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deakyjoe · 8 months ago

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I Got Chills, They’re Multiplying

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader (fem, she/her)

Category: sick fic, fluff

Summary: Despite being stubbornly independent, Bob won’t let you push him away in your time of need.

Warnings: sickness, sexual references and innuendos, implication of Bob having a “lieutenant” kink, just fluff mostly, reader is used to pushing people away, they’re like hella in love but won’t say it

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: Wrote this exhausted because I haven’t been able to sleep these past few days due to being sick. Enjoy!

Consider buying me a coffee :)

You stared at the last text message Bob had sent you.

Okay, get well soon!

It was unclear whether the constant pounding in your head was what was making you feel sick or if it was how quickly the text conversation had ended with your boyfriend. Well, kind-of boyfriend. You'd been on a lot of dates over the last few months but hadn't actually made it official yet.

It's not like you expected anything from him, you were used to men being pretty dismissive, and his message was actually very friendly, especially with the exclamation point at the end, but you couldn't help but feel a pang of something at him just ending the conversation like that.

To be fair to him, you had told him that you were fine, just had a cold or a minor case of the flu. It was a little worse than that but you weren't used to telling people your problems, used to keeping them bottled up inside. So you guess you couldn't really blame him for taking your word for granted and assuming that, as you'd said, you were fine. And maybe he was busy.

You sighed and tossed your phone aside, burying your face in one of the many blankets you'd dragged to your couch in an attempt to feel slightly warmer. You were being ridiculous, this is exactly what you wanted. And what you expected. At least you had peace and quiet for the day whilst you recovered.

Drifting off into a dreamless sleep came naturally with the state your body was in and you were thankful for it, hoping that the headache that had been plaguing you since you first woke up that morning would be gone by the time you woke up again.

It wasn't.

In fact, it only got worse when the rhythmic throbbing in your skull matched the timing of the person knocking on your front door. You groaned quietly to yourself and dragged yourself up off the couch, wrapping a blanket tight around your shoulders and padding to the door with only one sock on. You figured the other one must have fallen off during your nap.

You didn't even bother looking through the peephole to see who was bothering you, hoping to just snap at them to go away once you'd managed to unlock the door.

That plan was foiled when you were greeted by your favourite pair of baby blue eyes behind wire framed glasses. You immediately softened at the sight of your kind-of boyfriend.

"Oh, hi." You croaked, immediately feeling sheepish that you were about to shout at him without even thinking about the consequences.

Bob frowned at you, giving you a quick once over. "You're sick."

"Yes, I told you that." You chuckled, coughing into your elbow as soon as the words had left your mouth.

"Sicker than you let on." He clarified.

You shrugged, not knowing what to say. He was right. But that's just who you were. Keep everything to yourself, was your motto.

So you just asked him a question instead. "Why are you here? I said I was fine."

Bob smiled at that. "I think your exact words were 'yeah, I'm good' which I knew was a lie."

"Oh." That surprised you.

He went further. "You only say you're good when something's wrong."

God, were you that easy to read?

"So, I thought I'd come check on you." He stiffened suddenly. "I hope that's okay."

You didn't think it possible but somehow you softened more under his worried gaze. "Yes, that's very okay. Do you want to come in?"

You opened the door wider for him, stepping aside and grinning when he hurried in and kicked off his shoes. It was then that you noticed what he was wearing. Blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He looked good. Very good. If you didn't feel like you were dying then you'd definitely be jumping his bones right about now. You still kind of wanted to. You pushed the thought aside.

"Didn't realise how hot it is outside. I'm freezing." You mumbled, shuffling back towards your couch. "Do you want a drink?"

"No, thanks. But if I did then I'd make it myself. I'm here to look after you." He placed a hand on the small of your back to guide you in the direction of the blanket pile you'd previously made, smirking at the sight of it.

You shifted away from him. "You don't have to touch me. I'm sick and disgusting right now."

He huffed. "You're beautiful and lovely like always."

"Liar." You grumbled, pushing back into his hand nevertheless.

"No, just smitten and honest." He confessed, sitting you down on the couch and wrapping you in the millions of blankets. "Have you eaten today?"

You shook your head no. You didn't feel up to cooking.

"Want me to make you something?" He stood in front of you with his hands on his hips.

"No." You sighed. "It's okay."

"Yeah, I'm making you something."

You huffed. "You really don't have to-"

"I want to." He cut you off. “I don’t want you to think you can’t ask me for things. You know I care about you, right?”

You nodded slowly. “I know, I’m just used to doing stuff for myself.”

Bob smiled gently. “I know that. But now you don’t have to. I’m here for you. To help. Or whatever you need.”

You were about to respond with a fond thank you when you were interrupted by his cellphone chiming in his pocket.

“Sorry.” He grunted, pulling the device from the front of his jeans.

“It’s okay.” You coughed, curious as to why he was suddenly frowning. “Who is it?”

"Had plans with the team tonight. Was supposed to meet them for drinks." He mumbled, typing away on his phone.

"Oh, god." You rubbed your hand across your face. "Please go. You don't have to stay here. Don't let them down."

Bob suddenly looked up from his screen and gave you an amused smile. "I'm sure they'll understand that I'm looking after my sick girlfriend."

He said it so casually, as if he’d been doing it regularly. Your heart rate picked up at that. Girlfriend. His girlfriend. Bob Floyd's girlfriend. You could've squealed with glee. You stayed silent and settled for a pleased grin.

He sighed to himself once he’d replied to his team and placed his cell down on your coffee table. “Where were we? Oh! Right. Me cooking for you.”

“Like I said, you don’t need to do that.” You pulled your feet up onto the couch after a particularly violent shiver ran through you. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Bob reached out and pressed the back of his hand onto your forehead. “You have a fever. And you’re still shaking like we’re in Antarctica.”

“It’s just my immune system fighting back.” You hummed, leaning into his touch as he moved his hand down to cup your cheek.

“Exactly. And I’m sure some warm soup will just help your immune system out.” He crouched down in front of you, taking the other side of your face in his other hand. “Please let me take care of you.”

The words were so softly spoken, so tender, that you almost started crying. No one had ever sounded so sincere before, especially when it came to your well-being. If you weren’t so scared of infecting him, you would’ve leaned forward to kiss him.

So you could only reply quietly, with the smallest of nods. “Okay.”

His face burst into a dazzling smile, the kind that made you never want to stop looking at him. “Okay. You rest some more and I’ll go make that for you.”

You smiled weakly back at him, suddenly remembering something. “I don’t think I have any soup.”

Bob didn’t falter. “That’s alright. I’ll figure something out.”

You thought that maybe you were a little bit in love with him.

“Help yourself to anything.” It didn’t need to be said, he knew your kitchen pretty well at this point and you always made it clear that he was free to eat or use anything in it when he was over at your place.

He nodded, pressed a kiss to your forehead and stood up. “Try to sleep a little. This might take a while.”

You snorted, regretting it immediately as it made your throat feel all scratchy. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

Bob paused for a second, halfway to taking a step towards the kitchen, and looked back at you. “Lieutenant?”

You nodded, mouth twitching at the corners.

He seemed to think on it for a second. “Hm, we’ll come back to that.”

You giggled quietly into your blanket and settled back onto the couch, closing your eyes and thinking of Bob Floyd. Your boyfriend. Your extremely caring boyfriend. Who was in your kitchen making you soup! When did you suddenly get so lucky? The musings drifted away with you as you slipped into unconsciousness.

Some time passed before you were awoken again by Bob stroking the side of your face and softly uttering your name.

You rubbed your eyes as you sat up, slightly confused as your head cleared. “What’s going on?”

“Soup.” He replied simply, picking up your legs and sitting down before placing them across his lap. He leaned forward to grab the bowl and spoon on your coffee table and then turned to face you.

“You gonna feed me?” You teased.

Bob smiled. “I would if you wanted me to but I’m sure you’d rather I throw this soup in your face than do that.”

He was right.

“Hm, when did you get to know me so well?” You asked, half joking as you took the bowl and spoon from him. The soup was a rich green colour. What he’d found to put in it, you had no idea. “Always thought I was closed off.”

“You are.” He shrugged. “But I pay attention.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his again. He was just looking at you with a slight smile, hands smoothing up and down the lengths of your clothed legs.

You were definitely a little bit in love with him.

You defaulted to a joke. "Remind me when I'm feeling better that you're gonna get it sooo good."

Bob snorted. "I think the fever is making you delirious."

"I'm just frustrated because you, somehow, look hotter than usual and I'm too sick to do anything about it." You gestured vaguely to his outfit, using the spoon to point.

“I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt.”

“Hot.” You insisted.

"Okay, I'll remind you." He rolled his eyes. “Now eat your soup.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” You mumbled, dipping the spoon into the thick liquid.

He huffed out a laugh.

You weren’t surprised in the least that the soup was delicious. You were starting to believe that Bob might actually be the perfect man, some sort of miracle sent to Earth to apologise for all the wrongdoing in the world. How he’d managed to concoct a good soup out of the limited ingredients in your kitchen was beyond you. And yet, he’d done it.

“What the hell did you put in this?” You asked, frowning at him mock suspiciously. If you didn’t know him better you’d think he’d ordered it to your place while you were asleep. But Bob Floyd wasn’t that kind of guy.

“Some stuff I found laying around.” He shrugged modestly. “Didn’t follow a recipe or anything.”

You scoffed. “You’re something else.”

He just shrugged again, a pleased smile playing on the corners of his lips, and watched you practically inhale the rest of the dish. He was very glad you’d eaten it.

“How you feeling now?”

“Better.” You admitted. “But I don’t know if it’s because of the soup or because you’re here.”

Bob’s heart thudded against his rib cage at that confession. “Just happy to help.”

You hummed and stared at him fondly.

He had trouble getting his next question out, distracted by the way you were looking at him. “Do- do you- do you want to go back to sleep?”

You hesitated before answering him, mulling an idea over in your mind. “There is something I want.”

“Oh, yeah? What is it?” He was willing to do anything for you.

“Don’t want you to get sick.” You sighed.

He smiled. “I think we left that concern behind when I first got here.”

Your eyes widened. “No! Don’t make me feel guilty.”

“I’m not trying to.” Bob assured you. “But I doubt whatever you want is going to have a higher risk of getting me sick than me just sitting here next to you.”

You grumbled something underneath your breath to yourself.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind getting sick off of you.”

Maybe you were a lot in love with him.

So you let it burst out of you. “Wanna cuddle.”

Bob didn’t even respond to you, just scooped you up into his arms and maneuvered the two of you into the position he knew you liked - him on his back with you half on top of him and half next to him, one leg and one arm slung around him, your face buried his chest and head tucked under his chin, one of his hands moving to stroke up and down your arm, trace patterns across your back and comb through your hair.

He knew you so well.

You nuzzled your face against his t-shirt. “Thank you.”

He inhaled deeply. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I want to. You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Making you soup is nothing. It’s not like I’m giving you a kidney.” He paused. “Although I’d probably do that too.”

You chuckled against his chest. “What I mean is, most guys would’ve accepted my ‘I’m good’ text and carried on with their day. You didn’t.”

“Because I knew you were lying.” He reminded you.

“That’s my point. No one has ever known I was lying before.” You tilted your head up to look at him. “I’m glad you knew.”

“Me too.”

Bob wanted to kiss you but knew you’d kill him if he tried. So he settled for the smile he gave you that always made you look away nervously. Which you did, as predicted, and then swiftly fell asleep against him. He wondered how’d he’d gotten so lucky. Sure, he was caring for a sick person but it was the happiest he’d been in a long time. Which should sound ridiculous but to him it made more sense than anything.

He was knocked out of his thoughts when you whined lowly in your sleep and held onto him tighter. He smiled down at you and held you closer to his chest.

Bob knew then that he was a lot in love with you.

A/N: And we’re back!

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youronlydarlin · 10 months ago

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warning: kinda sad ANGST, Simon losses you :( , ooc kinda?? But he's soft for you only, trust me bro

This was kinda inspired by that one part in the comics where our poor, Si holds his mums skull, n he jus'... Kinda nuzzles into it. I dunno it just bought on some sad feeling, mkay...

Simon who slightly raises the cup of tea he's drinking each time he has one, just to let you know he's relaxing. Or trying his best too, at least. Doesn't know what he'll do if he worried you from beyond the grave. Sometimes he looks at all the belongings you left behind. Saying how they probably miss you, but not nearly as much as he does.

Unlike some, Simon uses your things. He doesn't want the house to go through the pain of loosing you too. So he drinks from your mug, and sits on your chair. Reads your favorite books, but never takes out the book marks in case you want to continue reading them. He also completes your bucket list for you, and even though he's the one doing them he always whispers 'good job, to the wind, hoping they'll carry the messenge to you.

Simon who speaks to your framed pictures. He remembers each, and every memory behind them. "Bet your happy... Now it'll always be my turn to grab the 'bloody groceries.." he jests. He hopes that one made you laugh. Knowing you, you would've. It's a mystery how you always laughed at his lame jokes. Though your laugh's always been better than the awful punchlines.

Simon who passes by that cafe you bugged him to go with you to, and he feels his throat go dry. He never got to take you there because of a sudden call from Price, telling him about an urgent, albeit sudden, mission. He definitely regrets not taking you out on dates more often. There's so many shops opening that he knows you would've loved to see.

Simon who's heart breaks at how quickly the world turns without you. Everything's moving so quickly, leaving him behind like it's already moved on, and he hates it. He hates how there's less clothes to fold now. Food is served, but only for one. The taste of it is flavorless, and dry. It's times like these, that he wishes he should have took the time and learn your recipes.

But what's worse, is that your side of the bed is cold. And it'll remain that way forever. At times he'll reach for you absentmindedly. Nightmares about war traded for dreams about you, but during those dreamless nights where sleep doesn't visit he'll stroke your pillow the same way he'd do to keep your hair out of your face, and pull the covers over the empty space you once occupied. He wonders if it's cold where you are right now. But just know that he's always willing to warm you up if ever you come back.

Simon who...

Stands at the doorway. Bag slinged over his shoulder, full of everything he needs and more for deployment. He knows he can't leave without properly saying goodbye, so he fishes out his wallet, and digs out a picture of you. He holds it up to his face, and it's funny. How you're not even staring at the camera when the photo was taken. No, you were staring at him. This one's always been his favorite. So he clears his throat, and wishes you don't hear the slight shake in his tone.

"..By now you would've told me to be careful.. And I will, by the way. But, m' sorry for all the times I didn't...'

....

" I have to go now. Don't need them gettin' on my ass for 'being late.. so.."

....

"..You just rest now, ok, love? There's nothing else for you to worry about' anymore. I love you, always. Wish me, and the boys luck, yeah?.."

He gives a light kiss to your photo, and it's as if you're with him when he steps outside the door..

a/n: This was a challenge to write, and I don't know what to feel about the results. I'm just polishing my english, I guess. M'not good at writing angst, you can probably tell, also my grammar feels off on this one, again. English isn't my first language, sorry. So please correct me on any mistakes I've made! But putting all that aside, I hope you like this more than I do! And, always remember that you are loved, and cared for! Have an amazing day, my darlings!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod imagine #cod x reader angst #ghost x reader angst #Ouchy my feelings #call of duty x reader #x gn reader #x female reader #x male reader

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harrystylesfan2686 · 11 months ago

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Pieces Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader.

Summary: You finally confront Azriel about your feelings which ends in huge argument.

A/N: thank you to everyone who read and loved Pieces. I tried my best to make Azriel up to your expectations. I hope you all like this!

Pieces Masterlist

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I stopped making efforts with Azriel.

I stopped talking to him. Stopped waking up with him to wish him goodbye at the door. Stopped asking him about his day at dinner. Even stopped waiting for him to eat. I make our lunch, eat and get out of the house. Walking until I'm sure he's gone again. Come home make dinner, eat and sleep without waiting for him.

I accepted the fact that he doesn't want me anymore.

He still kisses me goodbye though.

So I guess there is still hope but I don't want it.

I open my eyes and glance to Azriel's empty bedside. I rub my eyes, already feeling tired even though I just started my day. I havn't been getting good enough sleep lately, staying up almost every night, rethinking everything over and over again. And when I do get sleep, it's always dreamless. I always feel like I fell alseep just a minute ago. I sit up on my bed to find a note on the bedside.

Dinner at Rhys tonight.

Four plain words in Azriel's handwriting. He didn't even sign it with his name. I sigh and get up from bed. I don't want to face anyone right now. I'm too tired to put on an act of being happy. Well at least I won't have to make food.

My throat feels scratchy. I warm up a little water to relieve the soreness but it doesnt make any difference. I suddenly sneeze, covering my face and freeze after realization finally hits me. I'm sick. I groan.

Can this day get any worse?

-☆-

When we arrived at the river house, I conversed with everyone for a while, catching up on everything after not seeing any of them for so long.

Feyre complemented my dress and commented on how my face looks different. I laughed a little saying that's because she hadn't seen me in so long, hoping my smile and lie seemed real enough for her to not get suspicious.

When I sneezed and coughed again, she figured I was sick and scolded me a little for coming, saying I should've stayed home and rested. I shrugged at that.

When we sat down on the table, Azriel whispered to me,"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?" To which I had kept looking away and answered,"You didn't ask." He didn't say anything else to me and neither did I to him. In fact I didn't talk to anyone much and only spoke when asked to do so the whole time.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" Azriel questioned when we walk into our house. I hang my coat on the coat stand and remove my shoes, taking my time answering him and finally say,"As I said before, you didn't ask."

"How was I supposed to know? And you didn't even spend much time with me. You went straight to Feyre, the second we entered and didn't talk to me at all the whole night." I could hear irritation in his voice which made me clench my jaw.

I took a deep breath,"I didn't realise you missed me so much considering you were glued to Elain all night." I spit out without looking at him and walk to our bedroom.

"What do you mean by that?" He follows me.

"Nothing." I sigh not wanting to have this argument right now but, of course, he doesn't care about that.

"No, tell me." He frowned.

"You talked to Elian all night so I thought, maybe I shouldn't disturb whatever conversation you must have going on." My lips thin as I look up at him.

"I had no choice but to talk to her because you didn't talk to me and and we were the only two people left alone." He said.

"Alright. But that was tonight. What about that other days and nights you spend with her? You like her. I get it. You don't need to explain yourself." My eyes fill with unwanted tears and I look away from him. I try to get away from him but he grabs my arm to keep me there.

"Yes, I like talking to her, but I would prefer to talk to you more." He says softly. I scoff.

"Don't lie az. Do us both a favor and accept it that you like her company better. I have." I snatch my arm back and try to walk away. He still follows me.

"No. I admit I like her company but no more than yours. You are more important." He stops in front of me.

"I don't believe that." A tear falls down my face. His eyes look into mine with confusion. "I watch you with her. How happy and content you look in her presence. Everyday you come home, speak barely two words to me and go back to her again." I fold my arms on my chest and look down. "You spend the time with her that youre suppose to spend with me. You tell her the things you should tell me. Your like her. More than me."

"That's not true. My love, I like you a lot more than her. You are the most important to me." His hand wips my tears and rests on my cheek. I rip it off me. "I don't believe you." I look at him with anger.

"You tell me Azriel, when was the last time you commented on my cooking? The last time you told how I looked? When was the last time you asked me how I was doing? When was the last time you held me? The last time you truly listened to me?" His expression falls in realisation, as my questions grow. "When was the last time you told you loved me and fucking meant it?!" I breath heavy, looking at his face tilted down, eyes cast down.

"I-," He clears his throat. "I did always meant when I said I loved you."

I turn to the other side. I can't look at him. I cover my eyes and try to focus on settling down my breathing. "I think you should leave." I whisper and turn to him again.

His head snaps to mine. "No! No. No. No. Don't push me away. Please." His voice cracks and a tear falls down his eyes. "Please give me a chance to fix this. Please don't push me away." His hands on either side of me and puts his forehead against mine, eyes looking into mine filled with tears and anguish.

"You pushed me away first." I whisper, gently taking his hands off of me and his face crumbles as more tears fall down. I cry with him.

"I just need time." I watch him nod silently, wiping his face clear with his hands while stepping away from me.

"Okay. I'll be in the house of wind. Please come to me when you're ready. I want to fix this. I don't want to let you go." I nod silently, not trusting my words.

