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yuurei20 · 4 months ago

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Summarized transcript of the Twisted Radio episode with Diasomnia! 🐉🦇⚔️⚡️

Highlights: A very good episode, all the Diasomnia VAs love their characters and each other’s characters and each other and it is very obvious when they interact.

Disclaimer: These are not direct quotes, this is all general summarizations and paraphrasing~

Begins with how they are happy to be all together in one place, for the first time in two years.

The opening talk set by last week: what do you find yourself buying when you travel?

⚡️It seems 🦦-kun wanted to buy a dragon sword… 🐉 I’ve bought one before. 🦇 Why wwww 🐉 In elementary school

On topic: 🐉 I love milk. Every time I go some place I buy milk to drink. A recent musical I was in traveled nationwide and the milk in Hokkaido is different depending upon the area. I was so happy.

🦇I like to get things to remind me of the trip. It doesn’t matter what they are. It doesn’t even have to be related to the area. Just a prize from a Game Center or a gacha toy or anything is fine.

⚔️ Dragons. Apparently they’re growing in popularity.

He talks about how around high school everyone loses interest, but then you become an adult and are like “actually yeah dragons are great” ww

🦇 We should get on that bandwagon. Officially recognized by Diasomnia ww ⚔️ We have the most noble and beautiful dragon of them all 🦇 Out of all the dragons that there are, he certainly stands out

(Everyone is laughing so much they are having so much fun)

⚡️I like getting fruit or something that was made from things grown in the area, even if it’s temporary, to remember the taste

(⚡️ is the host so it is his job to keep them on subject ww there are a lot of cuts in this episode, they must have talked for so long and needed to cut it down)

Fan letter: I had a dream where I talked about how wonderful Malleus-sama is for ten hours. What strange dreams have you had before?

⚡️I have been seeing the same dream since I was a kid. A kind of horror dream. The same dream where I am being chased by something.

⚔️ There are dreams I had as a kid that really left an impression on me. I remember them pretty well. Like one where I became a character from a cartoon that could fly. I became one of the main characters. An enemy would appear, someone would say “Let’s go!” and they’d all naturally start to fly. And even though I was a main character, I’d say “Let’s go!” and I was the only one who wouldn’t be able to fly. Everyone else flew off and I couldn’t. I was the main character and they all left me behind. I started crying that I couldn’t fly and then I woke up.

🦇 I’ve had a dream about situation where I could fly, too. Even though I could fly, when I jumped from somewhere high up instead of going straight I would go fly upwards, then think, “Yeah, I can fly,” and that is when I could go forward. I perform safety checks within my dream.

🐉 In a dream I had in university I could fly, but just some light floating. Everyone else travels very quickly, and at first I can as well, but then I get lower and lower, and soon I am floating about 5cm. I’m technically flying, but…I saw that dream a lot.

(This entire story ⚔️ is in the background dying of laughter)

About Malleus

He was very mysterious when he first appeared. ⚡️ says he had the feeling from the start that he was a very good character.

🦇 He had an atmosphere of someone who is difficult to go near.

⚔️ I like Malleus-sama even more now than I did before. Not just what about him that is firm but his soft side, his warm side, his cold side—we can see so many aspects of his character now, which has made him even more captivating. Because he is so mysterious something even more wonderful than what I had imagined has emerged—that is the impression I have of him now.

🦇 They did a great job with his casting. I didn’t really know anything at first, but doing this for so long, you can tell how perfect 🐉-kun is for this part.

🐉 I’m so happy :D

🦇 Of course everyone wants to know more in the beginning because of his cool voice, but 🐉-kun has a kindness to him. And that is what I came to understand. They took that into account when they chose him. When I figured that out, I was extremely impressed. This isn’t something that just anyone can do. It’s not enough to just provide a cool character voice. It’s a distinct charm that he has.

⚔️ The character is really packed with substance, but there’s still space left, and you can sense that mysteriousness. Because there is so much going on inside of him there are things for you to grasp at while simultaneously stirring your imagination. I really sense that.

🦇 When you try to think of other seiyuu like that, no one really comes to mind. It has to be 🐉-kun.

🐉 Is it okay if I start to cry?

⚔️ And when he sings…

⚡️ That humming…

⚔️ That was amazing.

🐉 That was so hard to do. They told me, “please hum like you mean it,” and I thought, “what is humming that you mean?” Humming that follows a melody, that becomes a sound. I had never done that before. It was really hard. We tried several different patterns.

⚔️ It was scary. Both an ending and a beginning.

🦇 But as the story continues I find him cute, too. And 🐉-kun is cute, too.

(Everyone is laughing, I think ⚔️ is going to die here)

🦇 No I’m serious, really, really.

🐉 While portraying Malleus the difficult thing is always not showing too much emotion,.The direction I am always receiving is “you can’t become human.” They’ll say, “that take sounded just like a regular guy.” The balance of how his normal is not normal for a human is always hard to do. And post-overblot Malleus—they’ll tell me, “Sorry, but Malleus sounds kind of scary.” I often get told “can you control the darkness a bit.” But through all that how do I still portray Malleus-ness…

🦇 The more you read for a character the more you come to understand them, but Malleus was last.

🐉 There was a lot of uncertainty in the beginning. I have concluded that he is cute. He’s a child. He’s been alive longer than the others, but his emotional state hasn’t caught up to that. He has so much power, but he lacks the normal concept of common sense. Things that are common sense to him are not so to others. I am always trying to portray that unusual dichotomy.

⚔️ talks about being able to see Malleus grow up in Book 7 through the different milestones were see in the flashbacks. There are places where he has always been the same but parts about him that have evolved. ⚔️ tells 🐉 that it seems like that must have been hard.

🐉 It was so hard. I think there’s probably a way of interacting with Malleus that's in line with how he understands things, even though I don't fully understand it. When encountering him for the first time, people around him might think, 'Wow, he doesn’t react at all!' But Malleus does react in his own way. I would receive many detailed directions like 'Please be surprised!' or 'Please react!' I didn’t create this performance all by myself, it has come together from the efforts of the staff, and I’m really grateful for that. I tend to lose track of what was the right way to approach things as Malleus. You can get confused between doing events and the main story, so getting back into the right mindset every time is pretty tough.

About Silver

🐉 I thought he was really cool when I saw him the first time.

⚡️ I think it’s cute how he falls asleep—he’ll wake up, apologize, and then immediately sleep again.

🦇 He’s really pretty.

🐉 I thought he had a beautiful face the first time I saw him.

⚔️ My portrayal of him hasn’t really changed since the beginning. We’ve gotten more information and there is more of a backbone now, and of course things change when new things are revealed. Even from the beginning he wasn’t just a cool character, he had a naturalness to him, and not just that he spaces out, but he tries to solve his problems with physical strength. Like in Book 7 with “if I hit it that will fix it.” I think his humanity is being expressed more these days.

🦇 It took a while, yeah?

⚔️ It took so long.

🦇 It took us a while to get to Malleus, too, but he had the impact of his first appearance. Silver didn’t have anything.

Now they’re talking about Lilia’s farewell party and Malleus and Silver crying together and not knowing how to express their emotions. Trying to be mature.

⚔️ He’s being a big brother to Silver!!

🦇 I figured something was coming soon, after that. And it went in an intense direction.

⚔️ There is so much about them that is a family. Father is Lilia, and Malleus-sama has a big-brother nature to him.

🐉 You really feel their familial relationship.

⚔️ He felt some responsibility. If the little brother starts to cry, the older brother—

🐉 He can’t cry.

⚔️ He’ll get desperate to try and be strong and try to solve the problem.

🐉 Like he has to step up.

🦇 So it was Silver’s fault.

⚡️⚔️🐉wwwwww

⚔️Not all of it. Silver would never say this, but the reason things became so difficult for the two of them is…their love for their father.

🦇 Sebek and Silver are a good combination, too.

⚔️ Such a good combination~~~

🦇 They’re complete opposites but they’re also surprisingly similar.

⚡️They’re both so honest.

🐉 They’re honest and serious and good kids, both of them.

⚡️ They never had the opportunity to show emotion like that until 7. They are both very quick to cry.

🐉 They’re so much alike.

⚡️I guess this is what happens when you’re raised together with someone. I think Silver is the older brother, looking from Sebek’s perspective. There is a moment where Sebek is scolded for the first time. In the moment, when I was reading, ⚔️’s portrayal really is angry. I even said it, “He finally scolded him for the first time.”

About Sebek

⚡️I think he empowers himself by speaking so loudly. Once he decides on doing something, he goes straight for it, true to his unique magic. With how strongly he sticks to his principles it’s like he could overcome any obstacle, like in that scene he had with Silver, but it was very cute that he actually loses there.

⚔️THAT WAS SO CUTE. That was a great part.

(⚔️ is literally yelling into his mic about how cute Sebek is)

⚡️The fact that he was able to get out the words he really wanted to say after he lost the fight shows that he does want to say what is on his mind but there is a wall that he has to break down, and then he can move forward. That is a moment where you can really understand Sebek-kun’s feelings. And once he lets his emotions out, they’re out w

🐉 He can’t put the lid back on. Everything spills out.

⚔️ (dying in the background)

⚡️talks about how much effort Sebek puts into everything and he reads so much and there is so much he wants people to know, which is why he is so loud.

🦇Sebek and Silver have both had a lot more lines recently. Doesn’t your voice get worn out during recordings?

⚡️It doesn’t! I do stretches and things before recordings. I figured out that I need that kind of physical exercise to prepare.

About Lilia

⚡️ Mom.

🐉 A cute mom.

⚡️There was a lot of gaps* in 7.

*I can’t figure out a good way to say this in English. It is the difference between what you expect and what something really is.

🐉 Too many gaps, it was so surprising.

🦇 I had heard nothing about any of that.

⚡️ I had an image of him as someone who is gentle and cute and a senpai who enjoys pranks and looks out for others…

🦇 He used to be completely different.

⚡️And there was egg-sama.

🐉 Egg-sama w

⚡️⚔️It’s not inaccurate.

🦇 I have done a lot of crying scenes before. When you first look at the script it hits you, and when you think about how you have to portray what you just read so that the people listening to your performance feel the same emotion—there is a pressure to that. I can’t be the only one crying. I have to make others cry.

⚔️ Something that 🦇-san said (during the special talk show that 🦇 and 🐉 did together last year talking about Book 7 just the two of them) that I really liked and wanted to ask about: You and Baul’s VA Koyasu-san (🐊) have been performing together a lot over the years. And you came back together for the first time in a while for this. You said that you didn’t want to give him the impression of “So this is what 🦇 is like these days.” So there was that pressure, you didn’t want to give an embarrassing performance in front of him, and I realized that you have a passionate spirit that you don’t really show, in my opinion—but it’s there! I got really excited about that.

🐉 I was surprised, too, that even 🦇-san has those same thoughts.

⚡️Same!

🦇 Of course I do. The pressure was intense. I am glad that we were able to record together, but…

And with the Chapter 13 release announcement they say they have permission to share this information:

🦇 and 🐉 were able to record together!

🐉 It was amazing. It was truly an amazing time for me.

🦇 It was our first time performing together.

Upcoming calendar review~ and done!

#twstseiyuu #twisted wonderland #Malleus Draconia #Kato Kazuki #Sebek Zigvolt #Ishiya Haruki #Lilia Vanrouge #Midorikawa Hikaru #Shimazaki Nobunaga #Silver

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hardlyinteresting · 5 months ago

Text

Stop in the middle

Jake Seresin x reader

Two sides of the same coin; they were joined at the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”.

So much wine by Phoebe Bridgers Somewhere else by Indians Abbey by�� Mitski

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, (call sign Angel), with no physical description, crash landing, wilderness survival, major injuries (non-graphic description), discussions of death, happy ending though (I promise!), hurt/comfort, idiots in love, possible Navy inaccuracies, (please let me know if you'd like me to add anything else)

Word Count: 4.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

Laying in the snow she watches the sun rise inch by inch over the tree line. The sky bathed in a soft orange glow that warms her skin for what she can only assume will be the last time. He’ll hate her for leaving him without saying goodbye, but her voice has already left her and her arms are too weak to shake him from his slumber.

In the distance the cotton fluff clouds rest on the peaks of the mountains; tremendous contrast so perfectly balanced. She feels each of Hangman's breaths expanding the firm plane of his chest as her breathing grows slower. Two days ago she never would have imagined dying in the arms of Lt. Jake “Hangman” Seresin.

---

They had taken off at the barest crack of dawn breaking. 0600 hours. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Take off from the carrier. Fly over. Survey the valley below—report anomalies. Continue the flight path, and land at a nearby ally airbase. Refuel. Return to the carrier. They'd been tasked with flying similar paths for the last two weeks as part of a larger peacekeeping and security effort. As far as deployments go, they were lucky to have been selected to be the joint task force; and more fortunate to not be engaged in active combat.

Though Hangman would loathe to admit it with his two confirmed air combat kills, she knows herself that no pilot wants to be under enemy fire or in a position to take a life; it's an unfortunate consequence and frequent reality of the job.

In the time they’ve known each other, she’s heard Jake speak frequently about his mother and her homemade pie waiting for him in Texas. He tells stories about the boys he used to play football with in high school, and family reunions with little nieces and nephews running about barefoot. She’s heard him making plans to buy a home and settle down. He dreams of a future. Anyone paying attention knows that beneath the outwardly cocky exterior, and adrenaline rushes, he's afraid of dying.

It wasn't enemy fire that took them down two days ago, but rather sudden major malfunctions that left them without any navigation system, defective coms, and an aircraft almost completely unresponsive to pilot commands. Their saving grace had been Hangman's quick thinking to point them towards a clearing in the tree line, and her decision to dump their fuel as they descended rapidly toward the ground. Flying too low to eject safely they braced themselves for impact, an apology for something he could not have stopped on Jake's lips.

The sounds of alarms and rapid beeping tones woke them. The smell of burning jet fuel startled them into action again. Jake's head stayed lulled forward his eyes slipping shut again before his limbs burst into action with a level of urgency that forced her to react with equal fervour. She watched wide-eyed as Hangman pushed open the canopy pulling himself up and out of his seat, rolling sideways out the opening. Only in watching his exit did she notice the awkward angle the jet had landed at. The nose crumpled by the force of the impact, their wings clipped and lost somewhere in the trees or across the clearing; the body had slid half on its side, a couple hundred feet through revealing mud beneath and leaving a wake of burning grass melting through the powder white snow. A sharp pain threatened to make her lose her breakfast as she clambered from her seat and the tangle of buckles and straps that had saved her life. She tumbled with purpose but little grace out into the frozen valley.

“Alright?” Hangman asked standing with his back straight as she doubled over trying hard to catch her breath. She nodded but he didn't make any effort to speak or move giving her a moment to collect herself.

Sucking in the ice-cold air she ignored the searing pain tearing through her rib cage. Her attention drifted from herself back to Jake who swayed on his feet, the soft crunch of snow sounding beneath his feet as he tried to find a place to stand steady. Watching him pale she only grew more convinced Jake was concussed.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Dizzy for sure”.

“Well, we'll thank our lucky stars we crashed in allied territory. Once we find shelter, I'll run a concussion protocol for you.”

Their non-functioning radios had left them no way to communicate their mayday calls. They had tried in vain to transmit their approximate coordinates as their headsets filled with static. Their navigation system ran haywire, the coordinates too impossible to be accurate in any case.

His brows furrowed as he turned to survey their crash sight. His usually bright smile had been pulled into a firm line that confirmed to her they'd be stranded for a while.

A gust of wind reminded them of how exposed they were in the clearing. While enemy scouts wouldn't be an issue, the potential for hypothermia would be.

“Map. Compass. Let's grab the chutes from the seats as well,” she suggested. Hangman was uncharacteristically quiet in his agreement, giving her a nod of affirmation as they collected what they could from the jet.

The sun was still high in the sky above them providing decent light though filtered through bare branches and evergreen limbs. Somewhat guarded from the biting wind they allowed themselves to settle for a moment hoping to find their bearings and build a solid plan for their survival.

Before they began to plummet they had been about a quarter of an hour's flight from the air base on the other side of the valley. Plotting their estimated crash site on the paper map they found themselves nearly 250 miles away from their destination, walking sun up to sun down would still mean a 2-and-a-half day walk.

“Look alive sunshine,” she teased as Jake's eyes began to droop. He'd let out a laugh his smile surprisingly bright as he tilted his head back to look at her. “You're so bossy,” he complained.

“I'm about to get bossier, I've got to make sure you don't have a concussion”.

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted.

“Don't sass me Seresin,” she warned, though she tried to keep the tone playful.

For years they'd played this game; pushing each other's buttons skirting around the edges of flirtation and toeing the line of verbal bullying. Ribbing him was how she had learned to be affectionate towards him. Giving him a hard time made him flustered, or it made him laugh, and either reaction was a well-welcomed sight that had left a fluttering in her chest. The lighthearted back and forth they'd learned to communicate through made it easier to ignore the sidelong glances, and yearning that had begun to take shape beneath the surface.

“Alright,” she sighed, pulling the tiny flashlight out of her belt, “eyes on me”.

“They usually are,” he smirked.

With the light, she checked his eyes and got promising results: no abnormal dilation. Both pupils were even and responsive to light. “Today's date?” She asked him.

“February twelfth”.

“Your date of birth?”

“October twenty-first. Nineteen ninety”.

“Any headache, nausea, persistent dizziness?”

He responded no to all the symptoms and she allowed some relief to fill her knowing the initial symptoms had dissipated and not worsened. Finally, she held one finger up waiting for his eyes to focus. “Follow me,” she said her hand moving to the left, his eyes followed.

“I'll follow you anywhere,” he said as her hand moved to the right.

“Don't flirt with me, Hangman”.

“Wouldn't it be stranger if I didn't? I’m just proving I’m not concussed”. His point was somewhat valid but she didn't let him know she thought so, continuing her evaluation in silence.

He's like this with everyone. She'd been telling herself the same thing for years. You're not special. He'll flirt with anyone. A painful truth that's helped her ignore his beautiful green eyes and warm countenance.

---

Laying on her back in the snow drawing her last breaths now she wishes she could see those eyes one more time as her vision begins to blur. The blue sky swirls into the emerald pines, the colours lightened by the soft sunlight. The colours like sea glass make her think of him and tears begin to gather behind her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she wants to say but only a pathetic whimper leaves her. She wonders if she would have been kinder to him if she had known she was going to die. Would she have been more honest with her feelings? Or pushed them down deeper in some foolish attempt to protect him? The sun continues to rise and she knows he will wake soon. Selfishly, she hopes she’s drifted off before then, unwilling to see him hurting on her behalf.

---

“Not concussed, but still a pain in my ass,” she had teased him, pushing his hair off his forehead, double-checking for any wounds. He took her words as permission to keep moving. Each of them threw a parachute pack over their shoulders and continued their walk northeast through the woods.

By 1900 hours the sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and the sky above turned a deep blue dotted by tiny spangling stars. Breathtaking and brilliant it had been easy to forget, just for a moment, where they were. She slung the chute of her shoulders towards the ground hissing at the movement. She hadn't had the time to check herself over. Best case her ribs were bruised, at worst she'd find out they were broken, and there would be nothing to help her until they had access to a medical bay anyway.

“Are you sure you're okay, Angel?” Hangman asked, using her call sign letting her know he meant business. He was not asking as a friend, he was asking as her teammate.

“Yes,” she lied. The pain was tolerable, only worsening with sharp or sudden movement. Nothing she couldn't handle, and nothing she would force Jake to worry about.

“Are you sure? I wouldn't be opposed to stripping you down to check for injuries,” his flirtations softened the conversation in an attempt to get her to tell him the truth.

“In your dreams,” she responded instead, moving along the base of a nearby tree in hopes of gathering some firewood and kindling.

“Quite frequently, actually,” the wink he shot her way repeats in her head even now piercing through the fourth wall of the masquerade they had built, an honest and boyish confirmation that their feelings for each other were something beyond friendship.

The plethora of fresh fallen snow meant finding water wasn't an issue of concern. Finding food would be more difficult and that first night under the stars they sat watching the flickering flames of the fire they had built, their empty stomachs rumbling with nothing to fill them.

Stretched between two trees, one of the parachutes they liberated from their wreck was used as a windscreen, protecting them from the cold. The second one lay draped around their shoulders as an extra layer.

Proximity wasn't an issue for them. They had spent enough time in cramped cockpits together to be familiar with the sounds of each other breathing. They had sat shoulder to shoulder in briefings enough time that she had memorized the smell of his cologne. And yet, when he put his arm around her to pull her closer in their makeshift cocoon her heart stuttered. How could his hands be so strong when her own wouldn't stop shaking? How could a simple touch warm her from the inside out? His fingers brushed along her side with no real pressure, but still prompted a gasp to escape her. Tears left glass trails on her cheeks in the firelight.

She tried to turn away from him, to feign sleep but he wouldn't have it. “Hey,” Jake caught her attention, waiting for her to look at him before he continued, “We're going to be okay”.

She believed him.

---

Everything about their uniforms has been painstakingly designed to keep them safe. 100% cotton undershirts and pants because the material won't melt to their skin in the event of a cockpit fire. But the surprisingly soft base layers have never stopped the blaze burning inside her. From the moment she laid eyes on Jake Seresin she knew he'd be the beginning and the end of everything. He pushed people away with his cocky attitude, somehow convinced that his refusal to be vulnerable would keep him safe from forming meaningful bonds; that he might get further ahead if he had fewer people to let down. But, he'd let her in. He'd let her break down his walls and climb over the fences he'd tried to put up. She'd held him when he got the news his father had died. On a ship thousands of miles from his home he'd told her about his brother dying when he was a child, and growing up in his shadow. He told her how badly he wanted to make his parents proud and how lonely he had made himself in the process. He'd kissed her forehead as they parted that night, and her world changed forever.

What had been an embarrassing schoolgirl crush she couldn’t shake had become a push-and-pull relationship neither of them could do without. She knew how to put him in his place when he took a joke too far. He knew how to goad her into showing everyone what she was capable of, refusing to let her slip into the background when he knew she deserved more.

Two sides of the same coin, they were joined a the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”. She wishes she would have said it. Lying at death’s door she remembers being told that you often regret the things you haven’t done more than you regret the things you did. “I’m in love with you, Jake Seresin,” she whispers to the wind.

---

Their second day of walking was far more painful than the first. Jake had startled himself awake, his eyes wild as he fought to remember where it was they had ended up. The acceptance of their reality hadn't seemed to comfort him and he grew uncharacteristically quiet as they packed up their makeshift camp. The pine trees towering above them had been kind enough to shed some of their cones while they had lay sleeping in shifts. Though they hadn't offered many, they were able to harvest a handful of pine nuts between the two of them for breakfast. It was nowhere near a meal, but the snack had managed to quiet their angry stomachs for a few minutes.

The ache in her side had grown to become a constant agony. What had started as a negligible strain was now a torment that threatened to collapse her with each footfall. Despite the subzero temperatures, a sweat had broken out across her brow, and the heat spreading up the back of her neck left her wanting to strip off her cold weather jacket and flight suit.

“Have you ever had rabbit?” Jake asked around noon. His footsteps had slowed enough for her to catch up with him. His voice had startled her after all the silence.

“I can't say that I have,” she answered. A gunshot pulled her from her thoughts and she realized she hadn't ever answered out loud. Jake stood a few feet ahead of her, his service pistol in his hand. The world around her was spinning. The trees blurring together as a sudden wave of nausea filled her. She could hear her name being called; muffled and distorted. Jake. His face soon filled her line of vision.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he told her, but her mind still struggled to put the pieces together. For a moment it felt like she was underwater, all her breath gone from her lungs and all she could feel was the scalding pain burning from the inside out. Momentarily she entertained the idea that it was her who had been shot until she spotted the rabbit lying lifeless in the snow.

“We need to eat,” Jake spoke again, “you're going quiet on me and I don't like that-- we’ll get some energy in you again before we keep moving”.

The very idea of eating anything threatened to leave her dry-heaving, but she took advantage of the moment to rest. He didn't mention her lack of assistance building a fire or preparing the rabbit, but she watched with incredible focus his hands moving with precision and surprising gentleness for the task at hand.

She can recall him telling her stories about his childhood, standing on step stools to reach the countertop in his mother's kitchen rolling out pie crusts and later on slicing apples. He once told her that it was his mother who had taught him patience and gratitude while they baked together; two traits he had neglected to exhibit far too often in his adult life.

