#My hands are too shaky to do fine lines like this so it was a fun solution!!

[dsireland86]

LOVESONG

Nicholas Ruffilo x Reader

18+ for smut, language, and angst

"However far away I will always love you However long I stay I will always love you/Whatever words I say I will always love you I will always love you"

TAGS:

@somewhere-diamond, @philomenie, @pathion, @acciobuckybarness

                            Lovesong

“Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am home again/ Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am whole again.”

The constant dragging of the pen across my skin doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as I thought it would. Nick was right when he told me I'd be fine. I watch him, how he easily guides the needle over my skin, following the lines of the words painted on my arm. It’s a simple tattoo; simple words in simple writing, but it’s the meaning behind them. It’s what it represents that makes me smile. I look up at Nick and watch his expression, so serious, so focused, and smile, grateful that he's mine.

“There, finished,” he says, turning off the pen and removing his gloves. I bring my arm over and grin when I see the finished product. It’s perfect. I have no intention masking the tears forming behind my eyes either because if there’s anything Nicholas knows best about me it’s that I get emotional when it comes to him, so I leave them, letting them softly slide down my cheeks. The words carry a deep meaning for me and Nick ever since we listened to the song they belonged together. It was the first time we kissed, and that first kiss led to many sweet, hot make out sessions and moments of realizing that neither of us wanted anyone else. They were the bridge that connected our hearts together and reminded us of the truth; that we would always love each other. Looking up into his pale green eyes, he slid his hand over my cheek while holding my stare, smiling.   

“I love it, thank you baby.” Grinning, I pull Nicholas into me, giving him a gentle kiss, but the more he leans into me, the more greedy I become. Our tongues meet and dance together as I grip the corner of his shirt with my one good hand and cling to him, never wanting to let him go. If I do, I might stop breathing. “How can I be so fucking attracted to you by just you laying in chair like this,” he mumbles against my lips while climbing on top of me. Giggling, I welcome him, opening my legs wider so he can lay into me and when he does I instantly feel complete. The pressure of his swollen length, hard against my heat, stirs the fire in me that is yearning to ignite into something unstoppable. Nick’s breath is shaky, telling me he’s thinking of things he probably shouldn’t be, but rubs noses with mine anyway, caressing the side of my face with his long, tattooed hand. He creases his brow in frustration, trying to find a stimulant for the friction between his own legs. I want to be that stimulant so I encourage him by arching my back and thrusting my sex against him. “Why am I so freaking in love with you,” he grumbles and lowers his lips to my neck. I arch my head back further to give him more access and moan as he continues rubbing against me. “I could write poems on your neck with my lips; that’s how much I love you.” I feel the low rumble of a growl against his chest as his lips slide across my neck.

“You just love the idea of me,” I joke.

“No.” Nicholas pulls back and looks at me. “No,” he says again, caressing the side of my face again. "I do love you,” pecking my lips. I can’t help but smile a little and pull him down with my one good arm, and kiss him, hard. 

“I love you too; so much that I can’t even explain it.” 

Nick’s eyes have always been the focal point for me. They were the first thing I ever noticed about him. They way they look at me, see me, they just make me dive right into him, head first with no regret. We stare into each other for a moment and just when I think he’s about to get up, he lifts my shirt up instead and begins to drag his hands over my belly and under the waistband of my leggings, making me gasp. He looks up at me with a smirk and tugs at my leggings, until he has them partially down. 

“Nick, what the fuck!” I’m so scared someone’s going to catch us. 

“Relax, Y/N. We’re good. It’s late. No one’s coming back tonight.” He gets up off me and pulls the privacy curtain that loops entirely around his work space closed. 

“Better,” he asks? I nod, giving him a shy smile. “Are you going to leave me like this?” pointing towards my bottom half. Nick pulls out his phone and my eyes grow wide. “Don’t you dare, Ruffilo,” I scold him. But he just smiles and snaps a few pictures of me before I’m able to do anything. “For memories sake,” he smirks. “No!” I cry, throwing my head back, laughing. Leaving me exactly how I am, Nick begins to clean up my finished tattoo, working carefully, but quickly so we can continue where he left off. After covering it properly and removing his gloves, he slides over to me on his rolling stool and removes my leggings entirely. Spreading my legs and exposing my soaking wet pussy to his eyes alone, Nicholas licks his lips and whistles. “Really, We’re doing this here?” Not that I minded. I just wanted to hear him tell me how badly he wanted me. He looks up at me and grins while grabbing his phone and after a few seconds of waiting, our song begins to play over the bluetooth speaker.

My heart stops beating and the feeling that swallows me up is indescribable. “Nick,” I whisper as “Lovesong” by the Cure plays, filling the room with a haunting aurora. “Relax my love. Embrace the feeling,” he says convincingly, rising to his feet and pulling me down until my ass is partially off the chair. He sinks to his knees as I grip the sides of the chair in anticipation of what’s about to happen. When his tongue licks up in between my folds a loud, unintentional cry escapes me, and as he begins to work up my pussy, I embrace the feeling  rushing through me like he told me to and refuse to hold back any sound or word that wants to escape. 

“Shit baby, fuck,” I moan, feeling Nick’s tongue plunge deep inside my opening. Between the lyrics being belted out by Robert Smith and the way Nick is fucking me with his mouth, my arousal is climbing quickly to its tipping point. “Y/N, I fucking love you so much, you know that, right?” I look down at Nick and the way he’s staring at me, mouth glistening with a mixture of my juices and his spit have me all kinds of crazy. But I nod, too out of breath to say anything. He smiles while running his finger through my slit and I hear him moan the second he dives back into me, eating and devouring everything he wants. “You’re mine to touch,” I hear him say in between the cries for more that spill out of me. “No one else's.” He slides two fingers at a time inside me, causing me to thrust into the feeling of them sliding between my walls as his tongue continues its electrifying assault. The sounds he’s making are edging me closer.

“Fuck, Nick, I want you, please. I want you on me, in me,” I pant, moaning when his fingers start pumping faster. I grind harder against them, pushing them knuckle deep and coating them with the wetness that only Nick can create in me. “That’s it, love, push that sweet pussy hard against my fingers. Soak my fingers and let me see those juices drip down my wrist just for me.” My thighs are shaking. Nick notices and takes a moment to stop and plant sweet kisses inside of them, biting tenderly at the warm flesh. I can’t hold back my moans. I don’t care if the whole street can hear me. The way Nick is making me feel is worth it. “God, Y/N the way you cry for me is so beautiful. I wanna hear more of it.” His mouth finds my entrance again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. “I want to make you cum for me baby.” I can’t deny the heat spreading under my skin or the fire in my abdomen that I feel. I know I’m close. “Nicky, fuck baby I’m almost there. Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” I beg him, reaching for the back of his head. My fingers find his hair and I tangle them in his messy bun, pushing his face against my cunt and locking his head in place with my thighs. His one hand locks around my calf and squeezes hard while the other one is pumping in and out of me at a merciless rhythm. With my heart racing and my muscles tightening, I grip Nick’s hair and start to moan louder, begging him not to stop as my arousal comes crashing into me, finishing me off on such a high that tears slip from the corners of my eyes and down to my ears. I’m breathless and my head is slightly spinning when Nick stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t hold back any longer,” he confesses, undoing his belt and letting his pants and boxers fall to the floor. “I want you… here…right now,” pulling me down a little more and lining his swollen cock with my sex.

“Seeing you between my legs is so fucking hot.” Nicholas raises his eyes to me and grins big, and then without warning, slams himself into me like a savage dog. His lips part, exposing his teeth making the feeling of the ridges on his cock buried deep in me more intoxicating than before. I urge him on, panting and moaning his name along with words barely audible, watching the euphoric expression on his face take over. He throws his head back, holding my legs wrapped tightly around him and continues to pound into me, taking from me everything that makes him feel like a man. “That’s it my love, say my name as I fuck your tight little pussy that holds me just right.” He looks down then lays into me, kissing my lips with so much hunger I almost can’t breathe. Gripping his shoulders, I squeeze, digging my nails into the flesh covered by his black “My Chemical Romance” shirt. “Nicky,” I moan, unable to finish my thought. He picks up his pace, thrusting into me at a frantic pace. My walls are fluttering around his cock as shockwaves grip my body. “Y/N, fuck baby you’ve got me almost there. Keep moaning for me, keep crying,” he growls, throwing his thumb over my clit and circling it as quickly as he can. I cry louder for him as my own climax explodes all around me and it proves to be enough for Nicholas as he quickly shoves the front of my shirt up, pulls out of me and releases his cum all over my stomach, shuttering and moaning out the rest of his orgasm. “Holy fuck, Y/N,” he nervously laughs. He milks himself one last time before  placing a quick kiss on my lips and backs away to pull his pants back up. I lay there feeling utterly spent and out of breath, but feeling completely satisfied. Nick comes over with a towel, wiping up his mess and cleaning me off. Apparently, he put “Lovesong” on repeat because it starts over for a third time. But this time we sit across from each other and listen to the words together.

As we clean up and get ready to go home, we talk about how we’re adding tonight to the box of secret memories that include all the hot and heavy make out sessions in the book store where I work. 

It’s a favorite place of ours. On weekends when I’m not working we get expensive coffee, dive into gothic authors like Poe and Walpole, and listen to The Cure on Nick's old Discman while sharing earbuds. I nestle in close to him with his arm around me and we share a book that I always let him pick out. It makes him happy and that’s all I want; to see Nicholas happy.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

We intended to spend the rest of our lives together and add more secrets to our box. But soon after Nicholas left with his band for a two month tour things started changing for me. My dad got really sick. So sick that we had to move hours away to be closer to the hospitals that were trying everything to save him. I didn't have a choice in anything that happened and it didn’t seem fair. Nick and I tried all we could to make the long distance and work schedules work, but with his constant touring, the outbreak, and my dad's sickness getting worse, life suddenly came crashing down all around us. It left us both broken, hurting in ways we never thought were possible for us. It ended us. I was the one who chose to walk away first because it was too painful to continue digging into wounds that were trying to heal. Everytime Nicholas left for a tour or to fly out to California, he took a piece of me with him, until eventually, I didn’t even recognize who I was anymore. I was done feeling that way. Our box of secrets eventually got buried, and possibly forgotten about at least for Nicholas. That’s what I always told myself on the days where I longed and ached for him. It was the easiest way to deal with it.  If he didn’t care then why should I? 

Eventually the pain passed and eventually the hurt faded, but I never got over Nick and the fact that I was the one that ultimately ended us. I carried that guilt with me everywhere. Especially with the success of his band. Bad Omens was everywhere and it seemed like no matter where I went I saw all four of their sweet faces or heard Noah’s incredible vocals that I knew he busted his ass to accomplish. He certainly wasn’t the boy in Folio’s garage screaming his head off anymore. 

They had made it and they were living everything they talked about living and wanting during all those late nights I would spend with them in Nick's basement, all of them high or wasted. I was proud to have been there from the very beginning, watching them grow and conquer shit as a band and as individuals. But I was heartbroken to not be there now and often wondered, many times, if any of them still thought about me, especially Nicholas. The words tattooed on my skin with the memory of what happened after were a constant reminder of my stupidity. But I chose to pick up the broken pieces of life anyway and carry on living despite the pain. I had to fight even if it hurt.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“However far away, I will always love you

However long I stay, I will always love you

Whatever words I say, I will always love you

I will always love you”

I moved back a few months ago. With Dad’s death and Mom refusing to leave where his last moments with us were, I decided it was time for me to spread my wings a little. I missed my old home, the town, and the memories, and since it wasn’t too far from Mom, I signed a two year lease on an apartment right down from the old bookstore where I used to work. It closed about a year and a half after I left when the owners passed away. One died right after the other, possibly from a broken heart. The idea that one couldn't live without the other was beautiful, sort of like an “Annabell Lee” kind of thing. I could still hear Nick’s quiet voice when he told me how beautifully morbid my mind was after telling him it was my favorite poem of Poe's. I saw a different look in his eyes that day; the dark green hoodie he was wrapped in bringing out the soft green in his narrow orbs. The way they stared at me felt as if he might’ve been thinking about forever. Maybe he was. Needless to say that afternoon was another memory for our box of secrets.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Our fingers tangle, weaving in and out of each other’s as I sit between Nicholas’s legs, my head against his chest. There’s a soft silence between us once I finish the poem and gently close the book, laying it down next to me. The only thing we can hear from our small cozy nook tucked away in the back of the bookstore is the soft shuffling of a customer’s feet or the ringing of the doorbell indicating movement coming in or going out. 

Nick places a gentle kiss on the side of my head. “Your mind is morbid, Y/N, but beautiful,” he states, stroking my hair away from my forehead and releasing a light chuckle. I lay my arms to rest on each of his legs that are covered by his favorite pair of black jeans; the ones with the holes in them. They’re my favorite too because they give me access to places only I’m allowed to touch. Massaging his thighs, I slide two fingers through the holes, feeling the warm flesh buried beneath them and I hear a subtle groan slip through his lips. It makes my toes tingle. “I know, I can’t help it. But I think it might be a reason you like me so much,” I say, smiling as I feel his thigh muscles flex then relax and he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “It’s not the only reason I like you so much,” he muses. Nicholas lays his hands over mine as I continue to rub his legs, craving to feel more than just the little spot beneath my fingers. He leans down and runs his moist lips up my neck, leaving traces of small kisses as he goes. I clench between my legs as my core tingles with the familiar feeling I get everytime I’m close to Nick like this. I know he’s trying to work me up just as much as I am him. I close my thighs and the cool wetness of my arousal that soaks my panties rubs against my skin. I moisten my lips and whimper, shifting and purposely pushing hard against Nick's swollen cock. “Shit,” he mumbles, sucking in a light breath through his teeth

I knew where this was going, and as long as we were quiet, we'd get away with it. I remove my fingers from the holes and move them further up his slim legs, closer to where his hardness is pushed against my back. He twitches against me, causing me to giggle and wiggle against him some more. Nick’s breath hitches in his throat. “Two can play this game you know,” he croons, acknowledging my actions while taking a bit of my ear between his teeth and sucking it as I softly cry out. His hands snake around me and one finds the bottom of my throat;  thumb and finger finding the perfect points to quiet me as the rest wrap around the sides, restricting my airwaves. The other one trails over my thigh and dives right into my warm center, gripping it, rubbing it, and shamelessly slides two of its fingers knuckle deep inside me. I want to moan, but Nick tightens his grip on my throat. “Shhhhhh…. You need to be a good girl and stay quiet. If you do, maybe I’ll let you cum on my dick instead of my fingers,” he whispers. My chest rises and falls quickly from the overstimulation of Nick’s fingers that are slowly and mercilessly moving in and out of my wet cunt that’s been hungry for him all day. My choked moans only encourage him to go faster, creating that coiling feeling all over my sensitive bundle of nerves. “Nick, I wanna cum so badly,” I whine weakly as the heart spreads under my skin. But the only thing I hear in return is the panting sounds coming from behind me.

Nick is totally getting off on what he’s doing to me and the thought alone makes me clench around his fingers.  My arousal is at its peak and Nick has managed to build my pleasure up in such a way that I’m about to set a record and cum for him after only a few minutes of his foreplay. But just as the heat begins to pool in my lower back and abdomen, telling me I’m about to, he stops, pulling his fingers out of me, leaving me empty and whimpering for his touch. His grip on my throat loosens and I relax against him. “Fuck, Nick,” I hiss, my body limp in his arms. I hear him chuckle and feel the deep vibration in his chest. “I told you if you were good I’d let you cum on my dick, so get up here,” he insists, lifting me up. Excitedly, I sit up, turning around to face him. The hard bulge between his legs shows me just how well I can satisfy him and I can’t resist the temptation to run the palm of my hand over it applying the right amount of pressure. Nick releases a pleasurable groan and lays his head back against the wall. 

“You sound like you’re hungry for something,  my love,” I whisper through a quaky breath. I can feel those pangs of excitement inside my walls again that are craving Nicholas and everything he can offer me. From the sweet and fun sex, down to the rough and dirty, he knew my body like he knew the chords to his music and he knew what to do and how to work it to his benefit. 

