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intoxicated-chan · 1 year

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Only You, Darling

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel begins to worry about his unborn child, considering his spider DNA and history of losing people, he worries if things are only meant for the worst.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Dark Red” by Steve Lacy. When I tell you about the grip Miguel has on me! I love this man.

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 982

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, pregnancy, light angst, established relationship, mentions of cheating, mentions of intercourse, swearing, little paranoia, very fluffy…

You stared at the positive test. You remained still before looking back at the other five positive tests. Your breathing became ragged as you knew Miguel would be home in a few hours.

You still had some time left, hide the evidence and find a way to explain it to Miguel. He thought that it was almost impossible to get you pregnant, which is why you hoped it wouldn’t make him think of the worst. You wouldn’t blame him if he did.

You begin cleaning up the torn boxes and used tests, throwing them in the small garbage bin without a second thought. You shouldn’t be worried about this now, you should be worried if Miguel was going to make it home on time or late, again.

But all the silence scared you to death as there was no way to calm you. Nothing would stop you from pacing around the living room. What felt like minutes were hours, and when your head snapped in the direction of a thud coming from your shared room. You cursed to yourself, knowing only one person to take the window instead of the front door.

“(Y/n)!” You heard him call out.

You choke on your words for a few seconds before finally being able to speak, “...I’m in the living room!”

You could practically hear him let out a sigh of relief as you heard his footsteps from your room and to the living room, seeing him still in his costume, “I thought you went out for a run again.”

“Well, I do know how much you hate them.”

“Because you take them during the night, I’ve told you how dangerous it is.” He comes to you, placing a quick kiss on your lips before pulling back, “I’m going to get washed up.” He walks to the bathroom but stops and looks over his shoulder, “Care to join me?”

“Well I-”

“That’s fine.” Miguel tells you, “But I could use someone to wash my back.”

“Miguel-”

And he sped to the bathroom, tired but… Shit! You never took out the trash!

“Miguel!” You call out again but no answer. You were too late, he’s already in the bathroom. You still had time, all you needed to was not freeze in place and open the damn door! But you can’t. You didn’t have the right to keep this information from Miguel, he deserves to know.

While you left him in the bathroom, you sat on your shared bed, waiting for him…

It’s been a half-hour. No sound of the shower turning on or anything from the bathroom. But your heart drops, hearing the door open and Miguel comes to the room, test in hand as his eyes tell his whole expression.

“I-”

“I know you didn’t cheat on me.” He whispers, setting the test on the dresser, “But how long have you known for?”

“Just this morning, a few hours after you left for work.” You answer.

“Just this morning?”

“Just this morning.” You repeat, looking into his eyes.

Miguel takes a deep breath, “Okay, okay.” But then he grabs a duffle bag from your closet and sets it on the bed, he pulls open your drawer and starts filing the bag up, “You can’t stay here.” He answers before you say anything.

“Listen to me, Miguel.”

“It’s not safe for you here.”

“Miguel-”

“I’m a danger and you know it.”

“Miguel!” You grab his wrist, “Stop. You know damn well I trust you with my life. You may think that’s the worst thing I ever said but I mean it. I know you have the strength to protect me, I love you Miguel and I promised to stand by you no matter what happens. So please, don’t push me away.”

“It’s not that I’m a danger to you, I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything, Miguel. And I’m hoping that you will let me give it all to you.” Feeling his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly as if it was his last day.

The next couple of weeks were filled with doctor visits and holded up at home. It’s not like you didn’t stay home before, it’s just Miguel wanted to be sure you were in a safe location and that it would be your shared home.

“Did you take-?”

“My prenatals?” You finish his question, placing a kiss on his forehead, “Yes I did.” You kissed him again, “You don’t gotta worry about me, Miguel. With the doctor visits and the pills, I’m doing just fine.”

“I know.” Miguel sat on the couch while you sat on his lap, you felt his hands come to your stomach, “Does the doctor know when you would start showing?”

“In a couple more weeks but it’s different for everyone.” You tell him, feeling him nuzzle into your neck. You feel his hands rub your stomach, “Are you okay, Miguel?”

He hums, nodding into your shoulder, “It’s just… What if I’m a horrible father?”

“Don’t you dare say that!” You get up, turn your body to face him and sit back down, “I know you’ll be a wonderful father, Miguel. No matter what anyone says. And I know that this child will love you.”

He looks at you and slowly, a smile forms, “This is what I’m talking about.” He lays his head on your chest.

“What do you mean?” You ask. Then you look at his ears, the tip of them being red, “Miguel?”

“I think we should have more kids.”

Your hands come to his hair, “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

He suddenly grabs your shoulders tightly and he snaps his head up, “Seriously?!”

You burst out laughing, “Of course!” You speak in between laughter, “I want nothing more than to start a family with you.” You calm down.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You’ll always have me.”

#x reader #x female reader #fluff #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spider man x y/n #spider man #spider man across the spider verse #spider man x reader #spider man x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader

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bi-writes · 2 months

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it took the end of the world to bring you to where you were supposed to be. (18+, 5.5k words) ghost (+ johnny) x fem!reader (apocalypse au -> dark content ahead)

you know it is luck that you are still alive. in times of anarchy, it isn't the soft and weak hearts that remain. only the unfeeling stay alive. the ones that are willing to do what others are not. the lot that know what isolation feels like. the ones familiar with survival and everything that comes with the wounds it leaves behind.

the loneliness. the paranoia. the heat of hunger and the impossible itch of thirst, on top of the fact that running for your life is second nature to you now.

if it wasn't the sick and dead lurking in the shadows, it was the live ones that would take you. and you have seen what they can do, and you have watched what the opportunities of the unbecoming have given them, and you vow that you will kill yourself with your own dull army knife than let yourself succumb to that kind of death.

you'd rather be eaten alive by the things that don't understand than the ones that do, because they don't know any better, and the others do, and they know what they are doing isn't human, but they don't care.

whether they eat for survival, for pleasure, for power, it is becoming more and more difficult to discern between the sick and the healthy, and in that in-between, you've decided to be on your own.

you know the loneliness will eat at you from the inside. but you are comforted by the fact that you are not being eaten from the outside.

you sleep in the trees tonight. you climb, high enough to be out of sight, and then you use the rope in your pack to anchor yourself to the trunk. as soon as your head falls back, you fall asleep. you have been walking for days now, you think, and with nothing in your belly except for a few scavenged snacks, sleep comes easy.

when you wake up in the morning, you feel the crisp edge of the sky against your face, and you know it will rain soon.

if there is a god above, they will wash you away with it. you hope, at least. you don't know if this is how you imagined noah's ark--the cleansing of the earth, a flood great enough to wipe it of what they deem ugly and unimaginable and irredeemable. and god must be a man, because only a man would unleash something like this that comes with consequences he never intended--the fact that it didn't fucking work. in his effort to eradicate the fucked up pieces of shit he supposedly created by his own hand, he unleashed them.

he set them free.

and like a man, instead of fixing his fucking mistakes, he turns a blind eye. he forgets. he allows it to manifest, and now that it is out of control, he will blame the sins of what he's done on someone else, someone like you. the innocent. the unknowing. the small and the weak, the ones who he said would inherit the earth, where is he now that there is nothing to inherit? how come he's allowed to go back on his promises, and i'm not? what have i done so wrong that this is the lifetime you gave me?

you don't know why you care. you don't know why you've survived and why you keep trying to. you don't know what drives you forward, but there must be something. there has to be something waiting for you, because you don't think your life can fall any lower than this.

but fuck, there are other plans for you.

there's no one to hear you scream. they cut the branch, unravel the rope, and one of them has gotten ahold of your legs, and they're dragging you. you cry, you scream, you thrash, but all your clawing hands do is leave sporadic trails in the dirt. they laugh, you think, but you cannot hear them over the blood that rushes in your ears.

your nails are raw when they flip you over onto your back. they bleed from how you scratched to be let go, and you don't know why you fight this, but you just have this voice inside you that screams that this can't be how this ends. this can't be the way you go--this isn't the what you deserve, this isn't fair--

you vow to leave your mark. when they come closer, you don't let them come easy. you claw at their faces, rip out chunks of their hair, and when another comes close, you use your teeth, biting off chunks of their flesh, tasting blood, because i won't make it easy for you, i won't go silently, i'll leave you worse than you leave me, i'll take you with me if i fucking have to.

and when it stops, you sob. suddenly everything is still, and there are no hands on you anymore, and all you can see through the blood in your eyes is the sky above you, and how it is early morning, and there's a flock of birds passing by overhead. they fly peacefully. they have no idea what they're observing--the struggle of being alive, the humanity of your will to live, the defiance of dying at their hands, they have no idea that they are witnessing the death and rebirth of something fragile, something so delicate.

you sit up on your hands shakily, and you swallow hard as you look around. to your horror, your savior is a man.

bodies surround you. there's blood staining the dead leaves along the forest ground, trickling from sickening wounds in heads. in one hand, the man in front of you holds a dirty stone, large and jagged, and the sharp edge of it is darkened with red and drips on the tips of his boots. he has wild blue eyes, and while his hair is grown out, it is carefully cut along the sides. his dark hair falls in effortless curls along his forehead and at the base of his neck, and when he meets your eyes, he smiles, wickedly.

he wields other methods of killing people, but he chose a fucking rock. and you think he must be crazy.

you shake, and you find your balance, crawling back on your hands to get away from him, but you're only able to crawl a few feet before your back hits an imposing wall.

you gasp, jerking to the side, and you bow your head to cry when there is another man behind you. this one towers, broad and big, and he wears a sickening skull mask that shadows any human part of him. he might not even be human--maybe he's as dead as everyone else.

you hiss when your hair is pulled. crouching at your level now, the one that wears a real face stares down at you, still smiling. he's chuckling now, licking his lips, and you lean forward and spit at him. it lands on his cheek, a mess of saliva and blood, but his eyes seem to only sparkle. his smile widens.

"what do we have 'ere, LT?" he snickers, and you gather the saliva in your mouth and spit it at his feet this time. there's more of a mess of cartilage and blood and spit, but instead of disgusting him, he just grins up at the ghost behind you. "with a will ta live. ever seen anythin' like it?"

"she's dead fuckin' weight." even his voice has you shaking, low and gravelly, and you hold back a whine when you're let go of. the scottish one is yanked backwards by the scruff of his hair by his superior, who bends to growl in his ear. "she'll only hold us back. dunno why y'even had to intervene, she'll not make another fuckin' day."

"fuck you," you snap, wiping at your face with a trembling hand. you wipe at the tears under your eyes, coughing, and you stare back up at him. with the sun in his face, you can see his eyes. they are dark, and they are unforgiving.

he is one of the ones who is free. he is one of the ones that god intended to kill, and yet here he stands, stronger than ever. and even though you know he's a murderer, an undeserving, broken inside and scarred on the outside, he'll outlive you because he thrives in the anarchy of what is left behind, and you are consumed by it all.

"let's go, johnny," he spits, and you close your eyes. you don't know why you were spared your life. you don't know why luck has been on your side, you don't know why men are what punish you and save you, but you cannot escape them. they send you to slaughter, and then they pick you out of the pen, and you wish you had more control.

you want to be more than this. you want to be more than whatever it is you're made of. you are not meant to be here, you're not meant to be alive, but you are, and fuck, you're so tired of it.

johnny belongs to him. it's obvious, in the way that he lets that man pull on him and order him around, even if they are adorned in military fatigues. you imagine there is no authority anymore, but he listens to that beast anyway, because he's getting up onto his feet, letting it guide him away from you.

if you want to live, you'll have to tame that beast.

"i-i can be useful," you say softly. your eyes are wet and big, and you look up at them as they stand over you. johnny turns his head, looking at his handler, who tilts his head to the side and glares at you. he does not believe you, at least that's what it feels like, but you look right into his eyes and take a deep breath. "you'll just kill me if i'm not. w-what do you have to lose?"

the hum he lets out isn't an agreement, but he doesn't say no either. so when he turns to walk away, you stand, brush your bloodied jeans off, and you follow them. johnny trails, putting you between them. you're pretty, but he doesn't trust you yet, but you're also aware of the eyes you feel on you from behind. when you catch him staring at your ass, he doesn't pretend to look anywhere. he simply giggles.

they are a unit. they can speak without words. johnny tells you his handler's name is ghost. his lieutenant, a man of many talents, and you refrain from rolling your eyes at his sergeant's praise. but instead, you look up at him, and you smile, and you nod, and you give him those doe eyes that you can tell make him a little dizzy.

at night, they alternate keeping watch. they carry lots of gear, and while one guards in his sleep, the other stands in the shadows and keeps their head on a swivel. they take efficient rounds of sleep, getting their rest in while keeping their senses on alert. the first night, you aren't able to sleep. you are too afraid of johnny and how he smiles, because he's a dog, and you don't know when ghost will let go of his leash.

and you are too afraid of ghost, because he looks at you like he wants to kill you, and when he does, you'd like to look him in the eyes for it. you want him to know that you might not be strong like them, might not be the kind of survivors that they are, but you aren't a coward.

you aren't a man, and you'll die the way a woman should--with her fucking dignity.

the days pass easier. ghost hunts, and johnny cleans. ghost scavenges, and johnny kills. and when there is food, johnny feeds it to you, and you put on your best face, opening your mouth, letting him spoon you a mouthful of something that warms your belly. johnny eats your lies right up, but one look at ghost, and you know he sees right through you. with each lick of your finger, he snarls, and with each foot you step closer to johnny, he growls.

he doesn't believe you. you need to make him believe you.

you see your opportunity. it crawls towards him on soft hands, flesh spongy and quiet from the weeks of decay and rot. you see its mouth, black teeth sharp and ready to sink into the meat of his calf, and you lunge, pushing the vase off the table and watching the heavy clay fall until it squishes the head into a heap of rotten matter and dead meat.

ghost turns, looks down, and when he looks back up, he sees you gasping for breath, heaving. there's a desperation in your eyes. it trickles between panic and worry, and you don't know how it is you wear it so well, but it manifests into wet tears that gather at the corner of your eyes.

he's not a beast. he's just a man. and when he passes by you, he reaches up and grips your face hard, nearly shaking you, but it isn't like any other time he's touched you. he glares down at you, right into your eyes, and you melt, stepping just that much closer, sinking your nails into fabric of his tactical vest and gripping it tight.

i can be useful. it rings in his ears as he looks down at you, the burden he has been carrying with him, and suddenly he drags you that much closer, until your open mouth touches the front of his mask.

even your determined conscience can't stop your legs from squeezing together when you feel the warmth of his breath.

i can be useful. i can be useful. i can be useful.

you can be the thing that wakes what is dead inside of him. you can be the virus that infects his veins, the dagger straight through his heart, the heat of the sun, the thing that builds back up what he's buried so far down. johnny keeps him human, but you'll keep his blood pumping. johnny satisfies the itch of authority that ghost needs to keep, but you challenge the fire he keeps under his tongue, and fuck, those eyes.

you pretend with johnny. you play the damsel in distress. you fawn, let him coo over your soft eyes, keen at his touch, but it is a game you play, and he sees it, he sees it, but this time, it doesn't make him angry, and he likes it, and fuck, have you always been this pretty?

you swallow your smile. his grips tightens, and you know you have him.

he's yours. and he's going to keep you. the world ends, god doesn't answer your prayers, the salt of the earth runs free, but it doesn't have to be the end for you. you will learn the hymn of what makes monsters move, and you will sing that song until you can't sing anymore.

