting there, smiling at your teammate as he was making impressions of your other teammates.

You weren’t there, though. Anyone who knew your ups and downs would know that. You were pretending, something you did pretty good. But Soap knew, Ghost knew.

God, even Price could see it.

Ghost was the only one who saw you crying. It was the day before. You cried while he patted your knee.

It was something that affected him. Seeing you cry did so many things to his already broken heart, but he would get through it.

His main concern was you.

He dismissed Soap, and went over to sit next to you. You turned to look at the person who sat next to you, only to find him. Your smile faltered a bit, but you smiled again.

“When are you gonna stop this?”

You swallowed and tried not to break your smile.

“What, Simon?”

You called him by his real name, which was a warning. But Ghost wasn’t a guy that would consider a warning.

“Bullshit. I know you’re not here mentally. Talk to me.”

His voice dropped an octave and he gripped his gloves, ripping them off from his hands. Your sharp eyes met his as you opened your mouth for harsh words.

“Just because we made a mistake by fucking doesn’t give you the option to talk to me like you’re my psychologist.”

You hissed through clenched teeth, and got up.

You stormed out of the area, bumping your shoulder to Soap’s in the process.

“Hey-“

Ghost’s eyes never left you as he came next to Soap.

“Leave it Johnny.” He mumbled with raging eyes.

-

“Crow, where are you?!”

You gasped quietly as you shot up from the ground. You were looking at the sky, almost hypnotized.

You looked at the time on your clock, and you were there for an hour.

You looked around, finding the soldiers still talking and waiting.

You got up, walked towards them with slow and unsteady steps.

The soldiers saw you and got their guns ready. You didn’t even surrender.

“It’s for the best.” You mumbled to yourself as you took another step.

“Stop right there, lady!”

Someone yelled, but other hushed him.

“She’s one of them!”

You waited for the guns to start firing. You sighed deeply as you thought about the hurt you caused your loved ones. It was going to be better for everyone.

You held your breath and closed your eyes as the fires started, only to realize that you were flying.

Opening your eyes, you looked behind you to see your lieutenant’s chin.

“Sim-“

“Shut it.”

He put you into the truck, and locked the doors after he got out.

A pained sob left your throat after he left, and you held your face in your hands.

What was wrong with you? What the hell were you thinking? No, it would be better if you died. You’re a pussy.

The door of the truck opened harshly, and Simon got in.

“What the fuck was that?!” He yelled, hand slamming down in anger.

You just sobbed after that, but he shook his head.

“Fuckin’ hell.. I told you to talk to me, didn’t I?! You were going to die!”

Hi clenched his hands, fisting them. He punched the metal door and you flinched.

“Fuck..”

He mumbled again, and looked up at you. His eyes were red, angry.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asked after minutes of silence other than your broken sobs.

“It would be better-“

“No!”

He yelled again, body tense with so much anger.

“I hurt you all the time! Why, because of my fucking mental health? I promise you wouldn’t miss me if I died.”

Simon’s eye twitched as he punched his thigh. He pointed his finger at you accusingly. He took a deep breath before talking.

“You listen to me. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Nor do Soap or anyone want it. You hear me? I’ll take care of you, you’ll be better. Therapy, whatever the hell you want or need. I’ll fuckin’ do it. But you will not do..that again, yeah?”

Your face was scrunched up and Simon moved towards you, to hold you in his arms while you ugly cry. A big pained sob left you, making Simon’s heart clench.

“I’m sorry, M’such a wreck.”

Simon just held you tighter, brain fogged with the shit you tried to pull just minutes ago.

“Never, you hear me? Never do that again. Or I swear, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

You knew what he meant. He was scared. So were you.

“Tell me.” He mumbled into your hair, after minutes passed. You were now breaking deeply.

“I’ll try.”

“That’s it.”

You sniffled one last time.

“Let’s go, yeah? Wanna take a long bath. Gonna wash you up, sweet girl.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you thought about the man who was holding you.

You would try, just for him.

[tlouadditc]

screw the cops!!

cop!ellabs x dealer!reader

warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut with plot, mentions of drugs [marijuana], cop!ellabs, dealer!reader, a lil bit of knifeplay, dom!ellabs, sub!reader, use of y/n, reader gets cut a lil bit oops!, probably more but i cant think of it rn

last minute a/n: this was another ask i forgot to put under the question ☹️ anyway thank u for the ask!!

