#teenagers are more scared of u than u are of them

[website-com]

i feel physically ill whenever i have to defend my opinion

[luvsupa]

BUT YOU’RE A …VAMPIRE?!

terrible summary: fucking the towns hottest college student—a bonus. . . he’s a vampire!

tags: vampire!choso x fem!reader, choso and reader are in college, reader babysits yuji, heavily inspired by tvd 🙂‍↕️, lowkey long before smut scene sorryyy, smut (p in v), face sitting, mating press, blōod play, sqūirting, feral choso, sub!choso (a little), hes insanely fast and strong, errmm idk what else, mdni

w.c: 2.3k

a/n: 1. TY GUYS FOR 1.5K ???? THIS IS INSANEEE, 2. I hope u guys enjoy bc this is my first kinktober so I hope I satisfy y’all 🧟‍♀️

kinktober masterlist

“this movie’s not even scary,” yuji mutters from under the blankets, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. he begged you to play halloween, the most gruesome movie you’ve ever seen. maybe it wasn’t the best idea for a teenage boy—he’d probably have nightmares—but you just wanted him to stop whining. you giggle as he shrieks when michael myers catches a screaming woman, his eyes glued to the screen despite his words.

suddenly, the movie pauses, and you glance up from your phone, wondering why. “can you do my halloween makeup now? megumi’s coming soon, and we’re going trick-or-treating,” yuji asks, hopeful. you sigh internally, not because of him, but because this isn’t how you planned to spend your halloween. midterms are next week, and you haven’t even started studying!

you nod, grabbing your makeup bag already packed with halloween supplies. yuji sits in the dining room—where the lighting is better—facing the television. he’s jumpy as the movie resumes, flinching at every scare, ruining the makeup more than once. you’re just applying fake blood to his mouth to piece together the vampire look when the front door slams open, the sound deafening. you both scream, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the source.

choso.

you nearly drop the makeup brush, fake blood splattering the polished floor. choso’s laughter echoes through the room, and you stare at him in shock, your heart racing from the scare—and the sight of him. you haven’t seen him in nearly a year since he moved abroad for school. you thought your crush on him had faded, but now, seeing him again…he’s even more attractive. more buff. and is he dressed as a vampire? how fitting for the brothers.

choso brings in, a beautiful girl trailing behind him, her expression uneasy. you notice something odd—they’re matching.

“that wasn’t funny, choso,” yuji grumbles, pushing him away when choso messes up his slicked-back hair. but your attention is elsewhere, drawn to choso’s costume. the fangs look too real, and dried blood stains the corners of his lips. your stomach twists with unease.

“hey, choso, your costume is… really cool,” you manage to say, your voice catching as his gaze locks onto yours. his eyes—there’s a tint of red. it feels like he’s staring straight through you, searching for something deeper. and then, you notice the girl again, her pale complexion, her exhausted, haunted look.

and her neck.

multiple bite marks—no, fang marks—line her skin, and you swear you see blood trickling from one of them. who in the hell did their makeup?

“costume? oh no, we’re not—”

“teenage versions of dracula and draculara,” choso cuts in coldly, his gaze never leaving yours. your heart pounds, the tension in the room thickening. you know what dracula looks like and it’s not what he’s wearing.

the movie continues playing in the background as it fades into nothing. choso’s lips twitch as he stares at your neck, his eyes darkening when they land on the pulsing vein just beneath the surface. you feel a lump form in your throat, and yuji shifts awkwardly between you both, oblivious to the growing danger.

without another word, choso snaps out of it, pulling the girl upstairs in a hurry. loud, frantic footsteps echo as the door slams shut behind them. you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

after finishing yuji’s costume, the movie mercifully ends. you take a few photos of yuji with his plastic vampire fangs before megumi and nobara arrive in matching outfits. they thank you, and with a final warning to stay close to the block, you send them off. at last, you’re alone—ready to relax.

but when you return to the dining room, your peace is shattered. the mess from the makeup is worse than you remembered, and you groan. you huff as you start cleaning up, scrubbing the floor and tossing used brushes into the nearby sink. and then, you feel it.

someone’s watching you.

you freeze, a chill running down your spine. slowly, you turn around, your heart racing, and nearly scream again. choso is leaning against the staircase, his dark eyes fixed on you, an unsettling smile tugging at his lips.

“gosh, choso, you scared me,” you exclaim, clutching the counter for support.

“no need to be scared,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous as he walks closer following you into the kitchen. “i was just… admiring the view.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, but there’s a sinister edge to his words that makes you uneasy. still, you mutter a soft “pervert,” hoping to shake off the tension. but choso hears you clearly, his dark chuckle sending shivers down your spine.

you walk to the dirty dishes as you start cleaning up the previous mess, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread as he offers to help, standing too close for comfort. his presence is suffocating, his body radiating cold as he dries each dish you hand him. “so… you got a boyfriend?” he asks bluntly, and your breath catches.

“no… i’ve been busy with school,” you stammer, your heart pounding in your chest. his lips curl into a smirk, and you hear him whisper, “good girl.”

your knees weaken, and you squeeze your thighs together, feeling a surge of warmth between your legs. he knows. he can smell it. your mind spins as you struggle to focus on washing the dishes. when your hand accidentally brushes his, the icy coldness jolts you, your breath hitching.

you glance at him through the window in front of the sink. dread pooling in your stomach. no way…

the fangs. the eyes. the ice cold touch.

he’s a—

“c’monnn, you’re letting the water run too long,” choso interrupts, snapping you back to reality. you quickly apologize, shaking off the thought as you rinse off the next dirty dish. holding a tiny kitchen knife, you stare at your reflection in the window. choso stands impatiently, waiting for you to hurry up. biting your lip, you rinse the knife, but just before you hand it to him, you ‘accidentally’ slice the tip of your finger.

you watch the way his eyes darken, his pupils dilating as veins bulge beneath his skin. his lips part, his fangs elongating as he watches your blood dribble down with the almost animalistic hunger.

panic grips you and instinct kicks in, and you sprint for the front door, tears stinging your eyes, terrified of ending up like the victims in the horror movies. you twist the doorknob, but choso is suddenly in front of you, covering your mouth with his hand as he dragging you back inside, the door slams behind you with a deafening thud.

“shh, baby…I know, ’m not gonna hurt you,” choso whispers, his voice rough as he coaxes you to the couch. you tremble, tears blurring your vision.

“cho… you’re a—a vampire?” you manage to choke out, the words feeling unreal in your mouth. choso nods, his eyes fixed on the blood still oozing from your finger. something inside you shifts, your fear dissolving as something darker takes over.

fuck it.

“you want it, cho’?” you murmur, lifting your finger to his lips, smearing your blood across them. his eyes roll back, his fangs glistening as he lets out a desperate moan, his hunger consuming him.

you lean closer, your voice a seductive whisper, “then take it.”

and oh did you truly mess up. badly.

choso had never tasted anything as sweet and addicting as you—the sweetest he’s ever known since his transformation into a vampire. that’s why he has you sitting on his face, your pussy suffocating him as his icy hands pull you deeper against his mouth. your thighs tremble on either side of his head, fingers gripping the armrest for support. your eyes roll back as his slick tongue plunges deep into your pulsing walls, his nose brushing against your swollen clit.

“ch-cho’. . slow d-down..” you wail, trying to pull away from his inhuman tongue—but he growls. the wet, messy sounds of slurping and groans fill your ears as you’re losing yourself on his tongue. you can’t help it—you start grinding even deeper into his face, chasing that high as he hums against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. your nails dig into the armrest, knuckles white, as you glance down with glazed eyes—his brows are furrowed, veins pulsing under his skin, soft brown hair that was once tied up now sprawled wildly across the couch.

he’s slurping you up like you’re his last meal, completely lost in the taste of you. it’s like you’ve got him under some kind of spell, and he can’t stop. he pulls you deeper into his face until you’re sure you’ll break. your thighs shake uncontrollably, your stomach tightening as you feel your orgasm slam into you, broken cries spilling from your lips, soaking his tongue in your release.

“mmf— ‘m gonna—”

“not yet,” choso commands, lifting you off his face and tossing you flat on your back with a rough ‘oof’ escaping your lips. your mind is too foggy to register anything as he grabs your ankles, placing them on either side of his shoulders. your cunt spasms uncontrollably, slick dripping down as you whimper, watching him grip the base of his thick cock. his chubby tip parts your swollen folds, sliding up and down your dripping slit, teasing your twitching hole, not giving you what you desperately need. your gaze locks with his, and your heart skips a beat—his eyes fixed on the pulsing vein in your neck, his mouth trembling as his fangs grow longer.

“hahh— I need a t-taste,” he moans, the whites of his eyes turning black as he repeats the same words, over and over, to himself. before you can even respond, he slams into you, balls-deep, a broken sob tearing from your throat he’s stretching you so wide it hurts so good as his thick crown head bullies your sweet spot. your whole body jiggles with each brutal thrust, clenching down hard as his cock stretches you abnormally wide. he’s lost in the feeling, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you swear he’s leaving bruises, all while he keeps mumbling to himself, lost in a frenzy.

he’s completely feral, growling with every thrust, eyes locked on your neck like he’s about to tear into you, his cock stretching you wide as your body shakes from the sheer force of his inhumane thrusts.

“y-yes… cho’, have a t-taste,” you stutter, tilting your head to the side, exposing the throbbing vein he’s been eyeing with hunger. his eyes gleam with feral desire as he leans down, his thick cock still relentlessly jackhammering deep inside you. 

he groans into your neck, inhaling your scent, and your shaking hands pull him closer, legs wrapping tight around his waist, locking him in as your eyes roll back. the sharp sting of his fangs sinking deep into your neck pulls a guttural moan from you, his mouth latched onto your skin as he drinks, each slurp sending electric shocks through your body. his thrusts become erratic, vicious, slamming into your poor cervix as he drinks greedily from you.

“s-such a good vampire,” you pant, praising him as he pulls away from your neck, rising up to look at you—and fuck, he’s completely lost in it. his blacked-out eyes, mouth hanging open, dripping with blood, his chin smeared in a mess of fluids. his monstrous look beyond attractive you don’t even think—you grab him by the face and yank him down to your lips, moaning as the metallic tang of your blood touches your tongue. your lips move against his hungrily, tasting the mix of your blood and his spit as he pounds into your sloppy, swollen cunt that grips him so tight it’s driving him crazy. his thrusts become more brutal, more desperate, his cock throbbing as you cling to him, completely helpless under his inhuman strength.

he pulls away from the kiss with a growl, leaving you breathless, licking your lips as the taste of blood lingers. with no warning, choso grabs your thighs and folds you in half—ankles pressed right up against your ears. he fucks you deeper, so deep you swear he’s going to break you, every thrust harder, more punishing than the last as you whimper and sob beneath him.

“fuckkk— pussy’s suckin’ the s-soul outta me,” he groans, forcing your thighs deeper into your chest, bending you in half like you’re nothing. all you can do is take it, your body completely at his mercy, trembling under his brutal, inhuman pace. his cock pounds into you relentlessly, each thrust sending shockwaves through your entire body, your mind turning into a haze of desperate moans and babbled pleas.

and then, it hits—your orgasm slams into you, hard and fast, like a wave crashing over you. eyes rolling back as your walls clamp down around him, milking his cock, spasming so hard you’re seeing stars. your legs shake uncontrollably as you feel the hot rush of your release soaking both of you, dripping down your thighs, adding to the messy slick between your bodies. you’re screaming, but it’s incoherent—just broken sobs and moans, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure ripping through you.

choso feels it too, your pussy squeezing him so tight he can barely move, and with a deep growl, he spills inside you, thick, hot ropes of cum filling you to the brim. you can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you so full that it starts to leak out, your stomach bulging slightly from how much he’s pumped into you. your whole body trembles, completely spent, as your cunt flutters around him, milking every last drop.

“heyy pretty, c’mon—wake up,” choso coos, giving your swollen, throbbing cunt a hard slap. the impact makes you jolt, and the wet, sticky sound echoes through the living room as your mixed juices splatter everywhere, slick covering your lower stomach and seeping into the couch. broken moans slip past your lips, your eyes fluttering open just in time to see him towering over you, his cock still hard and dripping with cum, more spilling from his tip.

“we’re nowhere near done.” 

[bambiesfics]

𝗘𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗦𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗚𝗳 — Ellie x Bimbo!r

𝜗𝜚 Author’s notes ✦ Butch/femme dynamics, Ellie has a panic attack, this references joel’s death, anxiety, bile, nausea, and hyper sexual themes, Ellie’s butch, wears a packer/strap. Refers to it as cock, dick etc Reader’s a bimbo and genuinely stupid. Ellie gets really scared.

𝜗𝜚 Ellie Williams ✦ I listened to Vietnam - Crystal Castles it’s tempo mirrors Ellie’s panicked anxiety. I’ve linked to a few seconds before the beat drops, on YouTube for accessibility. Listen with earphones so the music fucks your ears.

𝜗𝜚 If you find yourself uncomfortable with the themes in this fic, maybe try educating yourself on Butch sexuality. Read this to get a sense of Ellie’s headspace.

kisses u. ⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡.

Ellie fisted the joystick into neutral and killed the engine. She cracked all 5 knuckles before reaching over to release your seatbelt. The belts cold buckle sprang across your breasts and over your shoulder, turning your nipples visibly hard and full in their wake. Ellie fought off the urge to glance down; to drink them in. She was semi-successful at managing away her inner teenage boy every time it chose to rear its ugly hungry head at inopportune moments.

  “So…” she started, her hand massaging the inner dough of your thighs, warmed by the hug of your crossed legs. “We just gettin’ your little sparkly earrings? Or are you gonna get distracted and spend more money than I make in a single paycheck?” 

  You ran your palms up the sleeves of Ellie’s brown military jacket. Fascinated by the texture of the rough fabric everytime one of its crinkles caught against your acrylic nails. You couldn’t fathom how Ellie walked around in clothes so rough and distressed, all of your outfits were soft cotton or silky satin. And here Ellie wore a deconstructed uniform jacket like it was meant for her body. You blinked away your distracted thoughts, and leaned into nose at her neck. Pressing nose and lips to the source of the most comforting scent in the world to you. Allspice, cigarette smoke, and 2-in-1 body wash. There was still a faint trace of her cologne, you wish she wore it, the traces of it made you go brainless for your butch.

  “Earrings only.” Your sweet voice was muffled against her neck. She reached her other hand up to cup the back of your neck. The cold metal of her rings kissed your skin, but you leaned into it.   

 “I’ll wait for you right here, peach.” 

“Okay.” You nodded obediently. 

“Don’t spend too long in there, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded once again. 

“If anyone stares at you too long or makes you feel weird for being girly, call me and I’ll meet you wherever. Especially those judgemental ass grandmas.”

You looked up at her, her hair was in her eyes, casting a shadow that turned her gaze into a deep hunter green. 

You leaned in slowly and kissed her lips. Ellie attempted to chase the kiss, until you slid your hand between the valley of her breasts and urged her to stay. Behave baby boy. 

  Ellie’s right eyebrow quirked up in response, impressed that you kept her in check. That you knew her so well that you could tell exactly where that kiss could’ve led to if you didn’t tell her to slow down. 

“Be right back here in an hour.” Ellie was relishing in how your thumb rubbed across her chest. Your hand rested on her chest like you were her little damsel in distress, looking to her to save you. You made her feel like Clark Kent, and it made her want to puff her chest out. 

  “Hour-and-a-half, I wanna get ice cream.” You prattled.

  “An hour.”

  “Ellieeee” You whined. 

  “If you’re not back here by 2:30 pm, I’m stomping into Icing myself, throwing you over my shoulder and marching right back out.” 

  “Please as if you could hoist me up over your shoulder.” You leaned over to fish Ellie’s wallet from her back pocket. 

  Ellie side-eyed you intensely as she tracked the movement. She enclsaped your wrist in an iron grip once your acrylics brushed the back pocket of her jeans. Her thumb pressed down. You couldn’t move.

“You didn’t seem confused about my strength when I lifted you into that full nelson and pounded you in front of the mirror.” She dropped her blue steel face and started grinning like a fox. “Uhnnuhuh Ellie, m’gonna squirt. I’m gonna squirt on you daddy.” She mocked in a high-pitched overly feminine voice. She drew her eyebrows together to school up the appearance of someone deliriously aroused. One that mimicked your cock-drunk face all those days ago.  

  Ellie dropped the comedic expression for a moment, in favor of replacing it with the one she sported to intimidate customers who started testing her boundaries or her patience. The one that said ‘respect me.’  

“Fuck you, asshole. I’m made of steel.” She spat.

  You leaned up, and just planted a glossy kiss on her cheek. She blushed until she was cherry tomato red. She always blushed harder when you were affectionate to her, in the middle of her egotistical masculine delusions. Like a mom kissing her son's cheek, after he called himself Spider-Man. 

Ellie would tease you for hours. But remind her again you were her adorable little girlfriend who she worshiped, then she’d be back to acting right again. Ready to hump the air just to get a whiff of your hair. Sweet and pliable. Ellie crossed her fingers subtly and hoped you got specks of glitter gloss on her cheek from that kiss. She wore your kisses like merchandise. Those and the smell of your pussy on her mouth and fingers. Some days, the smell was just smeared all over her face. 

  You blinked at her, slow and pouty in the way that got her real happy and pleased. “Now that you’re done poking and teasing me, can I go inside to get my sparkly earrings?” 

Ellie slid her wallet into your palm, her lips parted at the way your acrylics snatched it. The way they sunk into the soft leather. Mmmm.

  “An hour.” 

You climbed out of her beat up hatchback. The metal groaned as you slammed the door shut. “See you Els, if I get in trouble or get lost I’ll call you okay? I charged my phone this time. Bye-bye.”  You sing-songed just before walking away, out of the parking lot and towards the entrance of the mall.

  You were the utter definition of hate to see you leave, but love to watch you go. Ellie drank in the very very obvious little characters of your ass. The jiggly flesh, dimpled skin, and the way they smacked each other with each step. The type of visual someone could only see if the person walking in front of them was naked. Which you practically were considering how your pink cotton leggings looked painted on. The silhouette was way too intimate with how well it showed the character of your ass. She could’ve forced you to change, but you two had such a good morning today. 

Ellie didn’t want to—no—she hated picking fights with you. Ellie being mad at you? That was just another Tuesday. She had temperament issues, trauma, death of a loved one blah blah blah. But you being mad at Ellie? She’d kill herself. She shuddered in the car at the thought of it, and swallowed her jealousy. Everyone sees your little dimpled ass? Fine. She’s the only person that’s seen it twerking for her during backshots. And anyway, you’d get jealous if she wore gray sweatpants to work, so she kinda understood the sentiment. Especially because she packed everywhere, and the bulge was glaring. 

  Ellie wrapped her knuckles on the steering wheel. Trying to distract herself from the slow and lonely weight of the parking lot. Joy Division’s “disorder” played in her head. She considered pulling out a Marlboro to smoke, but thought against it. She remembered how you squealed whenever she kissed you with cigarette breath, telling her how it made your kisses taste so bitter. 

Truth be told, she was just as clingy with you, as you were to her. You just initiated it more often. When someone follows her around like a little puppy trying to catch up to its much larger owner all day, it’s hard not to notice their missing presence. 

  Ellie played with her rings as the mounting anxiety gnawed at her tummy. She turned her wrist over to check her watch. Ten. Only ten minutes had gone by? Fucking christ. 

She puffed out her cheeks. Yeah she was being ridiculous. Knowing you, you probably had only just arrived at the store, and that meant making a cute pikachu face at every new piece of merchandise they shipped into the shop floor that week. So it’d be a while before you were back. She could’ve gone in with you, but Ellie knew her presence there would’ve weirdly encouraged you to take a full day tour of the mall. She was your walking wallet apparently. But it’s worse when the wallet can actually give in.