you will learn their language, and you will convince them of what you are not, and keep what you really are a secret.

the good, the easy, the soft, you'll keep it inside, because that isn't who lives at the end of the world--it's ghosts that remain, and this one belongs to you.

this one belongs to me, this one is mine, this one you can't fucking have.

and maybe it's selfish. maybe it's wrong to think this way, to take from your saviors this way, because that is what they did, they did save you, but this is the only way you can make sure you make it out of here, that you live. a man takes, and a woman gives, but wouldn't it be nice if it wasn't always this way?

because the dead are still moving now, and there isn't humanity in the living; this is what you are owed.

you think it will be difficult to pretend. when it is night again, and you are staring up at the blue of johnny's eyes, you think it will be difficult, but it isn't. despite what you know he doesn't have, even though you know there isn't anything good in him, he still smiles, and he's so pretty, and you let him kiss you.

it's easy because he's warm. his voice low, his breaths heavy, and it feels like love, and it isn't hard to imagine yourself somewhere else. in another place, meeting him in another time, falling in love with him because it is the only thing you really have to worry about. if you lived another life, you wonder if you still end up here.

you wonder if he would eat your cunt this way in that other place. like he'll never have it again. if he's just as aggressive, spreading your thighs, trapping himself between them, slurping at your folds until you are nothing but a wet, leaking mess underneath him. you wonder if he would groan the way he does, gripping you tight enough to bruise, taking his fill because everything that begins has to end, but maybe if i keep making her see fucking stars, she'll let me stay here forever--

johnny's so much easier to control when he's pussy drunk. anything you whisper in his ear, he just nods, licking into your mouth, mumbling incoherently. he'll say yes to anything you say, and when the gruff call of his name pulls him away from you, he struggles to leave. it isn't obvious, the power you have over him, not to him at least. but it's real, and because he watches you even as he goes, you know he'll do anything for you.

he'll do anything for me. he'll live for me. he'll kill for me. but will he do it even if ghost tells him not to?

because that is the only question that matters. if you and ghost stand on either side of him, who will he go to when his name is called?

if i call both of their names, will they come to me?

if he calls my name, will i come to him? am i just the same? do i wear the collar, am i the puppy, is it me that fell and not the men i hate so much? how do i tell the difference between what the fuck is real and what isn't?

you don't know what time it is. it's dark outside, it must be the middle of the night, but you can make out ghost's silhouette in the doorway. you've been holed up here for some days, and he takes turns with johnny covering the perimeter. your legs are tired, and so are they, and the bed in this house gives way to a comfort and peace that you haven't felt in a long time.

you tilt your head to the side as you watch him there. you sit up, your hair falling around you, and you watch the shadow of him shift in the hallway there.

"scared of the dark, ghost?" you ask softly, and the way he stills tells you he didn't realize you could see him. he steps into the room, and the candle that flickers in the corner deepens the shadows that dance along his masked face.

"nothin' scares me," he murmurs, and you find his eyes in the dark. it unnerves you every time you stare at one another--his gaze is always so intense. he always looks in between all the layers you hide, and it's hard to remember what you are doing here when he looks at you this way.

"i don't believe that," you counter, and he narrows his eyes, shuffling closer, and you tilt your head back to look up at him. "you're terrified."

"not of wot y'think," he pushes back, but you shake your head.

"don't lie, simon," you whisper, and at the sound of his name, he reaches for your face--cups the underside of your jaw, grips the base of your throat, bends down to growl against the skin of your cheek. "are you jealous? is that what it is?"

"of wot?" he mutters, and you hold your breath when he grips your neck firmly. "of m'pet 'n his little lamb?"

"yes."

"nothin' to be fuckin' jealous of," he laughs, but it holds no humor. "what's his is mine."

"says who?" you breathe, and he pulls back to look at you again. there it is--the thing in your eyes that he cannot escape. he doesn't know what it is, but there is something there, and he craves it. he wants it more than anything else--more than food, than water, than survival, he wants to have it, to own it, to command whatever it is there because it's what he thinks he deserves.

he saved your fucking life, and this is the price for it--he gets to have the thing that lives in you that makes his fucking head spin, and you will give it to him, so help him god.

you kiss soft. he hasn't taken his mask off in a long while, but you move it up easily and without resistance, and now you're kissing him, and he moves without thinking. he hasn't even let johnny this close--he hasn't let him underneath his skin, not this way, and here you are, sighing against the scars he wears and kissing them anyways.

the ugly and the irredeemable, that is the skin he wears, and you love it anyways, and the ringing he always hears is gone because you don't seem to care. you caress his face, and you tug on the front of his vest, and then he is with you, and--he doesn't know if this is real.

when you pull away to look at him, his eyes flutter open. you don't say anything as you climb into his lap. the look you share, you don't know how to explain it, but you are almost afraid that it is understanding.

because it's the end of the fucking world, and he isn't capable of love, and you are only here to survive, and yet there is something here that you can't explain. god isn't real, he's just a man, but you think for a moment that that man might be simon riley because what the fuck is happening to me?

"simon--"

he kisses you this time. hungry, all-consuming. if there is anything you've learned about him in the weeks you've spent beside him, it's that he does everything with purpose or not at all. he has a will, a will of what you don't know, but of something, and he does everything with his entire chest. you've heard him talk to johnny when they think you're asleep, the pillow talk that you aren't supposed to be privy to, and suddenly you wonder if this is what johnny feels like--like the only person left in the entire world. because to matter to someone like lieutenant simon riley means you must've done something right, because he doesn't care about anything, and he doesn't love anyone, and--fuck.

he fucks like it, too. he fucks like he won't live another day, and maybe he won't. he fucks like it's the last time he'll ever see you, and it could be, and maybe that's why you're crying. you're sweaty, naked under him, and he can't stop kissing you. he breathes you in and swallows your breaths like it's what keeps him alive, and maybe it does.

"simon--" you cry, because it feels good, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. your hand rises, slipping under the mask, and your nails scratch over his shaved head underneath. god, it feels sacrilegious to feel him this way, to know what's under it, but it doesn't matter.

"know wot y'r doin'," he hums, and you claw at his back when he slows down. your knees try to widen to accommodate the width of him, and he puts two big hands on your thighs and pushes, nestling himself deep and pressing himself right up against your pelvis. "know y'r playin' tricks on johnny, on me--" you cry, and he tsks, shaking his head, "'s pathetic, luv...thinkin' y'could fool us both."

"i-i--"

a particularly rough thrust shuts you up, and you arch your back, pebbled nipples hard against the warmth of his chest as he chuckles, laughing at you, so mean.

he leans down, and all you can do is whine as he mutters into your ear. "johnny's so fuckin' distracted by y'r cunny, swee'eart. and fuck, i get it, 's such a sweet pussy, luv--" you whimper, grinding up against him, needing him to move, but he puts both hands on your hips and squeezes, holding you still. "--such a nice cunt, make a bloke forget all his fuckin' troubles, but i know--"

you yelp when he reaches up and grabs your face. his palm cradles the lower half of your face, squeezing your jaw, and he squeezes your cheeks as he looks down at you and snarls.

"i know wot y'are. wot y'r here for."

"you--" you sob. "'m here for you--"

"can lie to johnny all y'like, luv, but don't you ever--" you whine as he shakes you gently, "--don't y'ever fuckin' lie to me. y'r usin' us. known since we found ya."

you let out an exhale, a deep one. you find his eyes, and he looks down at you, and you swallow hard. because it's true, in a lot of ways--you could never love them, right? this could never be a real thing. the only men that are left are god's mistakes. when man broke off his rib to make a woman, he didn't know a beast like this would come from him someday, did he?

did he know his sons would try to kill each other? in each and every generation? is he watching the dead roam the earth and wondering why those ones died and ones like this one are still living and breathing?

the thing that you don't understand yet is that nothing will kill ghost. his father couldn't kill him, the dark couldn't kill him, the earth he was buried in couldn't kill him, and every bullet that scarred him had missed the vulnerable places of him by just that much. the virus couldn't kill him, and he has an inkling that even if he was bitten, somehow, he would still live because that's his fucking fate.

his fate is to live, to endure, to grieve, no matter what happens around him. the world collapses, and he watches, and he picks up pieces as he goes hoping they will last, but he knows they won't.

he doesn't know how johnny will die, but he will. he doesn't know how you will die, but you will, and he'll be there to watch. for some reason, there's a little comfort, because at least this means they won't be alone. johnny wouldn't handle being alone well, and neither would you, because johnny is a mutt, and you are a leech, and neither survive without a keeper and a host, something else to keep them alive.

"'s olright," he licks over your bottom lip. "'m keepin' you, luv. but let's get one thing straight, aye?" you grunt when he turns you roughly under him, forcing your face into the mattress and caging you underneath him. you can't move much, all you really can do is sit up on your knees a little and push back against him, burying him deep inside you again as he presses his hips flush against your ass. he tangles his hand into your hair, pulling your head back, and he plants a chaste kiss against your throat. "y'r not above me, pet. you can order around m'mutt all y'like. bet he'll like that..." you hum when he cants your hips, the tip of his cock hitting a nice, warm place inside you, "but y'r gonna do as i say. and be a good girl."

you open your eyes, looking up at him over your shoulder. you plant your palms against the mattress and push back against him again, moving just enough to encourage a few slow, wet grinds.

"anything you want, simon," you whisper, pressing your face into his neck, and he grunts as his hand disappears underneath you to cup your mound, hissing as he feels the place where his cock is moving inside you. "can have whatever you want, please--" you whine in his ear. "i won't lie to you! i-i...i won't lie..."

with his other hand, he cups your breast, squeezing, his thumb circling your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"gonna be a good girl?" he asks. "gonna let johnny fuck ya? let my mutt have his fill?"

you nod, panting.

"are--" you sniffle. "--are you gonna take care of me?"

ghost laughs, as if it's a stupid question. he maneuvers you onto your knees, and as you start to push back against him more eagerly, you start to hear the jangle of the dog tags he wears. you want to turn around and pull on them, want to see his face when he comes, but you tell yourself that's for another time--that right now, you need to get him cumming and agreeable.

he leans over you, picking up the pace, punching his hips into your ass. the sound of your skin against his is wet and quick, and as you press your chest into the mattress, he starts hitting you so deep, the air feels tight in your chest.

"need to see you--!" you gasp, and when you're on your back again, you grab for his face. your knees spread again, welcoming him deep, and you force his eyes to stay on yours as you feel the rough grind of his hips starting to build up that sweet, soft feeling in you.

fuck--he's so big. every part of him, it swallows you, and this isn't any different. you come when you feel him, so much of it that it's leaking down your thighs because he stuffs you so full, and there's tears in your eyes, but he isn't sorry.

looking at him this way is jarring. you have really only ever seen his eyes incredibly dull, nothing in them except a void that you aren't able to understand. but you are using him, and he is using you, and you smile, because now you can read him, read what's reflected there.

when ghost shoves his cum-soaked fingers into your mouth, you don't fight it. you keen, arching your back as you let your tongue swirl around his thick fingers, and he tilts his head to the side as he watches you. he's making sure you're doing as he wants. he's making sure that you will be pliant and good, that you will do as you are told and nothing else because that is what he asks of you.

he's making sure that even though he knows you are not the submissive puppy you pretend to be, that you will be it anyways because if you don't, you won't like how he bites.

you and ghost are the same. you are equals, even if he will never admit it. you trade different parts of yourself, but this isn't about preservation, it's about survival, and you are willing to give yourself for it. you are willing to say yes, ghost, of course, whatever you want, because you aren't supposed to be alive anyways, but you might just have a chance if you hide in his shadow.

you're still on the bed when he dresses himself. he straps his vest back on, zips his pants, and you watch him lick his fingers clean before putting his gloves back on. you reach down, your mouth falling open when a glob of his cum slips out and dampens the sheets, and ghost has a hint of a smirk on before he rolls the mask back down.

"don' worry, luv," he mutters, reaching over and gripping your jaw rough. you pucker your lips, and he snickers. "soap'll fix you right up."

"soap?"

"mmm. the fuckin' thing is useless unless there's a mess to clean up, yeah?"

will you take care of me? will he take care of me when it's time? will he keep the dead out of my eyes and my blood inside?

he never answers your question. and deep down, you're certain it's because he would kill you, and maybe johnny would, too, because johnny does whatever he says, even if it isn't good for him. and you aren't sure if it's because this is his lieutenant or because saying yes is the only thing that make's sense anymore.

i can be useful. i can be useful. i can be useful.

when you are not useful anymore, you'll need to be the first to strike then. because maybe you don't deserve to live, but neither do they. god is a man, and he makes mistakes, and ghost is one of them, and he's eaten johnny's soul, and if you go down, you will take them with you.

god is a man, and he was a fool to think he could've cleansed the earth by himself.

it was the flood that cleansed it the first time, and mother nature always does her fucking job.

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shadesoflsk · 5 months

Text

LULLABY FOR A BROKEN HEART

pairing: Leon Kennedy x Gn reader.

summary: After a mission, Leon musters up the courage to ask for one thing he's always wanted.

warnings: hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, fluff, Leon is touch starved, no consumption of alcohol but there are mentions of it, injuries, mentions of trauma.

word count: 2.1k

author's note: Hello! So... I had prepared some dad leon headcanons but after reading DI manga latest chapter... I knew I had to write something about it. I wrote this with a platonic relationship in mind but you can also see it as an established relationship! I just wanted an excuse to write about Leon because he is literally an angel ueueueue. He deserves the world.

masterlist

With heavy and wobbly steps, Leon’s blurry vision—from the lack of sleep— could make out the frame of your door, your apartment’s door. A part of him knows that he may be a burden—or that’s what he believes. Fatality, sorrow, and overall bad outcomes are the only things his mind can register.

He doesn’t want to bother you. Hell, he doesn’t want to speak to anyone right now. The fact that he somehow made it safely to your front door was enough for him to know that you would be so angry at him. You shouldn’t drive after a mission. You shouldn’t—... let yourself die. He knows all those phrases by heart.

He’s getting better. He’s a lot better, to be honest. He no longer drinks, but he may as well look drunk right now. His head was hurting like hell, but he blamed it on his mission. He’s getting too old for that shit. But, a healthy improvement doesn’t mean that he can’t fall.

Recovery isn’t a straight line of betterment. There are nights when he can sleep like a baby. But then again, some days, he goes to sleep knowing that a nightmare may attack his dreams.

His fist bangs against your door, at first trying to be quiet. But after a few seconds, some desperation came within his knocking, and a louder sound filled the already silent night.

The melancholic feeling of being alone lasts a couple of seconds before he hears some steps inside your home, those get even closer until he sees the door opening. The sight he admires before him is far from comforting. The eyebags under your eyes, your disheveled hair, and the quiet yawn that escapes your lips say it all, you were sleeping.

At first, you don’t say anything, letting the silence in the air fill the lack of response from both parts. Yours and Leon’s, two souls that are aching right now but for different reasons.

Leon, who is hurting because he doesn’t want you to see him like this. And yours because you’d give him the world just for him to stop blaming himself. Ironic, but in reality you’re two sides of the same coin.

Amidst the countless things you want to tell Leon, you step aside allowing him to enter your apartment. The one he knows as his cozy getaway. His second home. The first one is your mere existence.

Physical things last no more than a few weeks, months, or years. Everything is doomed to cease existing. He has witnessed it through the years he has worked as an agent. Those gigantic and marvelous houses politicians love to brag about? A bomb would destroy them. That motorcycle he loves? Yeah, that one…. No more than a few pieces remained.

