#speaking of which i need to go to bed NOW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fuctacles · 3 days ago

Text

[start here]

“What do you mean you forgot?!”

Eddie flails his hands wildly.

“I just did!” he yells back.

“What the fuck, Eddie?!”

“Language!” Claudia Henderson pipes up from somewhere in the house. Turns out, she could be just as loud as her son when she wanted, but that’s a given when you have to rise him by yourself.

“Sorry!” Dustin yells back. And then, after a thoughtful frown in his friend’s direction, yells again, not breaking eye contact: “Can Eddie stay the night?!”

“What?!” Eddie hisses through his teeth.

“Sure!” His mom’s answer is immediate. “As long as his uncle knows!”

Ms. Claudia knew he was living with his uncle? How much has their sons shared about him? Has he spilled unknowingly?

“Of course!”

Eddie was for now the only person maintaining a reasonable volume. He turned his whisper-hiss on Dustin again.

“I can’t just impose on your house like that, Henderson!”

“You’re not imposing, mom said it's okay.”

Eddie throws his hands in the air. As always, Dustin was right in the most infuriating way.

“You’ll stay over until you finish the paper.”

“I don’t need babysitting to do my work!”

“You kind of do,” his friend points out, right yet again. “And here you won’t get distracted with your guitar or campaign.”

“Do you think it’s all I do?” Eddie bristles, at which Dustin waves his hand dismissively.

“Or a book, or a nap, or whatever gross shit you ‘almost adults’ get up to.” He makes a face, as apparently talking about jerking off is below him.

“A nap sounds great, to be honest…” he hums thoughtfully, his mind zeroing in on its pick. Dustin huffs.

“Well, write an outline and we can discuss a nap.”

Eddie did not expect being held hostage in Henderson’s house to write a paper, on a weekday night no less, but here he was. He’s been in worse predicaments, that’s for sure, considering this cell had a radio, a soft couch, and snacks. And as much hot tea as he can stomach, though Claudia Henderson might be underestimating his love for a good earl gray blend.

The afternoon goes more or less as usual, he and Dustin do their homework in the boy’s bedroom, and then Eddie gets dragged into a family dinner. But instead of finishing up or going home, he’s being approached by Mrs. Henderson holding a huge bundle of spare bedding.

“Is the couch okay? Steve got the guest bedroom, but if you ask nicely, he’d probably switch with you.”

Eddie is shaking his head before she finishes talking, but Dustin is first actually to speak up.

“Can’t he sleep here?”

His mom frowns.

“This isn’t a sleepover. Your curfew still applies.”

“But!--!”

“No buts! Eddie, sweetie.” She turns to the older boy again. “I’ll leave the bedding on the couch, you can sleep there or talk it out with Steve when he comes back.”

“Thank you.” He smiles at her, knowing he won’t be talking with the guy.

Dustin keeps trying to argue, so she adds:

“Dusty’s curfew is at 10 and don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

“I’ll tuck him in myself, madam.”

“Traitors! Both of you!”

When the outline is done, his belly full of toast and the outside properly dark, Eddie finds himself alone in the living room. Claudia advised him to help himself to the kitchen if he got hungry and not to stay up too late. She also told him Steve had a closing shift that day and always drives his friend home, but should be back soon as well.

Eddie manages to write the beginning of his stupid essay before he hears the keys jingle at the front door. He’s itching to look up and seek out Steve, but only does so when he hears him stop by the doorway. He’s surprised to see him but quickly schools his expression into an easy smile.

“Eddie! Hi!”

“Hi.” Eddie gives him a small wave.

“Staying over?” Steve walks in, eyeing the bedding next to him.

“Yeah.” He nods and points at the notebook in front of him. “Gotta finish an essay for tomorrow.”

“Uh, good luck.” Steve winces. “Want something to eat? Drink?” He points towards the kitchen, where he’s headed. Eddie shakes his head.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He’s written three sentences by the time Steve leaves the kitchen and walks towards the bathroom. The sound of a running shower is incredibly distracting. He can picture a small waterfall, deep in the forest and glistening in the golden green sunbeams. Close by is a clearing, created by countless adventurers stopping by to refresh before continuing their journey. They’d strip naked, men and women alike, fighters and mages, dipping in the chilly water to clean off the dirt of the road, the sweat from fighting off petty criminals. The water would be just deep enough to tease at the curve of his ass, lapping against the skin and mocking any bystanders for their solid form, making them wish they could liquify too and slip over the rippling muscles, trace the dips and—

Bad Eddie!

He blinks so rapidly that he gets dizzy, but the paper in front of him becomes visible again. The shower is still running and he reminds himself he’s not into jocks. He’s not into his friends’ siblings, not into whatever Steve Henderson is, no matter how objectively attractive.

He writes another two sentences by the time the bathroom door opens and he makes a point of not looking up. The smell of coconut walks by and he focuses on the tip of his pen. He hears the fridge door open and the steps reach his spot by the couch again.

“Beer?”

The water still clings to the weary adventurer, dripping from his hair. He has no shame, no place for it in the life he leads, not with a body like that. There’s a towel strewn around his shoulders and he was nice enough to put on underwear. He’s holding two cans of chilled beer, and all Eddie can say is:

“Please.”

He’s not expecting him to sit down next to him, smelling of coconut and damp skin, reddened from hot water and scrubbing it with a towel.

“Cherish it, we’re drinking half of my weekly allowance.”

“You have a beer allowance?” Eddie gapes at him and Steve just nods, like it’s normal.

“I’m not 21 yet but Claudia knows I’ve been drinking already anyway. So as long as I’m doing it safely and out of Dustin’s eyesight, she’s okay with it. We share wine sometimes.”

"That's nice." Eddie smiles, cracking his can open. "Wayne doesn't monitor my alcohol intake, but it's not like I'm partying much. I just drink with him or with my band sometimes." He shrugs and takes a sip. It's a more expensive brand than he's used to but all beer tastes the same to him anyway.

"Wayne is your uncle, right?" Steve asks, lowering his own can.

Eddie suddenly realizes it's nice to be remembered as something more than a freak or a Satanist. He gulps down the bitter liquid.

"Uh, yeah. I live with him. Been since I started middle school."

Steve nods thoughtfully, staring at the wall. For reasons he doesn't dare to name, Eddie wishes his eyes were on him instead.

"Your band is uh, something Coffin? Sorry, I don't remember." He turns towards him and smiles sheepishly and Eddie is taking it all back, take these dark brown eyes away from his face immediately. Steve knows half of his band's name? Be still his traitorous heart!

"Corroded Coffin," he chokes out.

Steve snaps his fingers.

"That's it! You guys were at the talent show a couple of years back, right?"

Be still, be still, be still.

"Yeah," he manages. "I'm surprised you remember."

Steve chuckles, but it's not a pleasant one. Eddie prepares himself to be ripped into shreds. Again. He should be used to that by this point, shouldn't he? But his ego is as easily bruised as it is big.

"How could I not? The biggest disaster Hawkins middle has seen in years."

Eddie winces. It was expected and it still hurt. At least his not-crush could finally go further into the 'not; category.

Bust Steve had to open his stupid mouth again.

"It was stupid, in my opinion. You guys are clearly talented, and the music you play shouldn't matter. Most people don't like metal--hell, I don't like metal." He slaps his hand onto his bare chest, making Eddie nod, because yes, he's listening, he's paying attention, and he is looking at his hairy pecs, thank you. "But it was a talent show, judges should be more objective." He slumps into the back of the couch. "You were great on the guitar, I've never heard anyone play like that. I was surprised you could sing too," he says, rolling his head to the side to look at Eddie, who chuckles nervously.

"Why, do I not look like I have an angelic voice?" he asks, tilting his head.

Steve shakes his head, making a lazy motion against the couch cushion. The closing shift and the beer seem to be getting to him.

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to be so..." He tilts his head to the side and rolls it back, considering his thoughts and how to voice them out. "Multifaceted?" he offers hesitantly like it's not a word he uses often. Eddie can relate. "I had heard the music teacher talk about your ear, how you can pick up any song insanely fast. I know your English essays get praised, and I know you're unafraid to be yourself, against all odds. It's something I couldn't do..." he trails off, suddenly looking sadder than Eddie knew how to deal with. But to his relief, Steve shakes his head to get back on track. "I just wasn't expecting you to have a nice voice like that. In Hellfire, too. It's like you're taking on a completely new persona. It sounds..." He hesitates before his next words." Freeing." He decides, nodding minutely to himself. "Like you can just tap into another dimension, a nice one," he presses for some reason. "And just live it out. Like for a moment, you're becoming a different person."

Eddie considers him. The thoughtful look on his face that he's still not qualified to deal with.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks and he hopes against all hope that it doesn't come off condescending. He's genuinely curious, hell, genuinely worried. What makes someone like Steve--America's poster boy, attractive and athletic--think this way?

Steve rolls his head towards him again and his smile is everything but joyful.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "The adult life is more than I've bargained for, I guess." He shrugs, but Eddie knows it's the easy, dismissive answer. And he feels like he needs to get to the bottom of this, his essay be damned. Happily.

"You live with Ms. Henderson, though. You don't have to be an adult-adult," he points out and waits, hoping he's not prying too much.

"Yeah, but..." Steve seems to be collapsing in on himself. "A lot has happened," he says as much as Eddie knows at this point. "And I've been feeling so small against the world, against the universe..."

Eddie's surprised at the mention of the whole universe, but it's not like he hasn't been thinking about it too, so he nods encouragingly.

"And I'm so grateful that Claudia took me in, I'm so relieved..." He hesitates for a millisecond before his face hardens. "That I don't have to deal with my parents anymore," he finishes with conviction. "But at this point, I don't know who I am. High school doesn't matter, the sports teams don't matter. I didn't get to college, I'm working a shitty job, and not even full-time!" He throws a hand in the air. "Actual high schoolers are taking up all the hours."

Eddie winces.

"You're talking to a super super senior here, I don't think I'm doing much better," he points out.

"But you have the band," Steve counters. "It's fun, you have friends for it and if you do it right, it's a great career path."

"If we do it right."

Steve turns abruptly towards him, eyes wide, before he settles back down with a sigh.

"I believe you can. With your insane guitar skills and all," he offers.

Eddie chuckles.

"Thanks, man. But I'm pretty sure you can figure something out, too. I don't believe your 'sports don't matter' thing, there's a lot of money put into it," he points out, not hiding his disdain but Steve only snorts at his tone. "And you probably could land a role in a hair commercial if you tried. Hell, with your looks you could easily become an actor," he reassures his reluctant night companion.

"So you think all there is to me is my good looks?" Steve asks, rolling his head towards him again, this time pouting.

It kind of is what he said, isn't it?

"Well, no." He straightens up, ready to fix his mistake. Well, maybe not ready, but hoping. "Henderson, uh, Dustin, sings you praises all the time and none of them are about your great hair."

"Good to know a high schooler values me," Steve scoffs, his pout deepening.

"So!" Eddie ignores him. "If you're a good person and a pretty face, that's a whole world opening up for you. Because as sad as it is, people are simple and need pretty things to ogle. It's what sells and you could totally use it."

He looks at Steve again and when the pout doesn't disappear, he realizes he just dug himself a deeper hole, doubling down on relying on looks being Steve's only option. He stares at his bottom lip as if it could somehow pull him out. It moves and he's hoping for some guidance, but all he gets is...

"Should I just become a stripper, then?"

The flash of images is like a bullet to his head. Steve in fishnets and ridiculously high heels, bending on a pole, chest hair sticking to his pecs with sweat and shining with glitter. His lips tinted with lip gloss--

"I mean, um..." Why is Steve's hairy chest right there for him to see? "Who am I to stop you, right?" he offers with a nervous smile. "If it makes you money, it's a job."