  It was better this way, you kept her card in hand, but Ellie wasn’t physically there to actually convince of anything. So you couldn’t use it to buy anything more than earrings. Plus, she couldn’t stand another trip to Victoria’s Secret. As much as she loved the way you modeled a show for her whenever you tried stuff on, and as much as the jokes she cracked with the other boyfriends waiting for their girlfriends to be done made for good conversation, Victoria’s Secret just served to make her feel incredibly out of place. Mostly due to its overtly sexual displays of femininity. Something she still struggled to place how she felt about. All Ellie knew was that she didn’t want it.

Matter of fact she had repelled femininity so much, it even reflected in her dating preferences. You were by far the most feminine girl Ellie had ever dated. That was a considerably large shift from the tomboys she typically had crushes on in highschool.  

But she couldn’t help but be turned on by the way your acrylics stroked her bulge, by the way you blinked up at her with those dolly lashes like you needed her approval more than you needed oxygen, by the way she got both wet and enraged seeing men’s gazes linger on you as she walked behind you. Lingering in a way that they never did for any of her exes. It ignited a possessiveness in her she had convinced herself she didn’t have the ability to feel. Made her walk out the house with her shoulders drawn up to her ears, scowling. As if to say to all the men, ‘fuck off, get your own cocksleeve. This one’s claimed.’ 

  You were the cutest cocksleeve too. The human embodiment of a little bow for her dick. 

Just the thought prompted her to squeeze her bulge through her jeans, feeling phantom erections.

God it’d been how long now? Ellie checked her watch, reading the watch face to make sure she’d read that right. Twenty minutes? Only?

  Her palms started perspiring, and she started grinding her teeth. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. She’ll be back any minute. Be cool, you freak. 

Ellie reached to grab her phone, but the way the time flashed at the top bar of the screen made her stomach knot up anxiously. She chucked her phone into the passenger seat, and rolled down the window to get some fresh air. It felt beautiful for a moment, her rough short hair curling around the wind and blowing in her eyes. But then she felt like she couldn’t breathe again. Like her throat was squeezing in on itself. So Ellie unbuttoned the top button of her navy plaid button down. She yanked the collar away from her neck, and took deep breaths. Nice and deep slow breaths. The demonic little shadows and whispers of panic ebbed away, leaving only room for peace and the sunlight of the early afternoon. Ellie smiled, she’d be fine. 

She played with her rings, recounting all the places and dates she’d thrifted them from. Then she started fidgeting with them as her leg bounced in the car, working off some of that returning nervous energy. The little shadows were starting to creep back in her mind again. Ellie white-knuckled the steering wheel. “No, no, no please. Not now, please not now.” She sucked in a deep breath as unshed tears lined her waterline. She flipped her wrist watch face up quickly, you’d been gone for thirty-five minutes by this point. And Ellie felt her skin run cold. thirty-five minutes left twenty-five minutes. Twenty-five more minutes for the ebb and flow of panic to infect her brain and trigger her adrenaline response. Twenty-five more minutes of letting her own mind attack itself. Ellie couldn’t stomach the thought. She started gasping as she fidgeted to remove the car keys from the ignition. The dark whispering shadow only urged her to look at one thought in her mind: Alone. You’re alone again, Ellie. 

  She nearly keeled over from the sheer nausea that thought brought about. Ellie tripped out of her car, slammed the door and stumbled towards the mall as her heartbeat thundered louder than her thoughts. And her thoughts were very loud. Her face felt tight and itchy, as she ran. And due to the combination of wind and glossy eyes, her vision warped until it became disfigured. Which only set off to make her blood run icier. Like she was being deprived of all her necessary  senses as she yanked the mall door open and stumbled around trying to wade her way through until she got to the side where women’s jewelry and clothing was huddled. Her vision was disjointed, Ellie felt as if she was looking through a fish-eye lens. It caused bile to rise in her throat. Ellie was spiraling, she knew it. And if she didn’t find you—fuck where were you?—it was only going to get uglier for her. She despised being reduced to ugly. She hated herself when she was ugly. 

  Snot mixed in with tears as she scaled the walls of the mall trying to use the brightness of pink and white signs to guide her to the right store. You promised you’d go to icing, you promised you’d go to icing, you promised you’d go to icing. She hummed the mantra in corners of her brain.

She gurgled “better fucking be at Icing otherwise I’m gonna kill he—my heart christ—fuck fuck fuck baby please be at icing.” The palpitations rolled in, causing her heart to beat erratically. Two beats instead of one, a skipped beat, or an extra hard beat. Every bastardized combination instead of the reliable, glub-glub of a healthy heart. Ellie gripped her own shirt, and tried to feel any lingering warmth from your hand when you placed it there nearly an hour ago. Her breaths were coming out ragged, and she was still blind with a disjointed vision no matter how much she rubbed her jacket across her eyes to soak up tears. Ellie stumbled until she saw a store with the familiar lettering, and she yanked and tugged at her shirt to ground herself as she made her way to the checkout lane. “Hi.” Her voice came out so small and strained. She hated herself for it. 

  “Have you seen a girl, she’s—seems about yay-high and she’s wearing pink leggings and a tight pink top. Oh—she’s pretty—long nails. My girlfriend, do you know where my girlfriend is?” Ellie choked, her sanity was slipping. Her bloodshot eyes were crazed as she stared down at the cashier like the woman held the answer to curing Ellie’s mental suffering. 

  “N-no. Sorry I didn’t see a girl with pink leggings.”

  “No?” Ellie’s voice grew fainter, weaker. She sobbed “are you sure?” but her voice crackled with that sentence, and the cashier just stared at her with a puzzled expression, unsure of what to say to diffuse the situation. 

  Ellie stumbled out of the store, flinching at the expressions of customers who were looking around the store to see if they were the only one witnessing the girl's mounting panic attack. She ran to an empty hallway in the mall. The one where they kept those gumball machines that hadn’t been replaced since 1998. She fell to her knees and curled in on herself. Her nails scratched her scalp until it broke skin, trying to draw out the thoughts of being alone, being alone, being alone, being, alone, being alone, being alone, being alone, being alone, out of her head. 

Ellie tugged at her hair now, using the self-inflicted pain to distract from that hungry giggling fear, the one that wrapped itself around her eyes and throat and told her to describe what she saw: loneliness. Pitch black, devoid of warmth, pure unadulterated isolation. 

She needed you, needed you so bad as she cried to herself on her knees. She should’ve never let you go alone, she should’ve never let you walk away from her, she should’ve never let you have an hour to leave her, she should’ve never let you take her wallet and not take her, she should’ve never ever ever ever ignored the signs, the raised hairs and the feeling of dread that pooled in her stomach the past week. Just waiting to be triggered by something insignificant. Now it was triggered, and in an incredibly public place too. Ellie beat her chest, coughing just to bring herself down from the dissociative hell her mind was flinching in. “Baby where are you? I’m hurting…it’s hurting me again. Pleasepleasepleaseplease, peach.”  

  Nails bluntly tickled her nape, sending a shiver down her spine just as the smell of sweet jasmine and vanilla perfume engulfed her. Ellie broke from her kneeling fetal position to draw you into her lap. She didn’t even need to look at you, she knew you like the back of her hand. Ellie knew the feeling of those acrylic nails because of how deeply they’d scratched down her back in bed. She knew the smell of your perfume from how often she’d buried her face into your waiting body after work for comfort. Her grip was painful, likely breaking capillaries from its tightness. She mewled for you like a kitten finding its mother. “Babygirl.” 

  “Ellie—Ellie I’m sorry did I take too long? I set an alarm, I don’t think it went off, I’m sorry Ellie I didn’t mean too I promise.” Ellie let out a wet laugh from where her face was crooned in your neck. She just shook her head. It absolutely was not your fault. But God weren’t you just the cutest fucking thing in the world for thinking you’d made another little mistake? How sweet, that even in the face of Ellie’s utter mental crack and breakdown, you found a way to give your baby the benefit of the doubt. Ellie dragged her face up your neck, inhaling deeply as her nose traced a path up your throat. The scent alone was like Xanax to the nerves, drowning her in a sea of serenity. Letting the anxiety ebb away until it was no more than a dull twinge, the whispers reduced to muted hums. You were her light. Ellie’s grip on you tightened, her medicine. 

  She pulled her face away, and she could only imagine how distressed she must’ve looked by the way your eyebrows drew up, and by the way your pretty little lips formed a worried pout. Ellie gnawed on her bottom lip. There was nothing to fear, you would understand. 

“You didn’t take too long princess, I just had a panic attack.”

  Your hands flew to cup Ellie’s reddened blotchy cheeks, massaging her face cutely as her eyelashes fluttered. God, you were a balm. “I should’ve seen it coming, I’ve been feeling so out of it the past week. But then this morning was so fun. We made fluffy pancakes, you sat on my lap and listened to my dumb work drama, helped me trim my bangs, then...” Ellie blew air into her cheeks and looked up. This was going to be hard to say. Felt like a lump stuck in her throat. “Then we got ready and the kiss we had before we got in the car made everything melt away. This morning was so good baby, so good. I tried to ignore it, thinking my brain just wanted to be a little asshole and spook me for no reason. But no—I should’ve known—it doesn’t play tricks, it only gives warnings.” 

  Ellie leaned into your palms, she kissed them gently. “Can we go home baby?.” She held your gaze through wet eyelashes. You nodded “Mhm. I’m sorry Els I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I missed you.” You were disappointed because you didn’t intuitively know the right words to say, and how to say them. Didn’t know how to articulate that you understood her pain but she also shouldn’t beat herself up. Everything you thought of sounded cliche, you weren’t smarter than her, you weren’t able to come up with reassuring words the way other people could. Not like her uncle Tommy or Maria, or anyone. All you could do was cover her in kisses, tell her you loved her, that next time you’d never ever be separated from her, and cradle her head against your chest. 

  Ellie rose to her feet, pulling you up with her by your elbows. The kiss that followed was for comfort, for reassurance. For the feeling of squeezing her human emotional support plushie. 

  Ellie pulled away first, leaving you wanting more. She tasted so good, smelled so good. Made you want to pur and stroke her through her jeans. But it wasn’t the time nor place. Not after recent events. 

“Did you get your earrings at least?” 

“Yeah, I got a pair for you too!” You shared excitedly. 

  Ellie was still shaken up, but for now she could break out a small grin. “You got earrings for me?”

  “Yes, same color too!” 

  “Baby, my ears aren’t even pierced...”

  “Oh.” Ellie loved that, your characteristic little ‘oh’. 

“I knew that. I just got them for when—for when you decided to pierce them, yeah.” 

Ellie was hot in your heels as you two made your way out of the mall “Is that right?”

“Mhm.” You refused to meet her eyes.

“Oh yeah? K, then. Thank you so much for getting me a gift using my credit card.”

 “You’re very welcome, I love when we match as a couple. Els when we got home, did you want my chicken noodle? Cause it’ll make you feel better.”  

Ellie sucked in a breath. Cuteness aggression was real, and she was feeling it so hard right then. Right after her emotions had already been frayed by her anxiety. She knew, if it wasn’t for the way the panic attack had left her feeling utterly exhausted, bone tired like a wet blanket, ready to drop at a moment's notice to recuperate, that she would’ve done something that would’ve pulled a squeal out of you in the car. And she had the package to do so. 

  “Sure, I’ll eat your damn noodle soup.” She chuckled tiredly. 

  You put both palms on her chest and leaned in to kiss her, stealing back some of the desire that was ripped away too soon in the mall. 

“You’ll feel better in no time.” 

 Ellie gave you a once-over. Over eager, as usual. 

“Somehow I don’t doubt that.” 

  You littered her face in kisses all the way home, like you always did. Like you thought each press of your lips to her freckled face was going to cure her of her anguish. And believe Ellie, every press of your puffy lips to her cheeks, tip of her nose and forehead did more for her state of mind than two hours of trauma therapy a week did. Or at least that’s what she’d like to believe. Fuck the noddle soup, it’s you. You’re what’s going to make her feel better. As long as you’re there, everyday for her to come home to. All she needed was her pretty princess, her little babydoll, her little bimbo.

[nereidprinc3ss]

haunted

in which spencer reid takes you to a haunted house and you're being very brave about it... sort of.

fluff! warnings/tags: reader wears a skirt, reader is a scaredy cat!!, established relationship, kithing, my favs derek and penelope featured, haunted house stuff, talk about the physical composition of human eyeballs and mentions of harvesting them/eating them but it's not serious, FAKE very fake Halloween gore, I know those tags just escalated so quickly my bad, mention of a spooky clown, just haunted house stuff ok!! but its really not a scary fic I promise!!!! a/n: this is for my bff @gublersg1rl !!!! I hope u all like!!!!! Also yes the title was extremely creative I was feeling divinely inspired and revolutionary let’s not talk abt it

“Okay, no, no—maybe we don’t have to go in. I don’t think it’s gonna be that good.”

As you say it you’re wearily eyeing the crowd of screaming teenagers who are sprinting from the haunted house attraction’s exit, leaving a trail a swirling leaves and candy wrappers in their wake. Spencer laughs, gently hugging you back to him as you subconsciously begin to drift away from the line. 

“I knew this would happen.”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“You’re scared. You want to chicken out.”

“I don’t,” you snap, stepping back and adjusting your sweater. “I’m just… I’m cold. I wanna go back to the car.” Spencer does some adjustments of his own, coming close and reaching around you as if going in for a hug but instead tugging your skirt down slightly in the back. You let him finish and then bat his hand away. “Would you stop that?”

“You said you were cold! I’m trying to help you.”

“By making my skirt one inch longer? That’s not going to help.”

He holds his hands up defensively. “Okay. Sorry. I won’t touch.”

Immediately your serrated edge is dulled and you lean against him, barely steering clear of a pout. “No, please. You’re warm. And you’ll protect me.”

He smiles down at you, cheeks and nose nipped sweet pink by the chilly breeze. His hair looks very nice today, his eyes are extra sparkly in the dark, and he’s framed by mostly bare tree branches scattered around the fairground—nothing more than dark palms clawing at the sky, a full white moon cradled in between black branches. The autumnal night is perhaps too cold for the tartan mini skirt you’d chosen, but Spencer told you it looked nice. Of course he doesn’t put up a fight when you slip your arms around his waist under his coat—only wraps his arms around you in return.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to protect you. But between us Derek and Penelope will bear the brunt of the jump scares.”

“Who said my name?”

You look over your shoulder to where Penelope is shivering despite wearing her own and Derek’s coat, and Derek is eyeing the two of you, enjoying a bag of caramel corn like he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Spencer says, and you laugh to yourself, pulling him even closer like you’re trying to leech the warmth from his body. “Okay, you do have to face forward though. I don’t want you to trip.”

“No, Spencer!” You argue, but he’s already unlatching your arms from his middle and turning you in place. 

“You’re fine,” he chuckles, holding onto your hips. “I’m right here. Be brave.”

The line has begun to move forward again, and this time, it’s not stopping. Your heart pounds as at the behest of a teenaged bloody scarecrow you follow Derek and Penelope into the dark mouth of the red clapboard facade—a sort of farmhouse design that had seemed charming from afar and deeply sinister up close. Speakers play a loud creaking sound over spooky music and your eyes slowly adjust to reveal a foggy corridor lined with doors and creepy paintings.

As soon as the first evil little girl pops out of a doorway, you scream right along with Penelope. 

“Oh, my god,” Spencer laughs under his breath as you stop dead in your tracks, holding the group behind you up. When Penelope and Derek move on, you stay stuck, knowing that the threat has disappeared for the moment but still looms. Spencer gently ushers you forward. “Stay close behind Penelope, and it won’t be as scary. Come on, we have to keep going.”

“I hate this so much.”

But he ignores your comment, guiding you forward down the shadowy hallway and whispering the beginnings of a tangent over your shoulder. 

“You know, the first haunted house attraction was in London in 1915 at a fairground just like this. They picked up in America during the Great Depression as an attempt to distract young hooligans from resorting to property damage for fun.”

“Hooligans?” You mutter, teasing him even while terrified, carefully eyes the suspicious staircase leading up to a fenced in landing, shrouded in darkness. “We’re not going up there, are we?”

Just then a man with a sack over his head and bloody axe emerges from the black, launching himself down the stairs. Again, you scream, this time sprinting out of Spencer’s hold and through a cobweb veil into the next room. 

“Jesus fuck!” You gasp, clutching your chest as someone made up to be a sweet old grandma gone mad and soaked in blood and viscera turns around to greet you with a manic grin. 

“Oh, a pretty girl! Is that you, dear? My long lost granddaughter? Or did I put her in a pie?”

The acting is subpar at best, the script even worse, but what really discomforts you are the bloodied rubber limbs swinging from the ceiling and the fog machine in the corner that keeps burping out thick white clouds with a little hiss. You turn around, running directly into Spencer’s chest. He catches you by the waist and you cling to him, digging your feet in to try and stop either of you from proceeding any closer to your new friend. 

“And your lover—so handsome! Mm, what a delicious pairing you two’ll make! Maybe in my specialty cream of eyeball soup?”

She cackles. Spencer pushes you carefully forward as you peer over his lapel, and he actually stops to look into the woman’s pot as she stirs it. 

“Spencer—”

“You know—the human eyeball is by all accounts difficult to harvest without essentially popping the outer wall of muscle and connective tissue and then you’re losing the structure of the sphere—and stop me if you know this—but water constitutes about 98 percent of vitreous and aqueous humor which in turn make up eighty percent of the total volume of the eye so to say your soup would be cream of eyeball is—”

“Buddy, you’re holding up the line!” Someone shouts from behind, and Spencer offers an awkward apology to the grandma who was beginning to look more and more uncomfortable, hurrying you along through the kitchen from hell. 

“I cannot believe you just did that,” you hiss, still clinging to him. “That poor woman probably thinks you’re a serial killer now.”

“I was trying to humanize her for your benefit—”

Another scream from someone else, another cheap jump scare, cuts him off, and by this point you have your eyes squeezed shut, squeaking at every noise, and Spencer is damn near carrying you through the haunted house, walking you awkwardly backward through the various rooms. 

He cradles the back of your head and presses his lips to your ear as a chainsaw revs somewhere nearby and you hear Derek and Penelope yelping just ahead. “You’re being so brave,” Spencer murmurs, though you don’t miss the smile in his voice. "If I was a malevolent spectre I would definitely steer clear of you. I'd be too intimidated."

“Shut up. Ah!”

“Baby, that was a plant. You know the actors can’t touch you, right? You’re not in any danger.”

“I don’t like being scared, Spencer.”

“Then why did you suggest the haunted house? I said we should do the maze.”

“I don’t know! I—” another man popping out of the wall, another roar that you only hear, sequestered safely against your boyfriend’s coat. “Oh my god, are we almost done? I can’t do this anymore.”

“Yeah, the entrance is right ahead. No more actors, okay? I can see the whole room, it’s totally empty.”

“I bet that's what they want you to think, they lull you into a false sense of security and then—”

Cold air kisses the back of your legs as Spencer walks you toward the door, and the stifled soundscape widens again as you exit the house breathing air that doesn’t smell like sawdust and fog machine juice and fake blood. 

“Nope. We're really all done, see?”

“You survived! Oh my god, I survived!” Penelope calls, and you lift your head from Spencer’s chest, looking up at him. He’s grinning, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks. 

“You honestly handled that better than I thought you would. I actually think I saw the guy dressed as a clown jump when you screamed.”

“If I ever say I wanna do something scary again please don’t listen to me. I hated that so much.”

He examines your face for a moment before determining that despite your rattled nerves, you’ll be okay, and comforts you with a quick peck. “Do you wanna go get caramel apples now?”

“Yes, please. And then can we do the maze, and just like—I don’t know, sit there and… meditate for a little while?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Just… don’t think about what could be lurking in the corn.”

You give him a little shove. “You know, I only did that haunted house thing because I know how much you love Halloween. I’m being a good girlfriend and what do I get?”

He pulls you close again and kisses your hand. 

“You get a caramel apple,” he says, like it’s obvious, and more than that—worth every trouble in the world. “Come on.”

You give him a begrudging smile and allow him to lead you, hand in hand. Maybe it is. 