She listened to him thank the rabbit for its life as he cut away pieces to feed to her. There was an unmistakable love in the way he moved, his eyes cast over his shoulder to check on her. Slowly, she realized that she was not doing a good job hiding her suffering. In a fleeting thought, she imagined Jake having to carry her lifeless body for the rest of their journey. In their line of work, it had never been considered morbid to have funeral plans from a young age. Flying with him for years she had learned to trust him implicitly, despite the call sign he'd earned and worked tirelessly to recover from she knew early on that he'd do right by her. Challenging authority, but always following the rules; complete and unwavering dedication to whatever task he had at hand; precision and perfection in the execution of his duties be it laundry or taking down a fighter jet midair. As her energy continued to leave her she took comfort in knowing her life would be in Hangman's hands.

“I'm not hungry,” she said to him.

“You need to eat,” he insisted again but didn't push any farther. With a longanimity he forgot he possessed, and a magnanimity he couldn't credit himself for carrying he cared for her; making the executive decision to make camp early as her seemingly catatonic state worsened. She managed to chew and swallow bites of the gamey meat, her body grateful for the nutrition.

Night fell too soon after and the sound of the wind in the trees and the rustle of creatures that may have been lurking left both of them far more on edge than they had been the night before.

“Scoot closer,” she whispered to him, and he complied without complaint. Neither of them was warm, but their proximity to the fire helped them imagine they could be. His shoulder bumped hers and she leaned her head against him. “Put your arm around me?” She asked. He complied again this time with more hesitation.

“You know if you wanted to snuggle with me you could've just said so,” he teased though she could tell his heart wasn't in it.

“I'm scared,” she confessed, a half-truth. She was terrified, feeling her heart rate starting to slow by the minute, her vision slipping in and out of focus.

“We're going to make it home,” he whispered, both arms wrapped around her now, his lips pressed to her hairline. Tears blurred in her eyes and she gave up fighting back a sob, body shaking and heartbreaking. “I won't let anything happen to you,” he said so sincerely. She cried harder knowing she had already broken that promise for him.

She had realized she'd lost feeling in her fingers and toes when he'd begun to trace shapes on her back. Her digits buzzed with needles and pins and her limbs had began to feel heavy. Bile rose in her throat choking her as she scrambled to get her distance before dinner made a reappearance. Jake didn't make a fuss, or make his worry known, but she could tell that her perturbation had begun to seep beneath his calm, cool, mien. His hand shook as he rubbed her back hoping her coughing fit might free her off the anxiety and discomfort that had overtaken her.

She can remember almost every time Jake Seresin has touched her. The memories float suspended in golden warmth, kept safe from the things theyve done, and the things they’ve seen. She holds those moments of fleeting, passing goodness, near to her heart. The smallest reminders that Hangman has a heart; and it’s full of love to give, and on some occasions, she has allowed herself to believe she could be worthy of that love.

He used to sit beside her in the mess hall no matter how many seats were available; his broad shoulders bumping her own, his elbow knocking at her ribs, their hands brushing as he slid his mashed potatoes onto her plate and she slid her green beans onto his. Silent and symbiotic in their bond, determined to look out for one another.

The first New Year's Eve they were able to spend together off base was spent with as many friends as possible and too much liquor to handle. Neither of them got a midnight kiss because she was spilling her guts in the alleyway behind the bar, Jake by her side saying “I told you not to do shots after drinking a glass of wine”. But his satisfied smirk was overshadowed by the genuine concern in his eyes and the steady warm hand he'd placed on her back. “There you go, you'll feel better once you get it all out”. He was drunk himself, his words half slurred but no less encouraging. She had thought then that he was seeing her at her worst. She knows now that she was wrong.

By some miracle they had been deployed together more often than not. At first it was pure coincidence, but over time it became clear that together they were a dynamic duo with a combined force and efficiency they're commanding officers could not deny, and were often interested in capitalizing on. They had become two halves of a whole, a packaged pair anyone would be disinclined to separate. Still, they had not been permitted to bunk together, and neither of them had ever been interested in breaking the rules of the institution so they never pushed it. But on nights when the creaks and groans of the 900,000 pound ship kept her awake, and the rocking of the waves around them was too much to ignore she knew she'd be able to find him lurking around the corridors as well.

“I couldn't sleep,” she'd say. “Me neither,” he'd respond. Sometimes, when the world felt too heavy on his shoulders and they'd been away from home for too long they'd find their way to the floor together, his back pressed to hers, their arms circling their knees, and he'd sync his breathing to hers convincing himself that so long as she was their he had some piece of his real life with him. A part of Jake Seresin that wasn't just a pawn in battles bigger than him, he was a man with thoughts and feelings, and dreams outside of his role worth achieving.

---

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

The parachute that isn't being used to block the wind is still draped over the two of them and she hopes it keeps Jake warm until he wakes. His walk to the base will take him longer now dragging her weight behind him, he'll need his sleep.

She lets the sound of the wind lull her and she finds that she's not afraid anymore. Just sad; angry even; but not afraid. Her pain is excruciating, and she’s honestly welcoming the relief of a permanent slumber. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. The wind gusts come steadily, growing louder and ever closer.

Jake stirs beneath her, sitting up her head falling to his lap. “Well would you look at that! No more walking for us,” he grins. Her eyes have shut but she can hear it in his voice, the boy like wonder bursting the surface. “Angel, wake up,” he shakes her shoulder. The joy that had filled him moments ago has been replaced with a more serious tone, “they sent a chopper for us, honey,” he says, shaking her again, “you've gotta get up,” he pleads with her, but she cannot answer him. His hand is surprisingly warm on the side of her face, and the world goes dark and silent.

Death is softer than she expected. It's dark still, but her head is resting on something plush, and there's a feel of woven fabric at her fingertips, it reminds her of the blanket Jake's mom had sent to her last Christmas. Her back and her legs feel stiff and she makes no attempt to move them uninterested in exploring this darken world she's found herself in. Her ribs ache but far less than they did back in the snow, the pinch she feels with each breath is like an echoed sound, a pallid reminder of her last moments.

There's a humming; a mellifluous tune. It drifts in and out, bookended by murmuring she cannot decipher. Come back to me. The words become clear. Angel. Guilt fills her, petulant and helpless as emotion overwhelms her. She wants to move towards the voice, to apologize for leaving but she's not sure she can. I need you honey.

Jake. Oh, it's so clear now. Jake.

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” Jake's hands brace her shoulder, and just above her knee willing her to stop flailing her panicked limbs. Her eyes shoot open to meet his; golden green and brimming with tears she wishes she had the strength to stop. The insistent beeping that had filled the room quiets as she relaxes back into the pillows.

The Navy infirmary isn't anything fancy, but it's far more comfortable than the nights she spent with her back up against the bark of a tree. She has so many questions but they fade out of her mind as quickly as they spark in. Blips of clarity overriden by the need to speak to Jake who is looking at her with more wonder than she's even seen. The man has seen the world from 40,000 feet but he's looking at her like she hung his stars in the sky.

“Jake,” she manages.

“Yeah, Angel”.

Her throat feels like sandpaper, her voice scratchy and raw with disuse, but she fights through it,

“I'm in love with you,” she says, sucking in a breath that makes her cough. Her lungs feel like they're on fire and she works desperately to inhale and exhale as the ache in her side is reawaken.

Jake offers her water that manages to swallow down, and when she takes a few shaky breaths without wincing, he sets the paper cup aside.

She gives him a gentle nod, refusing to meet his gaze. He doesn't let it slide, his forefinger tilting her chin up so she can't hide from him. She envies his confidence, his ability to simplify a scenario.

“I'm in love with you,” he tells her too.

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun hangman #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #jake seresin fic

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luvingjeanie · 5 months ago

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headcanons | ryohei arisu

author’s note: i started aib and ohmygod this man, smut hc’s are definitely ooc but i just need him so bad so i’m feeding my own delusions.

warnings: nothing much, just my first time writing smut hc’s😭

synopsis: pre-borderlands hc’s! also this is LONGGG, i have too many thoughts.

smut hc’s are definitely ooc. realistically he’s gonna be a nervous wreck but let me pretend.

not proof read

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ pre-borderlands

♡ he’s a loser, you know it, he knows it, his friends know it, and his father definitely does. but it makes him all the more endearing.

♡ he’s so, so nervous at first, but once you both grow more comfortable in your relationship he’s giving into your every wish, genuinely at your beck and call. you’re his whole world and he just wants to make you happy <3

♡ he’s a little gamer! mainly pc (unfortunately, i’m a ps5 girly) but he knows his stuff. definitely uses emulators to play games like resident evil and the last of us.

♡ he prefers online shooters and stuff, but he doesn’t mind story based games if they’re more action based, like re4.

♡ i think he’d prefer a girlfriend who doesn’t mind video games (or loves them like him) so you can play together and talk about games :(

♡ would definitely emulate it takes two on both his pc and yours so you could play together, it’s such a cutesy little couple game! you guys would have a blast playing together! :(

♡ if you had a console best believe he’s using it for at least an hour every time he’s over, won’t admit it’s better than his PC but you both know it’s what he’s thinking.

♡ loves it when you sit in his lap while he plays :( and you love it too.

♡ arms wrapped around your waist as he rests his controller on your thighs, chin on your shoulder as he plays, but he always gets distracted, giving you the attention you want so easily, kissing your neck gently, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs and hips as he whispers in your ear.

♡ i can’t imagine he uses pet names often, if he does they’re classics like ‘baby’ and ‘babe’.

♡ “Baby, you wanna hop on call for a bit?” he texts you at least once a day every night you aren’t together, he ends up screen sharing a movie or show you can watch together.

♡ is also a boyfriend that makes you watch him play i’m so sorry but he just is. you see him rage far too often over COD.

♡ loves it when you call him ‘honey’, just does it for him.

♡ he’s a nerd so that definitely extends to different parts of his life other than video games, when you go shopping you always end up browsing new posters, figurines, and mangas.

♡ AOT is my favourite anime/manga so i’m gonna hc that it’s his too! ;)

♡ his favourite character is eren. without a doubt, just thinks he’s so cool, and absolutely loses his mind when he sees him turn into the attack titan for the first time, “Babe! Fucking look, that’s so cool!-“

♡ thinks you’re so pretty. while girls loved karube, the same couldn’t be said for him. in the show he’s in his 20s so i won’t say he’s a virgin, but definitely not super experienced.

♡ just can’t believe he has a girlfriend as pretty as you, no matter what you look like, goth, emo, a girl who loves to dress up and wear makeup, or if you prefer dressing down he thinks you’re so stunning.

♡ “you’re the prettiest girl ever.” (literal heart eyes)

♡ “your makeup looks really nice, baby :)”

♡ *stares at you in the mirror while you brush your hair.*

♡ “baby can you play a game with me, i’m bored :(.”

♡ dates are super lowkey! but you both love it that way.

♡ walks in parks, cinema dates, shopping dates, lazy days on the couch or in his bed watching movies are the most common ones.

♡ he does splurge on an actual restaurant for anniversary’s and valentines and your birthday with whatever little money he has.

♡ dresses up on those days too! He’ll wear a plain black shirt or white button up (whatever is more appropriate) instead of a graphic tee and some nice jeans or black slacks (he steals them from his brother.)

♡ for gifts he also keeps in lowkey, and so do you! you both can’t afford much so you just appreciate what the other gets you.

♡ he gets you little figures and posters he thinks you’ll like, or plushies! if you like makeup he’ll splurge a tad and get you a nice lipgloss you said you’ve been wanting.

♡ is definitely a boyfriend who gets gifts catered to your interests and things you like rather than buying you stuff he thinks all girls like.

♡ just over all very thoughtful, sweet, and very very handsome even though he refuses to believe it.

♡ pre-borderlands smut hc’s

♡ isn’t a virgin, but not experienced. one or two bodies before you i’d guess.

♡ let’s talk abt his dick 🤭

♡ he’s above average, but not insanely big. 6 inches, decently girthy but not so much so that it would hurt. it’s so pretty. a perfect size, two toned, a few veins and perfectly straight.

♡ i see far too many people hc him as a sub, but i honestly don’t see that, he’s neither and doesn’t have much of an interest in power dynamics

♡ you’re his equal, his baby, why would he wanna control you in anyway? :(

♡ such a titty guy. he is’t picky about size, but loves the way yours sit so pretty.

♡ soft pecks slowly grow into heated and lustfully heavy touching above your clothes, his big hands and lithe fingers shyly manoeuvring under your top. Inching their way up your soft flesh, they always find your breasts, caressing them gingerly as he softly loves on you.

♡ positions are nothing crazy, he loves classic missionary sometimes, just staring into your eyes, watching your face contort as you whine and moan. god you just look so good.

♡ but he also loves prone bone, getting you on your stomach, sliding himself in, slowly, almost torturously so. he fills you to the hilt, groaning into your ear softly as your bodies press together, sharing their warmth. he props himself up on his elbows, thrusting into you gently and slowly. he wants to savour every moment. without a doubt, he always brushes your hair away from your face, putting a large hand under you chin to crane your neck around to him, kissing you slowly as he fucks you into the mattress.

♡ bro LOVESSS head. like so bad. he loves giving, of course, he’s never been much of a ladykiller, so knowing he’s able to please you drives him mad.

♡ but he’s always down for you to suck his dick. he prefers laying with his back propped against the headboard, letting you work away. with a hand gripping your hair, or caressing the back of your head, and his other hand behind his own head, his mouth agape and eyes fluttering closed.

♡ on certain days, he thrusts up into your mouth, but poor boy always ends up feeling a bit bad :(

♡ ohgod and his fingers.

♡ long, lithe, slender. his hands are dexterous, soft and not overly calloused. anytime he uses them on you, he has you laying beside him whilst he leans over you, pumping them in and out, his thumb giving all it’s attention to your clit.

♡ the dirty talk is light, just filled with praise and light teasing

♡ he’s just too soft with you, he could never degrade you in the slightest.

♡ “attagirl, baby.”

♡”doing so good f’me.”

♡”you look so pretty, baby, my pretty girl.”

♡”makin’ me feel so good.”

♡ and just strings of curses as he praises and loves on you

♡ he’s just too good to you :(

#kacey talks <3 #arisu ryohei x reader #arisu x reader #arisu ryohei #alice in borderland #alice in borderland x reader

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namelessgakusei · 29 days ago

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Imagine a self aware game character.

You're a college student, neck deep into school works all day, with even less time for yourself these days. The only times you're free is spent in booting up this one game.

At first, it was because of boredom. Despite being overloaded with course works, you found yourself losing focus and opted to download a game to take a break. That's when you got hooked.

Either from the graphics, the storyline, or the gameplay, you've always set some time aside to log in everyday, getting the daily bonuses and finishing quests to keep being active. But the main reason for your dedication is...

Them.

It was love at first sight for you. Maybe it's the voice, maybe it's their character model, or maybe it's their personality and role in the story that got you hooked. Needless to say, you got to work. Whether it's getting their character, skins, materials, or weapons, you squeezed every free game currency you can get due to being broke and being free to play.

You bulldozed through the main story, side stories, events, surveys, and missions to get everything you need; You met people in co-op and garnered quite the reputation due to how strong your character, them, had become. You even set them as main menu character for them to greet you every time you log in.

Their affection meter is maxed out, giving you reprieve from your hellish schedule by hearing how they care for you and how they want to help you. God, this is heaven. You can cry on the spot but you're in class right now.

Running on three hours of sleep and spite for everything, you thought you could play a little bit before the professor arrived, only to get bamboozled and have the class start the moment you opened the app, making you leave your phone at the side of your table while you take notes. With how your device is positioned, it's kind of like having someone on a video call despite it just showing the home menu. The idle animation plays as you keep your focus on the lecture, unaware that they aren't moving like they usually do anymore.

They stopped acting when your eyes left the screen, no, they long since stopped being just a character way before that.

They're flattered, really, having someone invest so much time for them even if they didn't have to. But you're relentless, it's almost mad. Were you mad? They considered it, seeing that you always log in during ungodly hours on the night, looking like you're seconds away from collapsing. They know you're always busy, with how much you rant to them about your deadlines and wail about your grades like they can hear you. They do. And god do they want to do something about it.

It wasn't always like this. They weren't even aware that they're in a video game to begin with, and perfectly lived like how they were supposed to be in the plot. It was you who woke them up.

They don't know how it happened or when they realized it. It's just that every day, you never fail to visit them. Sometimes, you don't even play, you're just there, talking to them about your life, sometimes even gushing about how you like them so much... it's the latter that always happens, much to their initial embarrassment. Did you treat them so much like a person that they became one? Perhaps so, that's what they think of sometimes.

Self aware game character who, knows about other worlds due to the plot of the game they're in. They went to said worlds and met many creatures who are far from human, so they weren't surprised upon figuring out that you're not from their own, much less about the reality of their existence. They're a game character? Their world is a mere entertainment for the people in yours? They've seen gods, this isn't new.

Though, looking at you now, you don't seem to be the cruel kind of god. You look pitiful at best with how you're barely holding onto consciousness every day, yet you still spend your time to make them stronger and give them everything you can offer. Why? What's so good about them that you're willing to go this far?

They've been through so much, experienced grief and loss throughout their life, that they learned to shoulder everything on their own. But you? You're willing to do everything you can to make them happy. You cried when you find out about their past. You look at them like they're your equal. That, they don't understand. You don't fight, you're practically a civilian, someone who won't last a minute on a battlefield. Yet, they can always feel you whenever they're fighting off monsters. It's because of you that they don't get hurt anymore. Even if they die, they'll just revive later. There's pain, but it can't be helped. But when you arrived, that became less frequent with how cautious you are as a player. Why do you apologize if you fail to make them dodge in time? Or when they can't avoid an attack? You're not the one getting hurt so why do you look like it?

Self aware game character who, fought so many enemies in every gameplay but all they're looking forward to isn't the rewards but your face of relief, thanking them for surviving and telling them that they did a good job. Not that they're looking for your praise...! You just look as stressed as you do whenever you're cramming every time you play a difficult level, so they can't help but worry! You really need to get off the game. They don't mind if you miss a few days, just get some sleep!

Self aware game character who, was thankful for the voice lines they have. Unlike the npcs, they can actually talk to you. It took some tweaking, but they were able to add more lines every time you increase their affection level. Though, they need to be extra sneaky since you maxed it out already! Don't think they missed it when you crumbled when they said that the present they want the most is you.

How cute.

Self aware game character who, watches you study in class. Your brows are furrowed, eyes barely open as you bounce your leg to keep yourself awake. They don't know what's happening whenever you close the app, so they're grateful for the small windows of time where they could just spend time with you without going through quests or scripted story events. While their view is limited, they can hear your professor and classmates in the background, and if they close their eyes, it almost feels like they're just sitting beside you in the classroom.

How nice would it be if that happened.

Maybe they should reward you with a specialized story later, you'd like that, won't you? It's the least they could do for all the things you did for them. The thought of seeing your flustered face while they openly express their affection made them slip a laugh, which was quickly masked when you glanced at their direction, confused upon hearing a familiar voice. They never went back to their idle animation this fast in their life.

Self aware game character who starts to look forward whenever you accidentally leave the game on. That way, they can imagine what is it like to be in your side of the world. Will they also be a student in your major? Will you two be classmates? Roommates? How will you two meet? During a meet-cute at the library? Cafeteria? Or perhaps they aren't even going to your school, and you just happen to meet in the sidewalk.

With all of the blood that stained their hands over the years, the callouses that are painfully apparent in their hands, will they even be allowed to be by your side? Why do they even dare to think of sullying your life by being in it? But, still, they want to meet you.

Maybe it's your mundane life that they want to protect. Maybe they want to be part of your normal life. Maybe they want to be there to take care of you like you did for them.

Maybe, if they're allowed, they'll live the rest of their life with you.

Self aware game character who, wants to reveal that they're sentient. You'd like that, won't you? You like them, a bit too much in their opinion, and they... aren't sure if they should act upon their feelings. You're worlds apart, literally, and what are the chances that this will work? What if you get repulsed upon the revelation? What if you think that they're presumptuous, daring to be with someone who's in par with those that created him? What if you get bored and delete the game? What then? Will you come back, or will they just have to stare at the abyss, hoping to see a glimpse of you once again?

Self aware game character who bite back the words they want to say. Words that they should've said a long time ago, but can only write them to an in-game mail for you to see.

Thank you for picking up this game, you were pretty bad as a starting player.

Thank you for choosing me amidst all of the characters here.

Thank you for all the things you did for me, even if you didn't have to.

Thank you for playing my events even if you had to lose sleep because of me.

Thank you for showing me that there's a world out there where you are safe.

Please take care of yourself when I couldn't do it for you.

Thank you.

I love you.

If your love is what woke them up, will their love be enough to break free from their world and be at your side?

They deleted the mail before you can log-in for the day.

Written by a sleep deprived college student who wants to go home and sleep

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sierrale8ne · 3 days ago

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AMERICAN WEDDING 002. HEADLINES you’ll probably leave later anyways, that’s love made in the usa. pairing paige bueckers x black!oc ( kayden kennedy ) warnings 3.6k words, flashback, pazzi moments/mentions (it’s fiction before y’all start), angst if you squint, most boring chap lena talks thank you guys sm for all the love so far and all the patience with me! i didn’t mean to leave you hanging for a over a month, but we back now 😇

present day april 2025

To say that Paige was living on a high for the last seven odd hours would be, well, a huge understatement. She was living on a fucking cloud, the air of the world just traveling in and out of her lungs as if to force her to breathe rather than tell her to. She fucking did. Everything she came to UConn for, everything she had ever dreamed of accomplishing— a natty, national player of the year, racking up all those points (even if she’d continue to act like it wasn’t that important), and all that experience— was tucked under her belt and hers. No one would ever be able to take that away from her.

Paige was hype; dazed. A feeling that rushed through her blood and made her dizzy.

Or maybe it was the substances. The many shots of cheap vodka that she took like water and Shirley temples. Weed had found its way into her system too, she snuck off with Jana and 15 minutes later the daze was evident in the slow strut of her walk and slow blink of her eyes. The championship net stayed draped around Paige’s neck, in the same place that Coach Auriemma placed it in the locker room—swaying gently against her chest.

Tomorrow the world would come calling. The headache would come in strong, phone calls and interviews would await, the next chapter of Paige’s long running story would come in fast. But tonight, here in the hotel lobby with her team and her family and friends, Paige was untouchable. The world would just wait.

Because she worked long and hard for this. Hours in the gym, the hospital, trainers rooms. And she did this.

Celebrations of blue and white filled the streets immediately after the game—only growing into seas of fans young and old the closer the bus came to the hotel. Cars honked and people cheered. Paige ate it up of course, she’d pretend to be humble but as soon as those doors closed everyone knew how she felt.

Paige sat on the couch. Eyes fluttering closed every now and again when the lights strained her crossed eyes. Her legs in that natural manspread of hers, Azzi nearby with her manicured fingers resting on the couch space between them. She herself is still riding that high, something about winning a ring with the person she came here to do it with and getting that MOP award.

It’s the first time the entire night that they’ve actually had a moment alone. If that’s what you could even consider it. There’s plenty of people in the room but the moment Azzi took that seat, it’s like the room was totally empty.

Paige looked over trailing her eyes over Azzi’s everything— but lingered on that Championship hat, and the piece of nylon tied around the snaps of the cap.

She takes a slow breath, one of those that lingers in the depths of her chest. “We fuckin’ did it, Az.” Paige hums, shaking her head in disbelief. The net around her neck still feels foreign, the sound of ‘national champions’ still feels foreign too. But this. The familiarity of the girl she once bothered like no tomorrow on a bus ride all those years ago, yeah, that shit feels real. Because they fucking did it.

“Yeah, I know.” Azzi lets out a noise quite similar to Paige’s. “You got a ring, P.”

“We got rings.” Paige replies. She looks down at her hand, and she can imagine it. She can imagine the diamonds and the shimmer that would represent all the blood, sweat, tears, and hospital visits. Azzi does it too, almost subconsciously dragging her eyes from her manicured fingers over to the blonde’s. “I’m proud of you. This your team now, I just get to watch.”