[10:06 pm]

MY FAV ;): heyyy u got an 8th?? i can pick up at the library in 15 :)

you read the text, grumbling as you get up from your couch. you quickly shoot back:

YOU: lmk when ur there

it was supposed to be an off-day; sit in your dorm, watch tv, maybe have someone over, but no. everyone needed your shit at all times. she's lucky she's your favorite -- otherwise you would've told her to fuck off.

locking your door behind you, you get in your car and pull out of your driveway. as you glide through the gentle darkness, you feel random anxiety, like something bad is happening. it could be the lack of sleep. it could be the upcoming deadline you haven't started. it could also be the fact the entire campus is being searched because some dumbass freshman left his- no, sorry, YOUR- weed in his dorm and got the cops called. he didn't snitch luckily; he knows you would've gotten him killed if he did. but now there's a patrol going on until they find who's distributing. it's not like you wanted to live this life- you barely graduated high school, getting a small scholarship to a local college. the debt hit you, parents refused to help you anymore because you're an adult, blah blah blah blah. you ended up here to finally make a stable income and not have to chose between being warm or being fed consistently.

the sob story makes you cringe, snapping back into reality as you park in a spot by the front of the campus library. you pull out your phone and send:

YOU: here. wya

3 bubbles quickly pop up, written with a response:

MY FAV ;): kk coming out now

as you read the text, you hear the front doors swing open and a tall, slim figure gets larger as it comes closer. as she steps into the streetlight, you see her; sophomore dina. her long, onyx hair dances down her back as she comes closer to your car. she rests one arm on your window, other arm reaching into her pocket. she pulls out 35 bucks, tilting her head to the side slightly and smirking. you hand her a small baggie and take the bills out of her hand, shoving it into your pocket. "you're the best," she gushed, taking her arm off your window. she starts to turn to walk back to the library when she says, "oh, by the way, gave my friend your number."

you freeze, looking up at her in pure horror. "you what?"

"okay, chill, she's cool," she quickly explains, putting a hand on her hip in annoyance.

you roll your eyes, "the entire campus is getting fucking raided, for god's sake. cmon, dina."

"so, what? not everyone's a dumbass like that kid was."

you sigh. you guess she's right. plus, more business for you in the long run. she gives some information about this girl; her names ellie. she's a sophomore majoring in astrophysics who transferred from another school in jackson. around 5'5, auburn hair, science nerd. "pretty sure she's gay, too," dina winks.

you roll your eyes once more before pulling out and returning home. as soon as you unlock the door and step in, you check your other phone, an unknown number's texts sitting on the lock screen.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER]: hii this is y/n right?

[UNKNOWN NUMBER]: dina gave me ur number

gotta be ellie, you think to yourself. kinda cute. you don't respond; you hate small talk. no point in trying to get to know each other if you already know what they want. you put your phone down and start to get ready for bed.

an hour later, you get out of your shower and into comfy clothes. as you get into your freshly made bed, your other phone buzzes. you would usually ignore it, but you remember; debate checking the message or leaving it alone until tomorrow. eventually, curiosity gets the best of you and you check your phone. you groan as you read the message:

[11:37pm]

EL: i know its late but can u drop off? i need it :(

goddamnit, leave me alone!

you type up some message along the lines of 'im off today, ask tomorrow bitch,' but decide to be nice. you don't know why, but you only respond with the following:

YOU: off today. ask tmr

3 dots in a bubble move swiftly as a response pops up on your screen:

EL: pleaaaaase itll be quick

you sigh. she's not gonna let up; just like dina.

YOU: fine. ill b at the library.

she hearts your message as you throw on some sweatpants and grab your keys. you go on the same drive but you feel no anxiety this time. it's a newbie, for god's sake- she's the one who's probably nervous. you even put on some music this time, drake lowly lulling in your vehicle. you pull up, same spot as earlier, and you turn down your music. you go to text her, but the doors open before you can press a letter. she's just as dina described- until she gets up to your window. her scattered freckles complimented her bright, emerald eyes. her friendly expression made you soft under her gaze. you didn't realized she was talking for a while until she whispered, "uh... hello?"