"I guess." He shrugs, eyes still on Eddie, but the pout is finally gone, so he can breathe easier. It's been replaced with a thoughtful expression. Steve presses the back of his hand to his arm. "Would you come to watch me?"

"Huh?" Eddie frowns at him, at the hand touching him, a single finger running against the sleeve of his shirt.

"If I was a stripper," Steve clarifies.

Would he?

It's never been something he considered, the environment more fit for sleazy older guys who can't get a girl, or businessmen too busy to bother with one. Or bachelor parties. Would he go to a strip club then, if he was invited? Probably. But would he go for someone specifically? That sounds stalkery. Would he go if it was Gareth?

Gareth would look stupid in fishnets.

But if he asked Eddie, for moral support, would he? Probably. He tries to be a good friend. So he half-nods, half-shrugs.

"If you wanted me to."

"But would you want to?" Steve presses.

"I've never been to a strip club, I don't know." Eddie raises his shoulder in a defensive shrug, kind of lost in the weird turn their conversation has taken.

Even more lost when Steve's hand drops lower, the back of his fingers reaching the hem of his sleeve and touching skin. The light scrape of his fingernails sends a shiver across his bones. He goes lower and lower, tantalizingly slow into the ticklish spot on Eddie's elbow.

"I'd give you a preview before the show, you could judge if it's good enough," he offers instead, hand sliding down to his thigh, resting just above the knee. Squeezing gently.

Eddie doesn't see Steve anymore. Just his big hand wrapped around his leg. There's a tiny mole on his wrist and a light dusting of hair all the way to his fingers.

"Would you want me to strip for you?" Steve presses, snapping his attention back to himself.

His brain is uncharacteristically empty, and It takes him a long while to register, process and understand the heavy gaze Steve's giving him, the fingers digging into the meat of his thigh, the boy next to him leaning in, his eyes dropping to Eddie's lips.

Eddie jumps up.

"What?!"

Steve is up as well, hands out like he's placating a wild animal. Understandably, because Eddie feels like one. He wants to run like a startled gazelle, or drop dead like an opossum. But he's there frozen like a deer caught in car's headlights. Are the doors locked? How much time would he lose looking for the key if it's not in the lock? Maybe he should try the window instead?

"Shhh, please," Steve's hissing in desperation, but Eddie doesn't want to look at him. "I'll leave, I'm sorry. Please forget about it, I'm sorry."

He sounds even worse than Eddie feels, so he risks a glance towards him. His face is pale in the dim-lit living room, eyes widened in panic.

Maybe Eddie has been the car all along.

He knows Steve would flee if he reached out, so he doesn't dare to, slowly shows his open palms again, empty of weapons or judgement.

"Hey, no, it's okay. I don't care about that. You just surprised me." Understatement of the century. Henderson's brother coming onto him? Impossible, abstract, a fever dream. Maybe he did have too much of Ms. Claudia's delicious earl grey. Something must have been in the tea, the school has been trying to tell him not to trust the Brits all along.

"You don't care?" Steve repeats, not looking like he's going to puke at the very least.

Eddie considers his words.

"Not in a 'I'm gonna punch you' way," he offers the best he's got for now. Which even he has to admit, is fucking shit.

Steve finally relaxes, or rather deflates, half turning towards the dark corridor.

"Thanks. Goodnight."

As the stairs creak under his steps, Eddie is still processing. He slumps back down onto the couch and for once is happy to find a distraction from his thoughts in the form of an unfinished essay. The thing gets done in no time but he barely sleeps that night.

tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank @carlprocastinator1000 @irregular-child @dreamercec @mightbeasleep @nerdyglassescheeseychick @ellietheasexylibrarian @wheneverfeasible @wormapothacary @estrellami-1 @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @blasvemous

#steddie #the hendersons #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mine #steddie fanfiction #dustin henderson

186 notes · View notes

saphronethaleph · 3 days ago

Text

Love Language

“So, uh… Dad?” Hiccup said, nervously, but that was mostly just normal for him. “I’ve got a… question.”

“What sort of question, Hiccup?” Stoic replied, not unkindly – for him, anyway.

That was sort of how their family relationship went a lot of the time, as it happened. The two of them being at pains to be normal with one another.

“So… how exactly do we know that dragons are, uh… monsters, evil, want to hurt us, want to destroy us?” Hiccup asked, rattling off the normal dragon description from the Book of Dragons. “Extremely dangerous, and so on?”

Stoic blinked, then looked at Hiccup with the sort of look that – normally – would be reserved for a relative who’d said something extremely thick.

He wasn’t used to turning it on Hiccup.

“They keep… attacking us,” he said. “Raiding us. Carrying off our sheep.”

“Yeah, about that,” Hiccup replied. “Because, I’ve been a Viking teenager for a while now and the general impression I get is that that’s how Vikings show that they want to become friends.”

Stoic snorted.

“Not getting on well with your friends?” he asked.

“That plural is assuming a lot, Dad,” Hiccup replied. “That… word is also making some assumptions, actually! Though you did keep telling me that all the punches and stuff were just a way of making friends – but, I wasn’t actually talking about my friends, I didn’t mean them, I was meaning to talk about the dragons.”

“And?” Stoic said.

“The point I’m making, Dad, is that… so, uh, I tried putting myself in the place of the dragons,” Hiccup said, shaking his leg and leaning awkwardly on the door frame. “And I wondered what Vikings would think if we went somewhere and the people there were firing catapults at us and shooting flaming rocks at us, and that sort of thing, and… I’ve met Vikings, dad. I’m pretty sure you’ve met Vikings!”

Stoic paused, to actually consider that.

It was one of the increasingly large number of things about this conversation which was not Normal, but he was willing to give it a go.

“...hm,” he said. “That sounds like a pretty good night out, actually.”

“That’s what I’m getting at!” Hiccup agreed, now leaning over more. “Hold on.”

“What is it?”

“Not you, I mean-” Hiccup said, then gestured at someone Stoic couldn’t see.

Or possibly just nearly fell over, the lad was gangly.

“Anyway – uhm – I think the dragons just want to be friends,” Hiccup went on, speaking very quickly. “And that they’re enough like Vikings that all we’re doing is just making them more interested.”

“Nonsense,” Stoic replied.

“Really?” Hiccup asked. “Because – uh – are you at least going to think about it before you decide that I have to be wrong?”

“I don’t need to think about it to know it’s nonsense,” Stoic said, firmly.

“Yeah, that sounds pretty Viking too,” Hiccup muttered. “Stubborn and unwilling to admit that you might be wrong about something… so, uh… what about an experiment?”

“Is this some of that scientific method stuff Gobber had you learning?” Stoic checked.

It sounded a bit suspect, to him.

“Yeah, actually,” Hiccup agreed. “But if something happens you can’t say it’s impossible, right?”

Stoic carefully considered the question.

If something happens, you can’t say it’s impossible.

“All right, so let’s accept that for the sake of argument,” he allowed. “What kind of thing?”

“So I gave a Terrible Terror a fish,” Hiccup said. “Once. And now I literally cannot get it to stop rubbing against my ankles, making a kind of purring noise, and curling up next to my bed when I go to sleep.”

Stoic blinked, looking Hiccup up and down.

“...there doesn’t seem to be a Terrible Terror rubbing against your ankles,” he said.

“Yeah, because I can’t stop it, but Toothless can,” Hiccup explained. “Because, uh, there’s this Night Fury…”

“A Night Fury?” Stoic repeated, then went back over the conversation and reprocessed this new information through it.

“...are you telling me you befriended a Night Fury?” he asked. “How?”

“I shot it down,” Hiccup replied. “And, uh… since then I’ve kind of been testing the hypothesis, that’s more of the whole science thing, and it took like eight seconds to convince the Monstrous Nightmare in the training pens that I was a cool guy to be around. I just kind of smiled and that was it?”

He shrugged, then finally lost the battle against keeping the Night Fury out of the doorframe, and the Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death Itself slowly pushed the leaning Hiccup across the doorframe.

Then spotted Stoic, groonked something, and sat on his haunches like a giant, attentive dog mixed with a curious cat possessed of a penchant for pushing things off tables.

Stoic spent several seconds contemplating what to do, then – experimentally – threw his hammer at the beast.

It ducked, letting Hiccup topple over with a thump, then loped off after the hammer. A few seconds later, a Terror sat on the prone Hiccup’s side and curled up before visibly and very quickly going to sleep.

“You, uh… see what I mean?” Hiccup asked.

The Night Fury came back, tail swishing from side to side, and deposited the thrown hammer eagerly in front of the door before making a pleased sort of gronk-chirp.

Stoic gave up.

This was now Normal.

Making that new categorization was going to save a lot of time.

“My working theory is that, to dragons, we’re friend shaped,” Hiccup said, still trapped under the snoozing Terror.

#how to train your dragon #httyd #hiccup #stoic #toothless #dragons #friend shaped

80 notes · View notes

princessbumbles-blog · 3 days ago

Text

ꪮꪊ᥅ ᦓꪻꪖ᥅ᦓ

ᴡʟғ!Aʙʙʏ × ʙᴇsᴛ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ!Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Content: fluff; Friends that like each other but are too dumb; Abby and more Abby

June, 2039

Pt. 3 - Afections

You were sitting on your rooms floor, Your back against your unmade bed, feeling your hands shake slightly against your will, when the door opened and closed.

"Dumbass" Abby's voice reaches you, together with her strong footsteps.

She went down those couple of stairs to your side of the room and stopped, staring at you.

"Did you really need to hide in here?"

She is joking, using that usual voice tone for moments when she is unsure about what to do.

"What happened?"

You really didn't want to speak, not because you were mad but because it felt like torture to make a sound. Any vibration seemed to make your anxiety worse.

"The usual" you manage to say.

"Which one"

"Don’t make me talk, Abby" you ask and the silence lingers.

You focus your eye's attention on the animals down there through the window in front of you. You loved them, the cows and the shep, they were so simple yet sometimes difficult to deal with, but it was the kind of trouble you feel grateful for having.

If nature is your biggest problem then your life is good.

"Nick told me you were out there and..."

"Maybe I should change positions" You interrupt her "And work on the farms"

Abby frowns. "You would hate cleaning their shit," she smiles, trying to strike one in you.

But It doesn't work.

"Better then having to kill a fucking kid" you say, in a monotonous voice tone.

You feel Abby's eyes on you, waiting for more explanation, but you can't, so you just bite the inside of your cheek.

"So, Nick said you encountered Scars and it all went to shit" Abby says "What happened?"

"Nothing"

"Why don’t you talk to me?"

"Because I don't want to!" You raise your voice. "I dont want to remember what happened"

Abby notices your shaking hands and looks again into your eyes. Glossy. You want to cry, but, like usual, you are trying too hard to block it.

She crosses her arms in front of your chest. "Get up"

You roll your eyes.

"Get up" She insists "You know what's going to happen if you don't"

You sigh, annoyed, blurting a "for fuck's sake" before aggressively getting up from the floor.

"Here, happy?"

"{Your Name}...." She calls your name softly.

Your eyes avoid hers, looking everywhere. Your hands find your arms whose skin is picked by your nails, a sign that you are either nervous or anxious, maybe both. Abby keeps her eyes on you, knowing it will eventually break you.

It took a while to figure out how to make you open up to her, after a lot of insults from you. Abby hates it in some part, because she always cries like a baby in front of you, melting instantly, but you are built like a rock.

She wants to make you melt too, so she repeats your name, gently, again and again before she starts to see the tears forming in your eyes.

"You can tell me. You know that. I'm here" she says.

A knot forms in your throat. "I...hm...I...the kid tried to....you know" a tear falls "he tried to ....so I ...shot him. On the head"

More tears fall and you hug yourself, still avoiding your friend's eyes.

"Then my hands started to shake and I.....I lost it."

"You had a panick attack?"

You nood, fast, trying to controll the huge wave of tears that were threatening your voice.

