#real or not real still haunts my nightmares

[wolvietxt]

𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌!

pairing : logan howlett x reader warnings : reader has the nightmare, logan doesn’t know much about reader’s past, trauma flashbacks, hurt / comfort wc : 1.2k

the air in the room was thick, almost suffocating. sleep should’ve been a sanctuary, a place where you could shut down the world and find some peace, but tonight... it was anything but peaceful. the soft hum of the night outside didn’t penetrate the tension. the bed felt like a trap, the sheets twisted around your legs, tightening like they wanted to hold you down.

you jolted awake, gasping. the world felt too real, too solid, and you couldn’t quite shake the vividness of the nightmare clinging to your mind. your chest heaved as you tried to ground yourself, pressing your hands into the mattress, but the fear and memories were still clawing at you.

you were back there - in the past. hands bound, eyes wide open, watching everything but being unable to do a thing. the missions, the screams, the people you’d hurt... it all replayed in slow motion, burning through your mind like it had never really left.

logan stirred beside you, his body instinctively shifting when he felt your movements. he was a heavy sleeper in some ways, but when it came to you, the smallest sign of distress was enough to get his attention. his arm draped over your waist, pulling you closer, his chest pressed against your back. normally, the warmth would be enough to calm you, but tonight you felt like you were drowning in the heat, unable to escape the memories.

“what’s wrong?” logan’s voice was a gravelly whisper, heavy with sleep but alert. his lips brushed against the back of your neck as he spoke, his breath warm on your skin. “bad dream?”

you didn’t answer right away. you couldn’t. the words felt too heavy, too tangled up in the nightmare. your hands were trembling, and it was only when you realised how tight your grip was on the sheets that you forced yourself to let go.

“yeah,” you finally whispered, voice barely audible. “just a nightmare.”

he didn’t ask for more, didn’t press you. logan wasn’t the type to demand explanations. instead, he shifted so he could pull you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. the weight of him against your back, the solid feel of him, was grounding in a way that nothing else could be.

“you’re safe,” he murmured, his voice rough but soothing. “nothin’s gonna hurt you. i won’t let it.”

the words should’ve been enough. they always had been before, but tonight they weren’t. not because you didn’t believe him - logan would go through hell to protect you - but because the danger wasn’t outside. it was inside you, trapped in your head, a part of the past that wouldn’t let go.

you swallowed hard, your throat tight, and turned to face him. his eyes were heavy-lidded with sleep, but there was a sharpness there, a readiness to do whatever needed to be done if it meant you’d be okay.

“it’s... it’s not about right now,” you started, your voice shaky. “it’s the past. stuff i... i can’t forget.”

logan’s brow furrowed, his thumb brushing absently over your shoulder. he didn’t say anything, just waited. the silence between you was thick but not uncomfortable, the kind of silence that meant he was listening. that he’d listen for as long as you needed, without judgment.

you drew in a breath, trying to steady yourself, but the memories were still fresh in your mind, too close to ignore.

“i keep dreaming about them,” you admitted, your voice quieter than before. “the missions. the people. what i did before... before you.”

logan didn’t react right away, but his hold on you tightened slightly. his jaw clenched, and you could tell he hated that you were still haunted by that part of your life. but he didn’t interrupt, didn’t tell you to stop talking. he just let you get it out.

“i try to let it go. i try to move past it, but it’s like every time i close my eyes, i’m back there. doing things i can’t take back.”

you hated how raw your voice sounded, hated that those memories still held power over you. but more than anything, you hated that even now, after all this time, they could still make you feel like you were drowning.

logan’s hand moved up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in slow, gentle strokes. his eyes were dark, filled with an understanding that came from his own history, his own pain. you weren’t alone in that, not with him. logan had his own ghosts, his own past that bled into the present in ways he couldn’t always control.

“you did what you had to do,” he said, his voice low but steady. “you survived. and that’s what matters.”

you shook your head, pulling back slightly. “but it doesn’t change what i did.”

“no, it doesn’t,” he agreed, his voice quiet but firm. “but you ain’t the same person anymore. you got out. you’re here. with me.”

he said it like it was simple, like the fact that you were with him was enough to erase everything else. and in a way, maybe it was. logan had a way of grounding you, of pulling you back from the edge of your own mind. he wasn’t one for long speeches or trying to fix things with words. he just... existed with you in the moment. and that was what you needed.

you felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you wiped it away quickly, not wanting to make a big deal of it. but logan saw. he always saw.

his hand caught yours, stopping you from brushing away the rest of the tears. he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath steady and calming, like an anchor. “you don’t gotta be strong all the time. not with me.”

that did it. the dam broke. you closed your eyes, letting the tears fall freely now, no longer fighting to hold them back. logan didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop you. he just held you, his arms solid and strong, letting you release the weight of everything you’d been carrying.

the room was quiet except for your breathing, the soft sounds of your sobs fading as the minutes passed. it wasn’t a loud cry, nothing dramatic. just a release, like the pressure had finally built too high, and you couldn’t hold it anymore.

logan held you until your breathing evened out, until the tears dried up and you were left feeling hollow but lighter. his hand kept a steady rhythm on your back, rubbing slow, calming circles.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice softer than before, almost a whisper.

you nodded, your head still pressed against his chest. you felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the slow, calming beat of his heart. it was enough to pull you fully back into the present, away from the nightmare.

“i’m okay,” you whispered, even though you didn’t quite believe it. but you would be. with logan, you always ended up okay.

he kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there, warm and steady. “good. ‘cause you don’t deserve to be stuck in the past. not when you’ve come this far.”

you closed your eyes again, but this time, there was no nightmare waiting for you. just the warmth of logan’s arms, the steady sound of his breathing, and the quiet promise that whatever came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter Two

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with an enigmatic dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: Hot Make Out.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~2.5k

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You don't always spend your dreams within his arms. You know he is busy with his tasks in the Dreaming and often spent your free time with the denizens of the realm. It was ridiculous to think your free time consists of you not having sex. But alas, you can't fuck away your real life relationship woes with a dream or nightmare you've never actually seen. Even if he was the Adonis of your dreams.

Dreams. Hah! You snicker at yourself because was your Dream Lover anything but the Adonis of your dreams? Perhaps an Adonis with a personality, one you have come to adore and cherish. Yes, your Dream Lover is your best friend, closest confidant, and, well, your dream lover. And to think you had only wanted a friend to talk to! That effort has failed rather spectacularly.

"Kora!" At the call of your name, you look up to see Fēlix, the dream of luck and happiness, and your best friend during the night. The dream resembles a baby faced boy with gentle blue eyes and luscious blond hair you were jealous of the softness. That's were the humanness stops. While he has pale skin, all throughout his body glimmers gold, like someone has pat him down with gold leaf and it has stuck, firmly. Then there's the massive cardinal compass smack dab in the center of his chest that glows with golden ethereal light. It doesn't help that Fēlix only wore trousers and his fancy robe which never fully covers his chest.

Your dream best friend draws attention everywhere he goes both for his inhumanely beautiful looks and literally glowing warmth. Have you mentioned that his hair also seems to float around like it doesn't understand the concept of gravity? It is entirely unfair that your Dream Lover and your dream best friend are both cruelly beautiful and you are just you.

"Hey Fē," you greet, looking up from the bin of peaches you had been absentmindedly thinking over. You have a partially eaten one in your hand and the juices have long since ran down your palm to your wrist. Nothing that couldn't be licked clean later.

Fēlix beams, his smile bright enough to chase away any lingering shadows that occasionally haunt you for attention. Some nightmares were like needy puppies. "I thought you'd be with him tonight," he says, the compass on his chest glowing a bit brighter.

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "He's busy, I guess. Not every night is about us. Also, you don't need every detail of my night time sex life."

Fēlix's laughter rings out, melodic and infectious. "But that's why I'm friends with you! To get all the juicy moments of your mysterious tryst with whomever has captured your heart." You snort at him and he chuckles before continuing, "still the realist, I see."

"Someone has to be," you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips. You pluck a peach from the bin and toss it to him. He catches it effortlessly, his movements as fluid as a ballerina. He is perfect at everything and if you weren't acutely aware that he was made to be perfect, you would be raging with jealousy.

"Have you ever wondered what he looks like?" Fēlix asks, biting into the peach with relish. His head tilts and tuffs of blond hair float with the motion.

"Every night," you admit. "But it's part of our deal."

"Strange deal," he muses, wiping juice from his chin. "To love someone without ever seeing them."

You think about your dream lover's voice, how it wraps around you like velvet in the dark. Just like how his touch brings you such ecstasy. "Love doesn't need eyes," you say softly. "And this way vanity doesn't cloud our judgment.”

"Vanity doesn't cloud your judgement," Fēlix corrects you with smirk. "Your dream lover, however, is completely smitten."

"I know what I look like, Fē, he didn't make a vain choice." You say with a snort. Slowly moving away from the peaches and towards the fountain at the center of the market. You take a seat. "it's the only thing that brings me true happiness because in the waking world there is so much toxic vanity, you can never truly know who you are dating until they show their true colors."

Fēlix nods, thoughtful. "True enough. But curiosity is a powerful thing."

"I have my moments," you admit with a wry smile. "that's why you're friends with me, remember?"

"Oh no, I'm just here for the retelling of your spicy, passionate sex life." He chuckles in fake exaggeration before he sits beside you on the edge of the fountain. The water sparkles under the dream sky, casting shimmering reflections on both of you. "How's real life treating you?" he asks, voice falling gentle once more.

"Real life's... real," you say with a sigh. "Nothing magical about it."

"Then let's make this moment count," he suggests, holding up his half-eaten peach like a toast.

You touch your own peach against his and take a bite, savoring the sweetness that seems more intense here in the Dreaming.

As you savor the last bits of the peach's sweetness, Fēlix suddenly glances over his shoulder, his golden compass glowing a bit brighter. "Duty calls," he says, standing up with a reluctant sigh. "Dreamers need their luck."

"Of course," you say, watching him float away with a wave. His presence always feels like sunshine, even in the Dreaming's twilight. Looking down at your eaten peach, you watch in satisfaction as the pit dissolves in your fingers and golden sand floats up, only to disappear. Oh how you loved the magic of this realm!

You wander through the market, letting the surreal scenery of the Dreaming envelop you. Stalls burst with colors you can't name and scents that tug at long-forgotten memories. It never ceases to amaze you how vibrant and alive this place is. You pass by a quaint bed and breakfast nestled between two towering dreamscapes. The sign reads "The Slumbering Sanctuary." It's a cozy, ivy-covered building that radiates warmth. You hear commotion inside and decide to peek in.

"Help! Someone, please!"

You step inside to find a flurry of activity. Dreams shaped like fluttering sheets of parchment dart around, their faces etched with worry as they fret to and fro. You haven't seen such panicked dreams in ages.

"What's going on?" you ask one of them, who looks particularly harried.

"Oh, it's a disaster!" the dream exclaims, nearly colliding with you as it flits by, it's sheet billowing and wafting a pleasant scent of detergent. Freshly showered it seems. "We have a large number of guests arriving soon—more than we've ever had! And we're terribly understaffed because of the recent surge in mortal dreams."

You can see the chaos: beds unmade, tables unset, and dream dust settling on everything. The master of the realm had been gone for so long that the workload and bookings had slowed down to the point of no business. Now that the realm is thriving once more, the dreams look frazzled and overworked.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" you offer.

The flustered sheet pauses for a moment, considering your words. Then the edges of it's sheet begins to flap excitedly. "That would be wonderful! Could you help us prepare the rooms? We're so behind schedule."

"Of course," you say, rolling up your sleeves—well, metaphorically speaking since you're in the Dreaming and the clothes you wear have no sleeves. "Just point and I'll take care of it."

You dive into the whirlwind of activity, your hands busy smoothing bedspreads and fluffing pillows. The sheets whisper against your skin as you tuck them in, and the dream dust glows faintly in the soft light filtering through the windows.

"Thank you, thank you," one of the parchment-like dreams flutters around you, clearly relieved. "The guests will be here any moment."

"No problem," you reply, straightening up and surveying your work with satisfaction. "Just happy to help."

You move to the next room, your thoughts wandering to your dream lover. You wonder where he is tonight, what duties might be keeping him away from you. As you finish adjusting the final pillow, a soft breeze rustles through the room, carrying with it a familiar scent.

Before you can turn around, strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into the linen closet adjacent to the room. The door clicks shut behind you, plunging you into darkness.

"You greeted everyone but me, my love," his voice purrs in your ear, a low vibration that sends shivers down your spine.

"Busy night," you manage to say in a pathetic excuse, heart racing as his hands slide up your arms.

His touch sends electric currents through your skin, spreading need to every corner. "Not too busy for you," he murmurs, his voice a deep, resonant hum that vibrates against your ear. "Since you so thoughtfully volunteered yourself.”

You shiver as his hands glide from your arms to your wrists, capturing them gently but firmly. He raises one of your hands to his lips, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His lips part slightly, and you gasp when his tongue flicks out, tracing the line of dried peach juice from your wrist.

The sensation is intoxicating. His tongue is soft but insistent, each stroke sending ripples of pleasure through you. He moves slowly, savoring every taste, as if the juice were a rare nectar. Your knees weaken as he works his way up from your wrist to the tips of your fingers.

When he reaches your fingertips, he takes each one into his mouth, sucking gently before releasing them with a soft pop. "You taste divine," he whispers against your skin, the words vibrating through you like a caress.

Your breath hitches as he moves to your other wrist, repeating the ritual with the same deliberate slowness. The darkness of the linen closet amplifies every touch, every sensation. His tongue dances along your skin, tracing patterns that make you dizzy with desire.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the feeling. His hands continue to roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour with a familiarity that makes you feel both vulnerable and cherished.

When he finally releases your wrists, you're trembling. You can feel his breath against your neck now, warm and inviting. "I missed you," he says softly, and there's an edge to his voice that makes your pulse quicken even more. His words were so weak, vulnerable even, yet filled with longing.

You open your mouth to respond but find that words have abandoned you. Instead, you reach out in the darkness, finding his face by touch alone. Your fingers trace the sharp lines of his jaw, the softness of his lips.

He captures one of your hands again, bringing it to his mouth to kiss each fingertip tenderly. "Let's not waste any more time," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands slide under your shirt, the heat of his palms igniting a fire on your skin. Each touch is deliberate, a slow exploration that leaves you breathless. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours in the confined space of the linen closet. The scent of him surrounds you, a heady mix of earth and something darker, more primal.

His lips find your neck, and you tilt your head back to give him better access. He kisses a path from your collarbone to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You shudder, fingers gripping his shoulders for support as he continues his assault on your senses.

You feel his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs your name, the sound of it dripping like ecstasy. His hands move higher, fingers grazing the edge of your bra before slipping beneath it. You arch into his touch, craving more of the electric connection between you.

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that leaves you dizzy. His tongue explores your mouth, tasting and teasing until you're gasping for breath. You respond with equal fervor, hands tangling in his hair as you pull him closer.

His hands continue their journey beneath your clothing, tracing patterns on your skin that make you ache with need. When he finally cups your breasts, you moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss. His thumbs circle your nipples through the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

You can feel his desire pressing against you, hard and insistent. It mirrors your own longing, a need that has been building with every touch, every kiss. You break away from his mouth just long enough to catch your breath before diving back in, kissing him with a hunger that surprises even you.

You melt into his kiss, every nerve in your body electrified by his touch. His hands continue to explore, mapping out the contours of your body with a reverence that makes your heart ache. You lose yourself in the sensation, in the heat and darkness and the overwhelming need that pulses between you.

Time loses meaning in the Dreaming, each moment stretching out like a ribbon of desire. His kisses become more urgent, more insistent, and you respond with equal fervor. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you.

But all too soon, the edges of your reality start to blur. You can feel the pull of the waking world, like a distant tug at the back of your mind. You break away from his mouth with a gasp, your forehead resting against his as you struggle to catch your breath.

"I don't want to wake up," you whisper, your voice tinged with desperation. "I want to stay here with you."

His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that have begun to fall. "You have to wake up, Kora," he says softly, his voice filled with a sorrow that mirrors your own. "You are mortal. You have a life to live in the waking world."

You shake your head, pressing closer to him as if that could somehow anchor you here in the Dreaming. "But I'm only truly happy here," you confess. "The waking world is so... empty without you."

He kisses your forehead, a tender gesture that sends a fresh wave of longing through you. "I know," he murmurs against your skin. "But you have responsibilities there. People who care about you."

You close your eyes, trying to hold onto this moment for just a little longer. The scent of him surrounds you, grounding you even as reality begins to intrude. "I wish I could stay," you say softly.

"So do I," he replies, his voice heavy with regret. "But we will always have our nights together."

The room around you starts to dissolve, the dreamscape fading into the harsh light of morning. You cling to him for one last moment, memorizing the feel of his arms around you.

"I'll be waiting for you," he whispers as the world around you shifts and changes.

And then you're awake, lying in your bed with the morning light streaming through the window. The familiar ache of longing settles in your chest as reality crashes down around you.

Another day in the waking world begins, but all you can think about is returning to him tonight.

Date Published: 9/20/24

Last Edit: 9/20/24

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[kukurubean]

personal update

Hi! Hello! I'm sorry I haven't been very personable lately. A lot of you probably know I have been struggling with my health. Which has been going on for. nearly 5 years now. And I've just steadily gotten worse and worse, lol,

Anyway. I wanted to post an update to say I may have finally hit a breakthrough. 🥲🤞

I have some sort of fun wombo-combo of about 3 or 4 conditions trying to destroy me all at once, so every treatment I've tried (which isn't actually a lot, since there are no real treatments for what I have and most doctors don't want to deal with it) has done nothing and I have also been to just about every kind of medical specialist under the sun. I still get nightmares over the disaster that was traveling all the way to Mayo Clinic and I've been trying to pick up the pieces ever since.

My main doctor right now is a rheumatologist who I think I haunt at night. I've stumped him for what seems like the first time in his life. But he's trying harder than anyone else I've had before. Everyone else sent me away at this point lol

But this update comes after I had a "fuck it" moment and decided to once again apply to the big hospital nearby, because apparently I am somehow on their roster after being rejected over and over for several years now 🤪 (I think it's because of an echocardiogram I did on one of their campuses.)

Anywho, we managed to find a doctor willing to prescribe me a drug could help me feel human again. I've been to about 3 neurologists over this nonsense and no one was willing to jump through the hoops for it because it is, admittedly, an absolute pain in the ass to prescribe. It's called Xywav and it's not only a highly controlled substance but also the only damn drug of its type on the market. So you can only imagine the gerrymandering.

He's sending me to another doctor first, just to see if this other guy can offer any insight into wtf is wrong with me, but if he doesn't suggest anything else I should finally be on track to try it! I obviously don't know if it will work for me but it's the only decent bet I have left. If it doesn't work I am going to cry for about 3 months straight so please help me manifest this

[cowboylikemiaaa]

i’m only five chapters in to ruthless vows and i can already tell this is going to be like mockingjay peeta and katniss

and i’m not mentally or emotionally prepared

[morallyambigous]

it has been literal YEARS since I read the shadow hunter books and i am STILL not over the incest jace-clary storyline. besties it isn’t even the grossness of it all it’s the fact that 1) they just believed the evil, pathological bad guy who would do anything to destroy them and 2) how literally easy it is to disprove the incest theory. CATARINA LOSS LITERALLY WORKED IN A HOSPITAL just get her to do a damn DNA test and whoop oh my god look how easy it was they weren’t siblings. still drives me nuts to this day. WHY WOULD YOU JUST WITHOUT QUESTION BELIEVE YOUR EVIL DAD???? WHY WOULD YOU DO ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO TEST THIS THEORY????? 

[always-andromeda]

Lmao doing another vent in the tags because whoo we love oversharing online.

TW for abuse mentions.

[magnoliamyrrh]

sorry but it drives me insane that a bunch of french men with the egos bigger than their tower and a whole lotta french pedophiles got together with the fuckin c i a and ivly league schools and. now. today. this. THIS is the state of the "liberal leftist" west. and you got "commies" who pretend to eat the manifesto for breakfast but who think "swerfs" exist. its like a really, really, really, Really bad joke which doesnt stop and which is real

[cohozuna]

i had such a horrible awful dream earlier i hate the nightmares that force me to reflect on my psychological state n shit its just not right. really not good.

[anistarrose]

I'd like to propose a dark horse candidate for the most interesting line in The Book of Bill. And it's this near-unreadable, seemingly one-off joke from the "Skin" page:

[ID: tiny text reading: "Help! This is not Bill Cipher. My name is Grebley Hemberdreck of Zimtrex 5. I'm one of thousands of beings Bill has devoured over trillions of years whose souls are now trapped inside him. You have to free me! It's horrible in here. He just keeps playing the song "Good Vibrations" by Marky Mark on an endless loop. Please, please, this is not a joke! The Zimtrexians were once a proud and mighty people, but now our spirits long for release from this..." End ID.]

Okay, so Bill devours souls who then live out a horrible existence inside him. That's just some typical and expected Bill behavior, right? Nothing to be shocked by? Maybe not, but one thing jumps out at me... and of all things, it's the way that Bill keeps playing that Beach Boys parody (correction provided by @fexalted: no, not in fact a Smiley Smile parody, but a real song!) on loop.

Because in The Book of Bill, there's a recurring motif of characters playing music for a very specific reason: to repel an unwanted presence inside their head. This is what Elias Inkwell, and later Ford, did with the "It's A Small World" parody — they tried to keep Bill out of their brains. Or, metaphorically... to drown out his voice.

[ID: a Journal 3 page with a cassette taped inside. It's titled: "The World Is Small Ever After for Always." Ford writes: "If it's war you want, it's war you'll get! If you want to torture me? I'll torture you back!" End ID.]

That doesn't necessarily mean that Bill finds the voices of devoured souls to be troubling, let alone downright haunting, does it? Well... not quite on its own. But there's a "color" code on the page about TV static that says a lot:

[ID: a code consisting of colorful squares, translated to letters that spell out: "he never sleeps he never dreams but somehow still he hears their screams." End ID] (screenshot courtesy of @fexiled)

The context of the page implies these "screams" come to Bill especially when he listens to TV static, and the broader context of the book implies that these are the screams of his destroyed home dimension, Euclydia. Therefore, not necessarily those of the souls he devoured, from Zimtrex 5 and possibly other dimensions.

Except... do those two things really have to be mutually exclusive?

The beings that Bill devoured were accumulated over "trillions" of years, plural, according to Grebley. In Weirdmageddon 1, Bill claims to have resided in the Nightmare Realm for precisely "one trillion" years. So the "devouring" habit probably extends back even further than his time in the Nightmare Realm...

Enter @acetyzias, pointing out a very conspicuous word — and one of the only uncensored words — from Bill's description of destroying his home dimension:

[ID: the word "mandibles". End ID.]

Oh, and how does Bill describe the "monster" that destroyed his home to Ford, when Ford asks about revenge?

[ID: Journal excerpt reading: "Sixer, it would eat you alive." End ID.]

For a long time, Bill's destruction of his home has been associated with fire, even when the story's told by Bill himself. But through the way the book characterizes Bill's guilt — and characterizes how the consequences of what he's done remain lurking deep inside him — I think The Book of Bill lays out the hints for another motif: devouring.

And, well, when it comes to how Bill destroys things... it wouldn't be without precedent.

[ID: screenshot of Bill in Weirdmageddon 3, taking a bite out of the Earth. End ID.]

[nemesyaaa]

ASYLUM AU ! dark!patient!rafe x new!nurse!reader

summary ; everybody warned you about this patient, but you wanted to give him a chance as the new little nurse of the asylum. you just have to feed him nothing more, how can it turn bad ? or maybe your deep hidden secret was that you expected this... ? to be alone for some minutes with him.

warnings : dark content. knife play. violence. smut. sick behavior. mentions of threats. asylum place. mean!rafe. oral (m.receiving.). fear enthousiast. mentions of spit. dubcon. manipulation. agressive behavior. choking. size kink. slight of corruption. rafe being a menace as always.minors DNI. be careful with the warnings. maybe some mistakes too, i'm too dumb.

author's note : i wrote this with a big headache so please, it's maybe a little shitty and i'm sorry. this is strongly inspired by the show " ratched " and not the season of ahs. ngl at first, i wanted to make a mildred!reader but with rafe, it's a bit complicated. anyways !

“i don’t think it’s a good idea to send y/n to deal with rafe. she's still new in the asylum....and rafe? you know how he is, it's not a secret. . he could hurt her. ” said the man who worked with you and obviously who had a crush on you. you didn’t know if it was jealousy or a real sign of affection.

you had arrived at the asylum a week ago, and everyone had been nice to you, the patients and the workers. that's why you were very intrigued by rafe, because you knew he had a difficult connection with all the people here, and only a strict set of people could interact with him. you wanted to know more about him so badly because of the mystery around him. and maybe you were curious about what he looked like after what everyone was saying about this guy.

“shut up, man ! i think it’s a very good idea. ” your colleague said, discreetly giving you a knife, with a smile on her face.

