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megalony · 2 months

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Take It Easy

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, requested by anon. I'm sorry it took me so long to get round to writing this for you. I hope it is what you were looking for. Any feedback is always amazing.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread@musicistheway@avada-kedavra-bitch-187@luula@missdreamofendless@bradleybeachbabe@woderfulkawaii@amberpanda99@daggersquadphantom@marvel-and-chicago-fan@angryknightstatesmantrash@minjix@lyjen@kmc1989@itsmytimetoodream@noonenuts@hiireadstuff@ashie-babie@classyunknownlover@jayyeahthatsme@sp1ritssz

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) doesn't feel well but continues with her shift and reassures her husband that she is fine. Until the pain gets worse and she collapses at work.

Enjoy.

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Coiling her arms to her chest, (Y/n) leaned her weight on the door and tried to open it as quietly as possible. She peered her head around and shuffled into the bunker room.

The small LED lights on the walls were enough to cast a pale luminescent light around the room and let (Y/n) glance around rather than wander aimlessly in the dark. She could feel the panic dwindling down when she realised the only person in the room was the one person she had been hoping to find.

Other than Eddie sleeping soundly, the room was empty.

She pushed the door to and left it open just a slight crack before she wandered over to the far right side of the room. Moving over to a free cot bed, (Y/n) leaned down to the left and undid her boots and stepped out of them. She was suddenly glad the room was cast in darkness just in case Eddie was awake so he wouldn't see the grimace that pulled on her lips when she leaned down.

Her hand moved to press against her abdomen and it took all (Y/n) had not to groan when she straightened up. Her lower stomach was twisting and knotting itself up like tangled rope. This was exactly the way Eddie had felt a month or so back when he got a stomach infection.

(Y/n) prayed to God she didn't have the same kind of infection, she didn't want to be off work for a week. Stuck taking antibiotics, barely able to eat anything due to the pain like Eddie had been.

Her hand moved to hold her hip so her arm was pinned around her waist. Adding pressure made her stomach feel less tense and took away some of the discomfort she felt.

She had been on shift this afternoon and she wasn't going off until tomorrow evening. If (Y/n) could just get through the next shift, then she could have a day off and try to recover before coming back for a night shift in two days. Next week was her short week where she only had two shifts, she would be able to rest at home with Chris and recover around work so she didn't have to take time off. She didn't want to be stuck at home and she didn't want to leave the station with no staff.

Her eyes softened when she moved over towards the only occupied bed in the room and her gaze landed on her husband.

Eddie was laid on his back with one arm hanging off the side of the bed and the other arm draped across his eyes. He had stripped off his shirt and left it lying on his boots beside the bed, leaving him in his trousers and vest and the blanket was tossed on the floor too. The station was far too humid for anyone to want to sleep with a blanket.

It took some effort for (Y/n) to crouch down beside his bed but feeling her knees press up into her stomach relieved some of the pain.

She folded one arm over the edge of the bed and reached her other hand out to graze her fingertips along Eddie's exposed arm. Her lips curved into a tight smile when she watched his elbow suddenly twitch and he took a sharp breath as his upper body jolted forward slightly.

She stayed put, crouched beside the bed while Eddie lowered his right arm from his eyes and turned to look over at her.

"You okay baby… what time is it?" His voice was groggy and laced with sleep making him sound much deeper than usual. He rubbed the base of his hand against his eyes while his left hand reached out to brush across (Y/n)'s jaw.

How long had he been asleep? Surely it couldn't be morning already? He had gone to take a power nap just after eleven so he could feel a bit more alive if they had a call out during the night. It didn't feel like he had been asleep for very long, but that was usually the way it went with sleep. One second Eddie thought it was midnight and the next, someone was waking him up saying it was three in the morning and they had to get ready.

"Midnight," (Y/n) tilted her head to the side and nuzzled her cheek into Eddie's palm, smiling softly when his thumb brushed across her cheekbone.

"Do you feel any better?" He let his head drop back down on the pillow for a few seconds while his hand moved from his eyes to ruffle his hair and brush it away from his temple.

He knew she had felt sick early in the morning and when they arrived on shift, she had changed from feeling sick to having a dull stomach ache. He was hoping he hadn't passed on his infection to her. Eddie had done his best to be careful around his wife and son when he was ill. The last thing he needed was to make (Y/n) or Chris ill too. And he was sure it couldn't be the same infection because it had been over two weeks since Eddie had recovered.

"A little," (Y/n) wasn't sure whether he believed her or not but he didn't push the subject, he only hummed and acknowledged that he'd heard her.

"Come get some sleep, baby."

A grin formed on her lips when Eddie's hand left her face and moved to hold her elbow instead. He tugged on her arm until she got the hint and moved closer while he shifted around.

Eddie turned to lay on his left side so he was facing her and shuffled back towards the edge to make some room in front of him. There wasn't really enough space to fit two of them on here, but he didn't care. He slept better when (Y/n) was in his arms. Sleeping alone in a small, uncomfortably cot bed like this reminded Eddie of being back in the army and he didn't want to relive that part of his life.

His left arm stretched out and when (Y/n) gingerly climbed onto the bed, he curved his arm up around her chest so his hand could hold her shoulder. His lips curved into a grin when he felt (Y/n) tilt her head down and kiss his forearm that was against her chest and both her hands moved to hold his arm comfortingly.

Eddie's other arm slumped over (Y/n)'s waist and he leaned his head down until he could bury his nose and lips in the top of her hair.

He heard the quiet, uncomfortable sound (Y/n) let out as she shuffled around to try and get comfy. And he felt the way she drew her knees up to her stomach to try and relieve the pain and feel settled enough to sleep.

She kept her lips buried against Eddie's arm and she hummed when he tightened his right arm around her waist and smoothed his hand up and down her abdomen. "Better?" He murmured quietly into her hair and (Y/n) could tell by his voice that he was starting to fall back asleep again.

Her lips kissed his arm and she squeezed her fingers into his forearm near his tattoo while she nuzzled her cheek into his bicep. She felt a lot better to have Eddie wrapped around her like a blanket.

Her knees pulled up a bit higher like she was trying to pin Eddie's arm against her and imbed it into her stomach to relieve the burning, dull ache. But in doing so, (Y/n) unintentionally wriggled back into Eddie and pushed her bum into his groin. She felt his hand press down flat and firmly against her stomach to hold her in place and she froze, breathing softly into his arm as she tried to stay deadly still.

"Don't do that. We're at work,"

(Y/n) shivered when he growled into her hair but she couldn't stop herself from smiling into his arm. While his other arm pinned tighter against her and kept her back flush against his chest so she could feel every ridge of him pressing into her.

"Sorry," She whispered quietly before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against his arm. She was starting to feel a little better already.

***

She felt worse.

(Y/n) could feel tears burning in the corners of her eyes when she shrugged on her overall jacket and grabbed her helmet from the locker. She felt like each step she took caused a fire to burn down the centre of her stomach, and now the pain was moving towards the right side of her abdomen too.

She hadn't managed to eat any breakfast and now it was close to lunchtime and she felt sick even though she had nothing to throw up.

She swiped her sleeve beneath her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to hold herself up and feel a bit more alive and better. All she had to do was get through this afternoon until she could go home.

Once she was home, wrapped up in bed with Eddie, she would feel much better and she would be able to rest.

"Ready?"

Her body jumped and she swallowed down a groan when Eddie curved his arm around her waist and jogged beside her towards the truck. She let him take her helmet from her hands and whack it in the compartment with his before they headed to the steps.

Stars flooded (Y/n)'s vision and she almost let go of the door when she tried to pull herself up. It caused a sudden, blinding strain on her stomach when she reached up and tried to climb up the steps. She realised she wasn't breathing but she couldn't force herself to take another breath.

It was a relief to feel Eddie's hands on her hips and he gave her a tight squeeze and a push up when she froze and he almost bumped into her.

Eddie's eyes followed her as she clambered in and flopped down into a spare seat opposite Evan.

She looked flushed, but Eddie couldn't be sure whether that was because she didn't feel so well or because they were rushing about to head out on a call. He moved to sit down next to her and once they were buckled in with headsets on, he looked down at her.

His left arm reached out and his hand clamped down on her thigh, giving her a reassuring squeeze while silently checking if she was alright.

(Y/n) curled her hands around his arm and managed a tight-lipped smile. It was hard to control the grip she had on his arm. She didn't want to squeeze too tightly and make Eddie realise she didn't feel good. She let herself shuffle to the right and imbed herself between the chair and Eddie, moving his shoulder a little until it was pressing comfortably on her chest. And she could press her lips down on his shoulder since he hadn't put his overcoat on yet.

Keeping her eyes closed seemed to help relieve the nausea that bubbled up in her clenching stomach. But the speed bumps and sharp corners didn't do her any good.

When the truck made a harsh break, (Y/n) kicked her foot out and pressed the heel of her boot into the chair opposite to steady herself but she could feel her breaths jittering past her trembling lips. Her fingers punched into Eddie's arm and she swallowed down a groan.

"Okay?"

She nodded her head but she didn't believe herself. She was starting to sweat through her minimal layers and they hadn't even arrived on the scene yet. She felt sick and the swerving corners were making her feel dizzy.

(Y/n) ignored the small chatter through the headphones and tried to keep herself tucked up into Eddie. She didn't care if the others stared or wondered why she was suddenly clinging to him. All she cared about was trying to get herself through this shift and make the pains go away. She had taken the painkillers Eddie handed her at lunch but they weren't making any difference.

When she dared to open her eyes, she felt her stomach churning again and adrenaline fuelled up towards her chest when she locked her gaze on her husband.

He was staring down at her intently, and he didn't look pleased.

His lips pressed to one side and he had one brow raised while his chin was tilted down in her direction. (Y/n) usually loved it when she caught Eddie staring at her when they were on shift together, but not today. He didn't look at her with those sweet doe eyes that made her heart skip a beat.

Today, he had stern pupils and a clenched jaw and the tension was evident in his features. She could feel his hand digging tighter into her thigh while his other hand was curled around his knee.

Eddie wanted her to go home. He wanted (Y/n) to go home and rest and try to take it easy and come back when she felt better. He saw no point in her pushing herself to continue with her shift when she clearly wasn't well. But he knew how stubborn she was and she wouldn't go home unless she got a lot worse or someone forced her to leave.

"Alright team, let's go."

(Y/n) was glad to throw off the headphones when the truck came to an unsteady stop and the blaring sirens finally turned off. They were the second unit to be called to the scene, they were here for added back up to evacuate a burning building and tend to the injured.

With her belt thrown off to the side, (Y/n) took a very deep, turbulent breath and tried to clear the fog out of her head and undo the knots in her stomach.

She followed in line to get down, keeping her hands around Eddie's arm until he had to climb down and she had to let go.

The temperature change hit her at full speed and her already burning skin flushed the the AC in the truck turned off and the heatwave outside blistered into her skin. And gravity seemed to grab her when she tried to climb down until she stumbled over her feet and barely managed to stop herself from falling down.

When her feet were planted on the floor, her hand automatically reached out in front of her and her fingers curled around Eddie's arm just as he shrugged on his jacket. Her forehead pushed into his arm and she closed her eyes, willing her stomach to stop when it felt like knives were imbedding into her skin and stabbing her a thousand times.

"Baby what's wrong?" He whispered softly as his head turned to look down at her. He could feel her tight grip on his upper arm and he could sense how close she was standing to him like she was trying to merge herself into his back.

"A bit nauseous, but I'm good now."

"You can sit this one out and wait in the truck-"

"No, no baby I'm okay."

Eddie frowned down at her and shivers coursed under (Y/n)'s skin when she felt his hand grip her chin. He pulled her head up and tilted her so she was level with him and able to lock gazes with him.

She could see the stern look in his dark eyes and his jaw clicked from side to side. He was assessing her, going into medic mode to make sure she was actually okay and capable of doing this call out. He had no problem calling rank and telling Bobby that (Y/n) needed to sit this one out. He would put his foot down if he had to, even if he didn't want to.

"You swear you're good to go?" His voice was as dark as (Y/n) had ever heard and it made the knots in her stomach dull down and turn to mush. She wanted to melt into a puddle and she suddenly wished they were at home instead of at work, with Eddie looking at her like that.

"I promise," (Y/n) nodded and batted her eyes up at him but she couldn't bring herself to smile, not yet.

She could feel the adrenaline pounding through her blood from arriving on scene but it wasn't enough to rid her stomach completely. But she was standing upright and she could push herself to get through this call, as long as she could rest afterwards, she should be okay. She hoped.

She forced herself to let go of his arm even though she didn't want to, and secured her helmet and gloves. She could feel her stomach knotting but one of the many knots started to ease when Eddie stayed stood beside her with his arm and shoulder in front of her like a shield. He didn't move an inch away from her as they stood waiting for orders.

His left hand reached out to the side and held onto (Y/n)'s hip so his arm was once again pinned across her chest like how they had sat in the truck.

His thumb brushed up and down her hip over her trousers and his arm pressed back into her chest, trying to apply a little pressure to give her some comfort.

"Okay, Buck and Eddie, I want you round the back with the 211 to evacuate. Chimney you with me through the front to make sure everyone gets out. Hen, go find the medics and assist." Bobby looked across them all before his eyes landed on (Y/n).

It was like a silent conversation passed between them all. (Y/n) tried to look okay, she tried to hold her breath and square her shoulders and hold herself steady to prove she was alright and nothing was out of the ordinary. But with Eddie's arm pinned around her front and his stern, unhappy expression beside her, it contradicted any brave face she tried to put on and Bobby didn't buy her brave face.

"(Y/n)," He could see she wasn't one hundred percent. She figured everyone could and it made her squirm on the spot. "Go with Hen, help check everyone over and assist medics."

She didn't question it.

It would do her no favours to question an order and deep down, she was relieved not to have to rush into the burning building and run around. (Y/n) didn't think she had the strength or ability within her to go faster than a quick paced walk or she would keel over.

She would only slow them down and be a hinderence today if she tried to do the harder tasks with Eddie and Evan. She didn't want to hold them back or cause any problems if she collapsed inside or came over dizzy or had to stop to be sick. She couldn't wear the oxygen mask and safety suit if she thought she was going to be sick. It would be a very bad day if she threw up in the suit.

Helping the wounded was a much easier job for (Y/n), it was automatic to tend to people and help with their injuries whereas Buck and Eddie were far better suited to run into the burning buildings and find ways to get out.

"Be careful," She mumbled quietly into Eddie's shoulder and gave his arm a lasting squeeze before he let go of her and turned to peck her temple. She could feel his lips moving against her skin and she shuddered when he sighed. He could feel how she was starting to flush and burn up, but it wasn't excessive and as long as she stayed with Hen and didn't overdo herself, she would be alright on this call.

"And you take it easy, mi amor. I mean it."

"Yes boss." Her quiet comment earned her a slap on the bum as she turned to walk away.

***

"You look like you could use a drink."

(Y/n) lifted her head from the window and glanced across at Evan when she felt his foot nudge hers while he slouched back in his seat.

She didn't realise they were back at the station until she noticed Evan fling his belt off and move to stand up with his head and shoulders hunched forward. He was too tall to stand up in the truck.

He waved his hand for her to follow and (Y/n) nodded, but she couldn't bring herself to move just yet. Her head was spinning and her stomach was officially pulled into knots that weren't untangling on their own. She didn't know what to do with herself. Standing up only stretched the pain and walking created a burning feeling. All (Y/n) wanted to do was stay curled up in her seat and contort into the smallest, curved shape she could manage to try and take away the pain.

She realised her hands were trembling when she took off her own belt and leaned against the seats to try and heave up onto her feet.

Her head spun in circles and her body tilted to the right when she shuffled to get out the truck. She couldn't stay sitting in here for the rest of her shift and she was officially the last one left to get out.

She let herself slump against the side of the door but her feet weren't coordinating anymore. The heel of her boot skidded off the top step and (Y/n) didn't have the will or the energy to try and catch herself.

She just wanted to go to sleep.

She wanted the pain to stop. It was easier to let go and given in to the thought of collapsing down on the floor. It would take the weight off her body and stop her stomach from stretching and tightening so much if she just went down and curled up on the floor. The pain was bad enough to make her head spin and she had felt constantly dizzy for the last hour of their callout.

"Woah- fuck!"

Eddie barely lifted his head before his breath got caught in his throat and his chest tightened.

The helmet in his hand dropped to the floor and he thrust his arms up just as (Y/n)'s head lolled forward and her body tumbled down from the truck.

Her forehead bashed into his shouolder and jolted the right side of Eddie's body but he tried to tense up and stay standing. He coiled his arms around her waist and slammed his knees into the bottom step of the truck, bending his hips forward to try and take her weight for her. (Y/n)'s body crashed into his chest and her arms flagged against his sides while her legs slammed into the truck floor and bent awkwardly over the steps.

"Fuck, I got you baby." Eddie tilted his head to the left to check no one was behind him before he tried to shuffle backwards a few steps and pull (Y/n) down from the truck.

He grimaced at the way her legs bashed down the steps and scraped against the floor and her arms flopped limply over his elbows.

Once he was a few feet away, Eddie let himself go down on his knees and gently lowered (Y/n) down with him. He then turned her around until her back was slumped down over his thighs and he hoisted her up, shuffling her between his legs that he parted to the sides. His arm bolted around her waist and his hand moved to cup her chin so he could tilt her head back on his shoulder.

"Oh God!"

"Eddie what's going on?"

Hen fumbled to grab one of the medic bags from the truck while Bobby paused, halfway towards the stairs before he caught sight of two of his team on the floor.

"Baby, you with me?" His thumb brushed across (Y/n)'s jaw before he reached up to move her eyelid and check if her pupils were changing and constricting or not.

Eddie didn't like the way (Y/n)'s arms immediately slumped around her waist before she tightened them and started to groan. Her head turned until she could bury her face in his neck and her trembling arms pushed down on her abdomen until she was crying into his neck.

"How bad is the pain, baby? Talk to me," He could feel how flushed her skin was with her head tucked into his neck. She was sweating and he couldn't make out whether she was just trembling from pain or if she was shaking from a fever.

"Eight."

"Eight? Christ (Y/n) why didn't you tell me?" He shook his head as his jaw tightened. She shouldn't be on shift if she was in this much pain. She should have told him how bad it was and that it was getting worse so she could go home or go to the doctor. Staying on shift and pretending she was alright clearly hadn't worked out for anyone.

Eddie's left arm stayed hooked around (Y/n)'s chest while he moved his right hand to tug her shirt from where it was tucked into her trousers. He rolled it up to reveal her stomach so he could carefully press his fingertips and then the palm of his hand down over (Y/n)'s abdomen. He leaned back when (Y/n) cried out and clenched her fingers around his wrist the moment he tried to add pressure to the lower right side of her abdomen.

"I think it's her appendix," He let his eyes trail across to Hen when she bent down on his other side.

She clipped a pulse monitor onto (Y/n)'s finger and slid a blood pressure cuff up her arm before she tried to examine (Y/n)'s stomach. But (Y/n) wasn't having any of it. She squirmed and pushed back into Eddie, crying into his neck until he pressed his lips against her burning temple and tried to hush her.

Hen placed a thermometer in (Y/n)'s ear and pursed her lips when she got the reading. "BP is high and she has a fever. Definitely could be appendicitis."

"You are going to the emergency room. Now. This isn't negotiable."

(Y/n) didn't have the will to argue, all she could do was close her eyes tighter and press her face so deeply into Eddie's neck that she could feel the throbbing veins pressing into her nose and feel each deep breath he took. His arms hooked beneath her knees and around her back and when he lifted her up, it eased some of the pain. (Y/n) tried tightening her knees to her stomach and kept her arms pinned around her middle while she heard Bobby tell Hen to take them in the ambulance.

Her arms stayed pinned to her stomach and she groaned when Eddie tried to carefully ease her down onto the gurney in the ambulance. She was relieved the rest of the team stayed at the station. She didn't want nor need the attention of anyone else climbing in and trying to examine her and help.

It was bad enough she felt like this now instead of in a few hours when her shift ended. That was all she was trying to do; make it to the end of her shift.

"Do you want some morphine for the pain, mi amor?" Eddie slipped the pressure cuff off her arm but left the pulse clip on her finger. He wanted to keep an eye on the numbers and make sure her pulse stayed calm and steady.

"Please… Eddie i-it hurts,"

When she dared to open her eyes, it took a few seconds to form a picture instead of blurred colours of brown, grey and glistening white lights. But (Y/n) managed to focus enough to see her husband stare down at her with a perplexed look.

He wanted to frown. He wanted to scoff and raise an eyebrow or shake his head at her and growl. But Eddie found his expression falling and a sad quirk pulled at his lips when he looked down at his wife.