"I killed a kid, Abby I...a fucking kid for fucks sake. I killed a boy" you start to rumble, scratching your arms like your skin was bothering you.

Abby's hands flew to your wrists "Hey, hey...I know, I know" and she squeezed them, pulling them off your arms. "I'm sorry that happened. It's alright, you didn’t mean it. Unfortunately, it is the most common thing around here."

"It shouldn't be"

"Yhea, but....think that maybe you did a favour to that kid. He is at peace now, and not hiding away with hammers and wars"

You swallow, anxiously trying to find some relief on Abby's words, but the sensations on your body where corrupting your thoughts, disseminating panic everywhere.

"I feel sick" you cry out.

"It is just the anxiety" Abby says, but she knows dam well your fear of vomit is something irrational and extremely overwhelming.

"I feel so sick, Abby ...I'm scared." Your hands began to shake again under Abby's grip. "I'm so scared....Abby....Abby.."

"Shhh, I know. Breath in and out, it is not real"

Your lower lip trembles. Fuck, it is so rare to see you like this, Abby's chest tightened.

"Abby..." your voice breaks "What if I..."

"Nothing is going to happen" She says, with a determined tone "Come here"

As you feel your friends arms around you, you let yourself cry out the panic. Abby smeels the same, pine, so familiar.

"Everything's fine, nothing is going to happen" She repeats like a mantra, just like her father used to say. Like she wished someone had done that to her after his death.

But now, she had someone she wanted to protect, and it gave her a sense of comfort.

The next day, Abby was at Isaac's office, frustrated.

"She is too good. We need strong soldiers out there, strong, " Isaac repeats himself.

"Fuck that" Abby says "She did enough. You have a lot of strong soliders. Put her on the farms, she will be useful"

For some reason, Abby couldn't bear the thought of you out there again, dealing with shit that had nothing to do with you and ending up like last night.

"She will remain on ground coverage, end of story"

"I can take her shifts!" The girl exclaims

But Isaac just sighs.

"Is this friendship going to bring me trouble?" He raises his voice "There’s already you and Owen. Now, this?"

Silence.

"You better focus on your responsibilities, Abby, or do I have to intervene? I need loyal soldiers, not brats. Are we clear?"

Abigail stares at him, feeling the anger rise up and down her chest.

"Yes, Sir"

She had no other option.

"Good."

It was unfair. So unfair. Abby walked down the hallway with strong steps, frowning so deeply that people moved out of her away faster than usual.

She never cared for the injustices of the system Isaac had put up, but she was alone before and her goal occupied all the space in her mind.

But now, you existed. Your friendship started as something casual but it developed to something stronger, even tho Abby didn’t like to admit it.

You became an essential part of her life, like you have always been there in the first place.

"Hey Abs," Owen's voice makes Abby stop on her tracks.

There is only two people on that place that call her by the nickname her father used with her: You and Owen.

Him because he always did, and you because you started using it naturally, with such care and happiness that it actually gave Abby some sense of familiarity she hadn't felt in years.

"Hey" Abby says, turning around.

He stared at her in silence for a couple of seconds. "Bad day?"

Abby sighs, nodding with her head. "Isaac's being a dick"

Owen scoffs. They walk together with their shoulders bumping on each other. Too close to Abby’s liking, but she can't resist.

"It really sucks," Owen says after hearing what happened to you.

"Yhea, I'm really scared for her"

"She's a big girl. I'm sure she will be able to handle herself"

"She will, but...He could give her a break. I don't understand why he refuses"

"I mean, no one should receive special treatment"

Abby looks at Owen with a frown. His words were too direct and too brutal.

"Why are you being so mean?" She asks, automatically stepping away from him.

"I'm not trying to be mean. I just understand that if Isaac starts making favours like these to everyone, people would take advantage of that. He needs to give everyone the same treatment and opportunities, and that's on us to manage it"

Abby keeps staring at him, up and down, judging his words, trying to understand if he was being serious.

"Gosh, don't look at me so suprised!" He complains, with a smile.

"For someone so liberal and unhappy with your life, you sounded like a true loyal fucking soldier" The big girl crosses her arms in front of her chest, making Owen roll his eyes.

"C'mon Abs, I may be unhappy, but that doesn’t mean that I don't understand what Isaac needs to do to maintain a place like this functioning"

"So it is okay to ignore his soldiers' struggles?"

"No, but keeping this perception in mind helps me to not freak out. Like, I'm the only one who can make my life easier. " He opens his arms a little, like it is the quote of the year,"Maybe it can help {your name} too"

The girl remains in silence, digesting it, while he observes her. It's been a while since they had spent proper time together.

"You two are inseparable now" He comments "Is she that good of a friend?"

"What type of a question is that?" Abby laughs.

"Is she better than me?" He teases, bumping his elbow on hers.

"You are such an idiot" Abby says, just a tease she always does to him...like old times.

"Alright, but answer me. Do I have competition?"

"Holy shit Owen " She takes some steps foward, challenging "Are you jealous?"

He scoffs. "Please. I know nobody is better then me"

"Careful, your girlfriend may interpret this wrong"

"Always using the girlfriend card, uh?"

Both let out some laughs, like old friends catching up. But it wasn’t like that.

Owen was feeling weird, he hated it, how jealous he actually was because before you, he was the only one deeply close to Abby, but suddenly you appeared out of nowhere.

He had a girlfriend. He liked her. He and Abby were past now, it didn't work. But he hated the feeling of losing Abby. He hated that maybe you making her feel the way he used to make her feel.

However, he doesn't really hate you. He actually respects you, for being able to crack Abby open.

"She's weird, in a good away" Abby says, quietly "she makes me feel less alien, and she is also cool to be around"

It was a very short version of what Abby could actually say, but she didn't feel comfortable telling Owen about it.

"Good. That's good, Abs"

Later, after work, Abby entered the cafeteria that was buzzing with voices and laughs. She approached the usual table with some food, sitting by your side.

"That's why there's no really true Americans" Manny was saying, with his mouth full of food.

"Of course. We all are a mix of communities ...or nationalities, if you want to call it like that." You speak, giving Abby a quick smile.

"But if you were born in America then you are American" Nick says, sitting by Manny's side.

Abby nooded to some people passing by. That place was full, a little unsual, but maybe it was summer lightning up people's modds.

"Yes, but we sre discussing the blood argument. Like, what the fuck does being a pure American mean? Being white and dumb? We are a mix of people from everywhere. Oh, we are descendents from...shut up. Even cow's shit goes on the equation" You argue, angrily shoving some rice into your mounth.

Abby arches her eyebrown. "What hell are you three talking about?"

"Your girl here is throwing her intellectual knowledge at us," Nick mocks you, throwing a bit of rice at your arm.

"I'm just communicating the facts," you defend yourself. "You know, some of us actually read books, not just patrol schedules. STOP THROWING THE RICE AT ME GOD DAMMIT!!"

Manny and Abby laugh. "We heard Robert say some problematic shit earlier," Manny says. "She is calling him a fascist," he points at you.

"And isn't he? Oh wait, Nick, do you know what a facist is?"

"You are so fucking funny, aren't you?"

Abby's gaze stays on you, admiring the smile adorning your face as you tease Nick. It was so good to see you alive again. Your version from last night had nothing to do with this fierce and stubborn girl. Your eyes were shinning.

When she turns her head back to her plate, she notices Manny staring with a grin.

"What?"

"Nothing"

After eating, Abby slapped your arm slightly, signaling for you to get up and get out of there.

"Are you sleeping on her room again?" Manny asks, making her look between him and Nick awkwardly.

"Yhea?"

"Just checking. If I'm lucky I will be able to bring that nurse with me tonight" He blinks at Nick who laughs proudly at his friend.

In your room, your roomate, Max, was already sleeping, so you and Abby layed down on your bed, reading your books in silence by the lamp's light on the bedside tables.

After half an hour, you two put away your books and turn the lights off, staying in the silence of the dark, laying on your sides, staring at each other.

"How was your day?" Abby whispers.

"Good, I guess. Maybe just normal. And yours?"

"Normal as well"

You lift your hand, tracing the sides of Abby’s arm, like you do so many times.

"Can I braid your hair tomorrow?" You ask

"Sure"

Your fingers dance on her skin, building that nice sense of comfort in Abby's chest. She closes her eyes for some seconds, enjoying the feeling.

You drag your hands up her face, tracing the lines of it with your fingertips, slowly, feeling every inch, every curve of her nose, every bit of texture. Then, you slip one finger over her lips and she is quick to bite you.

You laugh, covering your mouth with your other hand to muffle the sound.

"Idiot" you whispered, and the only thing in response was Abby's muffled laugh.

Suddenly Abby's fingers are on your face, doing the same thing. It was not the first time, and probably wouldn't be the last. You two didn't know why you were doing it, it just felt too good to stop.

You closed your eyes as well, like if you focused enough, Abby could feel all the love you felt for her with her touch.

When her fingers reached your lips, Abigail was expecting some revengeful bite, instead, you kiss them, gently and lightly. She doesn't react, just stays there with her hand, and you kiss the knots on her fingers again, and again.

It was during nights like these, in the dark of your room, when the two of you would perform acts of affection, like it was natural. The limits of friendship didn't seem to exist, or maybe you two just didn't need it. Deep down, you wanted to share this kind of intimacy, and doing it with each other seemed...right? None of you judge the other, and together, you slowly explore, crossing the line step by step, without saying a word about it.

However, It was so confusing to you. On one hand, it happened too naturally and it felt too good to need to name it, but on the other hand, questions would rise.

Was this wrong?

Suddenly, you join your toungue, licking her fingers and making Abby pull them away. You muffled another laugh as Abby makes indignation sounds.

"Ew!!" She laughs "you are so dead"

You feel her hands grabbing you and her body coming closer so you scream silently, fighting Abby away but failing miserably, receiving her toungue licking your cheek in a pretty nasty way.

"Abigaillll!!!" You complain, using the sheets to clean your skin.

"Someone got what she deserved" she mocked you.

Abigail loved these nights, where she felt so free and careless. Without any pressure, any responsibilities or drama. It was just the two of you, laughing around, feeling good.

She never really questioned these acts of affection. At least not yet.

The two of you drifted into sleep, still tangled in the warmth that lingered after your playful clash.

In the morning, you woke up naturally, with your eyes opening slowly as though stirred by a breeze.

It was rare, but this morning, your body felt truly rested. Abby was still sleeping beside you, unmoved by the world, so you stayed still, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing.

Her hand, as always, had found its way towards you in slumber, reaching, half-curled, almost touching. Did she know her hand sought you, even in her sleep.

So, you took it quietly, weaving your fingers with hers, tenderly, careful not to wake her. Her hand was so broad, calloused by the weight of life’s demands, but still pale and oddly delicate in your grasp. You thought, for a heartbeat, about kissing her knuckles again, but the thought drew too much of the world back in, and so you stayed still.

Everything, in that moment, was perfect. Despite all the violence you had to face every day, Abigail somehow made it all feel distant.

You smirked quietly to yourself. Manny truly did deserve a life changing head in for bringing her into your orbit.

With a sigh, you nestled just a little closer, forehead resting against her shoulder and her hand still curled in yours, now resting gently against your chest.

It felt so good.

Suddenly, Abby’s body shifted in her sleep, rolling towards you, and in one smooth, unthinking motion, she wrapped herself around you, pulling you tight like a child clutching a stuffed toy.

You froze.

Never had the two of you slept like this before. It was… intimate in a way you hadn’t dared imagine.

But Abby didn’t stir beyond that so it must’ve been an accident. Of course it was.

You tried to shift but Abby weighed like a fallen tree so you surrendered with a sigh, already spiraling through the thoughts of how impossibly awkward this would be when she woke up. Yet the heat of her body was an inviting weight. Your eyes began to flutter closed not out of sleep, but surrender, and gently nestled your face against the curve of her neck.