“is he that dangerous? ” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

“you’re so innocent, y/n! ”

“i’m not. it's just that i don't understand the use of this knife. there is enough security i think. ”

nevermind, you were definitely ready. you had waited for this day since you arrived here. it was annoying to see everyone treating you like a baby and making you sit there doing nothing or like an intern giving you the worst chores.

“believe me, you’ll need it. it’s an asylum, everyone’s mad, and you know what? this one guy. " she whispered so close to your ear. "he's the worst of all." and she was gone, leaving you with a nice shiver in your stressed body.

you should hate this place, the nightmares and the problems that haunted these walls. but that's exactly what you came for, ever since you were heard that rafe cameron had been interned in this place, you had done everything to be transferred there he had killed an incalculable number of people, without mercy, without remorse, without regrets and what killed all these people, this sentence. this sadness, made you so curious.

how could a man be so cold and cruel? you needed to know it, see it and feel it.

but you finally saw the light. you had hidden the knife in your lace garter underneath your pretty blue nurse uniform. it was quite short, the skirt going up just below your butt, it was as indecent as it was seductive.

you had to go through several back doors, and deal with security. the guard had given you some advice, and asked you to be careful. you replied politely “can you leave me alone with my patient? i wish it were both of us so as not to rush him. you know he's already in a lot of pain, he's very mad. you don't want to make his situation worse, do you? i ask for the respect of his privacy. ” you had convinced him with your devotion, and kind smile. and you had entered the devil's room without really knowing what you were getting yourself into.

“another new girl? ” a deep, masculine voice had said through the bars of a cell, you could hear the ringing of handcuffs.

“you gotta love scaring them away, rafe cameron. ”

“wrong, sweetheart but nice try. i prefer when they stay. it's more fun when they realize they're stuck with me. ”

“do you realize how sick you are, rafe? ” you allowed yourself to be familiar with him while gathering his meal out of the cart to bring to him.

“you’ll be the one to tell me, y/n. after all, that’s what you’re here for. ” he had no shame, no restraint, and you could feel that he was trying to make you lose control, to upset you, to get on your nerves, and to make you crazy. he was just testing you.

“how do you know my first name? ”

“oh i think your boyfriend likes to say your name a lot when he comes to see me. ”

“i don’t have a boyfriend. ”

you approached to finally discover his face. you expected a monster, a misshapen man, a dark creature but it was none of that. he was a boy with a charming face, a neat hairstyle, and magnificent features. he looked so good physically but you also knew that mental illnesses couldn't be seen on someone's face. but it was as if his own beauty romanticized his perfect madness. reconnecting with reality, you glared away.

“open your mouth. ” you ordered.

with such a sick smile, he replied. “ i really love when my little nurses come to feed me. don't make me waste anything. there's nothing i can't eat here. ” he responded while looking at you, his eyes scanning you, from your breasts compressed in your uniform, to the tiny dress who covered your quivering body.

“i can remove your handcuffs if you promise to behave.”

“ what else, sweetheart? you're the boss, here. ”

“promise me. ”

“you really want to trust me? i wouldn't do that in your place. ” you could tell he was clearly having fun with you. that the more you wasted your time, the more he gained.

“promise me. ”

“ promised. ” he responded gently but there was something so wrong, so bad in his voice.

you had undone him from his handcuffs, and he had grabbed you, holding your body harshly against the bar. you felt pain when your back crushed the cold metal. his hand had circled your neck, completely locking it with his fingers.

“sorry sweetheart, i’m really not good at keeping my promises. and i can't keep my hands to myself with such a beautiful girl in my company, that would be disrespectful, don't you think? don't look at me with those eyes, you wished for it. i can even say that you manifested it because i can't believe you're that stupid or maybe you are. but in this case, let me make you even more senseless. ”

you were short of air and rafe had noticed. you wondered if he was going to kill you, but you remembered that he liked to play. in a false movement, you dropped your knife.

“it’s your lucky day! you won't be the only toy in the party, doll. ”

he had removed his hand from your mouth and while you were trying to catch your breath, he had picked up the knife. he had hooked one of your hands to the bars with the handcuffs. there were tears on your cheeks when the object approached your arm.

“you know you would be even prettier if you let me draw a smile on your face? ”

you shook your head to defend him from doing that. you didn’t want him to hurt you, or feel that sharp thing on you.

“can i give you a new haircut then? wouldn't you like to have shorter hair? don't make those eyes, this knife must be useful to us. your body is betraying you, you should hate it for giving me so many bad ideas. ”

he had cut the buttons of your dress with the knife, revealing your bra with the smooth, shiny surface. “ such a gorgeous thing with pretty parts. he had dragged your uniform to the floor. “you have pretty eyes, too bad they hate me so much. ”

you turned your head when he tried to lick your face, but he didn’t like it. he had violently grabbed your jaw, slamming it against the metal iron, and forcing you to look at him. “i really tried to be nice....ok no, maybe i'm lying, i never tried to be nice to you but i was patient. and now i’m pissed. and guess who's going to have to fix it?”

he licked the side of your cheek, before biting the corner of your mouth, his teeth sunk in your bottom lip. while he sucked his favorite part of your face, he slided his tongue in you, making a rough contact with your throat, his saliva mixed with yours. you moaned against him, freaking out when a bead of blood came out in your widen drippin slit. “ swallow it, sweetheart. 's not gonna kill you. ”. he kissed you intensely, forcing you to swallow the blood and the spit that dropped in your moth, his hand around your hips, pressing his fingers into your skin. he loved to watch the fear in your glossy eyes, watching the fall of your boundaries because of him. you were so nervous, shaking with tense.

“ get on your fucking knees, doll. do something good for me, only once in your fucking useless life.”

surely because of his firm tone and his temperament but above all because of the knife at your throat that threatened you, you had listened to him. you were facing his boner. “i think you’ve already done that. you just have to do it again with me. ” with a speed that had terrified you, he had squeezed your cheeks in his hand, digging them with his fingers. “be careful, sweetheart. i'm not as nice as your boyfriend, dare to put your teeth in, even if it's just a molar, and i can promise you that i would also allow myself to damage you. so, if you want to keep that face intact, you know what you have to do. ”

“ you hurt me!”

“yes, and i love it, doll. the more you complain, the more i will do it.”

suddenly tired of your stupidities, he forced your hands to unzip his pants, and remove his boxers. he was huge. not your usual type. he had opened your mouth which you refused to open with the knife. “try to bite me, and it will be worse. ”

he had pushed his hard cock into your mouth, and without waiting, started making you suck. his large cock occupied your tongue, you breathed hard as he shoved every inch deep, his hand was wrapped around your hair in a brutal grip, tugging fiercely every time you tried to take a break. but the rythm was unbearable, his slippery leaking tip was hitting the back of your throat, and his bulge seemed to grow every time you took him in your mouth. you could feel the drool dripping around his cock, the way your saliva pooled. your lips were swollen and wet, completely abused. his balls sopping wet with your spittle, lazily slapping in a pornographic sound. your mascara was running, your eyes were twinkling.

you could hear him enjoying the show of your downfall because he was the only master of it, his grunts becoming one of the sounds in the room, along with your muffled cries, the smack of his balls in the air, the dull buzzing in your head. everything was happening so fast. “stop. ” he had removed his fat length from your mouth, pressed the tip against your tears before making you suck again. “is my dick better with your flavor, sweetheart? ” you didn’t know if you really hated him. the thing that disgusted you about him, this madness, this attitude, also excited you. you felt strongly giddy.

your panties were immerged, the wetness flowed between your thighs. “ you're supposed to take care of me, but it looks like you need someone to take care of you. ”

you sucked back and forth, your tongue rolled on his big girth. he was painfully hard, and your throat started to hurts. he pushed himself deeper in your mouth, smirking everytime you were about to pass out. when he had finally had enough, he pulled back, taking his penis in his hands, you had chased the trickle of drool between the two of you and sniffling. your cheeks were wet with tears and saliva, everything was mixed in a mess. “ look like your sick patient is feeding you, how do you feel about this, little nurse ? what about your job ? too bad, there are no cameras here, but also pretty lucky for the two of us, nobody can disturb. but soon, the guard security’s gonna check on you because they care a lot about your safety. but i'm curious now, what they will think if they found you without your uniform, but mostly, what will they think about me inside their favorite little nurse ? especially, your sweet boyfriend. it would be so disappointed to see the one he love is not interested because she prefered to be fucked by his ennemy. seems like, you can hurt a lot of people too, sweetheart. ”

you understood why he was locked up differently from the others. he was so manipulative. but also aggressive. he had torn your underwear with the knife. you shivered as you felt the cold metal surface on your skin. you were literally scared, your pulse had accelerated, your breathing too. you weren't a fan of knives but the problem was that the more afraid you were, the more you motivated him to want to hurt you.

“relax” he had said as he placed the knife back against your collarbones, pressing it against your bone. then slided it down your neck, the metal tip lightly stinging your skin. “you know i can’t kill you, doll. i can only torture you. “

that didn't reassure you at all, you preferred that he killed you. as if he had read your mind, he replied. “you should be more scared of what i can do to you than what the knife could. i will hurt you better. ”

he had moved the knife to your stomach, then to your wet pussy. “there’s more than just fear from what i see. and you can't deny it. " he continued, sliding the sharp object at your entrance.

“ please, rafe ! not in…i-i-i-m begging you ! ”

“ you beg ? so sweet. but do you know what ? i don't care, honey. ”

“ you…i'm sure…i mean, you're not that sick ! please…”

“ if you say please once again, i'm pretty sure i can cum between your legs. ”

the tip of his knife had caressed the inside of your sloppy cunt. “don’t worry, i won’t go any further. ” he withdrew the knife, and licked the blade. “i fear, everything is sweet about you, pretty nurse. now, spread those legs for me. ”

“we can't do that, the guard is right next door! he can hear everything and imagine if he comes” you started to panic. with a mocking tone, he replied “for the time, i can handle it but for the noise, it's on you, sweetheart. do you think you can do that ? don't answer, i don't fucking care at all because i will fuck you in any case. ”

“you shouldn't do that, it's really bad, you might regret it! ” you tried to stop him, but the knife hit your throat. “don't try to escape something that's going to happen, it's a waste of time. and i hate it. ” he lost his patience and opened your legs with one hand, she was big and strong enough to control you on her own. he had slightly moistened his cock before going inside of you.

“ one move, one scream or one fucking bite and i will rip your throat, got it ? ”

you nodded, and his thrusts started to get rougher, he pounded you deep in your stupid little cunt, hitting the spot with no mercy. you wanted to shout but the knife was clearly too close to do anything stupid. you bitten your own lips, a drop of blood dripped in your mouth. he smacked your ass a couple of times to the point you felt the bruises and the pain quickly. his teeth were on your shoulder, leaving marks. it was painful, but you don't wanted to be a crybaby. you held back your tears, while he crushed you against the metal.

he stretched you to your limits and you barely held back a cry. he smiled before covering your mouth with your underwear. his body was sweaty, you could see the sweat sheen his body. your body slammed against his, and against the bar. he had pushed your thong between your lips but also his fingers which you sucked with enormous devotion, you licked every inch of his skin, you covered them with drool, you made them completely soaked. he eventually added a lot of his spit. you must have looked like nothing at all. you were even less credible in your role of nurse. he was no more groans as he reached your first orgasm, but more desperate whispers, quick back and forth in your uncontrollably leaked swollen cunt, as his eyes were all over your face. his dick was harder because of seeing you with his fingers and your panties stuffing perfectly your slutty mouth.

he lifted up your leg to watch himself getting buried inside your walls. “ i'm afraid that now you can't deny that this pussy is mine. ” he said, removing your thong from your mouth.

“ i'm not y-yours...rafe ! ”

“ i fear it will be against your will then, sweetheart because your fucking cunt really like me. ”

he grabbed your face, forced you to look at your messy part. “ still deny, fucking slut ? you really want me to pull that knife inside. ”

again, you shook your head.

“say it. you know your words. ”

“this pussy is yours, only yours! ”

he plowed you for a long moment, and you can't even think anymore. you were too dumb, too dizzy. your head spinned, and your body only moved because of him pounding retlessenly. you squirted a lot, you splashed a little on him but it was nothing unlike him. when he came, it had gushed into your pussy, the thick and white loads filled you, while his sweaty and heavy balls emptied inside you.

“ sweetheart, you're really my favorite nurse. don't forget to tell the director how mean i was to you. ”

“ why did you cum in me ? ”

“ for any inconveniences, you can tell the director. she will be glad to know how i fuck all her little nurses. and you're not an exception. ”

“ what if i'm pregnant ? ”

“ you're so naive. pregnant or not, nobody's gonna forgive you for that sin. ”

“ i'm leaving. ”

“ don't forget the knife, you know how to play with it now. ”

“ i hope you will stay here forever.”

“ you can pray for it, sweetheart but i fear god doesn't listen to sinners. ”

i wanted to tysm @dark-fics-4-you and @bunnyrafe for helped me with this one. <333

[celiastjamesoscar]

Night Shift

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader. Sam x reporter!reader

Summary: Sam blamed you for the 2022 attacks, she blamed you for everything. But guilt drives people into blindness, and Sam eventually finds herself seeking your comfort.

AN: this is the longest fic I’ve ever written, so I apologize if at times it seems redundant. Based off of this request!

Warnings: angst, slight cursing, mentions of past drug addiction, small part of canon typical Scream violence, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of alcoholism, Tara is a little shit. Let me know if I missed anything!

My Masterlist

Word Count: 18.0K

Nothing. That’s all you could think about as you listened to the sound of Tara’s heartbeat monitor. This was your fault. You were the reason Tara was now in the hospital with multiple stab wounds and a broken leg. If only you had gotten to her house sooner, she wouldn’t be in this position. All your friends tried to tell you it wasn’t your fault, that you had no idea some dipshit in a mask was going to attack her, but you knew better.

You were only nine when it happened, but you could still feel the sharp pain of Jill Roberts’ knife plunging deep inside of your abdomen. Sometimes, you swore you could still hear her black combat boots sneaking around on the wooden floor, and the only thing that would play throughout your mind was the sweet release of not having to look over your shoulder at every sound.

The sound of Tara’s heartbeat monitor increasing in speed pulled you out of your thoughts. “Hey, Tara. It’s alright,” you whispered to the sleeping girl, but you got no response. Her heartbeat monitor began peeping so rapidly, that your own heartbeat began thumping in your ears, and it eventually blocked out Tara’s.

Your heartbeat echoed throughout your ears as it continued its rapid pace of 150 beats per minute. You had no idea why you were anxious, but then your surroundings suddenly changed. You were no longer in the monotone gray walls of a hospital, but you now found yourself in Tara’s kitchen. The smaller girl was no longer in her hospital gown; she now wore a pink long sleeve shirt and jeans, and you instantly knew where this was going.

You tried to scream, but no sound left your throat as you watched Tara answer that dreaded phone call. The pounding in your ears continued as you began to sweat and frantically tried to move, but your feet were glued to the floor; no matter how hard you tried to move, you simply could not compel your body to move. You watched as Tara fought against Ghostface, and just like every night, you watched as Ghostface plunged his knife deep into Tara’s stomach. Over and over again.

But unlike the real events that conspired, you couldn’t save Tara. In this version, you watched as Tara bled out onto the floor, her crimson red blood staining the nicely wooded flooring. Her screams were the only thing that drowned out your heartbeat, and you begged it to stop.

“Y/N! Y/N, help me!” Tara cried out in a broken voice as blood now began to seep from her mouth as she tried to crawl toward you, but Ghostface stopped her. In a single motion, he leaned down to Tara and pulled her up by her hair, and slit her throat. When he stood up, you were met with those haunting hollowed out eyes, and when you blinked, the mask was gone.

Jill Roberts stood before you with murderous eyes as she slowly started to advance toward you. You tried to walk backward, but your feet wouldn’t move. Jill was not an arms length away, and you noticed the beautiful glint of light that reflected off the blood as she brought it down in a single motion.

Before the knife could sink into your chest, you were being shaken away. “Y/N. Get up; you’re having a nightmare,” the rough voice of Sam Carpenter stated as she awoke you from your nightmare.

Your eyes instantly shot up as you leaned up from the couch, checking your surroundings. “Oh, thank you,” you weakly replied as Sam let go of your shoulders and walked away from you, not giving you a response. Sam noticed the sweat that lined your forehead and caused some of your hair to stick to your face, but she didn’t care. Why would she care about someone that ruined her life?

Technically, it wasn’t your fault, but it was easier for Sam to blame you for what happened and she liked having it that way. It was her own fucked up way of keeping you at arms length while also always keeping an eye on you.

You checked your surroundings again and you were grateful that you were in your home and not that dreaded house that Tara used to live in. You had fallen asleep at some point on the couch and you left the TV running while your homework was spread out on the coffee table in front of you. You had gained a terrible habit of staying up until ungodly hours while trying to cram in information for your exams.

You groaned while standing up from the couch and you checked the time, 11:30 pm. If Sam was still here, that meant the rest of the girls were here as well, and you dreaded the thought of being around them. That was the worst part about living with Anika; you were constantly around the people that despised you. ‘People’ as in just Sam, but you liked to make it plural for the dramatic effect.

With a sigh, you grudgingly left the living room and went into the backyard, where a fire was going with the group huddled around it while sitting on hay bales. “Good morning, Y/N,” Tara teased with a gentle smile while scooting over on her hay bale, inviting you to sit next to her. “Yeah right,” you mumbled as you sat down next to the girl, ignoring the glance Sam threw at you, “What are you guys doing out here? It’s starting to get cold.”

“We were talking shit about you, but now we can’t do that with you out here,” Mindy joked as she rested her head on Anika’s shoulder. You and Mindy had a special ‘situationship’ going on for a while, but you two ended on good terms and occasionally picked on each other. “I hope it was good then,” you replied with a smile and Mindy nodded her head.

The conversation around the fire was an ideal one as you caught up with the group about any gossip you might have missed while you were asleep. Nothing sparked your interest too much, not until Tara mentioned Sam having a boyfriend.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Sam dryly stated as she stared down her younger sister, “We’re just friends, that’s all.”

“You have been saying that for months, Sam! All you two do is check each other out but you never talk! You have to give this guy a chance!” Tara exclaimed and you felt an unwarranted feeling of jealousy shoot throughout your chest. “What guy are you guys talking about?” You asked, starting to get more involved with the current conversion.

“This guy that has been after Sam’s heart ever since we moved here,” Tara casually remarked as she grabbed a stick and poked around the fire; the little shit had a thing for a fire.

You could feel Sam’s eyes burning into the side of your head as you racked Tara’s words around in your head. Sure, Sam was old enough to make decisions for herself, but the thought of her actually being with someone other than you makes you sick to your stomach. And just like the masochist you were, you had to ask Sam about it. “So why don’t you talk to him?”

Sam huffed, clearly annoyed by the fact that you, of all people, would ask her about her love life. “Why? So you can go and tell Gale about it? No thanks,” she dryly stated with a roll of her eyes.

“Hey, you little shit, that wasn’t Y/N! I’ve told you that before,” Tara defended as she comfortably put a hand on your knee, “And even if she did, I support her wrongs.”

“Tara, you’re not helping,” you whispered with a small, awkward laugh. A small groan left Sam’s lips as she stood up from the fire, “I’m going inside,” she said while walking toward the door to the house.

Once she was inside, Tara broke the tension, “I’m sorry she’s like that, Y/N. She doesn’t want to accept the truth.” The comfort from Tara was nice, it actually made you feel like someone at least cared for you that had the last name of Carpenter.

“It’s okay, no need to apologize on her behalf. I get it,” you said with a weak smile as you hid your pain. It was a stupid feeling: pain. You owed Sam nothing, but you still couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt run through your body every time you saw the woman.

“So, Y/N, what’s it like fumbling an amazing woman like me?” Mindy playfully asked, her own way of trying to lighten the tense mood that had settled around the fire, “I need Anika to know how special I am.”

It was a shitty attempt, but it still put a smile on your face. “Mindy once got in a revolving door,” you said with a laugh, “she was in it for a solid 5 minutes.”

“Blasphemy!” Mindy shouted as she quickly stood up from her hay bale, “It was one minute and you didn’t help at all! And you let Tara record it!”

“Oh my god, I need to find that video,” Tara butted in as she pulled out her phone, quickly trying to find the video while Mindy tried to steal the phone from her.

It was small moments like these that you enjoyed with the group; moments were everyone was happy and they could forgot about their fucked up pasts. Those moments were rare, but you cherished them like they were your life support.

As time dragged on and the night got colder, everyone outside called it quits. Well, at least on being outside.

“Hurry up, Gizmo, I’m freezing,” Mindy joked as she walked behind Tara, almost stepping on the girl’s shoes. “Don’t call me a gremlin,” the shorter girl shot back with a glare as she approached the back door to your house, “apologize and I’ll open it.”

“Fuck you,” Mindy retorted as she made a move for the door, bud Tara was quick to react as she kicked one of Mindy’s shins.

“Apologize.”

“No.”

Several beats of silence pass by as you and Anika watch a stare down between the two friends before Mindy inevitably sighs with defeat. “Alright fine, I’m sorry I called Gizmo. You aren’t a gremlin, more like a fun sized Lord Farquaad,” Mindy said, trailing off toward the end of her sentence.

“Hey, hey! Stop it!” You exclaimed, quickly catching Tara’s fist that was inches away from connecting Mindy’s face.

You were too busy trying to keep Tara from ripping into Mindy that you didn’t notice Sam opening up the door until she spoke. “What the hell are you doing to my sister?”

The position you found yourself in was an uncomfortable one, to say the least. You were holding Tara from behind, with your arms holding the smaller girl’s ones back.

“Mind your business, Sam,” Tara stated in a strained voice, trying to get hold out of your tight hold, “this is between me and Mindy.”

Her sister’s words didn’t seem to phase Sam at all, as the older sister couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of you. The way you had your hands on her sister made her blood boil. Deep down she knew that you would never hurt Tara, but that didn’t stop the over growing feeling of protectiveness come through.

In a single motion, Sam stopped out of the house and gripped your bicep with her right left hand. When you looked down, you could see her veins in her hands as her grip tightened, and if you didn’t know any better, you would say that was trying to flex as well.

“Let her go,” Sam demanded, leaving zero room for arguing. So, you shrugged your shoulders and let go, not caring to warn Sam about the can of whoopass her sister was about to unleash on Mindy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She was like a tiger! A short-legged one with asthma, but a Tiger!” Mindy cried into her phone, telling her brother about her vicious fight with Tara. Honestly, it was impressive how quickly Tara moved to latch onto Mindy, but even more impressive how surprisingly strong she was. The wounds that Mindy sustained weren’t anything terrible; a small cut on her cheek and a busted lip, but nothing was hurt more than her ego.

“You asked for it,” Anika commented, but then gave Mindy a quick kiss for the look she received. You chuckled at the small encounter as you excused yourself from Tara, who had a smug smile on her lips. She knew where you were going, and she didn’t think about warning you that Sam was also there; it was like her own way of playing matchmaker—a shitty matchmaker, but still one nonetheless.

The kitchen was a weird place you found solace in; nothing was special about it. It was where you went when you needed a step back from reality. Another odd thing: Sam also found the same comfort in the kitchen. Maybe it was the quiet nature, or the dim lights that brought comfort, or even perhaps the shitty decorations that littered the walls, but whatever it was, there was a soft comfort.

“Hey,” you said upon entering the kitchen. Sam was leaning against the countertop, arms crossed over her chest as her eyes refused to leave the floor. To anyone else, it would have gone unnoticed, but not with you, not with it involved Sam. You noticed her slightly heavy breathing and the barely visible sweat that glistened her forehead. And when her eyes finally left the floor, you could see nothing but black in her irises.

It took not even a second before Sam finally snapped out of whatever trance she had found herself in and returned to her usual self. Well, about as normal as Sam could be. She quickly wiped the sweat off her forehead and recrossed her arms as she looked at you. “What are you doing in here?” She all but demanded; her eyes seemed never to leave you as she stared you down.

The question was a weird one, as this was your home, but you just chalked it up to Sam's bizarre way of asking, ‘Why are you here with me and not my sister?’

“Hanging out in the kitchen; it’s where I belong,” you said with a smile, and to your surprise, you managed to pull a chuckle from the Latina. It was a quick laugh, but it sounded like angels were singing in your ears, and you would go through hell and back with nothing but the Hamilton soundtrack to keep you busy if it meant hearing that laugh again.

Sam smiled faintly as she spoke, “Yeah, well, I’ve tried your spaghetti before; you don’t belong anywhere near the kitchen. I’m sure they would have sent you into the army and made your husband stay at home.”

“Okay, wow, that one hurt!” You exclaimed with a joking smile as you placed a hand over your heart, pretending to be hurt, “That one dug deep, but bold of you to assume I would have a husband.”

“Bold of you to assume I would care.”

A tense silence filled the air after Sam spoke, but it was a silence you were starting to grow comfortable with. And for the first time in her life, Sam felt terrible for what she said to you. She wanted to apologize for saying she didn’t care about you, but she couldn’t muster up the pride to admit she was wrong. So all she did was look at you sadly and hope you would pick up on it.