"I know, which is why you should have told me earlier." His tone was calm and coated in sugar, even though he wanted it to come out stern and repremanding. If (Y/n) had told him how bad the pain was, Eddie would have taken her to the hospital earlier before she developed a fever and severe pains. He would have sent her home this morning if she told him she felt worse instead of saying she felt better.

Reaching out, (Y/n) grabbed his thigh when he sat down on the edge of the gurney with a few items splayed out on the chair opposite him.

He let her squeeze his thigh and he tilted her arm around a little while he tore open the plastic packaging for a new needle pre-filled with a dose of morphine. His thumb pressed down just above the crease of her elbow and he expertly shot the dose into her vein before he leaned forward and kissed her arm when he was done.

"Okay, stay still mi amor, this won't take long." Eddie pinned an IV tube between his knees and grabbed a catheter needle, swabbing the back of (Y/n)'s hand that was gripping his knee.

He carefully pushed the needle into the back of her hand, pinning the leaf green cap in place while he removed the needle and exchanged it for the IV. Once it was taped in place, Eddie undid the clasp to let the fluids run wide open. He didn't want (Y/n) dehydrating as well as burning up and being in immense pain.

"Are… are you mad at me?" It was hard for (Y/n) to try and keep her eyes open when the morphine was starting to do its work. The cramping, twinges coursing through her stomach were still making her shake back and forth on the gurney and rock against Eddie, but her head was starting to feel better. The dizziness was clearing up and her pulse was starting to throb in her head like a drum.

She felt like she was going to pass out.

The feeling of Eddie's lips on her burning forehead felt comforting and cold and it was as if he was melting into her. Especially when his hand moved to cup the side of her neck and she could feel his thumb swiping across the corner of her jaw.

"Of course I'm not mad at you, mi amor." His lips curved up into a gentle smile and he tilted his head down so their foreheads were pressed together and the tip of their noses touched. "I'm worried about you, there's a difference."

When he felt the ambulance come to a stop, Eddie pushed up to his feet and moved to unclip the brakes.

"Right, let's get you to a doctor."

***

"Are you taking me home now?" (Y/n) bit down on her lip to obscure her smile and she tilted her head back to look up at Eddie through her lashes.

Her hands pinched down around the edge of the bed and she swung her legs over the side until her feet were firmly planted on the floor. She stayed still, watching Eddie move forward until he was stood between her parted thighs And his arms dropped from being folded over his chest so he could reach out for her.

He smoothed his hands over her shoulders and trailed them down her sides until he had a firm grip on her hips and he arched his back out to lean over her. His temple pressed against hers and (Y/n) tilted her head up to capture his lips in a kiss. She could taste the coffee on his lips and when she bit down on his lower lip when he parted them, she felt his fingertips scratch into her hips causing her to gasp.

"If you're good, and promise to take it easy."

Eddie's assumptions had been right. An assessment and scan had proven that (Y/n)'s appendix had swollen up and become inflamed. If they had waited much longer it might have burst and caused a lot of complications.

Three hours later, Eddie was sat in the waiting room while (Y/n) had keyhole surgery to remove her appendix. And since she'd had no adverse reactions and seemed to be fine, they were going to discharge her this afternoon.

(Y/n) wanted to go home. She wanted to go to sleep in her own bed and be with Eddie and Chris, not laid up in here somewhere unfamiliar and unsettling. She could recover much better at home than she could here. They had painkillers at home which is all (Y/n) needed to take at the moment and she knew Eddie was going to be hovering around like a warden.

He wouldn't let her overdo anything, he would be on watch to make sure she got some rest.

"I promise. At least we don't have to worry about childcare this week." (Y/n) reached her hand up for Eddie's collar and gave a sharp tug to keep him hovering over her while her foot curled around the back of his ankle to drag him closer.

"This week?"

"What?" Her teeth sank down into her lower lip and her head tilted to the side.

"Uh-uh, don't try playing me, baby." The way he held her chin between his finger and thumb made (Y/n)'s stomach pool with adrenaline and she gasped when he tilted her head back and towered over her. "I spoke to the doctor. At least two to three weeks off work. No heavy lifting, no straining, nothing."

"Eddie…" (Y/n) drawled out his name and pulled her chin from his grasp so she could push forward. Her hands curled around his back and dug into his lower torso while she meshed her face into his abdomen, breathing into his shirt and inhaling his scent.

"Would you rather stay here?"

Her grumble was enough of an answer and Eddie smiled as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. His arm stayed curved around her upper back while his other hand moved to cradle the back of her neck.

He had spoken to the doctor already. (Y/n) was fine to be discharged today, but she had to rest. She couldn't go back to work for up to a month because she couldn't risk doing any heavy duty and straining the few stitches she had or tearing the internal stitches.

Their job was demanding and hard, it would be too much of a strain to go back to full duties right away. And Eddie wasn't going to risk her health, no matter how much she begged and pleaded with him.

"That's what I thought."

"Please take me home." (Y/n) tilted her head back until her chin was pressed into his abdomen and she could stare up at him.

"We're going home, mi amor. And you're gonna be good and let me look after you. Got it?"

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #eddie diaz #imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley #bobby nash

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undreaming-fanfiction · 2 years

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Safe and Sound

When Eddie and Steve settle into their relationship, the Party notices some...interesting changes about their Dungeon Master and their favorite babysitter.

Eddie has always been one of the most alert people they have known. It probably comes with the drug dealing territory and also being the town freak, he never knew when he’d get jumped on the street or simply tossed around for a good laugh of the local jocks. He always watched his surroundings like a hawk, his dark eyes sharp in contrast to the laid back smile. Eddie was quick on his feet, always ready to move out of the way or jump to the higher ground.

The Party can’t exactly put a finger on it at first, but there is definitely something different now that Eddie and Steve sat them down, explained to them that they got their wish, they finally get along, actually, they might be getting along way more than they ever hoped, and after some clarification ("is it because all of your dates in last year sucked, Steve?" asked Dustin and got smacked by Max in return) the Party congratulated them and pretended to gag at every display of affection. The first one to notice the change is Erica, they are all walking to get some ice cream before they continue their campaign and Eddie is taking notes, mumbling to himself and scribbling numbers in his notebook. Steve walks next to him, just a mere friend to an outsider's gaze. Eddie is completely immersed in the campaign planning and he nearly walks into the street light - but only nearly because Steve is there, gently grabbing Eddie's elbow and redirecting him out of harm's way. The metalhead just mutters "thanks, love" and keeps taking notes as if nothing has just happened. Erica rolls her eyes and scoffs at Eddie. "What happened to attention to your surroundings, not cool anymore?" and Eddie just smirks, not looking up from his notes, while Steve answers: "It's okay, I got him. Let him work on your dragon hunting thing so he actually gets some sleep tonight." Erica doesn't say anything after that, but the wheels are turning in her head.

The summer is very hot this time, and they decide to go swimming to the quarry, burying the bad memories under a pile of new ones, joyful ones. Steve stays with Eddie on the shore while the seven children test the water, splash each other and slowly escalate to a full-scale war. Mike spits out a mouthful of water after being dunked and prepares for counter attack, but his opponent - Max - is distracted. She's looking at their babysitters, slightly frowning. "I swear that normally Steve would be shouting his vocal chords away that we're taking it too far," she says and squints to look why they're not getting the usual load of motherly care. It appears that Steve is...sleeping? Well, that is unusual. His head is in Eddie's lap while the other man strokes his hair, watching the teenagers play. Max just shrugs and goes back to drowning Mike, but she makes sure to check on the two of them afterwards.

"Something wrong, Red?" smiles Eddie, his voice quiet not to wake Steve up. The hand in his hair doesn't let up.

Max shakes her head, watching the rise and fall of Steve's distractingly hairy chest. "No, it's just...I haven't seen him this relaxed in a while. I got kind of worried when he didn't yell at us for...well," she points towards the water where Mike and Lucas are wrestling.

Eddie just smirks. "He deserves the rest. You know he's been watching you tiny shits for years nonstop, so I'm taking over when he lets me. And as far as I'm concerned, if there is no loss of life or limbs, you're good. But keep it tame. If you make me get over there and wake Stevie up, there might be loss of life after all. Now off you go, gang up on Wheeler or something."

It's Will who manages to articulate what they're all unable to when Steve hosts the next Hellfire Club meeting, carrying trays of baked snacks to the table. His hand slips a bit, but before anything falls and ruins the pristine carpet, Eddie is there, stabilizing him. "I got you, love," he mutters and takes the tray from his hands. Steve just smiles back, no words needed.

When they disappear into the kitchen to bring drinks, Will smiles to himself. "They look so in sync," he mentions to Max who seems to be sharing his thoughts. "They've always been so..."

"Sharp? Alert? Freaking out about the next catastrophe?" she supplies.

Will nods. "Yeah. It's nice to see them finally being able to relax. I mean, I guess it comes with dating, but not for everyone. I'm happy for them. It...it must be nice," he finishes, a tinge of pink in his cheeks.

Max just smiles at him and squeezes his hand under the table. "You will get there too," she assures him. "And then Erica will be on your case all the time when your...partner..." she says quietly, not daring to voice her suspicions aloud, "has to hold you back from jumping under a car because you're too caught up in sketching."

Will snickers and Max joins in, giving his hand one final squeeze. "I'd like that," he says, his eyes bright, just like their future.

#steddie #domestic steddie #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #strangerthings #stranger things #strangerthingsdrabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #will byers #erica sinclair #steve x eddie #hellfire club #max mayfield

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short-honey-badger · 4 months

Text

Peppermint Tea 11

Alright. So this part is pretty plot heavy, I would think? I hope you enjoy the direction I've got planned, and if you have any suggestions I would gladly hear them!

Warnings! Kissing and some heavy petting? It's not too graphic. Mihawk is sad.

Masterlist

For once, you are the first one awake the next morning. Your eyes crack open to the delightful sight of your lover? Boyfriend? You still don't know which term you prefer. But he looks beautiful while asleep, his usually pinched scowl relaxed and peaceful in his sleep. You take in his handsome features, to his sharp jaw and immaculate facial hair.

This man has become so much to you in what feels like such a small amount of time. It feels more like you have known Dracule for your entire life, not the measly three months that have actually passed. And maybe you have, the more you think about it, and if your dreams have anything to say about it.

After that first time, you've had similar dreams since. Sometimes, they aren't as bad. Sometimes it will be you and that same young man. He would grace you with a smile and promise that everything would be okay. That he wouldn't allow what mother and father agreed to happen. You still don't really know what he means, and the dreams always slip away before you can examine them.

Other times, it would be storming, the wind and sea raging as you and the boy struggled to sail through the crashing waves. Those ones were the worst, for you had eaten a devil fruit, and the ocean hated those who had betrayed her trust. Those dreams made you wake up in a sweat, the name of the young man on your lips, but unsaid, you still couldn't remember it.

But no matter what, you would always see a familiar sword and a wide brimmed hat with its white feather. You know who they belong to now, especially now that the owner in question lay in the bed with you. But why would he be showing up in such odd dreams? Did Dracule know something about you? Something that could connect you to your past that you have long forgotten?

The thought made you uneasy, and you did not like it.

Mihawk moves in his sleep, the arm that he had wrapped around your waist tugging you closer, “Stop thinking so hard, Angel,” he grumbles and his rough voice had your stomach doing flips, “Go back to sleep.”

A quiet sigh leaves your nose, and you close your eyes to do as he says. This lasts all for ten seconds before you open your eyes again, frowning as you shift to get comfortable. You try again, and still, sleep does not come. You squirm a little more and press your cold nose into his chest to block out what little light is streaming through the window.

Despite being much more comfortable, your mind will not calm and thoughts race. You find yourself shifting again, brow scrunching up, and you close to giving up when Dracule suddenly grabs you and rolls so that he lays on top of you.

You shiver when his hot breath ghosts over your neck and ear, “What's got you so restless, Dear one?” Mihawk demands and presses soft kisses to the skin right below Your ear. You gasp and clutch his shoulders, eyes fluttering at how nice it feels to have him press you into the bed.

“I keep having these dreams,” you begin and hiss when Dracule nips you a little harsher than usual, “But they feel like memories. And I see you every time.” You admit and Mihawk chuckles darkly, and you can feel it rumble through his chest.

“Dreaming about me?” Dracule teases and leans up to rest on his elbows, looking at where he has you trapped beneath him, and frowns when he realizes that you look serious. He shifts to his back, taking you with him so that you lay splayed over his chest.

“Do you want to tell me about them?” Mihawk asks, teasing tone from earlier gone and replaced by one of care and gentle encouragement. He rubs circles into the exposed skin of your back where your sleep shirt has risen up and hums in content when he feels your weight settle over him.

You think about his offer. You aren't sure what kind of answer Dracule could give you if you told him about your dreams, but you didn't want to keep anything from him, either. So, quietly, you tell him of your first dream. About running, the cities and fields of your home burning. The young man who carried you through the destruction of the island. It's hard to recall details, but you do your best to describe the symbol that you'd seen many of the attackers wearing. And finally, of seeing his sword with the literal cross guard and his hat.

The moment that you had described Big Mom's jolly Roger, an awful foreboding feeling had begun to creep in. Dracule knows what you are talking about. A time when he had been still young enough to make foolish, quick decisions that he would later on regret. How could this have happened? How did you survive?

Dracule tightens his hold on you, and his angel snuggles into his chest like he wasn't the savage who hadn't helped destroy her home.

Thankfully, you don't seem to find anything amiss with him, instead turning to look up at Dracule with sleepy eyes full of adoration.

“I know it's a long shot, but you wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?” You say, voice wavering and unsure. You blush and loom away, “I know it's kinda dumb since they are just dreams, but they feel so real.”

Dracule Hawkeye Mihawk decided then and there that this would be the only lie that he would ever tell you, for he leaned in and kissed your brow, “I'm sorry, Darling. I'm afraid I don't know anything about that.”

You nod easily, “I figured so, but I just wanted to make sure,” you place a soft kiss to his chest and Mihawk's heart aches in a way that he has never felt before. He isn't in the habit of feeling guilty, but right now? If you asked the warlord for anything, he would move the world to do it for you. For how could he not, when he was part of the reason you were stuck on this island?

Mihawk hums in response. He needs to distract you from this line of thought you seem to be stuck in, so he changes tactics. His hands press more fully into your plush skin, the innocent touches becoming a bit more forceful. Your hands flex against his chest, and Dracule takes that as permission to continue.

“Don't think about them, sweet thing. You are here, with me, now. And I am not going anywhere.” Mihawk swears quietly and grasps your hips, adjusting you so that you sit on his lap, legs resting on either side of his waist. Your face is scarlet, frost creeping along your arms, and Dracule rubs your exposed thighs in a soothing manner.

You nod quickly, eagerly. You don't want him to ever leave you, and would go with him if you could. But just the thought of leaving your island sends fear striking down your back and a voice shouting at you that you can never ever leave for your safety.

Dracule smirks up at you, “I'm glad we've come to an agreement, then,” he draws and tugs you down by your sleep shirt. You fall forward and catch yourself on the bed, and Mihawk leans in to capture your lips in a kiss that makes you forget about the less than pleasant memories.

The warlord sweeps his hands under your shirt, hands finding your nipples with ease and gently rolling the buds between his thumb and forefinger. You keen into his mouth, and Mihawk slips his tongue inside at the first opportunity.

He plays with you until your hips jerk against his own, and your eyes fly open when you feel the hard length of Dracule, separated by the thin fabric of both of your underwear. His hand finds your hips again, and he pulls you down as he rolls his own hips up, grinding up into your delectable heat.

The friction has you whining, eyes clenching shut as Dracule does it again and again. The man under you licks into your mouth, rhythm unhurried as he gives you a pleasure that you have not experienced before. He doesn't stop, and the heat in your lower stomach coils so tightly that it suddenly snaps, leaving you crying out and burying your face in the crook of his neck. Everything feels over sensitive, and it takes you longer than what it should to catch your breath.

Dracule says nothing, allowing you to come down from your high. His cock twitches from where it's still pressed between your legs, and it takes all of his willpower to not remove the offending layer so that he could feel how soft he knew you would be.

The pirate grits his teeth when you move, sitting up so that you can look down at him. He is flushed, chest a light pink under the thick hair that grows there. He watches as you lick your lips, eyes going half lidded, “What about you?” You murmur softly and meet his heavy gaze.

Just as Dracule was about to suggest something rather lewd, a loud whining came from outside the bedroom. Your expression drops, and Dracule can't help the sigh he lets out as he drops his head into the pillow. This would not be the first time that Hank has ruined the mood, and it definitely would not be the last.

“Go on, sweet thing. I'll meet you in the kitchen for breakfast,” Dracule assures you, and you lean down to steal a kiss from his lips before you slide off his lap. You dress quickly in a pair of leggings, but leave your sleep shirt unchanged for now.

He watches you disappear and then slings an arm over his eyes. He needed to think, your admission about your dreams, no memories, had shaken him. Mihawk knew who you were, at least he had a good idea of who anyway, and if Big Mom ever found out if you were still alive, Mihawk isn't sure if even he could save you from her wrath and the rest of her monstrous family.

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #fluff #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #opla mihawk #op mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #mihawk x y/n #mihawk x you #Peppermint Tea #plot is hard #plot is happening

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as-is-above-so-below · 1 year

Note

i would physically break my bones if you wrote a little thing about simon waking up with joanie in the night 🥹

Thunder

I take your Simon waking up with Joanie, and raise you Mama Freyja waking up with her :D (p.s. Simon holds his babies like this, and you can't tell me otherwise) << Previous | Next >>

Freyja flinched at the sharp cry as the monitor on her nightstand crackled to life following a loud boom of thunder. She stayed still momentarily, waiting to see if Joan would lull herself back to sleep as she patted Arthur’s back.

After a brief break, assumingly where Joanie allowed herself to take a breath, the wailing presumed.

Simon’s hand trailed up her thigh, his thumb dragging across her hip. He was awake, as always during nighttime feedings, but had been laying down while she fed and burped their son. “Do you want me to get her?” he asked, leaning into her shoulder and nuzzling her neck now that he had pushed himself up.

She smiled softly at the gentle kisses against her throat, pressing into them. “No, I’ll handle it. Take Artie?”

“I’ll finish with ‘im downstairs.” Simon shifted Art from her lap, laying the baby, stomach down, across his forearm with his head up toward his elbow. His feet landed on either side of his big hand, engulfing one of his chunky little thighs. “Alright, pup, time for a little father-son bonding,” he whispered, and his footsteps disappeared out of the room and down to the kitchen.

Freyja followed shortly after, her slippers scuffing as she barely picked up her tired feet. Joanie’s nursery was right next to theirs, making the walk short. When the door creaked open at her presence, the toddler’s sobbing softened but continued as she reached over the wall of her crib, little fingers making grabby hands in Frey’s direction.

“Mumma!”

“Hi baby,” she whispered, smiling softly as she approached the bed. “What happened? Did the thunder wake you up?”

She carefully drew her fingers through the baby’s delicate curls, taking care to detangle any knots she found. Frey had noticed that her once tight ringlets were losing their body, and starting to melt into loose waves. She had a sneaking suspicion that their daughter’s hair would eventually forgo all of its texture and end up pin-straight. At least then, it would be more manageable.

Joan jerked her head away with a whine, pouty lip jutting out as she bounced with her knees. The frustrated display and the look on her chubby little face would’ve been funny if Freyja weren’t so tired. She pointed outside of her bed, “Gaz frug.”

Gazzy was Joan’s beloved stuffed frog, clad with a baseball cap with a Union Jack patch on the front. One could take a wild guess at who Gazzy the frog came from. And there he was, just next to Freyja’s feet. She bent down with a soft hum, plucking her lovie off the floor. “You kicked Gazzy out! What happened?” she asked, bopping the toddler with it.

Even with her friend returned, Joanie pouted again and held her arms up, making grabby fingers with her free hand. “Up, Mumma,” she whimpered, her big brown eyes pleading.

Not very eager to deny a request at three o’clock in the morning, Freyja grabbed her soft felt blanket (courtesy of Mrs. MacTavish) from the bottom of her crib and draped it around her daughter. Joan automatically wrapped her arms around her mum’s neck as she lifted the baby to her chest, one arm under her and the other hand guiding her head to her shoulder.

Her hair still smelt like her baby shampoo from her bedtime bath. Frey inhaled the scent, placing gentle kisses against her baby’s temple at the same time. Neither she nor Simon had a tendency to get annoyed with their babies waking up throughout the night. Freyja was thrilled every instance she was able to comfort her children. She always told herself that every time Joan or Artie cried for them was a reminder of how loved and needed they were.