“I’m starving for you to slip me inside you. He is hungry, baby.” he admits, rubbing his crotch, trying to find some release from the friction. The desperation in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed and I suddenly want to give him everything he wants. Brushing the hair out of his eye, I look into his soft eyes and straddle him and start to rub my aching sex against his cock. His hands find my hips, pushing me further into him. 

“God bless woman, if this is what reading a little bit of Poe does to you, then I wanna read  his complete works and fuck you until you’re screaming my name.” Nicholas grips my bottom and pushes me harder against him until I can feel the discomfort penetrating the tender flesh of my clit and making me whimper some more. “It wouldn’t take long, that’s for sure,” I admit, wrapping my arms around his neck. I raise myself up, shoving my breasts closer to his face, and he nuzzles in between them with his nose. Without a word he lifts my shirt and pulls the cup of my bra down, releasing my nipple to the coolness surrounding us. His teeth quickly latch on, nipping and sucking it, making it harder than before, and eventually takes the whole breast in his mouth. I moan and grind on him, praying he doesn’t stop anytime soon. “Fuck me, right now, Y/N,” the tone in his voice filled with desperate urgency.  Nick doesn’t have to repeat himself. I climb off him and undo his pants and help him slide them off and in one quick tug he has mine off. “Wait,” he says before I climb back on top of him. I look down to see a sly look covering his face. “Hand’s on the wall,” he orders, taking my legs and pulling me closer to his face. I grin, licking my lips and closing my eyes as I do as I’m told. I know what I’m about to feel is going to take me over the edge and I hope I can remain quiet. 

“Your pussy is a work of art, Y/N,” Nicholas praises, sliding a finger through my wetness. I suck in a huge breath and bite my lip to stay quiet. “Look how wet you are for me baby. So needy, ready for my cock to disappear into your body and stretch you, ripping you apart until you’re shaking and spilling your juices all over my dick. Fuck, love.” Nick’s words have my legs trembling and it takes all my effort to keep myself up. I quietly moan, throwing my hand over my mouth and biting the inside of my finger to keep from crying out in desperate need for him. “Nick,” I moan against my hand. He slips a finger in me, prodding me, then slides his tongue over my lips, licking up and moistening my pussy with his spit. “Nick, fucking dammit, I can’t,” “Fuck me, Y/N,” he demands, knocking my legs until I collapse in his arms. I grip his cock and bring it to my entrance, sinking down on it until it completely disappears inside me. The pressure fills me, and the fullness of him claiming me is making me desperate to feel more. “Oh my god,” Nick cries into my neck,  grabbing my hips to push and pull me against him. “You like claiming what’s yours, baby,” I ask, pulling up off him until just the tip of his cock is touching my walls. I circle it for a moment before sinking back down on him, watching his expression fade into pure erotic ecstasy. “You know I do,” he answers, breathlessly. Nicholas groans deep in his throat, tightening his grip on my hips until I’m sure he’s leaving bruises. My hands grab his neck as I begin to grind and rock against him, slowly and sweetly at first, but picking up the pace as the climax in both of us continues to grow. “Oh god baby, that’s it. Ride me Y/N. Grind on me until we find that spot that’s going to make you cum for me.” The warmth that’s created by the two of us starts to make us sweat and I cling to Nick as if my life depends on it. I’m in love with him, intoxicated by everything about him.

“You're so beautiful, love,” Nick gushes. I smile and lower my lips to his, hiding a thousand words of love for him, hoping he’ll taste them one by one. “If the universe took you from me I wouldn’t rest until I found you again,” Nicholas whispers in my ear as his teeth graze the outer lobe. I pick up the pace of riding him gently while his lips find the soft flesh of my breasts. He wraps his tongue around them and takes the nipples between his teeth, nipping them gently enough to get the rise out of me he’s looking for. I seethe, bringing my hands to the back of his head to keep him there as I push my overstimulated, soaking wet pussy further onto his throbbing cock; the deep ridges and crevices massage my inner walls as I continuously move back and forth at a faster pace. 

“I think the angels aren’t happy when they look at us,” Nick says, gripping my hair and tugging it back just so he can kiss my neck the way he wants to. He lingers on one spot a little too long, leaving behind his mark of ownership that leaves me beaming with pride. 

I'm too overwhelmed with what's happening between my legs to think about anything else except how good Nick is making me feel and how it's getting harder to suppress the cries dying to escape. I bite my bottom lip and fall into his shoulder. “They don’t get to feel you cum like I do.” He pushes in harder, pushes deeper, hitting that spot that he knows is his alone. “Nick, you’re ma…” I can't finish my thought as a deep cry fills the back of my throat. My body is on fire. The familiar heat is pooling in my lower abdomen and I can feel my climax coming quickly. “I’m what baby,” he purrs, reaching his hand down and using his thumb to apply the right amount of pressure on my clit as he circles it.  I moan a little too loudly, earning Nick’s hand over my mouth. “You want to cum for me?” he growls, clenching his jaw and tightening his grip on my waist. I nod quickly as a single tear slips down my cheek.  Nick removes his hand from my mouth and replaces it with his mouth, his tongue slipping inside mine and claiming every part of it his. “Then cum for me, Y/N. Tell me I’m the only one who has your soul. Not the angels, not the demons; only me.” And I did. I cum so hard on Nicholas leaving ungodly marks on his shoulders that I’m left in tears. Nick kisses the side of my head as I relax into him, breathing heavily as he rests his hands on my back and drags his fingers up and down my skin. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

I wiped the tears that had unknowingly fallen. Those memories of Nicholas were so beautiful to me, yet were the death of me each time I brought them out of their box. I missed him; my soul was slowly dying for him. 

The windows of the old bookstore were boarded up but not the front door. The bell that rang out each time someone walked in or out was still on the front, rusted and out of use. Inside was dark and I could vaguely see dust covering bookshelves that had been left behind just like the memories of Nick. I looked down at my arm, running a finger over the words that were slowly starting to dull, and smiled at the thoughts. Wiping my face, I continued my walk home, pulling my phone out the moment it vibrated. I stopped, frozen in time. There was a text message… from Noah. My hands started shaking and my heart started racing. At first I thought about just deleting it without reading it, but then I realized that wouldn’t be fair to Noah. He didn’t do anything. So I opened the message, never prepared for what I was about to read.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s Noah. I know it’s been like forever since we’ve talked, but I came across your number, at least I hope it's still your number, and thought I would reach out to you and see how things have been. We're planning a trip home to visit some friends and family and it made me think of you. (Yes, some of us still consider you family). Did you ever move back once your dad got better or are you still living at the new place? I hope he’s better too by the way. You’ve been on my mind so much lately. I don’t know why. Maybe it's because Nicholas brought you up for the first time in so long when he played some chords to a Cure song. He seemed to have gone somewhere else while playing it. I think he might’ve been thinking about you. He smiled when he was done, and I swear I saw tears, but then got up and left the room before any of us could ask if he was okay. Anyway, I really hope this is still your number, but if not, well at least I tried. If it is, I hope you'll text me back soon, please 🙏.  

-Noah

“This is a horrible stupid idea,” I sighed, mentally screaming at myself for choosing to do this. After hours of debating and overthinking I replied to Noah's text. He kept his word and texted me a week later when they arrived, giving me the address to the air bnb they were staying. 

So here I was slowly driving down a street I didn’t know, searching for a house that was bigger and prettier than anything I’ve ever been in, and praying I didn’t throw up. 

“Holy shit,” I cried, stopping in front of a white three story country style house surrounded by some large oak trees and a massive porch that wrapped around most of the house. It was beautiful. 

There were other vehicles in the driveway so parking there was out of the question. I took it as a sign I should turn around and leave and was about to when my phone vibrated.

“Park anywhere”

-Noah

“Shit,” I huffed. Wait. Was Noah spying on me? I narrowed my eyes and stared out my windshield, looking for any sign of him and stopping when they rested on his tall lean figure waving at me from a window on the top floor of the house. 

“What the fuck, Sebastian, seriously,” grumbling as I parked the car by the curb. I sat with the engine still running, rubbing my temples in hopes to levitate the pounding headache I had due to stress and my tightly clenched jaw since leaving my house. Coming here was a really bad mistake and I was about to throw the car into drive and leave when a knock on my window startled me, causing me to jump. I looked up and saw Noah, smiling down at me with that same beautiful smile of his. It was contagious. I smiled back and took a deep breath as Noah opened the car door for me. I stood before him, taking in how much he’s changed in four years. “Your hair,” I breathed, surprised at how good short hair really did look good on him. “Yeah, look!” He lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I have a neck; who knew!” Noah’s eyes widened and he chuckled at his own joke, making me huff a small laugh, grinning.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you really came. Come here, give me a hug,” he sang, holding his long arms out to me. I willingly fell into him and wrapped my arms around his waist, taking a deep breath once I laid my head on his chest. “I’ve fucking miss you, Y/N,” he confessed, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Life’s been crazy and so many things have changed, but you’ve never left my heart. I’m so sorry I never stayed in touch like I should have.” “No, don’t do that, Noah. It’s not your fault; it never was. It was never anyone's. Only mine. I made the choice to leave.” Noah pulled me back and looked at me, confused. “What do you mean it was your choice? Nick said he was the one who ended things.” I didn’t have time to respond when a familiar voice from the past came ringing out behind us, swallowing me up in a clenching grip.

My spine tingled, hell my whole body tingled as my heart began to race. My once calm  nerves were now making my hands shake and the tears I promised myself I wouldn’t show started to seep from my eyes as I clenched my teeth, trying to muffle my cry. “Noah, what are you doing? Who are you talking to?” Nicholas’s voice was like rain in a dry desert; the desert being my heart. It quenched every part, bringing every buried memory and feeling back to life again. “You didn’t tell him I was coming?” asking Noah softly. He looked from Nick to me, shaking his head. “Shit,” Noah cursed. “What?” I looked up and turned around, running straight into Nicholas’s chest. “Y/N?” He took my arms, holding me away from him. I couldn’t bring myself to look up at him, afraid that if I did I would shatter into a million pieces. “What the hell, Noah, why is Y/N here?” The tone in Nick’s voice made me think he was upset that I had shown up. I cursed myself for coming, for believing that enough time had passed between us. My breathing became erratic and I felt like I might pass out. “Y/N, hey are you good? You okay?” Slowly I shook my head. And then I broke. Like a dam backed up for centuries, the tears and all the pain I’d held in for years came rushing out, causing my knees to grow weak and making them buckle. Nick caught me just in time, slipping his arms underneath mine and pulling me into his chest. He smelled just as good as I remembered, but with more cologne and whatever it was drove my senses wild. I continued to cry and Nick continued to hold me, one arm tightly closed around me and the other caressing the back of my head. 

“Shhhh, love it’s alright. It’s okay.” Hearing my pet name fall from his lips and the sound of  his voice as soothing as before brought to me peace. “Noah, do you want to explain this?” I felt the deep rumble of Nick’s voice against my cheek as it laid against his chest. “No, not really. I think I’m just gonna go back inside. Bring her in when she’s ready, okay. I’ll explain then.” Just like that I found myself alone with the ghost of my past, only it wasn’t really a ghost at all. This time it was the real thing. 

“I don’t understand. What are you doing here, Y/N? How did you know we were here?” Nick didn’t let me go, but continued holding, making me feel the safest I’ve felt since the last time he held me. “I don’t either, Nick. I don’t know what I’m doing here.” I began to briefly explain everything that happened after Noah first reached out to me, never once looking at his face. If I did I would fall apart again.

“So you being here is all Noah's doing?” “Yeah, pretty much.” We were both silent as we stood there in the street holding each other. For a moment it felt like old times. “Hey.” Nick spoke softly, raising my head with a finger under my chin. I closed my eyes, refusing to look at him. “Do you hate me so much that you can’t even look at me?” “I don’t hate you Nick!” I shrieked, flinging my eyes open only to be met by his intensely heavy green orbs. “God, Nick,” I breathed, taking in his appearance, noticing all the little changes of maturity that graced his once younger face. “Four years looks incredible on you.” Nick’s eyes twinkled as they darted between mine. “I could say the same about you. You’re still just as beautiful as the last time I saw you.” His face instantly fell at the mention of that day. I quickly wiggled out of his grasp and took a step back, clearing my throat. Nick continued to gaze at me, but I could no longer keep eye contact. “I try not to think about that day,” I lied, crossing my arms. “Funny,” he said, coming closer to me. “That's all I can think about.” My eyes darted to his. “What?” “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” Nick scoffed. “I don’t care if you do or don’t. It doesn’t change that it’s the truth.”

My brows drew together, wondering how his confession could be true. “How come you didn’t stop me then? Why didn’t you come for me?” “Would it have changed your mind if I did?” He reached over and touched my face, dragging his calloused fingertips down my cheek. I briefly closed my eyes and took a deep breath, opening them as soon as I released it. “Y/N, your  mind was made up; you made your choice and I  wasn't it. What was I supposed to do?” Even then I could see how badly I’d hurt Nicholas. As soft and sweet as he was, he had somehow managed to harden himself to the cruelness of my choices. But that still didn’t change how the thought of him not fighting for me, for us, cut me like a thousand papercuts. “You could’ve at least tried Nick. My mind wasn’t in the best place then. I wasn’t capable of making the right choice, but I felt like I was forced to otherwise,”. I stopped, realizing Nick wasn’t following what I was trying to say.  “Otherwise what?” “You know what, never mind. Just forget it.” I dropped my arms to my sides and walked to my car, about to open the driver's door. Nick’s large hand came down on the corner of the door, baring it from opening. 

“I’ve never been very good at letting go, Y/N. I didn’t want to let you go. But the moment you came to me with that frightened, confused look in your eyes, I knew you were already gone. You’d already made your mind up about what was best for you and no matter what I said, it felt like you were looking for an excuse to leave. So, I let you.” Nick pressed his body against the back of mine, pinning me between him and the car. I wanted nothing more than to turn around, pull him into me, and kiss him like I was dying and he was the only thing keeping me alive. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. You were my everything, Y/N; you promised to stay with me forever.” Tears were pouring down my cheeks and my shoulders shook as I wept. Nick laid his hands on them squeezing them slightly. “Everyday after you were in my head when you weren't supposed to be, haunting me, reminding me of everything I lost. And the worst part about all of it was I still loved you; I still fucking love you. I still fucking want you like nothing else and I hate myself for it. My life felt empty without you in it, but eventually I had to get used to it.”

I turned around, my lips almost meeting with Nick’s. I wanted him to kiss me in the worst way. I wanted him to grab me and ravage me like a starving animal. “I want to fucking kiss you so badly,” he confessed, as if reading my mind. He placed both hands on the car on either side of my head, leaning in until his lower body was pressed against me. There was no way out of this. I was cornered. “I wanna be inside you again, the only place where I felt love.” I groaned through tears and laid my head back against the car. Nicholas lowered his lips closer to my neck, running his nose along my skin. “I would’ve given anything to taste you again, Y/N, to feel your walls clench around my dick and the way your nails ran over my skin.” I could feel his hardness against my leg and I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. “But I couldn’t find you. You walked away and never looked back.” Nick backed up, tapping his fingers on the roof of the car. He stared at me. I saw all the different emotions running through him like the colors of the rainbow, confusing him in the worst way. “I’m so sorry Nick. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just trying to make it hurt less; for both of us.” “Yeah, well you did a pretty bang up job of it. You lied to me. It was so bad I began to wonder if you were lying to me all along since it was so easy for you to give up on us the way you did.”