"what?" you said, clearly perplexed. she smiled as you remembered what you're there for. she hands you 25 bucks as you place the baggie in her free hand. she lets out a silent "thanks" before you get ready to drive back home.

"uh, actually," she suddenly blurted out, catching your attention. she seemed nervous, like she had something to say, but she was scared of the outcome. "do you mind.. uh.. giving me a ride back home? i mean i walked down here and it's dark so-"

"hop in," you interrupted. it was pretty dark and you wouldn't want patrol on her ass about being out by herself, so you decided to get it over with. she pranced around to the passengers side and practically jumped in.

the ride to her dorm was quiet. ellie was on her phone the entire time; you assumed it was her roommate asking her where she's at. there was a bit of tension you could feel in the air; what type? you couldn't answer that.

coming to a stop at the entrance of her dormitory, she thanked you once again before you prepared to go home yourself.

"you could stay the night," she mumbled, fumbling with the bag in hand.

"what? no- no, i can't do that," you answered. you weren't against staying over, but... going home with someone you literally met an hour ago? absolutely not.

"jus' c'mon. it's late," she insisted, biting her lip anxiously. "plus, i owe you." you sight and give in, turning off the engine and ignition before grabbing your keys and phone and joining her on the walkway. she smiled politely and led you to her dorm.

the entire time you were walking with her, you assessed her appearance in clearer light. her hair was a shaggy cut, parted to the side and tucked behind her ears even though some stray strands still stood. her eyes were welcoming and friendly, giving you a warm feeling of hope. she had a tattoo on her right arm; a fern and a small butterfly. you debate asking her the meaning, but decide against it.

you snap out of your trance when you make it to her door. she unlocks the door and gently pushes it in, leaving room for you to step inside. "come in!"

you take 3 steps inside before you're pushed to the ground and pinned by strong, rough hands. "what the fuc- hey!" you start to shout. you squirm, hopelessly attempting to be freed from the tight grasp of what you thought was a male officer.

"you're under arrest," an unfamiliar, feminine voice states, "for possession and distribution of marijuana. you have the right to remain silent at this time." you see ellie's shoes standing in front of you, silently taunting you as you're handcuffed.

fuck, i should've never trusted her.

you're patted down and escorted to an unmarked car, parked around 30 feet away from your car. the unfamiliar figure is a tall, built woman with a long, blonde braid swinging down her back. her calloused hand grips you tightly as you're being walked. once you reach the vehicle, you're thrown into the back and the door slams in your face. you don't argue or protest; you were caught after one fuck up.

"didn't expect to catch her so easily," ellie brags, slightly looking back at you. you scowl at her, feeling betrayed by not only ellie, but dina, too. she had [hopefully] unknowingly helped them ruin your life. you were for sure not going to be able to finish college now. you wouldn't be able to get a job nice enough to stabilize your life. not to mention the possibility for 5 years of jail time and fees. it all made your head hurt. tears weld up in your eyes as you started to really let reality sink in.

"aw, she's crying," the blonde officer teased, looking at you through the rear-view mirror. you blinked back the tears before spitting out, "fuck you."

"the fuck you just say to me?"

"you heard me; fuck. you."

you could see her jaw clench, her bone well-defined under her skin. "oh, i know you wanna fuck me." a snicker was heard from the auburn girl.

the hell??

it was a weird response, but you decided to play into it. you're already being sent to jail; why not have fun?

"you wouldn't do anything about it if i wanted to anyway."

you saw the blonde's eyes go wide and her jaw drop with disbelief, looking over at her partner. ellie seemed calm, but intrigued by the situation. it was silent, but the way their eyes met was like they were talking through eye contact. ellie tilts her head towards you, signaling something to the other officer. as if she could read her mind, the blonde nods and pulls over to an abandoned alleyway.

"what's going on?" you question, attempting to hide the fear in your voice, but failing miserably. the blonde got out of the car and slammed the door shut as ellie simply answered, "you said we wouldn't do anything, hm?"

a shiver went down your spine as the door to your right opened, the blonde hopping in as you scooted all the way to your left.