I watch him nod again and go out of the door, leaving me alone in the house we bought together. Leaving me alone for my thoughts and memories to haunt me in the dead of the night. I'll be alright though. I'll take my time to think everything through. I'll heal myself then think about giving azriel a chance to heal us.

I just need time.

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Tags: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @crazylokonugget

#acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel angst #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel x femalereader #pieces

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milkypompon · 11 months ago

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The Blind Bet

pairing: Miguel x reader | Inspired by The Bet by guardianangelcas

summary: “One month, you and me. No sex, no touching yourself, no orgasms.” Miguel grins as if he’d already won the bet.

content: Miguel knows exactly how to wind you up and break you down... teasing, enemies to lovers, semi-public touching, fingering, sextape, recording, masturbating... he's watching hehe

wc: 4.5k

How?

How in the hell was it possible that the chances of avoiding this situation were slim to none in the vast multiverse? Annoyingly called the Archno-Humanoid-Poly-Multiverse by the very same man who roped you into a challenge that deprived you of the only good thing after coming back from a grueling mission.

Gone were the nights of unzipping your Spidersuit to toss it into the hamper before taking a hot shower leaving your skin raw and vulnerable. Then hastily patting yourself dry with a towel that was soon to be repurposed as a rag for under your thighs — in an attempt to catch your or chosen companion’s cum before it seeped into the mattress.

Looking back, Miguel fucking O’Hara crafted his words to reel you in. Hook, line, and sinker.

–

One month ago.

“I know you’ve been using the interdimensional gizmo at night to visit your… friends.” Per usual, he was nonchalant, scrolling through anomalies on his platform, now touching the ground (a habit you noted when you were in the office with him). As if he didn’t reveal that he’d been tracking your movement with Lyla’s help, who was just as eager to know what you were up to the late hours when any other normal person would be awake.

But that was the problem in itself, you weren’t human and neither was Miguel. The stupid machine by Alchemax was to blame. Not only the incident result in both of you needing a bump of Rapture daily but it also required a quick fuck to satiate the burning feeling teetering between pain and desire at the pit of the stomach.

You didn’t reply for a few beats, which was a mistake because the dead air was suffocating. There was no sound other than the occasional beeps from the monitors and dashboard. Even with your heightened senses, Miguel’s breathing was quiet. If his back weren’t turned to you with his shoulders slightly lifting up and down, you would think he was breathing at all.

“Don’t you have better shit to do than checking my coordinates, O’Hara?” You steal your voice into some semblance of superiority but fail terribly at gaining control over the conversation.

It was a constant push and pull between you two. Who would tap out first? Who would shoot the first web? Who would sink their teeth in first? Figuratively, you suppose, but also literally because your canines are starting to itch beneath your gums, threatening to unsheathe themselves into fangs.

“That watch is company property. A company that I happen to own. Therefore, I have the right to know where it is.” Miguel releases an unamused laugh. “I’m not using it to stalk you, you narcissist.”

“Says the one who replaced his dead alternate so he could fuck his wife—”

Miguel grimaces at your comment before cutting you off, “And it happened to be in a particular universe that wasn’t yours. Care to explain? Or maybe you can just simply confirm my suspicions with a simple yes or no because you don’t seem to be articulate with your words… according to last night.”

Oh.

You forgot to turn off your watch after your debriefing with Miguel. And he heard everything. You had half a mind to tug his shoulder and turn him around just to punch the smirk off of him that you knew was contorting his face. So, you did, or close to at least until he caught your fist and encapsulated it with his own.

“Play nice, nena” Miguel mutters under a slight tug of his mouth.

The bastard found it amusing, listening to the sounds you made while you were pushed down into the mattress with a man who knew how to use his dick. Or at least good enough to help you sink deep into a dreamless sleep after a day of beating anomalies into a pulp and tossing it through the swirling vortex.

But you did dream that night, so maybe the nameless man wasn’t as good at maneuvering himself inside of you as you thought. Your mouth went dry as you recollected vivid events in the dream. Of course, it was about your boss.

You shake your head to ground yourself. “You fucking recorded it! I bet you sat your ass down on your chair and jacked off to me moaning. You disgusting—”

“The gizmo records everything so I can playback the content to observe the…” Miguel grimaced when he realized he was making the situation worse. “That’s beside the point. I deleted it already.”

You step back, letting your arms fall to your side but you still keep your hands balled up — the only way to stop yourself from engaging your talons.

Miguel looks at you with a blank stare, almost bothered. “Did you really think I would’ve saved the video?”

You scoff, “I wouldn’t put it past you.” You didn’t mean it of course, but something fiery licked at your throat to demolish him in a battle of wit and snarky comebacks.

Although the man didn’t have a running streak of good morals considering his long-standing chase with the 15-year-old boy who wanted to save his father, Miguel drew the line there – somewhere between not breaking canon and the depravity of voyeurism through a sextape.

He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Whatever, just don’t let it happen again.”

Again?

That means Miguel has thought about the chances of this situation reoccurring with your head against your pillow, eye-rolling back, muttering incoherent chatter of pleasure, recorded on his company property gizmo. An open welcome for him to display it on his various monitors, big or small, the video would be the same, you split open by a lucky bastard that wasn’t him.

You wet your lips, feeling his eyes drift down to the pink tip of your tongue. He wants your mind twisting to read between the lines, treating you the way he draws information out of anomalies wreaking havoc. Little do they know Miguel plays just as dirty, creeping into their heads.

You grimace, “Stop.”

“Stop what?” Miguel hides a chuckle under the guise of clearing his throat. He saunters over to his work chair, leveled closer to the ground more than usual, and makes himself comfortable.

Any other person would’ve relished the idea of gleaning over his broad figure, but it was a false sense of dominance on your end. He knew it and so did you. You have to give it to him because it would be working if you didn’t know him so damn well.

If you weren’t warming up beneath your Spidersuit, you would’ve been insulted by his attempt to reel you in…

Into what exactly?

“That!” You shoot your arms toward him and almost whine. “This is your second time trying to set me up and make myself look like an idiot!”

“Oh, so you’ve been keeping track?” Now there was a full-blown grin on Miguel’s face. “Just like how you keep mental tick marks of how many people you’ve had sex with this week?”

At this point, you weren’t entirely sure what you felt, but it was between a fever and a cold sweat. Your cheeks burned with color or were devoid of it with the way he said ‘sex’ to you or even asked the question – as if he wanted to know what you had for breakfast this morning before the debriefing took place.

Miguel was no holy virgin either, so he wasn’t one to talk. He was a ravenous lover, not in the sense of intimacy, but in carnal desire. There was not much to blame other than how his DNA was altered to contain spider genes, hence creating the need to let off some steam with anyone who could bear his child.

But he had morals and an even amount of self-restraint. He wasn’t about to hop into a dimension with brothels to fulfill his needs. No matter how glaring or bothersome it was to feel his hard-on against his suit.

Instead, Miguel had a ‘roster’, as Peter B. liked to call it. It was a list of Spiderpeople he rotated throughout the week. The arrangement was a simple act of mutualism. He could rely on them to simulate the chosen partner being filled with his seed, while he helped them get their rocks off for the night.

You had a similar routine, Miguel observed, considering that you had the same canon event as him. Not to mention, you happen to log off from the watch on the dot.

Except for last night, when you’d left it on.

“You’re one to talk, O’Hara.” You dig your heels into the ground, watching his brows sit above his dark eyes. “Swinging your ass around Nueva York as if you haven’t fucked at least a quarter of the women in this compound.”

“So, you do keep count. Not of your escapades but of mine.” Miguel leans back into the chair.

“Mm, right because everything is about you,” You snarl and take a stride between his thighs.

“Fine, then let’s make it about you. You can’t control yourself if your life depended on it,” He says in a low voice, a timbre that makes shivers run down your spine.

Poets, or in your case, blind idiots, say that the third time’s the charm. And although this was his third time trying the make you an idiot, there was nothing particularly charming about it.

He knows you wouldn’t pass up on the opportunity to one-up him in a challenge. It didn’t matter if it was about who could wrap up an anomaly case the fastest or in indirect ways of seeing which new batch of Spiderpeople under your or his supervision would improve the quickest, it never got to the point of this.

It was an act of chalking up your sex life to simply win another challenge and gain bragging rights.

The better, more mature part of you should walk away from the situation, but there’s a seedling of a dark fantasy that was determined to see if Miguel would play along.

Maybe it wasn’t even about winning anymore, but you’d rather choke on your own tongue than admit that. To see him breathe when you breathe was palatable enough.

“One month, you and me. No sex, no touching yourself, no orgasms.” Miguel grins as if he’d already won the bet.

–

Present Day

In the canteen, You grip the tray housing your lunch, a blue Spiderman 2099 burger with a side of fries shaped like webs. The mindless chatter of your coworkers was comforting until there was one whose presence stood out the most. So much so that the figure garbed with a pink, fluffy robe and baby carrier snatched your peripherals.

“Heyyy!” Peter B. drawled and lightly bounced the furious curls of red attached to his chest.

“Pretty patty,” Mayday giggled and pointed to the burger.

“Little Red’s been watching Spongebob.” He grins and settles onto the seat across from you, careful of sitting too close for Mayday’s chubby hand reaching over for a fry. “Speaking of which–”

You bring a finger up to your lips, successfully shutting him up. After years of working under the Spider Society, you made sure there was a carved-out section of your schedule to discuss missions. At the canteen with a hot meal in hand wasn’t the time and place.

“You’re just like him. When there’s food around, the rest of the world disappears.” Peter plucked the fry from Mayday’s hand. “Big no, no. Mama won’t be happy if you eat greasy num nums.

He proceeds to pop the greasy num num into his mouth and you roll your eyes with a small smile.

“Wonder how ya don’t get along with him, kid. Miguel, I mean. Almost clawed my face off when I went into his office while he was eating empanadas,” He remarks.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, why are you here? Haven’t seen you in the canteen since you’ve been eating lunch with MJ and Little Red back in your universe,” You note.

“Right, right. About that.” Peter takes a pregnant pause. It was just enough time to pick up what he was about to ask.

You groan in frustration. “I am not gonna switch shifts with you again. You always manage to set up your dates with MJ when you have the worse missions.”

Peter pouts. The grown man has the audacity to pout. But, you can’t help but sigh and slowly nod because it reminds you of when Mayday motions towards your webslingers, hoping to persuade you.

“Fine, but I’m doing it for Red.”

He snaps his fingers. “I owe you one, kiddo.”

A gruff voice that’s all too familiar calls out to him, “Peter–”

He fidgets with the straps of the baby carrier before standing up. The sound of the metal screeching against the floor makes you wince. Somehow, he sidesteps Miguel and grins at him.

“Don’t miss me too much, O’Hara. Got a date night with the wife, but you’re in good hands tonight.”

And just like that, Peter pats Mayday’s head and steps through the portal without another word. You and Miguel stand there without a sound while watching the rip through the multiverse sew itself shut.

You shift your weight from foot to foot and decide to break the silence. “Does Peter know?”

Miguel shakes his head. “‘Bout the bet? Of course not, keeping this stupid thing between us to my grave.”

“One that you made by the way.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” He mutters. Miguel hates how quickly you snap back into place to shove a knife deep in his gut to get a reaction out of him. It’s a habit, practically second nature now.

He rakes his eyes over your face as if etching every single slant and angle to his mind. A few flecks of salt from the fries were sprinkled along the curve of your lips. He wonders how it’d taste if he licked it before dipping his tongue into your mouth, licking the sweet saliva pooling there, waiting for him.

Or how it’d seep out as he guides his cock into your mouth. He almost groans at the thought.

Lyla materializes his watch and bounces to your shoulder. “Hey, pretty lady! I saw Peter swap his name for yours for tonight.”

You steal Miguel’s words. “Thanks for the reminder.”

He turns his back to you and throws his head over with a nod. “C’mon, back to my office. I need to fill you in about the anomaly.”

You trudge behind him because walking beside him seems too intimate and leading the way would show the slight tremble of your legs. Besides, opting to fall a few feet after him gives you a good view of his ass. Not that you were looking.

Lyla imitates your strides despite floating above the ground. “Whatcha thinking about, babes?”

You run a hand over your face to cover the flush. “Thinking about how to catch the anomaly.”

She giggles in a foxy tone. “I haven’t said anything about the mission.”

“Oh, right–”

You’re met with a firm back pressed onto your chest.

Miguel juts his chin over to the display monitors. “Take my seat. I’m gonna need some coffee for this job. You?”

With a silent laugh, you shake your head at his offer. Working with him for, god knows how long, introduced you to his quirks. One of them is how he takes his coffee. It was a deep black that light barely penetrated. On rare occasions it did, you could his constant frown reflected on it.

Miguel O’Hara was as bitter as his coffee. Go figure.

You slide into the chair, surprised by how comfortable the cushion is. It was probably engineered to keep his ass snug for hours on end as he monitored the universe to make sure it didn’t collapse, or something along those lines.

A few feet behind you, he waved his hand. “Lyla, the explainyinfo thing.”

Her heart-shaped glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose. “Gotcha, bossman.”

In front of you are displays of Adriano Tummino, better known as the Vulture from the Renaissance era. He nested inside an abandoned warehouse, trying to make sense of the world that was no longer dipped in sepia and scribbles of ink.

“Don’t know how he managed to get out the first time.” Miguel sips his so-called coffee. Should’ve just chewed on the beans, you thought.

“Crafty man,” You quip, earning you a short puff of air from his nostrils.

He grabs the back of the chair and swivels it for you to face him. You pressed yourself against it, trying to take up as little room as possible, but he was close. Your legs fall limp on either side of his thighs as he leans down to your height.

Deja vu hits you, then replaced by swirling vertigo.

You and Miguel were in this exact position a month ago albeit in reverse.

“That crafty man needs our undivided attention during the stakeout. Prepare yourself however you need to.” His warm breath, stained with the scent of coffee, caressing your lips.

A few beeps and flashes of light bounce off from his watch. It catches your eye as your name pops up above arcs of lines that rose.

“Careful, nena. Your heart rates spiking.” Miguel’s fangs poked out from the edge of his lip, giving you a small smile. Your neck itched at the thought of feeling it sink down into your jugular before he lapped up at the twin holes.

To make sure neither of you cheated on the bet, you suggested giving both ends of the party access to each other’s heart rate monitors on the watch. Because of his snarky remark, which could’ve been a serious suggestion now in hindsight, about setting up a camera feature. It made you scoff… and turned on.

“Breathe in and out slowly. Even out your heartbeat.” Miguel warned.

There was nothing more you wanted to grab the back of his neck and shove his face into your pussy. That’ll shut him up.

And get you off.

You reach the tip of your toes onto the ground and give it a hard push, sending you rolling back a good few inches. The short distance was still suffocating, but it was enough to let you press your thighs together – the seams of your Spidersuit rubbed against your clit, sending small pulses throughout your body.

But stopping before his watch indicated another spike in your pulse. You’re aware of his eyes on you until he rips it off.

Miguel straightens himself up before the Spiderman mask wraps around his face. He tried to hide the grin under it but the amusement slipped through.

Alerts resounded on his gizmo. For a good second, you thought it was about you. That alone would’ve sent you into cardiac arrest. But it was simply a detection of the Vulture’s universe.

He was on Earth-616B.

Peter B.’s universe.

Funny.

You fiddle with your gizmo, a bright shower of neons bounced off of you as the portal opened up. Adrenaline coursed through your veins. It wasn’t ideal to have jitters when the mission was to birdwatch the Vulture next to the man you were deprived of.

Miguel headed in first with you in tow. The sun was about set over the building both of you were perched on. He couldn’t help but think about how Peter ditched him to go on a date with MJ on a night like this.

“There,” You snapped him out of his thoughts. Below you was a crumbling building surrounded with shards of glass from the shattered windows. It was easy to keep an eye on the Vulture while he wrote chicken scratches on the floor – plans of creating primitive technology.

He grabbed your wrist and tugged you down next to him. With a finger to his lips, he indicated to you to keep quiet.

You whisper-shouted, “I’m not your subordinate.”

“You saying that just proved you wrong.”

That shut you up for a few hours. It was dark out by now. The sky was empty of stars, but the city lights sparkled enough to keep you entertained for a little while longer.

“Can’t we just grab him and go? What’s the whole ‘stake out’ plan for?” You airquoted.

Miguel pressed his shoulder against yours to keep a low voice. “If he was able to bust out the first time, we need to figure out what he’s making to combat his machine.”

You hated that he was right but your muscles were starting to cinch together from crouching. If you stood up to stretch, the Vulture would spot you through his goggles. So, you opted to roll your head back a few times.

In Miguel’s peripheral, he saw the expanse of your neck covered by the skintight spandex, stretching as you shifted. It looked small, he thought. How easy it would be to wrap his hand around and gently squeeze it to keep you quiet. Instead, he clamped it around your waist, pulling you to rest your back on his chest. It was loose enough to let you wiggle out of his grasp while still feeling the warmth crawling down to where you needed it most.

“Quit moving.”

The past few weeks without any form of release between your legs was agonizing. This was quite the most you’ve been touched in a while. If his fingers crawled a few inches down, he’d feel the damp fabric slick with your arousal.

“Y-You’re cheating, O’Hara. Don’t you fucking dare–” You snarl in a low whisper.

“Ay coño… Fuck the bet,” He mumbles close to you, his clothed length pressing against the curve of your ass. There was a moan threatening to bubble up if he put on any more pressure. It was too much and yet not enough. “Did you really think Peter was too busy to do this damned stake-out with me tonight? He’d bring out his baby just to be a part of a mission.”

You threw your hands over the railing, trying to stabilize and ground yourself with what little resilience you had left as you were nestled on your knees with him close to rutting up to you. You knew he didn’t have the balls to do it, not because he’d lose, but because he wanted you to fall apart in his hands.

“Off… Get off.” You swallow. Every part of you was trembling, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take what he was willing to hand out. And all you had to do was–

“Just ask, nena.” The drawl of his voice made you dizzy, your head fell back to his shoulder. “Ask me to sink my fingers in that pretty pussy of yours. Come on my fingers and I won’t count it against you.” He offers you a slight reprieve with the olive branch.

You chew your bottom lip in contemplation, a million thoughts dipping in and out of your mind.

Fuck this. Fuck the bet. Fuck him… up, down, and around. You want Miguel in every single way.

You arch your back, the plush of your bottom rubbing up against his clothed cock.

It takes everything in him to stop your movement. “Easy, easy, yeah? Use your words. It’s just you and me,” He murmurs deep into you.

“And Big Bird on steroids below us!” You try to snap back, but your voice shakes with embarrassment.

“Stupid bird’s not gonna see us as long as you behave.” Miguel moistens his lips with the tip of his tongue. He was choking on the thought of laying you down on his bed to taste every last drop you’ll give him, then fuck you senseless. But this awkward position with your back pressed against his chest while both of you kneeled toward the railing would be enough.

You reach to the back of your neck where the zipper for the Spidersuit dangled at every attempt of pulling it down. Miguel was of no help, his fingers idly tapped a rhythm on your hips. You felt him vibrate with amusement at your expense.

You toss your head back to rip your mask off and glare at him only to be met with his mask.

With a last chuckle, he tugs the zipper down, watching the spandex pool around your waist.

“Careful. Not everyone is a billionaire with infinite tech–”

It wasn’t enough. He gave it one last pull past the curve of your ass.

You’re about to scold him again but you hear him swallow. Despite not being able to see his face, you could already imagine it.

“Ay… Not even wearing panties under this,” Miguel breathes, grabbing a handful of the plump skin.

“Gets itchy,” You protest.

You can feel him molding the tender flesh into his palm. “Fuck– I know I see you wearing your suit every day, but… God, this is—”

Miguel’s suit retracts, exposing his skin just below his wrist bone. Something in your core bubbles up, a mixture of dread and arousal because you knew deep down that if he started now, you’d find yourself crawling back for more. Back into his office. Back into his bed. With his warm hand cupping over your pussy on the roof of an abandoned building it didn’t matter where he dragged you along.

“You’re dripping, dios mío— all over my fucking fingers. You’re so wet. Just for me, huh?” Miguel digs his nose into the crook of your neck, his breath leaving you hot. “Working hard every day to save the universe. Not a single person stopped to give you gratitude. You just need someone to take care of your little cunt.”

And god, you want him to do it.