His words stabbed me in the heart. “Look, I screwed up alright! I know I did.” I shoved Nick away, no longer able to deal with the hurt, the painful reminder of how I destroyed our love. “But I never once lied to you. I’ve done a lot of fucked up shit, Nick, but loving you was different. Loving you made me a better person. You made me a better person.” “Then why the fuck did you give up on us, Y/N! Why were you so quick to throw us away when the first storm hit?” “Because I was fucking scared, Nick! My dad was dying and my entire world was starting to fall apart. I thought that telling you we were over would’ve made walking away easier, but it didn’t. After I left I had hoped you would come for me, that you would fight for me and convince me that we were stronger than the storm, but you didn’t, Nick. You let me walk away and knowing that made me think you didn’t care as much as you said you did. So maybe you were the one lying.” Nick stood there wide-eyed and tense. He didn’t blink, allowing the tears to pool at the bottom of his eyes. “I had to finally come to accept the fact that you didn’t think we were worth fighting for which made these words hurt all the more,” raising my arm to show him the tattoo he marked me with all those years ago. Nick swallowed and finally blinked, letting the tears fall, but quickly brushed them away. He reached out and took my arm, running his thumb over the words. 

“However far away, I will always love you, however long I stay, I will always love you, Whatever words I say, I will always love you,” he read softly. “Yeah,” he hummed. “I guess we both lied then.” The ice in his tone was enough for me to know the truth. Our love was completely dead. Without looking at me again, Nick turned around and walked back towards the house. I could only stand there in shock, wondering what to do next. It was like I couldn’t breathe, the air around me suddenly too heavy for my lungs. “I didn’t mean to ruin your life Nick. I know I made a mistake and I own up to it, but so did you. You fucked it all up just as much as I did. When are you going to accept your part in letting us die? When are you going to admit you were wrong and take some of the blame off my shoulders?” Nick stopped and listened to what I was saying, but then as he continued walking towards the house my heart fell to the bottom of my stomach. I got in my car and left, stopping at the liquor store and buying the biggest bottle of rum they had.  

“Whatever words I say, I will always love. I will always love you.”

The next few days were hard. Feeling like I’d been injected with Novocain, a numbing feeling followed me everywhere I went and I felt comatose, never wanting to wake up and face reality again. The butterflies that had once fluttered and made me feel so in love had died, making the shattering of my heart breaking the loudest quiet ever.

I took a few days off from work, stayed home and did my best to get life together, but it didn’t go over so well at first. But after three straight days of screaming and crying, waking up still drunk, and passing out over the toilet, I managed to wake up sober, take a shower, and clean my apartment. I was on the road to recovery. 

I taped over the words on my arm, hiding the constant reminder of pain I no longer wanted to deal with. Instead of trying to face it anymore, I ran from it, burying it so deeply down inside me and forcing myself to feel indifferent about it. But those words were the last and only thing I had left of Nicholas and no matter how badly they hurt, they needed to stay. I deserved the punishment. 

Five days after my encounter with Nick, I sat down in my living room with my Chinese takeout and a handful of things to watch on Netflix. I chose quickly and snuggled into my blanket with great anticipation over the first bite of food. But before I could take that bite, the buzzer for the outside intercom rang, informing me that someone was looking for me. 

“Who the heck can that be,” mumbling to myself as I got up off the couch, adjusting  my sleepy shorts as I made my way over to the intercom. Completely irritated, I pressed the button. “Hello, can I help you?”... … … … “Hello?”.... … … … “Okay, look, if this is a joke,” “Y/N?” I gasped, throwing my hand over my mouth. “Nick?”.... I did my best to mask the surprised cry in my voice before pressing the button. “Nick, are you still there?”.... …. “Yeah,” he answered, his voice cracking. “Y/N, can I come up?” “Yeah, Yes! Absolutely, I’ll buzz you in.” I hit the button instantly, jumping over to the closest mirror to check my appearance. I looked fucking horrible, but I didn’t have any time to fix my face before there was a soft knock on the apartment door. I wasn’t prepared for this. I wasn’t ready to face Nick again. But I didn’t have a choice. Nervously,  I undid the locked bolt and opened the door, but when my eyes fell upon Nicholas, all of that nervousness faded.

“Holy shit you look beautiful,” Nick exclaimed, a different tone than days before.  The expression on his face was sincere, making my heart flutter, but I’d never felt more uncomfortable as I did standing there in my sleepy shorts, and a rough looking complexion. “You’re crazy,” admonishing him while resting my cheek on the side of the door. “Can I come in?” His green eyes twinkled at me  “Gosh, yeah, sorry,” I apologized, backing up to let him in. I caught the scent of his cologne as he walked by, and it hit my senses like a brick, making my heart beat even faster. “This is a really nice apartment. How long have you been here?” I closed the door, locking it behind me. “Um, about seven months, I think. I moved back about a year after my dad passed.” I crossed my arms over my chest, lowering my eyes away from Nick’s. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” Nick admitted, sympathetically. “Don’t be,” I assured him, shaking my head a little. “How could you?” “I don’t know,” he shrugged, giving me a lopsided grin. “It’s fine Nick, really. He went peacefully. That’s all that matters.” “Still, I should’ve been there.” There was deep regret in his voice. “How did you find out where I live?” I asked, drawing my brows together, narrowing my eyes. “Oh, Noah said you told him. ”Did I? If I did I didn’t remember. Nick looked around the apartment, eyes wandering over everything, but quickly stopped on something familiar on the wall nearest my bedroom.

Carefully making his way over, he stood before some pictures, eyes fixed on the images before him. His mouth twitched and he gave a half-smile. “There are so many,” his voice quivered, showing off just how nervous he really was. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets with his arms locked tight against his sides. “Where did you find them all?” I stood beside him, staring at the wall of my “Annabelle Lee” picture collection. “Some I printed and made myself, others I found online,” answering him sweety. I bit my lip, too apprehensive to tell him about my favorite two. “Y/N, this is awesome. It reminds me of that night in,” turning his head to face me only to find me already staring at him. We were transfixed instantly, staring at each other with the same longing and hunger as that day in the bookstore. He moved a little closer to me, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth.

I clenched my jaw, trying to suppress the sexual tension that was quickly rising inside me. My body knew exactly how to respond to what my eyes were seeing Nick do, as that all too familiar arousal flooded my core and sent all the tingles to my toes. I crinkle my nose, earning a dark chuckle from Nick. I knew then that he knew exactly what he was doing. “Those are my favorite,” I blurted out, trying to distract him from the tension building between us. His eyes quickly shifted elsewhere as he turned to look at where I was pointing, narrowing his eyes to get a better look. “Are those,” he asked, suddenly roused for a different reason, pointing to the frames. I nodded, breathing nervously. “I bought the book before I left. I thought that maybe if I I had it, it would feel like I had some of you with me, and I wanted as much of that feeling as I could get. I still want that feeling.” The last part came out mumbled, and I hoped Nick didn’t hear it as I played nervously with my fingers, too scared to look up at him. After a long silence, Nick cleared his throat. “I know you hated me, Y/N, and I don’t blame you. I had to keep leaving when you needed me to be there to support you, love you through all that was happening with your dad. But it was all out of my hands. I was being pulled in two different directions, and I didn’t know what to do or how to handle it, so I did the best thing I knew how to do; close up and shut down. It wasn’t right; I know that. It wasn’t fair to you.”

I started to cry, feeling dreadfully guilty, and dropped my head in my hands and quietly sobbed until my hands were completely wet. “I didn’t hate you, Nick. I don’t hate you. I love you so freaking much. But loving you was slowly killing me. I did what I had to do to survive and that was to say goodbye even though I didn’t want to,” my voice faded as I finally looked at him. His expression was grave, the past eating away at his mind no doubt. “I never wanted to walk away from you Nick. I never wanted to give us up. Every night and day I was forced to fight my battles without you, pretending I was strong when I was really falling apart. Trying to explain to you what was happening became difficult because what I was going through couldn’t be seen, only felt. All I wanted was your arms. All I wanted was to see you to know that everything was going to be okay. But I couldn’t have that. And then the fucking pandemic hit and, well.” I took a breath, in hopes to calm myself. It felt so good to get it all off my chest, but at the same time I knew I was hurting Nicholas by throwing too much at him.  It was evident on his face.

I took a risk and reached out for his hand, sighing with relief when he took it and entangled his fingers with mine. “I took the easy way out, Nick, I know that. We could have saved us if only I had fought harder. But you want to know the worst part about it all?” Our eyes locked together. Nick clenched down hard, trying his best to keep his emotions closed, but I could see it in his eyes that he was starting to break. “You never came after me, Nick. You never tried to stop me, to convince me I was making the wrong choice. And because you didn’t it was enough to convince me that I wasn’t worth fighting for. That’s what broke me.” 

Nick squeezed his eyes closed, bringing his fingers up to dry them, while still clenching the other ones around mine. It was a death grip that I was so grateful for. 

Nick kept my eyes as he moved in closer until he couldn't resist the madness building up around us anymore. He looked down at me, muttering “fuck it” under his breath while his eyes were are on my lips. He moved so quickly I couldn’t keep track of his actions as his hands closed around my waist, pulling me into him.  The feeling of his thick hardness hot against my aching sex had me screaming inside for him to have his way with me, to do to me whatever he wanted as long as he knew I wanted him forever. And then he kissed me and it was the best kiss ever in my whole life. The way he pressed his hand to my shoulder blade to arch me into him, the way it started slowly, just his mouth on mine and his tongue begging for entrance. We stayed that way for a long time until I looped my arms around his neck. He shifted and shoved me up against the wall, leaning into me and pushing my thighs open to make space for himself until we were flush against each other. Soft whimpers fell from my lips as I absorbed Nicholas like a sponge, wanting absolutely ever part of him. His hard grunts and deep growls of satisfaction over the attention he was receiving was empowering and told me he wanted what was happening just as much as I did.

My heart was beating like a drum against his chest at the feeling of his hand trailing up the skin of my thigh and under the cotton of my sleepy shorts. They gave him the perfect advantage to claim what had been waiting for him the past few years. I moaned, grabbing his wrist before he went all the way. “What?” he asked breathlessly, eyes full of lust. I blinked a few times, making sure this was real, and relaxed the grip on his wrist. “I want what’s mine,” he demanded, voice deep and raspy. He kissed me again, slipping his hand behind my neck and pulling me in to get deeper. Arching my back, I thrusted my sex into the bulge between his legs, feeling the cold wetness of my juices soaking my panties. “I want to feel my fingers between your lips before I sink them so deep into your perfect little cunt that has always belonged to me and hear the way you sigh and let my name spill from your mouth.” Nick’s fingers skimmed my pussy, causing me to gasp and grab the front of his shirt between my clenched fists. His soft perfectly “v” shaped lips trailed up and down my neck as his tattooed touch between my folds made my knees weak and almost give out. “Oh, Nick, please,” I whined, pushing in on his shoulders. He pulled back, his eyes blazed with a fierce hunger. “Please what, Y/N? What do you want, love?”

Placing my hand over his, the one nearest my opening, I kept perfect eye contact with him as I guided his hand to where I desperately needed it to be. “This,” he affirmed, slipping two fingers at a time inside me. I sucked in a deep breath at the feeling, brazenly grinding down on him. “Fuck, Nick!” I cried out as he slowly pushed and pulled in and out of me. “That’s it baby girl, grind on my fingers. I can feel you, uh fuck yeah,” Nick encouraged me, burying his face in my neck. Picking up the pace, he held me tightly up against the wall, breaking apart every barrier I’d put up since the day I said good-bye to him. “Like that? Is that it? Is that the spot, love,” Nick urgently asked the louder I moaned the closer he got to my g-spot. I quickly nodded, furrowing my brows and bit my bottom lip, clasping my hand over his to feel the way he was fucking me with his fingers. “I’m addicted to the way you’ve always gotten wet for me, baby girl, the way I fill you and make you cum for me.” he praised me, pushing in harder and making me moan again. “Fucking hell, Nick,” I cried throwing my head back against the wall. “I want your cum on my fingers, love. I want it to drip down my hand.”

My cries grew louder the closer Nick brought me to my climax. I was a weakened mess for him. “Nick,” “Yeah, baby?” “I’m sorry I walked away. I’m sorry I said goodbye.” Tears seeped from my eyes. Nick slowed his pace inside me to wipe them away. “However far away, I will always love you, however long I stay, I will always love you, whatever words I say, I will always love you,” “I will always love you,” I echoed. He caressed my face and kissed me. “Nick, I need you inside me,” I whispered in his ear, feeling the deep rumble of his approval against my chest. Before I realized it, Nick had me in his arms, carrying me into my room and laying me on the bed. He undid the button on his jeans and unzipped, yanking them off and revealing his hardened cock, dripping with the silkiness of his pre-cum. I groaned in want as he slipped my shorts and panties off. Without a word, Nick spread my legs and positioned himself overtop me, and lined himself with my entrance. He rubbed his tip through the wetness of my folds, and slipped inside me, spreading me open for him. Pushing in and out sweetly but with the kind of aggression that always made me cry his name, I dug my nails into his tanned flesh, gripping his shoulders, holding him close. “Oh god, fucking, Y/N,” Nick groaned, instantly pounding into me at a brutal pace. “You’re still so fucking tight, love.” “There’s been nobody since you.”

He pushed himself up off my chest, looking down into my eyes for clarity. “What? Are you being serious?” I nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to forget your touch, the color in the feeling you always gave me. I wanted to hold on to it forever.” Nick groaned, lowering his forehead to mine. “And it’s okay if you didn’t do the same. I understand,” clarifying that I wasn’t angry. He began to move unhurried, taking his time to stretch open my inner walls and make as much room for him inside as he could. I sighed, moaning loudly at the feeling of having him inside me again. “I don’t fucking deserve you, Y/N,” Nick confessed, thrusting hard into me and grunting loudly. “Yes you do. We deserve each other. You’re the Poe to my Annebelle.” He gave me a wide smile before grabbing my leg and holding it against him, fucking into me in a new position that hit the very spot I’d been craving him to hit. “Right there Nick! Fuck! Don’t stop, baby!” “That’s it, right there? You’re gonna make me fucking cum if you keep screaming like that.” I made no attempt to mask my cries that quickly turned into slight shrills. “Fuck, love, keep crying for me baby girl, I’m almost there.” “Nick, I’m cum….,” I cried as my orgasim hit me like a tidal wave, exploding inside me and making me see stars. Nick shoved my shirt up to my throat before pulling out of me and spilling his seed all over my belly and between my breasts.

“Oh, holy shit,” Nick growled, milking himself until he knew he was empty, before rolling over onto his back. Finding my hand with his and entangling our fingers like he used to do, we laid there for a while, enjoying the comfortable silence. Eventually, Nick cleaned me up, wiping off his mess before scooping me up and tucking me in under the blankets. “You’re staying aren’t you,” I asked sleepily, eyes already closed. I felt the bed dip and Nick's warm body slid into mine. “I’m already here,” he whispered, taking me into his arms. “And I promise I won’t leave. Ever,” kissing my hair. “Me too, Nick. I will always love you.” 

#nicholas ruffilo #nick ruffilo x reader #nick ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo fic #bad omens cult #bad omens

[satans-knitwear]

I used lil temp tattoos (the ones applied by pressing down with a wet flannel) to complete todays look!

Treat me ~ Tip me

#I had a lot of fun with it!! #But my hair is a mess bc i cried hysterically at my aunt instead of letting her cut my hair 🤷 #As you do. It made sense at the time. I had a headache. #But the lil temp tattoos!!!! I highly recommend. If u wanna relive the joys of yoyr childhood or elevate ur makeup looks #My hands are too shaky to do fine lines like this so it was a fun solution!! #Satans knitwear

[celesterayel]

something out of my dreams | luke castellan

pairing : luke castellan x dionysus!reader

request: could you possibly write a luke x daughter of dionysus please? maybe she’s like super nice and when percy gets to camp she becomes like an older sister and luke is super whipped for her? @elz-zalarrr

IN WHICH — all he knows is that you were something out of his dreams.

"trust him like a brother, yeah, you know i did one thing right. starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night" - t.s.

w.c. 1.8k

warning(s) : cheesiness ゜✭・.