[gpcwsl]

Could u pleaseeeeeeee pretty pls do something with Leah and y/n having a secret situationship from their teenage years because one of them was scared to come out of the closet so there’s so much anger hurt & heartbreak because either one of them don’t want it to be secretive and then they basically call it quits but it’s not really quits because they crawl back to eachother but could you make it super toxic like both of them trying to make eachother jealous with other people and then make it sappy at the end when they come to their senses and realise the love they both share for eachother is far too strong for it to be kept under the table

Warnings: kissing, breaking up.

Leah Williamson x Reader

I’m a fool for ever letting you go.

MasterList

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of orange and pink smeared across the sky. Leah sat on the grass by the edge of the park, fiddling with the straps of her cleats. Her heart raced, not from the football practice they’d just finished, but from the soft laughter coming from behind her.

You were leaning against a tree, the setting sun casting golden light across your face. Leah felt that familiar pull in her chest—magnetic and impossible to ignore. She glanced over her shoulder at you, her lips twitching into a small smile.

“You gonna stand there all night?” she asked, her voice teasing but soft.

You shrugged, stepping closer, your hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets. “Maybe I like watching you.”

Leah’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked down, tugging at a blade of grass. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

That was how it always was with the two of you—banter laced with tension, moments that felt bigger than they were. Moments that neither of you dared to name out loud.

When you finally sat down beside her, your knee brushed hers, and it felt like a spark. Neither of you moved away.

“I hate this,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

Leah glanced at you, her brows furrowing. “Hate what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Sneaking around. Hiding. Pretending like we’re just friends.”

Leah’s stomach twisted. She knew this conversation was coming, but she wasn’t ready for it. “You know why we have to,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, Leah,” you shot back, your tone sharper now. “I know why you think we have to. But it’s not fair. I’m tired of being your secret.”

Leah turned to face you, her jaw tightening. “Do you think I want it to be this way? Do you think I like hiding how I feel about you?”

“Then stop hiding,” you said simply. “Stop being so scared.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to say it was more complicated than that. That she couldn’t risk her budding football career. That coming out now, as a teenager with the world watching her every move, felt like standing at the edge of a cliff.

But all she said was, “It’s not that easy.”

You scoffed, standing up and brushing off your jeans. “It is. You’re just too much of a coward to see it.”

Leah felt the sting of your words, but she didn’t stop you as you walked away. She sat there in the growing darkness, staring at the spot where you’d just been, wishing she had the courage to follow.

The next time you saw Leah, she was at a party, leaning against the kitchen counter with a drink in her hand and an unfamiliar girl laughing at something she’d said. Your stomach dropped, a mix of anger and heartbreak coursing through you.

You hadn’t spoken since that night in the park, and seeing her now—so carefree, so unbothered—made your blood boil.

“Looks like someone’s having fun,” you muttered to your friend, loud enough for Leah to hear as you grabbed a drink from the counter.

Leah’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything, but the tension crackled like a live wire.

She pushed off the counter, leaving the girl mid-sentence, and walked over to you. “What are you doing here?”

“Last I checked, it’s a free party,” you shot back, your tone icy.

Leah glanced over your shoulder at the guy you’d come with. “Nice date. You’re really going for the whole rebound thing, huh?”

Your jaw clenched. “Says the girl flirting with strangers to avoid her own feelings.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought she might argue. But instead, she stepped closer, her voice dropping so only you could hear. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t hate myself every second for how much I hurt you?”

You felt your resolve faltering, but you couldn’t let her off that easily. “Then why are you doing it, Leah? Why do you keep pretending like this doesn’t matter?”

“Because I’m scared!” she snapped, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

The vulnerability in her voice caught you off guard. But before you could respond, she turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with tears stinging your eyes.

The two of you were sitting in the corner of the school’s empty library after practice, hidden behind rows of dusty bookshelves. It had become your place—a refuge where you could steal moments away from prying eyes.

Leah leaned against the shelf, her hand resting on your knee as she kissed you softly. Her lips were warm, her touch hesitant but tender. Every time you were with her like this, it felt like the rest of the world disappeared.

But it never lasted.

The sound of the door creaking open made Leah freeze. She pulled back so fast it was like you’d burned her, her wide eyes darting toward the entrance.

“Relax,” you whispered, your voice hushed but annoyed. “It’s probably just the librarian.”

Leah shook her head, quickly straightening her shirt and moving a safe distance away from you. The distance stung, but you were used to it by now.

A student strolled in, grabbing a book from a nearby shelf without so much as a glance in your direction. Once they were gone, Leah let out a breath of relief and turned back to you, her lips curving into a small, nervous smile.

But you weren’t smiling.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice low but sharp.

“What?” Leah asked, furrowing her brows.

“You jumped away like I was a disease,” you shot back. “Like being seen near me is the worst thing that could happen to you.”

Leah’s face fell. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is how you keep doing this,” you said, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. “You act like I’m good enough to kiss when no one’s around, but as soon as there’s a chance someone might see, you treat me like I don’t exist.”

“Do you think I want to be like this?” Leah snapped, her voice rising. “Do you think I like hiding how I feel about you? It’s not about you—it’s about everything else. My career, my family, the way people will look at me. You don’t understand what it’s like to have that kind of pressure.”

“And you don’t understand what it’s like to feel like a secret,” you countered, your voice cracking. “I’m tired of waiting for you to stop being scared. I’m tired of pretending this is enough for me when it’s not.”

Leah looked at you, her blue eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

You felt your heart ache at the words you’d wanted to hear for so long. But it wasn’t enough—not like this. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t treat me like something you’re ashamed of.”

Leah opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. The silence between you was deafening.

Finally, you shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I can’t do this anymore, Leah.”

“Wait—” Leah reached for you, but you stepped back, shaking your head again.

“Call me when you’re ready to stop hiding,” you said quietly before turning and walking away.

Leah stood there, frozen, as she watched you leave. The words she wanted to say died in her throat, and for the first time in her life, she felt what it was like to truly lose something that mattered.

The years had passed like a blur, but Leah never forgot you. She carried the weight of your words from that day in the library, the ache of your absence lingering in the quiet corners of her heart.

At 27, Leah was at the top of her game. Arsenal’s golden girl, a leader on and off the pitch. But even with the accolades and the cheering crowds, there was an emptiness that no trophy could fill. She’d had relationships since you—some serious, some fleeting—but nothing ever felt quite right.

She thought of you more often than she cared to admit, wondering where life had taken you. She certainly hadn’t expected to find out the answer in the middle of Arsenal’s training facility.

It was just another morning, the team gathered in the physio room for pre-practice assessments. Leah was stretching when the door opened, and the new hire walked in.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was you.

You looked older but still unmistakably you. The same confident stride, the same sharp gaze that could cut right through her. Leah felt her stomach twist into a knot as your eyes met hers.

“Leah Williamson,” you said, your voice calm but distant. “It’s been a while.”

Leah stood, unable to stop the nervous smile tugging at her lips. “It has. You look… good.”

You nodded, professional and composed. “Thanks. You too.”

And just like that, you turned your attention to the other players, introducing yourself and explaining your role as the team’s new physio. Leah watched you work, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind.

Later that day, Leah found you alone in the physio room, organizing equipment. She lingered in the doorway, trying to find the right words.

“Hey,” she said finally, stepping inside.

You glanced up but didn’t stop what you were doing. “Hey.”

Leah scratched the back of her neck, feeling awkward for the first time in years. “I didn’t know you were moving to London.”

“I got the offer a few months ago,” you said simply, placing a few resistance bands into a drawer. “It was a good opportunity.”

Leah nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m glad you took it. It’s… nice to see you again.”

You didn’t respond, and the silence stretched between you. Finally, Leah couldn’t take it anymore.

“Look, I know things didn’t end well between us,” she said, her voice soft. “But I was hoping we could at least be friends now. Start over.”

You stopped what you were doing, turning to face her. Your expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes—hesitation, maybe, or buried hurt.

“Friends, huh?” you said, crossing your arms. “That’s what you want?”

Leah hesitated but nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’d like to try. If you’re okay with that.”

You studied her for a long moment before sighing. “We can try. But don’t expect it to be easy.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Leah said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Over the next few weeks, the two of you settled into a tentative friendship. Leah went out of her way to include you in team outings, always finding excuses to talk to you or sit next to you during meals.

At first, you kept your distance, maintaining a professional demeanor. But Leah’s charm was hard to resist, and slowly, you found yourself laughing at her jokes and letting your guard down.

Still, the unresolved tension between you was impossible to ignore. Every touch—her hand brushing yours as she passed you a water bottle, her arm resting against yours during team dinners—sent sparks flying.

One evening, after a long day of training, Leah found you in the gym, stretching out a sore muscle.

“You work too hard,” she teased, leaning against the wall.

“Says the woman who never takes a day off,” you shot back, smirking.

Leah grinned, stepping closer. “Fair point.”

There was a pause, the air thick with unspoken words. Finally, Leah took a deep breath. “I missed you, you know. More than I can even explain.”

You looked up at her, your heart pounding. “Leah—”

“I know,” she interrupted, holding up her hands. “I know I screwed everything up back then. I was scared, and I hurt you, and I’ve hated myself for it ever since.”

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability in her voice catching you off guard. “That was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter,” she said quietly. “I never stopped thinking about you. About us.”

You shook your head, standing up and grabbing your bag. “I can’t do this, Leah. Not again.”

“Do what?” she asked, her voice cracking. “I’m not asking you to go back to how it was. I just… I just want to fix things.”

You hesitated at the door, your back to her. “Some things can’t be fixed.”

And with that, you left, leaving Leah standing alone in the empty gym.

Leah couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every glance, every conversation, every fleeting touch only reminded her of how much she had missed you—and how badly she wanted you back. But this time, she wasn’t going to let her fear hold her back.

She was determined to prove to you that she wasn’t the same scared teenager who had let you go all those years ago.

It started with small gestures.

The first day, she left a cup of your favorite coffee on your desk in the physio room. She didn’t say anything about it, just gave you a lopsided grin when you looked up at her in surprise.

The next day, she brought you lunch—a meal she knew you loved but could never find time to grab during busy workdays.

“Thought you could use a break,” she said casually, placing the container in front of you.

“Thanks,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone neutral. But you couldn’t ignore the flutter in your chest as you watched her walk away.

By the third week, Leah was going all out. Flowers started appearing in your office, small bouquets with handwritten notes tucked inside.

Note 1: “I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m hoping you’ll give me one anyway.”

Note 2: “You’re incredible, and I’m a fool for ever letting you go.”

Note 3: “Dinner? Just as friends. Or whatever you want it to be.”

At first, you ignored them, brushing off her attempts as guilt-driven gestures. But it was hard to stay unaffected when Leah’s sincerity shone through in every word, every action.

Leah didn’t just stop at gifts. She made a point to help you whenever she could.

One particularly hectic day, you were juggling several players’ schedules and injury reports when Leah showed up unprompted.

“Need a hand?” she asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“No, I’ve got it,” you replied, barely glancing up from the stack of papers.

She didn’t listen. Instead, she walked in, grabbed half the reports, and started organizing them by player and priority.

“Leah, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupted, her tone soft but firm. “Let me help.”

You didn’t argue. And as the two of you worked in companionable silence, you couldn’t help but notice how different she seemed. Calmer. More mature.

One evening, you found a small package waiting for you at your apartment door. Inside was a book you’d mentioned in passing during one of your rare conversations with Leah, along with another note.

“I’m trying to show you that I’m not the person I used to be. That I’m not scared anymore. But if I have to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, I will. You’re worth it. – L”

You sat on your couch, staring at the note for what felt like hours. Her words replayed in your mind, breaking down the walls you’d so carefully built around your heart.

The next time you saw Leah, it was after practice. She was sitting on the bench, lacing up her cleats, when you approached her.

“Hey,” you said softly.

She looked up, her expression guarded but hopeful. “Hey.”

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag. “Do you want to get dinner tonight?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Like… as friends?”

You gave her a small, tentative smile. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Leah’s face broke into a grin, and for the first time in years, you felt the faintest flicker of hope.

Leah had spent all day preparing. She knew your favorite kind of date—movie nights at home, simple and intimate—and she wanted it to be perfect. If this was her chance to show you how much she cared, she wasn’t going to mess it up.

Her living room was cozy and inviting. She’d cleaned and rearranged it to make it as comfortable as possible. A stack of your favorite movies sat on the coffee table next to a bowl of popcorn, a selection of snacks she remembered you loved, and a bottle of wine.

When you arrived, Leah greeted you at the door with an easy smile, but her nerves were palpable. “Hey. Come in.”

You stepped inside, glancing around. The effort she’d put in was obvious, and it made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.

“You’ve been busy,” you said, your voice teasing but soft.

Leah chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “I just wanted to make sure it was… nice. For you.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You didn’t have to go all out.”

“I wanted to,” she replied simply, her blue eyes meeting yours.

When the credits of the last movie rolled, you glanced at the clock and sighed. “I should probably get going.”

Leah stood up with you, grabbing your coat from the chair and holding it out. “I’ll walk you out.”

The cool night air was crisp as you stepped onto her front porch. Leah followed you, her hands shoved into her pockets, her expression unreadable.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said, turning to face her. “It was… really nice.”

Leah nodded, her gaze soft. “I’m glad you came.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the silence stretching between you. There was something unspoken hanging in the air, something that neither of you dared to name.

You turned to leave, but something made you pause. Slowly, you turned back around, your eyes meeting hers.

“Leah,” you said softly.

She looked at you, her heart pounding. “Yeah?”

You didn’t say anything else. Instead, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you. Her breath hitched as your hands brushed against her arms, and then your lips were on hers.

Leah froze for a split second before melting into the kiss, her hands instinctively finding your waist. The kiss was soft at first, tentative and searching, but it quickly deepened, years of longing and unresolved feelings pouring out in that single moment.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. Leah’s forehead rested against yours, her hands still holding you close.

“I’ve been waiting for that for a long time,” she murmured, her voice low and filled with emotion.

You smiled, your fingers brushing against her jaw. “So have I.”

It had been a few weeks since that night on Leah’s porch, and things had been… good. The two of you had spent more time together—talking, laughing, and slipping back into the kind of easy companionship you used to share.

But there was still something unspoken between you. You hadn’t kissed again since that night, though the memory of it lingered in every glance, every accidental touch.

Tonight, you were back at Leah’s house, sharing a quiet evening over takeout and an old rerun of Friends. It was your idea—an easy, familiar show you both loved.

Leah chuckled at something Joey said, her laugh making your chest warm. “This show never gets old,” she said, reaching for another bite of her noodles.

“You’ve probably seen every episode ten times,” you teased, nudging her with your elbow.

“Not true,” Leah said with a smirk. “I think it’s more like… eight.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sure, Leah.”

Dinner was long gone, the empty containers pushed aside on the coffee table as you both settled deeper into the couch. At some point, without even realizing it, the space between you disappeared.

Your shoulder rested against Leah’s, her arm draped casually along the back of the couch. Your legs were tucked up beneath you, leaning into her warmth as the show played on. It felt natural—so natural that you didn’t even think about it until you caught Leah glancing down at you.

You tilted your head up, meeting her gaze. Her blue eyes were soft, her expression unreadable but tender.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leah hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she leaned down, her face hovering just inches from yours.

Time seemed to slow as you looked up at her, your breath catching in your throat. The room was silent except for the faint sound of the TV in the background, but neither of you noticed.

Leah’s lips met yours softly, a hesitant question wrapped in warmth and longing. This kiss wasn’t like the first—it wasn’t driven by years of pent-up emotions or desperation. It was gentle, deliberate, and filled with something deeper.

Her hand found your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin as she deepened the kiss. Your fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together.

“That felt… different,” Leah murmured, her voice shaky but full of wonder.

You smiled, your fingers tracing small patterns on her arm. “Yeah. It did.”

Leah pulled back just enough to look at you, her hand still cradling your face. “I meant it when I said I’d spend the rest of my life proving myself to you.”

“I know,” you whispered, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in her eyes.

She smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m not scared anymore. About us. About anyone knowing.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, leaning into her touch. “Good. Because I’m not hiding either.”

Leah pressed another kiss to your forehead, pulling you into her arms. And for the first time in years, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

[digitaldaydreamm]

After ur done with ‘helping out’ s parts could u do a headcanon on how rafe and reader became friends as kids and how he’s been w her during this whole time?

a glimpse into their past <3

rafe x childhood friend!reader

headcannons 3

masterlist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

★ You met Rafe when you were eight and he was nine, at some fancy country club event your parents dragged you to. You were hiding behind your mom’s chair, not interested in playing with the other kids, while Rafe was already causing chaos, throwing ice cubes at Topper and daring Kelce to climb onto the buffet table.

★ He spotted you sitting alone and, in typical Rafe fashion, marched right up to you. “Why are you just sitting there?” You shrugged, not used to kids being so forward. “Dunno.” That was enough for him—he grabbed your wrist and dragged you off, deciding you were going to be his new best friend whether you liked it or not.

★ By the time you were ten and eleven, you were practically attached at the hip. If there was a party, you were together. If there was trouble, Rafe was usually the cause, and you were usually the one sighing, “Rafe, we’re gonna get in trouble.” Not that he cared. You were his favorite person to cause trouble with.

★ He always had this weirdly protective streak. If some other kid tried to mess with you, Rafe would shove in front of you like a human shield, crossing his arms and sneering, “Say that again, I dare you.” Even back then, you were oblivious to how much he cared.

★ At twelve and thirteen, you started sleeping over at each other’s houses more. At first, your parents thought it was cute—just childhood best friends—but as you got older, his dad started raising an eyebrow. “You sure you two are just friends?” Ward would joke, and Rafe would roll his eyes. “She’s just a kid, Dad.” (Like he wasn’t only a year older than you.)

★ Teenage years hit, and suddenly things started shifting. You still saw Rafe as your best friend, the boy who stole your fries when you weren’t looking and let you win at board games. But Rafe? He saw you differently. You didn’t notice how his arm stayed around your shoulders longer, how he scowled when other guys talked to you, how he always found a way to be close to you in a room full of people.

★ At sixteen and seventeen, you were the only person who could calm Rafe down when he got too worked up. He’d storm off after a fight with his dad, fists clenched, breathing heavy, and you’d just place a hand on his arm. “Rafe, it’s okay.” And somehow, it was.

★ If you ever went on a date (which wasn’t often, because, well—Rafe scared off most guys before they even had the chance), he had to approve first. Not that he ever did. “That guy? Seriously? He looks like he cries when his mom yells at him.”

★ By eighteen and nineteen, he wasn’t even subtle about it anymore. He liked that people thought you were his. He didn’t correct them. He let the rumors swirl because, deep down, he wanted them to be true.

★ You, of course, were still oblivious. Still looking at him like he was just your Rafe. Still trusting him with everything. Still thinking his protectiveness was just friendship. And maybe it was.

★ Rafe doesn’t even pretend to let you out of his sight anymore. If you’re out, he’s with you. If you’re talking to someone, his arm is slung around your chair, fingers tapping idly against your shoulder, making sure they know exactly who he is to you—whether you acknowledge it or not.

★ You still leave things at his house like you always have—hoodies, chapstick, a spare pair of socks—but now? Now, Rafe keeps them. Your hoodie stays folded in his room, your chapstick never actually makes it back to you. “I don’t know where it went,” he lies, while it sits in his truck’s center console.

★ He still bickers with you like he always has, pushing your buttons just to see you roll your eyes and nudge him. But there’s a shift now, something heavier in the air when he leans in too close and murmurs, “Say that again?” just to watch you get flustered.

★ When you’re tired, you don’t even have to ask—Rafe just opens his arms, letting you curl into his side like you’ve done since you were kids. The difference? Now, he stares down at you, jaw tight, forcing himself to stay still when all he wants to do is grab you.

★ Everyone knows. Everyone. Topper, Kelce, hell, even Sarah. They all see the way Rafe is with you. “Just tell her,” they say. Rafe just clenches his jaw. Because he’s already told you—in every way but words.

