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sunraies · 9 months

Note

Rafe x Sleepy! Reader where he freaks out that she’s not answering her Phone and thinks The worst scenario that she’s sick of him, cheating etc. But It gets better when she calls him while he’s with The boys and she’s in her pj’s telling him she just woke up and asking what happened that made him call so many times 🥹

Sleepy baby

As requested above

Warnings - insecurities, toxic thoughts, drug use, drinking, and mentions of sex. Ending fluff.

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16 hours ago, you posted to your insta story. 16 hours since you'd been laughing, smiling, singing, and dancing into the camera. Music pumping and disco lights blazing as you partied into the night.

You looked so happy, surrounded by your college friends. Some he knew, and some he didn't. He wished he could have been there with you. Long distance was slowly killing him, he was sure of it.

Although he'd been uneasy about you going so far away, things had been working out. He visited as often as he could, and you came home for the holidays. But it was moments like this when he started to doubt it all. His mind would spiral.

At first, he thought there was a reasonable explanation for you not texting him when you made it home and for not responding to his messages. You were probably to tired and drunk, simply forgotten.

But as the hours ticked by and multiple messages and phone calls later, his mind began to wander to darker places. You didn't need him anymore. You had finally realised it. You had found someone else. Someone else had found you.

You were a college student, you didn't need some hometown boyfriend dragging you down, you had finally decided to live your best life. Without him. Party, sex and drugs.

Well, two could play at that game. The moment Topper had told him about a party happening, he immediately said he would go. Fuck it, he was still the Kook King, he knew how to party, how to have any person he wanted.

The problem was that you were the only person he wanted. After a few drinks, he found himself where he normally ended up at parties. Sat with his boys, Topper, Kelce, and Barry, nursing a beer, smoking a blunt, doing a few lines, and glazing into the fire pit as the sky of endless stars shone above them.

"Bro, that's like the billionth time you checked your phone." Topper pointed out as Rafe pulled his phone out of his shorts pocket again.

"What's up, Little Miss Havard ghosting you?" Barry teased as he through arm an over Rafe's shoulders.

"Fuck off" Rafe tried to shake his arm off before sighing as looked at his phone again.

All that stared back at him was you as his lock screen and a couple of notifications, but none from you.

"Oh, shit. You really think she is?" Barry's smirk dropped, suddenly noticing his friend genuinely down about something.

"She's probably just busy," Kelce tried to reassure him. "You know with essays and shit. I mean, I have a shit ton, and that's just online"

Out of everyone in their little friend circle, you were the only one who moved the furthest away. Topper was on a gap year, Kelce was doing online courses, Barry was dealing, and Rafe had to follow in Ward's footsteps. A few of your friends did gap years.

Rafe nodded slowly. "What if, what if she's do -" He didn't finish his sentence as his phone screen suddenly lit up. 'FACETIME - Baby 😍 💍'

He nearly dropped his phone in the panic of answering it. For a spilt second, he thought about letting it ring out of spite. You'd not answered any of his. But he couldn't do it, for all the spiralling his mind had been doing. He needed to talk to you.

"Rafe, hey, you ok?" You looked so sleepy as you rubbed your eye. "I'm so sorry, I've been asleep all day"

If he could have jumped into the screen and kissed you in that moment, he would have. You looked so adorable, hair in a mess, no makeup, clearly sat in your dorm room bed as he recognised the bed sheets and the tapestry on the wall behind you.

What made his heart warm the most was that you were in one of his t-shirts. One of many you had borrowed/stolen.

He knew he was smiling at his screen like a complete goof. But he didn't care.

"Where are you?" You asked, trying to work out the noises around him and odd lighting of the fire pit. "Why did you call so much? Everything ok?" You asked, concerned.

"Everything's good, baby," He smiled. "Just at a party with the boys." He turned the phone around to show them

"God, Rafe, no don-" Too late, there you was in all you sleepiness. Proudly held up on his phone screen.

"Mrs Country Club!" Barry greeted as the others said "yo" and "hey"

You awkwardly waved and smiled as your cheeks burned before Rafe turned the phone back him.

"Well, I better not keep you from the party. As long as everything is ok?" You could tell something wasn't quite right, but didn't push it. He'd tell you in his own time. He always did.

"Everything is fine, my sleepy baby." He smiled, not giving a shit if the others heard.

"Alright, see you this weekend? Facetime tomorrow?" You smiled as he nodded before saying I love yous.

"Aww, my sleepy baby. Sleepy bab-" Barry teased before Rafe pushed him. Causing his chair to topple backwards onto the grass. Making everyone who witnessed laugh.

He glanced at his phone one last time, seeing you smiling face on his lock screen and new message 'Baby 😍💍 - I really do love you ❤️😘'

#rafe cameron #outer banks rafe #outerbanks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #outerbanks fic #rafe cameron fic

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lauriemarch · 7 months

Text

and at the end of the day, people will still hate women.

because beyonce is a terrible songwriter who has a good body and nothing more and she's really nothing compared to olivia rodrigo, that stuck-up bitch who steals other people's music, but taylor swift is an old, bitter nothing who clearly hates other girls. and sabrina carpenter deserves to die because she followed her heart, not her brain, and that's exactly why zendaya will never be good enough for tom holland. don't forget about kylie jenner, who's stealing precious timothee's innocence away and dating her is like committing arthouse cinema suicide, or how we said the same thing about miley cyrus and her disgusting profanity, think of the children, poor liam hemsworth, trapped in a marriage with such a horrible woman. lana del rey was hot until she was big and she made trailerpark sexy until her ass got a little too fat. and ariana grande, talentless homewrecker, and selena gomez, jealous and unreasonable, and hailey bieber, even more boring than the blood drying on the knives you are so quick to pull. sophie turner is a bad mom and megan thee stallion deserved whatever was coming to her.

and amidst all of this, we still don't know these women. we cannot fathom the pain of having a public divorce, one where people choose sides and hurl insults at you until the battery on their phone dies. we don't watch them chase after sweet-cheeked children in tucked-away backyards or play board games with their best friends while their chests heave in laughter. we don't know their marriages and we don't know their solitudes. we don't watch them unravel themselves, time and time again, preparing for the battle that we have made of their lives. they can never make a mistake. they can never cry. they can never be who they believe themselves to be.

and we take all of this and we go to work, we ride the bus, we go grocery shopping, we walk in dappled sunlight, and we let ourselves shrivel. i compare myself to every body i see and i comfort in the fact that i can still encircle my wrists with my fingers. food turns to dust in my mouth when i think about the fact that taylor swift thinks she's fat and people still hate sabrina carpenter for sticking by joshua bassett's side when he almost died, for God's sake, and now the people on my twitter feed are saying GUTS is the worst album they've ever heard. i liked it, the tiny voice in my head cries out. she wrote songs that made me feel noticed. they're calling the song i relate to the most a total skip.

so i close the app. i try not to think about the endless profiles screaming about how much they hate a nineteen/thirty-two/thirty-eight/twenty-three/twenty-six/forty-two year old. i try not to think about how much they would hate me, if they knew anything at all.

#this isn't necessarily in defense of the mentioned women #twitter has just been so disgusting in the past week #and everything written in italics is either a direct quote or paraphrased from twitter so that's awesome #so. yeah #what does this mean you ask #i don't know i respond #olivia rodrigo #beyonce #taylor swift #kylie jenner #sabrina carpenter #lana del rey #zendaya #miley cyrus #ariana grande #selena gomez #sophie turner #megan thee stallion

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itsjusthockey · 4 months

Text

Hughes Your Daddy? - Jack Hughes

hahahaha finally

enjoy

request

If I get 10+ comments/asks ill make a part 2

Yes, that's me bribing you, I want more interactions

w.c: 3,007 (credit to gif maker) (don’t steal my work)

The last few weeks of college are the worst weeks of a student's life. There’s nothing but studying, finals, and pure hell. Yet, when Ellen Hughes calls and tells you to get on a flight to Vancouver to be present at the Hughes Bowl, you fucking get on a flight to Vancouver.

The flight itself is terrific; you study a bit of your flashcards, drink some hot cocoa, and even get in a solid half-hour nap. You honestly feel a little sad when the intercoms go off, and they announce your descent into Canada.

The sadness washes away quickly when you clear the clouds and realize how excited you are. This trip, tomorrow’s game, is a very, very special event. Each Hughes brother will be playing on the ice tomorrow night, and you’ll be sitting, as requested, in the Hughes box overlooking it all.

As soon as the 737 touches down, you’re quick to switch your phone off airplane mode. You appreciated the few hours of bliss without endless notifications, but life has to go on. As soon as the iPhone gets service, a flood of messages rolls through. One from Ellen, to which you respond. Two from Quinn, which you answer. And 36 messages from Jack, which you ignore.

You should respond, and you will, but first, you have to get off the plane and find your favorite chauffeur.

Without further delay, you exit the plane, grabbing your carry-on and swinging your backpack over your shoulders. You smile at the few flight attendants on the way out and throw an extra thank you to the woman who gave you some extra cookies when she saw your flashcards.

The Vancouver airport is bustling, and you can’t help but feel the positive vibes radiating from the space. The entire airport is decorated for Christmas, and you’re reminded why it’s ranked one of the best airports in North America.

You make your way to the baggage claim, checking your phone to ensure you’re heading toward the right spot. You are, and while you’re walking, you pass all the cute little shops. You see a couple of little knickknacks, and you make a mental note to pick up something on your flight back. Now, however, you must focus.

The baggage claim area is pretty full, and you’re dodging people left and right. You’re unsure in the sea of people where Quinn might be hiding until you hear your name shouted from somewhere to your left. You turn your body, and there he is, waving a bit and standing with a small smile.

“Oh my god, is that Quinn Hughes?” You say in mock shock as you get within his earshot. “The newest captain of the Canucks and Vancouver's most precious gem?”

He rolls his eyes back as far as he can when you approach, but nonetheless, he pulls you in for a hug.

“Please stop.” He groans out as your part and takes your carry-on from you.

“Never.” You smile as he leads you out of the airport.

It takes mere minutes to get to the car, and you both catch up about whatever. It’s been months since you’ve seen Quinn, and whenever you’re with him, you’re reminded why he might be your favorite besides Ellen and Jim, of course.

As soon as you are settled into the passenger of Quinn’s car, he reaches back behind him and pulls out a small gift bag.

“Here, before I forget.”

You give him a questioning look, and he just gives you a slight smirk.

“Just open it. It’s more of a gift to everyone else.”

You squint your eyes a bit suspiciously but pull the tissue paper from the bag. As soon as you do, you see the familiar blue and white colors, and a laugh burst from your lips.

“Oh my god.” You shriek out, laughing, pulling the Canucks jersey from the bag.

You both immediately start laughing, and you can hardly contain yourself.

“Of course, you don’t have to wear it for the game.” Quinn says. “but he’s gonna flip if he sees you wearing it when they get here.”

You scan the Jersey and agree with the boy next to you. Your boyfriend is very possessive when it comes to jerseys, and he hates everything that isn’t red, black, or white and doesn’t have Hughes 86 plastered on the back.

“Oh, this is gold, Quinn.” You say, tucking the jersey back in as Quinn moves the car out of the lot.

“Ma and I thought so, too. She said it might humble him for the night.”

Speaking of humbling your boyfriend, you reach for your phone and go to text him back. You scan the many messages and roll your eyes at a few. Most of them are him just wanting attention, but the last one catches your eye.

we’re 2 hours behind ur flight. No fun or smiling before I get there

You read the text allowed to Quinn, who rolls his eyes at the statement, and you’re quick to shoot a response back, telling Jack that it’s too late and you’re having the best time ever.

