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livinghostly · 3 months

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hey there, sunshine — suguru geto x reader

a/n: not in love w this !! but couldn't get the idea out of my brain when i was trying to sleep. was also intended to be for choso but got too ooc sooooo wc: 2.3k yet another date didn't work out for you, and your roommate bears the burden of listening to all your complaints. he also may or may not have a crush on you. fluff/humor

the soft orange of the painted sky poured through your blinds, slipping through the cracks and almost deliberately shining down on your eyes that just barely peeked beneath your comforter. your curtains waved back and forth with the fan, soft whirrs that once lulled you to sleep now drawing you from your slumber with a ragged groan. far gone was the fulfillment of your soothing dreams, your memories running farther and farther away as you tried to recall them and sink yourself back into that peace of mind.

you screwed your eyes shut in defense from the harsh rays of the sun, huffing in the warmth of your pillow before lifting your head and sandwiching yourself against the mattress. your fists squeezed the pillowcase with irritation, pulling as hard as you could manage to encase you in the comfort of your bed.

the birds chirped in unison, chattering as they built a nest on the apartment balcony your roommate refused to relocate (he called himself a humanitarian, but you were sure part of him refrained because he knew it bothered you). the slight creaks of your rotating fan were becoming more noticeable even as you tried to calm yourself back to sleep. you were uncomfortably warm now, the frustration culminating beneath your comforter and suffocating the air.

buzz.

your phone, shaking itself to life with a notification. you sighed.

buzz.

you thrashed the bedsheets away from you, your pillows and plushies cocooning in your blankets landing on the ground with a soft thump. the palm of your hand slammed against the hollow wood of your bedside table in a blind rage, desperately scouring your clutter in an attempt to locate your phone.

finally, you dug your nails into the rubber case and snagged it from the charger with a thwack. you rolled over to your side, squinting at the sunlight as you turned it on. three new messages, and an aspiring text bubble all from one person.

080-7766-5289

hey

good morning

would you want to get coffee with me?

the pondering text bubble finally popped, and your phone vibrated again.

maybe some breakfast too?

your groggy eyes glanced at the time. 8:23am. you barely had a chance to think through the onslaught of messages. the unrelenting number belonged to a guy you’d met at the bar last week, who was sweet enough for you to trade numbers with. last night had been your first date, a simple dinner and a movie.

unfortunately for him, you felt a better connection to the movie that night than to him. he was strangely stiff when you were around, answering any questions with caution that made you feel like an intruder for asking. comments and questions of his own were dry and anything but open-ended, his punctuation hanging in the stale air while you worked overtime to keep the conversation going.

it really didn’t seem worth it.

you shut off your phone and placed it on the table again, taking a deep breath. all at once, the scent of brewed coffee beans and pancakes wafted in from the kitchen. your stomach rumbled in response, mouth slightly watering as you came to terms with just how hungry you were.

you pulled yourself out of bed, dragging your feet along the plush carpet of the apartment. sluggishly, you ran your hands through your hair in an attempt to tame what mess it made of itself. it was cooler in the open loft, the windows propped open, welcoming the dewey air and various chattering of wild critters. those damn birds.

your roommate, suguru, was in the kitchen, his back to you as he worked his magic on the stovetop in front of him. his red apron was tied into neat bows wrapped around his neck and his waist– the words ‘kiss the cook’ plastered in bold font on the front of it with puckered lips, a gag gift from gojo last christmas that he had now worn to the point of the ends being frayed and stained with various ingredients.

he was wearing a black t-shirt that squeezed the tightness of his muscles, tense and working diligently as he flipped a pancake. his black basketball shorts hung loosely around his waist– surely thrown on haphazardly as he woke up –and he donned a pair of mismatched neon-striped socks. truly, a sight reserved for you, and only you.

on the island behind him, two steaming cups of coffee were presented next to empty plates. the pink one was yours, the black one was his. your utensils had a few extra napkins stuffed underneath them.

you make a mess one time and he can’t let it go.

he acknowledged your presence with a soft hum, before turning his head and offering a small smile. it was soft and captivating, just as he was. his charm washed over you as his gaze followed every part of your figure, raising a curious eyebrow at the sight of you missing a sock. nothing he hadn’t seen before, in fact, he’d seen you much worse and much more grumpy.

“good morning,” he said, his voice a low rumble. he met your tired eyes, taking in the delicate hues that warmed his skin. your eyebrows were still pinched together as you recovered from the confusion and discomfort of your untimely awakening. “rough night?”

“rough everything,” you huffed, grabbing your coffee and shuffling next to him. you hoisted yourself up to sit next to the stack of pancakes he’d created and leaned your head against the cabinets.

suguru watched carefully as you took a sip of your coffee, a sense of pride fluttered in his stomach when a content smile graced your lips. his motions came to a slow stop as he stared you down. you paid him no mind as you wrapped both hands around the mug for warmth and basked in the taste again, then kept it close to your chest as you licked the sweetness off your lips.

after many months, he’d refined your coffee blend to your ideal taste. pestering you each time if you liked it enough, or what he could improve on to make sure that his handiwork was no less than perfect in your eyes. he reveled in the way you adored his cooking, putting pieces of himself– his adoration, compassion, and sentiment –into his creations and curating your taste closer to his own.

his grip on the spatula loosened, nearly slipping out of his hand and bringing him back to reality.

suguru cleared his throat and resumed his task, sliding an additional pancake onto the tower, slowly but surely resembling the one of pisa. he kept his head low with a merciless blush refusing to back down. you didn’t notice. “did it not go well?”

“it was… fine, i guess.” you sighed, beginning to zone out as you stared down a picture frame hanging not too far away.

it was you and suguru, one of the first few nights you had finally gotten comfortable being around him and he’d invited you to meet his friends. more so, he begged you to come out of your room and gave you no room for escape when he sandwiched you between himself and the couch’s armrest. shoko took the photo, stealthily enough you didn’t realize it existed until you saw it hanging in the hallway.

suguru’s arm was thrown over the back of the couch, a lazy grin on his face as he looked at you. (gojo told him he looked goofy with that expression. lovestruck didn’t ‘suit’ him.) you couldn’t stop laughing at one of his many sly comments he’d whisper to you, covering your face as you cackled and peeked through them to get a look at him. his stare made your face burn hot and you kept it covered until gojo managed to grab everyone’s attention, like he always did.

it felt so long ago when suguru existed as your shy, withdrawn roommate who would stare at you with, seemingly, a dull interest when you spoke to him. despite his staring, he was always polite and considerate of your needs, your time, your privacy. he invited you to the food he’d make, setting aside extra servings for you. if you had already eaten, they’d go in the fridge with a sticky note on it.

then he was recording your shows, buying your snacks, anything he got for himself he seemed to get one for you as well, in a different color. it all came with ease, drawing you into his routines like he had his own gravitational pull and you were stuck in his orbit.

as he’d gotten to know you, he learned how spiteful you were to any form of change. you hated it when your go-to brands changed their packaging, when your restaurants were out of your preferred foods, or when your route to work was partially under construction. but you adjusted, without contest, to suguru’s rituals like it was nothing at all.

“i don’t know. maybe i’m being mean, but he was so, like, hard to talk to,” you shrugged. “it is so tiring to be the one doing all the talking.”

suguru doesn’t say anything, just nods.

“and then he texted me good morning. in what world are we in the good-morning-text phase?” you pouted, looking at him. “so weird. i barely know him.”

“and he asked me out for coffee. and breakfast. why would i do that?” suguru’s gaze flutters over you as you take a sip from your mug, his eyes lingering on the way you bite your lip in thought afterward. he chooses to stay quiet, inviting you to ramble for as long as you pleased, as long as he would be the one to hear your voice. “i don’t think i have the brainpower for either of those things and carrying an entire conversation on my back. it’s not even 9 in the morning.”

he turned the stovetop off, taking the pan over to the sink to wash. the mixing bowl and other utensils were taken care of earlier and already set aside on the drying rack, always so tidy.

“so, not well,” suguru concluded, his lips turning into a smirk. he teased, “i won’t get to meet him?”

“no, never. but also i got a free dinner and a movie out of it. so, something went right...”

he chuckled. the one thing men are good for, you’d told him before. in that way, he really wasn’t any different from the rest of your roster. he supplied you with food and outings, and wouldn’t dream of you paying for them, paying no mind to the way you’d protest and nearly brawl at the register.

suguru never met any of your dates, you’d disappear into the night– or days on end, not allowing them the gratification of crossing the threshold of your apartment.

he began to separate the pancakes onto your respective plates and set a small bowl of sliced fruit between them for you to share. he cleared his throat. “on to the next, then?”

“maybe… i don’t know. the thought of going out and all the dates is just so exhausting.”

suguru hummed again. a man of few words. he liked the idea of you staying in– staying home, with him. he honestly wasn’t sure how many horrible date stories he could handle, you could do so much better. you deserved better, and he could give it to you.

he twirled his fork as you slipped behind him, gently caressing his back as you passed. a warm trail remained in the absence of your hand, burning into his skin before dissipating into nothing more than a longing to reel back into your embrace again. “are you still interested in that bodega that just opened up? i don’t want to exhaust you.”

“no, that's not…” you paused, slipping into your stool, mouth agape as you found your words. “it’s different, with you, you know. it’s easy.”

“i’m easy?”

it was too early in the morning for his games. you sputtered. “no– stop! that’s not what i’m saying.”

suguru chuckled. “we don’t have to call it a date, you know, if it makes it easier.”

“what?” you blinked, then narrowing your eyes at him. the sun from the loft brightened his toffee-colored eyes that bored into you expectantly, though not bothering to repeat himself. he’d rather watch you squirm while he kept that stupid grin on his face. “do you think you’re making me feel better?”

the gentle glow of his skin was unmatched to anything, or anyone, you’ve seen. his hair was unbrushed, the slight curls framing the sides of his face and tickling underneath his chin. he was always elegant. and pretty. unfortunately, he was just as aware as you were.

he shrugged half-heartedly, taking note of the way your fingers bounced your fork in the air as you stared. “don’t worry if you don’t want to go.”

“i do want to go.”

“so, it’s a date, then.”

suguru took a quick bite of his pancakes, poorly hiding his taunting grin with stuffed cheeks. maybe later he would feel guilty, making you all flustered so soon after waking up, drowsiness anchoring your posture against the stool. but, for now, with you in front of him, he found himself giddy as he toyed with your reactions.

“you’re impossible sometimes, do you know that?” you opted for taking a sip of your coffee, an anxious whisper in the shell of your ear warning you that you were going to embarrass yourself by chewing with your mouth full. as if he hadn't seen it before. it was hard to avoid his stare, to escape the painful position he put you in. was he serious?

you mumbled into your mug, “you hang out with gojo too much. is he gonna tag along, too?”

(gojo, the master of getting anything he wanted, any time, anywhere, no matter what.)

“it hurt's me, that you're thinking about him at a time like this.”

he smiled, more genuine this time. you watched him carefully, catching the nervous twitch of his fingertips he combated with a melodic thrum against the island. you considered how sincere his tone was, his gentle demeanor somehow becoming more soft as his playfulness subsided.

"let me take you out."

you blinked, chewing on your lip thoughtfully. "to... the bodega?"

suguru laughed. "of course. i was thinking of a few different places, though."

"as in more dates?" you poked in his direction with your fork. he nodded. "who says we make it past one?"

"why not? we've already made it to our 'good morning' and 'eating breakfast together' phase."

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk suguru #jjk suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto fluff #suguru fluff #geto fluff #jujutsu kaisen suguru #gojo mentioned #lol #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto #spleen writes

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kittenintheden · 1 month

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Poker Face

the one-shot I've been teasing has dropped! thank you to every last one of you who supported me and contributed to this. you know who you are. and if you don't know, you will. enjoy!!!