But the simple fact that you were alive and breathing meant so much. He wasn’t a stranger to death. He knows that he has become desensitized to those topics as much as he denies it. But even if someone were to die, their proof that they belonged to this world would live in those who loved them, those who were close to them.

And that’s why you’re his home. The kind of home that served as a refuge when life got too much, when life stopped basking him with its sunlights but rather sent him a blizzard. Your presence was enough for him because you granted him the affection he has long forgotten he could have.

As he enters your apartment, the normalcy and everydayness of the living room embrace him like a thick and warm blanket. The usual smell of your scented candlelight also brings him back to the reality where he could feel safe.

He’s alone for a while, you let him sit on your couch even though he might stain it with the dirt on his pants and whole body. You don’t exactly care, you can clean it after.

His eyes are unfocused as he waits for you to come back. At that moment, the memories of his last mission came to his mind. They don’t haunt him like they used to do in the past, where he decided to stop the voices from getting louder by drowning in alcohol.

Now, they replay in his mind like a Deja Vu, like a movie he was the main star in. However, it doesn’t mean they stop stabbing his heart knowing that he had taken lives.

He used to be a religious person. Right now if someone asks him if he follows a certain God, he would respond with a simple no. But when he sees the bodies of those whom he had to kill, he would offer a silent prayer, asking whoever hears him that their souls could rest in peace.

Leon kills, but he’s also a lover of life. He loves the world and its people. He wants to believe that he'd be reminded as the one who fought for those who couldn’t, even if he didn’t want to be associated with that type of job.

In his mind, it may sound corny but he has started appreciating the simple things in life. The way someone would smile at him in the supermarket, the way a random stranger would greet him even though they don’t know him. It was a nice reminder that he was, in fact, alive.

Your steps break the silence—once again. In your hands, there’s a first aid kit.

There’s a certain urgency in the way you sit next to him to treat his wounds. Your eyes never leave him as you try to make sure that nothing is hurting him. Even when he has awoken you from your sweet dreams, you’re the same caring and compassionate person as always.

An alcohol swab touches one cut he had on his temple, a bruise already forming on the skin. Proof that his head was literally slammed against a metal tube. Not his proudest moment, if he had to be honest.

“I’m not going to break, you know…” Leon finally speaks as your hand seems to slightly shake out of fear of bringing more pain to him.

You manage to let out a chuckle at his words. “I know. But I’m not taking risks.”

His eyes continue to remain fixated on your face, like a puppy who is looking at a treat. But rather, he’s like a homeless man admiring one of the prettiest houses he has ever seen.

There are no questions asked, nor complaints about anything related to his late-night visit. He appreciates the fact that he’s welcomed no matter what. Nonetheless, he can’t help but thank you for your hospitality.

“Thank you.” He murmurs as you clean another injury that was just above his eyebrow. “You’re too good for me.” Leon's words show a moment of raw sincerity.

Leon’s humanity is palpable, even when he doesn’t notice it. There’s a childlike glimmer in his eyes when he watches his favorite movies, a hint of regret when he talks about his missions, and a big sense of empathy when he speaks about the victims who died at his hands.

Leon’s kindness knows no limits. And you wish everyone could observe what an amazing human he is.

“Why is that?” You asked, scooting closer to hear him better. To pay full attention to what he’s about to say. There’s nothing Leon loves more than knowing he can really talk with someone about his feelings since he has mastered the art of closing off.

“For this…” He admits as his hands gesture your first aid kit, to your apartment as a whole. “I’m not used to being… pampered like this. I get hurt and I fix myself up.” His expression darkens slightly.

“Well… I’m here, aren’t I?” You give Leon a warm smile before pinching one of his cheeks making sure not to touch any of his cuts. “You don’t have to be alone all the time, Leon. You can rely on me.”

Leon’s lips turn into a shy smile as you pinch his cheek. “Yeah, I know.” He’s grateful for your hospitality and overall care. But it’s hard for someone who has always been in solitude to think that it’s okay to rely on someone, that it’s okay to need a person.

He’s silent for a moment before asking a question that’s been nagging him for a while now. “But… Don’t you get tired of it? Of taking care of me?”

You instantly shake your head, responding with a blunt “Nope, never.” In fact, you would be awake all night long just to make sure he was alright.

“You’re a God’s sent… I swear.” He chuckles as his gaze moves towards his own hands which are fidgeting. As if he was looking for something to grab, to hold onto.

He hesitates for a few seconds, he doesn’t want to overstep boundaries but then again… He’s not used to being touched let alone hugged. But right now… he craves feeling the tender and intimate affection that a hug brings.

When was the last time he was touched? He doesn’t remember. The sole thought of admitting it’s been months if not years that he hasn’t been hugged brings embarrassment to his already troubled mind.

You notice, you know Leon a little too well. You recognize every little quirk he has, from the way he sometimes sticks out his tongue when he’s focused on something to the way he looks at everyone before delivering a punchline.

But you wait for him, you want him to be comfortable.

As a sigh leaves his lips, he finally speaks. “Can you hug me?” His words come out hushed, as if ashamed of himself for asking something so… banal, so simple. “I really need it.”

The way he speaks, the way his voice suddenly cracks and the way his fingers twitch even more tell you enough.

“Come here.” You encourage him, opening your arms. He wastes no time getting himself closer and wrapping his arms around you. The kindness that you’re showing him could bring him to tears, but he doesn’t let them fall. Right now, he just wants to be embraced.

He was bigger than you, being an agent built his body to be ready to fight, to kill. Of course his muscles would basically bury your frame as he curls himself into the hug. But funnily enough, he feels like a kitten that found solace on a rainy day. He feels getting even smaller and almost disappearing from the catastrophes of this world.

He could easily rest his head on your shoulder. But instead, he decides to bury his face in the crook of your neck, feeling even more at ease in this peaceful moment. Closing his eyes, he lets the warmth of your body soothe his aching soul.

He always takes care of everyone, his mind and soul are connected to people he may as well never see again. He feels too much, he feels everything. Nevertheless, there are times when he wants to be the one being doted on, to feel safe.

And right now… he is safe.

“You may think I’m stupid…” His words are muffled as his face is pressed into your neck, his stubble ever so slightly brushing against your skin.

“I sometimes think you’re stupid.” You tease him, trying to bring some humor to the situation as you sense that Leon is starting to doubt himself. Your arms hug him closer, tighter. Letting him know that you aren’t going anywhere. “But right now… I think you’re the most amazing person ever.”

Leon doesn’t say anything for the moment. His breathing is steady and calm, drowning in your so familiar scent. His fingers caress the back of your head, touching your hair reminding himself that you were there, as if the hug wasn’t enough.

“You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever known.” You murmur, pressing a kiss on the top of his head. “You fight so much, you’re so important to many people. You don’t even know how much I thank life for having a Leon Kennedy next to me.”

Your words break his heart a little. Not because you said something wrong, not at all. But rather… he can’t imagine how his existence could bring happiness to someone. Chris, Rebecca, hell everyone has helped him a lot. But you are like an anchor which he clings to.

“Don’t feed a stray dog…” He tries joking, but his voice is barely a whisper. You’re used to his jokes. Most of the time, they are harmless and light-hearted. However, sometimes they served to hide what he was truly feeling. “They’ll always come back.”

“I don’t want you to come back…” You respond. letting your hand rub his back. “I want you to stay.”

And Leon is definitely going to stay, he’s going to stay with you and with everyone else. He will fight off every bioweapon, he will succeed in every mission. Just to come back to his home and to his life. A life he’s learning to love and enjoy.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil

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boldlygoingtohell · 6 months

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In a weird way, as a Jew, I can kinda take Normal Antisemitism™️.

I mean, I understand where right-wing racists are coming from when it comes to their antisemitism. At the end of the day, theirs just comes from fear, replacement theory, etc… It’s easily identifiable. 2+2=4. Yea its shitty, but I see how they got from A to B and it’s a straight line.

But left-wing antisemitism?? Like, how does that happen? I thought the left was about supporting minority groups, encouraging them to speak and be heard. But all I’m seeing from leftists these days (I myself being super fucking liberal, left, etc…) is just waves and waves of antisemitism. And yes it has to do with Israel, but these people are incapable of criticizing the Israeli government without going “all Jews are responsible!” in the process. It's infuriating.

Are all the the world’s Jews, millions of which live OUTSIDE of Israel, now responsible for Israel’s actions? I'M a stupid American! I’ve never even BEEN to Israel, much less know the intricate details of a geo-political conflict whose complexities go willfully unlearned by armchair activists in favor of yelling in all caps for 140 characters.

But what really gets me, and I mean REALLY get me about the whole situation, is the hypocrisy.

Remember how awful it was when we saw waves of Islamophobic hate crimes after 9/11, American Muslims with no ties to al-Qaeda being targeted for the faith those terrorists claimed to represent?

Or do you remember standing against the wave of anti-Asian hate crimes that was spurned on by COVID falsehoods? The “China virus” as Trump so eloquently put it? You remember being pissed about that, not blaming Asian Americans but standing with them against hate?

And hell, I’ve heard there has been a rash of Islamophobic attacks again because of the Israeli-Gaza conflict. That’s fucking awful, and I will stand against that bull shit because it does not belong here, end of story.

But now there are also antisemitic attacks, hate crimes, being perpetrated around the world. And who are the perpetrators now? The left that stood against everything else. There's no widespread ally-ship for Jews like me. There's no sweeping social media campaign, no catchy hashtag, no ice bucket challenge.

Why am I allowed to be condemned for what a country on the other side of the world is doing, when I have nothing to do with it? Why can I have the finger pointed at me when I don’t want the fighting in the first place? Why must Jews be allowed to be the target of this ire when it's already been decided that other ethnicities/religions don't deserve it either?

Now, I am PROUD to be Jewish; it is my culture, in my heritage, in my literal blood. It is in my genetics, my bones, my spoken language, it is in the holidays I celebrate, the philosophies I live by.

But it is also in the generational trauma of my mother insisting I have a passport as a young child, not because we were traveling, but in case we had to flee. It is in her inherent distrust of the government; a card-carrying Democrat all her life, she would always remind me, "if you don't think the government can't turn on you, you're kidding yourself." It is her constant reminders that as a Jew, our assimilation is conditional, our acceptance is political. I felt these, but never as strongly as she did. Not until now.

I am third generation American, and yet I feel like an outsider in the only country I have ever known. People who I thought understood, who were my friends, who marched with me against the injustices of the world, are now calling after Jews to answer for Israel's actions.

I say I don't want the violence to persist and I'm told that I'm, "one of the good ones". I'm told hurt Israelis don't deserve sympathy because, "all Jews are rich anyway, right? Who cares." I tell them my fears about the rising antisemitism and wearing my star of david necklace out. I'm told, "it doesn't matter, you're white anyway."

For the first time in my life, the racists aren't just some crazy KKK members. They're not just Nazis marching around with beer bellies and ill fitting helmets. It's not just some screeching street preacher who claims I'm going to hell after he caught the glint off my star of david necklace. If needs be, I can kick and punch my way out of those. They're just idiots. Isolated, concentrated incidents. It'd be a good story to tell at a bar the next day though a gap-toothed smile and a sling on my shoulder.

But now, both sides are coming after me and my people. Now, it's not just idiots who have all of their views backwards; it's people I thought I could trust to have my back, to go down swinging with me against those Nazis. Right. Left. It's everywhere. There's no escape.

It's coming from all sides. It's coming from social media platforms, from dinners with friends, from posters on street lamps.

I live in one of the safest, most Jewish neighborhoods in America, and for the first time in my life I am truly scared.

#jumblr #antisemitism #judaism #jewish #I'm just so tired of it all #I wasn't an anxious person before this #racism #long post I guess #can we go back to the days of punching Nazis?#life was simple

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toruro · 7 months

Text

chasing that feeling

pairing: beomgyu x f reader

tags: smut (18+), toxic relationship hehe 😿, semi public sex, pet names (baby, angel)

w/c: 770+

all of your friends hate your trashy boyfriend beomgyu.

you can't really blame them though ... he kinda sucks. canceled on you last minute two weeks ago; soobin was the unfortunate soul who had to console you over the phone, watching you as your eyes watered up in your pretty pink dress, fat tears rolled down your blush painted cheeks.

beomgyu tried to make it up with you with flowers the next day, 'cept he forgot that your favorites are daisies and got you roses instead. you keep telling yourself that it's the thought that counts.

taehyun's always asking you why you keep goin' back ... you don't have the heart to tell him the real reason.

you don't have the goddamn dignity to admit that it's because after everything—all the tears, all the shut doors, all the "gyu, i'm done's"—you always manage to end up in the same position—

"oh fuck, angel," beomgyu grunts from behind you, pelvis slamming into the softness of your ass. "this cunt's s'tight—shit, angel you're suckin' me in," he murmurs, sinking his fat cock in so deep you gasp loudly, lurching over the bathroom sink.

you don't even wanna think about how you got here; you were standing in front of the pub for almost half an hour, waiting for beomgyu who promised he'd be there fifteen minutes earlier, and right when you made the decision to take the high road and head home in defeat, he was running down the street with sweat beading down his forehead.

maybe you shouted at him a little. cried a little. tried to walk away. told him to go home aline. told him you don't deserve this.

beomgyu thought different, of course, and a hand on your wrist soon turned into a tug and suddenly you find yourself pressed against the counter in the tiny bathroom of the pub, skirt pushed over your ass and panties shoved to the side.

"love this pussy so fuckin' much," he groans, pulling his hips back so his cock slips out halfway before sloppily shoving it back in. one of his hands holds a steady grip on your hip, the other trailing up your back and finding purchase on your neck, just below jaw so that his index and middle fingers can hook upwards and into your mouth.

unconsciously, your lips wrap around them, tongue swiping over the pads of his fingers as you try not to lose yourself in the feeling of all the pretty veins and curves of his cock pressing up against your hot, tight walls.

"beo-beomgyu we can't—oh," you moan quietly, closing your lips around the rough pads of his fingers once more in hopes to keep your noise level down when he jams his cock further inside of you, grinding into you so that his balls rub against your clit. "can't be loud," you manage to gasp out when he gives you a second of peace, stilling inside of you once he's bottomed out.

"'nd why's that baby?" beomgyu mutters, fingers around your hips digging in further when he gifts you another powerful thrust. "seems like we're both havin' fun ... aren't we?" his voice is low and raspy, and you're trying—you're trying so fucking hard not to get lost but it only takes you a few seconds to give in and relent.

beomgyu's ramming into you now; fingers slipped out of your mouth a few moments ago so he could situate both hands on your waist and pull your warm, dripping back into him so the tip of his dick kisses your cervix with every messy thrust.

there's a mix of both your arousal every where now, but as your eyes begin to roll to the back of your head and beomgyu begins moaning your name in small huffs—telling you that you're the "best fuckin' angel alive ..,,, prettiest thing in the world when you're being fucked with his cock ...,," that he "can't get enough of you" ....

you don't even know why you bother trying to fight it anymore. no matter how many tears, no matter how many long nights of arguments where you tell yourself it'll be the last, no matter how many hours you waste waiting for him ... you'll always chase the feeling of his hot breath fanning down on your neck when he finally leans over, murmuring 'bout how he's "gonna cum baby, cum w'me please ..."

and of course you do, because beomgyu might be a trashy boyfriend, but he's your boyfriend, and you have no plans on letting him go.

#beomgyu smut #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu imagines #choi beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu smut #txt x reader #txt smut #💌 drabbles

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stevebabey · 1 year

Text

Eddie loves to complain.