“You know, I seriously thought we were having a moment,” you halfheartedly joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It took several seconds before Sam replied, just as you walked out of the kitchen, “Yeah…I don’t really think the whole ‘husband’ thing would work out for me either.”

This comment certainly caught you off guard. “Why is that?” You asked while returning back to the kitchen, clearly interested in what Sam had to say, “Not much of a marriage person?”

Sam shuffled awkwardly on her feet as she uncrossed her arms, gripped the counter behind her, and looked down at the floor. “No, it’s not the marriage part. It’s the man part,” she admitted while slowly looking up at you with the most vulnerable eyes ever. The look she gave you said a thousand words: this was something not even Tara knew about.

Sure, the Carpenter sisters shared everything, but Sam wouldn’t share this. Her attraction toward women was something that further ruined the bond between her and her mother, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let it ruin her relationship with her only family left. Of course, Sam knew about Tara’s relationship with women, especially once she found out about Tara and Amber, but she still couldn’t help the feeling of being afraid to disappoint Tara.

But before you could comfort Sam, before you could tell her that her fears meant nothing and that Tara would still love her, you got interrupted. “Sam! Y/N! Get your asses in here!” Mindy yelled from the living room, “We want to watch this movie with you two!”

Sam quickly got rid of the vulnerability on her face when she heard Mindy’s voice, not wanting to show that kind of weakness to anyone.

“Sam-” you started, but the woman quickly brushed past you, subtly wiping a tear from her eye as she walked into the living room.

Following behind her, you entered the living room and sat at the only open spot on the couch, which was conveniently next to Tara, who had Sam on her other side. “Thank god, I was starting to think you two were fucking in there or something,” Mindy remarked as she grabbed the tv remote, “Let me introduce you guys to the scariest movie on the planet: The Cat in The Hat Live Action!”

The rest of the night was filled with laughter and playful teasing as the hours slowly seeped into the early morning hours. The small banter between Mindy and Tara kept things interesting; Mindy compared Tara to the Things, as Anika tried to keep it peaceful. The stolen glances you shared with Sam had their conversations, and when you went to bed that night, you would consider this night a step in the right direction at changing your relationship with Sam.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One thing Sam hated about working a 9-5 was how inconsiderate most of society can be. It was already a busy day at the cafe, more alive than average, and her nerves were already shot for the next and a half. From people complaining about not getting orders in a short time to people demanding to have their drinks remade, it was a rough day for the older Carpenter.

She had half a mind to tell the next person who complained about their coffee not being proper that it was just coffee; if they wanted it right, they should buy a Keurig and make it themselves. Although that would be funny, it would also end in Sam getting fired, so she just bit her tongue and continued working.

As if her day couldn’t get any worse, you always had a habit of catching Sam at her worst. “Are you stalking me now?” Sam questioned once she saw you approach the front counter.

“Oh yeah. You know me, I can’t get enough of the Carpenter girls,” you said with a smirk as you quickly checked Sam up and down, frowning when you saw a faded coffee stain on her apron. It wasn’t hard to notice the looks Sam got in public, so you could imagine how customers would treat her. If the universe would allow it, you would put Sam in your back pocket and protect her from the rest of the world; God knows that the woman deserves some peace in her life for once.

“For whatever reason, Tara can’t seem to leave you alone,” Sam mumbled as she pulled out a pen and notepad, “What can I get you?”

“Just a small cappuccino, please,” you replied as Sam wrote down your order and took your payment. She liked writing things down, which helped her remember the important stuff. And maybe, in the distant future, she might want to buy you a coffee sometime.

Once you ordered, you went and sat down at a booth by yourself and took in the place: it had indeed calmed down from earlier; only a couple of people remained from the rush hour. You enjoyed the calmness, as it gave you time to observe people. Not in a weird or stalkerish way, but in a way to think about other people’s lives, how these weren’t just random people who had no life. These were people who had dreams, who had family and friends; you enjoyed watching the way the world works around you.

You watched as a man with stress lines on his forehead eagerly type away on his laptop, mouthing every word he typed. How sweat lined his hairline, he could have had a deadline for work that he pushed off until the last minute. You then turned your attention to the girl at the opposite end of the cafe, a book in hand as she wore black headphones over her ears, entranced into the world of fantasy without a care in the world while sporting a soft smile. The world amazed you in ways like that: two completely different people who somehow ended up at the same place at the same time, with different things going on in their lives. Maybe it was fate that brought these two strangers together, and you smiled when you saw them bump into each other before leaving, both wearing a smile and talking about the book she was reading. Maybe that’s what you wished had happened between you and Sam: an accidental meeting somewhere where a good relationship was possible and not this borderline hostile friendship.

A couple of minutes passed before Sam brought over your drink to you. “How late are you working?” You asked once she handed you your drink. The questioning look she gave you was a funny one, but not that it mattered.

“I’m here till 5. Why?”

“Damn, you got a 9 to 5? It looks like I’ll take the night shift,” you joked, but Sam didn’t laugh, only giving you a questioning glare, “Lucy Dacus? No? You’re boring.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not obsessed with three grown women who refer to themselves as ‘boys,’” Sam remarked. She had no desire to learn anything about Boygenius, especially after listening to her sister talk for an hour about all of the unholy things she would let Julien Baker do to her. If Sam was being honest, half of the stuff Tara said deserved at least a ten-year prison sentence.

“But you know who they are,” you said teasingly as you stood up from the booth, “Don’t worry, Sam. You’ll soon grow to appreciate Boygenius. I’ll have Tara fix that.”

“Mhmmm, I’m sure about that,” she mumbled as she returned to the counter, bidding you farewell with a slight nod, not caring to return your toothy smile or wave.

If Sam drove home after her long shift listening to Julien Baker, that was no one’s business but hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Sam got home, she only wanted a nice, hot shower and go to bed. She didn’t even bother to eat dinner, as she didn’t have the energy or care to do so. As she opened the door to her apartment, which seemed heavier than usual, she kicked off her shoes with a sigh as she made her way into her bedroom, utterly oblivious to the voices in the living room.

“What’s wrong with her?” You asked Tara once the taller Carpenter had shut her bedroom door. “I don’t know; probably work stuff. Do you have five of spade?” Tara asked, more intrigued with the game she was playing than her sister.

“No, go fish,” you replied while looking at Sam’s door; something was telling you to go check on the girl to make sure she was alright, but you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

“Ohhhh my god, you hate me,” the younger Carpenter dramatically stated, dragging out the words as she threw herself backward onto the couch.

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t have done your entire English paper, would I?” You questioned while shooting a glance at the pouting girl, but when your comment earned you a middle finger, you placed your cards down as you stood up from the couch, “I'll be right back.”

Tara scoffed at you as she leaned up on her elbows. “Have you learned nothing from the Meeks family? I hope you don’t come back,” she mouthed off as she started looking at your cards, “you fucking asshole! You did have that card!”

“I never said I didn’t,” you replied with a smirk as you walked toward Sam’s door, ducking out of the way of a flying shoe courtesy of your best friend Tara.

A soft rasping of knuckles pulled Sam away from her almost meltdown. She had felt a constant pressure on her all day, and it started to lift briefly, but it suddenly came back by the end of her shift. Sam was used to the constant pressure and needed to be the best version of herself now that she was providing for her sister, but it all started to get too much for her.

“Sam, you okay?” Great, not only did she have this overwhelming feeling about to take over, but she was also about to have a high speed come apart in front of the person she didn’t want to see her weak.

“I’m good, Y/N. Go back to Tara,” she called out as she backed herself against a wall, slowly sliding down to sit on the floor.

“Are you sure? You didn’t seem too happy when you got home,” you replied, hoping to get somewhere with the older woman. “I’m fine. Please, leave me alone,” Sam pleaded, but the way her voice broke off toward the end of her sentence told you that she didn’t need to be left alone right now.

Several seconds passed, the sound of Sam’s bedroom clock ticking away, slowly counting down the seconds until Sam couldn’t bear the deafening silence. She felt like she had somehow found herself in her version of ‘The Tell-Tale Heart,’ at any moment, she would succumb to the voices that were guilting her. For what guilt, she did not know; guilty of her origins, guilty of neglecting her baby sister for five years, guilty of torturing her body for years on end, putting any substance into her body to help calm her mind? Sam didn’t know what was causing this constant guilt that followed her anxiety and pressure, but she would do anything to make it stop. And she did make it stop.

“Fuck it,” she mumbled as she pushed herself up from the floor and walked to her door, grabbing the handle but making no motion to open the door. If she opened that door, it would be an invitation to open herself up to you; she only opened up to one person in her life, and look what he did to her. This constant fear of having to look over her shoulder, as if the shadows were going to transform into physical beings and take her life, or even worse, take Tara’s life. Sam wears scars, both physical and mental, from him, and she would lay down her own life if it meant protecting her sister. But when she looked at you, with your innocent eyes that beamed when you looked at her, Sam knew you could never hurt anyone. But Sam was never one to make accurate judgments.

The creaking sound of Sam opening up her door pulled you from your thoughts. Thoughts that weren’t any special; who you would have in your ideal Hunger Games lineup. You knew for a fact that the president would be Cersei Lannister and the game maker would be Jigsaw. However, you still have yet to determine who the twenty-four tributes would be: the only tributes you had so far were Santa Barbara Ellie, Pioneer Kim Kardashian, Regina George, and Chanel Oberlin. It's not the best list, but it's a solid start.

“Hey,” you said quietly, eyes darting over Sam’s bloodshot eyes with dark bags underneath. Even at her worst, she always somehow managed to captivate you like she was a siren, slowly bringing you into your inevitable demise. Still, you could never seem to pull yourself away from the beauty that was Sam Carpenter.

Sam scoffed at your weak greeting while ignoring the feeling of her stomach turning at how you looked at her. She knew she looked like a hot mess, and she believed it was your way of silently making fun of her. But the way your lips were slightly parted and your eyes seemed a bit too dilated, refused to leave her own, told her that you weren’t judging or making fun of her. No, you were admiring her, which sent a slight shock of guilt throughout her; Guilt, that was Samantha Carpenter’s best friend.

Sam’s eyes drifted down to the floor, as she couldn’t handle the feeling of your eyes burning into her skull. “Who’s shoe is that?” She asked, motioning down to the floor, where Tara’s shoe landed.

“Well, if you look closely, you can see that it’s a size three for babies,” you remarked teasingly.

“Kill yourself!” Tara shouted from the living room, not caring enough to storm out into the hallway and show you how vicious she can be.

“Charming, isn’t she?” You stated as Sam looked back up and made eye contact with you. Her face told you that she didn’t want to talk, but her eyes were silently begging you to stay. It was a dilemma that you stumbled upon, but you were always someone who loved conflicts. “Is everything alright?”

Sam sighed as she leaned against her doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that what you wanted? To ask me if things are okay?”

“Um, yes and no?” You trailed off, not wanting to make things more awkward than they were, “Hold on.” You quickly moved from Sam’s door into the living room, and Sam ignored the hushed threats being spoken; her sister was an angel, after all.

“Here ya go,” you said with an embarrassingly large smile once you returned to Sam’s door. In your hand, you held a small brown lunch bag. Sam had to fight off any instincts to punch you in the throat.

“I don’t like gifts,” she said instead of resorting to violence. Truth be told, Sam loved gifts; she just hated receiving them, as it made her feel like she was in someone’s debt.

“Well, good thing it’s not a gift,” you replied, smiling, pushing the gift bag toward Sam, who gave you a questioning look before accepting it. The bag itself was featherlight, almost as if nothing was in there. Sam gave you one last questioning look before opening the bag and looking inside.

In the bag were several containers, all hosting different kinds of cookies and brownies, and to Sam’s surprise, they were all her favorites. There was something much more prominent at the bottom, but she couldn’t tell what it was as the rest of the cookies sat atop. Sam gave you a small smile as she walked over to her chest of drawers and began taking out the items, ignoring how you were now peering into her room as you leaned against the door frame.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Sam genuinely said in a weak, almost fragile voice as she slowly got to the bottom of the bag, “I appreciate this. it has been-” The rest of her words died on the tip of her tongue as she stared into the bag, as silence filled the room. Those silent seconds dragged on into a quiet minute, neither of you saying anything. You knew it might have been too bold or maybe even wrong, but you wanted to let Sam know that you were proud of her.

“Goodnight, Sam,” you quietly whispered, gaining Sam’s attention. Your heart broke once her eyes met yours, tears glossing in her doe eyes as her lip quivered. She gave you a slight nod of recognition before turning her attention back to the bag as a single tear ran down her cheek, grateful that you had already left by the time it broke from her eye.

With a dry chuckle, Sam reached into the bag, pulled out a 10-inch cookie, and sat it down on her chest of drawers. She stared at it for several moments before her lips pulled into a smile as a new feeling shot throughout her heart, one that she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. But that feeling of hope wasn’t for her; no, it was a hopeful feeling about you.

Sam smiled down at the cookie one last time before she went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife and plate, thankful that Tara had gone off to her room so she could enjoy her treat by herself.

Once she returned to her room, she pulled the lid off the container and cut a small piece out of the cookie. Making sure not to ruin the words that said, “Happy three years of sobriety.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The minutes seemed endless as you stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You didn’t know why you were waiting, but you just were. Your mind was telling you to get up, to do something productive, but your heart and soul were seemingly forcing you to stay put, like something important was going to happen anytime, and if you were just a fraction of a second too late, you would miss it.

It was a stupid feeling, but you couldn’t compel yourself to move; it was as if your mind was in a trance, stuck in some faraway land, and you could do nothing to pull yourself back into your body. You were on the verge of losing your mind when you knew exactly what you were waiting for, and when you finally accepted why, it happened.

Your phone dinged on your nightstand, and you immediately smiled; you didn’t have to look at it to know who it was. In a swift motion, you quickly got up from your bed and grabbed your phone as you read the text message. It wasn’t a long one, or even a special one, to be honest, but the smile on your face was almost comical, and your heart soared. The text read, “I don’t know how you found out about the date, nor do I even want to. But thank you, Y/N, I needed that today.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I will never understand the hype for ‘Hamilton,’” Mindy stated with a look of distaste as she flopped down onto the Carpenter’s couch. It wasn’t movie night but more of a girl’s night. Since it was Tara’s idea to have a girl’s night, she got to pick the movie. But it wasn’t for her, no, it was for Sam.

The older Carpenter sister would never admit to liking such things, but she did have a soft spot for musicals. She didn’t know where this love for them came from, but ever since she was young, she had loved the idea of singing.

Before Sam had discovered her mother’s journal, which had ultimately led to the destruction of her family, she used to sing in her church’s choir. It was the first thing her mother didn’t force her into doing, and she loved singing in front of people; it made her feel like nothing in the world could touch her.

Singing was the only thing Christina Carpenter told Sam she was good at and the last thing she ever took away from Sam.

Once Mr. Carpenter left, Christina stopped taking the kids to church, which caused Sam to be pulled from the choir. It still didn’t stop Sam; she saved up enough money to buy a guitar and write songs while practicing the guitar in her room. When Sam started to dabble around in drugs and alcohol, she slowly started to lose herself. She lost who she really was, but she never lost her voice.

Only when it was the day of Sam’s 18th birthday did Christina finally ruin the last good thing Sam liked about herself, “Your real father had the voice of an angel.”

Sam left that night, and she hadn’t sung since.

But now, five years later, Sam still loves everything to do with music. She was glad that Tara had taken one for the team and turned on Hamilton because Mindy would never let Sam hear the end of it.

“‘Hamilton’ is okay, but not Lin-Manuel Miranda’s best work,” you stated as you stood in the kitchen, making a bag of popcorn for yourself. Sam was also in the kitchen with you, which has become a common meeting place. She was making herself a sandwich as she quietly listened to the banter between you and Mindy.

“I don’t believe you. What is his best work?” Tara challenged as she shifted on the couch, throwing an arm over the side as she looked into the kitchen to glare at you.

“His best work is easily ‘In the Heights,’” you declared with too much emphasis on the movie title.

“No!” Tara yelled, “You only say that because the lead actress looks like Sam, and you said she was hot!”

“I did not say that!” You lied as heat rushed up your neck and flooded your cheeks. It wasn’t embarrassing because Tara called you out; you were embarrassed because you were in the kitchen with Sam. It didn’t help that you could hear Sam snickering as you were defending yourself.

“Yes, you did. Do you want me to pull up the screenshots from the long chain of text messages you sent me?” Tara asked, even though it wasn’t a question, as she pulled out her phone. “Example one: ‘Oh my god, Tara. I’m watching this movie, and this woman looks just like Sam.’”

You quickly threw your bag of popcorn down onto the counter as you sprinted into the living room. You simply couldn’t live with the idea that Sam knows just how you yearned for her.

“Example two: ‘This is Sam, just in another universe.’ Example three, in all caps: ‘Oh my god, Tara! I am not joking when I say that-’” You quickly snatched the phone from the younger Carpenter sister before she could say possibly the horniest text message you had ever sent.

“You are no fun,” Tara whined as you deleted the messages from her phone. “You’re evil,” you retorted before handing Tara back her phone, who was quick to grab it. You walked back into the kitchen to grab your popcorn and became embarrassed when you saw Sam.

She was wearing one of her light-colored long-sleeve muscle shirts again with a pair of gray sweatpants. In simple words, she looked amazing. Usually, when Sam wore some variation of the muscle shirt combo, you could act ‘normal.’ But now that Tara had practically outed your attraction to Sam, you just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Thankfully, she just gave you a small smile as she watched you grab your bag before heading back into the living room, no doubt about to be the subject of constant teasing from Tara and Mindy.

“So,” Mindy started once you sat down on the couch next to her, “Are we going to talk about those thirst messages-” “Start the damn movie, Tara.”

By the time the movie started, Sam had entered the living room, but not without earning a cat call whistle from Mindy, no doubt a jab at you. She opted to sit by herself in the loveseat as she kicked her feet up on the opposite end. She sent you a smile when no one was looking, and you could have sworn both hearts started beating as one.

Throughout the movie, you had to deal with Tara rapping and Mindy ranting about the musical, but overall, it was a fun night. Sam was slowly starting to warm up to the idea of having you around more often, and you slowly felt yourself catching feelings for her.

Of course, there was this natural attraction to Sam, she was simply beautiful, but her protective personality mixed with her stand-off, almost bitchy, personality was merely perfect. But with her bitchiness, she was the sweetest, most caring person you had ever met. Her laugh was so angelic, and the way her eyes crinkled when she did laugh was so heartwarming. Sam Carpenter was perfect in your eyes.

To say that this attraction was one-sided wouldn’t be fair. After you had dropped off her cookie, Sam started to act differently around you. She would smile more, and only at you most of the time. It seemed like she had begun to reserve that confident smile just for you. She started to see you more as an individual with feelings and plans for the future rather than a simple 2-dimensional person who was only in her life to make it hell. Sam had actually started to care for you even though she still tried her best to despise you.

So when the movie finished and Mindy went home, you grabbed your coat to follow suit soon.

“Thank you for coming, Y/N,” Tara said as she hugged you while you were standing next to the front door, “You know I love you, right?”

You quickly reciprocated the hug, pulling the girl into a warm, soft embrace. “I know you do, and I also love you too. Even though you can be a shit sometimes.”

“Yeah, but you love it!” She happily exclaimed while pulling back from the hug to pinch your left cheek, “Drive safe, okay?”

“I will, Ms. Carpenter, I will,” you replied, smiling as you opened the door, and Tara disappeared into her room. You had gone halfway out of the door when someone spoke.

“You’re just going to leave without saying goodbye?” You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was; you could pick that soft voice from anywhere. Granted, she was the only one left in the apartment, but you still have yourself the credit for knowing it was her.

“I didn’t think you would want to say goodbye,” you replied as you entered the apartment and shut the door, “I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries with you.”

That was the thing about you: you were so damn respectful. Sometimes, Sam wanted to slam you against a wall to beat the hell out of you. Other times, she wanted to slam you against a wall with her tongue down your throat. Sam had a weird way of showing her attraction to you.

“You didn’t think you were overstepping boundaries when you brought me that cookie?” Sam questioned with a faint smile on her lips. She would never tell you this, but she loved teasing you, as it was the only way she could see the more embarrassed side of you.

“I figured I was, but I thought the gesture of it would be nice enough,” you replied in a weak voice as you rubbed the back of your neck with your hand and shuffled from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry if it was rude of me to do that without asking first. I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

The older woman laughed a bit as she walked closer to you and opened the door, “At least let me walk you out,” she offered. You gave her a smile with a nod as you followed her out of the apartment, making sure to close the door behind you.

“So, what do you think of musicals?” You asked as you walked down the stairs with her. “Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?” Sam joked with the slightest hint of flirtation in her voice, and you almost felt your knees give out.

“Ha, you wish,” you replied as you matched her tone of voice, which earned you a playful smirk to get sent your way. If you figured your one way to win Sam’s trust was to flirt with her occasionally, you would go out giving it your all.

You two reached the floor level of the apartment building, and you held the door open for Sam as you walked outside. “But seriously, though, what do you think of them?” You asked as Sam followed you to your car.

“I enjoy them well enough. Why?” Sam responded as she eyed you suspiciously.

“Because the ‘Aladdin’ musical is going to be here soon,” you stated before you continued with your proposal, “And I was wondering if you would want to go with me?”

The offer was a genuine one from you; you wanted to spend more quality time with Sam, but you also have been dying to see the musical. It was a win-win situation all around.

“Y/n,” Sam started with a beaming smile that matched her chocolate eyes, “I would love to go with you. When and how much do I owe you?”

You quickly picked up Sam’s hand and held it between yours, “You don’t owe me anything. Consider it payment for letting me terrorize your sister.”

Sam glanced down at your hands before looking back up at you. Her beautiful eyes held so much darkness in them that they couldn’t help but draw you in. When you looked into Sam’s eyes at just the right moments, you didn’t see the gorgeous woman; no, you would see her father. And it made you yearn for her even more. Sam had never experienced actual love, but when you looked into her eyes, it made you wonder why thieves bothered to steal pieces of art; you knew you were in love with her.

In a swift moment, before Sam had time to think about her actions, she leaned in. She had meant to kiss your cheek, but in a sudden and indescribable moment, Sam slightly turned her head to kiss the corner of your lips, millimeters away from your lips.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she whispered with a small smile as she said goodbye. You were too busy hoping she left a lipstick mark to respond.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The seconds seemed to drag on endlessly as you tapped your foot against the floor. Your stomach was wrapped up in knots you could barely remember to breathe; the only thing you could think about was the constant nervousness that was rattling you to your core. You were early, half an hour earlier, to be exact, but you would rather be early and have to wait rather than be late.

You were sitting on the bottom stairs of Sam’s apartment building, impatiently waiting until it would be an acceptable time to go to the Carpenter’s apartment. It was the night of the musical, and you were wearing a simple yet elegant suit as you pulled at the collar of your shirt as if it was slightly choking you.

‘Nervous’ wasn’t the correct word to describe your feelings. Petrified would be a better word for it. You were terrified that you would somehow mess up this night, had somehow overdone it, or that Sam wouldn’t have fun. Self-doubt was your greatest friend, after all.

You picked up the bouquet of roses from beside you and stared at them. “Maybe it's too much,” you thought out loud as you turned them over in your hand. Neither of you had explicitly said it was a date, but the way Sam kissed your cheek was something you would never forget. Even though you wanted to consider an actual kiss, since it was so close to your lips, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Samatha Carpenter is a strong woman who takes what she wants in this world, and if she wanted to kiss your lips, she would have done so.

Your phone vibrated with a text message, pulling you away from self-doubt. It was from Sam, telling you that you can come up whenever you would like.

Like an idiot, you wanted to run up the stairs as fast as you could to get to Sam quicker, but you forced yourself to play it cool, to not look like a loser. So, ever so slowly, you began your journey up the six flights of stairs.

Within a few minutes, you were standing outside Sam’s door. You had arrived quicker than you wanted, but the excitement was too much. Then, your mind slowly started to get the better of you as you stared down at your fancy dress-up shoes. You hoped you weren’t overdressed, but if you were, you could easily change into the clothes you kept in Tara’s room. But then what if you were underdressed? How would you fix that? You wouldn’t have enough time to go home and change into something more congenial, and you certainly weren’t going to make Sam change. What if Sam wasn’t even dressing up at all? What if this was just a friendly outing, and you completely fucked it up? What if-

Before you dive further into the scenarios that could play out, the door opened, and all of the air within your lungs left.

“What the fuck are wearing?” You asked with slight irritation in your voice, bewilderment written all over your face.

“What? You don’t like it?” Tara questioned as she spun around in a circle for you. The younger Carpenter sister was wearing a yellow shirt with a pineapple that had on a thong; underneath the fruit was the word ‘slut.’ She was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, and when she turned around for you, you saw ‘baby girl’ embroidered on the butt.

“Clearly It’s referring to the pineapple, not you,” you said with a smile before it fully registered what was on the girl’s pants, “Hey, turn back around!” Tara did as you demanded, “If I would have known you were wanting to check on my ass, I would have done some squats first,” she teased with a smirk.

When you reread the word ‘baby girl,’ you scoffed at the more petite girl, “Why are you wearing those?”