Rating: E Paring: Astarion/GN!Tav Wordcount: 2.2k Content: established relationship, gender-neutral Tav (?), quickie, semi-public sex, party sex, blowjob, penetrative sex, use of lube, The Horrors (?)

You and Astarion are having a casual evening hanging out with some friends. When you spy him from across the room, he gives you a tell only you know.

He wants you. Here and now. And you're happy to oblige.

Astarion has a tell.

Several of them, if you’re being honest, but one in particular with a specific connotation. You catch him tonight as you look over your shoulder, laughing at something your friend just said. On the other side of the room, your love leans against the wall, also engaged in conversation with someone at this casual gathering in the loft above Dammon’s shop.

Astarion smiles blandly at his company before he meets your eye and it turns genuine. A subtle change in the lines of his face that you’ve come to know so well, eyes going rounder and the sharp points of his teeth glinting through his parted lips. That isn’t the tell.

The tell is when he raises his hand to his mouth and rubs the pad of his thumb over his lower lip, letting it pull from the tension ever so slightly as his eyes look you up and down. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and you’re not about to tell him, but you know exactly what it means even as he turns back to his conversation.

He wants you. Here and now. There’s no doubt in your mind that there’s a dull ache starting between his legs, just as it’s starting between yours.

You take a sip from your goblet, letting the wine swirl on your tongue as you pay your companions a placating smile, only half-listening to the subject of their discussion. After a few minutes, you graciously excuse yourself and move toward Astarion’s group. You notice his head turn slightly at your approach.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you say to the others as you run your fingers over his shirt sleeve before looking into his face. “I could use some air. Would you walk with me?”

“Of course, my sweet,” he says, voice the very essence of chivalry. He takes your goblet and sets it on the side table, offering his arm. You accept it and allow him to lead you outside the flat and down the stairs. When you hit the ground floor, you gently guide him with you out of sight.

“What’s this?” he teases.

In answer, you put one hand on his waist and slide the other hand around the back of his neck to draw him into a deep soul kiss. When he immediately opens to you without a hint of resistance, you know you were right. Before you pull away, you gently suck his lower lip and listen to him whine when you give it a light nibble.

“You looked like you needed a walk,” you whisper against his mouth. “Partner’s intuition. Was I wrong?”

Astarion tucks his chin and looks up at you, pupils overtaking the heated red irises of his eyes. “No.” He reaches around to twist the cloth at the base of your spine in his fist and pull you flush against him, where you can feel something rigid against your hip. “You weren’t.”

You know what that ridge is.

You open the door to Dammon’s storage shed and pull Astarion along behind you. You fumble with the nearest lantern until the flame lights, casting the space in a flickering orange glow before you pull the door shut. With a laugh, you herd him into the closest open expanse, careful where you step.

Astarion’s back hits the wall. He growls and takes you by the wrist, dragging your fingers down the fabric of his shirt until you’re pressed tight to the firm length of his quivering member through his trousers. You meet his eyes, inches from your own, and note the way he pants out his breath between the points of his teeth.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” he whispers, tilting his chin toward you. “The way my magic male love stick is pulled to you like you’re the Sailor’s Star? The way I want to put my peepee in your peepee?”

Your eyelids go heavy and hooded. You tilt your head and catch his mouth in a kiss and feel the vibration of his approving hum through his lips. At the same time, you give his heckin long chonk a slow stroke through the fabric and his body leans into yours, knees gone weak. He licks along your lip with a quiet groan.

Oh, how you love him like this. Hornt up and ready to ride, tender and eager. He’s frothin’ for you instead of thinking of his next move, and the one after that, and the one after that. Split open like a hot dog bun, 100% all beef frank and condiments spilling from him in a cascade.

Such a show of trust, of love, to let you see exactly how badly he wants to take the skin boat to tuna town. To put that knowledge and that power in your hands.

You’ll show him his trust is well-placed.

Reluctantly, you break from his mouth and he tries to follow you, tries to maintain the connection with a breathy whine. You swallow hard and run your fingers over his jawline. “Where do you want this, dearest? What would you like?”

“Your gibbering gob,” he gasps, still fighting you for another kiss. “I want you to put your piehole on me.”

“On you where?” you whisper, brushing your lips barely against his.

“On my piehole.” His voice contains the hint of a growl, now. “My neck. My chest, my stomach, my schlong.” He tests your will to hold him at bay. “Especially my big pulsating pocket rocket.”

You grin and wrinkle your nose, running your fingers up either side of his head to thread into his hair as you roll your body into his, capturing his lips with an agreeable purr. As requested, you release him and instead reach for his linen shirt, pulling it free of his trousers where he’s tucked it. He doesn’t release you from the kiss until the shirt has to go over his head. You drop it on the floor and put your hot mouth against the side of his neck, following the column of his throat with tooth and tongue. His back arches up off the wall and you use your weight to keep him in place.

Kisses travel across the expanse of his chest and over his undulating abdomen, incapable of staying still in his current state of total horned upitude. With gentle fingers, you pull at the fastenings at the front of his trousers, working them open enough to kiss and lick to the hem of his underoos. You spend a teasing amount of time running the tip of your tongue just under the band before he huffs his impatience at you.

When you sit back to look up at him, you find his eyes lidded and teeming with glossy lust, curls hanging down around his head. “I need you to slobber my knobber, my love,” he says softly.

“You do?” you ask him sweetly, even as you continue working his banana hammock to free his dingdingdong. He sighs his relief when he feels it in your hand, your fingers dancing lightly over that velvet salami.

“I love your mouth muscle on me.” He gasps sharply when you reward him with a light lick under the bulbous mushroom. “Love your sloppy toppies, your…” Another gasp as you swirl your tongue round him. “Gods, I need you to blow my job right now, I can’t think-”

His groan is low and wanting as you take him fully, letting the length of his one-eyed snake slide over the curl of your oral slug as far as you can go without gagging. You hollow your cheeks slightly, giving him the suction he seeks, and begin to move, working his love popsicle slowly.

“Yes,” he breathes, leaning heavily back into the wall even as he gently cants his hips in time with your mouth. You feel the light touch of his fingertips against your temple, moving back to play with your hair. When he looks down again to observe, he adds, “Such a sweet orifice, so perfect for my tallywacker. You are so beautiful like this. Could watch you… forever.”

Forever is a very long time, which you remind him by increasing your efforts, head moving quicker now, your tongue dragging along the underside of his organic dildo. He shudders forward, curling over you, humming.

“Ah, good to me, so good, gods, gods, that-” His words are cut through with an aching moan and you feel his steel rod swell (somehow) and go harder (than steel) against the softness of your mouth.

Then he has his arms underneath your arms and he pulls you bodily off him, up and away, and then you’re on your feet and he’s spinning you both around until your back is the one against the wall.

“What-” you start, but then he’s face humping you with his mouth, tongue desperately tasting.

You feel his hand digging into your side pouch and for one incredulous moment you think he’s trying to bloody pickpocket you mid-doink, but then you hear the near-indistinguishable pop of a cork and realize he’s found the vial of oily sex sauce you keep on hand. He moves to your neck, suckling and kissing, and you glance down to see him pumping his piston dick with his greasy hand.

He raises glazed, ruddy eyes to look deep into you, the rosemary and citrus scent of him resiny and bright. With the same hand he used on himself, he runs his palm straight down the front of your pants and crotch sling to slip in between your legs. Immediately, you lift a knee and he grabs hold of it with his free hand, hoisting it up and wide to get all up in there.

With a winded laugh, he says, “Didn’t know how ready you’d be, and I don’t want to wait.”

“So don’t,” you gasp, your eyes rolling back into your head as his slicked hand slides against your meat curtains in a dizzying way. He works the tips of his fingers inside your love pocket, testing as much as needed, and when he’s satisfied, he pulls his hand free.

You’re fairly certain you pull out a seam in your leggings in the rush to get them off, but neither of you care. True to his word, Astarion hikes your leg back up high and plunges his fuck stem into your bajingo without further pretense, the pair of you choking back your cries as you start doing the horizontal tango, except it’s vertical because you’re up against the wall. With his hand splayed over your hip and booty-butt to keep you in place, his fingers press into your skin on that delightful edge between pressure and pain.

“I a-ache,” Astairon stammers, swallowing hard as he helps you bounce on his fat hog. “Every moment you’re near, I… I ache for you.”

With his free hand, he goes under the hem of your draping shirt and runs his cool fingers up over your torso to your chest, massaging you in slow circles and giving those pink nubs a good once-over. He churns you like butter with his wand of penetration like he can’t wait, like this is the first time, like this is the last time, like this is every time in between.

You whine out your horniness and drop your head back, exposing the length of your throat to him as your jollies climb higher, coil tighter. He clings to you as though you’re life itself, using the wall for leverage as he angles you until he hits that good shit that makes you hiccup.

“Give me this, gorgeous,” he gasps, his humpy-humps firm and rhythmic. “I want to feel your b/p/ussy clench, come on. Let me feel you, let… spurt for… gimme cummies…”

You do. Your body shivers from your toes to the top of your head, radiating in waves from the core of you. Astarion gives a strangled cry almost like a sob as the strength of your whambam hits him, rippling along the length of his tickle stick where it’s bottomed out inside you. The place where you meet goes sticky-wet with your lubricating ointment.

He hoists you higher onto the wall, your legs tight around his waist, until you’re looking down into his face, your arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“You are so beautiful like this,” you say, whispering his own words back to him.

It isn’t a lie. Never has been, never will be. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, gazing up at you with eyes the color of lifeblood and hair the color of moonlight as he bumps your ugly, as close as he can possibly get. Just like always, he tries to keep it together, to be the picture of confidence and seductive heat, and just like always, he can’t quite manage it as he closes in on the final moment of your bonedogging, his flesh chandelier slapping a final time.

His eyes fall closed, his brow tenses, and his lips part as quiet ah ah ahs fall from them. He grabs your hips with both hands and pulls you firmly to him, rolling once more before he releases his brogurt with a shaky exhale, spine arching and head falling back. Tension rolls off his body like rainwater, pooling beneath the pair of you as your cardinal sinning slows and stops.

Without a word, Astarion tilts his head forward again, eyes shut, and finds your mouth with his, lips soft and sweet as sugarcane. His head lolls to the side to lay on your shoulder and you feel his smile stretch against the skin of your neck.

“April Fool’s,” he whispers. “Sucker.”

so, this was a joke. obviously, I hope. APRIL FOOL'S LOL.

there is, however, a real actually sexy version and you can find that one right here. sorry. no I'm not. mwah love you all.

#astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x tav #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gender neutral reader #kitten writes #I am not sorry

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hawkeyetrained · 1 year

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Bait

Derek Hale x Fem!reader

Other Characters: Peter Hale, Stiles, Lydia, Scott, Malia (mentioned), Liam (mentioned)

Warnings: angst, fighting, cuts and scrapes

Summary: When girls are being killed in Beacon Hills, and looks just like her, she gives the idea of using herself as bait.

Word Count: 2,427

Summer in Beacon Hills brought on a heat wave this year, making everything in the supernatural world that much harder. Lydia and I had gone shopping a week or so prior, so the two of us had gotten lucky with some clothes prepared for the heat, but the rest of the pack didn’t think to plan ahead. Most of the boys had traded in their long sleeves and flannels for t-shirts fairly quickly, opting to get out of the werewolf heat along with the heat from the sun.

The pack and I had been close since Scott first turned. I basically grew up with Lydia as my best friend, and Scott and Stiles were always around. When I first met Derek, I was in the woods with the boys when they had lost Scott’s inhaler. Ever since that day, the former alpha and I had been inseparable.