"uh-uh, come here," she demanded as her hand wrapped around your neck and dragged you back to her. at this moment, your back rests against her toned thighs, handcuffed hands under your ass, legs laying on the seat.

"you wanna be disrespectful to me and my partner?" she jerks your head up, making you look at her. her sharp features take up your vision as she looks down at you with dark eyes. "you think you were just gonna get away with that? nuh-uh, not on my watch." you take your gaze off her face to read her badge, which reads "ABBY ANDERSON".

you're so focused on abby that you don'r realize ellie is on the other side of you, watching you and abby interact. you feel a sharp object on your jeans, scoring against the material. your head jerks down to see ellie running a pocketknife over your clothed cunt, fear and adrenaline running through you all at once. your breathing picks up speed as she cuts through your jeans, making a hole in the crotch. abby chuckles at your reaction, caressing your face as she coos, "not so tough now, huh?"

you're too caught up in looking at ellie's actions to respond. she puts the knife down, letting a feeling of relief wash over you. she mutters a "fuck it" before placing both hands on either side of the hole she made and ripping your jeans. you gasp, anxiety filling you once more. she smirks up at you, grabbing her knife and running it over your barely covered pussy. she loves the way you try to get away from her knife, silent cries as she gets closer to the meat of your thigh. she slightly cuts into you, small drops of blood racing down your inner thigh. you wince in pain, turning back to abby. "shh, it's okay," she reassures, kissing your sweaty forehead. "just a little cut. you're okay." you feel ellie's warm tongue running over the wound, collecting the red liquid. she kisses near your core, green eyes piercing into you before whispering, "so sweet" and smiling. abby gently kisses you, drawing your attention away from your cut to her and only her. she taps her pointer finger on your chin and whispers "open up", which you obey to. her lips purse together, gathering the liquid in her mouth before a ball of saliva drops into your mouth and onto your tongue. "swallow," she commands, and you close your mouth and swallow it, feeling it slip down your throat. she smiles, tapping your cheek lightly as she praises you. "good girl. she's doing so well, isn't she, el?"

ellie hums, hyper-focused on your pooling pussy. "so wet," she says in awe, "all this gets you off, doesn't it?"

you're oh so needy, cunt begging to be touched in any form. you nod ferociously, whining for any friction on your puffy clit. "you want it, yea? beg for it."

"p-please, ill do anything, just fuck me- ohmygod-" you babble, hips bucking up into ellie's face. she chuckles before looking up to abby, meeting her gaze. "she's been so good for us. give her a lil' reward."

with that, ellie cuts your underwear with one swift movement, completely exposing your pussy to her. she gasps at the sight, glistening skin in the low light. she whispers a spew of curses, spreading you apart as abby kisses you passionately. you moan into the kiss as ellie rubs your bud with her thumb. your noises go straight to her core, making her slightly whimper. she lays a flat tongue on your core, soaking up all of your juices on the pink muscle. abby wraps a firm hand around your throat, restricting airflow enough to make you completely feel ellie on you.

"fuck- oh, my god-" you cry, tears welling up in your eyes once more. the feeling is too much; abby kissing you, ellie eating you out- everything is overstimulating you. ellie smiles against your pussy, sucking on your clit while shoving two fingers in you. you whine and squirm away from her, but her other hand keeps you in place.

"i'm gonna- m'cumming- !!" you breathe, clenching around ellie's long fingers. abby praises you through it; "oh, so good for us, baby." "cum all over her fingers f'me, yes." small kisses are planted on your face once again, soothing you through your orgasm. ellie slowly takes her fingers out with a pop! before shoving one glistening finger into her mouth. she moans at the taste of you, maintaining eye contact with you. "shit, so sweet," she murmurs, looking over at abby. "wanna taste?"

"of course," abby says slyly, glancing over at you before sucking on ellie's middle finger, completely cleaning it off. she moans at the taste, finally letting ellie's middle finger go after a couple of seconds. she pulls you into another sloppy, heated kiss, making you taste yourself on her tongue.

"such a sweet thing," she coos, wiping your face. "too bad we gotta take you in now."

"can't let me off with a warning?"

"we would, but we'd be here for much longer and you'd be more bruised up." abby frowns in a mocking manner.

"so you're taking me in with no pants or underwear?"