————————-

As soon as you step through Quinn’s front door, you hear a happy yell, and Ellen is pulling you in for a long-awaited hug. You practically melt as she squishes you, and the happiest of laughs exits her.

“Oh, my sweet girl, I’m so happy this worked out.” She says to you, pulling back just enough to look at your smiling face.

You look behind her as Jim is standing nearby, waiting his turn. You give Ellen one less squeeze and then turn to the original Hughes and give him a big hug.

“Hey, kiddo,” He says. “Glad you’re here.”

As soon as you say your hellos, you move to get your stuff settled into your room. As quickly as you can, you throw your stuff down and pull on the New Jersey, making your way back out to the kitchen.

As soon as you enter, Jim laughs, and Ellen raises her hands to her mouth.

“Oh, Jack is gonna hate it.” She turns to Quinn and laughs, using him to steady her.

“Oh, we know.” You say, high-fiving Quinn as you grab a cup of some water.

As soon as you get your water, you all settle into the living room, and questions are flying left and right. You talk about school, work, and whatever else comes to mind about the time you’ve spent away from them. They hang onto every word, and you can’t help but smile. You’ve always been close to Jack's family, but when the one-year mark passed, it’s like they fully accepted you as one of them. Now, almost two years in, Ellen and Jim treat you like the daughter they never had, and they tell you often how much more they like you than any of their sons. You always laugh, but you know deep down that you are special to them. And that fact alone makes you consider yourself one of the luckiest girls.

“They just landed,” Quinn announces. “Almost showtime.”

Ellen winks at you from her space on the couch, and you settle deeper into the comfortable space, counting down the seconds until your boyfriend walks through the door.

—————————-

About half an hour later, you hear loud commotion as the door swings open and Jack and Luke enter the building. It takes less than three seconds for Jack to yell.

“Where is she?”

You laugh at him and yell back from the living room. “I’m in here.”

In mere seconds, Jack is in the room, making a beeline toward you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in a month, and you won’t lie; he looks pretty good.

You make your move and step off the couch, going to hug him, but he halts in his place a few feet away, giving you a once-over.

“Get that shit off you.”

As soon as that leaves his mouth, everyone busts out laughing, and Jack gives you a less-than-impressed look. You feel a bit bad, so you give him a small smile and lift the jersey off your frame, revealing a Devils t-shirt underneath.

As soon as you throw the jersey away, he takes two long strides and engulfs you in a hug. You thought that nothing could beat Ellen’s hug, but Jack's grip nearly breaks your back.

You pull away after a second and pry him off of you. You love him more than anything, but you’re not about to show massive amounts of PDA in front of his parents, who are sitting a few feet away.

He gets this because he lets you go and gives his parents and brother a quick greeting, then leads you away from the living room. Everyone allows it to happen, and you find yourself in the privacy of the bedroom.

“You’re funny, but you better have my jersey for tomorrow night.”

You let out a small laugh and cross the room again, linking your hand behind his head and pulling him closer to you. His hands find home on your waist, and his fingertips dip under your shirt a bit, gently squeezing.

“I promise, J,” you grin. “I’ll do my best to show support to the losing team.”

He releases a soft gasp and gives you a slight look of betrayal.

“Losing team?”

Your grin goes even wider. “Check that stats, bud. You’re in a bit of a losing streak.”

He narrows his eyes a bit, and with one quick motion, he grabs your frame and tosses you on the bed. He enters attack mode, lays his entire weight on you, and begins grabbing at your sides. You, of course, go into defense mode and fight to push him off. You fight for power for a minute before you pull your defining move. He gets close, too close, and you give him your best doe eyes. The second he catches your stare, he folds, and he puts himself at your mercy.

For the first time in a hot minute, you pull him to meet you; the second his lips are on you, you implode. It’s been too long, and there is nothing more comforting and familiar than the boy lying nearly on top of you. You kiss him for a minute, your lips molding perfectly together before you pull away, gently patting his face.

“I think your family would like to see you.”

You push him away again as he rolls his eyes.

“I see them enough.”

He goes back to try to kiss you, but you push him away, putting a finger to his lips and shaking your head.

“Come on.”

He lets out an annoyed huff and removes himself from the bed, pulling you up along with him. You make your way back to the family room and laugh yourself into the family events.

Soon, you’re all playing board games, and you find out very quickly reminded about how sore of a loser your boyfriend is. You play board games cards, and when it gets late enough in the night, you all make your way to the living room for a movie.

You watch something light-hearted, and you can’t help but feel bliss as you’re tucked into Jack's side, surrounded by the entirety of the Hughes family. It’s a nice moment, and it’s the times like this that have you thankful you’ve stuck with the boy at your side.

——————

Before the sun rises, Jack's alarm blares next to you, and you can only groan at the noise. Alarms are truly nothing but an escape from bliss, and you wish you could stay forever in this little bubble. You’re warm comfy, and you don’t mind the boy you’re cuddled next to.

But alas, he is a slave to hockey, and he presses a quick kiss to your lips and swings himself out of bed. You follow a few minutes later, moving at a sloth pace. Instead of getting fully ready, you make your way downstairs to where the smell of bacon is wafting through the house. You’re almost giddy as you see Ellen and Quinn making breakfast, and you get even happier when Ellen places a steaming mug of coffee in front of you.

“You’re an angel, thank you.”

She gives you a big smile and pours another cup for herself. As soon as you catch the time, you offer to take Quinn’s place with the cooking, to which he gladly accepts and runs off to shower and get ready for the big game.

As soon as all the Hughes boys are out of earshot, you get down to business.

“I’ll raise to fifty on the Devs.”

Jim scoffs at your bet. “I love ‘em, but I disagree. Offense has been a bit sloppy. I’ll raise to a hundred on the Nucks.”

You quirk your eyebrow, then turn to the Queen, who seems to be pondering.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), but I think I’m gonna say Nucks too.”

You let out a soft groan but hold your ground.

“Alright. Final bet is a hundred. Winner takes all.

You all shake hands, sealing the deal.

As if you weren’t up to gambling, you act as naturally as possible as the three boys enter the kitchen. Each one is clad in a suit, and it warms your heart to see them all together. They look adorable, and you can’t help but laugh when Ellen demands a picture. They oblige, but like every other photo they take, it slightly looks like they’re being held at gunpoint. But you win some, you lose some.

Eventually, you’re all fed, happy, and once another alarm goes off, you know it’s time. You say your goodbyes to the boys, wishing them the best of luck. You hug Quinn, do your secret handshake with Luke, and press a quick kiss to Jack's lips.

Once you finish, they say their goodbyes to their parents and make their way toward the door, but they don’t get far before Jack pulls you toward him one last time.

“You ready to watch me destroy Quinn?” He teases.

You roll your eyes, pushing him away with a laugh. Nonetheless, you give him one last peck, swat his ass, and yell one final encouragement as he heads out the door.

“Don’t embarrass me!”

He flips you the bird as he gets into Quinn’s vehicle, and you smile and give him one back as you head back into the house.

You sit back down to finish talking with the parents l, and time ticks by faster than you’d like. Soon enough, it’s time to get ready, and you throw on your devil's jersey. You say a little prayer and hope they all do good. Things like this don’t happen often, and you hope it’s simply a good game.

———————

You smiled as wide as you could as the three Hughes brothers posed for a couple of pictures. You could see the distaste on all their faces, but they did it anyway.

Once they do the appropriate media, the game begins, and you’re sitting on the edge of your seat. It’s a good game, no, a great game. Soon, the first period is almost over, but not before your boyfriend has to remind everyone who he is, and he scores a goal.

It’s known that the Hughes parents don’t show much emotion at the games, and even more so when it’s their sons playing on opposite teams. So you control yourself, but you don’t miss when Ellen squeezes your hand.

The game continues, and it’s a nail-biter. Each minute you watch, you get more and more tense. Maybe it’s because you’re just nervous, or perhaps it’s the fact you have a hundred bucks on the line. But either way, you pray the clock ticks faster.

It doesn’t, but once Luke scores, you can’t help but start to think that this might be the end of a losing streak. You laugh on the inside because, of course, all it takes is a little brother rivalry to get the Devils back into motion.

———————

When the clock hits zero, and the Devils win, you practically die in your seat. You’re so thrilled for Jack and Luke, but a small part of you is a bit depressed for Quinn. But you know, if anyone can handle a loss like this, it’s the eldest Hughes, so you’re not too worried. Instead, you focus on your boyfriend, who, even from the box, looks the happiest he’s been in a while. He was given the title of the first star of the game, and you absolutely love it when he’s like this. You know he’s going to be in one of those unstoppable moods. You love it, but he can be a cocky little shit, and you know he’s going to be almost insufferable. You’ll take it, though, and embrace every part of it.

A few minutes later, the area starts clearing, and you’re all getting ready to leave the box, but you almost forget what is happening when Jim slides you a crisp hundred-dollar bill and winks at you.

“Jack really pulls out the stops when you’re at a game.”

You let a blush creep onto your face as you take the bill. You’d be lying if you said that you felt bad. This isn’t the first game you’ve bet on against Jim, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“Alright, you two gamblers, let’s go see the boys, shall we?”

Ellen leads the three of you down to where you’ll see the men of the hour. You feel the happiest you’ve felt in a while as you follow behind them, and when you get close enough, you can hear your boyfriend laugh from a short distance. Your heart skips the noise, and as soon as he spots you from across the room, he moves as fast as lightning to get to you.

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comfortless · 5 days

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syl im begging on my hands and knees pls pls pls expand on that idea of könig being a warrior rumored to eat womens hearts its like giving scheherazade and i NEED IT

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. vague time period/setting. fem(afab) reader. light descriptions of violence and gore, talk of cannibalism, non-con groping & cuddling, forced marriage.

There are endless tasks to be done and everything beneath a vast blue sky to explore, forgoing those things, the men about your village often prefer to gather for a duel. There are no rules for their game, only that you bring a weapon and thrust it toward the opponent in such a way that it brings you glory, pride, some scabbing mend to a crooked scar.

Except not you, never you. They wouldn’t so much as allow for the women to watch unless sparring for the hand of a weeping bride happened to be the gleaming prize waiting at the end of the night.

Your eyes had witnessed such before, a girl with hair the color of autumn straw that rolled down to the end of her back, whisked away by some man from the sea after he dug his blade into an old farmer’s belly. Her father. A sad thing, but you imagined her life must be much better now. Instead of tending to a mule or pricking her fingers on needles for sewing, she’s off collecting sea shells and has the ocean’s breeze eternally perfumed in her hair. Maybe she cradles a baby on her hip now, plump and cooing happily whilst they watch the waves roll and glitter beneath the sun.

A better life for only the cost of a swift death. It was something that you had always envisioned wanting for yourself, away from this village that reeks of blood, the very place where your options were limited to shoveling after the horses or to die a lonely hag.

That was until the behemoth began to show his face. Not quite his face at all, actually. It changed things for you. Instead of a longing for one of these strong men to carry you off into the night, there sat a creeping terror each and every time he crossed the threshold into the village.

He was rumored to be many things: an executioner from a foreign land, either a lost and wicked saint or a demon made flesh, and worst of them all… a cannibal from out in the untamed downs that crest the mountainside.

The women of the village were frightened by him, by the bulk and height that suggested he was not a man at all, but something far more terrifying beneath that black veil. They hid away when he first arrived, claiming he carried an organ in his hands, chewing away at a still-beating heart with blood running down his fingers. The men remained rigid, but their hands shook when they took up their weapons against him.

And there was no way of knowing then that this man was to be yours.