Now, we were halfway through our summer break before senior year and facing the latest big bad that decided to terrorize our little town. Stiles had noticed the pattern far before any of us did, alerting us to the bodies of young girls who had begun turning up in the woods, all having one scary connection. The four bodies that had been found were all going into their senior year here at Beacon Hills High and had H/C hair and E/C eyes, just like me. When Derek heard of the connection, I was no longer allowed to go out into the woods at all or be left alone anywhere. I was to be watched 24/7 until we caught whatever was killing the girls. I was alright with his plan, wanting to make him happy, but I was also scared that I would be the next body in the woods that Sheriff Stilinski would find.

“Hey.” A voice snapped me from my daydream on the couch in Derek’s loft. “You alright?” It was Peter, knelt down in front of me, his eyes full of worry.

I nodded and gave him a soft smile. “I’m ok.” Of his relationships with the rest of the pack, he and I got along the best. Peter could sense the love Derek and I held for each other, basically from day one, and was very protective of that. He never snapped at me, would bring me what I needed if I asked for it, and had volunteered to stay with me when I worked or needed a ride if Derek happened to be busy.

“You’re lying.” Damn the werewolf hearing. “Your heartbeat changes when you lie, it almost literally skips a beat.” He had a soft smirk on his face to show me he meant no offense.

I ran a hand through the ends of my hair as the last of the pack finally showed up for the meeting. “Just worried, I guess.” He stood and held his hands out to pull me to my feet, allowing me to drift over to Derek’s side as the meeting began.

“Any leads?” The true alpha asked, earning shaking heads and shrugs from the rest of the pack.

The werewolves went back and forth for a while, exchanging ideas on how to catch the new creature, trying to figure out what exactly it was, while Lydia and I shared looks between the two of us, almost having a silent conversation.

So, when I spoke up, she wasn’t all that surprised. “We know what it goes after.”

“We do.” Peter nodded, trying to see where I was going with it and wanting to see if he’ll need to calm his nephew down when I made my point.

“What if we set up a trap?”

“And how do we do that?” Derek’s eyes locked on me with his arms crossed over his chest.

I took a moment to square off my shoulders and hide the fear creeping up in my body that nearly everyone in the room could smell. “You need bait, to draw it out.”

“We can’t just send some random girl from the school, that knows nothing of the supernatural, out into the woods and hope they don’t get killed before we find our monster.” Stiles retorted, throwing his hands in the air.

I rolled my eyes and watched as Lydia smacked the back of his head. “She doesn’t mean someone random.”

Her comment made every set of eyes land on my face, my cheeks going red from all the attention. “What? We know that whatever this is, likes girls going into senior year here with H/C hair and E/C eyes.” I waved my hands to my face. “I kinda fit the description if you don’t remember.”

“No.” Derek growled out quickly. “No way in hell are you going to play bait for this monster.”

“Derek’s right.” Peter agreed with his nephew.

I groaned. “I can’t just sit around and wait for another body to drop when I know there’s something I can do! I get it, I’m human and therefore have no chance against this thing, but I’m also not saying I’ll be alone. Scatter yourselves through the woods, keep an eye on me as I walk around. This could be the only chance we get to stop this thing before it kills another girl we’re supposed to graduate with!”

“Not going to happen.” Came from Derek again.

I was about to speak again when Stiles’s phone rang through the loft. He answered quickly and had a quiet conversation with whoever was on the other end. “So, that was my dad.” My movements froze and I could feel Derek stiffen up next to me. “There’s another body, a lot closer to town this time.”

“Who?” Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Caroline Mathews, I think he said. She’s been missing for three days.”

Caroline and I had the same chemistry class back in sophomore year, we were even lab partners for the better half of the year. “I knew her.” I mumbled.

This was the first girl to die with one of us truly knowing her. It had just been newer girls to the school that we all hadn’t met yet, or ones that we never shared classes with throughout the years. “Really?” Lydia came over to my side as I gave her a nod.

“She was my lab partner in chem two years ago. We used to joke around with Miss Mitchel that we were each other since we looked so alike.” Lydia wrapped an arm around my shoulder comfortingly. My eyes flashed up to Derek. “Please, you have to let me do this. I don’t want more families suffering because their daughter was killed. It’s bad enough we’re up to five now. Please.” My eyes were wide, and my heart pounded in my chest, waiting for the next “no” to leave his lips.

He hesitated before dropping his crossed arms and grabbing my hand. “Can we talk a minute?” I nodded, taking his hand tightly and following him out onto the balcony and into the summer heat. “You really want to risk your life on something we can figure out soon?”

“I know you’re scared, ok, I’m scared. But I also don’t want anyone else dying when there’s a chance that I can help stop this. Please. I’ll do everything you say and stay within eyesight. I swear to you.”

A deep sigh left Derek’s mouth and he suddenly pulled me into his chest tightly. “You do exactly as I say, and we do this tonight and tonight only. Anything goes south, you yell for help, even if we’re right there.” I nodded into his chest, hugging him back before we both went back inside to tell the pack of the plan for tonight.

Six hours later, I had added a green jacket to my outfit and had begun walking around the woods. The sun was slowly setting, and the rest of the pack was spread through the woods, Derek and Peter closest to me, flanking both of my sides about 500 feet away. The rest of the pack was spread out, listening for any strange sounds that shouldn’t belong or any odd scents. My heart pounded in my chest as I wondered around the woods, trying to keep track of where I was and where I had come from. I knew Derek wouldn’t let me get lost, but I wanted to make sure that I could run if I needed to.

My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket, my fingers flying to the object and pulling it up. A text from Lydia lit my screen up. Anything yet?

I quickly typed a message back. Nothing.

A message from Derek was next, popping to the top of my screen. Take a deep breath. You’re safe. Only a little longer before we call it a night.

My eyes flickered in the direction I knew Derek was following me, my eyes searching impossibly in the dark for him. I left the message open, not really knowing what to say or how to tell him that I was absolutely terrified being out in the woods, even though it was my idea to start.

Suddenly, there were heavy footsteps coming up from behind me, and moving fast. I quickly locked my phone, trying to slide it back in my pocket. Just as I was about to yell out for Derek and Peter, a body slammed into mine, sending me crashing to the ground and my phone flying away. Fear gripped me like a vice, squeezing my chest tighter and tighter as my brain tried working on what to do. I knew I needed to call out for the two Hale’s in the woods, to get up and run as fast and as far as I could, but nothing was working.

Deep growls filled the woods next, hands gripping onto my arms and pinning me into the dirt. I finally managed to crack my eyes open to get a look at what was huffing loudly, only to come face-to-face with an unfamiliar werewolf. His face was shifted, deep brown hair ruffled around his face and fangs barred at me with glowing blue eyes.

My chest tightened as his claws started digging into my skin. God, where were Derek and Peter? I struggled in the wolf’s hold, trying to pull my hands free, kicking against his weight but it was useless. Then I remembered Derek’s rule; yell, even if I knew he and Peter were close.

Taking the deepest possible breath, I finally managed to get my head together. “Derek!” My voice came out as a shriek, piercing through the air. “Derek, Peter!” I screamed, pulling as hard as I could against the weight. The hand that had been wrapped around my right wrist was suddenly squeezing at my throat, cutting off any other screams.

“No one’s here.” The wolf taunted. “It’s just you and me.” A sick smile crossed his face, enhancing the supernatural features. His claws pressed harder into my wrist and throat, a gasp of pain leaving my lips as he seemed to toy with me. “No one’s coming for you.”

The clawed hand at my throat raised into the air above me, making to slash at my throat, but before he was able to, a body crashed into him. The strange wolf and someone else went tumbling a few feet away from me, allowing me just a moment to sit up and huff in a few breaths of air before hands were wrapping around my shoulders.

“No! No, let me go!” I screamed, smacking at the hands on me.

“Hey, hey.” A familiar voice soothed. “You’re safe. I got you.” Peter turned me in his arms, grabbing at my chin to make me look up at him. “Look at me. You’re ok.”

I took a shaky breath and finally looked up to him. “Peter.” My word fell as a whisper.

The older Hale nodded, pulling me against his chest as new growls filled the air. Peter pulled me a bit farther from the space he had found me in. I turned as we got to the side of a large tree, Derek, Scott, Malia, and Liam were all stood in a line between me and the other wolf. I could hear Scott trying to talk with the wolf, but Peter’s gentle hands on my wrists distracted me.

“Are you alright?” He asked, voice low and very quiet. I nodded shakily, glancing down to the half dozen moon-shaped cuts along my wrists. Peter’s arms were laced with black veins as the pain subsided, his eyes looking at the scratches on my neck.

“Thank you.” I shuddered, no longer liking my own plan, but I was glad that the pack had found the wolf, and not another girl I was to graduate with this year.

A loud roar seemed to shake the ground, and I managed to catch sight of Derek slamming the wolf into the ground. It seemed like he had tried making a run between him and Liam, aiming for me yet again. Peter was in front of me the moment he caught his nephew’s movement, his teeth bared and a growl rumbling his chest.

“Leave.” Derek hissed, his teeth shining in the moonlight. A threat that I couldn’t hear left his lips, the wolf on the ground seeming to come back to himself a little. “You three, make sure he leaves.” Derek pulled the wolf up and shoved him towards the werewolves and werecoyote. After the wolf and our three pack members were far enough into the woods, Derek finally turned to me, his fangs retracting and his eyes softening from their bright blue back into his usual eyes. “Are you alright?” He asked, coming up and instantly wrapping his arms around me.

I nodded carefully into his chest. “I am now.”

He pulled back and gently took my hands into his, turning them over to check the cuts. “He did this? He say anything to you?” His hand then cupped my cheek as he raised my head to look at my neck.

“His claws.” I answered the first question. “And nothing important. He tried scaring me more than anything. Said no one was coming.”

“I should have come faster. He set traps in the woods to draw our attention away.”

My head shook at him. “You saved me. I’m sorry I had this plan. I know you didn’t like it.”

“It’s fine now. But you’re never playing bait again, you hear me?” He started leading me out of the woods, back towards the pack.

“I hear you.”

@thetallassgirl @hallecarey1

#derek hale #derek hale imagines #derek hale x reader #peter hale #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x reader #derek hale oneshot #teen wolf one shot

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ovaova · 1 year

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U⃣N⃣G⃣O⃣D⃣L⃣Y⃣ H⃣O⃣U⃣R⃣

🅺🆈🅾🅹🆄🆁🅾 🆇 🅵🅴🅼 🆁🅴🅰🅳🅴🆁

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : ᴜɴɢᴏᴅʟʏ ʜᴏᴜʀ (ᴄʜʟᴏᴇxʜᴀʟʟᴇ)

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ ➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ ➴➵➶➴

(Y/N) and Kyojuro had recently started on their journey as a married couple.

With their first anniversary approaching, Kyojuro, the ever-devoted husband, planned a memorable evening to celebrate their love. He wanted to create a night that would capture (Y/N)’s heart and ignite her desires.

A night where Kyojuro could make her his again as if it was the first time…

First, Kyojuro meticulously prepared a delicious dinner of (Y/N)’s favorite dishes, showcasing his culinary skills. The aroma of the sizzling food filled their cozy loft apartment, setting the stage for a romantic evening.

As they sat down at the beautifully set table, Kyojuro poured (Y/N)’s favorite wine, each sip filling them with warmth and a hint of anticipation.

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes sparkling with affection. "You really went all out for tonight, Kyojuro. It's absolutely perfect."

Kyojuro returned her smile, his gaze tender as he reached over to her hand, rubbing it reassuringly. "Anything to make this night special for you, my love. You deserve nothing less."

After finishing the delicious meal and engaging in heartfelt conversations of the good, the bad, and the devious, Kyojuro guided (Y/N) to the bathroom, where he had drawn a scent filled bath adorned with rose petals and scented candles.

The dim, flickering light accentuated the silhouette of their bodies and enhanced the intimate atmosphere.

