chimtaesty

[chimtaesty]

not gonna lie I could DIE for your cowgirl ! Vi series. Like yeah I need to be a cowgirl’s wife 🤧 Would you be interested to write something about Vi and her companions doing a shooting can game, and reader wanna join and try. Vi is a bit surprise but she knows a wife as the unexpected kind sooo 👀 something badass, cute and Vi being a huge softie and reader number one supporter ! also a late happy birthday !

𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄

━━ જ⁀➴

જ⁀➴ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 cowgirl!vi x sweet little housewife!reader / 0.5k words જ⁀➴ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 fluff જ⁀➴ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 thank you for requesting this! I just loooove cowgirl!vi so here you go, hope you like it!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The county fair is buzzing with life—laughter spilling from the cotton candy stands, lights flashing from the Ferris wheel, and the smell of fried everything thick in the air.

You’re tucked against Vi’s side, one arm looped through hers as you both wander the gravel paths with a few of her ranch buddies trailing behind. You’ve got your sunhat tilted just right, your sundress catching the breeze, and Vi’s hand resting on the curve of your waist like it belongs there.

“Y’ever take her shootin’, Vi?” One of the guys—Mike, maybe—asks with a crooked grin, nodding toward the shooting game up ahead. A little stall with glass bottles lined up like soldiers on a wooden pillar, daring someone to knock ‘em down.

Vi chuckles, deep and amused. “Nah,” she says, squeezing your hip gently. “Ain’t her kinda thing.”

That makes you glance up at her, brows arching like a dare. “Is that so?”

Vi’s smirk is all confidence and charm as she pats your hip as if too soothe you “Ain’t no shame in it, darlin’. Some folks just weren’t made for holdin’ a rifle.”

Mike’s already fishing out a few bills. “C’mon, let her try. Can’t always be the pretty little thing bakin’ pies, right?” That makes you grin, Mike’s right.

You step away from Vi, letting your arm slip from hers. “I’ll do it.” 

Vi blinks once. “Wait, sugar—”

“I said I’ll do it,” you say again, a little sweeter this time as you approach the stall. A small grin on your face and a little pep in your step.

The fair guy hands you the rifle, old but sturdy. You plant your feet, lift it with care, and take your time sighting the first bottle - like Vi’s taught you.

Vi’s gone quiet behind you, arms crossed and jaw ticking just a little.

You pull the trigger.

The bottle shatters on impact and you tilt your head with a pleased hum - you’ve learned well.

A chorus of whoops and hollers rises from behind you. You just cock the rifle again, aiming smooth and steady, and take down the next two bottles.

By the time you set the rifle down, Vi’s already at your side—arms slipping around your waist, that damn smug look plastered across her face like she knew it all along.

“Well I’ll be damned,” she murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “Look at you, darlin’. My sharp-shootin’ housewife.”

You grin up at her, all sunshine and mischief.

“Told you I’m not just a housewife.”Vi hums, fingers curling tighter at your waist as she pulls you close, her breath warm against your ear.

“No, ma’am. You’re the whole damn package.”

[chimtaesty]

𝟗𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓-𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋

━━ ᝰ.ᐟ

(so for reaching 900 followers, i want to give a little bit back. so i'll feed you 9 little smut-drabbles - about five hundred words long - of different characters)

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 - no date yet

cowgirl!vi x sweet little housewife!reader

professor!abby x student!reader

racer!ellie x reader

sirius black x reader

nat scatorccio x reader

maya bishop x reader

finnick odair x reader

jinx x reader

james potter x reader

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐓

if you wish to be tagged in the specials, please comment below this post!

[chimtaesty]

Abby x masc reader who can DANCE hips waist and everything is moving and Abby’s just hypnotized, then getting wayyy wayy too jealous when they end up catching ass on accident

Angst or smut or fluff is fine!! (But please fluffy)

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒-𝐘𝐎𝐔

━━ ᝰ.ᐟ

──★ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 abby anderson x reader / 0.8k words ──★ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 suggestive, jealousy ──★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 this was such fun to write! thanks for requesting, i hope you like it!!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The music pulses through the club, a steady thrum that settles in your chest like a second heartbeat. Lights strobe overhead, casting flashes of color across the crowd.

Abby’s hand is warm in yours as she pulls you through the chaos, weaving past bodies with single-minded purpose. She’s taller, broader—built like she could knock someone out without breaking a sweat—and right now, she’s dragging you like a ragdoll toward the bar.

She doesn’t look back, doesn’t need to. You follow, breathless and grinning.

Abby orders a beer—classic. No surprises there. You opt for a whiskey and coke, because the bartenders here are generous with the ice and stingy with the pour. You don’t even try to hide your fond eye-roll when Abby pulls out her wallet.

Swiftly, you push her hand down and slip your own card to the bartender. “Let me pay, baby,” you murmur into her ear, soft and teasing.

Abby makes a sound—half grunt, half sigh, clearly displeased—but she doesn’t push it. She never really wins these little standoffs, and you both know it.

You take your drink, give her a look, all crooked grin and heat behind your eyes. “Wanna dance with me?”

She takes a swig of her beer instead of answering. The scoff she lets out is subtle, but you hear it loud and clear—her silent “hell no.” You just laugh, lean in to press a quick kiss to her cheek. Her lashes flutter at the touch.

And then you’re gone, slipping into the sea of bodies moving under colored lights.

The music’s something vaguely familiar—upbeat, maybe a 90s throwback—and it fills your limbs like static. You let it guide you, hips swaying, arms loose at your sides.

You’ve never needed company to own a dance floor, and if Abby prefers to brood in the corner with her beer and her eyes locked on you like a sniper—well, that’s her prerogative.

You’re in your element. You’re grinning. Until she shows up.

A girl—tipsy, bold, barely held together in a slinky black dress—locks eyes with you from across the floor. She points, long manicured nail aimed your way like a dare.

You barely have a second to react before she spins around, throws an arm around your shoulders, and grinds herself against you like you’re part of the scenery.

Your arms shoot up, stiff in the air like you’ve just walked into a bank robbery instead of a club. You don’t move. You don’t touch. Not because you’re uncomfortable, but because you already feel the change in the air.

You don’t need to look to know she’s seen it.

Abby.

She moves through the crowd like a storm brewing slow and dangerous—shoulders squared, jaw tight, that unmistakable scowl carved into her face like stone.

Her eyes are locked on the girl plastered to you like a second skin, and if looks could kill, there’d already be blood on the floor.

You swallow hard.

Shit.

“Get the fuck away from my girlfriend.” Abby’s voice cuts through the music like a whip—low, sharp, and laced with barely restrained fury.

Before the girl can blink, Abby’s hand clamps around her upper arm and yanks her back.

She stumbles with a startled squeak, heels catching on the floor, and spins around with a glare already forming—until she gets a proper look at Abby.

All 5'9" of broad-shouldered, scowling woman.

The girl's expression flickers from defiance to survival instinct in half a second. She mutters something under her breath and slinks off, wisely choosing not to test her luck.

Abby doesn’t even spare her another glance. Her arm snakes tightly around your waist, firm and possessive—like a claim, like a warning. You feel it in your bones, and it makes your knees a little weak.

Your heart’s still hammering like a war drum, but you lean in, smiling softly despite yourself. “I think I like jealous-you,” you tease, arms sliding easily around her neck.

“That’s ‘cause half these bitches think you’re a stud,” Abby grumbles against your neck, voice all gravel and heat as she presses a trail of warm, lingering kisses to your skin.

You hum, half-laughing, fingers toying with the soft hairs at the nape of her neck. “Yeah, well…” you begin, breath catching when her lips brush a little too close to your pulse.

Abby huffs, half into a smirk. “Gotta start makin’ you wear skirts—can’t have us both out here lookin’ like masc trouble.”

“Oh, hell no.” You scoff with a laugh—but barely get the words out before her hand slides down and grabs a handful of your ass.

“Would look good on you,” she murmurs, shameless. “Might give me easy access.”

Your ears burn, and you slap her bicep with a shocked laugh. Abby just grins wide, unbothered, delighted with herself, her laugh low and rumbling in your ear.

[chimtaesty]

love ur writing! can u write sub abby being obsessed with reader’s tits and calling her mommy?

𝐒𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘

━━ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

જ⁀➴ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 sub!abby anderson x reader / 0.4k words જ⁀➴ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 smut - MDNI જ⁀➴ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 i've never done sub!abby but i think it was time - hope you like this little filthy something!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

It starts innocently - who’re you kidding - nothing’s really innocent with Abby. Her head’s resting on your chest and her fingers absentmindedly toy with the hem of your shirt. You know what’s coming, you always do.

“Can I..can I take your shirt off?” She mumbles into the fabric of your shirt, breath warm against your covered skin,  you have to suppress a smirk.

“That’s not how we ask, is it, baby?” You answer, voice soft and quiet, it earns you a low desperate sound.

“Can I please take off your shirt, mommy?” She tries again. Her gaze lifts to yours - glassy and so needy - to think that this mountain of a woman is this desperate little thing when in your bed makes you wetter than anything else.

“That’s better, mh?” You give her a small grin and tilt your head, your hands let go of her hair and it signals the go, she doesn’t need words. Abby doesn’t waste any time and strips the shirt off you with fidgety hands and teeth biting the corner of her lip.

Her eyes focus on your now bare chest and you watch how her pupils dilate - how she licks her lips and makes a soft involuntary sound which can only be described as pathetically needy.

One of her hands comes up to cup your left tit, thumb gently running over the rosy bud which earns Abby an approving hum from you. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

“Can I..please lick’em, mommy?” she whispers breathlessly and all you can manage is a nod - Abby doesn’t need to be told twice.  She surges forward, warm tongue on your nipple like she’s been dying to taste you. Her tongue moves desperately - fast and wet.

You lean your head back with a moan.

“Taste so good, mommy - so good.” She mumbles between sucking on the pebble like a drowning man clings to a raft.

The wet obscene sounds fill the room and you bring a hand to her hair, reverently stroking her scalp as you watch her lap at your breasts.

“Such a good girl.”

[chimtaesty]

𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐊𝐄-𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋?

━━ ꩜ .ᐟ

♒︎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 spike x reader / 4.2k words ♒︎ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 fluff, funny banter ♒︎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 this has been sitting in my drafts but i think i wanna just throw it out there, here u go :)

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The stench of freshly turned earth makes your nose twitch. A fledgling’s grave, sloppy job. You can practically hear the bastard breathing under the soil.

“Are they always this late?” you mutter, voice like silk and venom, arms crossed over your leather corset. Spike lights a cigarette beside you, grin twitching like he’s been waiting for that exact question.

“Yeah. Slayer’s got a flair for dramatic timing, luv. Likes to roll in just as the punchin’ starts.”

You roll your eyes. The last time you waited this long for a hunt, Napoleon still had teeth.

Then—finally—voices. Footsteps. That chirpy American cadence that makes your ears bleed.

Buffy Summers arrives in a blur of blonde and sarcasm, flanked by her usual entourage: Red Witch, Book Boy, and the Tall One Who Smells Like Anxiety. Buffy halts when she sees you standing at Spike’s side, her stake twitching slightly in her grip.

“Who’s the new bloodsucker?” she asks, eyes narrowing.

Spike grins wider. “Not new, Slayer. This is Y/N. My bird.”

You offer a smile that’s all teeth. “Charmed,” you say, voice like a threat wrapped in velvet. “Spike insisted we do this the collaborative way. Personally, I find hunting more efficient without teenage commentary.”

Willow lets out a small “oh,”

Xander nudges Buffy. “She kinda sounds like if evil had a skincare routine.”

You arch a brow. “You do realize insulting ancient vampires is a quick way to test your mortality, yes?”

“Okay!” Buffy claps her hands once, fake cheerful. “Let’s hunt.”

The earth cracks beside you. The fledgling bursts through like clockwork, teeth gnashing. Spike launches forward with a delighted, “Ooooh, here we go!” and it’s a blur—him swinging a fist, you catching the vamp mid-snarl, twisting his head like a bottle cap.

Dust.

“Damn,” Buffy mutters. “Didn’t even get a hit in.”

You brush invisible ash from your jacket and look over your shoulder at her. “Yes, I do make a habit of cleaning up after younger generations.”

Spike stifles a laugh, then hooks an arm around your waist. You tolerate it because you love him, idiot that he is.

“You’re so bloody elegant when you’re condescending,” he whispers in your ear.

“I learned from the best,” you murmur back, eyes still locked on Buffy.

Buffy narrows her eyes. You narrow yours right back.

This is going to be so much fun.

Buffy’s still sizing you up like you’re a puzzle piece she doesn’t like the shape of.

“So, what—you’re Spike’s girlfriend?” she asks, voice dripping with disbelief. “Do they even make vampires that old?”

You smile sweetly. “Oh, darling. They made me before they made rules about vampires.”

Giles has just arrived—poor man, slightly out of breath, holding a crossbow and several books under one arm like he thought this would be a classroom session. He slows to a halt when he sees you, his eyes widening behind those thick glasses.

“Oh,” he says. “Dear God.”

You give him a polite nod. “Rupert. Still quoting Latin badly, I assume?”

He actually blushes. “You—you know who she is?” he says to Buffy. “That’s Y/N of Carthage. She predates the Council’s earliest records by nearly four centuries. Allegedly wiped out a monastery in Provence for mispronouncing her name.”

You sigh. “It was a spelling mistake. And they knew better.”

Xander lets out a nervous laugh. “Cool. Cool cool cool. So, Spike’s dating the Dracula version of a Bond villain.”