Time and time again, the giant would win, request a warm meal and a bed for the evening, and would be gone away come morning. He wouldn’t return for months, and the gossip would continue to fester until his return. Then, only then, would lips be pursed in silence and another fool would rush to death in an attempt to win some measure of pride. His opponent would be buried in the very field they would fight in, his bones serving for another layer upon the earthen stage once the worms and rats had picked him clean, and the giant would be back. He was always back.

The town is hushed to silence when his horse is led through the well-worn street. There are lingering observers: the broad stable hand that would not even dare to raise a whip or a dagger to this behemoth, the women of the brothel even shy away from him, and the children who whisper their rumors behind open palms.

He does not stop for any of them, only carries forward with that dark cloth concealing his head.

You peek out from your window, nursing tea with honey to calm the chill drifting through the air, feathering over your skin. It’s bitter on your tongue, even with the sweet coursing through it. Bitter, when his blue eyes flick in your direction and you feel every inch of your skin begin to prickle and tense.

He’s worse up close like this. The man doesn’t conceal his torso, never seemed to find a need to— no one ever gets close enough to wound him. Not any more, at least, judging by the pasty scars that mar his chest with the biggest being a healed, pinkish blemish that stretches from below his ribs down to a narrow hip. You find the most unsettling part about him is not those marks of violence, but the fact that you can not read his face.

Time slows to a halt as he just stares, takes you in with your cup of tea and the old dress stolen away from your mother’s own wardrobe. And you return it, warily looking him over from his veiled head down to the toes of his boots. After regarding you in the very same way a bored cat would observe an unaware, little bird, he moves along his path with a quiet huff of breath as his face is turned away from you.

There’s a heavy axe strapped to his back that you only notice then. Something new and shiny, glistening in the rays of golden sunlight above. Sharp and wicked, too cruel a weapon to be used in a bout for dinner and a lumpy mattress stuffed with decaying straw.

You could only hope he brought a cloth to clean it once this ordeal was over. Perhaps he truly does use his veil to do so, gets drunk on the scent of blood and gore clinging to it and pleasures himself to the violence as they claim. The macabre tales of this giant only go darker than that. But the tales he lives up to most of all are the ones about his skill in killing.

When night begins to scrape across the sky in dark, drab purple, fate comes crawling throughout the town as though it is nothing more than a famished ghoul.

Your mother storms toward you where you’re sat, preparing for bed. Her face is a mask of pure anguish when she pulls you into a tight embrace. She bawls into your hair, digs her nails into your back as though she would sooner die than let you go.

The men of the town follow behind her, wrenching her arms away from you and pulling you up by the front of your gown. The thin linen tears with the force of rough hands, rips a thick line down your chest that almost leaves you bared to them. Though the hands are eager, the eyes of these men do not shine with hunger, only with fear.

The shouts and cries from your lips are lost to them, to even your mother who wails in defeat someplace behind you.

“You’re plenty old enough to be a bride,” says one of the men, voice like a coiled snake spitting venom. It doesn’t take one of the well-educated people of the capital here to explain just what is to happen to you now.

The giant, the cannibal, saw something that he liked, and decided that you would be his prize. When you’re led to the field, kicking and flailing against the strong arms that hold you tightly in their grip, the sight is enough to tell you just how much that he enjoyed your silent, curious staring only hours before.

He stands upright, silent and daunting above a body that’s been split by the axe still held in one strong hand. The color of crimson cakes his knuckles, crests over his arm and the expanse of his chest, all from the headless corpse lying disposed at his feet.

The scene is what you expected, you’ve heard the words of your people about this beast of a man’s propensity for violence, but no amount of mental preparation could have truly readied you for seeing so much blood. The blood of a man you knew to be good and true, a hard-working blacksmith from the foothills. What a tragic way to go out: fighting for a pouch of coin when this horrible giant must have clearly lost his mind to rut and rage.

No hand comes to cover your mouth when you shriek, and the tight grips guiding you forward only loosen when your man or murderer stalks forward to take his prize. Through your tears, you still manage to make out the lines beneath his eyes, how they fold upward, and there’s no doubt that he’s smiling beneath that mask. A big, ugly grin at the thought of prying open your ribs and helping himself to a maiden’s heart.

He lifts it over his head in a swift motion, and drops it over your own instead, opposite to the hastily cut eye holes to block out all of the hazy, pale light of the moon and flickering yellow-red torches surrounding. Amidst the panic threatening to send your heart fleeing from your chest, the cold trickle of dread that finds itself curling in your belly, you feel two arms hoist you up and settle you over the back of his wretched steed.

“Gehen wir.”

Then, the darkness turns abyssal.

You only pray your body has truly died of fright when you first wake. There’s no darkness, no scent of blood when your eyelids pry apart to flutter. Water laps over your bare thighs, cold enough to force a shiver up from your feet to the blades of your shoulders. But behind you sits fire, a warmth so comforting you would think you’re rested against a stone bathed in summer sun, if not for the softness.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, rationalize just what’s happening, until a hand clutching a scrap of cloth maneuvers up from your thigh to your tummy, lathers you in a soap that smells only of pine. It halts, cinches around your waist when you begin to tense, when he knows you’re truly awake. A pond to your front and a man of horror at your back.

There’s sunlight streaming down from above, painting the clouds in gold. There are birds happily singing from the surrounding trees, and other, unseen animals scurrying through fallen leaves. Serene, pretty, and almost comforting when the wind turns course and brings with it the scent of late-ripening fruit. If the reality of your situation were not so dire, perhaps you would have enjoyed it, being here with a man who killed instead of presented your family with a dowry or offered you some pleasant wedding to dine and drink your fill of berry wine at.

“Let me go.” Your voice is a feigned warning, the mocking growl of a mere pup. You imagine he must keep his weapons close, only offering himself the courtesy of cleaning you so your meat doesn’t taste of dirt or lavender oil when he sinks his teeth into it.

“Süss frau,” he mumbles behind you, presses his head into your hair and inhales deeply as your body only grows further rigid. There’s a pause, before he corrects himself. “Meine süss frau.”

It would help if you knew what he was saying, calm your nerves some, maybe, but each word spoken only sounds guttural and instills further fear. You twist in his grip, hissing small curses that would have left your mother in a rage, but he only laughs at your squirming. Then, he tightens his grip as the cloth is dropped into the pond’s glassy water.

“Take me back home,” you continue to urge, placing a trembling hand over the limb pressing your body further back against him. “Please.”

Your small attempt at pleading is met only with his head dropping to the nape of your neck, a kiss pressed against the flesh there. It warms for him, sends a heat spiking up to your cheeks in spite of the way you still suspect he wishes only to rip your throat open with teeth more akin to a devil’s fangs.

You turn your head, intent on spitting right in this monster’s face, but find only a man looking back at you.

There’s a shimmer in his eyes that almost seems playful, a grin so prevalent there it must cause the corners of his mouth to ache. No blood in his teeth, and though the silvery-blue of his eyes seems distant, they are not cold. The goliath who stole you away stinking of blood and innards isn’t present now, and that seems even less of a comfort. He’s even handsome in the strangest way, certainly not the look of nobility, but none of his features are cruel. There’s a boyish charm to him, perhaps he would have the look of a charismatic farmhand or an apprentice of sorts if not for the scarring.

“Won’t hurt you… too pretty,” he assures, burying his face against the side of your neck. But the bastard does, digs his teeth right in and suckles at your skin when you claw at his arm in surprise. It’s not enough to draw drops of blood, but it accentuates the point that he seems to see you as something of his, a possession of sorts.

There’s a messy patch of drool over bruising skin when he pulls away to laugh at the wounded expression upon your face. He apologizes in a huff of breath as he guides you up to stand at his side. His hands linger too long for comfort when they rest along your waist. Your sullen glare only seems to further endear him. Too much, judging by the way the pillar between his legs bounces thick and hard and proud, throbs when you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze and angrily hiss to him about how a man should treat his wife. Cannibal or not, the beast needed to learn some manners.

Fear still edges its way up your spine, but it diminishes more and more as the seconds pass.

He’s no gentleman when he splashes away the remnants of soap from your body, hands grazing over every inch of your bare skin he sees available to touch. Your breast first, weighed up in his palm with the nipple pinched between his index and middle. Emboldened by your hushed protests, he dares to slip his other between your legs, and only then do you force his hands away.

He certainly bears no resemblance to a proper husband when he hoists you over one shoulder to carry you further into the woods and into his shack, either.

It’s barren and ugly, an unsightly wooden structure decorated only with a thin mattress, a table too small, and blades of many forms. The axe sits proudly below the window, astonishingly cleaned of the gore from the night prior. The veil rests above it on the sill, damp from a cleaning that never should have been. You stare at his belongings for a time when you’re placed on your feet, silently judging the array in search of anything to justify the gossip, only to come up short of anything.

He doesn’t even touch you past the bathing in the pond. You’re dressed in a tunic that fits like a dress upon your form: far too big, long and dull to be anything you would normally be seen in. But there are no tailors this far out in the wilderness, though there’s an apologetic promise whispered to you once he sees you in his clothes. He’ll buy you a new dress upon your first visit to town as his wife, several if it pleases you.

The man leaves for a spell, brings you rabbit to clean and prepare, then busies himself stoking up a fire for cooking. His speech is a little broken when he tells you of how long he’s waited to have someone like you here with him, how he never suspected a woman so pretty would be his wife. And you don’t eat when the meat is fully cooked and placed in front of you both. You insist that you only wish to return back home, to hug your mother and tell her that you’re still alive.

That, he takes insult to.

His brow is pinched when he forces you to sit in his lap. He brings the meat to your lips and presses into your cheeks with his free hand to force your mouth open. There’s nothing romantic or cute about it, about him, but you do glumly settle in his hold when the realization does dawn on you that, though his strength is extraordinary, he is only a man and the only harm coming to you would be between your legs.

You’re drug over to the mattress after dinner by a tight hold over your wrist. The fight hasn’t left you, not by a smidge, even when the loose tunic is lifted over your head with shouts of your displeasure and you’re pressed onto your back with the giant watching you curiously from above.

He pins you there, but doesn’t force his hands down to your sex again. He only sighs when he rests his weight next to you and curls in to lie his head over your breasts.

You’re body remains stiff and rigid as a bowstring. His nearness only sends that same swell of heat back from the pond, brings with it the scent of fire smoke and sweat emanating from him. His hair is long and soft, soft as the kisses he places on the plushness of your tit, long as the drag of a callused palm from your hip up to cup the other.

He offers you no warning when his teeth circle over your nipple, holds fast to you when your back arches and your fingers weave into his hair to jerk him away. The worst part about him seemed to be having a penchant for leaving a mark, and the smug grin that crosses his face when he meets the fury in your eyes with the lust-drunk look in his own.

“Was? You don’t like?,” he grumbles, tracing over the marks of his teeth with his thumb, pressing against and smearing his saliva until you feel your back begin to arch and your breathing grow heavy.

“It hurts.”

He stares at you in amazement for a moment, whether surprised you haven’t made an attempt to flee or startled by the lack of a strike to his jaw after such a thing, it mattered not. Your terrible, ignorant “husband” only seems satisfied with your response. He draws back to sit on his knees before you, sliding his hands along each curve and dip of your body until they rest at your ankles.

“Ja… hurts. I will make it better, meine süße.”

He’s no less brazen when he makes a dive toward your womanhood, lips parted in preparation to breathe you in. Or… taste you in full, whichever option was suited for men who were more beasts than men at all. Maybe that was his only feat of cannibalism: licking at women until they were wet and pliant for him to take entirely. You pry him away with a gasp and a quick shift onto your side, demanding that he not touch you any further.