“Because it's funny! It’s called having a sense of humor!” Tara shot back before an evil smirk appeared, “Why? Do you want me to take them off? I don’t think Sam would like that too much; she gets territorial over you.”

The comment certainly surprised you, and Tara quickly noticed her mistake. “I didn’t mean that,” she tried to explain, but it was too late.

“What do you mean she ‘gets territorial’ over me?” You questioned, completely forgetting about why you were talking to Tara in the first place as the thought of Sam ran rapidly throughout your mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tara replied with a nervous laugh as her eyes darted around the room. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone this, and Sam made her swear not to tell anyone. Now, she has broken that promise to the one person who wasn’t supposed to know.

Now, it was a simple mistake that led to Tara finding out about the flirtatious relationship between you and Sam. It was the night Sam kissed your cheek; Tara saw that bright smile on Sam’s lips and how her eyes held so much admiration. She had never seen that look on her sister’s face, and she knew something had happened.

So, like any good sister, she interrogated and terrorized Sam until she finally caved.

Sam only told Tara the bare minimum; you two were going out later in the week to watch a musical together and that you had gotten her a gift a week ago. She didn’t plan on telling Tara that the gift in question was her sobriety treat basket, but when Tara went to grab a water bottle from Sam’s mini fridge, she saw a small box of brownies with your handwriting on a sticky note. “I believe in you :)” was written on it, so Tara asked Sam about it.

Sam told her sister about the gift, but Tara didn’t seem bothered by it. “Oh, yeah. I figured something fruity was going on between you and the biggest homo of the century. But why the fuck did you keep this from me?!” Tara shouted, moving the box around in the air.

“I didn’t think you would want any,” Sam defended with a weak sigh, but she knew it wouldn’t help.

“I would give a strip show to the old people’s home just for a brownie from this place, and you didn’t think I would want any?” She questioned in a slightly more demanding voice before huffing and leaving Sam’s room with the box in hand.

But now, in the current moment, Tara wished she hadn’t opened Sam’s fridge. That annoyingly hopeful smile on your lips drove her insane, not to mention that lovesick look in your eye.

“Stop it, you’re freaking me out,” Tara stated as she made a disgusted face at you. “No. Tell me why you said that,” you pressed on, hoping to get an answer from the younger sister.

“Y/N, what are you hounding her about?” A soft, angelic voice questioned, and your attention immediately shot to Sam. She was wearing a black dress that clutched her curves and somehow made her look even more beautiful if that was even possible. The dress had a plunging neckline, and you had to force your eyes away from her cleavage, earning you a smile of approval from Sam, but an elbow followed by a look of distaste from Tara.

“You look amazing,” you stated breathlessly as your eyes wandered down Sam’s body, admiring the leg slit that showed off her left leg. You prayed for nights when that leg would be wrapped around your head.

“Thank you. You look not so bad either,” Sam replied with a soft smile as she picked up her black clutch bag and walked toward you.

“Have fun on your date,” Tara sneered as she entered her room. Truth be told, she couldn’t have been happier for her sister, but she would rather die than let you know that.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled under your breath as your eyes followed Tara before they shot back to the goddess before you. “Are you ready?” You asked, and she gave a curt nod before walking to the door. When you got to the car, you opened the passenger door for Sam, and she thanked you with a soft smile that made your heart explode and your knees weak.

The car ride to the theater was a peaceful one filled with pleasant conversation as you asked Sam about her day and her about yours. Sometimes, you would catch her looking over her shoulder with those soft doe eyes, and you had to fight off any urges to kiss her soft lips.

“Here we are,” you stated as you pulled into the back parking lot of the theater. As you parked the car, Sam observed people leaving their cars, dressed in all kinds of formal clothing, as they made their way into the theater. It took several seconds for it to click in her mind; this was a date.

Of course, she had assumed it might be considered one whenever you asked her, but as she watched the couples get out of their cars and link hands while they all wore fancy clothing, she knew that this was a date. Sam also knew that if she asked you if this was officially a date, she knew that you would deny it. So when you both stepped out of the car and started walking toward the entrance together, she reached out to interlace your fingers with hers.

It was a simple gesture, but the warmth of her hand in yours was enough to warm your cheeks and set your heart afire. You looked at her, only to find that Sam had already been staring at you.

“What?” You asked with a slight smile and a hint of nervousness in your voice. Sam bumped her shoulder into yours, “Nothing, it's just you look beautiful tonight.”

As if your face couldn’t get any redder, you laughed nervously as you looked down at the ground. The compliment threw you off, but you still accepted it nonetheless. “Thank you. And you look beautiful as well, Sam,” you stated.

“I know; you said that earlier,” she teased as she squeezed your hand, “Come on,” she continued as you two walked into the building.

You held open the door for her as you two entered, and then she patiently waited while you got the tickets.

“My lady,” you said as you returned to Sam, sticking out your elbow. “You are such a dork,” she replied, smiling as she locked her elbow around yours and followed your lead. Sam kept quiet as you led her past row after row, but her surprise never stopped until you led her to the third row up front. “Come on,” you stated as you led her down the row toward the middle, “these are our seats.”

“Y/N. How much did these cost?’ Sam questioned as she hesitatingly sat down next to you. “Don’t worry about the price. Money doesn’t mean anything when it comes to memories,” you eagerly replied, which was the truth. You didn’t care about the ticket price; the only thing you cared about was making Sam happy. Sam was someone who found happiness hard to come by, so you devoted your time to try and make her life better, even if that meant putting a massive dent in your credit score.

“I will stab you in the neck with a knife if you don’t tell me how much you spent on these seats,” Sam demanded with a soulless look in her eyes. It was meant to be threatening, maybe it was, but the only thing you could feel toward those dark eyes was a sense of attraction.

“Shhh, it's getting ready to start,” you silenced her, and soon enough, the lights began to dim as the crowd quickly stopped their chatter and turned their focus to the stage. Sam scoffed at you and turned her attention away from you. She wanted to be angry with you for not telling her how much you spent, but she knew that doing that would only ruin this night, which was something she knew you had been looking forward to for longer than you had been leading on.

So, when the curtains opened, she quickly glanced at you. She noticed how your eyes seemed entirely dedicated to the actors on stage and how your lips were curved up in the slightest of a smile. Sam thought you looked the most beautiful woman in the entire world.

Sam moved her hand from her lap to place it in your lap. She turned her hand so that her palm was facing up, and you didn’t have to ask what she wanted; you interlaced your fingers with hers and pulled them further into your lap.

If Sam noticed the way your hands started to sweat, she didn’t say anything. She was too busy focusing on how your thumb was featherlight stroking her hand to concentrate on anything. No one had ever touched her with such softness; she wanted to cry.

When the play finished, and you took her back to her apartment, she couldn’t help but give you a goodnight kiss as a thank you.

Maybe one day you could bask in the sweet taste of her lips on yours. But for now, you would live with her lipstick stain on your cheek, and you would wear it with honor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things had changed between the two of you. They were highly subtle at first: Sam’s eyes looking for you in a crowded room, her fingertips lingering on your hand whenever she handed you your coffee, and she even gave you another rare kiss on the cheek when you brought a very drunk Tara home late one night. Then things started to pick up; she would text you and ask you to pick something up for her and Tara, and when you would drop them off, Sam would ask you to stay for a while. She would always say Tara asked you to stay, but you knew better, even though you never questioned her.

It was one of those nights at the Carpenter’s apartment, movie night with just the three of you. Of course, typical movie nights with the core four plus Anika and you were on Fridays, but the sisters liked having you over just by yourself, as you weren’t nearly as much trouble as the twins. Tara wanted to refer to you as a plant; check in occasionally to make sure you weren’t dead and give you some stuff to keep you from dying.

“Tara, I am not watching ‘The Babadook,’” you stated as you sat on the couch alone. Tara was doing her dad's stance while flipping through movies to watch while Sam was in the kitchen making popcorn.

“Who?” She asked, not even caring to look back at you. “What-” you started to say before the shorter Carpenter cut you off, “Asked?”

“Why do I even hang out with you? All you do is insult me,” you joked as Tara moved to sit beside you. Well, on you. She threw an arm around your shoulder as she got comfortable on your lap. “Because you love me, obviously,” she remarked, still looking for the perfect movie.

Sam knew it was spiritual love, but she couldn’t help the feeling of jealousy grow throughout her chest. Especially over her sister! With a slight shake, Sam tried to fight off that feeling as she grabbed the popcorn bags, along with some bowls, and made her way into the living room.

“Just two bags?” Tara questioned once Sam entered the living room. “Yeah, I figured you and Y/n would share. Why; is there a problem?” The older sister questioned with a raised eyebrow as she set the bowls on the coffee table.

“No, it's fine. But I am getting an entire bag for myself,” Tara stated as she left your lap to grab a bag from Sam before moving to the opposite end of the couch. “Looks like you two will have to share,” she added with a sly smile.

You shared a look with Sam, who had slight irritation on her face. She handed you the bag as she spoke, “I’ll go make more.” When Sam moved to head into the kitchen, you quickly grabbed her wrist, stopping her from getting further.

“No, I’m alright with sharing. Only if you are, though,” you said quietly, ignoring the snickering coming from the end of the couch. Sam gave you a small smile as she nodded, sitting beside you on the sofa.

A small laugh left your lips as you looked at Sam’s outfit. “What?” She questioned.

“We are matching,” you responded with a smile as you looked up at Sam, who was already looking at you before she looked at your outfit. It was true; both of you were accidentally wearing practically the same outfit: blue plaid pajama pants with solid black shirts.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” Sam said with a smile as her eyes met yours. It was a small moment between the two of you, but it was quickly ruined when the sound of gagging pulled you two from it.

“Please, no homosexual activities in front of my popcorn. I don’t want it forced down my throat,” Tara complained as if she wasn’t someone who also suffered from those homosexual tendencies as well.

Sam cleared her throat as she grabbed one of the bowls and opened the bag of popcorn, pulling all of it into the bowl. “What movie did you pick?” You asked as you kicked your feet onto the coffee table, earning yourself a slight glare from Sam. She wouldn’t classify herself as a neat freak, but she hated it when people put their feet on furniture not used for sitting.

“‘It puts the lotion on its skin, or it gets the hose again,’” Tara quoted while throwing a piece of popcorn into the air and catching it with her mouth.

“I love that movie so much,” you commented while grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch, covering up your legs as you got comfortable.

“What movie?” Sam questioned as Tara hit play. “‘The Silence of the Lambs.’ It's one of my favorite movies,” you replied with a smile, leaning over to give Tara a quick fist bump for the choice.

“Is this the one with Jodie Foster?”

“Yep,” you and Tara replied simultaneously, earning a small groan from Sam, but she didn’t protest.

Once the movie began, Sam pulled at your blanket and placed some over her lap. You thought nothing of it until you felt Sam’s thigh brush against yours. You guessed it was an accident, but she didn’t move her leg; you relaxed your body and pushed your thigh against hers. You felt your chest flutter at the slight smile on Sam’s face at the contact.

As the movie progressed, the distance between you and Sam slowly became nonexistent. Your shoulders were now touching each other as you shared one blanket. In a moment of braveness, with a little bit of stupidity, you moved your hand underneath the blanket, which was where Sam had been keeping her own. Slowly, your hand inched toward Sam’s, hoping to reach the desired location without Sam pulling her hand away.

When your hand gently grazed Sam’s, the Latina made no effort to pull away, so you took it as a sign to continue. You linked your pinkie with hers and waited. I waited for her to finally realize what you were doing and pull away or glare at you and then ridicule you for such actions. So when Sam did pull her pinkie out of the lock with yours, you tried not to show your disappointment on your face.

But before you could get too comfortable with your sadness, Sam interlaced her fingers with yours, giving your hand a gentle yet firm squeeze. It was a small gesture. Some people might even call it friendly, but how your heartbeat quickened at the contact was embarrassing. You only hoped that your fast heart rate and nervousness would cause your palms to sweat. If they did sweat, though, Sam didn’t say anything about it, which you were grateful for.

As the end credits rolled, you let go of Sam’s hand, much to the older woman’s disappointment. You helped Sam clean up the mess made during the movie while you two let Tara sleep peacefully on the couch.

“I can clean those,” you said while walking into the kitchen. Sam was at the sink washing the bowl that you two had used.

“No, it’s okay. I got it,” she replied as she looked over her shoulder at you. “Thank you for staying tonight. I know Tara can be a little shit sometimes.”

You laughed at Sam’s words as you walked over to her, leaning against the counter. “It’s no problem; I love hanging out with you guys,” you genuinely replied, smiling, “Thank you for letting me stay over. I know we haven’t always had the best past.”

At the mention of the one-sided distaste that was formerly between you two, Sam stopped cleaning the bowl. A frown appeared on her lips as she looked down, refusing to meet your piercing gaze.

She took a deep breath before she spoke, “I’ve been an asshole to you, I know. I thought you were only getting close to us so you could tell Gale, but I know better than that now. I’ve been so…closed off to people that my judgment blinded me. I’m sorry, is what I’m trying to say.”

To say that Sam’s apology took you aback would be an understatement. You had just assumed that Sam would never own up to how she treated you in the past, opting just to pretend nothing ever happened. But you could tell that she had been working on this apology for a long time, so you appreciated it while you could.

“Thank you, Sam, for apologizing. I won't try to play it down, but it does mean a lot to me,” you said with a soft smile as you looked at the vulnerable woman before you, “but I have to ask. What changed?”

A sigh left Sam’s lips as she turned on the sink, washing out all the soap. She then began drying it off to think about her response. It wasn’t a difficult thing to explain. Well, the logical reasoning for her change of mind about you. But what she was trying to avoid was telling you that she also had a change of heart. Sam had started to enjoy your presence and hated being without you; she yearned for your soft, gentle touches that followed your caring words. She wanted to tell you that she still hates you but cares deeply for you.

Sam dried her hands off as she leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “I honestly don’t know entirely,” she began, “I know my opinion started to change after you brought me that cookie. But I feel like things changed before that, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” you said with a soft laugh, “I think I’ve just gotten so used to you being a dickhead to me that I kind of don’t associate anything else with the way you treat me.”

Sam had to pretend your words didn’t split her heart down the middle; she had to pretend your words didn’t pierce her heart like an ice-cold dagger. She knew she had no business to be hurt by your honesty, but still, she hated being reminded of how things were.

“I am sorry about that. You were there to protect Tara when I wasn’t, and for that, you will always have my gratitude,” Sam stated as she took several moments to decide on what to say next, “Tara told me that while I was gone for those five years, that you took care of her. Is that true?”

“Yeah,” was all you said in a quiet voice, almost as if you were preparing yourself for when Sam started to ask more questions but silently prayed she wouldn’t.

“How bad was it?” The older Carpenter asked with a voice filled with regret. You didn’t have to ask to clarify what she was asking about; you could tell by how her left fist started to clench as she brought her right arm to rub over the median cubital vein in her left arm. She wasn’t asking about how bad the attack was. No, she was asking about how bad Tara’s home life was when she was too high to do anything about it.

“I made sure she wasn’t left home alone,” you admitted. It was the half-truth, and you hoped Sam would accept it, but you knew better. “What was it like when Christina was there?” Sam pressed on.

“Things were okay; nothing was too bad,” you replied, trying your best to sugarcoat the truth.

An awkward, dry chuckle came from Sam as she shook her head, “Don’t lie to me; tell me the truth.”

You debated whether you should spare Sam the details or try to lie to her about how ugly it got sometimes. But fuck it, Sam had been making your life hell for almost a year now, so it's time she found out what you dealt with for five years.

“Christina’s a drunk; everyone knows that. But it got ugly once you left, especially once you left. It was like, maybe three weeks since you had left, and Christina had drank herself into a coma. The only problem was that it was in some European country, and no one back home knew about it. Christina was only supposed to be gone for the weekend and return home by late Sunday. Only, that weekend turned into a week, which then turned into a month.”

You gave Sam several moments to digest everything you told her, waiting for her to object. But when all she did was nod, you continued. “Tara didn’t tell anyone about her mom not coming back, and she only just told me why she didn’t tell anyone about it: she didn’t want people to view her as some monster because her entire family had left her.”

A soft sob came from Sam, and that was when you noticed she had been silently crying. When you moved to comfort her, Sam smacked your hand away from her body. “Keep talking,” she demanded. And you followed your orders.

“I didn’t notice anything different until I heard her stomach growl during lunch. She had been rationing her lunch for weeks, trying to make every piece last as long as possible. School food isn’t the best, but you would have thought Gordon Ramsey had made it how she cherished every bite. By the end of the school day, I finally got Tara to tell me what had happened, and I forced her to stay at my house. I told my mom that she would stay with us for a while, and she didn’t bat an eye; it was like she already knew what had happened but didn’t want to find out. That night, my mom had cooked lasagna; Tara had three full plates of it.”

“She hates lasagna,” Sam said in a choked-up voice. “I know,” you responded with a small laugh, “After that night, I made sure Tara always had something to eat and that she was never alone. But the one time I wasn’t there,” you had trailed off, not being able to finish your sentence without a tear forming in your eye.

Sam knew what you were talking about: the first Ghostface attack. Instead of pushing you away, she reached her arms and grabbed you, pulling you into a hug. It was the first hug you two had ever shared, but it was still the best. The grief you two shared could be felt by each other in that warm embrace, and you both found comfort in each other’s arms, which was something no one had ever made Sam feel.

You two hold on to one another as you both quietly cry over the past, hoping to be free of it with every tear that falls down your face. It was a bonding moment, but it was something you both needed; you two needed to be vulnerable together and for the other one to pick the other up.

After a few minutes, Sam pulled back from. She wiped the remaining tears off your face as she tucked your hair behind your ear and did something unexpected but not unwelcome. Sam leaned forward and placed a small, lingering kiss on your forehead as she quietly muttered, “Thank you.”

Once Sam pulled back, she gently squeezed your shoulders as she left the kitchen. You followed after her, only stopping to watch as Sam picked up a still-sleeping Tara from the couch and returned the gremlin to her bed. While Sam dealt with Tara, you grabbed the blanket you shared with Sam and some pillows to make your ‘bed’ for the night. The couch was comfortable, and you preferred it over sleeping with Tara. As small as she was, she always took up the entire bed.

After you deemed your sleeping quarters right, you went into the bathroom to brush your teeth. Props to being over so much; you had your toothbrush. It was a small gesture from Tara, but it gave you unlimited bragging rights. As you brushed your teeth, you could hear Sam talking to someone. With your curiosity getting the better of you, you peeked into the hallway to see the woman talking to someone on the phone.

“Thank you for inviting me. I had fun going out with you, but I don’t want this to go any further than friendship,” she quietly said into the phone as she paced back and forth. Deciding to give her some space, you stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door before spitting out the toothpaste and then rinsing your mouth with water. You wiped your mouth off with a towel before opening the door and leaving, finding Sam still talking on the phone with a mysterious love interest.

As she continued to talk to the person, you got situated on the couch, but before you could get too comfortable, Sam started to snap her fingers at you.

“What?” You hissed out, staring at the woman growing slightly more agitated as her phone call continued. You noted that Sam had already changed into her pajamas for the night: a loose band t-shirt with a pair of shorts.

“Have a good night; I'll talk to you later,” she abruptly said as she ended the phone call, “Are you seriously sleeping on the couch?”

“Um, yeah? Where else would I sleep? And besides, the couch is comfortable,” you replied as you gave Sam a questioning look. If she was insinuating that you sleep with her in her bed, well, that warranted some questions. But not that you would reject her offer.

“Are you alright with that? I know you usually sleep with Tara, but she might try to fight you if you go in there while she’s already asleep,” Sam said, trying to hide that she wanted to ask you to sleep with her. She found comfort in holding your hand earlier, and she surprisingly enjoyed the depressing conversation you two shared in the kitchen. Sam hated to admit it, but she found herself seeking you out for comfort. Not only the comfort but the fact that you warmed her heart as well; she had started to fall for you most unexpectedly.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. And besides, she usually ends up taking up the whole bed anyway. I’ll have more space out here than I will with her,” you responded, and Sam couldn’t help but nod at your words. “Yeah, she’s small, but don’t doubt how much space she can take up,” she said in agreement, “But would you like my bed?”

Now, that offer caught you off guard. You hadn’t even considered that Sam might provide you with her entire bed so she could sleep on the couch. As considerate as it might be, you were either sleeping on the sofa or in Sam’s bed with her, no in-betweens.

“No, I can’t take that from you and leave you on the couch. I’m honestly fine on it; don’t even worry about it,” you stated honestly, but Sam only shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t be a good host if I let you sleep out here.”

Neither of you wanted to be the one to offer it up, but you refused even to suggest the idea of sharing a bed. Nope, that was going to have to be something that Sam does, and you would happily wallow around in her swollen pride.

Just as you predicted, Sam swallowed her pride and offered the best solution if it did come with a backhanded offer. “Since you enjoy being difficult and making me feel like a horrible person, would you want to share my bed with me? Just this once?”

When she said the sentence, it didn’t sound as rude as the first one; it sounded a lot nicer, like she was hopeful that it wouldn’t be just this once, that this night would turn into another night, and maybe even the rest of the nights you could share.

“Only if that’s alright with you,” you said in a calm, normal tone as you tried to convince Sam that you weren’t mentally bouncing off the walls. “Sounds good to me. Come on,” she replied as she pulled you up from the couch and led you to her room. Sam dared not let go of your arm the entire walk there.

Once you entered her room, she only dropped your hand as she walked over to her side of the bed. She pulled back the covers as she got in bed, stopping to stare at you. You stood uncomfortably in the middle of the doorway as you looked around Sam’s room.

You felt like you saw a new side of Sam as you admired her room; the walls had old types of vinyl, and a single guitar was hanging from the wall. Along with the guitar, there were some framed movie posters, one being ‘Kill Bill’ that was signed. There was a singular bookshelf that didn’t have a single open spot. A record player was also sitting atop her desk in the corner of her room. How you missed all of these small details when you dropped off the cookies, you had no idea.

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned, pulling you out of your mind. “Sorry; I was just looking at your stuff,” you admitted with embarrassment as you walked over to the bed. You halted before getting in as if you were waiting for Sam to change her mind and kick you out suddenly.

“Is something wrong?” Sam asks as she leans up in bed, her doe eyes shimmering under the dimly lit light. “No, no. It’s just…,” you faltered on an excuse. You didn’t want to admit that you were nervous about sharing a bed with that goddess of a woman, but you also didn’t want her to think you were disgusted by the thought of sharing a bed with her. “Do you want me to sleep in my street clothes? I have New York on me, and I doubt you want that in your bed.”

With a sigh, Sam exits her warm, comfortable bed to grab you a pair of fresh clothes. She didn’t even bother to ask if you happened to have a spare set here-which you did; she started rifling through her closet.

“Here,” she stated as she handed you a faded shirt before walking to her chest of drawers. Sam opened her top drawer and grabbed a pair of shorts for you.

“Thank you,” you said softly while grabbing the shorts from her, “I’ll change in your bathroom real quick.”

Sam hummed in response as she quickly got back into bed, missing the warmth of it.

After you had changed out of your dirty clothes, you decided to put them in Sam’s hamper—a subtle move at her being able to keep your clothes without offering them.

As you left the bathroom, you were still slightly pulling down your shirt, only showing off the lower portion of your stomach. The skin was only visible briefly, but it caught Sam’s full attention.

The scars that littered your abdomen were scattered, but she could recognize a stab wound from anywhere. The story about Jill Roberts haunted you night and day, so you never told Sam about that nightmare. The only one who had some faint idea about it was Mindy, as she had seen you naked on a few occasions. She never asked about the scars; she felt that asking would have been more intimate and personal than the sex was.

But things were different with Sam; you wanted that intimacy with her. And she liked that intimacy with you. Sam wanted to be able to share every nasty, dark part of her past with you, just as much as she wanted you to tell her your dark past. It was opening up with your pasts that allowed you two to share a possible bright future.

So, she asked you about it. “What happened?”

It was a stupid question, but Sam wanted to know your side. Of course, she was aware of the fact you were involved with the 2011 Ghostface killings, but she wanted to know why you were targeted.

You softly sighed as you climbed into bed next to Sam, who was fully sitting up with her legs crossed as she stared at you, silently encouraging you to trust her. If there was going to be anyone to judge you for your past, it certainly wasn’t going to be Samantha Carpenter.

“Well, I was nine when it happened,” you began, “and I suppose it all boils down to being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

You waited several seconds, debating whether you wanted to share this information. It wasn’t a secret; it was out there for the entire world to read about, courtesy of Gale Weathers, an author who turned a tragic story into a multi-million dollar yearly profit.

“Jill was my babysitter. It was after the first few attacks, and she was still babysitting me. She was always nice to me, well, about as nice as she could be. I had been messing around in her room, and I found this camera, so of course, I started to watch what was on it. On it were videos of all of the recent attacks, ruthless shit. Instead of telling her I found it, I hid it in my backpack, and I had planned to bring it to Judy Hicks. Well, Jill finds out that it’s missing and goes ape shit.”