"yup. don't underestimate us and, more importantly, don't sell drugs."

a/n: this was so fun to write omg ... part 2 will be coming me thinks

[teapartyprincess4two]

I'M THE ANON WHO REQUESTED FOR HEARTBREAK GIRL!!

FIRST OF ALL, THANK YOU, OMG. I CAN'T BELIEVE U WROTE IT I LOVE IT SO MUCH BUTTTT I SHOULD'VE SPECIFIED THAT I WANTED A HAPPY ENDING BECAUSE I SWEAR I CAN'T TAKE ANGST AND UNRESOLVED ENDING 😭

sooo part two PLEASE??? <3333 (I'll give my right leg for free)

Heartbreak Girl PT.2- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Clueless!reader x BestFriend!Matt

classification: slight angst, fluff

warnings: use of y/n, slight cursing, slightly annoying reader, Matt has a gf (brief), HAPPY ENDING

inspiration: requests^^, Heartbreak Girl by 5SOS

summary: Matt tries moving on, but you reel him back in every time.

Heartbreak Girl PT.1

—

Matt couldn’t find it in himself to stay mad at you. No matter how hard he tried, he found excuse after excuse each time and ended up forgiving you. Matt’s mind was battling with itself, trying to muster up enough hatred to push you out of his life once and for all, but he couldn’t blame you for breaking his heart. Deep down Matt knew that it wasn’t your fault you fell in love with someone else, and it especially wasn’t your fault that he fell in love with you.

So, even though his mind told him no, his heart told him yes, and he found himself welcoming you back into his life just days after the incident.

It was Tuesday, an ordinary day for everyone in the Sturniolo household. You were visiting, something you did often, and you, Chris and Nick were engaged in meaningless conversation on the couch. Matt watches the three of you with a sad droop in his eyes from the kitchen, memories of him sobbing in the hallway just days before replaying through his mind. Your face was such a bittersweet sight; filling him with emotions of love and sadness.

Matt desperately wanted to be the underdog who won the girl, but he didn’t even know where to begin with you. There were so many boundaries he’d have to cross and he didn’t know if he was ready for it all. For starters, you were his best friend. What happens if he confesses and you simply don’t feel the same way? Would he lose you as a friend? Secondly, you just got out of a serious relationship and already voiced your opinion on future relationships. Even if Matt did confess, the trauma Mike left you would blind you. Matt was convinced that you’d never date him.

Matt grabs 4 drinks, the reasons he’s even in the kitchen in the first place, balancing them in his hands as he walks back into the living room. Silently, he hands the drinks out and sits back onto the couch, squeezing in between you and Chris. Your body instinctively scoots in closer to Matt’s, a sigh escaping your lips as you cuddle into his chest. He hates himself for quite literally welcoming you back with open arms, but he can’t help it. He loves you, and he’ll take anything he can get.

When Matt came home crying a few days ago, Nick and Chris prodded him for an explication. At first, he couldn’t find the courage to confess his feelings for you out loud, not even to his brothers. But, Nick and Chris were relentless and after a few more tries they managed to force the information out of Matt.

So, now that you’re wrapped in his arms, Nick sends Matt a warning glare. Matt can feel Nick’s burning stare, but he keeps his eyes on the TV in front of him. He was so undeniably whipped for you it was embarrassing, he couldn’t handle the judgmental looks from his brothers.

“I’m cold,” you whisper, looking up at Matt through your long, thick lashes. Matt’s first instinct is to warm you up, and he fights the urge to peel the clothes off his back and wrap you in it. “Want a blanket?” he asks sweetly, a glint of sadness in his eyes as he makes eye contact with you. Why was he giving into your every whim so easily? Why was he unable to hate you?

You hum in response, turning your attention back to the movie without another word. You had Matt wrapped around your finger, and with the way you just interacted with him, he knew you were playing him. But, like a well trained dog, he wiggled out from under you to fetch you a blanket. Nick and Chris watch in frustration, suppressing the urge to slap their brother for being so whipped.

“Thank you,” you murmur once Matt returns with the blanket, sprawling out over you as he snuggles back into his previous spot.

“Anything for you.”