✩ ‧₊˚ author's note okay i've begun to realize that low-key i feel like i write in cursive if that makes sense? if a feeling could describe it i'd say its like using poetry to write? that's likely not any better lol :)

there was but one person that everyone could agree they adored at camp half blood.

it didn't matter what grudge who had with whom or what ancient rivalries transcended the ideals of reality, everyone loved you. not the typical type of brittle love that crumbled at the slightest of touches, but pure adoration that endured the sands of time.

you with the gentle soul, who healed others with each laugh and smile. when new half-godlings were brought to camp, you made sure to comfort them and make them understand that they belonged here and would find a home whether they wanted to or not. you made sure that no birthday was forgotten, no deed undone.

children of minor gods or elders, of Ares or Aphrodite, you became an older sister to all who needed you. you, the daughter of fertility and chaos, the god dionysius.

there was no debate that at camp half blood there was only a before you and an after you. you were like that high right before the free fall–invincibility and smoke and curiosity wrapped into the form of a demi-god. you were the gentle breeze during summer nights when the heat became too much. and none ached more to feel it than luke castellan, who had been burning for as long as he knew.

your relationship in itself was tentative, you danced around your feelings–scared one wrong touch or word would break the shaky, fine line that lay between you two. but you could not hide the way you loved the other to yourselves nor the children of the beings of divine blood. 

luke castellan loved you like the stars would fall out of the sky with one harsh touch, free and incandescently self-destructive. like you were a wild, wonderful thing out of a fantasy.

you loved him like there was no hell or heaven but the cosmos that lay in his eyes and the worlds that lay in his soul. something so sacred and rare. a love so true and mortal it put all the greek tragedies to shame. 

you knew that whatever you and him were made of, in every lifetime or the next you two were made for each other. 

loving luke castellan would be both your redemption and destruction in the making, your elysium for whatever good thing you had done in your previous life. 

✩ ‧₊˚

you first met percy jackson when he came to camp, he was a scared little thing who had just lost his mother when the veil between reality and deception flickered. everything he’d known came crumbling as quickly as the truth was uncovered: gods and monsters were real and played games of hell and heaven on earth. some thing about him called out to the vulnerability you once knew when you first came to camp so you made it your mission to be the sister he never had. 

you met him at the front of the steps of the main office, “my name is y/n, percy jackson. welcome to camp halfblood.”

“do you just somehow know everyones name,” he raised his eyebrows at you. 

“yes.” no, but you supposed it’d be fun to let him think that. 

“of course you do.”

“come along, i’ll show the ins and outs here. if you're nice enough, i might let you in on the cook's secret stash of blue ice cream,” you laughed out.

he contemplated his choices before grabbing your outstretched hand and shaking it, “deal.”

you showed him who to avoid and the best people to befriend. the history between your kind and why the gods were as they were. the truth behind his bloodline and the legacy that he was now responsible for. the tribulations and the pain that was cursed to follow the children of the gods. 

“and this is chris. the best person to ask if you need to know what plants are poisonous,” you say, introducing him to a guy with black hair and soft eyes. 

percy looks at chris before looking around to see where the hermes boy is, “we’ve met. he was with luke when he was showing me around”

you’re cheeks heated at the mention of his name; looking around to see if you can spot the familiar tan skin and soft eyes that belong to your luke. 

“oh! luke! yeah, he’s around here somewhere. he’s sly like that, wandering and then popping up the next second.”

a voice pipes up behind you suddenly, “y/n, already telling percy everything about me?” 

you whirl around and there he stands in all his glory with the curls you love and the sun in his eyes. your golden boy.

“just telling him the truth, castellan. you’re hard to get a hold of sometimes.”

a hue of pink covers his cheeks, “i’m never far from you.”

both of you oblivious to percy and chris who seem to be conversing about you both and the tip-toe dance you play. 

percy just wonders what’s happening here: firstly, luke is looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars and that’s saying something because he has shit observation skills–his analysis essays can attest to that. secondly, he swears he can see hearts in his eyes from where he’s standing and is that…is that a blush?

he turns to chris, who is just staring at the two like it's not out of the normal for what’s happening, “what’s happening here? is he blushing?”

chris just nods, “yeah. luke’s kinda–very obviously to everyone–in love with y/n. if i didn’t know better i’d say she’s gotten him insane in love. very likely as her dad’s the god of insanity.”

he turns back to the two who are laughing and standing closer than before, “like super, super in love. if there was a word for love, luke’s found it”

“huh.” 

chris says it like it’s common knowledge like how the best food is blue jelly beans, “i mean i ship it, y/n’s the sweetest person around here–the type of person people write songs about. she’s like a sister to us older ones and a mother to the younger ones. the whole camp is waiting for him to just man up and ask y/n. they make each other happy, you know?”

“yeah, i think i do.” 

percy thinks it’s something the poets would write about.

✩ ‧₊˚

fridays are capture the flag days.

you’re not the type of person to engage in these types of games all that often but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. someone’s got to show the percy boy how it’s played. 

“okay, percy. remember, keep your senses open and make sure that no one gets close enough to engage. once they engage, it’s hard to fight them off.”

all around you two, people have begun to don their armor and raise arms. the sun has just reached its height and you’re huddled together discussing your gameplan. even though your cabin house is pretty small, you’ve joined athena and hermes for this game. 

percy’s voice rises a little high as he tries swinging his sword around only to drop it, “yeah, okay. i’ll just try not to die, i guess. that’s not like hard or anything.”

“just follow my lead and if i’m not here find luke.”

you're not exactly excited about percy’s odds. the kid is lanky as is and his sassiness doesn’t help him out much when others target him for it. 

that’s exactly why you’re gone to his rescue when he nearly gets hit in the face by a spear after he insulted one of the boys from house ares. 

your heel nearly buckles under a sharp hit after you block the attack that’s directed to percy. you manage to reset your heel and push the sword off before you drop down into a crouch and sweep the legs of the warrior in front of you.

unfortunately you're slightly too focused on what’s in front of you and protecting percy you don’t realize that someones charging toward you from the side. 

fortunately, a block from a familiar sword stops any attack that might meet you head on. no sooner do you hear the block that luke’s got the other guy on the floor and surrendering. 

you grin at him, “i had that handled.”

giving you that grin that makes you feel like your future's right in front of you, he replies: “i’m sure you did. but why let you deal with him when i can save you the trouble.” 

“why don’t you go and help annabeth win the games, romeo.”

he gives you a wink, throwing a quick ‘yes ma’am’ before he’s already running off again. 

no sooner than later, a quick gong resounds throughout the camp, concluding the games. you’re standing slightly battered while percy walks behind you pointing out all the flowers he’s found. you definitely need to teach him how to defend himself. 

the players are just trickling in for the woods they’ve been fighting in to reband together and in the distance you see a figure running toward you. 

holding onto the flag, he continues to look at you like you’re everything he’s ever needed to breathe. he’s taken his helmet off and you can finally see him fully: brown eyes and all dimples.

“see you’ve found the flag.”

he takes a couple of steps closer to you until only two steps separate him and you, “yeah, someone told me to go win the game so I did just that for her”.

“really now?”

he whispers, “yeah.” 

his eyes twinkle and you’ve never wanted anything more than to continue to stare at them. 

you hope he’ll make the next move but luke castellan, the boy you’ve fallen for in every lifetime, is always content to admire you.

so, you take those two next steps, grab him by his neck, and press your lips to his. 

he stands shocked for a minute, wondering if what’s happening is really happening. but no sooner, he’s dropped the flag on the grass and holds you like your the greatest treasure he’s ever had.

there’s a certain type of tragedy that your golden boy tastes like, fire and freedom all in this moment. it’s the price of redemption and damnation that you’re willing to pay. 

to him, it’s the stars aligning like you’d will them to–the power you held and every thing he’s ever needed. your his past, future, and present: the threads in his life giving him the one thing he’s ever wanted. something he’s only ever dreamed of. 

he pulls back slightly before murmuring, “in every lifetime or the next, i am yours. i don’t know what i did to deserve you. you’re something only out of my dreams, y/n.”

"you sap"

you just kiss him again, ignoring all the campers and those still trickling in. 

✩ ‧₊˚

“definitely a child of dionysius. she’s reduced him to insanity,” pipes up percy as he tears off the petals of the flower he holds in his hand. 

chris just grabs a flower and continues to rip the petals off like the boy beside him. 

“damn straight!” shouts luke toward the two.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo fandom #pjo series #luke x reader #percy jackson show #percy jackson x reader #luke pjo #pjo x reader #pjo x you #pjo #ignore the cringe

[steddiewithachance]

"You Should Date My Nephew"

"433-6296". Wayne mouthes to himself. He visualizes the little slip of lined paper that's taped to the wall above their phone at home. 433-6296. He could call. But he wont.

Wayne grunts as he lowers himself to sit on the curb outside the plant. He got off work --he pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch-- 36 minutes ago. It's 3:36 am and god dammit Eddie how many times did he remind the kid to set his alarm. How many times did Wayne remind Eddie that his truck was in the shop and that he'd need a ride home in the morning. And every single time he'd mention it, Eddie responded "I got it old man! I'll set an alarm" with an exasperated eye roll and would go back to whatever he was doing. Wayne has tried calling the trailer a dozen times already and damn that boy for being such a heavy sleeper.

433-6296. Wayne could probably solve his problem with a single call, but that would be completely inconsiderate and borderline inappropriate, so he wont. A gust of cold November wind hits Wayne unforgivingly in the face and makes his eyes water. He pulls a pack of camels from his chest pocket and with stiff, shaky hands, lights one. 433-6296. He could call or he could walk home. The walk wasn't easy in ideal weather when Wayne was fully rested. Right now it was freezing, Wayne didn't have his good jacket, and he just finished an eight hour shift. 433-6296. Fuck it.

Wayne stands up and hurries toward the phone before he can talk himself out of this. It's insane, and he knows the poor kid barely sleeps as it is. Knows from Eddie that he'll pick up the phone anytime Eddie has a nightmare and drive over to talk him out of the bad dream, keep him company, or fall asleep on the floor of Eddie's bedroom so his nephew doesn't have to go back to sleep alone in a haunted home. 433-6296 Wayne dials and waits with baited breath.

The phone rings a handful of times before a quiet voice greets him on the other side of the line.

"H'llo? Eds?"

"Uh hi Steve. It's Wayne?" Wayne says quietly into the phone. Steve seems to sober immediately.

"Mr. Munson? Is everything okay? Is Eddie okay?"

"Yeah no everythin's fine. I'm sure Eddie's safe and sound at home. Look, I'm real sorry to wake you, kid, and I'm sorry to even be askin' you in the first place. I know it's mighty unfair of me to call at this time but uh- My trucks in the shop and Eddie was supposed to pick me up from work forty minutes ago but I think he mighta slept through his alarm. And it's too far for an old man like me to walk. Was wondering if I might owe you a helluva favor if you could pick me up tonight, son." For a few moments there is silence. Wayne worries he has crossed a line, for a brief moment he fears he might have burnt the most important bridge in Eddie's life. He's immediately regretting waking Steve up for this.

But then he hears the distinct rustling and thump of someone putting on shoes.

"Of course Mr. Munson, I'm leaving now. I'll be there as soon as I can." And Wayne is once again floored by this kid's kindness.

"Steve, thank you. I owe you son. Whatever you need."

"It's no problem! I'll see you soon."

"See you." Wayne mutters in disbelief and hangs up the phone.

And to think... Wayne used to hate Steve. The thing about Steve Harrington is that his name is haunted, in a way. And the thing about Wayne Munson is that he's a stubborn son of a bitch who will hold grudges on Eddie's behalf longer than the kid himself will. There were countless days in high school when instead of shooting through the front door of the trailer after school with a devilish grin and music blasting from his headphones, Eddie would turn the knob slowly and he'd drag himself into the house, giving Wayne a small nod before disappearing into his room quietly. Wayne felt like crying or punching something when Eddie came home in low spirits. He knew how evil the kids at school could be, and he knew the names of all the bad ones. Wayne always gave Eddie 10 minutes of quiet before he'd knock on his door and gently ask if he wanted to talk. It was a routine they had. He'd ask and Eddie would say no. But then like clockwork, Eddie would open up about his day later in the evening usually while they ate dinner and before Wayne left for work. He'd complain about all the kids that made him feel bad: Hagan, Harrington, Perkins, Hargrove, Carver, and so many more.

So imagine Wayne's surprise on March 27, 1986 when he briefly left Eddie's hospital room to get coffee and returned to Steve Harrington, the bully son of Richard and Nicole, sitting next to his nephew's hospital bed. It had been a long week of worrying on Wayne's part, and an emotional 48 hours spent at Eddie's bedside, so Wayne had very little patience for whatever was happening in front of him. In retrospect, Steve Harrington was looking at Eddie... sweet and tenderly, even back then. But in the moment all he could think about was Eddie returning from school with hunched shoulders and his head hung low.

"The hell are you doing here?" Wayne asked using his gruffest and most intimidating voice, arms crossed, standing in the doorway. The way that Steve startled was like nothing like Wayne had ever seen. He jumped a foot into the air and folded into himself.

"Oh! Mr. Munson. I'm sorry I didn't know you were around. Just, uh, didn't want him to be alone in case he woke up." Steve had said rising from his seat. When Wayne didn't budge from the doorway or respond, Steve nervously fiddled with the zipper of his jacket.

"How do you know Eddie?" Wayne asked trying to keep his firm tone.

"From high school sir. But also through a mutual friend. Dustin Henderson? They play DND together. Dustin and I brought him in after we found him like this..." Steve lifted his head again gauging Wayne's still stern expression and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry sir I didn't mean to interrupt anything I'll get out of your hair."

And Wayne wanted to be skeptical of Steve, wanted to accuse him of doing this to Eddie, but the truth is that Steve sounded painfully earnest. And there's no human explanation for the tiny bite marks all over Eddie's body. Wayne stepped out of the doorway and let Steve take a few steps down the hallway before calling out to him.

"Hey, Harrington?" Steve turned around quickly, looking back with a startled expression, maybe surprised that Wayne knew his name at all. "D'ja see what happened? I mean d'ya know anythin about what hurt him?" Wayne asked more softly. Steve looked around the crowded hallway, with nurses buzzing from door to door. Steve shook his head slightly, apologized, and continued down the hallway.

But Steve didn't stay out of his hair for long. The kid was exasperatingly persistent in being around for Eddie. And while Wayne kept a watchful eye on him, he was starting to get the idea that Steve Harrington was not who Wayne thought he was. He cooked for, cleaned after, and tended to Eddie, asking for nothing in return. Often refusing to stay for dinner when Wayne was home, even if he was the one who cooked it, because he didn't want to interrupt family time. If he brought food from out he always brought something for Wayne, and never took the money Wayne tried to push into his hands for it.

"Here, Mr. Munson. I wasn't sure what you wanted from the diner, but Eddie said you're not picky so I brought you a burger and fries." Steve had said that first time, holding out a bag in front of him.

"You brought me food?" Wayne asked perplexed.

"Well yeah, of course. I wouldn't have shown up with dinner for just me and Eddie." Steve set Wayne's bag on the counter when he made no move to take it.

By now Steve knew Wayne and Eddie's order at pretty much every food place in Hawkins and Wayne and Eddie were getting real creative at finding ways to slip money into Steve's wallet.

On top of that, almost every other day, Wayne gets home from work to find a maroon bmw parked outside his place while Steve helps Eddie through bad dreams. So what could Wayne be, besides grateful, for Steve Harrington's slightly confusing devotion to his kid?

He's snapped out of his thoughts when said maroon bmw pulls up in front of him. Steve is wearing a pair of wired glasses and his hair is all ruffled from sleep. Wayne opens the passenger door.

"You were waiting for forty minutes in the cold? Why didn't you call sooner?" Steve asked pushing up his glasses as Wayne closes the door quickly. And well... Wayne doesn't know how to respond to that.

"I- I shouldn'ta had to call you in the first place, Steve. I'm real sorry" Wayne says as Steve pulls the car out of park and starts driving back towards the trailer park. Wayne glances over at Steve waiting for the kid to say something. They sit in heavy silence until Steve breaks it by clearing his throat.

"Just... I know you're probably mad at Eddie but- but don't yell at him. He's barely sleeping so he really just needs the rest. It's not his fault." Steve ends on a whisper.