“Well, too bad. This is a thankless job.” He slaps your bare sex with a shlick, his fingers grazing your clit ever.

No matter how much you jut up to encourage him to do anything, his grip on your waist was too strong. There’s nothing to do but follow his pace and feel whatever he is willing to give you.

“Down, take it easy. And stay focused, I still need you to keep an eye on the anomaly.” Miguel cranes his cheek down to nuzzle you. It was a poor attempt to coo your overwrought body, how did he expect you to remember what you came here for?

“Fine,” You say in a gruff voice.

“Good girl.” Miguel pulls the lips apart with two fingers, coating it with you before pressing it in. Each knuckle made you suck in a deep breath. It feels like you’ve run out of air. Floating now, you think. But the moment he curls his fingers to that spot, you’re reeling back onto earth. “There, isn’t it?”

He slides out of you, flurries of curses are caught in your throat. He knew how to drag this out. He brings the slick to the edge of your mouth. “Open for me.”

He groans as he shoves his fingers into your mouth. He wanted to taste you, but he wasn’t going to. Not yet. It didn’t feel right if it wasn’t right from the source, but that’ll have to wait. He wants you to collapse in on yourself first before he does anything else.

“Miguel.”

“I know, nena.”

#Across the spiderverse #Marvel #Spiderman 2099 #Spiderman fanfiction #Spiderman x reader #Miguel Ohara #Miguel Ohara x reader #Miguel Ohara x you #Miguel Ohara fluff #Miguel Ohara smut #Miguel Ohara x reader fluff #Miguel Ohara x reader smut

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thecowinblack · 6 months ago

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Burning Hearts pt 2

Moodboard Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

Pairing: Eris x Reader, Earlier Azriel x reader

Summary: You arrive at the Autumn court and things are no longer what it used to be and without either your brother or Azriel in the way you and Eris start to catch feelings for each other.

Warnings ⚠️: A little agains, Mentions about sex, Alcohol, fluff, Mean!Azriel, mean!Rhysand, Swearing, mentions about cheating.

Word count: 1549

AN: Firstly I want to thank everyone who has supported me. I love you guys and I am ao thankful for everyone who's liked, followed or reshared. I'm sorry that it took such long time for me to finish this but I've had a lot going on. Hope you like the fic! Love/The cowinblack.

You arrived at the autumn court, feeling nauseous after the past events of the day. Azriel, the mate you’d loved ever since you met him so long ago, wasn't yours anymore. Looking up, Eris was already by your side, concern in his eyes.

“What happened, love?” He calmly asked.

“Azriel… Elain'' That was the only words that came out of your mouth, tears streaming down your face. But Eris didn't need anything else, he understood. You had told him about your concerns with Azriel and Elain earlier. Eris pulled you into a hug and you just stood there crying out for what felt like an eternity until the world became dark and you fell into a long dreamless sleep.

__________________________________

It had gone weeks since you got to the autumn court and you and Eris were closer than ever. Since Beron had been assassinated just months before there was a lot to fix here, laws to remove and things to change. You had helped Eris all you could, even if he said that you should rest and regain your strength. But you’d just laughed it off. Working distracted you and when Eris realized that he’d given you your own office and now you could sit all day working and helping people in need.

Suddenly you heard a knock on the door and Eris walked in.

“Good afternoon sweetie, care for a stroll in the gardens? I’ve got dinner so we can have a picnic.” He told you. You hadn't really realized that it was already afternoon. Guess time goes faster when you have fun.

“Yeah, sure” Only now realizing how hungry you were.”I'm starving,” you added with a little giggle.

“Good you really should take more breaks from working, otherwise you're going to get wrinkles all over your beautiful face!” Eris joked and you shared a laugh. A laugh, that was the first time since Azriel cheated you’d actually laughed. Adoration shone from Eris' eyes, he really looked like you were his sun, the only thing that mattered to him.

“Come on, I wanna eat before it gets dark!” You giggled, dragging him out in the fresh air. You and Eris walked around in the gardens for a bit before you got to your usual place, a beautiful orange tree beside a river. As you spread out the blanket Eris took out the stuff that was in his mystery basket. Strawberries, wine, pancakes and even more delicious things that made your mouth water. You sat and ate and talked for a while and when the time had reached midnight the two of you were drunk, like really drunk.

“You look really pretty tonight Y/N” He told you.

“ So do you, handsome.”

As his eyes met yours the both of you leaned forward and your lips met. The kiss wasn't gentle nor sweet, it was passionate, needy. As the kiss deepened something clicked. Maybe you and Azriel were wrong for each other. Because the passion you felt with Eris was something that you never had experienced earlier.

Carefully Eris laid you down on the blanket.

“Is this okay with you love?” he asked nicely.

“Yes, Eris, yes.” You mumbled into his hair. And so you ended up making love in the fresh autumn air.

__________________________________

The next morning you were woken up by a gentle kiss pressed against your forehead.

“Good morning love, how are you feeling?” Eris asked.

“Amazing, how do you feel?” You asked with a sleepy voice.

“Better than ever.” He said, now trailing kisses down your neck. “But we have to talk about us.” He continued.

“Of course, Eris I love you, a part of me always has, as you were the one who took care of me all those months ago when we got back from Under the mountain. You were there for me when no one else was, not even my mate. I totally understand if you don't have the same fee-” Eris cut you off with a kiss, a kiss so different from the one you shared before, this was so much more… Real. He wasn't leaving you.

“I love you Y/n, you're my world, I've loved you for so long, always thinking that you didn't see me in that way, we can take it slow if you want, but you’re the one I want by my side, forever.” Eris declared.

“Your little drama queen.” Was the only thing you could get out of your mouth, to shocked by the fact that Eris, the boy you’d had a crush on since you were so very young, was declaring his love before you.

“Well I'm your drama queen.” He laughed pulling you into another kiss.

__________________________________

Months past and you and Eris just grew closer. Your family had made several attempts to see you but you didn't feel ready. They had abandoned you when you needed them the most and you couldn't just forget that. Rhysands had said in a letter that everyone was missing me and that Cassian, Mor and Amren almost had killed Azriel for what he’d done. They were all sorry and just wanted me to come home.But the Night court wasn't your home anymore. Slowly you’d begun to love The Autumn Court and Eris and you had gotten married just days ago. Now you’re Autumn's high lady. It wasn't official. Just the court knew and you wanted to wait before declaring it, or at least make it dramatical. You and Eris had discussed when and where and then the perfect opportunity showed up:

A High Lord (and lady) meeting was to be held at the Day Court, to discuss the restoration of Prythian. And you were going to be there, but for the first time you weren't going to stand by your brother's side, no you were going to have your own throne next to Eris. If you were going to see Rhys you were going to do it on your own accord. That was when you were going to reveal your title. And that meeting, that meeting was today. Right now you were packing and planning what to talk about, what to wear and how to act. You’d known Helion since you were a little kid and the two of you’d always gotten along. He was like you, hiding all his troubles with humor and you hoped that your friendship would help to stabilize an official, and well needed, alliance between the Day Court and the Autumn court.

“Love, are you ready? We have to get going now!” Eris said as he entered your room, greeting you with a kiss on your cheek.

“Yeah let me just get changed real quick!” You murmured to him.

“Do you need a hand?” He asked playfully.

“No we don't have much time and I have a feeling that if you help me my dress is probably going off instead of on” You told him and quickly went into your ginormous wardrobe, an adorable chuckle following you. The dress you had chosen to wear was a piece of art. It was a clear beautiful red color which faded out into endless yellows and oranges. The bodice looked to be made of leaves in all of autumn's colors. It was in short just… Ethereal. You quickly got changed and right outside your room you saw the pleasant sight of your husband leaning against the doorframe. He was clad in a stunning tailored suit, a suit that matched your dress perfectly. In his hand he held the tiara version of the crown that covered the top of his head. He sweetly placed it on top of your head and then held out his arm for you to take. You laid your arm on his and a couple moments later you had arrived in Helions favored castle.

Eris had winnowed the two of you to one of the many entrances where the two of you were greeted by a couple guards. They scienly led you into a ginormous, beautiful room with a glass roof painted in gorgeous golden patterns. Around a round marble table 8 chairs were placed. You quickly realized that the two of you were the first to arrive since the only people in the room, beside the two of you, were Helion and a couple guards. When he saw us he strode towards us with softness in his gaze.

“Y/N! Long time no see. I heard what happened in the Night court and I became so worried that I wouldn't get to see you here!” He greeted you coming in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his broad figure as he lifted you up, spinning you in the air.

“Oh and hello to you too Eris, what a fine Lady you have gotten your hands on.” Helion said as he put you down.

Eris answered with a chuckle and then spoke. “Fine indeed. Helion could you be an angel and ask your guards to get another chair. We can't have Autumn's High Lady stand through the whole meeting!” He announced.

“High Lady? Well Y/N I guess congratulations are in order-” Helion abruptly stopped and you knew what just happened. You spun around quickly, Eris clinging to your arm, offering support, as you uttered the words “Hello big brother.”

Taglist:

@queerqueenlynn @se7enteen--black-blog @@mybestfriendmademe @cleverzonkwombatsludge

An: I've got loooots of ideas for the next part and I hope to see you then!

#eris x reader #eris x you #high lord eris x rhys!sister!reader x azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar angst #acotar x y/n #eris x y/n #rhysand sister #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n

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milykins · 8 days ago

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TMNT Headcanon - When You Can't Sleep

Authors Note: I feel I need to clarify one thing. I’m aware that some people rely on marijuana to help with sleeplessness but I personally don’t use it so it’s unlikely to have a place in my writing. Recreational drugs in general won’t really be something I write about. Call me a straight-edge but I prefer leaving it out. I will write about alcohol usage since I do occasionally have a drink with friends.

Anyway, I actually have been having some rough nights lately so therefore we have this.

Individual TMNT x Reader

TW: Mentions of sex

You’ve been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately. Lucky for you, you’ve got plenty of cure-alls. It all depends on who you ask.

Mikey

Your cuddly turtle boyfriend is no stranger to insomnia. Sometimes, the life of a ninja was too heavy, even for him and his upbeat persona. You knew Mikey could feel things a little too deeply and replay horrifying images continuously in his head. Over the years he’s developed some coping strategies. For you, he’ll offer you a melatonin gummy and something hot to drink. Tea, hot chocolate, or warm milk. If you still can’t sleep after that, he’ll stay up with you. He’ll cuddle you, rub your back, play some calming music… most of all, he’ll tell you that whatever this is, will pass. You might start panicking a little bit, telling him through tears that you’re afraid you’ll never sleep again, but he’ll assure you that you will. After all, no one died from a few sleepless nights. His gentle reassurances are just what you need to hear, and eventually you do drop off into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.

Raph

Not nearly as tactful as his baby brother, Raph will bluntly offer to give you an orgasm. After all, that’s one of his go-to’s when he can’t sleep. Raph is actually the only one of his brothers to have a somewhat healthy sleeping schedule. Disturbing images, horror, and depressing stories just don’t hold a lot of weight for him. They still affect him, but he’s able to compartmentalize these things and drop off to sleep rather easily at night. He’ll still try to help you with your insomnia, though, like a good boyfriend should. If the offer of sex is turned down, he’ll offer a backrub – an innocent one, of course. No ulterior motive, he’ll promise. He’s very good with his hands and able to work out any knots, kinks, or stiffness, getting you very relaxed in no time at all. You might accept his offer for sex then, just because he’s been so sweet and patient, and given you an amazing massage. It works. In the afterglow, you’re asleep and cuddled up next to him, wrapped in his comforting embrace.

Leo

His first reaction will be concern, and he might pepper you with a few questions. Did you watch something disturbing? Is anything causing you stress or causing you to worry? Is it something he did? You quickly assure him he’s done nothing to cause it. You actually don’t know the reason; you just can’t shut off your brain for some reason. Upon hearing this, he’ll light some calming incense and offer you tea, of course. This blend will be a combination of valerian root, peppermint leaf, and a few others that promote wellness and sleep. True to form, he’ll also recommend meditation, except he’ll have you do it a little differently than you normally would. After your tea he’ll instruct you to lay down in his bed, get comfortable, and close your eyes. He’ll have you breathe deeply as he leads you through the most peaceful guided meditation you’ve ever experienced. It’s so relaxing that you have no trouble falling asleep after that. Leo will follow suit and be careful not to disturb you as he crawls in next to you.

Donnie

He is the worst about having a healthy sleep schedule. It isn’t because he has trouble sleeping, but because he has difficulty tearing himself away from his work. He just has to finish this one thing… or read one more paragraph. It’s never just one more paragraph with him. He usually needs to be coaxed to go rest, so it’s no surprise that he’s still awake in his lab when you quietly shuffle in after trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep for hours. Donnie will lose any and all focus that he had on his work and shift gears into helping you. He’ll shush all of your attempts to apologize for disturbing him and offer you a sleep aid. He’ll usher you to his bed and lay next to you, asking if there’s anything you need to get off your chest that may be inhibiting your ability to sleep. When you explain that you find it difficult to quiet your thoughts, he can definitely relate to that. He’ll put on some deep ambient music set at 432 Hz. He’ll explain that it’s the perfect frequency to promote relaxation, reduce tension, and support emotional wellbeing. It is what he uses to lull himself to sleep when he has a hard time reaching the coveted REM stage. The music works, and you find yourself finally slipping into rest. Donnie ends up falling asleep next to you as an added bonus. He really needed to stop working and go to bed anyway.

The End - Sleep Well Everyone

Taglist:

@danceingfae @thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus @the-cauldron-witch @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28 @scholastic-dragon

I hope that's okay if I've tagged you! If you'd like to be added just let me know!

#tmnt #tmnt bayverse #michelangelo #donatello #leonardo #raphael #tmnt x reader #trouble sleeping

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featherandferns · 20 days ago

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gamble (alternative ending)

after some feedback from the original fic, I've decided to share the original ending to gamble that I had to change/cut because of Tumblr's post-size policies!

gamble - a jj maybank x fem!kook!reader 22k word fic - can be read here!

BBBRRRINNNGGGG. BBBRRRINNNGGGG.

You startle awake, shooting up in bed like you’ve been electrocuted. It’s one of those feelings when you don’t remember where you are or when you fell asleep. As you rub at your eyes and let them focus on your surroundings, illuminated by the soft glow of your bedside lamp through the darkness, you remember. You’re in your bed, in your room. Your mom must have left you to sleep after you nodded off, finally at some semblance of peace to get some rest. The sleep you fell into was dreamless and well-needed.

BBBRRRINNNGGGG.

Blindly reaching for your vibrating phone, you squint at the bright screen and make out Kie’s contact picture and name. You swipe to answer.

“Hello?” you mumble, half-asleep.

“Hey! Can you hear me okay?”

“Yeah,” you yawn, rubbing at your eyes again. “What time is it?”

“I don’t remember. Like ten, maybe? Eleven?”

“Hmngh.”

“Are you busy?”

“Not really,” you sleepily reply.

“I think you need to come over,” Kiara says. Something about her tone has you awake like a shot of espresso. You push the covers down off you.

“Is everything okay?”

She sighs and that does little to ease your worries. “Look, I know you and JJ are in a bit of a fight-thing right now - I don’t know, maybe that’s why he’s acting the way he is, at least partially but–”

“Kie? What’s going on?” you interrupt.

“I just…” She sighs again, then finally says, “I just think JJ really needs you right now.”

“I’m on my way,” you reply, hanging up. You climb out of bed and don’t bother getting dressed past pulling on a sweatshirt. The clothes on your body are three days old; you changed once since the conversation with JJ. A pair of mac and cheese stained sweatpants and an old tank top. Ranger wakes as you make your way down the stairs and you decide to let him join. It’s disorientating as you sneak out the house into darkness, considering that you fell asleep in the daylight. The two of you load into your car and you’re leaving your house in record time. In the rearview mirror you check your hair and cuss, trying to smooth it down. Your skin is makeup free and body empty of jewellery, save from the bracelet that twins JJ’s. It makes you feel somewhat naked. As if he heard the whole conversation, Ranger whines from the passenger seat. You murmur reassurances and pet his head as you drive down the deserted roads. The Chateau beams into sight from your headlights. But there’s something else. Some other light, bright and illuminating, from the yard that wasn’t there before. You park your car and climb out, Ranger quick to follow, and walk into the yard. Your eyes widen as they land on a hot tub.

“What…the…fuck?”

“Oh, thank God,” Kiara exhales in relief, appearing in the doorway of the porch. She rushes down to you and wraps you in a hug, and you’re happy to return it. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t want to get involved in whatever it is going on with you and JJ, and I never really know if we’re friends or just circumstance friends but–”

“Kie! It’s fine, it’s fine,” you interrupt with a small laugh, a tad concerned. You pull apart, hands on her shoulders, to meet her gaze. Your smile melts with unease, eyes heavy with worry. “What’s going on? Is JJ okay?”

She sighs and shakes her head. She takes a step away from you and rubs at her head. “He got in a fight with his dad. Some stuff went down after you two had your…talk. I don’t know…It might just be better to ask him.”

You purse your lips and nod slowly, contemplatively.

“He’s inside,” Kiara tells you. With that, you make your way up the porch stops. At the front door, you falter and stop. Would he even want to see you? Was this somehow breaking the rules of your ‘non-break’; not giving him the space he needs to think and function away from you? You recount the past three days of your side of the non-break. How you’ve spent them hiding in your bed, crying at the oddest moments, feeling the lack of JJ’s company like you lost a limb. Ranger rubs at your leg, whining, and you decide to trust your gut. If he wants you to leave, all he has to do is say, but you’re certain Kiara wouldn’t call for just any old thing.

The spare bedroom door is shut. Ranger whines and whines and scratches at the door. Your hands wrap around the handle and you take a steady breath in. The rickety handle creaks as you slowly push it open, the hinges protesting loudly. One of your hands leans down to grab at Ranger’s collar to keep him by your heel. On the bed is JJ, slumped as he sits, his back to the door.

“Kie, I told you to jus’ leave me alone, a’right? I’m fine,” he mumbles. His voice is thick like he’s been crying. You swallow.

“It’s not Kiara,” you quietly confess. JJ whips around. His lips part and eyes gape and he stares at you as you stand awkwardly in the doorway. You probably look just as much of a mess; days-old clothing, unruly hair, make-up free and irritated skin. Funnily enough, a diet of purely Reese’s Pieces is not the best for keeping spots and blemishes at bay.

“What are you doing here?” he says in a tone that you can’t quite decipher.

“Kiara called me,” you reply, shrugging as you add, “she’s worried about you and thought I should come over.”

“Oh, uh, right.”

His head slumps and he stares at the blanket atop of his bed. You purse your lips and feel the awkwardness and unease consume your entire body. Contemplating leaving, you glance behind you, into the silent hallway. But then Ranger somehow manages to slip from your hold. He races over to JJ like a rescue dog in the mountains, clambering onto the bed, ambushing JJ. He laughs at the onslaught of slobbery kisses, letting Ranger imitate a lap dog. His fingers scratch into the coarse fun on Ranger’s neck and he chuckles.

“I missed you too, boy,” he murmurs. You smile at the sight. JJ glances over at you.

“I figured you might need a puppy-pick-me-up. He missed you like crazy.” You then take a shaky breath as you go on to admit, “we both did.”

A look flashes across JJ’s face then. His smile lessens as if in thought, and he nods. “I missed you too.”

“I can leave if you want me to leave,” you tell him. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“No,” JJ blurts, quick like a cat running from a loud bang. “No, don’t…don’t leave. Please.”

You nod. You’d stay forever if he asked you to. You’re not sure there’s many things JJ could ask of you that you’d protest to. Closing the door behind you, you wander over to the bed and sit sort of opposite to him, on the side nearest the door. Ranger settles half laid in JJ’s lap, appeased now that he’s in the company of perhaps his favourite person in the world. Your eyes survey JJ’s face for new injuries and am relieved to find none. The old have healed completely now too, thank God. That’s a relief at least. He’s unharmed. Or so you thought.

“Do you, uh…Do you remember when we went fishing, just last week? I don’t know, it feels like a lifetime ago now but…” you cut yourself off nervously with a laugh. JJ nods vaguely. “D’you remember what I said to you?”

“That you’re an armed woman, now?” JJ wonders, quirking a brow, that cute, playful smile trying to break out.