And if that meant getting up at three o’clock in the morning just to hold her daughter, then so be it.

“I love you, baby.”

“I lub you, Mumma.”

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chaoticpuff17 · 9 months

Text

Amygdala

Masterlist

chapter 12

Yoongi awoke to a sharp elbow jabbed harshly into the flesh of his stomach.

With a groan he turned over, releasing Margot from his grip and allowing her to scramble away from him. It was only when he heard the thump against the floor followed by a sharp yelp that Yoongi fully opened his eyes.

A quick glance at the clock on his nightstand told him it was only four in the morning, too early to be dealing with any antics.

“Jagi,” he groaned, rolling over to look at Margot who was half tangled in the blankets still and sprawled rather uncomfortably on the floor of his bedroom. “It’s too early for this.”

“Fuck you.” She groaned in turn, not making any move to get up off the floor, still a little winded from her unexpected tumble off the bed.

With a tired sigh, Yoongi pushed himself up off the bed. “Are you coming back to bed or are you staying on the floor?” he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I think I’ll stay on the floor!” she declared breezily. “It’s quite comfortable down here.”

Yoongi hummed, throwing his feet over the side of the bed, standing so that he could lean down and scoop her up blankets and all.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she shrieked, grabbing onto his shoulders for stability as he began to walk them out of the room.

“Going to make some tea.” he grumbled, walking them to the kitchen and setting her down on a seat next to the island.

“Tea?”

“To help you sleep.”

She scoffed, pulling the blanket around herself like a cocoon. “I would sleep much better at home in my own bed.”

He only hummed in response, puttering around his kitchen as he began to prepare a cup of tea for her.

“When can I go home?” she asked, voice small as she pulled the edges of the blanket even tighter around her.

Yoongi paused, frozen for a moment as the question hit him. “This is home, jagi.” He answered as he resumed the motions of making tea.

“This is your home. When can I go back to my home?”

He sighed, placing a mug down on the counter. “You tried to leave me, jagiya. You can’t go home anymore.”

“So you’re going to keep me prisoner?”

“You’re not a prisoner, jagiya.” he refuted, pouring hot water into the mug and letting the tea leaves steep. “You can come and go as you please so long as you have someone with you.”

“So I can leave only if you’re with me. How is that not being a prisoner?” she asked, staring down at her toes, curled around the bar between the chair legs.

“It doesn’t have to be me. Your security team can go with you.”

“So guards? Like a prisoner?”

With another heavy sigh, Yoongi made his way over to her, slipping his hand along the curve of her jaw and tipping her head up so that she was looking at him as his hand settled with his thumb under her chin keeping her head tipped up.

“I want you to be happy here, Mari-ah.” he rumbled, drinking in her features and taking note of how exhausted she looked.

He was sure they both looked exhausted. It had been a long night for both of them with not nearly enough rest.

“You’re not a prisoner. My home is your home, but I cannot…” He paused, sucking in a breath and closing his eyes as he tried to reign in his emotions. He was still reeling from the panic of nearly losing her. “I cannot lose you. Not again.”

“You can’t lose what you never had, Yoongi.” she sighed, pushing his hand away as he looked at her almost wounded. “And I don’t want to be with you.”

“I know you’re not happy to be here.” he conceded. “This isn’t how I wanted this to happen either, but we’re here now. The only thing we can do is move forward.”

“I want to go home.”

“That’s just not possible.”

Yoongi moved away, partially to finish preparing her tea and partially to escape the way she was looking at him, eyes dark and pleading, begging him to give in and let her have her way. In any other matter he probably would have, but not in this.

“What about my job? My life?”

“You don’t need to work. I can take care of you.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “With your criminal enterprises?”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Mari.” he walked over, steaming cup of tea in hand.

“It’s not drugged is it?” she asked, eyeing it suspiciously as she took it, giving the cup a tentative sniff.

“No, but it will help you sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

Yoongi regarded her carefully, taking in the way she was curled in on herself, the dark smudges under her eyes, the faint tremble in her fingers as she held the mug close to her chest.

She needed to sleep, but he doubted she was going to allow herself to relax enough to go back to bed, not anytime soon at least which was going to make this an even longer night for the both of them. Dawn hadn’t even begun to break over the horizon yet.

“How is this going to work?” she asked, voice small but still drawing Yoongi’s attention to her like a magnet.

“How is what going to work, jagi?”

“This.” she gestured vaguely around her. “What are the parameters? How do you expect this to go? People are going to notice I’m missing.”

“You’re not missing.” he shrugged, brushing off that concern right off the bat with a nonchalance that bothered her. “I’m not holding you prisoner. This is your home as much as it is mine. I’m not going to stop you from going out. I’m not going to take away your access to the world.”

“I just can’t leave you.” she finished for him, staring at her mug with a furrow between her brows.

“You can’t leave me.” he confirmed. “Hey.” he called out to her softly, tipping her chin up to face him again. “It’s not so bad. We can be happy together. Just like old times.”

“That was six years ago, Yoongi. We’re very different people now.”

“Not so different.” he disagreed. “But you’re right. We do need to set some rules.” She tensed, her shoulders pulling back as though she was bracing for a blow. “I don’t want to restrict you, jagiya, but I need to know that you’re safe, that you’re here.”

“That I haven’t run away from you.” she added bitterly.

“That too.” he conceded, not even trying to hide the fact that he had an almost unhealthy need to have her next to him. “You can go where you like. You can see where you like, but I need to know where you are at all times.”

“I’m not a child, Yoongi.”

“No, but you are a woman with a history of trying to slip away from me.” he pointed out, leveling her with a blank stare that dared her to argue that point with him. “If you go out, I need to know where you are. I need to know you’re safe, and that means that either I or your security team needs to be with you.”

“How many people are on my security team?”

“At the moment?” he asked, and she nodded. “Six. Two with you at all times, and they rotate in shifts.”

“That’s a lot of people just to keep an eye on me.”

“You’re the most important thing in my life, Margot.” he stated, his voice calm but completely serious as he spoke. “I can’t risk anything happening to you.”

“Yeong is part of my team.” she ventured to guess as she turned her eyes back to the mug gripped between her hands. “And the guy from earlier.”

“Yes.” he nodded. “They can take you anywhere you need to go.”

“Do they report to you if I go out?”

Yoongi hesitated for a moment before answering. “They do.”

“So you get to know where I am at all times whether I want you to or not.” she pointed out, taking a sip from her tea. It was warm and earthy in flavor, some sort of herbal mix meant to help her relax and drift back off to sleep.

“I love you, Margot, but I won’t risk leaving you again.”

Her head shot up at that. “You don’t love me.” she shook her head, eyes troubled and a deep frown etched onto her features. “You don’t even know me anymore.”

Yoongi smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. It was a bittersweet expression filled with a pain she didn’t want to put a name to.

“I would love you even if I hadn’t seen you in fifty years.” he told her, hands coming to rest on the island, arms caging her in. “Letting you go six years ago was the biggest mistake of my life. I have regretted not telling you how I felt every day since you left.” She stared at him with wide eyes as he spoke, not quite believing what she was hearing. “Is it so terrible that I want you with me, jagiya?” she didn’t answer. “Losing you again would break me.” he admitted, voice low and raspy as he spoke. “I know this isn’t ideal. I know what I do scares you.”

One of his hands shot out, plucking the mug from her grip just as her hold had begun to loosen. Yoongi set the mug aside, before lifting his hand to brush some loose hair away from her face, gazing at her with an expression that settled somewhere between loving and manic. The glint in his eye sending a shiver down her spine.

“I can protect you, jagiya. I can keep you safe, and everything will be as it should be. You never need to be a part of what I do. I just need you with me.”

“You’re crazy.” she whispered, staring at him with fresh horror.

“Maybe.” He shrugged, shooting her a crooked grin, that disturbing glint still in his eye. “But I know what I want, and that’s you, jagiya. It’s always been you.”

His grin faded as he continued to look at her, his eyes scanning her features and his look becoming serious.

“Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve built is nothing without you.”

“You’ve completely lost your mind.” her voice was low and hushed as she spoke, her gaze less frightened and more pitying now as she examined the man before her.

Yoongi leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the closeness, relishing the fact that she was allowing him so close.

“I love you.” he whispered, the words loud in the silence of the room.

“If you love me, let me go.” she whispered in return, her own eyes drifting shut in the intimacy of the moment.

A sardonic chuckle left him as he pulled back, one of his hands coming up to cup her cheek.

“I can’t do that, baby. You know that.” her eyes opened, watching him as his thumb drifted softly across her cheekbone. “I can let you have your freedom, but I can’t let you go. At the end of the day, I need you with me.”

“It’s not freedom if I can’t leave you, Yoongi. It’s not my choice.”

He stared at her for a moment, head tilted to the side as he considered her words. “I know, but it’s the best I can offer you.”

She pulled back, staring at him contemplatively as he had her. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Margot turned, grabbing her mug from the island before hopping down from her chair, pushing past Yoongi with the blanket trailing behind her as she left the kitchen, breaking the moment.

“Where are you going?” he asked, trailing after her.

“I don’t know.” she shrugged, sipping her tea. “But I’m not going back to bed.”

“It’s four in the morning, jagiya.” he grumbled even though he continued to follow her as she moved out into the living space and plopped herself down on his couch.

“Then go back to bed.” She said, looking at him as though this was the obvious answer. He didn’t move. “I’m too tired to deal with anymore of your bullshit tonight.” she groaned, leaning her head against the back of the sofa.

“Then come to bed.” he shot back, waiting for her to move.

“I want my own room.” she declared, and Yoongi shot her a vicious grin before shooting her down.

“Not happening, my love.”

“Why not?” she demanded, lifting her head to look at him.

“I don’t want you so far from me.”

She groaned, letting her head drop again. “You’re exhausting.”

“Then come to bed.” he offered again.

“Do I get my own room?” she asked, her head tilted to the side.

“No.”

“Then no thank you.”

“It’s late.” he said, trying to prompt her into returning to their room and the comfort of their bed, but she didn’t so much as acknowledge he’d spoken at all.

With a heavy sigh, Yoongi plopped himself down beside her on the couch, throwing his arms across the back of the couch as he did. “You are an incredibly frustrating woman.”

She chuckled a little, sipping her tea. “You kidnapped me. You get to deal with it.”

part 13

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mellowswriting · 1 year

Text

what we do in the dark pt. 2/2

pairing || Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!Reader

word count || 3.4k

summary || It wouldn’t be the first time, he reasons. He knows how much you like his little wake-up calls. Besides, an orgasm is much more invigorating than coffee, right?

content || smut!!!, somnophilia (Simon wakes reader with oral), cunnilingus, pleasure dom!Ghost, face-fucking, praise, aftercare, fluff, Simon is pussy whipped and so in love that it hurts

a/n || you don’t have to read part one to understand this, but I highly recommend reading it! also soft!Simon has my heart, soul, and my 🐱

Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Simon likes watching you sleep. He always has, ever since you first joined 141. Each time he was up keeping watch, his eyes scanning every possible entry point into whatever safe house you all were hunkered down in, his gaze would never fail to linger on you. He would hold off on waking you up for your shift for as long as he possibly could; it never sat right with him, interrupting you when you look like the picture of pure relaxation. That’s why he started making coffee for you before shaking you awake. A little pick-me-up that only you were privileged to, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.

“Going soft on us, Lt?” Soap had teased, one eyebrow raised as he watched Simon place a steaming mug next to your head for you to wake up to.

“Only for her.” He replied before jabbing his elbow in the man’s ribs.

He just likes helping you start your day off right, that’s all.

That’s what he tells himself as his fingers trail over the curve of your hip. It wouldn’t be the first time, he reasons. He knows how much you like his little wake-up calls. Besides, an orgasm is much more invigorating than coffee, right?

He’s lucky you sleep like a rock. The two of you couldn’t be more different in that sense. The sound of the wind whistling through the trees is enough to wake him, but you don’t even stir when he spreads your thighs. You’re so still that he would be worried if he couldn’t see the steady rise and fall of your bare chest. Simon kisses the sensitive part of your inner thigh, his sharp gaze searching your face for any signs of waking. You just let out a soft exhale, your head shifting slightly against the pillows. Simon can’t help but smile.

You really are perfect, he thinks with a disbelieving shake of his head.

The familiar weight of your thigh settling onto his shoulder is comforting. This is where he feels most like himself: his head between your thighs, your body prone and vulnerable beneath him. It’s too good - you are too good. He will never stop wondering how the universe put you in his arms, but he sure as hell knows he’s never letting go. No one could pry you away from him. Anyone that tries ends up with a bullet in their head. You are his, just as he is yours.

The salt-slick of your body blooms across his tongue and Simon shudders. Some base, animal instinct that lingers in the back of his head loves you like this. Dirty, sweaty and still tasting faintly of him. It sparks this strange, feral possessiveness that makes his cock twitch against the sheets. A faint moan falls from your parted lips and it only encourages him to lick deeper, just to pull more of those sweet little sounds from you.

His tongue traces a light circle over your clit, gentle against the sensitive skin he abused some odd hours ago. Your sex is still tender and hot to the touch but your hips still arch into his face. You can’t get enough of him, even in your dreams, and he just knows you’re going to be the death of him. It takes every ounce of his willpower to stop himself from splitting you open on his cock right then and there - because this is for you. All that matters is taking care of his girl. Simon seals his lips around your clit and sucks lightly, and your thighs tremor. His grip on your thighs tightens, the blunt edge of his nails leaving little indents in your supple flesh. Every thought is clouded by his need to press impossibly closer, deeper until all he can see and taste and hear is his woman. He wants to lose himself in you.

You wake with a lightning-quick snap of your thighs around his head and a gasp of his name that makes Simon grin. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t allow you to recover from the suddenness of it all. His eyes lock with yours as his tongue rolls insistently against your clit, dragging you ever closer to the climax you deserve. There is nothing more perfect than the sight of you like this, still sleepy and grinding against his face.

He’s fucking obsessed.

Simon slips two fingers into your slick pussy without warning. His sharp eyes bore into your face to take in the way you gasp for him. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you desperately try to hold him close - as if he could ever leave you like this. His amazing, beautiful woman, using him for pleasure like you deserve. It sends a thrill up his spine. Those fingers curl up against that sweet spot that forces a broken sound out of your throat. Your thighs threaten to suffocate him as everything else falls away; not a single thought occupies your mind outside of the havoc his touch ignites within you.

That telltale tremble wracks down your spine and Simon knows. The way you sound crying out his name sends him reeling, so achingly enraptured it hurts. All he wants is this, forever. The sound of your voice cracking as you come, your thighs wrapped tightly around his head, the feeling of your wetness on his face. This is his heaven. Just making you come like this is enough to have his cock twitching and dripping against the sheets.

Simon doesn’t stop until you pull him back by his hair with an overstimulated whine. He plants kisses into your skin as you tremble - just above your pubic bone, up your belly, between your breasts. The urge to lavish you with attention is impossible to ignore. Every inch of your body within his reach is caressed and cherished until you pull him up for a real kiss. The lazy lick of your tongue along his bottom lip draws a groan from him, his cock twitching needily against your thigh. That greedy voice in the back of his head whispers for him to wrap your thighs around his waist and fuck you nice and sweet.

But he knows your body has to be sore and exhausted from everything he’s put you through in the last twenty-four hours, so instead he gives you one more deep kiss and slips off of the bed. He can feel your eyes on him as he stretches out his well-rested body, your gaze admiring as his muscles go taut beneath his skin. Simon pauses, too, and takes a moment to soak in how you look. He really has missed seeing you so relaxed and well-fucked. Sure, you look so damn sexy in your gear with an M4 strapped to your chest, but this… this is so much better.

“Are you really leaving me here all by myself?” You sit up, looking at him with an adorably pouty expression. “And I thought you were a gentleman.”

“A gentleman? Me? You’ve got the wrong man, love.” Simon sighs with a shake of his head. The soft smile he gives you contradicts his words but before you can point that out, he nods toward the bathroom. “I’m starting a shower. We both need one after last night.”

“But what about you?” You don’t show an ounce of shame as your eyes trail down his body. Simon can’t lie - it strokes his ego to see the way your tongue flicks out to wet your bottom lip as you eye him up. Your eyeline lands on his cock, still hard and aching against his belly, and the lust that glimmers in your eyes is almost too much for him to handle.

“You’d break if I fucked you like I want to. Just let me take care of you, yeah?” He tries to persuade you but before he can even finish speaking, you kick the sheets out of your way and slip down onto your knees. It didn’t take you long to learn how easy it is to ply him when you kneel so pretty for him: your feet tucked beneath your butt, your back straight, your hands folded neatly in your lap. You wear that deceptively demure expression that sends his mind into overdrive. The perfect picture of obedience. Simon murmurs your name, his tone almost a warning.

“So if I wanted you to fuck my face…” You say in a low, lustful voice that wears at his steadily weakening self-control. “You would say no?”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Simon sighs as he steps closer to you. Your eyes brighten and your tongue flicks out to wet your lips unconsciously - and he knows he can’t stop himself. “You know I can never say no to you.”

This morning is all about you, after all. If what you want is his cock in your mouth, who is he to refuse? You indulge in exploring his body, taking the time you haven’t been afforded for the last few weeks. His cock jumps as your fingers wrap around the base and give him those slow, tantalizing strokes that drive him crazy. Your eyes never leave his as your lips trail kisses across his lower stomach and it takes everything in him not to guide that soft mouth onto his aching cock. Every little touch has that pressure building in his belly, excitement and desperation all swirling into one storm of need.

The wet heat of your mouth envelopes his cock and every coherent thought evaporates from his mind. You’re too fucking good at this; you know his every weakness, every spot to lick and suck to make his knees weak. Simon groans, a low sound ripped from deep inside his chest, and the smile you give him is filthy. He knows how much you love this - being the reason he falls apart, the source of his pleasure. The way you crave him so deeply appeases some part of himself he had all but forgotten until you came around - the part that needs to feel desired, to feel loved. You ease that need with every caress of your fingers, every whisper of praise, every loving glance of your eyes. The love you have for him is the most overwhelming thing he has ever felt in his life and he can’t get enough of it.

It’s as if the first taste of his cock sends you over the edge. You take him as deep as you can, only three-fourths down his length until the head of his cock nudges your soft palate. Pride warms his chest. He knows he’s well endowed, that it isn’t easy to work with a dick as big as his - yet you never fail to swallow him down like a pro. His hand comes to rest at the crown of your head. Not to push or guide, but just to hold you close and rub your head for being so good for him. Simon isn’t a man of many words, not until his cock is buried in your throat. That’s when he doesn’t know how to shut up, couldn’t even if he tried. Praise falls from his lips like the dam has been broken.

“That’s it… takin’ my cock like a good girl,” Simon whispers in that smokey voice, his fingers petting your head encouragingly. The praise makes you melt. You look up at him with those bright, teary eyes as you take him deeper until your nose brushes the short curls at the base of his cock. Your throat constricts around his cock so deliciously that he can’t help the slight thrust of his hips. An apology is poised to follow, but you just moan so prettily. “Oh, is that what you want, sweetheart? You want me to fuck this pretty face?”

You whine an incomprehensible answer but Simon already knows. His fingers tighten in your hair to steady you, holding you in place so he can take you the way he wants. As much as he likes to pretend, Simon isn’t cruel. He rocks his hips slowly, just barely going further and further with each push. He wouldn’t dream of being rough with you like this. Not when you’ve placed so much trust in his hands. Your fingers lace with his against his thigh and he gives your hand a little squeeze, a little comfort as he fucks your face.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Simon groans as your tongue laves along the underside of his cock. Even when he’s in control, you can’t help yourself. You make those pretty sounds that feel so divine vibrating against him, and he can’t help but shove his cock even deeper. The sudden intrusion has you gagging roughly and whispers an apology so sweetly that he barely recognizes his own voice. His thumb brushes away the tears that roll down your cheeks as you recover. “Look so lovely cryin’ on my cock.”

The vulgarity of his words pulls a debased sound from you and fuck, he wants to destroy you. Every inch of you belongs to him, just as he belongs to you. That is the only thing he’s ever been certain of in this life. He wants to taste and touch and take, take, take. Being selfish isn’t in his nature, but you bring out something different in him. You spark something base, something possessive that he can’t quite control. Your eyes flutter closed with a contented hum and Simon groans at the feeling, at the sight you make.

“Fuck… m’close, love. Gonna let me come in this pretty little mouth?” Simon grunts, the roughness of his accent a stark contrast to how sweetly he coos those lewd words. You nod as best you can, your whimper making his hips jerk. Your desperation burrows beneath his skin, courses through his veins until he feels it like your need is his own. “Such a needy little thing.”