(Y/N)'s heart raced as Kyojuro's strong hands gently began to undress her, the soft fabric of her previous wear sliding off her body, revealing her vulnerable that Kyojuro had been anticipating to view.

After fully undressing, they both eased into the warm liquid. Both of their bodies becoming embraced and soothed as the water heightened their sensitivity.

Kyojuro whispered huskily, his voice laced with desire as mouth barely glazed over her skin, eyes closed hoping to stay in this moment forever.

"You're so breathtaking, (Y/N). Every time I look at you, my heart races."

(Y/N) blushed, her eyes meeting his intense gaze.

Mouth saying nothing, but eyes saying everything.

Kyojuro skillfully massaged (Y/N)'s shoulders, his strong fingers expertly kneading away the tensions of the day.

The touch of his hands awakened a primal desire within her, intensifying the connection between them. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, words were unnecessary.

Their bodies spoke the language of longing and passion.

As the steamy ambiance enveloped them, the boundaries between passion and lust blurred. Kyojuro's lips explored the curves of (Y/N)’s neck, igniting a trail of fiery kisses that left her breathless.

Their desires danced with each touch, building an irresistible tension that threatened to consume them.

(Y/N) moaned softly, her voice filled with longing. "Kyojuro, please…don't stop... I need you."

Kyojuro's voice was husky with desire as he murmured against her skin, nipping small patches exciting small hickies. "I'm here, (Y/N). I'm yours, completely."

“Then have me, please make me yours again.”

And that he did. In their ardor, their bodies became one, a symphony of pleasure and surrender.

They moved with an innate rhythm, guided by their unquenchable thirst for each other.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but whine and scratch Kyojuro’s rinsed back as he thrusted into her against the bathtubs tiles.

Every thrust was filled with so much passion and neediness.

His grunts echoed throughout the bathroom as he basked in this overwhelming pleasure.

The bathwater swayed and splashed as their love spilled over, both gentle and fierce, intertwining their souls.

Not one word was shared but Kyojuro could feel his wife clenching for dear life, she was drawing close.

Time stood still as they indulged in the raw intensity of their desires, surrendering to the tempestuous storm that brewed between them.

“Yes, yes…Kyojuro give me all of you-” (Y/N) whine as she pushed his neck down to where their eyes could meet, their lips meeting not too long afterwards.

Their lips locked in a fervent embrace, mouths melding with a hunger m.

They surrendered to the rhythmic dance of their tongues, exploring each other's depths taste, their breaths forming as one while their bodies gravitated closer.

Thrust after thrust

Hit after Hit

(Y/N) felt that forever well known feeling buzz throughout her body as she was hanging by a thread

“Cum with me, I want to finish with you-“ Kyojuro groaned as his pace increased and his thrust became more bruising.

(Y/N) could only throw her head back as she came. Her muscles straining from the intense pleasure.

Kyojuro want far behind as he started to cum as well, filling his love up with everything he had

Afterwards, as they lay tangled in each other's arms, a gentle tranquility settled upon their atmosphere.

The flames of their passion had sated their desires, leaving them basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

(Y/N) whispered, her voice filled with adoration, "I

love you, Kyojuro. This was beyond anything… I could have imagined."

Kyojuro pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his voice filled with . "And I love you, (Y/N) . You are…my everything."

With their hearts entwined and their bodies entangled, (Y/N) and Kyojuro discovered the boundless depths of their passion.

And so, as they celebrated their first anniversary, (Y/N) and Kyojuro cherished not only the memories of that passionate little night but also carried it’s replay into the morning, causing them to do it all over again.

#Spotify #bakugo #bakugo x reader lemon #katsuki x reader smut #dad bakugo x reader #digital art #kimetsu no yaiba rengoku #rengoku kyōjurō #kyojuro imagine #kyojuro x reader #smut #kyojuro smut #kny smut #rengoku smut #kyojuro x y/n #kyojuro x you

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kimpossibly · 2 years

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𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎 → g. blythe

pairing: gilbert blythe x fem!reader type: fic request: none warnings: mild angst (but mostly fluff)

prompt/trope: "I like you." A mumbles, almost scared to admit. B absently reaches for A's hand on the railing, a smile forming on their lips. "Can we really do this? Nobody must know-" A throws B's hands on their shoulders, pulling them by their waist. "You and I know, and I think that's--that's more than enough, love." (@urfriendlywriter)

summary: when an accidental glance makes y/n's heart race, she's pushed to make a confession to her best friend, gilbert―who, surprisingly, seems open to a confidential agreement. word count: 1845

One glance. That was all it took. Y/n looked up momentarily from her slate, craned her neck ever so slightly to look beside her, and found a pair of hazel eyes already locked on her. In an instant she saw familiar freckles and curly dark hair, and an instant later they were gone. Gilbert's head snapped away the moment Y/n's eyes met his as he struggled desperately to look instantaneously busy in his studies, but Y/n's head stayed up, a crease forming between her brows as she gazed on, trying to work out why exactly Gilbert's eyes had been on her - and, even more, how long?

"Miss Y/l/n!" Mr. Philips snapped from his place at the desk. "Tear your eyes away from Mr. Blythe for once and focus."

A spattering of giggles from the girls and snickers from the boys coursed over the room. The only two who stayed truly silent were Gilbert and Y/n, who kept their eyes fixed intently on their respective slates so as not to draw any more attention to themselves - or to the other. Y/n's cheeks blazed red (as did Gilbert's although she was too afraid to look up and see it).

But it all begged the question, why? Gilbert and Y/n had been close friends from what seemed like the beginning of time. Well, perhaps friends wasn't the best way to describe how they started out. They began as all children do―by bothering each other. He'd pull her hair and she'd chase him around the schoolyard, throwing insults back and forth until they both ran out of breath. It happened so often that, at some point, they almost began to enjoy it. Soon enough they'd find themselves taking the same path to and from school. They'd use that time to bicker as well, not wanting to walk in awkward silence. Then, eventually, their bickering turned to casual conversation, then to enrapturing discussion about anything―reading, school, the goings on of Avonlea.

But they were friends. That was all. So why was Y/n blushing to high heaven over nothing but a momentary glance?

"Miss Y/l/n! Tear your eyes away from Mr. Blythe for once and focus." Y/n replayed the teacher's scolding again and again in her mind as she walked to town hall. Recently she'd been giving her time to help Miss Lind with the annual Christmas play she put on - with Gilbert. The two had long since grown out of participating, so they volunteered to help in other ways. Miss Lind had put Gilbert in charge of the lighting, seeing as he was the only one who could make sense of the queues and contraptions involved in the process. And Gilbert, quipping that he could only truly stand to be around her for hours at a time, elected Y/n to help him.

Until that day, Y/n had looked forward to rehearsal. But now she found her palms beginning to sweat as the town hall neared, despite the snow that was still surrounding her as she walked.

"Y/n!" Miss Lind exclaimed upon the girl's arrival. "Lovely to see you. Gilbert's already in the loft―go on up and see what you can do to help."

Miss Lind knew to phrase her request in such a way because it was common knowledge that Gilbert was the true brains behind the operation, and Y/n was his less knowledgeable but very teachable assistant. Y/n nodded at Miss Lind's request and left her to continue squawking at the young children singing a very off-key rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas.

Y/n climbed the familiar steps to the upper loft at the back end of the auditorium, feeling her heart race as she did so. She tried with all her might to scold it back to a normal rhythm, but it was no use. All the panic just wormed its way into her mind, her thoughts racing at speeds that were surely unnatural.

Gilbert was indeed already at the loft, close by the railing, tinkering with one of the stands as she tried to raise it a few inches. Y/n stepped quietly so as not to make her presence known immediately, hoping for a few extra seconds to plan how to address him (although she had never quite wondered such a thing before), but her heel brushed a paint can by the landing and caused a great scraping noise that in turn made Gilbert whip around in surprise.

Y/n pursed her lips. "Oops." she muttered.

She heard Gilbert laugh. "Could you stop knocking things over for a moment and help me?" he asked. "I can't quite figure out how this is supposed to work."

"Aren't you supposed to be the expert on lighting?" Y/n quipped, walking over and crouching to look at the light stand from below. "No, no you're doing it wrong―there's a fixture inside that needs to be turned, but it's locked. There should be something on here to unlock it..." she spoke, running her hands along the stand until her fingers grazed a notch. She seized it, pressing tightly until the button depressed, and there was a small click. Immediately the stand began to collapse into itself, lowering at a high speed. Gilbert and Y/n both reached out to stop it and found their hands on top of each other. At once the stand stopped its fall and came to halt, leaving both Gilbert and Y/n breathless.

There was a moment of silence as they both blinked at the stand, making sure it wouldn't fall. Then, Gilbert let out a breath, laughing slightly. "Now who's the expert?" he asked quietly.

Y/n smiled breathlessly back at him, now intently aware of Gilbert's hand atop hers. He froze as well, seemingly noticing the same thing. Y/n's breath hitched. In an instant she removed her hand from the stand and moved away to let Gilbert raise the stand himself. Y/n moved to stand by the railing and looked down upon the rehearsal on the stage. She picked at wood chips on the railing nervously, her hands growing cold.

Gilbert watched her for a moment as she did so before turning back away to fiddle with the light stand. Something gnawed at him as he did so, but he focused on the task ahead of him.

Y/n chewed on the inside of her cheek and fiddled with the railing. She couldn't do much about the lighting without Gilbert to instruct her―but she was dead set on not turning around and speaking to him unless absolutely necessary. And, right now, nothing seemed necessary. Not in the slightest.

Finally there was a sigh, and Gilbert moved to stand beside her, placing his own hands on the railing. "What?" he asked lowly.

Y/n didn't meet his eyes, but stared straight ahead of her. "What do you mean?"

"You seem upset." he said gently. "Anything I can do to help?"

Y/n almost laughed at that―Gilbert's not knowing that he was the root cause of all of her worries. "There's nothing you can do, Gilbert. Believe me." she said. "Unless you're up for murdering Mr. Philips?"

"Normally I would say yes, but today I'm feeling like an upstanding citizen. So I guess I'd say...make it look like an accident."

Y/n laughed this time, but a moment later she felt Gilbert take a step closer to her, and her heart beat resumed its incredible pace. She moved away to the other side of the loft almost immediately to try and lower the other stand to meet the other. Gilbert frowned as she moved away.

Y/n lowered the stand with a decisive press, making sure it was level with the one on the other side. Miss Lind was struggling to gather all the actors together on the stage to start from the top of the show, meaning that soon Y/n and Gilbert would be forced into silence as they focused on the show. For Y/n, that couldn't come soon enough.

The show began within the next several minutes, during which Y/n and Gilbert sat in uncomfortable silence as they shuffled around the loft, rearranging things and ensuring everything was in its correct place. Y/n set the light and left it, knowing that she needn't change it for the majority of the show. Gilbert set the other light as well and saw Y/n wander back to the railing, leaning against it and holding onto it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. He frowned.

In a moment, Y/n saw Gilbert lean backward onto the railing beside her out of the corner of her eye and stiffened, gritting her teeth. They stood there for a moment with Gilbert trying to figure out to phrase his approach and Y/n hoping against all hopes that he didn't try to say anything.

But, of course, he did. "I know something is wrong." he whispered.

"Shh," was all Y/n said in response, using the ongoing show in front of them as an excuse to shush him.

Gilbert's frown grew deeper, but he pushed on nonetheless. "Is this about earlier? Because what Mr. Philips said―"

"Shh," she said, more forcefully.

"Y/n." said Gilbert, taking her hand from the railing and holding it in his. Y/n looked down at it, her heart skipping a beat. Gilbert tried to meet her eyes, but she kept them craned down. "Y/n, look at me."