You laugh quietly, shortly, and dip your head for a moment. “Not just that though. D’you remember that I told you that you can always tell me anything, and that I’m always gonna be on your side?”

JJ nods again.

“It’s kinda ironic cause I think that’s when you started putting up these walls,” you say. Another small breath in and then you continue, “and I don’t blame you for it, JJ. In fact, I think I understand it.”

His brows tug together, unclear, and you’re not sure you’ve ever known him to be this quiet before.

“I can’t relate to you, JJ. I have my own struggles with trivial kind of stuff but I don’t know real struggle. Not like you do. So, I don’t blame you. I mean, why would you let a rich, stook-up Kook into that?”

“I ain’t mean it like–”

“--No, no, I’m not mad. I’m not saying that to be all ‘woe is me’ or whatever. I mean it. Like…I get it,” you interrupt, fighting to hold his eyesight. “It just hurts, y’know? Cause the thing is, I love you. I love you no matter what. No matter the ‘bad decisions’ and the stupid choices, like the Midsummer’s fiasco or whatever. But I can’t love you, JJ, if I don’t know you. If I don’t know these things about you. I don’t like being left on the outside. It makes me feel like I don’t matter to you, and I don’t know if I can take that feeling, y’know?”

JJ licks his lips nervously and clears his throat. He nods, glances around the room, uncomfortable by your candidness. JJ doesn't come from a place where conversations like these were encouraged or common and so, as if to reassure, your hand finds his on the blanket. You softly envelope it with your warmth. He stares at that small gesture for a long while.

“I just don’t want you to think less of me,” JJ confesses quietly. “I’m a scumbag, a’right? I make dumbass choices and get myself into dumbass situations and I’m not good for you.”

“Yes, you are, JJ. You’re a good person.”

“No, I ain’t,” he quickly dismisses, meeting your gaze once more. And he means that. It hurts you so bad because he means it. “I ain’t a good person.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re a good person to me, okay? I don’t care about all that other noise–”

“--Well, you should, alright?” JJ snaps, losing his tether. His hand slips from your comfort to flail out into the air in a wild gesture. “I mean, Jesus! I just fuckin’ robbed a drug dealer and blew the money on a hottub, for Christ’s sake - and you’re sitting here telling me I’m a good person?”

You look down with that. JJ catches his anger and sighs, shakes his head, disappointed. “I’m sorry, I just…This is what I mean. I can’t let you get that close to me.”

“I get it,” you mutter. “You don’t love me, JJ, that’s okay. That’s not your fault.”

“No, hey - what? I never said I don’t love you.”

“You never tell me that you do,” you whisper, eyes stinging with tears yet again. You look at him and offer him a shaky smile. “I don’t want to force someone to be with me, JJ.”

“I don’t want you to tie yourself to me,” JJ out-right states. As if surprised by his own truthfulness, he’s spurred on. “I don’t want you to say you’re okay with these things now and then look around in three months time or whatever, and realise just what a fuck-up you’re with.”

“I’m never gonna think that,” you tell him. “I’m never gonna think you’re a fuck-up.”

JJ looks unsure of whether to believe you or not. Your hand finds his again, the other landing on his thigh. “I mean it, JJ. I’m in love with you. I don’t care what batshit, crazy stuff you get yourself involved in, as long as I’m in it too. I’m in, okay? All of it. I’m in. You just gotta stop shutting me out, yeah?"

JJ shakes his head slowly. But he’s easing up, coaxing open like a conker from its spiky shell. His tone is joking, lighter like buttercream, as he says, “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” you say, smiling sweetly. “But I’m your baby.”

He smiles at that.

“So, will you tell me? All of it? Please,” you request.

And he does.

It’s hard at first, like he’s forcing the words out syllable by syllable, but then it gets easier. The stories. The reasons. The motives. It starts with the hurricane - hurricane Agatha - and then with the white boat that they found. That’s where he got that gun - the same gun that you used to save him from Rafe and Topper - and you distantly recall his story. Then bits and pieces continue to crop up surrounding the Royal Merchant: the compass, the package…Then comes the grocery run and the jump on Pope, and the revenge. How Pope sank the boat, not JJ. That’s when the scruff up happened at the outdoor theatre, with you wielding the gun and saving their asses. Soon after came the arrest, originally intended for Pope but JJ gladly taking the fall. The pictures in the interrogation room of those men, bludgeoned and killed with a fishing spear before being left for shark bait. How JJ was terrified of that happening to John B but, more importantly, of it happening to you. First Rafe's ever-looming threat over your head and now this, and JJ felt like it was all because of him.

So he started to shut you out of it. Wanted to keep you at arms length. You couldn't get wrapped up in the Royal Merchant madness if you knew nothing about it.

"Cause I have to keep you safe," JJ mumbles, gazing into your eyes. "You're the most important thing in the world t'me, y'know? If something happened to you...and it was because of me..."

His voice trails off as if he can't bare the thought. Your heart swells. You squeeze his hand reassuringly and it prompts him to go on. JJ returns to the story. To how his dad beat him when he came to pick him up, and that’s why he was black-and-blue when he came to your house for dinner with your parents. God, if only you knew. After, with Midsummers, with John B dating Sarah Cameron (hence the secret note) and the meet-up at Rixon’s surrounding the Royal Merchant and the gold. How you weren’t invited because above everything else, JJ had to keep you safe. Then, they found it. They actually found the gold, under the Crain house, and they were going to be rich. Stinking, fucking, stupid rich. That brought them to today.

“So we melt the gold down,” JJ recounts, petting Ranger’s sleeping head. “And go to this pawn shop, a’right, way up town in like dodge-ville. I’m the one who’s gotta pawn this hunk of crap ‘cause I’m the best at bullshitting, so I go in and spin this whole yarn about my dementia-crazed mom or some shit. The pawn broker sends us out to the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, and we get jumped by this random guy with a gun. He held it to our heads and made us give up the gold, but John B got the upper hand, right? You following? And I lost my shit, okay? Like things just felt…With you and the whole ‘break that isn’t a break’ thing, and the gun…I lost me shit, and I wanted to get even. An eye for an eye and all that crap - I mean, you know, you’ve read the bible. So we go to his shitty ass trailer and I steal the twenty-K that I owe for that boat Pope sank. But the others weren’t, uh…they weren’t super cool with that, so I went off alone, a’right? Cause I don’t need anybody but me, yeah? And I go to my dad and give him the money to settle up with the cops. But…But he don’t wanna do that. So this whole…thing starts and…”

JJ loses his momentum. His lower lip starts to tremble and this infuriates him. Huffing, he presses his hand over his mouth. You frown, worried, brows so closely knit they might as well be one. A shuddering breath that’s so deeply unfamiliar to hear in JJ lets slip. A tear trickles tellingly down his cheek.

“Oh, JJ,” you murmur.

“I nearly fuckin’ killed him,” JJ gasps. More tears fall. He stares you down as he repeats, “I nearly fuckin’ killed him and I-- I just couldn’t take it anymore, y'know? I couldn’t take it–”

You throw your arms around his shoulders and pull his shivering body into you. JJ rests his head on your shoulder, burying his face in your collarbone, and he sobs. Your own eyes well at the feeling of his pain leaking onto you, and you press your nose against the collar of his shirt, breathing in the only smell that can bring you calm. Your own personal brand of nicotine. His arms raise to cradle your back, holding you close just as you do him, and you let him cry. With every tear, it’s as though another brick has been pulled free from the walls he’s been building in the past two short weeks.

Even when the headfirst sadness has passed, you hold him. It’s safe here, in this corner of the world, once again lapped in moonbeams and darkness.

“I do love you,” JJ says against your skin. His breath is warm as it fans across the flesh. “It’s jus’...my family, we didn’t do the whole talking thing. I’m not used to really tellin’ anybody anything, let alone how I feel. It’s easy enough saying it to my friends but with you, like that…It scares the crap outta me.”

“Why?” you breathe, pulling back to be able to meet his gaze. Your head shakes as you gently say, “why is it so hard when I say it to you all the time? You know I’m never gonna turn you away or shoot you down for saying it.”

“I don't’ know,” JJ admits. “I don’t know, I guess I just have this thing that tells me I shouldn’t ever tell anybody.”

“In case you ever want to take it back?” you wonder.

JJ swallows thickly like taking medicine. He shakes his head. His eyes look so sad you could weep.

“No. In case you ever want me to.”

Lips parting, something clicks in your head. You think about the past two weeks. How your parents welcomed JJ into their house with open arms, whereas JJ is lucky if he can stay in his for a week without a blow-up. How you lean into your mom for comfort, whereas JJ can only find that in the bottom of a bottle. You’d only ever been met with love and grace and forgiveness. JJ? He knew betrayal and abandonment and disdain. You said you understood before, the first time he told you that he loved you, way back after the fight at the outdoor movie, but you didn’t. Not until now.

“I drove past your house everyday, y’know?” JJ mumbles. “I wanted to call you so bad but I know you wanted this space and that I'd already fucked it up with the whole Ashley thing. I don't know...I guess I just didn't wanna push you. But I wanted to come over, so bad.”

A laugh bubbles up your throat and you can’t swallow it back. Shaking your head, you admit, “I thought about you everyday.”

JJ smiles, then starts to laugh under breath. “Wow. We’re really good at this, huh?”

“You should’ve come over,” you tell him, a teasing smile on your lips. “That’s what the guys do in the movies.”

He scoffs, shaking his head, grinning. “Now that just ain’t fair!”

The two of you sit in your laughter. It’s heavy like it holds stones in the pockets, but with each giggle you feel yourself becoming lighter. When the humour dies down, the two of you are left with sated smiles, gazing at one another. But JJ’s smile begins to fade. That same look of sorrow comes over his face.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I shut you out. I just...I just never wanna lose you.”

You shake your head. “You’re not gonna lose me, JJ.”

“You promise?”

“On Ranger’s life,” you say with a flicker of humour. He smiles, small, and nods. His hair is still damp and sits sticky on his forehead.

“I should’ve told you about Ashley. I thought I was maybe saving you, or somethin’, by not but…You deserve to know. You’re entitled to know,” he affirms. “I’ll tell you anything you want. I swear.”

“I don’t need to know about the others, JJ,” you reply, meaning every word. Your hand squeezes his tightly. “I trust you.”

Both of your gazes drift down to your interlocked hands. On yours and JJ's wrists sit your handmade bracelets; the beads of your initials press against one another as if embracing.

“Fuck,” JJ breathes out in a dying laugh. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

Your head darts up. The words hang themselves in your head like bunting. A girlish, giddy smile breaks out on your lips. JJ begins to mirror it.

“You do?” you giggle.

His head bumps against yours. The smell of chlorine and prosecco comes and goes like the tide. Your lips want to chase his but something keeps you at bay, waiting for him. You found him first: now it was his turn to find you.

“I can’t promise that I’m not gonna keep fuckin’ things up. But you came into my life and fuckin' turned my world of grey into colour. And I don't...I don't know if I can see those kinda things without you."

And somehow, someway, that's deeper than 'I love you'.

"Promise to let me in, now?"

Despite your closed eyes, you can see JJ's smile clear as day.

"I promise. You're officially a Pogue."

JJ’s lips find yours like a migrating bird returning home, and you feel as though you can finally breathe right for the first time in three days. Your fingers slip into his hair, combing through the strands, and JJ’s palms and fingers caress across your figure, as if tracing your body back into his mind.

And as the two of you kiss, you realise that this was all it ever had to be. It was never that complicated, never that layered, because all that mattered was JJ. Wonderfully, recklessly-imperfect, Pogue through-and-through JJ.

#jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj #obx #outer banks #outerbanks #obx 4 #outerbanks 4 #outer banks 4 #outerbanks season 4 #outer banks season 4 #obx season 4 #jj x kook!reader #jj maybank x kook!reader #kook!reader

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lexirosewrites · 7 days ago

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Hi! First time I write something for slick sunday, mostly because I'm really happy it's back so I wanna contribute to it 🥺❤️ hope you get a good rest after adapting to this new routine (classroom is no joke!)

After many years battling with accepting it, autistic alpha Eddie kinda understands he gets overstimulated with daily life in a way others don't, but it doesn't means he knows how to deal with it. They get tired but he gets exhausted. Hearing about how everyone is just pulling it makes him want to do the same, just push through the smells, sounds, unpredictable events and the social game.

From the outside it seems he's a natural, and don't get him wrong, he knows how to please a crowd. Mastered after many attempts, but it's not effortless. Every bump on the road makes his day shorter so he scrambles to make the most of it until he's all but a zombie walking home.

It gets better when he meets Steve. Even before they start dating, his omega seemed to have an inate sense to when Eddie's getting a little closer to the edge. Omegas are known to have refined instincts to take care of others, but no one was so in tune with his limits like his best friend. Who then became his mate.

His boyfriend starts with glances over the room, at this stage Eddie is still unaware he's getting worked up. It's usually helped by the small but comforting touches they share. They always make the opportunity to bump into the other, touch their waist or share a kiss. It's often a kiss, a peek when passing by each other, shoulder, cheek or whatever place they can reach.

Then Steve casually gives him an excuse to leave the room, asking him to fetch something he needs (but not really) around the house, so the alpha can have a breather in silence. It's just when he reaches the silent room that Eddie realizes he's starting to feel a little worn down.

And food. Steve seems to always have something in hand to feed Eddie and point taken, they help since he forgets to actually eat sometimes. Which is funny since Eddie is the main cook of their home. Steve takes special attention, from the lunch packed with snacks he sends with him to work to their shared meals when they're both home.

And when they're finally alone at home after a long day, the omega sends calming scents that fills the room and cleans the space of all the mix accumulated along the hours. The alpha feels his muscles relax, his shoulders dropping and his eyes closing against his will. Then he lets Steve leads them into their night routine: washing each other, brushing, changing clothes and going to bed.

He's aware of what they're doing, but he's glad to go into automatic mode and to give away control to his love. Happy purrs pulls him to sleep, with his head on Steve's chest, both sound and vibrations comfort the alpha to a blissful state. Warm arms circles his shoulders and the knowledge that the sight of his mate will be welcoming him to a new day tomorrow is his last thought before fading to a dreamless sleep.

this is so goddamn sweet😭 “to be known is to be loved” and nobody knows that better than Eddie when he has his perfect omega, Steve, looking out for him💕

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #my asks

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merakiui · 8 months ago

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[viii.] ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵘᵗᶜʰᵉʳᵉᵈ

serial killer!jade leech x female!reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping/captivity, descriptions of murder/death, violence, strangulation chapter vii│chapter viii (you are here)│chapter ix

Today’s Thought - As biology would have it, the moray eel is cowardly by nature. Somehow this facet doesn’t apply to a certain someone. What he lacks in cowardice, he makes up for in cruelty.

The three days that follow the first feel like a blurred eternity, and you only know it’s been three because Jade’s explained your daily horoscope thrice now. The first: Do your best and your days will be fortuitous. You’re walking the path to success. The second: You may feel gloomy with the shifting skies. Rainfall may evoke sadness, but the secrets you hide from that important someone will seem even sadder. And the third (today’s prediction): There’s a chance you might find luck in uncertain situations.

These horoscopes might have provided you with a shred of relief if it weren’t for the fact that your slumber has been mostly dreamless ever since that last obscure nightmare, and so you don’t have anything to compare them to. No jellyfish. No strangers sitting at dinner tables. No blue hues for you to contemplate.

You’ve read through A Hiker’s Guide twice in the span of forty-eight hours, committing fungi facts to memory as if they’ll serve any purpose while you remain shackled in captivity. But it keeps you occupied and smothers any morbid thoughts threatening to spill into your skull. Which is what you really need right now—the sweet sense of comfort and contentment.

Jade upheld his end of your bargain yesterday when he poked his head inside the bathroom, presenting the white suit coat Azul had worn the night he faux-proposed. You kept your complaints to yourself, silently scorning him while he draped it across your shoulders. It’s an expensive brand sewn from luxurious fabrics you’d never be able to afford no matter how many extra shifts you pick up at The Devil’s Delight.

Out of habit, you’re attempting to calculate how many times you’d need to sleep with Azul in hopes of convincing him to buy you an outfit of equal grandeur. Your logic tells you multiple times for every pretty button and precise stitch, but your heart tells you it would only take a simple question and a sincere smooch to string him along. He opens his wallet for you as easily as you open your legs for him.

But that’s just part of the agreement, you remind yourself, petting the silky sleeve like it’s a cat. Stop thinking about him. Focus on other things.

You lift your gaze towards the door.

I wonder what Riddle’s up to. We were supposed to meet up on Saturday. He’s probably angry I couldn’t make it. Or maybe he’s worried I’m not showing up to work. Shaking your head, you scoff bitterly. No, he’s not worried. He’s Riddle. He never worries about distractions like me. He has everything laid out so perfectly. You toy with one of the exquisite cuffs on the jacket, twisting it between your fingers. I guess when you’re that meticulous you never have to worry about anything because, no matter what happens, you’re following a familiar schedule. So even if things don’t go to plan, you can just move to the next item on your list.

You slouch against the wall and sigh.

Maybe it’s better to live repetitive days. It’s boring, but it’s safe.

Before you can start weighing the positives and negatives to that thought, a noise from below resounds. You scramble away from the sink, mindful of your bandaged ankle, and force yourself flat like a pancake, your ear pressed against the tiles. The air is still, your breath is hitched, and then there are footsteps. Four in total. You assume he’s taking off his shoes because there’s a disconcerting quiet that follows. Seconds later, you strain to hear the door as it shuts and locks with a click.

And then there is more silence.

Something’s not right, you think, chewing your lip. Anxiety bubbles in your blood, volcanically volatile. He’s not coming upstairs.

You push yourself up onto your arms and retreat to the space between the bathtub and sink.

He always comes upstairs to check on me when he gets home. Right away. So why isn’t he? What’s going on? You shake your head and dig your nails into your arms. Don’t panic. Maybe he’s preparing another meal? But he usually eats before work. At least, that’s what he’s done with me ever since the first day. Maybe he didn’t have work. Maybe he went out to do something. But what? Cover his tracks? Kill someone? Make sure there are no witnesses from that night? Kill someone? Your grip on Azul’s jacket tightens. Relax. Take a breath and think about it logically. He can’t do anything rash. Not when he’s just kidnapped me. Someone must have made a missing report by now, so he has to be careful.

Your eyes slide about the room, inspecting the framed sketches once more. What if it’s the afternoon? He could make up any time he wants and I’d have no choice but to believe him. He could’ve gone out for lunch, or he met up with Azul for the daily walks we usually do. Right. Azul. He has to know something’s up. He has to… Wait.

The realization is glacial, stabbing through your skull mercilessly: He won’t suspect anything because disappearing like this is a routine he’s all too familiar with. In his eyes, I’m just—

Footsteps on the stairs shake you from your theorizing, and you brace yourself for the sight of him. You hope to shrink yourself to a size so small and imperceivable that no one, not even the most keen, cutthroat killer, could find you. You succeed in huddling in on yourself, a ball of tightened nerves just waiting to unfurl at the slightest hint of danger. Sweat beads on your brow and slithers down your spine. The hair on your body stands on end, as if expecting the swift strike of a terrifying tragedy.

Something’s not right.

The knob turns. There he stands in the sliver of space between door and bedroom, backdropped by dim lamplight. He’s dressed plainly in a black hoodie and sweatpants of the same color. It’s arguably the most casual you’ve ever seen him look. And in his arms, held bridal style and slumped like a boneless fish, is a woman.

Your gaze is drawn to the way her shirt stretches tautly over her abdomen—over the rounded dome that is her stomach—and dread crystallizes your blood. Suppressing a shiver, you meet his stare. A smile slowly crawls onto his lips, and then he steps deeper into the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain aside and lowering the woman into the tub. Tape is plastered to her mouth, and her wrists and legs are bound with expert knots. Just looking at her and the state she’s in makes you sick with discomfort.

“Who… W-Who the hell is that?”

“A roommate,” he replies, all too smooth. “It’s only temporary, so you needn’t get so territorial.”

There’s no way. He’s actually planning to…

Bile rises in your throat, and before you can stop yourself you’re leaning over the toilet to retch. Saliva dribbles down your chin, landing in the bowl below in a downpour of gross, acidic rain. A petrifying tremor shudders through your body, and you steady yourself against the toilet, coughing until tears gather in your vision and your throat aches. You smack your hand against the handle to flush the physical manifestations of your horror away. Down it goes, never to be seen again.