Simon cradles your jaw, a groan rumbling through his chest as that tight pressure in his belly finally snaps. His orgasm tears through his very soul, molten pleasure alight in his veins. You swallow instinctively as his cum spills onto your tongue, a honeyed moan thrumming from your throat, and he swears he’s losing his goddamn mind. The blend of stimulation, the warm wetness, the vibration, it’s all damn near too much.

“Good girl,” Simon whispers, his thumb rubbing soothing half-circles against your cheek as his cock softens in your mouth. You blink up at him with those half-lidded eyes, tears drying on your face, and it’s all strangely… idyllic. Simon is gentle as he helps you to your feet but the kiss he pulls you into is anything but. His tongue sweeps into your mouth as if he wants to consume you, unconcerned with the taste of himself that lingers. The delicate press of your fingers around his wrist, your palm against his chest… every touch only leaves him wanting more.

The words teeter on the edge of his teeth. His tongue caresses each vowel, each syllable of the declaration that has warmed his chest for months now - practicing, preparing for the moment he finally dares to whisper those three words. Simon aches to tell you if only to relieve the pressure from his chest, but he’s more sentimental than he’s willing to admit. The moment needs to be right. He needs you to feel it.

His lips brush yours as he whispers, “C’mon, pretty. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

----------

Sometimes, Simon is certain you’re just a dream, some sort of mirage conjured by his love-sick brain. How could he ever be lucky enough to have such an ethereal being in his presence? Let alone claiming your attention, your affection. It seems so impossible, and yet… here you are. Eyes closed, leaning back into the burning stream of water. Steam curls through the air and he swears you’re glowing. Simon watches the water run down your body in little rivulets and he can’t help himself.

His hand meets the curve of your waist and squeezes gently, his silent way of getting your attention. You blink up at him, droplets of water gathered on your fluttering eyelashes, and you smile. So soft, so gentle. It rocks through him like he’s been shot, bullet tearing straight through his flesh and burrowing into his delicate heart. Every beat makes it shift and flutter in his chest. A little reminder of your love. Of what he lives for.

“Come here, Si’,” You murmur, fingertips dancing along his jaw. The low rasp of your voice, roughened by the way he used you… it’s all more tantalizing than any siren song. He obeys without hesitation and lets you draw him close for a slow, deep kiss. Your tongue teases along his bottom lip and Simon gives chase until he has you pressed against the shower wall, his thigh pinning your squirming body. The sudden shock of the cold tiles makes you gasp, the perfect opportunity to assert his dominance.

“Simon,” You barely manage to get his name out between breath-stealing kisses, but it's enough to make him pause. “Hey, no shower sex! Remember what happened last time?”

Simon just grunts and dips down to give your neck and jaw some attention. He can’t help himself. You just look so pretty covered in his marks. Your fingers rake through his hair with a debauched sound and Simon thinks he’s in the clear - until you yank him back. He hisses, pain prickling along his scalp as he stares down at you. It should be an intimidating sight - a 6’5 man, broad, covered in scars, glaring with a look so sharp it could nick your skin - but you just grin.

“C’mon, let me wash your hair.” You ply him, your fingers rubbing his scalp soothingly. The two of you stare each other down for a beat until he concedes with a grumble and finally lets you free. Mischief is alight in your eyes and your voice as you give his hair one last ruffle and murmur, “Good boy,”

He’s lucky he can blame the flush of his cheeks on the burning heat from the shower. He retaliates with a playful smack on your butt as you step away to grab your bottle of shampoo, but you just shake your head at his antics. Leave it to you to make him feel all exposed and vulnerable, despite having been the one in control not seconds before. Simon doesn’t have long to formulate a better revenge plan because the second your fingers start massaging shampoo into his hair, he’s lost.

Your fingers are talented. He knew that long before the two of you became so close. Years ago, he would watch you work on tasks just to see how effortlessly you moved. Taking apart your gun to clean it with meticulous care. Braiding your hair back before a mission. Unstrapping the kilos of gear from your body. Your fingers are deft and quick, and he’s so grateful he gets to be on the receiving end of that care. He can’t take his eyes off your face as you scrub his hair. You look so… content. Happy.

The realization hits him like a truck that he is, too. It dawns over him, encompasses his entire body, and Simon can’t stop himself. The words fall from his lips softly, almost lost under the steady beat of water.

“I love you.”

Your fingers pause. His pulse roars in his ears and he waits for it, for your expression to morph into something else. Surprise, revulsion, anger - something. Anything. The bomb has exploded right in front of him before he even had the chance to defuse it and he hasn’t felt the sparks of panic like this in so long -

“I love you, too, Simon.” You chuckle.

You chuckle. Your fingers resume their gentle circles in the suds thick in his hair. You have that achingly fond look on your face, your features soft and doting. As if you’ve exchanged such pleasantries countless times before. As if you haven’t just rocked his entire world with one simple sentence. Simon moves like lightning, sparks crackling through every nerve in his body. His fingers catch your chin, pinching between his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes meet his wild ones, ever patient and giving as you wait for him to spit it out.

“Say -” His voice breaks around the single syllable, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Say it again.”

The intensity of his demand isn’t lost on you. Your hand falls from his hair to cup his cheek, thumb brushing his cheekbone softly. You lean so closely that he can feel your breath ghosting over his skin, your lips brushing his as you give him what he needs.

“I love you, Simon Riley.”

Something cleaves open in his chest and he feels… warm. Safe.

Happy.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley fanfic

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heartbreakgrill · 5 months

Text

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 1- "You can make me a drink."

description: Spending the summer touring Europe with her brother and the band he works for sounds like the perfect way to get herself out there, at least, that's what Daisy's intent is. But, with the cocky lead singer of the band, clashing personalities, and an entire summer for tensions to grow, things may not go as they are planned.

a/n: not the story i promised, but one i love. posted on ao3, too. enjoy lovelies <3

“Okay, so, ii is kind of…quiet, I guess? He’s fucking smart as shit. Knows all these random facts, but he just doesn’t talk too much until he gets to know you. Ya know?”

I stared out of the airplane window, Sam’s words distant to my tired brain. My processing skills were not sharp this early in the morning, especially considering the time change we had gone through. I was too focused on the view, anyways. The sky looked ethereal this time of morning, all foggy mountain peaks bleeding into crimson orange, bordered by black, starry clouds. I traced their puffy edges with my bleary eyes in an attempt to not fall back asleep. We were landing, after all, and we’d have to push through busy crowds for the next half an hour. Falling back asleep would take any energy I had left and stomp it out.

“And, then, iii…I am a little concerned about how he’ll act with you because he’s-he’s flirtatious-”

“Ladies and gentleman, we are now landing at Heathrow International Airport in London, England,” the pilot interrupted Sam’s sentence, staticky voice crackling over our heads.

I felt Sam shift in his seat. His elbow knocked against mine on the tiny armrest we had been fighting over the entire flight. I snidely shoved my elbow against his in an attempt to steal the space back. He hissed as it pained his funny bone. I looked over in time to catch the glare he sent me, his fingers rubbing at his bruising bone.

Though he looked annoyed, he kept his murmurs to himself, unwilling to be too aggressive with me this early in the morning- and this early in the trip. We had an entire summer that we still had to spend together. Starting fights now would make it a miserable, long couple of months.

“That was rude,” I heard him say. I ignored him and turned back towards the plane’s window. The ground was growing closer as we shakily descended from the air.

“‘Course, then…there’s Vessel.” Sam continued on his explanation of the band members and a few of the crew workers I would have the opportunity to meet this summer. He had been doing so I woke up fifteen minutes ago.

Not that I planned to hang around Sam and his friends too much. I was taking this time between college graduation and going back for my master’s in the fall to see what little of the world I could manage. I didn’t plan on being stuck indoors at the hotel or backstage at the venues too often. I had plans for each and every tour stop- friends I would be meeting up with, concerts I was going to attend. I had my own long list of tourist attractions I had to see, bucket items I needed to cross off. Sam’s friends sounded lovely, but I didn’t expect to be too attached to them.

“He’s quite, um…How do I describe him? He’s not scary, per say…just…intense. He’s quiet and brooding and I don’t really think you’ll like him too much, ya know? Anyways.”

Sam unbuckled his seatbelt. I finally peeled my eyes from the window, the edges of my lids burning with exhaustion. I undid my own belt, reached down to gather my book bag, and looped my neck pillow under my arm.

Sam looked down at me with a tired smile, “You’ll be meeting them all very soon, so…you can just find out for yourself.”

I offered up a grin, even if my face fought back at the energy this action required. “Thanks for having me, Sam-Ham.” I moved to rest my head against his shoulder, sweetly. I probably could have slept right there if we weren’t having to pile out of the plane.

He went to rest his own head against mine, but as soon as the nickname quietly passed my lips, he flinched, back straightening up. “Please don’t call me that in front of them. Please, Daisy. Please. I don’t have any other rules you have to follow. I’m giving you complete freedom on this tour. Just- please. Don’t say that.”

My grin twisted into a devious smirk. Sam’s brown eyes were pleading, a frown sitting deep in his wrinkled cheeks. “Aw, what do you mean, Sam-Ham? Are you embarrassed?”

He flinched again at the nickname. I’d given it to him when I was four and he was just eight. He loved ham and cheese sandwiches at the time and refused to eat basically anything else. Ever since that month-long fight of mom trying to force him to consume any semblance of a vegetable or fruit, I’d coined him as such with zero ounces of shame. On social media posts, his birthday cards, at his own high school graduation party. No shame.

“Daisy-” he went to plead again, but I wouldn’t let him.

“Everyone’s getting off. Let’s go.” I pushed past Sam, ignoring him. I marched out of our aisle, then off the plane, Sam hot on my heels. His frustration with the nickname had melted into protectiveness as he tried to keep up with me. He’d always been overbearing, and I think he’d only be more annoying about it during this trip.

The air in London was chilly, though it was felt only briefly as we walked down through the terminal. I was grateful to have a hoodie wrapped around my waist, and managed to slip it on as we walked. I knew it would warm up as the day passed on, though. It was May, after all, and London had that weird spring weather, with chilly mornings and sweltering afternoons. At least, this information was according to Sam and a few Google searches on my end.

Sam caught up to my side as we headed for baggage claim. He had his phone out, ready to shoot someone a text, “Okay…”

I spotted our bags spinning past where we stood. As he continued, I reached out and grabbed them. They landed on the floor beside us as Sam said, “Ronnie- Ronnie’s the band’s tour manager, also one of my best friends, ever. You might like her-”

“I like everyone, Sam, unless they’re an asshole. I don’t know why you assume I’m such a hater-”

“Cause you are!” He said, matter-of-factly. I always hated when he’d make negative observations about me. I knew I was his little sister, his annoying little sister who threw dirt at him when we were little, who he had to drag along on first dates in high school. But, I was more than that spoiled brat, especially now. I hoped this summer would help him see that, hoped he would gain some respect for me based on the difference in the real me and who he knew.

I wanted to shove his suitcase at him, just to spite him for making such a comment. But, I simply smiled up at him and rolled the luggage towards his outstretched hand. Before he could really say anything, I shot towards the exit.

“Anyways!” He rushed up to my side, breathless from how quickly I walked.

He shoved his mop of dirty blond hair into his phone as he continued texting someone. “Ronnie’s sent over an Uber,” he spoke, absentmindedly.

The automatic doors slid open. We stepped out into the chilly morning air of London. Had Sam’s head not been shoved into his phone, he would have been able to see the glorious sight lain out before us. He unfortunately didn’t, but I sure did.

I came to a halting stop, a humored grin upon my face. Sam bumped into my shoulder, but still wouldn’t look up from his phone. “Uber is a gray sedan-”

I giggled, stepping towards the group of men standing before us, party hats upon their heads, noisemakers between their lips, and a god awfully hand drawn sign held out before them.

Sam, dark brows furrowed, questioned my laughter, “What-?”

He finally pulled his nose from his phone. As he did, I took a party hat from one of the band member’s outstretched hands. We all blew into our noisemakers. Chaos erupted.

“Welcome back from rehab, Sam!” The shortest of the group held the sign up proudly, a bright grin on his face.

“What the fuck-?”

The tallest man- who had sandy blond hair and stormy gray eyes- a literal personification of the beaches in England- nearly tackled Sam, crushing his frame between the hand drawn sign and his hugging arms. I pulled the noisemaker from my mouth as a laugh erupted from me. The others rushed forward to greet their friend. Sam’s face was flushed red from the words on the sign, but he looked so incredibly happy, embracing each of them. They were all dressed in dark black clothing, save for a few spots of royal blue, maroon, or forest green. It was in stark contrast to my pink hoodie and gray sweatpants. Sam was right when he said these people weren’t my usual crowd, but wrong when he just assumed I wouldn’t like them. Yet another example of his misconstrued perception about who I really was. Just because I was girly, a Taylor Swift lover, with my favorite colors being purple and pink, didn’t mean I automatically could not stand people in the metal crowd. They were just different from me- that was all.

I did keep my distance, though, just as they greeted each other. I waited for Sam to introduce me, which he did shortly after. Their chaos faded as he moved his way back through the group, back to me. He faced them from here, an arm around my shoulders. “This is my baby sister-”

I elbowed his side, frowning at his choice of words. He squirmed away from me, a slight hiss pulled through his lips because of the pain. I stepped forward, offering my hand to the closest person- a short, blond-headed man with these brilliant blue eyes. “Daisy.”

He shook my hand politely, “Pleasure to meet you, Daisy. I’m-” He cut his own words off, glancing over my shoulder to Sam. ‘‘Wait…Are we introducing ourselves as, like, numbers or real people?”

I cracked a smile at the confusion. The tall man beside him, clutching the sign he’d made Sam,, shrugged, “We’re already unmasked. Might as well.”

“I can sign something,” I let go of his hand with a casual wave in my arms. “I don’t mind.”

“We can take care of that later,” another short one, darker haired with slight ringlets to his hair and green in his eyes, stepped forward. He took my hand, “Adam.”

“Cyrus. Cy, for short,” settled the original one.

I nodded at each of their introductions. The tallest one was named Max. He must have been three, considering he kissed the back of my hand and smirked up at me. Also considering Sam stepped between us and punched Max in the shoulder. He was right about the flirtations, though I didn’t mind it too much. I knew it was harmless.

Finally, I turned to the last band mate. I held out my hand. He glanced between it and my face, lips thin, face void of any expression. My brows furrowed slightly. I felt insecure under his harsh gaze, but I kept my kind composure, “Daisy. Nice to meet you…”

“Oliver.”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t move to take my hand, didn’t offer up any kind greetings. My once joyous smile morphed into a frown. Sam had warned me he was brooding, quiet. But, not rude. He was just plain rude.

I didn’t have time to ruminate on this meet-ugly, though, because Sam was then herding us all into a taxi. They had meetings to get to, I guess. I was given the front seat, which only made me feel a little left out. I knew that would probably happen, considering Sam had been working for them for four years now and I was a newbie. So, I didn’t take it to heart. Sitting in the front of a taxi was mostly just awkward.

What I did take to heart, however, was Oliver’s rude introduction. Perhaps it was because I was so tired, but…it bothered me. I didn’t want to spend the summer with an asshole like him. As we got onto the busy road, thirty minutes counting down on the GPS for our arrival at the first venue, I eyed him in the mirror, a slight glare in my tired eyes

He sat behind the driver’s seat, large legs pushing up against the door and spilling into Cyrus’ space. I didn’t get a good look at him earlier, too focused on the bad energy he bled. From what I gathered through the rearview mirror’s reflection, he had sharp features- a long nose, pursed, pink lips, high cheekbones, and a neck that more than definitely spilled into a toned chest. His eyes were dark, brown, maybe, but I remembered that, outside, when the sun hit them, they were lighter. His hair was a medium shade of brown, shaggy before his eyes, but clean cut on the sides.

He was kind of attractive. But, that didn’t matter, considering he’d made such a terrible first impression. I knew he was Vessel because, even though he’d muttered just one word to me, his dark voice matched the one from the songs that Sam had forced me to listen to before we left. He was probably full of himself, the fame inflating his head, his ego, which was why he gave such a shit introduction. He honestly probably just thought he was too good for little girls like me, though he was only seven years older than me.

Like I said, I didn’t have anything against people who listened to metal. But, part of the reason I could never really get into the shit that Sam liked, was because most of the band’s seemed to be like this Vessel, this Oliver guy. Stuck-up, self-involved, all struggling artists who thought the world was out to get them, though, in reality, they were elitist, straight, white, cis men who had more privilege in their pinky fingers than I had in my entire body.

Either I had been staring for too long, or he felt my gaze, because his dark eyes met mine in the mirror. I flinched, quickly snapping my chin towards the window. I pressed my knees against the door, arms crossed over my chest ashamedly, trying to melt away. I caught sight of the exposed skin on my arm, where my hoodie sleeve had been tugged up a bit from my restlessness, and saw goosebumps littering my body. Why was my body reacting to his stare this way?

I sulked in my frustration the entire ride there, ignoring the sense that I could still feel his eyes burning into me. Eventually, I guess, I passed out, even though the morning fog cleared the view outside my window, displaying the beautiful, stretching buildings of the city. If I were awake, I could appreciate the glorious architecture, the landscapes of this foreign land.

Someone woke me up, their warm hand pressed upon my shoulder. “We’re here.”

I knew it wasn’t Sam, only because, as I sat up in my seat, I saw him standing at the back of the taxi, pulling our luggage from the trunk. Besides, he didn’t have an accent like this person did. I turned to see who had so gently awoken me, but the backseat remained empty.

I gathered my things, swinging my backpack straps over my shoulders as I stepped onto the cobblestone of the hotel parking lot. It was sprinkling, so I tugged my hood up and over my head. Sam then rounded the car, dragging my suitcase behind him noisily.

“Here,” he rolled it to a stop before me. His eyes examined my face for a moment, seeing the furrowed brows and scowl I wore, “You doing okay?”

I shivered, hugging my arms around my body. I felt kind of sick, probably from the jet lag. I tried to look not so bitchy, but I couldn’t do that when my head was pounding and vile threatened my throat. “Yeah,” I nodded, half-heartedly, “just need to lay down, I think.”

“S’okay,” Sam patted my head, “we’ll check into the hotel quickly and get you into bed, okay?”

I nodded again. Sam took my suitcase back into his hold and gestured for me to follow him. The band was just a few feet behind us as we headed into the hotel. I wanted to stop, take a look around, snap a billion photos of this newfound dreamland. But, my head was pounding more as we moved about. My stomach ached from hunger and exhaustion. I needed a long nap, even if it would fuck up my sleep schedule more than it already was going to be.

We reached the front desk. Sam began speaking to the attendant there, our reservation details pulled up on his phone screen, in the email management had sent him. Because I was tagging along and didn’t exactly work for the band, Sam and I would be forced to share lodging in each and every city. Luckily, I’d managed to snag my own bunk on the tour bus. But, when we’d jump between countries, I had to buy my plane tickets. I didn’t mind, considering this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and that really wasn’t asking much from me.

I leaned against the counter, arms still wrapped around my body as I hunched forward. I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to ease the headache. Sam, the attendant, the band- their voices were all distant, like I was on another plane of existence.

But, another voice- one delicate, with an unfamiliar accent- became relevant to my hearing as he approached me. “Jet lag getting to you, love?”

I opened one eye and, upon seeing Max, straightened up a bit, “Oh, fuck,” I chuckled quietly. “It is.”

“Doesn’t get any better, just to warn you,” he shoved his large hands into the pockets of his black jeans. Stray pieces of his blond hair fell from the bun at the back of his hair.

I nodded up at him, neck straining, considering he towered over me, “Amazing news, thank you.”

“You need to invest in some energy drinks, loads of excedrin, and get good at cat napping,” he offered up the little advice he’d gathered from his years of experience touring.

Sam turned back to us, holding out a key card for me to take. I thanked him, plucking the key from his fingers, before looking back at Max, “Thank you, too. I’ll go try out this cat nap you speak of.”

Max grinned at me with a slight scrunch in his nose. I tried and failed to return the expression. Then, I continued on following Sam towards the elevators. I glanced behind us as we stepped inside and saw that the band was b-lining for the front doors. Just as the gray metal doors of the room boxed us in, I saw one of them peer over his shoulder, looking back at us. Sam didn’t notice, too busy pressing our floor number into the key pad. But, I did.

Oliver and I met eyes. He quickly looked away. The doors shut.

I tried to take a cat nap. I well and truly tried. I even turned a timer on for twenty minutes, promising myself that I would get up as soon as the alarm went off. I kind of knew that was going to happen when, as soon as my head hit the stack of plump pillows, my burning eyes immediately fell shut.