God. She smelled so good. Like something sweet and quiet.

Like the smell of a newborn soft and innocent and warm. You knew that scent. You’d once held a baby in the maternity wing of the base. But Abby also smelled like sunlight.

You’d only seen the sea once, on a rare warm morning where the waves met a meadow strewn with tiny white flowers the kind used in chamomile tea, you’d later learned.

She was that exact memory: brightness and breeze. And here you were, face buried against her skin, drowning in the scent of home.

Minutes passed like mist. Then, slowly, Abby stirred.

Still heavy with sleep, she shifted. Her brow furrowed faintly when she realized her arms were around something. She looked down and found you tucked there, but she didn’t jolt or pull away. She just yawned, adjusted her limbs, and let her eyes fall closed again.

How could this not mean something to her?

“Good morning,” she mumbled, voice cracked with sleep.

“Good morning,” you whispered into her neck.

“Sorry. Rolled right over you.”

“It’s fine.”

She shifted again, the weight of her arm draping back over you. “You’re so warm,” she said not annoyed, “I should get up, but you’re making it really hard.”

You laughed, though something cold unspooled in your belly. “You’re the one who tried to smother me in your sleep.”

At that, Abby deliberately collapsed her full weight on top of you just long enough to make your heart spike in panic. Then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she rolled away and sat up, leaving you alone under the sheets.

She stretched, her long, sun-worn hair cascading down her back.

“Have you been having any nightmares?” you asked.

“Nope,” she replied casually, already rummaging for her usual pants.

“So I’m officially anti-nightmare,” you teased, making Abby turn to shoot you a playful grimace.

Once dressed, she ran her fingers through her hair in a quick sweep. “Weren’t you supposed to braid this?” she asked.

“Hell yeah. Come here.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, and you moved behind her, kneeling, your fingers already parting strands with practiced care. You started the tight, perfectly symmetrical braid she wore every day, and if done wrong, could break the day before it even began.

You day unrolled separately. Isaac wanted to catch up with you, witch made Abby nervous, while she was sent to the medical wing to help to carry boxes of new found stuff.

It was boring, but definitely better then going outside. She was not in a mood for that.

"So, how's the married life been?" Max, your roomate, asked.

Max was a very versatile girl. She could be doing anything. Teaching children how to read, fixing the jeeps or helping with an amputation. Somehow, she had multiple jobs, and today she was giving a hand together with Abigail.

"What?"

"I'm just kidding," She smiles. "I just noticed you have been sleeping a lot in our room"

Abby puts down a box with a loud bang. "Yhea, I mean, It is better then sleeping in the same space as Manny"

Manny was always the best excuse.

"Mhm, I see. If I had a very close friend I would probably have sleepovers every night as well. I guess I understand"

Abby noods, hoping it to be the end of the conversation. Oh, but she does't know Max.

"Actually" She goes again, opening a box and taking a bag of something Abby doesn't pay attention to "I can't spend that much time with my friends, I always need some alone time to recharge, ya know? However....I don't mind being with my booboo everyday"

"Your what??" Abby blinks, confused.

Max laughs. "Your face is so funny. Booboo is what I call my....crushes? Boyfriends? Girlfriends? Romantic interests? My special person? You know, that one person we can't get enough of"

The way Max is smiling, like she knows something or is accusing Abby of something she can't quite grasp.

"Right...yhea...I guess" Abby says, not sure what to say or even think.

"Don’t you get tired of {your name}?"

"Hum...No?"

After putting down one more box, Abby realizes Max's smile is even bigger.

"You are acting crazy, dude" Abby notes, looking her up and down. "Stop smiling like that!"

"Do you know {your name} likes girls?"

"What the...yes, I do, Max"

"Hmh. I'm just checking. I have had some friends like that too, you know, close friends. But we always ended up making out"

And with that piece of information, she grabs some medical stuff and turns around, happily disappearing through a door.

Abby stayed behind, frozen in place, realizing just now what Max was trying to imply.

☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆

Note: It's been hard to express my ideas into English. Sorry if some parts are more developed than others. And sorry for the mistakes.

@lia-winther

#lesbian #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x reader #friends to lovers #ourstars

103 notes · View notes

birdie-in-arcadia · 2 days ago

Text

Always

This was an anon request, and I honestly had a lot of fun writing this despite the subject matter. Thank you for such a great ask anon, and I hope I did it justice! Enjoy <3

CW: angst, verbal fight between Vessel and fem!reader, reconciliation, fluff, and suggestive content at the end

Word Count: 5.3k

It started in the little ways. The late replies, the sidelong glances that never quite land. The way he pulls his hands or lips away just a second too early, almost like warmth and love has become something he doesn’t yearn for the way he did before.

You’ve been trying not to notice, to shrug it off. You tell yourself he’s tired, and that tour wears on everyone, which is inevitably true. That if you give him space, he’ll come back to you in his own time. But it’s been weeks, and that quiet ache in your chest is getting harder to ignore. Every time you reach for him, literally or metaphorically, it feels like his edges are sharper than they used to be. Not angry or anything, just… untouchable and distant.

And even now, back at the hotel, he barely looks up when you speak. You’re perched on the end of the bed, arms wrapped around your knees, watching him dig through his overnight bag. Your hair falls over your arms, tickling you occasionally as if to say, “lighten up”. But you can’t, no matter how hard you try.

“Did you want to get breakfast downstairs in a bit?” you ask, gently. Not needy or clingy, just hoping he’ll want to be with you.

He hums noncommittally. “Maybe. I’m not sure I’m up for it.” His tone is flat, yet loaded. You simply nod and take a deep breath before replying quietly, “Okay. I can bring something back up if you’d rather stay in.”

“Maybe.” Another one-word response. You want to rake your nails through your hair and rip it out at the roots in frustration. You don’t understand what you’ve done to deserve such... silence. It’s all maybes with him lately. No certainty, no weight or sincerity. Like every answer is a placeholder for the thing he wants to say, but won’t.

You try not to show your disappointment or frustration. Instead, you stand and stretch, offering a faint smile. “I’m gonna go see if the band lounge has that ginger tea again. Might help my throat.”

“Yeah,” he says absently, his gaze now cast on his phone. “Good idea.”

No offer to come with you. No kiss goodbye. Just the rustle of his joggers as he reclines in the corner chair and the low hum of traffic outside the window.

You step into the hallway and let the door click quietly shut behind you, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Your gaze is fixed on the floor beneath you as you wrack your brain, attempting to think of anything and everything you’ve ever done wrong or said sideways that could’ve hurt his feelings or pushed him away. You mentally ask yourself, “Am I too much? Do I need or ask for too much from him? Is he tired of me, or has he found someone better?” Nothing makes sense. You’ve loved him as much as he’ll let you, you give him space when he requests it, and you give him your undivided attention all the same.

It was such a perfect relationship up until about four weeks ago. You try as hard as you can to think of something that could’ve been pivotal enough to warrant such distance. Was there an argument or a disagreement of any kind? Any harsh words or slammed doors? Absolutely nothing comes to mind, and it’s driving you mad. What did I do?

You blink hard and shake your head, turning your focus to the elevator you’re approaching. You click the down arrow button and stare at its flickering orange glow, letting your mind run wild with what ifs and circumstances and possible answers to an impossible equation.

The lift doors opening brings you back to reality and your eyes dart up as you see yours and Vessel’s dear friend II standing near the front of the lift, bracing himself on the handrail along the side. He smiles at you as you step in the rig, standing opposite him. You lean against the wall as you hear II’s Welsh lilt ask you which floor you’re going to. “Lobby, please.” you answer simply, your tone too deflated to hide. His face drops from friendly to concerned as his brows furrow slightly.

He turns and jabs the button with a calloused thumb, and the doors close, trapping you in this space with him, and you just know he’s gonna ask what’s wrong. It’s in his caring nature. Like clockwork, you hear that same voice ask, “You alright, babe?” He’s called you that platonic nickname since he first got to know you nearly six months ago, and you’re used to it by now. It holds the same endearment as “buddy” or “pal” or even “dude”.

You sigh as you turn your gaze from the dingy steel walls of the moving rig to meet II’s, and you can see the concern on his features. You quickly decide how much you wanna tell him, and you reply, “Yeah, just... I dunno, Ves seems so distant lately and I don’t understand why. I’ve been thinking all day for the last few days about what I could’ve done to upset him or push him away, and I got nothing.” You shrug as you finish, and II’s face goes from an expression of concern to one of sympathy as he nods his head along to your words.

“Sorry, love. Ves just gets like this sometimes when he’s got something on his mind. He was like this right before him and his last girl broke it off, for example.” II says before he realizes his implications. As your eyes go wide and your brows arch on your forehead, you feel your stomach drop through the floor of the lift. His own eyes widen, and he immediately backpedals. “Uh, no wait, I uh- shit- I didn’t mean- that's not what I-” he splutters, his hands flailing in front of him as if he’s physically grasping for the words. You chuckle lightly at the sight.

He sighs and runs a frustrated hand over his face before dropping it limply to his side. “I didn’t mean that’s what’s gonna happen with you two. It was just an example, and a horrid one at that. Sorry about that.” he says, his tone heavy with embarrassment. His cheeks are red as his gaze fixes on his Nikes. You chuckle again as you reply, “It’s alright man, my heart only stopped for a couple seconds.” He lets out a nervous yet relieved laugh as he runs a hand over his hair, and the rig comes to a stop.

He steps out first, and you follow behind as you ask, “You thirsty too?” He turns back to glance at you over his shoulder, and he slows down to walk beside you. “Nah, just wanted to grab more of those Lifesavers gummies. Fuckers are addicting.” You hum in agreeance as he asks, “What’re you gettin’?” You point to the coffee and hot water bar a few feet away and reply, “Hopefully one of those ginger teas if they still have any.” He hums again as he makes his selection and pays the clerk behind the counter.

“I was actually headed up to talk with him about tomorrow’s gig after I grabbed these. D’ya want me to talk to him about what you told me?” II asks as you both walk back toward the lift. You ponder for a moment, hands comforted by the warmth of the paper cup in your grasp. After a few steps, you reply, “No, that’s okay. I’ll talk with him about it tomorrow on the flight back. I appreciate it, though.” II simply smiles at you and nods once before you both step back into the lift.

You make small talk about venues and light rigging and sound systems as the lift takes you back to your floor. Eventually, it comes to a stop and you both bid your farewells as you step off, leaving II, as his room is another floor up.

Your mood slowly falls back down into “what did I do to upset him” the closer you get to your room. As you approach the door and unlock it, a pit forms in your stomach as you open the door and step in, finding Vessel gone.

You pull out your phone instantly, nearly dropping your fresh tea, and you check your messages. Did you miss the chime of a text message? Apparently you did, because you have one new message from Vessel.

It reads, “Grabbing drinks with III. Don’t wait up.”

What the fuck? Your face screws up as you reread the message three times over, incredibly confused as to why he’d want to grab drinks considering he’s recovering from addiction. Worry and guilt sweep through you as you wonder if he’s drinking again because of you. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away in frustration.

Wait. Didn’t II say he was going to talk with Vessel about concert shit? Did II lie to you or is he just misinformed? You sit your cup on the counter nearest you, and you frantically pull up Find My iPhone. You zoom in on his location, and it indicates that he’s still in the hotel, and so is III.

A bone-chilling realization washes over you, and your stomach churns something nasty as your mind flies through all the possibilities. III’s still in the hotel, and so is Vessel. Are they together? Is Vessel in another member’s room? Or is he in someone else’s room entirely?

A myriad of emotions flood through you as your veins fill with fire and ice and your heartrate catapults. There’s no way, right? Vessel has been cheated on in the past, so he’d never... right? You aren’t certain of that, and it makes you vehemently nauseous. However, you are certain of one thing: you have to find him now.