Again, he laughs, curls behind you and shifts his hips to slot the girth of his cock between your thighs, buries his face into your neck once again. You can feel the grin that stretches over his lips against your skin. When the dark envelopes you both, the quiet crackle of the fire in its pit still showing signs of life, he seems content to just cuddle you close.

Exhaustion creeps its way through your limbs, steals the fight from your voice and leaves your eyelids heavy. You consider waiting it out, listening to his breathing deepen and slow to creep away, but his grip is firm around your middle, so strangely comforting that you do allow yourself to relax. Running could wait until the morning sun rose.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #this has been in my inbox for months i am SO sorry

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delfiore · 21 days

Text

—I'LL NEVER WIN YOUR HEART.

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

synopsis: aside from endless hatred and devastating love, you don’t know anything else when it comes to alexia.

word count: 2k

tw: aNGST, spicy stuff, enemies to lovers to ……….?

a/n: wow has it really been a month since i last posted that's insane (i'm not being sarcastic i'm actually so shook at how fast time passes).

now playing:

Her eyebrows narrowed. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes lasered in like a hawk.

Even from across the club, several of your teammates knew to get the hell out of her way when she made a beeline towards you.

Alexia was scary when she was angry. There was an untouchable force to her that made one cower under her steely gaze. You used to feel the effect of it, once upon a time, but recently it was almost a weekly occurrence that she would direct her hardened gaze at you.

And now, as she fixed that deathly glare onto you, you felt your arm being yanked just as you were about to kiss the beautiful stranger you met mere minutes ago.

“What the fuck, Alexia!” Admittedly, you were buzzed, and any obstruction to your enjoyment would irritate you.

“Come with me,” she gritted her teeth.

“No! Let me go!”

She tugged on your arm and dragged you away despite your protests. The bathroom at the back of this club was filthy, and the door barely did anything to block out the thumping music outside, but Alexia pushed you into one of the stalls anyway, caging you in between her arms on either side of your head.

You had half a heart to slap her across the face when she shoved you against the divider and kissed you like a barbarian, lips and teeth clashing against one another in a heated mess. She had no right to do this, but her entitlement made it so you were trapped in her grasp again.

The worst part was that you enjoyed it, very much, especially when she went on her knees to do what she always did best.

It happened not too dissimilar to how it started. Your frustration mixed with her only ensured you both collided in the most spectacular way. You remembered arguing with her after a horrible game, both of you throwing blame at each other. It happened so quickly, that before you knew it, your hatred had turned to lust. Hatefucking, as one might call it. Suddenly, all you could think about each day was how much you hated Alexia and couldn't wait to fall into bed with her.

“You can’t just do that and pretend like nothing happened.”

Your words came out rushed as you were still trying to catch your breath. Alexia exited the stall and went to wash her hands, doing so with a frustrating nonchalance.

She met your gaze in the mirror. “Can’t I?”

You scoffed. “Why do I bother? La Reina never gets off her high horse, does she? You’ve never respected me, ever.”

“That’s not true.” Her eyes flickered, and you thought you could see unspoken words behind them.

“Then what was that earlier?” You asked, irritated.

“I should ask you the same question,” she said firmly. “I thought we were fine. And now I see you grinding on some girl at the club? I mean—what is this, Y/N?”

It was always like that with Alexia, and if she didn’t say what she wanted to say, then you couldn’t help her.

“It’s not like you care,” you gritted your teeth. “I hope you had fun with Olga, by the way.”

Now it was her turn to scoff. “She’s my friend.”

“She was also your ex.”

“Can’t I be friends with my ex? And who are you to tell me who I should and shouldn’t hang out with?”

She was right. You had no place in her life to be telling her that. It was purely your desire, or a lack thereof, to hold a special place in her heart, but maybe you were foolish to wish for it when there has been so much history between you.

You chewed on your bottom lip, a habit you had since you were young. You suddenly felt the bathroom walls closing in on you—you needed to get out of there quickly.

Wordlessly, you shoved past her and returned to the club, the music once again deafening and pumping in your chest. You expelled a breath; the cute stranger was nowhere to be seen, and neither were Patri and Pina, with whom you came. That’s fine, there was an entire nightclub’s worth of people. You would find at least one person who would make you forget how much you despised Alexia and—maybe for the night—how much you loved her.

The story could have gone so differently. You two were similar in age, grew within the ranks of the Spanish youth teams together, then played at Barcelona together. You both played in midfield and younger players looked to you for guidance and leadership. Yet, it was known among your teammates that the two of you couldn’t stand to be in the same room. Ever since you were young, your similar play styles and clashing personalities ensured that you always butt heads on the field, and eventually, off it too. You grew up with this hatred of Alexia, as she did of you, but you could barely remember why. You were brazen and Alexia was cold, and that never worked for either of you.

It seemed she had had enough of your attitude one day, and shoved you so hard in training you thought you might have sprained an ankle. Some of the other girls noticed her distaste for you and started to distance themselves to gain favor with her. Then, Alexia became the best player in Spain, and you were always in her shadow. The media called you her ‘healthy rivalry’, even when you played for the same club. If you didn’t hate her as much as you did, they all ensured that you would never be able to get along ever again.

There was a memory that you buried deep inside, but it would easily surface again on nights like this. It made you question everything you’ve felt for Alexia, this thorn in your side that has never let you know peace

It was the summer of 2012 at a Spain U-19 camp. You had barely gotten any sleep the night before you came because it was your first call-up to represent your country. Alexia, of course, had become a familiar face in the team by the time you arrived. She wasn’t seen at breakfast one morning, and a coach said that she was dealing with personal matters. What you didn’t anticipate was finding her sitting alone by the steps of an entrance bawling her eyes out. You had tried to retreat, but Alexia had looked up before you could go.

“S-Sorry, I’ll just—”

“Mi papá . . .” Her voice was quiet like she didn’t want you to hear. Then, she burst into tears again. You had never seen Alexia like this, so distraught and vulnerable. The friends she liked to keep around were nowhere to be seen either. She never liked to appear weak in front of others.

Against your better judgment, you approached and sat next to her. “What happened?”

Exhaling shakily, she answered. “He was very sick. I just got the call from my mom.”

Your mouth hung open, unable to form words. As Alexia smeared her tears away with the back of her sleeve, she suddenly appeared younger and unlike the captain that you’ve come to know her. She was just a girl, who’d had something terrible happen to her, and you would be the biggest jerk not to push whatever you had between you aside.

“I’m sorry,” you only managed to say.

She said nothing and rested her face on the inside of her elbows.

“I’m sure he was very proud of you.”

“Please don’t say anything,” she breathed out, making you wince.

“Okay.”

Alexia sniffled. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Okay,” you nodded slightly. You didn’t like talking about your feelings either. It was the first thing you found Alexia and you had in common.

You started to feel sick. Your head spun like you had just stepped out of a washing machine, but still, you reached for the passing bartender who looked at you with patronizing eyes.

“Another.”

“Y/N, that’s enough.”

You pushed her hand away, mentally cursing at her interruption.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m gonna have to explain to Jona why you’re still shitfaced at training tomorrow.”

“Fuck. Off. I don’t fucking care.”

Then, you heard her say something she had never said to you before. “Please. Let’s go home.”

The truth was, you never wanted to protest her. Maybe the years have softened you, but you didn’t want to admit how much you craved her affection. There were times when you despised her and thought her the lowest form of a human being.

“Please don’t do this,” you pleaded. You felt your heart hammering in your chest, as you watched her frantically spring out of bed.

“I—uh, have to go. I’m meeting someone for lunch.” She replied, reaching for her pants strewn across the floor.

“Ale, I’m sorry . . .” You managed a pathetic whimper, tears threatening to fall. “Can we just pretend I never said anything?”

How is it that she had made you feel so euphoric merely moments later, and now you felt like you had hit rock bottom? Only because those stupid words slipped out of your mouth.

. . . But was it such a crime to tell her that you loved her, when it was your truth?

You learned the hard way that Alexia didn’t want what you wanted. Maybe it was just her, or maybe it was you, and she didn’t want anything to do with you. If that were true, you were foolish to think for even a second that she would. You never gave her much to like anyway.

But still, you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t have any feelings for her. But aside from endless hatred and devastating love, you don’t know anything else when it comes to Alexia.

She had brought you back to your apartment, supporting you by holding you close and guiding you inside gradually.

The moment you hit the mattress, you groaned at the snugness of your own bed. Your eyes were barely open, but you saw the way she pulled your shoes off your feet and coaxed you to sit up so she could shed your outer coat.

But that was it. She was afraid to help you further, as it would resurface emotions Alexia thought should be buried, emotions that reminded her of sleepless nights and passion.

“Why are you so quick to get away from me?” You mumbled into your pillow.

You heard her sigh. “I brought you home, didn’t I?”

“Am I really that detestable that you wouldn’t even look at me?”

Her eyes met yours, but unlike earlier in the night, they now held a softness. “You know I don’t hate you. I never did.”

“Then stay.” You whispered, your head still spinning, but all you could focus on was her. “Stay with me. Please, we won’t do anything. I just don’t want to be alone.”

You didn’t care that you were begging her. You were tired of being pulled from end to end, and it was so much easier to love than to hate her.

You thought she would laugh in your face, pack her things and leave. Yet, when you opened your eyes again, she was lying in bed next to you, under the cover and all. She had changed into your clothes, so much more time had passed than you had thought.

“Go to sleep. We have training tomorrow,” Alexia whispered, her lips brushing your forehead softly.

You obliged, nuzzling your head into her chest as you let the comfort of her embrace lull you to sleep. You were too tired to fight it, to tell her no, that you would talk to her seriously about the two of you, even if you were drunk. It wasn’t the first time you had fallen for Alexia’s lies; all the other times, she left you in the dirt after giving you her everything for you to pick up the pieces yourself.

You hated her because you loved her. But maybe this is enough, you thought before sleep took over, just for tonight.

Maybe tomorrow will be different.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas angst #alexia putellas #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagines #woso angst #Spotify

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trulyhblue · 3 months

Text

Baby England

Lionesses x Young! Reader (platonic), Leah Williamson x reader (platonic).

Warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst, coarse language, school, young reader.

A/N — still can't get over Sam's ACL. Like I woke up just to cry? No, thank you.

Masterlist

___________________________________

The Games Room was quiet for what seemed to be the first time ever. The team was sprawled throughout the room, some of them on their phones, others by mountains of pillows. Georgia and Keira were in the indoor pitch juggling with one another. Alex was having a soft conversation with Hempo, laughing at something one of them had said.

The serenity of the room was something you didn't catch often. Usually, the hustle of the team would echo across the walls, loud pints of laughter and screaming coming from one corner of the room to the other. Lucy was often yelling at Mario Kart, and Ellie was always strutting around Table Tennis in triumph, while everyone else grumbled on about how she was too good.

But for now, it was silent, save for the low conversations from the different groups. Even Lessi and Tooney were keeping in check, sharing a rocking chair with mounds of blankets hauled over the top of them.

For anyone else in the room, it would've been extremely relaxing.

For you, it was anything but.

You wanted to snap your pen in half, feeling the fatigue of yesterday's game daunting on your muscles. The words on your laptop were dancing behind the blur of your eyes. You struggled to stay concentrated as Leah sat next to you, taking her eyes off her phone every once while to make sure you were actually doing your homework.

The Euros were speeding by quicker than any of you could imagine. The outcome of your results, and the number of fans that had started to compile over the weeks, was indescribable. This was your debut camp for the Lionesses, and while you spent most of your time on the bench, making late appearances in the 70th minutes of games, you wouldn't change it for the world.

However, with all the excitement and privilege that came with representing your country in such a prestigious competition at Sixteen, you were faced with the challenge of keeping up with school.