“Oi!” Spike protests, arm still slung around your waist. “She’s not a villain. She’s just misunderstood. Also terrifying. But like—in a sexy way.”

You elbow him lightly in the ribs. “Flatter me again and I’ll let you live.”

Willow edges closer to Buffy, whispering, “Do you think she’s evil? Like, really evil? Or like Spike-evil?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy mutters back. “But she makes Spike look like a kitten.”

You roll your eyes. “You children and your obsession with alignment. I’m not here to destroy the world. That’s so… 2003.”

Spike snorts. “Told you, she’s retired. Took up pottery for a bit. Think she got bored after the Great Fire of London.”

“I caused the Great Fire of London,” you correct.

Buffy opens her mouth to respond but a noise cuts through the cemetery—another vamp. Sloppier this time, and clearly drunk on fresh blood. Before anyone can move, it lunges for Xander.

And you’re there. In a blink.

Your hand slams into the vampire’s chest and you rip it back just as fast, clutching his heart like a spoiled fruit. The vamp dusts before it even hits the ground. You toss the heart aside and calmly brush your hands clean.

The silence that follows is thick.

Xander squeaks. “…So are we, like, on her side? Or just not on her bad side?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you say coolly, turning on your heel. “But if I wanted any of you dead, you’d be dust before you finished your clever quip.”

You stalk off into the dark, coat billowing, heels clicking on cracked stones. Spike jogs to catch up, grinning like a schoolboy who just watched his crush set something on fire.

“That was brilliant, love,” he says. “You’ve got such presence. Terrifyin’. Hot.”

You glance at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“I put up with that Slayer and her band of fools only because you amuse me, William.”

“Aw,” he says, clasping his hands to his chest. “Romance isn’t dead after all.”

“Not yet,” you say, linking your arm through his. “But give me another hour.”

[chimtaesty]

Hiiii, hope you're doing fine and are having a great day 🩵

I just wanted to request a Caitlyn X fem!reader with eating disorders. Like Caitlyn and reader are together for a long time and Caitlyn starts to notice something weird but doesn't really know what to do? Could be angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, just anything you want 🩵and if you're not comfortable with writing this, it's ok!!

𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

━━ -ˋˏ⟿

-‘๑’- 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 caitlyn kiramman x reader /0.6k words -‘๑’- 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 angst, eating disorder - nothing explicit -‘๑’- 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 thank you for requesting this. i had to really think how to approach this but i enjoyed writing a little emotional something. i hope u like it!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

You love pancakes—you always have. For as long as Caitlyn can remember, pancakes have been your favorite breakfast. Sometimes you’d load them up with whipped cream, other times with berries and a drizzle of melted chocolate.

But lately, pancakes haven’t been the same. You barely touch them. And it’s not just the pancakes—it’s the little bretzels you used to devour during one of Cait’s old movie nights. Something shifted. But Cait’s sure: it started with the damn pancakes.

Caitlyn’s never been one for jumping to conclusions. She doesn’t want to corner you, to make you say something neither of you are ready to admit. So she does what she knows—she makes the pancakes.

She’ll offer them, just like always. And if you turn them down—again—then maybe she’ll finally ask the questions that have been eating at her. Because she can’t ignore it anymore. Not when she knows you've started buying clothes three sizes too small. Not when her own uniform would hang loose on your frame. She won’t stop—not until she gets to the bottom of it.

Now she stands in the kitchen, one hand braced against the counter, watching the batter bubble and turn golden in the pan. You’d love these, under normal circumstances.

You’d devour them, grin through powdered sugar, tease her about whether it’s her mother’s recipe. And she’d laugh. You’d share a plate, and she’d get to kiss the sweetness off your lips.

She flips a pancake just as soft footsteps pad into the kitchen—lighter than they used to be.

“Morning,” you mumble.

She turns her head, offering a small smile, choosing gentleness instead of confrontation. “Morning, sweetheart.”

You move around the counter, her oversized shirt hanging off your frame, falling to mid-thigh. Your shoulders are sharper now, more fragile beneath the fabric.

You rise onto your toes and press a faint kiss to Caitlyn’s cheek. She hums in return, but her fingers twitch at your side, hesitant.

“I made your favorite for breakfast,” she says, voice soft, coaxing. Her hand brushes lightly along your waist, the touch as careful as her words.

You glance at the pan, at the pancake sizzling gently. And she watches it happen—the hesitation, the flash of panic in your eyes. That flicker of fear at the thought of eating something with real weight to it. It guts her, because you were never like this before. You never used to flinch at food.

“I’m not really hungry,” you whisper. The words are quiet. Apologetic.

Cait sets the spatula down with a soft clatter. Her hand slips away from your waist. “You’re never hungry these days, are you?”

It comes out sharper than she means. You flinch. Your throat tightens, but you try to smile through it—gentle, shaky. “I don’t know what you mean, baby.”

But Caitlyn shakes her head. Her lips press into a trembling line, eyes shining, and she steps back from you—once, twice—until she’s leaning against the kitchen island like it’s the only thing holding her up.

“Do you want to leave me?” she chokes out.

Your heart stutters. “What—?”

“Because that’s what it feels like.” Her voice wavers, rough and raw. “You’re disappearing in front of me, and I don’t know how to help. I don’t know how to fix this, love.”

She rakes a hand through her hair, like she’s trying to hold herself together by sheer will.

“I’ve let this go on too long. You’ve become so thin and I... I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to save you.”

Her voice breaks on the last word. You stand there, frozen. Mouth slightly open. Hands trembling.

“Cait…” you say, barely above a whisper.

But she holds up a hand, her expression twisting, like she’s trying not to cry.

“Please, love… eat the pancakes. Or something else. I’ll make you whatever you want. Just—please. Eat something.”

You swallow hard, throat burning. And you look at her—really look. How her shoulders hunch under the weight of worry. How her eyes plead with you like she’s already lost you.

You did this. You put that look on her face.

“Okay,” you say, your voice hoarse with the tears you don’t let fall.

It’ll be hard. You know it will. But you’ll do it.

You’ll eat every bite of those pancakes if it means Caitlyn never has to look at you like that again.

Like she’s already mourning you.

[chimtaesty]

i need more nat! looove ur writing 💗

𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔

━━ ☾𖤓 .ᐟ

𓆩❤︎𓆪 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 nat scatorccio x reader / 0.5k words 𓆩❤︎𓆪 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 fluff 𓆩❤︎𓆪 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 thank you so much for requesting - this is a little something i've cooked up because i believe that nat deserves a little comfort too. hope u like it :)

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The makeshift tent rustles softly in the wind, its thin fabric fluttering like breath. The cot beneath you offers little warmth—it’s starting to cool again.

A sure sign that winter is coming, and out here, winter never brings anything good. Still, you try to sleep. You really try. But the night is restless.

The wind howls through the trees like a warning, threading its way into the silence of the camp—a silence that feels less like peace and more like a held breath.

You shut your eyes tight, willing sleep to take you. Just rest. Just for a little while.

Then—a gust of wind. And something else. A shift in the air. That sharp, cold flicker of instinct snakes down your spine like white-hot fear.

A figure looms, casting a faint shadow over you. Before you can even part your lips to scream, a hand gently clamps over your mouth, muffling the startled gasp that rips from your throat.

“Shh—it’s me.”

Her voice is low, a whisper laced with familiarity. Nat.

Relief floods your chest, hot and dizzying. You go slack beneath her touch, a strangled little sound escaping you as she slowly pulls her hand away.

“Jesus,” you breathe, your voice a soft exhale. “You scared the crap out of me.”

You drop your head back against the makeshift pillow—a bundled-up jacket—and try to steady your pulse.

“Didn’t want you waking the others,” she murmurs, a flicker of amusement dancing beneath her words.

Nat lowers herself beside you, propping her head on one hand, the small cot creaking under the added weight. She’s close enough now that her breath grazes your shoulder.

“Mind if I stay here tonight?” she asks quietly, her fingers brushing up the length of your arm—light and hesitant, like she’s asking with more than words.

Please. Don’t kick me out.

You sigh again, softer this time, and give a small nod in the dim light—though you doubt she can see it.

“You’re already here,” you murmur, voice barely louder than the wind outside.

Without hesitation, she settles at your side, her head finding its place on your shoulder like it’s always belonged there.

“I’d kill for a smoke right now,” she mumbles against your neck, her voice warm and worn down.

Her hand finds yours in the dark, and this time, you don’t pull away. You let her lace your fingers together—slow, tentative, like it means something.

“I miss hot showers,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the sagging roof of the tent above.

Nat hums in agreement and gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad to have you,” she says after a beat. “Just… don’t tell the others. I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

You huff a laugh. “Okay, miss mysterious.”

She chuckles, the sound barely a whisper. “I’m glad to have you too, Nat.”

You shift your head slightly, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to her forehead.

Outside, the world might be falling apart. The cold might be closing in. You might not make it home—not in one piece, not ever.

But right now, in this stolen sliver of quiet— You’re not alone.

[chimtaesty]

Can u do dancer!reader X nat scatorccio?

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

━━ -ˋˏ✄┈

ᯓ ✈︎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 pre crash! nat scatorccio x dancer!reader /0.6k words ᯓ ✈︎ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 kissing, making out ᯓ ✈︎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 thank you so much for requesting this - it's a little something and i hope you like it!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The studio is filled with soft music—a delicate ballet score chosen by your teacher for the upcoming evaluation—and the sound of your quiet, uneven panting.

You’ve been at it for hours. Skipped lunch again, just to nail the damn transition after the arabesque. Your leg moves, the motion familiar and fluid, but something’s off.

The angle, the weight—something. The arabesque lands, but it looks more like a dying swan than anything remotely graceful.

“Last one in the studio again?”

Her voice doesn’t startle you—it washes over the piano notes like silk, smooth and warm. You turn slowly, a smile already tugging at your lips before you even see her.

There she is—Nat.

Still in her soccer jersey, hair tousled like she’s just come off the field, and that trademark smirk curling at her mouth like she was born with it.

“Always,” you reply, tilting your head slightly, letting your muscles finally relax. One hand rests behind you on the barre for support as your chest rises and falls a bit too fast.

You’ve pushed yourself. Again.

“Well…” She strolls across the room, slow and cocky, holding an iced coffee like it’s a trophy.

“I brought caffeine and my company—you’re welcome.”

You push off the barre and meet her halfway, your arms winding lazily around her shoulders. She doesn’t miss a beat—leans in and presses a kiss to your jaw, quick but electric.

Your pulse jumps like it always does when she touches you like that, like it’s the first time all over again.

“You’re a hero,” you murmur against her cheek as she slips the cool drink into your palm.

“Just fulfilling my girlfriend duties,” she teases, her voice low and fond. “Since someone doesn’t know when to take a damn break.”

Her hand finds your waist and she gently steers you down to the studio floor.

You sink onto the wood with a soft exhale, and she settles behind you, legs tangled with yours. You take a sip of the coffee—cold, sweet, perfect—and hum softly in appreciation.

“I’m just caught up in this routine,” you sigh. “It’s impossible.”

Nat hums again, low in her throat, and pulls you into her lap. Your thighs part and fit around hers without hesitation, like your bodies already know the steps.

“Sounds like you need a little distraction,” she murmurs, her hand trailing slowly up your side.

You place the cup on the floor beside you, a smile tugging at your lips. “Do I now?” you ask, your voice quieter now, tinged with teasing.

“Mhm. I think so.”

She leans in and presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw, then another at the corner of your mouth—soft, coaxing.

Finally, her lips find yours, and the kiss deepens quickly—hot, slow, consuming. Your hand slides up to cup the back of her neck as your mouths move in sync, tongues tangling with an intimacy that makes your heart race.

She grins into the kiss when a soft, involuntary sound slips from you.

“There she is,” she breathes against your lips, voice a little smug, a little tender.

You hum softly before leaning back in, lips finding hers again as your fingers slide into her hair, gently tugging at her scalp.

“Eager, are we?” she murmurs against your mouth, her hand tracing slow, soothing lines up your spine.

“I’m done practicing,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. Your lips are kiss-bitten, flushed, still tingling. “Let’s go home.”

Nat tilts her head, gaze lingering on your face like she’s memorizing every detail. That soft, familiar grin spreads across her lips.

“Sounds good, baby.”

[chimtaesty]

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐄

━━ ꩜ .ᐟ

ᯓ★ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 loser!ellie williams x reader / 4.2k words ᯓ★ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 fluff; suggestive talk (but mostly cute, awkward fluff) ᯓ★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 so this has been sitting in my drafts for months and i really, really needed to get it off my chest. so here you go!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The frat house is too loud, the lights are too weird, and Ellie’s clutching her Solo cup like it’s a life vest.

“Why are we here again?” she hisses at Dina over the rim.

“Because,” Dina says, already halfway across the room, “you need to talk to people who aren’t me or a textbook!”

And just like that, she’s gone—swept into the crowd like a traitor.

Ellie sighs, mutters something about “social torture,” and edges closer to the snack table, because if she’s gonna suffer, she’s doing it with pretzels.

That’s when she hears it.

“Well, well,” someone purrs just to her left. “Who’s the cutie with the bad posture?”

She freezes mid-chew.

Turns her head. Slowly.

And there you are—propped against the kitchen doorway like you belong on a poster, drink in hand, smile that could cut glass. You’re looking right at her. And worse—you know she knows.

Ellie stares. “Me?”

You grin. “Unless there’s another hot loser with nervous hands and a hoodie two sizes too big.”

She straightens up instinctively, knocks her cup into a bowl of Cheetos.