“Your little parasite doesn’t seem very fond of her,” Jade remarks, standing over you like a patient reaper of death. “There can only be room for one, no?”

You crane your neck to peer at him. “F-Fuck you.”

He smiles thinly, his eyes creasing with manufactured mirth. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence, my ass.” With a dark scowl, you wipe the spit from your mouth with a shaky hand. You drag yourself away from the toilet, tasting residual vomit on your tongue. “You can’t hurt her. She… She’s pregnant, Jade. There’s no way you can—”

“She isn’t you. If I recall, I only agreed to keep you alive.” Jade slips his gloves off, drapes them in the basin, and then lathers his hands with soap. His movements are mechanically meticulous, as if these motions have been preprogrammed. Even the way he dries his hands is unnatural. Too prim. Too perfect. “As far as I’m concerned, she’s nothing like you.”

“Why? Because she didn’t kick your ass when you showed up to kidnap her?”

Jade exhales an amused breath. “Of course not.” His eyes frost over when he turns his stare on you. “She never got the chance. Besides, if my ass had been sufficiently kicked, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“I hope you choke on a fingerbone.”

“That would be most unfortunate. I’ll be sure to eat carefully.”

Peering at himself in the mirror, he smooths his hair down. You didn’t realize it was tousled to begin with. Now that you’re looking, his entire person seems…messy. Even that stray strand falls on the wrong side.

He definitely didn’t go to work, you conclude, studying his features from behind. He’s too casual. It’s hard to imagine Jade in anything other than uniforms. Did he go out with that lady? Maybe not. He seems like the type to dress nicely for dates. So a sweatshirt and sweatpants… They’re both easy to move around in, and he’s wearing dark colors to blend into the night. Did he grab her when she was least expecting it? He said she wasn’t given a chance to fight back, so a struggle was nonexistent.

You shake your head, unsatisfied with your deduction. I’m missing something. His appearance is messy, but he’s always so clean. So why is he messy? This isn’t making sense.

“How’d you find her? You must’ve planned this in advance.”

“I assure you I’m not seeing other women behind your back.”

“Like hell I’m jealous, you creep.”

He chuckles and leans against the sink, his arms folding easily. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” “Magicians and murderers are two different things.”

“Aren’t they skilled in making things vanish? Both captivate their respective audiences as well.”

“Do you not see how vastly different the two are?” Groaning, you rest your head against the wall. “Did you seduce her?”

“Someone’s curious.”

“What’s her name? Do you even know where she’s from or what she’s been through? You’re taking an entire life away, Jade.”

“Two, actually.”

“That’s even worse! Do you hear yourself right now? You’re insane!”

“Has it ever occurred to you that your morals might not have any influence on what I do?”

He’s doing this on purpose. He could’ve brought anyone home, but it just had to be a pregnant lady.

“You’re sick.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“No sane, healthy person would do this.”

Jade feigns a sad pout and wipes nonexistent tears from his eyes. “To hear you say such things… My heart breaks.”

I hope someone chops you up, you lunatic! Then you can know what it’s like!

“So what’s the plan? She’s stuck here like me?”

“Not for long.”

“You’re really going to kill her?”

“Is that not obvious?”

You glance at the tub. I have to do something. But what? You look around the bathroom, eyeing the frames, the sink, the toilet, the walk-in shower, the tiled floor… Can I kill him? Shatter one of the pictures, grab the biggest shard of glass, and then—

Jade bends down to your height. “You needn’t look so pensive. There’s nothing you can do, and if you try anything I’ll be sure to slaughter you in the most gruesome way at the end of these nine months.” He smiles like it’s not the most sinister threat. “And I’ll watch you bleed out slowly while I cut your skin away in delicate slivers. So if you value a quick, painless death, do yourself a favor and keep your hands to yourself.”

You drag your legs into your chest. You sick freak. His eyes crawl down your face to observe your bandaged ankle. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“That should be enough of a reminder.”

“I’m not stupid. I’m not going to do anything. I can’t.”

I want to, though. I have to.

But there’s the shackle and the chain, restricting your movement and trapping you in the bathroom. There’s also the very heartless serial killer, who values your life as much as one does a meal. Voraciously. That’s as far as his sympathy extends. He doesn’t care about you or your nonexistent baby. You’re not even a person.

To him, you’re just supermarket meat plucked from the street. The most dangerous game he’s ever hunted.

“Good to know.” Pleased with your submission, he rises to his usual height and makes for the door. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Allow me to retrieve some painkillers.”

“If it puts me to sleep—”

“Rest assured. I have no intention of doing that. Too much and you may never wake again. That, and I’d prefer a meal without unnecessary baggage.”

“Then don’t drug me if you want fresh, healthy meat.”

He says nothing, merely smiling in reply, and departs through his bedroom. You listen to his retreating steps and then, after determining he’s made it downstairs, you drag yourself over to the tub. You yank the tarp-turned-curtain aside and peer down at her.

“Excuse me?” You reach in to nudge her arm. “Miss, are you awake? Please wake up.”

She doesn’t stir. Your gaze sweeps over her face. She doesn’t look bruised or battered. In fact, she’s in much nicer shape than you were when Jade took you.

It couldn’t have been a date or any sort of formal event. Not by chance either… So what is it? What am I not seeing?

You stare at her bump and frown. I’m pretending to be in her position, but she’s actually pregnant. If anyone deserves to get out of this alive, it’s her and her baby.

You shake that thought out of your head next, replacing it with something detached. You have to be logical. In tragic situations, it’s everyone for themself. What if your roles were swapped? Would she feel the same? You’d hope so, but maybe she’d be just like you—someone who’d do anything to survive, even if that was at the cost of another’s sacrifice. It’s not fair, but there’s nothing you can do. She’s doomed.

“Fuck,” you mutter, curling your fingers around the lip of the tub.

I can’t watch an innocent woman die. I have to do something.

Footsteps draw near. You scramble to your corner. Jade returns with two tablets and a glass of water. You down the painkillers in one gulp.

If it knocks me out, at least I won’t have to see anything.

You rest your forehead against your knees. “I wish Azul was here.”

Why am I saying that? Do I really want him here? Maybe Cater would be better. Or Riddle. Anyone but Azul.

“My apologies. The withdrawal must make you feel immensely itchy.” He peers at the tub. You realize you forgot to pull the tarp back to its original place. “Consider this the beginning of your detox.”

“You’re selfish, you know that? I have my entire life ahead of me. I have—” you rub the cold sapphire set into the ring on your finger— “I had a wedding to look forward to. Someone I was going to marry. A baby! And you…” Before you can stop yourself, the tears are falling. Weeks of pent-up emotions overflow. You wipe hopelessly at your face, feeling pathetic for crying in front of him when he could care less, but the rivers continue running. “Y-You fucking took that away from me! And I can’t—it’s all so you can feed yourself.”

You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes and weep like a child. The voice in your head soothes you: You have time. You can still get out of this.

When you pull your arms away, you find Jade gazing at you. “If I’m as selfish as you say, what does that make you?” He pulls his sweatshirt up and over his head, and then you see it. The dress shirt.

A pit opens in your stomach. You feel sickness scraping at your throat again, and the sensation persists when he shucks his sweats next.

All this time, he was in formal attire…

“I have no interest in your affair with Azul. Rather, I find the entire thing quite circular. You were loosely attached once, but now you’re engaged. And then what? Are you going to run away when he does something unfavorable? You have the makings of a most atrocious bride.” Casually, as if this is a conversation held over afternoon tea, Jade folds the clothes and sets them on the towel rack. “I suppose that is just the nature of love. You return like the leashed pet you are and you let him love you because you are just as foolishly fond.”

That’s not true. You’re wrong. I don’t love him. I’ve never loved him.

“Ah, but this is just mere speculation based on what I’ve witnessed.”

“Stalker.”

“Not quite. Do you know how many times I’ve helped you—drunk, dazed, vulnerable you—and you never thought otherwise? I put you to bed. I did your laundry. I stayed by your side and cooked breakfast in the wake of your hangover. For so many years, I’ve beheld the (Name) who thinks she’s loved by all because she doesn’t love herself enough.” At your horrified expression, he laughs. “You like to babble when you’re inebriated. It’s very entertaining… What was it you told me a few months ago? That you’re a nothing human with an empty, ugly heart who isn’t worthy of Azul’s boundless generosity. That you pawn it for lust disguised as love because you can’t afford the real thing. That you—”

He sidesteps the glass you throw at him. It hits the floor and shatters with a splash. Glass shards slide across slick tiles. He watches you silently, his countenance unreadable.

“Shut up!” Odium darkens your face. You inhale a ragged breath, collecting what’s left of your tattered ego, and add in a shaky voice, “You don’t know me. You’ve never known me.”

“Perhaps not.” Jade leans down to smile at you. He’s close, but he doesn’t touch you. You challenge him with a mean scowl. “But I will soon.”

Before you can question that, a soft groan interrupts your discussion. Your head snaps over in the direction of the tub. Jade does much the same, only he moves slower. There’s a pregnant pause, tension crackling in the air, and then there’s movement. The woman struggles in the bath, her screams muffled against the tape. You wince, understanding her horror.

I know what that’s like.

Jade helps her sit up. She resists, shaking her head desperately and shrinking away from his hands as if they’re something monstrous. They are, technically. Her eyes meet yours then. Even though it’s a wordless exchange, everything you need to know shines on her tear-stained face. Her brows are pinched together in stressed disbelief. She’s trembling.

“If you promise to be quiet, I’ll remove the tape.”

Upon hearing that familiar phrase, you shudder. It seems to have the same effect on the woman. She looks at him and whimpers.

“P-Please listen to him,” you speak up, nodding encouragingly. “Don’t fight. It’ll make it worse.”

She spots your bandaged ankle and gazes at Jade with new terror shining in her brown eyes. They’re very pretty. Big and beautiful, almost like marbles. To think the last things she’ll ever see with such doll-like eyes are a hungry monster and a hapless captive.

Jade peels the tape off slowly and, unlike you, she keeps her mouth shut. A wise decision. You don’t want to think about what he might do to keep her quiet.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jade sets the sliver of tape aside. “Now then, I believe introductions are in order.”

“I… I don’t understand,” she whispers, pressing herself against a corner of the tub. “Why am I here? You told me you’d take me to a doctor. Y-You said you’d help me—”

“He’s a liar.” You fold your arms over your chest and huff. The woman’s expression falls. “It’s not your fault. I thought he was good, too.”

“So then—I’m just—why am I here? W-Why are you here?”

Jade steps in front of you to block your view of the distraught woman. “(Name) is my housemate—”

“Not by choice.”

“Still a housemate nonetheless,” he continues. “You’re here because I’m in need of a meal.”

“You’re…hungry? Is that… You’re serious? Is that really what this is about?” She shifts awkwardly in her restraints. You feel bad for her, even more so when you catch the hope bleeding into her voice. “Then, if that’s the case, I’ll cook something for you and you can let me go!”

Jade shakes his head.

You peer past his legs at her. “He’s going to kill and eat you.”

He frowns at you. “And I was intending to bask in the suspense…”

“You’re the worst. Genuinely.”

“I don’t understand… You’re…” She looks between you and Jade. Her eyes gloss over with fresh tears. “You’re going to kill me…”

“Indeed. Ah, but don’t look so disheartened. So long as you continue being good, I’ll grant you a painless death.”

“N-No way… I… I don’t wanna die. Please. M-My baby—I can’t—”

She breaks off with a choked sob. You watch her crumble without a word. It hurts to see her shoulders shake with every rattling inhale. It hurts even more knowing you’re just as stuck but temporarily spared. You glance at Jade to gauge his reaction. Like always, it’s impossible to read him. He’s always been like that, even before you found yourself trapped here. Smiling so sweetly, as if he isn’t a murderer, he would speak to you like a normal person, tease you like a friend, care for you when Azul couldn’t. You were so certain he was your friend—not just by way of association through Azul either.

He hid it—this massive, life-altering skeleton—like an expert. How did you miss it? What did you fail to catch?

Nothing. Because he never gave any indication of what was locked up behind unassuming closet doors.

Now you know better. So does this woman.

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise I won’t, so please let me go. Please, sir. My baby…”

Jade remains unfazed. “(Name) already tried those lines. Care to guess how well they worked?”

Landed me nine months on death row.

She hangs her head in defeat. “I can’t believe it… I’m actually… This is it.”

You rest your head against the wall and sigh. Jade stares a moment longer before striding to the door.

“I’ll give you time to get acquainted.”

With that, he shuts the door. It’s very obviously a test. He’s probably waiting on the other side, listening in to learn what sort of incriminating information you might share. Not that it matters if she hears it. She’ll take all of this new knowledge to the grave or, in more literal terms, Jade’s stomach.

“I’m sorry you’re caught up in this,” you murmur, tracing invisible circles into the floor. “What’s your name?”

“M-Marisa.”

You glance at her. “It’s beautiful just like you.”

“Oh. Well, t-thank you.” She offers you a shy smile. “My mother named me after the sea. It was her favorite place to visit whenever she needed inspiration. She was an artist, and the sea was her biggest muse.”

“That’s sweet. I wish I knew the lore behind my name.”

“It’s still pretty without the backstory.”

“I guess so.”

I never really put much thought into my name. Does it matter if it’s pretty or ugly?

“Actually… It’s kinda ironic. I don’t like the sea. It scares me, so I stay away from it.”

“The sea itself or what’s in it?”

“Both?” She attempts an awkward shrug. “There are scarier things out there, but there’s something unsettling about the ocean. Maybe I’m silly for thinking that.”

“You’re not. It’s normal to be scared of things we don’t understand.” Like right now. But you keep that part to yourself. “I can’t relate. I love the sea. The lost history, the creatures, the mysteries… It’s all so fascinating.”

“Really? You’re braver than I am!”

“I’m just way too passionate. That’s all.”

Am I? I said I’d be a marine biologist and that’s what I’ve been studying all this time. But…

Marisa sighs. “You’re lucky. I’ve always wanted to find something I could be passionate about.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something one day.” And then you pause. “Or… Um.”

She pastes another hollow smile on her face. “I thought I could be passionate about school, but I couldn’t do it. I dropped out and tried a few jobs. Everyone told me it’d be easier to get married instead of running around like a headless chicken, but that didn’t feel right. I thought I’d be passionate about things like motherhood and babies, but I dunno. I’m already so far along, but I haven’t felt anything yet. No excitement or anxiety. Just emptiness. And I know that’s a terrible thing to feel and think—we’re supposed to love the things we create! I don’t even think I truly love my boyfriend. I’m horrible—I know!”

“You’re not horrible. The truth is—” You stop yourself before the words can slip out. I don’t love Azul. I’m not even pregnant. “I don’t know if you’ll ever figure any of that out, but I know you’re a good person. You obviously care about these things. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be so worried.”

Marisa sniffles. “Thanks…”

“I can help you find your passion. There’s so much to do in the city. I’m sure something will catch your interest. Oh! Have you ever been to Siren’s Heartache? It’s a karaoke place. My friend and I used to go all the time.”

“I’ve been there once!”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? My friend would order the craziest stuff off their menu. He hates sweets, but he’d get all kinds of sugary drinks and snacks for the hell of it. Said it didn’t matter because it’d look cute on camera, so no one needed to know if he enjoyed it.”

“He did it for the pictures? That’s it?”

“Yep! He loves photography. He’ll do anything to make sure he gets the best angles and lighting.”

“Wow… I don’t think I could be that dedicated.”

“No? Then what about schedules? My other friend used to be on these super rigid schedules. I’m sure he’s still on them now, but back then it was really suffocating. He’s always been so organized, though. It’s impressive.”

“Isn’t that too restrictive? Doesn’t he have any time for fun?”

“Would that be better? A free life filled with ups and downs or a rigid life you can plan around?”

“Both sound just as bad.”

“Isn’t that just life?”

She breathes a sardonic laugh. “From a pessimist’s perspective, sure.”

“What kind of life would you want?”

“Is it bad to say I want something easy?”

“No fair. You totally stole my answer!”

“Then maybe we’re both bad.”

“Yeah…” You stretch your legs out and flex your toes on your good foot. If that’s bad, then I’m the worst. “I guess we are.”

She giggles. “You’re supposed to disagree!”

“Oh, oops. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I don’t think it’s so bad to want an easy life. If it were up to me, I’d want it to be like one giant tea party. That way everyone can come together for tea and tiny cakes.”

“And you wouldn’t have to work, so who cares if you’re rich or poor!”

“Exactly! There aren’t any expectations. You can be good or bad. Empty like me or passionate like you. It’s all just conversation at the end of the day.” She gazes at you, and her features relax into a real smile. “I wish we could’ve met sooner. You seem like a fun friend.”

Am I really? I feel like I’ve been nothing but trouble for Riddle and Azul. Even Cater…

You hum your acknowledgement before nodding towards her belly. “Have you thought of any names?”

“Nothing yet. I’m not very creative and I don’t want anything basic either. Something memorable would suffice.”

“Like your name.”

“Right! Only nothing connected to the sea.” Marisa chuckles sheepishly. “It wouldn’t mean anything to me.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to mean anything significant. As long as it comes from the heart and you like it, it should be fine. At least, I think that’s how it works.”

“I have no idea. This is my first time.”

You nod. Somehow it feels like I’m indirectly lying to her…

“You’ll find a name that sticks one day. When you do, let’s get together and celebrate.”

“At the Siren’s Heartache?”

“Wherever you’d like.”

She gasps. “How about a tearoom? There’s this really cute one just outside the city. I go there all the time. The owners are the nicest people I’ve ever met! If we go, we can have our own tea party. You can bring your friend who likes photography. I’m sure he’ll get lots of pretty pictures.”

That’s impossible. We both know there’s no chance of—

“Marisa!” She startles at the urgency in your tone. You look and sound as if you’ve just cracked a cold case. “That’s it!”

“What is?”

“Your passion! Tea parties!”

“I always thought that was more of a hobby…”

“You can be passionate about hobbies. I’ve never gone to a tea party myself and I don’t know what that involves aside from drinking tea and eating snacks, but it sounds like a good time.”

“Oh, it’s the best time! I love dressing up for it, too. On nights when I knew I’d be going the next day, I arranged my outfit in advance. What jewelry I’d wear, what makeup I’d put on, what purse I’d bring… I could spend hours trying on my clothes and picking different pieces. And their afternoon tea sets—they’re everything! You have to try it if you go! I love their egg sandwiches. Well, everything they serve is delicious.”

Your lips quirk up in a playful grin. “See? You’re not empty.”

Stunned, Marisa sits there in the bath. “You’re right,” she mumbles. “I never realized it, but I love tea parties. I love talking with people over food and drinks. I guess it came so easy to me and I did it so often that I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Maybe we can add ‘socialization’ to the list of passions?”

She laughs, her hair bouncing with the movement. It comes right from her chest—authentic amusement—and it’s a musical sound. You wish there was another way. Jade may have shown you mercy, but you’re certain it won’t be the same for her. Even with these unlucky odds, you’re determined to try. It’s the only thing you can do. Try and hope that something goes well.

You gesture for Marisa to turn around. She almost questions you, but you hold your index up to shush her. She stares at you, her lips pressed in a tight line, and nods her understanding. As quietly as she can, she shuffles in the tub until her back is facing you.

“Hey, what’s this tearoom called again?” you ask as you reach for the biggest glass shard.

“It’s called Portobello.”

“Like the mushroom?”

“Mhm! It’s forest-themed. They’re famous for their chaga tea.”

“Huh…”

Of course it’s mushrooms. You glance at the door. Do you hear that, you freak? Sounds like the perfect place for a mushroom fanatic like yourself.

“Do you like mushrooms?”

“They’re okay. I don’t eat them often. I have so many other foods I prefer…” You trail off as you saw through thick rope with the jagged glass. “Actually, there was this one time I got fried chicken from the city. I was stupid drunk and nothing was open, so my fiancé took me to a convenience store. It was cheap, but it was so yummy! I guess everything is when you’re that gone… Anyway, he was so mortified when I woke up the next morning wanting more. That was the only thing I remembered from that night.”

“Why was he so embarrassed? I think convenience store food is great!”