When you first signed with the Lionesses, your parents were determined to keep you in school. Your education was very important, and if football ever ended badly for you, they wanted you to have something to fall back on. Growing up through the youth groups, and developing skills in the Arsenal Academy, you were used to the physical and emotional demands of a professional football career. Your parents were incredibly supportive of your dream to play, but their underlying worry when you were called up to the National Team was daunted on them.

So, to make everyone happy, you decided to take on the complicated challenge of juggling both football and school. This meant that in your spare time, all you did was study for exams, take the exams, and then study for the next one. It was an endless cycle of school and work, but you knew that it would be all worth it in the end.

The worst thing about it was that none of the girls were your age. Some of them had Uni work to do, but you were still mastering high school subjects. The workload wasn't nearly as draining, and they seemed to have it all sorted out in a few short hours while you were spending all of your extra time peeling away your useless worksheets, essays and papers.

Lots of the girls were lenient. None of them liked the idea of you cooped up in front of a screen. Hempo would buy you some crisps from down the road. Mary would make TikToks with you, Beth would scoop you up for cuddles and a movie. LJ would pull you away for Mario Kart. All the girls believed that you needed a break, especially in such a stressful time.

But Leah was the exact opposite.

You had known Leah since you were seven. You had met her during one of your Arsenal Youth games, immediately looking up to her as an older sister and role model. Even as a teenager, Leah holds a protective arm around you. She was always ready to defend you on the pitch, not only as a Captain, but as a friend. She wasn't afraid to put you in line — she was the only one who could send you running laps if you were too cheeky. She was strict, especially when you parents weren't there to boss you around, and everyone knew that her authority over you was nothing to debate.

You were training with the Arsenal Women's Team while you were still at the Academy. You're not quite sure why you were chosen in the squad, as you struggled to believe you made the cut at such a young age, but the England Captain didn't hesitate to make you put in the work.

She was a bit like your agent, always persuading you to do something when you weren't sure what to do yourself. You still weren't signed with a WSL team, but as the Euros progressed, teams from everywhere were banking up to sign you as soon as possible. You tried hard not to delve too deeply into it. You knew Arsenal was a main contender, and that's where you most wanted to go, but your focus right now was the Euros... and the essay in front of you.

"C'mon, get it done," Leah ordered, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, her hand carrying the weight on her head against the desk. You had been sitting there for over an hour, a total of one paragraph typed out on your screen. Outside, you could see Beth and Lotte playing Basketball. You threw your head backwards, groaning in respite. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing.

"No use whining about it." She spoke, still not looking at you. "'Might as well smash it out now so it's done."

"'Dunno what to write about." You grumbled, shoving your hands into your pockets. You managed to slip a glance towards Esme, feeling your hopes lift up when she gave you a knowing nod.

But of course, Leah caught the interaction. "Hempo, no." She snapped, sending the Forward back to her seat. "You don't get crisps when you've done nothing to deserve it."

"Leah-"

"-Get on with it."

You slouched back into your chair, making sure your Huff was loud and overly obnoxious. Leah had no reaction, leaning back in her chair, and continuing to scroll on her phone.

"Y/N." She murmured in warning.

When you made no effort to keep going, she finally looked at you.

You could tell she was over it. She wasn't obliged to sit with you, but it was an unspoken rule that she did, otherwise, you would never get it finished. The older woman secretly felt bad for making you do it. If it was her choice, you wouldn't be doing school during the tournament. She understood your reluctance, but both of you could guess the consequences of your actions if you weren't handing it in.

"You've got half an hour." She snapped, her glare darkening. If she wasn't strict now, it'd end badly. "If it's not done, I'll bench you."

From the corner of your eye, you could see Lauren stop her Lego abruptly. Esme was no longer looking at her phone, instead tilting her head away from the tension rising in an attempt to not get involved.

Leah didn't have the power to bench anyone, the older girls knew that. But to your virtue, you thought that Leah was capable of anything. An abuse of power, maybe, but it worked all the same.

You begrudgingly tapped at your keyboard, making a point to roll you eyes when Leah set an alarm for half an hour. You were determined to keep your spot as a preferred sub, refusing to let Leah feel all smug at the fact that you couldn't finish the stupid essay.

Lauren continued on with her Lego. Esme was starting a new bracelet. Beth and Lotte's giggles were drowned out by the determination written all over your face. Without your knowledge, more and more people began to cram into the Game Room. First, Lucy, then Kei and Gee. A few minutes later, Alessia and Ella were doing a TikTok, their voices growing louder as the minutes went by. LJ walked past with confusion written across her features. She leaned over your shoulder, eyes slightly widening at the page full of words. She glanced to Leah's phone and the timer, then at Leah, who was staring off into the distance.

By five minutes left, you had written nearly two whole pages. Your hands were cramping, and your feet couldn't keep still. Chloe and Katie were surrounding you behind LJ, waiting for you to snap out of your trance and notice the crowd that had complied.

You were reading over your final sentences when the door crashed open, revealing Millie and Rach running in frantically with a cameraman hot on their trail. Their presence was so boisterous that everyone stopped to see who it was, watching in curiosity when the two women started searching the room.

"We need the Baby!" Millie screamed, scrambling onto the floor to check underneath the lounge. "We need the baby!"

Rachel was running to the bean bags, dashing past Lucy, Keira and Georgia playing Mario Kart. Everyone laughed in amusement at the cameraman struggling to keep up with the two of them.

"Where is she?!" Rach screeched at Esme and Lauren, ignoring the fits of giggle the pair were in. "Where's the baby?"

"Over here, idiots," Zelem stated, causing both their heads to dart in your direction. The girls surrounding you were quick to scatter, knowing the wrath of the two women was not something easily escapeable. Millie was about to yank you from under your shoulders when Leah moved in front of you, her prior amusement halting, replaced with her usual sternness.

You were closing your laptop at the sight of the camera, beaming at the thought of freeing yourself.

"Not now, Bright," Leah uttered, wrapping an arm around the back of your chair. "She's got school."

Instead of leaving you be, the duo closed in on you, beckoning the camera over to your work sprawled across the table.

Both of them held tiny mics, holding them up to their mouths as they spoke.

"Here we've got the Arsenal Protege in her natural habitat. Born and raised in red, she seems to be researching ways to leave."

"Both Arsenal and Leah."

Leah's face contorted into deep offence. "Hey!"

"Yes, it appears she is." Rachel nodded vigorously, picking up your book, pretending to read it. "She has written down Aston Villa as her top contender. Not only is she fast, but smart too."

Millie hugged you from behind. "But we all know what side of London she's thinking of, isn't that right? Smart, little, blue she'll be, am I right, Williamson?"

The camera panned to Leah, who was not looking at all amused. The thought of you being at any other club felt absolutely gut-wrenching to her. Like her, you had grown up bleeding in North London. She wouldn't trade any other player twice as good as you if that meant you'd stay. But while she'd never admit it, Leah wasn't worried about you leaving Arsenal. She was more worried that you'd leave her.

"Over my dead body." She snapped, wrenching the Chelsea woman's arms away from you, swerving your chair back to face your laptop. "Now, off you go, she needs to get this done."

"I've finished it, Lee." You muttered, feeling embarrassed at the fact that fans would prune over the way you were bossed around. When it came to your figure in the media, it was mainly regarding your blamelessness in comparison to your more experienced teammates. You were often babied by the girls, and fans adored the interactions you would have with them, especially with Leah.

Your Captain looked at you, crossing her arms. "You promise me you're done?"

"Promise." Your cheeks heated as the snickers fell from Daly's lips. You nodded, slowly inching off your seat. "Please, Lee, I've been stuck here for hours."

"Yeah, c'mon, Williamson, let her come to the dark side." Millie barked, causing Leah to grumble at the notion.

It took her a few moments to decide whether or not to let you go, huffing in defeat when she turned off her phone. "Fine. But no Chelsea or Villa talk, swear to Go—"

You were off before she could finish her lecture. Millie had picked you up, lifting you over her shoulders as Rach followed behind. The three of you ran into the indoor training pitch, with the poor cameraman following after you hopelessly.

When Millie plopped you down, you engulfed the warmth of someone's lap. You craned your head back to find Jordan looking back at you, her beady, toothy grin beaming back at you. The Arsenal midfielder wrapped her arms around you as you made the effort to snuggle into her body. Jordan was like your second mother when you were away from home. She was an ongoing support that wore her heart on her sleeve. She was different from Leah's opposing relentless, being more of a calm before the storm, less sentimental but effusive nonetheless.

You were supposed to be Jordan's substitute during your time at the Euros, but her knee injury had ruled her out. Therefore, the woman was only there when the squad wasn't training.

You noticed the multiple cameras surrounding the couch you were all squeezed on, but the attention felt a little less daunting with the comfort of the girls around you.

"We've got some questions for you," Millie spoke, revealing some palm cards from God knows where.

You nodded, keeping your head on Jord's chest. "Ask away."

"Who is your favourite teammate?"

You thought to yourself for a second before shrugging. "Jordan."

Rach scoffed. "Boring."

"Yeah, next!" Millie rolled her eyes. "Who would win in a fight, me or Daly?"

"Why am I answering these?!" You laughed, shaking your head. "You could've asked anyone."

"Those aren't the real questions." Jordan prodded, leading the two women to laugh their heads off at their supposed humour. You looked around at everyone, extremely confused about what you were here for. There were a few PR Managers behind the media setup, all with clipboards in their hands. You managed to catch Jordan eyeing Bright and Daly, squeezing your body a little tighter.

"Yeah, yeah, we're just having a laugh." Mils chortled, straightening up before continuing. "We're to announce that Baby England here has been asked to answer a few questions on behalf of the team."

You watched the centre-back intently. "Why me?"

"Dunno." Rach shrugged, followed shortly by Mil's voice. "Just 'cause."

"Alright, then, by who?"

"God, you'd think with all that schoolwork you'd be a bit brighter."

Jordan huffed from behind you. "Hurry up!"

"Alright, alright." Rachel scoffed, taking out the same cards as Millie had, the England Lioness logo plastered on the back. "So, seriously now, how do you think the Lionesses have worked throughout the Euros?"

You were never the one to be faced with serious questions in interviews. In fact, you had only ever attended one or two. At Arsenal, you were in the Academy, meaning the media surrounding you and your team was very scarce. As a representative of your National Team, the two interviews you had been a part of were your induction and your Player of the Match award at the end of one of the games. You weren't used to being in the spotlight like your England teammates, but you were not opposed to being overshadowed by them either. You knew you had a lot to learn, you were happy to play alongside them.

“Erm, I'm not quite sure.” You posed, blushing at the laughter that followed. “I'm very proud to be a part of it… this is a big opportunity for me, and I'm grateful for having the chance to represent my country.”

“True English,” Mils said fondly, finding the camera with her eyes. “Modest as always.”

Jordan hugged you tighter. “Let her finish, Millie.”

“But I think all of the girls think that, even to a bigger scale than me.” You continued, fidgeting with your hands. “It's a home Euros so… we all want to bring it home. I think that's one of the main contributors — the pressure, but also the idea of winning. We all want our families and country to be proud. So, yeah, and because we all love football. That's a given.”

“That was a bloody good answer, Baby England,” Rach commented. Her hand was rubbing your shoulder, her legs crossed over each other on the lounge. The Defender behind her was smiling, propping herself into a more comfortable position before she spoke.

“Speaking of,” She smirked. “Are you bothered by your nickname ‘Baby England?’ Do you feel a bit bugged by it?”

You giggled into Jordan, your cheeks inevitably heating up. “Erm, yes and no. I mean, I know I'm the youngest but I’ll go back to training and the girls will be teasing me for it.”