You raise a brow, watching the whole thing unfold like it’s a comedy special just for you. “So what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Ellie,” she says, too quickly. Then clears her throat. “Williams. Ellie. That’s my last name, not a—never mind.”

You hum, stepping a little closer. “Cute and awkward. Dangerous combo.”

Jesse appears like some kind of summoned witness and claps a hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “Oh, hey, you met Y/N?”

Ellie’s already short-circuiting. “I’m meeting her right now. I mean, yeah. I guess. She’s uh—she’s talking to me.”

“She does that sometimes,” Jesse says with a smirk. “You’re surviving though. I’m impressed.”

“I’m thriving,” Ellie says weakly.

You bite your lip to hide a laugh. “Oh yeah? That what this is?” You reach out, pluck a cheese puff off her hoodie like it’s an accessory. “Thriving looks a lot like secondhand embarrassment.”

Ellie rubs the back of her neck, ears burning. “You’re really gonna flirt with me in front of people, huh?”

You lean in just a little. “Sweetheart, I haven’t even started yet.”

And she swears—swears—she blacks out for a second. Just a little.

You’re still standing there with that smug little smile, and Ellie’s pretty sure her heart rate’s legally concerning. Jesse’s long gone, and now it’s just you and her and the thumping bassline of some frat boy’s heartbreak playlist in the background.

She clears her throat, steels herself. She can do this. She’s not a total idiot. Just… 78% idiot, maybe.

“So,” she says, hands in her pockets, rocking slightly on her heels. “You, uh… flirt with all the awkward girls at parties, or am I special?”

You tilt your head, eyes glittering. “You’re special.”

Ellie blinks. “Wait, really?”

You laugh, not mean—soft, fond even. “Yeah. You’re fun.”

“Cool, cool,” she says, definitely too fast. “I’m fun. That’s me.”

You sip your drink, eyes still on her. “You gonna prove it or just stand there looking like you forgot your name?”

“I—” she pauses, narrows her eyes, then squares her shoulders. “Okay, you want fun? Fine. Hypothetical for you.”

You raise your brows, intrigued. “Hit me.”

Ellie points between the two of you. “Say we’re alone. Like, really alone. No party. No music. Just… my hoodie, your lip gloss, and maybe a couch. What happens?”

Your lips part—just slightly—and that wicked smile curves again, a little slower this time.

“Mmm. Sounds like someone’s been thinking about that.”

Ellie’s ears go nuclear red. “N-no! I mean—not like, obsessively. Just like…casually. Once. Or twice. Or like—okay, a lot.”

You step closer, just enough that she smells your perfume—soft, a little sweet, like vanilla and trouble.

“Would you kiss me in that hypothetical?” you ask, tone light but laced with something molten.

Ellie swallows. “Only if you let me.”

You laugh—low this time, eyes warm, like you’re finally letting her win a little. “Permission granted, Williams.”

And oh, she’s malfunctioning again.

“Hypothetically,” she mumbles, eyes locked on your lips.

“Sure,” you say, smiling. “We’ll call it that.”

The living room smells like beer and bad choices. A half-deflated beach ball bounces off someone’s head in the background. Ellie’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet, awkwardly hunched between Jesse and some dude in a jersey, and she knows she should’ve left when the game started.

Truth or dare.

Of course someone suggested it. Of course Dina shoved her into the circle. And of course—you’re here now, perched on the arm of a couch like you’re being painted, drink in hand, legs crossed, smile dangerous.

Ellie’s trying not to look at you. She’s failing.

“Okay, okay,” Jesse says, pointing a mostly empty beer bottle at her. “Williams. Truth or dare.”

Ellie hesitates. “Truth?”

Groans echo around the circle. “Boring!”

You just tilt your head at her. “C’mon, Ellie. You don’t strike me as boring.”

She chokes. “I—yeah. Okay. Fine. Dare.”

Jesse grins. Evil.

“I dare you to kiss Y/N.”

And boom. The room erupts. People laughing, hollering, clapping their hands like it’s a damn sports event. Ellie goes stiff, like someone hit her with a freeze ray. She whips her head to look at you—and you’re already watching her with that same devilish smile, sipping your drink like you’re not the center of gravity right now.

“Oh,” you say sweetly, “are you nervous?”

Ellie blinks. “I—I—no? I mean, yes. I mean, not scared, just like, y’know, socially paralyzed.”

You giggle and slide off the couch with too much grace, sitting up on your knees across from her, face only inches away now.

“It’s just a dare, right?” you whisper, soft enough that only she hears. “Unless you want it to be something else.”

Ellie’s face is scarlet. She swallows hard, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes, panicking in real time.

“I—I don’t wanna mess it up,” she murmurs.

You lean in, voice low, teasing. “You won’t.”

She stares at you like you’ve just offered her salvation. Then—very gently, very awkwardly—she leans in, hesitates a breath away like she’s checking one last time.

You don’t move.

So she kisses you.

It’s short—soft and a little unsure, her hand brushing yours like she doesn’t know where to touch. But her lips are warm and honest, and the second she pulls back, the room explodes again. Jesse’s laughing. Someone’s whistling.

Ellie just sits there, stunned, blinking like a broken robot.

And you?

You’re still leaning close, smiling like the cat that got the very awkward, very kissable mouse.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you murmur.

Ellie clears her throat. “Y-you taste like cherry vodka and world domination.”

You laugh—bright this time—and she looks like she might actually die.

Ellie doesn’t even remember how she got outside.

One second she was surrounded—noise, bodies, someone shouting about shotgun beers—and the next, she’s out on the porch, hands jammed into her hoodie pocket, pacing in tight little circles like she’s gonna vibrate into another dimension.

The door creaks open behind her.

She flinches. Freezes.

And then—you.

You step out slow, arms crossed, eyes locked on her like you’ve got her under a microscope.

“You okay there, Williams?”

She spins to face you too fast, nearly stumbles over her own feet. “Me? Yeah. No. I mean, yeah, totally. Just needed, like, air. Space. An intermission from the public humiliation.”

You smile—soft this time, none of that sharp party-girl edge, just warmth and curiosity. “Wasn’t humiliation. It was cute.”

Ellie groans, drags her hand down her face. “Oh god, don’t say ‘cute.’ That makes it worse.”

“Worse?” You lean against the porch railing, hip cocked, head tilted. “I thought you were thriving.”

“That was before I kissed you in front of thirty drunk strangers while sweating through my shirt and quoting… whatever the hell I said.” She sighs. “Was I drooling? I might’ve been drooling.”

You laugh, soft and sweet. “You didn’t drool.”

“That’s a relief,” she mutters.

You pause, then step a little closer. “You wanna do it again?”

She blinks. “Drool?”

You bite back a smile. “No, dumbass. The kiss.”

Ellie stares at you, eyes wide, pupils blown in the dim porch light. “Like… here? Now?”

You nod once, still watching her. “No crowd. No pressure. Just you and me.”

She hesitates—shifting, fidgeting—then takes a slow, deep breath and steps closer. Your knees bump. Her hands hover for a second like she’s not sure where to put them, and then one finally lands at your waist, the other bracing lightly on the railing beside you.

She’s still nervous. But this time, she leans in on her own.

And when she kisses you, it’s real.

Slow. Warm. A little shaky at first, but then she exhales against your mouth and sinks into it—like she’s been holding her breath all night and just now remembered how to breathe.

You curl your fingers into her hoodie, tug her closer, and she goes—completely—without resistance. Just melts into you like you’re gravity and she’s been off balance her whole life.

When you finally pull back, she’s flushed and breathless and smiling—small, crooked, and so smitten.

“Better?” you ask softly.

She nods. “Yeah,” she whispers. “So much better.”

Then a beat of silence.

“…I definitely drooled that time.”

You laugh, lean your forehead against hers. “Still cute.”

You’re still standing there when she pulls back the second time—kiss-drunk, your fingers still curled in the front of her hoodie like you’re not quite ready to let her go. And neither is she, really.

But Jesse’s yelling something inside about “where the hell is Williams with the lighter,” and the moment’s threatening to shift.

You glance toward the house, then back at her, smile tugging soft at your lips. “You gonna survive in there?”

Ellie snorts. “Physically, maybe. Emotionally? Jury’s out.”

You laugh again and reach for her hand, pressing a little slip of paper into her palm—your number, scrawled quick and messy in pink pen.

“Text me,” you say, like it’s obvious.

She looks at it like it’s a map to buried treasure. “You sure?”

Your grin goes wicked. “Unless you plan on kissing someone else next party.”

She’s already tucking the paper into her hoodie pocket like it’s gold. “Absolutely not. I’ve peaked. That’s it. I’m retired.”

You roll your eyes, nudge her shoulder. “Go home, loser.”

She grins, a little dazed. “Yeah. Okay. Night.”

“Night, Williams.”

She’s halfway down the block when it hits her.

You kissed her. Twice.

You gave her your number.

You told her to text you.

You laughed at her jokes.

You smiled like you meant it.

She stops on the sidewalk, presses her hands to her face like that’ll calm down the sheer voltage buzzing in her chest.

Holy shit.

She likes me. Or at least, she doesn’t hate me. That’s something. That’s huge. That’s—oh my god, I kissed her in front of people. I KISSED HER. And she didn’t run.

She keeps walking, hoodie pulled tight around her face, grinning like a fool.

I didn’t choke.

Okay, I kind of choked, but like… cute choke. Charming choke.

She said I was cute. She called me a dumbass, but like—affectionately.

She touched my waist. She gave me her number. That happened. That was real.

And I didn’t screw it up.

I mean, I probably did a little. But she still smiled. And kissed me again.

I am so screwed.

She pauses at a crosswalk, fishes the paper out again just to make sure it’s still real.

Your name. A heart next to it. Your number underneath. A little arrow that says:

“Don’t be weird.”

She stares at it for a second, then stuffs it back in her pocket and pulls out her phone with shaking fingers.

She types. Deletes. Types again.

Finally hits send.

ellie williams: made it home without getting hit by a car. 7/10 night. could’ve used one more kiss for the road

She stares at the screen.

The three little dots appear.

And she dies.

She’s in her room now—door shut, hoodie still on, standing in the dark like a Victorian widow. The only light is her phone screen.

Your reply comes in fast.

you: bold of you to assume I didn’t want to kiss you a third time

Ellie stares.

She sits down. Then stands up again. Then sits on the floor.

She types.

Deletes.

Types again.

ellie williams: ok but like was that the vodka talking or

you: babe I was sober and looking at you like you hung the damn moon

Ellie throws herself backwards on the floor like she’s been shot. Hands over her face. A little choked, disbelieving laugh escaping her chest.

“Okay,” she mutters, staring at the ceiling. “Okay. I’m marrying her.”

Her phone buzzes again.

you: you kiss like you mean it, by the way didn’t expect that from the girl who panicked when I called her cute

She groans. Clutches the phone to her chest like it’s a love letter and she’s sixteen.

ellie williams: yeah well. maybe i meant it a little. or a lot. maybe i still do.

She stares at that last message for a long second.

Hits send and immediately rolls over and buries her face in the carpet. A beat.

you: I’m free tomorrow night. wanna prove it?

She yells into her hoodie.

Then—

ellie williams: ok but you’re not allowed to call me cute unless you mean it or… do. idk. i’m not the boss of you.

you: oh baby I always mean it

Ellie falls back again, heart a whole explosion in her chest. She’s grinning so hard it hurts.

She looks at the phone one last time, locks it, holds it against her chest.

And whispers to the ceiling:

“…I am so in love.”

6:42pm.

Ellie stands in front of her mirror, staring herself down like it’s a boss battle.

She’s changed outfits three times. The bed behind her looks like a war zone. Flannel shirt? Too “axe murderer.” Hoodie? Too “just robbed a gas station.” Black tee and denim jacket? Too gay.

Which… okay, is accurate. But still.

She settles on the jacket. Pulls it on. Immediately pulls it off. Puts it on again and groans.

She checks her phone for the sixth time in a minute. No new texts.

Maybe she changed her mind. maybe she forgot. maybe this was all a prank. maybe jesse paid her to kiss you and this is a long con and you’re walking into a humiliation vortex and—

Ping.

you: I’m outside :) don’t make me come up there and drag your hoodie-wearing ass out

Ellie jumps.

Grabs her keys. Stuffs her phone in her pocket. She stares in the mirror one last time and mutters: “Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird.”

You’re leaning against your car, arms crossed, wearing this effortlessly hot little outfit like this is casual for you. And Ellie?

Ellie nearly trips on the curb.

She recovers with a half-wave, half-salute that’s so awkward it makes her physically cringe.

“Hey,” she says, trying to sound cool, but it comes out like a dying frog. “Hey. Hi.”

You smile like she’s your favorite joke. “Hey, yourself.”

You look her up and down, real slow. “You clean up nice, Williams.”

Ellie tugs at the hem of her jacket like it might hide her flustered grin. “You, uh—you look… yeah. Wow. Like, unfair levels of wow.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “That nervous?”

“I’m chill,” she lies. “So chill. Like, dangerously chill. Borderline frostbite.”

You walk up close, close enough that her breath stutters.

“Babe,” you say, voice low, teasing, “you’re sweating.”

“I run warm,” she croaks.

You lean in, real soft. “Relax. It’s just a movie.”

She nods quickly. “Right. A movie. Easy. Dark room. Low stakes. Sitting very close to you for two hours.”

You grin. “You gonna make it through the previews, or should I prepare for a mid-date meltdown?”

Ellie grins, finally settling, finally exhaling.

“I make no promises,” she says. “But I brought gum and panic meds, so… we’re covered.”