A tidal wave of different emotions rip through Wayne. Affection for Steve's caring nature, immense gratitude that Eddie has someone like Steve in his life, disbelief that Steve would say something like that after being woken at nearly 4 in the morning. Wayne was sitting and staring at the most selfless kid he'd ever met. Steve fucking Harrington.

"You should date my nephew."

Steves eyes widen and the car swerves.

"Uh- s-sorry- what?" Steve stammers.

"If I could choose someone for him, the best option out there, I'd choose you." Wayne says honestly, and he didn't even know he'd been thinking it until this moment. But it's so true. After so many heartbreaks over truly terrible men that Wayne could never see the appeal of, Eddie deserves someone like Steve. Steve face softens before checking to make sure Wayne was being sincere. Steve cracks a smile and chuckles to himself.

"What, you think I'm jokin'?" Wayne asks defensively.

"No sir! Not at all. It's just Eddie and I have been dating for months already. BUT- but- thank you for saying that! It means so much to me and truly Eddie's the best thing-"

"You- what?" Suddenly Wayne is embarrassed. Blushing. How'd he... how'd he miss that? And well, he did have a few moments where he thought the two of them were awfully close for a pair of young men, at least one of which who was openly queer, but they'd been through a lot together.

"Why did no one tell me?" Wayne asks turning his face away from Steve who is desperately fighting a huge grin and losing.

"We thought you knew. We sleep in the same bed every night."

"You do what now? Thought you were sleepin' on the floor" Wayne knows he sounds like the protective dad of a teenage girl and not the uncle to an adult man, but his world was just turned sideways. Steve laughs at that and adjusts his glasses before stopping at the red traffic light which almost immediately turns green because no one is out at this hour.

"Oh well. Good, I'm glad then." Wayne says after his mind has stopped spinning. "And call me Wayne already, you basically live at my house." He punches Steve lightly in the shoulder.

"Okay." Steve agrees quietly. He pulls into Forest Hills and stops the car in front of the Munson's place. "Mind if I just check to make sure he's okay before I leave? For peace of mind?" Wayne opens the door and steps out.

"Oh so now you're playing coy about sharing a bed? Just sleep here, kid" Wayne closes the door and heads towards the house. Steve jogs a little to catch up. When they open the door, the sound of an obnoxious alarm comes pouring out from the back of the house which concerns both of them. But when Steve hurries to Eddie's room he sees that the idiot had fallen asleep with music blasting in his headphones. Wayne stops the alarm as Steve gently tries to remove the headphones from his ears pausing the tape inside.

Eddie suddenly stirs and blinks up at Wayne and Steve looking down at him.

"'S going on?" He croaks, rubbing his eyes. Wayne and Steve share a look before Wayne chuckles and pats Steve on the back once before thanking him and wishing him a good night on the way out. After the door closes behind Wayne, Eddie looks back up at Steve. "What's going on baby? What happened?"

Steve slips into the bed and scoffs, fondly. He curls around Eddie and pulls him into his chest. Once they've settled, Steve pushes his fingers through Eddie's until they're all intertwined.

"Did you forget something, Bambi? Was there someone you had to pick up from work at 3 in the morning?" Steve whispers into his neck. Suddenly Eddie shoots up and dislodges Steve where he was leaning against him. Steve groans.

"Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit"

"Eddie it's okay c'mere. He's home now, it's all good babe." But Eddie just stares at the wall and pulls a hand through his hair. "No one is mad, just come back here. Let's sleep." And Eddie hesitantly lies back down.

"Did Uncle Wayne have to call you? I'm so fucking sorry Stevie." Eddie asks, sounding embarrassed.

"We had a nice conversation on the way home so it all worked out. You're okay. Sleeeeep."

And right before they both fall asleep, Eddie whispers, "Thanks Stevie, love you."

#steddie ficlet #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie #eddie munson #wayne munson #Wayne Munson POV #steve/eddie

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ i left my keys on your bedroom floor | miya atsumu

wc: 2.4k

summary: atsumu is the clumsiest guy you've ever met; nothing ever goes to plan, especially when it comes to love. 

contains: f!reader, use of ‘misus’, mostly fluff with a bit of misunderstanding, reader wears heels, some swears, atsumu thinks he’s going to have a heart attack but it’s just him being him, atsumu is an idiot in love 

a/n: not related to the plot, but take a chance with me and fearless remind me of atsumu’s feels in this one (and paper rings will forever be an atsumu song for me)

part of how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas)

Atsumu thinks this is the dumbest fuck-up he could have ever fucked up. 

Wood isn’t supposed to feel this cold, but his leg is freezing rested against it. 

Is this what it means to be weak in the knees?

Out of all places, of all times, Miya Atsumu finds himself knelt down on one knee by your bedside, legs feeling like jello at his attempt to look under your bed for his apartment keys. 

This wouldn’t be a problem at all, really; he kneels down all the time—for lunges during training (the bane of his existence if you ask him), for helping his Ma plant those herbs he’s sure she does for Osamu (he hates how the soil sticks to his skin), and for buckling the straps on your heels even, when you need him to (he doesn’t like it, only because he prefers you much more comfortable in softer shoes, unchafed ankles and all). 

So, kneeling isn’t really that big of a deal for Atsumu—

—but you’re there, standing by the bathroom door, staring at him with overwhelming surprise, evidently anticipating something serious enough to bring tears to your eyes. 

This is wrong. It isn’t at all what you’re thinking—he was just looking for his keys. 

“‘Tsum…” you choke out, mouth partially covered by your shaky hand. 

Fuck, if this isn’t the worst way he could possibly do this. 

He’s sure his eyes are wide, brows furrowed by a mixture of worry and regret. 

“Wait,” he holds two hands up, slowly coming to a stand, “S’not what ya think.” 

This is seriously the dumbest way he could fuck this up. 

The expression on your face drops, warmth rushing to your cheeks. If Atsumu could describe how you look, he’d call it worse than heartbreak—the horror in your eyes flashing embarrassment and the creases between your brows screaming rejection; what once were lifted cheeks have now sunk, turning into an undeniable frown. 

There are tears threatening to spill from your lash line, for a different reason now, he thinks, and it’s all his fault—it makes his heart break that he’s the sole culprit. 

And the sick thing is, despite all this, he still finds you the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, backlit by a halo of fluorescent white that he’s tempted to drop everything he originally planned just to do it right now. 

“O-oh,” you mumble, “sorry, I just thought–” you close your eyes, taking a deep breath, “nevermind, that was stupid of me, Tsum.”

When you open your eyes, a single tear falls, and he tries not to comment on how you wipe it quickly, feigning a smile as you walk past him, mumbling something about making breakfast and preparing his lunch for when he heads out.

And, well, he feels shitty, that’s for sure. One, for making you cry, and two, for even making you think, just for a second, that he doesn’t want to marry you. 

It wasn’t stupid of you to assume he was proposing at all. He’s hinted at it enough in the past few years, calling you ‘the misus’ enough times when mentioning why he’s heading home early from post-game dinners and parties. His Ma keeps a photo of you and him in his childhood home, and Osamu’s given you a family discount at Onigiri Miya now, too (which is only 1% higher than the friends one, but it’s the fact that he considers you as family that makes it feel much larger). 

He likes coming home to you, likes that you don’t force him to do anything. That if he chooses to stay out, it’s all fine by you—he’s just stopped looking for that kind of life anymore; it’s a lot more fun getting to cuddle up on the couch with you. 

His legs still tingle, and he crouches down again with a big sigh. The silver key is there, glistening from the light directed from his phone, and he reaches to grab it, fishing for the metal that, if he’s being quite honest, hasn’t fully served its purpose in the past three years anyway. 

Four years together, and Atsumu has lived with you for most of them. The only reason you still have separate places by name is because of the apartment he owns in Osaka, meant for training season and game days. 

Other than that, home has always been your place. 

And lately, he’s been thinking of moving somewhere where home can now officially be both of yours—it’s the whole reason he was looking for his keys in the first place, with property managers and realtors coming in to assess the space. 

The new place—he’s hoping for it to be somewhere in the middle of both you and him, maybe a bit bigger, who knows? He was planning to ask you about it after the proposal—the one he’s planned and has been trying so hard to keep a secret from you. 

It’s a miracle he’s managed to keep it this hush so far. He’s got the ring, the venue, the speech, and has even asked Osamu to take the video (even though he knows he’ll never let him live down every jitter and stutter he’s bound to make). And the date, the oh-so-important Valentine’s day that you’ll both remember forever. 

The living room is awfully quiet when he steps into it, no sign of you and your usual humming to whatever song’s been stuck in your head. He walks to the kitchen counter, eyeing a plate of eggs with a bit of fried rice; you packed his lunch, just like you always have—fatty tuna with some rice and vegetables on the side.

Atsumu thinks he could cry, his upper lip already trembling as he stares at the piece of paper in front of him. 

Written in your delicate handwriting is a short note: ‘grabbing some grocery, be back later.’ signed with nothing—no ‘love you’, no ‘see you later’, no x’s and o’s. Just nothing. It sucks even more because the grocery is your place, your one escape when he’s upset you enough that you can’t even look at him. 

Yet, you still made him breakfast, and you still packed his lunch—that’s the only thing giving him hope that he hasn’t fully fucked this up. 

.

“Samu, I think am g’na die.” 

The scenery beside him whizzes past quickly, creating a blur of blue, green, and white. His head leans against the window, and he adjusts an earbud, increasing the volume to hear the call better. 

Osamu sighs on the other end, the sound of clinking pans and crinkling plastic muffled in the background. 

“Y’said that t’Ma the last time, what’s it now?” 

Atsumu groans, the memory still fresh in his mind; when he called his Ma a little over three years ago, he was a stuttering mess, breath unsteady and voice shaky at 1:00 a.m. The pounding in his chest would not stop, he thought for sure he was going to have a heart attack. 

His Ma diagnosed him all right, called it a serious case of ‘in love with you’—because, when he recounted everything he could have done to cause any potential uptick of his heart rate, all he could talk about was you. How you held his hand and laughed at his jokes, called him handsome even when he was sweaty and gross; how you nursed him to health even though he was probably stinky and dehydrated from an insane diarrhea episode. 

All these years later, and he’s even more in love with you. 

“I fucked it up, ‘Samu. The plan ‘n everythin’? Poof.” he gestures with his hands, even though he knows audio call doesn’t allow him to be seen. “Dunnow if there’ll even be ‘nyone t’propose to.” 

Then, he tells Osamu everything—the search for his keys, kneeling on the floor, the mistaken proposal but how he would have done it there, how he wanted to but didn’t because he actually managed to plan something and didn’t want to throw it away.

But then he said it all wrong, then you cried, and he really did mess it up; he wasn’t even able to say goodbye. He’s miss-called you thrice and you’ve only replied with ‘can’t talk right now.’ (which he knows is suggested text because you always say ‘later, baby.’ or something else more time-efficient). 

“Ya dumbass,” Osamu sighs again, words still sharp but tone a bit more rounded, “just give it time, ‘n stop catastrophizin’. Y’ve put y’self in stupider situations ‘n hav always made it somehow.” 

Atsumu feels like crying, again, but Osamu’s always right. He lets out a tear or two, maybe a sob for another five minutes, and when he recovers into small sniffles, Osamu tells him to get some sleep to clear his head—he’s holding the line in Onigiri Miya during peak time. 

.

His Osaka apartment feels even emptier than usual even though it shouldn’t be all that different. Meetings with realtors and property managers finished an hour ago and all they need is the go signal from him before they put the property up for lease. 

He was supposed to stay here until the end of the week, to meet with PR for sponsorship deals and brand campaigns throughout the year. But, the only (non-suggested) text he received from you today was an indication that you were home and heading in early for bed (which, he knows is a lie, because a new episode of your favorite show is airing tonight and there’s no way you’re missing it after last week’s cliffhanger). 

And he can’t, just can’t, leave you thinking that he doesn’t want to marry you. 

So he decides, fuck it, and packs it up—books a last minute train ticket back to you and hopes to god that he gets the words right this time. 

. 

He’s never been this nervous in his life. 

The olympics is a close runner-up, but nothing compares to this, standing outside your door with his finger hovering over the doorbell. It’s funny, because he has your keys, knows your passcode too—but it feels wrong entering your space without the assurance that you still want him to. 

What makes him ring the bell is the sickening twist in his stomach that warns him: this fuck-up could make him lose you.

So he presses it once, then twice for good measure, and before he can do it thrice, you’re opening the door, in sweatpants and a hoodie (his hoodie) as you rub the puffiness out of your eyes. 

You’re beautiful like this, too, he thinks—dressed in his clothes, staring at him with those eyes, standing in front of him and looking like the rest of his life. 

“Please don’t break up wit’ me.” 

The words stumble out of him freely, with barely any time for him to process it. Atsumu feels each pounding in his chest and knows now, just as his Ma said, that it’s all the love he has yet to let out.

“I–” he begins, hesitating. He’s still wearing the same joggers and bomber jacket from this morning.

His hands clench into fists and he pushes them in his pockets, unsure what to do with them; the bottom of his lip trembles and it’s starting to make sense why people tell him and Osamu apart by ‘the one who always cries’. 

“T-this mornin’,” he looks up to find you leaning against your door, listening, “Was lookin’ ‘round cos I left mah keys on y’r bedroom floor.” 

You nod, tilting your head to urge him on. 

“And I was kneelin’,” he breathes out, “and y’thought it was somethin’ else, but I said it wasn’t. And I shouldn’t ‘av ‘cos it came out all wrong and it wasn’t what I planned. Then ya cried but still made me breakfast ‘n lunch and it was good, just like everythin’ ya make is. But ya went to the grocery, and baby,” he chokes up, tears falling, “‘m sorry. S’not what I meant. Please don’t break up wit’ me.” 

Atsumu is a bumbling, stumbling, stuttering mess as he cries in front of you, his incoherent rambling a jumble of all his mixed-up feelings. He’s sure he looks like dumb as hell right now, a fully grown man in tears at your door—but your brows furrow in concern, jaw tightening as the pout on your lips deepen. Then, you take a step closer, arms stretched out to pull him into your shoulder for a hug. 

This is why Atsumu loves you—

This is why Atsumu has never been more sure of the future he wants. 

—because, even when he’s fucked things up and has made an absolute mess of himself, you’re always there, picking him right back up. 

“T’sokay Tsum,” you hush, rubbing circles on his back, “there’s no need to explain.” 

He sniffles, tucking his face against your neck. It’s impossible to miss the sadness underlying your comfort. 

You’re wrong—it’s not okay, and he absolutely has to explain. 

After he’s calmed down and the tears have subsided, he pulls away, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and apologizing for all the snot he left on your hoodie. 

You look confused and a little bit surprised as he takes a step back away from you, his hand immediately reaching inside the pocket of his joggers. 

“Y’know I can’t keep anythin’ from ya, right, baby?” he flashes you a small smile, a little nervous. 

You nod, because it’s true. Not a single birthday or celebration has ever surprised you because Atsumu’s always ruined it; he just can’t keep a secret from you. Either that, or things just never go accordingly. 

“Well, I kept this one real good. Planned it ‘n all. Had everythin’ set.”

The velvet box in his pocket is smooth to the touch, his fingers turning it over. It feels tangible and real now, a moment’s away from his life being changed, forever. 

He feels like crying again. 

“Was g’na do it on Valentine’s, ‘cos I had it all rehearsed ‘n shit.” 

Realization dawns on your face, eyes wide and your chest caught on hold—as if you’re expecting the wrong assumption again. 

But when Atsumu gets down on one knee, reaching from his pocket to present to you a ring hidden in red velvet, his fingers tremble when he says, “Know s’not Valentine’s, but can I be your forever Valentine?” 

You blink once, then the tears fall—the smile on your face is a little bit wobbly but an awful lot in love. You kneel on the floor with him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss.

The both of you are a tear-y mess on the floor, but when you part, he leans his forehead against yours, ring held up between his fingers as he asks just to be extra sure, “So… s’not a goodbye kiss is it?” 

You smack him on the chest before slipping in your finger. 