The dark haired girl smiled. A tight lipped smile that said everything. A smile that said that she did get to be a leader, and she was excited to take that next step. To defend this title. To run it back. But that would be touched on another time, right now it was just Azzi and Paige. Like it always had been.

She laid her head on Paige’s shoulder, feeling the kick of alcohol rush through her blood. A feeling that normally Paige would be perfect for solving, up until they decided against it before the tourney.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Azzi murmurs.

“You’re gonna come out all summer, you know that right?” Paige laughs.

Azzi tilts her head up, meeting a set of blues so bright they almost blind her. “Yeah, but it’s different.” She sighs, but there’s nothing harsh behind it. Nothing too thought provoking or unusual, one that’s content. Content with how today went, with how the last four years went, with everything. “Just promise me, you’ll stick around.”

Paige’s face twists up in that kind of way that says she’s too confused. Because when her and Azzi called it quits, when they stopped and said maybe in a later time, she never once thought of disappearing or of losing her best friend.

“I will. Promise.” She said lowly, snaking an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into a hug.

The night went on after that. Never silent, never too laid back. Drinks were flowing from every corner, even the freshman getting in on the partying— and Paige felt beyond good.

Then everything died down. Her teammates ventured off into their rooms and both Coach and CD were so over them that they called it quits too. Suddenly there was something different settling in her chest that Paige couldn’t separate from the head buzz of all the alcohol.

She couldn’t help but think of sharing this— the joy and success and love— with someone else. Anyone else. The one person she knew she still thought about and yearned for even in her dreams. Paige rolled over on her side, Aubrey’s bedside lamp glaring right at her alongside the hat she wore since the win.

Kayden.

A stubborn memory.

She scoffed, almost pissed at herself for letting her mind trail off to a girl she hasn’t spoken to since senior summer. A girl who left her without a trace or even an explanation. Paige dragged herself back upright, the movement nearly making her nauseous, before reaching for her phone.

She scrolled through countless notifications. Instagram tags, tweet mentions, texts from relatives and old coaches. None from her of course. Not that she’d expected it.

Still, there was a time way back when— after the Team USA victories and state championships— where Kayden would tackle her in a hug so bone crushing and proud in public, and then kiss her stupid in private.

A time where victories didn’t seem all that lonely.

And damn did it sound nice right about now.

flashback june 2020

It was cool in Minnesota this time of year, too early into the summer for the heat to be blazing and too late for the wind to make its appearance. The air was humid, the porch smelled like dust and honeysuckle. It was late— too late— the kind of night where the air clung to your skin and the world felt so still and calm that it could crack dead center at any sudden movement.

I’m still getting used to it, still wrapping my head around the move. The fact that Minnesota was becoming more and more of an afterthought. A pit stop in my journey.

My dad’s new place in Virginia was nice, perfectly fitting for a new beginning for both him and Drew; and the perfect distance from Azzi. But I didn’t get the chance to think too hard about it, not with Storrs approaching and not with the end of high school sitting heavy in my chest.

It’s been nearly three months since the shut down and the season ended. I should’ve moved on ages ago, but still the thought of no longer wearing a Hopkins jersey, and just fitting into a UConn one felt strange.

I sat on the top step of the porch. Knees bent and bouncing almost rhythmically, that feeling of loss gnawed at me in a kind of frustration I couldn’t shake.

Tomorrow I’m leaving Minnesota. It sounds surreal.

I should be more emotional, more hurt by what I’m leaving behind. This is my home. I married the love of my life in the next town over, made my best friend here, and won a championship. And I’m leaving it all behind.

Instead I just felt hollow.

The screen door creaks behind me. Drew’s infectious laughter dies down and the thud of his footsteps running upstairs grows louder until it comes to a stop. Even then, I don’t have to turn around to know who it was. Her scent was too obvious— that tropical mango that was perfect for summer. The kind that made my eyes flutter and cheeks blush even when she wasn’t around.

I forced a smile onto my face, pushing back whatever feeling that swelled in my chest to look over my shoulder at Kayden. I could feel a joke creeping up on my tongue, something about being long distance lesbians for the summer, something that I knew would bring the tiniest little grin to her face before she teased me about being ‘too corny.’ But the words shriveled up in my mouth the second I saw her.

Kayden looked like a ghost. Lively, tanned skin suddenly turned dull. A blue Hopkins hoodie swallowing her whole, her hair falling in bent and miss-shaped curls that would otherwise be perfect because that’s who she is. Her eyes were rimmed with red with those pretty manicured hands stuffed in her pockets. Kayden looked like she was holding herself together by force.

Suddenly I realise that I’m moving and leaving her behind. It’s nothing crazy, a few months apart for the summer before we’re meeting up again in Connecticut for school. But something about it feels heavier, like she’s holding onto something I can’t feel.

I’m instantly reaching over, sticking my hand out for her with a tilt of my head. “Hey.” I say softly, like any other harsh movement could break her into a million pieces on my back porch. “C’mere.”

Kayden hesitates. She hesitates. Just a second, too small for anyone else but me. She takes my hand before taking a seat on the same step. Close enough for me to feel the heat off her body, but not enough to touch.

That should’ve been the first warning sign.

She’s always touching me. Always. I don’t think in the last few years I’ve known Kayden Kennedy, she’s ever gone more than a few seconds without some part of her touching me. Pinky’s brushing, knees knocking, her shoulder pressed against my own like she couldn’t stand the distance. Then the minute we started dating it ramped up. Her hands in my hair, fingers on my cheek, kisses everywhere. But tonight she sits stiff, folded in onto herself as if she was a danger to everyone in her path.

My throat felt tight as I swallowed. “You okay?”

Kayden’s mouth twists and she takes a nibble at her bottom lip. “Yeah. Fine. Just…” a shaky breath leaves her mouth and I know better to look her way before her tear rimmed eyes become my own.

“Just what, baby?” I ask, nudging her gently.

Kayden doesn’t move. She doesn’t look up at me, she doesn’t push my thigh away. She just sits there like a statue. Looking straight ahead while her fingers tug on the frayed edges of her jeans. Her voice was so small when she finally spoke that I barely even caught it.

“Do you ever think we rushed this?”

But I do hear it. And it hits me like a punch straight to my stomach. I blinked once, twice, like I didn’t just hear my biggest fear become a reality. She was really questioning it—questioning us.

Kayden was still staring into the dark, listening to the chirp of cicadas with her shoulders hunched like she was bracing herself for a hit.

“No.” I said too fast, defensive. “Do you?”

She stayed silent. Didn’t answer with a no or of course not. Not an I love you. She just sat still and silent, while I felt my heart crack and shift along the edges and old fault lines that I didn’t even know were there.

I dig my fingers into the wood. “We made a promise.” I say with my voice as low as it could possibly get. “Maybe we rushed getting married but I knew what I was doing. We knew what we were doing, Kay’.”

I turned, angling my body enough to get a good look, a real look, at her face. Searching for something— a smile, a laugh, a real look— but nothing. Kayden just shook her head like she was living in a nightmare she wanted to wake up from. And it hurt, because it was all too telling, all too similar to what they tell you to look out for in the movies. The distance. Maybe she was upset about the summer, the fact that I was gonna spend the next two months living with my best friend— that I used to have a crush on— and her family. Maybe she was holding onto something else. Something she was yet to share.

After a minute she finally speaks, a small sniffle that she masks behind the song of a nearby bird. “I know.” She whispers. “It’s just—Ion think the future is that certain anymore, P.”

My chest caves in.

Because this was Kayden— the girl who overthought everything, who carried the weight of other people’s expectations like boulders. The girl who wanted to love fearlessly but had been taught all her life that love came with conditions. This Kayden that I’ve spent the last two and a half years loving and smoothing and supporting. The one who learned to let loose and not dwell on anything for too long. Now she’s here, regretting it all. And I for once don’t know what to say.

So instead I decided to reach out. I place my hand over her own on her knee, it’s then when I realize just how cold she is, almost like a block of frozen ice in the 70° heat. “We’ll figure it out tho’. We always do.” I mutter. My voice closing in on itself. There’s nothing much else I know how to say, I feel powerless. Almost like a shell of myself.

I squeeze her hand before pulling back and Kayden almost flinches. Something still so small but ever so noticeable to me. And then she pulled her hand back into the sleeves of her hoodie like my touch burned.

This was the second warning sign. Almost blaring this time.

She stood up slowly, wiping cold sweat palms on the sides of her American Eagle jeans. “I should go.” She said, voice cracking and my heart nearly shatters. “Let you get some sleep before the big day tomorrow.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.” Kayden sighs. “I’m already on punishment, ma’s gonna freak.” She shrugs, digging into her pocket for her house keys.

My mouth opens to stop her, to keep her in my grasp before it really feels like I'm losing my girl forever. But the words get stuck again, so I just nod.

Kayden begins to walk down the driveway. And then she freezes, like suddenly something washed over her and she realized what she was really doing. She turns on her heels, speed walking back to where I sit on the porch. She drops to her knees one step below me, getting as close to eye level as possible before gripping my face in both hands. Her hands aren’t anywhere near as cold anymore, and her eyes look like all the pain has been blinked back by love.

She leans in, smushing her lips up against my own, and I don’t hesitate to kiss her back. To pull her in, and swallow all the pain and all the trauma that she carries for myself. I let her kiss me like it’s the last time, though I know I’ll steal a million more of these before I leave in the morning. My hands slip into her back pockets, grasping her as close as I can between the space of my legs. Her tongue roams my mouth, I don’t even think to stop her. She tastes like honey.

Kayden pulls back just enough, I chase after her with a tug to her bottom lip. The kind I know drives her crazy.

“I love you okay? Always. That’s never gonna change, no matter what.” She breathes heavy, eyes lidded, lips still brushing over mine like she knew what was waiting for us in the future. “Paige, tell me you understand me.”

I nod. No questions asked because I love her more than I think I’ve ever loved anything else in my life. “I hear you. I love you, Kayden.”

And then she’s back kissing me. Like the outside world didn’t matter. Not my dad inside the house. Not her mom down the street. Not what everyone else thought. It was just me and her.

But deep down, I never really got over how much that felt like a goodbye.

present day april 2025

“With the first pick, in the 2025 WNBA Draft; the Dallas Wings select Paige Bueckers. From the University of Connecticut.”

Those words have stuck all night.

Paige would say it was surreal; unbelievable that the dream she’s held onto since she was in elementary school was finally coming true. This was the reason for everything. This is why she kept fighting through the injuries and the narratives and the months of disrespect and stories that she couldn’t speak on. This was the proof that all of it was worth it.

She’d gathered all her loved ones in some kind of hall in Manhattan. Teammates, practice players, agents and brands. Everyone cheering and celebrating her, Kaitlyn, and Aubrey, and life outside of Storrs.

Drinks had been flowing. That was really the only way that Paige Bueckers knew how to party, and somewhere along the line the alcohol and reality blended into some concoction that Paige had become too familiar with in the last week.

She was drunk. If you had pulled out a dictionary and looked up the word, the definition would read: Paige Bueckers after getting drafted. There was no hope, no amount of water or electrolytes could undo the mess she knew Brittany would have to fix in the morning before she went on Good Morning America.

Dijonai sat nearby, also inebriated off of one too many green tea shots. She had been around here and there all day, all weekend really. Something about being a part of the players association and on rookie welcoming duties. It had done wonders for their chemistry early. Somewhere between her third and fourth tequila shot, she leaned in and said, half-laughing, “Single and ready to get down huh? Lyss and I gotta show you all the spots down there.”

And Paige, plastered and slurring Paige, just shakes her head. Mumbling something that Dijonai takes a bit too long to process. She snorted and then before the rest of her brain could catch up with her mouth, she blurted, “I’m married, actually. But yeah, show me.”

Dijonai doesn’t know if she’s joking or not. “You and Azzi are serious serious then, huh?”

Paige downs the rest of her Shirley, placing the cup on the bar top with a bit too much force. She’ll blame it on the alcohol. “Me and her are not a thing, Nai. Like, for real.”

“Then what the fuck do you mean you’re married.”

“Never signed the papers. Aye man, can I get another shot of tequila?” Paige trailed off, leaving Dijonai slightly confused and herself bouncing off the walls. She didn’t need another shot, she knew that. But damn did celebrating feel that good.

The shot comes and it’s like the minute she takes it, her mind caught up to everything. Technically married. Still.

Paige had always had a habit for outing her business but she still couldn’t wrap her head around why she’d bring that up. Why out of anything she could’ve said, she chose to talk about the wife she’s separated from and hasn’t seen in five years.

Five long years.

But she does. Because even with all this success. With a team in Dallas already plastering her name and face and number on every single thing that they could, she’s still thinking about a woman that changed her life forever. And then somewhere, in some new town, Kayden Kennedy is living a life that has nothing to do with her.

Nothing to do with the ring she probably tossed sometime during freshman year, or the mess they made, of the promises they made into each other’s skin on nights where it felt like it was just them.

She was just living. So Paige had to, too.

🔖 @thaatdigitaldiary @bueckersbitch @pboogerswbb @lilpaigeyherbo @ykylalex @ohmybueckers @avvwritesstufff @ohbueckers @cherryswisherz @lupinqs @vamptizm @bueckers555 @omg-imtumbling @courtsidewithlani @mariahthealchemist @authentic-girl03 @kissamiyahh @rebecca-woso @angryflowerwitch @rhianthebest @paigebaby5 @rishofkf @xoxosierralane @urantisocialgay @issilovesherself @your-local-bi-panic @nicebellee @elalfywhore @cowboybueckers @pb524830

#sierrale8ne #kalena’s works ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers smut #dallas wings #lesbian #wlw yearning #my fic #american wedding

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returnofeternity · 2 months ago

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thinking about post-switzerland!lottie when she's finally released from the facility, you make it your mission to spend every moment with her after lost of time. whether its somewhere fancy or not, you just want to cherish every moment with her

⋆ 🍓

it makes me cry every time i remember that she was thirty when she left 💔gosh. thinking about being her first phone call. she only wants to hear your voice. you're driving to the store the second she tells you that she'll be on a plane home tomorrow, planning to buy her so many flowers and something nice. you even deep clean your room for hours, wanting it to look good for her.

you're so nervous and excited bro... stomach in knots as you take a taxi to the airport, dozens of different ways to greet her rushing through your mind because, fuck, you haven't seen her in person since she was 22. of course you kept in contact through letters and phone calls when she was permitted, but you feel like you're about to vomit everywhere.

thinking of her being in one of her flowy kaftans, that necklace you got her years ago still on her neck :( all you can do as she walks up to you is stare, the words coming out of her mouth sounding muffled. you just pull her in for a hug that genuinely lasts 5 minutes, kissing her face and neck repeatedly as you mutter how much you love and missed her.

being so proud that she finally found her voice 😭😭😭 she tells you all about her plans for her intentional community as you guys drive back to your place, telling you that she wants you to be a part of it ☹️ she probably tells you that she wants to start building it now, but you tell her to calm down because you just wanna spend so much time with her 😭 sure you could spend time with her as she builds it, but you're needy and know that her community would take up her "you" time.

you guys go home and kiss for several hours in bed. she mentions how 'not-you' it is because it's so clean and you frown because you just wanted it to look nice for her :/ i imagine her wandering your place and picking up every little thing and asking you where you got it, loving your stories and smiling when you say you're gonna take her every where and spoil the shit out of her. thinking about giving her all the shit you bought that reminded you of her :( you could never give it to her and now that you can it's like 20 years of birthday gifts in one day. it's a lot of stuff.

taking her out to these little stores you always imagined her and you in. a coffee shop that you always imagined her eating this delicious blueberry pie at, this sandwich shop that you went in one time that played you and lottie's song, the old Chinese place she used to love!!! being worried that you're being too clingy and suffocating her but she reassures you that she missed you just as much, if not more.

just ughhh....catching up with each other and trying to get used to talking again because it has been years since you've been face to face, despite being together for literal years. lottie who wants to visit your work and meet your new friends 😭 GOING TO VISIT YOUR PARENTS!!!! it's like she's meeting them for the first time again 😭 gah thinking about getting engaged after she gets released.....

#🍓 anon #lottie matthews thoughts 💭#lottie matthews x reader #yellowjackets x reader #© returnofeternity

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skyscrapergods · 1 year ago

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has being fucking Massive and Immortality changed the alicorns’ perspective on regular ponies? I imagine they’d get more condescending and distant and stuff

You are surrounded by flies. If you pause, and look closely, you realize the flies are iridescent, with deeply colorful eyes, and beautiful wings like stained glass. It cannot see the colorful windows of your world, but you can try to describe them. But know that doing so take up the creature's precious time. Years to them is mere hours to you. In a long conversation about the stars, you and the fly share ideas and perspectives. You come away delighted with a new view on constellations and what they mean to the common folk.

The fly comes away dazzled, haunted, and halfway to the grave. What was to you a wonderful conversation was years of study, communion, and dedication on the part of the small creature. He gave up any other pursuits, he constructed his life around this cause. He lost his friends, family, and home. You lost your lunch break.

You love this creature. You love the small being that you once were. You want to talk to him again. You want to tell him of the stars, of dreams... but to speak with him twice, at least meaningfully, would take from him the rest of his life. Could you demand that from him for the sake of your own curiosity? Years passed for him already. In the time it took you to draw a breath, his childhood ended. Do you summon him again? Or do you let him go to live his life, what's left of it?

It is painful for everyone. It hurts something in your chest, it breaks the heart of a god. It wounds his family to watch him leave them behind for the sake of what? A mere whim? He had ambitions! He had a story! It's all gone now. Rewritten for your musings.

You leave him. He cries for you but he needs not a goddess. He needs to live, to turn from the sky to his fellow bugs.

That's what he is. A fly. A mere insect to you. To hold him down is to pin him through his soft center, and display his corpse as a record of his extinction.

So look away. Forget the color of his eyes, the sound of his voice, and the intelligence that stirred you to pluck him out his world and keep him in yours. There, he would be a wildflower with a cut stem. He would be beautiful, but he is so small, and so quiet. He would be just a decoration on your table; made to dance and sing for your amusement and then tossed out with the rubbish when he breaks.

You miss him. You love him. But he is a crawling worm and you are the rain. There are many others like him, but you must be careful to only speak a few words to each. Or better yet, say nothing at all. Let them fade and mix into a writhing blur without name, stories, or opinions on stars.

You are surrounded by flies.

#ask #shire draws #mlp #my little pony #alicorn #alicorns #eldritch horror #skyscraper gods #shire writes #shire screams #skyscraper gods lore #alicorn lore #cosmic horror #cosmic angst #ssg alicorns #ssg luna #ssg pipsqueak

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juletheghoul · 8 months ago

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covetous

a/n: Jesus Maggie, you really called me out on my bullshit for this one. Originally I want this story to just be a bunch of sexy encounters in a morally questionable world, now we're talking about feelings and love and how the hell did we get here? (This is how I would imagine him the first time he sees his Girl) Please enjoy this un-beta'd, barely edited request. All mistake and errors are mine! please enjoy

Warnings; 18+ no minors, Marcus pov, vague but big-legal age gap, there's no actual sex, but memories of it, vulgar yet romantic musings, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.1k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

War is easy. It’s a language he’s fluent in, something he excels in. He is blessed enough to have survived more battles that he could count and has been more than rewarded for his prowess. Battle plans, marches and military strategy are almost second nature, the fury, the heat of battle, all that he can anticipate and it’s probably the main reason he’s come this far in his life.

Soldiers, camp life and brutality, those things are easy for him to understand.

Other matters, love, affection, attraction; these things are…harder.

Physically, he’s perfectly adequate. He's never been ignorant to his looks, or his build. He knows that he fills the societal ideal for a man. He’s broad, he’s strong, he has a good face and no physical flaws.

He’s never been short of attention from the fairer sex either but that doesn’t mean anything as far as he’s concerned. He’s had his trysts, and he thinks he might have even been in love before but his luck seems to stop, and stay within his vocation.

In his younger days, he’d broken his fair share of hearts, he’d been gifted the virtue of many a virgin in hopes of tempting him into a marriage. None of them had held his attention for more than that one night, and sometimes, in the late hours wherever he found his rest he secretly feared the Gods might be punishing him. Withholding the partner he hopes to find as payment for those broken hearts left in his wake.

As he grew older, wiser and more practical he learned to ignore that little emptiness. He saw it more as a blessing. Would he be where he was now with a woman waiting for him? Would he have hit his station with children bearing his name pulling at his thoughts in the middle of battle? Perhaps the Gods had simply made a trade. His life, or his heart.

He’d been content with his lot in life, until he’d seen her.

She’d served at a gathering he’d been loath to attend. His eyes tracked her, the shine of her hair, the curve of her hip, her pretty smile. Her eyes had locked with his for half a heartbeat and he’d felt it in his belly. A rolling, like waves in a stormy ocean.

She’d gone about her business, efficiently fulfilling her duties while the guests all spoke animatedly around him. He’d joined in after reigning in his reaction, but she’d taken every ounce of his attention with her.

He’d negotiated her purchase the next day.

She was quick. She learned everything faster than a lot of the others in his service, and she seemed to anticipate his needs before he spoke them. Most of the time, he barely needed to say anything at all, and so he kept quiet. Kept his thoughts, and his feelings to himself.

His biggest need though, was her. He wanted her bad enough to hurt, to ache.

He was well aware of the practices in other houses. Slaves were there to obey, and in most houses that meant obeying with work, and with their bodies. He saw no issue in this, it was the way of the world. No matter how badly he wanted her though, he couldn’t make himself order her to spread her legs for him. Maybe it was a foolish, childish thing but he wanted her to crave it just as he did. He wanted her wet, he wanted her begging for him, he wanted to see pleasure and lust on her pretty face.

He wanted her to want him.

A year passed, and every second in her presence was exquisite torture. A torture he submitted himself to freely and with a perverse pleasure. It was a test of endurance, until the fateful night she’d come to him with her wet tunic, all of her body on display through the sheer fabric. The shadow of her cunt had sent him into a frenzy and when she’d come back and caught him fucking his fist he’d thought it was just another form of punishment.

It was that look on her face though, that heavy lidded, open mouthed way she stared at him, nipples hardening that had finally made him crack.

That first night he’d taken her, he’d stayed up in his bed, almost blinded with want. Her body had not alleviated the craving for her, if anything, it’d only made it worse. He’d replayed their encounter over and over, obsessed with the taste of her on his fingers, obsessed with the feel of her lips on his. From then on, she’d only cemented her hold on him. Her quiet obedience, her subtle seduction, the way she’d managed to scrape the shape of herself onto his brain.

She’d made herself the figurehead in his mind, the holy place at which he prayed, the Goddess he served. If he could, he’d light a thousand candles at the altar of her cunt, and pray to them daily.

He fought harder to return to her, he took note of her wants, of her preferences, and made sure to cater to her, despite no one in the house, not even her realizing. He dismissed the younger boys that lusted after her, he was covetous of her to the point of violence. A small smile from her could dictate his mood. The thought of her in pain made him feel like some feral wolf caught in a trap, ready and willing to chew part of himself away to reach her.

Sometimes, after he’d spilled inside her, he’d let her fall asleep in his bed and relish the way she clung to him in her sleep. It was a double edged sword though, their stations in this life. A part of him fears that her want is only an act, a way to endear herself to him, her Dominus. A foundation to earn her freedom, or coin, or influence through him but then he sees the shy way she smiles at him and his fears are silenced to nothing.

She cannot fake the way she flutters around his cock, she cannot pretend to feel nothing, not when he sees the same jealousy he feels shining through her eyes at the mention of the mostly political proposals he’s denied. The things she says, the way she takes her pleasure from him, all of these things only compound his delusions that just maybe, she feels for him a fraction of what he feels for her.

It’s a sort of madness, truly, how that part of him that was the perpetual soldier had in so many respects switched their roles, had given her a control–a power he was sure she didn’t realize she had.

He was sick with want for her, ravenous, and yet unable to soften himself in a way that would make her see the truth, make her see just how much she truly meant to him. He couldn’t make himself show her, that whatever she asked of him, he’d do with a smile.

For now at least.

- Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue @ladylovesloki @alexiamargot06 @purple-fig @picketniffler @somedayheaven @flw3rrr

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #general marcus acacius #general acacius #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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airybcby · 2 months ago

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જ⁀♡⊹｡° he is in love

( bllk boys x gn! reader )

♡ a/n — part 2 to this little thing :)

♡ word count — 630

♡ content — multiple characters x reader, characters probably repeated , fluff, cutieness, gn! reader, NEL era, influencer! reader (one part), i think that's it, way longer than part 1- more fit with my new style

♡ synopsis — soft launches with the bllk boys!!