It’s a known fact to Eddie, to Wayne, to every single sorry son-of-a-bitch who winds up being friends with him, that Eddie loves to complain. Half the time he opens his mouth, it’s to let an absurd about of bitching fall out of it. Trailer trash with a trash mouth, is what he calls himself sometimes, always with a wry grin.

Even more so, Eddie loves to complain about how Steve Harrington seems to get everything he wants in life.

He gets the big house at the end of the block, the spot of captain of the basketball team (not that that’s a position Eddie would ever gun for), the stupid title of ‘King Steve’ that let him soar through high school, untouched.

Missing homework? Well, King Steve Harrington just gets a gentle reprimand, a reminder to make homework a priority next time. Whereas, Mr. McKay had nearly popped his eyeball out in stress when chewing Eddie out for his missing homework in the very same week.

Double fucking standards. He’s pretty sure he’s seen Steve get free shakes down at Harper’s Diner which made Eddie scoff— as if the likes of Steve Harrington can’t pay for his own shakes.

So, yeah, to Eddie? Steve Harrington gets everything he wants.

It becomes so much of a habit — bitching and blaming King Steve for every other minuscule inconvenience as well — that even when Eddie has the week from hell and his entire worldview is shifted, quite literally, upside down, he still complains about Steve.

Because, damn it, even at all this, Steve is better than Eddie is.

Ignoring the fact it’s definitely not Steve’s first rodeo, Eddie can’t help but keep the bite in his tone. It feels a bit too humiliating, being kept bed-ridden in Steve’s empty mansion due to wounds that need tending to every day. Hidden from angry mobs because he’s that unlikable in this town.

Worse, is that even though Steve got a bite taken out of him too, he seems just fucking peachy compared to Eddie.

Pathetic Eddie who can’t even change his own bandages yet. Steve’s more gentle than Eddie probably deserves for all his bitching at him.

Because, of course he bitches. Eddie can’t help it; some defence mechanism from within that isn’t sure how to handle the fact Steve is, like actually genuinely, a decent person. It’s worse when Steve waves it off. Shrugs off his pointy comments, might make a comment about being ‘someone’s grouchy and tired’ but is still so fucking nice.

Until the one day he doesn’t shrug off the comment— this time when Eddie makes a complaint, whinging and grumbling about can’t believe I’m stuck with Steve Harrington playing nurse, Steve narrows his eyes. Then he sighs.

“What’s your problem with me, man?” Steve asks, not unkind, just probing. He’s still winding one of the bandages around Eddie’s torso, the latter propped against the bathroom sink.

Fuck, this bathrooms massive. It’s bigger than Eddie’s entire room at the trailer. He hates it for that. He hates that he’s had more gentle touches in this bathroom in the weeks living here, with Steve, than he had in his whole 20 years since— well, since his mama died really. He tries not to think about that much.

Eddie really glad he asked; he thinks he’s had this whole speech prepped since sophomore year and Steve’s stupidly fluffy hair and smarmy grin walked through Hawkins High’s front doors. Charmed his way to top of the school with his stupid perfect life.

But, well, not all of that is true anymore. Eddie knows there’s quite a few holes in his original fantasised idea of what the perfect life of Steve Harrington looks like. Doesn’t matter, Eddie’s still got a bone to pick. He’s stubborn that way.

“What’s my problem? Did you meet yourself in high school?”

Steve winces a bit at that, his eyes ducking away but his hands keep moving, winding the gauze slowly and carefully. He doesn’t say anything, thinking, but Eddie rolls on regardless.

“Dude, you get— you have everything. You have the house, the popularity- shit, half the population of the school had the hots for you.” He doesn’t mention that he was at one point part of that population. Might still be if Steve keeps being so nice to him. Damn, he’s easy.

His tone as he talks tells a completely different story though, all annoyed and dramatic. “I once saw Miss O’Donnell wave off a failed test just cos. Just cos you were you! That’s the same fucking test that failed me the first time round.”

Eddie waves his hand around, on a roll now; he’s had plenty of practice with bitching about the likes of how Steve Harrington has it all.

“I know all this shit is, well, not fuckin’ ideal but even then! It’s like, of course, you’ll roll out of this with some badass scars that the chicks will dig.”

Steve is still listening intently, Eddie can tell because his eyes flick up to meet his every couple of seconds. His hands keep working.

Eddie huffs and winces at the pain that radiates up and down his side. “If you had these scars,” he gestures up and down. His side is undeniably worse than Steve’s own, they both know. “It would just be badass. Survivor shit, yanno? On me, it’s just, like, shitty mutilation.”

The sentence hangs in the air and Eddie feels his embarrassment creep up by how quickly that turned into a pity-fest, which absolutely not the point. The point is that Steve gets it all and Eddie gets nothing — and that’s how it’s always been.

Steve says quiet for a bit thinking as he ties off the end of Eddie’s bandage. He has to pull it tight and Eddie winces again, another flush on pain. Even if it’s not as embarrassing as it had been in the beginning, Steve taking care of these wounds for him, Eddie still hates it.

“So, that’s your problem with me? You think I get everything I want?” Steve asks plainly, pulling his hands back and folding them across his chest. Eddie hates how handsome he looks doing it. Then hates himself for noticing it.

“In a manner of words, yes.”

Steve uncrosses his arms and suddenly leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Eddie’s hips on the bathroom counter. He leans into his space and Eddie has to force himself not to pull back instinctively. Steve’s face is very close to his.

“And... if I want you?” Steve asks, voice dipping quieter in a way that makes Eddie’s stomach tighten. He represses a shudder and only after, do the words dawn on him; there’s no hiding the way he gets a little wide-eyed and fuck, he just looked at Steve’s lips. Wait, what? Eddie’s heart is thudding like a trapped rabbit’s, wild and quick.

Steve’s stare is intense, eyes a little darker than usual. He looks at Eddie and just for a moment, his gaze drops to his lips. Steve licks his own, his knuckles on the counter growing whiter as he grips it tighter and steels his nerve.

“Do I still get everything I want?”

#break from da blurbs bcos i am on STEDDIE BRAIN at the mo!#i've also had that dialogue in my drafts for yoinks #yet again.... gay ppl in my phone #i trust u to find this #sorry to all my stevie followers u will have to see this just once lol #maybe twice #steddie #ruby writes steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #wahoo

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anothermansjeans · 1 month

Note

youtuber!reader forgetting to edit out the five minutes of her just rambling about everything she likes about spencer🙏

hehehe this is part 2 of the q&a blurb!!

cw: spencer's a little shit (affectionate), the comments roast reader, reader just loves spencer sm, soooo fluff

wc: 737

youtuber!reader masterlist

You did it again– you accidentally forgot to edit a video and posted it. This time, you blame Spencer completely. After filming, you were planning on editing it immediately because you had a strict posting schedule and you were behind on some videos. However, Spencer thought it was a good idea to pull you in his arms and practically wrap you in a cocoon of his warmth. You woke up the next morning completely forgetting about the unedited version and queuing it up to be uploaded.

You were terrified to watch the video, seeing as the comments were blowing up almost as much as they were when you exposed Spencer, but you simply couldn't remember what you said that would make people go feral. You wanted to wait to look, mostly because you were alone and didn't know if you could handle the embarrassment by yourself, but also because you wanted to be comforted by something you were still deeming his fault.

When he got home, he put his satchel down and took off his shoes, noticing you on the couch with your laptop opened to the video.

“Are you editing?”

You looked over your shoulder and gave him a shy smile. “No… I didn't edit a video again…”

Furrowing his eyebrows he walked towards the couch and sat down next to you. “Which one?”

“The Q&A from yesterday.”

You actively watched his face shift from concern to amusement. “Have you watched it?”

Immediately shaking your head, you gave him a confused look. “No.”

“You should.”

At his ominous words, you pressed play. It started off like the last one– fixing your hair in the viewfinder, adjusting the lighting, and preparing for the video. The video continued showing small hiccups along the way when mispronouncing usernames and laughing at something Spencer said, but you finally realized why Spencer was so amused when you told him this was the unedited video.

“@ prettyboystan asked ‘what’s your favorite thing about Spencer?’” You put your finger on your chin pretending to think. A scoff was heard in the background from Spencer. “Oh hush, you know I love you. Hmm, I love how he always has something new to tell me. It’s never a dull day in our relationship.”

You thought you were done, but then another thought popped into your head, “Oh! I also love when he reads to me. I know it sounds juvenile, but his voice is soothing and calms me down. Oh my God, he’s also so talented on the piano. There’s almost nothing he couldn't do.”

Looking down at your phone, you were preparing to move on, but you looked up at Spencer one last time, finding words at the tip of your tongue. “You know, I also love the way you find an appreciation for the new things I introduce you to, and the way you take in new things with ease. You're so open minded and I love it. You're also extremely humble for how accomplished you are,” Your face was lighting up as you looked off camera towards a blushing Spencer, “I love that you're caring, kind, and helpful to everyone around you. I also love that you let me love you. It makes me so happy being able to give you the love you deserve…”

Beside you, a soft chuckle could be heard, and you paused the video to scold Spencer. “You think this is so funny.”

“Because it is!”

“Ugh!” You groaned as you went back to your laptop and scrolled down to the comments… they were definitely roasting you more than normal. “They’re calling me a simp!”

“What’s a simp?”

Looking at him softly, you grabbed his hand, “this might be a long conversation…”

BONUS: some comments

@ user: SIMP SIMP SIMP SIMP !! SIMPERELLA OVER HERE

@ user1: oh babe, you're so down bad

@ user2: please give us more… video essay on what you love about spencer???

@ user3: and you call him the yapper?

@ user4: wait everyone's roasting you (rightfully so) but this is so cute????

@ user5: she stops talking about him at 10:34

@ user6: i wish i had someone to yap to about how much i love them

@ user7: GETTING READY TO PLACE FREEZE TAG ON THE HIGHWAY AFTER THIS ONE BABE !! how dare you be so sweet

@ user8: can spencer teach a college course for men who need to be better because you would NEVER compliment a man sm

youtuber!reader taglist: @im-a-ghost666 @lyd14k4y @happiestcat @hauntedtv13 @obi-wansgirl @charismatic-writer @navs-bhat @itsleilabxtch @strabarrybat @hiireadstuff @cherrybb-ily @wietske27 @mynameiskelly

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #youtuber!reader

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its-your-mind · 11 months

Text

This is a call to action for all the PJO girlies (gender neutral) that I know are sleeper agents on this webbed site

Go read Trials of Apollo. Go do it. Do it right now.

I know what you’re thinking. “Tbh I didn’t love Rick’s writing towards the end of Heroes of Olympus” “There’s no Percy so why bother” “All of the Argo II crew are kinda OOC” and listen my friends. You are so valid to have those opinions. I felt the same way after Blood of Olympus. But listen to me. Look at me.

Now that you have had some time away, you must give these books another try. For me. For Uncle Rick. For the demon baby grain spirit who is only able to say his own name (Peaches).

Do not worry friends, I do not expect you to read just based on my say-so - I also provide:

A list of reasons why you (yes you) should go read the Trials of Apollo series right now gogogo:

(Spoiler warning - all broad plot things that you learn early on, but I know some people (including me) avoid that shit at all costs)

All the chapters are titled in bad haiku. Ya know that one scene in Titan’s Curse where Apollo just starts reciting apropos of nothing? That’s every chapter title. They’re all so bad it’s amazing.

Apollo is so up his own ass about everything, and it’s so cool to experience the same world through the eyes of someone who is not used to being in amongst the chaos

Oh yeah the plot. That’s a reason to read it.

Okay so

Basically Zeus continues his streak of being a shitty shit parent and decides to blame like… every bad thing that has happened on Apollo, and punish him by turning him mortal and enslaving him to a demigod girl named Meg who is a garbage gremlin with a little demon baby guard named Peaches (see above)

And like the A plot is they gotta save the oracles from shitty old Romans who wanna take over the world (stop me if you’ve heard this one before)

But like the B plot is about what it means to discover that you’ve fucked up, you’ve made mistakes, you’ve hurt people, and you gotta fucking own up to that shit

But also

You do not deserve to be punished for every horrible thing that has ever happened because of you, or even around you, and when a parental or authority figure in your life tells you that, they are an abuser and they are wrong

And yet

It can be so hard to fully separate yourself from them. Because for so long, they were all you had.

But that’s okay, because when you start to learn that the people who were supposed to care for you and love you were not actually doing that, there are people around you who will love you, who will support you, who will pick you up and hold you close and make sure you know that you are okay

And they can’t fix you

But they can give you the safe space to fix yourself

hmm that was an essay about themes and metaphors BUT THATS WHY YOU SHOULD READ IT

also there’s a wikipedia arrow who only speaks in Elizabethan prose (in all caps)

OH ALSO ALSO you get to see Will and Nico being a CUTE AS FUCK couple in the first book. Nico smiles. Also makes skeletons grow out of the ground when people annoy him. Fuck I love this little gay death boy so much.

AND. You get to see so MANY of your old friends. And they still! Get! Plot! And! Character! Development!! Even though they are only there for a little bit

OH OH OH there are two old lesbians who run a halfway house for people who are tangled up in magic shit with nowhere else to go

Did I mention Peaches? I did. He’s my favorite.

OH ALSO. This is “unreliable narrator” executed SO FUCKING WELL. Like, all narrators are unreliable. But Apollo used to be a FUCKING GOD. He has not had to deal with the reality of death all that much. He’s used to people praising his name and bowing down at his feet. But that ain’t happening!! And he is Unhappy about that!! But it also lets there be such a clear juxtaposition between what Apollo believes about himself and about the world and what is really true, which is such a wonderful way to write about recovery from trauma.

Ahem

Anyway it’s just real good Uncle Rick continues to knock it out of the park but he just did something different and we (at least I) needed some space from OG PJO fan brain before I could appreciate how fucking awesome this series is.

OH OH OH and if you like audiobooks Robbie Daymond (hello CR mutuals - yes, this is the one who is our beloved Blue Boi who we (Orym) so desperately need returned) is the audiobook narrator and he is. So fucking good. Absolutely NAILS the dramatic-ass-inner-monologue of this dramatic ass ex-deity. Also nails all the other voices as well. 15/10 audiobook narration I’m lichrally gonna go listen to other books JUST cuz he reads them.

okay why the fuck are you still here. GO. GET THESE BOOKS. If your public library does Libby you can absolutely get them on there. GO FORTH.

#trials of apollo #toa #rick riordan #uncle rick #pjo #percy jackson #pjo apollo #peaches the karpos #robbie daymond

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cinnamonest · 3 months

Note

not too sure if you've already put thought into it, but which yanderes would be/wouldn't be willing to break bones? i feel like for most of them it's a hard yes but depending on the circumstances and their mental fragility.

also sadisim. (COUGHCOUGHCHILDECOUGHCOUGH)

ignore this ask if you've already answered/have a question similar to this (or just don't want to answer/! and if your reqs are closed and my tumblrs just tweaking that's okay too!!

I would say Albedo initially, but he's a practical man, if you're not going to be using the limbs anyway might as well just take them off, so… as for some others…

Kazuha does it for practicality, specifically your ankles. It's a useful risk prevention method.

He still feels bad, and he apologizes… but he doesn't hesitate much. After all, he did give you fair warning, but you ran off yet again. This is just to keep you safe, for your own well-being, and for his peace of mind.