You storm out of the room, emotions in a whirlwind as you stare down Find My iPhone, stomping in the direction of his location. Your brain is a tsunami of thoughts and possibilities. What if he’s just in one of the guys’ rooms? What if they’re just relaxing and maybe gaming, and you storm in there like a bat outta hell for no reason and embarrass yourself?

You shake your head, and one thought lingers: regardless of who’s room he's in, you’ve been lied to. Your chin trembles, but you deny your eyes any release of salt; not until you know for sure. His location leads against a wall in between two rooms. Huh? You refresh the app, and it still shows the same place. Maybe it’s up or down a floor?

You turn confusedly and head for the lift you were just in with II. You press the up-arrow button since II said he was going to talk with Vessel, and you're kind of banking on him being up there with II. You tap your foot lightning fast as the rig moves slowly upward, the gravitational pull downward not helping your nausea in the slightest.

Once the door opens a few moments later, you step out and follow his location directly to II’s room. Okay, this checks out, but why did he say he was getting drinks with III? You form a fist, knuckles forward as you raise your arm, but just before you knock, you hear your name.

Their voices are low but still audible in the quiet of the room. You freeze, not intending to eavesdrop, just… uncertain. The way he’s speaking is different; tense.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Vessel mutters. “It’s like… the closer she gets, the more I feel like I’m going to fuck it up.” II doesn’t respond right away.

“She’s everything. Sweet, steady, and forgiving. And I can’t even hold a conversation without it feeling like a lie.” Vessel continues. You blink as the words land, your heart dropping into your stomach.

“Every time she looks at me like I’m the moon and stars in her skies, I just feel like a fucking fraud. Like she’s in love with someone who doesn’t exist anymore. I feel like I’m living in someone else’s skin when I’m with her sometimes,” he continues. “Like I have to pretend to be this perfect version of myself or I’ll lose her.” He lets out a shaky breath. “But the worst part? I think she’d be better off if I did.”

You don't hear the rest. Your ears are ringing and roaring with your blood. But you don’t need to hear it, nor do you want to. His voice cuts through you like a razor, sharp and brutal. The weight of it lodges in your lungs, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You stumble back a step, hand pressed to your chest, mouth slightly agape. Your heart pounds in your ears as you catch yourself on the wall across from II’s door.

I feel like I'm living in someone else's skin when I'm with her sometimes. She’d be better off if I did. He can't be fucking serious.

You turn, quick and quiet, and walk straight back to your shared room. Your hands are trembling when you unlock the door.

The air in the room still smells faintly like his cologne; amber, smoke, something earthy. You shut the door behind you and lean against it for a moment, the silence loud and suffocating. Your brain immediately goes to war with your heart.

He doesn’t love you. He’s been pulling away because he’s already gone; emotionally checked out, just waiting for the right moment to say the words out loud. You’d been holding on to hope that it was in your head. That maybe he was just stressed. Maybe he was trying. But you heard it. Not from a text, not from a rumor. From his own mouth.

No, you know he loves you. From the way he clings to you at night like you're his lifeline. The way he always checks in on you no matter the scenario. He brings you along on every tour, to every show just so you feel included. All the times he's held you while you cried and put you back together with just his voice and vocabulary.

She'd be better off if I did. His words ring through your head again, shattering any semblance of logic or hope that he still wanted you around.

You cross the room in a haze and start pulling your things together. Toothbrush, charger, whatever clothing you could find strewn over the floor haphazardly. That hoodie you always wear to bed that still smells like him catches your eye, and you feel your throat nearly close up as a sob threatens to tear from it.

You step over to the end of the bed where the hoodie lays, and you pick it up and take a deep inhale of its scent. Agony surges through your chest like a knife to the heart and your knees nearly buckle as your combined smells lilt through your sinuses.

You clutch the hoodie with white knuckles, your face contorting into a mixed expression of anger and grief, and a sob pummels its way up your throat and past your lips. You throw the hoodie onto the floor and turn from it, picking up what's left of your belongings on the floor and surrounding tabletops.

You divert your eyes from the article one last time and deny yourself the relief of fully crying. Not yet. You stomp into the bathroom and grab your toiletries from the shower wall, knocking down one of his bottles in your wake. You groan as it tumbles down, echoing through the bathroom. You leave it where it lies as you rush back to your bag and stuff it all in with shaking hands.

In a last ditch effort to feel in control of something, anything, you make the bed. As you finish, you hear the familiar crinkling of a small aluminum packet underfoot. You wince at the sound, at the memory, and you bend to pick it up and discard it in a nearby waste bin.

You bend and hover over the desk and tear a page from the hotel’s notepad. You pick up a nearby pen, then pause, staring at the blank paper. A single tear falls onto the sheet, wrinkling it. And then you write:

"If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I wish you’d just said it to my face."

You fold it once and place it on the bed. You give the room one last look, and then you’re gone.

_______________

“…I think she’d be better off if I did.” Vessel’s voice trails into silence. II says nothing at first, he just lets the words of his struggling best friend settle. Vessel had been waiting outside II's door as II returned from grabbing his snack in the lobby with you. He'd let Vessel in without a word once he saw the helpless look in his eyes.

Vessel leans against the wall, head tipping back, eyes shut. The room smells like lemon floor polish, burnt coffee, and old carpet; cheap and forgettable. A fitting backdrop, he thinks bitterly, for the way he’s been acting lately.

“I mean, fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She gives me everything. Patience, kindness… all this love I don’t know how to process. And what do I do? I shut down. I shut her out. I can feel her slipping away from me and I just keep letting it happen.”

II sighs, arms crossed. “So talk to her, man. Don’t let your head run the whole show. If you’re scared, tell her. If you love her, and I know you do, show her.”

“I do,” Vessel breathes. “God, I do. I’ve never-” His voice catches in his throat. He clears it, blinking hard. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Not since... you know. It’s terrifying, being vulnerable again. But I don’t want to lose her. I’d rather die trying to let her in than watch her walk away thinking I didn’t care.”

II rests a hand on his shoulder, solid and grounding. “Then go. Tell her that, all of it. Before your silence speaks louder than your words ever could.” Vessel nods, heart thudding against his ribs, determination coursing through his veins. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, man. I’m going now.”

He turns, heart already racing, and opens the room door. The hallway stretches ahead of him, silent, like it knows what's coming. His feet move rapidly toward the elevator, and he jams the button. He all but jumps inside when the doors open, and he mashes the floor number until the rig is moving again. He’s grinning as he descends at a slow pace, ecstatic that he’s about to go fix everything with his girl, and maybe even make love to you if you’d let him.

The door clicks open with a familiar sound, the keycard light flashing green. He steps inside, voice low but warm.

“Baby!” His cheerful greeting rings through the small room.

He’s met with silence. He frowns as he notices that the bathroom door is open, and the lights are off.

“Baby?” he tries again, this time laced with a hint of confusion. Still nothing. The room is quiet, way too quiet. His eyes scan the space. The bed is made, the chair in the corner is empty, and the closet door is slightly ajar.

And then it hits him. Your things are gone. The tote bag that always slouches beside the dresser? Gone. Your travel case of skincare and scrunchies that typically adorn the counter? Missing. The sweater you wore this morning, cream colored, soft, probably still faintly scented like you? No longer tossed over the arm of the chair where you always leave it.

His blood runs cold. “No…” he breathes, stepping forward. He checks the bathroom, heart lurching. Nothing. Your soaps are gone, even your microfiber hair towel.

His hands start trembling as he crosses back to the bed, eyes darting over the blankets, the table, the floor, anything. “Maybe she just ran out for food”, he thinks. “Maybe she-”

Then he sees it. Folded once, an unpinned grenade on the center of the bed, his given name, not the moniker, not a pet name, in your handwriting unmistakably on the hotel paper. He picks it up slowly like the bomb that it is. His eyes trace the words.

If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I just wish you’d said it to my face.

The paper trembles in his hand. He rereads it.

Once. Twice. A third time.

“No, no, no- fuck, no-” His voice breaks.

His knees give, and he sinks onto the edge of the bed, the note still clutched between trembling fingers. The breath leaves his lungs like he’s been punched. His chest burns. His vision blurs.

You must’ve come looking for him and overheard. Dammit, his plan of diverting your attention by telling you that he was going out with III did the exact opposite. Go figure. Regardless, you heard him. But you didn’t stay long enough to hear what came after. Didn’t hear him say he loves you. Didn’t hear him say he wants to fight for you. You think he wanted you to go.

He drops his head into his hands, shoulders shaking as a raw sound escapes his throat; half anguish, half pleading. The pain slams into him like a wave, unforgiving and cold, clawing its way through every part of him. He presses the note to his chest like it might somehow undo the damage, but it doesn’t. It just hurts.

“Fuck,” he gasps again, standing suddenly, stumbling, frenzied, and searching for anything that could give him an answer. He grabs his phone from his front left pocket, and he opens your thread. His thumbs hover, trembling, then he types:

“Please come back. I didn’t mean it like that. Please.”

“I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you heard. Please just tell me you’re okay.”

No “... is typing...”, no response. He hits the call button.

Straight to voicemail.

He calls again.

Two rings, then voicemail.

“Pick up, baby, please,” he whispers to the static. “Please, just... fuck, just talk to me. Let me explain. I swear to God I didn’t mean it like that…”

He’s pacing now, chest heaving, phone in a death grip. And then, a miracle. He swipes down with shaking fingers and opens the location-sharing app. Your dot is still live, still glowing. Looks to be approximately three blocks down. A little boutique hotel near the edge of the shopping district. You must’ve forgotten to turn it off amid all the emotions and taxi-hailing. Otherwise, you definitely would’ve turned off your location. You don’t want to be found.

Without a second thought, he bolts for the door.

Rain pours against the sidewalk as Vessel sprints down the street, dodging passersby, lungs burning, the cold biting into his damp skin. He doesn’t feel any of it, not really. The only thing he feels is you. The absence of you, the shape you leave behind, like a phantom in his chest.

The GPS dot blinks steady on his screen, his lifeline. He turns a corner and sees it, small and quaint, tucked between a florist and an antique shop. The boutique hotel you chose in the heat of heartbreak.

He’s there in seconds, breath ragged, soaked to the bone. The front desk blurs past as he races up the stairs, skipping steps, heart pounding so hard it makes him nauseous. He follows your beacon of hope to the very door you’re hidden behind.

He knocks once, three light sounds against the wooden door. He’s met with nothing. He knocks again, another three times, but a tad bit louder this time, in case you’re sleeping.

“Please,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to the wood, rain dripping from his hair and trailing down the door, his fingers clenched into fists. “Please let me in.”

Still nothing. He swallows down a sob and knocks one last time, louder this time. “I know you don’t want to see me. I know I hurt you. But baby I swear, I didn’t mean it like that. You left before you could even hear the rest.” Silence on the other side. He breathes hard, trembling hands travelling upward to brace himself as he leans on the door, and he fights the urge to break it down to get to you. Your silence completely unnerves him.

“I was talking to II because I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he confesses, voice cracking. “I’m scared all the time. That you’ll realize I’m not what you need. That you’ll wake up one day and see what a fucking mess I am and walk away and-”

The lock clicks, and his head shoots up to look for your face, regaining his balance and lowering his hands to his sides. The door opens just enough to reveal you; eyes red and glassy, hair tied back in a loose bun, gray hoodie zipped to your throat. You don’t say anything at first, you just look at him like he’s something wild and foreign.

You cross your arms tightly over your chest as you prop the door open and turn, walking away from him, the sights of the city momentarily capturing your attention as you approach the window in your room. You hear the door click shut, and you feel his presence in the room as you turn to face him. He’s standing about a foot from the door, his hands at his sides, his face drawn down, his big, beautiful puppy eyes focused solely on you.