I guess my body had other plans than taking that cat nap.

As the alarm rang, Sam stepped out of the bathroom, where he had been showering and getting ready for the day. It was, after all, only 10am, and he had a job to report to. He sat down on my bed, near my chest. He set a warm hand down upon my shoulder.

I squirmed under the covers, fully waking as I felt his touch. I aggressively shut off the noisy alarm and groaned into my pillow.

Sam chuckled, squeezing my arm again. “Go back to sleep, Daz.”

“I want to, but…I don’t want to waste the day away. God, this sucks!”

He laughed again, “You’ll get more used to it. Besides, we have a whole other week in this city. You will have plenty of time to see everything you want to.”

“Where are you going?” My own words were muffled by my unwillingness to open my mouth all the way. Sam patted my head soothingly and I felt myself quickly falling back asleep, like the rain pattering against the window pane. I barely understood what he was saying now, too dazed and confused. “The venue. Have some meetings and shit. I’ll send you the address if you want to stop by. Just, take it easy for me today, Daz.”

His comforting demeanor, his warm touch, the love and gentleness that he treated me with- it only coaxed me further into my slumber. Sam pressed a kiss to my head before leaving. The door to the hotel room clicking shut was the last thing I’d consciously hear for the next eight hours.

I woke with a sharp intake of breath. There was a dry taste in my mouth, drool crusted in the corner of my lips, and a sheen of sweat clung my t-shirt to the skin of my back. I sat up, so I could peel my hoodie off, a gross expression morphing onto my face. My head still hurt, but the Excedrin I had taken that morning was helping just a bit.

I lazily made the bed, knowing I would be back in its clutches in just a few, short hours. The process made me feel a bit normal, though I was thrown off my rhythm completely. As I did it, my stomach growled, angrily. I realized at that moment that I hadn’t eaten anything all day. The last thing I remember consuming was that souvenir package of pretzels on the plane- and that was nearly 24-hours ago.

First things first- I had to shower. So, I scrubbed the plane dust, the sweat, from my skin. Then, I dressed in something easy: leggings, a reputation album hoodie, my white sneakers. I clipped my wet hair up, away from my face, and filled my purse with what I thought were essentials- my passport, in case I managed to get lost somewhere- a portable charger, my wallet, hotel key card, a can of pepper spray. I knew Europe was much more safe than America, but- I still needed to be cautious.

As I rode the elevator down the stairs, I shot Sam a text. There were five unanswered ones from him- the address to the venue, a photo of the outside of it, a check-in to see if I was okay, a pin-drop of his location, and, finally, one of him informing me that he was returning to the hotel with the band.

I reached the lobby and spotted them all at the hotel bar. They had taken up a table in the corner, noisy, chaotic, bordering on drunk. The rest of the room was nearly emptied out, probably because of them. Max saw my approaching figure first. He raised a hand to wave, interrupting Sam to say, “Look who it is! Cat nap do you any good?”

I shook my head at his words, a small giggle on my lips, “Not at all. I slept for eight hours.”

“Oh, shit,” Sam turned in his chair to face me. “I was wondering ‘cause you never responded to my texts.”

“Sorry,” I shrugged. Cyrus and Adam gave their attention to me. I looked over their faces with a polite smile before my eyes landed on their lead singer. He clutched onto an amber colored drink, head pointed down towards the table. He didn’t even have the decency to look at me when I was speaking.

I took a deep, annoyed breath, countering my vision back to Max, as he said, “You’ll get in the swing of things soon enough.”

I ignored the frustration Oliver fueled in my bones and said, “Just mad I wasted a day.”

Adam tilted his glass to me, “It’s okay, Daisy. You didn’t miss much.”

“No?” I inquired, glancing around the men before me.

They all shook their heads. Cyrus frowned, “Just meetings. Boring shit like that.”

“You have all summer, Daz. You can start catching up tomorrow,” Sam reassured me again.

“Well, I am gonna go out tonight. Just for a bit,” I replied.

Max nodded appreciatively at my plans, ‘'Whatcha gonna do? Hit the town? Go dancing, maybe?”

“Eat my weight in Nando's, actually,” I giggled in response.

The boys shared a round of laughter. I glanced at Oliver, but his head was still down. He was scrolling his phone, now, frowning though the rest of us were having a great. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and looked at Cyrus. “Nando's is great. You’ll like it.”

“Hope so.”

Sam finished off his drink with just a small sip. “I should come with you.”

I waved him off, “I’ll be okay. I’m gonna be alone a lot this summer. Best to get used to it now.”

“It’s late, though,” he offered up again.

“It’s fine, I promise. I’ll give you my location and you can anxiously watch my little avatar move around London, okay?”

Sam huffed in agreement, unwilling to argue with me. I was an adult, after all. He didn’t really have a say as to what I did, though I wasn’t unappreciative of his efforts. Then, Max spoke again, “Well, you’ll have to let us take you out another time, though. Maybe even take you dancing. There’s a great nightlife here in London.”

“Yeah, that could be fun,” I nodded. My stomach growled and, luckily, I was the only one to have heard it. I began to wrap up the short conversation, “I’m gonna get going. I haven’t eaten all day and I feel like I’m gonna turn into the Hulk soon. See you all tomorrow?”

Sam stood from his seat and enveloped me in a short hug. “Be safe, Daz.”

As we pulled apart, I reached up on my toes to ruffle his sandy hair. I settled back onto my heels, my smile morphing into a mischievous smirk as I thought of a silly way to throw him off. I tilted my head to the side, teasing, “Sure thing, Sam Ham.”

I rushed for the exit, escaping the hotel bar before he could retaliate. I knew I had made his face flush a deep red. I could even hear the band’s laughter trailing behind me as they teased him for the nickname. It was a good start to what felt like it could be one of the best summer’s of my life.

As long as Oliver stayed out of my way.

I was gone for just two hours. I struggled to find Nando’s at first because Google had me walking in circles. But with a little help from a CVS worker, I finally reached the restaurant. I ordered a little more food than I was probably able to eat because I wanted to sample the popular menu. Between the mass amount of food and the speed at which I ate, it wasn’t long until I was full.

After I left the building, I took a stroll, finally in a decent enough headspace to be able to appreciate the lit-up city. It was Monday, and nearly 10pm, so most of the shops and bars were closed for the evening. When something interested me, I simply wrote down in my notes app so I could remember to come back. Tomorrow, I decided, I would return to this little corner of the world.

Elated with the excitement of this promising journey, the mood only heightened from the hunger dissipated in my bones, I made it back to the hotel. Though Sam had promised me he would stay up, he was curled up under the blankets, passed out. I wasn’t mad- I knew he needed to get a good night’s rest. Besides, back home, I lived alone, came and went late at night all the time. I didn’t need him to look out for me to this extreme extent. I tucked the blankets up under his chin a bit more snugly, plugged his phone in, and ensured I was quiet as I got myself ready to lay down.

However, I threw the covers off of myself after struggling to sleep for over an hour. My body was buzzing. I was just not going to be able to fall asleep for a while. I could feel the energy pulsing through my body, excitement forcing my once tired eyes to jolt open unwillingly. I needed to get up, move around, do something to get this jumpiness to leave me alone.

I pulled my once abandoned hoodie overtop my pj set, shoved my feet into the pair of slippers I’d packed. Rummaging through the mini-fridge, I pulled out a few small bottles of liquor- three vodka shots, one Jack Daniels. These few should be enough to get me to sleep.

I piled them into my purse, grabbed my phone off the nightstand, and headed out the door. I didn’t know where I was going when I got into the elevator, but my eyes scanned over the button pad and found an option for the roof. That seemed like a good enough place to chill for a while.

The air was cold, but not in a bitter way. My warm skin almost welcomed the stark contrast. It seemed to coax the buzz of energy out of my system once I began to shiver. There were a few patio chairs set up around fire pits or grills. I picked a huddle that was positioned towards the corner of the roof, sitting myself criss-cross on a maroon-colored couch.

I unlocked my phone and shuffled my liked songs playlist on Spotify. I uncapped one of the shots and downed it with a scrunched face. I never much liked the taste of alcohol because it was so bitter. And, then, because of that, tolerance was low and I was an annoying light weight. It immediately made my chest feel warm. At least two of these would probably coax me to sleep, no problem.

“Gonna share?”

I flinched at the deep voice, eyes snapping from examining the front of the bottle to the body seated across the firepit from me. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the light from the small tiki lamps surrounding our section of the roof. But, when they did, my pupils widened in slight shock.

“How long have you been sitting there?” I replied, tone a little more than annoyed that he was just now announcing himself.

“Long enough to know you can’t take a shot,” there was a smirk in his voice, a cockiness that made me want to wipe it clean off his pink, plump lips.

“Sorry I’m not an alcoholic,” I snide back. “If you want one, you have to come get it, by the way. I’m comfy now.”

“Comfy with this trash music playing?” He quipped, though he stood and reached out for the alcohol..

I begrudgingly handed him a vodka bottle, though his comment only annoyed me further, “Real men like Taylor Swift.”

“Hey, haven’t you heard? I’m a vessel. Not a man.”

I watched in silence as he took the shot. He held my eyes in his. There was a teasing sense edging at his pupils. I couldn’t quite read what he intended with his gaze, his quips. Maybe he was really trying to piss me off even more. I already figured him an asshole, based off of how he acted each time I saw him today. But, with every sentence that passed, this belief was only carved deeper.

I pressed my lips together in an attempt to soothe my frustration. If he really just wanted to get on my nerves, I wasn’t going to let him know it was working. I would just be sickly sweet in return. “So, Vessel, what are you doing up here? Can’t sleep?”

“Obviously,” he waved me off.

I watched him for another moment, wondering what I could say to bother him back. He took a cigarette and a lighter from his hoodie pocket. The end of it glowed red from the small flame. and he sunk it between his lips. When he pulled it out, he flicked his brows at me, as if to offer a drag. I frowned, head shaking, “That’s okay. Thanks.”

“Hm…too good for a smoke, then?” He flicked off the end of the cigarette, sending ashes down to his pant leg, onto the concrete of the roof below us.

I watched as they fell, a glare in my gaze, “More like my mom died of lung cancer because she smoked for thirty years.”

Oliver held the cigarette mid-air, paused from bringing it to his lips. He flicked his brows again, rubbed his lips together, Then, he tossed the stick onto the floor and stomped it with the toe of his boot. “Sorry.”

“Mhm,” I challenged, knowing I now had the upper-hand because of his obvious guilt. All I could think was that I really did not like him. But he was so fucking hot.

“I’d ask what you’re doing up, but I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep after the day you had.”

“Yeah, no,” I chuckled dryly.

Oliver peeled his eyes from my face, looking out over the city lights sprawled out before us. He pondered for a moment, the process obvious because of the way it sat on his face- his eyes darkened, his brows furrowed, and he frowned. I wanted to make a comment about how I could see the smoke billowing from his ears as he thought, but he met my eye again.

“What’s your deal, Daisy?”

I wouldn’t admit it, but I loved the way my name sounded on his pretty pink lips. I wanted to hear it, closer, right next to my ear, in a much darker setting, wearing way less clothing. I shook away the thought, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he had thrown me for a loop. I ignored the smirk that curled on his mouth, shifted in my seat, and shrugged, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Oliver laughed, a dry, hollow sound that I quite enjoyed. I opened the other shot of vodka and went to take it, needing desperately to quiet my brain. But, he replied, “What are you here for?”

“What are you here for?” I leaned forward to toss him the bottle of Jack Daniels.

He took it, then stretched his arms out over the back of the couch he sat upon, the bottle hanging loosely from his fingers.. “Good question. For our music, I suppose. To perform it for our listeners.”

“That’s not what you’re here for,” I rejected his words, shaking my head just slightly, “That’s what everyone else is here for. What about you, Oliver?”

He glanced around. Smoke, ears again. I nearly cracked a smile at the parallel before he finally responded, “To…worship. To celebrate my music, myself…life.”

I held the shot out towards him, offering a cheer up to what he had said, “To life.”

Oliver leaned forward on the couch, stopping me before I could take the shot, “Wait, what about you?”

“There’s no deeper meaning to anything I do,” I waved him off with a small giggle. The air between us was growing more comfortable as we opened up to each other. Maybe Sam was right- maybe Oliver just needed to get to know me before he stopped being an ass. It didn’t make it okay, that he was like that. It was definitely a trauma response. But, it was alright. I’d be over it by the morning, especially considering some semblance of a friendship was blossoming here between us.

“Oh, Daisy, there’s always deeper meaning to everything humans do. Think. What’s yours?” He lay a hand out, as if I had to fill that empty air with my response.

I glanced from his hand, out to the city, thinking over the question. What was mine? Why was I here? I wanted to take a break from reality before my life would really start. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to visit friends, to discover life beyond my small corner of the map. But, what did it all mean to me? What was my purpose this summer? I was always quite stagnant. I just…existed. I don’t think I ever really lived, found that meaning within what I did.

“I guess…” I met his eye again, finding some answers in my own thoughts, “I guess…to find that deeper meaning. To find what I’m looking for, maybe.”

“Then, to life…to discovering life. To finding life,” he sampled a few phrases before settling upon what he’d come up with..

We both leaned our arms out until our shot glasses clinked together. It was cheesy, meta, a conversation that, 24 hours ago, I would have snorted at. At least, that’s what the girl who boarded the plane last night would have done. Maybe I was changing already, and maybe it was for the better. Maybe this summer really would be about discovering life, discovering my own.

I didn’t think we’d find much else to talk about, but that was quickly proven wrong. We spent the next hour and a half involved in a deep conversation, swapping childhood stories, dreams, favorite songs and movies. Oliver wasn’t so bad, wasn’t so depressing as I originally thought he was. Sure, he had plenty of skeletons in the closet. But, he was funny, too, with niche interests, interesting stories that drew laughter out of me. I hadn’t thought this was possible.

Eventually, we both needed to get to bed. He had to be up in just six hours and I wanted to get a good start on the next day. I was finally starting to feel tired, too. So, we boarded the elevator together, only after tossing his cigarette bud and shot bottles into the trash.

Oliver reached across my body to press the button for our floor. As his body passed mine, I caught a sweet whiff of his cologne. It rattled my brain around. That, combined with his warm breath, and the alcohol in my system, shivered goosebumps down my spine.

As he settled back on his heels, I braved a glance up at his handsome face. He was already looking down at me. The small smile on his plump lips stretched into a teeth-bearing grin. I blushed at the expression on his face.

I didn’t care anymore, not about his rude greetings, his annoyed stature at the bar earlier. I didn’t care about any of it, if it would mean he would keep looking at me like he was right now.

My eyes felt like they glazed over as we stared at one another. Oliver turned his shoulder, facing his chest towards me. The action was an opening door, an encouraging lure into dark places I should stray from. But, I didn’t.

I faced him, too, fingers grasping at my hoodie sleeves, nervously. Oliver tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He spoke, softly, quietly, “You’re very pretty, Daisy.”

I blushed, again. I went to step forward, to make some sort of move in return. But, then, the elevator doors were cracking themselves open. A bell rang overhead.

I guess it broke whatever trance we were both in. Oliver stepped out first, but didn’t move to stride away. He waited for me to join him in the hall. We walked, side by side, towards our rooms, silence taking up so much space and time. Maybe I was being delusional, but I really thought he was going to make some sort of move on me. It probably wouldn’t be for the best, but…Either way, I was grateful for the bond we had begun to form. It would make for a great tour, I just knew it.

Just as I reached my door, Oliver softly called out my name. I turned to him, hand on the door knob, ready to escape into the confines of my bed to think over everything. I met his dark eyes, catching the light in the golden flecks of his pupils. He smiled, “Thanks for staying up with me.”

I couldn’t help but grin back, appreciative of the time we’d spent, hopeful for the future of our friendship (even if I had imagined him blowing my back out in the elevator). “Thank you, Oliver. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And see him I did.

When Sam’s alarm went off, I joined him in getting ready, deciding to hit the town early. We went down to breakfast together, my attitude a little more perkier than his, considering the jet lag had started to get to him. And, considering I was excited to see my newfound friend.

We sat with Max and Adam. I greeted them both with a kind smile, my plate of pancakes coming to rest on the table before me. We chatted just a bit, everyone a little more quiet than usual due to the slowness of the morning time.

I finished up my first pancake just as Cy and Oliver sat down with us. I looked up from my plate, grinning despite myself, and tried to meet Oliver’s eyes. “Good morning, guys.”

Cy glanced up, a tired smile on his face. “Morning, Daisy. Sleep okay?”

It took more than a moment before I looked at him, mind focused on catching Oliver’s eyes, “Yeah, thanks. Struggled for a bit, but managed to get to sleep after Ol-”

“Butter,” Oliver reached out a hand, eyes trained onto his plate.

I peeled my gaze from Cy, my smile faltering when I realized Oliver was holding out a hand towards me. He was waiting for me to pick up the plate and hand it to him, without any sign of a please or, God forbid, a greeting. Not to mention, he interrupted me as soon as I had begun to mention our escapade from the night before.

I narrowed my eyes, hoping my burning stare would rattle him. But, it did nothing, so I picked up the butter and shoved it into his hand. He settled it onto the table before him and didn’t say anything else.

What was going on here?

I was thrown for a loop, which seemed to just be the case when it came to him. He was a game, I realized now. And, I did not plan on playing it. Cy looked up from his plate, “After what, Daisy?”

I tried again, just to confirm if that interruption had been as intentional as it seemed, “After Ol-”

He coughed. He coughed right through my words, stopping me from saying his name; again. His gaze was still locked on his plate as he buttered his toast. He blinked. Didn’t make any move to excuse himself, apologize. Nothing.

I gave up then, reading the situation well enough to understand he didn’t want anyone to know about last night. I settled on saying, “After downing a couple shots of vodka. Helped me get to…sleep.” I continued to watch Oliver as I spoke, my -tone flat, frown settled deep into my cheeks.

Cyrus responded, though I wasn’t listening anymore. Max conversed back, moving onto some wild, drunken story from last tour, intended to make me laugh. I tried to catch onto their words, tried to give them the chuckles they searched for. The attention they deserved, and Oliver did not.

But, I couldn’t draw my eyes from his face. After a few minutes, he finally glanced up, though it was quickly, barely looking long enough for me to catch his eyes.

This was going to be a long summer.

#sleep token!vessel x reader #sleep token x you #sleep token smut #sleep token x reader #sleep token #vessel sleep token #sleep token vessel #sleep token iv #sleep token iii #iii sleep token #vessel x reader #vessel x you #vessel #sleep token band #sleep token worship

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tavyliasin · 3 months

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BG3 FicFeb NSFW - Day 4

Just a shorter one today as I've been a smudge busy, but here's day 4! Shortfic below the cut~ ----- -----

Day 4 - The rest of the companions heard Tav/Durge going at it

“Tchk, do they not know the whole woods can hear them?” Lae’zel winced at the latest echo of a moan from the trees, trying to focus on sharpening her blade without slicing through her own finger in the process.

Gale tried in vain to stare harder at his book, as if reading the words loud enough in his head might drown them out. “Don’t look at me, I’m all out of paper to scribe out Zone of Silence for them. You’d think they might make the effort to learn one bloody spell so we can get a night’s sleep-”

“Was that a tree breaking? Gods I hope they’re not bringing the place down around them.” Wyll looked as concerned as he was flustered, sorting through the supplies in his pack like it was the most interesting task in the world. “What I’d do for a house with some thick walls right now.”

“I think it’s cute.” Karlach grinned, her heart glowing slightly. “At least someone is getting some action around here.”

“If they don’t stop getting action I shall be asking Lady Shar to wipe these memories from my head too.” Shadowheart groaned, standing to walk back to her tent. “I’m going to at least try to get some sleep, I suggest you all do the same. You know they’re all elves, right?”

“Ah of course, Halsin, Astarion, our fearless leader,” Gale’s words were punctuated by a distinctly loud cry from the aforementioned leader that anyone else might’ve mistaken for distress. “They’ll get just as much rest from their trance as we could be getting if it wasn’t too loud to sleep.” He directed his grumble to the treeline, as if the foliage might pass on his displeasure at the disturbance.

“Do you think they’d notice if I-”

“Karlach, sit back down, you are not going out there to spy on them.” Wyll put a hand on her elbow, pulling her back down to sit beside him.

“I wasn’t going to ask if I could join in or anything.” She complained. “You never let me have any fun.”

“I would hardly describe being an unwelcome pair of eyes to the affairs of those three as fun, istik.” Lae’zel put her sword aside, satisfied it would be sharp enough to deal with any enemies in the morning. “You should follow the secretive one’s lead and get some sleep, our foes will not hesitate to slice open your gut should you pause to yawn.”