[cloversplace]

“Pony was being dramatic!” “Darry only hit him once!” “You’re telling me Darry never hit him before?” “Johnny gets hit everyday at home and doesn’t complain!”

Shush. Just, stop for a minute. I personally think that Pony’s reaction to getting slapped was justified, and it angers me a little sometimes when people chalk it down to just him being a brat. Ponyboy already thinks Darry doesn’t want him around, Darry’s constantly on Pony for every little thing, being hard on him to keep him from getting taken away. Hitting him is one thing that would get Pony taken away faster than anything else, in doing this, Darry’s accidentally sending Ponyboy a message: He doesn’t just not want him around, he wants to get rid of him as quickly as possible. 

“Oh but Darry probably hit him a lot when they were kids!” EXACTLY. When. They. Were. KIDS. Darry 100% slugged Pony a couple times bc he was being a little shit, but Darry’s stuck halfway between being a father and a brother. He’s not just Pony’s brother anymore, he’s his guardian. Pony explicitly says that no one in his family hit each other, including their parents. Pony says Darry looks exactly like their dad, in that moment, Pony can’t imagine his father hitting him. If his parents had still been alive and his father had hit him instead of Darry, Pony would’ve had the same reaction. Pony’s in shock, when someone is hurt they go into fight or flight, Pony is a track star, and also kinda scrawny. (no offense Pony) He’s gonna choose to run instead of try to fight back. Because in his mind, if Darry hit him once, who’s to say he isn’t gonna do it again?

Now onto Johnny, yes Johnny has it way, way worse at home than Pony does. But he’s also used to it, it’s sad, but true. Johnny’s used to being hit by his parents, Pony isn’t. The first hits are always the worst. We see that in Tex and The Outsiders. There’s no doubt in my mind that Johnny acted like Pony did when he was younger, when he wasn’t so used to his parents hitting him. If Darry continued to hit Pony, Pony would eventually start to act like Johnny. Learn to take it. I also don’t think that Johnny was mad/annoyed with Pony for acting like he did. Maybe Johnny was a little jealous when Pony used to complain that Darry hated him. But that was before Darry hit him, Johnny’s probably a little mad at Darry too, being honest. Darry’s supposed to be the one holding them together. The one refuge most greasers on the East side have. Johnny probably knew deep down that Darry was scared and most likely felt bad and won’t do it again. But you still don’t hit people when you’re scared. Johnny has never been hit out of fear, every time his parents beat on him it’s out of anger. You hit out of anger, you fight back out of fear. 

So no, Pony didn’t deserve to be slapped. He wasn’t asking for it. They lost their parents less than a year ago. Darry is 20 years old for fuck’s sake! I bet some of you reading this right now are either older than that or only a year or two younger. 20 is arguably still a kid, and 20 should not be the age to take on two jobs, maintaining a house, and taking care of two teenagers, plus 4 other teens and oh, I don’t know, almost everyone in eastern Tulsa? That’s too much to ask of anyone. Even if Pony was being a little shit (which he usually is, but in the argument that night I would say Darry kind of instigated it more, at least in the book/movie) that still doesn’t mean he deserved the hit, or shove, in the movie’s case. 

Thank you for coming to my ted talk, I really needed to just put that out there. I’m seeing so many people ratting on Pony for the way he acted, especially comparing him to the way Johnny is treated at home. Which isn’t fair in my opinion. Thank u for listening! 💜

@natur3sf1rstgr33n @magefelixir @staygoldspiiderrah @marciavalance @sonnysimagination@polishravagingasexual @dairyfairyy @curtis-brothers-hug @penguinstuff @colequette@therealtwobit67 @far-away-from-tulsa @strxwberry-julius @fawning4leif @im14andivebeen14foramonth @chipperdipperr @stayruby @averagefandomist @johnnycademyschmookie @maxiebearz @totoroboiii

[frillydolle]

could you pretty plss write arthur asking for readers hand in marriage ?

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ after the whole micah situation and no tb cos im such a #sweetheart , arthur is such a nervous man in this

he was acting strange with u, but u couldn't put ur finger on it. he always acted like a gentleman towards u, but recently? he was extra sweet. like making u some food to wake up to, helping u, or even completely doing the house chores before u. sometimes, or he'd spend more minutes in bed with u before he'd get up. he'd even go shopping early in the morning to make sure the two of u had more than needed.

of course, u asked him. more than once if he was okay, and he lightly dismissed ur words, saying he was okay before his lips met ur temple with a kiss. and oh, u wanted to believe him. really, u did, but something inside was telling u there was something going on with him. u desperately wanted an answer from him, but u weren't the type to pry. u just weren't sure how to.. ask him proper.

“mjm, you sure you're okay, mr morgan?”

“yeah... yup, 'm fine, angel.”

oh, he knew that he had to be obvious. he was a gentleman, but being secretive around u wasn't a part of his identity. u made him feel like he was a teenage boy all over again, especially now since he's trying his best to not act all awkward, knowing that he has a ring in his inner pocket, just itching to be taken out and put on ur finger. he just so wanted to do it as soon as possible but he also wanted to make it such a sweet moment, just like u deserved after all those years...

he absolutely spoiled u rotten today. he surprised u with the most delightful food for breakfast. in the afternoon, the two of u went out on a ride to the town, and he brought u to a photographer, and oh, how cute the two of u looked together! and afterwards, he took u on a walk around the woods that surrounded the cabin. and now the two of u are lying on the ground, looming up at the bright, blue sky. u asked the big, burly man to look at the clouds with u, and of course, he agreed.

“... y'know, it's been a while since all that-”

“darlin-”

“no, no! not like that- just... 'm glad it's over, 'm happy here. happy with you, arthur.”

god, ur words made him feel like a teenager again as he turned his head to look at u with such adoration in his warm gaze. it's like u always knew what to say to get the reaction u wanted, u knew the buttons to press, and u pressed them constantly! he couldn't even say no to a pretty face like urs. but soon, the two of u filled the air with comfortable silence. well, more like arthur's nerves was getting the better of him, fiddling with the ring in his pocket.

his pulse quickened slightly, as well as his hands were getting more and more fidgety— and of course, u noticed. u weren't silly, and neither was he. it's not like he was scared of u but marriage? what if u rejected him? or just didn't want to? but then again, he wouldn't blame u for that, he was just a big, old, ugly bastard-

“...sweetheart, can i ask ya somethin'?” “mhm, 'course.”

finally, that's a start, he thought. u watched him sit up, fiddling with his fingers slightly as u followed by sitting up, too, before moving to sitting directly in front of him. seeing a man of his stature sit on the ground, near a small ray of flowers always made u giggle. it's just a funny sight!

“what're you askin'? you got me curious, arthur!”

a nervous chuckle left his lips as he scratched his chin. why was he so nervous? he had nothing to be nervous about. he wasn't a good man. he was more than that. he was a wanted man, a bad man. that didn't deserve any good knowing the life he lives— lived.

“... would ya marry me, miss [name]?”

ur eyes widen slightly in surprise and.. admiration? just, was he serious? the two of u were practically acted like an old, married couple already, even when the gang was.. still a gang. the two of u would even joke that ur already married towards the gang, the hotel owners, the saloon owners. but- a small giggle escaped ur lips

“we're already married, you silly man! we've always joked 'bout it, we always act like it—”

“yeah, but- i dont want.. us to be kiddin'. i want us to get married, real 'nd proper. unless y'don't want-”

“nononono! arthur, no, i- id love to get married to you, it mean everything to me. i just.. I don't know, I didn't expected it.”

how good it made it feel that you said that. nothing else could make him feel good the same way u do

“i would love to be married to you, arthur morgan. i dont want anything else more.”

he couldn't wait to tell his younger brother and his wife the amazing news.

[highonmarvel]

heyy lov ur fics. saw you wanted some bucky recs so i got one. how about like bucky and reader have been dating for 2-3 months and he's always sweet to her and always making sure she was happy. he even promised to get rid of almost all of his weapons. but then he secretly didnt. he still had them, for "saftey purposes" he couldnt let anything happen to u. so he kept them in a secret room along with some pictures of u he took when he was observing(stalking) you before he entered into ur life -P1

that’s actually such a scary idea, i love it. okay, okay, you had a lot so apologises if it’s a bit different than you were expecting, but i tried, and i had fun! let me know if you like it! and my sweet sister @thehydraethereal, tell me what you think.

The Sun

Bucky Barnes: Bucky’s world revolves around you, The Sun, his sunshine, and he’ll do just about anything to make you happy, but everything to keep you safe.

CONTENT WARNING: This is a dark fic, please read content warnings here! 18+!

You’ve always been more of a glass half-full type of person, but with Bucky, you’ve really turned into a ray of sunshine—he just brings that out in you, treating you as precious as every breath he takes and as vital to life as the Sun itself. He said that to you once, when you asked why he calls you sunshine while laying your head in his lap, smiling in bliss as he stroked your hair. He said, “My world revolves around you.”

Even after three months, he still treats you with the same respect and gentleness and love and patience as that very first day, if not even more. There was only once you two had had a serious disagreement—it wasn’t really an argument, no one was angry, but it certainly could’ve been a massive dealbreaker for you.

Bucky never spoke much of his childhood, his teenage years, or even his adult ones, he only really went three years into the past, max, but you had pieced together he’s been through a lot, and so you never pushed him, but you made sure to make it clear you’d be there for him if and when he was ready to talk about it. There was a lot he did that showed you he was a war vet, and that as reluctant as he may be to admit it, he was suffering from some form of PTSD—he doesn’t like watching espionage films, or even movies with too much violence (which you don’t mind skipping, you don’t care too much for them either way), he’s sensitive to loud noises and a few times he’s jolted you out of your slumber with his nightmares, but he claims they’re much better with you than before. The metal arm also fascinated you—he said it’s made of vibranium, and you frowned at the thought of why he would need such a strong arm, but that you managed to get used to. What you couldn’t get used to, however, was his weaponry.

You had been sitting on the couch together when there was a thud from the next room over, and Bucky jumped up, soldier stance and everything, ready to go check it out. You were about to assure him it was nothing, tell him you forgot to close a window and a breeze probably knocked something over, when he slid a knife out of his boot and your breath caught in your throat. You followed the silver glint with your eyes as he stalked around the corner and then disappeared for a few moments.

“Birdie slammed against the window,” he said, relieved with a small smile, and you could hardly believe the juxtaposition between his use of the term ‘birdie’ while he held a knife securely in his hand. When you didn’t respond, staring at him with wide eyes, his brows turned downward in show of concern, and his voice came sincerely, “What’s wrong, sweetheart? It was nothing.” He incorrectly assumed the noise had scared you, but quickly came to understand when he noticed your gaze fixed on the knife.

“This?” he asked, casually, spinning the knife on his finger, but when you jumped back, he quickly hid it behind his back and cast his head downward in shame. He hadn’t meant to scare you, and though he felt bad, he couldn’t help but feel a little offended you’d think his arsenal was something to be afraid of. He’d never lay a hand on you, let alone a tool, why were you scared? Did you not trust him? He only kept this stuff to keep you safe. And besides, you knew about his slight paranoia with defence, so why did this catch you off guard? Sure, maybe the knife in the boot was a little too much for you to handle, but you seemed to take more issue with its existence rather than his convenient hiding.

“Sorry,” he mumbled an apology, managing to look up at you. “I didn’t mean to scare you, just had to make sure everything was alright.” He offered a weak smile in hopes of setting you at ease, but it faded when you stood up to confront him, shaking slightly.

“Why do you have a knife?” you asked in horror, voice raising in pitch. “What— do you just— do you just always have that on you?”

It’s the knife you’re worried about. Darling, if you knew the half of it.

“Protection,” he answered simply, innocently, not understanding your reaction.

“What— what else do you have? And— and in your house? You have to get rid of it!”

At any other time he would have pushed back on this (gently, of course), but in your frantic state he knew it wouldn’t serve either of you very well. He really hadn’t expected you to start hyperventilating about it. He switched to soothing you, holding you in his arms and promising he would get rid of all that, that you could feel safe… even though in his mind, his weapons were to make you feel safe, to keep you safe.

There’s a cupboard in Bucky’s house that’s always locked, and he tells you it’s just tools and some clutter he needs to clear out. But what you don’t know is he’s still got his shit in there. In any other circumstance, he would do anything you asked of him, but in this case, he got the impression you didn’t understand, that you were a little naïve when it came to this sort of stuff, like you’d always been sheltered and protected in a way that never needed violence. But he knows what the real world is like, and he knows what he’s got to do to keep you safe.

That was a few months ago. Now, trying to watch a film from the 40s—something with Jimmy Stewart, to grant Bucky a little nostalgia and tick another movie off your cinephile list—you both doze off, but you wake up before him. He usually wakes up earlier than you and falls asleep later, so you rarely see him asleep, only once you had to wake him up from the vivid nightmare, but here, now, he’s peaceful—his eyes are shut, his breathing is steady, his muscles aren’t tensed, this is the first time you’ve seen him lose himself to unconsciousness, and your heart swells at the realisation he feels safe enough to be so vulnerable around you.

As much as you would have loved to watch him breathe, after all the snacks you ate during the movie, your hands are sticky and you can’t really fall back asleep without washing them. On the way to the bathroom, you pause just before the door. The cupboard Bucky keeps his tools in is slightly ajar, it’s always been locked. And you’re not sure what compels you to head over to the door, but you carefully open it, wincing when it creaks slightly, before gasping at the scene.

He said he’d get rid of them! Not only are there multiple sharp blades of varying lengths, there’s more ammo that you could ever imagine needing, pistols, and a shotgun on the wall, you’re pretty sure you spot a fucking grenade, but maybe most terrifyingly is a mask. If this really was for safety (you’re really trying to give him the benefit of the doubt here) why the fuck did he have a mask? Like he was hiding behind it. He wouldn’t need to hide his identity from an intruder, he’d only need to if he was trying not to get caught if he was doing something wrong, if he was—

Bucky drops the bat to catch you before you hit the ground, wincing at the sight of your limp body in his arms. Fuck, he had stuck up a few more pictures of you earlier that day, and clearly forgot to lock the closet. The guilt from hurting you is enough to make him sick, but he’s got to figure out how to savage this.

If he just sets you right back on the couch and puts on some kind of thriller movie, you’ll think it was a dream when you wake up again, right? That your subconscious mind was taking in what was playing on the TV and affecting your sleep. That makes sense, that makes perfect sense, and that’s for you to figure out on your own; he won’t need to explain it or answer questions because really all it was was a bad dream, and he knows about those, you know he has experience with them, you’ll believe him when he tells you how real they can feel—you’ve seen it—and trust that everything’s alright, and he’s good to keep you safe.

After an hour, you begin to stir, and he redirects his gaze from being hyper focused on you to watching the film intently, though this far in he doesn’t know anything about the plot and hopes you don’t ask too many questions about it.

When he hears your quiet moans indicating you’re awake now, and feels your stretch beside him, he looks back at you. “Mornin’, Sunshine,” he teases, hoping you’ll giggle and say something about not realising it was dark outside. But you don’t, instead you startle and recoil back slightly, eyeing him suspiciously.

He forces his brows to furrow in confusion as he sets his half empty bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table. He tries to shift towards you but when you shift back, he sighs and stays in place.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks in a low voice, his tone sincere and soothing. But he can tell you don’t buy it.

“You said you’d get rid of them!” you yell, and he winces slightly—you’ve never raised your voice at him, and if you’re this worked up over it it might take him a little more patience than anticipated to do some damage control.

“Get rid of what?” he asks. The best thing to do here is just play dumb.

“Your— your weapons! There’s— there’s so many of them, you said you’d get rid of them!”

“Baby, baby, baby,” he coos when you start breathing heavily, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “You just had a bad dream, okay? It’s alright…”

“No!” you shriek, kicking him away from you. “In the— in the closet!”

“What closet?”

“The— the one with the tools!”

“There’s nothing in there, sweetheart.”

“Then open it.”

He freezes for a second—he hadn’t expected you to ask that. “I don’t— I don’t know where the key is.” Fuck. He’s fucked. He knew it from the moment he hesitated, and his stuttering further solidified his guilt in your mind. His eyes grew just a little wider as he waited for you to respond, hardly breathing. You can read him like an open book, and he knows he can’t backtrack the few small ticks that set you on the scent.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him for a moment, but blink, and then nod, slowing your breaths down and directing your stare to the floor. “Alright,” you say, and Bucky himself can’t help but sigh in relief.

“I’m sorry you had a bad dream,” he coos as he shifts closer to you, and this time, you don’t shift away. He puts his arms around you and comfortingly rubs your shoulder, resting his head on top of yours.

You don’t buy it for a second.

That’s way too specific a dream for you to have months after even thinking about that stuff, and you’re not fucking stupid, you can tell what’s real and what’s not, and that was real. But for the time being, it seems easier to appease him. Maybe you really did imagine it… you doubt it, though, especially when Bucky’s body went rigid in response to your request. Even if you didn’t see what you thought you did, he’s definitely hiding something in that closet.

His phone rings, and he sighs, apologising as he carefully unwraps himself from you, reaching into his pocket to answer the phone as he stands up. “Hello?” There’s a few quick and low words from whoever’s on the other end and the groan he lets out allows you to guess it’s something Avengers-related. Though he isn’t an Avenger anymore (he gave up all violence, even in the name of justice) Sam does occasionally call him up to ask for advice on espionage matters or blueprints or just his thoughts on whatever’s going on.

“I’ve got to run, sweetheart; Sam’s being an asshole and I need to do some damage control,” he chuckles, and looks back down at you hesitantly, waiting for a response of some kind, but you’re quiet, arms crossed over your chest, slouched on the couch and looking at the floor, almost petulant but more… pensive. And that worries him.

“I can— I can stay if you want me to—”

“No,” you answer so casually it’s like something in him shatters. Sure, you’re not always grovelling at his feet when he opens the door but you’ve never been so nonchalant about him leaving to go take care of stuff. Even if it wasn’t all that sincere, you’d still make a little scene out of missing him so much. “I’ll see you later.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it, pressing his lips into a thin line as he nods, and then sighs.

He can’t leave you alone here: you’ll either run the second you can or hurt yourself trying to figure out how to get the cupboard open again. In both cases he won't be able to keep you safe, you’ll get hurt. But you’re also not yourself right now, and he doesn’t want to come on too strong and risk scaring you off for good. Not that he’d ever let you get away.

So he leaves, locks the door, but doesn’t get in his car. Usually he would grant that you’d be able to see the red flag there but you seem hyper focused on getting to his shit and he surmises he can get away with it. Between the tall plants covering his windows, he can just about make you out, sitting completely still on the couch for a few moments, it’s like you’re not even breathing. He subconsciously finds himself holding his breath as well—Are you waiting for him to start the car? Have you noticed he didn’t take his wallet?—narrowing his eyes at you, trying to anticipate your next move.

60 seconds, and you jump up.

***

You take a very quick look around the lounge, just to really make sure he left, and with no sign of him, you start off down the corridor again to his cupboard. It’s locked, and you know better than to even try to look for the key. But you have to do something: how could you live with yourself knowing that either you’d have broken up with your seemingly perfect boyfriend for no reason at all, or ever feel at peace again when there’s this heavy suspicion just hanging there?

You don’t know how you ever learnt it but you pull a pin from your hair and unfold it, closing one eye and sticking your tongue out slightly as you wriggle it around in the key slot, muttering “Please, please, please, please, please” to yourself over and over as you strain to hear for the clicks. One, two, three clicks and it opens! And you have no idea how you did it but it’s done now. You quickly open the door and gasp. You really shouldn’t be surprised—you know it wasn’t a dream—but the double confirmation really takes the wind out of you, and you feel betrayed. He lied to you, why did he lie to you? But there’s something else you didn’t notice before. On the inside of the door, polaroids of you that you know are before you met him are hung up haphazardly with messy tape—and they’re pictures of you doing mundane tasks, your everyday life. With shaking hands, you reach towards one that you’re afraid is of you in the shower, tears collecting on your lashes. As you reach for it, your elbow hits a shotgun and it falls and fires.