“You lied to me,” you say finally, breaking the silence, your voice quiet but sharp. “You told me you were going to get drinks with III when you were just upstairs talking shit about me to II.”

“I wasn’t-” he steps forward, then stops, hands raised like you might bolt. He exhales and checks his tone before continuing. “I wasn’t talking shit. I was spiraling, alright? I was telling him that I’m scared of how good you are to me... how I keep messing it up.” He finishes, and he takes a small step toward you as if you’re a feral cat he’s found outside. "And I said I was going out with III because I didn't want you worrying and wondering where I was. I couldn't just tell you I was going to talk to II because I didn't wanna risk, well... this happening..." He trails off and you mull over his explanation. You know mentally that he was right. You would've definitely insisted on going with him. You decide leave that part of the argument to be discussed later.

“You said I’d be better off without you,” you snap. “How the hell was I supposed to take that?” You punctuate your question by unfolding your arms and gesturing toward him, your brows furrowing in frustration.

He flinches, the realization of how bad that would’ve sounded from your perspective washing over him. “I know how it sounded,” he says honestly, voice breaking again. “But that wasn’t the end of the sentence. I was saying I didn’t want to lose you. That I was going to talk to you. That I love you. I’ve just been- fuck, I’ve been so in my head lately, and I didn’t want to put that weight on you.”

You shake your head, eyes shining. “You think lying was protecting me?” you ask exasperatedly, your arms out to your sides, forefingers pointing inward toward yourself. “But I didn’t lie about that,” he says, his tone serious. You point as accusatory finger at him as you spit, “It was lying by omission, Vessel.” His face drops.

“I didn’t mean to lie,” he breathes. “I just… I thought if I told you I was falling apart, you’d start seeing me the way I see myself. And then you would leave.” You step back, arms crossed tightly, and your frustration is evident on your face. “And the distance? The coldness? Was that supposed to be protection too? Because it felt like punishment.”

His face twists in anguish as the truth in your words pelts him like bullets. “I know,” he says. “I know I’ve been distant. I’ve been awful. And I hate how I’ve made you feel. I hate that I made you doubt yourself when the only failure in this relationship has been me.” He looks at you through defeated eyes, tears beginning to brim again.

Your voice wavers now, anger giving way to hurt. “You made me feel like I wasn’t enough, or maybe I was too much. Like I was annoying you just by existing. You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, Vessel.” You feel your tough exterior cracking as the look in his eyes peels you apart layer by layer.

He steps forward again, slower this time. “I didn’t know how to let you in without showing you all the worst parts of me.” You look at him, eyes searching, still guarded. “Ves, you already have. Remember when your family cut you off because they don’t agree with your new lifestyle? Or when we first got together and you were so anxiety ridden you practically bolted for the bedroom anytime you heard your doorbell ring? I was there through all of that, and I never batted an eye. It’s my job as your partner to see you through every chapter of life, no matter how scary or unbecoming. You know this, love. You just have to let me in.” You finish, your arms falling to your sides as a tear marks its own trail down your face, dripping from your jaw.

His expression crumples. “And you’re still here, still talking to me, even with me coming to find you like some sort of headcase,” he says quietly. You blink fast, biting the inside of your cheek. “How the hell did you find me, by the way?" You ask him, suddenly reminded of the blaring question.

He lets out a short, breathless sound. Almost a laugh, almost a sob. “You didn't turn off your location, lovey." he replies, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes. You chuckle and run a hand over your face as you're taken aback by your own lack of attention to such a major detail. "Christ... Well, I'm glad I didn't," you reply, looking up at him through long lashes. A long silence passes between the two of you as you both take in what the other has said. Then, with trembling hands, you capitulate and motion him forward, and you move toward the bed. “C’mere.”

He wipes his face with the back of his hand as he approaches you slowly. He perches at the edge of the bed like you might dissolve if he touches you too soon. Vessel looks over you after a few seconds, taking in your disheveled appearance. His chest aches with the knowledge that it’s his fault you fled in such a hurry, and that you’re so forlorn. You meet his gaze and allow your eyes to take in the sopping wet cat of a man next to you. Rainwater drips from his hair onto his lap below, but he doesn't seem to notice, and he looks like a man who’s been through war just to get to you.

“I love you,” he says again, steadier now. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I’m sorry for every time I made you question that.” You look at him, eyes glossy, heart swelling in your chest. “I love you too, Ves. That’s why it hurt so much.”

He moves to kneel in front of you, hands reaching for yours. You let him take them slowly, like it's a test she’s not sure he’ll pass. “I’ll do better,” he whispers. “Not just today. Every day. I’ll keep choosing you.” You swallow hard, the lump in your throat rising again. “Don’t shut me out again, please,” you whisper to him, eyes blurring with tears. “I won’t,” he says, forehead pressing to your hands. “I swear it.”

Your breath shudders as you exhale through the sadness leaving your body. You pull him up and into your arms, holding him tightly, like you’re afraid if you lets go, he’ll vanish again. You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other, letting the fear bleed out. Eventually, you whisper, “Let’s go home.” Those three simple words wash over him like a cool wave of relief, and he didn't realize how badly he craved to hear you say them until you did.

The walk back is quiet, but your fingers are laced the entire way. Once inside the room, Vessel closes the door behind you with a soft click. The lights are low, the hum of the city a dull throb beyond the shaded windows. You turn to face him, and he just stands there for a moment, eyes soft yet unsure as they flicker over your form.

You step toward him, hands reaching for the hem of his soaked hoodie. “Let me,” you say. He easily acquiesces and lifts his arms, letting you peel it away slowly, reverently. His shirt comes next, and it hits the carpeted floor with a dull, wet slap. Your hands glide over the bare skin of his chest; cold from the rain but warming beneath your touch. He watches you like you’re shaping the skies before his eyes; like you’re the only thing anchoring him to earth.

He undresses you slowly, hands lingering, fingers and lips exploring, and you move together like water, slow and unhurried. There’s no urgency now, just the deep ache of reunion. He lays you down with such care, like you’re thin glass.

When he enters you, it’s with soft gasps and a whispered, “I missed you.” Your bodies meet in a rhythm that speaks more than words ever could. Not rough, not desperate. Just homecoming. Every thrust, every touch, every sigh is an apology, a promise, a thread sewing you gently yet thoroughly back together.

He presses his forehead to yours as you move in tandem, voice trembling. “You terrify me,” he whispers, “Because I want you, all of you, forever. I want to bare my entire soul to you, my beautiful girl.” You whine as you pull his face to yours and you kiss him slowly, deeply, and so lovingly. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper as he moves above you. You wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders as you approach your peak.

When you both reach your climax, it’s a beautiful release of emotions and endorphins. Your shared moans and heavy breaths curl through the room around you. You’re breathless, your eyes are locked with his, and your fingers stay intertwined.

You lay like that long after cleaning up, curled into each other beneath the sheets, skin to skin, heart to heart. You sport only Vessel's hoodie, the same one which broke your heart earlier, and a pair of knickers, and Vessel lays comfortably in only his underwear. His nose is buried in your hair, arms locked around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.

His voice is low, barely a breath against your ear. “You smell like me, love.” You laugh softly, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s because I'm wearing your hoodie, you goof.”

“Oh,” he murmurs delightfully. “Then I guess I like me better on you.” You groan playfully and swat at his chest. “That was horrendous. I rescind all affection.”

He grabs your hand and kisses each knuckle with dramatic flair. “Forgive me, my darling muse. I’ll compose better lines on the morrow.” You hum, feigning pretentiousness. “I’ll be expecting a full sonnet.”

“Only if I get paid in kisses,” he jokes, smiling against your cheek. You open one eye. “You drive a hard bargain, Mister Vessel Marie.”

He smiles wider and chuckles before taking on a more serious tone. “I missed you. Even when you were still next to me I missed you so fucking much.” Your heart tightens, full and aching. “Don’t do that again, please. Don’t pull away like that. I am always here for you, sweetness,” you assure him, rubbing over the tops of his knuckles with your thumb.

“I won’t,” he promises. “You’re stuck with me now. I’m basically your emotional barnacle,” he finishes, and you can hear the cheeky grin shaping his words.

You snort. “Sexy.” He pulls his hand from yours and he licks the tips of his pointer and pinkie finger before smoothing over his eyebrows with them. "I try," he says, waggling his brows down at you. "You are such a dork," you say to him as you giggle. You turn in his arms just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you,” you tell him, and you've never been so serious about anything else in your life.

“I love you more,” he whispers. “Even when I’m an idiot. Especially then.” He kisses your cheek as he pulls the duvet higher around you both, your legs tangled, his thumb brushing soft circles into your hip. The steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you closer to sleep. How would you ever be able to live without this?

And when you’re nearly unconscious, he whispers to you, “Gonna stay with me, sweet girl?” You squeeze his hand as you whisper your reply, and it’s the last thing said for the night.

“Always.”

@deathcapbunny @yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken @wormm-mom @lynzeequitlollygagging @blackcherrywhiskey @thedemonofsodom @mysticmorning1 @xnikix02 Here you go! If you'd like to be added here, let me know :) I really hope you enjoyed this, anon <3<3

#sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token fanfic #vessel #ii sleep token #birdie writes sometimes #vessel fanfiction #vessel sleep token #sleep token vessel #angst with a happy ending #light angst #hurtcomfort #fluff #sleep token oneshot

50 notes · View notes

dimestoresuguru · 3 days ago

Text

singledad!toji x singlemom!reader | 3.

cw; erm none this chapter!

wc; 765

author; i have a vision for this guys so im almost definitely going to slow down updates so i can make each chapter longer and really execute this story how i want to.

MASTERLIST PART 1 PART 2

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚⊹♡. ⋆｡𖦹°‧₊˚⊹♡. ⋆｡𖦹°‧ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚

he met you in the rain. well, he saw you first.

you were soaking wet, and your mascara had run down your entire face. your hair was covering a decent portion of your face, but he could see the pain in your expression even from the inside of his car.

you were wearing a hoodie that didn't look like it belonged to you, the size of it giving that away. well, the size and the fact that it said 'men's basketball' on the front with the image of a tiger along with it.

and in this soaking wet hoodie, you were headed into the same convenience store that he was. part of toji wanted to just let you have to store to yourself, to just wait in his car and let you buy whatever it is that you needed and then go in himself. but toji really had to grab some food, even just some cheap convenience store ramen, because it felt like his stomach was about to collapse in on itself.

so, ignoring his gentlemanly impulse, he entered the store.

spotting you in front of the drinks case, he tried to stay in an aisle as far away as possible while still accomplishing his mission for high sodium content food. after finding said food, he went up to the register, but noticed you looking remarkably more dejected than you had when you entered the store. you were fumbling around, searching for your wallet, cursing when it wasn't where it was supposed to be.

you put the drink down onto a nearby shelf, leaving the store as quickly as you could.

toji heard you sniffle.

*********

you took a seat on the curb outside.

of all the things that had happened today, of course on top of all of it you just had to lose your wallet.

you wouldn't let yourself cry over it. not this, not some silly mishap. you had much bigger things to be upset about, and you wouldn't let the absence of your wallet be what broke you tonight.

just as you were about to peel yourself up and off the cold ground, the drink you had wanted was set down next to you. and the boy that you had seen inside the store a minute ago was standing there, white plastic bag in one hand and the other – which had been carrying your drink – was tucked into his pants pocket now.

you locked eyes with him as he started speaking;

"looked like you needed it." he said, tone gruff but not unkind.

you didn't have it in you to be offended by it anyways, even if he had meant it in an offensive way.

"thanks. i do." you said, grabbing the cold can and cracking it open. you expected the boy to just leave, but instead he took a seat next to you.

not too close. a respectful distance, but still close enough to talk.