You loop your arm through hers and start walking toward the theater.

“Perfect,” you murmur. “I brought nerves of steel and a hand you can hold.”

She almost trips again on the way into the movie theater.

The line at the concession stand is long, and Ellie’s already made her first dramatic stand of the night.

“I’m paying,” she says, dead serious, digging into her back pocket like she’s squaring up to fight you and capitalism.

You raise a brow, amused. “Ellie, it’s popcorn.”

“Yeah, and it’s our first popcorn.” She slaps her card on the counter. “Don’t take this from me.”

You giggle and lean on the counter next to her. “Chivalry looks good on you.”

She stiffens like she’s been knighted.

“I—I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits under her breath. “But I’m trying to be, like… romantic and shit.”

“You’re doing great,” you whisper, brushing your fingers against hers.

Her brain short-circuits, but she manages to buy a large popcorn, a couple of drinks, and somehow doesn’t drop anything on the way into the theater. Barely.

You slide into the back row, far corner, and Ellie sits beside you with the popcorn in her lap like it’s a safety blanket. The previews start. The lights dim. And you glance over just in time to catch her cracking her knuckles in slow motion like she’s psyching herself up for battle.

She shifts. Clears her throat.

Does the classic hover-and-drop.

First her elbow nudges the armrest.

Then her arm sort of… inches along the back of your seat.

Then stops.

She’s frozen. Rigid. Terrified.

You smile to yourself, wait a second—then lean in just enough that your shoulder presses against her side, warm and certain.

Ellie exhales. Barely moves. But her arm settles a little heavier behind you.

You glance up at her.

She’s looking at the screen like her life depends on it.

“You good over there?” you whisper.

She swallows. “Totally. I’m—just focused on the plot.”

You grin. “The plot hasn’t started yet.”

“…Right. I’m pre-focusing.”

You laugh, soft, and reach over to steal a piece of popcorn from her lap. Your fingers brush hers.

She flinches. Then looks at you. Like really looks.

And her voice comes quiet this time, nervous and warm: “You’re really pretty, by the way.”

You blink.

Slow smile spreading. “You trying to kiss me again, Williams?”

“I mean—only if you want—”

You don’t let her finish and kiss her.

Right there in the back row, soft and sweet, her hand curling instinctively around your waist. It’s slower than the last time, less nerves, more intention. Like she’s finally realizing you want her just like this—awkward, sincere, and completely gone for you.

When you pull back, Ellie’s eyes are glassy in the dark.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “You really like me, huh?”

You press your nose to hers and grin. “Took you long enough.”

She’s still blushing when the movie starts—but now her hand’s laced in yours, and she doesn’t flinch when your head drops to her shoulder halfway through.

And yeah—she misses most of the movie.

But she doesn’t miss a second of you.

The movie ended over an hour ago, but Ellie still hasn’t quite settled. She’s sitting in your passenger seat like she’s afraid to move too much—one leg bouncing, hands in her lap, jacket wrinkled where you held onto her during the last scene.

You’re driving her home slow, like you don’t really want to get there yet.

And honestly? She doesn’t either.

She sneaks glances at you in the quiet. Streetlights flicker gold across your face, and it makes her want to say something wild—something brave. But it gets caught every time, right behind her teeth.

You pull up in front of her building.

Ellie doesn’t move.

You kill the engine. Turn to look at her, brows lifted. “You gonna survive parting ways, Williams?”

She chuckles under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean. I’m kinda tempted to fake a power outage in my apartment just so you’ll come upstairs.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease. “That your smoothest move?”

“It’s all I got,” she mutters. “Unless you wanna hear about my Blade Runner fan theory. Real seductive stuff.”

You laugh, warm and easy.

Ellie hesitates.

Then she clears her throat. “Hey. Um…”

You glance over and clock the shift in her voice.

She’s serious now. Barely holding your gaze. Thumb rubbing over her palm like she’s trying to ground herself.

“I know this was just a movie and some popcorn and, like, a public mental breakdown or two—but…” She pauses, breathes in. “I really, really like you.”

Silence.

Her throat bobs. “And I—I don’t know if you’re just being nice or if I’m reading into shit, but I’ve had a lot of dumb crushes and this one’s, like… different. Like I feel it in my ribs. Like when you kissed me the first time, I swear to god I blacked out. And I’ve been trying to play it cool but I’m not cool. I’m a hoodie-wearing idiot and I—”

You reach across the console, fingers brushing hers.

She stops talking.

You’re smiling.

But it’s not teasing this time.

It’s soft.

Real.

“I like you too, Ellie,” you say gently. “I’ve been flirting with you since the second I saw you. And I don’t do that with people I don’t mean it with.”

She just stares at you, frozen like you knocked the wind out of her.

“So yeah,” you continue, voice low. “You’re allowed to like me. You’re allowed to be serious about it. And if it helps—”

You squeeze her hand.

“I’m serious too.”

She lets out this little laugh, half-disbelieving, half-relieved.

“Holy shit.”

You smile wider. “You keep saying that.”

“I know. It’s just… you’re you. And I’m me. And now I’m gonna go upstairs and freak out in my kitchen about how I got kissed three times and didn’t faint.”

You lean across the console. Kiss her one more time—slow, grounding, and full of all the things she doesn’t have words for yet.

When you pull back, you whisper “Text me when you start spiraling.”

Ellie smiles like it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted.

“I will. Promise.”

Then she stumbles out of the car, turns once at the door to watch you pull away from the curb.

And yeah—she texts you four minutes later.

ellie williams: spiraling has begun please advise

Ellie crashes onto her couch the second she walks in the door.

Boots off, hoodie still on, cat immediately climbing onto her chest like so? did you embarrass yourself again or nah?

“Patches,” she whispers, petting her head with one hand and holding her phone in the other, “I think I’m in love.”

The cat meows. Judgingly.

Ellie sighs. Texts you again anyway.

ellie williams: hey what if i told you i almost tripped over the curb when i got out of your car would that ruin the vibe

A second later:

you: only makes the vibe stronger, babe you looked cute doing it

She lets her head fall back against the couch cushion, groaning. “Why are you so nice. It’s ruining me.”

The cat kneads her hoodie like she’s tired of this gay panic.

ellie williams: also i had fun tonight like a lot of fun like i already wanna do it again and the night isn’t even over yet

you: yeah? me too I kinda wanna see you with that panicked look again it’s hot

Ellie short-circuits for a solid ten seconds.

ellie williams: i can spiral in a panic attack anytime, babe tuesday work for you?

you: I’m free. pick the place.

She bites her lip. Brain screaming. You’re letting her choose? The possibilities are paralyzing.

ellie williams: okay i’m gonna pretend i didn’t just spend 10 minutes googling “cool second date ideas that aren’t weird” but like… maybe arcade? or mini golf? or i can just panic in public and buy you a smoothie your call

you: arcade sounds cute I’d love to watch you lose in air hockey while trying to flirt

ellie williams: oh i’m gonna flirt so hard and lose so bad can’t wait

The cat meows again. Ellie rubs her face and whispers,

“She likes me. Like, really likes me. What the hell.”

Then your last message comes in, soft and simple

you: goodnight, ellie love you talk tomorrow, yeah?

She stares, her mouth slightly open and her heart completely done for.

She whispers, “She loves me,” like she’s telling the cat a secret.

ellie williams: love you too night

She turns off her phone, wraps her arms around Patches, and lets herself sink into the couch with the dopiest smile on her face.

Outside, the city’s still buzzing.

But inside?

Ellie Williams is finally calm.

[chimtaesty]

i’m literally in love with your writing. it’s AMAZING i could literally eat it. can you maybe do like abby taking readers first time? like abby talking her thru it and reader is so nervous about it and abby is so nice to her about it.

𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

ᯓ★ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 abby anderson x reader / 1.1k words ᯓ★𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 smut - MDNI ᯓ★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 thank you for requesting! I've had a blast writing this, sorry it took me so long. i hope u like it :)

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The room is quiet—comfortably so, in that particular way only Abby can manage. Manny's out with one of his friends, probably drowning themselves in cheap tequila and calling it strategic numbing, which leaves the dorm peacefully still, just the two of you wrapped up in each other.

Abby’s arm is draped protectively around your waist, her hand resting over your breast like it belongs there—like it’s the only place it ever wants to be.

You wouldn’t dream of complaining. Her breath grazes the back of your neck, slow and steady, and the press of her knee between your thighs does nothing to soothe the growing heat pooling low in your belly.

What finally pulls Abby from her doze is the quiet sound that escapes you—a soft, needy little whimper, laced with desperation. She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know what’s happening.

She feels the way your heartbeat stutters against her arm, pounding like it’s trying to escape your ribcage.

Then, her hand begins to move.

Fingers slide from your chest to your stomach, teasing the hem of your shirt before slipping beneath it. They trace warm patterns over your skin, deliberate and slow, before gliding lower, until she’s pressing her palm against the heat of your clothed core.

A soft, shaky moan slips past your lips.

Abby breathes a quiet laugh against your skin, her lips brushing your shoulder.

“There she is,” she murmurs, voice husky with affection and mischief. Her fingers start to move, slow and certain, caressing over your clothed pussy like she has all the time in the world.

“Abby…” you whisper, voice shaky as her fingers trace slow, deliberate circles over your clothed core. The pressure is maddening—precise, patient, and pulsing with promise.

She presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the back of your neck, her breath damp and warm against your skin.

“I got you, baby,” she murmurs, her voice low and raspy, like gravel smoothed by silk. “Just let it happen.”

The way she says it, all hushed and certain, sends a fresh wave of heat rushing through you.

“Please,” you breathe, barely audible, but Abby hears it like a call to arms. She doesn’t hesitate.

With a slow, fluid motion, she shifts behind you, sliding out of her cocoon of warmth. Her thighs slot on either side of yours, bracketing you, and in the dim light you can just make out the soft definition of her face as she leans over you. Her arms brace on either side of your head, her presence overwhelming in the best way.

And then, without another word, she lowers herself and kisses you.

It’s deep—wet, consuming. Tongues tangle, teeth graze, and you lose yourself in the heat of her mouth.

One of your hands flies up to grip her waist, grounding yourself in the solid curve of her body. A low, raw sound leaves her throat when your hips buck up, brushing against hers in a burst of friction that makes your breath catch.

“Fuck… baby, hold up.” She pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. Her hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs gentle on your cheeks. Her breath is shallow, just like yours, and you search her eyes through the haze.

“What?” you whisper, lips still brushing hers.

She swallows, steadying herself.

“We’ll go slow,” she promises, voice softer now. “I want to make this good for you. Really good.”

You nod—dazed, breathless, overwhelmed—and she exhales like that tiny confirmation settled something inside her.

Then her voice drops again, a little more hesitant this time.

“Are you sure you want this… with me?” Her thumb brushes lightly over your cheek, featherlight and reverent.

Your answer is immediate, unwavering. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to have my first time.”

Whatever tension lingered in her shoulders melts in that instant. And before she can say anything else, you lift your head and kiss her like it’s the only thing that makes sense.

She moans softly against your mouth, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head.

You curl your fingers into the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer, as her hips press down and your bodies align in a way that makes your toes curl.

Then, as tongue brushes tongue and low soft whimpers leave you, Abby slides her hand down your belly and past the waistband of your sweatpants - her hand cups your cunt and a soft breath leaves you.

Abby breaks the kiss to watch you, her eyes stay focused on your face, tracing every twitch and gasp.

“You say stop and I'll stop.” She whispers it like a vow and all you manage is a nod.

Abby doesn’t look away as her middle finger slowly brushes over you folds, a low groan leaves her. “Jesus, you’re dripping. All for me, huh?” Your voice fails you as her finger slowly but surely intrudes your already aching cunt. A gasp rips from your throat as she pushes it in all the way, knuckle deep.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re doing so good, baby.” Abby whispers gently and cups one of your breasts with the other hand. Then, she starts moving - her finger glides in and out of your glistening cunt and the other toys ever so gently with your tit - her thumb brushes over your nipple.

You’re reduced to jerking hips, desperate moans and fingers clawing at Abby’s arms. She watches you like she’s seeing something holy. “God, you’re so beautiful.” She mumbles as she keeps her pace. Then, she brushes her thumb over your clit with every thrust and your toes curl with the inevitable heat curling tight in your lower belly.

“Abby, Abby…I’m gonna.” You manage to croak through gasps and moans and Abby hums softly, picking up her pace.

“Poor baby…s’ too much?” She pinches your nipple gently and draws yet another whimper from you.

“Please..fuck..I’m gonna..” You croak as your hips jerk with the sheer overwhelming pleasure.

“Then come for me, sweet girl.” She mumbles as presses a wet hot kiss to your jaw, her finger moves a tad faster and you could swear that you’re seeing stars. It doesn’t take long for your body to jerk, your voice to break off when a throaty moan leaves you - Abby doesn’t lose up though. She keeps going, relentlessly.

“Atta girl…that’s it.” She whispers into your ear as you ride your high out.

When your breathing calms a tad and your limbs feel like jelly, Abby retrieves her hand from your glistening pussy and with her gaze still fixed on yours unrelentingly, she pops the finger into her mouth.