“Do you want to stay in the Academy?” Rach asked. “What’s your plans after the Euros?”

“Not sure.” You shrugged. “Hopefully we finish with Gold, that's the hope, obviously. But, I’ll just have to see.”

Both women looked at each other, then the camera, hiding their smiles concurrently. Jordan and you watched in confusion.

“Should we start the list of offers you've got right now?” Daly chortled. “I can think of five on the top of my head.”

“Who’s your top five?” Millie continued, leaning in and mouthing her club Chelsea.

“Leah would kill me!” You laughed, shaking off the question. “I was talking to Lessi and Lotte about the States, cause my parents still want me to have an education. But to be fair, my agent hasn't told me any offers. I don't think she will until the Euros are over.”

“Well, you heard it hear first.” Rachel beamed. “Baby England to Villa!”

The Cameraman was about to end the video when a booming fury echoed from across the room.

All heads turned to an enraged Leah storming over. “I said no Villa talk!”

__________________________________

yourusername (pretend it's you and Leah)

yourusername — sorry @ rachdaly, no Villa talk

Comments

milliebright — u say nothing about Chelsea, right?

^ leahwilliamson — don't even go there.

lionesses — football’s coming home 🫶🏼

racheldaly — I’ll find a way

^ leahwilliamson — no you won't.

user1 — Leah fighting for Y/N’s spot at Arsenal more than Arsenal themselves LMAO

^ user2 — she really said North London Forever

lottewubbenmoy — Baby England 🫶🏼

alessiarusso99 — beautiful girls

*liked by yourusername, leahwilliamson

User3 — is this an Aston Villa denial confirmation?

^ user4 — I think shes just referencing the YouTube video or Her, Jordan, Mils, and Rach.

^ user5 — shes got all these offers, who knows

^ user3 — she practically confirmed she was going to North Carolina in that video tho

^ user4 — 🤷‍♀️ you could say that is is an Arsenal Confirmation since Leah’s in it. Fr tho idk.

Leahwilliamson — my 🌟 girl

^ user6 — their friendship is so cute

User7 — All these clubs want her, WHERE WILL SHE GO

^ yourusername — 👀

^ user7 — STOP DO NOT DO THIS TO ME

__________________________________

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wosoluvrr · 5 months

Text

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine || a. russo x reader (1)

summary: everyone knew the game against united was going to be scrappy, but no one was quite prepared for that.

warnings: lots of talking about blood and injury, angstangstangst, a curse word or two, not much else i don’t think

a/n: i love that quote by richard siken and i just have to be different so i figured including it in my first fic/writing thing (?) was the way to go. anyways, i hope you enjoy! i’m happy to be here, and excited to post more and hopefully get to know some of you:) all my love 🤍

"what the fuck is your problem, zelem?" the question came out more like an insult, your body taking over as you moved towards her on the pitch. in doing so, you left alessia's side, the girl flat against the pitch as she gripped at her ankle and fought back tears. vic and lia stayed kneeled beside her, the rest of the team taking notice and making their way towards the midfield where alessia had gone down.

katie only rolled her eyes at your screaming, sparing alessia a quick glance and then focusing back onto you. "i barely touched her, you've all gone soft," she replied with a scoff, her teammates remaining in their positions.

"the audacity you have is a bit mind blowing really, who'd you have to pay to get that armband?"

she doesn't reply this time, her face curling into an expression you can't quite read. you're not sure how the hell you'd come up with something like that, but you opt to keep your expression blank as you turned your attention to the ref who was jogging towards the scene.

alessia still wasn't getting up, the ref signaling for the medics as she made her way from the scene to the two of you. jen was approaching you as well, her face offering a warning for you to take the scolding and not let anything go further.

before the ref can reach you she pulls out a yellow card on zelem, writing her name down sloppily once she arrives and beginning her scolding of the two of you. jen's hand on your shoulder keeps you in your own spot, zelem's eyes fixed blankly on your own as the ref opts to check back in with the medics and leave the three of you alone.

"keep your mutt off my shit, beattie." she begins to storm off but you're quick to follow, your body slipping out of jen's hand as your pace quickens.

your only intent was to give her a push and bag the yellow card, deeming it worth the release of steam. however, somehow seconds after zelem had jolted forward and turned to make her way back towards you, a first slammed square into your face. you ended up on your hands and knees, spitting blood into the grass below you.

medics guessed a broken nose and a split lip which might need stitches due to your face accidentally getting stepped on when the players reacted.

sitting on the locker room floor was undeniably embarrassing, your body slumped against the wall as you struggled to keep the gauze firmly against your face. even with the pain consuming you, it was hard not to wonder just how badly you’d be punished.

benched for x amount of games? kicked off the squad? banned from football for life? the possibilities seemed endless, each one worse than the other.

"that was quite the shove you got in," alessia was standing in the doorway, the large puffer coat on her body making your eyes crinkle in place of a smile.

you didn't dare take your eyes off the floor as the shame burning within you only deepened in her presence. there wasn’t a single part of you that wanted to know how angry she was with you, the thought of her conveying her disappointment making you feel sick.

"your ankle?" you ask, ignoring her insinuation.

alessia laughs gently, properly walking into the room and shedding her puffer onto the closest surface.

"rolled, which really sucks." she moves a stool in front of a bench, slightly limping her way over to you as she extends her hand out. "i'll be out for a few weeks at worst.”

you feel like crying, the girl in front of you wrapped in a bandage and you had somehow managed to make things worse. you accept her hand and allow her to guide you to the bench, your head falling back against the lockers as you groan.

"why aren't you at the hospital?"

"i wanted to apologize before i went," you answer. "my selfishness is making sure i don’t do a very good job at that.”

your voice is more pathetic than you imagined it'd be, the pain from your face spreading all around your body. pain was doable when it was just pain, but this just had too much in it for you to feel able to manage it.

"let me help you," she beats your slew of apologies, hands reaching out to the hold the rag against you. her fingers are cold against your hand for the seconds they do touch causing you to pull away quickly, the burning in your arm from holding it up so long dulling down to an ache.

her pressure immediately becomes too harsh and you moan in pain, arm back in the air as your hand roughly grips onto her own. "please be gentle," you gasp, her face washing with regret as she nods, free hand moving to rest on your bare thigh.

her newly adjusted position has her face far too close to your own and you're certain if your nose was working you'd be able to smell her minty breath. it was really her eyes that had you going crazy, the deep blue they sported making you feel dizzy as you examined them.

"thank you," you start, eyes closing as you continue to fight the threat to cry. "i regret it already, i don’t want to be a violent person.”

you quickly find that it's easier to look past alessia, fixating on the door frame and instead of anything else. she's frowning back at you, trying to come up with the right things to say.

"you're a sweet girl," her voice is barely a whisper. "katie's completely fine, and you're going to be fine too, yeah?"

you nod, finally looking her in the eyes.

“is ella angry, you think?”

you hadn’t even considered how awful it must’ve been for you to start a fight with a team that coincided with tooney. there was somehow more guilt to be felt, your brain imagining the damage you may have caused between the two girls.

she doesn’t answer, eyes narrower than they were before.

"i'm sorry, alessia." it's sincere, your head nodding to convey your feelings better as she nods back, something resembling her usual smile creeping onto her lips.

"you can check that off the list now," she teases, a feeling of relief spreading through your body. “i just want you to be okay.”

you had expected her to be far more angry, far more disappointed in you. but, she's not. because how could she be? it was alessia, after all. sweet, composed, and painfully beautiful alessia.

it's embarrassing how caught you are by her even in the state your in, your mind barely able to keep up with just how closely you're getting to see the girl now. you decide now you have to very carefully memorize the small details of her face, selfishly noting you'd probably never be this close to her ever again.

"you're too good to me," it's barely a whisper, your eyes shamefully fixated on alessia's lips. it's hard to contain yourself anymore, your heartbeat finallt recognizing that there was more than pain against you in this moment.

"no such thing," she says.

she readjusts her hand and tilts your head to the side in an effort to examine if anything else had left you with marks. to her disappointment, she finds the scratches your face had taken from the rest of the cleat on your face. it wasn't a pretty sight, you were sure of that, but her gaze didn't feel like pity.

she was looking at you like she always did, merely taking you in for what you were.

she moves the gauze slowly away, wincing at the what was beneath the fabric. your nose is offset, blues and greens inviting themselves into your usual complexion. dried blood stained it’s way from your nostrils to your mouth, your bottom lip sporting the nasty gash.

it was uncomfortable knowing how ugly you must look right now. you opted to close your eyes and pretend you were somewhere else, desperately trying to act normal when she ran her thumb over your cheekbone.

“i’m sorry about the blood in your mouth,” she whispers. “i just wish it was mine.”

you’re crying now, body shaking with sobs as she pulls you into her chest, your chin hooking onto her shoulder as you cried. alessia’s fingers are rubbing your back, her lips whisper ‘it’s okay’ over and over until you start to believe her.

“i think it’s time you get some help with all this, don’t you think?” you’re still pressed against her, hands desperately clenching her jersey. you don’t want to pull away. you don’t want to leave when you’re certain you’ll never have her like this again.

it’s selfish, having her like this when she doesn’t know the way you feel. it almost feels wrong to be tended to so lovingly by her, your secret administration making the weight of her actions far different for you.

but, of course you nod, pulling yourself out of her embrace and allowing her sweet hands to brush the matted hair from your forehead to the sides. her touch is so gentle you almost cry again, cursing your stupid brain for making things harder.

you wanted to ask her about so many things. you wanted to ask what she had meant about the blood and what she had meant when she chose to rest her hand on your thigh. or why she had chosen to be kind to you instead of absolutely losing her head over your recklessness.

you settle for a later date. “can i call you once i’m finished?”

the laugh she lets out makes you feel warm, her arms helping you to stand up and bracing you as she walks you to the physios. you curse yourself for asking something that stupid, walking into the room with a newfound embarrassment.

“you think i’d let you go alone?”

a/n: part 2, mayhaps? part 2 for a kiss and some confessions, mayhaps? feel free to request, too! i’d love the help :)

#woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #woso fic #alessia russo fic #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #arsenal wfc

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arienotari · 4 months

Text

Drowning

Summary: When your worst fear becomes a reality and all you have on the other side is a brown eyed boy.

Pairing: Wally Clark x Reader

Warnings: Death, Drowning, Bullying

Edit: I am terrible at editing, and I tried my best so I'm sorry if you find any mistakes. This is my first full story I am releasing out into the world.

Word Count: 3330

I’ve never liked swimming.

People say it makes them feel free, but I felt anything but free. Every chance I got I avoided water at all costs. It's suffocating. Something about floating in a body of endless water and possibilities always made my skin crawl. One major problem that contributes to my fear is the fact that I can’t swim. I don’t blame anyone for this setback because I've never asked how to or showed interest. My inability to swim didn’t become a problem for me until my senior year of high school. I’ve gotten out of swimming class every year up until now and I had no choice but to take it. I tried to tell the swimming coach and counselors privately that I couldn’t take the class. All they said was I could stay in the shallow end. That I’ll be fine. I believed them.

Word spread quickly throughout my class that I couldn’t swim once they started noticing I wouldn’t leave the 4ft mark. I didn’t really care, all I cared about was getting through the year. I was never really popular which didn’t matter much to me but being in this class never made it more obvious how much I hated it here. I felt eyes on me at all times which only made being in the water worse.