“That…does not paint a particularly pleasant picture.” Gale closed his book, standing to return to his tent, resolving himself to cast silence on himself once he got there. “Remind me not to ask for any Githyanki bedtime stories next time we’re around the fire this late.”

“I don’t think the Gith even do bedtime stories.” Wyll shrugged, looking towards Lae’zel’s tent.

“We do, actually, and a simple gut-stabbing would be considered too weak even for a helpless babe.” Her voice hissed from behind the canvas. With everyone else gone, Wyll and Karlach lingered a little longer by the fire, sharing a quiet laugh at the idea of Lae’zel as a toddler with an oversized sword complaining that her bedtime stories weren’t gory enough.

“What about you, Karlach? Any fairytales, or at least good stories until we get peace enough to rest?” The warlock’s smile was disarming as usual. “I’m afraid all I can offer are the worn out classics, and they don’t seem to hold the same charm as they used to. Hard to imagine a dashing prince running off to play the hero and sweep a fair maiden off her feet when I look like this.”

“I don’t know, you look princely enough to me. And I’m not just saying that because I’ve spent years in Avernus surrounded by actual bloody demons, either.” She shuffled a little, her restless tail and glowing chest betraying her thoughts as usual. “The stories I have in my head now aren’t really suitable for children at bedtime.”

“Lucky for us, we aren’t children.” Wyll sidled just a little closer, looking up at bright eyes that widened as his voice dropped to a whisper. “I might not have a coin to hand to give you, but I would love to hear your thoughts.”

#bg3ficfeb #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #fanfic #wyll ravengard #karlach #bg3 tav #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #lae'zel #shadowheart #Halsin #Astarion #bg3 companions #shortfic

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softspeirs · 1 month

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A/N: I am an emotional wreck after that last episode. No spoilers here, just looking for a place to put my feelings. Let's check in on our pals John and Ellie.

five. out of order.

Her first few letters are short, silly, rambling. He devours every word.

His heart is still pounding and he knows he's had a silly smile on his face for the last hour or so as he sits up with the light on. The nurse on duty has told him to go to bed a few different times, but he can't help it.

It's like a book you can't put down, the way she's written to him. He still can't believe it.

The next letter unfolds on crisp, sharp white paper, her words in loopy script that slants slightly - she’s left handed, he’s learned.

Dear Major Egan,

If we would have had more time, I would have asked how you prefer to be addressed. I hear your friends call you Bucky, but it feels too… familiar, somehow.

I hope you’re safe.

The last time we spoke, there was something in your eyes that I recognized from the last time my brother was on leave, and that’s why I felt I had to turn you away. I hope you don’t think less of me - turning away a perfectly good patron isn’t normally standard practice, you see.

I thought about it for a long time after you left. By now you’re probably getting ready to fly, and I hope you aren’t too reckless. I don’t know if you see it, but so many people care about you and want you to come back. You might break Mrs. Henderson’s heart if you don’t swipe flowers from her garden ever again.

I hope you’re well. I’ll write to you again soon.

Yours,

Eleanor Peters

He can feel the indent in the page where she signed her name. He imagines her sitting under dim lamp light, writing to someone who only spoke to her on occasion and usually when he was rip roaring drunk.

For a moment, he feels unbearably ashamed. But he remembers when he had come to apologize to her and when she had given him something to think about for those years locked behind the wire - the way she wrote to him the entire time he was gone.

She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t think he was worth it… right?

He finally falls asleep and when he wakes, Buck is there. He’s reading, and Bucky wonders if he slept at all the night before.

It was hard for him too, to get used to being able to sleep through the night without the fear of being awoken or the instinct to keep one eye open.

“Sleep well?” Buck asks, not looking up until he dog ears the corner of his page.

“Fine. You?”

Buck shakes his head. “Not really.” He meets his friend’s gaze. “Hard to get used to the quiet.”

Bucky nods. “Flying again today?”

“Later.” Buck confirms.

“I think— I think I need to go speak to Ellie. As soon as I get cleared to be up and about.”

Buck’s eyebrows rise. “Yeah?” A smile is growing on his face.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

Buck laughs. “I didn’t say anything.”

“It was your face that said it.”

“I think she could be real good for you, John.” Buck says, still snickering a little. “She seemed nice.”

“Don’t know what I’ve got to offer anyone, much less someone like her.” Bucky mutters.

“Hey. You remember what I told you?” Buck leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re worth knowing. She wanted to know you back then, if those letters are anything to go off of.”

"Yeah." Bucky looks at the small table at his bedside, to where the stack of envelopes sits. He thinks of the last one in the stack. The one that's already wrinkled from him reading it over and over.

Bucky,

I've decided I've been writing to you long enough to call you by your moniker, though if I'm wrong feel free to address anything you write back to me as Miss Eleanor - it's what everyone else calls me, and you want to know a secret? I hate my first name.

It sounds too matronly, but no one calls me Ellie, not really. Only a few of my closest friends.

I've been writing to you now for over a year. I haven't posted a single envelope. By now, I know that you're alive at least. That was a relief. But I still don't know where to send letters, and if I did, I don't know how you'd take them. This friendship seems awfully one-sided at the moment, though of course that's my fault.

I wish I would have had the guts to post some of these letters, but especially this one, for a few reasons.

Major Crosby stopped by today and I tried to be coy when I asked of any word of you, but I think he's picking up on the hints. Oh, I hope he doesn't give you too much grief about it when you get back (because you will get back) - so I figure the cat's out of the bag now, so to speak.

I keep hearing rumblings about camps all over Europe. Horrible, evil things, and my heart just aches thinking of you in a place like that. You don't deserve any of this, and even if it sounds ridiculous - I barely know you - I just feel it deep down. That you're a good person.

The last reason I wish I had enough courage to send this is to say thank you. Because as much as I started writing these letters for you, they've become something that's truly helped me, too. I enjoy writing little mundane things about my day and it makes me feel as if I'm not so alone here either. Things are quiet in the village as always, and I don't have many friends. It's just me and my Dad.

I've been rambling too long. Like I said, maybe someday you'll read this, and maybe someday I'll have the guts to just tell it right to your handsome face in person: I think I'm smitten with you, Major John Egan, and I should have told you that before you left.

I hope you think of me sometimes. It's a little selfish, but I'll say it anyway.

I hope you're safe.

Yours (and I mean that),

Ellie

When he first read that, he felt so clearly that he could see inside her brain. He felt her nerves to be writing it, the way she felt a little silly at writing to someone who she barely knew, but especially knowing she was never going to send it.

But he also feels his heart tighten every time he reads the last paragraph, because he knows exactly how she feels. While he wishes she would have found a way to get these letters mailed, he also loves the way he's gotten to know her like this.

Through her own written word, he feels like he's lived the last two years right here with her, going through her day and getting to know who she is.

They're doing this all out of order. He knows it's ridiculous.

But he can't help but feel a little head over heels with her, too.

He thinks it's too soon to tell her that, no matter what she's said in her letter. But he feels it, nonetheless. Stranger things have happened.

Buck is still watching him, a small smile on his face. "You want me to call down to the pub and see if she'll come by and sit with you for awhile?"

Bucky tenses, but decides he's done feeling embarrassed about the whole thing. "You'd save me going AWOL and getting my head ripped off by Nurse Wells," he says casually.

"You got it. I'll see what I can do." His friend says, rising to his feet.

"Be careful." Bucky says, out of habit. These missions, they're milk runs, but he still tenses watching Buck walk away from him. He wonders if that feeling is ever going to go away.

Buck waves over his shoulder, and then he's gone.

An hour later, he hears the click of her shoes before he sees her. He imagines he can smell the sweet floral of her perfume too.

"Heard you missed me." She says, sitting down with a parcel in her lap, no fanfare.

He grins. "Maybe. Whatcha got there?"

"Thought you could do with a home cooked -- well, pub cooked - meal." She blushes a little, but then straightens like she's come to a decision. "Besides, if you're not well enough to take me out to dinner yet, then I'll bring dinner to you."

He's well and truly gone.

She eyes the stack of letters on his table. "You've read them all?"

His eyes are dark with emotion when he meets her gaze. "A few times."

"And?" She sounds nervous. "Do you think l'm completely mental?"

He laughs. "Ellie, I know we're doing this a little out of order." He reaches for her hand. "But I know everything I need to know about you. And I'm sure about this." He arches an eyebrow, "That is, if you're still smitten."

She blushes in full then, trying to pull her hand away from his. He doesn't let her; tugs her closer, and kisses her temple when he can reach her. He sees her shoulders relax.

"This is crazy." She says, breathless.

"Maybe." He shrugs. "But look-- I thought I wasn't ever going to get back here. And I don't know what's going to happen next. But after the last two years... I'd like to figure it out. With you. If you'll have me."

Her eyes well up with tears, and he frowns, thinking he's gone too far, but then she's leaning forward, pressing her lips against his lightly, and everything goes click inside his heart.

He's right where he's meant to be.

#john egan x oc #softspeirs mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfiction #bucky egan x oc #oc: ellie peters

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jungle-angel · 5 months

Text

The Bookworms' Nest: Part 2 (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Even over the holiday break, you and Bob always find a way to make your home your own cozy nest and prep for a lesson in between

Warnings: Mentions of breastfeeding, mentions of pregnancy etc.

Tagging:@bobfloydsbabe

You hummed along to the Christmas music playing from the little bluetooth speaker in the kitchen as you set up all of yours and Bob's Christmas decorations. Auggie lay right next to you on his little sleeping cushion, wriggling and stretching his arms and legs and his coos reaching your ears.

"Pumpkin for the last time, OUT!" Bob thundered from the home library.

With a cheeky little meow, you spotted your black cat trotting out from the library with the usual amount of neon pink sticky notes still stuck to her fur as Bob wheeled the chalkboard out of the library and into the living room.

"Still taking notes?" you chuckled.

Bob rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I'm telling you (y/n), The Silmarillion is almost IMPOSSIBLE to dissect," he said. "How the hell are we supposed to do a main lesson on this?"

"I've been asking myself that same question since the beginning of the lesson block," you chuckled.

Bob let out a loud, annoyed groan and rolled his eyes. "Can we at least do a practice run with it?"

"Bob we're on vacation until January," you laughed. "You really wanna focus on that right now?"

"Baby I just wanna keep the skills sharp," Bob answered.

You were about to say something when Auggie began to whimper and Pumpkin began meowing as she curled around the baby's little sleeping cushion. "Well, somebody's hungry," you chuckled.

"The boob or the bottle?" Bob asked you.

"Bottle's in the fridge, just needs to be warmed up."

In a flash he was off and returned a minute later. "C'mon buddy, I've gotcha," Bob said to Auggie, carefully lifting him into the curve of his elbow before Auggie eagerly latched onto the bottle and sucked it back.

Bob smiled at the tiny little baby in his arms, his face half hidden by both the bottle and the white Irish knit blanket that had once been Bob's when he had been that little. You and Bob of course had considered your students at school to be like your own kids, so when you had found out that you were pregnant with Auggie, it was almost as though sixteen other teenagers were gaining a baby brother.

You took a break from setting up the decorations to throw another log into the fireplace, the flames crackling as it spat embers and sparks up the chimney, but oh was the house toasty and warm as ever. You began putting out some of the little needle-felted snowmen, gnomes, fairies and figurines that you and some of the kindergarten and preschool teachers had made for the Christmas and Yuletide fair at school. Of course Bob's favorite was always the little Celtic Santa in his green robes and twisting, knotty staff that Bob's Meemaw had made long before he was born.

"Shhhhh, my little lovebug," he whispered, gently patting Auggie's back. "Go back to sleep, it's cold out and Momma and Daddy need to do their thing too."

Bob very carefully placed Auggie back onto his sleeping cushion but Auggie's whimpers still didn't cease until Bob gently placed his hand on his son's little belly, calming him in an instant.

"What?" he asked when he saw the look on your face.

"Bob......?"

"Ah! Hold it, you remember what Doctor Zimmer said," Bob informed you. "She specifically said no sex for six weeks after birth."

You mouthed a curse which had Bob both smiling and wiggling his eyebrows. "Alright, I'll put him upstairs for a nap and then we can get down to business," you said.

As soon as Auggie had been brought upstairs and tucked into his warm nest of a crib in his nursery, you were back downstairs to finish decorating and help Bob with his lecture.

"Alright babes," he said, finally having finished wiping down the chalkboard with a wet rag. "What's the first part of the book?"

"Ainulindalë, the creation of Eä and the birth of the Valar," you answered.

Bob drew in a breath and let it out. "You ready for this marathon?" he chuckled.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you laughed.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #teacher!bob floyd #teacher!bob x teacher!reader

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nellyofthevalley · 5 months

Text

bloodlust

astarion x fem!durge

rating: explicit content: dubcon, blood, knifeplay kinda sorta, spanking, fingering, piv, cunnilingus, porn without plot, some feelings, graphic violence in the form of threats summary: ‘You’ll let me know the next time you need to be tied up, won’t you?’ he said the last time she tried to murder him in his sleep, and she intends to see it through.

Astarion holds his arm over her head and she opens her mouth in anticipation. He’s watching her as intensely as she watched him, with his eyebrows furrowed and mouth parted. Blood drips slowly down his arm, beading at his elbow before dripping into her waiting mouth, around her lips, over her face.

read it on ao3 or below the cut:

She comes to Astarion’s room one night in a panic, ready with rope. The urges have become easier to sense coming on. Most could be sated by a brutal kill of those who deserved it, but she knows a punishment is coming. Kills are never enough for Father, it’s not about the kills. It’s the savagery, the unnecessary cutting, twisting and maiming.

It’s an art form.

She’d gone back for Isobel to sate her urges when they were most dire, a ritualistic offering to Bhaal, pleading for any relief. It sufficed, for a time. It was an honor to lead dozens to their deaths in the aftermath and an absolute delight to watch them be consumed by shadows, their souls ripped from this earth. For weeks, she remembered how they looked as the black possessed their bodies, and how their darkened blood stained the battlefield as far as eyes could see, torn between remorse and a sick fantasy.

‘You’ll let me know the next time you need to be tied up, won’t you?’ he said the last time she tried to murder him in his sleep, and she intends to see it through.

She enters his room in a hurry and lets the door shut behind her, finding Astarion in his typical spot; in the chair, reading.

“What’s troubling you, love?” Astarion asks as he looks up. A silly question, he realizes it as soon as he sees the rope in her hand—they’ve been through this once before already. “Ah, you’re here to kill me again, I presume? And here I thought we’d moved past that.”

“It’s punishment,” she says, standing before him and shoving the rope in his hands. “I’ve not served him adequately. Tie me.”

“Eager for this, aren’t you?” he teases, casting the rope aside. She huffs in response, annoyed by his light hearted demeanor. “I’m surprised. I imagined this must be a very unpleasant experience for you, to be restrained and rabid.”

“Don’t be stupid! Tie me, quickly, before I hurt you,” she begs, terrified of herself. She glances down at her hands, as if they may act on their own. She can picture it already, how they’d leap forward and claw into his lovely face, vigilant to spare his piercing red eyes. It’d be a shame to waste those, they’d make for a fine trophy.

“Do you think me so careless? I have all I need to survive you,” he says, pulling her on top of him and leaning back. “Unless you have a hidden blade to slit my throat with.”

No, but the bloodlust inside wishes she did. From the start, she thought he’d be the perfect pretty corpse—what a joy it would be to see the vampire’s essence spill and pool beneath her. A stake is a tired trope, and even a slit of the throat would be too clean for her tastes. She’d adorn him with cuts all over and make him watch her drink the life from him like he drank from her.

She pushes her lips to his and he readily accepts her greedy tongue. Her impatient hands seek cover beneath his shirt, crawling all over his smooth porcelain skin, daydreaming of splitting it. He’s foolish and reckless around her. She could bite, rend, and gorge on his screams, if the urge willed it.

Maybe he enjoys the dance with death, she thinks as she guides the shirt over his head, picturing how his chest would look with slashes all over it.

With a sharp motion, he pulls her back by the hair with one hand. With the other, he restrains her comparatively small hands by the wrists as if to prove he holds more control.

“Take me, when I’m no longer me. Show him what I think of this pathetic display of power,” she says with a fire in her eyes and Astarion feels another flourishing between her thighs. “He won’t own me.”

“You’ll never be his. You’re mine.”

The kindling in her ignites and she rocks her hips against him, smirking when a groan escapes him. Astarion keeps his grip on her hair tight but pulls her forward, nestling his face in the crook of her neck. His fangs brush against her skin and she shakes in anticipation, waiting for that familiar, satisfying pierce when he breaks her skin with his teeth; instead, he gives her small, cautious bites that make her heart pound with a fury.

Astarion releases her hair and trails his hands along her thighs, up her sides and lifts her nightshirt up to her shoulders. The chill of his touch clashes with the fire that spreads through her whole body—her cheeks aflame as his fingertips roll over her perked nipples.

“Astarion,” she says. He’s dismantled her resolve so easily, leaving her too weak to argue with him further on the importance of his own safety.

She finishes what he started and lifts her shirt, tossing it to the floor. Cold hands slide down over her ribs and then behind to support her back as he leans forward, pressing little kisses from her shoulder to her collarbone. Her fingers tangle in his white curls, lightly stroking while he continues his work downward, pushing her back further and further until he’s supporting almost all her weight and his lips place a kiss between her breasts.

Astarion rises from the chair, and her legs wrap around his waist as he carries her to the bed, sitting her on the edge and standing between her legs.

“Hands,” he orders; she offers them and he ties them behind her back with rope.

If Astarion cared to be safe, he’d tie her feet and gag her mouth. She’s a dangerous one, but he never feels truly scared of her and he carries enough confidence to toy with his food first. Though she may try to separate herself from the urge, they both know her violent tendencies aren’t solely Bhaal’s ‘punishment’. It’s still her inside—he saw how she fought it before, and she will fight it tonight, too.

Astarion falls to his knees and grabs her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed. He’s hasty to remove her bottoms, pulling them down over her legs and feet before settling his head between her legs; he drapes her thighs over his shoulders and holds them in place with a tight grip.

“Astarion, I—”

“Quiet, love,” he says, pressing his lips to her inner thigh now—intense, needy kisses that make her jolt, and tomorrow, will bruise her skin blue. “Relax for me.”

She feels sharp tips brush against her, a forewarning; she flinches, but quickly settles down, waiting patiently for his bite.

She groans when he pierces her flesh, loud—her cry and her delectable, hot blood gushing into his mouth elicit a moan of his own and rouse him; her blood traveling straight to his cock. She squirms under him and involuntarily squeezes his head with her thighs, and it’s fucking delicious.

He pulls away, mindful to not drink too much; she’s sure to spill more blood this evening, by both their hands. Arousal glistens on her cunt and leaks onto the bed—her body’s calling him, and it takes all of his self-discipline to not fuck her so hard the urge possesses her right then.

“Astarion, please,” she whines again, pleading with him to touch her. The only thoughts her hazed mind can produce at this point are all pure, unadulterated filth.

“You’re making this so difficult,” he says, drowning her in more soft kisses, everywhere except where she’s craving his mouth most. “Have patience, my dear. I’m savoring my meal.”

Finally, he’s dragging his tongue up along her folds, convincing her he’ll grant her the relief she craves. He’s quick to start, lapping up every last drop of her sweet arousal, but it’s not long before he slows to an absolutely punishing pace that rewards him with a frustrated moan from her mouth and increasing pressure on his ears.

His tongue flicks across her clit, delicate and controlled, expertly drawing out more of her wetness. Her body sings for him with its writhing and whimpering, while her mind starts to wander away from her.

Every part of her hungers for him—her hands rebel against their ties, trying to break free and pull at his hair, push him deeper into her cunt and fuck his face; her drifting mind fantasizes of how she’d suffocate him, if she could. She could crush his head between her thighs, she thinks, picturing his pale face turning ghost white under her, the screams she’d delight in, the crack of his skull; only then would she come for him, desecrating his face and plucking out his eyes.

Blissfully unaware of her rising desire to kill him while she fucks him, Astarion thinks of how he could stay here forever, ruining her and relishing it, but he forces himself to part from her, not allowing her to get too close.

Astarion stands and admires his work: her face flushed red, the dark puddle where he had her. He climbs on top of the bed, grabbing her waist to push her further back and covers her body with his.

“You look positively depraved,” he says before pressing his mouth to hers, ravenous and fierce, the taste of her arousal left on his lips and shared with her. She nips at his bottom lip, then parts hers to welcome his tongue—an invitation, a demand; he holds her face as he obliges, devouring her, like he wants to taste her throat.