[chimtaesty]

— REDEMPTION IS NO EASY FEAT—

CHAPTER FIVE - the last part

— ₊˚⊹♡ PAIRING vi!basketball jockey x reader!ballerina; 5.5k words — ₊˚⊹♡ SYNOPSIS There was something there—something unspoken, something undeniable. But in one careless moment, it all fell apart. Words were said, pride got in the way, and now she’s left with nothing but regret. She wants to fix it. She has to. Now, Vi is determined to fix what she broke. She’ll do anything—everything—to prove she didn’t mean it. But pride is a stubborn thing, and second chances don’t come easy.Can she turn the tide before it’s too late? Or has she already lost what she never had the courage to claim? — ₊˚⊹♡ AUTHORS NOTE okay, so - this is the last part of labyrinth love and i'm so sad it's over but i feel like this is a good end. I hope u like it :)

♡ navigation ♡

¸.*☆*.¸ CHAPTER INDEX ¸.*☆*.¸

The days bleed into each other in a slow, aching kind of blur. You can hardly tell them apart anymore — one heavy, half-lit afternoon tumbling into the next.

Most of the time, you end up crumpled on your bed, half-buried under blankets, rewatching Grey’s Anatomy for what must be the fourth time.

Margot starts dialing back her time with Ellie, even though you’ve told her — more than once — that it’s unnecessary.

You don’t want your broken heart spilling over and sabotaging something good, something whole. But Margot — saint that she is — had just shaken her head and refused you with that steady kind of stubbornness she does best.

"You’re hurting, love — doesn’t matter if Ellie wants to smooch my face off," she had said, her voice filled with such gentle humor you almost cried from the kindness of it.

And honestly, you're grateful. You don't say it out loud — not yet — but you are.

Flint, for his part, has made it his personal mission to escort you everywhere without being asked. Not that you’re going anywhere worth guarding — ballet practice, grocery runs, the occasional walk when the walls of your bedroom press too close — but he sticks to you like a second shadow. Big brother mode fully engaged. You don't have the heart to argue.

Now, sprawled across your bed, Margot sits beside you, one hand slowly carding through your hair while your bleary eyes stay glued to the laptop. On screen, Meredith is pleading with McDreamy — choose me, love me, pick me — and the whole thing makes your stomach twist painfully.

With a frustrated groan, you slam the laptop shut and toss it to the foot of the bed.

"I hate this," you whisper, voice scratchy and raw at the edges.

Margot’s hand never falters in your hair. Her eyes soften, warm and heartbreakingly patient, as she tucks a stray strand behind your ear. "I know, sweetheart."

You lean into her touch, craving it, but closing your eyes is a mistake — because all it does is bring it back. The moment everything shattered. The words you can't stop replaying. The heavy, hollow ache that’s taken up permanent residence in your chest.

Margot feels the shift in you — the way your body tenses, the way your breathing gets just a little tighter. Her hand drifts from your hair down the curve of your back, light and careful.

"How about a spa day?" she suggests, voice low and coaxing, like she’s luring you out of the darkness inch by inch. "I’ll braid your hair and we’ll put on matching face masks. Maybe watch a trashy movie where everyone ends up happy."

There’s a ghost of a laugh in your throat, but it’s too broken to fully form. Still, you nod, blinking against the sting in your eyes.

"I’d like that," you whisper.

Slowly — so slowly it almost hurts — you push yourself upright. Everything feels heavier these days. Your body. Your heart. Even your skin. But you manage it, and when you do, Margot is there, holding out her hand with the softest little smile.

No pressure. No pity. Just... here.

You slip your fingers into hers, and she squeezes — firm and steady — like she’s promising that you don’t have to climb out of this alone.

And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, you feel a tiny flicker of warmth at the edge of all the cold.

It’s not much.

But it’s something.

Meanwhile, Vi is trying — and failing — to get a hold of you. She’s tried calling, texting, anything short of showing up at your front door with flowers and a guilt-ridden mixtape. But it’s useless. Your phone’s been off for days, and Margot — ever the knight in bloodstained armor — had sent Vi a single, scathing middle finger emoji. It said more than any long, furious paragraph ever could.

"Stop pacing, dumbass," Abby mutters from where she’s sprawled across the battered couch in their dorm room, lazily dragging on a cigarette. She blows out a curl of smoke and tilts her head, watching Vi with half-lidded eyes.

Vi ignores her, phone clutched tightly in one hand, hair a chaotic pink mess, face tight with stress and the dull ache of a hangover.

"You can’t even blame her," Ellie throws in, not looking up from her spot at the desk, where she’s idly scrolling through her phone. "You did kiss your ex."

"I didn’t kiss her!" Vi snaps, the words punching out of her louder than she means. She scrubs a hand through her hair, visibly unraveling. "She kissed me! Cait knew — she knew she was watching — and I just —" her voice cracks, throat raw with the effort of holding it together. "Fuck, she probably hates me."

Abby lets out a low, unimpressed scoff past her cigarette. "Jesus, no need to yell our ears off."

Ellie sighs dramatically, thumb tapping rhythmically against her phone. After a beat, she glances up, a small glint of something — sympathy, maybe — softening her usual snark.

"Margot says she has practice at four," Ellie says casually, like she’s talking about the weather.

Vi’s head snaps up so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t give herself whiplash. "Practice?" she echoes, breathless, clinging to the word like a lifeline.

Ellie nods slowly, one brow arching. "Four o’clock sharp. But Margot also said — and I quote — if you upset her, she’s gonna personally fling you out the nearest window."

For half a second, Vi doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both.

But it doesn’t matter. Because even if it’s a sliver of a chance — an itsy bitsy, microscopic shred of hope — it’s something. And she’s not going to waste it. Not this time.

The locker room smells faintly of sweat and detergent and something sharper — like disappointment baked into the cracked tiles. Your ballet bag is slung over one shoulder, digging into your skin, but you barely feel it.

You’re already late for practice. You just want to get out, get away, find some quiet corner where the world can’t touch you for a little while.

But the second you round the corner toward the exit, she’s there.

Vi.

Pink hair messy like she’s been tugging at it, hoodie wrinkled and clinging like a second skin. She looks... wrecked. Not the cocky, sharp-edged Vi you’re used to.

This version of her stands with both hands shoved deep into her pockets, shoulders curled in like she’s trying to make herself smaller. Like she knows she doesn’t have the right to take up your space anymore.

You falter, just for a second — just long enough for your heart to remember how it used to leap at the sight of her — and then you fix your eyes on the floor and keep walking.

"Wait —" Her voice cracks, rough and desperate, slicing through the thick, sterile air.

You don’t stop.

You can hear her footsteps scrambling after you, quick and unsteady. "Please," she says again, closer now, so close you can feel the ghost of her presence hovering at your side. "Just — talk to me. Just for a second."

You tighten your grip on your bag, nails digging into the worn strap. It takes everything in you not to turn around. Not to give her the satisfaction of seeing how badly you’re shaking.

"Listen," Vi huffs, rushing to keep pace with you, stumbling over her words like they’re too heavy to carry. "It wasn’t — it wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t kiss her, I didn’t even — she kissed me, and I — I just stood there like a fucking idiot and—"

You reach the door and shove it open so hard it slams against the wall, making both of you flinch.

"I swear," Vi says, lower now, voice breaking at the edges. "I didn’t want her. I don’t want her. I just—" She breaks off, breathing ragged. "I just want you."

The hallway outside yawns open, bright and endless, but for a heartbeat you hesitate in the doorway.

It would be so easy. To turn. To listen. To let her tug you back into her orbit like she always used to.

But then you remember it — the gut-punch flash of betrayal, the way it felt like your heart had been carved out with a dull knife. The way the world had gone silent except for the roar of your own hurt.

You square your shoulders.

And you walk away.

Vi calls your name once — soft, broken — but she doesn’t follow you this time.

Maybe because she knows chasing won’t change anything. Maybe because she knows some mistakes can’t be outrun.

You don’t look back. If you did, you might see her standing there, hands curled uselessly into fists at her sides, watching you leave like she’s watching the last good thing in her life disappear down a long, cold hallway.

You can’t risk looking back.

You’re already bleeding enough without letting her see it.

The sun's barely started to set by the time Vi drags herself into her dorm room, feeling like she’s carrying the weight of a thousand worlds on her shoulders.

She just pushes the door open with the side of her fist and slumps inside, collapsing face-first onto the worn-out beanbag by the window.

Abby’s stretched out lazily across the couch, boots kicked up on the armrest, thumbing through some magazine she probably doesn’t even care about. Ellie’s perched at the tiny desk, earbuds dangling around her neck, half-watching something stupid on her laptop.

Flint leans against the wall, arms crossed, sizing Vi up like he’s not sure if he wants to punch her or pat her on the back.

Margot’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, braiding a piece of her own hair absentmindedly, eyes flickering up to meet Vi’s as she walks in.

The room falls into a heavy silence, thick and uncomfortable.

Vi stays facedown for a moment longer, just breathing, trying to stitch her stupid, broken heart back together enough to speak.

When she finally lifts her head, her voice comes out raw and worn-down.

"I fucked up," she says simply. "And I don’t — I don’t know how to fix it."

Margot lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Yeah. No shit, Sherlock."

Vi huffs out a breath, half a laugh, half a sob. She scrubs her palms down her jeans like she’s trying to wipe the guilt off her skin.

"I didn’t kiss Cait," she says. She looks at Margot first, then Flint, then the others, needing them to understand. "She kissed me. And yeah, I froze like a fucking idiot, but —" her voice cracks, and she pushes through it — "but it’s never been about Cait. It’s only ever been about her."

The room goes still.

"I love her," Vi says, and she hates how shaky the words sound, how exposed they make her feel. "I love her so much it scares the shit out of me. And I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but —" she swallows, voice thinning to a whisper — "I want to try. I have to try."

For a long, aching moment, nobody moves.

Then Flint sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You’re a dumbass," he says gruffly. "But you’re our dumbass."

Margot clicks her tongue, tossing the loose braid over her shoulder. "You’re lucky she’s a better person than you deserve," she says, but there’s no real venom behind it.

Vi sits up a little straighter, hope sparking cautiously in her chest. "So you’ll help me?" she asks, almost not daring to believe it.

Margot exhales loudly, like she’s already regretting her life choices. "Depends. What stupid idea do you have brewing in that sad little brain of yours?"

Vi hesitates, cheeks burning. She glances around the room, lowering her voice like she’s about to confess a crime.

"I want to ask her to prom," she says. "Properly."

Ellie’s head snaps up from her phone, a wicked grin curling across her face. "Like a promposal? Are you kidding me?"

Abby cackles, stubbing out her cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. "Oh my god. This is gonna be hilarious."

Vi buries her face in her hands. "Not hilarious. Like — like sweet. Thoughtful. I want her to know I mean it."

Margot exchanges a long, considering look with Flint. Then she sighs again — big, dramatic — and claps her hands once.

"Alright, you lovesick gremlin," she says. "Let’s make some fucking magic happen."

Vi looks up, wide-eyed. "Really?"

Margot shrugs, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. "You screw this up again and I’m legally obligated to drown you in the nearest fountain. But yeah. We’ll help."

Flint pushes off the wall with a grunt. "You’re gonna owe us, though. Big time."

Vi feels the smallest, brightest flicker of hope unfurling in her chest.

Maybe — just maybe — it’s not too late.

Maybe she can still find her way back to you.

And this time? She’s not letting you slip through her fingers again.

The plan — if it can even be called that — starts to take shape sometime after sunset, when everyone’s crammed into Margot’s dorm room, half-heartedly eating lukewarm takeout and pretending not to be worried about Vi.

Vi sits on the floor, cross-legged and jittery, the end of a pen jammed between her teeth. She can’t stop moving — tapping her knee, picking at a loose thread on her jeans, chewing her lip raw. Her mind spins faster than she can keep up with. Don't screw this up. Don’t screw this up.

Margot lounges on the bed, twisting a braid into her hair without looking, eyes flickering toward Vi every few seconds. Abby’s slouched in the recliner, boots kicked up, cigarette dangling lazily from her fingers. Flint leans against the window, arms crossed, studying Vi like he’s trying to decide if she’s a lost cause.

Ellie’s perched at the tiny desk, typing furiously on her laptop, her knee bouncing with manic energy.

"Alright," Ellie says, dragging the word out. "Option one: flash mob. Right in the middle of ballet practice. Bold. Very Step Up 2."

Vi chokes on her drink, coughing into the sleeve of her hoodie. "You’re out of your goddamn mind."

Abby snorts without looking up from her phone. "You'd get drop-kicked across the gym."

Flint shrugs, grinning. "Option two: skywriting. Go big or go home."

Margot groans, flopping backwards on the bed. "Yeah, Vi, just pull a few thousand dollars out of your ass for that. No problem."

Vi buries her face in her hands, the edges of panic gnawing at her. "Can we be, like, normal for five minutes?" she mumbles. "I want it to be good, not get me arrested."

"You're no fun when you’re lovesick," Abby says, flicking ash into a tray.

Ellie snaps her fingers. "Personal," she says. "It should be something personal." She leans back, watching Vi with a little more gentleness. "Something that’s actually...you."

Vi lifts her head, frowning. "Me?"

Margot sits up, tossing a pillow at Vi’s shoulder. "Yeah, dumbass. Messy but real. That’s your brand."

Vi thinks about it — really thinks — about the way your laugh echoes down the halls after practice, the way you move, all soft limbs and hidden smiles.  

"I could leave notes," she says, the idea tumbling out of her in a rush. "Like...a trail. Leading somewhere. Something stupid and cheesy."

Margot perks up a little. "That's actually not the worst thing you’ve ever said."

Flint taps the window frame, nodding along. "Romantic without requiring bail money. I like it."

Ellie starts brainstorming, her fingers flying over her keyboard. Abby, predictably, contributes nothing but brutal commentary every time someone pitches a line that’s too sappy.