“Right? You understand it.” You sigh and shake your head, recalling that memory with startling clarity. “Azul is… It’s hard to explain.”

“But you’re engaged?”

“I’m crazy, aren’t I? Marrying a man who gets flustered over fried chicken from the convenience store. He ate it in a fancy suit, too. What a weirdo.”

“He sounds funny.”

“The funniest. It was our first year together as…contractual obligations. He was so determined to make a good impression that he banned junk food from his life. We broke that dumb rule that night. I think that was the first time I saw the real him. He’s cute when he blushes.”

“Contractual obligations? Why not partners?”

You cough awkwardly. “J-Just an inside joke. He’s a businessman.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” She flexes her fingers just as you manage to cut through the first knot. “That’s sweet.”

“What?”

“You and him.”

“What about us?” Your hand hesitates, gripping the shard with new force. Any tighter and you might slice your palm open.

“You must’ve been so hungry, and he went out of his way to make sure you were fed even if it meant breaking his rule.”

“That was just—he hates having to owe people stuff. He was just repaying a favor.”

“My mother used to tell me a good man will visit for your best, but a great man will stay for your worst and everything in between.”

“I…guess.”

No way Azul likes me at my worst.

You shut your mouth and resume your previous motions. With her hands now freed, you lean over the tub to work on the rope binding her ankles.

“What about your boyfriend? You said you’re not sure if you love him?”

“I don’t know what I want. We’re happy being together without any rings or ceremonies, but I feel like that’s not enough. I feel like I’m not enough.”

“Maybe you should take your mother’s advice.”

“I will when you do.”

“H-Hey!”

She giggles. “I’m kidding. I think… I’m glad you have someone who cares. It’s no fun being alone all the time. Sometimes it’s good to share your peace with others, even if that’s getting fried chicken from the convenience store with a weird guy on a chaotic night.”

You laugh, but it comes out choked.

Yeah, Azul’s weird.

And then the first tear lands on her foot. It isn’t long before more rush forth, blurring your vision. You manage to cut her free from the rope just before it becomes impossible to see clearly. When you meet her stare next, she smiles. It’s strained with sorrow.

Why are you crying? She’s just a stranger.

You throw your arms around her and sob quietly into her shoulder. She runs her hand along your back. It’s meant to soothe, but all it does is remind you of the limited time you have with her.

I’m crying because she’s a stranger. Because she’s someone I’ll never be able to know more than this.

“Escape,” you whisper as you pull away, pressing the shard into her hand. “And when you do, wait for me and we’ll have our giant tea party.”

She nods, her eyes shimmering with sadness. “You can count on it.”

When Jade returns, syringe in hand, it’s to a room of suffocating silence. You’ve no idea what its liquid contents are, but it can’t be very pleasant or safe. Regardless, you don’t intend to find out. He steps through the door, looks squarely at you, and smiles. Your skin crawls.

Calm down. It’ll be okay.

“You took your time.”

“Did I? My apologies if I kept you waiting.”

“Have you ever had mushroom tea before?”

He pauses. “Mushroom tea?”

So he wasn’t listening in. Either that, or he’s just hesitating for effect.

“I’ve never had it before, but I’d assume someone with your palate would’ve tried it.”

He laughs humorlessly. “Is there a reason for this assumption?”

“You like mushrooms. Sounds like something that’d be right up your alley.”

“You would be correct.” Jade taps the needle, eyeing the liquid within the plastic cylinder. “I’ve had it before, yes.”

“Was it good?”

“Quite.”

His gaze drifts towards the empty tub and you panic. “W-Will you bring some for me to try?”

He blinks at you. An amused smile pulls his lips apart.

You can’t stop the scowl that forms on your face. “I can’t control what the baby wants.”

Just a little longer… Keep your eyes on me.

“I’d love nothing more for you to try it.”

“But?”

“But there isn’t nearly enough credible information detailing whether chaga is safe to consume while pregnant. It would be very unfortunate if you injured your parasite on account of my negligence.”

“Someone did their research.”

“Indeed.”

“So what’s a good substitute? I want mushroom tea.”

“Pouting about it won’t fix anything.” He reaches to pull the curtain away, and you lurch forwards. The chain rattles. You pause with outstretched arms. Jade watches you with a frown. “Is something the matter?”

You lower your arms. “No… N-No, sorry. Nothing’s wrong. I’m just…hungry.”

“As am I, so if you could stop stalling for her sake I would appreciate it.”

A bone-chilling cold blankets the bathroom.

Your laugh comes out brittle. “Who’s stalling?”

It happens so fast you wish it was slow motion. Maybe then your reaction time would’ve been better. Marisa springs out from behind the door just as Jade turns to view her. She shoves him with as much strength as she can muster, swiping at him with the glass shard. Somehow she manages to drive it into his arm. Taken by surprise, he grunts and shakes her off. The syringe clatters to the floor and you dive to snatch it before he can. With Jade temporarily thrown off, Marisa flees from the room as quickly as she can. You look on with wide eyes, the syringe clutched in a tight fist.

She’s doing it… She’s actually escaping!

Jade curls his fingers around the glass lodged in his skin and rips it out. Blood spurts from the cut, crawling down his arm in a red slither. The chunk rests on the tiles in front of you, and it fills you with a proud satisfaction knowing he’s injured, if only partially. By the time you’ve blinked, he’s already hurrying towards Marisa. She’s about to wrench the bedroom door open, her freedom just beyond the confines of his home, but he seizes her wrist and yanks her away.

Just like the syringe in your hand, your heart drops.

She yelps and twists in his hold, flailing blindly. The scene is eerily reminiscent of your scuffle with Jade—the one you’d gotten into when he revealed himself as the intruder in your apartment. You were drunk then, wholly incapable of fending him off, but Marisa isn’t. She has a chance. She can escape. There has to be a way for—

You watch her fall, cringing at the resonating thud as her back makes contact with the floorboards. Jade’s hands are around her throat before you even know it.

“N-No… Wait. Wait, stop!” You lurch towards them, but the chain only allows you to go so far. You strain against the pull, grabbing at the door frame in hopes of breaking out of the shackle’s restrictive hold. “Jade—”

Marisa’s choked gasp cuts you off. You stare at her hands as they claw at Jade’s in animalistic desperation. Her eyes are so wide you see white; her mouth is open in a silent scream. With Jade on top of her, pinning her to the floor and squeezing her neck with ruthless precision, she can only kick her legs out and produce a haunting garble of sounds as she battles an impossible enemy.

“Stop! Let go of her!”

You grit your teeth and tug against the cuff. It digs into your skin and leaves you aching from the sting. Tears sprout along your lash line, and you cry out in pained frustration. Your agony doesn’t reach Jade’s ears. Or maybe it does and he’s just tuning it out. You’re unsure until you catch sight of his expression. A blank, empty slate—that’s what he is. There’s something murderous smoldering in terrifying two-toned eyes, but his lips are pressed in a firm pout and his brows are pinched together. Not from any sort of distress but, rather, from the physical exertion. His forearms flex, every muscle riddled with tense adrenaline, and his fingers dig into her throat to cut her circulation.

From where you stand, struggling against your restraints, you think his pupils are blown wide. He looks predatory. Unhinged in a feral sort of way. Like a wild animal who’s just pounced on his prey…

A wild animal. That’s what he is right now. Something unbound by human morals and law. A creature led only by instinct—by the intrinsic desire to slaughter and feast.

“Jade!” You give another determined tug to no avail. “Jade, please—you can’t do this! She’s pregnant! She has a boyfriend—a life! You can’t!”

Your voice is shrill, scratching through your vocal chords as if it intends to shred them to ribbons. You’ve never heard yourself sound so panicked before. Never known the crushing devastation of being so close and yet so powerless.

No matter how much you scream, Jade continues to strangle her. You can’t bear to watch any longer. Sinking to the floor, you lean against the wall and press your hands to your ears. You don’t want to hear Marisa’s wheezing breaths. You don’t want to see her struggle. You don’t want to see Jade as he kills her in front of you.

You don’t want to be a witness. You want out.

After minutes of torturous asphyxiation, her thread of life is snipped and she finally fades away. Moments later, urine soaks through her shorts and pools beneath her in a puddle. You look up just in time to see him release her and rise to his full height. Heaving a sigh, Jade tucks his dark hair strand behind his ear. Marisa lies lifeless, a husk of the once bright, bubbly woman you interacted with before this. Now she’s gone.

“Y-You’re a monster…” you manage through thick, anguished sobs.

He killed her. She’s…dead. Jade killed her. I just watched her die and there was nothing I could do and I…let it happen.

“This could’ve been avoided. I was going to give her an easy death, but you forced my hand.” Jade steps around you to pick the syringe up. “Let’s add another rule to our list. Seeing as I’m not allowed to touch you, it’s only fair that you keep your nose out of my work in return.”

Dead… She’s dead. Marisa is…

“Does that sound agreeable, (Name)?”

There’s a ringing in your ears—the warning tick of a clock or the foreboding chime of a death knell. Amidst every overwhelming sensation and haywire emotion, self-preservation echoes in your head: I’ve got to get out of here.

You blink through blurring vision. Are you crying? Numbly, you touch your face. The tears are there, wetting your cheeks in copious amounts. Something’s scratching at the back of your eyes. It’s not enough to feel like sleep, but it’s a familiar sensation. You’re certain you’ve felt it before. But when?

You can’t stop crying.

She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.

You suck in gulps of air.

I should’ve done more. I could’ve done more! There had to have been something—logically. You have to look at it logically. She was doomed to die the moment Jade brought her here.

You dig your nails into your arms.

We were going to have a tea party. I was going to help her find more passions. We were going to be friends…

You watch Jade bend down to her height and press two fingers to her neck. Suddenly, there are two Jades and both are tilting. He glances at you, but his words don’t reach your ears.

I was going to save her.

Your head hits the floor with a thump. The world goes dark.

Unlike previous times, the dream aquarium is bursting with life today. Moon jellyfish float peacefully behind sturdy glass. A manta ray glides smoothly through the water in laps. Fish of all colors and shapes are caught up in the current. The glow from the tanks dyes the hall in a cool ultramarine.

It’s quiet here. Safe. Comforting.

You’re lying on the floor, dressed in a clean hospital gown, and there is an entire galaxy of jellyfish above you. They’re set into the glass ceiling, their translucent bodies bobbing up and down in hypnotic patterns. You blink once and the blue brightens as if breathing alongside you. You blink again and this time a woman pokes her head into your visual field. Her milky-white eyes, though piercing, don’t frighten you. She blinks one eye at a time and her irises explode with color—now a vibrant green. Her long, black hair is tied back in a braid that sweeps over her shoulder. Tiny stars are twined throughout.

When she speaks, she has the same voice as the woman from the intercom.

“Today’s color is blue. As vast and wide as the sky and sea, as deep and dark as water’s soul, blue is the color of trust and sincerity. It is the color of bruises and sadness. It is the color of loneliness. It is the color that has finally led me to you.”

You stare at her, spooked speechless.

“Hello again, (Name).” She smiles and offers her gloved hand. “It’s been a while. Many years, in fact. I thought I’d never be able to catch you.”

You hesitate. Can you trust her—the woman you’ve spent so many dreams pursuing? There’s no one else here in this hall. She’s your only option. Swallowing your fears, you grab her hand and allow her to hoist you to your feet.

“My name is Marmoris. Ah, I must inform you that I’ve taken the form of someone familiar, so please note that this isn’t the current me. My true form is…not very pleasant. I wouldn’t want to startle you with it.”

“The current you? Your true form?” You draw away from her and bump into the tank behind you. Turning around, you gaze at the image slowly forming within murky waters. It’s…Jade’s bathroom. And there’s Jade, stooped over Marisa’s corpse. He’s looking at you next. You place your hand against the glass, but the scene doesn’t disappear. “W-What is this? What’s going on?”

Marmoris joins you at the tank. Her reflection warps with a myriad of aquatic traits. At one point, you think you see fins where her ears ought to be—shadows of wispy tendrils where her lab coat once was. “You’ll have to forgive me. There was no other way. You’ve already seen too much.” She shuffles closer to you. Her hands cover your eyes next. “Please don’t look. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

You squirm out of her hold. The picture presented in saltwater clouds in and out of clarity. “Protect me? I don’t understand. What do you mean by—”

“There’s not much time. I can’t keep you in here any longer than I already have.” She grabs hold of your hands and squeezes them. She looks sincere enough, but you can’t get past the fact that, though she claimed to take on the appearance of someone familiar, you can’t recognize this woman’s features.

She’s a stranger.

Before you can protest further, Marmoris leans in close and presses a kiss to your forehead. Her lips are frigid. The transient security of the desolate dream aquarium melts away, taking you with it.

“I promise I’ll explain everything the next time we meet. When we do, look for me. I’ll be waiting.”

You jerk awake with a gasp. Your hands fly to your throat on instinct. Slowly, while catching your breath, you peer around the bathroom. Marisa has been moved to the tub and Jade’s in the process of cleaning the floor. He glances at you. His arm is bandaged.

“Welcome back.”

You shoot him a withering look. “Eat glass and die.”

“Wouldn’t that please you?”

“It would,” you whisper weakly, more tears spilling over. “It really would.”

For the first time in a while, you can’t recall any slivers of your dream.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade #yandere jade x reader #death row undertow #death row undertow chapter eight #serial killer jade

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semperama · 2 months ago

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hiii, for the ask game, i would love nr 7 (i dreamt about you last night) for buddie! ✨️

This is probably not what you had in mind when you sent this prompt, and I'm sorry!! It got a little angsty on me. Also long.

“I dreamt about you last night.”

----

Buck wakes up to sheets soaked with sweat, a scream halfway out of his mouth. His ears are still ringing with gunfire, sirens. His heart is pounding, his lungs pulling desperately at the air. He paws at his face, his neck, looks at his hands in the semi-dark and expects them to be stained black with blood.

But it’s just clean skin. He’s alone in his bedroom, legs tangled in the blankets, no copper taste on his tongue.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

The fourth time he’s had the same dream in as many nights.

He throws back the covers and gets out of bed, goes into the bathroom where he turns on the light and splashes water on his face, like that might wash it all the way. They always do it in the movies, the water trick. He wonders if it ever works for them. It doesn’t work for him.

Even when he’s awake, he sees it. The blank expression on Eddie’s face. The pool of blood spreading across the asphalt. The way Eddie’s hand moved. He reached for Buck like Buck could save him, and Buck tried, but it doesn’t feel like it was enough. Even though Eddie’s alive—it was because the bullet missed vital organs, and because the surgeons knew what they were doing. But if he’d been hit a couple inches to the left…Buck couldn’t have done anything. Eddie might still have reached for him, but all he would have been able to do was watch him die.

“Fuck,” he mutters, then splashes himself with another handful of cold water. He can’t—won’t—go back to bed, so he shuts off the faucet and goes downstairs, curls up on the couch and turns the TV on.

He should nod off again. He’s tired enough to. But he knows by now what will happen if he does, the worst moment of his life in technicolor, surround sound. So he stays awake, until the gray light of dawn crowds out the darkness beyond his windows.

———

The nightmares didn’t start until Buck went home. The nights he slept on the Diaz couch were quiet and dreamless, either because he was too exhausted or too numb. He went to work, did the necessary chores, helped Christopher with his homework and cooked him dinner. His body ran on autopilot and his mind stayed blissfully blank, and at night he dropped off to sleep like someone pulled his plug.

But it’s been almost a week since Eddie got home, five days since he sent Buck back to the loft. You’ll kill your back sleeping on that couch much longer. I’ll call you if you need you. Buck hasn’t gotten more than four hours of sleep in a night since.

“You look like shit,” Chim says when Buck clomps up the stairs for breakfast at the start of their next shift. And Buck knows it’s the truth. He saw himself in the mirror this morning. His eyes are bloodshot, and the circles under them have darkened into a bruised shade of purple. His hands have been shaking so much, he keeps them stuffed into his pockets or curled around something—the strap of his bag, a coffee mug.

Bobby’s busy chopping a handful of chives, but when he looks up, Buck knows immediately what he’s going to say.

“Go home, Buck,” Bobby says. “You know you’re no use to us like this.”

What the fuck am I going to do at home? Buck wants to ask—but he also knows Bobby’s right. In his current state, he’d end up jamming the Jaws into his own leg, or throw himself off the side of a building before clipping in.

Maybe neither would be so bad, though. Maybe a different kind of pain would be a relief.

Regardless, he can’t go home. He sits inside the Jeep in the parking lot for almost ten minutes, hands curled around the steering wheel, wondering if a nap here would end up the same way. Then, he starts up the engine and drives to Eddie’s.

It takes a while for Eddie to get to the door, and Buck realizes too late he’s probably sleeping. It’s early, and the painkillers always make him tired, and Buck should have just—let him sleep. Someone should be getting some sleep.

“Why didn’t you just come in?” Eddie asks when he sees it’s Buck on his doorstep. He looks—soft. His hair is sleep-rumpled. He’s not wearing a shirt, his sling strapped across his bare chest, and soft black sweatpants sit low on his hips. Buck wants to lean in and bury his face into the place where his shoulder meets his neck.

“Not sure,” Buck says honestly. His brain isn’t working right, probably. How could it, when it’s wrapped in three layers of cotton?

Eddie steps back to let him in, a furrow forming in his brow. “Wait, aren’t you supposed to be at work?” he says. “And why do you look like—is everything okay?”

Buck shuffles in just enough for Eddie to shut the door behind him. “I had a dream about you,” he says, dropping his gaze to the floor. He feels like a child, showing up in his parents’ bedroom in the middle of the night to cry about the monsters in his closet. Or—it’s how he imagines it must feel. His own parents certainly weren’t interested in protecting him from the things that go bump in the night.

“A dream?” Eddie repeats. He takes a step forward, puts a hand on Buck’s shoulder, and ducks his head to meet his eyes.

“More than one, actually.” Buck doesn’t want to look at him, but he knows he won’t stand for it. “Every night.” His voice cracks. “The sniper.”

“Buck.” Eddie’s hand tightens on him, grips hard enough to hurt. It’s good. Grounding. Buck wants to beg him to leave a bruise. “Why didn’t you say something?

“You’re the one who got shot,” Buck says. “What right do I have to even—”

“No, hey.” Eddie moves in closer, his hand kneading Buck’s shoulder, only a few inches of space between them now. “For me, it was just…pain, and-and your face, and then black. For you…I’ve been in your shoes before, too. I know how scary it can be.”

Buck wants to reach for him, but there’s no safe place to put his hands—the soft skin of Eddie’s waist, the pillow crease that slashes across the side of his face. “I almost didn’t save you.” Finally, Buck touches Eddie’s elbow, just gently, with the tips of his fingers. “I froze, Eddie.” His breath hitches. He can feel his face start to crumple. “I almost didn’t—”

“Oh, Buck.” Eddie yanks him in, guides Buck’s forehead to that spot Buck wanted to nestle into moments ago, holds him close. It’s awkward with Eddie’s bum arm smushed between them, his knuckles digging into Buck’s stomach, but it’s also perfect, because Eddie is warm and alive, his heart beating and blood rushing through his veins and lungs expanding, his breath ruffling Buck’s hair. “I’m here,” he murmurs, his fingers scratching into the hair at the back of Buck’s head. “I’m fine. You did save me, okay? I’m right here.”

Buck cries. For how long, he doesn’t know. Shaky sobs into Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie’s skin going slick under his cheek. His arms curl around Eddie’s waist, and his fingers dig in, clinging. Eddie almost died, but he didn’t die. He’s here, and he’s solid, and he’s real. Buck doesn’t ever want to let go of him again.

“Here, why don’t we…” Eddie says after some indeterminate amount of time, shifting to wrap his arm around Buck’s shoulders and tug. “Come on. Come lay down with me. You need sleep.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, a strangled sound. He lifts his head enough to walk under his own power, but he won’t stop touching Eddie, one arm still wound around him, their hips brushing all the way down the hall.

In the bedroom, he makes himself let go of Eddie long enough that Eddie can rearrange himself in bed, get into a position that’s comfortable for his shoulder. Buck climbs in carefully, but as soon as he starts to settle, Eddie pulls him closer, manhandles him so his face is tucked against Eddie’s neck again, that spot starting to feel like it was made just for him, two puzzle pieces fitting together.