She bit her lip. How could she explain to Gilbert something she didn't fully understand herself?

Slowly, she looked up, worry knitting her brows together.

"Tell me what's wrong." Gilbert pleaded quietly. "Whatever it is, I want to help. I don't like it when...I don't like seeing you upset. So, come on. Talk."

Y/n, overcome with worry, looked away, fixing her eyes on the stage. She had a chance―a chance to do something that had the power to completely upend her and Gilbert's friendship. But she didn't think she could stand regret.

"I like you." Y/n mumbled.

Gilbert absently reached for Y/n's hand on the railing, a smile forming on his lips. Then, in one swift motion, Gilbert moved forward and pressed his lips on hers. Y/n, shocked, nearly jumped out of her skin. But, almost in an instant, she relaxed into his touch, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

But a moment later she pulled away, fear worming its way back into her mind. "Can we really do this? Nobody must know―"

Gilbert interrupted her by throwing his hands on her waist, pulling her in. "You and I know, and I think that's―that's more than enough, love."

Y/n smiled, the fear melting away as she looked at Gilbert.

"Hey!" came the shrill voice of Miss Lind. "That's the light cue! What's going on up there?"

"Nothing!" Gilbert and Y/n yelled in unison, scrambling back to their posts on the loft, hiding their smiles.

Author's Note: AHHHHHH MY FIRST FIC!! I've had this one in my head for a while now, but @urfriendlywriter 's prompts just really nailed it into my head that I needed to write it. I've been binging AWAE as school started and...I gotta say...I'm a sucker for dark hair and dark eyes. And the title, inspired by a Hozier song, just fits the vibe of the show so well I love it. But yeah! Enjoy my first fic and send in any and all requests you got!

<3 Gracie

#anne with an e #gilbert blythe #gilbert blythe x reader #awae #anne with an e fanfic

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lover-of-mine · 25 days

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What is your sunlight theory about?

Hi, baby, buckle up, because this one is crazy. I don't know if you're familiar with the construction on sunset theory, I'll link some posts that will explain that better than I can here and here, but basically, you have the way everything about Ana in season 4 and the beginning of that relationship, happens around Sunset Boulevard, and you have the way Eddie is late coming back from the date in 4x08 because "there was construction on sunset" and he had to take a detour and then Buck and Eddie proceed to have one of the most domestic buddie scene in the show, all that after the most awkward date ever with Ana, created this whole "Ana was a detour on Eddie's way to Buck" (particularly, I love this as someone who views the shooting as Eddie's oh moment, and I know the show is gonna take that away from me, but it will be my truth until they do) and considering we as a fandom like to take things and run with them, that became a whole thing because Eddie has some sun imagery attached to him when it comes to relationships, which is definitely not just about Buck, even more with the way he's sitting on the sunset reading Shannon's letter, but like, we have the painting on Pepa's house behind Vanessa, stuff like that, but we also have things like Buck using sunset colors to draw his heart on the "I misunderstood the assignment" scene. I have been curious about the sunlight of it all since I wrote this post, because with one episode, and the fact that we don't know if the sun is setting or rising during the locker scene, I couldn't really create a pattern that would lead me anywhere. Then the loft stills leaked. Because then we would have 2 scenes where the sun seems to be important a few episodes apart, but I hadn't really thought about the construction on sunset angle until this picture.

Because paired with the sunset light on Buck's bi awakening, and the sunset light here, I'm making the executive decision that yeah, the sun was setting in the locker room.

I don't want to say Tommy is a detour, Tommy started a huge discovery for Buck that Buck wouldn't realize alone, but an anon pointed out how maybe they hurt Eddie so that he couldn't show up at the loft so that we could have the Tommy, so they quite literally had some detour happening during a sunset, like what the fuck?

But I'm really interested in the blue aspect of the scenes. @stagefoureddiediaz has some really interesting color and costume metas, including one on the use of yellow and blue in season 5, that talks about how yellow is a color used for communication and blue is a color used for, like, introspection, which could mean something interesting is cooking here. Because Buck's shirt in the basketball is blue, his shirt on the loft is blue, Eddie's shirt in the locker room is also blue and Buck's jacket also has blue detailing.

We know Buck and Eddie will have an important conversation, but that associated with the sunset theory, and they were literally on the sunset, I think the sun is finally actually setting now. No more detours. Only the discoveries they need to have in order to work as a couple. Buck's bisexuality is huge on that front, and I don't wanna say Eddie is gonna suddenly look at Buck after he comes out and be like 👀👀👀, but at the same time Eddie "questioning his place in the world" could very much be Eddie looking at Buck and being like "oh, that's an option?" especially if he's having trouble connecting with Marisol (random addon but with the sunset being a detour for Eddie, I think is hysterical that Marisol is named Marisol, because her name sounds like "Mar e Sol" and that's literally "Sea and Sun" in Portuguese, Spanish too but I don't really speak Spanish so it wasn't my initial connection there, and the sun setting on the sea it's a thing, and I feel insane for typing this out, but it's there, her name is the detour), this could mean they are gonna talk, and work through things, and get closer the way Ryan and Oliver keep teasing and reach the conclusion they are meant to be together.

Okay addon you don't know it's an addon because you're seeing this post as a whole thing at once but I hadn't thought to look at other buddie conversations until right now, but that particular pattern of light being present in 2 scenes where we see them finally be honest with each other makes it even more interesting to me really.

Because if you look at Buck's bisexual awakening as a moment of Buck being honest with himself and the locker room as Buck being honest about why he got in the relationship with Natalia, the sun behind Eddie, if it's only behind Eddie, could sparkle Eddie into some honesty himself and about himself, and that's what they need, open and honest communication. Because if yellow is used for communication, the sun could be being used for honesty.

But that's just a theory. A game theory. (sorry I said it out loud and had to add it oskaoskaoskas)

Anyway, that's all I have right now, if you read this I love you 🫶

#anon 😌#i really need a tag for asks #911 #911 meta #911 spoilers #911 speculation #buddie thoughts #i have questions and mostly crazy theories okasaoksasaoksa

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eliteloftconversionplans · 11 months

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#loft conversion plans #loft conversion planning #loft conversion architects #loft conversion drawings #loft conversion planning uk #loft conversion #loft conversions

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swaps55 · 8 months

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Always

Prompt in the Big Place discord server: write a scene using the words survivor, cluster, and friend.

Instead of a scene it turned into a 2k fic, whatchagonnado.

In which Kaidan and Kara Pendergrass have a very ace conversation.

It’s late morning before Kara stumbles out the screen door, blinking into the sunlight, to find Alenko swaying lazily back and forth in the porch swing. A smile touches his face as the voices of Shepard and Aslany carry up the hill from the barn, followed by the whinny of a horse.

Kara sits heavily on the swing beside him, disrupting his moment of quiet contemplation, but she makes up for it by handing him a coffee thermos. “I threw out Shepard’s shit and made this.”

“Thanks,” Alenko says, flashing her a grin. He smiles a lot more these days. They all do, really. Even Aslany.

Alenko takes a long, grateful sip from the thermos. No matter how much you love a guy like Shepard, you can’t love his coffee.

“Think the real survivors of the reapers were everyone who had to drink his bullshit,” she remarks, pushing her foot off the ground to start the swing again and tucking her leg underneath her.

“Yeah, maybe,” Alenko says with a chuckle. He always indulges her stupid jokes.

They sit in comfortable silence. The wind makes the trees wave. The orchard is a lot…friendlier in the summer. The leaves and the blooms and the sun and the warmth make it feel a lot different than that cold winter where reaper cannibals and husks crept in the woods.

Now there’s just deer.

“Surprised he got her in the barn,” Kara says, nodding down the hill. After that string of terrible nights sleeping on haybales and keeping a sniper’s perch in the loft, staring at the clusters of trees and waiting for nightmares to emerge, Aslany had sworn she’d never come here again. But here they are.

“You know Shepard,” Alenko says, lost in thought now. “He’s hard to say no to.”

“She trusts him.”

Alenko gives her the look he gives when he’s putting some pieces together she’s not gonna like. “She trusts you, too.”

Kara shakes her head and draws her feet up onto the swing, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. “But she doesn’t think she has to protect him. Me? She has to protect me.”

“We all protect each other. Always have.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just…different with her.” She scowls in frustration. She’s never been good at explaining things. “I can’t take care of her the way she takes care of me. It’s not just a squad thing.”

“Kara, we haven’t been ‘just squad’ in a very long time. Any of us.”

She snerks. “You mean since you started getting naked with one of the squad?”

A flush creeps up the back of his neck. It’s so easy to poke at him sometimes she can’t help herself. “You know what I mean.”

She does, sometimes. But other times…she doesn’t get it at all. She spends about as much time with Aslany as Alenko does with Shepard. If she didn’t have Aslany to spend all her time with and talk her ear off over bad Chinese food that Aslany loves for some reason, she probably wouldn’t spend her time with anyone.

And living alone sounds…well, she’d rather not think about living alone. Too many monsters in her head. Aslany’s, too, based on some of the nights they’ve spent sitting in front of the holoscreen at three in the morning, watching one of Shepard’s stupid B movies and not talking about what happens when they fall asleep.

Friend doesn’t feel like the right word, which is why she’s always fallen back on squad. But they have no orders to follow anymore, and the only fighting they do these days are chicken fights in the lake. She’s never had a sister, and Aslany shuts down whenever the word ‘sister’ gets thrown around, so that one’s out.

They’ve never fucked. It’s never come up. But it didn’t come up for Shepard and Alenko for a long time before they finally did, and despite all the details Beaudoin shared on the ‘Yang, she doesn’t actually understand how these things work.

She blows a puff of air out the side of her mouth. “When did you know you wanted to fuck him?”

Alenko chokes on his coffee. She pats him patiently on the back until he stops.

“Um,” he manages.

She gives him an expectant look. He hems and haws for a while. Sometimes you just have to be patient while he works things out in his head.

“Why do you want to know?” he says finally.

“Well, at some point you changed from just being squad to sucking his dick, so—”

He holds up one hand to stop her and rubs the bridge of his nose with the other. “Can you just…can you call it…something else?”

“Sucking face?”

“Okay, fine. Sure. I’ll take what I can get.”

He stops talking. The swing creaks. She raises an expectant eyebrow. At first he pretends he doesn’t see it, but eventually he swears under his breath.

“My feelings, uh, changed a few months into the first tour.”

“Damn. You already wanted to fuck him just a few months—”

“No. I don’t work like that. I need…time before that happens. But—” He gestures helplessly. It shouldn’t be so funny to see Alenko so pitiable. He sighs in defeat. “Do you remember Mavigon?”

“Mavigon.”

“Yeah.”

“The ice storm? That his dumb ass got us stuck in?”

Alenko’s face gets redder by the second. “Yeah. Uh. Well, you know, when it got cold that night and we all had to..."

She dissolves into laughter. “Wait, wait wait wait, no. You wanted to fuck him on Mavigon?”

Alenko’s face does all the stuff it does when he plays out an argument in his head, loses, and concedes without opening his mouth. “Yeah. Okay? Yes. I wanted to fuck him on Mavigon.”

“Still, like, a decade before you actually fucked him.”

“It wasn't a decade.”

Kara shakes her head in admiration and then sniggers. “You are the only person I know who can have both literal and figurative blue balls.”

“Wow, I am really feeling the love and support after offering up some very personal information I’ve never even told Shepard, so—”

“Wait, he doesn’t know how close he came to getting railed on Mavigon?”

“Kara.”

She holds up her hands in surrender. “He won’t hear it from me. On purpose.”

Alenko groans. She grins.

She kicks her feet to get the swing moving again. “Okay, so. What does that…feel like? Wanting to have sex with someone?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Are you wanting to have sex with someone?”

“No. I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. How do you know?”