Vi scribbles down scraps of sentences, her heart hammering against her ribs the entire time. She wants this to be perfect. Not because it has to be flashy. Because it has to be real. Because you deserve real.

In the middle of the chaos, Margot crouches down beside her, one eyebrow raised.

"You sure about this, Casanova?" she asks, voice just a little softer.

Vi meets her eyes, chest tight with something that almost feels like hope.

"I’m sure," she says. "She’s the only thing I’m sure about."

Margot rolls her eyes but her mouth twitches into the smallest, proudest little smile. She tosses a crumpled sticky note at Vi’s head and stands back up.

"Alright, then," she says. "Let’s make some magic happen."

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Vi lets herself believe maybe — maybe — she hasn’t lost you yet.

The next day crawls by with agonizing slowness, every hour dragging its heels like it knows Vi’s waiting for something big. She fidgets through her classes, tapping her pencil against her notebook until Ellie threatens to break it in half.

By the time practice ends, the sky outside is a heavy, syrupy kind of gold, melting into dusky purples around the edges. The campus feels slower somehow, softer — like the whole world is holding its breath for her.

Vi shrugs on her hoodie and meets Margot by the gym doors. Flint and Abby trail after, arguing loudly about the best hiding spots.

"You’re gonna chicken out," Abby says, smirking as she blows a gum bubble. "I can feel it."

"Shut up," Vi grumbles, heart hammering so loudly it almost drowns her out.

She’s spent the entire afternoon writing the notes — crumpling up a dozen drafts until her dorm floor looked like a paper graveyard. She finally landed on it, though: simple, messy, honest little scraps of herself, leading to one final moment.

Margot reads over the first note again, then gives Vi a look. "It’s good. It’s you. She’ll get it."

Vi swallows hard and nods, even though her hands are shaking. "Okay," she breathes out. "Let’s do it."

They scatter like a team of badly-behaved elves.

The first note gets taped carefully to your locker — a simple scrap of white lined paper, written in Vi’s messy scrawl:

“I know I don’t deserve your time right now... but if you’ll give me a little more, I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

Margot sticks it there with a small heart sticker Flint stole from Ellie’s planner. Vi watches it for a second, her heart thudding so loud she’s sure someone can hear it.

The next note goes near the ballet studio entrance — tucked underneath the spare barre you always stretch by.

“If you’re still willing to listen, meet me by the gym.”

Vi forces herself to keep moving, stuffing her hands in her hoodie pockets to keep from grabbing the notes back and bolting. Be brave, dumbass.

By the time the third note is placed — taped carefully to the vending machine you always raid for cherry sodas after practice — Vi feels like she might actually throw up.

“One last stop. If you’re tired of chasing me, I don’t blame you. But I’ll be waiting, either way.”

The words make her chest ache. They’re stupid and messy and too much — just like her.

Margot claps her on the shoulder once everything’s in place. "All set, lover girl."

"God," Vi mutters, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the vending machine. "This was a mistake. She’s not gonna come."

"She’ll come," Flint says confidently, even as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "You’re a disaster, but you’re her disaster."

Abby blows a new bubble and pops it loudly. "You owe me twenty bucks if she doesn’t, though."

"Not helping," Vi groans.

They scatter after that, giving Vi space — or maybe because none of them want to watch her completely unravel in real time.

Vi sits down on the low brick wall outside the practice building, fiddling with the frayed edges of her sleeves, trying not to bounce her leg clean off her body. She watches the sun sink lower behind the trees, watches the soft blue shadows stretch out over the pavement, and tries to breathe.

And then —

Footsteps.

Vi’s head snaps up so fast her neck twinges. There you are — hair a little messy from practice, ballet bag slung over your shoulder, a faint crease between your brows as you glance down at the last note clutched in your hand.

Her heart stutters.

You’re here. You came.

You look up, and for a second, it’s just you and her, everything else fading into a soft, distant hum.

Vi pushes off the wall, nerves surging up her throat, but she manages a crooked smile.

"Hey," she says, voice rough and shaky around the edges. "Thanks for...following the breadcrumbs."

You just stare at her, expression unreadable, and Vi swears the ground tilts underneath her. Say something, she pleads silently. Please.

When you finally speak, your voice is so soft she almost misses it.

"You’re an idiot," you say.

Vi lets out a weak, broken laugh. "Yeah," she says. "I know."

And then — miraculously, painfully — you take a small step closer. And Vi feels like she can finally breathe again.

Vi's palms are slick with sweat as you step closer, crumpling the last note tighter in your fist. She sees it — the hesitation written across your face, the guarded way you hold yourself — and it guts her more than any fight she's ever lost.

She pushes a hand through her already-messy hair, breath shaking a little when she forces herself to speak.

"I know you hate me right now," she says, voice low, rough. "And honestly, you should. I screwed up. I let her kiss me and... I didn’t stop it fast enough. And you—" she stops, swallows hard. "You saw it. You saw the worst version of me."

You bite your bottom lip, looking down, the hurt flickering so clear across your face it makes her chest physically ache.

"I swear to God, it meant nothing," Vi says quickly, almost stumbling over herself to get the words out before you can turn away. "I don’t want Cait. I haven’t wanted Cait for a long time. I just..."

She huffs out a broken, humorless laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm a fucking idiot, and I thought — I don’t know, I thought I had more time to tell you how I felt before something went wrong."

You look up at her then — really look — and she sees the tiniest crack start to form in your wall. A sliver of something like hope, like the part of you that still wants to believe her.

Vi steps closer, heart hammering, feeling like she’s moving through quicksand.

"I like you," she says, voice almost breaking on the words. "I mean, like — really like you. Not in the dumb, casual way everyone thinks I do with people. Not like how I was with Cait or any of them."

She takes a shaky breath, trying to find the words.

"You're different," she says, softer now. "You're...you. And that scares the shit out of me because you're the only person who’s ever made me want to be better than whatever this is." She gestures vaguely at herself, a crooked half-smile tugging at her mouth. "The cocky idiot with a basketball and no clue what she’s doing."

Your hands loosen a little around the note, and Vi feels something uncurl painfully in her chest — something small and fragile and full of hope.

"And," Vi adds, laughing nervously, "not to be super cliché, but... I wanted to ask you something."

She fumbles behind her back, pulls out the last thing she'd been hiding — a folded-up piece of paper, a little crumpled but still clearly marked in thick sharpie: “Will you go to prom with me?” and underneath, in smaller messy handwriting: “(Only if you want to, obviously. No pressure. I’ll still probably pine dramatically either way.)”

Vi holds it out between them, her hand visibly trembling now.

"I just... I wanted you to know," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "That it’s you. It’s always been you."

Silence stretches out between you. Vi feels it in every part of her body — the horrible, trembling, naked kind of silence.

And then —

You take the note from her hand, fingers brushing, and Vi's breath catches in her throat. You stare at it for a second. And then you finally, finally look up at her, your mouth twitching like you’re fighting a smile.

"You’re such an idiot," you murmur.

Vi lets out a wet, choked-off laugh, half-sobbing, half-relieved. "Yeah," she agrees hoarsely. "But I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me."

And before she can lose her nerve — before she can spiral again — you reach out, fisting your hand gently in the front of her hoodie, and pull her down just enough to press a kiss to her cheek.

Soft. Quick. But enough to make Vi completely forget how to breathe.

When you pull back, your eyes are shining, your cheeks pink. Vi’s sure she looks even worse — blushing so hard she probably looks like a tomato.

You tuck the promposal paper into your ballet bag and glance up at her through your lashes. "I’ll think about it," you tease, voice lighter than it’s been in days. But your smile — that small, real, for her smile — tells her everything she needs to know.

And Vi stands there in the soft, fading light, heart pounding out of her chest, feeling like maybe — just maybe — she hasn’t lost her shot after all.

The afternoon hums with quiet excitement, soft golden light pooling through Margot’s windows, catching dust motes and lazy breezes like something out of a movie. You sit cross-legged on her bed, nerves a heavy flutter in your chest, while Margot and Flint bustle around you like a storm you can’t quite stop.

"This one," Margot says, pulling a silky lavender dress from her closet and holding it up against you with a critical eye. "You’ll look like an actual angel. She’s gonna lose her mind."

You bury your face in your hands, feeling your cheeks burn. "Stop."

"Never," Margot grins, tossing the dress onto the bed beside you before rifling through a tangled jewelry box. "You’re gonna look so hot she’s gonna pass out before you even get through the door."

Flint snorts from where he's sitting on the floor, attempting to polish your scuffed-up ballet flats with a sleeve of his hoodie. "She's already obsessed, dude. You could show up in a trash bag and she’d still look at you like you invented oxygen."

"Flint!" you yelp, throwing a pillow at him.

He just laughs, dodging easily, and goes back to his hopeless polishing.

You pick up the lavender dress carefully — it’s soft and weightless between your fingers, the kind of thing that feels like it should be worn under fairy lights and slow songs. The nervous flutter in your chest sharpens a little, sweet and sharp all at once.

Margot crouches down in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your knees. "Hey," she says, softer now. "You don't have to be scared."

You look at her, biting the inside of your cheek. "What if...what if it's weird? What if this ruins everything?"

Flint looks up, his expression gentler than usual. "It won’t," he says simply. "You guys already survived the worst part. Now you just get to... be happy."

Margot smiles and taps your forehead lightly with one manicured finger. "Besides, you deserve this, dummy. Someone who looks at you like you hung the goddamn moon."

Your throat feels tight with emotion, but you manage a watery laugh. "You guys are so embarrassing."

"Yeah, yeah," Margot waves you off, standing and tossing a handful of bobby pins onto the bed. "Now shut up and get pretty. She’s picking you up at seven and you’re gonna make her suffer a little when she sees you."

You slip into the dress carefully, the silky fabric sliding cool over your skin. Margot helps zip it up with steady hands, adjusting the shoulders, smoothing it down over your hips with practiced ease.

Flint whistles low when you turn around. "Damn," he says, grinning. "Vi's toast."

You catch your reflection in Margot’s full-length mirror — and for a second, you don’t even recognize yourself. There’s still the usual tilt of your smile, the familiar curve of your nose, but there’s something else too — something brighter, softer. Like maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to believe you could be someone's dream too.

Margot stands behind you, resting her chin lightly on your shoulder. "You look beautiful," she says simply. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you actually believe her.

You turn, smoothing your hands down the front of the dress one more time, heart pounding against your ribs.

"Okay," you breathe out, looking at both of them — your friends, your ridiculous, wonderful family. "I’m ready."

Margot offers you a small smile—warm, gentle, the kind that settles your nerves just a little. “Alright, I think Vi’s—”

But she doesn’t get to finish. The doorbell cuts through the room like a starting bell.

You inhale slowly, trying to calm the flutter in your chest. One last glance in the mirror—your hair feels stiff with product, too many hands fussing over it—but you tuck a stray strand behind your ear anyway. With hesitant steps, you head toward the door.

It creaks open.

Vi stands on the other side, framed by the soft light of the porch. She's in a sharp black suit and tie, her hair slicked back, and a bouquet of roses clutched in one hand. She looks like a dream dressed in noir.

Her eyes find yours instantly—and in that split second, you both forget how to breathe.

Her mouth opens—once, then again—as if searching for words she can’t quite form. Like a fish pulled out of water. You give her a small, nervous smile, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hi.”

What else can you say when she looks like sin wrapped in velvet?

“Jesus Christ,” Vi murmurs, gaze sweeping over you. The silky fabric of your dress skims your figure like a secret, and you can see it in her eyes—she’s absolutely floored.

“You look handsome,” you say softly, tilting your head just a little. It earns you a shaky laugh.

She rubs a hand down her face. “I... I mean, thanks. Fuck. You look beautiful.”

She holds the bouquet out to you with a lopsided, almost boyish smile, and you can’t help the quiet laugh that slips past your lips.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the roses, your fingers brushing hers for the briefest moment. It feels like a spark—small, but impossible to ignore.

The school gym is chaos—glitter-drenched, bass-thumping, neon-lit chaos. And right in the center of it all is Abby.

Vi leads you inside with one arm bent at the elbow, offering it like a proper gentlewoman. You loop your hand through hers, grateful for the steady anchor in the sea of noise.

“Holy hell,” Vi mutters under her breath as her eyes sweep across the room.

Abby is already drunk—despite the strict no-alcohol rule—and is screaming along to a Katy Perry song like it’s her national anthem. A few guys from the team are doing their best to keep her upright, though one looks like he's about to give up and let gravity win.

Off to the far right, Ellie is practically devouring Margot in her lap, the two of them making out with the intensity of a scene from Fifty Shades.

You blink. “Well... this is something.”

Vi huffs a laugh and steers you gently toward the self-serve snack table, which is tragically underwhelming. A sad bowl of chips, a scattering of gummy worms, some rubbery-looking bread bites, and a bowl of punch that definitely looks... compromised.

You pour yourself a cup anyway. Vi declines with a shake of her head.

“Gotta drive you home after, pretty girl.”

The nickname slides over your skin like warm honey, unexpected and impossible to ignore. Something flickers low in your stomach—nerves, anticipation, maybe something a little more dangerous.

You lift the cup to your lips, hoping the definitely-spiked punch will drown the flutter in your chest.

You sip the punch, feeling it burn just a little too sweet on the way down, and try to ignore the warmth still lingering from Vi’s words.

The music shifts—Katy Perry fades out, replaced by something slower. Softer. One of those cliché prom songs meant for swaying in dim lighting and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Vi glances toward the dance floor, then back at you. “Wanna?” she asks, holding out a hand. Her voice is quiet now, almost hesitant, like she’s offering more than just a dance.