“S’a yes kiss, Tsum.”

thank you notes: @augustinewrites for suffering through this atsumu train with me & @soumies + @mysugu for helping me with tsumu characterisation and for listening to me ramble abt this fic!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq!! x reader #atsumu x yn #haikyuu!! x reader #atsumu x you #miya atsumu x yn #miya atsumu x you #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #how to be your lover boy collab

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fic

[norrisleclercf1]

Lando's Replacement

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Rating: G

Words: 765

Requested: Yes/No

Request: Could you do a mini lando new part where Aiden starts karting and lando is nervous about it thanks love your writing

Warnings: None, just fluff

Mini Lando Series

A/N: Aiden is 8, Caleb is 5 and Daniel is 3

"I'm not built for this stress, Y/n," Lando whispers, staring at your son Aiden. You can't help but roll your eyes at your husband. After all the years he spent giving you stress, he's the one who can't handle it? Drama queen.

"Really? Now you know how I've felt for the past 15 years." Lando grimaces as Aiden moves around his new kart, bumping his shoulder with yours, ensuring everything is in order. "Daddy? How do I start it?" Lando gives a wobbly smile to his little boy. Except he's not so little anymore.

At 8 years old, Aiden has fallen in love with karting and has spoken about following in his father's footsteps. "Let me show you." Lando straddles the kart and turns the ignition. The kart rumbles and then sputters to life. "Cool!" Aiden yells, not even waiting for Lando to get out of the way before he pops himself into the seat.

"Mommy, look!" Aiden can't hide his excitement while Lando looks down at the kart with horror. "Can't believe my Dad and Mum allowed me to do this." He whispers, grabbing Aiden's own crash helmet. "Lando, he's going to be fine. All he's doing is learning how to drive it, not racing." Covering your husband's shaky hand.

Lando has always been protective, especially of Aiden. After all the trouble you two went to get pregnant, it was hard on Lando to see his firstborn become a person and one that wanted to join karting. "He's safe. You had McLaren build his helmet and the kart. Plus you oversaw all of it. He's safe." Lando nods, stepping back from the kart as Aiden slides the helmet on.

"Well, looks like Lando has got some competition now." You don't even have to turn to know who it was. "Mommy, what's A doing?" Oscar stands next to you, holding your youngest, Daniel, and the hand of your second, Caleb. "A is learning to drive a kart like Daddy used to." Explaining what Aiden was doing to Caleb was hard sometimes because whatever Aiden was doing, Caleb wanted to do it, too.

"Can I join?" Right on time, smiling, you push his curly hair back. "Not yet, you're far too small. When you're 8 and still want to try it, we can." Oscar chuckles, seeing Aiden zip off. "Aiden! Brakes!" Lando yells. You cover your snort, seeing your husband chase after your laughing son. "He'll have grey hairs when this is over." Oscar adjusts little Daniel on his hip.

"Good, it'll humble his ass. He puts me through hell whenever he drives. He'll finally understand why I'm just as exhausted as him by the end of a race." Caleb giggles, wanting to run after his father, but you hold him close. "Lando has been dreading this. When Aiden first asked him, I thought he'd faint." Oscar smiled at his old teammate, having moved to Red Bull after his 4th season, and was in a tight battle with Lando, Charles, and Max for a WDC.

"Mommy, look how fast I'm going!" Aiden yells, hitting the gas and whipping his head back. You wince seeing it, but the rings of Aiden's laughter ease your worries. "Aiden, please!" Lando yells, stopping before you, gasping for air and sweat lining his forehead. "You're getting old." Oscar quips. Lando looks up, glaring at the Aussie. "I'm not old, just aging. Like fine whiskey." Oscar just rolls his eyes. "Your son is doing donuts." Lando takes off again, leaving Caleb cackling, watching his father.

"Maybe we should get Max or Carlos to teach Aiden?" You ask Oscar, but he shakes his head no. "He might be freaking out, but he's loving this. It's a memory they'll both look on fondly." Aiden laughs at the sound of the engine cut off as Lando scoops his oldest up.

The image of them laughing, Lando lecturing him with no anger as Aiden just giggles. "Yes, Daddy," Aiden says, his little body wobbling as his helmet makes him look like a life-size bobblehead. "Did you have fun?" Aiden nods, your fingers working quickly to get the helmet off. "It was so much fun. Daddy said we can return with Uncle Carlos, Max, and Oscar!" Aiden jumps around.

"I would love that." Oscar bends down, ruffling Aiden's hair. "Yes! With you teaching me, I can replace Daddy at McLaren." He laughs, and Lando's eyes budge out. The thought of Aiden driving in F1 was enough to kill him. "Y/n, this payback, isn't it?" He whispers, you just smirk. "Oh, sweet, sweet revenge, darling." Kissing his cheek.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #formula one #f1 scenario #f1 fluff #mini lando series #lando norris #lando norris fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #dad!lando #dad!lando norris #lando norris series

[oreosmama]

Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: I pity the fools who ignore this a/n bc WARNING, these are hcs without those stupid bullet points bc I have suddenly emotionally decided that they fucking suck. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy the light angst, for all those survivors who are still vibing in this fandom. Enjoy!

Word count: 1968

Tooru Oikawa:

“I’m totally and completely over you.”

That’s how the message starts. 

Part of you wonders if you missed something, or accidentally skipped ahead. It’s so immediate, like Oikawa could barely wait for the beep before tearing into you. Like he needed to spit poison the second he had the chance. 

And it’s one of those biting remarks that he wants to let fester—for a while, evidently; he doesn’t say anything else for another five minutes. 

All that follows is a loud thud, like he’s thrown the phone away from him. And then footsteps, like he’s pacing, pacing, pacing back and forth, trying to think of more scathing words by burning holes into his carpet. 

You hit a point where you think you should delete the message, maybe try and not care about whatever else he may or may not say after waiting for so long. You nibble on your nails and tug at the snarls in your hair. You pick four pieces of lint off your sweatshirt and seventeen more off the blanket draped over your lap, and you know how many there are because you line them up and count them afterwards as you wait, anxious, listening to your ex-boyfriend’s panting. 

But a small rustle stirs at that five-minute mark, right against your ear. And a sniffle. 

“Fine.” Oikawa’s voice cracks. “You win.” 

You suck in a breath. 

“What do you wanna hear? That I miss you?” He sniffles again, then scoffs bitterly. “That I miss you so fucking much I can’t sleep at night? That my bed is so fucking cold now I can’t even stomach sleeping in it? That every girl I see I automatically compare to you because I have to—I just fucking have to, all because she’s not you. And it makes me sick.”

His chuckle is sour and crackles harshly into your eardrum. “Am I stroking your ego enough, sweetheart? Because you win. You fucking win.

“I want you back.” 

He sighs, and it sounds like he’s rubbing his forehead. 

“I need you back.” 

More beats pass in the silence. More sniffles, too, but stretched out, like he’s trying to steady his breathing. 

You don’t think it’s helping him any. As you wipe the cuffs of your sweatshirt underneath your eyes, his voice returns, thoroughly raw and wounded. It squeaks out of him, barely above a whisper. His voice is so loud and tender, like he’s cradling the phone against his cheek. 

Your hand against his warm cheek, curled over that pink skin, fingertips inches away from brushing through those soft strands, wiping tears. That’s what you wish it was. 

“I didn’t know…” 

A shaky breath. You hold yours in return. 

“I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.”

He swallows thickly. 

“Those last few moments after you left—I thought that would be the worst of it. When you just walked out. And I keep seeing you do it, over and over and over, in my head like I can’t help but torture myself with it.

“I never knew it would get so much fucking worse.”

He whimpers a little, and your heart constricts unbearably. You tear at the damn thing buried underneath your sweatshirt, massaging the skin like it can soothe that phantom ache. 

Oikawa must hate you. Maybe he hates you like you hate him: not because of the breakup, but because you can go for weeks without seeing him, holding him, kissing him, and everything still hurts like that last time. 

“Thing is, I could’ve sworn you weren’t always in my life. It’s been two years. Only two years. And yet I can’t remember a damn thing before us. It feels like it was always us. Some fog, and then you, and then everything afterwards. Everything that was us.”

“And I hate that we had it so good, YN. I really do. Because missing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The frustration in his voice is familiar, a sickening sense of deja vu around it, and you latch a hand over your mouth at how vividly the image comes to you: Oikawa tearing his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted, cheeks flushed and shiny. Like when he lost a game, but different somehow. 

Like this was something he didn’t even know he could lose.

He’s crumbling in a way he doesn’t know how to stop. That ugly part about having something wonderful and new—the moment it’s gone, what the hell are you supposed to do then?

“I just—Goddamnit, I can’t stand how badly it hurts anymore. I can’t,” he cries, desperate and aching, like his hand is fisting at his heart. You can hear the breath hitching in his throat, the hiccuping breaths after his sobs. You can hear every tear, feel it against your own cheeks, a soreness building at the front of your skull. 

Too many tears. Your body is screaming at you, too many fucking tears. 

But it’s him and he was yours and you were his. 

Were. 

You were his. 

You had no idea how much that single thought could make your entire chest throb. 

Oikawa inhales, and it makes your heart race against the thick wall caging it in, squeezing against it. 

“I need to see you.” 

He says the thought like it’s just slapped him across the face. 

“I need to go see you, I—I have to.” 

He mumbles to himself unsteadily, like he’s rocking back and forth. Debating, really, what he’s supposed to do, if he should do it at all, if it’s right after everything.

You should probably think he’s wrong.

You probably shouldn’t be curled over your phone, eyes wide, mouth open, not making a fucking peep. Waiting to hear what he’s going to do. 

Maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t be telling yourself that as the voicemail counts down to its final seconds, if he decides he’s not going to go to you, that you’ll definitely be going to him.

“I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in here, without you. This isn’t right, I—”

Your breath hitches when you hear the frantic jingle of keys. 

Then the sound of a door slamming. 

His footsteps racing down his apartment’s stairwell.

A car engine revving. 

“I need to see you.” 

And the voicemail ends. 

_________________________

Satori Tendou: 

The message begins with a scoff of utter disbelief. 

“Is that what we’re doing now?”

He pauses, almost like he thinks you’re going to respond. 

“Heard from someone that I suddenly have syphilis. Yesterday, I had herpes though, so I guess I’m gonna have a tough week.”

A rustle like he’d shaking his head, like he can’t fucking believe it. 

“And sure, okay, I figured that’s fine. You can say all that shit, and it won’t really stick because everyone knows it was us and that it’s you and you’re hurt.”

He sighs. 

“But I saw it, sweetheart. I saw it.” The phone whines like he’s adjusting it against his face, and his voice is suddenly lower, darker. 

“You don’t get to have it both ways, you know. You can’t spread all that shit—all those rumors about how shitty everything was and how we didn’t have anything going for us—and then turn around two days later wearing my sweatshirt. And you don’t get to wear that necklace I gave you for our anniversary and then run away from me the second you see me. That’s just not fair—you’re not playing fair anymore.”

Something swishes around like loose clothing, and a large huff greets your ear from what must be Tendou collapsing into a seat. When his little sounds become quieter, that relentless humming and the excitable clicks of his tongue against his teeth, you figure he must have put the phone on speaker and balanced it on his knee like he always did. Mid-conversation with Ushiwaka, he always used to spin his phone with those long fingers, or bounce the damn thing up and down against his frantic leg. 

And the voicemail came through late last night, one of those dead hours where the only ones awake were Tendou, his scrambling thoughts, and the moths flitting back and forth outside his glowing window. He was always awake, always thinking, always doing something. 

When you’d first broken up, after one long, wrenching fight where you’d both lost your voices and the frustration welled so high you just couldn’t breathe anymore, you’d been thankful for the idea of sleeping soundly for the first time in months. 

You’d been wrong. You weren’t even sleeping anymore; just long, slow blinks where your phone screen would magically turn from 3:45 a.m. to 7:25 a.m., and in five minutes you’d have to get up and slug your way through another day. 

Tendou had been the same. Those naturally wide eyes sagged under the pressure, and the curve of his spine had deepened like he’d been hauling the lack of sleep everywhere he went. 

He must be sitting at his window now, at this moment in his message, pale skin aglow with wispy tendrils of moon. And he’s calling you. And he saw everything you’d done. 

“Not fair. Not fair at all,” he whines, teasing. Always, always teasing, and if you hadn’t heard the slight cripple in his voice on the last word, you’d have gone on thinking he viewed it as one big joke. 

You’re sure he heard the same thing you had—that he couldn’t keep acting like it was all fun and games. His usual, cat-like smile surely fell into a pert little frown, pale lips twisting like he’d sucked on a lemon. 

No fun, no fun, no fun, he must have been thinking. 

“Ya see, I thought we had a little deal,” Tendou drawls. “You’d talk smack and start dressing all pretty just to spite me, and then–and then I’d go ahead and delete all your pictures and put your name as ‘Bitch’ in my phone. And in, like, two weeks, we’d just be two ships, whoosh, whoosh, passing each other on the high seas of life, ya know?”

He breathes a ghost of a laugh. 

“But, sweetheart, you look like shit.” He chuckles for real this time, and it’s disgustingly hollow. “I’m not even kidding. Like someone ran you over three times every morning—it’s horrible, really.”

You curl into yourself even further, and you’re smiling, grinning, lips peeling with how much you’ve cried and how little water you’ve drank after. You hate him; God, you hate how he can make you laugh and cry at the same time. 

“But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass just this once. I haven’t deleted your pictures yet, so I botched my end of the deal, too.” Tendou tsks his tongue. 

“I won’t go easy on you, though. Here–here, how’s about this: for every day you stop wearing my clothes—because they look horrible on you, sweetheart; really, you’re painful to watch—I’ll delete one of your pictures, eh? That means, in about–uhhdivideby365daysinayearignoringleapyearbullshit–ah, seven years, I’ll have held up my end. S’that good with you?”

You lean your head back, letting the tears flood your hair as he chuckles to himself. 

“Fuck it,” he says after a pause. Hopeless. Breathless. “Fuck it.” He must be gnawing on that pale lower lip, biting and nibbling until it bleeds. Because he lets something go to sigh again, and he must have smacked his head against the wall, and then you think he sniffled. 

“I still want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I’m tired of missing you and wanting you. Doing both hurts too much.”

Tendou soughs.

“So I’m still your Chicken Tendy, baby. Always. And I’ll be here when you're ready, syphilis and all.”

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #tendou x reader #tendou satori x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyu x reader #satori x reader #oikawa tooru #tendou satori #satori tendou #tooru oikawa #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu headcanons

[mariasont]

Bumper to Bumper - A.H

a/n: this is so self-indulgent i am probably the worst fucking parker you've ever seen it's wild & i also just watched a vid of mgg parking someone's car and went feral so there's that

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader (i don't think there is any use of pronouns just nicknames like honey)

warnings: none? rough day, reader is beefing with parking, tooth-rotting fluff

wc: 800

"Hotchner," came his voice, rough like sandpaper across the line, as you fought back the swell of tears, your lower lip caught in the anxious trap of your teeth.

Your eyes fixed on the parking spot before you, the very sight of it forming a lump in your throat as your frustration mounted. The morning had unfolded like a series of unfortunate events--your coffee machine had sputtered its last, your favorite book left forgotten on the porch to be ruined by the rain, and now, this parking spot seemed to mock you, its yellow lines almost pulsating with contempt. 

Your hand glided across your dampened cheek, exhaling a shaky breath as you juggled the phone between your ear and shoulder. "You know, I don't think I've said this enough, but you're an exceptional boss. Honestly, you're—"

You sensed the sigh in his breath before he spoke. "What do you need?"

"I know I'm late," you managed to get out, a small hiccup halting your sentence as you did everything in your power to avoid crying, but the waver in your voice gave you away. "But I have a good reason--"

Once more, he stopped you mid-sentence, as he often did. "Where are you? Is everything okay?"  

"I'm fine, it's silly."

"If something's wrong, I want to hear it. What's happening?"

"I just... I can't seem to park my car," you choke out, cheeks aflame with mortification. "I've been trying and failing, over and over, it's embarrassing. The spot's too tight, and of course, it's the only one left because 'M late."