She’s left gasping for air by the time he lets her free. He wipes the mess of her mixed fluids from his face with the back of his hand and licks it off as she stares. It’s filthy, it’s primal, and it’s the last she can take before fully losing her mind to her violent whims. Out of breath and lightheaded, she passes out.

When she wakes, bare with her hands and legs tied, she’s furious—she thrashes, tries to kick, screeches obscenities at the pale elf standing before her. She’s not herself. Her vision is clouded and washed with red; her brain repeats grotesque thoughts of brutal murder and horrific fantasies of dining on her victims’ innards.

Not fantasies, she realizes—they’re memories of a better, brighter time, when she was free to kill and maim, and was rewarded for it.

“Darling, you’re awake,” he greets her in a sickeningly pleasant voice. “It’s not been long, but I missed you all the same.”

She imagines reaching her claws deep down his throat and shredding his vocal cords, sure that many would thank her.

She spots a dagger on the table beside the bed. Determined to take it for herself and stab her captor with it over and over until he’s a bloody pile of unrecognizable viscera, she lunges for it. It’s useless with her restraints. Her actions are brainless, reminiscent of a creature driven by pure bloodlust. To anyone else, it would be terrifying; to him, it’s almost humorous.

“Can’t you be nice?” Astarion asks her in a petulant tone, like a parent scolding their child.

He catches her from behind in the midst of her tantrum and presses his body to hers, pushing her forward and trapping her tight between himself and the headboard. He wraps one hand around her throat; a loose but disciplined grip that’s just enough to crane her head towards him.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his lips and the warmth of his exhale brushing against her ear. Whether she wants to not in her current state, all the way from her ears to her feet and her face reddens.

He kisses along her ear and down her neck and it only infuriates her that much more; she tries to flail and escape him, but he’s prepared for her fight and the hand around her neck wins. His free hand reaches around her front, exploring every piece of her body he can get his hands on as he continues with his kisses on her shoulders and back.

“Ah, you’re feisty,” he says, laughing when she tries to lunge and bite him. “Good effort, but as you can see, I hold all the power here.”

He moves his hand lower, along her hips and thighs, fingertips lightly trailing further in. Even in this state, arousal pools in her cunt as he touches her and the heat practically radiates off her body, sharing warmth with her lover.

“Even like this, you crave me,” he taunts, fingers running over her folds, wet and sensitive for him already.

He slips a finger in her wet cunt, curling it forward, gently caressing her soft spot; she gasps and moans while he finger fucks her, and Astarion can feel the vibrations of her noises on his hand constricting her neck.

“You’ll look—ah—so much prettier… after I’ve turned you inside out,” she hisses, hitching on her words, struggling between the moans his hand forces from her and the pressure on her throat. “I’ll—I’ll crush your dead heart and… feast on it.”

“I wish you could behave yourself,” he says, giving her throat a quick squeeze, to remind which one of them is in control.“We could have so much more fun that way.”

Astarion pushes another finger inside her, finding pleasure in her increasingly incoherent snarls and ragged breathing. Every time he thrusts into her up to his knuckles, her body twists and quivers; her mouth’s desperate to hurl another threat, but he’s fucking her faster and lazily rubbing his thumb against her clit, reducing her to nothing—she can’t find the words anymore.

“You want me to fuck you so badly,” he purrs, curving the fingers inside her in a deliberate, slow motion. She throws her head back against his shoulder and tries to grind against his hand, feral and frantic, proving his claims.

A loud cry escapes her as Astarion withdraws, robbing her of release; a sound that goes directly to the erection straining against the fabric of his pants.

“I could end you right here, you know,” he goads, tightening his grip on her throat. “Crush your pretty neck like it’s nothing. Make you bleed out on this bed. How would you want it, if you had the choice?”

“I’ll gouge out your ruby eyes,” she chokes out. “Wear them as earrings.”

“Romantic. Not what I asked, though,” he says, shaking his head. “A shame.”

Astarion kisses her neck, along her jaw, her face—anything he can reach, loving her, even if she won’t love him back. He frees her from his grasp before he sheds the rest of his clothes, his cock painfully hard and tip dripping with pent-up anticipation.

“Ah,” he exhales as he presses against her, sliding along her sticky wet slit, covering himself in her wetness. “Gods, what have you gotten me into?”

His nails dig into her sides and threaten to draw blood as he enters her with an animalistic and uncontrollable groan. He’s rough with her, snapping her hips toward him with every thrust like he’s performing an exorcism by fucking the violence out of her. The combination of her wet, tight cunt embracing him with the pathetic, needy sounds falling from her mouth render him dizzy.

“I’ll—I’ll—” She tries and fails to speak, overwhelmed by how his cock feels like it could burst through her chest.

How he so quickly reduces her murderous urge to a pitiful, sweaty mess is a pleasure of its own, but fuck—he wants to kiss her, taste her, talk to her.

“You’ll what, my love?”

“I’ll paint the city red with your innards!” she cries, dangerously loud. Astarion covers her mouth with his hand—he would prefer their companions not get the wrong idea and interrupt. “They’ll all see your true beauty and bathe in it.”

“Your blood will paint my mouth red, and I will bathe in your beauty,” he says, a low tone against her ear.

He settles his face in the space between shoulder and neck and gives her harsh, bruising kisses that make her legs tremble and her breath catch before breaking her skin with his fangs and forcing a whimper from her lips. The movement of his hips pauses as he drinks her in, intoxicated by her essence. It sucks every last bit of his senses until all he can hear is her blood flowing onto his tongue; until he tastes, smells, sees, and feelssolely her life’s dark red.

Astarion pulls away from her, wiping away the thick red streaks smeared all over his face, and doesn’t waste a single second before burying himself to the hilt in her again, drunk in the coppery scent that lingers in the air. Her, too—it’s tantalizing, it makes her want to force out all the blood in her body and fucking drown him in it.

“I’ll hold your head by your eye sockets and fuck you until you bleed out,” she growls, and he can’t help but laugh; how comical, for her to lash out at him with her face shoved against the wall, scraping her cheeks with every thrust.

He fucks her until she can’t speak again—until her body is shaking, her voice whittled down to heavy breaths, and he’s close to finishing. She cries such a sad sounding moan when he pulls out, it’s almost sufficiently convincing to make him think she’s come around to the idea and misses him inside her.

“I’ll open your skin and wear you like a coat,” she seethes.

“Sure you will, darling. You’re so very scary with your hands and feet bound,” he says, brushing her off with a hand motion. “Be still, you’re being ridiculous.”

As soon as he backs off, her body falls onto the bed and throws itself around again trying to break free. It’s obvious it’s involuntary—every convulse hurls her against the wall and makes the rope rub her skin raw.

“CHOKE! DIE! YOU’LL BEG ME FOR MERCY!”

“I hoped to avoid this,” he says as he picks up another piece of rope, destined for her mouth. "But you won’t keep your damned mouth shut. And frankly, I’m getting tired of your little outbursts. It’s unbecoming.”

Astarion ties the last bit of rope around her mouth, gagging her. She does her best to spew more obscenities at him, but they come out as miserable, muffled noises that satisfy him in his work.

He pushes her over onto her back and lifts her tied legs up to his face to place soft pecks along her ankle and calf. Her body fights it, kicking her feet as if it tickles so much it’s worth killing over. He spreads her legs to fit his head between them and rest her thighs over his shoulders. The heels of her feet beating at his back are weak and sad, not fazing him at all. It’s cute, really.

“My sweet, sweet love with the dark heart,” he muses, stroking her hair. “What else would it take to get you to behave for me?”

She strikes when he pulls his hand back from her hair—her tied hands claw at him and she manages to swipe his arm just right with a pointy nail, splitting the skin. A decent injury; a cut between his elbow and wrist deep enough to bleed. And she cackles hysterically, even with her voice buried under rope.

“Gods damn it.” Astarion looks it over before lifting his arm and showing it off to her, like it’s a prize she’s won. “Look what you did.”

She loves it. She watches the red run down his arm attentively, hypnotized by it.

He holds her hands firm against her stomach and frees her of the gag. It’s a surprise that she’s too preoccupied by the sight to speak, and her body’s violent spasms have calmed. Perhaps he should wrap his arm, but the cut isn’t that bad, so why not have a bit of fun with it first?

She sloshes it on her tongue and truly tastes it before swallowing; she opens her mouth wider and pushes her head forward, trying to collect as much of it as she can.

Is this how he looked when Cazador made him beg for dead vermin?

“You’re sick,” he says, delightfully scandalized, but he can’t take his eyes off her and he doesn’t stop feeding it to her. “Vile. A true degenerate.”

His insults make no difference to her, she’s lost to the literal bloodlust.

She’s nauseatingly hot like this. The messy streaks of red around her mouth and dripping down the sides of her face, the way she drinks his blood how she tastes his cock, the fact that he can feel her getting wetter and wetter—it’s so fucking good. He can hardly hold back from tasting hers again, his body tense and mind tempted by the view and the aroma wafting in the air.

If only he hadn’t already drank from her twice.

“You’ve had more than enough fun, dear.” Astarion pulls aways as the bleeding slows to a trickle and fits the rope back into her mouth, knowing she’ll refuse to keep her quiet as soon as he’s done indulging her. “I can’t let you go unpunished. I’m sure you understand.”

He moves and turns her until she’s on her knees, face down, his palm pushing on her upper back to hold her there. She looks lovely, he thinks; her head shoved into the pillow, angry eyes staring back at him, sweat running down her face and unable to speak.

With his other hand, Astarion trails his fingertips down the dip in her back and over the curve of her ass. He extends his palm, and with a swift movement, strikes her. She jumps, but tolerates it well—and he can’t have that. Again he hits her, harder and less disciplined, and still she endures in silence, though her hateful glare talks on her behalf: she’s livid. He’s gotten under her skin.

“You’re resilient,” he notes, “but even you can be broken.”

He strikes her more—harsh and with purpose, drawing out dulled wails from her at last, determined to beat the fiend that possesses his love.

Astarion knows very well how it feels to lose your body. To be owned by another. It’s a memory that haunts him and resurfaces old anger—how dare this thing tread upon his lover’s will, rob her of her body and him of her affection?

His next strike lands harder, with an audible slap against supple flesh.

Her skin turns pink and tender as he continues, then red; she’s chewing at the rope in her mouth and her bound hands clench into fists, nails scratching at her own skin–desperate, but her efforts are all in vain. Astarion pauses for a short moment before landing one final, unrestrained smack on her ass that draws out a far louder, far more satisfying cry from her mouth.

A single tear runs from her eye to her nose and into the pillow.

She’s not unfamiliar with pain, far from it; she’d been taken apart and put back together many times. She has no memory of it, but they learned she tried to strangle Kressa with her own intestines, and showed no pain or weakness doing it. Why shed a tear now? Was it wept by his little love inside, gnawing at her brain for escape?

“Don’t cry, my love,” he says, almost mocking her. “I hate to see your pretty face weep.”

Astarion takes the dagger he’d left bedside and waves it in front of her. It may as well be a treat dangling from a stick for his rabid pet with the way her eyes light up and follow it.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster as he penetrates her, pushing in until there’s no room left, struggling to hold his composure.

He holds the blade to her neck, making shallow, trivial cuts as he thrusts into her and she thrashes against him, her will too strong to let a little blood stand in her way. She’d bled rivers over the years, and finds her own just as sweet as her enemies’.

“Watch yourself, love,” he warns. “You can’t soothe your need to kill if I’ve killed you first.”

He wields the blade well, careful to not let it cut too deep, but when her convulsions are too wild for him to keep up with, he’s forced to withdraw the dagger. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he permanently scarred her, even if she is trying to send him to his final death. But he wonders—how animalistic is the urge when it consumes her this way? How far would he have to go to bring her under control?

Would she allow herself to bleed out before she’d beckon to his will?

Astarion brushes his fingers across her neck, collecting the paltry amount of blood weeping from where she’d been cut and licks them clean. It’s delicious and sweet like her, but it’s not enough; it only leaves his taste buds dreaming of more and missing his kinder-hearted lover.

The frustration and anger spreads through his body like a parasite, crawling through his veins and bones until it’s all that’s left. He grips her hips for leverage, pulling her towards him with all he has for every thrust and burying himself in her so deeply, she whines under him. He doesn’t let up; he moves his hands further along her back and up to her shoulders, leaning over her and pulling her in.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Astarion’s angry, or furious, rather; he’s fuming that she’s not here with him.

And then—something changes. Her cries become quieter, her eyes stare back at him differently. It’s unsettling. All but exhausted from using her body like that, he wipes sweat collecting on his forehead and stops, watching her intently.

He pulls the gag from her mouth.

“Astarion,” she says, hardly a whisper as she finds her voice again. “Shit.”

He’s practically starstruck, frozen, like he can’t believe this. He didn’t expect it. He pulls out, silent, and she looks right at him. He sees her. He recognizes that face.

“Gods.” He turns her and picks her up, arms around her waist, and brings her into his lap. “I missed you.”

Astarion pushes his lips to hers, holding her face in his hands; he slips his tongue in her parted mouth, finding hers and tasting every piece of her he can until she’s forced to pull away and breathe. He runs one hand through her hair and lingers there, massaging circles into her scalp while she returns to her body, their foreheads pressed together and their eyes half-open.

“I missed you,” he says again, all he can think of, though these three little words pale in comparison to the relief he feels.

She smiles and holds her hands up for him. “Can you untie me?”

He nods and laughs as he cuts through the rope—so distracted by her returning to him, he didn’t think to free her. If she hadn’t already rubbed her skin raw on the restraints, he might’ve told her no.

With her limbs free, she supports herself on his shoulders and spreads her legs to straddle him properly, his cock nudging against her wet cunt.

“More, give me more,” he demands, drawing her closer for him to kiss along her collarbones and down between her breasts, teasing her nipples with the tip of his tongue. “I want all of you, until I can’t see straight.”

She adjusts and lowers herself onto his length, forcing a low groan out of him. He doesn’t avert his gaze from her for even a moment, eyes feasting on the faces she makes when she starts to ride him. Her body aches, sore from the bloodthirsty beast’s unforgiving temper, but every noise she coerces from his mouth encourages her; she fucks herself on him until her legs shake and she loses her stamina, showering him in apologetic kisses.

“Good girl,” Astarion praises her, kissing along her jawline, her neck, anywhere he can reach. “Beautiful, my love.”

He grips her waist by the sides and arches his hips up into her, moving her body for her. She can’t keep quiet, moans escaping her mouth every time he thrusts back up into her, her warm exhalations pooling against his skin. Astarion’s sure the sound travels past their walls now, but at least no one would dare interrupt.

“Astarion—”

“You’re going to come for me, pet?” he asks, daring her to. “Close your eyes.”

She obeys, giving up sight and focusing all her senses on him. He pauses and she’s tempted to look again, but before she can, she’s being lifted and pushed into the bed, onto her back. She feels Astarion position himself between her legs before entering her wet heat once more, his thrusts impatient and just as relentless as he was before.

Astarion presses two fingers to her mouth and she welcomes them, coating them in her spit; he lingers on her tongue for a moment, admiring how perfect she looks with her mouth open, her disheveled hair, her body splayed and swallowing his cock so eagerly. He rubs her clit with his wetted fingers, his motions frantic and messy as he gets closer and closer to climax.

He leans forward and kisses her, drinking in her every moan and cry as hungrily as he does her blood—like he’s parched, fucking dying of thirst and her ecstasy is the only thing that can quench it. And when she tears into his skin with her nails, her cunt contracting around him and his name leaves her mouth as she comes, it’s divine, sweeter than any heavenly nectar.

She wraps her legs around his back and tugs him towards her until it feels like they’re melted together and there’s no space left. Astarion shuts his eyes and succumbs to the pleasure drowning him, riding the high and spilling inside her; she holds his face as he shudders and curses, praising him with the thoughtful gestures of her hands and her nose grazing his.

He collapses on top of her after her body’s extracted all he can give, spent; exhausted after spending all night fucking the cruelty from her body.

She embraces him, fingertips gently tracing up and down his back, writing signs of her devotion. Her lips kiss his cheek and whisper words of adoration in his ear, so sweet it almost makes him sick. The darling little love he missed so much.

It’s like night and day.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #astarion fanfic #astarion #astarion x tav #durge #the dark urge #astarion x dark urge #dub con #my fanfic #bg3 smut

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xhanisai · 3 months

Text

ladybug please stop worrying your chaton and go the fuck to sleep.

AO3

Pairing - Ladynoir

Prompt - 'Rest'

Summary -

His grin continued to grow as the weight against his knee got heavier and heavier, a chuckle waiting to escape his twitching lips.

"Somebody's sleepy~" He sing-songed, earning an unintelligible grumble from his Lady who immediately lifted her head back up and attempted to play it off with a downright adorable pout. Chat Noir didn't need to open his eyes to know that hers were barely open and that her body was swaying a little from the lethargy and pent-up exhaustion.

"No, I simply lost my balance. That's all."

~(x)~

Chat Noir smirked cheekily with his eyes closed, arms crossed under his head like a makeshift pillow and his body resting on one of the many rooftops in the arrondissement. One of his knees was raised as he lazed under the warm night sky and every small breeze that combed through his hair was soothing enough to relax his entire body.

His grin continued to grow as the weight against his knee got heavier and heavier, a chuckle waiting to escape his twitching lips.

"No, I simply lost my balance. That's all." She huffed, eyes now focusing on the view before her and forcing her body to sit ramrod straight all whilst blind to his feline greens observing her frame. He chewed the inside of his mouth with a hum, silently keeping his eyes on her for a little longer and his grin straightening into a frown of concern for her wellbeing.

"Such a stubborn girl~" He nudged his knee against her back gently like a tease only to have it elbowed away (though, she missed the first couple of times and her sharp elbow felt more like a kitten's headbutt when it finally made contact with his leg). Ladybug managed to last only a few seconds of adamant rigidity before her body unconsciously went back to his like a heat-seeking magnet, her heavy head back on his knee much to her dismay and relaxing against her partner's addicting warmth.

"You should rest," This time he spoke gingerly and sweetly, now sitting up and squeezing her shoulder in a comforting manner. He even rested his forehead on top of her head affectionately, just like his namesake and a quiet purr vibrated through his chest. Finally, she faced him with little reluctance and he got a proper glimpse of how lethargic and beat down she truly looked. A soft, despondent sound left his mouth and his heart ached on the love of his life's behalf. He just wanted to destroy all the things that were making her suffer in the snap of his fingers and kiss her tired eyes lovingly so that she could be alleviated of all her worries.

Unfortunately, he wasn't capable of such power so he could only do the next best thing for his partner. Lowering his feline ears, he opened up his arms as if to beckon her to come into them, his greens pleading throughout.

Thankfully, his Lady's tiredness was stronger than her pride and stubbornness and the heroine found herself sinking into his arms before her brain could even comprehend her action. She didn't even attempt to grumble when Chat Noir pressed his lips into her hair preciously and when he laid back down with her still in his arms, she was instantly in dreamland.

When she woke up, Ladybug couldn't help but note...

It's been a long time since she's slept so well.

~(x)~

#my writing #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir #ladynoir #ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #ml fanfics

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mid13s · 9 days

Text

hey guys! (with the intentions of having you read my fantasy byler AU “Exile”)

heres a pre-view of chapter 1 🥰 (words: 1394/4227)

“Get back!”

Mike seemed to scream at the sky. The fog closed in, thick and wet, and coated his face in its slick spray. He gripped a spear in his clammy hand so hard his knuckles were white, exposing the bone underneath.

The monster flew overhead, its gaping mouth stained with the blood of his men. It turned to face the boat and hissed, exposing its sword like teeth which had to have been the same length as Mike’s arm. Its hollow eyes glowed behind the haze.

Mike acted fast; raising his spear and launching it towards the creature's open mouth. It caught in the back of its throat, shearing its tongue from the root, and came out of the other side, slamming into nearby rock with the sharp clang of bronze. The creature’s wings flailed helplessly in an attempt to fly through the narrowed rock.

Mike heard Lucas crying orders as the monster came crashing down into the front of the boat. Its heavy head hit the dock, cracking the floorboards beneath it. Dustin had spent the morning oiling down the boards to avoid them from creaking but it was proven useless; the monster could smell them anyway.

The creature's mass weighed down the ship, sending immense amounts of water to seep into the boat's deck. The party scrambled back as their boat sank.

“We have to get it off the deck!” He heard Max scream behind him. Mike grabbed a spear and ordered the others to do the same. A mix of blood and water flooded his boots as he made his way towards the monster's head. Its dyspneic breathing reeked of the rotted flesh which clung to its teeth.