You nod before you can second-guess it, slipping your hand into hers. Her fingers are warm and sure as she leads you into the mess of couples already finding their rhythm.

She pulls you close—close enough that you can smell her cologne, faintly sharp and familiar, like pine and something deeper. Her hands settle gently at your waist, and yours loop around her shoulders. The two of you sway together in the hazy glow of string lights and cheap disco balls.

It’s awkward for half a second. Then it isn’t. Then it feels easy. Natural. Like your bodies knew how to find each other long before your hearts figured it out.

Vi looks down at you, and you can see her throat bob as she swallows hard. “You really do look beautiful tonight.”

Your cheeks heat, but you don’t look away. “So do you. I mean—” you laugh, flustered. “You look… unfairly good in a suit. I think you might’ve broken my brain a little.”

Vi laughs softly, forehead dipping to rest against yours. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while,” she says, voice barely a whisper. “And I didn’t know how to say it until now.”

The music hums low around you, but everything else falls away. Just you, and her, and the space between you growing impossibly small.

You smile, soft and real. “You just did.”

And then you lean in, brushing your lips against hers like a promise. Gentle. Certain.

The world can be glittery and chaotic. But this? This is quiet.

And it feels a lot like home.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ TAGLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚

( @foralltheprettygirls ; @sawaagyapong ; @jivimatcha ; @majuia ; @uhmidkmuch ; @savedforlaterr ; @baylegend6 ; @elle-girlylesbian @dazevi @paymeinkash , @jupitism , @lostsouls-mxli ; @xseraphine ; @tdawg2012 ; @norwayromanoff ; @caffeine-pup ; @tuliptu ; @killuomi ; @lin-elizabeth ; @sillyloafff ; @hitmehardmommy ; @cloudy-fay ; @powpowjinxlife ; @antobooh ; @horde9 ; @mikellie @caitvisthird44 ; @halle5s ; @strawb4kdior ; @daughterofthemoons-stuff ; @paankhaleyaaar ; @corpsebride25 ; @wosokirby ; @klallx ; @dollyfawn22 )

[chimtaesty]

Hey! I was wondering if you could maybe to a spike x reader fic based on the song the beast by lady gaga? That song really just screams spike to me I love it so bad😭

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃

♱ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 spike x reader / 0.6 k words ♱ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 none ♱ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 hello!! thank u for requesting, i hope u like it :)

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The alley smells like danger. Burnt rubber, cold blood, and something floral—maybe your own perfume clinging to your neck, or maybe just the lie you keep telling yourself that you’re still safe.

You're not.

The streetlight above flickers. Spike leans against the brick wall, cigarette glowing like a slow heartbeat in the dark. His platinum hair catches what little light there is, almost silver.

You’ve seen him like this before—after patrol, after a fight, after one too many quiet silences that almost mean something. But tonight? He looks... like a warning.

“I told you not to follow me,” he murmurs, voice like velvet pulled taut over something sharp. He doesn’t look at you right away. Just drags on the cigarette and blows the smoke toward the moon.

You cross your arms, stepping closer anyway. “You said it like you didn’t mean it.”

He chuckles. No fangs, no growl—just a sound too soft for someone with his reputation. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Your heart skips once, twice.

He turns now. Full face. Full eyes. And then—there it is.

The shift. His face warps, bones cracking into something monstrous. His eyes glow yellow, and his fangs catch the light.

The cigarette drops to the ground and fizzles out against the wet concrete. He’s still, waiting. Watching.

You don’t scream. You don’t run.

You breathe in. “You’re a vampire.”

“Very clever, love.” He tilts his head. His voice isn’t mocking, not really. “Still want to play in the dark?”

Your pulse betrays you, thundering in your ears. You should stake him. You have one, tucked in your jacket—Buffy insisted. But you don’t move. You just look at him, the shape of him, the shadow of him. The beast, the boy, the thing between. And all you can think is how sad he looks when he isn’t pretending not to care.

“You’ve been around all this time,” you whisper. “Fighting with us. Laughing. Acting like...”

“Like I was one of you?” His voice is bitter now. He steps closer. “I’m not. I never was.”

But you don't step back.

Instead, you lift your hand—slow, shaking slightly—and brush your fingers along the edge of his jaw, where the demon still lingers under the skin. He flinches. Just barely.

“I don’t think you know what you are either,” you say, voice barely above the wind.

He’s breathing, even though he doesn’t have to. Deep. Shallow. Like your touch is something more painful than a stake.

“You shouldn’t be near me,” he says, softly. “You know what I am now.”

You lean in. “I knew you were dangerous the moment I met you. That didn’t stop me then.”

He closes his eyes, jaw tightening under your fingers. When he opens them again, the gold is fading—monster slipping back into man.

But the ache in his face remains. And you understand now. You’ve seen demons before, but none looked at you like this.

Like you were something he could never have. Something holy. Something craved.

“I’m not afraid of beasts,” you whisper. “Just the ones that lie about it.”

Spike laughs again, but it breaks halfway through. He reaches up, hesitates, then brushes a curl of hair from your face, knuckles grazing your cheek. “And what if this beast tells the truth?”

“Then maybe I’ll stop lying to myself too.”

The silence that follows is thunderous. And the air—so charged, you think you might combust if he doesn’t kiss you, or kill you, or say your name in that way he hasn’t yet but might.

But he doesn’t do any of those things. He just looks at you like a question he’s afraid to ask.

And you—poor, brave, reckless you—you let him in.

[chimtaesty]

laura lee's sister x nat ?????

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

ᯓ★ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 pre crash! nat scatorccio x laura lee's sister!reader / 0.5k words ᯓ★ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 suggestive ᯓ★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 this was such fun to write!! thank u for requesting

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The sun hangs low over the field, casting everything in syrupy gold. Sweat clings to your back, your cleats are caked in dirt, and your legs ache in that satisfying, almost-earned way.

Practice is done, the girls are scattering, and the world feels lazy and loud — laughter bouncing off chain-link fences, water bottles being chugged like holy grails.

You tug your hair loose from its ponytail as you make your way across the grass, jersey sticking to your skin. You're already rolling your eyes before she even spots you — because there Laura Lee is, standing by the bleachers, all bright-eyed and glowing like someone cracked a stained-glass window and poured it into her.

She clutches her little Bible like it’s a limited-edition accessory and not the reason you haven’t made a single morally sound decision in years.

She waves. “Hey! That was such a good practice. Did you feel that energy at the end? That was totally God moving through us.”

You snort as you keep walking. “More like Coach nearly bursting a blood vessel.”

“But seriously,” she insists, jogging to catch up. “You can pretend all you want, but I know He’s got a plan for you. I can feel it.”

You hum, noncommittal, already locking eyes with Nat across the parking lot. She’s leaning against the fence like a teenage cliché — cigarette dangling from her lips, black eyeliner smudged in a way that makes you want to ruin her even more.

One boot on the bottom rail, hoodie zipped halfway, cocky smirk ready and waiting.

Your mouth curls as you toss a look back at Laura.

“Yeah, well… don’t wait up,” you say, loud enough for her and the departing team to hear. “I’m about to go commit six of the seven deadly sins in Nat’s backseat.”

Laura Lee audibly gasps like you just backhanded a priest.

“Y/N!” she squeaks, scandalized. “You can’t just—! That’s so—”

“What, biblically incorrect?” you grin, breezing past her.

Nat’s laughing by the time you reach her, shaking her head like she can’t believe you exist but she’s real glad you do.

She stubs out the cigarette and yanks you in by your collar, eyes glittering.

“You’re seriously gonna send your sister into cardiac arrest one day.”

“I consider it character building,” you murmur, sliding your fingers under the hem of her hoodie.

She leans in, lips brushing your ear. “You’re such a bad influence.”

“God’s favorite, baby,” you whisper, smiling as Laura’s horrified voice calls out behind you.

And Nat — well, Nat just kisses you like you hung the moon for her.

[chimtaesty]

omg queen i might die if i don’t get more southern/cowboy!vi!! i would loveee to see either vi taking reader on like a trail ride or just like more of vi being protective over her wife maybe they’re out and about in the town??? idk i just love ur southern!vi works they make me kick my feet and giggle

𝐌𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 cowgirl!vi x sweet little housewife!reader / 0.6 k words ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 none ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 u ask and u shall recive ! i hope u like it (i love writing for cowgirl!vi)

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The bar buzzes with noise — rowdy laughter, clinking bottles, the low hum of country music vibrating through the scuffed floorboards. The air is heavy with the scent of whiskey, fried food, and the kind of grease that sticks to your skin.

You’re tucked into the corner booth, warm and settled, Vi’s arm draped casually over the back of your chair. Her thumb traces slow, lazy circles into your shoulder while she sips her beer, all loose-limbed and comfortable.

Then Cole leans in. Smirking. Cocky. About three drinks past his limit and twice as bold as he ought to be. His eyes are glassy, his grin wide and sloppy.

“Bet your pretty little wife wouldn’t last five seconds on that bull.”

Your brows lift, surprise flickering across your face. Your lips part, but before you can get a single word out, Vi cuts in — sharp, clean.

“Ain’t her job to impress drunks.”

Cole chuckles, easy and loud. “I’m just sayin’ — she’s sweet, Vi. Nothin’ wrong with bein’ soft. But she wouldn’t hold on long.”

You glance between them, Vi already shaking her head, jaw set. Her easy calm is gone now, replaced by something low and bristling.

“Don’t even think about it, sugar,” she warns, voice taut with worry.

“That thing throws men twice your size clean off.”

But you’re already standing, that quiet little smile curling at the corner of your lips. Your dress swishes around your knees as you push your chair back, and Vi’s hand slips away from your shoulder like it doesn't want to let go.

“I’ll be careful,” you promise, sweet and soft and stubborn. “Just wanna try.”

Vi groans under her breath. “Lord help me.”

You cross the bar with your head high, the crowd parting around you. The mechanical bull looms in the center like a challenge, a dare with steel bones. You climb up with more grace than sense, settle into the seat like you belong there, and nod politely to the man at the controls.

Vi doesn’t sit. She stands rooted by the booth, hands braced on her hips, watching with her heart in her throat. Her eyes never leave you.

The bull lurches.

And you hold on.

One hand raised high, dress fluttering wild around your legs. The machine bucks hard beneath you, twisting, jerking — but you don’t flinch. You laugh, bright and reckless, like the whole world is yours and gravity’s just a suggestion. You grip with your legs, spine steady, smile wide.

The bar goes quiet, then erupts — whistles, cheers.

And still, you ride.

When the bull finally slows, easing into a stop, the whole place is roaring. People are on their feet, shouting, clapping, stunned.

Vi just stares. Her mouth parts, her breath catches — and then she grins, wide and smug and proud enough to knock someone over.

Cole whistles low. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Vi turns toward him slow, that grin sharpened into something dangerous.

“That’s my wife,” she says, voice cool as ice and sharp as a switchblade. “And if I were you, I’d think twice before callin’ her soft again.”

You hop down, cheeks flushed, heart still racing — and Vi’s already there, closing the space between you like she’s been holding her breath.

Her hands find your waist, fingers curling in tight, voice low in your ear.

“Goddamn, baby,” she murmurs. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

[chimtaesty]

HIII, i’ve never requested here before and i love your works. i was wondering if you could a little something with abby, where she’s like strapping down reader and then manny like accidentally walks in on them since her and manny share a room? i thought it would be silly and cute. thanks!

𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐃

-‘๑’- 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 abby anderson x reader / 1 k words -‘๑’- 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 smut MDNI -‘๑’- 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 hi !! thank u sm for requesting, i loved making this !!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, the smell of sweat and something distinctly Abby envelopes you softly. The room is dimly lit, one of the candles she said she didn’t need lit on her bedside table.

Abby’s sitting on her bed, legs sprawled with a book in her hands and when you put your bag down she lowers it - not like she’s been reading the thing anyhow.

“Hey, baby.” Your voice comes out softer, a small smile decorates your face as she opens her arms for you. “Hey, beautiful.” She murmurs back and you don’t hesitate to slip into her lap, thighs slotted on either side of hers.

But before you can even lean into kissing her, you feel something - something poking through her pants.

You cock an eyebrow at her as she shifts her hips upwards against your clothed cunt. “Is that..?” Abby just gives you a lazy grin, her hands gently run up your thighs.

“All strapped up for you.” She mumbles before she leans in, her lips brush up your neck teasingly and you swear the hot heat slowly materializes in your lower belly.

“Abby.” You whisper as your hands find her shoulders to hold on, your head tilts back and you feel her smirking against your skin. “I know, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

Without time to waste her hands sneak around your middle and you’re under her. Her hands skim over your shirt, slow and sensual and her mouth connects to your neck again.

You whimper, of course you do - Abby grinds her hips against yours and the friction makes you moan, your legs wrap around her middle just to pull her closer.

“Fuck, Abby please.” You mumble against her shoulder and she pulls back to unbutton her jeans, eyes hazy and mouth in a satisfied grin.

“Need me, baby? Need my dick?” She drawls and you try - you really try to scowl at her but the moment the pink dildo springs free from the zipper your breath hitches.

Abby’s hands glide up your thighs with a low hum as she pushes the skirt up, one hand brushes over your panty covered cunt and you moan softly, almost involuntarily. “Say it.” She whispers as her thumb draws soft torturous circles over your clothes clit. 

Your back arches slightly at the touch, mind already hazy with her. “I need you, shit - Abby please fuck me.”