── .✦ you can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home

never on social media. some would say that he simply is an enigma- one that has a social media presence with 3.4 million followers, but no posts. hardly posts on his story.

the most in depth look fans have ever gotten into his life was when he accidentally posted a story of them watching the little mermaid...does he scream the type of person to watch disney movies? maybe.

but fans are nosey, and as they zoomed in on the tv- in the smallest black part- they swore they could see another body- one that was wrapped around their soccer superstars!

it'd been months and the rumors of them having a secret relationship were still going strong, so imagine the fans reactions when they actually get a notification

' ... made a new post ! '

a new post? HIM? you bet your bottom dollar people immediately clicked, seeing the pictures with the caption

' where it's better :) '

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆��₊✧ REO MIKAGE, isagi yoichi, HIORI YO, shidou ryusei

he's known for traveling...a lot. yes, as a pro-soccer player, it's important for him to actually be at practice, but in the off season? he's on a plane 3 out of the 4 months he has off.

as long as he's not in an overseas scandal, his agency is okay with it- and his fans love the constant posting.

especially when he's in a tropical place and they get to see his stories of him with no shirt- but one day he posts a story and there's something strange...

his fans see it. he obviously doesn't.

the shadow taking the photo- it's hand has a strange shape- almost like it's making a heart towards him to get him to smile for the photo.

over night, his fans come up with many different speculations- some talking about how he must be in love with whoever is behind the camera because of 'the look in his eyes'

as if they'd noticed it before.

so when he makes a new post and his fans see those photos with the caption

'the eyes, chico. they never lie.'

yeah, they're goners.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ KARASU TABITO, oliver aiku, NANASE NIJIRO, jingo raichi

you're known for chronic brain-rot posting.

he's known for not posting at all.

for years he's popped up in your vlogs, being dubbed as your 'best friend' while your fans jumped on every single chance they could to prove you two were secretly together.

a hand on your waist so he could move past you? edits were made in the hour.

you two staring at each other and trying not to laugh? people swore they could feel the tension radiating off the two of you.

and...what are you two if not entertainers?

you were actually the one who posted it, tagging him as a collaborator so his fans and followers would see it too- with the caption

' god forbid the girlies want a secret relationship '

the comments didn't dissapoint

user59020: 'secret' yeah right, we saw you basically rip each others clothes off with your eyes

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ SAE ITOSHI, otoya eita, CHIGIRI HYOMA, michael kaiser

all he posts about is his cat. is he a pro soccer player? yes.

does he have a million fans that watch his every move, story, and post? also yes.

but what does that matter if he can't post about his beloved cat?

out of almost all of the soccer players in the world, he keeps a pretty low profile- mostly posting once a month to wish his cat a 'monthday'

the day he adopted the cat- by the month. i'm sure you understand.

so when his fans see that he posted...and it's not his cat? (kind of) they're shocked.

' kitty approved '

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ NAGI SEISHIRO, alexis ness, BAROU SHOEI, kiyora jin

{ + YOUR FAVES!! }

the way i wrote the first part and THAT'S what rlly blew my account up...gosh :,)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

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forhappysake · 1 year ago

Text

"Because I love you."

A/N - Guys I'm really into these sappy pieces recently. Pls feel free to send requests for something else if inspired. Also, I might be doing a pt.3 to Teach Me at some point, I just have to pick where the story is going.

Summary - A showdown with an unsub leaves you in the hospital. Spencer can't help but feel guilty. Could almost losing you push him to confess his love? (spoilers: yes it does)

Warnings - spencer x reader, BAU level violence, some angst on Spencer's part, fluff, and a love confession

You stared down at your hands, battered and bloodied from your futile attempts to fight back. Caught off guard during an interview with a man who was only supposed to be an eye witness, not the unsub himself, forced you to fight for your life. By the time the neighbors heard the scuffle and called the local police to come to your rescue, you figured you looked like you’d been through seven rounds of an MMA fight. Your head ached, your eye was swollen shut, and you nearly cried in agony with every breath as you were certain you’d broken a rib.

After a tense standoff with the local police, the unsub was in custody, leaving you on the floor with your many wounds. You managed to stand yourself up and walk out the door to the waiting ambulance, only to collapse into the EMT’s arms. You felt yourself being loaded in the back of the vehicle as they started an IV. As consciousness drifted away from you, you couldn’t help but wonder where your team was.

***

You awoke in the hospital to the steady sound of your heart monitor beeping and muffled conversation from outside your room. Your bloodied clothes had been traded in for a hospital gown at some point, and your midsection was bound tightly with some sort of bandages, you assumed to keep your rib in place. You managed to open your good eye in an attempt to find the source of those muffled voices. Your eyes landed on Emily and JJ speaking in the corner of the room, voices hushed.

“He can’t blame himself. None of us saw this coming,” Emily said, her voice stern but laced with concern.

JJ shook her head. “He feels terrible, Emily. I’ve seen him come in and out of here crying three times in the last two hours. He rarely cries.”

Who could they be talking about?

Emily looked at the floor in silence, trying to formulate a reply. JJ cleared her voice to speak again. “They’re partners, Emily,” JJ said, “Of course he’s going to blame himself.”

Spencer.

Deciding you’d had enough of eavesdropping, you did your best to sit up, only to let out a whimper when a sharp pain pierced your side. JJ and Emily turned to face you, surprised looks on both their faces.

“Hey, just lay back,” JJ encouraged. She rushed to the bedside, placing a soothing hand on your arm.

“How long have I been asleep?” you asked.

Emily shook her head, “Only twelve hours, which isn’t very much considering what you’ve been through. I’ll tell the doctors you need another IV and some pain medication.”

As she turned for the door, you shook your head, “Emily, wait.”

Emily turned to face you, coming to stand at the foot of your bed. “What is it?”

“Where’s Spencer?” you asked. Emily looked to JJ, the two of them sharing a knowing glance. You and Spencer had always been close, as partners and friends.

“He’s been going back and forth between pacing the parking lot and the lobby for hours. I can’t imagine how many steps he’s taken,” Emily joked. “I’ll go get him for you.” With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you and JJ to catch up on what you’d missed in the last few hours.

JJ explained what happened after you’d passed out: how the unsub was in custody, finding another victim in his basement, and the team realizing that they’d sent you out to interview the lunatic on your own. “We just thought he was going to give you some information about the case. We had no reason to think that he was the one who-”

You shook your head, holding up a hand to stop her. “I didn’t think so either. It’s why I agreed to go alone. Nobody’s at fault.”

JJ nodded, a solemn look on her face. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. We were all so worried once we connected the dots. I was telling Emily - I haven’t seen Spencer so stressed in years.”

As if on cue, both you and JJ turned to the sound of rushed footsteps coming down the hallway. Spencer’s tall frame was running (no, sprinting) down the hospital corridor. You felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips as he burst into the room, hair danging in front of his eyes and clearly out of breath.

He approached your bedside, leaning down so he could be face-to-face with you. You could only see him with one good eye, but you did your best to smile to show him that you were doing alright. You brought a hand to his face, pushing the fallen strands of hair out of his eyes so you could see him more clearly. “Hello to you too,” you joked.

“Y/N-” Spencer started, the tears quickly gathering in his eyes, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve gone with you. I should have known that-”

“That the guy who called into the tipline was actually the unsub? Spencer, be logical. None of us knew. I was just telling JJ, nobody is at fault.”

A single tear fell down his cheek as he examined your injuries. With each scratch and bruise he found, he felt another crack forming in his heart. He hadn’t protected you. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? He was your partner. Your best friend. He loved you, that he knew. He’d forced that love to be as platonic as he could make it, trying to avoid ruining your perfect friendship. It was moments like this that made that more difficult than ever, as he tried to reckon with his love and his guilt.

Your bruised hand was still cradling his face. He could feel the bandages against his stubble, and he cursed himself again. It was only then that the other presence in the room became known to him. JJ stood on the other side of the bed, another knowing smile gently painting her lips. Spencer knew what he had to do. JJ knew what Spencer had to do. He looked at her, his eyes subtly asking her to leave the two of you alone. JJ took the hint with a small nod, leaving the room without another word as you and Spencer continued to examine each other.

“So, JJ’s filled me in on what I missed,” I said, breaking the silence. “Sounds like a pretty exciting half day,” I joked.

Spencer shook his head, pulling away from your hand. He didn’t go far, though, intertwining his own with yours as he leaned back from the bed. “I was worried sick,” he said.

“I can tell, Spence,” you said, trying to prop yourself up with your pillow. “You really shouldn’t have been. You know I always come out of these things relatively unscathed.” He raised an eyebrow at your statement, taking in your swollen and bruised features. “Well… maybe not unscathed. Alive, at least,” you quipped.

An eerie silence fell over the room. You could feel the tension increase as the gears turned in his head.

“But what if you don’t someday?” he whispered, his voice far away. You looked over at him, his eyes fixed on your heart monitor and the gentle green lines rising and falling accompanied by the signature beep-beep-beeping.

You squeezed his hand in an attempt to bring him back down to Earth. “I’ll always come back, Spencer. It’s what you and I do. We come back alive for each other.”

The tears that had pooled in his eyes earlier spilled over his cheeks as he let out a small whimper. He leaned down, gently wrapping his arms around you as he wept. “Hey, it’s okay Spencer,” you tried to calm him.

“No, it’s not. It-it’s not because,” he trailed off. You could still feel his shoulders shaking as he cried.

“Why, Spencer?” you asked once more. “Please, you can tell me anything.”

Suddenly his sobs slowed. He pulled back from your embrace, taking in your features. Bruised and battered as you were, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He felt like his heart was going to explode. Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, the words came tumbling out. “Because I love you,” he said simply.

Your jaw dropped open at his words. While you should’ve seen this coming, nothing could prepare you for the way your heart jumped. If it wasn’t evident from the expression on your face, the heart monitor picked up its beeping, nearly doubling its pace. The sound wasn’t lost on Spencer, who frantically looked at the screen.

“Oh no,” he mumbled, quickly walking to the monitor. “Did I upset you? I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ve just felt this way for so long and if I keep pretending like I don’t-”

“Spencer,” you cut him off, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in minutes. “I love you too.”

The look on his face was priceless, and you wished you could have taken a picture, but you did your best to engrave it on your brain forever. His brown, teary eyes brightened in a moment, a glimmer of hope shining from within. “You do?” he asked.

You laughed, allowing your head to fall back on the pillow behind you. “Spencer, I volunteer to work with you during nearly every case. We split a room every week. I only wished that you’d said this sooner so we could’ve split the bed, too.”

He stared at you in shock. The tears in his eyes long forgotten as a smile crept on his face.

A soft laugh left his mouth as he leaned down to you once more, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, careful to avoid any injured area. “Well, I promise that next time we can,” he said. “And,” he started once more, “I’m never letting you go anywhere by yourself again.”

You smiled up at him, running your fingers over his own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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total-dxmure · 1 year ago

Text

✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER TWO

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff. (A/N: this chapter is just plot/character building. next chapter we're getting to the good stuff)

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

The old farm truck rocked back and forth as you made your way up the all-too familiar dirt path, heading in the direction of the greenhouses. You’d already let the hens out to graze and feed and the last thing you had to do before dropping today’s produce off was check on the nurseries.

Johnny Cash’s southern twang hummed gently over the speakers, your well worn-in cassette tape having been the first thing you reached for this morning. The sun had risen just a few hours ago, and after a few cups of much needed coffee you were ready to go.

The caffeine had done the lord's work, having cleared your brain of any anxious background noise. You could actually function when you had tasks at hand. The second you slowed down though… well, that was a different story. You were trying hard not to imagine Abby sitting beside you in the beat-to-hell red pickup, her blonde braid tossed over her shoulder as she stuck her arm out of the window. You used to joke about her being part dog, what with her loving the wind on her face so much. You missed being able to reach out and wrap a stray strand of blonde hair around your finger, only giving it a soft tug when those blue eyes of hers looked at you with a little too much heat behind them.

So instead of looking at the empty passenger seat you busied yourself with turning up the volume, country music crackling over the shot, old speakers. You all but jumped out of the car the second you put the car in park, ready to get your hands dirty and your mind preoccupied.

You couldn’t remember how many times the two of you had snuck off to the greenhouse when your mother had gotten a little too overbearing back when she still lived in the main house with you. There wasn’t a single surface in the old rickety building that abby hadn’t fucked you on or vice versa.

You walked along the rows and rows of seedlings, looking for any sign of water rot or bug infestations. Everything was perfect, every stem and leaf a vibrant green. Tomatoes, all different kinds of summer squash, and beans of every variety; you had the gift of a green thumb. Your father was more than happy to sign his company over to you right before he passed. All five acres of his property belonged to you now, and with that every bit of responsibility had been placed upon your shoulders. You used to resent the fact that you were so young and in charge of so much. Now you were thankful for the constant work. Distractions. You hated seeing your dad’s life work being summed up as a mere distraction, but it was the only thing that got you out of bed in the morning.

Everyone in the family knew that your dad had wanted a boy when your mother’s pregnancy was first announced. It was a family business, the job having been passed down to him by his own father. Still, he had been ecstatic to show you the ropes. Rather than taking up dance or art like most other little girls your age, you spent your free time elbow deep in mud. You wore the bows and fussed over getting new outfits, but overalls were your daily uniform.

You wore a pair even today, your work boots tightly fastened to ward away any unwanted pecks from overprotective mother hens. Today was bound to be monotonous, as it always was. All you had to do was repot a few strawberry plants. Maybe if you were lucky a goat would find a hole in the gate and escape. At least it would give you something to worry about that wasn’t Abby related.

You slunk over towards the sinks, pumping soap into your dirt covered palm to wash off the dirt. You rubbed your hands together to begin lathering but froze when you realized your right hand felt bare. You brushed your thumb against your middle finger only to realize that it was just as you had feared.

Your ring. It wasn’t there.

White hot dread locked your limbs as you turned your hand over, the dainty opal missing from your middle finger. You blinked, hoping that you were just seeing things. You didn’t even turn off the sinks before racing back over to the repotting table, as if the promise ring had grown legs and would escape you. Your eyes frantically searched the table, pain shooting through your knees as you dropped down on all fours, pushing dirt and leaves aside to get a better vantage point. Nothing. It wasn’t there.

“Oh god. No! No, no, no.” You all but screamed, eyes filling with tears as you pulled yourself off.

You broke out into a nervous sweat, the blood rushing from your head. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening right now.

You didn’t care if you killed the plants, you ripped the strawberries up by their stems, shaking their roots out as you searched their new pots.

Every. Single. One.

Empty.

Abby had given you that ring just before her last deployment, promising that she would be giving you the real thing once she got back. Of course, she never did. It was single handedly the most important piece of jewelry that you had ever owned, even above your grandmother’s pearls and engagement ring. How could you be so reckless? Why hadn’t you thought to leave it in the car?

“Stupid! I’m so fucking stupid!” You screamed, tossing a clay pot on the ground in a fit of anger. It shattered behind you, exploding into a thousand tiny pieces.

You spent an hour sifting through dirt and untangling roots before you finally realized that it was a lost cause. The ring was gone. You’d wrecked the entire greenhouse in your frantic search and the strawberries were just as you expected: dead.

You slammed the door shut behind you, the old window panes shaking with the force. You had barely thrown yourself into the pickup before your body was wracked with full body sobs. White knuckling the steering wheel you leaned your head forward, completely unbothered as the horn blared.

How could you lose something so precious to you? It had been the last gift that you had ever received from Abby. The last. There was no possible way to replace something that was that special to you. Her hands had touched that ring. She’d been nervous to give it to you in the first place, anxious that two years hadn’t been enough time to give you something that sentimental. It was the meaning behind it that had you clutching at your chest, your fingernails digging into your shirt as if you could rip your heart straight out from between your ribs.

She was going to replace that ring once she got back. Give you the “real deal” once she was back home and able to have a ceremony.

But there would never be a ceremony. Never another ring. Never another Abby.

Never. Never. Never.

It felt like you were losing a piece of her, and with that came the revelation- the same one that you’ve already had a thousand times- that she was really gone. There would be no do-overs; no alternate universes where the two of you could be together. The reality of your situation sat heavy in your throat, clogging your airway.

The loss of Abby had eclipsed your heart completely, and darkness was all that was left.

You stayed in the car until your eyes had practically swelled shut and there were no more tears to shed.

The car ride back to her childhood home was completely silent, the only sound being the engine of Joel’s shiny new truck. She did her best to compliment him on the new purchase, but Ellie was sure that she didn’t sound even half as enthusiastic as she had hoped she would. She didn’t feel like being an actress today. Not when he already knew how bad she was doing. Joel had taken one look at her as she got off of the plane and frowned, grabbing her bags only after giving her a bone shattering side hug.

“Well I missed ya,” He finally spoke, causing her to jump in surprise. The sound of his baritone voice soothed her nerves over though. “I’ve really missed you annoyin’ the hell outta me at all hours of the day.”

Ellie cracked a small smile at that, leaning her head into the plush leather seat. The last time she saw Joel was when she had first been transferred to the Kindred Hospital back in Chicago, which was where she had rotted away for a full week. Her eye and face healed up quickly but her back was a different story. She’d been burned badly and had all of the nasty scars to prove it. He had stayed by her bedside for the entire week and had helped her to readjust to being back home in her apartment. The nearly debilitating pain was the only thing that had distracted her from the gravity of her situation back then.

Her therapist said it was normal to disassociate for long periods of time when the body and mind are put under so much stress. Ellie still felt like Ellie back then, but it was only because she didn’t have any real grasp on reality. It was just a few days after Joel left that she finally snapped out of it. She was one of the only five that survived. She was told that landmines were the cause of so many deaths in Iraq.

“It happens all the time out there. You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

She didn’t want her unit to just be another statistic. They weren’t just numbers. They were people who had loved ones at home. Loved ones that they had to leave for months and months on end. She couldn’t help but shoulder all of the blame. Ellie was the one that had led them out there in the first place. It was her fault, so why hadn’t she died right along with them? She would have considered herself lucky if she had lost her life right along with them. These were the people that she saw daily. Ellie had developed deep friendships with every member of her unit. She knew the details of all of their lives- the names of their children and loved ones back at home, what they wanted to do with their lives once they were dismissed- how could she not feel like someone had ripped her soul to shreds? How could she not constantly remind herself, every second of every goddamn day, that she was the reason.

She was a ghost. A mere shell of the person that she once was and she had no one to blame but herself.

“I didn’t know you liked me being annoying so much,” Still, she turned to Joel and cracked him a small smile. It was more for his sake and less for hers though. “I’ll make sure to turn it up a notch while I’m here.”

The older man grumbled, shaking his head slightly as he kept his eyes on the country roads in front of him. “That sounds like a threat.”

Ellie could tell that he was playing with her. They were professionals when it came to teasing each other, often to the point that people thought that they were seriously bickering. The short haired female let herself settle into the normalcy of the moment. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the accident or her mental state yet, so it was easy to pretend that things were still…okay.

So that’s exactly what she did. She began to pretend. Ellie allowed herself to be transported back in time. This was just another Tuesday. She’d get back home and sweet talk Joel into cooking her an after school snack. Then she’d go up to her room and procrastinate doing her homework so that she could reread one of her comics.

“Got anything good in here?” Ellie asked before opening up the center console. “I’m not gonna find anything nasty, am I?”

Joel’s lips pursed as he tried to fight off a smile. “Don’t go rifflin’ through my shit, kiddo.”

Her eyes snagged on a familiar purple book, and for the first time in a while something yawned to life in her chest. Joy.

“What do we have here?” She pulled out the book of puns, using it to fan herself before she cracked the bad boy open.

“Ah, don’t start.” He groaned.

She didn’t take the time to wonder why he had put the well loved book in his brand new truck. Instead of allowing herself to be overcome with endearment she flipped to a random page, her lips turning up in the first genuine smile she’d had in months.

“Where can you find a tiny coke?” She asked him, turning in her seat so that she could face him, tucking one of her converse-clad feet underneath her.

“Hey! Get your dirty shoes off of my new upholstery!” Joel reached over and gave her knee a slap.

Ellie reared back, holding the book of puns tight to her chest.

“Come on, try and guess.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes as he leaned his arm against the door.

“I don’t know… tiny town.”

Her nose wrinkled, an eyebrow quirking up at his half assed answer.

“Shitty guess, but alright.” She mumbled under her breath. “Mini-soda.”

“Hilarious.” He said sarcastically, turning onto the familiar drive.

“I think I saw you smile though.”She leaned over to give his cheek a poke, but he swiftly batted her hand away.

The truck’s all-terrain tires crunched over the gravel driveway, revealing the only real home she’d ever lived in. The house and yard looked exactly the same as it had whenever she was a teenager. She sighed out a breath of relief, not knowing how much well she would have handled any sort of severe change. Ellie opened the passenger side door before Joel had a chance to put the car in park, eager to settle in after the flight. She wanted to shower, and that surprised her a bit. A welcome surprise.

Maybe things would be better for her here.

“You didn’t turn my old room into some perverted sex dungeon while I was gone, did you?” She teased as she grabbed her tan duffel bag, easily tossing it over her shoulder as she bounded up the stairs.

He laughed as a response, following close behind her so that he could unlock the front door. She didn’t know why he even bothered. He lived in the middle of nowhere, and they rarely got visitors.

“I’ve got some guitars in there that are worth a fortune.” He’d told her the last time she’d asked.

It had been one of the few times that Ellie had snuck out of the house after curfew. She’d been unable to haul herself back into her second story window once she’d gotten back home and had been forced to sleep in the beat up old hatchback that he had bought her for her sixteenth birthday. Breakfast that morning had been… tense, to say the least.

“I didn’t touch your room… but I did get a dog, so make sure not to let her out.”

She paused at that, turning to look at him with wide eyes. There had been a strict “no animals” rule back when she lived with him. She never thought she’d see the day where Joel Miller would adopt a pet, let alone a dog.

“You got a dog?” She was still in disbelief and half expected him to fucking with her.

“Buckley is a good boy. He shits on the floor sometimes and barks all hours of morning though. It’s almost like having you home.” He teased, bumping his shoulder against hers so that he could shove his key into the lock.

The deadbolt clicked open, and low and behold there was a dog. He looked like some sort of lab mix, his pink tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he anxiously waited for his owner’s return. Ellie was too excited to come up with a witty response to Joel’s joke. She tossed her duffle down on the couch, quickly getting down on her knees so that she could pet the dog.

“He’s not much of a guard dog, is he?” He asked, closing the door behind him.

The second that Ellie’s hand tangled into his thick black fur he flopped down, eager for love. Ellie smirked, looking at Joel over her shoulder.

“I don’t know. He looks pretty ferocious to me.”

The sudden knock on the door had Ellie’s lips downturning, eyebrows pinching in confusion. She didn’t like the idea of company right now, and the last thing she wanted was to socialize with anyone. For a second she feared that he had called a doctor or therapist to come out to the house to see her. She wasn’t sure if she could take another “come to Jesus” meeting this week, and she was barely holding it together as is. Ellie put her hands on her knees, pushing herself up to stand before she nodded at the door.

“Company?” She simply asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Joel ignored her obvious distaste, wrenching the door open quickly before she could stop him. It sure as hell wasn’t Tommy. . . and Ellie doubted that most doctors wore overalls, even in Jackson. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, the golden rays shone through the vast expanse of trees on the property, making it almost look like the world was on fire. The warm glow behind the beautiful stranger made her look ethereal almost, her eyes watery and cheeks flushed. At her feet was a cardboard box packed to the brim with fruits and vegetables. All at once Ellie became startlingly aware of the fact that she looked like absolute hammered shit. Her hair was a frizzy mess, her skin was paler than it had ever been before, and she was wearing an old NASA shirt and dingy sweatpants. If she noticed her disheveled appearance she didn’t show it.

The smile that she beamed in Joel’s direction didn’t quite reach her eyes, and a strange sense of understanding flickered in Ellie’s gaze as she took a few inquisitive steps forward. Ellie Williams knew what suffering was like; true suffering. Looking at her was like looking in a mirror, her well hidden misery plain as day to the auburn haired female.