—

Matt’s managed to slowly, but surely, get over you, for the most part at least. He didn’t want to, but he started seeing this girl he met through Instagram. His brothers pushed him to meet new people, mostly so he’d finally get over you, but he was hesitant at first. Matt held his reservations, he wanted to save himself for you for as long as possible.

But, he finally decided enough was enough because you didn’t remain true to your previous sentiments about dating. The words still rang through Matt’s mind every night, “I’m just ready to be single.” Why say that if you were going to start dating again just months later? Granted, you were only exploring, none of the people you were associating yourself with were of true interest, but it still hurt.

Matt spent his entire life pining for you, chasing you at a steady pace that kept you just out of reach. Then, for whatever reason, you let a random man enter your life and take his rightful spot? There was an unspoken claim that Matt felt for you, he needed you to be his and no one else’s. But it was clear now that you didn’t see him the same way, so he was forced to find comfort in someone else.

Fiona, the girl Matt was seeing, looked an awful lot like you. It was creepy how similar she was to you; she held a lot of the same mannerisms and dressed like you. Anyone could see that Matt was looking for you in her and that she was the perfect scapegoat, providing Matt with the perfect excuse to stop pursuing anything real with anyone.

When you first met Fiona, you put on a fake, tight lipped smile. You shook her hand aggressively, your firm grip sending her a message that she read loud and clear; you didn’t like her at all. For as long as you’ve known Matt, he’s always been just Matt. Now, with this new girl in the picture, he wasn’t just Matt anymore. It was now Matt and Fiona, and you hated it.

You had zero room to be upset, especially because Matt had practically thrown himself at you time and time again, but the jealousy built up every time you saw them together. Matt smiled at her? You’re furious. Matt tells you about her? You’re not listening. Matt takes her on a date? You hate her. That last part is true, you hate her.

“I just don’t see what he sees in her,” you say, messing with one of the stuffed animals that litter Nick’s bed. He’s been listening to you drone on and on about Fiona for hours. He rolls his eyes as he replies, “she’s nice? I don’t Y/n, can we talk about something else?”

You glance at him, an annoyed look written all over your face, “You’re supposed to listen to me rant. That’s what good friends do.”

“No, that’s what Matt does, and I’m not Matt.”

“Whatever,” you grumble, picking loose pieces of lint from Nick’s bedsheets.

“Why do you care so much about Fiona anyway? Aren’t you seeing that guy? What’s his na-“ Nick begins, but you cut him off because the string of questions begin annoying you.

“Ian? I went on ONE date with him,” you say.

“Okay, well why don’t you go on another?” Nick prods, beginning to push your buttons with each question. “Because he was weird. Plus he smelled like cigarettes,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance. Why couldn’t Nick just shut up and listen to you rant?

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re an avid Fiona hater, though.” Nick knows you’re fighting with the realization that you’re in love with Matt, why else would Fiona bother you so much?

“She’s just weird. Matt could do better,” you reply, your mind wandering into dangerous territory as you imagine a life where you and Matt are dating. The images tug at your heart strings, a feeling you’ve never felt before when thinking of your best friend.

“Oh okay. And I’m assuming you’re ‘better?’” Nicks’s fingers dramatically air quote the last word, causing a blush to form on your face. “I never said that! Don’t be annoying!” you exclaim, hitting him playfully with the stuffed animal.

He laughs, blocking your hits with his arms, “Just admit you’re in love with him and that’s why you don’t like his girlfriend.” Girlfriend, the word stung when he said it. You stop hitting Nick, slumping back into your spot.

“Girlfriend? They’re official?” the exasperation in your voice is enough to give you away. You’ve never felt this heartbroken before, not even when you and Mike officially ended things. This is a newfound pain, a feeling you don’t want to linger in. Were you blind this entire time? Has the veil finally been lifted only to reveal that your best friend, the love of your life, has his sights set on another?

Nick’s mouth goes agape, a hand quickly covering it. “Are you actually in love with my brother?!” his voice is muffled behind his hand, but still loud enough for you to hear. The realization finally sets in, you love Matt, but you’re too late.

“Holy fuck. I think I am,” you whisper, tears brimming at your eyes. Now what?