Now he actually looks thoughtful. “Well. It’s different from me than for a lot of people.”

“You mean Beaudoin?” She snickers into the back of her hand.

“Yeah,” Alenko says, though something sad flicks across his face. Guilt flashes through her. She always forgets that the others still think about his death before they think about his life. “For me I tend not to notice the physical stuff beyond aesthetics, at least not right away.”

“And then, what, one day Shepard’s ass is all you can think about?”

Now he actually cracks a smile. “No. Not quite like that. I just…couldn’t stop thinking about him. All of him. Not one particular piece. Wanted to be around him all the time, hear everything he had to say. When he wasn’t around I just had this…knot in my chest. At some point I started imagining what it would feel like to kiss him and then it, uh. Went from there.”

She scrunches her nose. Kissing Aslany is such an alien thought she can’t even picture it when she tries. Probably not a good sign. “Okay.”

“Why do you ask?”

Her turn to hem and haw a little. She considers lying, but lying never works with Alenko, so she just says it. “I don’t want Aslany to leave me.”

He sits up straighter. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs a moody shoulder. “I don’t know. She’s my Shepard. But we’re not like you and Shepard. We don’t fuck. We don’t even hold hands, and yeah, I’d kinda like to hold hands sometimes but I don’t wanna get punched and I don’t think I wanna fuck, but I don’t know what it feels like to want to fuck someone, and she does like fucking people and I don’t want to lose her because we don’t.” She stops to catch her breath.

Alenko looks at her for a long time without speaking. She squirms.

“How long have you been worrying about this?”

She stares out at the trees. “Dunno. A while, I guess.”

“Kara. Hey.” He waits until she meets his gaze. “Just because it doesn’t look like what Shepard and I have doesn’t make it mean any less. To you or to her. Everyone’s different. Sex isn’t a requirement for a relationship. Or whatever you want it to be. You get to define it. Even if that means not defining it.”

She nods, and looks back down the hill as Shepard leads his horse out of the barn, Aslany walking a safe distance away. Shepard may be hard to say no to, but even Shepard isn’t going to get Aslany to not be afraid of a horse.

“She cares about you more than most people care about anything,” Alenko says quietly, like he’s seeing a few of his own monsters. “She’s not ever leaving you behind.”

They’ve all seen a lot of shit. Lot of it they’ve seen together.

Shepard leans lazily against the fence, watching the horse graze. He says something and Aslany laughs. Kara’s heart tightens. But…in a good way.

“Thanks, boss,” she says quietly. He puts an arm around her, and she snuggles up to his side. Maybe he’s right. Maybe they’re all more than squad. But squad was pretty good, too.

That afternoon they shake the chicken teams up, and it’s Aslany and Alenko against Kara and Shepard in the lake. Shepard complains about her bony ass on his shoulders the entire time, but it’s affectionate, and he does a lot of crowing when they finally manage to dethrone Aslany. After they’ve had enough, Shepard uses his biotics to throw Kara around in the water for a while. They finally climb out when the sun starts to get golden but there’s still warmth in the air. Aslany and Kara lay on their towels and stare up at the sky while Shepard pins Alenko to the ground and makes wisecracks between kisses, grin the size of a planet every time Alenko laughs.

Kara watches them idly, then looks over at Aslany, who ignores them completely. Instead the folds her arms behind her head, her dark hair splayed out behind her head in a wet clump. She closes her eyes and sighs in contentment, her usual standing scowl replaced by not quite a smile.

She might be the most gorgeous person Kara has ever seen, but. Nope. Doesn’t want to kiss her. Or anything else.

“Hey, Aslany. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

Kara chews her lip. There’s a cloud in the sky that looks like a pyjack. “Are you ever gonna leave me?”

Aslany lolls her head to the side, the contentment replaced by the look she gives someone who asked a stupid question. “The day you tell me to go, I guess.”

“I’m never gonna say that.”

“Then I’m never leaving.”

Kara grins. “Good.”

Aslany nods in satisfaction before turning her attention back to the sky.

Alenko always makes things make sense. Aslany always makes things so simple.

“Ready to head back to the house?” Shepard asks.

Kara picks her head up. Alenko is still pinned beneath him and looks quite happy to be there. “Dunno, you done sucking face yet?” Alenko gives her the finger, but he’s grinning.

Shepard considers her question. “For now.”

“Then yeah, I guess.” She gets to her feet and offers Aslany a hand to pull her up. They gather their towels and the bag Alenko always brings, because part of him will always be a medic prepared to take care of them when they’re far from home. Shepard starts talking about the B-movie he’s going to inflict upon them when they get home as they walk, Kaidan’s hand gripped firmly in his.

Kara falls into step beside Aslany, like always. But not like always, Aslany reaches out and laces their fingers. It’s awkward, like she doesn’t really know how to do it. Neither of them do, really, and that’s why it’s perfect. Kara beams. Aslany squeezes her hand, with a tiny, tentative smile.

Maybe from some angles, it does look like Alenko and Shepard. From others, it doesn’t. But whatever it is, it’s theirs. And it’s good. And it’s always.

It’s the always part she likes the most.

#mass effect #mshenko #kaidan alenko #otp: after all this time #my fic #opus!verse #kara pendergrass #muriel aslany #i have a lot of feelings about the yang crew post war #very ace feelings XD

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renecdote · 1 year

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the tide comes (and goes and goes)

yes this is my third fic in two days. no I am not okay.

@nymika-arts this one is for you 💛

It’s almost funny that Eddie brought him to the beach today. To the ocean. He doesn’t know—can’t know, Buck hasn’t told anyone—but Buck feels unbearably seen by it anyway. He almost wishes Bobby was here too, so he could let his captain wrap an arm around his shoulders and say, “See? It didn’t take either of us.”

(That’s not true though, is it? It took them, it just didn’t keep them.)

Buck, Eddie, the beach, and conversations about okay.

For BTHB: hyperventilating

[Read on AO3]

The water is calm. Too calm for surfing, Buck thinks, not that he’d be allowed to do that anyway. He’s pretty sure surfing comes under the no strenuous activity rule. Swimming, too, so he’s not really sure why Eddie dragged him out to the beach this morning when all he can do is sit in the sand and watch the water creep closer.

“Relax,” Eddie tells him, reaching up to poke at his shoulder. He’s lying on his back, eyes closed behind his sunglasses, and Buck has been trying and failing not to look at the way his tank top has ridden up slightly over his stomach, or the glow of morning sunlight across his skin, or the way his swim trunks stretch over his thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination.

So no. He can’t just relax.

He’s telling himself that the Eddie of it all is the only reason why.

“Why are we here?” Buck asks, dragging a finger through the sand. He draws a heart, then another, then another, then sweeps them all away with a flick of his hand.

“It’s a nice day.” Eddie doesn’t shrug, but Buck hears it in his voice anyway. “Why not?”

Buck frowns down at the sand between his fingers. He wonders whether he’ll ever be able to say, “you know, I’m pretty sure you jinxed me that day when you said you hoped the lightning wouldn’t strike twice,” without the joke falling flat.

“Why didn’t we bring Chris?” he asks.

An eyebrow raised over Eddie’s sunglasses. “It’s a school day.”

“Yeah, but…”

This is starting to feel like an ambush. Buck glances over his shoulder, half expecting Bobby to come walking down the beach towards them. Maybe Maddie and Hen and Chimney as well. He’s barely had a moment alone in the ten days since he was released from the hospital, someone always at the loft, someone else always calling or texting to check in. It’s unnerving that his phone is so silent now. So unnerving that Buck has to pull it out of his pocket just to check that it’s still on (that it’s still real).

Out over of the water, a seagull swoops down to the surface and arcs back up with a fish gleaming in its beak.

“Relax,” Eddie says again, quieter, and his hand is flat against Buck’s back this time, the kind of steady pressure that makes him take an automatic breath and lean into the touch. Eddie smiles. “There we go. Will you lie down now? You’re blocking my sun.”

Buck huffs. “Well if I’m blocking you sun…”

He lies back on the towel, legs stretched out in the warm sand, so close that he can feel the heat of Eddie’s body next to his own. His turns his head, watching his best friend’s chest rise and fall as he breathes, imagining how easy it would be to reach out and feel it.

I didn’t dream about you, he thinks about saying. I dreamed about everyone else but I think I was too scared to dream about you.

He takes a slow breath and holds it, holds it, holds it. Lets it out in a gust. He hasn’t told anyone that he wakes up in the night sometimes, the memory of feeling like he couldn’t breathe so visceral he thinks his lungs have stopped working again. Maybe he should, that seems like the kind of thing Maddie would tell him a doctor needs to know, but if he talks about it, then he has to talk about all the other shit going on in his head as well.

(That’s not true though, is it? It took them, it just didn’t keep them.)

Buck props himself up on his elbows, watching the waves race up the sand, then just as quickly retreat back to sea. He doesn’t know what time high tide is, but it’s pretty high now, surely it can’t get much higher. He glances down the beach, both directions, a crooked line of seaweed and driftwood dark against the sand.

(“It’s called a wrack zone,” Monica told him long ago, Virginia Beach bathed in golden sunset around them. “It marks the high tide line, where all the seaweed and other crap from the ocean has been washed up.”

“Why is it called wrack?” Buck asked, tracing a finger down her spine, drawing shell patterns on her suntanned back.

She laughed, a surprised kind of sound, like she couldn’t figure out why he would ask. “I don’t know, Evan. It just is. Why is anything called anything?”

He went to the library the next day, looked it up in a book and came back with the answer, and he told himself it didn’t sting when Monica didn’t care.)

“You’re thinking.” Eddie’s voice cuts through his eddying thoughts, his eyes still closed. “Stop it.”

Buck flicks sand at him. “I’m not allowed to think?”

“No.” Eddie opens one eye to look up at him. “I know what you’re like.”

Buck isn’t sure why that makes his heart stutter the way it does. He almost presses a hand against his chest, just to check that it’s still working right, but stops himself at the last second.

“Did you know that seagulls mate for life?” he asks, the first thing that comes to him, because he’s pretty sure Eddie is going to ask him if he wants to talk about what’s bothering him if he doesn’t say something, and Buck really, really doesn’t want to talk about what’s bothering him.

“Yes,” Eddie answers, surprising him. “You shared all your seagull facts after that call with the hang glider a while ago. They also have excellent memory.”

Buck barely remembers that call, it must have been… two years ago? Three? He can’t believe Eddie remembers it so well.

“What else?” he asks, curious.

“They’re omnivores,” Eddie recounts. “They fly in erratic patterns to avoid predators. They drink both salt and fresh water. And they’re symbols of healing and tranquility.”

Buck rolls his eyes, slumping back down on the sand. “Yeah, okay, I get it. Healing and tranquility.”

Eddie’s teeth poke out of the corner of his smile. “You’re the one who asked.”

He did. And he kind of wants to ask Eddie to keep talking forever, his voice drowning out the sound of the waves, but Buck bites his tongue and holds the words inside. Asking Eddie to talk to him now feels too much like the start of a slope, steep and slippery, ending in a rocky why didn’t you talk to me while I was in the coma?

The sand under his back is lumpy, something hard under his right shoulder than might be a shell, or an ocean-smooth rock, or just the nub of stick buried in the sand. Buck shifts to get away from it and ends up closer to Eddie.

“Sorry,” he mutters, starting to move away, but Eddie’s fingers brushing against the back of his hand stops him.

“’S’okay,” he says, and when Buck settles back down, he doesn’t move away. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

Getting there.

Buck closes his eyes, and doesn’t reach out to hold Eddie’s hand properly, no matter how easy it would be to do.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

Wakes with a start to Eddie shifting beside him, his heart suddenly pounding, his breath sticking in his chest.

“Sorry,” Eddie is saying, his shadow cast across Buck’s face. “Sorry, I was just—Buck?”