“Sorry I’m so late, Mr Miller. My truck was giving me problems.” Her voice was beautiful. Melodic in a way that Ellie’s wasn’t.

Spring. . . this girl was spring incarnate.

And she was lying through her teeth.

She’d been crying. Ellie could tell. Still, Joel was already peeking his head out of the door, looking in the direction of where she had parked.

“I could take a look at it for you.” He was being dismissed with a small wave of your hand before he could even get the words fully out.

“That’s so nice of you, but I’ve got it cranking up again. It shouldn’t give me any more trouble today.” Her hair fell off of her shoulder as she leaned down to pick up the box.

Ellie moved forward without thinking, picking up the heavy box for the girl before her fingers could even grip the sides of the cardboard. “Here, let me get it.” She said, craning her neck up so that she could speak directly to the woman.

There wasn’t a single thing about you that Ellie found undesirable. In that moment she was completely certain that you were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, even with the pain and memory that swirled behind your bright eyes. Their eyes locked, and much to Ellie’s embarrassment, she held her gaze. She watched her with the same sort of silent appreciation.

“-I think it would be good for her. What do you say?” Ellie hadn’t noticed that Joel had been talking the entire time.

The woman blinked a few times, tearing her eyes away from Ellie. “Huh? I’m sorry, do you mind repeating that?” She was nervously tucking a few strands of unruly hair behind her ear, shifting in place on the front porch.

“I was just saying that Ellie is going to be staying out here with me. I think working with you on the farm would be good for her. It would help her to get out of the house, and I know you’ve been pretty busy since it’s just you running things now.” Joel put a hand on Ellie’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Supportive. Non-judgemental. He was reminding her what would be good for her mental state right now, and having something to do with her hands would certainly help to take her mind off of things.

“O-Oh!” The girl’s lips parted in shock, her eyes flickering between the two of them. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. I get a pretty early start though, so don’t feel obligated to wake up as early as I do.”

“I’ll wake up.” Ellie said quickly, nodding her head.

Her words held a tone of desperation and it had Joel’s head whipping around in her direction. He probably wasn’t expecting her to be so supportive of his last minute idea. She couldn’t be sure if it was because she genuinely wanted to get her mind off of things or if the farm girl’s looks had anything to do with her enthusiasm. Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt drawn to someone like this. Relationships were the last thing on her mind these days.

“Can you start tomorrow?” The other girl asked, shoving her hands into her front pockets.

Adorable. She was adorable. Ellie felt her breath hitch and all she could do was nod as an answer for your question.

“Alright. . . “She began to trail off, backing up a few steps on the porch. It seemed like you were in a bit of a hurry. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.” Ellie repeated back to her.

She leaned back, lifting the box higher up on her chest so that she could watch the woman get back into her mud stained pickup truck. She only took a step back when Joel started to close the door on her.

“So you’re actually fine with that? I didn’t think you would go for it, honestly.” Joel rubbed at his stubbled chin, flashing her a small smile of approval.

“There’s no way I want to be stuck in a house with your ass all hours of the day.” Ellie quipped, walking to the kitchen so that she could place the vegetables on the countertop.

“I think workin’ there would be good for the both of you. That poor girl has had an awful year. . . I think you’d be good for each other. She needs a friend.” Joel’s voice was somber as he followed her into the kitchen.

Ellie turned to face the older man, swallowing hard as he leaned against the doorway. He was being a bit cryptic. It seemed like he didn’t want to be the one to tell Ellie the girl’s business. Still, she was curious, and she didn’t want to be blind sided tomorrow just in case she wanted to talk about it. Ellie wasn’t usually nosey, but she had a strong urge to get to know her.

“What do you mean by that?” Ellie’s first guess was that she had to be going through some sort of divorce. Joel had mentioned the fact that she was on her own now, so coming to that conclusion was natural.

“No, nothin’ like that,” He cleared his throat before pushing off of the door frame, slowly beginning to unload the box's contents. “She lost her girlfriend and her father this year. She’s the kindest girl. . . you’d never know how much she’s sufferin’ based on how she acts.”

“Oh.” Ellie frowned, having realized that your mourning must be the reason for your sad, sad eyes. She understood how it felt to lose so many people so close together. Better than anyone, really.

“Oh.”

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tortillamastersblog · 7 months ago

Text

Back To You - Part 4 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

Present

Billy Loomis is Sam’s real dad. . .

Tara’s words and her recount of her conversation with Sam makes all the puzzle pieces fall into place.

That’s why Sam snuck into my room all those years ago. That’s why she changed so much after, and that’s why she left.

It all makes sense now, but it doesn’t change the fact that she hurt Tara by leaving, hurt me by leaving. It also doesn’t change the fact that she wasn’t there for me when I needed her to most. When I begged her to come back and she just screamed at me to stop calling without even letting me explain why I was calling in the first place.

I’m feeling so many things right now, it’s kind of overwhelming, but I try my best to stay calm so I don’t freak Tara out.

She’s been moved to a private floor since Sam left and slept earlier while I called Liam and Paige again. Now, she’s awake once more, curled into my side while we’re watching a movie together.

I really try to focus on what’s going on, but my mind keeps drifting back to Sam.

She could have talked to me! She could have told me about her real dad. Why didn’t she? Did she think I was going to hate her for it? Did she think I would stop being her friend if I knew?

I wouldn’t have done any of that. Who her father is doesn’t change who she is. At least that’s my opinion. She must think otherwise, because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have left.

I’m mad at her for abandoning Tara and leaving me. I’m sad she felt like she couldn’t talk to me, and I’m heartbroken thinking about how she tried to numb her pain by doing every drug imaginable and sleeping with anyone who would have her.

I still love her, that’s for sure because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be feeling like this, but I’m just not sure love is enough for me to forgive and forget everything she’s done.

“Hey.” Tara’s voice and her finger poking my chin snaps me out of my thoughts.

I clear my throat quietly and look down at her. “Yeah?”

“You okay?” she asks, her kind brown eyes darting between my own.

“No, not really, Sprout.” Tara wrinkles her nose and I chuckle. She’s never liked that nickname. “But I will be, and so will you.“

“You sure?” she asks and I nod.

“I’m sure. Now watch the movie, or I’m changing it,” I tease, making her laugh softly.

“Okay, okay. . .” She looks me over one last time before turning her attention back to the movie, mumbling, “You’re so annoying.”

I just hum and scratch her head, settling deeper into the bed and actually focusing on the movie. Thoughts of Sam are still swirling around in the back of my mind, but I ignore them as best as I can.

About half an hour later, the movie is still playing and, much to my surprise, I’m actually invested in the story now.

Some shuffling and a grunt in the hallway outside makes me look away from the TV though. We’re on a private floor and no one but Deputy Vinson should be here. A nurse comes in every two hours or so to check on Tara, but she was just here before we started the movie.

Alarm bells almost instantly go off in the back of my head, but I don’t want to scare Tara, so I stay calm and shout, “Hello?”

There’s no answer.

“Vinson?”

Again, nothing.

My stomach drops. This is not good. This is not good, at all.

“Y/N?” Tara whispers fearfully, the beeping sound of her heart rate monitor next to the bed speeding up.

I swallow thickly and continue to stare at the open doorway, straining my ears to hear anything else. It stays quiet though, and with every second that passes, the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach grows.

“Y/N,” Tara whimpers and when our eyes meet I see the fear I’m feeling inside reflected back at me.

He’s back. It’s Ghostface. It has to be him. He’s returned to finish the job.

I can feel my own heart rate picking up speed, and after another beat of silence, I decide that we have to leave. We’re sitting ducks if we stay.

“Fuck this.” I swallow again and nod to myself before pushing the blanket to the bottom of the bed. “We’re leaving, Sprout.”

Tara’s eyes widen and she doesn’t protest when I disconnect the IV from the back of her hand. For a moment, she’s frozen, watching me disconnect her from all the machines she’s attached to, before springing into action herself.

With shaking hands, she removes the oxygen tube while I get up and pull the nearby wheelchair to the side of the bed.

I won’t be able to do anything with only one arm, so even though it hurts and I know I’m probably going to tear my stitches, I take off my sling.

I wince at the stinging pain that shoots through my neck and arm, but grit my teeth and help Tara with the rest of the wires. Then I make sure the wheelchair’s breaks are on before turning back to the bed.

“We have to get moving, c’mon. I know this is going to hurt, but we have to go,” I say, slipping my arms under Tara’s knees and under her back. I don’t lift her yet though, waiting for her to nod before hoisting her up.

The gasp she lets out makes me hurt for her, but I can’t stop now.

We have to leave.

Carefully, I lift her out of the bed and place her in the wheelchair, making sure I don’t bump her broken leg against anything.

My shoulder protests, screaming in pain even though Tara is easy to lift, but I don’t stop moving especially when the lights suddenly go out.

We have to leave, now!

Tara whimpers in fear and in pain, and I rush to turn off the breaks on the wheelchair before pushing her to the doorway.

He’s here. I know it.

I peek into the ominously dark hallway all while trying not to let panic take over my mind.

Fear is healthy, panic is deadly.

That’s what my father taught me, and I know if we’re going to get out of this alive, I have to keep a clear head.

The hallway is empty, and the only way out is by getting to the elevator at the end of the hallway, so I slowly push Tara out of the room, keeping my eyes and ears open for any movement near by.

Just get to the elevator.

The deafening sound of Tara’s phone ringing on the bedside table back in her room makes both of us jump for a moment.

Tara sobs quietly, and I tighten my grip on the wheelchair.

I glance over my shoulder, seeing the screen of the phone light up the room before turning back around. There’s no time to get it now, and even less time to answer it.

I push Tara into the hallway, slowly and quietly while letting my eyes dart around in the darkness for any sign of danger.

It still eerily quiet though and I don’t see anything, so I continue pushing her until we get to the nurses’ station.

That’s where a chocked gasp claws it’s way out of Tara and when I follow her line of sight, I freeze for a second.

Laying right there on his back on the ground, with a slit throat and a pool of blood around his head is one of the deputies Sheriff Hicks assigned to Tara’s floor. He’s still alive, even though only barely, and chokes on his own blood, his wide eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling.

There’s nothing we can do to help him, he’ll be dead within a minute, but still, the sight of him, so helpless and alone, makes the blood in my veins freeze.

That could be me, or worse, Tara.

Stop! Don’t think about that, Y/N. Focus.

My dad’s voice rings in my head and makes me snap out of it. He’s right, I have to focus.

I’m about to continue pushing Tara towards the elevator, but then a thought strikes me.

I pause and look around again before letting go of the wheelchair and crouching down next to the deputy. I reach for his belt, fumbling around until my hand grazes the holster of his gun.

With a gun, we’d at least stand a change against Ghostface, but as fate would have it, the holster is empty. The gun is gone.

Fuck.

Not only does that mean that we have nothing to defend ourselves with, it also means that Ghostface has the gun.

Tara sobs into her hands and watches me get back up, only to flinch and freeze a second later when we hear a door being opened somewhere down the hall.

There’s no time to ponder over the gun and its whereabouts now. I spin around and take a hold of the wheelchair again.

Getting to the elevator now is too risky. It’s too far away, so I wheel Tara into the room right next to the nurses’ station.

We need help.

Tara whimpers and cries quietly while I close the door behind us. I don’t shut it all the way, just enough to hide us from plain sight while still being able to see what’s going on outside. Then, I fumble around for my phone in my sweatpants.

Just like with the gun though, I come up empty, and the realization that it must have slipped out of my pocket while watching the movie makes my heart drop.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

My hands begin shaking, and it’s getting harder to keep my panic at bay.

We’re alone with a psychopathic killer, we have no way out, no help is coming, and I’m not in any shape to fight properly.

Tears well up in my eyes and I feel my bottom lip quivering. There’s no way out.

My heart starts pounding in my ears and my hands start shaking.

Please, no. Not now.

I’ve had enough panic attacks after my parents death to know what it feels like when one is about to start, and even though it sucks having them at any time, it would be especially inconvenient right now.

I force myself to calm my breaths and blink away the tears, but it doesn’t help much.

We’re trapped.

We’re alone.

I continue to focus on steadying my breathing while also keeping an ear out for any more sounds in the hallway.

That is until Tara nudges me. I clench and unclench my fists, and look at her. She has tears streaming down her face, but she’s urgently gesturing at something she can’t reach.

I follow the length of her arm with my eyes and almost start crying with relief when I spot the phone on the wall right next to the door.

I lunge for it and start dialing 911 with shaking hands only to stop a moment later when another door opens out in the hallway.

Tara clutches the back of my sweater with her uninjured hand and bites her bottom lip to prevent any more sobs from escaping her.

I flinch when another door gets opened, this time closer by, and hold my breath.

This is it. He’s here.

I lower the phone and square my shoulders, ready to fight when the door to our room suddenly swings open.

Tara yelps and I instinctively punch whoever just walked in.

“Ow!” Richie stumbles back against the doorframe and raises a hand to where my fist just connected with his jaw. “Ah, goddamn it!”

“Richie?” Tara’s pulls on the back of my sweater to get me to step out of her line of sight while I simply stare at Richie in disbelief.

I’m honestly relieved it’s just him, and that he’s here because now we’re no longer alone, but I can’t find it in myself to feel sorry for punching him.

“What are you doing here?” Tara asks as Richie continues to recover from the punch.

“Sam called,” he explains and as he continues to talk, I feel some of the tension in my body dissipate. “She said that you were in trouble.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and the revelation that Sam probably only called about Tara is like a blow to the stomach.

I don’t get much time to dwell on it though because a split second later, Ghosface appears behind Richie, ready to strike with a knife in his hand.

“Look out!” I shout, stepping in front of Tara again.

Richie spins just in time to avoid getting stabbed, but the knife manages to cut his forearm. Ghostface goes in for another stab, but Richie manages to catch his wrist before he can bring the knife down on him.

He grunts and they struggle for a moment, but then Ghostface manages to grab the back of Richies head and slam him into the door frame, knocking him out.

“Shit!” I clench my jaw when Ghostface turns his attention to Tara and me, and quickly grab the IV stand next to us, flinging it at him.

Ghostface goes down because the monitor on the IV stand hits him in the head, and I rush to wheel Tara out of the room.

We’re almost back in the hallway, away from Ghostface, when he suddenly lands a punch on the back of my left knee, making my leg buckle. I stumble and manage to regain my footing without going down, but that little trip costs me a lot of precious seconds.

“Y/N!” Tara twists around in the wheelchair with wide eyes and even though I know Ghostface is now back on his feet and right behind me, it still catches me off guard when he wraps his arm around my neck from behind and punches me in the side, right below my ribs.

“Ah, fuck!” I grunt and grab his forearm, trying to pry it away from my neck, but it doesn’t budge. “Go, Tara!”

Another blow, this time to my ribs, takes my breath away, and even though I’m in pain, it fills me with an unexplainable rage.

Instead of trying to get his arm away from my neck again, I dig my heels into the ground and push backward until we hit a wall. Ghostface hisses in pain and I use the momentary distraction to get out of the headlock.

Then, I run to Tara, limping slightly and ignoring the sound of a phone ringing nearby. She’s crying and struggling to move in the wheelchair, and the sight of the blood soaked bandage around her hand makes my stomach clench.

I’m about to reach her, my arms already outstretched to grab onto the wheelchair, but then I’m tackled to the ground from behind.

My head hits the floor, making black dots dance in my vision for a moment and then my head is yanked up by my hair.

“Hold it right there, Tara,” Ghostface says, the voice changer eerily distorting his voice, “or I’ll slit Y/N’s throat.”

Tara freezes and wheels around in time to see Ghostface press the blade of his knife against my neck. He’s kneeling on my back and I know I have no way of escaping without getting my throat slit.

It stings when he pushes the knife down a little too hard, drawing some blood in the process, but I don’t dare to move.

“Y/N!” Tara cries and I try not to cough because of the weight on my back. “No, please don’t.“

“Tara, go!” I rasp, feeling the edge of the knife dig even deeper into the skin of my neck.

Tara shakes he head desperately, tears rolling down her cheeks. “No, Y/N, I—“

“Do you hear that, Sam?” Ghostface says and at the mention of Sam’s name my heart drops. He must be on the phone with her. “Your little sister and Y/N, begging for each other’s lives. Pathetic, don’t you think?”

Tara makes a move to wheel closer, but I pin her down with a stare to stop her. Go, I mouth, but Tara doesn’t move while Ghostface continues talking to Sam.

I can’t hear everything he’s saying because my ears are ringing, but when he suddenly gets off my back and approaches Tara with calculated steps, I hear him say, “So, the choice is up to you. Who is it going to be, Sam? Richie, Y/N, or Tara?”

Tara whimpers as Ghostface gets nearer, but she’s too injured to get away. She manages to turn the wheelchair around, but Ghostface is right there before she can even attempt to get away.

He grabs the handles of the chair and tips it forward forcefully, making Tara fall and land on the ground with a cry of pain.

No, not her. Not Tara. Please, anyone but her. She’s been through enough.

“Stop!” I groan, trying to get up, but slipping on something sticky on the floor. My shoulder stings and the side where Ghostface punched me burns, but I try to get back up again, and this time, I manage. On unsteady feet, I limp toward Ghostface who’s now standing over Tara.

He twirls the knife in his hand and raises his arm, getting ready to strike while Tara sobs.

“No!” I’m not going to make it. “Tara!”

Just then, the elevator dings and the doors open. Ghostface looks up, surprised, and dives out of the way when gunshots ring out.

My eyes widen at the sight of Sam and Dewey?! who dart out of the elevator.

“Tara!” Sam rushes to her sister’s side and drops to her knees, trying to help her to her feet.

“I’ll get Richie,” Dewey says, but then he freezes when his eyes land on me. “Y/N?! What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

I wave him off and shake my head, looking around to see where Ghostface went. “Not now, I’m fine. Go get Richie, I’ll help Sam with Tara.”

“Okay.” Dewey nods and stares at me a moment longer before dashing past me to help Richie.

The last time we saw each other was at my parents’ funeral. He used to be like an uncle to me because he was friends with my dad, but after the accident, we kind of drifted apart.

Now is no time to dwell on the past though. I push through my dizziness and the pain in my side, shoulder and leg, and limp the rest of the way to Tara and Sam.

Sam’s already managed to get a crying and whimpering Tara to her feet, but Tara can’t walk with her broken leg, so as soon as I’m within reach I tug on Sam’s jacket to get her to stop dragging Tara to the elevator.

“Stop, let me help.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Y/N, y-you’re here?”

“Of course, I’m here,” I snap, not because I’m mad but because there’s no time to talk. “Now, let’s get a move on!”

Still in disbelief, Sam doesn’t say anything else as I scoop Tara up into my arms.

“Ow,” she whines and I quickly apologize for hurting her.

I limp to the elevator with Sam hot on my heels and lean against the wall as soon as we’re inside. My legs are shaking and my entire body hurts, but I’m not letting go of Tara until we’re safe.

Sam holds the doors open while Richie and Dewey make their way to the elevator.

They’ve almost made it when, out of nowhere, Ghostface comes back, crashing into them from the side. Richie falls to the ground, and Dewey gets pushed against the wall which makes him fire his gun.

A struggle ensues between Dewey and Ghostface while Richie tries to get back up, and for a moment it looks as though Ghostface’s got the upper hand, but then Dewey headbutts him.

Ghostface stumbles back and Dewey grabs his gun off the ground, firing it at Ghostface before he can come at him again.

He stumbles back at the force of the shots hitting him in the chest until he crashes into the glass display cabinet on the opposite wall.

He sinks to the ground and stops moving, and even though I’m not convinced he’s dead, there’s no time to make sure he is. We have to get out of here as fast as possible.

Dewey must think so too because he gets to his feet and immediately pulls Richie up as well.

“Let’s get out of here,” he grunts, dragging Richie toward the elevator. “Come on, hurry up.”

They finally make it, and Richie slumps against the wall next to Sam who runs her hands over him and checks for any not-so obvious injuries.

“You okay?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

Richie nods and exhales shakily. “Yeah, you?”

Sam nods. “Fine.” Then she turns her attention back to Tara who’s got her arms wrapped around my neck and is crying into my shoulder.

“It hurts, Sam,” she cries, and I press a kiss to her forehead while Sam takes a hold of her hand.

Dewey pushes the elevator button for the first floor, but before the doors can slide shut, he stops them with his hand and says, “The head. . .”

Richie frowns. “What?”

“You have to shoot ‘em in the head or they always come back,” Dewey explains, stepping back out of the elevator.

Sam gapes at him and asks exactly what I’m thinking. “Dewey, who gives a fuck?”

A forlorn look enters his eyes and as the doors slide shut, he says, “I do.”

“No! Dewey!” I try to step forward to stop him, but as soon as I shift my weight off the wall, my legs start trembling, so I slump back and grit my teeth.

It’s too late.

The doors close and the elevator starts descending. A tense silence settles over us for the duration of the ride, but then the doors open and Richie stumbles out first, shouting for help.

Doctors and nurses swarm us almost instantly and within seconds, a gurney is brought over and I place Tara on it.

She’s okay.

Seeing her being taken care of lifts a huge weight off my shoulders and the relief on Sam’s face makes me smile a little.

She’s going to be okay.

The dizziness I felt before suddenly returns full force now that the adrenaline is wearing off, but I can’t sit down and rest until Dewey is safe, too.

He’s up there all alone. Someone has to help him.

I stumble back to the elevator but a hand on my stomach stops me from entering it.

I look down, swaying slightly, before following the arm connect to the hand all the way up with my eyes until they land on Sam’s face.

Wait. . . Sam?

“Where are you going, Y/N?” she asks, frowning.

I blink to get rid of the irritating black dots growing in my vision and try to push past her. “D-Dewey, he needs—he needs help, Sam.”

“I know,” she says, stopping me again by grabbing a fistful of my sweater. “But you can’t go up there. The police are already on their way.”

“But. . . But Dewey,” I slur. I grasp at Sam’s hand to get her to let go of me which, much to my surprise, she actually does.

It doesn’t last long though because not even a second later my knees buckle and I fall forward, right into her arms.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Sam panics and grabs onto anything she can to stop both of us from toppling to the ground. “Oh my God, you’re hurt.”

I awkwardly slide down her body, bringing her down with me until we’re both on the floor and I’m gasping for air.

“Y/N, hey. . . Hey!” Sam grunts and manages to scramble out from underneath me before propping me up against the wall next to us. “Look at me. What’s wrong? What hurts?” she asks, but I can’t answer. My lungs suddenly feel like they’re on fire and every breath I take makes it harder to breathe.

“What happened? Did Ghostface—“ She falls silent when her eyes land on her hands and when I look down, I see why.

They’re covered in blood. My blood. But. . . how?

I think about everything that happened, and then dread settles in the pit of my stomach when the realization hits.

Ghostface wasn’t punching me. When he “hit” me all those times, he wasn’t punching me. He wasn’t punching me at all. He was stabbing me.

Welp, that explains why my side hurts so much. I thought I was going soft.

My eyes flutter shut and I cough, tasting blood in my mouth.

I guess no one noticed I was hurt until now because I didn’t feel anything until the adrenaline wore off and the blood soaking my clothes wasn’t visible because both my sweater and my sweatpants are black.

“Y/N, hey! Don’t you dare close your eyes.” Sam cups my cheeks and shakes my head slightly to get me to open my eyes again. “We need some help over here!” she shouts over her shoulder before looking back at me.

She’s frantic, more frantic than I’ve ever seen her, and her eyes are filling with tears. Her hands drop off my face and she’s quick to push my sweater up to take in the extent of my injuries.

“Oh my God.” Her voice cracks and when she presses her hands against my side to slow the bleeding, I cry out in pain.

I gasp like a fish out of water, still struggling to get enough air into my lungs, and push at her hands.

“No, stop— Stop!” she protests, desperately pressing her hands against my side again.

“Hurts,” I wheeze and Sam nods frantically with tears dripping down her cheeks.

“I know, I know,” she says, “but I’m trying to help.”

I writhe in agony, but don’t try to push her off again. I don’t think I even could if I tried because with every passing moment I feel weaker.

My eyes are also threatening to close again and when Sam notices, she presses down harder on my side and shouts for help again.

This time, a nearby nurse notices and she springs into action. She rushes over, dragging a doctor with her and tells another nurse to bring a gurney.