You scream as you jump back, and away from the door, you come face to face with Bucky at the end of the hallway, looking horrified as if it’s you who’s doing what you’re not supposed to.

Why the fuck is this thing even loaded if it’s just sitting around? These are assault rifles and deadly tools just at the ready, all the time.

Bucky carefully calls your name, and you turn on your heel and sprint towards the bedroom door at the opposite end of the corridor, but he catches up to you way too easily. He grabs you and slams your head against the doorway, causing you to black out and fall to the floor.

***

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck! How was he so careless not once but twice? What if you’d gotten seriously hurt or even killed? And he’s mad at himself but he can’t help but feel mad at you, too. Why didn’t you just leave it alone? Sure, he fucked up by forgetting to lock it but why on Earth did you push for it? It was locked this time, why were you so obsessed with this!?

He takes a few deep breaths to stop himself from launching into a panic attack. He can fix this, it’s fine, you just need a bit of time to calm down, but he has a feeling if you took a relationship ‘break’ he’d never find you again. So you can’t leave, you just need to be somewhere safe.

Bucky’s basement is hardly even a room—that’s why he keeps his weapons upstairs, and so that they’re always there when he needs them. It’s small, but big enough for a few shelves and a twin-sized mattress, it’s more a very temporary storm shelter—or a panic room, to a weaker person. There aren’t any windows, and so the thought of getting you situated there for an indefinite amount of time isn’t pleasant. He always gets up before you, and, yes, part of that is nature, and part of it is his awe for your peaceful sleeping form, a level of serenity in darkness he’s not sure he’d ever be able to achieve. The sun peaks in through the curtains and lightly bronzes your skin for a few minutes until you stir and wake up to him beside you, pure adoration in his eyes. And every morning, he knows he’d give up the light of day forever if he could only wake up next to you one more time.

***

You grimace as you wake up, feeling uncomfortable—the room feels somehow cold yet stuffy, and the mattress you’re laying on feels scruffy and a little old. You toss and turn a few times before you realise that this is real. When the thought hits, you rip your eyes open, shooting upright to scan your surroundings while your breathing gets heavier and heavier.

Your eyes land on Bucky sitting at the bottom of the stairs with a book in one hand, his metal one mindlessly twirling a thick chain between his fingers, tightening and loosening it. To test, you tug on your leg and he automatically grips tighter to the restraint, even before noticing you’re up.

“Hey, sweetheart…” he coos, setting his book down and letting go of the chain. He crouches down and sits at the bottom of the mattress, coaxing you with soothing rubs on your shin like you’re a mental patient or a wild animal, unpredictable. “How’re you feeling?”

How are you feeling? How are you feeling?

“Are you out of your mind!?” you shriek, and kick at him—it doesn’t hurt him, but he does raise his palm from your leg. Dropping his voice to a sweeter tone, he tries to calm you down. “You’re alright, you’re safe, everything’s okay, baby.”

He reaches out a hand to stroke your face but you slap it away, looking up at him with wild eyes and messy hair, you let your tone drop to a dangerous low as you warn, “Don’t… touch me.”

He gives a disappointed sigh but eventually tuts to himself in agreement. You just need to get this out of your system, it’ll be fine.

But it’s not. It’s not fine, and it’s taking a toll on him. You’ve never been like this before, so angry and irrational and erratic and unpredictable, but that’s not what he minds. He can deal with you throwing insults his way, swinging at him (in vain, of course) or resorting to silence, but what really starts to tick him off is when you refuse to eat. He let it slide the first day, tried to play it cool and just left the tray down for you, but he went upstairs and nervously paced back and forth until the morning. When he came down with breakfast, he discovered you hadn’t so much as touched your meal, not even the tray itself, and though he asked you in an even tone to eat something (and got nothing but silence in return) it was worrying him, he nearly wanted to plead with you, but he knew if he cracked you’d see a weak spot and keep ramming it until you get your way, and he can’t have that.

It’s the third day now, and he finally decides he needs to feed you. He sits down in front of you and pulls the tray towards him, scooping up some rice on a plastic spoon. He holds the food to your lips but you keep them shut tight, even when he gently pokes your mouth a few times. He’s sure you can see the stress you’re causing him: he’s hardly sleeping, as shown by the bags under his eyes, and he can’t even go for a jog to clear his head in case you do something crazy while he’s gone. With a deep breath, he sets the spoon down and leans back, considering his next move. Maybe you’d drink a smoothie. Not ideal but better than nothing.

“Alright,” he huffs as he stands up. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna make you a smoothie.”

He’s only just turned his back when he hears clattering, and when he looks back to you, you’ve got fury etched onto your features and the food he so carefully and lovingly prepared for you is strewn across the floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” he bellows, and backhands you, sending you to the floor. With your mouth agape, you clutch your cheek and look up at him in shock. He’s never even raised his voice at you, let alone yelled, let alone lay a finger on you. “Just fucking listen to me! Eat!” He kicks the tray further back and you startle, paralysed by pure shock.

He takes a deep breath in, and a long huff out, clenching his fists at his sides. His blue eyes you had once thought of as calm oceans are ablaze, he’s shaking with anger, and his voice quivers as he tries to speak in a level tone to you. “I… am going to make you a smoothie, and you are going to drink it, or you’ll never see the sun again.”

When he slams the door shut behind him, you finally allow tears to fall. You don’t know what that threat means—will he never let you out? Will he kill you? At first you didn’t think so, even when he held you down as you screamed and kicked, but you never thought he’d hit you either, you never thought he was capable of such rage, and though he kept it relatively under control, you saw what that was. It wasn’t just ire, it was like flames licked his entire being, engulfing him and lighting him up. While you thought of him as your Sun, now, that was for a different reason—now, he feels like the actuality of the star: unpredictable and unbearably dangerous, but… necessary for survival, and inescapable.

✪

[my beloved taglist; @cowboysnbugs, @buckys-wintersoldier, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10]

[breathinlove]

airport crush ellie williams drabble

read this

cw: none?? js cuteness and v poor writting.

u are both coming back for school after spring break? she had missed her friends and dad. for u, u js wanted to take ur summer clothes to uni.

this cute girl stares at u in line for the boarding... are u actually gonna be sitting in the same plane as her? she might faint!!! mmm she's staring and u can feel her green eyes burning the back of your neck so u turn around and she TRIES to be subtle and look somewhere else. u fucking grin, she's lowkey scared of u... u are sooo pretty!!! someone help her!!!

u are both getting on the plane and she doesn't know if she wants u to sit next her or if that's the last thing she wants... but naturally, since u are soooo lucky u got sat in the front line next to an arrogant lil man and his teenage son. how lovely!!! ellie on the other hand, got sat next to A MOTHER W A BABY??? god it was boutta be a flight.

when u looked around, she looked at u as if ud known each other for ages and mouthed "save me" so u mouthed "save me" god u hadn't even said hi to each other, she was embarrassed but... u went along w it so.

u were thinking, and sure the mother was comfortable back there but u remembered when ur aunt had ur cousin she asked to sit at the front lines. when ellie saw u getting up her eyes shined, like actually, she looked like an anime character right there. u fought ur awkwardness and started talking to the mother sat next to ellie.

"excuse me, would u wanna sit in first line? there's much more space for u and ur baby's stuff. u'd probably be way more comfortable." oh, u were such a sweetheart, ellie is inlove w u already.

the lady actually took the offer. she thanked u and gave u a lil shoulder caress. u both exchanged seats and well everyone's happy i guess!

not everyone, ellie's scared.

she's sat next to this sweet caring selfless girl, who happens to be soooo sooo soooooo pretty. she's terrified and she thinks she might be feeling more than js butterflies in her stomach.

"hi..." she mutters. "saved us both right there."

"sure did." u smiled, putting ur seat belt on, she forgot those... she started putting it on immediately. u chuckled and told her ur name.

"that's pretty, i'm williams, i mean, i'm ellie williams. mmm erm, just ellie." she, is, adorable.

"that's real long and pretty." she dropped her head in embarrassment. "where are u going, ellie?"

she coughed and started talking about going back to college and u kinda yelled "same!", bro why was this convo the most embarrassing ever?(,#&@&@ turns outtttttt u went to the same college!!! wowza...

"no way." she deadpaned.

"yes way, ellie..." u giggled and so did she.

u 2 talked ab ur majors and shit, nothing crazy but ellie was js so cutesy likeeee omg she's so awkward she's kind of a nerd :((( she tried acting cool tho but u were js so pretty and nice she got shy.

she couldn't believe u actually fell asleep while u 2 watched the exact same movie on ur tiny screens... 30m in. she had js met u and she got the honor of seeing u peacefully sleeping. u were outrageously embarrassed when u woke up at the end of the flight tho.

ellie asked for ur number before u even left the plane, thinking you'd would say goodbye then. but... u still had to go all the way out of the airport and grab a taxi. it was awkwardly silent, saying bye and walking side by side for like 6 minutes before she got closer and said "i guess not goodbye." what kind of sentence is that???

u talked ab music and u found out ellie played guitar, u were so happy ab it?? she didn't get why but she felt cool and mentioned she had her own songs and u beggedddddd to listen to them. bro she js thought u were so attractive SOMEONE SHOOT HERRRRR RN. u thought the exact same... like... u play guitar AND write ur own songs??

talked and talked until u both found a taxi, because when she found one, she decided to leave it for u but u wanted her to have it, so u both idiots let someone else have it and waited till 2 taxis were available??^÷×&*!*@

after getting home u waited for a text from her, dying to hear from her. you got it!!!

[gatitties]

HEYYYY I HOPE LIFE IS GOING GOOD FOR U! Im here to ask for your amazing writing. I was wondering if you could make me a strawhats x teen! Regeneration! Reader.

The reader is very aggressive, a bit rash stubborn and quick to lash out alot. She LOVES battle and is literally the most reckless kid EVER. Her fighting style is extremely brutal and reckless and she really isnt careful with herself just because of her regeneration devil fruit. She could literally get a whole canon ball to the head and it would be a blood bath but she’d grow a new head in seconds and she’ll immediately join the battle casually. Her cold and rude behavior is a result of her past though, how she was used in a cruel way for her powers. But inside there is a kind kid and the crew starts to see that as they notice more and more things about her. How she smiles and acts so gently with little kids, how she helps out despite looking mad, how she buys things for them as a gift and just walks away before they can even say thank you and how she gets in front of a crewmate to take the hit because she knows she’ll just regenerate. She just doesn’t know how to express herself. I kinda base her off Sanemi from demon slayer. She loves everyone in her own way and has a heart full of love and care. Her body is full of scars too and she’s really strong and fit for her age. She’s quite clever as well, not just an angry brute. Sometimes the crew worries about her because of her recklessness, especially Chopper.

ANYWAY THATS ALL I ASK FOR! TY SM FOR ALL YOUR WRITING. PLEASE AND THANK YOU!!!

─Strawhats x teen!reader (Platonic)

─Summary: Your regenerative powers are great, but you need to stop being so careless or you'll give your teammates a heart attack.

─Warnings: none

Hope you're doing good too!! ty love <3

─ They had never met someone as careless as you, Luffy sometimes did stupid things due to his impulsiveness, Zoro also kept getting seriously injured, but you? You completely surpassed your companions.

─ The times you have scared Nami and Usopp to death by protecting them from an attack and taking more than a minute to get up are countless.

─ Franky finds your power totally cool, although he doesn't like you being so careless sometimes, he will be one of the ones who won't meddle or scold you for covering his back.

─ It's not like the others don't appreciate you putting their safety above your own, but they had methods to protect themselves, even if it's a fatal blow, Luffy, Sanji and Robin hate seeing your body destroyed even knowing that you will get better soon.

─ Chopper, poor stressed reindeer, you're going to make him go bald like an egyptian cat one day, your bravado will take him to the grave, all your scars bitterly remind him that he must attend to you as a priority despite having no wounds present.

─ You've lost count of how many times you've cut yourself with Zoro's swords because you grab them by the edge and not the handle, Sanji also has you banned from the kitchen just in case.

─ Brook laughs so much at your antics when you look like a dwarf being with rage when attacking your enemies that he swears he could die laughing, he pats you on the back saying that it's a joke, because he's already dead, you keep laughing at the same joke every time.

─ Jinbe gets a little anxious during battles when he sees you rush headlong into danger against the worst of enemies, he takes care to restrain you on many occasions, it is preferable that you avoid getting hurt despite your power.

─ Despite your rough or disinterested expression, you keep a sentimental personality deep inside you, you can stain your fists with blood, but you would never do it with the blood of innocent people according to your ideals.

─ Chopper and Nami appreciate that little soft side that you let show from time to time in a much less violent environment, you are still a teenager with a big heart and that is why they hate, like the rest, seeing how you break down and compose leaving those marks on your body.

[pedriache]

Hey! Could u write about Pau Cubarsi? Something fluff about him finding that reader is ticklish and taking advantage of that. Thanks !

Warm Glow — Pau Cubarsí

Pairing: Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

Summary: While you were cooking, your boyfriend tried to wrap his arms around you, but when you push him away, he pokes your side playfully. With your reaction, he realizes how ticklish you really are and takes full advantage.

Word count: 443

Disclaimer/s: Playful threats, but just pure fluff!

A/N: AHHH I LOVE GETTING REQSSS. Sorry if I didn’t follow this through perfectly.. I LOVE U PAU CUBARSÍ MY BABYGIRL😭

The soft warm glow of the early morning sun cascades around your apartment, landing on you. Pau watched from the other side of the kitchen as you cooked his omelet, still in your pajamas. The eggs sizzling on the pan, causing your face to pull into a slight grimace. He knew you hated eggs, the smell, the grease, it sickened you out.

But despite all that, you didn’t hesitate to agree to make them when he asked. He loved that about you, no matter what you would do anything for him. And the feeling was mutual, he’d do anything for you, too.

Overcome with a sudden urge to be near you, Pau takes the few long strides it took to be your side, snaking his arms around you and nuzzling his face into your neck, leaving a few kisses.

“Pau—no. Pau.” You groan, attempting to wiggle out of your boyfriend’s arms. “I’m trying to cook! You wanted breakfast, so let me make it.”

Although you were trying to get away from him, you smile at his actions. Your overly affectionate boyfriend was frowning, his eyebrows slanted upwards giving you his best doe eyed look.

“Nice try, bud.” You tease, successfully releasing yourself from his grasp.

The nickname elicits an amused scoff from the brunette, “Bud? Seriously.” He reaches out, poking your side.

You let out a loud laugh, swatting his hand away at the ticklish feeling. “Hey! No-.”

Your reaction causes a smirk to grow on the teenagers boyish face, both of his arms reaching out to grab your sides. He’s tickling you now, holding you close as laughter erupts from your lips.

Weak pleads for him to stop stumble from your mouth, but you are laughing, a sound Pau loved more than anything else in the world.

Your giggles are broken between your words, “Pau, I will bite you! I-I’m trying to—YOUR EGGS.” You wriggle out of his grasp, bending over to catch your breath.

Eyes snapping up to your boyfriends, you scowl at his proud smile. “I could’ve died!” You gasp dramatically, standing up straight.

“Sure, sure.” He chuckles, patting your head and placing a kiss on your forehead.

With a huff, you turn back to the omelet, flipping it over. “I hope you like nearing burned eggs. It’s your fault.”

“I’ll get over it.” Pau assures you, hopping onto the counter. “Since when are you so ticklish?”

“Since I was birthed, probably?” You reply, sarcastically as you point your spatula at him, “But I swear, if you tickle me again, I will chop a limb off of you.”

“Oh!” The boy feigns being frightened, “i’m so scared.”

DTS , @halfwayhearted ^_^

[loverboykirstein]

After biting the bullet i just need to ask for more sam🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ im in love with the way u wrote it.

Preferably with dom sam and afab reader. If u write stuff like it maybe some high confessions to esch other that turn into smut. The thought of sam doing everything to pleasure her outside of sex but him being quite greedy while doing it makes me go crazy so if it could be something like this, i would actually marry u in an instant😭

I never requested anything like this so i hope this is okey!! If u have some questions please please text me about it🙇‍♀️ i hope u have a lovely day whenever u may see this and thank u for your writing.

hello my love, ask and you shall receive ᯓᡣ𐭩

smoke sessions // dom!sam

sam (sdv) x afab!reader

wc: 7832

mdni -> unprotected sex, overstimulation, referenced past trauma/ab*sive relationships, teasing, oral (f receiving), drug use (marijuana)

*** it wasn’t until your story was over that you realized how much you had smoked, way more than you had told yourself you would, everything moving just a little bit slower. 

he had already rolled another, kept his eyes locked on you as he grabbed two small bottles of wine out of your fridge, scratching the roots of your hair for a split second on his way back to his too-close position on your worn out couch. 

your drowsy eyes lingering too long on him, heartbeat in your throat as you caught his, staring back at you with those stupid eyes and that stupid face and you couldn’t figure out why it was suddenly so hot in the room and why your hands were kind of clammy and- 

oh. oh. 

fuck. 

“so,” he finally blinked, snapping the rubber band on his wrist. 

“so,” you giggled, unable to help the sheer amount of nervousness running through you, like a teenager in… 

…love…? ***

 ᥫ᭡。

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

“good GOD sam what the FUCK?!” you yelled at him, half to tears as you held your purple sword between the two of you. 

eyes puffy and red, voice cracking as your fragile hands struggled with the weight of crashing adrenaline. 

“two thing- three things,” he sighed, kicking his shoes off and lining them up by the door. 

“one, since when have you had this fucking beast,” he laughed, taking your sword from your hands and placing it back by your door. 

“two, you gave me a key to your house, dumbass,” you looked at his keys, still in the door. classic. no wonder he just now came around. 

“three, since when do you not answer your phone?”. 

ah. that thing. 

“actually, one more thing, why the hell are you crying?” 

damn it. 

“sam i-”. 

“also, when was the last time you ate? or showered or-”

“sam i kno-”. 

“you scared me half to death you kn-”. 

“SAMSON,”. 

you had never once raised your voice at him, or anyone in the valley for that matter. you scared yourself, covering your face as soon as you said it. 

looking at each other like a deer in the headlights, frozen in time. 

“i’m sorry i-” you started the clock again, gravity no longer struggling against the weight of the silence your cabin held. 

“no no im sorry i shouldn’t have i-” he sighed, turning around and walking out your front door. 

fuck. fuck fuck fuck. why do i fucking ruin everything every goddamn ti- 

three knocks on your door, not even fully closed, stopping your tears from falling again. 

“hi, can i come in?” he poked his head around the opening, shit eating grin plastered on his face. 

all you could do was laugh, the first time you had laughed in a while. in a long fucking time. 

you waved him in, body already heavy enough on its own, begging to be held in the corner of your couch, not even bothering to make the trek to your bedroom most nights. 

“can we start with one question at a time?” he practically pleaded, the softest you had heard his voice in months. 

a silent nod, not even bothering to sit up all the way. 

you didn’t want to answer anything, you didn’t want to talk at all. 

“where have you been?” you could feel the pain in his voice, nearly snapping like a string pulled too tight, strummed one too many times. 

“aw not even gonna ask me about my sword? lame,” you huffed, hoping you would be able to avoid the inevitable just a little bit longer. 

“okay fine, since when have you had that fucking beast?” 

a small tug on your lips, knowing he would eventually always come around and cave in. 

you found the strength to sit up, knowing his favorite stories were yours from the mines. his eyes would always glimmer, the most animated faces that could bring a laugh out of anyone, even George. 

“wait- before you start, you down?” he held up his fake headphone case, and you knew exactly what he had brought. 