You shifted around in bed as you got more comfortable, opting to fully lay down on your back as Sam propped herself up onto her elbow to engage herself in your traumatizing story fully.

“Anyways, she starts ripping the house apart, turning it inside out and upside down. Of course, she eventually finds it in my backpack, and I don’t even defend myself. I just stood there like a deer caught in headlights. The scariest part about it was that she didn’t even hesitate. One moment, she had my backpack in hand, then the next, she had a knife,” you finished, not wanting to recall the gruesome experience.

Sam was silent momentarily as she thought over what to say to you. She wanted to comfort you, but she didn’t know how. In a way, she felt like your attack had been her fault. Logically, it couldn’t have been, but she felt guilty about it, guilty about her father.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, especially at such a young age,” Sam stated. She truly did feel heartbroken for you, but she couldn’t seem to express her sorrow adequately. The only emotion she was good at convening was her anger, a trait she inherited from both her mother and father.

“It is what it is,” you replied with a soft sigh, “Who were you talking to earlier?”

The older Carpenter sister let out a small groan as she fell onto her back, running her hands down her face to add dramatic effect. “It was Danny,” she replied as she interlaced her fingers and placed them on her stomach.

“Oh yeah?” You asked with a teasing tone. Now it was your turn to prop up onto your elbow. “What did he want?”

“He just wanted to go on another date,” Sam responded, to which you huffed. This slight noise got her attention; she turned her head to the side to look at you as if she were studying your facial expressions to try and guess what you were thinking. “Why do you ask?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Just curious. You seemed annoyed, and you hung up pretty quickly. Just thought you were having a sneaky link I didn’t know about.”

“Oh, please. If I wanted a sneaky link, I certainly wouldn’t let my family know about it,” she joked softly, and your heart erupted. Sam’s smile was rare, even more rare around you. It was as if the angles had parted the sky, and you could catch a glimpse into heaven. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen, but the most teasing one.

“Okay, but be honest: what happened?” You pressed on while clarifying that you respected Sam’s boundaries if she didn’t want to tell you.

“We went on a date. Danny kissed me because he felt something; I didn’t feel anything. He called to ask me on another date; I said no. Simple as that,” she replied with a monotone voice, but you knew there was more to the story.

“Sam,” you said with a soft voice.

“Mhm?”

“I will throw myself out of your window if you don’t tell me the truth.”

“Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with you?” Sam questioned with a voice full of laughter as she smiled from ear to ear.

“Tell me, or I’ll paint the sidewalk red,” you joked with a smile that matched hers.

“I told him no because I don’t want to be with him,” she replied honestly as she stared at you with those dark, doe eyes. You swore you could get lost in that void. “Now, will you leave me alone so I can sleep?”

You scoffed at her but entirely laid down nonetheless. “I guess so,” you grumbled as you rolled onto your side, facing away from Sam.

Sam only laughed at your shitty attempt to pout as she got out of bed to turn off the overhead light. Once she was back in bed, she rolled onto her side to face your back.

Slowly and very hesitantly, she wiggled closer to you, wrapping a loving arm around your waist. Sam didn’t have to wait long before she felt your hand atop hers, pulling her closer to you. Soon enough, her entire front was pressed against your back, and you couldn’t have been happy. Your heart seemed to only beat for Sam, as your entire body started to feel like it was catching on fire.

“You know,” Sam whispered into the dark room, “I listened to Julien Baker the other day.”

“That’s not the one I was talking about,” you responded, not missing a beat.

She scoffed at your weak response, “There’s too many.”

“Girl, there are only three!”

“Whatever,” she mumbled while she pulled you closer into her body as if she couldn’t get enough of you. Sam placed a chaste kiss on your head before slowly drifting off to sleep, with you in her arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The picture frames hung on the walls rattled as the loud, booming sound of music filled the air. Against your will, the twins plus Tara dragged you to a frat party. Drunken college students mixed with obnoxious music was not your cup of tea, but you did enjoy the theme: early 2000s club. From Lady Gaga to Timbaland, even to Beyoncé, it was the first time a party had gotten the music right! There’s nothing wrong with today’s music; they don’t make them like they used to.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Tara offered. Even though she forced you to go out tonight, she still wanted you to have fun without pressuring you to do too much. She could be a little asshole sometimes, but she had her soft moments.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you replied softly. The two of you were sitting together on the only couch that didn't have people either passed out or making out, even though Tara suggested doing either with you.

“Tara, I think you are wonderful and completely captivating, but I do not want your tongue down my throat,” you joked with a soft laugh. The younger Carpenter whined in response as she kicked her feet up into your lap.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s the other Carpenter’s tongue you want,” she teased with a wink as she made a V with her middle and pointer finger, bringing it to her lips while sticking out her tongue.

“What is wrong with you?” You questioned while politely shoving the more petite girl, forcing her to stop. “Oh yeah, how come I found you two wrapped up in each other’s arms then? Mmm?” She pressed.

It was a simple question but an entirely challenging one as well. You needed a place to sleep, so Sam offered to share her bed with you, as it was better than the couch. That part you could explain, but you couldn’t explain why or how you woke to Sam’s face pressed against your chest. It was the first time you had ever felt so loved, so seen. It wasn’t just you who had found so much comfort that night. Sam loved falling asleep to your heartbeat; the drumming sound soon became a lullaby.

“She tried to kill me and forced me to share her bed for warmth,” you stated, but Tara didn’t believe you for a second. “You know, if you would have told me that four months ago, I would have believed you. But now that you have stolen my sister from me and somehow tricked her into falling for you, I don’t believe you.”

Your ears perked up at the mention of Sam falling for you, and your cheeks started to get warm at the thought of Sam recouping your feelings. “She likes me?” You asked with a love-sick smile on your lips.

Tara rolled her eyes at your question and pushed herself off your lap. “I don’t know how you did it, but Sam cares about you. I think she started to go soft on you when you took her to that musical,” she stated as she stuck out her right arm to you. You grabbed onto her hand and allowed the more petite girl to pull you off of the couch, then you followed her into the kitchen.

“I didn’t even know that Sam likes musicals,” you commented as you grabbed a Seagram from the bucket full of ice on the kitchen island. “She loves them more than me. I fully believe Sam would sell me for some ‘Six’ tickets,” Tara remarked as she grabbed a beer.

You laughed at the younger Carpenter comment. Sadly, she wasn’t being dramatic; you now knew the extent of Sam’s love for musicals, and you hated that you agreed with Tara.

“Yeah, I hate that you believe you on that one,” you replied as you followed Tara into the backyard. The two of you sat down together on a swing, drinking in silence as you two silently judged the drunks amongst you.

All in all, it was a nice night to socialize; exams were finished up for the week, and you two needed a break from all of it. It was nice to get out occasionally with friends, even though you preferred drinking the safety net of your own home. It wasn’t because you didn’t trust people. It was that you hated being around drunk people, and you were a homebody. But just when you started relaxing at the party, the universe had to ruin it for you.

It wasn’t anything terrible at first; Tara had left to grab some more beers for the two of you. She was back within a minute, and as she walked toward you, a man grabbed her arm and pulled her into him.

You couldn’t hear what was being said, but you could tell from the anger in Tara’s eyes that it wasn’t anything good. Sometimes, you wondered if the Loomis genes were airborne, due to how quickly Tara got angry and violent.

Before you had any time to react, Tara had taken the beer bottle in her right hand and smashed it against the man’s head, causing him to fall to the ground. You quickly sprang up from your comfortable seat as you rushed over to Tara, now held back by two of your friends from college. You checked over her hands to ensure no glass had gotten in them, and when you deemed her safe, you took her from friends, who then went to check on the man, who was still on the ground.

“Come on,” you mumbled as you dragged Tara from the backyard and into the front yard.

When you two entered the front yard, she shook herself from your grasp and dramatically flung herself onto the ground, sighing in defeat. The air was full of tension as you stared down at the more petite girl, who held her head in shame.

“What happened?” You questioned as you sat down next to her. With a sigh, she wrapped her arm around yours and rested her head on your shoulder. “He’s from my theoretical film studies class. The other day, we had argued about the Harry Potter movies. And-do not fucking laugh at that!” She exclaimed as she playfully smacked your arm once you started to laugh at her.

“I’m sorry, but you two argued over Harry Potter?” You asked with laughter in your voice, “That’s insane!”

“Shut up, no, it's not. Anyways, before I was so rudely interrupted,” she replied with attitude, “the argument was over who was the real bad guy: Dumbledore or Snape. We disagreed, but we didn’t have enough time to discuss it before class ended. Tonight, he stopped me to tell me I was wrong and that he was right, and I kinda got a little angry.”

“‘A little angry?’ You smashed a bottle against his head,” you exclaimed with a look of bewilderment.

“I’m little; my anger fills up my entire body, and sometimes it gets the best of me,” she shrugged as she stood up and held out a hand, “Come on, let's go home.”

You accepted her hand as you followed her home. You didn’t need to ask what she meant by home; you both knew it was the Carpenter’s apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You did what?!” Sam shouted as she stared down you and Tara. The two of you were sitting down on the couch together, sharing shame as you listened to Sam ridicule you. “I let you go out for one night and I promised not to text you the entire time, and you do this? And you,” she then turned her attention toward you, “I can’t believe you let this happen.”

“Sam, I'm so sorry. It happened so quick and I-” you tried to defend but she interrupted you. “You had one job, Y/n. One!”

Sam paced back and forth as she rubbed her temples. This was supposed to be a night of relaxing; she had already had two glasses of wine and ate a little bit too much pasta that was acceptable. Sam even had plans to ask you to stay the night again, that’s why she had the wine; she needed that liquid courage to taste your lips for the first time.

But now, as she went over the possible outcomes of her sister assaulting one of her classmates, all she wanted to do was go to sleep. With a sigh, she dropped her hands and stopped pacing. “Alright,” Sam said in a defeated voice, “I will let it slide, but just this once. Go take your shower, but then you are going to bed.”

Tara was out of the room as soon as Sam said it was okay, not wanting to waste a second as she feared that her sister might change her mind. Tara also wanted to give her sister some alone time with you; she noticed the wine glass on the living room table and she was praying that tonight would be the night the two of you stopped pussyfooting around.

“Sam?” Your voice pulled her out of her thoughts and her eyes automatically snapped to you. “What’s up?” She asked.

You stood up from the couch as you approached her. “I’m sorry about tonight. If I would have known that was going to happen, I would have stopped her,” you apologized but Sam was already shaking her head.

“No, it's okay,” she replied as she grabbed her wine glass and finished it off as she walked into the kitchen, with you a few paces behind her.

“Are you sure?” You quietly asked as you awkwardly looked around. “Yeah. Why do you ask?” She questioned as she placed her glass on the counter and looked at you. You could feel her eyes burning into your skin, and you couldn’t help the words that soon poured out of your mouth.

“I don’t know, I’m just worried that you are actually really upset with me but you don’t want to tell me that because you don’t want to upset me. I’m worried that things are different between us now, and I don’t know why I feel that. I’m just terrified I fucked up somehow, and I really really like you, Sam. I’ve worked so hard to gain your trust and now I’m scared I lost it. So, I am so sorry-” she cut off your rambling by cupping your cheeks and pressing her lips against yours.

Your heart automatically started beating quicker as your hands found home on her hips, pulling her closer into you. When you kissed her back, you could have sworn she let out the slightest moan, and it drove your mind insane.

You couldn’t recall her walking toward you, but the only thing that was running through your mind was how soft her lips were; how sweet they tasted mixed with the wine.

The wine.

You quickly pulled away from Sam’s lips. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to do anything while you’ve been drinking,” you apologized, but your eyes darted between Sam’s own eyes and her lips.

With a soft laugh, Sam leaned forward and kissed your cheek, something she had found out she loved doing. “It’s okay, Y/N. I really really like you too, and I hope that we could possibly go on another date again soon?” Sam asked with a look of hopefulness, and you had to fight the urge to lean back in.

“You’re also considering the musical a date too?” You questioned with red cheeks. Sam nodded her head with a smile that matched hers, and oh how your heart beat for the woman in front of you. You swore you were love drunk off those lips that you’ve only tasted once, but now that you’ve tasted them, you’re sure that nothing was as sweet.

“Y/N, would you like to stay the night?” Sam asked, “With me?”

“Are you trying to get in my pants?” You teased as you playfully pushed her shoulders, to which she grabbed your hand and pulled you into her.

Sam reached up with her right hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, then ran her fingers down the side of your jaw as she admired your features. “I’ve been an asshole to you, I know that,” she admitted as her thumb stroked your jawline, “But I hope over time I can make it up to you fully. I’ve blamed you for things that weren’t your fault and I’m sorry I was that dense. I know you are just following Gale’s writing as a way to forge your own career, and I shouldn’t have blamed you for the book she wrote.”

Sam took a deep breath as she tried to collect her thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for how much of a dick I’ve been to you, and I would like to make it up to you,” her voice got quieter as her eyes refused to meet yours, “By hopefully being your girlfriend?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to wrap your mind around what Sam just asked. When her eyes did meet yours, they were holding so much love and hope that you felt your heart explode. Tears welded in your eyes as you cupped her cheeks and pulled her into a loving kiss, forgetting about the alcohol in her system.

“I would love to be your girlfriend,” you mumbled against her lips as you quickly pecked them, “But how much have you had to drink tonight?”

The older Carpenter sister laughed at your comment as she grabbed your hand, pulling you toward her room. “I’m fine, Y/N. I’m sure you and the demon child have had more than me. Besides, I only needed a few drinks to actually make a move on you,” Sam admitted as she opened her bedroom door and dropped your hand, to your disappointment, “But how much have you had?”

You shrugged your shoulders as you walked over to the vinyl set in Sam’s room and began flipping through them. “I’m fine; a little buzzed but nothing too bad,” you replied.

“Mhm, yeah, you’re not as awkward as you usually are. I don’t like it,” Sam stated as she handed you a clean pair of clothes to change into you. You noticed they were her clothes, and an embarrassing large smile over took your lips as you finally realized that Sam Carpenter was your girlfriend.

You leaned to kiss her, but Sam placed her hands on your shoulders, preventing you from doing so. You gave her a little pout, so to make you feel just a little bit better, she sighed and gave your cheek a kiss. “Go change and get ready for bed,” she quietly commanded you and you did as told.

The clothes fit you perfectly, as if Sam had bought them just for you. There was a toothbrush laying on the sink, still in its packaging, and you knew that Sam had gone out shopping for you tonight.

Walking into the bedroom, you climbed into bed with the older Carpenter, who was sitting upright with her back against the headboard of her bed, reading a book. “Did you buy me a toothbrush today?” You asked as you laid down and scooted closer to Sam, wrapping your arm around her waist.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied as placed her bookmark in the book and set it down on the nightstand, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because there was a toothbrush that hadn’t been opened yet, and these clothes fit a little bit too nice,” you commented as you watched Sam turn off the bedside lamp and lay down next to you.

“Yeah, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denied as she pulled you into her body. Sam brought her hand up to the back of your neck and brought your head close to her chest. You sighed in comfort as you nozzled your head, hoping to get as close as you can to her breasts without making Sam uncomfortable.

Sam placed a kiss on your head as she tightly hugged you, “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight, my lovely girlfriend who used to hate me,” you cheekily replied, earning a laugh from Sam.

“When will you ever let that go?” Sam asked with a slight annoyance in her voice, but you knew she was joking.

“I don’t know, until I’ve deemed that enough time has passed for me to be able to move on,” you replied, “But a goodnight kiss would help.”

The Latina chuckled at your words as the hand that was your head was now cupping your cheeks, pulling you into a loving kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, and you knew that you could never leave them. So when Sam pulled away, you chased after her lips, hoping to taste them for just a second longer.

But she stopped you, much to your disappointment. “In the morning you will give you all of the special treatment you want. But for now, let’s go to bed,” Sam stated in a loving voice, and all you did was nod your agreement. You placed your head back on your chest as you two allowed sleep to overtake you.

When the morning came, you awoke before Sam, greeting her with kisses all over her face and sweet nothings about how much you cherished her as your girlfriend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @elduster @silentwolfsstuff @maskthedwarf @canvascoloredin

[prythianpages]

In My Eyes | Azriel

Azriel x Rhysand's Sister | Summary: Azriel has lost you once and when unseen circumstances bring you back to life, he will not lose you again. Even if it means going against his family.

warnings: mentions of death (descriptive and a bit gruesome)/loss, angst 💔

a/n: I wanted to take a little break from all the fluff I've been writing so here's a little angst. I listened to Jacob's prayer from the Minari soundtrack a lot along with Thom Yorke's Hearing Damage while writing this. Hence the title bc I couldn't think of anything else lol and also because I feel like Az would be so down for his mate, she really could do no wrong in his eyes.

A haunting stillness permeates the air, broken only by the occasional whisper of Azriel’s shadows. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He wants to turn and leave but his legs betray his mind, prompting him to go forward. Cracked cobblestone paths lead him to the castle’s doors and as Azriel pushes the door open, it releases a loud groaning noise.

Inside Hybern’s castle, broken furniture lies scattered and the once opulent halls now echo with the sound of dripping water. His shadows stir uneasily. A sudden gust of wind brushes past him, carrying a pleading whisper along with it.

“Help me.”

Goosebumps rise on Azriel's skin as his shadows freeze in place. There was something familiar about that haunting plea that sent shivers down his spine.

“Azriel.”

"y/n," he breathes, the mere utterance causing his shadows to stir into a desperate frenzy. His steps quicken, evolving into a full-blown run, his heart pounding in sync with the frantic pace of his movements.

"y/n!" he calls out again, this time louder. His eyes, stinging with tears, frantically scanning the endless expanse of the haunted halls for any trace of you.

"Azriel, help me!"

Azriel runs and runs, but the hall stretches infinitely before him.

“Help! I’m al–”

And then, with a jolt, Azriel wakes. 

Cold sweat clings to him like a second skin as the tendrils of the dream slowly release their grip on his consciousness. Your voice–it felt so real. But he knows it’s a dream because when he turns his head, the spot beside him is empty. 

As it has been for centuries. 

Azriel allows his heavy eyelids to flutter shut once more as he catches his breath. This was just another nightmare, he tells himself. It does nothing to soothe him. The more he thinks about it, the more unease grips him. Even his shadows are shaky, trembling as they brush against him. 

For centuries, his dreams have been plagued by nightmares. It had always been the same one. The one that made him relive the moment he found out you were dead. Azriel had been the one to find the box that carried your mother’s severed head down Windhaven’s river and when he had spotted another box, all he found was a severed finger. A severed finger wearing a ring he was all too familiar with because he had been the one to place it on your finger.

Azriel remembers the way his heart had dropped to his stomach. He remembers the way he had desperately tugged on the bond only to find nothing but an eerie quietness on your end. He knew at that moment you were gone and you weren’t coming back.

The scream that tore through his throat was as violent as the gaping black hole crushing through his chest. It curdled the blood of anyone within earshot and had the surrounding birds jolting from their perches, their feathers rustling in a panicked flutter. Not even his shadows, who had carried him through his darkest times, could console him.

Azriel had no body to mourn. No hand to hold on to. No face to caress for the last time. He could only hope that your death had been quick and painless.

But this nightmare was new. Different. You were alive in this one. Or sounded like it.

Azriel opens his eyes and he brings himself to sit up in bed. His hands, weary and scarred, rub at his face in exhaustion, brushing away the lingering tears that sting at his eyes. He then looks down at his hands, aching to feel your warmth once more. Even if only in a dream.

The glimmering ring on Azriel's left hand sparkles under the tender caress of moonlight, drawing his attention. His trembling fingers delicately trace the contours of the band. He can’t help but turn and twist it, yearning for a complete view of the engraved letters. It spells out your name and the ache of grief intensifies with every twist. He hasn’t taken the ring off since the day he married you, even after death did you part.

It compliments the smaller, daintier ring wrapped around his neck that hangs on a thin silver chain. Your ring. His name is engraved on it just as yours is on his. The only difference is that yours cradles a captivating cobalt blue gem.  A precious fragment, crafted from his own siphon and meticulously refined by himself. He wanted you to carry a part of him wherever you went.

Now, he is left to carry it. The only piece he has left of you. A poignant reminder that though death may have claimed you, the essence of your union lingers on. He can’t imagine loving anyone else. He doesn’t want to love anyone else. For him, it was you and only you. He could only thank the Mother for allowing him the time he had with you but also curse her for taking you from him.

His hand closes around your ring, grappling with the disorienting emotions coursing through him. Despite the centuries that have separated you, an instinctual yearning tugs at Azriel's core. He reaches out for the intangible thread that once connected you. He knows he’ll only receive the familiar void. It had been this way for ages. He’d wake from his nightmare, reach out with false hope and receive nothing in return.

Yet, this time, just like the nightmare he woke from, is different.

The shadows that hover over Azriel's shoulders, murmuring their soothing lullabies, suddenly cease in their dance. His eyes widen, capturing a glimmer of something long forgotten. Hope. It stirs within him, a dormant ember flickering to life after centuries of darkness.

For a fleeting moment, a heartbeat in the vastness of time, there's a response. A fragile shimmer through the bond. So delicate that it's almost imperceptible. And it’s coming from your side. 

Azriel tugs again, cautiously and slowly. Anxiously and holding his breath. Even his shadows don’t dare to stir. But as he awaits another sign, silence envelops him. There’s no response.

He tugs again, desperately seeking confirmation. And then again and again. His tugs grow harsher, more desperate, each pull an urgent plea for any sign, any trace of you. Yet, the bond remains eerily silent, as if mocking the fragile tendrils of hope that dared to rekindle within him. 

Maybe it was all a figment of his imagination. 

But he swore he heard your voice, swore that tug, as faint as it was, was there. The crushing weight of loss descends once more, and it's as if he's losing you all over again. The echoes of hope vanish, leaving only a hollowing ache. His shadows begin to stir again, anxious to fill that hollowness in fear of the malevolent darkness that threatens to creep back inside and consume him all over again.

“No, no, no,” Azriel cries, his voice breaking into a mere whisper. With tear-streaked eyes, he looks up towards the moon, its ethereal glow filtering through the window on the ceiling.

“Please,” he says, beseeching the celestial body to heed his prayer. 

Yet, the void persists and an overwhelming surge of fear takes hold, tightening its icy grip around him. Because though he thinks of you all the time, he’s beginning to forget the small details. Such as the exact shade of your eye, the radiant sparkle in your eyes as you’d smile at him, the comforting warmth radiating from your laugh, the precise hue of blush that would grace your cheeks every time he told you he loved you.

He doesn’t want to forget. As painful as the memories are now, he wants to anchor himself into every single one of them. To hold onto the exquisite weight of every detail.

"Please," Azriel pleads once more. His body quivers with each sob, hunched over in bed, fingers tightly gripping his chest as if trying to anchor his unraveling soul. The shadows, usually under his control, writhe in a frenzied storm, mirroring the emotions swirling inside him. Some tendrils slither out from beneath the door, seeking out help.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach someone. Rhysand swiftly materializes in the room. "Azriel!" he calls out, a voice cutting through the tumult of emotions that cling to the air like heavy mist. “What’s wrong?”

"I heard her, Rhys," Azriel confesses through tearful sobs, his pain echoing in the shadows. "I felt her."

“What if she’s alive? I–I need to find her.”

Rhysand's heart plummets, a solemn gravity darkening his features. “She’s dead, Az,” he murmurs softly, tone laced with empathy. While Azriel lost his mate, Rhysand had lost his sister. He, too, mourns for you.

Azriel shakes his head in denial. “She needs me.”

Rhysand takes a deep breath, blinking back his own tears. He then turns toward the doorway, meeting Feyre’s wide eyes. She had rushed to the room along with him. "Please, get Cas," he tells her.

**

As Azriel secures his siphons, he stares down at his left wrist, where a lunar emblem is etched onto his tan skin. It had disappeared when you had died but now, it is vivid against his skin once more. He doesn’t know exactly when it had reappeared. He was binding his hands before a training session, many months ago, when he noticed it. The reappearance of your mating tattoo carries with it the weight of the vows you had spoken to him.

“As long as I’m alive, I will love you with every breath.”

But you weren’t alive. You were still dead. After that night almost a year ago, Azriel had looked for you. Every night and day. For months.  He was driving himself into pure madness, even his shadows had grown restless. There had been no more signs, no more traces of you but he still pushed on and he would’ve continued if Rhysand hadn’t forced him to stop.

“Are you ready?”

Azriel nods at Rhysand, securing the last of his weapon to his leathers. He then spares a glance toward Cassian, who is doing the same. It had been a long week of planning for this very moment.

Koschei initiated contact through a cryptic note delivered to Rhysand. The message proposed a meeting at the lake. A “peace” conference, he had called it. One that exclusively also required the presence of Cassian and Azriel. The terms were strange, but with dwindling options and time slipping away, Rhysand reluctantly consented.

"I'll be back before you know it," Rhysand reassures Feyre, bending down to plant a tender kiss on her temple. His gaze lingers on their infant son cradled in Feyre's arms, his smile warm as he places a gentle kiss on Nyx's head. "Save me a slice of Elain's cake for later.”