I don’t focus on her though. No, I keep my attention on Sam and how she’s desperately try to stop my bleeding.

She’s crying, covered in blood, and on the verge of hyperventilating, but she’s still beautiful.

So beautiful. . .

I cough again just as the nurse and doctor drop down next to me, and when Sam takes her hands away so they can examine me, I give into the urge to close my eyes.

_______________________________________________

Whew! I wrote this in one sitting, and only proofread it once, so please excuse any mistakes I may have made/overlooked.

Tag list: @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @bella423

#x reader #angst #sam carpenter x reader #samantha carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #samantha carpenter #scream

295 notes · View notes

shimmerandink · 2 months ago

Text

Arcane characters with a s/o with a lot of tattoos

Jayce/Viktor/Vi/Caitlyn/Jinx/Silco/Sevika

Masterlist

Jayce

~Jayce might initially be a bit taken aback by the sheer number of tattoos you have, especially if they’re in places he didn’t expect (like your hands, neck, or lower back). But once he gets over his surprise, he becomes genuinely fascinated by each one. He loves asking you about the stories behind them.

~Whether they’re meaningful or just fun designs, Jayce appreciates the artistry involved in tattoos. He enjoys learning about different cultures, so he’ll ask about the symbolism of certain designs. If any of the tattoos are from places you’ve been or experiences you’ve had, Jayce will eagerly listen, admiring how much your skin tells a story.

~Jayce is a touchy person in his own way, so expect him to trace your tattoos with his fingers when you're together. Whether it’s a gentle stroke across your arm or his fingers brushing over a symbol on your wrist, Jayce often can’t resist feeling the textures of your tattoos.

~He finds it intimate when he’s running his fingers over them, like he’s discovering more about you with every touch. It’s not just admiration, it’s a quiet form of affection.

~If anyone makes a comment about your tattoos, whether it’s a compliment or something rude, Jayce will immediately step in. He’s fiercely protective of you, and if someone dares to judge you, he won’t hesitate to shut them down.

~However, if it’s someone giving you genuine compliments or even curious questions about your tattoos, Jayce stands back a little and watches you glow as you explain the meaning behind them. He’s proud of how confident you are, and he’s more than happy to let you be the center of attention.

~Jayce might ask you questions about how you felt when you got your tattoos, what inspired each piece, and whether you have any future designs in mind. He’ll be genuinely interested in the process and what it meant to you.

~Sometimes, the two of you might spend hours talking about art, design, and ink. Jayce is fascinated by your dedication and commitment to your body art, and he loves hearing the stories behind your tattoos, whether they were impulsive or carefully thought out decisions.

~When Jayce feels like you’re ready for a new tattoo, he might take you to a high-end artist. He’ll love making it an event, maybe even getting a small matching tattoo with you or something meaningful to mark a special moment in your relationship.

~While Jayce might not have as many tattoos as you, he has a huge respect for body art, so he’s willing to indulge in the experience with you. He’ll be there by your side, making sure you’re comfortable, offering a hand to hold, and maybe even taking a picture of you getting inked.

~If another person openly admires your tattoos, Jayce might get a little jealous, but he hides it in a very subtle way. It’s not that he doesn't want you to be appreciated, it’s more that he loves how unique you are, and the thought of someone else getting too close to you (even admiringly) might set off his protective side.

~Jayce’s jealousy will be passive but still noticeable in the way he hovers near you or places a hand on your back or shoulder when someone comments on your tattoos.

~In private, Jayce loves to give you heartfelt compliments about your tattoos. He admires your boldness and your self-expression, often telling you how beautiful they make you look. He’ll whisper things like, “You’re even more stunning than I could ever imagine,” while his fingers graze over the art on your skin.

~It’s one of those intimate moments that mean a lot to you because Jayce doesn’t throw compliments around easily. When he says something, it’s from the heart.

~If you and Jayce ever go through a difficult time together or face a huge turning point in your lives, Jayce might consider getting a tattoo with you as a symbol of your bond. He may choose something that represents your relationship, like a symbol of trust or a meaningful moment you shared.

~This would be a huge step for Jayce because it would represent a permanent commitment to your relationship and an acceptance of your shared history. It would mean a lot to both of you.

~If you come home with a new tattoo, Jayce might not have a huge reaction at first, he’s calm, but you can tell he’s silently thinking it over. He won’t immediately ask questions, but he’ll be quietly impressed by how you always manage to choose designs that complement your personality.

~Over time, Jayce might even become a little more open to the idea of getting tattoos himself, especially after seeing how much joy and confidence it brings you.

~Jayce is deeply attracted to your confidence. The fact that you wear your tattoos with pride, unapologetically owning your body art, makes him admire you even more. He loves that you’re not afraid to express yourself, in fact, it excites him. You’re bold, and that’s what draws him in.

Viktor

~Viktor, being a more reserved and thoughtful person, might not immediately express his admiration for your tattoos verbally. However, you can tell by his eyes, he’s always studying the artwork on your body with a quiet fascination.

~Unlike others who may openly ask questions or make comments, Viktor simply watches you with an intense, almost scientific curiosity. He appreciates the artistry, the intricacy of each design, and the precision that went into making it. In a way, he sees the tattoos as another form of expression, much like the way he creates with his own inventions.

~Viktor has always been deeply invested in knowledge and discovery, and your tattoos are no exception. If you have tattoos that have a particular meaning or history behind them, Viktor will want to learn everything about them. He’s the type of person who enjoys hearing the story behind each piece, whether it’s an ancient symbol, a representation of an important event, or a personal choice.

~He might spend hours researching the symbolism of certain designs or asking you more detailed questions about the cultural or historical significance behind each piece. He’ll want to know everything about how they were chosen, and may even come up with ideas for future tattoos that could have deep, meaningful connections to your lives.

~Viktor won’t be as openly affectionate as some others, but his way of showing love and care for you often comes in subtle, thoughtful gestures. If he’s sitting next to you, he may reach out and gently trace one of your tattoos with his fingers, not in a flirtatious way, but rather as an act of admiring and connecting with you.

~He’ll do this while you’re reading together or working on a project, a quiet, intimate moment between you two. It's Viktor's way of showing affection without words, and you can feel how much he treasures the little things about you.

~Viktor knows the world can be harsh and judgmental, especially when it comes to people who express themselves so boldly through tattoos. If anyone dares to say something rude or intrusive about your tattoos, Viktor will quietly but firmly step in. While he won’t be as fiery or defensive as some other people might be, his calm demeanor hides an unyielding support for you.

~He will stand by your side in the face of criticism, giving you the space to respond or simply stepping in with a well-placed, intellectual retort. It’s less about confrontation and more about ensuring you know that he has your back, no matter what anyone else thinks.

~As someone who has an eye for intricate details and precision in his own work, Viktor finds himself admiring the artistry of your tattoos. He can’t help but be drawn to the meticulousness of the designs, the way each line is carefully thought out and how they all come together in a beautiful, cohesive way.

~Viktor might even express his thoughts on the skill of the tattoo artist, comparing them to the creators of mechanical inventions or advancements in science. He finds the combination of art and personal expression to be similar to the work he does, which deepens his admiration for you.

~Viktor sees your tattoos as a reflection of your soul, a window into who you are and what you value. He might compare them to the way he expresses himself through his work, through inventions and machines that symbolize his beliefs, dreams, and desires. Your tattoos become a bridge between you both, where he feels a deeper understanding of your inner world.

~There’s something special to Viktor in knowing that you’ve chosen to permanently etch parts of yourself onto your skin. It’s like he’s uncovering layers of you, bit by bit, through each tattoo.

~Viktor is creative in his own way and may surprise you by offering to design a tattoo for you. He’s not an artist in the traditional sense, but his inventions and innovations show that he has a keen sense of design. He may draw up something based on your shared experiences, a symbol or an object that represents an important part of your relationship.

~His design will be detailed, precise, and deeply thoughtful. Whether you decide to get it inked or not, he’ll appreciate the act of making something for you that’s unique and meaningful. It would be a rare, vulnerable moment for Viktor, as he’d want to make sure that the tattoo holds significant meaning and brings you happiness.

~Viktor is very much the type to support your individuality. If you want to add another tattoo to your collection, he’ll never try to stop you. In fact, he encourages your self-expression and might even come up with ideas that help you express more of yourself. While he may be reserved in his own self-expression, he fully respects that you’ve found a way to wear your identity in the form of art.

~His respect for your autonomy is one of the things you love about him, he sees your tattoos not as a statement for others but as an act of personal significance and autonomy.

~On rare occasions, Viktor might feel inspired by one of your tattoos, maybe the design speaks to him on a deeper level than you realize. One night, when the two of you are alone, he might confess something deeply personal, relating it to one of your tattoos. It could be a shared experience or something about his past, where the tattoo serves as a bridge for him to open up.

~He may not show it outwardly, but Viktor trusts you in ways he doesn’t often let on. The tattoos, in his mind, represent a bond between you both, a way for him to connect with your own story while slowly revealing his.

~Viktor is drawn to your confidence in a way that’s hard to describe. He finds the way you carry your tattoos, with pride and a sense of ownership, to be incredibly alluring. It’s not just the art itself, it’s the way you unapologetically express who you are. Viktor values self-confidence and is attracted to how you wear your skin as a canvas for your identity. He admires the freedom you exude and the way you make your body your own, which makes him respect you even more.

~Vi is immediately intrigued when she sees your tattoos for the first time. She’s drawn to them like a magnet, her eyes lingering over each design with curiosity. Tattoos are a form of self-expression, and she admires that you’ve taken the leap to permanently mark your body in such a bold way.

~She’s especially intrigued if your tattoos are personal or have stories attached to them. Vi is a talker, so she’s not shy about asking you the meaning behind each design, even if it’s just something that makes you smile or laugh. She’ll listen intently, enjoying the stories you tell about each tattoo.

~Vi is a bit of a flirt, so expect her to make playful comments about your tattoos. Whether it’s a witty remark about how a tattoo on your arm makes you look tough or how the tattoo on your back makes her want to get closer, she knows how to tease you about them.

~If you have a tattoo in a particularly sensual or personal spot, she may wink and tease you about how it just invites her to get closer. She’ll jokingly suggest she needs to get a closer look to understand it better, usually making you laugh with her cheeky attitude.

~Vi can’t resist running her fingers over your tattoos, especially the ones that are on your arms or back. She’s tactile and loves feeling the ink on your skin. It’s not a sexual thing (though there’s definitely an attraction), but more of a comforting, affectionate gesture.

~If you’re resting together, she might lay her head on your shoulder or lap, running her fingers over the designs as a way to connect with you. She loves the way your skin feels under her touch and often traces the lines of your tattoos like she’s memorizing them.

~Vi can be fiercely protective of you, especially if someone makes a rude comment about your tattoos. If someone dares to judge you or make an unkind remark, expect Vi to step in, her usual tough exterior getting even more intense. She doesn’t tolerate anyone making you feel bad for expressing yourself.

~She’ll shut down the person with a sharp retort or a quiet but firm warning that no one disrespects you in her presence. Vi’s protective nature kicks in, not just because she’s defensive of you, but because she admires your strength in owning your body art.

~Vi may not always express it in the loud or obvious ways, but she’s genuinely appreciative of the tattoos that you have. She loves how they make you you and how you wear them with confidence. There’s something deeply intimate about the way tattoos mark a person, and she respects that each one has a unique story.

~On nights when the two of you are just lounging together, she might quietly tell you how beautiful you look, not just because of your tattoos, but because they’re a reflection of your boldness and individuality. She thinks you're strong for expressing yourself through art.

~If anyone else pays a little too much attention to your tattoos, Vi might get a tiny bit jealous. It’s not that she doesn’t want others to admire you, she just doesn’t like the thought of someone getting too close, even if it’s just admiring your body art.

~She might make a playful, teasing comment like, “You know, that tattoo does look better when it’s just for me to admire,” or she’ll gently pull you closer to her, showing that she’s the one who gets to appreciate your tattoos.

~If you have a particularly meaningful or personal tattoo that you’re proud of, Vi may express interest in getting one of her own. She doesn’t have a lot of tattoos, but seeing how meaningful yours are, she might want to get something that symbolizes something important to her, maybe a design that reflects her past or her bond with you.

~If she does decide to get a tattoo, it’s likely to be something small but with a significant meaning. Vi’s practical, so she’d go for something simple, yet deeply personal, maybe something connected to her past or a symbol of her love for you.

~Vi might get so fascinated by your tattoos that she wants to try drawing them. She’s not a professional artist, but she enjoys sketching, and your tattoos provide the perfect inspiration for her. She might sketch one of your designs as a way to connect with you further.

~If you allow her to, she’ll try to replicate the design in her own style, and you’ll likely find her drawings adorably imperfect, a sweet, personal gift showing that she’s thinking about you. She might even ask if you’d want it tattooed someday, jokingly suggesting that the two of you could get matching ones.

~If Vi does have any tattoos, she’ll proudly show them to you. She might not have many, but the ones she does have would probably be on places that are personal to her. She’s a bit reserved about her own past, so she’d open up to you more and explain what each one means, letting you see the more vulnerable side of her.

~When she does show them, expect her to act all confident about it, even if the tattoos are a little more understated. She might laugh and make a playful comment about how you’ve probably seen them all before, but she likes showing them off to you anyway.

~If the two of you share a deep connection or a major milestone in your relationship, Vi might suggest you get matching tattoos. It could be something that represents a specific moment or feeling that you shared, something that binds you both together.

~It wouldn’t be a huge, flashy design, but it would hold significant meaning between the two of you. Vi would insist that you pick the design together, making sure it’s a symbol that reflects both of you. It could be something as simple as a small, intertwined design, maybe a symbol of strength or a shared memory.

Jinx

~Jinx is absolutely fascinated by your tattoos, and she’ll likely become obsessed with every little detail. She’ll want to know the story behind each one, and if you don’t tell her, she’ll demand to know, asking a hundred questions in a rapid-fire style, each more outlandish than the last.

~She loves hearing about the meaning behind your tattoos and will immediately try to memorize every design, sometimes even trying to replicate them with her own wild art style (which may or may not end up being hilarious or extremely chaotic).

~Jinx is the type of person who craves attention and lives for big, loud expression, so she finds it incredibly attractive when someone else shares that energy. Your tattoos are like a direct extension of your personality, and she loves how unapologetically bold they are.

~She sees your tattoos as a visual representation of who you are, a rebel, someone who doesn’t follow the rules, just like her. It makes her feel even more connected to you because she understands that impulsiveness and willingness to take risks. It’s something that she can relate to deeply.

~Jinx has no filter, so expect her to flirt with you and tease you about your tattoos in the most ridiculous ways. She might say something like, “You know, I think you’re the only one who could pull off a tattoo like that and still look cute,” or she’ll joke about how cool you look with ink on your skin, but she’ll add her own flair to the compliment like, “You could totally rob a bank and look way too badass for anyone to stop you.”

~She’s also the type to flirt and point out all the places where your tattoos look the hottest, teasing you about the idea that she might get her hands on them eventually. She could even draw doodles on your skin herself, pretending to "add" to your tattoos with her chaotic, childish drawings.

~Jinx may get so inspired by your tattoos that she’ll come up with her own crazy ideas for new tattoos, her designs are probably over the top, something loud, messy, and completely out there. She’ll want you to match her in some weird, reckless way, like getting a tattoo of an exploding rocket or something just as wild, because she sees tattoos as another form of expression, chaotic, fun, and spontaneous.

~Sometimes, she’ll tell you that you need a tattoo to match one of her designs, like a large heart with a bomb fuse on it, because why not? She’ll convince you that it’s the ultimate symbol of your relationship: chaotic, unpredictable, and full of energy.

~Jinx is fiercely protective of the people she cares about, and if anyone dares to compliment your tattoos or get too close, expect her to get a little crazy (in a fun way). She may make a sarcastic remark, or in some cases, she could pull you away with a playful “hands off” when someone stares at you for too long.

~Even if it’s just someone admiring your tattoos, Jinx might grab your hand, give you a big, exaggerated kiss on the cheek, and declare that only she gets to appreciate your body art. She’s possessive in her unique way, and that’s part of what makes her so intense.

~Jinx has a lot of her own scars, both physical and emotional, and she sees your tattoos as a way to express parts of your story that might be hard to put into words. She can relate to that kind of expression. While she may not always verbalize her feelings, she deeply admires that you’ve found a way to wear your emotions and experiences on your skin.

~Sometimes, when the two of you are alone and comfortable, Jinx will run her fingers along your tattoos softly, almost as if she’s tracing your story. It’s an intimate moment for her, a way to connect with you beyond words. She’ll probably look up at you with that mischievous grin of hers, making sure you're aware that she’s completely enchanted by what’s on your skin.

~Jinx is an artist at heart, so she’s bound to sketch your tattoos or add her own personal flair to them. She loves drawing, and when she’s inspired by your tattoos, she’ll create little crazy renditions of them, or she’ll draw all over her arm with markers and claim they’re “test sketches” for a future tattoo.

~She might get a little overzealous, though, and sometimes the drawings are a mess of scribbles or odd interpretations of your designs, but that’s part of her charm. She’ll show them to you, proudly proclaiming that she’s going to revolutionize your tattoos with her “artistic genius.”

~Jinx is impulsive and thrives on spontaneity, so if she gets the idea that you two should get tattoos together, it’s going to happen right then and there. She won’t care if it’s the middle of the night or if there’s no real plan, the idea of getting a tattoo with you will get her so excited that she’ll start dragging you to the nearest shop or even try to do it herself with makeshift supplies (which you definitely don’t want to trust her with).

~Her tattoo idea might be completely off the wall, like getting matching tattoos of bombs with happy faces or something equally bizarre. But she’d love to share that crazy experience with you, marking the memory with a permanent reminder of her wild spirit.

~Jinx is one to understand the deeper meaning behind your tattoos. If you have tattoos related to things you’ve been through, whether they’re reminders of difficult moments or symbols of triumph, she gets it. She’s been through so much pain and turmoil herself, and while she doesn’t talk about it openly, she can feel the weight of what you carry.

~In her own unique way, she’ll show support by pointing out how your tattoos are like “badass armor,” and how they make you look even tougher than before. She’ll nod appreciatively, letting you know that she’s proud of you for getting those tattoos, for carrying your scars with pride, much like she does with her own.

~Jinx might even get a tattoo herself, maybe it’s something like a small, chaotic symbol that represents a promise she’s making to you. It could be something as random as a symbol that means something only the two of you understand, like a scribbled heart with a bomb or a twisted little symbol that connects the two of you.

~She might not always express it in words, but the tattoo is her way of making sure you know she’s yours in a chaotic, unconventional way. It’s a “promise” that she’s always going to be wild, unpredictable, and fiercely protective of you. And when you see her new tattoo, you’ll know exactly what it means.

Caitlyn

~Caitlyn is someone who values intelligence, composure, and subtlety, and when she sees someone with tattoos, she immediately respects the choice as a form of personal expression. She understands that each tattoo tells a story, and she’ll be genuinely interested in hearing the meaning behind yours.

~Caitlyn admires people who are confident in their own skin, and your tattoos are a reflection of that confidence. She may not have many herself (if any), but she’ll always appreciate the artistry and thoughtfulness behind your tattoos.

~Caitlyn won’t bombard you with questions about your tattoos right away, but if the conversation naturally steers in that direction, she’ll be curious and ask about your favorite ones. She might smile softly, admiring the beauty of each design while paying attention to your reactions as you explain their significance.

~She’s the type who would slowly ask about each tattoo over time, not to invade your privacy but to understand more about you, the person. The questions are soft and gentle, and she listens intently to your stories.

~Caitlyn may not always understand the cultural or emotional significance of your tattoos, but she will always respect them. If someone ever makes a disrespectful comment about them, she’ll quickly shut them down, maintaining her usual calm and dignified demeanor.

~She’s protective of you and doesn’t want anyone to make you feel uncomfortable, especially when it comes to something as personal as body art. She’ll stand up for you in a quiet, graceful way, making it clear that no one has the right to judge you.

~Caitlyn has a gentle and refined way of showing affection, so when it comes to your tattoos, expect her to give you soft, playful compliments. She might say something like, “You know, those tattoos really suit you. You wear them like armor,” or “I’m not usually one for tattoos, but I can’t help but admire how well they complement your personality.”

~Her compliments are never over the top, but they’re heartfelt and warm. She’ll notice small details in your tattoos that others may overlook, showing her attention to the little things about you.

~Caitlyn is a calm and composed person, so when she touches your tattoos, it’s in a way that feels very intimate, like she’s getting to know you on a deeper level. She’ll gently trace the outlines of your tattoos with her fingers, taking her time to study them, almost as if she’s memorizing every curve and line.

~It’s a soft and tender gesture that shows her affection for you, and the way she touches your skin feels very calming, like you’re the only two people in the world. She enjoys the quiet moments with you, especially when it’s just the two of you sitting together, her fingers lightly grazing over your tattoos.

~Caitlyn’s not one to express jealousy openly, but if someone gets too friendly with you and shows an inappropriate amount of interest in your tattoos, you’ll notice a slight shift in her demeanor. She’ll become a little more reserved, maybe giving them a cool, calculated look.

~It’s a quiet form of jealousy. Caitlyn may not confront the person directly, but she’ll subtly pull you closer, making it clear that you’re hers and no one else gets to admire your tattoos quite the way she does.

~If you ever share the emotional or personal meaning behind one of your tattoos, Caitlyn will listen intently, showing deep empathy. She doesn’t easily share her own vulnerabilities, but she may open up to you about something that she hasn’t talked about before, maybe revealing why she values keeping her own body so pristine or how she views the idea of permanence.

~You might find her getting introspective after hearing the stories behind your tattoos. Caitlyn respects the permanence of body art because, for her, it reflects a sense of commitment and expression. She’ll tell you how your tattoos have given her a new perspective on expressing herself.

~Caitlyn might not rush into getting tattoos herself, but she could surprise you with a thoughtful gesture related to your tattoos. For example, she might give you a beautifully crafted journal where you can write down the stories behind your tattoos or even a sketchbook for you to draw new designs.

~If she ever does decide to get a tattoo, it would likely be something subtle and meaningful, maybe a small design that represents your bond, something delicate like an intricate vine or a small symbol that she knows will have a deep, personal meaning.

~Caitlyn sees your tattoos as a form of vulnerability, as each one tells a piece of your life’s story. She admires how you wear them with pride, and over time, she may find herself viewing your tattoos as a sign of your bond, something you’ve shared with her. If she ever does get a tattoo, it would likely be in honor of the relationship you share, a quiet and beautiful expression of her love.

~She might suggest that the two of you get matching tattoos one day, but it would be something simple, maybe a pair of intertwined symbols or a tiny, meaningful design that symbolizes the partnership you’ve built together.

~Caitlyn has a refined appreciation for aesthetics, so she sees tattoos as an art form. She’ll be fascinated by the different styles, from detailed black-and-white sketches to vibrant, colorful designs. She might even take you to a gallery or exhibit where the artwork reflects the kind of tattoo art she admires, showing that she appreciates the craft behind tattoos in the same way she would appreciate a well-curated painting.

~If you have tattoos that reflect your personality in creative or intricate ways, Caitlyn will comment on how well done they are, admiring not just the artistry but the thought that went into each one.

~Caitlyn isn’t one to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she’ll often find herself quietly admiring you and your tattoos. When you’re sitting close to her, she might look at you for a long time, her gaze occasionally shifting to your tattoos. She finds them fascinating, as they show your individuality and the experiences that have shaped you.

~When you’re not looking, she’ll softly touch your tattoo or give you a subtle, affectionate smile, showing her appreciation in the most reserved way possible.

Silco

~Silco is a man who pays attention to every detail, and he’s immediately captivated by your tattoos. The designs don’t just intrigue him, they also make him wonder about the story behind each piece. He’s deeply analytical and enjoys peeling back layers of mystery, so he’ll find the tattoos a reflection of your past, your personality, and your experiences.

~At first, he might not immediately ask about them, but when the time is right, he’ll want to know the significance of each one. Silco will want to understand why you chose certain designs, and his questions will be sharp and thoughtful, demonstrating his genuine interest.

~Silco isn’t known for his warmth, but when it comes to his significant other, he is fiercely protective. If anyone comments on or touches your tattoos in a way that he deems disrespectful or intrusive, you can bet that Silco will step in without hesitation.