"Hold on, I'll be right there," he said, and the line went dead.

You were left staring at your phone, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over you. You cringed, feeling smaller with each passing second, knowing he was swamped with work and here you were, unable to perform the simplest task of parking a car.

The moment you saw him step out of the building, your racing heart began to slow, his presence alone easing the knot of anxiety in your chest. He approached and opened the driver's door, and you were suddenly spilling over with apologies, the traces of tears still evident on your cheeks.

He looked at you with a gentleness that melted away the last of your defenses, reassuring you with a simple. "It's okay. I got it."

He took your place behind the wheel and parked the car with ease. As you stood there, you realized how his unwavering steadiness had become a pillar you leaned on more often than you'd like to admit. 

As he stepped out of the car, you approached, your voice barely above a whisper, "Thank you, and I'm sorry. I know it's such a small thing..."

He gave a slight sigh, one that seemed to brush away your concerns, a hint of a smile in his eyes and said, "There's nothing to apologize for. Don't be so hard on yourself," he reminded you gently, his hand coming to rest on the soft of your shoulder. 

A silent nod was all you could muster as you lifted your gaze to meet his. Your eyes were still red-rimmed from crying, and your nose, slightly pink from the number of tissues you had abused this morning. In a soft plea, you murmured, "Can I have a hug?"

Without a word, he simple open his arms, an unspoken invitation that you immediately accepted. As you nestled into his arms, your body relaxing as you inhaled his familiar scent. A soft sniffle escaped you as Hotch quietly said, "Five senses..."

You closed your eyes and focused on the sensory details--the comforting touch, his reassuring voice, the sight of his concerned gaze when you opened your eyes, the taste of the air mingled with his cologne, and the grounding scent of him. As your breathing evened out, he gently placed his hand on the pulse point at your neck, counting your heart rate in his mind. 

You stepped back, a sheepish grin spreading across your face. "I suppose driving school is next on my training agenda?"

Hotch's expression softened into a subtle smile. "I'd agree, considering I just got you that car, I'd prefer it if you got the chance to enjoy it first before crashing it," he teased back lightly. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

"Promise."

Hotch glanced at his watch, a decision forming in his eyes. "I think I can free up some time later. How about we get you another copy of your book?"

As your smile broke through the clouds of your frustration, it was as if the sun had pierced through the overcast sky of his day, bathing him in a light he never wanted to leave. "Really?" you responded, practically glowing with delight.

Hotch's heart swelled at the sight, feeling lighter than he had in ages. Gently, he cupped your face, drawing you closer to plant a tender kiss on your forehead. "I love you, honey," he said, his voice a low rumble.

You giggled, a little surprised by the public display of affection, you blushed, responding with a shy, "Love you too."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #hotch #hotchner #criminal mind x reader #criminal minds #thomas gibson #thomas gibson x reader #Spotify

[nomazee]

EVENT TIME EVENT TIME

how about.. 4:44am & dr. ratio? 🫡

AUGHH THANK U GWEN i lvoed writing ths..... first time writing dr ratio be gentle on my fragile soul

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

When Doctor Veritas Ratio walks into his very-private, very-locked, very-secluded study, he’s greeted with the unfortunate sight of you—sitting on the floor, an easel with a wide canvas set up low to the ground, oil paints sprawled absolutely everywhere. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

A sheepish smile pulls at your face, as if a sweet expression will get you out of the mess you’ve made of Ratio’s personal space. It’s far too late— late? Too early? Regardless. The hour of the night-slash-morning that you’ve decided to paint in his room is not appropriate at all. 

“I can explain,” you say, followed by a complete lack of an explanation as the two of you stew in silence for another half a minute. 

“Why are you even awake at this hour?” Ratio scoffs, stepping around you and your hazardous art set-up as he places some irrelevant stack of books on his (thankfully untouched) desk. “You should’ve been in bed a long time ago. Soon you’ll experience delirium from lack of sleep.” 

“Oh, please,” you argue, swatting a hand in his general direction playfully as you turn back to your canvas. It’s full of nauseating color, clear shapes and lines that don’t blend together in the slightest, vague animal-like forms that overlap with each other. “You’re awake too, aren’t you? Unless I really did hit delirium, and you’re just some Veritas-ghost floating around in my subconscious.” 

Ratio does not get a kick out of your very funny joke. An annoyed huff escapes him, tainted with something like weariness and exhaustion. Your eyebrow twitches. 

“And to answer your first question,” you prattle on, mindlessly scrubbing dried paint from the side of your hand with a wet rag, before picking up a fan brush, “I’m painting. This room is really well-ventilated, which is nice, because it would be a shame if all the fumes got to my head and zapped away my few remaining brain cells.” 

That one gets a laugh out of him, probably because it’s at the expense of your own intelligence. 

“There are a hundred other rooms that are exactly the same as mine,” he argues, finally turning away from his pointless shuffling of materials on his desk and facing you, looking at you while he talks to you—you know, like a normal person would. “There was no reason to infiltrate my own private study for your… painting. The door was locked, too. How did you—” 

“Don’t ask silly questions, Veritas,” and you like the way each consonant of his name clicks against your lips and teeth and tongue, “I have my ways. Does it bother you that I’m defiling your good room with my frivolous fine arts endeavors?” 

“Ridiculous,” his face screws up in displeasure at your assumption that he’d be so elitist to deny you of your passion. He walks around your spread of supplies again, carefully, before kneeling by your side to watch you work. As much as he’s loath to admit, you’re one of his few soft spots, and it shows in the way he traces the lines of your paint with his gaze, and the fact that he has yet to kick you out of his room. “The humanities are just as important as any other field.” 

“Spoken like a true scholar,” you quip, trying to hold back the shakiness of your hands and the swaying of your body. It really is too late for this, but you’d slept through the day and felt much too awake by midnight. Setting up camp in Ratio’s room was a natural instinct. 

“Go to bed,” he says, commanding yet gentle as he tugs a paintbrush from your hand. He doesn’t touch your hands, never really does, but he’s gathering your scattered, wrung-out tubes of paint and the little containers of linseed oil hidden under the easel. “It does neither you nor your artwork any good to be exhausted.” 

“I’m not even tired!” you complain, dragging out your words in a whine as he nudges you with his foot in a wordless command to stand up. There’s something like a cot in the corner of his room (because he does sleep, sometimes, and often it’s between textbooks and files and loose leaf paper) and a cozy patterned blanket that’s definitely yours. 

“You will be tired the second your head hits the mattress.” 

“This is a really awful mattress, Ratio.” 

“Don’t complain,” and his tone is harsh but you know he doesn’t mean it, because he’s pushing you back onto the little sleeping corner and tucking you into the blanket, nothing short of kindness in his hands. “You still have to clean your mess in the morning.” 

Sure, you think, already drifting off. By the time you wake up, you know that your mess will be packed away in a neat pile, floor wiped clean and canvas propped safely against the wall.

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or my general taglist (navigation) to be tagged in upcoming works!

#nora hits 1k #dr ratio x reader #dr. ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #veritas x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #veritas ratio #hsr ratio x reader #hsr dr. ratio x reader #hsr veritas ratio x reader #hsr fic #dr. ratio fic #dr. ratio #heart pounding in my chest as i click 'post now' with a shaky finger begging and praying that i did ratio justice #me when: i cannot accurately characterize anybody at all ever

[cntloup]

Fem!Reader angst, hurt/comfort, body image issues due to pregnancy

He walks into your shared bedroom after he finds the living room empty and the lights off, “Love, you in here?” he asks, noticing you’re not asleep either as he previously thought.

He makes his way to the bathroom when his eyes land on the line of light at the foot of the door.

His eyebrows furrow in concern when he hears your hiccups and sniffles from the other side of the door, “You ok, lovie?” he asks worriedly, “Yeah! I’m fine!” you try to sound convincing but to no avail as your voice comes out weak and shaky.

“Can I open the door?” he asks and you wrestle with the thought of letting him come in or not. Do you want him to see you like this? “Yeah.” your mouth answers before your mind does.

You immediately regret it, but it’s too late now as the door opens and your husband sets his eyes on you, your body completely bare and trying to hide yourself, the parts that you hate, with your hands as best as you can.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with concern, walking up to you. You look like a deer caught in the headlights. In an instant, you hide behind the curtain.

“N-nothing’s wrong. I'll be out in a few minutes.” you try to get him to leave but he persists, “You know you can tell me anything, love. Please tell me what’s wrong. I'm worried about you.” he says from the other side of the curtain.

Within seconds, you burst into tears, not being able to control yourself anymore. “I-I fucking hate it. My body has changed so much. Nothing fits any more. I hate the way I look!” you finally blurt out to him through sobs and he can’t believe the words that reach his ears.

All this time, you were a goddess in his eyes. How could you not see it? How could you not feel beautiful? Didn't he show you enough how he felt?

But this is not your fault. Your body has gone through drastic changes due to your pregnancy. And it has taken a heavy toll on you, not only physically but mentally as well.

“Love, you’re beautiful, mesmerizing. You're a goddess. Please don't let these awful thoughts get into you.” he responds softly.

“Can I see you now please?” he questions, eager to see his beautiful wife after a long day, but more eager to get you to believe him.

“Y-yeah.” you reply weakly, hesitant. He slowly pushes the curtain away and steps in front of you. His eyes land on your naked form and he can see nothing but sheer beauty.

“Do you really mean it?” you ask shyly, still trying to hide. “ ‘course I mean it, love. You're drop-dead gorgeous.” he reassures you, “But I've changed so much!” you retort, on the verge of tears.

“Dove, you’ve been carrying our child for nine months. Of course that would cause some changes. But that doesn’t mean you’re any less beautiful now than you were before. You're so fuckin’ beautiful, love.” he responds, getting closer to you.

“How can I fight these thoughts away?” he murmurs only inches away from your face, feeling helpless, desperate to make you feel better.

Your heart swells with love as you look at your loving husband and a soft smile forms on your lips as you begin to feel secure.

You slowly remove your hands from your body, making his breath hitch in his throat, his eyes sparkling with love.

You take his hands in yours to pull him closer and he leans in to plant a loving kiss on your lips.

His hands find their way to your body, tenderly caressing the plush of your hips, slowly moving to your belly which is where you’re the most insecure about, making you gasp against his lips.

"It’s ok, love... It's just me." he reassures you in between kisses, his touch lingering, "I love you." he whispers into the kiss.

His sweet and tender touch, his loving words and his soft voice make you feel fuzzy. You feel safe in his arms.

His lips travel down to your neck and slowly lower and lower, kissing all the areas that you feel uncomfortable with. And you close your eyes, lost in a haze, savoring the feeling as he dotes on you.

He peppers soft kisses on your tummy, making you giggle. His heart flutters at the sound, happy that he managed to make you feel even a little better.

He wraps his arms around your waist, his head resting on your belly, “Better, love?” he asks, loving eyes looking up at you. “Yeah. Thanks, Si!... I love you too.” you reply with a warm smile, nuzzling his cheeks and buzzed head.

“Wanna take a shower?” you ask him, smirking. “I’d love to.” he responds, grinning widely.

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost riley #ghost simon riley #cod fanfic #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #mw2 #cod modern warfare

[darling-zain]

✮ ↳ All Eyes On Me ↰

♡ yandere! actor x gn reader pt 2♡

tw/cw: obsessive love, murder, mentions of blood, slight emotional manipulation

authors notes: this took me forever i'm sorryyyy editing is a bitch :( but I'm really proud of this one!! hope you'll like it too <3

"Why weren't you watching?" His voice is cold and filled with contempt as he glares at you, his nails digging into the skin of his palm.

"I-I was! Why wouldn't I watch, I've been backstage this whole ti-" Your voice is soft, trying to quell the fury in his gaze.

"Liar!" He steps closer to you, causing you to back away. He takes a deep breath before speaking again. "You weren't watching. When I was offstage, I looked for you behind the curtains. But you were never there." He's now right in front of you, grabbing the door handle and slamming it shut. "All those training sessions, all those late nights memorizing my lines till it felt like my head was going to burst, all the blood, sweat and tears- It was all for you!" His breathing is heavy and his voice is a low growl, his light tan skin flushed with anger.

"Aurelius, I...I had no idea..." Your voice trails off, eyes gazing into his with regret. "But, I did watch! It's just that near the end I got a phone call, so I had to leave the theatre to pick it up and I got distracted!"

"I don't need your excuses." He spat, glaring down at you. "I understand. I get that I'm just another actor you have to work with; you're just here for the paycheck. And that's fine!" He backs up, a deranged smile on his face. "But could you at least pretend that you care? Just a bit?"

"I do care! why wouldn't I care, I've been working with you on this for months! Please, no need to get so upset." Your words cut through him like a knife, and his eyes widen with disbelief.

"'No need to get so upset'?! How can you even say that right now?! I've put so many hours into this, spent so much time on this all for your approval, and when the day finally comes you don't even stay to watch?! I'm not just upset, I'm-" he takes a deep breath, shaking slightly. "Heartbroken."

"Aurelius, please, listen to me. The reason why I couldn't stay is because I got a call from my best friend, and they sounded really upset, so I needed to go help them... I'm sorry."

He turns towards you, a look of cold, pure, disbelief on his face. His eyes widen as he mutters something under his breath. The room is so quiet that even though he whispered, you could hear every word clearly.

"You missed my show...for someone else?" He takes a step back. "You missed my show...because someone told you to?" The silence is thick between the two of you, the same deranged smile appearing on his face. He chuckles, his laughter becoming louder and more insane. "Are you serious?! After all that time we spent working, you left me for your friend?!" Tears roll down his face, smearing his makeup. He stumbles back into the sound table and clutches onto it while trying to regain his composure.

"Auri, you have to understand! It was an emergency, I had no other choice!" The desperation in your voice is evident, you need him to realize the severity of the situation. You walk up to him and hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder. Your breath hitches in your throat when he smacks your hand away, looking up at you through the gaps in his fingers over his eyes.

"Don't," His voice is shaky, yet still cold and unforgiving. "Don't touch me. You don't deserve to after what you've done. I know how much I mean to you now, I don't need your lame explanations." He straightens up before walking out the door, standing in the frame for a second. "Bandaids don't fix bullet holes." He departs with a swish of his hair, leaving you standing alone in the now deathly quiet sound booth.

He grabs his stuff, slipping a small object into his bag as he hurriedly exits the theatre, wiping off his smudged makeup. He doesn't even take the time to change out of his costume, his brain is too panicked to even think about anything except what you said.

"Excuse me, you work with y/n right?" A person with a panicked expression walks up to him, biting their nails worriedly. His angry expression immediately changes to one of calmness.

"Yes, I do. why do you ask?" He puts on his signature winning smile as he bends down to their height.

"Well, I was with them earlier when they said they had to leave, and they didn't even tell me where before they just left! I know they work here, so I was wondering if you've seen them?" Your friend seems really troubled at your sudden disappearance, but Aurelius had other things on his mind.

"Actually, I think I have an idea of where they might be. Follow me!" His charming disposition and comfortable aura would make anyone follow him without question, including your friend. They started to walk together, the silence between them tense because of the worry that accompanied it. He lead them up and down roads, into busy lanes and quiet walkways. Eventually, they landed in front of a large forest.

"Wait... this is their favourite forest! You're a genius, I don't know why I didn't think to come here sooner!" Aurelius looked at your friend with exquisitely veiled contempt, their eyes shining with hope disgusting him.

"Oh, really?" He feigns surprise, not wanting to give away his true intentions just yet. "I didn't know! I just remember seeing them come here one time after work, I didn't know it was their favourite." He was lying. He knew everything about you. Your coffee order, the route you took home after work every day, the position in which you slept, everything. "Shall we head in?" He asked politely, extending a hand toward them. They nodded, walking into the dimly lit forest.

"I don't think I got your name, sorry."

He scoffs inwardly, berating them in his mind. "How do you not know my name? Me, the Aurelius Yavuz? You should be able to tell from one glance alone!" He thought, but he responded kindly regardless. "It's Aurelius. Aurelius Yavuz. And you?"