*********

the memory of the night he had met you was one he hadn't often recalled, but between seeing you yesterday and the crummy weather this morning, it was hard not to think about it.

when toji had thought about that night before, he still couldn't explain to himself why he sat next to you. he had been exhausted that night, running on fumes, in desperate need of food & his bed.

again, he wouldn't say he regretted it. he would never regret it, and he didn't regret the events that followed that night either, even if at one point in his life he wished it could've ended differently.

but it didn't. so here he was, 12 years laters, trying to convince his six-year-old to put on his rainboots – and miserably failing at it.

"if you wear the boots, we can have pancakes for dinner tonight." he tries. toji knew megumi was a sucker for pancakes.

"with blueberries?"

"yes, with blueberries. as long as you wear the boots."

with such reluctance that you wouldn't believe that megumi wasn't an old man in a child's body, megumi agrees.

when in doubt, bribe your children with their favourite breakfast food.

finally, he was able to usher megumi out of the apartment and into the car. convincing his son to wear weather appropriate clothing had always been a difficult task, and this time it was making them late. only by a little, but toji liked always being on time.

because he was going to be late to dropping off megumi, toji realized that he wouldn't be able to at least say hello to you in person this morning.

that was disappointing.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚⊹♡. ⋆｡𖦹°‧₊˚⊹♡. ⋆｡𖦹°‧ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚

taglist (OPEN) ; @probablynotleahhhh @divineindica @y8zuriha @tisuruxx @pusheentart

if u would like to b added to the taglist pls send me an ask!

would anyone want a playlist of what the vibes are for this fic? bc im down to make one

#jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji jujutsu kaisen #toji x reader #toji x you #toji zenin #fushiguro toji x reader

43 notes · View notes

mona-risms · 2 hours ago

Note

Just figured it out. The entire Huntr/x group has a massive praise kink, most likely from their ✨shared trauma✨ of being rejected/isolated for one reason or another. Honestly I can't picture any of them responding exceptionally well to any form of degradation (again because they've already been there and done that already). Literally that one audio just:

Rumi: Give me the biggest fucking praise buff- 🤗

(Reader): You're such a good girl~

Mira: HOLY FUCK TREAT ME LIKE THAT 🫢

(Reader): Good fucking girl

Zoey in the background: YES I AM!! 🤩

Literally three losers trapped in hot bodies 😭 but you'd be absolutely right and you will be hearing NO objection from me. They've already dealt with some form of degradation in their lives (not in a fun way), and even if it IS a sexual setting and sure they're aware that some people kinda like it bc it's a form of reclamation anyway, it's. Unless it's VERY light and teasing degradation, it's really really not for them. Methinks they'd have individual preferences when it comes to it though

Rumi would respond best when it comes to being praised for her appearance, which seems shallow at base level but think about it w me for a sec. She's grown up believing that she should be ashamed, that she should hide her patterns or else she'll be nothing but a demon to everyone's eyes—even managed to convince her that Zoey and Mira would NEVER accept and understand her if she told the truth and showed them proof of her descent. If you tell her how she's such a pretty girl for you, all ruined while you fuck her brains out, and if you even target the parts that she thinks are 'monstrous' like her patterns or her eyes or literally anything? She's gone. Her entire body's shaking from the force of her orgasm and her claws might damage the bed but oh well!!!!

Zoey would LOVELOVELOVE being praised for being good, which is why in one of my earlier entries I've said how she adores petplay. She CRAVES affection AND approval, especially considering her people-pleasing tendencies—she wants to be more than enough for you, she wants to do everything you ask of her, she wants to give you everything you want, she wants you happy bc you happy and satisfied is her own reward!!! There's that small nagging feeling constantly inside her that gets her thinking if she isn't good then you won't want her anymore :( so bombard her with praise about how she's your good girl, taking everything you give her and squeezing down, all dripping wet and obedient, and those thoughts'll float away as she keeps on babbling and saying thank you with tears in her eyes

Mira wouldn't really voice it out, not really, but the way to get to her may actually be by being possessive during sex. Stay with me here, right. She's never felt like she belonged anywhere, considering her 'problem child' status that most definitely got her feeling shunned left, right, and centre. She's not possessive in general, and if YOU were like deathly possessive yourself she'll even sit you down just to kinda like have a talk w you about it. But when it comes to intimacy and kinks? Oh. Oh my god. There's something about you calling her yours and no one else's, about you gripping onto her tight as if letting go would tear her away from you, that gets her so fucking hot and bothered. Bc her whole life she didn't belong anywhere and yet now you're telling her she belongs to you??? FUCK she'd have such a deathly grip on you too, and her body's movements as it arches as close to you as possible more than speaks for her

Overall these girls def need to be praised so much :( not just in sex but in general as well. It gets them feeling a bit of heat in their core but also it makes them so happy :(((( they deserve love

38 notes · View notes

halcyon-writings · 19 hours ago

Text

nav.

iasip style title card: His real name is Rafayel "attached at the hip" Deepspace. may the rafayel girlies pull the new myth in the least amount of pulls!

You know that the reason you're at this art show is because Rafayel had asked you to come with him. Several times, actually, in the span of the days that had come before it. You weren't usually a fan of such spaces, given the fact that the last time you went to one, it was only through the combined efforts of Thomas and Rafayel, that you didn't punch some critic for being far too rude.

"Pleaseeeeee," Rafayel had begged even. The artist had come over that morning with breakfast from the cafe you both liked to go to. The scent of hot cakes and the warm syrup had made your mouth water. But no... you must stay strong...

Of course, such a thing is easier said than done when you hear your stomach growl rather loudly. You had gotten home pretty late last night, so dinner wasn't on your mind as much as falling into bed and immediately passing out was.

Rafayel's pleading expression becomes smug. But he slides over a latte, and you know that your fate is sealed as the scent of coffee floats towards your nostrils. You don't even playfully swat at him when he presses a kiss to your cheek, thanking you with a melodic like laugh that once again proves how much you let him get away with.

"I'll make sure you have everything ready for later, you don't have to worry about a thing," You can't help but squint as he lists off what you'll need. An outfit (one that is matching his, obviously), accessories to match said outfit, and just registry into the guest list. Given who Rafayel was, all of that was easy to acquire.

The gallery's venue was the rented out rooftop of some restaurant, one whose waiting list was both impressive and intimidating. Another part of you found it ridiculous when you looked up their menu out of curiosity and saw the portion size.

Thomas, looking relieved that Rafayel appeared at all, is quick to greet you too, bringing you some of the appetizers that were catered, that you gratefully accept.

"Finally made it?" A familiar voice asks behind you, sneaking a piece from your plate as Rafayel's eyes twinkle with mirth.

You hum, chewing thoughtfully, "Of course, I was invited by the gallery's star of the show."

Rafayel laughs, a sound that makes you smile as well.

"Come on," A familiar touch of his hand rests at the small of your back, his palm is warm. You'd almost think he was a completely different person with the charming smiles he gives, when you think about the past instances of Rafayel not wishing to attend galas or events, where Thomas had to all but drag him along.

Even when guests wanted to speak to him in regards to work and what not, somehow, someway Rafayel always managed to turn the conversation towards something else. Before excusing both him and yourself to a more secluded part of the upper floor.

His arm was now wrapped around your waist, keeping you at his side.

"You know, Thomas is going to get on you for not mingling," You sing-song quietly, bringing your glass to your lips as you drink some water. "He's probably looking for you right now."

Rafayel huffs, but doesn't let go, instead, somehow you think he found a way to stand even closer within your personal space. "He'll be fine, I already mingled enough. I would rather spend my evening with you, then be around these snobs."

You shrug, but your own hand rests against his leg, giving his hip a small pat in comfort. "You poor, poor thing," The faux comfort isn't lost on him, but Rafayel plays it up anyway. He nods along, sniffing at the "indignity" of it all.

"But you will have to let go eventually, I can't save you from an irate Thomas if he gets to that point." You say, watching as Rafayel puts a hand to his heart, blinking.

"Oh, you hate me, cutie." He bemoans. "To be apart from you is like asking a man to stop breathing."

This time you do laugh. Which makes his gasp of mock outrage even funnier.

"Oh, hello Thomas!" You chirp, just to watch Rafayel jump, hiding behind you, only to peer over your shoulder to find... nothing.

He squints at you. You wink at him. He's quick to forgive after a kiss on the cheek, or a couple.

#halcyon writings.#love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x reader #love and deepspace rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x reader #lads x you #l&ds x you #qi yu x reader #qi yu x you

43 notes · View notes

buckevantommy · 3 days ago

Note

"Exhaustion" for type it Tuesday?

this is what happens before the hurt/comfort bath scene fic.. 👀🛁

It's been a week since Bobby's funeral. Eddie's gone back to Texas, at least for now, and Tommy came over for dinner. Because that's something they do now.

As friends.

As whatever Evan needs.

He gave Evan some space to make some calls while he took time cleaning the kitchen—

When a commotion down the hall has him rushing to Evan's bedroom to find him in a state of distraught, teary-eyed and on the brink of hyperventilating.

"Evan–"

"Everyone.. leaves me.."

Tommy's battered heart snapped in two the morning he walked out. The pieces cut into him as he watched Evan break down on that monitor and they're pressing into lungs, trying to carve out of ribcage to be closer to Evan.

"My parents.. Maddie.. Eddie.. Bobby.." Evan's breathing is harsh and too fast, his gaze unfocused as he shifts on the carpet, phone clenched in his hand.

Logically, Tommy knows the losses he speaks of aren't all on the same wavelength: Maddie is in his life now, his parents are making a concerted effort last he knew, Eddie chose to put his kid first, and Bobby..

“..You..” Evan gasps out, and it takes a second for Tommy to orient and realise what he's saying.

He snaps out of it and rushes to Evan's side where he's crumpled between the dresser and the closet, looking smaller than Tommy's ever seen him.

“Evan..” He can't help his hands going to steady Evan's shoulder and gently guide his jaw up. “I'm here– I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.” It's true. There's simply no way he could walk out of Evan's life again, no matter what they are to each other.

No matter how closed off Evan's been since the funeral, how he didn't seem to trust Tommy with the vulnerable parts of himself anymore - which is fair enough.

It's almost a relief to see behind the facade Evan's been holding up for everyone, not just for him, even as he lists forward and collapses against Tommy, lets himself fall apart in Tommy's arms.

He wants to be this for Evan, be here for him like this. It's a heartbreaking honor, and it's been so surreal: watching Evan seal off his emotions, this man who Tommy has known to always wear them on his sleeve.

Evan fights briefly between pulling away and pushing closer into Tommy's space, smashing his face into Tommy's chest as ugly sobs tear through him.

Tommy holds him tight as he garbles out something that sounds like, "Please don't leave."

The remnant shards of Tommy's heart turn inwards and scrape him up for good measure.

He drops a kiss into Evan's curls. “I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart.. I'm right here.. I got you.. I got you..”

It's a promise. Tommy holds him, gently rocking him through the heaving sobs until eventually they quiet into hiccups and sniffles, breaths slowing and evening out. Tommy rubs a soothing hand up and down his back.

"Bed?" Tommy asks, exhaustion likely setting in.

But he surprises Tommy, shaking his head and muttering, “Bath?” into damp fabric, breath warm over his clavicle, voice wrung out from grief.

“Of course. C’mon.”

Tommy helps Evan to his feet and together they stumble towards the bathroom. Tommy gets him seated, slumped on the closed lid of the toilet while he sets about filling the tub.

He helps Evan out of his shirt as his grip falters and muscles struggle to cooperate, and it earns him a greatful look, eyes red-rimmed and wide with sadness.

Evan plants a hand on Tommy's chest, fists the fabric a little to steady himself as he lowers himself into the tub, Tommy's hand ready to catch him if he needs it.

There's no more he can do so he turns to leave as Evan sinks into the water–

"Stay," comes Evan's voice, scraped raw and quiet but sounding so determined. It's not a question, it's a demand.