He's sweet about it too. He puts your hand against his arm beforehand, and tells you here, you can squeeze down on my arm, okay? After all, it will help with the initial pain.

He's still sweet when you squirm away and whimper, even though the grip with which he pulls you back is harsh.

I know. But I can't let you be a danger to yourself…

He holds you gently for however long it takes you to stop crying. He'll get you water and food and painkillers/alcohol, tends to your every need, waits on you hand and (broken) foot. Notably, once the initial reaction has died down, he stops really acknowledging it in any meaningful way, talks to you as if everything is normal. Even when addressing your leg, he talks about it as if it were some injury you acquired by other means.

You might be spiteful enough to bring it up and remind him that it's his fault, but he's quick to correct you, keeping a soft voice and gentle smile all the while.

You did have every opportunity to choose otherwise, you know. Ah, but I know you're upset… it's okay if you blame me.

He'll be fully patient for you to heal, too. He’s very cheerful once it's fully healed, says he's glad you're better, helps you walk around a bit to get readjusted, keeping his hands firmly supporting you the entire time. Even for a while after it's healed enough to walk, he checks on it from time to time to ensure the final stages of mending are going well.

He tells you you're fully healed, with a soft voice and ever-pleasant smile, not without adding—

Let’s hope it stays that way.

----

Childe has to be in a more angry mood than usual to get to that point. Usually, his form of sadism is the sort that focuses on a sort of pleasure-pain, the sort he can get off to… but this is a bit different.

It's only because you keep being irritating. He's really tolerant, you know? He's been so lenient, he tells you, he's been so nice, he's been so good to you, and what do you do? You keep being mean. It's cute up to a certain point, but you're being like, really really mean.

It's actually kind of nice, on his end, to see your immediate reaction — you can tell just by the strained smile and clenched teeth as he speaks that you've crossed some sort of line. For once, you actually shrink back, clutch your hands up at your chest defensively, start to take some steps back… but you can't get away fast enough before you're drug forward by the hair or neck.

Come on… it's not that hard to be good, is it?

It's a last chance — he's nice enough to give you that, at least, even if you don't deserve it (which you don't, he thinks). Come on. You can be good, you can apologize and submit and he'll forget all the spiteful shit you've done today and then you can have a nice, happy rest of the day. You can do it. It should be easy. He takes one of your hands in his, holding it with a sort of sincere pleading gesture.

But, even though you should know better, you still remain spiteful through your fear, narrow your eyes and tell him no. You try to jerk your hand away, only to find his grip on it is iron-firm.

His smile twitches.

Aw. That's too bad.

And thus, you process the sound and sight before the pain — you see him take your hand and twist it, hear the snap, and only then does the pain shoot up through your wrist, through your arm and to every nerve in your body. It's bad enough that you fall to your knees, squealing, cradling the now-unnaturally-twisted limb.

Yes, he's very very nice, but admittedly, hearing you wail like that is rather pleasing, all things considered. More so when he grabs you by the jaw, jerks your head up to force you to look at him, and sees the tears in your eyes, the way your face contorts with pain.

Maybe you can be good now…?

This time, you squeeze your eyes shut, frantically nodding your head, a pitiful little sound coming out of your throat. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't very satisfying.

---

There's also a notable difference between willing to break bones and likelihood of breaking bones, actively willing or not.

Some non-humans are particularly unaware of their strength — Xiao fits this well. He genuinely doesn't like hurting you, although you would think so, based on how much he does, it's just that he forgets how fragile you are. For someone of his strength, your body might as well be made of glass.

So it just sort of happens… he grabs you by the arm or leg and pulls in the wrong direction a bit too hard, there's a stomach-churning snapping sound and suddenly you're shrieking and crying. It startles him quite a bit — he lets go and shrinks back, all wide-eyed and head darting from side to side as he looks around in confused panic.

But just as with fragility, he's also not very aware of the durability of the human body. He’s not great at gauging severity of injury — normally, he just attacks creatures until they stop moving, because that's his goal when it comes to his responsibilities.

So he has no real reference for how much damage he's done. Bones are all connected, yes? He probably broke something important, or made some internal organ come apart somehow, and it will kill you. The thought sends him into a full-fledged panic, he's bolting off and dragging help back as fast as physically possible, explaining that you have sustained mortal injury and are on the verge of death.

He's at least comforted to learn that that is in fact not the case, and you have merely broken your arm, which, the innkeeper confirms, is in fact not fatal. He's too relieved to notice the blatant frustration in her voice (this marks the fourth time he's insisted you are about to die over something actually far more trivial), and merely nods when she asks to please be more careful.

He doesn't really know how to handle the matter from there. He feels guilty about it. You're obviously in pain, and it's his fault. He'll sit next to you, hunched over and staring with those big yellow eyes as if trying to make you heal faster with sheer willpower. Makes sure you don't get up and move around (despite your insistence that your legs are just fine — still can't take risks, he says), disappears for a while each day and comes back with mountaintop herbs that are supposed to dull pain.

He doesn't outright say sorry, but you can see the remorse on his face and in his actions, and it's actually kind of pitiful… it reminds you of a little kid that broke a vase sheepishly trying to put it back together… all in all, you can't really bring yourself to be harsh about it.

#.kz #.x #.ch

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ambling-rambling · 2 years

Text

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

C/W: honestly not much. Angst. Drunk reader. Softest of fluff

I started out intending to write drunk sex but ya sad bish needed something soft instead so have the first time Bucky Barnes hears I love you and the way it wrecks him.

Don't Leave Me

The two of you didn't actually fight that often, surprising as that was to some people. You supposed you couldn't blame them, what with the ex-Winter Soldier's perpetual frown and surly demeanor.

You knew better, though. He held people at arms length for a million different reasons, each as valid as the next, but the truth was, his core was all marshmallow fluff, soft and squishy.

In the six months that you'd been an official couple, you could count on one hand the number of times you'd so much as bickered. But this? This was different. A genuine fight, where you couldn't agree and neither was willing to compromise.

It was bad enough, his being gone on missions all the time, worrying about whether he'd come home at all, and what state he'd be in when he did. And now he was talking about some sabbatical back to Europe, trying to chase down memories and make some amends clear on the other side of the planet, indefinitely.

And it sure sounded like he didn't want you to come. Sure, his excuse had been that he didn't want to drag you away from your life, make you uproot everything. Part of you knew he didn't feel worthy of that kind of devotion, that he couldn't truly comprehend that he was your everything now.

But if still felt an awful lot like a rejection, and that stung.

Maybe that was why you'd gotten so drunk, just trying to ease the tightness in your chest, drown the ache in your soul with the burn of alcohol. It would have been bad enough on its own, but the fact that it was your first legitimate fight just made it that much worse.

So you'd gotten a little carried away, and Jaeger sure as shit did have a way of creeping up on you. You'd stumbled your way into the ladies' where you now sagged against a sink, though you'd forgotten to turn the water on.

"Honey, are you alright?" a voice startled you, and you spun, or tried to. You barely managed to keep yourself upright by clinging to the edge of the sink.

"Uhhhh..." Were you? Alright? What did that even mean? You weren't dying, but you felt like you were shattering into a million pieces. Surely that was just the alcohol talking, making everything extra dramatic. "No? " It came out a question, and the woman tutted softly. She was probably a little older than you, beautiful, and you found yourself half lost in the liquid brown of her eyes, hooded in deep gold eyeshadow, and the dreadlocks that framed her face.

"Can I call someone for you, honey?" she asked.

Call someone? Shit what a great idea! "Uhhh, my boyfriend," you said with a nod. "Er, well," you hedged, as the memories came flooding back in. "I think. We hadda fight." The words were slurred, and your new friend's eyes were sympathetic.

"Are you safe with him?"

Even drunk, you immediately understood the implications of what she was asking. "YES." Your response was so emphatic that she laughed a little. "We never fight like this," you said, pouting now, staring down at the toe of your tennis shoe. "Ever," you added, uncertain why you felt the need to add so much emphasis.

"Well, honey, why don't I call him for you? If he's got any brains in his head, he's probably missin' you just as much as you're missin' him."

You nodded, because Bucky definitely had brains, he was so smart, and beautiful and you just wanted to be with him always. Why did he have to make everything so fucking difficult?

Without really making a conscious decision, you unlocked your phone, open to your text conversation with Bucky. You hadn't even realized you had a slew of texts from him. It ran a course from appeasing,

I'm sorry, I just don't know what to tell you...

to irritated ,

Really? You're blowing me off?

to worried,

Okay well I deserve it. We don't have to talk but can you just answer so I know you're okay?

Y/n. Please. I'm really getting worried. I just wanna know you're alright.

You felt a little bad. You hadn't been blowing him off intentionally, you just hadn't been paying attention to your phone.

Your friend, god you really needed to ask her name, hit the dial button. Muffled through the speaker, you could nonetheless hear Bucky answer before the second ring, practically shouting your name.

"Sorry, my name's Meredith, but I've got y/n right here. She's fine, just pretty drunk. You should probably come pick her up."

There wasn't any hesitation in his promise to be there in a few minutes.

Meredith handed your phone back to you, and you tucked it away in your pocket, feeling a little guilty. You tried to stand up straight, annoyed with the way the world tilted and swayed under your feet.

"Easy there, honey. Let's go get you some water before your fella gets here."

You nod, because that seemed like a good idea. You clung to Meredith's arm as the two of you wound through the bar and the bartender handed you a glass of water. You sipped it carefully, uncertain if even that would settle. You had definitely never been this drunk before, and now that it was setting in you felt a little childish and stupid.

You heard your name and half turned. The sight of Bucky there, beautiful as ever in that leather jacket and his gloves, made you want to weep, and you sniffled.

"I was worried about you, doll," Bucky said gently, brushing one leather-clad thumb along your cheek bone.

You wanted to be mad at him, but the genuine concern in those blue eyes and the way he was hanging back, not pushing you, just made you want to fall into him.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, not looking at him. "I wasn't tryna make y'worry." The words came out slurred and you felt petulant and nauseous and why was everything such a mess?

"You good now?" Meredith asked, drawing your gaze. You nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay," you said.

"Thank you," Bucky said softly, extending a hand to Meredith. "Genuinely. I'm glad she found you and not..." he trailed off with a helpless shrug, and it wasn't a leap to know he'd been thinking about all the creeps out there who'd love to take advantage of a drunk and vulnerable woman.

"Nothin' to thank me for. Us girls gotta stick together," Meredith said with a grin. She gave your hand a little squeeze, and then disappeared into the crowd.

Bucky sighed, turning to look at you again, ducking his head to try and catch your eye. "C'mon doll, you still so mad you can't even look at me?" he asked, with a little note of frustration creeping into his tone.

You shook your head. "Not that. I just feel...Dumb." Suddenly you were crying and you couldn't even really articulate why. Bucky looked panicked, jerking the glove off his right hand to cradle your face, applying pressure to encourage you to look up without forcing you.

"What? Why? You're not dumb, y/n..." Bucky looked perplexed, worried still as you sniffled again, scrubbing at your leaking eyes.

"You still w-want me right?" The words came out slurred and choked, and you were suddenly clinging to him, clutching at his biceps. The world was unsteady under you and you just wanted to be in bed, wrapped up with him, safe and wanted.

Bucky looked genuinely shocked. "What...y/n, of course I do. You're all I want. Why would you think otherwise?"

He was so confused you almost laughed. It was so obvious to you.

"But you d-don't want me to come to Europe with you," you pointed out, your voice a drunken whine.

"I don't...y/n, I don't want to go without you," you could see he was struggling to articulate himself, the way words so often came as a fight, caught up in his head. "I just don't feel like I can ask you to walk away from your life..."

"You're not asking! I'm offering!" you interrupted, your voice a little too high, a little too loud, even to your own ears.

Bucky looked... Inexplicably sad. He stepped a little closer, so his body was pressed to yours, bare hand cradling your cheek. "I ain't worth it, doll. And I don't want you to be an ocean away from home and not another friend in sight when you figure that out." .

You felt like you were choking. Oh, or maybe that was just the alcohol in your stomach revolting. Bucky must have read the expression on your face, because he wrapped an arm around your waist, mostly carrying you toward the door. "C'mon, let's get outside," he said.

The cold air hit you like an Arctic front, had goosebumps prickling all over your skin and a shiver running up your spine. But it served to still the boiling mess in your stomach. You knew you were drunk, that he'd probably convince himself it was just the alcohol, but you had to try.

"Please baby," you whined, clutching at him. "I don't wanna be here without you. I just wanna be with you , always. You are worth it to me." Your voice cracked when you begged "don't leave me here."

"I'm not leaving you anywhere, doll. Let's go home," he murmured. You nodded, slumping into Bucky's arms, content to let him carry you to the car.

You didn't even remember getting home, just waking up in bed, a little panicked, launching yourself toward the bathroom, your stomach revolting against the ill treatment of the night before. Bucky was there within moments, sweeping your hair back out of your face, palm smoothing down your back.

You slumped to the floor when your stomach finally settled, cool tile heavenly against your heated skin. "I'm sorry," you mumbled.

"For what?" Bucky asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Getting so trashed that you had to come get me. Being so extra and now...this," your lip curled in distaste as you waved a hand at the porcelain throne.

Bucky 's lips quirked in that ghost of a smile that was his most common expression of pleasure or amusement. "That's nothin' to apologize for, doll," he said dismissively.

"Shower with me?" you asked, and Bucky nodded, starting the water before helping you to your feet. You shucked out of your clothes and ducked into the shower with a low groan of relief, only too eager to wash the night off your skin. Bucky followed you in, and his hands skimmed tenderly across your body, helping you rinse off, his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You lingered like that, for too long, really. It would have been easy, so easy, to just stay like that, pretend nothing had happened, but you couldn't.

"Bucky?" you whispered, voice rough and more than a little hesitant.

"Yeah, doll?" he asked, without lifting his head, voice muffled against your skin.

"I...I meant what I said last night. I know I was drunk, but it was still the truth. I don't... I don't wanna be here without you. I don't care where you're going, if it's anywhere even sort of long term, I wanna go. I'll go anywhere Buck, just .. please don't leave me here. Don't go without me."

He drew back, cradling your face, his expression a study in internal wars, looking both miserable and infatuated. "I just don't want you bored over there, by yourself..."

"I wouldn't be by myself," you interrupted. "I'd be with you and that's all I want."

You could practically see that self deprecating smile even before it painted his lips. "That's not all you want, doll," Bucky argued, and you felt yourself huff out an irritated breath. "You have a job that you really love and friends you love going out with, not to mention the cat..."

You sighed. "All those things will be here whenever you've done what you need to. Or I'll meet new people and make new friends. People do it all the time, Buck. Mallory would take Alpine for a while if I asked her."

Whatever argument he was about to pop off with now, you silenced it, pressing a finger to his lips. "Stop telling me what I want or don't want, Buck. I just want you. I love you."

You watched the emotions play across his face like he was a projection onto a movie screen. Incomprehension, and then disbelief, giving way to awe, and then something so, so soft it had his eyes welling up with tears.

He was searching your face, as if trying to sniff out a lie, and then abruptly, his gaze jerked down, swallowing hard. You'd been together a while, slept together, built routines that were comfortable, that he adored, but neither of you had ever broached the "l" word and he hadn't let himself believe you were building something like a life together, something lasting and permanent.

"Really?" he asked weakly.

His surprise broke you. All this time, it had been clear to you, that this was something permanent, that you were building patterns you wanted to live the rest of your life in, a comfortable place to rest and be at home. Meanwhile, he'd been holding himself apart, waiting for his fantasy to end.