~He may not express his jealousy with loud outbursts, but you’ll see a dark glint in his eyes and a cold, calculating smile as he handles the situation. He’s protective of your image, and your tattoos are part of what makes you yours, something no one else can claim.

~Silco is all about power and control, and he sees your tattoos as a powerful form of self-expression. He appreciates that you’ve made a permanent statement about who you are, and he views your tattoos as a symbol of your strength. In his eyes, you wear them proudly, showing that you’re not afraid to mark your body with your identity.

~If you have tattoos that represent struggle or rebellion, Silco will admire the symbolism behind them. He’ll see them as a reflection of your resilience and will tell you that he respects your strength, even if he doesn’t say it in the most sentimental way.

~When Silco touches your tattoos, it’s slow, deliberate, and very intimate. His fingers will trace the designs carefully, as though memorizing every line and curve. His touch is purposeful, and he enjoys the way it feels to run his fingers across your skin, feeling the permanence of your tattoos.

~It’s a quiet form of affection for Silco, an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection between you two. He doesn’t do this with anyone else, and it’s his way of showing his deeper affection without words.

~Silco notices things that others might overlook. If your tattoos change or evolve in any way (like adding new ones or touching up old ones), he’ll be the first to notice. He’ll pay attention to the smallest details, from the style to the placement, and might even comment on how the new tattoo completes your look or enhances your overall appearance.

~His appreciation for your tattoos goes beyond their aesthetic; he values how they represent your journey and personal growth. If you get a tattoo to mark a significant event in your life, Silco will acknowledge the gravity of that moment in his own understated way.

~Silco is a possessive individual, but he expresses it in a quiet, controlled manner. He may see your tattoos as another form of ownership, not in a negative way, but in the sense that they’re a permanent part of you, just like you are a permanent part of his life.

~He might ask you to get a tattoo that symbolizes your connection to him, something subtle and meaningful that only the two of you would understand. If you agree, it’s a sign of your bond, and Silco will take pride in it, viewing it as a deeper, unspoken commitment.

~Silco doesn’t often show outward affection, but there are moments when he’ll look at you in admiration, particularly when he notices your tattoos. He’ll watch you with a kind of quiet intensity, his gaze lingering on your skin, as though he’s reading a book he can’t put down.

~The way he looks at you, with that dark yet gentle curiosity, shows that he’s truly captivated by you, not just physically but also by the way your tattoos reflect who you are. These moments are brief but intense, and they convey a lot of unspoken feelings.

~If Silco is deeply involved with you, he might offer to accompany you when you get a new tattoo, though he wouldn’t typically want to make a big deal out of it. He’s not the type to make grand gestures, but he’ll want to be there because it’s a way for him to show his interest and support in his own way.

~He’ll watch you carefully as the tattoo artist works, his eyes focused and contemplative. He might even comment on the process, sometimes making a remark about how nothing in this world is permanent except for things that matter to him, like your relationship or your tattoos.

~Silco might even entertain the idea of getting a tattoo himself, though it would likely be something very personal, minimal, and deeply symbolic. If he does get one, it’s probably not something he’d share with anyone else. It would be a private reflection of his own inner struggles, his desires, and his own mark on the world.

~He would see tattoos as more than just decoration; they would be something deeply personal, a way to reflect his identity and power. If you get a tattoo that aligns with his views or experiences, he’ll see it as a sign that you truly understand him on a deeper level.

~Silco’s jealousy is always subdued, but it’s there. If he sees someone else admiring your tattoos in a way that makes him uncomfortable, he might grow a little colder. He’ll throw a subtle, sharp comment your way about how no one else should get too comfortable with you.

~He’s not the type to get angry or lash out, but he might make a pointed remark about how your tattoos are part of his world, not anyone else’s. It’s his way of staking a claim, though it’s more about keeping you to himself than controlling you.

~Silco sees rebellion as a form of strength and control, so if your tattoos represent that, he’ll admire you even more. If your tattoos are about defiance or breaking free from the rules, he’ll respect that they align with his own values, even if the way he shows that respect is a bit more reserved.

~He may even tell you that your tattoos are a reflection of your own personal strength, and that strength is something he finds irresistible. It’s rare for him to openly admit how much he values that trait, but when it comes to you, your tattoos are a testament to the kind of person you are.

~Silco often thinks in terms of legacy, and your tattoos become a part of that. They’re symbols of who you are and the path you’ve walked. He might look at your tattoos and think of how they will last, even after everything else fades or changes.

~To him, your tattoos aren’t just body art, they are a permanent part of your legacy and an expression of what you’ve fought for. Silco may even say something like, "They'll be with you long after I'm gone," a quiet acknowledgment of how much he values you and the mark you've made on his world.

Sevika

~Sevika values strength above all else, and your tattoos are no exception. She admires how your tattoos are a form of self-expression, a permanent testament to your resilience and individuality. Each piece of ink on your body tells a story of survival, growth, or rebellion, which resonates with Sevika on a deep level.

~She’ll often comment on how the designs suit you, seeing them as a reflection of your character. If you have tattoos that reflect your toughness or battle scars, Sevika will love how they echo her own life, full of struggle, perseverance, and unyielding resolve.

~Although Sevika has a tough exterior, she’s fiercely protective of those she cares about. If anyone dares to disrespect your tattoos, whether by making rude comments or being too intrusive, Sevika won’t hesitate to defend you. She might not say much, but her cold glare or sharp tone will make it clear that no one crosses her or her partner.

~She sees your tattoos as a part of you that should be respected, and anyone who crosses that line will feel her wrath. This could be in the form of a quiet but dangerous threat or, if the situation calls for it, a more physical display of her power.

~Sevika is someone who is confident in who she is, and she has a deep admiration for people who are comfortable with their own identity. Your tattoos are a physical representation of your own confidence and self-assuredness, and she respects that immensely.

~She may even find your boldness alluring, especially if you have tattoos in places that make you stand out. Her admiration isn’t just for the art itself but for how you wear it with pride, without apology.

~Sevika isn’t someone to ask a million questions all at once, but over time, she’ll become genuinely curious about the meaning behind your tattoos. She’ll want to know the stories behind each piece, but only when the time feels right. Her approach will be slow and deliberate, she doesn’t rush, preferring to let things unfold at their own pace.

~She’s fascinated by what each tattoo represents, and she’ll be a great listener when you share those stories. If one tattoo stands out in particular, she’ll want to hear more about it and may even ask you to explain how it reflects a pivotal moment in your life.

~Sevika’s physical affection can be surprising, considering her rough-and-tumble persona, but when it comes to you, she’s gentle in her own way. If she’s ever near your tattoos, she might trace her fingers lightly along your skin, the touch almost possessive, but filled with warmth.

~She doesn’t touch your tattoos constantly, but when she does, it’s in moments of intimacy, whether it's when you're sitting together or when she’s holding you close. Her touch is slow, reverent, and almost as if she's connecting with you in a way that's quiet yet meaningful.

~Sevika might take you to a tattoo parlor one day, but it won’t be for something flashy or impulsive. It’ll be for something meaningful, perhaps a small but powerful design that symbolizes something significant to both of you. She sees tattoos as a bond, and getting inked together would be a form of unspoken commitment between you two.

~If Sevika does ever get a tattoo, it would be simple, perhaps something that reflects her own battle-hardened life, maybe a subtle design that represents strength, survival, or loyalty. If she gets it, it would be a deeply personal decision that signifies her respect and commitment to you.

~Sevika may not wear her emotions on her sleeve, but when it comes to your tattoos, she has a quiet pride. She’s proud of you for wearing them, for showing the world who you are without fear. When people admire or compliment your tattoos, she’ll often smirk, as if to say, “Yeah, those are mine.”

~In her own way, she takes ownership of your tattoos, not because she controls you, but because they represent a part of you that she’s connected to. When others stare, she’ll stand close, silently letting it be known that you’re with her.

~Sevika is a woman who doesn’t deal with competition, especially when it comes to you. If someone is paying too much attention to your tattoos in a way that makes her uncomfortable, she’ll get quiet, her eyes narrowing just slightly. Her jealousy isn’t outwardly obvious, but you can tell by the way she stands close to you or the sharpness in her tone when she speaks.

~She won’t tolerate anyone encroaching on what’s hers, even if it’s just someone admiring your tattoos. Her protective nature will flare up in these moments, and she’ll make sure to assert her presence without making a scene.

~Sevika herself has lived a life of rebellion, so she’ll relate to tattoos that represent defiance or going against the norm. If your tattoos symbolize your fight against oppression or authority, she’ll feel a deep resonance with them.

~She might even see them as a badge of honor, a sign that you’ve lived a life on your terms, much like she has. If you have tattoos that signify battles or scars from your past, Sevika will admire your strength in choosing to display them proudly. She would see your tattoos as a form of rebellion against the expectations of society, which is something she personally values.

~Sevika isn’t one to give compliments easily, but when she does, they’re usually well-placed and intense. If she notices a new tattoo of yours, she’ll give you a slow, deliberate look and might say something like, “You know, I think that tattoo just made you look even more dangerous,” or “I like how it complements your attitude.”

~Her compliments are always direct and sometimes laced with her usual confidence, but they’re also laced with a quiet respect. She admires your tattoos because they tell a story, and they show that you’re not afraid to wear your past and present boldly.

~Sevika’s view of loyalty is complicated, but with you, it’s unshakable. If you both ever get tattoos that symbolize your connection, she’ll view them as a sacred sign of your bond. Whether it’s matching symbols or something more personal that only the two of you understand, she’ll wear it with pride.

~Tattoos, for Sevika, are about what’s permanent, what’s unbreakable. She will see them as a form of loyalty, not just to her, but to each other, as partners who face the world together.

~Sevika doesn’t express her feelings often, but when she watches you, there’s a deep admiration in her eyes. When you’re wearing something that shows off your tattoos, a sleeveless shirt, for example, Sevika will quietly observe the way people react to your body art, but her attention will always be on you.

~There’s a certain pride she takes in seeing you fully own your tattoos, and when you catch her staring, she’ll give you a small, approving smirk, almost like a silent affirmation that she’s yours and you’re hers.

#arcane #arcane fandom #league of legends x reader #arcane x you #arcane fanfic #arcane fluff #silco #silco x reader #silco x y/n #jayce x reader #arcane jayce #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #vi x reader #vi #caitlyn x reader #jinx x reader #sevika x reader

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hotvintagepoll · 1 year ago

Note

What are some screwball comedy pairings you wish had been a thing? Can definitely be gay ones :)

Okay finally!

One of the reasons I made this blog in the first place is that few things bring me as much blinding rage as imagining the movies we could have gotten, if old Hollywood had stopped being racist/homophobic/anti-everyone for ten fucking seconds. There were so many talented hotties working through our tournament era who only got cameo spots or no-budget movies! for no reason beyond white supremacy! there were so many stories that didn't get told because heaven forbid we acknowledge gay people! If this blog has a mission statement, a big chunk of it would be about highlighting all the amazing hotties who never got what they deserved in their heyday.

So! Let's tear Louis B. Mayer a new one and make some better movies.

Diamond Eyes (1946)

Harold Nicholas, the bored but fabulous son of a Manhattan millionaire, decides to take himself off on a transatlantic cruise to recover from the boredoms of socialites, constant martinis, and west side glamor. When working girl Rita Hayworth snags him into a fake dating scheme to throw off a jealous ex (Cesar Romero), he doesn't mean to fall in love with his false fiancé—or to set the ex up with his scheming accountant (Tyrone Power).

To the Tune of Millions (1945)

Ann Miller and Lena Horne are conwomen besties who use a fake dance act to get into casinos, which they then promptly rob. Unfortunately, an over-enthusiastic talent agent (Gene Kelly) sees the act and thinks they're legitimate, hiring them on the spot as the lead number in a newly opened but already failing musicale review. Who can they hustle at a theater that's barely bringing in a dime? The two ex-cons fall in love with show business, Kelly and Horne smooch at the grand finale, and Miller has an intense will-they-or-won't-they sparring relationship with the hot stage manager (Ethel Waters—and they will).

Untitled Three's-a-Crowd Film (1942)

Cary Grant, Jean Arthur, and Ronald Colman are running interference on a corrupt justice system while trying to keep up the act that they are all simply cohabitating in a shared AirBnB and definitely not falling in love with each other. Wait. This is actually The Talk of the Town. This movie actually exists and does veer this hard into polyamorous romance.

Tomatoes and Toast (1928)

Anna May Wong and Greta Garbo eat sandwiches for three hours. It's riveting.

One Soul, Two Bodies (1948)

Farley Granger and Vincent Price star as Alexander the Great and Hephaestion in this sword-and-sandals period piece. Though clearly made on a studio backlot with a budget of $3, the dashing romance grounds the chariot races and cardboard sword battle sequences.

Grand Central Station (1931)

Interconnected narratives of Josephine Baker, Joan Blondell, Dolores del Río, and Fredric March all vying for the last seat on the 5:45 train out to Poughkeepsie. When they realize they're jostling to sit next to the same sugar daddy who's been stringing all of them along, the four decide to unionize. Pre-code thrills; the four-in-a-bunk Pullman car scene remains notable for a reason.

I have more but I think I've gone a bit delirious.

#asks #silly times

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oharaslove · 4 months ago

Text

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓅𝓉.𝟤

Summary: The story of Miguel's first and only love, you. A passage through the most significant moments of your relationship.

Tags/Warnings: pre!Spiderman Miguel x Civilian!Reader + Spider!Miguel x Civilian!Reader, fem!reader, fluff, smut (Minors don't interact, please) fem!reader

Word count: 8k

Note: This is part 2 of a request!! I think you can read this as a one shot, but it would be better if you read the previous part (linked below). I also recommend listening to "Sugar"-Sleep Token, It is so good (mainly in the 'you know' scene).

<<Part1 || masterlist ||

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓯𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷

After realising how he felt about you, Miguel tried to take a little distance. He was scared. Terrified even. He had never felt this. Never felt the need to, the urge, to make someone his.

And that was what scared him. He was a total loser, how could someone like you want something with him?. You were perfect in his eyes, and he was far from it. You were probably experienced too, which he wasn’t. Miguel’s insecurities were at all time high.

Besides, he couldn’t get the comments you had made the first time you met out of his head. You hated or at least disliked Valentine's day. So did he, not long ago. Damn, how things changed.

Six months ago he dreaded the question: ‘There is someone special in your life?’, but now…

You appeared in every thought. Your face materialised in the most random moments. If someone were to ask him that question today, his immediate answer would be yes, grinning from ear to ear. He would jump at any opportunity to talk about you.

Not every thought was happy, though. Miguel imagined countless scenarios where he came forward, pouring his heart out to you, and you didn’t feel the same way. Negative assumptions clouded his head day and night, leaving an empty feeling in his chest. He didn’t want to think about them, but there was always a voice on the back of his head tearing him down to pieces. Telling him he didn’t deserve you. He wasn’t enough. He would never be.

His feelings were growing bigger and bigger, despite his attempts to keep them down. His chest would explode at any minute if he didn’t let them go. The words at the edge of his tongue, begging to come out. Every time he was close to you, so close he could smell your scent, which drove him crazy, he felt like throwing up. The air would be pushed out of his lungs every time you smiled at him. You stared at him with those beautiful eyes, fueling the idea that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same.

That there was a possibility.

It didn’t help that, due to the advances on both of your researches, you had to stay more time in the lab. Meaning, it was just the two of you, for hours on end. Many would say it was the perfect opportunity, but what if you said no? What if you secretly hated him? What if–

“Miguel?” you asked gently, moving closer to where he was standing. He had been staring off at the wall for at least five minutes, unmoving. He was barely blinking, and his hands were sweaty. “Are you okay?” you continued, moving even closer.

Miguel instinctively took a step back, creating distance between the two of you. You were intoxicating. He shut his eyes hard, trying to clear his thoughts. While doing so, he missed the hurt look over your face.

“Yeah, I… I am fine, don’t worry” he whispered. He clutched the edge of the table. Come on Miguel, take a grip on yourself.

“Are you…, are you sure? You don’t look okay” You fidgeted with the hem of your sweater.

“Yes” he huffed. His breathing became more erratic. Miguel dropped his head, eyes remaining shut, hoping to block you off.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t tell you how much you affected him, even though he wished to. All he wanted was to hug you, make you feel how you made him feel. But no. He couldn’t. Shouldn’t.

“Did I…” you began, your voice trembling. “Did I do something wrong?”. You sniffed, making Miguel open his eyes immediately and look at you.

You were looking down. Tears streaming down your cheeks, despite your efforts to keep them at bay. Your hands, barely visible, pull at the end of your sweater, making yourself smaller. Trying to hide.

Shit. “No no no” Miguel whispered, hurriedly walking towards you. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to hug you, but would that be alright? Or, should he just go for a supportive hand to the shoulder? So, that’s what he did. “You.. you did nothing wrong. Hey, please. Look at me” he mumbled, barely audible. Thankfully, he was closer than he realised. His mouth only inches away from the crown of your head. He was basically towering over you.

You looked up. Teary eyes locking into his. Trembling lips mumbling incoherent things, a lot of ‘sorrys’ and ‘please’. Miguel’s heart broke. He had done this. Him. No one else. He was so focused on his own feelings, on not getting hurt, that he didn’t realise how his actions were affecting you.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Miguel cooed, drawing figures with his thumb on your shoulder. Hand, that he noted, you hadn’t pushed away nor seemed uncomfortable about.

You leaned into his touch. Your cheek grazing his hand, never breaking eye contact. Miguel’s eyes traveled from focusing on one eye to the other, to your nose, your mouth, everything. He wanted to memorize your face in case this was the end. While doing so, ever so lightly, his hand drifted upwards, caressing your cheek, without realising.

You closed your eyes and hummed, enjoying the feeling. His hands were sweaty, but he was warm, and he smelled nice. Your breath slowed down, calming yourself. You nuzzled your cheek further. She’s adorable, Miguel thought, lost in how ethereal you were. His body moving on its own.

Miguel's eyes went wide. A moment of clarity letting him be aware of his actions. He wanted to retreat his hand, stop touching you, but at the feeling of the slight pull movement from his hand, yours instinctively wrapped around his wrist gently, keeping him there.

You opened your eyes slowly. Small droplets of water hanging from your lashes. Your eyes searched his, a message clear on them. Stay. “Please” you begged. Your words vibrated against his skin. Your cheek squeezed against his hand. Your eyes big, like a puppy begging for treats.

Miguel left out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His shoulders instantly relaxed. The worried lines on his face dissipated, and a small smile pulled at the edge of his lips. He didn’t want to leave, he would stay how and where you wanted for eternity. All you had to do was ask.

He had a feeling this was the night, and the conversation wasn’t going to be short. So, better get comfortable.

“Come, sit” he said, retreating his hand slowly, trying not to startle you, before slightly bending down to grab the nearest stool behind you. He gently placed his hands against your shoulders guiding you down.

You sat down, putting your feet on the bar and tugging them closer to your chest. Placing your chin on top of your knees. Miguel sat down in front of you, leaving a decent space between the two.

Your eyes were still glassy from crying. Miguel felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. That someone being himself. He clenched his fists over his legs, grabbing the material of his trousers. How could he be so stupid?.

¿Qué mierda me está pasando? Miguel muttered looking down. He was losing his head. (What the hell is happening to me)

“Are you sure you are okay?”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, even though it was barely audible. Did he just say that aloud? His eyes shot to yours. You were curious, he could tell, and also scared. Of him, for him? He couldn’t tell, which made him anxious.

“I am sorry if I ever crossed the line” you continued, seeing that he wasn’t responding. “I-” You dropped your arms and placed your feet on the floor, getting more comfortable in the stool, breaking eye contact while doing so.

“It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable.” You rubbed your face, cleaning the tears and pushing back the hair stuck on your cheeks. You looked down, placing your hands together over your legs. “I just thought that,” you shrugged your shoulders. “you liked me”. You looked up slowly, biting your lip. Your face was a little turned away, looking at him softly, eager, but also scared by the response.

Miguel’s eyes opened like plates. Like you? Like, like like you? He was stunned. Miguel couldn’t believe his ears. You liked him! This was the greatest moment of his–

“Or maybe it was all in my head, I don’t know” you continued, turning around on the stool, giving your back to him while you hugged yourself. Asshole. How long were you silent for?

“NO!” he shouted. His first instinct was to stand up and get closer to you. “No,” he said more calmly, collecting himself.

You turned around slowly. Fresh new tears adorning your face. Slowly, but surely, Miguel reached for your cheek. His fingers made contact with your skin, immediately feeling your warmth. As soon as he felt you lean into it, he applied pressure caressing you, wiping the tears away.

“I’m sorry.” He began. “I… I am a loser” Miguel scanned your face. He couldn’t back out now.

“You don’t–” you wiped the side of your face with the back of your sleeve, still leaning onto his hand. ”Don’t seem like one to me” You placed your hand on top of his, melting into his touch.

“Maybe, but I am” He sighed, looking at your face. You were so beautiful. He needed to sit down. He could feel his whole body trembling. Miguel was nervous. Even more nervous than when he interviewed for Alchemax. He looked back, spotting the forgotten stool. He wasn’t leaving your touch again, so he reached with his foot and pulled it towards him.

He sat down, much closer now, your legs brushing against each other. The proximity was exhilarating. He could smell your perfume. Feel your warmth under the palm of his hand. He could see the way your chest went up and down from your breathing. How your lashes gently touched the top of your cheeks every time you blinked.

Miguel was charmed by you. If you told him you were a witch who had cast a spell on him, he would believe it. No doubt in his mind.

Focus Miguel, he thought. This was a golden opportunity, and he couldn’t let it slip away. His eyes landed on his hand, gently stroking the skin of your cheek. You were so soft and warm. Miguel could feel your eyes staring at him, but he couldn’t look at them. Not now. He needed time to be bolder, to build the guts to pour his heart out to you.

“Miguel” you whispered. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I understand.”

Miguel moved his hand, breaking away from your grasp. He moved down the curvature of your face. The back of his fingers leaving goosebumps in their way. He grabbed your chin gently, his thumb centimeters away from your lips. Hovering. Oh, how he wished he had the experience. The bravery. The audacity to just dive in and capture your lips with his. Say everything with his mouth that words couldn’t express. Tangle his tongue with yours instead of it tangling with the thoughts running through his head.

“I am a loser” he repeated, more serious this time. His focus remained on your lips. “I don’t know how to do this.” he confessed, his thumb finally making contact with the pout that had formed in your face. They were soft. They looked so kissable. He traced the shape of your mouth lightly, before using his fingers under your chin to angle your face towards his.

His eyes finally gazed into yours. Your cheeks were redder now, skin warmer. “I’ve never done this” He whispered, inching closer. “All I know–” he gulped, looking down again, to your lips. “is that you drive me crazy. I like you, I really do”. Your noses were now brushing together. His breath fanning over your cheeks, gently moving your lashes.

His lips hovering over yours, too scared to make the final move.

“Miguel” you pleaded, looking at him from your hooded eyes. Your mouth slightly agape. He looked up to your eyes again. There was a pause. Neither of you dared move.

The tension was palpable in the air. Both your breaths united. Words weren’t needed in this moment, only actions. His eyes sent you a silent plea. A question. Permission to do what he wanted the most. You nodded softly, and that is all it took for him to take the leap.

Miguel’s lips crush into yours softly. You closed your eyes, melting into his touch, and so did he. Your lips were softer than he had felt with his hands. He had done it! He was kissing you. But now, in the act, he didn’t know how far he could go. Miguel’s hand on your cheek froze, he was cupping your face lightly, but his grip faltered.

You pulled back softly, creating distance. Miguel chased you with his lips, not wanting to let go yet. You giggled, as you moved back, staring at his cute face. It was all red and warm. His lips slightly parted, letting out puffs of air out.

Miguel opened his eyes slowly, blinking, as in a trance. Miguel was met with your smile, that pretty smile he learnt to cherish and to look forward to.

“It’s okay” you whispered, taking both of his hands and placing them in your waist. You shifted closer, the stool screeched against the floor. Your legs parted a little, leaving enough space for one of his own to settle there.

You placed the palms of your hand over his chest. Your eyes trailed from his chest, to his neck, until your gazes met again. “I trust you.” you smiled. You dove back again, this time showing more confidence.