"Alright," Feyre exhales, her eyes still etched with worry. Her attention shifts towards the inked markings on her left arm and a fleeting shadow brushes softly against the tattoo. Lifted by the subtle touch, her gaze meets Azriel's and then Cassian's. In that silent exchange, they convey an unspoken commitment to protect their family at any cost. Feyre can only manage a small smile before the three males winnow away.

**

As soon as they arrive at the lake, Azriel feels a stirring in his chest. His attention is immediately drawn to a lone white swan. The swan gracefully glides across the murky water. A looming darkness rises from the lake, blocking his view of the swan and causing his shadows to jerk back. 

"Welcome," Koschei's voice whispers through the wind.

Rhysand moves forward, standing in front of Cassian and Azriel, despite the anxiety coursing through him. “Let’s cut to the chase. What do you want?”

The looming darkness swells, and a malevolent chuckle reverberates from its core. Azriel’s shadows tuck themselves behind his wings and his entire body stiffens. He can sense Cassian do the same beside him.  "You know precisely what I desire."

"And you know why we won't grant it," Rhysand retorts. There’s an icy rage swirling in his violet eyes that overcomes his sense of fear. He can only imagine what a world ruled by Koschei would be like and he refuses to allow the death god the power to harm his family.

"I anticipated your reluctance, Rhysand. That's why I've prepared a gift. Aid in my liberation from this lake, and it's yours."

Rhysand scoffs, unwavering. "No gift will entice me to free you."

"Are you certain about that?"

The wind intensifies, rustling leaves and brushing against the Illyrians, raising goosebumps in its wake. Birds, concealed in the trees, erupt in panicked flight. Rhysand, undeterred, digs his hands into his pockets, his eyes narrowing in question at the death god.

Koschei's laughter echoes again. "Perhaps I should show you first. It’s only fair, wouldn't you agree?"

The wind abruptly ceases, plunging the world into an eerie hush. The shadow that looms over the lake drifts to the side, allowing the swan from earlier to glide forward. Suddenly, a dark mist envelops the bird, its form blurring and shifting until the swan's elegant feathers dissolve into a cascade of shimmering silver. From the mist, a cloaked figure emerges, her midnight-blue robes trailing behind her like the ripples of the lake. 

With each graceful step, the water seems to part beneath her feet, revealing the silhouette of a woman long thought lost to the depths. You.

“y/n!”

Azriel instinctively moves forward, hand reaching out towards you. Cassian, however, restrains him, a powerful grip on his brother’s arm preventing any impulsive advance.

Rhysand's eyes widen as you approach, a slow and haunting revelation unfolding in the dim light. It is you, standing right in front of them. In your blood and flesh. But your eyes–your eyes, once bright with life, now mirror the opaque shroud of mist hovering around you.

“This can’t be,” Rhysand breathes, his voice barely a whisper, disbelief coloring his tone. “How?

“King Hybern resurrected your sister from the magic of the Cauldron the same way he did with Jurian. You see, Tamlin was desperate to get Feyre back at that time. He let his guard down, allowing Ianthe to not only disclose the location of the Archeron sisters but also the location of your dear sister’s remains. Tamlin buried her body somewhere in his lands but his father had kept her wings. As a trophy. Did you know her death was slow and cruel?”

A shudder courses through Rhysand. Cassian’s fist clench at his sides and he spares a glance toward Azriel, whose body is shaking. None of them knew the details of your murder. An apprehensive feeling churned in their stomachs and Rhysand felt the bile rise in his throat.

“The sons of Spring did not show her the same mercy they did your mother. They drugged her with faebane, rendering her powerless so that she could not fight back. They sloughed her finger off to gift to you. Then, they took her wings. Let her bleed to death."

Suddenly, Azriel’s chest tightens. He can’t breathe. A pained expression crosses his face and his knees go weak. Images of you being tortured to death flood his mind and all he can think about is how he failed you. Cassian’s grip on him tightens even more, keeping him steady. 

“King Hybern was so sure he’d win the war that he kept your sister hidden. He knew the Shadowsinger was her mate so he drugged her with faebane the same way the sons of Spring did. He didn’t want any of you finding out she was alive.”

“Hybern didn’t want to ruin the surprise. After his victory, he had planned to take you all back to the castle to torment you with her live state. Only to have you die at her hands. Of course, as you can see, that didn’t work out. Briallyn knew of her resurrection and brought her to me.”

Azriel can’t take his eyes off of you. His shadows dart toward you, slithering up your legs and caressing every inch of you. They linger on your wings. You don’t move. You don’t even blink.

But you’re alive. 

All this time you had been alive. That nightmare he had, it was real. You were calling out to him, asking for help. Tears sting at his eyes. That tug he had felt from your shared bond. It was also real. And the tattoo that had reappeared on his skin was not a cruel trick from the Cauldron. But a sign.

“I’ve become very familiar with your sister. She’s very powerful but I’m sure you knew that.”

Rhysand’s gaze flickers to where you stand, heart aching. It’s you but not you. Unlike Azriel, he can’t help but think what if this is all a trick? An illusion to get him to side with Koschei? Cassian meets his worried gaze. They both glance toward Azriel and then exchange a look.

“Let her go.” Cassian finally speaks, hazel eyes glaring at the darkness before them. “And take me instead.”

“Lord of Bloodshed,” Koschei addresses Cassian in an amused manner. “What a most gracious offer. Unfortunately, for you, I have no desire to replace y/n. You, however, are welcome to join me of your own free will.”

“While I am confined to this lake, y/n is going to do everything I physically cannot. She’ll be my proxy, my spymaster. Isn’t that right?”

"Yes, master.”

The words slip from your lips like ice, each syllable devoid of the warmth and affection that once filled them. Azriel's heart lurches in his chest, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach as he hears the lifeless tone of your voice. 

"No," Azriel growls, the sound reverberating through the air with a primal intensity. His voice, usually steady and composed, now carries an edge of desperation and fury. “You have no right to her. She’s mine.”

Rhysand keeps his hands in his pockets, hiding the fact that they’re slightly trembling. He eyes you once more, pure agony seeping into his very core. He mentally takes a deep breath and looks back toward the looming shadow over the lake, mustering all his strength to feign indifference. 

“I don’t understand how this is a gift.”

“Here’s the deal, Rhysand. You help free me from this lake and I free y/n from my control. It’s as simple as that. Since I’m feeling generous, I’ll give you a week to think about it.”

All seven of Azriel’s siphons ignite in a cobalt blaze of raw power. He will not let Koschei control you. You’ve already suffered enough. Cassian struggles to maintain his hold, his grip faltering against the force of Azriel's will. 

“Azriel, no!”

The sound that erupts from Azriel was more animal than human—a deep, throaty growl that spoke of primal fury. He breaks free from Cassian, stumbling forward. He regains his footing with ease, rushing toward the lake. Toward the looming figure. Toward you. He’s so close, the water lapping at his boots when your clouded eyes finally meet his.

Burning pain courses through Azriel’s veins, bringing him to his knees and suddenly, he feels like he’s on fire. Your power takes hold over him, penetrating to the core of his being, carving through the marrow of each bone. He knows the fire is not real. It’s only an illusion but it feels as if every single cell in his body is being tormented with the worst agony imaginable. He can barely hear himself scream over the roaring pain in his ears.

Two strong hands clamp onto Azriel’s shoulders and he writhes against it, fighting it. “No,” his voice is a mere hoarse whisper as Rhysand uses his own power to pull him out of your illusion.

As Rhysand’s tendrils of darkness engulf Azriel, the last thing he sees are your eyes. They’re still clouded over, devoid of their usual luster. Yet, against the backdrop of emptiness, tears escape from them.

**

Azriel wakes to a dull ache in his head. He feels the gentle caress of his shadows against his face, tenderly attempting to alleviate the headache that grips him. With a slow blink, he reluctantly greets the soft illumination of his room at the riverhouse. Memories of what happened earlier flood back with startling clarity and his wings quiver involuntarily. A physical manifestation of the anguish that had ravaged his spirit. He doesn’t care that it was you who inflicted that pain upon him.

It pales in comparison to the pain you must be feeling inside. A mere glimpse of the raw emotions raging within you was enough to pierce Azriel's heart. Like a tempestuous storm, the waves of pain surged through your bond. But then, abruptly, he was shut out.

The image of your tear stained cheeks as you brought him to his knees plagues him with uneasiness. It’s this restless unease that stirs him, prompting him to rise from the bed. He looks toward his door, his shadows curling against his ears. Heavy with determination, he makes his way towards Rhysand’s office.

When Azriel's shadows forcefully swing the doors open, the entire inner circle stands before him. Their expressions betray the weight of their recent discussions. The room falls into a silence, thickened with tension. They had been discussing you. Without him. His hands clench into tight fists, his simmering anger threatening to spill over.

“Azriel,” Feyre greets him with a tense smile. “How are you feeling?”

Azriel’s eyes lock onto Rhysand. Anguish and resentment churn within him and Rhysand's posture stiffens in response

“We have to approach this situation with caution,” Rhysand says, surprised by the steadiness in his own voice despite the weight of their predicament.

“Caution?” Azriel nearly growls, prompting Cassian to inch toward him. “She is my wife! My mate! And you expect me to just sit here and wait for your approval to save her?”

Rhysand frowns, his violet eyes flaring. “You think I don’t hurt too?” He exclaims, his voice breaking as he utters his next words. “She is my sister!”

A hand rests on Azriel’s shoulder. Cassian’s. “I want to save her too. Trust me, I do. But we can’t just jump into–”

Azriel shakes Cassian’s hand off, his shadows hissing toward the taller male. “What if it were Nesta?”

Cassian frowns and he spares a glance toward his mate, who is watching the scene unfold with a somber look on her face. Azriel releases a frustrated huff before redirecting his gaze towards Rhysand, a pointed finger aimed accusingly at his friend and High Lord. 

"If it were Feyre," he insists, his voice tinged with both desperation and conviction, "you would see no reason."

Rhysand's silence speaks volumes.

"I failed her once," Azriel continues, firm and resolute. "I will not fail her again."

But Rhysand's response is unwavering. "I can't let you go. You have to understand.”

Azriel's jaw tightens. "You can't stop me," he counters in defiance, wings flaring out behind him.

"As your High Lord, I–”

"I'm done," Azriel cuts off sharply before Rhysand can go any further. He’s well aware of the weight of his words but he doesn’t allow them to bring him down. You are his mate, the tether to his soul, and he will put you above all else. Even his family. 

 "I resign as Spymaster of the Night Court.”

Feyre's eyes glisten with tears as she approaches Azriel, brushing off Rhysand's attempt to hold her back. "Azriel, please," she implores, her voice trembling with emotion. She knows what Azriel must be feeling. She knows because she lived it herself when Rhysand died after the war. But she also knows–or at least, hopes–that there’s another way to bring you back home. She’s already making plans in her mind to reach out to Helion.

"Don't go. We'll find a way to bring her back, I swear it. Just give us time."

Azriel shakes his head, the thought of waiting to rescue you souring in his mouth. He can't bear the thought of you in pain, needing him, while he stands idle. The urgency to act gnaws at his soul, a primal instinct driving him to protect you at any cost.

“You’ll abandon your family then?” Amren asks. Despite her efforts to maintain her usual façade of indifference, a faint glimmer in her eyes betrays the struggle.

“I will not abandon my mate.” Azriel says, taking a step back. “She’s my family too.”

"Don't do this," Rhysand pleads as he takes a tentative step forward, his hand outstretched toward his brother.

Azriel takes another step back, his hazel eyes darting across the room, absorbing the silent pleas etched on the faces of the inner circle. He loves them but he loves you more. 

When his gaze locks with Rhysand's again, Rhysand's heart sinks. He realizes that Azriel's mind is already set. His brows knit together in a pained expression. He doesn’t want it to end like this.

"I will not hold this against you," Rhysand manages, his voice strained.

How can he hold this against Azriel? When he would do the same for Feyre. When you, his sister, have been brought back to life only to be imprisoned by Koschei. A gasp fills the room as he drops to his knees. 

"But please... just...please..."

The words catch in his throat, choked by the overwhelming grief and helplessness that engulf him. His shoulders slump in defeat as tears blur his vision. Feyre instinctively wraps her arms around him, pulling him close. A brief sanctuary in the midst of his shattering world.

He knows he cannot make Azriel promise anything and Azriel knows this too. Despite the grim circumstances, there is a flicker of solace in Rhysand knowing that whatever terrors may come, you won't face them alone.

“I’m sorry,” is all Azriel says before winnowing away.

**

Azriel’s shadows tuck themselves back behind his wings when he arrives at the familiar lake. His gaze immediately seeks out the water's edge, where wisps of mist still linger. There's no sign of the white swan he had seen earlier.

"I knew you would come around, Shadowsinger," Koschei's voice taunts from the shadows.

"Where is she?" Azriel demands.

Koschei's laughter carries on the wind, but he concedes. You emerge from the surrounding trees, your eyes widening in shock as you lock gazes with Azriel. This time, your eyes are clear, unclouded, and Azriel's heart twists with recognition as he memorizes the exact shade of your eyes all over again.

"You can't be here," you protest, and Azriel's shadows peek out from behind his wings, reacting to the sound of your voice. It's you. It’s really you.

Your eyebrows furrow, mirroring the same pained expression Rhysand had worn just moments ago. You recognize the gleam in his eyes. "No," you plead, your voice barely a whisper, tears welling up in your eyes. "You can't do this. You have to go back. Go back right now!"

Tearing his gaze off of you, Azriel looks toward the ominous silhouette of Koschei. He can feel the air thicken with anticipation, awaiting his next words. He continues to ignore your protests, even as you frantically rush toward his side. 

 “As long as you have control over her, you have control over me.” Azriel says and then drops to  his knees in submission. 

"My, my, my. What a lovely surprise," Koschei remarks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Get up!" You cry out, your hands clutching at Azriel's arms in a desperate attempt to pull him away from the lake. Away from Koschei's grasp. "Azriel, get up!"

Azriel’s knees remain rooted to the spot but his body leans into your embrace. His eyes flutter shut as he allows himself a fleeting moment to revel in the warmth of your presence—the warmth he had yearned for over centuries. The warmth he thought he would never feel again.

His eyes open and though Koschei is a mere shadow a couple of feet away, he can feel his gaze burning into his soul.

“I’ll serve you too,” Azriel finally says, sealing his fate alongside yours in the grasp of the death god.

**

"What have you done?" Your voice trembles with disbelief, your eyes still wide with shock as you stare up at Azriel, your hands reaching out to grasp his face. After Azriel swore his loyalty to Koschei, the death god had granted you both permission to be alone. He sent you to his sister’s old cottage, where you’d be staying for now.

Azriel's heart swells at the touch of your warm, soft hands against his skin. He wipes away the tears that cascade down your cheeks, his own emotions overwhelming him. "You're alive," he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as he rests his hands on your face.

His fingers trace the familiar contours of your features. Every line, every curve is evidence to the reality of your presence. A presence he had long thought lost to him for eternity. The Cauldron had gifted him once more. Here you are, tangible and real. Alive. He can barely believe his eyes.

As Azriel's fingers delicately brush against your face, his shadows dance eagerly in his wake, reaching out to join in the tender caress. They yearn for the sensation of your skin, their touch as gentle as a whisper, expressing their overwhelming joy in silent echoes. "I love you. I love you. I love you," they chant in a chorus of happiness and the bond in your chest sings back in a language only you three understand.

Despite the tears streaming down his face, there’s such a deep and profound warmth in Azriel’s eyes. As he looks at you, it’s like sunlight breaking through dark stormy clouds. You want to bask in its golden glow but as a thought crosses your mind, you abruptly shrink back from him and your lip quivers.

“I hurt you. I-I didn’t want to but I couldn’t stop it. I hurt you. I made you scr–”

Azriel smiles at you, bringing you back into his protective embrace. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” you breathe, eyes searching for any trace of pain or repulse. You find none and though unleashing your power on your mate was against your will, your guilt threatens to consume you. “I’m so sorry, Azriel. I’m so sorry you’re here.”

"Don't be," he murmurs softly, cradling your head against his chest. His fingers thread through your hair, a gentle reassurance of his unwavering presence. He had lost you once. He’s not going to lose you again. 

With a heartfelt sigh, he pulls you even closer. “I’m right where I want to be.”

Slowly but surely, the cascade of tears dwindled, leaving a trace of dampness on your cheeks and Azriel’s leathers. In your mate’s arms, you finally have the courage to voice your deepest fear.

"I'm scared, Az. What if I hurt you again? Hurt someone else? What if I do something worse?”

The vulnerability in your voice tugs at his heartstrings, igniting a fierce determination to shield you from any harm. He’d do anything for you.

“You can do no wrong in my eyes.” Azriel responds, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. He then inhales deeply, flooding his senses with your scent. “You don’t know how much I missed you.”

Azriel then pulls away, just enough to look at you again. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you but I’m here now. I won’t fail you this time.”

Your gaze softens. You send a wave of pure love through the bond and Azriel feels his heart flutter at the sensation he’s been deprived of for so long.

“You never failed me, Az.”

Azriel's face breaks into a radiant smile and you smile back at him. It lights up the darkness that had weighed heavily on his heart for centuries. "I love you," his voice is barely above a breath, reveling in the blush that takes over your cheeks in response.

He reaches for the chain around his neck, fingers trembling slightly as he clasps your left hand. His gaze lingers on the lunar tattoo on your arm that matches his for a moment before sliding your wedding ring back onto your finger.

Holding your gaze, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "My mate," he murmurs against your skin. He then kisses the ring on your finger, the cobalt gem glowing in response. “My wife.”

"I love you," you say back, your arms winding around his neck as your fingers caress the soft strands of his hair. He yields to you, allowing himself to be drawn closer.  You kiss the corner of his mouth. "My mate."

Then, finally, you press your lips against his. "My husband," you declare softly, sealing your bond with a kiss that echoes the depths of your devotion and commitment to each other. 

And for the first time in centuries, Azriel sleeps soundly with you in his arms. Free from the torment of nightmares that had haunted him for so long.

Only to wake up and realize it’s because he’s now living in one.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed! When writing this, I didn't intend for there to be more parts so for now, it's a one-shot. I left the ending open-ended to allow you to interpret it how you want and also, leave room for a sequel in case I ever do want to go back to this. That being said, while I don't have ideas for a sequel in mind as of right now, I did come up with a backstory for Az & reader in this little au so I might write a prequel on how their relationship came to be.

I also have another Az x Rhys's sister series. It is written in third person and it's more of an Az x OC series. You can find it here, if interested. But I do intend to make this au different than that one.

tagging: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444

[lordprettyflackotara]

Hitchhiker SFW & NSFW Headcannon’s:

a/n: getting my wisdom teeth out in like ten minutes so imma be offline and recovering for a few days. enjoy these head cannons until i get back <3

Tim | SFW:

-lives off of coffee & cigarettes. half the time can’t digest regular food & ends up throwing it up from stress :( poor bby

-despite being a proxy for years, still has reoccurring nightmares that keep him up at night. certain things trigger ptsd episodes, specifically memories of jay or brian (who brian used to be before the operator came along)

-rough exterior, doesn’t believe he’s even worthy of being in your presence or anyone else’s. firmly believes that anyone he interacts with The Operator could and would kill just to fuck with him

-major anger issues that he mainly keeps under wraps, masky’s the one who REALLY shows that side of him

-memory is spotty, but he puts more of an effort to remember things since meeting you

-drinks straight black coffee, absolutely despises cream & sugar. its a miracle this man has any water intake at all

-overly protective, to an intense degree

-enjoys bands like the smiths, the neighbourhood (idc bite me), and cigarettes after sex

Tim | NSFW under the cut:

-tim wants to absolutely worship you. a shameless munch who wants to do nothing more than make you cum on his face

-prefers missionary, wants to bury his face into your neck as he pounds into you

-This man loves nothing more than to hear your pretty noises

‘Fuck, keep moaning my name princess’

-doesn’t care too much about receiving head, would rather please you

-ADORES watching your facial expressions as you cum on his fingers. the little o shape your mouth makes drives him feral

‘Yeah? Gonna cum on my fingers?’

-best after care on the PLANET. baths, snacks, cuddles. whatever you want he’s got it ready for you.

Brian || SFW:

-vegetarian (loves tomato soup because it reminds him of what his mom used to make him when he was sick)

-distrusting; even though he tries to attempt from speaking his mind is absolute madness

-lots of ptsd, genuinely fears what happened to him will happen to you

-depressive tendencies. allows hoodie to front when he starts getting too upset

-he doesn’t allow himself to have too many interest or too much of a personality. he lives in constant fear anything he may grow to like or show interest in will be destroyed by the operator

-you instill an unknowingly amount of happiness into his life. an amount so much that he fears he may be beginning to claw his way out of the trenches of despair

-enjoys bands like linkin park, papa roach, and green day

Brian || NSFW

-a TEASE

-this mf wants you to beg for his touch just to turn around & give you what you want & more

-adores the feeling of your nails digging into his back. he gets so turned on by it, it’s borderline nauseating for him

-praise to the absolute MAX

-‘you can take it pretty girl, such a good girl for me’

-possessive & determined to make you feel better then anyone else, especially in group activities

-‘go on, tell tim how good i make you feel’

-loves to overstimulate you to the point of no return. if you aren’t a squirming mess on the brink of passing out from pleasure, he feels like he didn’t do his job right

-wants to manhandle you. something about picking you up as if you weighed nothing to readjust you into the position he wants you in is so addicting to him

-good aftercare, thinks more about cleaning you up than anything else

Masky || SFW

-he’s so tired of being the ‘leader’

-like seriously, he’s sick of it

-firm believer since Hoodie came around first he should be forced to lead the band of misfit toys but he digresses

-thinks tim is a big softie and borderline pathetic, but after he saves you, he thinks more highly of his decision making skills

-when fronting he is absolutely not sleeping. real life is terrifying enough. the last thing he needs is the creativity of nightmares haunting him too

-carries wads of cash in case he’s in a bind. will just throw them at people before storming out of where ever he is

-did i mention anger issues? like to an unhealthy concerning degree? masky believes in punching or shooting his way out of any situation that pisses him off

-delusional but in the best way, imagines you and him to eventually become a bonnie and clyde like duo

-enjoys more edgy bands like three days grace, skillet, and hollywood undead

Masky || NSFW

-there is not a submissive bone in this man’s body

-spitting, spanking, slapping, and choking you really gets him going

-humiliating you and degrading you turns him on so much it’s unbelievable

-‘Fuckin slut. Get yourself off on my tongue. Get on with it before I change my mind’

-Either overstimulation or orgasm denial. No in between

-Gun play. I said what I said. You giving him head while he points a loaded gun at your head drives him feral

-‘Suck it harder or i’ll pull the trigger. Dont think I won’t. You’re not special’

-if you’re into it as much as he is, he’d like to fuck you with his gun🫣

-Lowkey is kinda cruel, enjoy the idea of putting his cigarettes out on you but won’t since he shares you (he doesn’t want to argue with toby/hoodie/brian/tim)

-leaving you covered with bruises in particular is satisfying to him. the shapes of his fingers digging into your waist being there the next day make him hard all over again

-decent aftercare. if we’re being honest you’ll be too dazed to remember most of it. he won’t necessarily cuddle you but he’ll at least clean you with a washcloth before putting you to bed

Hoodie || SFW

-silent but aggressive

-doesn’t enjoy fronting unless it’s to complete a mission or task for the operator

-enjoys stalking his victims just to see what they’re doing before they’re killed🙈

-that ski mask? yeah prefers that mf to stay ON. things that involve you are the only exception he’ll make once he grows fond of you

-him & brian are in an agreement having any real interest is too much risk. of course, they combat this narrative once you come along

-will tell you he doesn’t like music but secretly enjoys shinedown, breaking benjamin, and seether

Hoodie || NSFW

-sadist

-orgasm denial. the sight of you squirming beneath him while begging to cum? euphoric.

-cnc (sorry mom)

-‘shut up and take it. pathetic whore’

-breath play. likes choking but he’d prefer to have you on all fours with a belt around your throat if he’s being honest

-loves recording you. not only to watch back later, but to threaten you with the blackmail

-‘you better behave or i’ll show everyone how much of a slut you actually are’

-hair pulling. whether you pull his hair or he pulls yours. the whimpers that come from it are like heroin

-bondage. if hoodie could have it his way he’d have you tied up and spread out like a starfish on a bed so he could play with you until you break

-probably the worst aftercare out of everyone on this list. doesn’t care for it, thinks it’s your problem. at most will just tell you to pee

Toby || SFW

-toby is pretty much your loyal guard dog. he’s at your disposal and you don’t even realize it

-he never really got an opportunity to be a teenager. now that he’s roughly 21-23, you make him feel like the flustered horny teenager he never got to be

-before you he’s extremely unhinged. toby didn’t have a lot of motivation besides the thrill of a kill. now that you’re around and practically a ball of sunshine, you make him feel something other than blood lust or boredom

-has nice curls but never knows how to take care of them so they always turn out straight since he immediately brushes his hair after a shower

-out of the three proxies he’s the most content with the situation. he views tim and brian as his best friends, even if they don’t feel the same way

-don’t let any of the fluff headcannons deceive you though, there’s a reason he’s a proxy. the unknown strength this man has is concerning. chopping up bodies doesn’t tire him

-enjoys russian roulette. masky and hoodie will play with him on special occasions

-likes to play with fire. if he has an opportunity he will commit massive amounts of arson

-his music taste bounces around everywhere, similar to his personality. top three is violent vira, grimes, and bones

Toby || NSFW

-hardcore switch leaning towards sub

-toby has his dominate moments, most of them just enjoying seeing you blush from his teasing

-‘you like m-me fucking y-you huh? such a p-perfect pussy’

-likes to see you take control.