"Oh, Bucky," you whispered, felt yourself choking up against your will. "Yeah, I love you , so much, baby. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner, that I ever made you wonder. I love you, Bucky Barnes, completely and irrevocably."

The arms he wrapped around you were all encompassing, squeezing you tight, with a hint of trembling. "I love you too, doll. So much." His voice was rough with emotion as he clung to you, and you clung right back, arms wrapped tight around his waist, lost in the touch so long that the water started to run cold. You whined as you hurried to wash your hair before it turned to ice and then crawled out.

Wrapped in a towel, you pressed yourself in against Bucky's side. "Does this mean you'll take me to Europe?"

Bucky almost snorted as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "Let's be real, I wouldn't have lasted a week without you anyways."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction

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808len808 · 8 months

Text

Crack Baby

!Leon S. Kennedy x Gender Neutral Reader!

Summery: After coming home from your mission, Leon notices something different in you.

Authers note: Thank you for all the likes and reposts on "Noted"! This story isn't really based on the song Crack Baby from Mitski, but it does describe the feeling that the "reader" has. Plus I absolutely love the song.

!Warnings!: self-harm, eating disorders, depression, trauma.

(Words: 4,210)

You had just gotten back from a mission, the most horrible mission you have ever had the misfortune of being on. You witnessed your whole squat being executed in front of you while you were powerless, you couldn’t save them and you blamed yourself immensely for it. Your agents, your friends…

The door to your apartment opened slowly you fumbled around with the key before taking it out of your front door and putting it back in your pocket while stepping inside the apartment you shared with your boyfriend Leon. You and he worked together at the D.S.O as a federal agent. You met him there with him accompanying you on many missions. You two were amazing together in battle and got along very well. So well that he asked you out to dinner after your second mission together. There was an instant click between the two of you and you became close friends slowly growing on each other till the point where he came over every day even when you already worked together even sleeping over sometimes. You knew everything about him even his past just like he knew you better than you knew yourself at times. The friendship bloomed slowly into something much more. Ending up with you asking him out since he wouldn’t pick up on your signals, even after you had kissed him. He had moved in with you mere weeks after dating since your apartment had an extra room that you didn’t use.

Fast forward to 6 months, now.

You had been nothing but happy for the last six months he was the best partner you could’ve hoped for, he was sweet, caring, funny, and could cook a really nice dinner. He was perfect. You’d sometimes think that you didn’t deserve him and he would help you overcome it together with the rest of your insecurities. He was super understanding even when you told him about your history of mental illness and your scars from the past. Of course, he had his flaws too, a full hand of trauma and other family issues. Leaving him with panic attacks and a lot of PTSD. You were always there to comfort him always.

Leon heard the door of the apartment open he immediately sprung up from the couch a big smile was painted on his face when he saw you.

“You’re back” his voice was high-pitched.

You had been gone for a bit more than a week and he was getting worried. He had texted and called you over a million times but you seemed radio-silent the whole time. His heart raced when he saw you, his eyes lit up as if he had just come to life by seeing you. There was a huge wave of relief through his body he couldn’t even begin to describe the ecstasy he felt when seeing you, even when you looked like shit. He almost ran over to you a happy hop in his feet as he wrapped his arms around your tired body. He snuggled his face in your neck and closed his eyes in the warm embrace. But to Leon’s dismay, he felt you flinch beneath him but he didn’t want to let go of you just yet.

“I was so worried” his voice cracked when he spoke into the crook of your soft neck. “I’ve called you, but you didn’t respond, and I thought-“

He stopped himself before he continued because he didn’t feel your arms around him. Your arms had just stayed by your side not moving as if you were frozen, like a statue glued to the wooden floor of your apartment. A frown caught his brows and he removed his arms from you leaving the one-sided hug. It’s now that he got a good look at you, your eyes seemed dead as if your soul was a second away from disappearing your face pale with dark half moons under your eyes, you looked like shit. He noticed a new scar on the side of your right eyebrow a dark red stitched wound against the cold skin on the eyebrow.

“Are you okay?” his tone sounded even more worried than before a concerned frown on his face as he examined yours.

“Yea just tired”, you managed to squeeze out before walking away.

“Wait” he grabbed your wrist before you could walk any further the grip was gentle but at the same time had some firmness to it.

“You’ve been gone for like a week can we at least-, talk?” You turned your face around. But all Leon could see was the way your whole body was shaking under his touch it was an upsetting view, the way your hand trembled while he held your wrist. His brows knitted together a hopeless look on his face.

“I- I’m just really tired. I want to take a shower and so to sleep.” You explained but he could even hear the shaking in your voice. You were staring at the ground he desperately tried to get a chance to look into your eyes, but you seemed to be avoiding his gaze, you seemed to be avoiding him.

“Okay, we’ll talk in the morning yeah?” The gentleness of his voice made you nod. And so he let go of your wrist even when he didn’t want to. Even when the only thing he wanted to do was hold you in his arms the way you had held him every time he came back from another traumatizing mission. You and Leon were different in that way, Leon was always looking for physical touch, he lived for it, the only thing he wanted to do all day was hug you cuddle you or you cuddle him he loved either. He loved your soft touch the way your body fit so perfectly in his warm embrace the way he could bury his face in your neck.

But you were the opposite Leon had noticed that each time you had come back from a mission you just seemed to want to distance yourself from him. He learned that sometimes physical touch was too much for you, That you couldn’t handle being touched while you were overwhelmed sometimes. He didn’t really understand it he couldn’t really grasp it but still, he took note of it and didn’t attempt to touch you when you told him that it was too much. Eventually, he could pick up on the signs. He could tell when you wanted to be touched and in which way you wanted to be touched if it would result into cuddles or something more intimate. He could also pick up on when it was too much for you, your body language he knew it all. And right now it was definitely too much so he left you to yourself which he knows now was a bad idea.

Leon still had to go to work that day but you got the week off due to the mission. Leon still didn’t know what had happened on that mission since you still hadn’t talked to him. You were supposed to talk in the morning but when he came to your room last night to lay with you, you shook him off and told him that you wanted to be left alone even when you were asleep.

So that was the first night in 5 months that Leon had slept in his own room. You couldn’t really call it sleeping more like staring at the ceiling the whole night while he thought of you. He was worried sick and just wanted to comfort you so that it would calm his nerves but at last, he was sent away. He didn’t close one eye that night so he was desperately waiting for it to become morning so that he could talk to you. And so morning came. He was up early mostly because he couldn’t sleep but also because he wanted to make your favorite breakfast since he knew you were going through something that he had yet to understand.

He cooked up your favorite food for breakfast he was really proud of how it turned out actually even when he had already made it many times, still he felt good knowing it meant so much to you. He had to leave for work at 9 am so when the clock hit 8 and a half he had already expected you up since you had gone to bed so early the day before but he still hadn’t heard a sound come out of your room and the food was getting cold.

He sneaked to your room and saw you sound asleep under the many blankets you had on your bed. Even in summer, you insisted on having them but now it was fall and it was getting colder. Even under those blankets you wore a hoodie. Normally you wore a shirt in bed because Leon was basically a walking heater. But now that you had slept alone it was cold for more than one reason, just like how you wore the hoody for more than one reason too.

Leon’s eyes softened when he saw you peacefully resting. soft breaths came out of you as he admired you from the door frame. You looked so relaxed almost happy. He snapped out of his staring and walked over to the bed gently shaking you awake.

“Babe?” He saw your eyes veagely open a soft grumble escaped your lips.

“Five more minutes”

“I have to leave for work in five more minutes” Leon softly said with a chuckle escaping his lips.

“Hmm,” You turned your back to Leon and pulled the blanket over your head as if to say let me sleep. Leon got the hint and left you be even when he really wanted to talk.

“All right, we’ll talk at dinner tonight, you just catch some sleep yeah? I have to go.”

“hm”

“There’s breakfast on the table.” No response. He sighed before leaving your room and closing the door behind him. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to work with him being so concerned but he didn’t really have a choice anyway, besides maybe he could get some answers at HQ about what happened on your mission since you didn’t want to talk.

And so he left for work. At headquarters, he was met with the receptionist who seemed worried when he saw Leon walk in. The D.S.O. had known about the relationship between you and Leon and that you lived together.

He walked up to the desk to register himself but was met with a concerning conversation.

“How are they holding up?” The receptionist spoke while looking up at Leon before even beginning to register him.

He shrugged his shoulders because he had no idea how to respond the the receptionist. He didn’t even know what happened he knew something was wrong, but he had no idea what.

“I don’t know, we haven’t really had a chance to talk.”

The receptionist frowned at his answer.

“Do you know what happened on that mission Leon?” she consciously asked and spoke as if she was scared of someone hearing them.

“No” he responded a guilty tone underlying his voice.

“The mission failed, and they witnessed-… they witnessed it all go down before they were rescued by the BSAA.” her voice went quieter

Leon felt his heart sink to his stomach “The BSAA? Why didn’t we rescue them?” Leon bluntly responded almost sounding mad.

“We thought they were dead. They had been radio silent for so long and- The D.S.O. just didn’t want to waste time.”

Leon felt a wave of rage hit him when the innocent receptionist spoke “Waist time?!”

The receptionist stayed quiet like she didn’t know how to respond.

Leon’s blood was boiling the D.S.O. didn’t even bother to look for you?! to try and save you or contact you?! He was fuming.

After possibly the longest feeling day at work and a very angry conversation that he had with the people that navigated your mission he stepped into his car still fuming. He had to get a hold of his emotions if he wanted to talk to you. He wasn’t mad at you no you didn’t do anything wrong it was just the assholes that he and you worked for that he wanted to punch to pulp the fact that he could’ve lost you because the D.S.O because they didn’t want to “waist time” was making his stomach turn. He was worried sick about you literally.

He hurriedly opened the front door just wanting to see you to comfort you maybe hold you if you let him. He just wanted to be with you again to never let you leave his sight. He was so scared of losing you and the fact that it almost happened was tearing him apart.

The first thing he saw was the food he made for breakfast it was in the same spot that he had left them seemingly untouched still on the table. His brows knitted together in the same upset look that he had worn for the past few days. He knew something was off immediately. He didn’t see you, he assumed you were in the living room playing games or watching something or reading but he found the room to be empty which worried him even more. Had you even been out of your room? It was already 6 pm. You must be hungry seeing you left your breakfast untouched.

Leon made his way over to your room and saw you lying in your bed your eyes fixated on your phone. You didn’t even look up when Leon entered your room.

“Hey sweetheart, how are you holding up?” his voice was sweet and he saw your eyes glance over at him just for a second before going back to your phone.

“Fine” Your voice was hoarse and you looked even more tired than before even after you had slept. He sat down at the side of your bed as you spoke ignoring the way you didn’t even bother to look at him. He had to ask it or else he wouldn’t be able to calm his mind down, he gulped before opening his mouth again.

“Have you- ehm… eaten anything today?” Your eyes darted at him before nervously looking beneath you at your bed and then back to your phone

“Yeah… yeah of course” Liar, the worst thing was Leon knew that you were lying. And the fact that you were made it even worse for him. How could he even respond to that? What was he supposed to say?

“Okay… Well, what would you like for dinner tonight?” Your anxiousness gave off as you bit the inside of your mouth making it even more apparent to Leon that you were lying.

“I’m not hungry” Your eyes went back to Leon’s and you saw the way he wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not-“

But he already stood up not wanting to hear any more of your excuses.

“I’m making spaghetti,” he responded, leaving your room.

He should have seen this coming, he knew about your past and that you could sometimes struggle with eating. So when he forced you to come out of your room and sat you down at the table he didn’t expect you to dig in.

You looked down at the plate of spaghetti beneath you while you could feel Leon’s eyes piercing through yours. Your pulse was pumping an anxious look on your face, you had nowhere to go now.

“So how was your day?” Leon broke the silence.

“Oh, you know…” you responded trailing off as you looked back down at the favorite food that your boyfriend had made.

It fell silent again.

“Sweetheart, I heard what happened, I’m so sorry you had to go through tha-“

“I don’t want to talk about it” You interrupted looking sharply into Leon’s soft eyes while yours only hardened.

You could feel nervousness spread over your face and you knew Leon could see it too. You tried and tried to not think about it, you wanted to forget, to forget everything, and to just not think or feel anything, your chest hurt and it became harder to breathe.

You avoided Leon’s gaze as if it were the plague, you couldn’t bear to see him worried because it only made you more guilty. You didn’t want him to worry about you, you didn’t want anyone to worry about you, it was your problem and you should work your feelings out yourself.

Leon looked pleading, big eyes trying to catch yours “Please eat something” Your lips pursed into a thin line as you felt your brain mingle with the cloudiness of overwhelming stress. You needed to get out of this situation as fast as possible, you needed to find some sort of escape or excuse. “I told you I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t believe that” Leon sternly responded. You looked down at your full plate and felt your stomach turn, you felt empty yet so full of everything like it would just flow over at any moment. You hadn’t even lifted up your cutlery or even your arm for that matter, you didn’t feel safe somehow even when you knew you were there was this feeling lingering that just made you want to run away. “Can we please not talk about this right now?” your voice was barely louder than a whisper as you stared down at your hands on your lap, nervously fiddling with the fabric of your pajama pants.

Leon leaned in closer, he didn’t want to stress you out. He’s trying his best not to be nosy, or to get you mad. But this answer only confirmed his suspicions were right. “Tell me what’s going on,” Leon said completely ignoring your protests.

You took a deep breath in yet it didn’t fill your lungs. “I’m tired” you croaked out your throat suddenly dry and weak. You stood up your chair sounding too loud as it scraped against the wooden floor.

The atmosphere was cold, and you actually were tired, exhausted even, but that was no excuse. You turned around your eyes strictly glued to the ground.

The hairs on your arm stook up as you felt a hand on your shoulder, your whole body tingled and tensed, Leon had stood up and was right behind you. “You’re not leaving until you tell me what’s going on” Leon’s voice sounded hurt but it was still gentle, somehow it made you snap, you had made it really clear you didn’t want to talk and Leon was pushing the wrong buttons now.

“Leave me alone,” you gritted through your teeth, turning back to face Leon’s shocked expression. but the hand on your shoulder didn’t move. “Look-“ Leon sighed as he lowered his hand on your shoulder, he tried to be as calm and gentle as possible. He thought for a moment, picking his words very carefully. “This” Leon stopped again looking at you with concern. “This is not okay.”

You took a deep breath in, as hurt and tired as you were, you didn’t want this to turn into an argument. “I know this isn’t okay, but just-“You took a look back into Leon’s eyes but immediately regretted it and looked back to your side.

Your hands kept busy picking at the hem of your hoody and making small dreads come out of the fabric. “I’m fine, we don’t need to talk about it” you mumbled.

Leon shook his head, as much as you can hide it, it doesn’t make it go away. You felt your heart beating on your eardrums, your socks were put on wrong and your hands were sticky with sweat and your hoody rubbed against your wrist too hard and-

“You are not fine,” Leon said his tone more firm, he wasn’t budging.

It was all too much. “Fuck! Just leave me alone!” You snapped in Leon’s face, your skin felt like it was burning. Leon’s eyes widened and there was and you could just see the slight shock on his face before quickly turning away to finally go back to your room.

Leon’s expression hardened. You needed to talk, he needed to understand and he wasn’t giving up on that so easily, he was your boyfriend for fuck’s sake. Leon swiftly grabbed your wrist in a fit of instinct mixed with hurt, you were still in the midst of walking away as he grabbed you by the wrist making your sleeve roll up a bit on its own as you tried to wiggle out of his grip it made it worse, and before you knew it you were facing Leon again.