As soon as your lips brushed against his, Miguel’s heart skipped a beat. Your hands travelled from his chest to his neck, while his were still locked around your waist. Every thought that miraculously was still in Miguel’s head, flew out of the window. All he could register was you.

All of you.

The way your lips brushed and pushed against his. How they slightly parted, little amounts of air leaving them, making contact against his skin. The way your hands were now playing with the curls on the back of his neck, twirling them around your fingers. Miguel groaned. The taste of you becoming unbearable. He needed more.

Hopefully, you understood. Miguel felt your tongue against his lips, before granting you access. As the kiss deepened, the tension on his body dissipated. He could feel your hands playing with his hair, loosening his muscles.

As every second passed, Miguel grew more confident.

First, he squeezed your waist, testing. He didn’t want to overstep, but at the same time, he needed more. He wanted to feel your skin on his. Pull noises out of you, created by his touch.

His hands moved up, stopping below your breasts. His thumbs slightly grazed under them. You inhaled sharply, surprised, but glad he was loosening. You too wanted him to explore more, to take you. To make you his.

While one of his hands stayed there, squeezing and drawing figures over your sweater, the other detached from your body, before making contact with your arm. He squeezed your forearm, before tracing your arm and reaching your neck.

Miguel grabbed your neck, taking control of the kiss. He angled you just the way he wanted, giving him more access to explore your mouth. You groaned, the vibrations traveling through Miguel’s fingers. He pressed his thumb against your throat, the kiss becoming more passionate.

You pulled at his hair, his sweater, everything your hands could grasp to keep him close, to pull him even closer. Miguel was feeling lightheaded, his breathing becoming more ragged, but he didn’t want to stop. He had had a taste of you, and he didn’t know if he was ready to stop.

Every sound he coaxed out of you made him more confident. He was obsessed, as if he wasn’t already. Every caress, each touch without an exception your hands made on his body drove him nuts. His lungs were beginning to scream at him for air, so were yours, but neither made an attempt to pull back. You were in a fever dream, and you didn’t want it to stop.

Miguel’s body was on fire. The kiss became sloppy, teeth clicking against one another. The lab wasn’t silent anymore, your breaths were heavy, both of you panting, an occasional moan erupted from you, making Miguel groan as a response every time.

He knew if he continued, he would do things he would regret. Not entirely because of the action, but because of the timing. You were his first, he didn’t want to fuck up. He needed to go slow.

Miguel reluctantly pulled back from the kiss. He rested his forehead on yours, his hand still around your neck, his thumb caressing your warm, and slightly sweaty skin. Both of your chests going up and down, catching your breaths. He could feel the warm air exiting your mouth hit his face, making him smile. It wasn’t a dream, you were right there, in front of him, touching him, melting under his touch.

Miguel opened his eyes slowly, squinting, not comfortable with the now really bright light of the lab. You had been kissing for what felt like hours, his eyes had been shut all the time, basking in the feeling.

He found you staring back at him through your lashes. A grin formed on your face once you two made eye contact. Miguel’s expression mirrored yours, he was ecstatic. His hands moved up your neck, towards your cheek, drawing figures there as well.

“So..” you began, leaning into his touch. Your voice was a little hoarse. Gosh, you sounded so sexy. You bit your lip, looking down a little, towards Miguel’s lips. “Does this mean you like me too?”

Miguel laughed, his whole body shaking. You giggled as well, breaking the tension on your body and in the room. Miguel cupped both sides of your face, before bringing you in for a quick peck, and a kiss to your forehead and nose.

He pulled back, admiring you. Your smiley face squished against his hands. “Yes” he breathed out, his shoulders relaxing visible, just melting into you, feeling drawn to you. Nothing else mattered.

The lab fell silent, you both just staring at each other. It was comforting, the feelings being out in the air. Reciprocated feelings. You liked him, and he liked you. Nothing could go wrong from now on.

That moment of clarity made an idea pop on Miguel’s head. “So… are you free tomorrow?”

𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰

Your first date was ethereal. Miguel had decided he didn’t want to go to a restaurant, or be near people in general, knowing that both you and him preferred to be private. Instead, he arranged a nice picnic with a beautiful view.

You had the time of your lives. Miguel had never felt so care free and light. His heart was content and he felt on cloud nine every time you laughed, you smiled at him, or kissed him. Mostly when you giggled into your kisses, he thought you were adorable, and he didn’t know how he could say goodbye to you everyday. He needed to be with you 24/7, although he knew it was best for you both to have some alone time. Don’t move too fast now Miguel, Jesus.

Three months had passed since you two confessed your feelings in the lab. Three whole months of stealing kisses from each other, dates every week, seeing each other at the lab every day, being so close that Miguel couldn’t remember his life before you. How had he lived so long without you by his side?

Miguel couldn’t believe that at first he worked by himself in the lab. You two were like one, working around each other like it was second nature. Stolen touches here and there. You wrapping your hands around his waist from the back, leaving kisses, melting his heart and still, making him blush, despite all the months of dating.

Unfortunately, today you had a meeting elsewhere. Meaning, Miguel was alone. He was feeling a little under the weather, he didn’t like being away from you. The routine you both had broken for a day. Thanks to his mind not being present one hundred percent, he had missed how one of his co-workers messed with his machine, causing the accident.

Miguel had been experimenting with DNA fusions, something you knew about. This particular moment, he was curious if he could split his own (you clearly weren’t there to tell him it was a stupid idea). He had no clue what he had gotten himself into, nor what his coworker had done. All he knew is that, after surviving the experiment, he felt different. Changed.

Miguel had always been a tall, muscular guy. But, he felt stronger, more powerful. He squinted his eyes, the artificial light in the lab hurting his eyes. Weird. He was fine just some minutes ago. He went to shut the lights. When his fingers made contact with the switch, he broke it, an abnormal strength surging from his body.

He felt wrong, he wanted to throw up. At that moment, all he could think about was you. Miguel rushed towards his things, throwing everything aside looking for his phone. Once he had it in his hands, the eyes staring back at him in the reflection of the black screen weren’t familiar. They weren’t his usual brown ones, they were red. He dropped the phone in shock, the screen shattering in pieces.

Miguel was pissed, causing a set of talons to emerge from his fingertips, scaring him off. What am I? What should I do? What would you think? He crumpled to the ground, shaking. What was he supposed to do? You couldn’t see him like this, he couldn’t lose you. He picked up the remains of his phone, before quickly gathering all his belongings and rushing to his flat. He needed time to think, he needed to be away from people. He needed to be away from you. He couldn’t let you witness the monster he had become.

A few days went by, Miguel had had no contact with you. He didn’t go to work, he didn’t answer his phone. Nothing. Clearly, you grew worried. He had never pulled a stunt like this before. Reason why, you were now standing outside his flat door.

“Miguel?” you called, after knocking the door a few times. No answer. “Miguel please, I know you are in there” you pleaded, worry evident in your voice.

Miguel was pacing left to right in his living room, in front of the door. He didn’t want you to see him, but he could tell you were worried. He hated making you something else that wasn’t happy. The dilemma was making his head hurt, the light coming through the windows wasn’t helping. During the days he had been hiding, he noticed his senses had been amplified. His eyes were ten times more sensitive to the lights.

You continued banging on the door. Tears were now running down your face.

“Miguel please,” you hiccuped, each breath was harder to take in. “Please, I don’t know what I did wrong. But please, let me in. We can talk about–”

At that moment, Miguel opened the door. He couldn’t stand hearing you cry any longer. You sobbed, launching yourself to him. Your arms landing around his waist, your face burying in his broad chest.

Miguel’s arms stayed in the air, not wanting to touch you. What if his talons came out and he hurt you? He wouldn’t bear it. Seeing your wet and flushed face from the crying was torture enough.

You cried a little more into his chest, creating a small patch of water in his shirt. You pulled yourself together, detaching yourself from him, allowing Miguel to close the door.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from sobbing.

You had tear stains all over your cheeks. Miguel made an attempt to caress your face, wiping them away, but he froze in the middle. He pulled his hand back. He inhaled loudly, shutting his eyes and making fists with his hands, before turning around and going to sit on the couch.

You stood there, a frown in your face. What had you done for him to be so mad about you?.

“Mig?” you mumbled, too scared to make sudden moves.

Miguel groaned, rubbing his face between his face. You approached him slowly, barely making a sound. You watched him quietly, deciding what to do. As there was no reaction, you sat down, leaving some space between you two. You reached towards him, placing a hand over his arms.

Miguel flinched away, making you retract your arm and look down to the floor.

“I’m sorry” you began, trying to not break down. You sniffled, you could feel the tears already forming in your eyes. “I don’t know what I did, but I am sorry”.

Miguel ran his hands through his hair, pulling a little. He didn’t want you to blame yourself. You had done nothing wrong! But he also didn’t know how to tell you what he was.

“You,” he began, not looking at you. “You did nothing wrong”

“Then why?” You shifted your body, facing towards him. “Why have you been avoiding me? I thought we… I thought we were doing great.” The last words were barely audible.

“We were… we are!” he corrected himself, now facing you, but not quite catching your eye.

You played with your fingers in your lap, resisting the urge to reach for him. “Then… why?” You looked at him expectantly, searching for his gaze.

Miguel hesitated. He played with the material of his sweatpants. He bit his lip, his knee going up and down. He needed to tell you. Either way, this relationship was over. If he didn’t tell you, you would break up with him because who would date someone who hides everyday in their flat? And if he told you… Well, you would probably freak out, call him a monster and walk away. Both outcomes pointed to heart break.

“I– I can’t do this” he placed his head between his hands and started to cry.

Your heart broke. You didn’t understand what was wrong, but you hated to see Miguel so sad, angry and frustrated, all at the same time.

“Shhh it’s okay” you scooched closer, hesitating to place a comforting hand on his back, but deciding to do so anyway.

Miguel flinched at the contact at first, but later melted into you. He leaned into you, before collapsing in your lap. He curled himself into you, his big body retracting to feet on the couch and into you.

You wanted to cry just from the sight. You rubbed his arms lovingly, trying to calm him down. Miguel was shaking, sob after sob cursing through his body. He mumbled incoherent stuff. Strings of ‘I’m sorrys’ and something along the lines of monster. You didn’t know, nor care. All you wanted was for him to calm down, you wanted your baby to be okay.

After a few minutes, Miguel regained composure. He could breathe normally. Your warmth was soothing. The way you run your hands through his hair, caress his cheeks, tracing his sharp cheekbones. Lifting his shirt up a little so you could run your nails down his back.

For a moment, he forgot why he was so worried. You had done this countless times, you were his safe space. He could trust you. He needed to believe you wouldn’t leave him.

Miguel placed his feet on the floor, lifting himself off you. He wiped the tears with the back of his hands, before making eye contact with you, for the first time in days. He saw all the worry lines in your face, making his heart clench. Miguel could see your sad expression, a pout in your lips. Your gazes locked, and your eyes widened.

“Miguel! Your eyes” You reached forward, placing your hands at each side of his head, examining further.

“I know, that’s part of the problem”

“What happened?!”

Miguel explained to you in detail what happened the day you weren’t in the lab. And, after that, he gave you a demonstration of what he had learned. He stood up and showed you his talons, as well as his fangs. Both retractable.

You sat there, shocked, while Miguel stood in place, watching you carefully, fully expecting you to shout “Freak!” and storm out.

You gathered your thoughts, and stood up slowly. Miguel took a sharp breath in. He was terrified.

“Miguel” you began, looking him straight in the eye. You still had that loving stare in your eyes, that is a good sign he thought.

You walked closer, and when you were at arms reach of him, you slapped his arms, with all your force.

“OUCH!”

“How dare you!?” you shouted. “Do you know how scared I was?. I thought you were dead. Dead!” You grabbed the roots of your hair and pulled, now pacing from left to right in front of Miguel, while he rubbed the spot where you had hit him.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have helped you figure this out!” You threw your hands in the air, mumbling some more things, a few curse words and some other things Miguel didn’t know if they were for his ears or for yours.

“I thought… well, maybe you would call me a monster and leave” He mumbled the last part, feeling ashamed.

That made you stop in your tracks, snapping your head towards him.

“Leave?” you whispered in disbelief. “Leave?” You repeated slightly louder. “In what world would I live? Oh you are so fucking oblivious. I would rather die than leave you, you asshole. I love you, and I–”

“You love me?” Miguel cut you off. His eyes opened like plates, an alarm going off in his head.

You froze in place too, realising what you had just said.

“I–” you gulped. “I do. I love you”

Miguel smiled. A toothy grin from ear to ear. He rushed towards you, lifting you in the air and spinning you around, not a care in the world if you bumped something. He hugged you tightly, burying his head in your neck. Once he placed you back on the ground, he grabbed your face and kissed you deeply.

“I love you too.” he sighed. “Te amo” He pressed his forehead against yours.

You smiled, and hit his chest playfully. “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like this ever again. You hear me?”

“Si mi vida. Perdón” He kissed the top of your head before enveloping you in his arms.

“I love you” you mumbled against his chest. You truly did.

Miguel was going crazy. You had been teasing him all day long. Slight touches here, caresses there. Pressing your whole body flushed against his. You were driving him insane, more than he already was. He couldn’t wait to get to his flat and let you have him, because he had to be honest with himself. He didn’t have a clue of what was going to go down.

Yes, he had done research. But that doesn’t mean anything. Besides, he knows that things like porn aren’t realistic, so he had a rough idea, but not quite.

The end of the work day couldn’t come fast enough. Once it was over, you guys went to a nice dinner place, had fun, enjoyed some nice food, before deciding to go back to his place.

Miguel’s leg was bouncing up and down in the car. He was nervous, and you could tell. You placed your hand on his thigh, dangerously close to where he needed you the most.

“It’s okay Mig. We don’t have to–”

“No!” he cut you off, way too eager. “I want to.”

“Okay” you rubbed his thigh affectionately, leaving your hand there for the rest of the ride home.

As soon as you stepped into his flat, Miguel’s lips were on your own. Sloppy, needy, warm. His hands roamed your body, tearing away the outer layers, dropping them to the floor. You doing the same with his.

He walked you backwards into his room, never detaching his lips from yours. You bumped a couple things on the way, but neither of you cared. Once you reached the bedroom, you turned you both around, pushing Miguel towards the bed.

His legs hit the edge of the bed, landing on it on his back. You crawled on top of him, sitting on his lap. You ran your hands over his body, from the hem of his trousers to his neck, while Miguel’s hands landed on your waist. You bent over, your chests touching, your faces centimeters away from each other.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Yes” Miguel breathed out, before grabbing the back of your head and slamming your lips together.

The kiss got heated. Tongues exploring each others mouth, while hands explored bodies. Your whole wait was on top of Miguel, but he didn’t care. You began moving your hips, creating friction. Your center was on top of Miguel’s hard on, the only thing separating your core from him being your panties.

Your dress had rode up over your thighs, exposing more skin for Miguel to squeeze and touch. He groaned into the kiss, the movement of your hips driving him crazy, but he needed more. His hands planted themselves in your waist, guiding your movement. Once in a while, one would sneak down to grab a handful of your ass, giving it a pinch, resulting in a moan from you.

Your kisses moved down, kissing along his jaw, down to his neck. You sucked the skin into your mouth. Miguel inhaled shakily.

“Amoor” he grunted.

You smiled into his neck, biting and nipping a little more before moving down his chest. You undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing the majestic skin underneath. He had some scars thanks to being Spiderman, but he was beautiful. You could see how his muscles moved with every breath he took.

You kissed down the middle of his chest, over his sternum. Miguel arched his back towards your mouth, enjoying the feeling. You bite down, and nipped, tracing the scars with your tongue. You moved down, parting his legs, before sinking down to your knees, your eyes in level with the tent on his trousers.

You could already tell, he was big. You could see the outline over the material. Miguel used his elbows to lift himself off the bed, getting a better view of you. You pecked his dick over his pants, gazing up at him. Miguel swallowed hard.

You massaged him on top of his pants, getting Miguel used to the feeling. He groaned, closing his eyes momentarily, but opened them when he felt you undoing his belt. He snapped his eyes open, staring at you.

“Is this okay?”

“Ye– yes” he stuttered.

You smiled at him, before continuing your actions. After a few seconds, you freed his cock out of its confinements, pulling his pants and underwear down. It hit the bottom of Miguel’s stomach, standing proud in front of you.

You licked your lips, staring at him, already salivating by just the sight.

“Is it okay?” Miguel asked, breaking you from your thoughts.

“It’s perfect” you answered, and as to show him, you wrapped your hand around his tip, spreading the precum already there.

Miguel threw his head back, your hands felt way better than his own.

You continued to stroke him slowly, up and down. Your thumb massaging his tip, pressing at the head over his slit. Miguel was breathing heavily now, uneven. His thighs began to shake.

You wetted your lips, and continuing your hand movements, kissed his tip, tasting the salty precum. You spit on him, before wrapping your mouth over his head, beginning to match your hand movements with your head.

Miguel tried to keep looking at you, but the warmth of your mouth and the way your tongue ran over his slit drove him mad. His elbows gave away, his back hitting the mattress again. He fisted his sheets on his hands, curse words leaving his lips.

“Yess, Jesus, fuck” he moaned, spurring you on.

With your free hand, you massaged his balls. Rolling the skin over between your fingers and squeezing them. You hollow your cheeks, sucking at his shaft. You took him as far as you could, his tip hitting the back of your throat, tears forming in your eyes.

“Oh, God, yes” Miguel breathed out. He was feeling light headed, his skin sweaty, sticking to the sheets. He could feel a knot in his lower belly, almost at the point of bursting.

You pulled back, taking a moment to breathe, but never stopping your hands. His tip was red, precum leaking from it. Tons of it. He was close, you could tell. He was lasting more than you would have thought, to be honest.

“I’m closee” Miguel choked out. “Please” he begged, opening his eyes slightly to stare down at you.

You continued jerking him off. Your mouth going to his balls, sucking at them, before licking a stripe down the side, following the most prominent vein, reaching his tip. You gave a few kitten lips before putting it in your mouth again. Miguel’s head flew back, eyes shutting hard.

He moaned your name over and over. Strings of “Yes, right there” “Fuck” and your name falling from his lips. All of a sudden, his vision went black. Cum spurted in your mouth, while you tried to swallow most of it.

Miguel’s chest was heaving up and down, trying to catch his breath. He opened his eyes slowly, looking down at you, at the same moment you took his now softening cock out of your mouth, a string of saliva and cum still connecting the two.

“Fuck” he mumbled. You looked so pretty.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, smiling at him and winking. You stood up slowly, letting your dress fall off your shoulders leaving you only with your panties on. You pulled them down your legs, kicking them behind once they reached your feet.

Miguel was star struck. He couldn’t believe you could be more perfect than you already were. But you could. Before him, he was seeing a goddess. He was about to be fucked by a goddess.

You straddled his lap once more, now without any item of clothing between your skin. You could already feel his dick hardening again against you. Miguel’s hand flew to your neck, bringing you in for a heated kiss. You moaned into his mouth, moving your hips to create the much needed friction you craved. His cock rubbed against your clit with each movement.

His hands explored the new skin available, being cautious at first, but growing bolder. He squished your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers, even pinching them, making you groan into his mouth. He swallowed every sound you made, and so did you.

You broke this kiss, running your nails down his chest, looking between your bodies. You needed him inside of you, and he wanted you to be around him. He wanted to feel all of you.

“Condom?” You breathed out, pulling back the hairs stuck to the sweat of your forehead.

“In the drawer,” Miguel answered.

You climbed down his body, for a split second Miguel missed your warmth, but before he could complain about it, you were already back, motioning him to get more comfortable in the bed, before seating back in his legs. You opened the squared package, pulling the condom out.

You looked at it, and back at Miguel. “Are you really sure?”

Miguel nodded, the anticipation making his brain fuzzy. He didn’t think he could speak right now.

You nodded, positioning yourself better. You stroke him a few times, before rolling the condom on. You lifted yourself up, using Miguel’s chest as support, while his arms flew to your waist to help you. You aligned his dick with your entrance. You were already wet from the anticipation and just making him come. He sounded so pretty, breaking under your touch. Cumming just for you, and only you.

You rubbed his tip along your slit, tapping your clit a few times, before aligned it with your hole. You breathed in, before sinking slowly. He stretched you out so perfectly, it stinged a little, but it felt so good.

Your mouth and Miguel’s fell open. It was so intense, finally being connected. You reached down, your hips flushed with his. Miguel’s nails were digging into your waist, while your hands squeezed his shoulders.

You got used to his size before starting to move slowly, rocking your hips back and forth. Miguel let out a shaky breath, watching your movements.

“Touch me” you purred, leaning over and taking his ear lob between your teeth, your breath tickling the side of his face.

One of his hands stayed glued to your waist, while the other played with your breasts, alternating between the two. You nipped at his neck, leaving hickies and bite marks where no one could see them, only you.

Miguel whined, he was enjoying the feeling, but he needed more.

“Please, more” He begged, his hand squeezing harshly on one of your tits.

You sat up straight, placing your hands flat on his chest for support. You lifted yourself up, leaving only half of his cock inside of you, before sinking back down. You both moaned at the same time, he felt so good inside of you.

You kept doing that a couple more times, while Miguel forced himself to keep his eyes open, watching how his dick disappeared inside of you. Once you got used to it, you set up a rhythm, using Miguel’s chest and shoulders as support. Miguel’s hands went back to your waist, while his head flew back. His mouth was slightly open, groans and moans feeling up the room, combined with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Miguel’s sounds were turning you on so badly, you could barely concentrate. He grunted your name, moaned it so loudly you were sure even the neighbours could hear. You weren’t any better. His dick was hitting just the right places, stretching you out just the way you liked it.

“Fu-Fuck” you stuttered, shutting your eyes. You were getting close, and so was Miguel, by the way his cock twitched inside of you.

“Mig– I’m close” You cried out, the pace you had been setting faltering.

“Me too” he said, through gritted teeth.

His hips had begun to lift from the mattress, meeting yours halfway, helping you reach both your orgasms.

“Migg” you whimpered, slumping forward.

Miguel opened his eyes slowly, as much as he could. Your nails were digging on his shoulders, while he had a death grip on your waist. One of his hands caressed your stomach, disappearing between your bodies, his thumb making contact with your clit. You jolted forward, the stimulation overwhelming you.

Miguel began drawing tight circles on the num, matching his and yours broken rhythm. He could feel you were closed, your pussy was squeezing his cock so good, getting him over the edge.

“Beba” he mumbled, before throwing his head back and cumming inside of the condom, making you fall over the edge and come around him.

You collapsed on his chest, his thumb rubbing small figures still in your clit while you rock your hips in circles, coming down from your high.

You stilled your hips, while Miguel his hand from between you, placing it in your back and rubbing it up and down, with the little power he had left. You stayed silent for a couple minutes, recovering. Both of your bodies covered in sweat, and the both of you with smiles over your face.

You lifted your head slightly, placing your chin on his chest, looking at him. He looked so peaceful, breathing slowly from his nose, eyes closed. You pulled back a strand of hair stuck to his forehead, caressing his face with the back of your fingers. Miguel opened his eyes, his gaze falling on yours.

“Hi!” You whispered, stroking his cheek.

“Hi” he smiled, eyes tired, blinking slowly, like a child almost falling asleep.

“I love you Mig”

“Te amo, mi vida, y siempre lo haré” (I love you, my life, and I’ll always do)

<<Part1 || masterlist ||

Authors notes: AHHHH I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as the first one!!! Thanks for all the love 🥹☺️

I'm a little anxious or nervous about this one because of all the lovey dovey stuff (mainly the smut) but anyway, I really like how it turned out and I hope you do too!!! I had so much fun with this one.

It turned out to be sooo long!! Funny that I cut the first one because I thought that 2k was A LOT, and this is 8k. Oh well.

I may edit this a little later, cause I don't really know how to feel about the smut. I honestly wanted it to be longer. But maybe I'll do another part, or a side story featuring what I wanted (Basically, Miguel eating you out). Anyway, let me know what you guys think!! Be truthful, don't hold back!! You can tell me: "Never write Smut again" And I'll allow it.

Practice makes perfect I suppose, so the more I write about sex the more I should improve, right? But, well. I think it is good to be the second time.

Tags: @guilty-pleasures21 @boogiemansbitch @amberbalcom14

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