“Sleep,” Eddie says, and soon, Buck does.

He falls into dreams of Eddie, but this time it’s different—not the sniper, not any other disaster. He dreams of Eddie and Chris at the zoo, gilded with sunlight. He dreams of Eddie grinning up at him during a rope rescue. He dreams of warm skin, warm breath, strong fingers pressing bruises into his hips.

He sleeps, and he dreams of Eddie.

#buddie #buck/eddie #911 abc #911 show #my writing #again i shouldn't be posting something so late but oh well

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gardenofnoah · 16 days ago

Text

darling i loved you, i long to become you -

part one - simon "ghost" riley x reader; 2.8k words. tags: stalking, obsessive behavior, breaking and entering, bodily fluids, masturbation, misuse of prescriptions and alcohol, it’s going to get a lot worse

There's something sick inside of him. That's the only conclusion he's arrived at, because nothing else comes to him at three in the morning but the blistering silence and that single observation—that there is something wholly necrotic crawling underneath his skin. It's beginning to scare him.

Simon draws a hand up over his pulse and he thinks he feels that something, too—dark and writhing and waiting, just like him. The longer he is awake, the more he begins to believe that the thing he fears is merely his own shadow. That there is no something else at all—only another side of himself shook looser with every passing minute. But sleep doesn't come—not in anything more than fits and spurts, and just long enough to drive him half insane every time he opens his eyes and finds the dark is not yet done with him.

Tonight is no different. The medication makes him sweat, makes him nauseous, makes him anything but what it should; all of his feeble attempts at sleep, and concentration, and peace—all out of reach and replaced with something filled with so much numbness. That is the darkness—the hole left behind and filled with a nothing that is so much heavier than he’d ever imagined it’d be.

He'd sent you away. It had only made sense at the time—your need and his own like locked cervids, both of you too blind with blazon adrenaline to realize there could be a way to fit around each other—to come apart with both your lives and pride intact. He'd believed he'd known better—that his indifference to your tears and your rage could only have meant that there truly was no room inside himself for the home you'd tried to carve within him. It was him that caused the fracture, but he'd shown you it was you. He saw the final sever when his words landed—the parts of you he'd sloughed off, knowing immediately he'd taken too much. Regretting it, if only for a fleeting moment.

But either way—it was over. You were gone, and he, free to continue to pursue some vague and ever-distorting end goal that he'd put on a pedestal for himself. He'd been younger, once—chasing tail and money and some odd sort of notoriety for the things that were easy to him: brutality, efficiency. Rage as mechanical as it was innate to him. He'd never been too sure what that holy grail of his life would be, but he'd been certain that whatever finality awaited him would be truly worthy of something as wicked as he. What pride he'd felt at that—at the magnificent monster he'd painstakingly reared up from, and in spite of, some terrified child huddled in fear at the unfortunate end of a perpetually smoking gun. Never again in his life would he feel that way.

But while the progression into his 30s brought him a renewed sense of vitality, of urgency, of greed—it gave you claws to grab hold of him. While the itch to go became unbearable to him, your need—to love him, to have him, to keep him—pinned him to the floor. He got away the only way he knew how—with the swift cruelty he'd inherited and whittled to a fine point.

He'd taken from you to get out—but not without a cost. An unfathomable one, at that. He's no idea what switched—what took him from apathy to obsession overnight. He's not lost so much of the plot that he believes it's love; but no matter what it is, it pushes him forward, toward you. He can't stop—couldn't, even if he wanted to.

The air, hanging and oppressive enough to be sentient, keeps Simon affixed to the soaked-through sheets like they're a part of him. This is his new routine: dreamless sleep to waking nightmare. He feels, with some irony, that his current state has nothing to do with the years of blood on his hands, and everything to do with the heart or the sense you seemed to have gored from him on your way out. He knows this, because it is 3:30 in the morning, and after 32 minutes of staring at the silent, slow rotation of his ceiling fan, he'll swing both legs over the edge of his bed and summon some sort of reserved strength to drag himself up and over to the window. An island, no more than a wooden counter top on bricks, separates point A from point B—he'll approach it and give himself a choice: to grab a handful of pills that he's scattered across its surface, or to forgo this new odd game of roulette all together.

And from 4:02 until the sun rises, he will watch you sleep from that window.

It was easy enough to find where you ended up—you'd blocked him on your socials, but it took all of a moment to create a new version of himself, with a generic name and a different face. He'd almost been disappointed at how easy it was to follow you with the new him—at how easy it would be to shatter this illusion of safety you somehow still had, even after he'd shown you what he was.

He'd just been curious, at first—but he'd recognized the buildings outside of the window of your flat in your pictures, and suddenly he was signing a lease for a studio with a direct line of sight into that window. His stomach had turned delightfully when he'd realized that you'd forgone curtains for your bedroom. He was sure you'd believed you were far enough from the first floor not to need them. Poor dove. Stupid thing.

His intentions had been pure, even as he hauled the last of his belongings into his building under the cover of night. Someone had to keep an eye on you, he'd reasoned, if only because you clearly had no sense of how to do it yourself. But the months passed and he left his place less and he drank more. He became a little less regimented about the sleep aids, the psychotropics, the pain killers—dumped them out of their safety-locked bottles and mixed them around, needing to feel something like a thrill and knowing that no matter how lax he was about what he took, he would remain right here. At his window, in this body, only for a glimpse of you.

And here he is—chewing down what he thinks could be a chlorpromazine, chasing it with what's left of the handle of gin before he has the chance to gag. From his perch, there's no movement in your dark apartment, but he knows you're in there. The light of your TV flashes dimly to him like a flare—illuminating the back wall of your bedroom. If he squints, he can make out the frames nailed to the drywall, the houseplant that refuses to die despite your neglect next to your bed, and the wooden slats of your headboard. As if just for him, a particularly bright advert reveals your sleeping form to him—just the outline of you, under the mound of blankets you insist on sleeping with. How grateful he feels that you've given him a front row seat, down to the placement of your bedroom furniture.

He pushes the bottom pane of his window away, out into the night as he crouches to light a cigarette out of the opening. He watches the smoke curl away from his fingers and he wonders if you'd know him by the acrid smell of it alone, if he got close enough. He feels the absent tug of a scar as his lip curls at the memory of your disdain for it. It'd be easy enough for him to scale the side of your building, to get right up under your balcony—would you think him a haunting?

He flicks ash and watches your comforter move with your tossing and turning—knowing acutely that you've no idea the ways you haunt him.

He stands there, watching for flickers of you in the dark until the light begins to reveal his hiding place. At 7:16 he moves, if only out of the desire to drag this out—to see how long he can make himself wait until he inevitably needs more. Until that slithering thing inside him tells him to get a little closer.

Until then, indeed.

The weather gets colder as the year drags on—and you push him a little nearer to whatever edge he's approaching when you put up curtains in your bedroom.

To keep the cold out, surely—but not him. You couldn't have known about his early morning routine, but to Simon, it's personal. It's a challenge—a subtle provocation from you to try a little harder.

So he does.

"Evening, mate," he gruffs to the concierge of your building—making a big show of brushing the snow off of his coat. He didn't own a coat until tonight—there was no reason to, with how infrequently he'd left his place recently—but it was easy enough to snag it off the back off a stroller off the subway. "Bloody blizzard out there."

The doorman cocks an eyebrow at him, not bothering to hide the suspicion at the way he's come trudging through the lobby at two in the morning on a Wednesday. "Bit late for walk, no?"

Simon grins at him, entirely conscious of his face for what might be the first time in his life. Wonders what the man might think of the scar that pulls white with the flash of his teeth. Winks for good measure. "Ah, girlfriend lives on the 3rd floor—dropped her off by curfew, but seems'm a bit whipped—" He leans forward, squinting at the nametag. "—Percy. M'sure you know about that, yeah?"

You don't—live on the 3rd floor, that is. You live on the 6th. But he's no idiot, and he won't assist this squatty, red-faced bastard in drawing the conclusions he's clearly already trying to piece together.

"Say, Percy—" Simon jabs at him, ignoring the way the man not-so-subtly steps back from his best attempt at a friendly advance, "—'ve got a bone to pick with you, actually. She says you've been starin' at her somethin' horrid." He does his best to toe the line between a tease between co-conspirators and his usual threat, eyebrow cocked with mirth. "I know she's a catch, mate, but maybe take it easy on 'er."

He's pulling it out of his ass, but Simon knows he's won this standoff the second he sees the concierge's face turn a darker shade of red. It doesn't matter who he's talking about. He's certain this asshole ogles every woman that walks through the door.

"Apologies, sir," the doorman doesn't raise his eyes from the countertop when he hands Simon the little red plastic card he'd been waiting for, "this will get you up there."

Simon raises two fingers in a little mock salute and turns on his heel, seeking out the elevators like he's been here before. It feels like he has, with all of the time he's spent carding through virtual tours of all of the vacant flats in the building. He thinks he could find the main elevators—placed on the far back wall, around the corner from the utility closet—with his eyes closed. He feels himself slip into a headspace that's far more tactile than this requires, but he supposes he shouldn't be too careful. Two in the morning or not, he has the sense to know he shouldn't be here.

It excites him, though, to watch the button for the sixth floor light up under his fingertip. The car rises and so does his stomach, fuzzy and writhing with anticipation. He's not been this close to you in months. He’s nearly sick with it—the unbridled need slicking his palms and wetting the inside of his mouth.

It’s not that he wants you. It’s more that you’re his, and he’ll play the long game if it means he gets to keep you. Simon doesn't consider himself a bad guy—even now, as he keeps his footsteps light on the carpet leading him to what will inevitably be your door—it's just that he's been dealt so much shit that he feels he deserves something good. It's that he realized too late that you could be that something good—but he can still have it, have you, if he's careful about this.

He finds it easy enough—when he spots the one door decorated top to fucking bottom with winter festivities, he is certain that he's in front of your door. It almost makes him angry—how easy you've made this for him. What if it had been someone else? Someone who wasn't him, rooting around in what he's already claimed?

Before he knows it, he's shoved a pin into your lock and gotten the door open. With all of the stealth imparted on him by his career, it swings open without a sound, leading the way into your dark home.

You're not here. He knows you're not—blinds up or not, he's been observing you long enough to know your patterns. Now, thinking of where you would be at 2am on a week night has his heartbeat thundering in his ears, but right now that's not important.

He allows himself the luxury of a tour around your flat—smaller than his, it seems, but with all of the character you have a habit of inflicting on your living spaces. There are pieces of you everywhere—pictures stuck to the fridge, dirty laundry in the corner of your bedroom. He helps himself to the latter—rooting around until his fingers catch something lace. In the dark, he can make out the shade, not the color; the stain he feels piques his interest. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the gusset of your panties, presses into it—still a little tacky, like you'd worn them earlier in the day. He knows it's from you—Simon tells himself he's only confirming that you're being safe, and not letting some neanderthal spill his load inside you. He's only concern for you, he rationalizes—depositing your underwear into the band of his own. Your discharge sticks to his skin, and he suppresses a shiver. It flares to life inside him—the need to have every part of you again.

He forces himself to move on. He's not really sure why he's here, but feels he belongs there all the same—in your dark apartment, standing over your bed, where you ought to be sleeping.

He's drawn to the window—he pulls back the corner of your new linen curtain just to be sure, and feels a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. There's not a chance in hell you'd ever be able to see him looking down at you.

He allows his boot to scuff along the hardwood—some small part of him hoping the rubber sole leaves behind a mark. He's overwhelmed by the weight of it—of the feeling that he has to leave something behind, but knowing he can't—not yet.

So he makes a compromise with himself—he arrives by your bedside again and stays there this time, fingers reaching to the zipper of his jeans. He pulls himself out clumsily—soft, but swelling quickly at the idea of you beneath him, breathing softly and blissfully unaware.

He pictures you in his mind. Blankets tangled around your legs, hair tangled in a nest by your pillows—he wonders how long he'd be able to get away with brushing the crown of him against your open, drool-slicked bottom lip before you'd stir.

He feels a flush of pleasure lick up his spine at the thought of you, bleary-eyed and confused—how your eyes would widen when you finally registered him towering over you. Would you know it was him right away? Would you scream? Would you soil yourself?

The image of your fright forces a low groan from him, and he tugs at his cock brutally—dry and fast, but no less effective right now. With his free hand, he pulls your panties from his waistband and pushes them between his teeth—the fabric and the taste of you muffling his whining and making his eyes roll back in his head. He imagines you coming back to the sight of him—panties in his mouth and cock hanging out of his jeans. Maybe you'd understand, finally, what you've done to him.

His release is a short one, but it knocks the breath of him nonetheless—hot spend coating his knuckles and his jeans. The urge to mark you in some way seems to transfer to your belongings, because before he can even register that he's done it, his hand is inside your pillowcase—wiping the remnants of his pleasure across the underside of the bare pillow. You'll never find it, but he'll know—and for now, that's enough.

He looks down at his watch, and knows he's out of time. He shoves himself back into his jeans and retraces his steps, back out of your door—he doesn't bother locking it behind him. Let you feel a little fear, if only for a moment. Teach you a lesson in comfort—the fallacy of safety he's always known, and you've never felt.

He doesn't look back once the door shuts behind him—he finds a fire stairway and clears the six floors to the street in no time at all. He doesn't look back, not once—not until he's back in his place. He pulls the pack of cigarettes from his bedside drawer, and taps the carton against the wooden finish of it. He checks the time again.

3am. Only a half an hour until you get home.

#i made myself a little queasy w it. i can't wait to make it worse #y'all got me obsessed but in a weird way #so now it's your problem #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley #ghost fic #cod x reader #cod fic #simon riley fic

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whimsyfinny · 9 months ago

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: provocative dancing, slight Sam x Reader, jealous Dean

Chapter Word Count: 4211

—-MDNI—-

A/N: aaaaahhhhhhhh sorry this one took ages. I suddenly had a bunch of personal things going on so I struggled to find the time. Also this chapter is wild, I’m so sorry for the complete train wreck that it is. I just keep writing without questioning it too much. But yeah same as always pls let me know of any errors as I am the only one who proof reads this shit.

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Please read the below first:

Prologue Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 8 - Part 1

Morning soon rolled around; my alarm waking me from my deep dreamless sleep, eyes wearily blinking open as I stared blankly at the old ceiling. Turning off the repetitive beeping, I flung back the covers and climbed out of bed, pacing to the bathroom to freshen up before heading down to breakfast. I was in desperate need of a laundry day as I was down to my last couple of clean items: a cropped black tank top that said ‘Singers Salvage Yard’ across the front in old cracked and over washed lettering, paired with a short denim skirt with frayed edges. It was an a-line fit a long time ago, but as I got older and my figure changed it just got tighter and shorter. I don’t even know why I still have the thing. Paired with my boots and some comfy socks poking over the top of them, I looked like I should be getting paid to wash cars. I grimaced, knowing full well that Dean was going to make a comment.

Dean.

My mind raced back to last night with his parted lips and black lustful eyes - I couldn’t tell if he wanted to push me against a wall or be at my mercy, it was hard to say. Both sounded spectacular.

I strode into the central study room where the boys did all their research, looking for my flannel when I noticed a figure out of the corner of my eye. Instinct took over and I grabbed the nearest item to me - a lamp from the middle of the table - and held it up like a bat, ready to swing. The man flinched but held up his hands, an apologetic expression on his ruggedly handsome face.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” his voice was monotone despite his peaceful words.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“CAS!” Suddenly Deans voice rang through the open room and we both spun to see him standing where I had just walked in, Sam following behind.

“Dean I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle her, I wasn’t expecting you to have visitors,” this Cas guy spoke, his tone forever unchanging.

“This is (Y/n), Bobby’s niece. She’s staying with us for a while to help with research,” he explained, before turning to me and giving me a stern look, holding his hand out.

“(Y/n) give me the lamp.”

I did as he asked, placing the cool metal into his palm as he returned it to the table. We shared a look for a second and I was unsure of the meaning behind it - was he mad about me almost bludgeoning his friend? Was it because I was going to use a lamp of all things? Or was it about last night, and the fact I left him hanging? Who knows, but I’m sure I’ll hear about it later. Dean was about to turn away when the monotone voice of Cas spoke up.

“I’m sorry (Y/n), please forgive me for startling you. Although…” he paused, looking me up and down and then almost knowingly between myself and Dean, “I have personally been caught off guard here as well - I was unaware that Dean was involved with someone.”

“Excuse me?” I blinked up at Cas, getting ready to snatch that lamp back. I saw Dean pinch the bridge of his nose and mutter an ‘oh boy’ under his breath.

“You’re sexual endeavours with Dean,” Cas looked at me like I was the one missing something here. Clearly I am. Cas continued, “you’ve been intimate, have you not? This means that you are a couple from what I’ve learned.” Suddenly his eyes went wide and he looked straight at Dean.

“Or is this a pizza man situation?”

“CAS STOP TALKING,” Dean bellowed, embarrassment creeping across his face. I’m assuming he’s not used to that emotion as he was getting very frustrated. I couldn’t help but stand there in disbelief.

“How the actual FUCK do you know about me and Dean after saying that you weren’t aware of me even being here before you arrived?”

“He can smell it,” Dean said quietly, arms now crossed over his chest.

“What?”

“He can smell… me… on you,” as the words left his lips, his eyes locked with mine for a split second sending a jolt down my spine and hair prickling on my skin. I tore my eyes away from him and looked back at Cas.

“So wait, this weirdo can smell that I slept in one of Deans T-shirts last night?”

“You slept in one of his shirts?” Sam asked, piping up for the first time since this conversation started. Dean grinned like the cat that got the cream, embarrassment dissipating for a second.

“Yeah, she did.”

“Hmmm,” Cas mumbled, “No it’s not just that… It’s stronger, like there is part of Dean in her somehow. Or at least there was; not so much anymore.”

My eyes went as wide as the moon and my cheeks felt like they’d been set on fire.

“OH MY GOD,” I hid my face in my hands, wanting the ground to swallow me up. Whilst I tried to hide my entire existence, Dean cackled, leaving Sam confused.

“I don’t get it, what’s going on?” He asked, looking between all three of us. I couldn’t say a word through the white hot embarrassment, which left Dean to explain. He turned and looked Sam dead in the eye.

“You know how much I love pie, Sam,” he paused to see if Sam was catching on, which he wasn’t so Dean continued. “All sorts of pie. Like, uh, apple pie, cherry pie… cream pie…” Sam’s eyes shot open as wide as they could and he almost went as red as me.

“Nope!” He declared, promptly spinning on his heel and leaving. Cas looked confused.

“I smell no pie here.”

“Never mind, Cas,” Dean patted him on the shoulder before urging him to catch up with Sam who I’m assuming is in the kitchen by now. When it was just Dean and I left I peered at him through my fingers, my face still burning up.

“Dean what the fuck just happened?!”

He tried to suppress his laughter, explaining that Cas was in fact ‘Castiel’ and an Angel of the Lord, which explained his rigid behaviour and a weirdly strong set of senses.

“Why didn’t you butt in and explain who he was before everything got so embarrassing!”

“To be honest it was all pretty hilarious.”

“No it wasn’t! That was NOT an enjoyable moment!”

“Ok I’m sorry,” Dean paused, looking down at me with softer eyes, a slight smile still on his lips. He stepped closer and I pushed on his chest.

“You better be! You owe me big time for that one Winchester.”

He grinned as the furious redness on my face simmered down, just leaving a pink glow on my cheeks.

“Ok ok! Look let's just go and get some breakfast and put this behind us,” he put his hand on the small of my back, urging me towards the kitchen. I hummed, walking with him. There were a few moments of silence as we made our way down before he suddenly spoke up again.

“Did you know that he once smelt a bladder infection on a dead guy?”

Breakfast was uneventful. I was unable to make eye contact with Castiel, and it seemed that Sam was unable to make eye contact with me. Dean however was completely unphased. Once we were all finished and I’d cleared everything away I made my way to my room, grabbed my dirty clothes and then headed to the laundry room - today was going to be a practical one as I officially had nothing else to wear. Upon arriving I couldn’t help but grimace; a mountain of mens clothes covered in mud, blood and black goop sat in the middle of the floor by the washers.