Abby grins, satisfied and victorious all the same as she slowly drags down the already soiled panties. “There she is. Get on your belly, baby.” One hand of hers brushes over your stomach before she gives your thigh a soft tap. “Wanna fuck you from behind.” 

She doesn’t have to tell you twice. You move and she lets you, your legs spread and open for her, skirt pushed up when you pull your arms under your chin. “That’s it - fuck, look at you.” She mumbles before one of her hands palms your ass, slowly spreading you open for her.

The other hand palms her strap, it glides over the silicone as if it were a limb of hers and in that moment you both wish it were. “Gonna make you feel good.” Abby whispers one more time before she lines up the tip of the pink faux dick and slowly eases into your wet pussy.

Soon the room is filled with obscene sounds of skin slapping, squelching and broken moans. One of her hands fists your hair just enough to not hurt as she drives the strap into you.

“Fuck, baby - ah shit.” She mumbles between thrusts, you’re beneath her gasping and writhing as your hands fist the sheets.

Then, drowned out by the sheer mass of sounds coming from the both of you - the door creaks open. Gasps and squelching noises fill the room as Manny, Abby’s roommate (ah yes, your girlfriend doesn’t live here alone) steps into the room, eyes wide in horror as his gym bag drops to the floor

“What the fuck?!”

Abby freezes on top of you.

Your breath stutters out in a half-moan, half-choke as you whip your head toward the door—mortified—and meet Manny’s horrified stare.

He’s frozen too, like some cartoon character who’s just walked off a cliff but hasn’t realized it yet. His gym bag has already thudded against the wooden floor, and his wide, saucer-like eyes flicker between your bare skin and Abby’s very naked, very occupied position between your thighs.

There’s a long, awful pause.

“Seriously?!” Manny finally shouts, hands flailing as if he’s just caught the two of you sacrificing a goat instead of, well—“I LIVE HERE TOO, CABRONES!”

You scramble for the blanket, your back bumping into Abby’s belly as you try to cover the both of you with something, anything. But the sheet is twisted at the foot of the bed and Abby, very helpfully, is now hiding her face in your back and groaning—not with pleasure, but pure secondhand shame.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, your face burning hotter than the sun. “Manny, GET OUT!”

“I’m trying!” he yells, backing up and nearly tripping over his own bag. He covers his eyes with one hand like he’s been personally victimized. “But Jesus, Abby! A sock on the door, maybe? A post-it? I don’t need to see my roommate’s ass on a Tuesday!”

You bury your face in your hands. Abby finally shifts to sit up behind you, voice a low, growling grumble. “Manny. If you don’t close that damn door right now, I swear to God—”

He squeaks. Squeaks. And then slams the door behind him with a resounding BAM, followed by muffled cursing and footsteps down the hall.

Silence.

You sit there, wrapped in Abby’s arms now, her cheek resting on your shoulder, both of you breathless and sticky and flushed in a hundred different shades of mortification.

“I think I just died,” you mumble.

Abby exhales against your skin, then lets out a low, grumbly laugh.

“You and me both.”

[chimtaesty]

hello my beautiful wife!!

i have a request for you!! bodyguard!vi/!sevika taking a bullet for mafialeader!reader and they confess their love thinking that vi/sevika passed but they're very much still alive! 🔪🩸💸

I love you so much my ray of sunshine!! 💕💕💕

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄?

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 mafia!sevika x mafia!reader / 0.6 k words ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 blood, weapons ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 hi hi!! I'm back my babes!! i've had a hard week but i'm doing my best to get back at the requests and continue my other stuff so here u go! hope u like this one bby @moodient

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The warehouse is chaos—raw, unrelenting chaos. Shouts echo like thunder, bullets tear through the air with vicious precision, and the acrid scent of gunpowder clings to your lungs.

You dive behind a rusted cart just in time, the metal shrieking as a bullet ricochets off its edge. Gritting your teeth, you cock your weapon with a sharp snap, a curse slipping through your lips. Your knee screams in protest, but you barely feel it. Not now.

And then you see her.

Sevika charges forward like a lioness unleashed, metal arm gleaming under flickering lights, raised high with fury and purpose. She’s a storm in motion—deadly, beautiful, unstoppable.

Your breath catches. Even in the thick of battle, when death feels like a coin toss, she’s here. She’s with you. And for a second, just a second, your heart forgets how to be afraid.

You pull in a shaky breath and rise, gun steady, eyes locked on your next target. He lunges, wild-eyed, swinging a pipe, but you duck low and fire—once, clean through the chest. He drops, and you’re moving again, adrenaline pumping, instinct guiding your every step.

A blur rushes past—one of your own, machete raised high—and you seize the opening to fire three quick shots into the enemy's flank. Screams mix with gunfire, but your eyes—your heart—search for her again.

And there she is.

Sevika, blood splattered across her face like war paint, her chest heaving, eyes alight with a fire you’ve only ever seen in your dreams. She’s chaos incarnate, and yet, somehow, the only thing that feels real.

But then— A shadow. A shape. Movement near the crates.

A massive figure rises from the smoke, his gun aimed straight at you. You freeze for half a heartbeat—but Sevika doesn’t.

Your eyes lock for a single breath. A lifetime lives in that glance. Words you’ve never spoken. Things you’ve never dared to feel.

And then she moves.

Faster than your mind can process, she throws herself forward—between you and the bullet. Her body slams into yours, knocking you back just as the shot rings out. The sound is deafening.

You see it before you feel it—the way her body jerks, the way she crumples to the floor, lifeless and heavy.

Your lungs forget how to work.

“No... no, no no—”

You don’t remember moving. One second she’s falling, the next you’re beside her, dragging her limp form behind cover with trembling hands. She’s dead weight—unconscious, maybe worse—and your vision blurs with panic.

“You idiot,” you breathe, voice cracking as your fingers search desperately for the wound, hot blood soaking your palms. “You stupid idiot—why would you take a bullet for me?”

Her blood coats your hands, thick and warm, and you press hard against the gash along her ribs.

“You’re not supposed to—this wasn’t supposed to happen,” you whisper, voice barely holding itself together. “Not you.”

The warehouse noise dims, the fight waning in the distance, but all you can hear is the wild, uneven beat of your own heart.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” you plead, eyes blurring. “I love you, Sevika. Do you hear me? I—God, I love you. So stay with me. Please.”

You don’t expect an answer. You’re rambling to the void, to the blood-slick shadow of the woman who’s haunted your every thought.

But then— A breath. A voice. Fragile, like glass cracking.

“Love me?”

It’s barely audible, but it hits you like another bullet. Her eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded and hazy, and your chest caves with relief.

“I do,” you whisper, raw and real. “Yes.”

And when her fingers—slick with her blood—find yours in a weak, trembling grasp, you know.

She does too.

[chimtaesty]

hi ! you asked me to send you my request here (i hope this is working though, i'm still trying to figure out how the app works...) so that you don't forget about it, so here it is again :

just noticed you wanted us to send you asks so here i am :) unfortunately, i don't have any great inspiration to share with you at the moment… anything with vi or ellie williams (my girlsss) is always nice to see. but other than that, completing basketball!vi x ballerina!reader would be super cool, if it's something you'd be happy to do, of course ! (yup, i'm still obsessed with that one…)

bye 🫶 have a great day !

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

♒︎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 loser!ellie x reader / 1.2 k words ♒︎ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 none ♒︎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 HI !! I'm totally working on 'labyrinth love' right now, maybe i'll drop the last part tonight! this is a little something that's been sitting in my drafts & i think you'll like it (hopefully) so, here u go!!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

You’re all crammed into Dina’s apartment—some shitty couch, a couple floor cushions, an overturned laundry basket being used as a table.

Music low, drinks half-finished, someone’s passed out in the corner with a blanket that definitely smells like weed and regret.

And Ellie? Ellie’s on the floor, back against your knees, launching into the most insane rant you’ve ever heard.

“…I’m just saying,” she says, hand flailing with a cheeto between her fingers, “If birds wanted to be evil, they totally could. Like, they’ve got flight and hollow bones and talons. You ever seen a goose, man? Those things are demonic.”

The room is silent for half a beat.

“Anyway,” she adds, like she’s just delivered a TED Talk, “that’s why I never trust anything with wings and an attitude.”

Jesse blinks slowly. “Dude, what the fuck?”

But you?

You’re grinning. Fingers carding through Ellie’s hair absently, like you love hearing her unhinged theories about avian world domination. You lean down a little and whisper near her ear, “so… if I wore wings, would you be scared of me?”

Ellie’s neck goes red in an instant. “What—no—wait—maybe? I mean, not in a bad way! Like, in a cool, terrifying, kinda hot way—”

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse mutters. “She’s in love.”

“She’s doomed,” Dina adds, sipping from her beer.

But Ellie’s barely listening—because she’s twisted halfway around to look up at you, and you’re still smiling at her, still stroking her hair, still looking at her like she’s the smartest, funniest person alive.

And she’s melting.

“You’re, like…” she breathes, squinting. “Really pretty.”

You blink, caught off guard for half a second.

“…Thanks, babe.”

“No, like. Really. It’s a problem. You’re smiling at me and I forget how words work. And my brain just goes: pretty. smile. girlfriend. And then there’s just static up here.”

She taps her forehead with two fingers, completely serious.

And you just laugh—soft and sweet—and lean down to press a kiss to her temple.

The room erupts.

“OH MY GOD,” Jesse groans, falling back on the couch like he’s been shot. “How the hell did Ellie pull her?”

“I feel like I’m watching a golden retriever date a goddess,” Dina mutters. “It’s disturbing.”

Ellie turns scarlet, burying her face in your thigh. “Don’t listen to them,” she mumbles. “They’re just jealous.”

You smile down at her, hand curling under her chin to tilt her up again.

“I think you’re perfect.”

Ellie malfunctions. Fully. Stares at you with big, round eyes like you just offered to marry her on the spot.

She mouths perfect? like she’s never heard the word before.

And all you do is nod.

Because you mean it.

Ellie’s still staring up at you, stunned, her face half-buried in your thigh. Everyone else has moved on to another round of some dumb card game Jesse’s pitching, but she’s still stock-still.

You called her perfect.

Her. Ellie “accidentally-walked-into-the-wrong-classroom-and-sat-there-for-40-minutes” Williams. Ellie who once used a sock to hold her blunt ‘cause she lost her lighter and burned her thumb last time. Perfect.

“You good, babe?” you murmur, hand gently brushing her cheek.

She blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m chill. Totally chill. Just, y’know, experiencing a full emotional reboot. It’s fine.”

You giggle and press another kiss to the top of her head, and she whines softly into your leg like she can’t handle the affection.

Eventually, someone mentions it’s past one, and the room starts to empty out. You tug Ellie up by her hoodie strings, and she stands like she’s been resurrected, slinging her bag over her shoulder and mumbling something about “walking you back.”

Outside, it’s cool and quiet. The kind of early campus stillness where every window glows soft yellow and the street lamps flicker like they’re just as tired as the students.

You lace your fingers through hers, and she tenses for half a second before relaxing—then squeezing back.

She glances sideways at you. “So. Uh. I meant to ask. That thing you said back there—was that, like, real? Or were you just saying it ‘cause I said your smile makes my brain explode?”

You stop walking and tug her back a little, fingers still locked. “You mean the perfect thing?”

Her whole face goes red again. “That’s the one.”

You shrug, playful. “Guess you’ll have to get used to hearing it.”

She stares. “You’re gonna kill me. You’re actually gonna kill me. Death by girlfriend compliment. Local lesbian found deceased on sorority row sidewalk.”

You grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love,” she says immediately, too fast, too much. And then realizes, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, ignore that, that was—that slipped out, I didn’t mean to—well I did, but I didn’t mean to say it, not like that, I was gonna wait ‘til, like, Valentine’s Day or a meteor shower or something cool—”

You stop her with a kiss. Gentle. Quick. Just enough to make her forget what planet she’s on.

When you pull back, she’s blinking, dazed. “…was that a good kiss or a ‘shut up, loser’ kiss?”

You smile. “Both.”

She huffs. “Rude.”

But you’re smiling at her with that look again—the one that says she’s yours, chaos and all—and she leans in close, bumping her forehead to yours.

“I meant it,” she mumbles. “Even if it was an accidental I-love-you. I do.”

You tilt your head, whisper back, “Me too.”

Ellie practically floats the rest of the way to your dorm. You part with another kiss, and she’s halfway down the hall before she turns around, walking backward and beaming.

“You still think I’m perfect?”

You laugh. “I think you’re mine.”

And that’s all it takes. Ellie bolts out of sight before you see the way she pumps her fist in the air, quietly muttering, “holy shit, holy shit, I have the best girlfriend on earth.”

She’s standing in the middle of her room. Hoodie still half-on, phone gripped like it’s both her lifeline and her greatest threat.

Her cat’s staring up at her from the bed, judgmental as hell.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she mutters, flopping onto the mattress. “You didn’t see her. She said I’m hers. I had no choice but to fall apart.”

The cat blinks.

Ellie’s phone buzzes.

[You]: made it back okay? [You]: you looked like you were floating

She groans, punches her pillow a little, and then types back:

[Ellie]: i was not floating [Ellie]: i am very grounded. like a normal person. a grounded, non-floating person who is extremely chill and not thinking about your lips at all.

Immediate regret.

She throws the phone face down on the bed.

The cat meows. “I panicked, okay?”

Buzz.

[You]: you’re so dumb. i’m smiling so hard it hurts [You]: love you, loser. goodnight.

Ellie clutches her phone to her chest and lets out a long, dreamy “fuck.”

Then she whispers it again, grinning “She loves me.”