“sam you are god in the flesh yes please,”. 

he raised an eyebrow at you, a small laugh under his breath as he unzipped the case that you knew would bring an ounce of relief, one that wouldn’t leave you begging for mercy and ginger ale as you opened your eyes. 

was it the best idea? probably not. your self-inflected cage near impossible to hold on to, each drag another lock undone. 

your mouth moved faster than your brain, begging soul and childish heart trying to take their chance at escape.

 to be heard, by more than tile in your shower, by more than your chickens who obviously didn’t know what you were ever saying. by the seeds you planted, the rocks you broke open. by someone. 

i can keep it together. yeah, a couple drags won’t hurt. just enough to stop crying for a bit. that’s the last thing he needs to see. 

“here,” he handed you the perfectly wrapped blunt, sealed with a swipe of his tongue and calloused fingertips. 

his hands a little shaky, silver rings along his fingers worn from prolonged wear, same tarnished look as the bracelets you’d never once seen him take off. 

“you got a light?” you asked, looking around to see if you had one lying around, too lazy to make a designated home for most of the things inside your near empty cabin. 

in a single flick of his thumb, the lighter you gifted him on a whim ignited in his hand. wrapped in a watercolor mix of blues and greens, the same colors as his eyes. 

he never put two and two together,  but when Pam had stopped by the only liquor store between the valley and the desert, of course you joined her. 

met at the counter with a few snacks you hoped would keep you awake in the mines, as well as some drinks for after,  the colors flashed in the corner of your eye, placing it in front of the weathered cashier before she could tell you your total. 

you couldn’t figure out why you bought it so quickly until you saw him next, mouth running dry at the thought. you hadn’t done that for sebastian, or abigail, for anyone, and you weren’t nearly as close to him as you were to his best friends. well, at the time. 

before the concert happened, the four of you were nearly inseparable. rushing to get your farm work done by the early afternoon, enough time to yourself before you would all settle in sebastian’s room, nearly yelling at each other over a never ending game at his table. 

that’s when things flipped upside down, sideways, and every which way other than level, fight or flight activated since. a mix of both, really, settling on a third option of avoidance and breakdown, burying yourself in the hole you didn’t realize you were almost out of. 

a hastily written letter in your mailbox, stating you had to be at the bus stop by 4, no later, plans for the day flipped upside down. 

you hadn’t been to a concert in forever, and for their band? you wouldn’t miss that for the world. 

it didn’t help that there was something different about him when he was on stage, a sultry kind of confidence that made your heart beat funny and your stomach flip. 

comfortable, like he really did belong on a stage, born for it. eyes glued to yours for a little too long, verses ending in near whines, others in heart wrenching screams, the truest form of him you had ever seen. 

that stupid smirk on his face as he did it, really selling the show. he was made for it, it came naturally. you weren’t sure how the other girls at the show weren’t fawning over him, hoping to grab his attention and sneak backstage. 

when he pulled his eyes off you to focus on his bright red guitar, energy radiating off of him as if he couldn’t stay still for a second longer, even if he tried, you were startled back to the present. 

a slight weight on your chest when the air finally came back to your lungs, as if you had been holding it that whole time. 

a tingling under your skin, fingertips buzzing with god knows what, surely just the reverberation from the speakers, right? 

too lost in the show to remember you were in a crowd, just about everyone to your back. guard down, brain fuzzy. 

disappointed that their set ended so soon, or it at least felt like it did, the three of them walking behind the curtain and out of your sight. 

then he tapped your shoulder before you could even turn around, the one who pushed you to the valley in the first place. 

the final straw, leaving with your phone and your wallet, and anything of importance inside a single duffle bag, you took the key from the letter you finally unsealed at your desk. 

you wished you had opened it so much sooner, to visit him in his fragile state, hell to see him for the first time in over a decade. but he still managed to mail you that letter, somehow figuring out the correct address. 

you didn’t open the letter until you felt like it, forgetting it in your desk drawer as it was the only place you could keep anything mostly private. 

a locked journal, grandpa’s letter, and a mess of papers and sticky notes, poor attempts at keeping your work in some kind of order, too many projects and a skeleton crew. all about profit, don’t give a single shit about us, figures. 

one fight too many, the lowest blows he had ever thrown your way. you would have sworn you killed a man with the way he spoke down to you, all because he found out your new supervisor was a younger man. 

it didn’t matter that you explained he didn’t even live in Zuzu, had a beautiful family, and had only spoken to you via email, you were ruining everything. 

you were the problem, the worst disease the universe had ever known, an ungrateful liar who was lucky to have him. 

you mirrored your mother too much, or maybe your father, a disappointment at best, too broken and scarred to be loved by anything at all. let alone sincerely. 

you were too difficult, too much. emotional, crazy, worthless. and you were lucky to have him, after all he swore up and down that he was the only one who would ever put up with you. 

the words you could eat, swallow them down, throw them up behind closed doors. they would spill out mixed with bile and tears, the bathroom fan and shower running to hide enough of the noise. 

a never ending cycle, to sit down, shut up, and learn your place. to do as you were told, to look the way you were told, to be what you were told. but when his palm swiped clear across your face, you couldn’t stomach it. 

you were just so easy to mold into whatever he pleased, never given the chance to grow a spine, just a bundle of nerves and blood on the floor. 

living in greyscale, you weren’t even sure if you were alive. and you weren’t exactly sure if you wanted to be. 

so when a year of color, vibrant and warm, shut down at the turn of your head, so did you. 

you had nearly forgotten entirely, building yourself up, to some degree at least. able to walk, to get out of bed every day, to do things you never thought possible. a fairytale, in a way. 

“long time no see, huh?” his eyes were the same swirling mess you remembered, each word pulling out another vertebrae of your makeshift spine you built without direction. 

linked in all the wrong places, nerves all jumbled up. and it hurt like a goddamn bitch to have them pulled out so rough, shattering in his grasp. 

“didn’t think you could leave forever, could you? blocking all my numbers only got you so far. see you’ve turned into quite the whore haven’t you? did i teach you nothing?” 

circling, spinning, dizzy, fainting, everything in between and nothing at all. you didn’t know where you were, devoid of color and vision blurred no matter how fucking hard you tried. 

lungs empty, collapsing as he clawed his way through your chest to break you down again. 

you couldn’t remember how, or when you got back to the valley, all you could do was mimic other forms, using the chatter of the people who accepted you as one of them, poorly shoving yourself into a unrecognizable form scarred to the brink of death. 

you had lied to sam over and over and over, saying you had come down with something, you had a lot of stuff to catch up on, any half-assed excuse you could to hide your truest form away. 

to slip back into all your bad habits, only taking enough time to do the bare necessities for the farm and the animals, not bothering with much else. 

too much happening to begin to comprehend, endless pit of dread  on top of so many feelings that left you confused and scared in a good way, sam’s unwavering stare on that stage replaying over and over, so many conflicting wires that your system crashed and all the circuits burned out. 

blocking every number until your ears nearly bled, over and over and over, unknown numbers driving you insane. 

paranoid that he would find you, that a piece of him had followed you, it was just too fucking much. 

you didn’t even know how long it had really been, a week, a month? 

you didn’t feel human anymore, you hadn’t since that earth shattering ending. 

but there it was, color, in the form of flame illuminating the eyes that matched the vessel in his hand, waiting for you to lean in and pull the smoke in. 

frozen, blunt between your shaking fingers, your ears stopped their ringing. 

“are you-” he tilted his head to the side, eyebrows slightly pulled together as he watched your face with so much intent. 

blinking hard, remembering that he couldn’t read your mind, that you were probably freaking him out for no good reason, you nodded your head and brought the kindest of offerings to your lips. 

“you’re a shit liar, i hope you know that,” he almost laughed, that stupid fucking smile on his face as he watched yours, and you swore you burned alive on the spot. 

hyper focused, holding that damned lighter to the end, watching as you pulled the smoke in, filling your lungs you didn’t think you had anymore. 

trying your best to remember to take it slow, handing it off to him after your first long inhale, the sweetest hint of vanilla at the end. 

he remembered? 

it was the same taste as it was that first time you hung out for real, out by the quarry for no good reason. just talking, so much talking, hands in pockets and steps slow, following nothing at all, just the urge to keep silence at bay a little bit longer. 

that evening a core memory, all happy afterwards. the first time you weren’t carrying around the weight of disaster on your shoulders, on your chest. 

“alright, nowwwww,” he said through some heavy breathing, smoke held for a little too long. 

“okay, okay fine,”. 

you tried your best to make the tale exciting, about the serpents you fought and how you found that first prismatic shard. 

that there was some sort of magic in the desert, a hint left on the cave walls to make an offering to whoever was out there, the best sword you had ever laid eyes on. 

was the purple a little obnoxious? sure, but it was also a reminder of your strength, at least enough to find one of the rarest minerals out there, something you were able to do on your own. 

it wasn’t until your story was over that you realized how much you had smoked, way more than you had told yourself you would, everything moving just a little bit slower. 

he had already rolled another, kept his eyes locked on you as he grabbed two small bottles of wine out of your fridge, scratching the roots of your hair for a split second on his way back to his too-close position on your worn out couch. 

your drowsy eyes lingering too long on him, heartbeat in your throat as you caught his, staring back at you with those stupid eyes and that stupid face and you couldn’t figure out why it was suddenly so hot in the room and why your hands were kind of clammy and- 

oh. oh. 

fuck. 

“so,” he finally blinked, snapping the rubber band on his wrist. 

“so,” you giggled, unable to help the sheer amount of nervousness running through you, like a teenager in… 

…love…? 

“listen, i’m sorry i scared you, i really didn’t mean to, i just got worried, y’know?” he shrugged, clouded in what seemed like…embarrassment? 

“it’s okay, i should have told you, i-”

“did i do something wrong? if i said something you should’ve just slapped me or something y-”

“no, no no, it wasn’t anything you did, i promise,” you grabbed his hand, like it was an instinct or something, trying your best to make it clear to him that it really wasn’t his fault at all. 

it made your stomach flutter, brain stop working for a second. you dropped it after a second too long, clearing your throat after. 

“what’s going on, then? i can’t just sit here and know somethings wrong and not at least try and do something, i just-”

“okay, okay, but you keep this between us okay?” your eyes pleaded, begging him to keep that part of you away from everyone, everything. 

what am i doing? 

“yes ma’am,” he nodded, nothing but seriousness in his voice, adjusting towards you to express his full attention, something he could rarely do. 

unable to meet his eyes, you worked up the nerve, or whatever it was holding you back, to yank on the string holding your pride together. you placed it in his hand, unraveled, bloodied, gone for good. 

it wasn’t linear, a jumbled mess of words spilling out faster than you could catch them. every syllable foreign to you, telling some sort of story that didn’t seem to have much plot, back and forth between before and after, you weren’t even sure. 

you were so fucking scared, never telling a soul about the years you spent in your own little hell, never even bothering to ask for help.

so small, so frail, spilling out all the nastiest parts of your memory, your being, onto your living room floor. a mess you weren’t sure how to clean up, stains permanent in the hardwood. 

but through it all you were so busy thinking about the nerves that wracked through you, suffocated by his fixated stare, holding that stupid string to your pride so delicately in his hand, just in case you wanted it back. 

you knew you couldn’t have it back, too deformed in your gutted state, embarrassed and ashamed of who you claimed to be, fraudulent identity and all. 

but it wasn’t the way your vocal cords spit the leftover bits of your soul out, it was realizing how close he was, and how the way he was looking at you made you feel hot. 

how grabbing his hand for a moment in time made you feel awkward, catching you off guard. 

the overwhelming heat of it all, face scalding, stammering your words into makeshift sentences, if you could even call them that. 

“so, um, yeah. als-” don’t say anything else don’t don’t don’t. 

“you’ve been here this whole time, alone, and petrified? you know i would’ve come stay with you, or help on the farm or something,” he spoke soft and stern, a bubbly sort of mix that made you hiccup. “he lives in Zuzu? what part?” 

his eyes squinted a little, knuckles white in angered fists, unnoticed before. how long have they been like that? 

“south side, right off the main highway. kinda by the..” 

right by the skatepark. 

“skatepark”. 

you nodded silently, connecting the fact that they probably know each other. 

“i’ll take care of it. don’t worry,”. he handed you a gentle smile, a cover up for his tensed jaw and hard blinks. “and i’ll get’cha a new phone, number, all that good stuff, m’kay,”. 

he’s just…being really nice? 

you tried your best to ignore that same feeling bubbling in your chest, the butterflies, the tingling in your fingers, the nerves. 

“you don’t have to, it’s okay i really sh-”

“hush. let me take care of you,”. 

seven words that melted into you on contact, seeping into your bloodstream like chaos. 

he…wants to take care…of me? 

“sam i-”

“ah ah ah- shush, missy,”. he inched a little closer, pointing a playful finger in your face, just to tap it on the tip of your nose. 

he’s…fuck what the hell is going on with me? 

“i want to take care of you, i’d walk to the ends of the damn earth if it meant you didn’t go MIA again,”. 

where is this coming from? am i hearing things? 

“you’ve carried all…this…your whole life. let me help, ‘kay?” 

how do i set it down? how do i let you take this knowing how hard it is to bear? 

why do you care so much? 

don’t you have your own things to worry about? what about vincent? your dad? yourself? 

for me? i haven’t done anything in return, i just, what is going ON. 

“i care because-” 

oh my god did i say that out loud ?

“yes, you did, can you listen to me for a minute, angel?” 

angel? who- i- wait a minute. 

“hey, look at me,” he grabbed your hand, mirroring your grasp from earlier, except his was steady and strong, no sign of letting go. 

“listen, i didn’t want to ruin anything, but i-”

oh my god i’m fucking- 

“sam i think im in love with you,”. 

shit. 

out of breath, startled, frozen in fear at your lack of restraint, lack of control. first you hand him your pride, and then admit what you’d been pushing down this whole time? 

so desperate to be heard, and he had open ears the whole time. 

you didn’t want to be a burden, the one who only always brought the mood down, the one everyone felt like they needed to worry about. choosing to push it down, push it away, so that they didn’t. 

but you’d been pushing this down too, nervous system sounding the alarms when feelings that even resembled something romantic began to surface, real or not. 

you denied every comment from abigail, seb, alex, even vincent, thinking they were just trying to set you up because you guys got along. 

really well. 

and hung out all the time. 

but this, you at your lowest, pride removed, walls crumbled, truest form you could show, mixed with a mouth that ran a little bit faster than your brain did, overflowing before you even knew what you were saying. 

your hand still in his, breath held as you waited for one of two life altering answers. to keep him by you, or for things to be uncomfortable from this moment forward. 

what the fuck was i thinking? what if he doesn’t feel the same? oh god what about penny- god am i a fucking moron? 

“oh thank fucking god,” he sighed, yanking you from your awkward distance from him to his lap, the tightest hug ever known, his face buried in the crook of your neck. 

in something near fantasy, the gravity stopped again, but this time to watch as its work finally paid off, no longer playing tug of war with your souls to make one of you confess. 

wrapping your fingers in his hair at the base of his head, praying that nothing would tear him away even if the entire valley was on fire. 

“i don’t think you know how long i’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” his breath tickled the exposed skin of your neck, pulling nothing but a few small giggles out of your chest. 

“mmm since you were eye-fucking me at the show?” you don’t know where this buzzing confidence came from, another sentence too fast for your rationale to halt. 

“well yes, but, more like right after that night at the quarry,”. 

“that was like, almost a year ago!” you pulled back to get a look at his face, hoping it would be a blushing mess, that you would get to see that beaming smile you loved so dearly. 

your drawback reluctantly pulling him away from your skin, his face was cocky. 

“i know,” he said it so, certain, like you just told him the sky was blue. “i knew you’d be mine. didn’t have to rush a thing,”. 

“oh? and how’d you know that?” you tilted your head a little to the side, eyebrow raised, acting like you didn’t feel the same, that you do remember that night like it was yesterday. 

“oh please,” he rolled his eyes, drama queen, “you think i couldn’t tell?” 

“oh what ever,” you scoffed, unaware that you were really doing anything to make it obvious, hell it wasn’t even obvious to you. 

“you’re cute,” he kissed the tip of your nose, pulling you back in as if he was afraid to lose you, arms wrapped so tight that it felt like he was putting you back together. 

“shush,” you mumbled into his ear, breath hot on his neck, swearing you felt him shiver at the feeling. 

“mmm, nah, don’t think so,” you felt him pinch at your sides a little, making you squirm around in his lap a little too much, your giggles filling his heart to the brim, spilling over and filling his lungs with such warmth he didn’t know how to contain it. 

but he knew what he was doing, knowing you were ticklish at the sides, holding back a faint groan at the innocence of your actions, the mild amount of friction making his stoned brain all fuzzy. 

first, you said those words he had been dying to hear, second, here you were in his lap, giggling into his ear and hips flush with his. 

he couldn’t stop it, the tent in his pants obvious in a matter of seconds. 

and of course you couldn’t hold back the slight gasp as you felt it press against you, the smallest little moan as you settled into it. 

the two of you sat in silence for a moment, waiting for the other to say something, to do something. 

making up his mind, his hands gripped your hips hard, moving your achy little cunt against his length. 

a hum reverberated in your chest, settling into the slow ruts, his hands guiding the way. 

“feel good, princess?” his voice an octave lower, settling perfectly down in your core. 

“mhmm,” you tried to go a little faster, a little harder, something. “wan’ more,”. 

“yeah? use your words baby,”. his grip in full control, holding back your attempt to satiate the need that seemingly came out of nowhere. 

you couldn’t even remember the last time you had been touched by someone else, just the occasional work of your fingers as your mind wandered, letting it take you wherever it wanted. 

being high, being nervous made it feel all the more overwhelming, body encased in his scent and subtly dominate disposition. 

“wan’ more of you, please,”. 

he let your hips roll harder, longer, just a few times before he held you still again, frustrated whimper spilling from your lips. 

“sammyyy, quit bein’ mean,”. his grip too firm, too steady, nothing but a devilish giggle in his throat. 

“you sure you wanna do this, sweetheart?” 

you could tell his restraint was slipping, needing those words of approval from you before he made you his, before he gave into his greedy nature and take what was his all along. 

“yes, please sammy, wanna feel ya,”. 

you didn’t recognize yourself, begging with such pity that his eyes grew tenfold, tummy pulling tight at the complete control you handed him so easily. 

one swift move, pushing himself off the couch while wrapping your legs around him, your giggles bouncing around in his skull at a million miles an hour. 

he moved with such haste, desperate to hear you, to feel you, to see you fall apart under him, to claim you for good. 

he laid you down on your bed, gently resting your frame against the plush mattress. the only light in the room was your bedside lamp and the moonlight seeping through your windows, the two of you the only bodies left on earth. 

“promise you’ll be good f’me?” he purred in your ear, fingertips dancing on your thighs. 

“mhm, i will,”. nodding with frustration, willing to do just about anything to satiate the fire already consuming your walls, twitching around nothing at all. 

your beady eyes so innocently begging, completely unaware of the man you were bringing out of him, something downright feral. 

“good girl,” he swiped his tongue across his top teeth, sharpened canines shimmering under the dim lights. 

the phrase stirred something up inside you, eyes wide and pleading, body his. 

crawling on top of you, he pulled you up the mattress, looking down at the exposed skin of your tummy, the sudden tightness of your shirt barely hiding a thing. 

his hand brushing up against your clothed clit, just enough pressure to make the frustration slither down to the tips of your toes. 

“sammyyy,” you whined with a puppy dog stare, bottom lip jutted to really sell it to him. 

“yes?” that stupid smirk on his face, every move calculated as if he’d rehearsed it a hundred times over. 

“please touch me,”. you couldn’t sound any more desperate, almost pathetic, just the way he wanted you. 

“i am touching you, my love,”. 

his purrs were criminal, so thick that it saturated your bloodstream, your brain forced into slow motion. 

“asshole,” you whimpered, trying to grab his wrist and move him where you wanted, too desperate to play the teasing game. 

“excuse me?” he shook his wrist free, grabbing the sides of your face and forcing you to look into the blown out pupils of his, so sickeningly exciting. “that’s not how we get what we want now, is it?” 

“i know you want it too,” you kept whining, eyes glossy in need, pushing your thighs together in hopes it would do something. 