-i’m sorry but despite being a sub he’s very vanilla, minus a few very specific kinks

-hickies. wants tim and brian to see you’re just as much as his as you are theirs

-cream pies. not even necessarily contributing to a breeding kink, he just likes to watch his cum drip down your abused cunt

-pulling his hair drives him feral. he can’t necessarily feel pain but he feels your eagerness and that’s enough for him

-considering toby can’t feel things his sex drive is extremely high considering it’s one of the few things he can’t actually feel

-one of his fantasies is fucking you with the handle of his axe

-aftercare is peak. he’s just as exhausted as you, but will wait on you hand and foot to ensure you’re taken care of

Nova || SFW

-her dad was a detective, she simply followed in his footsteps

-her parents were very academic driven. praise and affection was only shown to her when she excelled academically

-bi sexual. leans more towards women

-protective, blunt, and head strong

-working in a field that’s pro dominantly men, she ensures to be full of bark AND bite to make sure she’s taken seriously

-became a detective to help people. despite her tough exterior, she genuinely just wants to bring people peace through her work

-obsessive tendencies. once she starts a case she has to finish it. will not rest properly until it’s done

-has a fantastic memory. memorizes all the little details of anyone and everything

-out of the three proxies she likes tim the most, but will never admit she likes any of them

-enjoys hozier, asap rocky, and adeline troutman

Nova || NSFW

-THE BIGGEST SWITCH TO EVER EXIST

-either wants to be called mommy or a good cum dump

-an absolute freak in the bed

-this woman has a chest of sex toys at home of all varieties and sorts

-pegs men

-‘your whimpers are so cute baby boy’

-either wants to put YOU in handcuffs or have you put handcuffs on HER. either way she wants them involved

-doesn’t believe in vanilla sex. if she’s fucking she’s going all in. no lovey dovey shit. just pure feral behavior

-on the other end of the spectrum, loves being fucked into the mattress until she’s dizzy

-‘please keep going, fuck, i’m so close’

-has attended several bdsm sex parties on the down low

-aftercare is peak. she doesn’t gaf ab herself. you’re the star of the show

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - four

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: angst; gun violence; blood;

word count: 7.1k

You woke up confused staring at the oddly familiar ceiling, filled with posters ripped from the old magazines you’d gotten at a second-hand store. When you were sixteen is sounded like a great edgy idea. 

You were home.

What the—? How? 

Sitting up, the room felt stifling, the air thick with the stale smell of old wood and the faintest hint of your father’s cigarette smoke, a scent you had hoped never to encounter again. The heavy feeling in your chest wasn’t just the dread of being back; it was the memories flooding back, threatening to drown you.

The sound of a muffled argument seeped through the thin walls, pulling you back to the present. Your heart pounded in your ears as you recognized the angry, slurred voice of your father.

He was shouting at someone, probably your brother, just like he used to. The familiar clinking of bottles and the crash of something being thrown sent a shiver down your spine.

No. This wasn't real. This couldn’t be real.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the rough crappy carpet under your feet. You stood up shakily. The hallway stretched out before you, longer than it should have been, and the flickering light cast eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper.

As you approached the living room, the noise grew louder, more distinct. Your father’s voice, filled with venom and rage, scared the living hell out of you.

You reached the doorway and peered in, your breath catching in your throat. There he was, towering over your JJ, his face twisted in anger. Your little brother was cowering, trying to make himself as small as possible, his eyes filled with fear. The scene was a haunting echo of so many nights you’d tried to forget.

“No,” you whispered, fear bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t happening.”

But it was.

Your father, with his disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes, swung the bottle in his hand dangerously close to JJ’s head. Each wave of the bottle sent droplets of amber liquid flying, dotting the floor like gruesome confetti. JJ flinched with every movement, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the sight made your heart ache.

“Get out of my sight, you worthless—” your father roared, his voice a terrifying growl.

“No!” you screamed, stepping into the room before you even realized you were moving. “Stop it!”

Your father turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they focused on you. For a moment, he only stared, probably to drunk to realize it was his own daughter.

Then, recognition set in, and his scowl deepened.

“You,” he spat, disgusted by your sight, “You think you can just walk back in here and tell me what to do?”

You couldn’t back down, not now. Not ever again.

“Leave him alone,” you said, your voice trembling, “He’s a child!”

Your father took a menacing step toward you, the bottle still clutched in his hand. “You’ve got some nerve, coming back here and talking to me like that. Looking exactly like her!”

Every instinct screamed at you to run, but you stood there. “I’m not afraid of you Luke,” you lied through your teeth.

His eyes flared with rage, and he raised the bottle, ready to hit you. You tensed up, waiting for the blow.

“Dad, please!” JJ’s voice broke through the tension, “Don’t hurt her.”

JJ’s plea just hung there, like this thin, fragile thread barely holding things together. For a second, your dad froze, his hand twitching, eyes darting between you and your brother.

And then, with this pissed-off roar, he chucked the bottle at the wall. It exploded into a million pieces, glass flying everywhere. The sound echoed through the house, loud and final, like it was the last brutal note in this nightmare that felt way too real.

“You’re a coward, you know that? Hitting your own children. You’re trash.” you spat out, the words flying from your mouth before you could stop them.

His face twisted, “What did you say to me?” He lunged at you, his hands going straight for your throat.

Panic hit hard as his grip tightened around your throat, stealing your breath. You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but he was way too strong, too determined.

Dark spots started creeping into your vision. You gasped, fighting for air, but he only squeezed harder. The room blurred and started spinning, and just when you thought you were about to pass out, his face began to change, shifting right in front of you. You blinked, trying to clear your head, and when you opened your eyes again, it wasn’t your dad choking you anymore.

It was Rafe.

Rafe's face, with a sickening grin, loomed over you. His eyes, filled with a cold, calculating malice, bore into yours. “You thought I’d be any different?” he sneered. “You signed your death sentence, pogue.”

The fear was paralyzing, like ice-cold dread flooding through your veins.Your heart hammered against your chest, but you couldn’t scream, couldn’t shout for help. His grip was solid, unbreakable, like he had no intention of letting go.

You struggled with everything you had, but it was like fighting through quicksand. Every move felt slow, heavy, like you were trapped in molasses.

As the edges of your vision began to fade, a new sound cut through the suffocating haze – JJ’s voice, calling your name. “Sis! Please, wake up! Wake up!”

With a final, desperate burst of energy, you tore yourself away from Rafe, his grip suddenly gone. You were falling, tumbling through darkness, and then–

You jolted awake, gasping for breath, your body drenched in sweat. The familiar ceiling of the motel room came into focus. The terror of the nightmare clung to you, and it made it hard to breathe.

Your hands went to your throat, feeling for bruises that weren’t there. It was just a dream, you told yourself, trying to calm your racing heart. Just a nightmare.

As your breath began to steady, you turned your head, feeling the sheets rustle against your skin.

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, and your heart sank when you saw Rafe lying next to you, his chest rising and falling in a deep, peaceful slumber. He was naked, his body partially covered by the sheets, a reminder of what you’d done hours ago.

A wave of nausea hit you, your stomach twisting with disgust — at him, at yourself. The nightmare still clung to you, the image of his hands around your throat fresh and terrifying, making it hard to process how he could sleep so soundly. You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake him, and hurriedly grabbed your clothes, dressing in silence.

Standing in the cramped bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, hoping it would wash away the nightmare. The coolness gave you a quick moment of clarity, but the dread still clung to you, heavy and unshakable. You stared at yourself in the mirror — pale, tired, and haunted.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. You needed to leave, clear your head, figure out what the hell to do next. Quietly, you slipped out of the bathroom, grabbed your keys from the nightstand, and took one last glance at Rafe. He was still asleep, completely clueless about the fear swirling inside you.

The motel hallway was dark and dead silent, except for the low hum of the vending machine down the hall. You made your way to the exit, and the cool night air hit your skin like a slap of reality. It was like stepping out of one world and into another — the difference so harsh, it almost felt unreal.

You walked a few more steps, but suddenly everything started spinning. Your vision blurred, and you felt lightheaded, your legs giving out as you slumped against the wall, struggling to breathe.

The panic attack hit you full force, your chest tightening, and your mind racing. You couldn't let Rafe see you like this. You couldn't let anyone see you like this. You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to focus on something, anything, to calm yourself down. You started counting your breaths, focusing on each inhale and exhale, trying to slow your racing heart. You thought of JJ, of how much he needed you to be strong.

You couldn't fall apart now.

You kept counting, kept breathing, the cool air helping to clear your head. Slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. The world started to come back into focus, the shadows in the hallway retreating.

You wiped away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks and stood up, feeling a little more in control.

Sleeping around—no, not just sleeping, practically baring your soul to one of the people that had destroyed your life? That had taunted and beaten your brother? Your friends? That killed a cop and got away with it? The thoughts circled in your mind. You were a dirty traitor.

The cold didn't couldn’t wash away the shame eating you alive. How did it come to this? How did you go from hating Rafe to being tangled up with him like this? 

You thought of JJ, of your friends, the people who had been there for you through everything. They’d never understand.

Hell, you didn’t even understand it yourself. You stopped and leaned against a lamppost, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You had to sort through this mess, had to figure out what was real and what was just the lingering effects of captivity and longing. Maybe you were holding on to the only person who managed to pull you out of Ward’s grasp, fooling yourself into finding some good in someone who had caused so much pain. 

An hour later, you made your way back to the motel, the guilt and self-doubt threatening to consume you entirely. You couldn't ignore the feeling that you'd betrayed everything you stood for by letting Rafe into your life, even if it was just for a moment of weakness.

As you got closer to the entrance, you spotted him at the front desk. He looked a mess — worried, disheveled, like he’d just woken up and thrown on some shorts in a rush. His face was tight with tension as he talked to the front desk guy, hands moving wildly, gesturing around like he was freaking out. 

Your pulse pounded as you walked in, not sure of what to say, what to do, how to approach him. The nightmare was still fresh.

Rafe's voice cut through the air, his tone urgent, "How the fuck did you not see her leave? Did someone take her?”

The front desk guy shook his head, his expression apologetic.

"Sir, I haven't seen anyone come through here."

With a deep breath, you stepped forward, revealing yourself, "I'm here," you said quietly, voice rough from not speaking since you woke up.

Rafe's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening in relief as he caught sight of you. "Thank God," he breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “Fucking hell, Maybank.”

His arms were around you in an instant, his warmth enveloping you. You should feel repulsed.

His hands rested gently on your back; fingers splayed wide. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace for the last time, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly. And then, you pushed him away, your movements sharp. His hands fell away from you. The hurt in his eyes cut through you like a punch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to think much of it. It was you or him.

You took a step back, putting some distance between you and Rafe, needing the space to breathe, to think, to figure out what came next.

Your gaze flickered to the floor, unable to meet his eyes, unable to face the consequences of your stupid actions, "Just needed some air," you muttered, “Sorry for not leaving a note.”

Rafe's expression shifted from relief to concern as he watched you, his brows furrowing.

"You okay?"

You still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, "I'm fine," you replied, your voice lacking conviction even to your own ears. "Just felt a little nauseous.”

His hand reached out tentatively as if he wanted to comfort you, but he hesitated, letting it fall back to his side. “I just woke up and you were gone, and I...I panicked."

You hated the fact you could pinpoint the sincerity in his voice so easily. It nearly killed you. 

“We should go back.”

"Will you... will you be okay?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You nodded, trying to muster up a reassuring smile, but it felt hollow and insincere. "I'll be fine," you lied, the words tasted bitter on your tongue, “Just need some rest.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, let’s go back.”

As you stepped inside the room, he watched you carefully, as if he was afraid you would’ve disappeared again at any given moment. He tried to reach out and grab your arm, but you moved too quickly, and he was left grasping air.

You offered him a weak smile, ignoring the look on his face.

"I'm sorry for leaving like that," you said, your voice tinged with genuine regret. "I’m fine.”

You didn’t think he believed you. He was watching you so closely. He took in how disheveled you looked. The mess of your hair, and barely laced-up shoes so you could get out the door faster. He was smart enough to read your bullshit, but he only took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Is this about last night?”

Your body froze instantly. What were you supposed to tell him? Lie? Tell him the truth and make him hate himself even more? Keep your pain down to hold his?

“It was a mistake.”

You went straight to the chase.

He stalked closer to you, and you took a step back reflexively, “A mistake?” he echoed between labored breaths, “A mistake?”

“Yeah," you stammered, trying to articulate your thoughts, "It's not right. We, we're just lonely."

You despised yourself for even hinting at it, but the tumultuous month spent with him had been bewildering, to say the least. You questioned whether you were truly good for each other. You couldn't be.

"I thought..." he began, his voice trailing off. The vulnerability in his voice pierced your skin, a consequence of your actions. But you needed to put yourself first.

“I’m sorry.”

Rafe's face contorted, his features tightening into a mask of disbelief. And you couldn’t blame him for whatever he was about to unleash on you. You probably deserved it.

“So, what? You're just gonna walk away?" He tried to bark, but his voice quivered from grief, “Stop looking at me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He scoffed, lips twisting into a sneer, as he started to pace around the room, his movements restless and agitated. “That’s funny.”

Rafe could act cold and stoic all he wanted; you could hear the hurt in his voice and sense the sadness in the words. He sounded broken.

"You're angry,” Your mouth ran dry, your heart lurching into your throat. "I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he seethed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, “Angry? You think you mean enough to me to make me angry?”

His words struck you like a physical blow, a slap to the face. You recoiled instinctively, even though you knew he didn't mean it.

"I don't know what I mean to you," you admitted quietly as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I just know that I can't keep doing this."

Rafe's laughter was bitter and mocking, "Can't keep doing this?" he repeated, his voice laced with derision. "And what, exactly, is 'this'? Fucking? You can’t even say it.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

"An asshole?" he spat, "Is that what you think of me?"

You held his gaze, refusing to back down despite the hurting coursing through your veins. "You're acting like one.”

“Maybank,” His voice was still harsh as he lowered his head to try and meet your eyes. He was close enough that you were able to smell him, "You don't know anything about me, remember? Maybe the fucking really did confuse you.”

“Stop it,” Your voice broke a little, fighting the waterworks that were threatening to run down your cheeks, “Stop making it sound like it meant nothing to you.”

His eyes shut tightly, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s wrong! Rafe—don’t you see it? I can’t do this, not with you of all fucking people, okay?”

He looked down at the carpet, a look of shame falling over his features as he ran a hand over his face, “You knew who I was since the beginning.”

You felt so much frustration rising within you, "Yeah, and every time I look at you now, I see everything that's wrong with me."

“And whose fault is that? Hmm? You said you didn’t want to stop. You wanted it, you wanted me.”

You staggered back, feeling as if the ground beneath your feet was unsteady.

"I wanted it," Rafe repeated, fingers digging into his chest, "I wanted you."

You wanted to reach out to him, hug him as you had just hours ago, but you knew you couldn’t.

“We can’t.”

His eyes were slightly dewy, a somewhat defeated look to his gaze as he walked towards the door.

“Well, congrats Maybank. You won.”

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the room, the finality of it hitting you like a punch to the gut. You stood there, motionless, as the silence enveloped you. Why did it feel like this was going to crush you?

You sank to the floor, your back against the wall, and the tears came in a torrent, for the second time that morning. Sobs wracked your body, each one more painful than the last, as the reality of your situation became clear as day. You had pushed him away, and hurt him, but what other choice did you have? 

The quiet without him was almost eerie. You weren't used to being alone anymore. You couldn't deny that you had felt something for Rafe, something more than just anger and resentment.

But it was twisted, born out of shared trauma and desperation, wasn’t it? It had to be. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Wiping your tear-streaked face with trembling hands, you tried to gather yourself. You still needed to get home. In five days. How the fuck were you going to live in the same room with Rafe for five days after what went down?

You sat on the motel room floor for what felt like hours, the silence driving you up the walls. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and you crawled into bed, your mind too restless to allow for more than fitful dozing.

It was around 4 a.m. when the door to the motel room creaked open, startling you awake. You sat up, your heart pounding, straining to see in the dark. The figure that stumbled through the door was unmistakable: Rafe. His movements were unsteady, his clothes disheveled, and the sharp scent of alcohol hit you even from across the room.

“Rafe?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned heavily against the doorframe, his eyes unfocused. He looked lost.

The anger that had driven him was gone, replaced by a hollow, almost haunted look. You had done that to him.

You got out of bed, approaching him cautiously, “What are you doing?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot, “I... I couldn’t stay away,” he slurred, his words thick with the effects of too much alcohol. “I tried, but...”

You sighed, “Rafe, you’re drunk. You need to sit down.”

He let you guide him to the bed, his body heavy and uncooperative. Once he was seated, you grabbed a bottle of water from the small table and handed it to him.

“Drink this,” you instructed.

He took a sip, his hands shaking slightly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “For everything.”

It was the first time he ever apologized to you.

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was okay, but another part of you was still reeling from earlier.

“You need to sleep this off."

He nodded but didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “I don’t want to be like him,” he confessed, “I can't."

If you allowed him to keep sputtering out his drunken thoughts you would’ve ended up crying your eyes out again, so instead you squeezed his hand, “Let’s just sleep, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes drifting shut as the exhaustion and alcohol finally took their toll. You helped him lie down, covering him with the sheets. As you laid back down, you watched Rafe’s breathing even out, his face softening in sleep. 

That night? It never happened. It felt like everything was happening all over again.

Rafe didn’t spare you a glance from the moment he woke up, choosing to care for his hangover by himself. You and he moved around each other like ghosts, the motel room becoming a prison. You barely slept, the nightmares coming back, leaving you exhausted and on edge.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw your father, Rafe, or the hauntings of your past, blending into a tiring cycle of fear. You knew he’d been having nightmares as well, but you pretended to be asleep every time he woke up, chest heaving. He never asked for you help.

He seemed so caught in his torment. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, the way his hands would flex into fists and then relax as if he was battling some inner demon. He avoided you, constantly, and when he did speak, his words were clipped and distant.

Your shared meals were silent, the clinking of cutlery the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. Even the TV stayed off.

On the fifth night, you lay awake in the dark, listening to the rhythm of Rafe's breathing from the other bed. It was uneven, indicating he was also awake. Maybe you should've kept quiet, but his druken monologue was still very much killing you inside.

“You’re not gonna end up like him.”

Rafe's breathing hitched, and you could almost feel his eyes on you through the darkness.

"I mean it," you continued, turning slightly to face his silhouette. "You're not your father."

He didn't respond immediately, but you sensed a subtle change in his posture. Finally, he sighed, "How can you be so sure?" he murmured.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Because I've seen you. I've seen the parts of you that fight against becoming him. The parts that want to be better. And that matters."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not sure it’s enough.”

“It is.”

“It’s not, Maybank. I’ve done enough damage for a lifetime. It’s the reason why you’re sleeping on the other side of the bed instead of right next to me.”

You wanted to reach out, to reassure him that he wasn’t alone, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. 

“I’m still here,” you said softly, “I’m not leaving.”

“You already did.”

Ouch.

Before you could utter a single word, he turned his back to you.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Sleep.”

“Rafe—”

“Goodnight.”

It took you hours to fall asleep. You lay in bed the events of the past weeks replaying in your mind. You thought of Rafe, of the hurt in his eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. That didn't matter anymore to him.

The next morning, you didn’t bother much with packing, only shoving the pieces of clothing you’d collected in a backpack. It felt torturous, to be so close to Rafe yet so far away. He didn’t speak a word as he packed his things, his movements stiff and mechanical. You wanted to break the silence, but every time you opened your mouth, the words seemed to stick in your throat.

The taxi drive to the port was just as unbearable. You stared out the window, watching the landscape blur past, your mind racing with thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. 

Once you arrived, you and Rafe stepped out, the silence between you as impenetrable as ever. It was over. He took the lead, heading towards the ticket booth with his shoulders hunched, and you followed.

You were still scared shitless of those men. They were only helping you because at some point Rafe had helped them smuggle drugs into the States, and that did not leave you the least bit reassured over their intentions. 

Finding a spot on the deck, you both settled into a tense silence, the hum of the boat’s engine and the cries of seagulls filling the void between you. The beauty of the scene did little to ease the anxiety tightening in your chest.

He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his face still void of any emotion.

You watched him for a moment, torn between wanting to reach out to him and the fear that doing so would only make things worse.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you cleared your throat.

“Rafe,” you began hesitantly, “I—”

Before you could finish, he turned to you, his expression weary. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, his voice flat. “Not now.”

Not ever, that's what he meant.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Just stay low, stay quiet. My dad got eyes everywhere.”

From the corner of your eye you spotted one of the men. Tall, burly, with a scar running down his cheek. He simply nodded towards the cargo boat and for a minute you’re taken back to your first day stuck with the Cameron’s, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Rafe walked in front of you again, entering the ship, rounding his way through the halls behind the sketchy guy, only stopping when he knocked on a door, after a moment, it swung open to reveal a bald shot man, eyes way too big for his face, which flicked over you and Rafe, a predatory smile curling his lips.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “You’re late.”

“Had some complications,” Rafe replied curtly, his posture tense.

You didn't like it one bit.

“Complications, huh? Well, come on in”

You followed Rafe inside, heart racing. The interior of the room was pretty dark, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something you couldn’t quite identify. Nor did you want to. 

“Rafe,” the older man announced, his voice cold and commanding. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about our arrangement.”

“Never,” Rafe replied, his tone clipped. “I brought the money.”

He handed over a thick envelope, and the man behind the desk took it, flipping through the bills with a practiced eye. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied.

“Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Now, let’s discuss the other part of our deal.”

Rafe stiffened. “I told you, I’m out. I’m not running anything for you anymore.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, his smile turning dangerous. “I don’t think you understand. You don’t get to just walk away.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. This wasn't the plan. Right? The man behind the desk stood up, his gaze shifting to you.

“And who’s this?” he asked, his tone menacing.

“No one,” Rafe said quickly. “She has nothing to do with this.”

The man chuckled, a low, sinister sound. “Oh, I think she has everything to do with this.”

He took a step towards you, and instinctively, you backed away, Rafe moving to place himself between you and the older man, “Leave her out of this.”

“You see, your daddy dearest called in last night. Told me about a loose piece he had to get rid off…a pretty one. Guess this is her?”

"That's none of your business," Rafe growled, his voice filled with a warning, body still shielding yours.

The older man laughed, the sound grating against your nerves.

"Oh, but it is my business, Rafe. You see, your daddy and I, we go way back. And when he asks for a favor, I don't say no."

You knew this had to be a trap.

"Rafe, we need to go," you whispered urgently, tugging on his arm.

He didn't move, his eyes locked on the man before him. "We're leaving."

The man smirked, his gaze shifting between you and Rafe. "You think you can just walk out of here? You're in deep, Cameron. And now, so is she."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "We're not doing this.”

The older man took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. 

"You have two choices, Rafe. You either do as I say, or she pays the price like Ward asked.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear coursing through your veins. You couldn't let Rafe get pulled back into this world, but you couldn't think about what might happen to both of you if you stayed.

"Rafe, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling at that point.

Rafe’s gaze flicked to you as if he was memorizing your features, from your eyes down to your lips. Oh hell no. You could see the gears turning inside his brain and it made you sick to your stomach when he took a deep breath, his eyes hardening with resolve.

“Run.”

Before you could protest, Rafe launched himself at the older man, tackling him to the ground. The suddenness of the movement caught everyone off guard, but you knew you had to act quickly.

Heart pounding, you turned and bolted out of the room, dropping your backpack in the process, your footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor.

Behind you, you could hear the sounds of struggle—grunts, crashes, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. You didn’t dare look back, knowing that every second counted. Rafe had told you to run.

The ship's layout was confusing, with identical-looking hallways and doors leading to who-knew-where. You sprinted through the maze of metal and dim lights, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The distant sound of shouting and commotion indicated that the fight wasn't over. You turned a corner and collided with one of the burly men from earlier.

He grabbed your arm like you were some kind of animal, “Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.

You stomped on his foot and jabbed your elbow into his ribs, wrenching your arm free as he grunted in pain. Without wasting a second, you continued running, your legs burning.

You burst onto the deck, the cold, salty air hitting you like a slap. The early morning light was just beginning to brighten the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck. You looked around frantically, searching for any means of escape. Your eyes landed on a lifeboat secured to the side of the ship. Without hesitation, you made your way towards it, fumbling with the ropes that held it in place. Your fingers were shaking, but you managed to free the boat. As you were about to lower it into the water, a rough hand grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. It was the man with the scar, his face twisted in anger.