"Carmen! It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yavus!" The way your friend sounds so cheerful disgusts him.

"Likewise," he mumbles, his voice sounding slightly pompous from their ignorance of his status. He brings their attention elsewhere, just wanting to get this whole ordeal over and done with as soon as possible. "I think I heard a noise over that way, would you like to check it out?" He points towards a dark corner of the forest with a small clearing in the middle.

"That looks like their hiding spot...yes, I think they might be there! quick!" Carmen starts to run into the thicket of trees, leaving Aurelius behind. In the dim light of the evening sun peeking through the trees, his eyes glow with a menacing aura. A confident smirk makes its way onto his face as he follows behind them. He pulls a small knife out of his bag, the shining metal glinting in the light.

"Aurelius...they're...not here..." Carmen's disappointed voice emanates through the forest. He slowly walks toward them, the satisfied look on his face making him seem even more insane than before.

"Aww, now isn't that a shame~?" He steps even closer, now almost nose-to-nose with them. "Don't worry," He brings his arm behind their shoulder, placing his hand right behind their neck. "You won't have to even think about them anymore." In a flash, Carmen collapses to the ground, the once pristine silver knife now tainted with potent red sin.

He dusts off his hand, wiping the blood on the knife onto the backside of his costume. He scoffs as he looks down onto the now still body of your beloved friend, kicking their body into the bushes beside him. He walks away and out of the forest, taking the same path you always take to your residence. He stops in front of your house, knocking on the door. He takes a deep breath and forcefully makes his eyes look teary, needing every tactic he knows to make you believe him. You open the door, stepping back when you see him.

"Aurelius, why are you-"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out at you like that. I just...was so upset, I thought this show meant something to you! But, I understand that you have your priorities, so I'm not mad anymore. Forgive me?" He gazes into your eyes, false tears now pooling at the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, Auri..." You embrace him tightly, crying into his chest. "I'm so sorry! I should've stayed, I should've watched, I didn't mean to hurt you that bad, I'm sorry!" You can't see his face as you're sobbing into his shirt, not able to see the knowing smirk on his lips. He pats your head kindly, cooing at you to help you calm down.

"Hey, hey, don't cry... it's okay now. Everything's been taken care of, now it's just you," he kisses the top of your head, rubbing soothing circles into his back as a sharp glint flashes through his eyes.

"and me."

taglist!! @lasagna-goob @izizzl @skylark144 @cyphertryagain

#zain>>works #tw yandere #tw obsessive love #tw murder #tw blood ment #yandere blog #yandere writing #soft yandere #yandere x you #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #oc x reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.

#dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

[heytheredelulu]

Sometimes my brain imagines Bucky befriending another ex HYDRA agent (The Winter Rose) that I totally made up in my head and they bond over their shared trauma and begin to toe that fine line of friendship and budding romance but she’s too afraid to cross that line and risk losing him and it’s like:

She places one hand flat against his chest, the other moving to grip his jaw and pull him a breath away from her mouth. Tears brim her eyes and she blinks them back, inhaling a shaky breath before she speaks in a low voice.

“HYDRA broke my mind. They broke my soul and I survived. But you.. if you..” She falters and uses the hand on his chest to prod him with a finger. “If you break my heart, I won’t survive it.. do you understand?” She whispers.

His brows knit in concern and he reaches up to wrap his fingers around her wrist, lowering her hand from his chest. “Do you really think that I could ever hurt you?” He asks softly, the pain evident in his voice.

“Everyone in my life has cut me, Sarge.” She whispers, loosening her grip on his chin. “And I’m so goddamned sick of bleedin’.”

He shakes his head, a heavy sigh escaping his parted lips. “I could never hurt you.” He says firmly, his blue eyes pinning her under his gaze.

“And how do I know that? How do I know you’re still gonna be in my bed when I wake up tomorrow?” She asks, her bottom lip quivering slightly. “Because I want you, I want you bad, and I’m so close to crossing that line but that little shred of self preservation in my head is tellin’ me I wouldn’t survive it if you snuck out before the sun came up.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #sergeant james barnes #sergeant james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes

[zegrasdrysdale]

Hi! I had a dream last night where Nico got severely injured during a game and died (my dreams are crazy, I know) and I was devastated. But it gave me an idea for a fic where the reader has a similar dream but Nico’s on a roadie so she calls him and she’s still shaken up by it when he gets home. Lots of fluff! Loved your other Nico fics too btw!!

[ nightmare ] n. hischier

paring : Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : (Y/N) has a dream where husband Nico dies on the ice. to assure herself that he’s okay, she calls him while on his roadie and he makes sure to comfort her as soon as he gets home to Jersey

warning(s) : mentions of blood, severe injury and death

author’s note : i have been excited to write this request since i got it. it’s all i have been able to think about since i first read it (also anon, pls relax w these crazy dreams)

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The Prudential Center fell silent as soon as the Devils captain hit the ground, unmoving, after an opponent’s skate hit his neck. Paramedics and training staff came running out as soon as the first drops of blood hit the ice.

Nico’s eyes are open, but the light is completely gone. He is staring at the ceiling. Both teams have gathered around him as they try to block the sight of him from the crowd and flashing cameras. Paramedics strip him of his jersey and gear as they work on him.

A pin could drop and the sound would echo with how quiet it is in the arena. Fans are on their feet. (Y/N) has pressed herself against the glass as she watches the paramedics stop pushing on his chest nearly ten minutes after they started.

It feels like her own chest caves in when the paramedic beside Nico looks up and shakes their head. “He’s gone.”

The words are loud and clear, even through the glass.

“Nico!”

She wakes up with a start and a racing heart. She's reaching out for her husband, but he isn't in bed with her.

The sight of a dead Nico in a pool of his own blood on the ice is so fresh on her mind that her entire body shakes. Every time she blinks, all she can see is the paramedic shaking their head.

Her cheeks are wet with tears as she looks around the dark room. Her husband’s name is on her lips.

He isn’t gone. He’s just on the west coast for a roadie for the week. He’ll be back this weekend. All he's doing is playing the California teams and Vancouver then he'll be back in their apartment.

If he’s going to be on the west coast for the week then he will be awake right now.

As soon as the realization that Nico might still be awake hits her, she reaches for her charging phone on the table beside her. With shaky fingers, she finds Nico’s contact and clicks the call button.

It rings a few times before Nico picks up. “Hej, liebling,” he says as soon as he picks up. She can hear music in the background, like he’s out with his teammates. “You okay? It’s pretty late for you.”

The moment she hears her husband’s voice. she lets out a soft sob. She covers her mouth, but Nico already heard the sob.

“Baby,” Nico tries again. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

“Nothing,” she croaks. “It’s stupid. I’m sorry for calling.”

She goes to hang up but Nico is already talking. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “Give me a second to get somewhere that's a little more quiet so I can hear you.”

Nico shouts something to someone then the music gets quieter. Her hands still shake so she puts the phone on speaker and grabs Nico’s pillow. It still smells like him since he’s only been gone two days. She plays with her weddings ring.

A door shuts on the other end of the line. It’s quiet for a moment then Nico asks, “Why are you crying, baby?”

“It’s really stupid, Nico,” she tells him.

“Nothing is stupid when you’re crying, liebling,” he softly replies to her. “So talk to me.”

She bites her lip and grips Nico’s pillow. “I had a dream,” she begins to say. “More of a nightmare, I think. You died on the ice after getting cut with a skate. It felt real and I needed to hear your voice so I knew that you were okay. It was a really stupid reason to call you, especially since you’re out with the team.”

Her husband is quiet for a second like he’s processing what she said. “(Y/N), listen to me,” he says. “If you call me, even when I’m out with the team, I will answer. There is no such thing as a stupid reason to call me. Okay?”

She mumbles an “okay” but she isn’t very convinced.

“Just know that I’m okay too,” Nico continues. “I’m not hurt. Actually, nothing is hurt. I feel really good despite getting bumped a few times tonight.” He pauses. “Are you okay? Sounds like this dream really shook you up.”

With the back of her hand, (Y/N) wipes away her tears because Nico isn’t here right now. “It felt so real,” she whispers. “Seeing you on the ice. Eyes lifeless and you so still with the blood around you. I couldn’t do anything because I was behind the glass. I couldn’t get to you.”

Tears well in her eyes as she remembers her nightmare. Banging on the glass echoes in her head and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“I wish I was with you,” Nico confesses. “Do I need to ask if I can come home? I can say that there is a family issue and be home by tomorrow.”

“No!” she quickly says. “I’ll be okay until you get home. You don't need to come back home. Promise me you’ll be okay and won’t take any skates to the neck or anything please.”

“I promise,” he replies. “The guys are heading back to the hotel. Do you need me to stay on the phone until you go back to sleep?”

She thinks about it, but she’s not a child anymore. “I’ll be okay,” she tells him. “Go get some sleep. Have a safe travel day tomorrow and I’ll see you when you get home. Text me when you land."

“Alright,” Nico sighs. “I love you. Try to get some sleep.”

“I love you too,” she replies. “Goodnight.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Her husband must really love her because the next game after that phone call, (Y/N) sees Nico on the ice with a neck guard on. She smiles and nearly cries at the sight. He's taking that precaution because of the phone call.

She does cry when Nico comes walking through the door five days after the phone call.

(Y/N) hears his key jiggle in the door around three and she is immediately on her feet. The door swings open and before Nico can let go of his suitcase, she jumps on him and wraps herself completely around him.

“Thank God,” she sobs into her husband’s neck. She peppers the skin with soft kisses. “You’re here. You’re really okay.”

“Of course I am, liebling,” Nico replies as he wraps his arms around his wife. “I’m here and I’m okay.”

The door shuts behind Nico and he walks into the living room. He sits with her completely wrapped around him. Both of her knees are on either side of his waist. "I missed you," she whispers.

He wraps his arms around her tight. "I know," he replies. "You've called me every single day. You've never done that before."

"That dream really messed me up, Nico," she confesses. He puts a finger under her chin and lifts her head up. Her husband is blurry because of the tears that have welled up in her eyes. “I haven’t really slept well because of it. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is-”

“I know, liebling,” Nico interrupts so she doesn’t have to say it again. “I’m here. I promised that I’d never leave you when we said ‘I do’ last year, and I intend to keep it. Even in your dreams from here on out.”

Her bottom lip wobbles and Nico’s thumb brushes it softly. “I can’t believe you love me enough to wear a neck guard,” she whispers.

He smiles and brushes her hair behind her ear. “If it meant keeping myself safe so you wouldn’t be worried then yeah, I’ll wear neck guards,” he tells her. “I know you have been worried since every news outlet is talking about neck guards and player safety. It’s clearly bothering you so to make sure I took every precaution to keep you from worrying.”

She feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders with Nico taking precautions to stay safe. It’s not much but it’ll keep her from reliving her nightmare.

Without realizing it, she yawns right in Nico’s face. “Are you tired, baby?” he asks with laughter evident in his voice.

(Y/N) nods and nuzzles right in to his neck. Her nose rests against his jaw and she sighs. “Gonna sleep right here, okay?”

“Sleep as long as you want,” he replies. “I’ll take a nap with you.”

She hums and settles in. She wraps her arms around his torso under his suit jacket to get warm while Nico buries his nose in her hair.

“Ich liebe dich,” Nico whispers, the Swiss-German making her feel a little more comfortable and relaxed.

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MASTERLIST

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#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier fluff #zegrasdrysdale request

[thebucketpail]

A little blurb based on this thought that I had

When You Accidentally Kill a Clown pt. 1

Pt. 2 Ao3

This is not ideal. Danny thought deftly as he stared in shock at the absolutely massive problem he had just created for himself. He blinked slowly, trying to bring his brain back to speed. Definitely not Ideal.

Not even one week in Gotham, that was all it took to make such a big mess, thank you very much Fenton Luck. Danny had been accepted into Gotham U, having qualified for practically a full ride scholarship, and started next week. He had been in town to get settled for about three days when he was walking back to his apartment from a nearby Batburger.

Unfortunately a certain clown mistook him for a Wayne and well… yeah, he needed help with this.

“Hey Danny what’s up?” Sam’s voice rang as the call finally connected.

“Sam I think I have a problem,”

“What? Your roommate’s too Hot?΅ she joked

“No- no it's not my roommate-” he squeaked out. Shit how would he explain this? Logically Sam would be perfectly normal about it, probably even ecstatic, considering he did just-

“I killed the Joker” Danny blurted plowing past the sputtering noises coming from the other end of the line, “I didn’t mean to, i was just walking back to my apartment and he jumped out of an alley and tried to kidnap me, and you know I hate clowns and he caught me off guard, and well humans are a lot more squishy than ghosts and I think I used a bit too much force, but yeah.” he paused for a breath, “I killed the Joker, At least I think it's him. Ancients, Sam the bats are gonna kill me for this”

The tinny laughter he got in reply did nothing to calm Danny’s fraying nerves.

“Sam don’t laugh what am I meant to do?’’ He hissed

It took a few more moments for Sam to collect herself before she responded. “I’m sorry Danny, that's just so you of you to manage killing the Joker your first week in Gotham. Holdup, I'm gonna get Tuck real quick.”

As the sound of shuffling and footsteps filled the receiver, Danny tried calming down. Breathing deeply he walked over to examine the body. Yep, he thought, definitely the Joker, that pasty face and greasy green hair were hard to mistake, even for a non-Gothamite. Danny wrinkled his nose at the acrid stench rising from the smoking crater in the clown’s gut. You can never be too sure though, so Danny reached over to check for a pulse. Nothing.

The distant bickering died down as Tucker’s voice rang from Danny’s phone.

“Duuue, did you really?”

Danny took a shaky breath, raising the device back to his face, “Y-Yeah, he’s dead,” God please don’t let him come back to haunt me. ”Tuck what do I do?”

“Honestly man, I think you should just leave him, someone will find him eventually,” Tuck replied, the nonchalance oozing through his voice.

“I don’t know, I feel like we should tell someone or something-”

“Holy Shit!” Danny froze at the new voice coming from behind him. “Is that really him?” Red Hood asked incredulously. Ancients that's THE RED HOOD. Danny is so double dead.

“Tuck, I think someone found out,” he whispered into the mic, not taking his eyes off the imposing Figure that was the literal RED HOOD.

“It’s probably fine,” but Danny cut him off with a strangled yelp as Red Hood turned to face him Muscles tensing, shifting from shock to Ancients Danny hoped that rage wasn’t directed at him. That hope slowly dwindled as the vigilante stalked toward him, hand drifting toward the holster at his hip. Danny gulped.

“Did you do this?!” Hood seethed, and Yup Danny was going to die again today. What should he say? ‘Yes mr red hood sir I killed the Joker please don’t kill me’ no, no he should not say that. So he settled to let out a strangled squeak and a small nod.

Danny couldn’t breath as Hood crouched to assess the body. I didn’t breathe when Hood stared him down. No Danny didn’t even breathe when a distorted laugh rang through the air, or when Tucker and Sam anxiously screamed at Danny to respond.

“I Can’t believe the Fucker’s finally dead,” Hood breathed, kicking the dead clown for good measure. “What’s your Name Kid?”

Finally Danny let a relieved sigh escape his lips, he Probably wouldn’t die again tonight.

“Um, Danny?” he said tentatively, his voice rising toward the end making it sound more like a question. Hood just laughed more.

“Well Danny, do you like burgers? I've got to thank you somehow.” Dany was in shock. What. the actual. Hell. slowly he nodded because what else was he supposed to do when RED freaking HOOD offered him food for killing a literal terrorist on accident. “Good, I have to make a few quick calls but don’t go anywhere.” and he walked a few paces away, leaving Danny in Shock and confusion.

Slowly he raised the forgotten phone to his ear. “Uuuuh Guys…” he waited a moment for the yelling to die down before continuing, yeah, this might be interesting.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #red hood #danny killed the joker #it was an accident okay #he forgot humans are squishy #oh god is hood going to kill him? #nope just take him for bugers and a milkshake #buckets writes things?