Buck swallows, and tries to breathe, and finds that he can’t do both those things at once. Should he be able to? He can’t remember. He can’t remember how his body is supposed to work. He shoves himself up to sitting and tries to suck in more air, but his lungs burn like they’re full of smoke, suffocating him from the inside out. There’s a part of him that always thought he’d die in a fire. That he’d die doing something reckless to save someone. It wasn’t supposed to be lightning. Wasn’t supposed to be a freak fucking accident.

“Hey,” softer, closer, Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, “you’re okay. We’re at the beach, remember? Can you breathe with me?”

He takes Buck’s hand and holds it against his own chest, skin and cotton both warmed from the sun, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. Inhale, hold for one, for two, for three, and exhale. Inhale, and hold, and exhale, and hold.

They’ve done this before. It was Eddie, then, wild-eyed and gasping after a nightmare, his back pressed so far back against the wall that Buck had to crawl onto the bed, practically on top of him, to pull his hand away from clawing at his chest and press it against Buck’s own instead. He’d been terrified, then. Is something close to terrified now. But this time it’s not Eddie he’s afraid of losing, it’s himself.

He makes himself take a breath. And another. And another. He focuses on the movement of Eddie’s chest, the beat of his heart under Buck’s fingertips, the warmth of his fingers around Buck’s wrist.

“That’s it,” Eddie murmurs, and his voice is low and steady, but when Buck meets his eyes, there’s a wild edge to them that he wasn’t expecting. A blurriness that he thinks is his own tears for a moment, until he blinks and they run down his cheeks, and he finds the blurriness still there.

Buck takes another breath and it trembles, rippling through his chest, his legs, down his arms. A gull caws and he flinches. The sun flashes bright on the water. A lightning flash. Half a memory. Sea mist like rain on his face. Eddie squeezes his wrist, pulling him back before he can get lost in it.

His other hand is tight around his phone, Buck realises, three numbers typed out on the screen ready to hit call: 9-1-1.

He takes a deep breath.

Another.

“I’m okay,” he makes himself say. “Sorry, I’m—I’m okay.”

He has a sudden surge of memory:

What’s wrong with him? Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?

Because he wouldn’t let me, so I called you.

And he’d thought then—must have thought, because Chimney said—

Maybe he’s just having a panic attack.

“How do you feel?” Eddie asks, and Buck knows he doesn’t mean emotionally, although they’ll probably get to that later. He means it the same way he means it on calls: what are your symptoms? where is the pain? what do we need to treat?

Irritation licks up Buck’s spine. He’s so sick of being a patient. Sick of resting, sick of everyone being worried all the time, sick of not being fine. He tugs his hand free of Eddie’s grasp to scrub roughly at his face.

“My lungs are fine,” he says, and it comes out more shaky than sharp. “My heart is fine, my—my hands, and my knee, and everything else is all fine. You can stop looking at me like that now.”

“Like what?” Calm. Even. Always so in control.

“Like I’m going to fucking break,” Buck snaps, and the rush of anger steals his breath again, makes him cough, one hand pressed against his chest, the other held up to hold Eddie back.

It doesn’t matter. Eddie doesn’t reach for him this time. He doesn’t let go of his phone either, though, 911 one finger tap away.

“Fuck,” Buck manages, when he has caught his breath again. He squeezes his eyes shut, curls over his knees and grips his hair, like maybe he can hold himself together. Maybe all he needs to do is hold, and hold, and hold. He wishes desperately that Eddie would touch him and is absurdly grateful that he doesn’t.

Somewhere down the beach, a child shrieks. Another laughs. A parent calls for them to come out of the water and Buck feels a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. It’s so sudden and visceral he thinks he’s going to be sick, the world tilting on it’s edge, reality spiralling away from him. He has to put a hand down in the sand, warm and almost-smooth and real real real against his skin, to try and steady himself. Fuck. Why the hell did he let Eddie bring him to a beach?

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Eddie says eventually. “I promised your sister I’d have you back for lunch.”

Lunch is still hours away, but Buck only thinks about fighting it for a second.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and he’s suddenly too tired to care how tired he sounds. “Okay.”

They’re silent as they pick up their towels, shaking the sand out before throwing them over their shoulders, the cooler bag Eddie brought hanging from one arm, beach umbrella tucked under the other, flip flops carried to the grassy edge of the beach before they put them on. Buck’s skin feels itchy, gritty from more than just sand, and the water from the makeshift shower at the edge of the carpark does little to rinse the feeling off.

“Your hands are shaking,” he realises when they’re sitting in Eddie’s truck, the engine on but the car still in park. He reaches out, but Eddie pulls his hands away, wraps his arms around his chest and tucks them under his armpits, out of reach.

Time stretches, the engine ticking, cold air blowing through the vents. Buck shivers, then shivers again, and when gritting his teeth doesn’t work, he gives in and reaches under his seat for the hoodie he abandoned here earlier.

“I’m okay,” he tries again, fiddling with his cuffs, watching Eddie out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Eddie opens his mouth, probably the start of an automatic denial, then closes it again, his jaw tight.

“You don’t have to apologise,” is what he finally says, and Buck hears you’re right, you did scare me. It leaves a strange, almost salty aftertaste in his mouth.

“Do you want me to drive?” he offers.

It gets Eddie to look at him. Whatever he sees makes him frown and he reaches for the fan dial to adjust the AC. Then he sighs, looking back at Buck while he slowly stops shivering, and the last thing Buck expects him to say is, “Maddie is going to kill me.”

“Maddie likes you,” he protests, even though he’s not sure what he’s really protesting. “Why would she kill you?”

Eddie gestures, up and down and then up again, as if to say look at you, you’re a mess. Buck glares, and hugs himself a little, and tells himself it’s not sulking.

“I knew you were conspiring,” he mutters, because this whole trip was definitely an ambush.

“We weren’t—” Eddie starts, and then he bites off with another sigh, frustrated this time. “How long have you been having panic attacks?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, taking his own turn looking out the window to avoid his best friend’s gaze.

“What happened to ‘you need to talk to me’?” Eddie pushes. “I’m pretty sure that goes both ways, Buck.”

“Because you’re so good at talking,” Buck shoots back, and he hates himself a little for the way that Eddie flinches.

He used to argue with Bobby like this too. Used to push them right to the edge, right to the cliff top of regret, and wait to see if Bobby would throw them both over it.

He waits now, braced against the free fall, adrenaline sharp at the back of his tongue.

“You died,” Eddie says abruptly, and it’s not the push Buck was expecting but it almost sends him into free fall anyway, the ground taken out from under him. “You were dead, Buck, for seven fucking minutes before we got your heartbeat back, and it almost killed me too. Is that what you want to hear?”

No. The recoil presses Buck back into his seat. He’s got a hand against his chest before he realises it hurts, pain sharp and sudden, his heart screaming and his lungs seizing. There’s wind whistling in his ears. Everything has narrowed to dead and seven fucking minutes and the smell of ozone in his nose.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, and then he’s unclipping his seatbelt and throwing open the car door.

Wait— Buck wants to say, another surge of panic sweeping through him, but then Eddie is circling the front of the truck and pulling open his door as well.

“You’re fine,” he says, stumbling through the words like he’s trying to reassure both of them. “Deep breaths, Buck, come on.”

Fingers around his wrist again, hand on Eddie’s chest. It turns Buck towards him, sitting sideways in the seat with one leg almost on the ground, Eddie pressed in close while he coaches him to breathe. Inhale, hold for one, for two, for three, and exhale. Easier this time, but that might just be because Buck’s lungs are too tired to keep up the panic. He feels greyed out and rubbery by the time his breathing is evening out, exhaustion rushing in where the panic drains away. He sags, forward instead of back, and Eddie catches him in a hug before he can slide right out of the car.

“I’ve got you,” he says, almost a whisper, the words muffled against Buck’s hair.

Buck lifts his arms just enough to wrap them around Eddie’s back and return the hug, and then he’s just—done. Can’t fight it anymore. Doesn’t even know what it is he’s supposed to be fighting. All he can do is hold on and hope that Eddie doesn’t let go. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Eddie is pushing him gently back and wiping the tears away.

“I’m gonna take you home,” he says. And when Buck makes a half-formed sound of protest, he adds, “My place. I’ll tell Maddie you’re not up for lunch.”

“No,” Buck tries, and god, is that his voice?

“Sorry,” Eddie apologises, and Buck knows it means you can’t get out of telling your sister about this. Probably also I’ll be calling Bobby too.

He wants to fight it. Wants to insist that he’s fine—that he will be fine—but.

But.

Buck gives in. Lets himself be driven home—to Eddie’s house—and shuffled from front door to shower to couch. He’s starting to hurt, even though he doesn’t feel like he’s done anything that should make him hurt, but that’s pretty much situation normal these days. He doesn’t say anything about it, but Eddie knows him well so he doesn’t really have to.

“Here,” he offers, holding out Tylenol, then water. “Do you want tea?”

“I want coffee,” Buck grumbles, swallowing the painkillers. A headache is setting in and it shows no sign of letting go easily.

Eddie shakes his head, more fond than exasperated. “When the doctor clears you for coffee, I’ll be the first to buy you a cup. Is that no to tea?”

Buck shrugs, hunching down in his corner of the couch. “Tea is fine.”

He closes his eyes, then opens them again a moment later because Eddie hasn’t moved. He’s still perched on the coffee table, worrying at his lip while he watches Buck.

“What?” Buck asks, rubbing self-consciously at his birthmark

A slight head shake: nothing. Eddie stands up, takes half a step towards the kitchen, then turns back.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he says, and Buck feels the words in his chest, lodging somewhere around his heart. An affirmation. A promise. A fuck you to the universe and whatever it wants to throw at them next.

“Yeah,” he agrees, offering Eddie a smile. “‘We’re gonna be okay.”

And when he’s alone—when he’s lying back on the couch with the muted sound of the boiling kettle like a shell held up to his ear, the ocean rushing through him—Buck takes a deep breath—and another and another—and finds that he believes it. Not today, not tomorrow, but one day—whenever one day comes—they’re gonna be okay.

#Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #911 Fox #911 Spoilers #fic #badthingshappenbingo

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hotcheetohatredwastaken · 4 months

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BDOR Prologue: A Haircut—Annoyance, Persistence, and Bribery (1/3)

Tw: None for this chapter

Somehow, Wild got it into his head that he wanted a haircut. Something more like Twilight's or the village children's in Hateno. Something that stayed out of the way when he wanted to run or climb or fight, and something that took a lot less upkeep. He asked–begged–Twilight to do it.

The first few times, Twilight had brushed it off as a turn of whimsy the boy would forget in a week or two. But the idea had taken root in the kid’s brain like an all-consuming daydream; Twilight often caught him considering his reflection with great seriousness in a still pond or a house's window, turning his face this way and that, drawing his hair back behind his ears or letting it fall as he pleased. He would quite rudely point and whisper about every other traveler they passed, wondering how he would look with hair like that, couldn’t Twilight just do it, just once, and he wouldn’t ask again, please, please, please, please, please.

And Wild kept asking. And kept asking. And kept asking. He couldn’t even keep consistent what he wanted–one hour it was a bob, another just a trim to his shoulders, and the next he wanted it shaved to the scalp and spiked into a line in the center of his head. Twilight thought he would die if Wild’s long golden tresses were disfigured into such an ignominy. And he was worried that if he continued to refuse, Wild might just try to cut the hairstyle of the day himself. That would be a disaster.