“be careful what you wish for, darling,”. the laugh he barely let out was almost sinister, he knew how badly you wanted it, and how he was going to abuse that. 

he sat up straight, yanking your shorts and underwear off in one swift motion, pushing one of your thighs open with his knee that was once at your side. 

your top teeth bruising your bottom lip, holding back a giggle that was mixed with every emotion you could think of, all of it bubbling in your chest. 

the middle finger of his right hand swiping up your slit as he came back down, greedy lips wanting yours again. 

your body melting into his touch, gentle traces driving you fucking. insane. 

“more-” you tried to beg through his feverish kisses, barely giving you enough room to breathe. so in unison, in tune, made for each other. 

as he swallowed up your words, you felt his long finger dip inside you, just past your begging hole that was so desperate to be filled. 

your whimpers settling on his tongue, sweet enough to give him a sugar rush, to make him crave so much more, you were driving him insane. 

the amount of nights he had fucked his fist to the idea of you, to the sight of you in that too-short skirt you wore at the festival of the moonlight jellies, ocean breeze exposing just a little too much, completely unknowing. 

the way the dress you adorned on spirits eve pushed your tits up, nearly spilling out as he jumpscared you in the depths of the maze. 

the shirts you wore at game nights, perfume clouding his every move as it radiated off of your pulse points. a little too low cut, a little too big, on full display to him as you leaned over the table. 

the blush on your face when you gifted him every single time, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you looked up at him for approval. 

and the swimsuit you wore at the beach, sitting next to him as he watched vincent play in the water, instantly throbbing as he watched you oblige to his little brothers wishes for you to come play with him. 

the urge to make you a mother right then and there, watching your top hold on for dear life as you lifted vincent out of the water and throwing him back in, your ass on full display as your back was turned to him. 

you drove him fucking crazy. every time you got a little to close to alex, hell even seb, something hot boiled under his flesh, jealousy. 

you were his, whether you knew that or not. he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

and here you were under him, tight walls wrapped around his finger, begging him for more more more. 

a dream, no less, you were finally where he wanted you this whole time, since the first time he laid eyes on you. 

“still wan’ more?” he whispered in your ear, peppering kisses on the side of your neck as he began to pump in and out of you, sigh of relief spilling from your parted lips. 

you nodded, eyes closed, soaking in everything you could. 

you felt his teeth sink into the spots he so gently kissed, sucking bruises dark enough to last for days in spots impossible to cover, down until he was halted by the collar of your shirt. 

a frustrated whimper from your lungs as he pulled his finger out of you, tearing your shirt off in a blur, goosebump ridden skin on full display. 

every inch of you exposed to him in the dim lighting, ethereal. 

“good god you are beautiful,” breathtaking, his words nearly a whisper, trailing kisses down your torso. 

hooded eyes looked up at you as he dressed every inch of you in admiration, practically praising the ground you walked on. 

he would give you the world if you asked, hell the whole universe and everything beyond it. 

at this moment in time, all he wanted to do was fuck you senseless, to make you finish on him again and again and again even after you swore it was too much. 

a babbling mess, shaking, marked up, his. 

as his kisses lead to the bottom of your stomach, flush with your hips, the silver dog-tag chain he promised to never take off grazed against your heat, the metal ice cold. 

he looked up at you with hunger, a man starved for days waiting for the chance to satiate his thirst. a single nod, teeth tugging on your kiss-bitten bottom lip. 

and god did he give you more, drinking you up before you could take back your approval, heaven sent. 

his tongue writing i love you’s and i want you’s all over, teasing your greedy hole that was desperately waiting to be filled with him. 

he was messy, your slick all over him, forgetting to breathe. his fingers dug into the plush of your thighs, fingers nearly turning white at the pressure. 

he let you trap him, encase him in your grasp, gasps that held moans hostage the strength he needed to forget every human need, the only thing on his mind was to please. 

your fingers tangled up in his hair, pushing his head into you as if he could get any closer. 

as his tongue lapped at your swollen cunt, his nose pressed against your clit, pulling that ache in your core a little closer, the knot a little tighter.  

he could tell by the growing arch in your back, the pressure in which your thighs encased him, the heightened pace of your whimpers. 

he wouldn’t stop even if the whole world relied on it, you were so close at just the work of his tongue, the mild vibrations from his moans, the sting of his fingers losing feeling on your thighs. 

“b-baby- pl-please don’t s-stop,”. your words choppy and mere stutters, cut off by the swirl his tongue made around your swollen clit, just to find its way back to your sopping hole. 

he listened, that was his plan, he wasn’t going to stop. not until your body remembered every inch of him, knew it belonged to him. 

another string on his guitar pulled a little too tight, you came, and came hard. 

fighting against the grip he had on you, tugging on the thick blonde strands wrapped around your fingers, trying your best to grind against his face, but he listened, not. stopping. 

incoherent words mixed in with your breathless moans and high pitched whimpers, rutting his own hips against your mattress as he drank up every drop you had to offer him, the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. 

he slowly pulled away as your legs began to calm, a moment of peace as you caught your breath for a short second. 

“s’fuckin good,” hunger only fueled by the meal you had offered him, he needed more of you, and he needed it now. 

he pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor before taking his place on top of you again, missing his lips on yours. 

the light glimmered on him, toned and strong, adorned with piercings you had no idea he had. 

dermals placed carefully on his hips, metal bars through his nipples, you were drooling. 

his mouth on yours, sharing the taste of you as he groped every inch of you he could. 

swallowing up your moans, you needed him and you needed him now. 

reaching down, you unbuckled his belt, jeans right after. 

his queue to strip, to expose himself as much as you, eyes stuck to you as he adjusted to yank his jeans down in unison with his boxers. 

his dick slapped against him, your eyes widening as a sliver of fear shook your heart, knowing it would be a stretch. 

as expected, a piercing adorned his dripping tip, all red and swollen and begging. 

“sammy please,” you whimpered as he rubbed his thumb over his leaking head, eyes hooded and breath heavy. 

“please what, baby?” he hummed, lining himself up to your throbbing cunt, tracing his head up and down your slit, so slow you thought your heart might collapse. 

“just fuck me already,” you barked, patience run thin and you swore you would die right then and there if he didn’t fuck you stupid. 

thrill and fear mixed in your throat, slack-jawed as he began to dip inside, the sting of the stretch making your body run hot, whimpers of pain as you adjusted to his sheer size. 

“you can take it, baby, can’t you?” 

he mustered up every ounce of strength he had to sound collected, even though the grip of your walls was breaking him apart. 

so warm, so wet, so much better than he could have ever dreamt. 

“ ‘s a lot,” unsure of even yourself, could you really take it?

one hand of his leaving his fingerprints on your bones, the other grabbed the sides of your face, forcing your glossed over eyes to face his, to listen. 

“isn’t this what you begged for, dirty girl?” the cockiest look on his face, forcing you to look at him as he inched his way inside, swallowing him up so perfectly, fingers pressing your teeth against the insides of your cheeks. 

your face ran hot, embarrassed at your sudden defeat, your cunt obviously wanting more. 

more, more, more. 

“use your words, bunny, c’mon,” he pressed his forehead against yours, teeth sharp as they barely held back a cruel laugh that was simmering all the way down to his cock. 

“mhm, y-yes,” you were able to mumble out of your lips that were smushed together, a slight nod against his too-tight grip. 

“are you going to be good?” 

without a second to respond, a single buck of his hips as he bruised the sweetest bit of your cervix. you swore he was in your throat, so incredibly full. 

head falling back into the rustled up blankets, one of your legs swung over his broad shoulder, going deeper. 

the moans he rattled out of you were beyond unholy, something you didn’t even think you were capable of. 

your gummy walls sucked him off so well, molded to the shape of him upon entry. 

your body didn’t feel real. each thrust of need, desperation, a year's worth of pent up feelings spilling out at the expense of your sopping wet pussy. 

“s’ fuckin tight my god,”. his tone was downright feral, teeth pinned together as strands of his hair fell onto his forehead. 

he looked so strong, teaching your cells that you belonged to him now. 

“don’t get all- f-fucking hell, shy on me, c-c’mon,”. barely able to process his words, so lost in the high of his cock pounding into you over, and over, and over again, like his damn life depended on it. 

his hand around your throat, fingers closing off the rush of blood to your fuzzy little brain, snapped out of your fucked-out daze. 

“you’re f-f-fucking mine, y-you understand?” the colorful mix of his eyes overtaken by the dark, void of all color as he fell pussy-drunk. 

“do you understand?” his grip got tighter, your eyes rolling back into your skull, the only thing you could focus on was the violent approach of your next climax. 

somehow you forced a meek nod, his grip relaxing enough for the blood to come back through, creaming his length without any warning. 

“s-s- oh my- f-fucking hell- ah!” 

incoherent at best, babbles and whimpers as your legs shook, overstimulation hitting you like a train. 

“there you go, suckin’ me off s’good, such a good girl,”. he didn’t falter once, pace steady and ruthless, leaving you drooling and cock-drunk. 

he titled his head to the ceiling, chest heaving and heart racing, mad at himself for not doing this earlier, but so, so fucking starstruck that he actually got to be inside you. 

you felt him twitch inside you, how his grip tightened on you, you knew he was close despite your drunken state. 

he wanted to fill you up so badly, but he would be fucking damned if he let you off with only two orgasms, he wanted to fuck you downright dumb. 

“got another f’me? i ain’t done with you baby,”. 

“ ‘s too much- s-sammy t-too m-much,” you felt the prick of tears at the corners of your eyes, fingertips buzzing as they dug into your bedding. 

he didn’t care. too focused on the way your tits bounced with each bone-breaking thrust, the sounds you made for him so easily, the way you let him use you. 

“i’m not done with you,” his voice more of a growl, fitting for the sharp ends of his canines and primal nature, walls fluttering around him as if they were begging for punishment. 

pulling your other leg up, a squeal as he somehow hit a whole new world inside of you, stars and colored specks blinding you. 

knees by your temples, the back of your thighs burning as you were folded in two. 

“ha- c’see myself inside ya- f-fuck,”. 

all 9 and a half inches of him swallowed up inside, bottom of your tummy bulging with each slam of his hips on your ass. 

sobbing on his cock, wasted on the lewd squelching of your syrup guiding him in and out, in and out, over and over again. 

his hand somehow managed to press on the bulge he created, your tears streaming down into your hair, drooling babbles as your body short circuited, synapses unable to grasp the sheer stimulus of it all. 

“gonna fill ya up, s-stuff ya full ‘f me,”. the twitching impossible to ignore, the weight of him stuffing you to the brim, met with your fluttering hole. 

pace beginning to falter, the final push needed for you to spill all over him again, body lost in another world as you rode out your third high. 

guttural moans filled the air of your room, hot white ribbons coated your battered walls. stuffing you full, writing every word he wished he would have said sooner deep inside. 

every i love you, i miss you, you’re all i’ve ever wanted, i wrote this song for you, please don’t go, all of it. 

with the spasms of his hips calmed, he let your legs down gently, one at a time. 

color flooding back to his eyes, that soft smile taking over once again. 

his gentle hand wiped away the tear-stains on your face, brushing away the fly-aways of your tousled hair from your sweat-pricked skin. 

still deep inside, still hard, barely heard whimpers as he moved around, he didn’t want a drop to spill out of you. 

“you’re an angel,” he hummed, pressing a few gentle kisses to your forehead, last one planted to the tip of your nose. 

all you could do was giggle, brain so mushy that you didn’t even bother to deny his sweetness. his adoration. 

“let’s get’cha cleaned up, yeah? you did so good for me,”. a few more gentle kisses scattered along your face, satisfied hum at your sugar-coated giggles, the smile uncontrolled on your lips. 

a hiss through his teeth as he slid out of you, a wince of your own at the sudden emptiness, almost feeling wrong. 

he wrapped both arms around you, locking your legs around his torso, lifting you in one swift movement. too fucked-out to even question how he could lift you nearly deadweight, snuggling your face in the crook of his neck the moment you were upright. 

letting him carry you to the bathroom, he flipped the light switch on and set you down gently on the toilet as he fell to his knees to turn the faucet for your bathtub. 

petting your leg as he waited for the water to warm, closing the drain when it was just the way he wanted it. 

“be right back, m’kay?” he kissed the crown of your head, leaving you all alone for the first time in hours. 

 head in your hands, elbows pressed into your aching thighs, trying to process what just happened. 

from a void of breakdown and destruction, to falling apart at the seams willingly, to sobbing on sam’s cock, all too much for your heart to process, for your mind to wrap around. 

“hi pretty,” his hums gentle, crouching down to feed you some water, baby sips. 

“hi,” you felt all shy, his presence all-consuming, giggling near uncontrollably. 

you felt yourself coming down from your high, both highs, drowsy and spacey, but comfortable. 

“so…” he drug out, flush across the bridge of his nose. 

“so?” you mocked playfully, running your fingers through his hair. 

“first….i think you’d look real pretty with a lil’ collar…” he trailed, almost embarrassed. “nothin crazy…just our little secret y’know?” 

the idea had crossed your mind before, but this time it made your swollen pussy twitch despite its battered state. 

his. 

“second….i love you. i always have,”.

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

hello! sorry this took a while, i hope it's what you were looking for!

i have a few other requests that are in the works, those will be coming soon.

i would also love to build off of this... longfic maybe???

thanks for stopping by! i love you all! mwuah!!

currently waiting for my ring @whoreforsam

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

⭑.ᐟ lmk if you would like to be tagged in future works!

   ᥫ᭡。

[radisprettysick]

hi may u pls do virgin!choso x big titty reader

choso just staring deeply into her tits since her bra isnt even her size so it just spills out, reader notices him and teases him for it!!!

this all i got ☹️😢😢 hope u see this

I see u pookie 🥹🥹

18+

Choso never knew how to ask for help. He can take lead in every other aspect for someone else but when it comes to helping himself.... he's way more reserved and shy about it.

He was so scared of being vulnerable to you but once he was, oh my god he was in love. He loved being vulnerable around you, you made him feel sososo good. Emotionally. Sexually is a completely different story.

He still hasn't been able to open up to you about sex. He loves your body and finds himself jerking off to thoughts of you often but he always gets too nervous to actually initiate anything with you.

For some reason one week he was just really pent up, he couldn't find the time alone to relieve himself like he usually would. And his habit of staring wasn't helping either. He just could not pull his eyes away from your body. You were in the middle of getting changed and he wanted nothing more than to freeze time so he could stare forever.

It was so obvious. His cheeks were red, his pants were tight, and he was practically drooling.

"Aw shit, I'm gonna have to get a new bra soon these ones don't really fit anymore."

No duh. Yours boobs were practically begging to be sucked on and played with by him.

You looked at him through his continued silence and watched him stare at your chest like a teenage boy seeing a real pair of tits for the first time.

"Choso. Chosooo. If you wanna feel them just ask." This immediately snapped him out of it causing you to suppress a giggle at his clearly stunned reaction.

"Sorry y/n." He averts his eyes to anywhere but you finding an interest in literally anything. His blush continued to grow on his cheeks. He could feel his palms sweating the longer you stayed silent but it did nothing to combat the raging boner he felt. He only looked back at you when he felt your presence next to him, reaching for his hand.

You grabbed his clammy hand and used him to massage your chest. He had to suppress a whine from coming out. They were just so big in his hand. He took over the massaging and looked at your face for approval, after receiving a nod, he pulled you closer so he could remove the bra from obstructing his full view of your perfect tits and took a nipple into his mouth.

He's been wanting this for so long. To finally touch you more than just innocent loving touches. He will ignore the teasing you did earlier of making fun of his staring habit because it got him what he wanted.

And yes he came bra shopping with you. He needed to make sure his baby got the best one <3 and one that he could easily move to suck on your tits <<<<33333

[firefly--bright]

omg meeting jean’s family and spending christmas/new years w them ??

YES i went with spending christmas eve with them!! this might be a bit too specific but its something ive been thinking about for a while :D thank you for the ask!! :33 taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy , @1ovede1uxe ❅ masterlist is in pinned post ❅ enter my taglist ❅ requests for headcanons are open! ❅

❅ backstory on his family a bit first! okay so in my head it. it was was him and his mom at first. his dad wasnt in his life all that much and would only show up randomly. right. caused issues in his psyche. more about this in upcoming dusk to dawn chapters (PLEASE BE PATIENT W ME GUYS)

❅ and so when he was like. 13 or something. already hormonal teenager, his mom married this guy who already had two daughters, one of whom was older than him and one was younger.

❅ anyway. it took him a while to be okay with all of that, because he got really protective over his mom at one point and threatened his now stepdad with the whole "if u hurt my mom i will hunt u down and make u wish u never lived" mind u hes like 14

❅ ANYWAY so in my head he has an older sister who older to him by like 5 years and younger one is like 3 years younger than him. they didnt get along at first, obviously, being kids and allat. none of them were okay with this but with coaxing from their parents they found out that they werent terribly company, actually. again more on this in dusk to dawn upcoming chapters i swear

❅ ok so back to the request!! christmas in the kirstein household is beautiful ok. their house isnt super duper big but is well off enough, and jean's parents always go full out for it. lights and beautiful decorations, one of the prettiest houses on the block. youre obviously super nervous even if you had talked to his mom a couple times on the phone when she forced jean to give it to you. his sisters knew about you on social media and whatnot but thats way different than meeting in real life

❅ and jean tells you that his mom already loves you so you have nothing to worry about. "but what about your sisters and dad?" "my dad trusts my mom and will literally do anything she says so he will love you. my sisters will love you because youre you, stop worrying so much." he says even though everytime he has to talk to your family hes also scared shitless.

❅ you see their house and your jaw drops to the floor. he mumbles something about how they outdid themselves and how he's pretty sure theyre the ones trying to impress you. you only half listen to him tho

❅ anyway!! his mom opens the door and immediately hugs you. WARMEST HUG EVER BTW. cold outside be damned and she hugs you for a good two minutes before pulling away and then scolds jean for not wearing a beanie. "so i just dont get a hug?" and thats when she hugs him.

❅ the inside of their house is just as decked out as the outside. their christmas tree almost takes up the whole room. imagine those cozy romcom houses on christmas :') his dad is chilling by the record player (that jean has told you about) and gives jean the. guy hug like the two pats on the shoulder one. welcomes you in, shows you to you room, tells you to treat it as your home because it is your home. theyre all such warm people honestly

❅ his little sister isnt there to greet the two of you until after youve almost settled into jean's old room. its just big enough for the two of you and youre going through his old posters and things on the walls while jean tells you that "that was just a phase, honestly, haha, im not even that person anymore.." as if u dont kow everything about him already. and then his little sister walks in with some hot cocoa in her hand and looks at the two of you for a couple seconds and then says "how did this ugly ass bag you."

❅ anyway. turns out his older sister is going to be there by evening time so you help out in the kitchen, and jeans mom shoos him out of there coming up with some excuse of how his dad needs him or something. and then she tells you about all the times he wet his bed as a kid. this woman is dead set on embarassing her son tbh. i love her

❅ youre bonding over having a shared love for baking and shes giving you tips when his little sister walks in again. "did she tell u about how many times he used to wet the bed?"

❅ you find out shes studyinng to be a lawyer, in her first year of uni rn so shes super busy. his mom says shes very smart and shes just bashful and says "im not that good," waving a hand infront her face and you cant help but note that jean does the same fucking thing when someone gives him a genuine compliment. except that he usually follows with "i mean- unless youre into that." or something that ruins the soft moment.

❅ anyway. you meet his older sister soon, and she's almost identical to mama kirstein, mannerisms wise. the same laugh, her voice just a little bit deeper, the same sense of style, almmost everything. she embraces you in her warmth as soon as she steps in, tells you how excited she has been to meet you and that jean cannot stop telling her about you. she asks about your career and you find out shes also like jean with her passion and drive in her own career, and you get into an indepth discussion about it over a glass of wine until its time for dinner

❅ dinner is fucking beautiful. mama kirstein only let you help with the smallest things because you insisted, and she paid attention to any and all dietary restrictions you might have. sibling fights w jean and his sisters and you figure out why he hates his hair being touched (because his sisters always mess it up. thats literally all its not even that deep) jean and his dad eventually have a discussion about wines and stuff and its so obvious. right. they comb their hand through their hair in the same direction in the same way and youre like OH THAT MAKES SENSE.