—

It’s rare that you and Matt get time alone nowadays, especially with Fiona always lingering around. Nick confirmed that they weren’t official, they weren’t even exclusive, but for some reason she was always just there. You tried being nice, especially if she was going to become a frequent character in your life, but it was hard.

You’re currently filming a car video with the triplets, grateful that they didn’t invite Matt’s new friend to crash the party. You’ve filmed many videos like this with them before, but for some reason you feel nervous the whole time.

Throughout the entire video Matt’s eyes are glued to you, he’s hanging onto your every word and relishing in the sweet sound of your laughter. This feels normal, and for a second he forgets all about the poor girl he was leading on. But, once the video reaches the halfway point, the conversation drifts into the topic of relationships.

“Okay, this person asks if any of us are in love. You go first, Y/n,” Chris reads the question from his phone, earning daggers from Nick. This was obviously a sensitive subject, and if Nick was in charge of reading the questions he would’ve glossed over it and moved onto the next, but Chris isn’t aware of your hidden feelings for Matt. Matt becomes visibly uncomfortable from his seat, shifting so he’s fully facing the dashboard. Whatever you’re going to say, he doesn’t want to hear it.

You cough awkwardly, “I don’t want to answer that.”

Nick is about to speak up in an attempt to steer the conversation in a different direction, but Chris doesn’t skip a beat, “Okay, that’s fine. Matt? How you liking your new lady friend?” Chris pokes Matt’s sides playfully, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. The question churns your stomach, you actually could vomit right now. Nick sends you a sympathetic glance, attempting to console you with a hand on your knee, but you push his hand away and shake your head profusely.

Matt wants to slap Chris, why would he even direct the question to him? But he keeps his composure, “She’s nice and funny. Nice girl.”

You can’t stop the snarky, sassy remark that escapes your mouth, “Wow. Sounds like true love.” Matt shifts to you in shock, the anger filling his body immediately. Who were you to talk? You crawled back to Mike every single time he uttered so much as a broken promise. You believed him every time he said he would change only to cry to Matt about your heartbreak hours later.

“What would you know? Not like Mike set much of an example,” Matt spits, venom laced in every word. You’re shocked and hurt, Matt was never the type to throw personal stuff in your face.

“So mature, Matt. So mature,” you reply with an eye roll. The air in the car is becoming tense, both Nick and Chris unaware of what to do with themselves. Do they interject? Do they change the subject? Or do they just let you two hash it out? They decided on the last option, scooting far back into their seats and watching the situation unfold.

“Oh shut up! You called me every night crying over that loser. Is that what love is to you?! Because if so, I don’t want any part of it,” Matt’s voice is so loud it shakes the car, he’s pointing an accusatory finger in your face and leaning so far forward in his seat that he’s practically in the backseat.

You’re no stranger to fights, especially not after having Mike as an ex, so you’re quick to respond, “What a best friend you are! If I would’ve known you were going to throw this back in my face, I would’ve never told you any of this!”

Matt’s seething with anger, but so are you. He breaths in deeply through his nose, ready to rip you a new one, but Nick decides he’s heard enough. The camera is still rolling and the mood is ruined.

“Are you two idiots done? Jesus, fuck,” Nick groans, pushing himself between you two and grabbing the camera from the dashboard.

“That was… a lot,” Chris chuckles nervously from the front seat, he has no idea what just happened. Matt clenches his jaw, breaking his gaze from you and facing forward.

“Just take me home,” you command, an angry tone still laced in your voice. The faster you could get out of this car, the better.

“Already on it,” Matt retorts, starting the car and reversing out of the parking lot. You’re about to make a snarky remark, but he turns the volume up, loud radio music drowning your voice. You’re trembling at this point, the pent up anger threatening to burst at any moment.

Once Matt pulls up to your house, he quickly places the car in park, unlocking the doors from the front seat to serve as your invitation to leave. You gladly accept it, dismissing yourself from Nick and Chris with a genuine, apologetic smile before swinging the door open. You step out of the car, slamming the door shut soon after.

You stomp your way to your house, trembling hands unlocking your front door. But once you’re inside, any anger you felt is replaced with sadness, the tears finally spilling over.

You felt helpless, forced to navigate new feelings you didn’t ask for. You groan in frustration, wiping the tears away and walking to your room, you were NOT going to cry over Matt.