You looked him in the eyes but to your dismay, Leon’s eyes were pointed down, you followed his gaze only to find him staring at the bit of exposed wrist, the wrist you had cut today.

The scar was barely healed and gave off a strong red color as if it wanted to stand out, you felt the breath get knocked out of your throat and you quickly looked up to Leon who was now looking at you with wide eyes and mouth agape as if he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing, you felt your face burn up as more panic hit you like a hurricane, leaving you feeling almost dizzy.

You were speechless and so was Leon, you both stood like statues with Leon staring at you as your eyes averted back to the ground. “Leon I-“ you tried but he just stayed still before his expression turned stern almost like he was angry.

You didn’t dare move scared of what Leon would think or feel if you did you looked so distressed it was almost unhealthy. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole and hide there for the rest of your life, covered in darkness so that nobody could ever see you again, so you could never see Leon’s face like this, so you wouldn’t exist.

The next few things that happened turned into a blur, Leon almost dragged you outside and into his car, not caring that your wrist was still exposed and not caring that there were now tears rolling down your face, you were sat in his car, and he drove off with you without saying a word, he looked pained and he kept biting his lip.

He wasn’t looking at you, the car ride felt dreamingly long the car filled with the sound of your held-back sobs as you stared out the window.

To your surprise he brought you to the building where you had therapy, you hadn’t had a session in ages, the building made you gulp, Leon opened the door for you and you walked quietly beside him, sniffing back your tears as you walked the halls that the receptionist had told you to go.

With every step and every door you passed, you got more anxious, getting warmer and warmer to your destination was getting your pulse more heightened.

The building smelled stuffy like an old hospital or elderly home, suffocating you with dust.

The door was opened the familiar face of your therapist standing in the door. She welcomed you in with a warm smile and left Leon outside, You could faintly hear her tell Leon to wait in the waiting room.

Leon was a nervous wreck at this point his lip bleeding from how much he had been tormenting it with his teeth, he waiting room was empty with a few comfy chairs with an ugly yellow color on the wall, there were magazines placed by the coffee table but Leon couldn’t even think about reading right now. His leg bounced uncontrollably his eyes darting around the room his brain going too fast for his own body to keep up.

“Mister Kennedy?”

Leon looked up and was met with the pleasant face of a woman. “Yeah?” Leon asked hoping his voice didn’t give away how nervous he was. “I want to talk to you about Y/N’s situation”, she spoke keeping her eyes on Leons. He felt his pulse increase as he nodded. “Okay,” he breathed standing up and following the older woman.

She led him to a cozy room decorated with all sorts of plants and paintings. She asked him many questions, and so did Leon asks her. After talking and giving advice to Leon about what to do she led him out. Leon opened the door but just as he was about to leave he turned around and asked one last question. “Are they going to be okay?” his voice showed his hesitance. The therapist smiled, “They’ll be just fine Mister Kennedy”. Leon gave her a small nod and sighed as he closed the door behind him.

Walking back to the waiting room he came across you. His face immediately softened as he saw you. “Hey,” he said dryly immediately regretting how formal it sounded.

“Hey” you replied back with a sad smile, your voice still stuffed from crying. “Wanna go home?” You looked around and took Leon’s hand in yours. “Yeah”.

#leon kennedy x male reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy angst #hurt/comfort #mitski #crack baby #angst

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lauvgoods · 5 months

Note

hey queen could i request a little angsty rafe x reader inspired by the alcott by the national featuring taylor swift

the alcott / rafe cameron

SUMMARY : rafe has a bad habit of ruining the good parts of his life, including you, but you just can't seem to walk away

PARTNERING : rafe cameron x gn!reader

WORD COUNT : 3916

GENRE : angst , open-ended

WARNINGS : unhealthy relationship, drugs and alcohol, a few swear words, one brief mention of sex

A/N : first request! this ran a little longer and angstier than i'd expected, but i really hope i was able to do this justice and give you what you wanted! i also hope you're okay with it being so open-ended

𐙚₊˚⊹ 🦢 “it’s been a long time, but I really need to get some things off of my chest. mind meeting me at the country club? our spot?”

the text is brief, to the point. you wouldn’t expect much more from rafe given that it’s, well, rafe, but it caught you off guard nonetheless. the distance between the two of you has only grown after everything went down, after what he had done, and honestly he didn’t expect you to respond, much less agree to seeing him. then again, you always seemed to be the only one to see the best in him even if he knew he didn’t deserve it. you’d always–almost always forgiven him no matter how horrible he could act.

rafe is wringing his hands, sitting in his car, trying to convince himself that this will be alright, though he knows that it’s just you at the end of the day. just you? he internally scoffs at his own thoughts. it has never been just you. the one person who truly made him feel alive, like he was a person outside of his mistakes. what was it you had always told him? “you are more than the worst parts of yourself.” you’d never thought of him as a lost cause, not once, but here he is thinking about how best to go about asking for your forgiveness yet again.

two years of knowing each other, of loving each other, and yet it had all gone to shit. as usual, he knew, all because of himself.

there’s a pool shack just near the main building, the one where he’d first spotted you, where you’d peaked his interest. rather than out getting a tan or swimming, you were sat in the corner of the building, a fancy little golden notebook propped up against your knees. it was cooler inside, so half of him couldn’t blame you, but he guesses it was that notebook that had caught his attention. a journal, diary, he didn’t much care at the time, but when he sees you in that exact same spot, with the exact same notebook, the biggest sense of deja vu washes over him. he’s stuck there, staring at you, watching you with that pen probably writing in the nicest handwriting you can. you haven’t noticed him just yet, and that’s how he knows that whatever it is, it’s captured your attention and pulled you into a little bubble like always. he isn’t stupid, though, he’s seen it on your socials, you leaning against someone else in pictures, smiling like how you did at the start of your relationship. not like the end, where everything was clear by the dimmed light in your eyes, smile not reaching them in the way he loved. he knows what you’re writing about—or rather who.

after a few minutes of admittedly creepy staring from him, you feel that prickling on the back of your neck, that itch of eyes watching, and look up to see him. he looks different, cleaner, more alive than he had before, and your breath catches in your throat. there’s a familiar ache in your chest, a bittersweet taste on your tongue, before the corners of your lips turn up into a warm smile. rafe just stares for a moment, taking you in. you look the same, but that light has come back, and that brings him more grief than you’ll know for the conversation he has in mind.

a couple of steps forward, and he’s sitting across from you. the sunlight coming in through the window washes you both in its warmth, melting the awkward feelings that might have otherwise arisen. there’s this look on his face, one that you know all too well. his jaw is locked tight, hands clenched into fists, and he’s avoiding your eyes. he hopes that you’ll still believe him this time when he talks, but he wouldn’t be shocked if you didn’t. he half expects you to walk out before he can get a word out, a sickly smirk on your face as you taunt him for ever thinking he could get a positive reaction out of you after it all.

“i’m sorry.”

it’s clear the words take effort to get out, and your eyes widen as they hit you. you can’t recall the last time he apologized, genuinely apologized. not something half-assed just to move on from another fight so you can fall back into an old routine again. kissing, falling back into bed with one another, walking on eggshells, the party, the inevitable fight, another fake apology. it was a cycle, an awful cycle that you wouldn’t dare break for fear of losing him. the truth, though, was that you’d lost him a long time ago.

you can read him like an open book, like an instruction manual leading you to all his deepest darkest feelings that he wouldn’t dare let anyone catch a glimpse of. there’s fear, and you hate the way your heart inevitably softens at it all. you don’t reply though, placing your pen between the pages and setting it carefully on the table separating the two of you. you wait, looking directly at where his eyes would meet yours if they weren’t so carefully looking just above at your forehead. he never was good at confrontation, not heavy ones like these anyway. anger he could deal with. you’ve lost count of the number of times he’d punched a wall, or slammed a door, all out of pure rage. guilt is something he’s been quick to bury, whether under layers of other emotions or less-than-healthy outlets.

“i hurt you, i know that. i did a lot of things i’m not proud of. i’ve–” he cuts himself off with a harsh sigh, tightly clenching his fist. words or conversations like these have never been his biggest strength. “i ruined what we had. the coke, the drinking, the fighting, and then the way i broke it all off, i never should have treated you that way.”

“rafe, can we please go home? it’s late and you’ve had a lot to drink and i just think you should cut yourself off for the night.”

it wasn’t the first time you’d asked him that night. as a matter of fact, it was the third. still, he looked up at you with an expression that left you feeling small and insignificant in a way that can’t be described. here you were again, killing his high and, as he would probably be saying later, ruining his night as always. you knew, though, that he didn’t really mean any of it. in the morning he’d wake up beside you, pressing kisses to your cheek and apologizing for how he’d acted, saying he would try to get better, for you.

tears filled your eyes, yet you held your tongue, knowing that angering him during a high would never be a good idea. you weren’t scared of him, knowing he would never lay a hand on you, but his shouting was almost worse than any physical blows. his words lingered in the back of your mind.

“rafe, you know how much i hate these parties. you always end up high out of your mind and leaving off on my own to hang out with your friends. can’t we just stay in tonight?” you’d asked, eyes pleading while he turned off the ignition.

he let your worries roll off of his back like water, shaking his head and grabbing your hand to kiss the back of it with that boyish grin you loved. “c’mon, i promise i’ll stick with you this time. promise it’ll just be a few drinks and then we can head back, ‘kay?”

promises, promises, promises. all empty even if he didn’t know it while making them. the moment he’d had two drinks, he had his eyes zeroed in on the table in the corner, and was off before you even knew he’d gone. you stood there in the kitchen, turning in circles, standing on the tips of your toes to try and spot him out among the crowd of partygoers. he’d left you again, and it took you nearly half an hour to find him. of course, the lines of white powder lined up and a rolled dollar bill clasped between his fingers. his pupils were already blown, that dazed look in his eye, and he smiled stupidly at you before waving you over.

“c’mere, i want you to try this time.”

that one moment would come up in more fights than either of you could have known.

you never did a single line, walking out on the party the moment he’d started getting annoyed at your lack of interest in the drugs, having a screaming match that same night, and it was one of the first times you saw him cry. fists pressed into his face, crouched down to his knees as he tried to regain some control over his emotions. there wasn’t much rafe didn’t tell you, especially regarding his situation with ward. his father had always been awful to him, never making him feel wanted. you knew that beneath that tough, hardened exterior was a boy who had been left on his own, neglected and never truly loved in the way he deserved.

“every time i tried to tell you to hold back, to reel it all in, you’d look at me like i was an idiot, rafe. Like i was horrible for wanting to help you. you didn’t just hurt me rafe, you shattered me. you made promise after promise and then broke it all in the same night. it’s like you looked right into my mind, figured out the absolute last thing i wanted you to do, and just immediately went and did it.”

the smile is gone, the warmth from the sun fueling the sudden surge of emotions. your throat feels tight as you finally speak, memories pulling free from that little wall you’d put up, trying so hard to forget it all. to move on. that small ache in your chest seems to have burst, tearing at everything it reaches. there’s a burning in your eyes, but you blink fast in an effort to keep it all in. once that dam breaks, you know it’ll come out all at once and ruin any composure you have.

rafe feels that spark of guilt erupt into a blaze, and despite the heat outside the cold pricks like needles at his skin. he’s already caught on to that uptick in your breathing, the way your knee bounces under the table even though he can’t fully see it. there’s a slight shake to your fingers that breaks his heart all over again. he’s painfully aware of it.

everyone had warned you about dating rafe, how he’d only hurt you, keep you as another notch on his belt before going on to the next poor girl. despite the worries lingering in the back of your mind, you simply couldn’t attach that description to the same man you knew. the one that would ask to stay over, fall asleep with his head on your lap, the way he’d look at you like you were the sun. falling for him was like breathing, but when you hit the ground it nearly broke you.

“i know i lied, and you deserved better than me. honestly, i wish you’d walked away just so you’d be less hurt in the end.” there’s a strained tone dripping off of his every word, rafe’s eyebrows knitting together while his eyes bore holes into the table. “god, i ruined everything.”

your bottom lip quivers, and you know that you’re done for. your vision is already going blurry, and any breath you take feels like it’s coming through a straw.

“you ever think that you’re my problem? huh? maybe it’s you, not me. you’re always weighing me down, fucking nagging me for attention instead of going out and doing the things i wanna do. i just wanted a girlfriend that would be there for me, you know? listen to me and not try to drag me down. you hear me? you’re suffocating me!”

the words shouted at you as rafe paced back and forth across the empty parking lot were just that. words. he’d wake up in the morning no longer coked out or angry, but even this was a new low for him. as much as you tried to hide them, the tears spilled over. he didn’t really mean it, you knew that. you knew he had trouble controlling his anger, losing his grip, that he would beg you with tears in his eyes to forgive him. but it hurt. the mornings waking up, your body sore from crying yourself out until you were dehydrated and weak, then covering your puffy and red eyes with anything you could just to make him feel less guilty, knowing he didn’t actually believe the things he said. these moments, though, made you feel like a speck. a tiny speck but yet also the most enormous burden to him. you loved him so much it was killing you, had been killing you for longer than you realized.

“you even sound like my sister! ‘rafe, what’s wrong with you?’ ‘rafe, stop it!’ which side are you even on? why don’t you go ahead and hang out with her and all her shitty friends if you wanna say that shit?”

why couldn’t he ever make it easy on you, not even this one time? he’d taken everything you ever loved and blown it all up like a goddamn landmine, stepping on all the good memories that you had of him and forever tainting any other parts of your life when looking back on what your life had been like when you were dating him. you’d given all of yourself over to helping him, to trying to get him to see himself like you did. now when you try to focus on who you’d been back then, all you can remember is what stage with him you were in. that one time you had tried to spend christmas with your family? all you can think about now is how worried you were that he might be out partying and could overdose instead of truly enjoying your time together.

your entire life had been completely focused both on loving him and on making sure he didn’t completely ruin his.

“did you mean any of it?”

your voice sounds less like yourself with the way you’re having to hold it all in. it’s then, hearing you, that he finally looks you in the eye. tears are brimming in your eyes, droplets hanging onto the lashes before finally dripping down onto your shirt. your face has grown flushed, your throat painfully dry and constricted.

“didn’t mean anything i said when i was high or drunk off my ass. you were never the problem, that was all me.” he sounds earnest as he speaks, and you can tell from the way he’s rubbing his hands against his pants that it’s getting to him just as much as it is you. “i was so focused on getting my next fix, but i promise you you were everything to me.”

that’s when the dam starts to crack, the tears flowing freely down your face, starting that itchy feeling on your neck as you try to wipe them with the back of your hands.

“did i do any good?” your voice is wavering, on the edge of a full-blown sob. “loving you? did i help you any at all while we were together?”

rafe was laid out on the bed, the alcohol having long since gotten him drowsy. he didn’t get high this time, which was likely what had saved you from another fight. you simply didn’t have the energy. looking into the bathroom mirror, you were a ghost of the girl you’d been when you first started dating him. it was valentine’s day, he had made plans for a date and you’d even bought a new dress to wear out to eat. but, of course, rafe had gotten into a bottle of wine, claiming it to be the more romantic decision to start out the evening. the night had gone sour the moment he pulled the two glasses from the overhead cabinet and poured himself a generous amount.

it was three glasses later for him–you hadn’t had a sip of yours–when he’d stumbled and knocked the entire glass down the front of your dress.