❅ at one point you fix jean's collar and his sister is like "man u cant even do one thing right" to him, and his mom brings up marraige at the same time and jean chokes on his food. its not why she asked it that shocked him its just how she asked it. its so casual - "youre such a child, jean," his younger sister says, and his dad is talking over them, "alright, just because his collar is a little dishevled," and jeans glaring at his sister as you fix it and theyre all kinda talking over eachother right and you fix it and its like a little soft moment and he mumbles a "thank you" and his eyes are like shining and his hand is on your thigh and you roll your eyes in fake annoyance. and his mom is just, "so marraige."

❅ LMFAO moving on. theres dessert. you help with the clean up and jeans sister tells you that when they were small they used to make pancakes for their parents and jean got flour everywhere and she was always the one who cleaned it up. jean would worry about the presentation more than the taste and their younger sister would make the coffee, accidentally putting in too much sugar which went unnoticed until papa kirstein had to gulp down a wince at how sweet it was. speaking of, jean and him were in the living room and you could hear his voice clear as day complaining about how he just doesnt have enough vinyls and his dad telling him exact coordinates of where he'd find them <3

❅ and theyre all SO SWEET UGH like you can clearly see eahcother's influence in them. of course this cant be complete without mama kirstein showing you his old baby pics. hes so red in the face when his mom points out how chubby his cheeks were and his older sister pinches his cheek and he swats her hand away which turns into a small cat fight. dont talk about it. his dad puts some music on and claps his hands, "monopoly, anyone?" which then turns into a whole game night :')

❅ complete the night with a movie where you and jean fall asleep on eachother halfway through the movie, and his younger sister takes like 2000 pictures of the two of you with different filters on. as blackmail.

❅ bonus you wake up to pictures sent by an unknown number with different pictures of jean throughout his embarassing teenage years and his (gasp) emo bad boy phase in highschool... cringe...

god i love this man. i want him and his family so bad. anyway! thank you for the ask!! and for your patience :333

sorry for not making a moodboard, I couldn't find enough pictures with the vibe I wanted to go for (⁠･ั⁠ω⁠･ั⁠)

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Surprise Pt. 3 | Soap x Reader

Summary: The boys get called out to a mission after you get injured during a game, and your past finally catches up to you.

Word Count: ~ 4k

Warnings: minor character death, guns, blood, injuries, lil bit of angst, ptsd, panic attacks, episodes, and yeah

A/N: alr I’m kinda making it up as I go, but I feel like I’m slowly getting better at making accented dialogue…hope you enjoy<3 (also thinking of making it gaz x reader x soap, or just johnny?? lmk what u think)

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The longer they stayed in your home, still keeping eyes out for any of the terrorists in the area, the more they noticed some of your odd quirks.

Simon was the first to notice many of them, due to his years of experience in the military, and all of the skills he’d acquired during that time. He observed every little thing, whether it be on purpose or unconsciously.

Like how you always locked your door after entering or leaving, both locks as well. Not just one. Or the way your windows remained shut and locked, dark curtains pulled over most of them to block out any light or keep someone from looking in.

There was a knife under your pillow, and a small gun in the drawer of your nightstand. Simon would know, he’d searched the entire house when they’d first arrived, not sure if he could trust you or not. You had a gun safe in your room’s closet, and the screws on your room’s hinges were slightly unscrewed, as were every door in the house, so it would creak every so slightly when opened. So you could locate everyone in the house.

It reminded him of his habits a bit too much.

But you also had a kernel of authority to you, despite sometimes mumbling instead of speaking clearly, or the tiniest of nervous ticks he could notice, like how your lips would twitch left when unsure or insecure. Despite your stone-faced look now, you still had a few of the same tells that the little girl he’d known all those years ago did.

He only wondered what had happened to that little girl.

But he knew she’d grown up. And what he saw in you now wasn’t what he recalled from the girl he’d threatened in the past, the girl he’d intimidated and scared into staying away. Because now, you didn’t seem afraid of him at all. Not afraid of his comrades, either.

You were different in more than a few ways, now. He knew foster care had been rough on you, with god knows how many families taking you in only for money or being abusive. He barely knew the general timeline of how long you’d been in it. He’d heard tiny bits of it you’d offhandedly mentioned, and you seemed to have found a more permanent home at 12, staying until moving out here, looking for what most teenagers are, a meaning and some freedom.

But he hadn’t known just how rough it had been.

You’d gotten home from work looking beat one night, wearing some jeans, a uniform shirt, a belt, and per usual a holster for your gun. You always insisted on carrying it, and he didn’t blame you. Bad things happened to girls who lived alone here.

You didn’t even take any time to eat or change before walking into your room and collapsing into bed, asleep in a second. Work always seemed to tire you out, for whatever reason, but maybe they had you doing all kinds of shit he didn’t know waitresses did. Who was he to assume?

“She should eat dinner, at least.” Price said, watching from the couch as Johnny pouted slightly. He’d cooked a meal, especially for you, albeit Gaz had done most of the work and helped him out, basically making the entire dish, poor Soap had been waiting all day to try it.

“I can go get her?”

Kyle suggested, and Simon’s deep rumbling voice spoke up next, glancing over to your closed door, a neat “Do not enter.” sign on the front.

“She don’t like when people go in ‘er room.”

“Well, she’s breakin’ poor Soap’s heart.”

“She’s yer sister, why don’t you go get the lass.”

“She’d beat his ass, that’s why.”

Simon gave an exasperated sigh, getting up from where he’d been sitting next to Price, watching a soccer game. He approached your door, slowly opening it as it creaked. The lights were off, the room completely dark as the windows were also covered by the thick curtains you kept.

You’d made it clear that no one was allowed in your room before, but it looked normal to him. The walls were a shade of your favorite color, or what he assumed was, fairy lights with clips on them holding pictures of you and friends, and even a picture from years ago of the family, hanging from wall to wall. There was a desk at the front, papers thrown about and some neatly arranged. The clothes basket smelled vaguely of an irony tang he didn’t bother to investigate at the time.

A mirror hung on the other end of the door.

Walking quietly up to you, he watched you for a moment. Your body was deathly still, breathing quietly but a bit shaky. He could see your eyes moving beneath your eyelids, the movements erratic and frantic.

Despite himself, Simon found himself intrigued by the papers on your desk. Why had you bothered to keep them out of your room? What were you hiding? His military career kept him on his toes at all times and kept him suspicious of everyone.

After all, it was the people you trusted that could hurt you the most.

Walking silently over to your desk, he began going through papers. Gaz and Soap, now both watching through the doorway, made little hushed whispers of “Wha’ are you doing??” and “Jus’ wake ‘er up-“ that he ignored. The papers were all basic, nothing interesting.

Essays, research papers, lots of notes. But just when he thought he wouldn’t find anything, he slid open one drawer as it creaked slightly as well, finding files in it. Paper, Manila folders that were thick with information that he found himself curious about. However, just when he reached for the first one, he heard Johnny.

“Behind ye, Lt-“

The cold metal of a gun against the side of his head became more than apparent as someone kicked the backs of his knees in. A gun to his head, on his knees, with Gaz and Soap now in the room, hands up, carefully trying to approach him.

“Easy, lass. We ain’t gonna hurt ya..”

Johnny tried, and that was when Simon realized it wasn’t some enemy terrorist who had gotten in who was holding him at gunpoint, no, it was you. He hadn’t even heard you approach. Hadn’t heard you get out of bed or move at all.

But he did hear the hammer of the gun click back.

The first thought he had was that he was being betrayed. Double-crossed. Either that or you were having some sort of episode. Price approached the door, watching you like a wounded animal. Unlike Simon, he could see the way your eyes weren’t there, that you were somewhere else, in an entirely different world, doing what you thought was right.

Price slowly approached, bolder than both of the Sergeants, but with a practiced precision. He’d done this before. They could tell.

“Can you tell me who you’re pointin’ a gun at?”

He asked, voice unwavering and not full of pity, but instead understanding. He watched your eyes slowly trail from the gun to Simon, now completely still, and held a hand for Gaz and Soap to stay where they were. He could tell when the realization slowly began dawning on you, that you weren’t in danger, and that this was Simon.

A tiny click, the safety being switched on, before you took the gun from Simon’s head and set it on the floor, kicking it away from you to Price. Usually, you wouldn’t sleep with a gun on your person for this reason. By the time you would open the nightstand to grab it, you’d usually have already snapped out of it.

Sighing deeply, you slumped on the floor beside Simon as he slowly relaxed, and you curled up into a ball. You didn’t say anything, and neither did they. Price took the gun, standing and walking out of the room, giving a nod to Gaz and jerking his head to Soap as the Captain and Johnny left the room.

Kyle remained nearby, just in case, but didn’t say anything.

“Didn’ know you had it in ya to hold a gun to my head,” Simon said, trying for a bit of humor to make you laugh, or even hear a snort in reply, or even a snarky comment about how stupid he was. When you didn’t do anything, he silently sighed.

“How often do you have ‘em?”

“Every night.”

He made a small grunt at that. He could understand nightmares a bit too well, considering the demons of his own he had. He put an arm slowly around you, and when you didn’t stiffen, he considered it okay as he slowly stood, picking you up. However, as soon as he picked you up, you mumbled something under your breath and squirmed free, standing on your own.

“Let’s get ya some fresh air.”

He said, leading you out of the room. He took one last glance at the open file drawer and decided that you had your secrets, and he had his, and it could stay like that until either of you was ready to change it.

~

Nothing had changed since that night, other than one thing.

No one tried to wake you up again.

However, you remained as sassy and slightly stoic as usual, still caring for them, and now savoring every one of Johnny’s dinners to make up for the one you’d missed that night.

When they showed up covered in blood, sweat, and tears, you would take it in stride, patching them up and grumbling about buying more medical supplies, washing their clothes, and buying razors for them because, “A beard does not suit any of you but Price.” You’d even bought food they liked, albeit making them cough up some money for it, because of the job you had at some little restaurant they’d never heard of before as a waitress. You only really worked the job on some weekends, when you weren’t on a big absence for traveling during volleyball season, or at camps.

Your manager-landlord was surprisingly lenient about it, Simon thought. But considering all the weapons you had, he wouldn’t be surprised if a little threat went a long way.

He’d always wondered what you did at those volleyball games, anyway. That was until Price spoke up about it at breakfast one morning when you hadn’t left early for practice, and Laswell had eventually just informed them to lie low until further orders came.

“You oughtta come out wit’ us, get out the house a lil’.”

Johnny had suggested, and Gaz had given a little affirming nod. Simon remained silent, quietly watching as you shook your head.

“Can’t, got games today.”

You replied without even glancing up at them, eyes on your plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. That was the usual. You always had games, training, work, or school. With a schedule as busy as that, none of them knew how you managed it, but it left little to no time for you to simply relax or hang out with them.

Johnny grumbled about something with his mouth full of eggs when Price spoke up.

“Why don’ we go watch, eh? You been havin’ me help wit’ the plans, might as well.” He suggested before taking a big bite of bacon. You paused at that, glancing up at Price, studying him, before swallowing the food in your mouth.

“I’ll think about it.” Was the only answer they’d gotten at the time, but around thirty minutes before the game, you’d texted Simon the address, which was enough of a sign for him to get the boys and head over to your school, walking in the gym and paying for their entry. Six dollars for an adult, players were free.

To be fair, they tried their hardest to dress in civilian clothes and act normal, but it was hard when their instincts screamed to check every corner, keep eyes on the windows and doors, and scan for possible entries and exits.

You and your team were already practicing by then, setting up a hitting line, one setter in the front middle, two lines of hitters taking turns, and two passers in the back row bumping the ball to the setter, who promptly set it, and the hitter smacked it over.

Many of the girls were tall, and while you weren’t too short, standing at around 5’7 now, you weren’t the tallest either. That might’ve been the reason that you were mainly a back-row passer, also taking into consideration the control you held over your hits and body as well. The other team got full court to practice before the game for 2 minutes, which must’ve been the usual around this area.

“They bette’ win this,” Gaz murmured, seated to the left of Price, who watched as another girl on the team whispered something in your ear that had you biting your lip to hold back a smile. You were close with these people, they could all tell that.

“Our lass’ got it, I’m sure.”

Johnny said, watching the other team practice while Simon did the same. Simon’s attention was then diverted back to you, as any hint of laughter or amusement faded from your expression, into the stone wall he’d come to know. With a notebook in hand, you went over something with the rest of the team as they all huddled, the coach nearby and nodding along with it as they pointed something out with a pencil in hand.

A few adjustments must’ve been made before a game of rock-paper-scissors was played between the two coaches to decide who got first serve. The other team did. Already off to a disadvantage, he thought.

You all took up your positions in the court, Simon not recognizing anyone but you, with your hair, braided tightly back by one of your teammates, and the bright red jersey everyone on your team wore. You were number 14. He vaguely remembered Johnny mentioning something about you wearing a jersey in the number 14.

You were in the top right position, tucking any stray pieces of hair that had gotten loose somehow behind your ears, before all of your team was in position. The serve was hit over by the other team, and a brunette in the back row passed it to the setter, who made the ball go in a perfect arch in your direction. You began the approach of the ball, jumping up, arm held back, and ready to spike it. The blockers for the other team jumped, ready to deflect any ball, but right when you were going to spike it, your left non-hitting hand tipped the ball over the net.

Right between the blockers.

“Cleva girl,” Gaz said with a small smirk, and Soap lowly whistled. You didn’t glance up at them, expression remaining still despite the clever move.

It hit the floor, and a whistle sounded. Your team’s point. A rotation was done, and you were serving. They watched you toss the ball up, approach, jump, and smack it down all in less than 15 seconds before you were back in your spot, ready for the ball to be returned.

“Bloody hell..” Simon said, watching the two teams volley. He didn’t know many of the rules of volleyball, only Price knew most of them because of some of your late-night conversations on strategies to use with your team, but he was pretty damn sure you were doing good.

Your team moved in fluidity with each other, and it made Simon wonder what the hell you’d been putting these girls through in those training sessions, and what your coach had been doing. It reminded him a little of his team, his Task Force. The way you all knew each other, how high a set had to be for one specific person, the way one girl would slightly skew her bumps to the left, and the setter would move accordingly, or how to interweave without bumping into one another.

And the way you held everyone together… reminded him of Price the most.

When someone messed up, you didn’t yell or look disappointed, you simply glanced at them, acknowledged them, and gave a small nod. The same when someone pulled something off well. When you won the first set, you didn’t let your team gloat in the victory for too long.

And when you were losing the second set? Your teammates got a bit skittish, sure, but the way you remained almost totally unaffected kept them together. You were the glue of the team, keeping everyone out of their heads and in the game.

The second set was lost, but the third set remained.

“They play the last one to fifteen’.”

Price informed the boys after they’d sat up a little more, on the edge of their seats, bodies taught with stress. Kyle could’ve sworn Johnny was sweating a bit.

It went over fifteen, as you had to win by two points, and it was currently 15-16. One more point and the opposing team would win. But three more points and your team would.

Price’s phone began ringing.

A harsh serve from the opposite team and the bump was skewed by an anxious redhead in the back row. It went too far to the side, and you were running for it, but it looked too far away.

Two steps away.

Price was talking quietly to whoever was calling, his work voice on. Simon was too focused on you to care about the phone.

You weren’t close enough.

One knee went down closer to the ground, and your remaining foot kicked off the ground as your body dove for it.

A grim tone from the Captain as he nodded to whatever question Gaz had asked, while he ended the call.

Only a foot away.

Your hand flattened against the ground just as the ball bounced off of it, your head smacking hard against the floor.

Price muttered something to Soap, who tried nudging Simon, but didn’t get his attention, his eyes on you.

Your team played the ball off of the save, and the opposing team lost the point. The whistle was blown while the game was 16-16, mainly because you weren’t getting up. Out cold.

Simon shot to his feet, already, heading in your direction. There was red spreading on the floor, and he was back in his family home, looking down at his mother’s crumpled body, flashes of his little nephew’s bloodied corpse, and his brother’s shredded body coming into view.

He wasn’t there fast enough, he couldn’t get to you fast enough. He had failed.

Before he could go down even a single step, Price’s hand came down onto his shoulder firmly, holding him back. Grounding him. As he turned to face the Captain, Price spoke.

“It’s Laswell. Urgent, they need us.” He spoke quietly, and Ghost could only look on as they picked up your unconscious form from the floor, a part of your blond hair dyed red with the liquid oozing from it, and carried you away.

“She’ll be alright, Lt. Let’s go,” Soap said, grabbing Simon’s hand and pulling him along like a lost puppy. Gaz and Price were talking about something in front of them as they walked out.

The moment they got to the car, Price pulled their uniforms out of the trunk.

“Jus’ in case,”

He said, tossing them to each respective man, and Price drove while the rest of them changed in the car. The moment Simon slipped his mask on, he willed himself to forget about anything regarding you.

The job came first.

~

Your head was swimming and fuzzy. Your limbs refused to cooperate properly.

You recognized your bed, the dark curtains on the windows, and the smell of your room, covered in the perfume you always wore. Your vision was blurry, too blurry to simply be from sleeping.

Swallowing, you tried to sit up, only to find your throat dryer than a desert and your limbs shaky and weak. You made a small grunt when you tumbled from the bed to the floor, vision blurring more before going slightly back to normal. As normal as it could be right now.

You heard a small female gasp and your bedroom door opened with a creak. One of your closest friends from the volleyball team, Nalani, walked in, immediately going to your side.

Her brown, bronze skin reminded you of Gaz, and her long, dark intricate braids you’d always been amazed by hung in a ponytail behind her. Sure, you two might’ve fooled around a bit a few months back, but that was behind you. Behind both of you. She was a friend, just a friend, even if friends didn’t usually share beds and know how each other tasted.

But you trusted her more than most, that was for sure.

She’d seen your scars, heard what you could tell her without endangering her life, and she hadn’t backed away. She’d embraced it with you. Even on your worst days.

“You just busted your head open, you need to stay in bed.”

She mumbled, putting you back into the bed after lifting you. She’d changed you into your favorite pair of shorts and a loose T-shirt. It was only when she began going on and on about how stubborn you were, that you noticed a blur of movement in the doorway.

You’d seen Simon’s friends leave earlier. Assumed they’d been on a mission again.

You began pushing against Nalani, and she looked confused.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Your throat was too dry and cracked. You rasped to get something out as a gun poked around the corner. A silencer on it.

“Down, get-“

You tried pushing her down, the other hand reaching for the gun in your nightstand, fingers fumbling to find it. You were too late.

A near silent shot, and there was a hole in the back of her head that you couldn’t see but knew was there. She crumpled to the ground as you tried again to grab your pistol from the nightstand drawer, only to realize that Price had never returned it after that night.

Cursing under your breath, you grabbed the knife from under your pillow, a hunting knife, and threw it, watching as it embedded itself into the man peeking around the corner’s neck.

One down.

More came, though. Too many. Your vision blurred as you heard male voices talking, a shot down by your legs, but not quite hitting.

They were trying to disable you.

Your head was throbbing, adrenaline making you forget grief in the moment. Pain exploded through your veins as you felt a bullet whiz past you, nicking your right arm. Three men stormed the room, clearing it, before one of them came into sight, kneeling to be eye level with you.

“Thought we wouldn’t find you, yes? The Wasp’s Nest is not as secure as you thought. We’ll get our retribution.”

He spoke mockingly to you, before shoving a white bag over your head. Other voices filled the room, quiet, but loud enough for your dwindling consciousness to catch.

“…useful?”

“It’ll work……able to….again.”

“…knock her..”

“Roger that..”

You felt the blunt force of the back of a gun being slammed against your head, and your vision went black.

If you’d told the truth, then maybe none of this wouldn’t have happened.

But in the end.

The job came first.

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