That resolution didn’t last very long, though, as soon as you’re in your room you slump onto your bed and the tears continue to flow. You scream into your pillow, letting all your frustrations out. As much as you loved Matt, you hated him for making you feel this way.

—

Matt is going through the same emotions; his mind dancing over a fine line of hatred and love for you. He hated how much he loved you. The entire situation in the car earned him a tongue lashing from Nick and he soon realized that whatever he had with Fiona had to end. He couldn’t keep leading her on, because, as much as he hated to admit it, you were right; he didn’t love her.

So, he broke the poor girl’s heart through a text message. He blocked her right after and took a long, cold shower to try and wash away the guilt. Matt tried convincing himself that this was the right thing to do, that he was going to end up winning the girl, his girl.

He twists the knobs of the shower, turning the water off and quickly exiting the tub. He knows what he has to do, and if he’s going to do it, it had to be right now. There was no time to wait. He dresses himself swiftly, throwing on the first outfit he can find before grabbing his car keys and rushing out the door.

Matt feels a surge of adrenaline course through his veins, it was now or never. He drives to your house, running through red lights and stop signs on the way there. He’s throwing the car in park, yanking the keys out of the ignition and throwing his seat belt off as quickly as possible. His legs carry him to your front door at lightning speed, a heavy fist knocking so loud the sound travels through your home.

It startles you from your sleep, causing you to jolt up from your bed and look around the room. Matt is yelling your name at this point, trying his to call you down. “What the fuck?” you croak, grabbing your phone and checking the time. It’s only been two hours since Matt dropped you off, what could he possibly want.

You slip your house shoes on, tired feet trudging downstairs to the front door. You open the door abruptly, still holding some resentment from earlier, “What Matt? What could possibly be so important that you’re banging on my door at midnight.”

Matt clears his throat, ignoring your sour attitude as he prepares to confess to you. “If this is about our fight from earlier, I forgive you. Goodni-“ you continue, but Matt cuts you off.

“Can I speak? Damn.” He waits patiently to see if you’re going to interrupt before continuing, “I broke it off with Fiona.”

You have to physically stop yourself from jumping for joy at the news, instead replying either a snarky remark, “okay, how is this news worth losing sleep over?”

“Just shut up for one second, please,” he shushes you, taking a step into your house. He closes the door behind him, shaky hands find their way to your face. You subconsciously lean into him, relishing in his touch.

“Y/n, I love you. And before you interrupt, just listen,” he begins, holding a stare so intense that it makes your knees wobble. You hum in response, ready to hear everything this man has to say.

He takes a deep breath, “I love you and I’ve loved you from the moment I met you. Everyday I wake up and curse the world for not making you mine. I love everything about you; your laugh, your smile, your sense of humor, your face, everything, Y/n. The moments I spend away from you are painful and the ones I spend with you are the highlights of my life.” Butterflies are fluttering around your stomach, you want to pull him in and kiss him already, but he’s not done.

“I’ve kept this a secret for a long time, mostly because I was afraid of what it would do to our friendship. But I can’t deny it anymore. I. Love. You. The longer I keep it in, the more it hurts,” he pushes his forehead against yours, his wet hair tickling your skin. “When you were with Mike, I wished I was him every day. If I was him, I would have never made you cry. I would have protected and taken care of you- I will protect and take care of you. I’d quite literally do anything for you, Y/n. Anything.”

He inhales deeply again, the anxiety dissipating as he searches your eyes. They’re twinkling, a big smile spread across your face as he continues, “From the way you reacted earlier, I know you feel the same way. Don’t deny it. You love me just as much as I love you. Just…” he finished his statement by fluttering his eyes closed and attaching his lips to yours.

You kiss back, an instant wave of joy washing over you. “I love you, too,” you whisper against his lips, feeling the way his lips curl up into a smile. He knew it, but it felt good to hear you say it. He pulls you in for another kiss, ready to spend the rest of forever with you.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Thank you heartbreak girl anon, I’ll be expecting that right leg in the mail soon. This was a popular demand here on the TeaPartyPrincess4Two blog, so I ofc had to supply. Luv u, enjoy 👍🏻💌 (also… Shameless mentioned????)

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

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