Mike aimed his spear under the creature's head in an attempt to lift it off the deck. The party also added the spears to the dead weight and lifted. Mike turned his head to the others and the gut wrenching realization set in; They were the only one’s still living. The dock was soaked in the fresh and old blood of his comrades. Mike turned back to face the monster who slayed his men and burning anguish rose in his chest. With a grunt, he raised his spear and stabbed the creature in the face and pushed.

The monster's limp body flopped off the deck with a splash that drenched his party. Waves crashed into the boat as the weight was lifted off the end of the deck. Mike dropped to his knees and dragged himself away from the edge as he tried to grasp his breath. His forehead was slick with sweat and the sickening mixture of blood and water sloshed around underneath him.

Dustin crashed down next to him. “Holy shit.” That came muffled through Mike’s ears along with the labored breathing of his party, who lay behind him. Lucas held Max in his arms, smoothing the hair on her forehead.

Dustin got their boat steady again, guiding it carefully through the ragged rocks and other wrecked ships who hadn't been as prosperous. The others had pulled out their bedrolls and sleep soon overcame them.

Given his experience, Dustin was on watch first and in charge of keeping the boat in the right direction. Mike approached him, noting how exhausted he looked.

“I can take watch. You deserve sleep.” Mike spoke.

Dustin sat with his lyre in his lap, his fingers moving across the strings as a weavers would their thread. “No, I assure you I am fine. After all your effort today, It would be heedless to ask you of that. Take the bedroll there.” He pointed toward the bedroll which lay beside him. Mike wanted to protest but Dustin started to play a tune, soft and sweet and Mike soon found himself overwhelmed with sleep.

❋ ❋ ❋

Mike awoke alone, with heavy limbs and aching muscles. The wind carried through the boat's edges was sweet and sultry and the sun illuminated above him, warming the bronze that covered his back. He lifted himself into his elbows and looked around over the edge of the boat. He was on the shore of what he assumed was an island. Huge trees with fresh, juicy apricots hanging from their branches were scattered around the island. Behind him was the open ocean, nothing in sight besides the mountains which were miles away. The tide came in and out and he watched as the sand absorbed the water as the tide drew back.

Mike stood up, armor creaking with the shifting weight. He pried his helmet off his head, his sweat slick hair clinging to it. He tossed it to the side with a huff. He grabbed his sword and slid it into the sheath strap on his hip.

Stepping out of the boat carefully, he was met by plush flowers that pooled around his ankles. He looked back at the boat. The front was demolished because of the monster. He was surprised Dustin had made it so far given the state of their boat. Where were they? Mike thought. He hadn't heard them leave or anything–they were simply gone.

Mike placed his hands on the small of his back and bent rearwards, receiving some sharp pops in response. He exhaled through his nose and continued his walk through the forest. Birds sang their soothing lullabies from their spots in the trees and the gentle wind wrapped around his curls.

Up ahead, he heard footsteps. They were quick and close together; running. Mike took a step back and unsheathed his sword, raising it with both hands. He clammed up, breathing through his nose. The quick footfall got louder, closer and Mike gripped his sword, eyes locked toward the direction in which the sound was coming from.

A girl with burning red hair ran toward him, her golden bracelets clinking together as her arms moved back and forward. The bottom of her white skirt was caked with mud.

“Mike!” It was Max.

“Max, are you alright?” He lowered his sword.

She caught up to him, panting. She glanced behind her nervously but from what Mike could see, no one was following her. She turned back to him, eyebrows furrowed.

“We–we found a palace and,” She gasped, “and we heard this voice—a wonderful, lively voice–singing, but there was something—someone—lurking inside.”

Mike studied her carefully. “What did the palace hide?”

“A man. He–he offered us rest and food. I was skeptical but followed Lucas and Dustin inside. They sat down and he offered them watered-wine but when they drank it..” She paused, her eyes darting across Mike's face.”

“Max,” Mike spoke carefully, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“He did something to the wine Mike. He changed them.”

“Changed them how?”

Max glanced behind her once more, fresh sweat dripping down her temple. The loose hairs from her braid clung to her face and neck. “While they ate, they began to grow shouts and cloven hooves. He turned them from men to pigs. Mike, we must do something.

“We’ll have to fight this..man.” Mike spoke, glancing out towards the woods.

“No!” Fear flashed in her eyes. “No, we can not. This is unlike anything we’ve faced before; the gods, and monsters have nothing to compare. We are weak to a power such as his.” Max spoke fast, seemingly in one breath.

Mike clenched his sword. “Where are they now?”

“The pen. He led them there. He watched me run, Mike. He knew I was getting help. He is not stupid, he knows someone is coming for him.”

Mike straightened his posture. Fear swelled in him as he glanced into the forest, now knowing what lay inside. “Did he go back into the palace?”

Max nodded, swallowing her nerves down.

“Okay, you need to go back to the pen and watch over Dustin and Lucas, make sure they are not harmed. Grab a spear in the boat,” He gestured behind him, “and make sure he does not come out again. I will follow close behind but we don’t want him knowing you came for me, but for the spear alone.”

Max blinked, processing. “Okay.” She regarded him once more before setting her attention on the boat back on shore. Mike watched her as she grabbed a spear from the chest. She made her way back up to him, nodded, and headed back towards the palace.

I hope you enjoyed chapter 1 so far! i have NO idea when this is coming out (I'm debating on finishing it in its entirety and then post a chapter every Friday) but i know it will be start getting posted around May-July. Also keep in mind that this is a draft so it going to be pretty shitty.

@will80sbyers @unlockedcuriositydoor @sillylittlerock heard u guys were interested 🙏

ao3: mid13s

character playlists:

#i already have like five chapters written #Its gonna be split up into sagas #the karidá saga #the pythia saga #and the vecna saga #the playlists will make more sense as the fic progresses #but it's a nice way to get a feel of this universes mike and will #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things #fanfic #cleradin #< vibes tbh #wiseheart #Spotify

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sugolara · 1 year

Text

𝘿𝙪𝙙𝙚, 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙩 𝙚𝙡𝙗𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚

feat. katsuki bakugo x fem! reader

cw: crack? idk

˗ˏˋ+ ´ˎ˗ where katsuki and y/n start a game of elbowing, refusing to end the game and being called a loser.

"and then she got mad at me because i didn't lend her my makeup. she had pinkeye and it wasn't sanitary. i'm not a bad friend, am i?" momo worriedly asked y/n, who stood next to momo's seat.

y/n nodded with her hand underneath her chin, "yeah, you right, i wouldn't let her use it either."

they continued chatting and waited for the school bell to ring. every now and then students would come in and out. the teacher, shota, sleeping on his desk and waiting for the bell to ring as well.

when the school bell rang, the kids slowly went back to their seat. as for y/n, she waited for momo to finish her conversation. y/n then felt a sharp pain on her side. momo quickly stood up as y/n hurled in pain, "are you okay?!"

y/n didn't need to turn to the figure who had elbowed her. she waved momo off and walked to her seat clutching her side and mumbling, "i'm fine, i'm fine."

from the distance, denki and eijiro stared at each other. denki sighed, "they're still going at it?"

eijiro sighed as well, "yep."

the whole class, katsuki felt a pair of (e/c) eyes glaring at the back of his head. he turned to look at y/n, giving her a not so friendly smile. he saw her give him a dirty look and mouthed at him, 'watch you're back.'

when the final bell had rang, indicating that school was over, everyone had packed up and left through the school gate. it was maybe five minutes after the bell had rang and the school was almost completely empty, besides the school staff.

the only last two remaining students were katsuki, who needed to speak to all might, and y/n who stayed behind to talk to shota who gave her a low score on english.

coincidentally, they both ended up exiting the school at the same time. and now they walked side by side.

they glared ahead, finding each others presence annoying. katsuki's sneered as y/n 'accidently' shoved him, making him trip over his steps. her small chuckle angering the blonde headed male.

then the game had started again, katsuki nudged her and she nudged him back. the nudges quickly turned into shoves.

"dude, quit it."

"you quit it."

then they started elbowing each other, like really hard.

"ow, motherfucker!" y/n yelled as she rammed her elbow into him and stomped on his foot.

"ow! what the fuck!" katsuki seethed in pain and rammed his elbow on her side. the entire walk was filled with pain, they were sure they would have bruises on their side.

katsuki's last straw was when she literally punched him on the side. and without even thinking, katsuki had shoved her into some random bushes and ran like hell while giggling. the last thing he heard was her shrieking voice.

"bakugo!"

#katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katuski #katsuki x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugō #x reader #mha bakugou #mha #mha crack

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years

Text

Trouble in Paradise | 1.6 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

Warnings: no use of y/n, age gap (rooster is in his mid-30s, reader is in her early 20s), no major warnings in this one (:

…

It’s one of those nights where you fall asleep so quickly that you don’t even realise you’re out until you’re waking up, trying to stretch your limbs. Your brows furrow. You’re met with stiffness and a dull ache in all four limbs. You whine softly and push harder to stretch them out. A stronger ache passes through your entire body.

You whine softly and turn your face towards the sheets, there’s a sharp white behind your eyelids that’s threatening you with a headache before you’ve even opened your eyes.

You look down. Rooster’s got both of his arms wrapped around your middle, he’s got your arms pinned awkwardly against your own chest. He’s spooning you. His knee is wedged between yours and raised, so your legs have been squished and bent to fit him all night.

Your spine aches. You aren’t sure whether that’s from the awkward night’s sleep or the activities that came before the sleep. You don’t have the room to stretch it out, not with how tightly Rooster has wound himself against you.

You aim to push against him enough to wriggle free. His arms tighten around you as he pushes his face into the crook of your neck. You sigh softly, giving in to his embrace for a moment. You blink your eyes open, met with an even more intense blinding white than had been behind your eyelids.

You had fallen asleep with the curtains open again. You won’t take the blame for that. It isn’t your fault that you were too tired to close them. The culprit is snoring softly against your shoulder.

His heart beats steadily against your back. You wonder how the hell he can sleep with the light streaming in through the window. He smells different. You wonder if he bought new cologne to impress you. It’s nice.

You can’t turn to face him with how tight he’s holding you, but you wonder what he looks like this morning. Your fingertips trail along his tanned forearm lazily. You miss him.

You miss waking up like this, but when you were excited to turn around and see his face.

You wriggle a little, trying to stir to see if you can get him to wake up enough to release you. Rooster shifts, groaning softly. His arms constrict as he pulls you tighter against him.

“Rooster,” You complain. He hmms. “Wake up. You’re crushing me.”

He opens one eye and relaxes his arms a little. He kisses your neck and snuggles against your back, “Sorry, baby.”

You stare at the view outside. Watch the leaves blow in the breeze. Clouds pass gently toward the horizon. You drive your elbow backwards into his bare ribs. He gasps, withdrawing and clutching the affected area with both hands. You use the sudden freedom to push yourself up and away from him.

Rooster groans softly as he rubs at his tender ribs, “What was that for?”

You stare at him, trying to come up with a reasonable answer.

“A couple of things.” You decide, letting out a heavy breath. He opens one eye, then sighs. He pushes himself up - awake against his best efforts. He scrunches his brows at you.

“And violence is the answer?” He mutters begrudgingly.

“Could’ve been worse.” You push up and step over him. You decide it’s best not to stay in bed with him. Rooster nods in acknowledgement, he supposes that you probably could have done worse than just elbow him.

You stretch up, whining in complaint as the ache in your spine worsens with movement. You glare at him.

He rubs tiredly at his eyes, “You sleep funny?”

The glare intensifies. This must be his fault too. He sits up all the way and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. You open your mouth to tell him not to bother apologising. He doesn’t bother anyway. He catches your wrist and tugs you closer, pulling you down to sit against his thigh.

“Good morning.” He ignores the conversation from before and decides to start over. You press the tongue to the inside of your cheek and narrow your eyes slightly. You’re embarrassed about last night and even more embarrassed about waking up next to someone who broke your heart. He leans forwards and kisses your temple delicately.

“Can we talk about what you said last night?” He says softly. You stare at the floor.

“No.”

Rooster presses his lips softly to your shoulder. If you still aren’t willing to talk to him, then he’s content enough to hold you for as long as you’ll let him. He squeezes his arms softly around your waist and hums. You let him pull you back against his chest. He kisses your jaw.

Holding you in his arms, he can’t help but remember the pain he was in when he arrived here. Wandering aimlessly around base for seven whole days, sleeping constantly to ignore the fact that his heart ached. He remembers the short skirt, the infectious smile and the green bronco. His fingers in your mouth and your legs up around his waist.

He remembers every single moment of falling for you.

“How about we go for a drive?” Rooster offers. He presses his lips to your neck softly.

You consider it. His hands skim under the sides of your t-shirt as he tugs you closer to him. You consider driving your elbow into his ribs again.

“Please?” He murmurs, lips grazing your ear as he speaks. You close your eyes and wish you had inherited better self control from either one of your parents. You push yourself out of his arms.

“We’re taking my car,” You say it just to have some kind of power in this conversation. It makes you feel better about saying yes to him. “Come on.”

He stands with you, adjusting himself over his boxers as he follows you to the bathroom. He steps out behind you, met with a surprised squeak. He lifts his gaze and finds Ella and Kit in the kitchen, their heads turned to stare at him. The looks on their faces are nothing but abject horror.

“Good… morning.” Ella says it to Rooster but turns her gaze to look at you, her eyes widening. She silently scolds you and asks you what the fuck you think you’re doing in one move. Then, she looks back at Rooster like he didn’t also see her give you that look. He smiles sheepishly at her.

“This is a minor setback, we still don’t like him.” You answer, grabbing his hand in yours. Rooster scoffs as he lets you lead him into the bathroom.

Rooster turns the lock on the bathroom door behind the two of you, watching as you bend forwards to turn the shower on. He swats your ass with his palm and presses his bare chest to your back.

“You could’ve warned me that they were going to be out there.” Rooster mumbles. You grab your toothbrush from beside the sink. He’s surprised to find that the blue toothbrush he left her a while back is still in the holder. He grabs it and moves to stand on the other side of the sink. You both begin to brush your teeth.

You consider not saying anything. It could easily be left where it is. Or, you could mess with him.

“They know what you look like naked anyway.”

“Excuse me?” He raises his eyebrows at you. You shrug as you brush your teeth.

“Girls talk.” You answer calmly, turning towards the mirror. He scrunches his face disapprovingly, frowning around his toothbrush.

“What do you say about me?”

You turn your head towards him and smile. He scrunches his brows sternly.

Then, you decide to leave it at that. You watch him in the mirror. You can practically hear his mind working, trying to figure out what you might say about him. He’s trying to figure out how embarrassed to be the next time he looks one of them in the eye.

You put your toothbrush neatly back into the holder. The shower’s warm enough now that it’s starting to steam up the small, blue bathroom. You pull your shirt over your head first. Bradley watches with his toothbrush between his lips. You push your underwear down your legs and step under the warm stream of water. You pull the shower curtain shut behind you and you’re gone from view.

Bradley finishes brushing his teeth, rinses his bristles and sets the toothbrush back into its place beside yours. He steps out of his boxers and into the shower. You close your eyes. His chest presses gently to your back. He cranes his neck, pressing his lips delicately to your cheek.

You wait for him to make a move. To press himself against your ass, or grope at your tits. To kiss your neck. To prove to you that he’s only here for one thing, that he’s just like all the rest. He doesn’t. He isn’t. It would be easier to deny him if he was.

He hums softly as he rakes conditioner through your hair as softly as he can. He doesn’t quite get it, and his technique is a little off, but he’s so gentle. He’s trying. You lift your chin and let the water pour onto your cheeks, hoping it’ll mask any tears that might slip through.

Rooster’s lips press tenderly to your shoulder as his fingers work the product into your hair.

“So pretty, baby.” He murmurs affectionately. You feel a lump in your throat.

Rooster still has clothes at your place. Just a couple of shirts and some underwear, a couple of hats. A pair of sunglasses that he had figured he had lost. Once you’re dressed and dry, you feel like you can breathe again. Maybe it was just the steam getting to your head.

You grab your car keys, dangling the keychain from the tip of your index finger. You slip out intentionally quickly, leaving no room for Ella or Kit to question you. You grab his hand and tug him along with you.

Whilst you’re gripping his hand, he pulls your keys from your fingers and steps around you, heading for the driver’s side of the bronco.

“Who said you get to drive?” You frown.

“The fact that I know how to parallel park.” He answers, slipping into the seat and shutting the door behind him. You roll your eyes. You hit a curb a couple of times and he assumes you’re a bad driver. You hop into the passenger seat.

He doesn’t ask where you should go. You remember showing him around the island in the beginning.

It’s a December morning but the sun is high and it’s warm. You look across at him. He’s wearing sunglasses to shield his eyes from the blinding winter sun. He’s wearing navy blue. He has one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the car door. The roof is down, his hair is short but his curls are windswept.

You’re being exceptionally quiet. He knows that this feels wrong to you. He wants to change your mind.

You watch, feeling like you’re already looking back on a memory as he drums his fingers on the steering wheel to some guitar-heavy track from the seventies. He looks across at you and the corner of his mouth twitches slightly, like he’s going to smile at you.

You take a deep breath and lift your chin, breathing in sea salt and fresh air as he guides you along the coast.

He picks a spot on the other side of the island. Somewhere with a view of the ocean on one side and a mountain on the other. He wants to talk. You don’t. You pull your knees up to your chest and look towards the water. Rooster rests his chin against his fist and looks towards the land.

There’s so much that he needs to say. Waves crash on his right side and Bradley tries to regulate his breathing to the pattern. Anything to stop himself from saying the wrong thing again. He’s done it so many times already and he knows that he’s running out of excuses.

He presses his tongue to his cheek as he looks over at you again. You’re still looking the other way. He knows that you’re purposely avoiding his gaze.

“I love you.”

Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek.

“Could you look at me, please?” Bradley says gently. He reaches out and rests his hand on top of yours. His fingers curl around yours, squeezing against your fist softly. You turn your head towards him.

He can’t get an exact read on you. He knows immediately that you aren’t going to say it back. It doesn’t matter. You told him you loved him once, he’s sure that he can get you to say it again.

“I mean it,” Bradley insists, bringing your hand up to his mouth and kissing your knuckles. “I love you.”

You swallow sheepishly. It doesn’t mean much to you to hear it.

You had thought it would - you had wanted him to love you back. But you know that he loved her, and he still did what he did.

But he’s looking at you. Those pretty brown eyes that you had been so desperate to see on the first day. The same sad, aching look on his face. Desperate to be loved.

You push yourself up out of your seat and across the centre console. He parts his knees and wraps his arms around you as you settle into his lap. You sit against his thigh and rest your head against the curve of his neck. Bradley closes his eyes as you press a soft kiss to the base of his throat.

He squeezes his arms around you.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers, stroking his fingers delicately over your hair.

You nuzzle your face into his neck, closing your eyes. He kisses the top of your head and turns his head towards the view, skimming his fingertips along the length of your thigh. You listen to his heartbeat. It’s steady. Calm. There’s no indication that he’s lying and yet, there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to believe him.

You can’t deny the part of you that’s so glad to be here in his arms.

You lift your head and turn your jaw towards him. Bradley hums softly as you kiss his lips.

“Can I ask you something?” You say gently. Bradley nods his head instantly.

“Anything.” He agrees.

You swallow. It crosses your mind to just keep your mouth shut. To not ruin this. But you need to know.

“Have you… spoken to her? — Since it happened?” It happened. Since you broke that poor girl’s heart. You just don’t know how else to phrase it.

Rooster shakes his head and brushes your hair back off of your shoulders.

“No. Not once.” He promises, thinking that’s what you would like to hear. That’s worse. You rest your head against his strong shoulder once more. Bradley shivers as your fingertips toy with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“If you ran into her on the street… say, six years from now. Would you love her?” You ask softly. Bradley shakes his head.

“I fell out of love with her before all of this.” He admits. You lift your head and frown at I’m. Bradley doesn’t sound guilty. He is, but the nonchalance to his tone frightens you. “I care about her, but I don’t think I’ve loved for a while now.”

“And me? — If it was the same, if you ran into me six years from now… would you still care about me?” You ask.

“If I left tomorrow, you mean? — Would I still care about you?” Bradley breathes out. You nod to let him know that he’s correct. Bradley squeezes tenderly at your thigh.

“I think I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.” He admits.

Rooster’s brows furrow. You shift in his lap the moment he’s done talking. You turn yourself towards him and push your knees around either side of his hips.

“I love you.” Your voice gives you away, trembling as you tell him. He lets out a soft sigh. Relief floods him. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you hard against him, holding you tight in his arms — afraid of ever letting you go again.

…

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