It was March 12, 2015. Only a couple months left of school and then I’d be off to NYU living my dream of being a writer. First I had to get through 4th period swim class of course. I walked into the girls changing room preparing for the next 50 minutes of anxiety as I put my swimsuit on. I folded my dark blue jeans, my gray sweater, and a white tank top with lace on the trim that I wore under the sweater. Making my way to the pool I started putting my hair up in place of a hair cap I seem to have forgotten. Staring at the water I can see the bottom but it doesn’t stop the feeling of wanting to crawl up from my throat. Half the girls were already in the water preparing for a game of volleyball. Step by step down the ladder my hands begin to shake and my mouth becomes dry like I just ate pancakes. I make my way to the back to avoid any confrontation or any chance of being involved in the game. The one thing good about this class is it has a perfect view of the sky. I always get lost staring out at it wondering who’s also looking back. It makes me forget the situation I’m in and my environment. That's until a ball lands in front of me and about 15 girls are looking back at me waiting for my next move. I pick it up with my now calmer hands from before and spike it. Thankfully I made it over to the other side and the girls immediately turned back to the game. Not without some dirty looks but quite frankly I don’t really care. I watch as Mrs. Withers gets a call which seems to be serious as she tells us that she needs to step outside and when the bell rings to just go ahead. It’s only 10 minutes later when the shower bell rings and I feel the crushing weight lift off my shoulders. The other girls split based on which ladder they are closest to heading to the locker room and I help one of the girls get the volleyballs together. Making my way back to solid ground I rush to put the balls away not wanting to be one of the last to leave. I grab a towel on the rack near the other end of the pool as I make my way back seeing the last of everyone leaving. At least that’s what I thought until I heard someone behind me scream “Wait up” before running past me tripping me in the process. Losing my balance I watch as the one who screamed leaves the room leaving me alone. I hit the water with a loud splash waiting to hit the bottom to kick back up only to never feel my feet hit the concrete. I try to reach for the surface but everything I try seems to pull me down further. I panic, feeling my lungs on fire from filling with water. I tried to scream but no one could hear me and no one ever would. Everything was starting to go black and everything was becoming numb. All I could think about was how much I would miss out on. Finally, everything goes dark and I feel like I’m floating but I’m not, I’m being pulled up. I grab onto whoever’s pulling me up as if my life depended on it. Once I reach the surface my lungs fill with air as I begin to cough unbearably with my eyes screwed shut. I feel myself being hoisted up on the ground and out of the water. I’m pulled into the person who saved me as I am unable to move from exhaustion. When the person holds my face to center it I finally open my eyes as I am met with wide brown ones.

“Are you okay”, he’s breathing heavily as I study him blocking out his yell to someone to bring his jacket.

I feel a warm weight on my shoulders seeing its a blue and white letterman jacket out of the corner of my eye.

“Thank you for saving me” I give him a weak smile but all I get in return is an expression filled with nothing but sorrow and guilt.

Still seated on the floor I hear a horrified scream from beside me causing me to whip my head towards the chaos. Suddenly time stops and everything goes silent as I choked out a sob watching as a student and Mrs. Withers pull my body out of the water. The whole class comes to watch as they try to resuscitate me but nothing is happening. I feel the stranger push my head into his chest and I begin to cry harder than before. He repeats “I know’s” and “I’m sorry’s” as my world comes crashing down on me.

Hours later we are still in the same position my hair and clothes dry now along with a tear-dried face. It’s dark outside with only the poolside fluorescent lights to illuminate our two figures. I begin to shiver more and more as the stranger who pulled me out of the water rubs my back and arms.

“We need to get up, you're getting too cold” he whispers, pulling his body to get a better look at me.

I lift myself up getting a better look at him as well as I memorize his long structured face, beauty marks, and brown eyes. After a minute I nod and try to stand up realizing that I’m still exhausted, the position not helping adding to the pain. He helps me steady myself and fully extend as he holds my hands making sure I’m okay.

“You should take a shower and change into your regular clothes, I’ll probably do the same and I will explain everything once we're done. Okay?”, he says softly with an uneasy half-smile waiting for my response.

“Okay,” I whisper back at him not wanting to raise my voice feeling it’ll be too much to handle.

His smile fills out more as he nods and begins to turn away to do the same tasks as me. I begin to turn away as well before I realize I never got the guy's name who pulled me out of the pool and stayed with me for hours.

“What’s your name?,” I said, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking away.

He looks down at my hand holding his arm which makes me see I’m still holding onto him causing me to let go.

“Wally, Wally Clark”, he said with a wide smile that made me feel alive again for just a split second.

After warming up from the shower I changed into my clothes from before that were neatly folded. As I begin to walk out of the locker room I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look back at the girl staring at me feeling disconnected from who she was or what she could’ve been. I take a heavy breath before opening the door to leave and face the reality of my situation. Stepping into the hall, the school looked unnatural to me with the lights off. I look over and see a less wet and cold Wally approach me with the same smile as before.

“How was the shower? Do you feel better?”, he asked one right after the other.

“The shower was good and I’m doing the best I can with the fact that I am already dead,” I said, peering up at him only noticing now how tall he really is.

“I know it's hard and I’m sorry it happened this way but I will try to explain everything the best I can.”, he said, extending his elbow out for me to take it as we began to walk further down the halls.

And Just like he said Wally kept his word and explained everything to me that he could. Like how we’ll never be able to leave school grounds unless we pass on. He also showed me all the other kids stuck here just like us and told me how some passed. As well as the weird support group that the kids attend in the gym. Even though he’d joke he never sugar-coated anything, which I couldn't help but appreciate. I won’t lie, the first couple of weeks were rough. I was plagued by the memory of what happened as well as the thoughts of the future I’ll never get. It definitely didn’t help that everyone at school was mentioning it and not in a sorrowful way. During those few weeks, Wally helped a lot with trying to be a distraction so I wouldn’t focus on others. I guess one of the perks of being dead is being able to duplicate belongings so I was able to get my phone and journal. I found the perfect spot on the football field to just listen to music and lie down. I’d close my eyes and imagine what life could’ve been but I knew I couldn’t do that forever, so I started to write more. It was easier to put my wishes and fantasies on pages without having to dwell on them. I usually kept my writing to myself so around 7:30 every day I’d go to my little bubble of solitude on the field and write. It was May now so the sun would start to set around 8 giving me enough light and a view.

“What are you writing?'' I suddenly hear Wally's voice right next to my ear.

“Jesus Christ Wally you scared me to death”, I said, jumping in reaction to the sudden deep voice, placing my hand on my heart and dropping my journal.

“I mean it's a little too late for that someone must’ve beat me to it.”, he said smiling at me as he sat down next to me grabbing my journal to open it.

I glare at him and snatch my journal back.

“What too soon?”, he said with a stupid grin trying to get my journal back.

“Just a little,” I said, scrunching my nose.

“No but seriously what are you writing? You come out here every day and write in that little journal.” He said leaning back on his arms a bit more to get my full face into view.

I try to hide the blush that has crept up on my face when I realize that he’s been watching me come out here. After a moment I brush my hair out of my face and am met with those famous brown eyes. I take a deep breath before explaining to him my reasons.

“I don’t want to stay stuck in the living because all it’ll do is bring harm. All I thought about for the past couple of months was what I’ll miss but I never stopped and processed my death. I’ve been hurting for all the things I couldn’t change and it caused me to push anything away, even you. So I thought why not write my wishes and wants down so they don’t stay on my mind. At least this way I can close the journal.” I said with a tiny smile looking up at him as he was staring back intently listening.

“Before I died I wanted to be a writer and I had my whole life planned out, I was going to attend—“

“NYU, I know,” he said, finishing my sentence before I could.

I watch as Wally sits up straighter and scooches closer to me before tilting his head. I can tell he’s trying to figure out what to say because he’s fidgeting with his necklace. I wait for him because there’s no point in rushing, I have all the time in the world.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” he says with a breath held in waiting for my response.

One of my eyebrows lifts as I tilt my head in response to the slightly weird statement.

“Oh god, that came out creepier than I meant it to. What I meant to say was even when you were alive I knew who you were.” He said laying back fully down in the grass.

I watched as he covered his eyes with his hands with a frustrated grunt like he was trying to revert into a hole.

“What do you mean?”, I said moving towards his laid position to where I’m now bent over leaning towards him leaving my crisscross position to now on my knees.

I grab his hands that are covering his eyes and pull them down to his chest as I hold them to keep him from covering his eyes again. How he’s looking at me I can tell he’s debating with himself. I wait and listen before I watch as he closes his eyes.

“The first time I saw you was during your freshman year in the library. I was looking for something to watch for group movie night. I had Rhonda yelling at me in one ear and Charlie telling me something in the other. I was getting a little annoyed but then I looked between the bookshelves and there you were.” He takes a pause to look at me and I squeeze his hand in return to continue.

“You were tucked into the corner where the bookshelves meet, where no one could see you. In your hands was The Devil’s Highway by Luis Alberto Urrea. I watched as you cried the further you got into the book. After that day I came back to the library every day to see you. I even started picking up some of the books you read, but I couldn't finish half of them though.” He said with a small smile on his face and in his voice.

He sat up which caused him to become closer to me while he took my hands instead of me holding his. He was looking at the grass for a minute while rubbing his thumbs over my knuckles. When he looked up I could see that he was tearing up making my heart ache.

“I knew you had anxiety when it came to swim class because you couldn’t swim so I’d go to try and help. Even though you couldn’t see or feel me, I was always there.” He said lifting his hand up to tuck a loose strand of my hair that fell.

His hand stayed in place as he cupped my cheek and I went to ask why he was tearing up because of this before he spoke.

“I watched you die. I was there and I couldn’t do anything until it was too late, that’s why I was there. I had to watch you struggle knowing I couldn’t grab you or even scream for help.” He said with his voice croaking with the struggle of what he’s had to go through.

My eyebrows furrowed as I watched the walls I built up crumble down with one look at him. I never knew he’d been holding in something like this for so long. If I had known I would’ve never tried to shut him out. I was scared of what had happened and how my life had ended but I never thought about him. He was always there and whenever I needed help he was right by my side. I moved from my position pulling him into a soul-crushing hug. It took him a second to respond to the sudden gesture but after a couple seconds, I felt his arms wrap around me.

“Wally my death wasn’t your fault, I need you to know that.”, I softly spoke while hugging him harder, feeling him return it.

We continued hugging for what felt like years but could never be enough for me to be satisfied. One of my arms is coming up from under his arm grappling his shoulder while the other is around his waist. His arms are wrapped around my waist and I can feel his hands rubbing small circles on my back. Looking up from being tucked away in his shoulder I notice the sun is beginning to set. I begin to pull away and when I make eye contact with him again he’s only a mere few inches away from my face. I raise my hand to brush his hair away from his face as it has flattened from the hug. My hand slips down as it trails from the side of his head to where it now rests on his neck. He’s staring at me the whole time while I do this and when I look up to meet his eyes my heart quickens. Well, I imagined it quickened. There’s something about those brown eyes I’ve grown fond of that makes me feel alive again. His eyes flash down to my lips and back up to my eyes like he’s silently pleading. I give into his wants that now become a need for me and all I can do is nod. His hand comes up to my face pulling me towards him as our lips meet. The kiss felt like everything in my little life led up to this moment. Nothing else seemed to matter to me but the boy in front of me right now who just confessed that he’d been watching me for years. Wally’s the one to pull away first. I slowly opened my eyes to look at him wanting to capture this moment forever. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek and giving me a quick peck. I can’t restrain my gleaming smile as he pulls away for the second time.

“Well I’m glad we got that cleared up”, he laughed as he spoke.

I glared at him while punching him in the arm causing him to fall back but not before dragging me down with him. I land on his chest relaxing in his touch like it’s something I've been craving but have been deprived of. We lay in comfortable silence as I felt Wally rub circles with his thumb on my hip.