“i’m so, so sorry, i didn’t mean to i just tripped.”

it was with tears in your eyes that you reassured him you weren’t upset, that you didn’t feel like dinner anyway. what rafe also neglected to realize was how far past the time of the dinner reservations it was. holding back another crying session, you led him up to bed where he promptly flopped down on top of it all.

standing over the sink, still in your ruined evening gown, tears left tracks in your makeup, mascara running as your shoulders shook, yet you held in any noise for fear of making him feel guilty. every time, you reminded yourself of how kind and good he could be. you told yourself that you knew the person beneath all of this, that you knew that he had so much potential to be better, he just really needed to try and for it to stick.

“you were the best thing i’ve ever had.”

rafe’s eyes are red, eyes glassy with tears, and you can tell he’s holding it all in.

“you saw the best in me when no one else did. you didn’t just see a screw-up, a druggie, a disappointment, or a hopeless cause. you just saw me.”

it’s on that last word that his voice breaks, and the gasp that he sucks in splinters any resolve you have left. you’ve never had the strongest will to walk away, only doing so after he destroyed it all.

but rafe knew that he was poisoning you, could tell even if he refused to admit it to himself. he’d heard you crying sometimes, seen you through video calls with those puffy eyes, could see the way he was the one sucking the life out of you day by day. rather than trying to fix it or talk to you, or even get real help, he did what he does best. he self-destructed.

that night, when he’d been calling you the problem in the middle of that empty parking lot, that was where he blew it all up.

“i can’t do this anymore.”

red-eyed and frozen in place, you looked up at him, feeling like all the air had been sucked from your lungs. you were choking on it. he’d gone ranting and raving, had raised his voice, but never even came close to ending things.

“rafe, no, you don’t mean that. you can’t-”

you’d started toward him, hoping that you could embrace him, console him, and things would be alright. it was a curse, the worst kind of curse, yet one that you loved because it was him. you loved him with every single part of yourself even if that meant breaking yourself to save him even in the slightest. he, however, put up his arms in front of himself and took a step back, shaking his head.

“no, i’m done. we’re done. i don’t want to do this anymore with you, ‘cause i know all you want is to fix me. you don’t care about me for me, this is who i am. i go out and i party and i have the time of my life. it’s clear you can’t handle that.”

your breaths came out short, harsh, trying to backpedal and get him to see reason, more panicked than he’d ever heard you. “ro, rafe i promise you i can, i’m so sorry if i made you feel like i don’t really care about you. we can work on this if you just-”

“STOP!”

you were on the verge of sobbing at this point, unable to figure out where it had taken such a turn for the worst possible end. had you thought about walking away? more than once, but you rationalized that you couldn’t leave him like this.

and he left. he walked away, back into the house party that you drove him to, claiming that topper or somebody else could take him home. he left you there, crumbling into absolutely nothing with the worst pain you’d felt in your entire life, like something in your chest was ripping apart, holding back screams.

“i need you to help me forget you, rafe, ‘cause i can’t just go on like this.”

your hands come up to hold yourself, rubbing up and down your arms as you cry in front of the boy you loved. you want more than anything to hate him, to be able to just scream at him or tell him how much of you he’d taken. you’ve been trying to build yourself back up, trying to fix that hole in your chest. two years doesn’t just disappear in a few months. loving someone in that way leaves its mark on you, sticks to you like a second skin, comes back when you think you’re finally starting to be okay again and devastates you. it leaves you walking around as a ghost, all this love and no one to give it to because the person you hold in your heart is gone.

the problem for rafe is, he doesn’t want to forget. he knows he can’t, that in him is that love that he’s tried so hard to bury for both of your sakes, that anything he wants will just ruin any chance of what you’re trying to achieve all over again.

“i’m trying to get clean,” he says instead, taking in a stuttered breath. “about two months now, 'cause i know how much you hated it.”

the both of you know it, how no matter how hard you try it’s nearly impossible to walk away. it would be better for everyone, healthier for everyone. you can get with that person you’ve been posting, he can find someone that makes him happy without flashing back to every fight if something starts to go wrong. you two won’t risk falling into bad habits, and can be happy individually.

instead, you open that golden notebook with shaky hands, your pen having held your place, and you turn it for him to read.

“can you, um, can you read that last sentence out loud?”

he looks at you, eyes searching for some sort of meaning to how quickly the topic seems to have changed, before letting his gaze fall down to the words at the bottom of the page.

“i’m trying, i’m really trying here, but i don’t know if i can move on from him, not with all that i’ve still got left in me.” he trails off at the end as he seems to realize what you mean, and lets out a slow breath.

“rafe, i knew from the minute i got that text what might happen. i knew, for a fact, that i’d be falling back in love with you the minute i saw your face.”

the air is still, a long silence stretching between the only two people in the room. the sun has gone behind a patch of clouds, leaving the room darker. 🕯️⋆˙ᝰ.ᐟ

#𓏲 ˖. ♡̷̸ willow writes .ᐟ #ೀ ⊹ lauvgoods 🐻ིྀ #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron x you #rafe outer banks

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updownlately · 1 year

Text

i'm the definition of 'wreck' (if you look into my soul)

| leah williamson x reader | angst | 2.4k | inspo: time by nf / everywhere by niall horan | a/n: i tried to write angst, no idea how that went but here's what i got. technically since no names were named you can imagine any player from the arsenal wfc as 'her' but i wrote this with leah in mind bc well im a lw6 simp

~~~

It's been like this for weeks. This push and pull. The little things that work just a little harder each time to knock you over the edge. To be honest you don’t know how much of it you can take. And what’s worse is you know you’ve got nobody but yourself to blame.

It’s when she’s leaving your shared bed early in the mornings, long before either of you need to be up. It’s the way she’d retire to bed later than she probably should, long after you’ve headed up, risking less sleep just to avoid contact.

It shouldn’t be like this. Love shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn't be missed date nights, keys grabbed after every fight, doors slammed, sometimes more nights a week spent at hotels than your own bed. Yet, it’s all you’ve ever known and the only thing you carry in your heart. This sad, broken, pathetic attempt at love is really all you have to offer.

In all honesty, you were shit at this relationship thing, though no one could blame you. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and yet you’ve begged and prayed that it would. And yeah you technically have control over your actions and should better yourself, but you’ve tried and failed over and over again. You’ve tried to improve, work on yourself, create a better version of you, but in the end, when everything’s burning and there’s napalm in the air and rubble all around you, all you’ll ever know is to grab your weapon, fire, and run.

It’s left you alone, failed relationship after failed relationship. You swear you’ve tried. Tried to work on communicating, on breathing deep breaths before your anger builds up, on talking about your fucking feelings. Regardless, it’s never enough for yourself. You run, you hide, you lock yourself away until there’s nothing to find.

So when weeks and months pass and you see her each day with the light finally returning to her eyes you can’t help but be glad that she got rid of you.

And when you feel so broken seeing her and her family after a game won at your home pitch, you quietly gather the shattered pieces of your heart and make your way toward the locker rooms with nobody but yourself to blame.

It's only as you pass the friends and family section that you can pick out her mother’s voice and your name being said in conversation, with a follow up question on how you’re doing, something you really don’t deserve after how you’ve treated her.

You’re very much aware that no matter how many times you fix your damaged heart and dull all the sharp edges, that you’ll still end up hurting those around you. So you speed up ever so slightly, shielding your already broken heart, cradling the pieces that had fallen ever so gently as they break further in your hands, careful not to cut anybody along the way. You swear you drop some pieces in your hurry, but with your rush you tell yourself you’d come back later to grab them (spoiler: you never do).

You end up showering and changing before anyone else has even made it back inside. Making a pit stop to confirm your departure and the following days’ schedules with your manager and coach, you check the time and head to your car.

It's late afternoon and while that helps expand your options for lunch, it also means you have one too many hours left in the day to survive before you can let yourself head to bed. Contemplating on how to spend the rest of your day, it’s your tiredness that makes the final decision.

You grab a quick lunch, choosing to not head home and instead to the gym for a workout. It may not be one of your wiser decisions to have an extensive training session today, but with the free time on your hand and the voices in your head, there’s really no better option.

Meeting up with your trainer, which by the way bless his heart for booking you at the last minute, you gather your gloves and handwrap and head towards the equipment. It’s as you run through your normal warm-up that you reflect on how pathetic your life’s become.

For the past three months, you’ve damn near ceased to exist. Yeah your body’s still here, you’re waking up in the mornings, attending practices, playing in games, all the good stuff really, but you know you’re not there. A feeling you’re all too familiar with. The lack of care of what happens to your body, the way your slide tackles and play gets just a tad bit more dangerous each game, the way you keep training, choosing to ignore the idea of a recovery period, the way your car’s more comforting to you than the apartment you own. You’ve been here before and it wasn’t a good place then and it sure as hell isn’t now, but it's all you know and the only thing that’s never really left, so you’ll cherish it for as long as you can. You know that if anything and everything leaves, as they always seem to do, you’ll still have your companion in the darkness.

The sane part of you realizes how far gone you are, it tries, tries so helplessly hard to pull you back, remind you that you can be okay, but this time? This time you’re sure you’ve given up on trying to remember that. So you’ll do what you know best. Let it consume you. Let it destroy you. Pick you apart piece by piece. Let you slowly forget the feel of a sunny day and a good practice with the team. Rid you of the joy that comes with the pretty sunsets London Colney sometimes has to offer. And this time you’ll let it all happen with open arms, truly, honestly, finally exhausted.

An hour later when your trainer’s calling it a day and forcing you to take a break, you listen, if only to spare yourself a lecture. You grab your stuff, shower, change, and head out. You’ve still got a couple hours left to kill, and with your training bag and boots still in your car, it’s not a difficult decision of where to go.

Opening your car door and entering, you can feel the day catch up to you, your body readily sinking into the driver's seat, almost protesting against your mind. You know you’ll be feeling these workouts tomorrow, but your mind’s not done racing yet.

Lacing your boots a short while later, back at the training grounds, you grab your spare ball and warm-up once again, going through the motions. With how many hours you’ve spent at the grounds alone, you’ve developed a pretty consistent solo training session. It's the peace of being alone, a football at your feet, and a near-perfect grassy pitch at your disposal that your mind slowly begins to slow, finally tiring.

You thought you got lucky, a finally tired mind and the hour changing to one acceptable enough for sleep, but then your phone rings, an all too familiar caller ID flashing the screen.

Eight pm after a match in the afternoon is an odd time for your coach to be calling you and with curiosity getting the best of you, you scramble to answer the phone. Running through the pleasantries, you gently prod the reason for his call.

The answer you get isn’t what you were expecting really, but then again, it was a miracle it had taken this long for it to be said.

“Your contract’s ending soon. wrapping up the third and headed into the final year. Any thoughts on your future?”

The tone in Jonas’ voice causes your heart to sink. This club had been home to you since you had left your own. Arsenal had accepted you with open arms from the start, being your saving grace when you had thought you were going to be subjected to living a broken life at a place that never felt like home. When they had renewed your initial two year contract into another four, you had been elated for your future. You had never felt more excited to be tied down to a place before. taking a silent deep breath, you push back the memories of that day and swallow your emotions effortlessly.

“Depends. What's my future at Arsenal looking like?”

“You tell me. You of all players know that chemistry in a team is what makes a team run, what makes a team successful.”

His response tells you everything you need to know. You know he wasn’t oblivious to what had happened. How your outgoing personality had slowly stopped being exactly that. The way that you had pulled away from your teammates, treating them like nothing more than colleagues rather than friends, treating your job as what it simply was, your job. But you never expected him to have let it impact your presence on the team. You knew what you were worth and what you brought to the table. You weren’t a goal scoring machine, or defensive unit, a tough protective wall. You were you. You played all your minutes like they were the last you’d ever play, heart left of the pitch (not that there was much left of it anyway). You were content with setting your teammates up, leading the league in assists. You were a decent tackler, winning more than two thirds of your face-offs on the regular. You knew your worth on the team, and your agent reminded you of it often enough too, mentioning the potential offers you could have from other clubs regardless of how many times you’d told him you didn’t plan to leave.

“Our on pitch chemistry hasn’t changed. My on pitch chemistry hasn’t changed. We’re still a unit on the field Jonas and you know it. You know I have the utmost respect for you and this club, don’t let me think any differently.”

“A handful of clubs have reached out. Their offers are tempting to say the least.”

As much as it hurt you to say the next few words, you knew that taking any other stance would leave you stuck, broken for the umpteenth time. “I trust you to make the best decision for the club. At the end of the day, I wish nothing but the best for Arsenal.”

The ‘with or without me’ goes unsaid but from the few years that you’ve worked with him, you knew for a fact that he had heard the unspoken words. As Jonas lets you know that while a decision had to be made, there wasn’t an immediate rush, you know for a fact that you’ll likely not be calling London home again. And when you both agree to reconnect a week from now, you’ve already accepted your fate.

It’s an unusually silent drive home for you. The brief break you had earlier from your mind is long gone as you make a mental note to get in touch with your agent first thing tomorrow morning.

The post goes up after your last match of the season. While Arsenal had qualified for the Champions League once again, the team had gotten knocked out in the semis for the tournament, ending their season a few days early. It’s between the break of club football and world cup prep that your departure is announced, with no real destination said. If you hadn’t known that London wasn’t home for you anymore, the lack of a response besides an occasional story about the post from a few of your teammates solidified it.

It's when Bayern upload their new signing post with you holding up your new jersey that the final nail in the coffin is hammered in. The way your move suddenly becomes real. The comments being said online. Speculation on why Arsenal decided to let you go despite your importance to their success. Why Bayern was who you chose. Why there was no lengthy farewell. The people were digging for any crumbs, any notions on why you may have left, but it was only you and your teammates that really knew, and you all chose to keep mum.

It’s with the acceptance that you’re leaving do you feel absolutely unwanted and lost. And while you’d felt lost in your life before, it had never been like this. Feeling lost was when you were younger and couldn’t find your mother while at the toy store and when you had gotten your first failing mark in school. Feeling lost was when you were asked to leave your childhood home after coming out, no idea where to go. It was when you still got night terrors from the fights that your parents used to have even when you thought you had healed. But being lost had never felt like this. It had never reminded you that you had lost the only good in your life. That the only family you had ever loved didn’t want you anymore. That you hurt all those around you, people you promised to protect and love. That you had a gaping hole in your chest from a gun that you had fired.

So as the weeks pass and the world cup comes and goes and you notice yourself slipping just a little more each day, you let it play out. You don’t know what your breaking point is but at this point you just don’t care enough to not find out, especially since you’ve got nobody to blame but yourself.

When you leave your bed early in the mornings, long before you need to be up just because sleep wasn’t coming to you and retire to bed later than you should just to avoid having to lay in a bed alone, you blame yourself. When you come home to an empty apartment in a new city, the loneliness amplified by the darkness you choose to adorn your apartment with, you have no one to turn to but yourself. And when you interact with your new teammates solely for work in fear of hurting them too, you remind yourself that you’re broken, only able to spread your misery rather than feel joy.

It never was supposed to be like this. Existing wasn’t supposed to be like this. But now it’s all you know and all you have. So when you wish you yourself could leave your body and soul behind, it wasn't hard to understand why she left you.

At the end of the day, when everything's done and gone, you at your core were a mess you didn't know how to control, a wreck of a soul, barely alive.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader #woso fanfics #angst #arsenal wfc x reader #x reader #reader insert #my writing #fic #itdow #leah williamson

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