“Going somewhere?” he sneered.

You tried to fight him off, but he was too strong.

Just when you thought all hope was lost, a loud bang echoed across the deck. The man with the scar froze, his grip loosening. You took the opportunity to break free, scrambling away from him.

Rafe stood at the entrance to the deck, a gun in his hand and determination in his eyes. The man with the scar raised his hands slowly, backing away.

“You okay?” Rafe asked.

“I think so.”

“Come here.”

Without thinking, you ran to him, your heart pounding with relief. He was okay. You were okay.

His arms wrapped around your lower back tightly, and gently pulled you back, his eyes searching your face to make sure you were okay, but before you could assure him you were fine, he kissed you.

It felt so…real, it nearly brought you to your knees. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like time stood still for you, the rest of the world ceasing to exist. 

Until reality broke you again.

Rafe's body tensed suddenly. You heard a muffled sound, like a distant pop, but it took a moment for your mind to register what had happened. His grip on you loosened, and he staggered, his breath hitching in pain. No, no, no, no.

"Rafe?” You caught him as he fell to his knees, eyes darting around, searching for the source of the shot. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you watched a showdown between the so-called human traffickers and the fucking police. This had to be a fucking nightmare, no way, were you getting caught in a crossfire. 

Rafe clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers, staining his white shirt. His face was scarily pale, and he struggled to stay upright.

"You need to...get out of here," he managed to say, his voice strained, “Right now.”

“I’m not leaving you, you fuckin—Shit, Rafe. Fuck!” You looked around frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. "Can you walk?" you asked, trying to keep the panic from your voice, you didn't want to scare him.

“Does it look like I can walk, pretty Maybank?”

A sob broke through you, “Don’t try to be fucking funny, you got shot!”

“Baby, you—“ he coughed, blood seeping through his teeth, "You gotta go home.”

"Stop talking!" you repeated, your voice trembling with desperation.

You looked around again, trying to find a way out, a way to save him, anything. But the chaos around you was too much. The police and the traffickers were in a fierce shootout, bullets whizzing through the air, ricocheting off metal, and splintering wood. There was nowhere to run.

Rafe's hand tightened weakly around yours.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice just a whisper. "You have to...Go gome."

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. "I can't leave you here."

You knew you had to move, had to find help, but leaving him there felt like tearing your heart out. As you turned to peek around one final time, you heard a shout from behind you.

"Freeze!" a police officer yelled, his gun trained on you.

You stopped, your hands raised, your mind racing. "Please, help him," you begged, pointing to Rafe. "He's been shot."

The officer's eyes flicked to Rafe, then back to you. "We need to secure the area first," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

"Please," you repeated, your voice breaking. "He's dying."

The officer hesitated, then spoke into his radio. "Officer down, need medical assistance immediately."

Another officer approached, his gun drawn, and you saw his gaze soften as he took in Rafe's condition. "We'll get him help," he assured you, "but we need to get you out of here safely."

“I’m not leaving without him,” You made the mistake to glance back one last time, your heart breaking as you saw Rafe's eyes close, his body slumping against the ground, “No, no, no! Keep your eyes open, I swear to god—” Your hands trembled as you tried to staunch the flow of blood with your already stained clothing, "Stay with me," you pleaded, your voice cracking. 

His eyes fluttered open briefly, a weak smile touching his lips, "Go."

Before you could tell him off, you felt hands grip your shoulders, pulling you back. "We need to get you to safety," one of the officers said firmly, trying to drag you away from Rafe.

"No! Let me go! I can't leave him!" you screamed, fighting against their hold.

"Ma'am, we need to get you out of the line of fire," the officer insisted, his grip tightening as he pulled you to your feet.

Through your tears, you saw more officers surrounding Rafe, their voices urgent as they called for medical assistance. You watched helplessly as they began to administer first aid, their movements efficient and hurried.

As the officers dragged you away against your will, your eyes never left Rafe. "Please, don't let him die," you sobbed, your voice breaking with despair.

"We're doing everything we can," one of the officers reassured you, guiding you towards the edge of the deck where a police boat was waiting.

You stumbled, your legs weak with fear and exhaustion, but the officers held you steady. As you were helped onto the police boat, you turned back one last time, your heart breaking at the sight of Rafe lying on the deck, surrounded by officers and paramedics. You clutched the railing, your knuckles white, as the boat pulled away from the ship, the distance between you and Rafe growing with each passing second.

The journey back to shore was nothing but a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and the distant sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. The police officers tried to reassure you, but you wouldn't rest until you saw him again. Alive.

When the boat finally docked, paramedics rushed forward, checking you for injuries, while police officers asked you questions about what had happened. You answered them mechanically, your mind still focused on Rafe, praying that he would survive. Hours seemed to pass in a haze of questions, medical checks, and statements. You told them everything. Finally, you were allowed to sit down and a police officer approached you.

"Rafe Cameron is being taken to the hospital," he said gently. "He's in critical condition, but the paramedics are doing everything they can."

You nodded numbly, "Can I see him?"

“’No visitors will be allowed, kid. We checked your backgrounds. If he survives, he’ll be taken into custody, his father is Ward Cameron, the feds are going to need him.”

You nearly threw up at how easily he said, “if he survives”. There couldn’t be no fucking ifs, he wasn’t dying. Not like this. Not after everything. 

Your knees buckled, and you had to sit down again. The officer helped you to a bench, his face sympathetic, “I understand this is hard, but we need to follow protocol. He’s a key witness and suspect in multiple ongoing investigations.”

You nodded. The world felt distant, and surreal. “Can I at least know which hospital?”

The officer hesitated for a moment, then relented. “St. Michael’s. But you won’t be allowed to call until we clear things with the authorities.”

“Call? I want to visit.”

He sighed, taking a seat next to you, “Kid. I’m really sorry, but you won’t be here. You’re a kidnapping victim and there’s a direct order to take you back home, you’ve been reported missing for over a month now.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the officer's words.

Missing? For over a month? It felt like a lifetime and no time at all had passed since you'd been caught up in this nightmare.

"I can't leave him. Not like this."

The officer's expression softened. "I understand, but this is out of my hands. We need to get you back to your family. They'll be worried sick."

What family?

You wanted to shout in his face. JJ was still missing for all you knew and Luke hadn't stepped foot home in months. You felt so helpless.

“I can't just leave him."

"We're going to get you home safely. You'll be able to follow up on Rafe's condition, but right now, you need to come with us."

The officer stood up, motioning for you to follow. Reluctantly, you got to your feet, without another option, every step feeling like a betrayal to Rafe.

As you were led out of the station and into a waiting car, you could only imagine him lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, by himself. You couldn't bear the thought of him waking up alone, without knowing that you were there for him.

If he ever woke up.

[ovaryacted]

RESTLESS

PAIRING: RE2!Leon x fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Leon wakes up in the middle of the night with you on his mind. He can't help but indulge in his desires when you're asleep next to him, but is surprised to find out that you won't let him get away with it so easily.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: 18+/MDNI. NSFW. Porn without plot. Femdom. Mommy Kink. Edging/Orgasm Denial. Begging. Degradation/Praise. Slight Somnophilia. Hint of fluff at the end. Just Leon being needy.

WC: 3.2k

NOTES: This is the first installment of my kinktober. I hope you like it, I had fun writing this and just love sub Leon. Let me know if I left out anything in the warning. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

《 Kinktober Masterlist 2023 ⟡ Main Masterlist 》

Leon couldn’t sleep.

Sure, having trouble like this was normal to him. The graphic and consistent nightmares he used to have would still haunt him from time to time. There was no remedy for that, his memories forever a mark on his subconscious that would continue to be a part of his psyche for as long as he’ll remember.

Though the reason he was up at this time was far from remembering the countless horrors he saw on that terrible night in September. The only thing keeping him up nowadays was you, the only person who can both comfort and torment him alike.

All curled up on your side, you slept as he watched quietly behind you. A bad habit he developed when you two started dating early on, waking himself up to watch over your breathing to ease his anxieties. It was a way to affirm to himself that you were real, that you wouldn’t disappear the second his head hit the pillow and he woke up the next morning.

His tired blue eyes trailed over the way your chest rose and fell with every intake of breath you took, the cotton fabric of the shirt you stole from him accentuating the shape of your breasts when you exhaled. Soft sighs would pass your lips, no sign of a dream present in your mind while your hair splayed over the pillow underneath you. Despite the sheets covering your bottom half, he could already envision the thin shorts you usually wore to bed rising up your thighs.

Leon may have woken up in the middle of the night, the alarm clock on his bedside table reading 2:15 am in bright red analog. But he was wide awake now, his mind focused on one thing. You.

Carefully, he brought himself closer to you, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and pressing his body against yours. He’s done this a hundred times over, never been a problem, but the second your hips shifted backward a quiet hum settled in his throat. He dug his nose into the back of your neck, taking in the scent of your body wash and shampoo. A comforting mixture of jasmine with a hint of white musk filled his senses, a smell that he reserved just for you, one that he’d always recognize as home.

Leon noticed you didn’t stir in your sleep, still oblivious to the developing hardness against your rear. He didn’t mean to, or maybe he did, but he couldn’t help it even if he tried. You fidgeted the slightest bit, moving closer to the warmth you felt behind you and he knew he was in trouble, the fabric of his briefs starting to feel tighter.

One of his hands moved underneath the shirt you wore, going up your lower stomach and coming towards your chest. He kneaded your breasts gently, an action he’d do at random as a stress reliever when you two would cuddle.

His thumb brushed against your nipple, the nub hardening underneath his fingertips. He felt your breathing hitch before he heard it, a loud exhale followed soon after but you remained asleep. Leon continued his groping, growing harder against your back as he moved his body to gyrate against you.

Your shorts had risen completely now, one of your legs bending at the knee and lifting higher against the mattress. His other hand twitched as it slipped between your legs, lightly cupping you against the material of your underwear. He could feel your warmth slipping through the cotton, the gusset growing moist with every pass of his fingers. The hushed grunt that passed his lips couldn’t be contained, starting to gently kiss your neck while his hands roamed your body.

His cock started to swell in his briefs, pressing himself closer so he could feel your heat seeping through the material of your panties that now clung to you. Even in your sleep, your body knew Leon was the one touching you, the familiarity becoming muscle memory as he felt you get wetter under him.

“Fuck…”, he cursed under his breath, moving your underwear to the side to feel you bare. Slick developed on his fingertips as he brushed over your pulsing clit, warm just the way he liked. He could feel your heartbeat underneath the palm of his hand from where he squeezed your breast, noticing how you grew more breathless with every pass of his hands.

He was growing lost in the feel of you, of how your pliant body continued to show him how badly you wanted him, needed him to make you feel better. Fingers growing wet with your arousal, he swears he could hear a moan slipping from your lips as your hips arched towards him.

Deft fingers moved to your entrance, feeling it clench around the idea of being filled by something. Tweaking your nipple again with intention, he ground his hips harder against your lower spine, shuddering as he did. It should be sick what he was doing, trying to get a feel of you while slept right next to him, but he didn’t seem to care. Growing flushed from the fondling, he lost track of time with his face dug in the crease of where your neck and shoulder met. He was stuck in a world of his own, getting ready to insert his fingers into your hole until he heard you speak.

“What are you doing Leon?”, your voice still laced with sleep brought him back to reality, causing him to freeze with his fingers still against you.

“Shit, I-I…”, he didn’t have an explanation for his actions, refusing to tell you how he couldn’t sleep because he just needed to feel you.

“You thought you could touch me while I slept and get away with it?”, the rasp in your voice only made his dick pulse, how you shamed him for his desires despite your body saying otherwise.

“I’m sorry. Wanted to feel you, couldn’t sleep”, he mumbled against you, hiding his face and embarrassed of his actions, but not guilty enough to pull his hands away from your body.

“What did I tell you about waking me up like this?”, you started to move now, taking his hands out of your underwear much to Leon’s dismay.

You flipped over to look at him, seeing just how flustered your lover was beside you. Even through the darkness of your bedroom, you could see the way his face blushed as your eyes met. Taking a second to trail your gaze over him, your sight was directed to the obvious bulge in Leon’s navy briefs, his shirt doing nothing to cover it from you.

“Told me not to touch you in your sleep…”

“And you didn’t listen to me, again”, you came closer to him to lay a hand on his chest, appeasing Leon’s desires even more.

“I’m sorry…just love you so much I can’t help it sometimes”, that comment made you smile, a statement you knew was the truth.

Ever since the beginning of your relationship, Leon was like a puppy, always attached and wanting to be near you. It was a comfort thing, wanting to feel you whenever he could with physical touch and quality time being his biggest love languages. He was clingy in an endearing way, and that trait carried on in the bedroom, one that you loved to exploit.

“I know baby. But now look at what you did, got all hard ‘cause I was sleeping next to you. Is this what you want?”, you leaned your body more against him, your hand caressed his chest and moved up to clutch at the hair at the base of his neck.

“Fucking please…need it so bad”, it was his turn for his breathing to hitch, looking at you with a pout that only made you want to kiss him.

“Yeah? You need mommy to make you feel all better?”, the single phrase made Leon moan, feeling you come towards his neck to kiss his throat.

“Please, I want you mommy”, a confession you’d love to hear on repeat if you could.

You smirked, laying chest to chest and tilting your head up to kiss him gently. He whimpered against you, holding your face by the jaw. Lips meshed together, your tongue quickly found his, exploring his mouth while he gladly let you. With a sneaky hand, you moved to massage the bulge hidden underneath the navy material of his underwear. A whisper for more filtered through your ears as he shuddered under you, making his cravings more intense.

“My needy baby, always so desperate for me”, you said as you pulled away from him, watching Leon nod and bite his lip.

Taking his cock out of his briefs and pulling them down until he could kick them off, you started to pump him with a quick jerk of your wrist. Thumb against his slit, the slickness of his pre-cum covered your digit, your mouth watering at the prospect of running your tongue along his body. He tried hard not to be so loud with his sounds, but the more you jerked him off, the more depraved he became.

“Woke yourself up thinking about my pussy you just had to wake me up too right?”, you were toying with him, feeling his cock throb in your hand the more you spoke.

“Yeah, just missed you, missed mommy so much”

“Always waking me up because you’re horny. Can’t keep doing this to me babe, I need my sleep”, you started to pump him faster, Leon’s fingers going towards your wrist and squeezing, signaling he was getting close. “But you’re not getting off that easily, not this time”

You stopped and pulled your hand away completely, Leon’s eyes shooting open and a pitiful whine left his mouth as you stopped stroking him. Hard cock bobbing against his lower stomach, his hips jerked in search of your touch yet you didn’t provide it.

“I’m sorry mommy, I’m sorry just fuck…please don’t stop. I’ll be good, promise”

“You said that last time and didn’t listen to me. You’re breaking your promises to me baby, that’s not what I taught you”

He pouted again, already so eager for more that he had to close his eyes and try to control his breathing. His hands pawed at your hips, grasping your body as you didn’t give him what he so badly desired. 

“I won’t do it again. Won’t touch you when you sleep. Please…I can’t…”

You sometimes felt pity for your boyfriend, how he’s reached the point of not being able to get off without you anymore. He could be insatiable in that regard, not that you complained, but seeing him this pathetic always managed to ruin your underwear more times than you could count. You knew, regardless of how many times he said he wouldn’t do it again, you’d be back in this position soon enough.

Your hand went back to stroke him, a sigh of relief passing him as his hips moved towards your fist. You kissed up his neck and jaw, nipping towards his earlobe and sucking it between your lips. Leon was panting now, fucking up into your hand and feeling you tighten your fingers around him in the way he liked. His thighs twitched underneath you, another strained moan being swallowed as you kissed him once more.

Leon’s groaning got higher in pitch, resorting to pleased hums the closer he got to falling over the edge. He was so close, so close to getting that relief he longed for all night. But the second the rope of tension was about to snap in his lower gut, your touch disappeared from him again, and he could feel himself ready to cry from frustration.

“No…no please…please stop teasing me. I need you”, he was aching now, and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

“You gonna be good for mommy if I give you what you want?”, you took off your shorts and panties as you spoke, multitasking while Leon was stuck in a daze of his own.

“Yeah, yes I’ll be good. I’ll be good for you mommy just please, I can’t take it anymore”

At this rate, Leon would drive himself crazy with just the thought of being able to feel your cunt wrapped around him. With a grin of pure delight, you straddled his lap, bare pussy against his stiff length. That sensation alone sent trembles down Leon’s spine, grinding against your wetness. The fact that you were wet from all of this only made him want you more, pure desire written in his dilated eyes.

“Be good and let me fuck you to sleep baby”, you murmured, shifting your hips more to feel the tip of Leon’s cock rub against your clit, gasping at the contact.

You positioned yourself higher above him while holding him at the base, shifting down to slip him inside you. You hissed at the slight stretch as he filled you, having him with no prep like this would be uncomfortable if you weren’t completely soaked.

The sound that left his mouth was guttural, deep from within his chest. In any other setting, he would be completely embarrassed if someone else knew what he sounded like in bed. But god you fucking loved it, loved when he was so far gone his pleasure was unrestrained.

“Just fuck me, need you to fuck me”, he begged, fingers digging into your thighs to get you to move. His eyes were already half-lidded, breathing heavily through his nose when you clenched around him.

You lifted yourself until just the tip was inside you and slammed back down. Your hands gripped his chest, beginning to bounce yourself with enthusiasm. Leon’s hands were everywhere, growing overwhelmed with all the pleasure he felt. They kneaded at your thighs with every shift of your hips, sneaking further up your body to pinch your nipples under his shirt. Riding him like this when you were half asleep and wearing his clothes made his brain turn to complete mush.

“So good, feel so good”, his words were slurring together, thrusting back up to meet your movements.

You leaned down towards him again and arched your back as you rocked against him with more force. The change in position allowed his tip to nudge into your g-spot every time you came back down with an audible slap of skin. Sweet mewls spilled out of you, your rhythm picking up enough to make the bed creak underneath you both. Leon’s hands went towards your ass and squeezed, throat bobbing as he struggled to swallow with drool slipping past his plush lips.

“Always so good for letting me fuck you like this, such a good boy for me”, you praised him, a wanton cry filled the room followed by squelching coming from between your legs.

He was growing delirious, head lolling to the side as he lost his focus. Eyes glossed over in euphoria, you could tell he was getting close again. The insistent throbbing inside you grew more prominent the second you swiveled your hips with every bounce. Leon whimpered, praying to the higher powers of the universe you’ll finally stop edging him and let him cum the way he needed.

“I’m close, please let me cum. Fucking please…”, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, his orgasm at the forefront of his mind.

“You want to cum inside me? Fill mommy’s pussy up?”, he nodded dumbly at you, growing pussywhipped at your words and thrusting up into you harder to match your pace.

“Yesss. Wanna make you feel good, want to fill you up. Please, please can I?”

You weren’t too far off from your release, the way Leon spoke and cried out for you was enough for your own orgasm to crest. His thumb came to play with your clit as you moved, still having enough sense to make you cum with him. You went to pull at the hair on his scalp, forcing him to meet your eyes and order him one more time.

“Be a good boy and cum for me”

“Thank you, thank you mommy, fuck-”, he babbled as his thrusting grew more frantic.

You tightened around him, the pulsing of your walls sending him headfirst into his release. A filthy groan slipped from him, fingers holding you tightly and bottoming out inside you. Your body was filled with warmth as he painted your walls white, whining when you kept riding him until your orgasm took over your body. Your thighs shook above him, milking him dry with your face tucked in his neck and biting at his skin so you didn’t moan too loudly.

You could feel the tremors running through Leon underneath you, his breathing shaky as blonde strands of his hair stuck to his forehead. The both of you were covered in a light layer of sweat, the scent of sex filling your bedroom and surrounding you both. Lifting yourself completely off of him, you gasped at the feel of being left empty, the sensation of his warm cum dripping out of you and down your thigh.

Tired arms wrapped around your body, light kisses placed on your skin as Leon nuzzled further against you. You let him curl into you then, not saying anything when he pulled you in closer to lay down on the bed with him. Your fingers ran through his hair, feeling him sigh and rub caressing circles on your lower back.

“Can’t keep waking me up like that Leon, our sleeping habits are bad enough”, your gentle voice cut through the stillness of the room, your lover’s attention back on you.

“I know, sorry”, he gave you an apologetic kiss on your shoulder, and you accepted it like you always did. You didn’t actually care about being woken up like this, if anything a part of you liked it more than you could admit.  

“You feeling sleepy yet?”, you asked him, already knowing he’ll be asleep in the next few minutes if you continued to soothe him like this.

“Mhm, thank you. I love you”, was all he had to say really, and you gave him another smile, whispering those three words back to him.

You kissed over his face tenderly, starting at his forehead, his nose, his cheek, and then his lips. He happily reciprocated, a small smile on his face despite his eyes being closed. Throwing the sheets over the both of you again, you moved to have Leon’s head lay on your chest, his ear on the left side to listen to your heartbeat.

He was quickly lulled to sleep by the beating rhythm under him, soft snores coming from slightly opened lips. You kissed the top of his head, answering the call of sleep along with him, and mentally preparing to snooze your alarm that will wake the both of you up in a few hours.

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[waayfo]

THE ULTIMATE GUIDE TO LOVE AVENTURINE !

✧ ◝ summary the important steps to love aventurine, 100% approved by aventurine. (or the things you do that he love)

✧ ◝ fluff / hurt/comfort / light angst / hsr spoilers (aventurine’s past) / mentions of aventurine’s real name (kakavasha) / reverse comfort / gn!reader / some personal hcs / trauma / lmk if i miss some !

Alright so, i noticed that Aven always hides his left hand, and when he puts his hands together to pray, he also uses his left hand. So i assumed that his left hand was verrryyyyy special to him.

While in the Dreamscape, he also said that he always hid one hand (left hand) under the gambling table, and that hand always gripped the chips as tightly as possible (based on his dialogue during the quest).

So imagine— you, who have a special place somewhere in his heart, always hold his left hand carefully, then caress it. He would go feral fr.

He would joke about it by saying, “if you keep doing that, i’m afraid that my left hand will always bring big luck.”

And every time he wakes up from the same nightmare that always haunts him, he will always look for warmth in you; wants you to hold his hand and then hear your voice that always manages to calm him down to call his name—or even his real name.

Aven is very happy when you let him do small things or simple tasks, such as combing, braiding your hair, or putting on the beautiful jewelry he gave you. And from just one glance, you know how expensive the jewelry is. And he will happily buy you new jewelry again and again.

Aven love the moment when he set foot back home. Because usually, he will see you wearing his shirt— which faintly smells of his fragrance, while you curled up in his king sized bed and asleep while you are waiting for him to come home.

And at that moment, he was ready with his phone to take a photo of you which he thought was adorable.

He love when you’re cooking breakfast for the two of you. Because he can easily surprised you by suddenly hug you from behind, then buried his head on the crook of your neck.

Also, he’s the big spoon! He will always cuddle with you while sleeping and it’s a must. He won't sleep until he makes sure that you are asleep first. Either because he's afraid you'll suddenly leave while he's asleep, or because he just wants to observe every part of you. And to hear your every breath so he knows you are still with him, and to see your face so he can fall in love with you again and again.

Aventurine groaned. He squirmed a little, seeking comfort in the nightmare he saw. As if he couldn't wake up from the nightmare, his eyes refused to open, making himself a little tormented by his past which is again approaching him through his dream.

The past replays itself like a film. A film that he is reluctant to watch again. But the film was played again without his permission.

‘… kakavasha.’ The name that almost everyone forgot was called after long time. Aventurine looked back, seeing a glimmer of light amidst the darkness.

When he squinted his eyes to clearly see the blurry object in the middle of the light, he saw a familiar figure that he had longed to see. She called out his real name once again in despair. ‘Kakavasha..’

But when she called his name one last time, Aventurine could glimpse a small smile on the figure's face. She’s smiling, my sister is smiling at me.

And once the light slowly disappeared, Aventurine woke up. Pulled back to the real world where he belongs. Feeling his head dizzy, Aventurine held his head. At the same time, he was trying to regain consciousness after waking up from a dream.

That's when he realized; tears that seemed to have been coming out of his eyes for a long time, and you were looking at him worriedly. Your one hand is holding his left hand—the hand he considers special. It all felt like a fever dream for Aventurine.

“Kakavasha?” Your voice called his name in worry. This time it's no longer the voice of the familiar figure or his sister, the one calling his name is now you— the person he loves and he treasured the most. Someone who has accompanied him, and always makes sure that he is okay. Someone who always waits for him to come home. It’s you.

Your other hand moved to wipe the tears that had fallen. Your warm hand touched the cold skin of Aventurine. One of the differences between the two of you.

“Don’t cry,” The voice tried to calm him down again. Countless time you’ve been calmed “Everything is okay now.”

Aventurine didn't know how to react. He just kept quiet.

Without thinking, you immediately hugged his body that had felt a lot of suffering. You hugged that fragile body. As he usually did, he returned the hug. His head was buried in your neck. He always manages to find warmth in you. “I’m here, Aven.”

How could he not love you again and again after everything you've done?