“I’m glad it was you who found me. I don't know what I would’ve done” I said, being the first one to disturb the still air.

“I am too,” Wally said into my hair as he kissed the top of my head.��

We lay there all night even when the stadium lights came on we just talked about everything and anything. Maybe the afterlife won’t completely suck.

#fanfic #wally clark #wally clark x reader #school spirits #television #x yn #Wally Clark fluff #milo manheim #wally clark imagines

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ame-perduexx · 7 months

Text

Astrology Observations🦋

*as always* take what you want, leave what you want

*based only on my personal experiences with people with these placements*

🧚🏻cancer venus: if you've ever felt love from a cancer venus then i hope you know how special it can be. does it feel like love-bombing at times? sure. But i find it beautiful how unabashedly they throw themselves into someone they like. can it be suffocating to someone who isn't fully ready to commit? sure. but its impossible not to root for them.

🧚🏻taurus venus: wonderful, incredible, sensational style sense. thrift shop royalty. impeccable taste. can look good in anything - simply because it looks like a carefully curated outfit when in reality it took them probably 5 mins to throw together.

🧚🏻gemini venus: attracted to people who show them endless fascination. enjoys playing questions games to get to know people. knowing someones favorite color or season may seem pointless but they genuinely find a person's answers interesting.

🧚🏻as a fixed sign .... i have found i clash the most with cardinal signs. they infuriate me to no end. I enjoy the dynamic nature of mutable signs more.

🧚🏻Leo sun/moon: listen....even when you meet one and they tell you: "i'm like the most un-leo, leo ever! I hate being the center of attention!" they are LYING. either to you or themselves or both. i understand why taurus get the bad rep for being stubborn but leo's are stubborn in the way they believe they fully are the best person in the room at all times....which in a way i am almost envious of them? they have a kind of self-love that is unflinching.

🧚🏻virgo suns: make extremely well bosses. are very diplomatic and fair in how each worker is treated and never takes anything personal.

🧚🏻Sagittarius suns: for some reason.... the ones i have met and been around (ones who all identify as women) present themselves as extremely proper and pious in social settings. they love to be seen as the most put together one - especially in work-place. quiet in work environment ... but will talk your ear to death if you're sitting next to them at a dinner party

🧚🏻*trigger warning for SA* 🧚🏻scorpio placements. particularly sun,moon and mars. experience deep sexual trauma. over and over and over again in their life. started at an early age. continues to be taken advantage of throughout their lives. easy for them to associate self-worth with being sexually desired in a negative way. doesn't trust a person if they seem innocent at first, it always turns into some form of a violation.

🧚🏻gemini placements: listen to more lofi style music or instrumental. music without lyrics.

🧚🏻gemini moons: i know i've said this before in a post, and its a common understanding with gemini placements, but they genuinely are extremely talented with foreign languages. learn them quickly. hear them spoken for a while and can pick it up naturally.

🧚🏻moon opposite saturn: i'm so sorry. i know how hard it is. the depression, the anxiety, the constant self-doubt. you are truly your own worst enemy. i'm sending every person with this placement all my love.

🧚🏻libra sun & moon: have i ever truly had a deep convo with these placements? no. do i still love their company? yes. but it tends to feel surface level with them. they are not talented in expressing their thoughts in a spoken or written way without it sounding....childish. maybe its just me .... either way they would still be the first person I invite to my party. they make me laugh. maybe it's their childish naive view of the world i love. maybe I wish i could see it that way.

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llamagoddessofficial · 4 months

Text

Skull is happy and safe now. But sometimes, the worst habits are the hardest to break.

(Short thing I cooked up while feeling sad. It's pretty angsty, and involves dealing with family death, so be warned, but it has a bittersweet happy ending.)

---

“... Skull?”

...

He didn’t respond. He sat there, staring at the front door, motionless and silent. He’d been like that for almost two hours.

You sat beside him, but he made no move to greet you. He didn’t seem to realise you were even there. It was only when you touched the top of his hand, gently, that he spoke, iris trained unwaveringly on the door.

“... crooks’ll be home soon.” He mumbled.

Ah. Your chest ached... it was one of those days.

... Crooks was Skull’s younger brother. His only family. Skull had told you a lot about him, over the course of your time together- he told you about raising Crooks himself, a consequence of losing their parents at a very young age. He told you about taking care of Crooks before he even knew how to take care of himself. He told you about teaching him to read, to write, to cook, to use magic. He told you about Crooks’ love of puzzles and logic games, his bombastic personality and endless kindness, the hours he spent pouring over junior jumble. He told you about how when his own depressive episodes became too much, Crooks kept him from slipping. He told you about how, since before he could remember, it had always been the two of them. They were an inseparable pair.

...

Crooks had fallen to hopelessness, in the Underground. Only a few years before the Monsters were freed.

... Skull didn’t talk much about those last years. You didn’t ask. But Skull clearly never recovered from losing the last piece of his family. Deluding himself into believing that his brother was simply ‘out’ and would come home soon was his only way of coping. Of surviving.

Even now, he still wasn't good at being alone.

Skull was better, on the surface. He had new friends and acquaintances. New routines, new comforts. He had you- his partner. But sometimes, when he had bad days, he would slip back into the mental patterns that had kept him alive for so long.

... You wondered how many hours Skull had spent, alone in a silent home, down in the Underground. Waiting for Crooks to come back. Staring blankly at a door that would never open again.

...

You took his hand in both of yours. You played gently with his worn, cracked bones... giving him a little more time in a world where his brother was still alive.

...

“Skull?” You said, softly. “... I’m a bit hungry. Could you make me something?”

That was the only thing that ever worked.

...

His eyelight shifted. Then blossomed a little wider... his mouth started to make minute movements, like he was sleeptalking.

“... hungry.” He eventually said aloud. His hand twitched, then carefully curled around yours- he sounded like he still wasn’t all there.

“Yes.”

“... she’s hungry...” His eyelight flickered again. “... get up... she’s... hungry...”

Skull swayed slightly, then stood. You stood with him... he lumbered to the kitchen, but kept a tight hold of your hand, taking you with him.

...

He was already cutting the steak, when you saw him ‘wake up’.

There was a noticeable pause, in his ministrations. The previously almost-robotic movements of the knife slowed to a halt. You saw his eyelight shiver... he blinked, then started slowly looking around at the room.

His line of sight focused on a vase full of flowers. The two of you had set those up, around the house, always within line of sight. Things that would remind him he’s on the surface now.

Two seconds. Three, four...

...

“... sorry.” He mumbled, putting the knife down. There he was; Skull was back. He seemed embarrassed.

“Hey, hey.” You squeezed his hand. “No, don’t apologise. It’s okay. You just needed a minute.”

He sighed, forlorn. “i cut up our good steak...”

“Well. I’d rather you handled that steak than me. I don’t trust myself with something so nice.”

He snorted, trying to hold back his laughter. When he looked at you, his eyelight was big and shiny, and you felt a smile creep onto your face.

“... might as well cook it anyway.” He mumbled, taking the knife up again. “expensive steak for lunch, huh?”

“I’m not complaining.”

Another snort. He was grinning now.

He didn’t let go of your hand... you were impressed he cooked the whole meal one-handed.

#llama writes #sad skull hours

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xnchxntmxnt · 6 months

Note

hurt comfort with the astarion guy pls I don't don't know anything about the game I've just seen clips of him on youtube and I love him

you aSK AND YOU SHALL RECIEVE i love him

Blood is Rare and Sweet as Cherry Wine

Character: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)

Warnings: reverse hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol (reader doesn’t drink), general astarion backstory information but it’s nothing super specific. not proofread

Notes: almost cried writing this. im sorry. anyway I'm a hozier lover what else is new.

gn reader

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Astarion stared at the fire, leaning back against one of the boxes under his tent. There was something serene about this area—they’d never been attacked at camp, and it comforted him to know he could let his guard down somewhere. If only slightly.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice you walking up to him until you spoke.

“Astarion?” you asked, voice softer than he expected. “Are you alright?”

He must have looked upset—he didn’t need your pity, though, so he tried to shake himself back to reality. “What can I do for you, my dear?” he asked, sitting up a bit straighter and taking a sip of the ale next to him.

You paused, looking at him with your eyebrows furrowed slightly, then finally decided to sit next to him. He offered the ale but you declined. Instead, you turned your body to face him and slowly, gently, brushed a bit of hair out of his face.

And he flinched.

You quickly pulled your hand away from him and rested it in your lap. He stared, wide-eyed, terrified of his own actions. He’d inflicted pain on countless others and never felt guilt for it, but such a simple gesture broke him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice small and quiet. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Astarion was always so eccentric, so proud, so…unafraid. This was an entirely new side to him, and he was even more embarrassed to show it to you. He wanted to run, he wanted to hide, but he didn’t have the energy to make his feet move. To make anything move.

There was a beat of silence, where the two of you only listened to the crackling fire a few feet away. Then, you spoke. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

He didn’t understand how you could be so kind to him. There were so many things wrong with him as a person, or things from his past—he’d hurt people, tricked them, found ways for dear Cazador to turn them into mindless little puppets. Like he was, before all this mindflayer business.

There was so much wrong in the world, and there you sat. His ray of sunshine—his hope. Somehow with you, things seemed a little less dreary. True, there was some mystical dream-being that followed you around keeping everyone from sprouting tentacles, so that was something positive. But your general disposition, the way you smiled at him when you caught him staring at you, the way you snuck away from the rest of camp with him to watch the stars…all these things made him fall so hopelessly in love.

He couldn’t be that person for you, though. He never learned how to make big, romantic gestures or show his affection in a way that made sense. A way that made sure you knew he adored you in your best and worst moments. Cazador had ruined him—he’d ruined any semblance of having a normal life. On top of being a vampire spawn and ripped away from his life before, he was stuck in an endless loop of servitude and puppetry or constantly fearing for his life. He never learned or could afford, to just relax. You deserved someone who could love you whole-heartedly, not the monster he’d become.

“I care for you so, so deeply, my dear,” he all but whispered, voice tight with emotion.

“I know.”

“I cannot, for the life of me…” he trailed off, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I cannot understand why you care for me.”

His head hung low; you stared at him, shocked and unsure how to react to his words. He felt embarrassed, he felt small—there was nothing he could do, it seemed, to pull himself out of this rut he had himself stuck in lately.

Then he heard your words.

“Can I hug you, Astarion?”

He glanced over to you, seeing teh pleading look in your eyes. You’d asked. Maybe that made him feel a little more normal, a little less messed up. Hesitantly, he leaned into your embrace. The moment he felt the warmth of your arms around him, though, he melted. He laid his head on your chest, his full weight falling into you exponentially by the second. And with it, he began to cry.

It was heart-wrenching sobs that felt like someone stabbing him through the heart every time, but he couldn’t mistake the comfort of your hands running through his hair. The soothing, repetitive motion calmed his nerves more than he thought possible. After what felt like ages, he began to sit up, trying to put himself back together like that hadn’t just happened. His eyes looked slightly irritated, but he tried desperately to wipe any evidence of his outburst from his face—

Suddenly, he felt your hands around his face, thumbs running over his cheeks. He stopped—his hands slowly fell, and he relaxed into your embrace once again.

“You do not have to apologize for feeling things, Astarion,” you said softly. “And you certainly don’t have to hide from me. Not your thoughts, not your emotions.”

He nodded, turning his head slightly to the side to kiss the palm of your hand. His voice was hoarse but surprisingly gentle. “Thank you. I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s the thing. You do.”

He smiled softly—it had been a long time since he felt like he could do so freely.

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