“Gross…” I winced, the smell of dirt and iron filling my nose as I got closer and poked the pile with a pipe I found off to the side. I half expected the mass of clothes to sprout legs and walk off. The boys could probably find lore on the thing with how long its been sitting here. I huffed, scooping my hair into a high ponytail before shoving a bunch of my washing in a machine and turning it on before returning for face the Winchesters laundry. I can’t leave it here, that goes against everything clean and hygienic that I stand for. I could burn it? They would definitely complain about having to replace all the plaid shirts. Should I sort it or just hope for the best? Do I check the pockets? Knowing all the crap they carry around, I should definitely check the pockets before a load of bullets or a hex bag goes through one of the machines. I set to work, sorting out colours, blacks and whites - unable to differentiate between lights and darks at times - and search every pocket as I go. The amount of women’s phone numbers I find on napkins and receipts is ridiculous. I can’t help but feel a little deflated, knowing I’m probably just a name on Deans list. I put them to the side in a pile, keeping them separate from the numbers from Sam’s pockets. I load up another machine and turn it on, picking up the stacks of numbers and leaving the room.

I find the boys sitting in their usual places at the tables, surrounded by piles of books and files. Castiel was nowhere to be seen. I walk up to them and slide the collection of phone numbers over to them.

“I thought you might want to keep these,” I said, not understanding the tone in my own voice. They both took a few seconds to realise what it was that I was handing them and they both responded in an abashed manner, shooting each other a knowing look before staring at the accumulation of digits, not once making eye contact with me. Sam nodded a quick ‘thank you’ before I turned to leave, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him crumple them up and throw them away in a carrier bag on the floor next to him. At the same time, I caught Dean shoving his collection into his jacket pocket, which was hung on the back of his chair. I hastened my actions and turned away quicker, not wanting to have the knowledge that he was keeping them. A pang of something shot through my chest, and I couldn’t tell if it was jealousy, sadness, rage or self pity. Whatever it was, I needed to get the fuck away from Dean.

A few hours passed and I was still sorting laundry. My clothes were officially clean and dry and away in my room, however the task at hand was now the clothes belonging to the Winchester boys. I was a few minutes away from the final load of washing being dry, and I’d managed to arrange the clothing into piles of ‘definitely Sam’ and ‘definitely Dean’, with a ‘really not sure’ pile in the middle. The jeans were easy enough to tell apart and due to Deans T-shirt I wore to bed last night, I now knew that he wore a slightly larger shirt size than his younger brother. I guess he had bigger shoulders, despite Sam being taller. My train of thought snapped as I suddenly heard a door slam upstairs and a female voice call out. I recognised the voice immediately. I stopped everything I was doing and headed upstairs, my feet carrying me with purpose as I reached the study room; Sam and Dean also emerging from another corridor.

“Charlie!” Dean beamed at her, going to give her a hug before I caught up to them and shoved him out the way.

“Don’t you EVER abandon me again like that,” I said, embracing her tight. “I’m fucking annoyed at you…. But I’m glad you’re here. These guys are like wild animals.” She patted my hair softly before I stepped back and she had an apologetic look on her face.

“I knooowwww I’m sorry! But you were in such a slump I really had to do something. Plus these guys really needed whipping into shape,” she spoke the second half of her sentence quieter and we both peered at the boys, fully aware that they could hear every word we were saying.

“Anyway!” She exclaimed, moving away and plopping her backpack onto the nearest table, “I think I have a case for you guys…” her voice was excited but the way her expression changed when she looked from the boys to me was slightly concerning. Sam seemed to pick up on this too.

“That’s great, but what’s the catch?” He asked. Charlie bit her lip and looked between the boys and me again.

“It’s in a strip club and we will need (Y/n) as bait.”

“What?!” Both me and Sam spoke up at the same time, and all that Dean could muster was a huge grin.

“I’m gonna need more details than that Charlie,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Right, yes, I probably should have started with the other details. Anyway, I’m pretty sure this club is run by a bunch of vamps, using girls as bait to lure in unsuspecting men to feed on in the private rooms.” The brothers nodded, like they’d seen this sort of thing before. “Anyway,” she continued, “I’ve had a hunch about this place for a while and did some digging, and it turns out that just last night they advertised a new position available and they want someone that looks just like (Y/n). This is a perfect way to take them down from the inside.” Charlie finished speaking and scanned our faces for any sort of response. I shrugged.

“Sure I’m in.”

“No way, we aren’t putting you in the line of fire like that,” Sam turned to me, a look of worry already smothering his features.

“I agree with Sam, this will be more dangerous than the last case. We’ll find another way to take them down,” Dean said, before he added in an almost snide tone “plus I bet you can’t even lap dance. How would you ever fit in?”

I scoffed.

“Fuck you, I can lap dance just fine.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

“I don’t need to prove shit to you.”

“Guys,” Sam held his hands up, “not right now.”

I turned back to Charlie.

“Look I’m in, can you make sure that no one else gets hired?” She grins, opening her backpack and pulling out her tablet.

“Absolutely!”

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Up Next:

Chapter 8 part 2

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester enemies to lovers #eventual smut #enemies to lovers #supernatural smut #slow burn #supernatural #spn

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justporo · 9 months ago

Text

Moonbathing

Even though he's nicely settled down with Staeve now there are these moments... Sitting under the bright moon, bathing in the pale silver light, pondering while the cold sinks in - until Staeve comes a long with a big blanket and an even bigger heart.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Ehm, surprise!? I wrote this for @velnna as a present. That request today made me think of it again so I figured I'd share it with you. Partially inspired by the epilogue where Astarion tells the player how the last six months made up for so much. Hope you enjoy! @velnna thanks for letting me steal Staeve again! Writing him and Staeve is super fun! <3 Pairing: Astarion/Staeve (You) Warnings: light mention of past trauma Wordcount: 3,5k ~~~

Your night had been spent almost entirely wrapped in each other’s arms. Just like almost every single one of them since most of your messes had been dealt with. No foes were waiting to hold a knife to your throat as soon as the sun climbed up on the horizon anymore (at least for a while you hoped).

The two of you had time now - and your time you would take.

You had enjoyed the moments and times spent with nothing but each other before too, before you’ve had what you considered your happy ending. And there was certainly something to be said about laying down in the arms of your lover when you didn’t know if the next sunrise might bring both of your demise, if not the end of the world altogether. Because - if the world was ending, who wouldn’t want to be held in its final moments?

You could definitely attest that always dancing on the edge of a blade certainly brought its own thrill and held its own intricate beauty.

But the same could be said about this right now: the less loud and less daunting moments. Falling into your soulmate’s embrace freely and of your own volition - nothing pushing you there but the deep desire to be with him and no one else and just revel in each other’s presence.

And the passion and love between Astarion and you was still burning as dangerously hot as it had in the beginning. Apparently, the spark that had been ignited had been incredibly powerful, surprising you both. High flames had sprung from it, all encasing. And you knew that even when the initial flames would settle, the embers would only burn that much hotter.

Never before in your life had you experienced something even remotely close to this. You were certain you would never again. You had found your place, picked the one to gift your heart to. You only had the one anyway.

But there was no need to dwell on such things now.

Blissful exhaustion had softly tugged you towards sleep and you had drifted off to dreamless, restful slumber while the sweat on your skin was still pearling down your neck and your breath and heart were still trying to find a sustainable rhythm again.

When you woke again the first thing you noticed was that the spot next to you was deserted. The second thing you noticed as you looked around while still in sleep drunk stupor was that it was still night. The light sneaking below the thick curtains was still brightly silver - it couldn’t have been that long.

You rolled out of bed lazily, tugged on nothing but pants and made to shuffle out of your joint bedroom in search of your missing vampire.

With your hand on the doorknob you hesitated and threw a look back to the bed. Your eyes wandered over the messed up sheets and bunched up blankets lying there all bunched up. And with a shrug you went back to take one of the blankets to snugly wrap it around your shoulders - the comfort and warmth of a shirt without having to make the effort to put one on. Then you dragged yourself out of the room to go looking for your partner while yawning repeatedly.

It didn’t take you long to find Astarion - you didn’t even have to think about where he might be. He was in the usual spot: the roof that was easily accessible through the attic.

There was a small shuttered window you could easily drag yourself out of and climb onto the shingles before you could enjoy an exquisite view of the city below. It had become a favoured spot for the two of you. Many a bottle of wine had been shared on the edge of this rooftop already.

You needed to be careful to step lightly and distribute your weight evenly to not slip but it was an easy feat for you or Astarion - you both were skilled and practised rogues after all. Effortlessly, you also made it this time even though you had to hold onto the blanket wrapped around you so it wouldn’t slip off your shoulders.

Once outside you were bathed in glistening silver light. The cold, pale hues illuminated everything relentlessly and allowed nearly no darkness during this full moon despite it being in the deep middle of the night.

You immediately spotted the vampire sitting there near the edge of the roof. Not having to worry about the cold at least from a survival standpoint, Astarion had also only put on pants to go and sit on the roof. His legs were dangling off the edge of it while he was leaning back on his arms, staring up at the big full moon in the night sky.

The scene almost reminded you of the times he’d been basking in the sunlight during your adventures. Every possible moment used to soak up the sun - strikingly similar to a cat.

The comparison also sprung to mind now: a lone hunter of the night enjoying a moment of calm at his favourite vantage point in solitude.

But these times were over now, at least as long as you had a say in it. At least for now, Astarion was very much just supposed to be a spoiled house cat, allowed to indulge in all the pleasures that presented themselves.

A smile crept onto your lips as the image crossed your mind. Especially since you knew that the vampire could also be as feisty and irrational as a feline.

Observing the form of your partner outlining against the bright moonlight, you slowly moved over to where he had settled down. You could make out the scars on his back although with no direct light source they almost seemed to blend in with the rest of Astarion’s smooth skin. But you had seen them, observed them so often that the image of the cruel lines on your lover’s back had been permanently burned into your head.

At first they had always startled you badly whenever you saw them despite your efforts to brush over them and not show that you had noticed. If not for your own sake then for Astarion’s. But you had seen them - felt them - frequently now and even though what they meant would always hurt, they were a part like any other of Astarion.

With a few more smooth steps you made your way over and stood next to your partner. You knew he heard you coming despite your roguish stealthiness by the way his head perked up even more. He didn’t even open his eyes though as you stepped up to him. The vampire knew it could only be you - and he trusted you fully. His reaction a testament of how far he’d come since you’d first met.

“Out here catching a cold all by yourself, handsome?”, you asked smugly.

Astarion snorted but you could see a smirk steal onto his face.

“Neither nor apparently, Staeve, my love”, he answered with an amused chuckle and opened his eyes to slowly look at you.

You remained silent, just cocked your head askingly with a raised eyebrow.

“Just - moonbathing”, Astarion continued with a little pause and let his gaze wander from you to the shining full moon again. The cold light was making even the vampire look more pale than usual. His skin and luscious curls almost seemed like they were made out of alabaster like this - a statue crafted out of smooth stone to forever showcase a perfect body and face.

Only his glinting crimson eyes were proof that he was in fact very much a living being - bringing all comparisons to lifeless and soulless figurines to shame. No stonemason could have ever captured his beauty fully anyways.

Astarion's tone had been playful but you knew him so well by now. You realised immediately something was weighing on the mind of your silly little vampire.

But you also knew that trying to coax it out of him would do you no good: he'd only hiss at you in his sassy manner and snap shut like a clam. You had to tread carefully - even more so than on the shingles of this old roof.

“So - maintaining the tan I see”, you took up his banter with a shit-eating grin and carefully sat down beside him now.

The vampire looked at you again and just rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in disapproval: “You're such an idiot, Staeve.”

You chuckled while you tried to find a comfortable position on the edge of the roof while in the meantime fumbling with your blanket to also throw it around your partner's shoulders so you could comfortably snuggle up together.

“Well, I'd say it's clear you have a thing for idiots, Astarion babe. And now come here.”

That earned you another offended snort as Astarion crossed his arms over his naked chest - almost looking like a child throwing a temper tantrum. But he still willingly let himself be wrapped in one end of the blanket.

Softly you put your arm around him, dragged the pale elf closer until he was able to lean his head on your shoulder. Again he let it happen, this time with a silent sigh.

You could physically feel how the vampire relaxed into your touch and your warmth and how he even snuggled a bit deeper into your joint blanket once you were done fumbling around with it.

His smooth skin felt terribly cold from the frosty winter night. And even though you knew the cold couldn't hurt him you immediately asked yourself why he'd subject himself to this. Freezing temperatures were still very much unpleasant to the vampire as he'd once admitted himself.

Your brows furrowed thinking about why he kept insisting on making it hard on himself. Meanwhile silence stretched out between you as you leaned onto each other, each of you lost deep in thought.

A kind of sadness welled up inside of you while you looked down at Astarion’s head on your shoulder. His eyes were closed once more as he enjoyed the steadiness and peace of your body holding him up and warmth seeping into him.

It was that kind of sadness that was tenacious, that stuck to you, the one you could never fully shake.

You’d fought the necessary battles to both break free. But just as you had your own battles to fight still, so did Astarion. And moments like this one were when you realised it would be a long way still.

Ridding oneself of two centuries of torture and enslavement and all that had come with it was certainly no easy feat. Maybe some shreds would remain forever, stuck to him - just like the scars on his back always would.

Providing comfort, support and love while giving your soulmate all the time and space he needed to shake off the shackles still remaining from the chains that had bound him for so long, was the purpose you wanted to fulfil. As long as you were able to, you would do everything to overcome these other demons that still stayed behind - even if they might prove much more difficult to take down than the literal ones.

The two of you just sat there in silence while you felt how Astarion became warmer under your touch, the blanket providing a comfortable cocoon for the both of you.

You didn’t speak, just enjoyed the cosiness and let your partner dwell in the warmth until he was ready to speak his mind.

Leaning your head on Astarion’s, you enjoyed how his soft white curls tickled your face and neck. Then you closed your eyes as well and simply basked under the giant, radiant moon, the light easily shining even through your lids.

The silver moon beams were beautiful if not even magical. And sitting there, it was almost possible to mistake them for daylight.

But they would never be able to substitute for the golden warmth of sun rays because there was one determining thing missing: warmth.

Giving yourself to the illusion was nice though - even if it lasted only for a few moments.

And as you sat there, an arm around Astarion who was still relaxing more into your touch, you wanted nothing more but to be this source of comfort - to possibly provide but a fraction of what he’d been forced to give up.

The sadness from before was right there again - slowly closing up your throat as you silently opened your eyes and let them linger on the pale elf once more. The moon was still casting him in his unforgiving light, making him look almost translucent - something that might crack and break if you weren’t careful enough with it.

“You miss the sun”, you said. Not even a question. And what a stupid thing to even say you immediately realised after the words had left your lips.

You expected a snarky joke, a click of the tongue, maybe even a hurtful comment. But it didn’t come.

Instead, Astarion next to you straightened his back and took a deep breath in. His eyes were open now and a million miles away as he gazed off into the distance towards the city and somewhere far down the Chionthar glinting under the night sky.

“I do miss the sun”, he replied to what hadn’t been a question in the first place. His voice was surprisingly firm and somehow you felt slightly unsettled by that.

“But I lost that once before - how hard can the second time around be?”, Astarion continued and his red eyes snapped to yours.

You didn’t know what to answer so you just lightly squeezed his shoulder. The vampire’s eyes didn’t leave yours. His gaze was firm, maybe even proud. Your brows furrowed lightly - you had absolutely no idea where all this was going.

“Staeve”, Astarion began while looking you firmly in the eyes “the last six months with you have been the happiest of my life.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. Of all the things that you could have expected you surely hadn’t expected something like this. The negative feelings that had been squeezing your heart in your ribcage immediately subsided and gave way to waves of gentle happiness flooding through you. And you couldn’t stop the small but growing smile that was spreading from left to right over your face.

But the vampire wasn’t even done.

“What was before - it’s already beginning to fade. It already feels like aeons ago - and that’s because of you”, Astarion continued and the way he looked at you with eyes so open and wide, genuine smile on his lips - it made your chest clench in a completely different way. Your eyes started burning dangerously at the edges and you had to press your lips into a line to keep them from quivering. But you forced yourself to keep gazing at your soulmate’s face.

But it was he who turned away after a few long moments. A sudden rush of guilt and sorrow glazing over the open admiration and vulnerability from before. His crimson eyes sought out the moon again.

“But I fear-”, Astarion’s voice almost broke as he spoke again. He lowered his gaze. Your heart took a leap - not eager on wanting to hear what he might have to add but also not wanting to stay unknowing.

The vampire sighed, then he cleared his throat, still not looking at you: “I’m not used to caring for the wellbeing of others. I mean, for centuries I didn’t even have my own.”

He stopped again, took in another breath - sharp this time. Then faced you again.

“I fear my own selfish happiness has taken away from yours”, Astarion spoke firmly again now. But you noticed the way he was straining his chin to hold it proudly. This was taking more out of him than he wanted you to notice.

You opened your mouth to protest but the pale elf shushed you with a sharp motion of his hand. He had to get it all out now or it might never be said.

“And I feel like - one of us having to give up the sun is more than enough. I don’t” - the words were hurting to get out, you realised, but they were also hurting while being uttered - “I don’t want to put another through that. Or - no! I don’t want to put you through it, Staeve.”

And with that Astarion’s hand sunk back down again and he looked up at the night sky again, closing his eyes once more with a small strained yelp. You could see his Adam's apple work hard in his throat as you took in his side profile while the words needed to register with you.

You paid close attention to his exquisite features while your brain tried desperately to make sense of what you had just heard: his straight, aristocratic nose, sharp cheekbones highlighted even more by sharp light, full, soft lips over which a tongue nervously flitted. You knew this face so well by now, probably better than your own. When you closed your eyes you could easily conjure up his image, down to the last little detail.

And while you let your gaze wander over his lashes and the vampire’s face was still lifted to the heavens with furrowed brows, his meaning clicked into place for you. And with horrifying clarity you realised what had been said: the bastard was trying to give you an out.

The mere idea was wild to you. No wonder it had taken you several heartbeats to even catch on. This hadn’t even been in your realm of possibilities. And you were sad that obviously it was for him.

There was pressure in your chest again - this night really took a toll on your emotions. But you wouldn’t let it end on a note like this.

“Astarion”, you said quickly after. The vampire didn’t move, his brows only furrowed deeper.

“Astarion, love, look at me”, you begged and stretched out your hand to hook your thumb on his chin and turn his head to you.

He only let it happen reluctantly but he looked at you, pain filling his eyes - and fear.

But there was absolutely no reason for that. You’d prove it to him. There wasn’t even a slither of doubt in your heart.

“I am here, Astarion, because I chose so. I am here, because I love you. Giving up the sun is nothing compared to what it would be like to give up you”, you said eagerly, your tongue almost stumbling over itself while trying to get this out as fast as possible, to bridge this gap and never look back on it again.

You tugged on the vampire’s face to press your forehead to his as you said the following words: “I love you, Astarion. Don’t ever dare to think you can get rid of me. You’re stuck with me now, idiot!”

And then you kissed him, forcefully, and hopefully drowning out all forms of question or protest. Positively smothering him with your love until there was no more doubt - at least for this night.

Only after what felt like forever did Astarion withdraw from your kiss. There was no more pain in his eyes although you still saw slithers of insecurity remain. You swore to yourself you’d get them another time. But at least you felt that things were firmly settled for the night.

A small sniffle from you broke the tender silence between you as you kept gazing at each other. It seemed like the burning in your eyes from before had been a little much to contain. Your nose felt overly stuffy all of a sudden.

But at least the delicate mood had turned again to something that felt more mundane - and less heartbreaking.

“Gods, you’re not crying are you?” Astarion commented teasingly, nose slightly scrunched up. But the smile that curled one side of his mouth quickly afterwards was still rather gentle.

You snorted while you quickly and grossly wiped at your eyes and your nose with a corner of the blanket. “No, the moon is just very bright”, you muttered with another sniffle then shook yourself - almost like an animal trying to get something off itself. Then you felt more like yourself again.

“Well, you better get used to it then, darling, if you’re so keen to be stuck with me”, was the last thing the vampire said before he snuggled himself up against you again, leaning his head onto your shoulder once more.

You had nothing to add. You were just happy that two of you were here in this moment. So you just tightened your hold on Astarion.

And together you watched the night sky, cuddled up in the blanket, until the edges of darkness started blushing in the lightest shades of pink and it was time for you to crawl into bed together again.

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