“Are you sure?” Twilight had asked for what had to be the thousandth time as he kicked his feet idly under his chair, sitting at the high table of their new home in Hateno. The house had only been finished last week, and they hadn’t even begun to decorate or, Hylia forbid, buy furniture other than their beds and the kitchen table. Wild had taken the room down the hall—teenagers needed their privacy and all—while Twilight was relegated to the loft overlooking the living room. The taste of fresh sawdust still lingered in the air, and boxes crowded the empty home’s corners. Twilight picked at the meal before him–a bowl of pumpkin and meat stew, tastefully seasoned and hot off the stove. Made specifically to butter him up for this conversation, Twilight was certain. “Like, real, real sure?”

‘I’m sure, I’m sure, I’m sure!’

Wild buzzed about the kitchen, flapping his hands and straightening up this and that on the counter with such an excited energy Twilight worried he was about to explode. Wild seemed to like the clay oven the most out of anything else in the home. It was a cooking pot that was inside, set up similarly to those Twilight had seen in Gerudo town— not that he was supposed to know anything about what was inside the walls of that city —and low enough that Wild could use it without difficulty. All Wild had to do was feed fire into the slot in the front to keep the heat going, and he didn’t have to worry about something as trivial as rain preventing him from preparing them a good meal. Speaking of which…

Humming a sort of jumpy tune to himself, Wild donned a pair of baker’s mitts and reached into the oven. Out came a pie—some sort of citrus, by the scent of it—that he set before Twilight with a broad grin.

Twilight winced in the face of his blatant enthusiasm about bribery. Still, he pushed on. “I just… It’s a big change, you know. You’ve never had your hair cut before–why do you want to do it now? If you don’t like it, there ain’t nothing we can do but—”

‘I’ll like it! I will!’ Wild stamped his feet in a sudden show of childish stubbornness. His apron strings bounced up behind him like an irritated cat’s tail. ‘I know I haven’t had my hair cut before, that’s why I want to do it! Why do all of you people get to do it and I can’t?’

“Who’s ‘you people?'” Twilight muttered to himself, bracing his head in his hands. He had to admit the kid had a point—it was his hair to do with as he pleased. Plus, with a cut, the upkeep wouldn't be nearly as bad—as it was, Wild brushed it out and combed some sort of oil into the ends every morning, and Twilight braided it up every night. He couldn’t go longer than two days without washing, conditioning, and air drying, which was a multi hour process in and of itself, before it got greasy and Wild got very, very irritated with the feeling of it. It just wasn’t a style conducive to the amount of traveling they did. “Won’t you go to an actual barber, at least? I don’t mind to pay the money—”

‘No.’ Wild shook his head vehemently. ‘I want you to do it.’

Not that Twilight expected a different answer. Wild did not let strangers touch his hair. He’d broken Twilight’s nose the first time he dared to do so. And the second. It was still a touch crooked, but there was nothing to be done about that.

“I just… I’ve cut some of the younger kids’ hair before back at my village, sure, but what you’re asking—”

‘I want you to do it.’

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it,” Twilight grumbled. “But don’t you dare come crying to me if you don’t like it, I already warned you I ain’t gonna be no good at it. And give me a piece of that pie first.”

Wild let out a high-pitched squeal and threw himself across the kitchen to hug Twilight’s arm, chanting, “thank you thank you thank you thank you!” Twilight sighed and shoved a bite of pumpkin soup into his mouth. Somehow, he had a feeling this was going to be a lot more eventful than a simple haircut.

Read the main fic here! Blood Drops on Roses: Linked Universe

Or, come visit me on AO3 and read this chapter there! BDOR Prologue: A Haircut

#linked universe #lu #linkeduniverse #lu wild #wild linked universe #lu twilight #twilight linked universe #cheetowrites #ao3 #bdor #blooddropsonroses #linked universe fanfic #angst #hurt/comfort #haircut #hair trauma #amnesia #memories

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soulofapatrick · 1 month

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Party Favours - Raphael Santiago x female reader

Summary: One of Magnus’ parties leads to the unexpected

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: beginnings of a panic attack

Y/N’s POV

Alec’s dragging me through the door of Magnus’ apartment, his grip firm but gentle, drawing a sigh of resignation from me. I don’t put up much of a fight, not because I particularly enjoy parties, but because I love Alec so much.

He’s always been there for me, a constant presence in my life. Two years older than me, he’s not just a brother figure, but also a father figure in many ways. His protective instincts kick in whenever he senses my hesitation or reluctance.

I squeeze his hand in reassurance, offering a small smile as we step into the vibrant chaos of the loft. The music pounds in my ears, the chatter of voices blending into a dizzying hum. Downwards and Shadowhunters mingle together, their differences monetarily forgotten in the revelry.

Alec leads me further into the room, his expression a mixture of determination and excitement. I follow along dutifully, trusting him to guide me through the sea of unfamiliar faces and overwhelming sensations. Despite my reservations, there's a part of me that's grateful for Alec's insistence. He knows how much these gatherings mean to Magnus, how important it is for us to show our support for him.

We weave through the crowd, catching glimpses of familiar faces – Izzy's infectious laughter, Jace's cocky grin, Magnus' sparkling eyes. They all seem to be in their element, revelling in the festivities with a sense of abandon I can't quite muster. But, Alec is by my side, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos. And for that, I am grateful. With him beside me, I know I can face whatever the night may bring, even if it means stepping out of my comfort zone.

As we navigate through the crowd, Magnus slinks over with the grace of a cat, his eyes alight with mischief as he greets us. His magnetic presence draws attention wherever he goes, and tonight is no exception.

“Ah Alec, my dear boy,” Magnus purrs, his voice laced with amusement, “Might I steal you away for a moment? There's someone I simply must introduce you to.”

Alec glances at me, silently seeking my approval. I offer him a reassuring smile, nodding my consent. Magnus and Alec share a unique bond, one that transcends mere friendship, and I would never dream of standing in the way of that.

“Of course , Magnus," Alec replies, turning to me with a gentle squeeze of my hand. "I'll be back soon.”

As Magnus leads Alec away with a flourish, a pang of loneliness tugs at my heart. I watch them disappear into the crowd, feeling a twinge of envy for the easy camaraderie they share. But I quickly push aside those feelings, reminding myself that Alec deserves to enjoy himself, especially in the company of someone as captivating as Magnus.

Alone now, I shift uncomfortably in the too-short dress Izzy insisted I wear. The fabric clings to my skin like a second layer, its tightness making each breath feel constricted. The pulsating energy of the party presses in on me from all sides, overwhelming my senses with a cacophony of noise and movement.

As the minutes tick by, the intensity of the crowd becomes almost suffocating. Conversations blend into an indistinguishable buzz, laughter rings in my ears like chimes in a storm, and the kaleidoscope of colours and faces whirl around me in a dizzying blur.

Panic begins to gnaw at the edges of my consciousness, a cold knot of fear tightening in my chest. I feel like I'm drowning in the sea of people, struggling to keep my head above water as I desperately search for an escape. With trembling hands, I push my way through the throng, each step feeling like an uphill battle against the tide of bodies. My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic rhythm matching the pulse of the music that reverberates through the loft.

Just when I feel like I can’t take another moment of the overwhelming chaos, an icy grip clamps around my wrist, drawing me sharply from the crowd and into the hallways with lightning speed. Instinctively, I try to wrench my hand free, my heart hammering in my chest as I spin around to confront my captor.

But before I can even form a coherent thought, I find myself face to face with Raphael Santiago, his dark eyes searching my face with an intensity that takes my breath away. Relief floods through me like a tidal wave, washing away the fear and panic that had threatened to consume me only moments before.

“Raphael,” I gasp, my voice barely more than a whisper as I practically collapse into his solid chest, seeking refuge in the safety of his embrace.

His arms wrap around me instinctively, holding me close as if to shield me from the chaos of the world outside. For a long moment we stand there together in the quiet stillness of the hallway, the only sound the slightly muffled thumping music in the next room.

Feeling a sense of calm wash over me in Raphael's embrace, I let out a shaky breath, allowing myself to relax for the first time since arriving at the party. With his steady presence by my side, the overwhelming panic begins to ebb away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through me like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

As the tension slowly melts away, Raphael gently guides me towards the spare room I had been heading towards earlier. With each step, I feel a sense of gratitude welling up inside me, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding.

But as we step into the dimly lit room, my cheeks flush with embarrassment when I catch sight of myself in the mirror. The black dress Izzy had insisted I wear barely reaches past my ass, leaving little to the imagination, while the plunging neckline barely covers my cleavage. Paired with the knee-high boots that add a significant amount of height to my frame, I can't help but feel exposed and vulnerable.

I tug self-consciously at the hem of the dress, trying in vain to cover a little more skin. I can feel Raphael’s eyes on me, his gaze warm with amusement as he takes in my discomfort.

“You look beautiful Birdie,” He murmurs, using the nickname he gave me the first time he met me, his voice soft but sincere as he steps up behind me, eyes meeting mine in the reflection of the mirror.

His hands cold as ice, settle on my hips, their touch sending a shockwave of awareness through me. There’s an eerie chill to his fingertips, a stark reminder of his undead nature, as they trace delicate patterns on my skin. When his lips press against my jugular, there’s no warmth, only what should be the unsettling sensation of death brushing against my skin but it’s Raphael. My pulse jumps beneath his touch, his lips curving into a smirk against my neck.

Flushed with heat, I feel a rush of flustered embarrassment washing over me. It’s not just Raphael’s proximity that sets my heart racing, but the realisation of the feelings I've harboured for him for so long. Despite the impossibility of it all, the boundaries that separate our worlds, I've never been able to shake the ache in my chest whenever he's near. Shadowhunters can’t date downworlders and the law is the law but sometimes laws have to be broken. Izzy’s been sleeping with Meliorn…

As I stand there, lost in the intensity of Raphael's gaze, my thoughts drift to Alec and Magnus, two souls who could be so happy together if not for the unjust laws that govern our world. The bitterness of the truth sends a surge of frustration through me, and before I can stop myself, the words spill out.

“Fuck this…” I mutter, my voice laced with defiance as I spin around in Raphael's grip, determination burning in my eyes.

Before he can react, I grab his face with both hands, pulling him into a kiss I've wanted for so long. His initial surprise is evident, his body stiffening for a moment before melting into the kiss with a raw, unbridled passion. For a moment, time seems to stand still as our lips meet, the world fading away around us as we lose ourselves in the heat of the moment. His kiss is electrifying, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through me as I lose myself in the sensation of his touch.

Suddenly, I feel myself falling, the sensation of weightlessness overwhelming me as I land on the bed with a soft thud. Raphael hovers over me, his eyes dark with desire as he leans down to capture my lips once more. His kiss is fierce and possessive, a silent declaration of the longing we've both denied for so long. In that moment, as our bodies entwine in a tangle of limbs and desire, I know that there's no turning back.

As our lips remain locked in a fervent embrace, Raphael's kiss becomes a whirlwind of passion and longing. Every brush of his lips against mine sends sparks flying, igniting a fire within me that I never knew existed. But just as I feel myself becoming lost in the intensity of the moment, he breaks the kiss, allowing me to catch my breath.

I inhale deeply, the rush of air filling my lungs as I stare up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes, dark with desire, bore into mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. And in that moment, as our bodies remain entwined on the bed, I realise just how long he's been waiting for this.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long," he whispers, his voice husky with emotion. "But I needed to wait for you to make the first move.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning and unspoken desire. In the silence that follows, I feel a surge of warmth spreading through me, knowing that he's waited for me all this time, just as I've waited for him.

With a shaky breath, I reach up to trace the contours of his face, my fingers trembling with anticipation. His gaze softens at my touch, a flicker of tenderness in his eyes as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“Better late than never.”

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

#raphael santiago x reader #raphael santiago #the mortal instruments #raphael santiago x you #raphael santiago x y/n #raphael santiago smut #raphael santiago fluff #raphael santiago agnst #raphael santiago angst #raphael santiago tmi #David castro #shadowhunters #shadowhunters tv #downworlders

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