Tommy looks back to see Evan staring at him, need laid bare.

So, Tommy pulls up the little stool and takes Evan's hand where he's reached over the edge of the tub. "Okay."

#bucktommy #fic meme #fanfiction #my fics #.txt #evantommy #tevan kinley kinkley firepilot #asks

48 notes · View notes

queenofcats17 · 2 days ago

Text

Found a cool comic and wanted to write something based on it.

Here is the comic.

===========================================

They're fighting again.

You can hear them all the way from your perch in the living room.

You've noticed they've been fighting a lot more lately. It seems like almost every night you hear yelling coming from their bedroom.

You know Asriel isn't home yet, which means Kris is all alone in their room listening to this. You'd never forgive yourself if you let Kris go through this by themselves. After all, it's your job to keep a smile on their face!

So, you creep through the house until you reach Kris's room. As you expected, they're curled up on their bed, sniffling and sobbing.

"Kris?" You whisper, approaching their bed. They don't react, still curled up in a ball.

"Kris!" You speak a bit louder, hoping they can hear you over the sound of their parents arguing.

Still nothing.

You reach out and touch their shoulder, repeating their name again. They lower their hands from their ears and look up at you. Tears are still streaming down their cheeks. They look so small and vulnerable, especially when compared to you. Then again, most people look small when compared to you. But Kris seems especially small right now.

You force a smile. You can't let Kris see you frowning! Not when they so clearly need cheering up! "There you are!" You try to sound jovial. "I've been looking for you! Let's go somewhere quiet!"

You scoop them up off their bed, holding them against your shoulder as you hurry out of the room. They offer no resistance, allowing themselves to be limply draped over your shoulder. On the bright side, they've stopped crying now that you're here, so you're taking that as a win.

You take them to the living room and set them down on the couch. It's dark, but it's at least quieter down here. The yelling isn't quite as loud.

"Asriel isn't home yet, right?" You ask.

Kris shakes their head with a sniffle, wiping their nose on their sleeve. "Mommy a-and D-Daddy-" They begin, looking about to burst into tears again.

"Oh, I know, Kris..." Your voice is soft as you pull out your handkerchief and wipe the tears from their cheeks. "Say, why don't we watch your favorite cartoon while we wait for Asriel? It should be calmer by then..."

Kris sniffles again, but they nod, and you smile, relief washing over you. There's precious little you can do to solve the problems plaguing their parents' relationship, but you can do this. You can help with this. You settle back down on your perch and switch to Kris's favorite cartoon. Already, you can see the tension leaving their shoulders as their face is bathed in the glow of your light.

Everything will be alright, you tell yourself. Kris will be alright. Because they have you!

And you're not going anywhere.

#deltarune #deltarune spoilers #fanfiction #tenna deltarune #kris dreemurr

20 notes · View notes

likethestarsatnight · 2 days ago

Text

Asclepius and the Flea

Original children's fable written by me :3!

Hear me Muses as I tell the tale of a noble house, awakened by the chariot of Helios, dragging the sun above the earth. A family of 4 who got up from their beds to greet the waking sun. This family was very fortunate. Throughout their lives, they never had to deal with hunger nor poverty. They were rich in both wealth and crops, which they worked very hard for, but they never accounted to be rich in their health until one day when an old man rapped upon their house's door.

The head of the house, the father of the family, opened the door and was shocked at the sight of the sickly elder who hacked and coughed before he could speak his first words to Father. “Oh help me, good sir, I am on my way to the next village over but I am so thirsty and so easily do I get tired. Please help Father. May you be a good man, may I have some water?”

With a clap of his hands, Father called for the servants to give the old man a cup of water. The old man thanked Father and Father shook his hand. “Elder, please tell me, where do you go at this hour?”

“The next village, a mile from here.” Replied the old man, “That town holds a doctor and I am very ill. This town holds no doctor, there is nothing for me here but my will.”

“A doctor?” Father laughed. “What does a doctor have that I do not give you? Do I not spoil my villagers with money and land? Do people not feed from my hand?”

“Medicine, Father, medicine is what I need.” The old man tried to explain, but his words fell on deaf ears because Father did not care.

“Medicine! How silly! Medicine is a scam, a ruse! We men are strong enough without it. Go back to your home, Elder, go back to your bed. Or stay with us tonight and I'll make sure that you're fed.”

The old man frowned, “Father, how can you say that? Medicine is a gift brought by the son of Apollo, Asclepius. He brought this gift to help us.”

Father shook his head and shooed the old man away. “I care nothing for the work of Asclepius. Go now, Elder. Leave this village if you must. But if you return, don't bring your fancy medicine, for that I do not trust.”

“Have it your way.” Scoffed the Elder, “But do not be surprised when every villager leaves this old fashioned place for the next town. Never again will I come back around!”

Ignoring the old man's warnings, Father shut the door. Mother, who had listened to the conversation, laughed at the idea of the villagers leaving. “The villagers would never leave, they rely on us too much. They trust that we'll take care of them, not fall for lies like medicine and such.”

Father agreed. As well as their little boy, as innocent and little as he was, did not understand how to think beyond his fathers words. So that night, when Helios brought the sun back down into the earth, they went to bed with peaceful minds having already forgotten the old man's words. But to their great surprise, when they woke up the next morning, the village was desolate and silent. Everyone seemed to have disappeared, including their servants. On their door was nailed a notice that explained to the noble house how the villagers needed a doctor and left for the next town.

Still in disbelief, they walked around the entire village calling for the baker, the blacksmith, the farmers, and neighbors. But all that was left were their empty houses. The little boy wept, not understanding why his friends left him. The dog howled, wondering where his mate had wandered. But Father and Mother were enraged.

“My village is gone!” Father fumed, “There is only one man to blame and that is Asclepius, he who brought scamming doctors and took my villagers away! How dare he bring earth such foul play!”

“May Asclepius never be praised in this village again!” Mother shouted. “All praise of him would be in vain!”

Well, high above the sky in Olympus, Apollo heard their shouts. Angered by the blame they put on his own godly son, he thought of a plan that would help the family see the weight of their words.

“This family has never fallen ill before, so how could they understand their villagers?” Thought the great healing god, “And to think they have a child that they would not give medicine to if he were ever to fall ill. They must see why my son brought his gifts to men. They will take back their words then.”

Apollo went down to earth and stood in the middle of a field that is home to tall grass and rats. There he took soil in his hands. With a tight squeeze, he compacted the dirt until the dirt became tiny. He then breathed life into the dirt and created a flea. HIGH did the little creature jump away from Apollo. And jumped it did, until it found a rat in the tall grass to feast upon.

Apollo picked up the rat who now housed the flea in his fur. “Go now, my little pests.” he commanded, “Keep north and in the first village you see, you will find a family or four waiting for you. Go to the door of their house and allow the flea to jump off of you.”

Apollo sat the rat back on the ground and the rat scurried off. It walked upon a trail that led north away from the tall grass. In no time, it found the village. The rat tiptoed around the houses and hopped up on window seals to peak into windows. The rat did this until it got to the largest house. There the rat could hear the family, still cursing Asclepius's name.

“Oh flea!” Whined the rat,

“Feast upon my blood no more,

Do not bring me to Hades' door!

May Apollo's arrows get rid of you

For you, I am through!”

HIGH did the flea jump away from the rat, with his belly full of blood. It crawled under the noble house's door and found a large dog sleeping on the entrance rug. It jumped onto the dog and quickly latched on. Awakened by the sharp pain, the dog yelped and ran around the house toppling over vases and stools.

“Oh flea!” howled the dog,

“Feast upon my blood no more,

Do not bring me to Hades' door!

May Apollo's arrows get rid of you

For you, I am through!”

But the flea laughed, “Oh Dog!”

“Feast upon your blood I shall,

Sickness I bring, my pal!

It is Apollo who brought me here

And here I will bring fear!

The dog scrambled across the house until it bumped into the little boy. The boy bent down and scolded his dog. “Puppy, why must you run around the house? Don't you know that Mother and Father will be angry that you broke their lovely vases? Do you wish to see their angry faces?”

“Oh Boy, I am sorry! But a flea jumped upon me and I panicked. Now I feel so ill. Oh I hope a flea cannot kill!” Whined the dog.

“Nonsense. A flea cannot hurt us.” Reassured the little boy.

Little did the boy know that HIGH did the flea jump as he spoke. Crawling onto the boy's fatty arm, the flea latched on. Surprised at the sharp pain the boy cried and ran through the house.

“Oh flea!” bawled the boy,

“Feast upon my blood no more,

Do not bring me to Hades' door!

May Apollo's arrows get rid of you

For you, I am through!”

But the flea laughed, “Oh Boy!”

“Feast upon your blood I shall,

Sickness I bring, my pal!

It is Apollo who brought me here

And here I will bring fear!”

The boy ran through the house until he bumped into his mother, where he latched onto her shirt and sobbed. “Little boy, why do you run and scream throughout the house? Must you wet my pretty blouse?”

The little boy continued to cry, “Oh Mother, I am sorry! But from the dog, a flea jumped onto me. Will it kill me mother? So soon is my life over?”

“Nonsense. A flea cannot hurt us.” Reassured Mother.

Little did Mother know that HIGH did the flea jump as she spoke. Crawling down onto Mother's legs, the flea latched on. Shocked at the sharp pain, Mother yelped and ran through the house.

“Oh flea!” yelled Mother,

“Feast upon my blood no more,

Do not bring me to Hades' door!

May Apollo's arrows get rid of you

For you, I am through!”

But the flea laughed, “Oh Mother!”

“Feast upon your blood I shall,

Sickness I bring, my pal!

It is Apollo who brought me here

And here I will bring fear!”

Mother ran through the house until she bumped into her husband, where she held onto his arm. “Mother, why do you run into my arm? What has set off your alarm?”

“Oh Father, I am sorry! But from our boy, a flea jumped onto me. Will it truly kill me? Could this be fixed by Apollo with a plea?”

“Nonsense. A flea cannot hurt us.” Reassured Father.

Little did Mother know that HIGH did the flea jump as she spoke. Crawling down onto Father's legs, the flea latched on. Jumping at the sharp pain, Father screamed and ran through the house.

“Oh flea!” shouted Father,

“Feast upon my blood no more,

Do not bring me to Hades' door!

May Apollo's arrows get rid of you

For you, I am through!”

But the flea laughed, “Oh Father!”

“Feast upon your blood I shall,

Sickness I bring, my pal!

It is Apollo who brought me here

And here I have now brought fear!”

Father ran out the house's door and fell to his knees outside. HIGH did the flea jump away from the father and hopped away from the village. The flea knew that even when he was gone, his presence would still be felt for in a few days the family fell deathly ill. They're fingers turned as black as night and red, painful sores covered their body. They hacked day and night until finally they could not take it anymore.

“Oh Apollo!” Cried Mother and Father outside of their home, “Please hear our prayer! Rid us of this horrible disease, we beg you! If not us then heal our child! Do not punish our child for the offenses we have committed against you and your son! We are truly sorry, great healing one!”

Well, high above the sky in Olympus, Apollo heard their cries. Quickly, he went down to earth and, shining bright in front of the family, spoke. “Tell me, Mother and Father, how can I heal you if you reject the medicine my son has made to heal you. Why should I exhaust my powers to people that reject them entirely? My son and I had worked together to give these gifts you scoffed at and kept away from your villagers, but now you tell me you want to be healed? Are you wishing to be healed or do you wish for a magic forcefield?”

“Oh great Apollo, we are very sorry. We did not understand the importance of such a gift. We had never experienced such sickness before. I thought tales of misfortune were simply rumors. Please give us this medicine and much more so our villagers can be healthy as well. I pray that with medicine, every human on earth can be swell.”

From behind Apollo, Asclepius emerged. In his hand he held a thin needle. He went up to the family and pricked each member of the family with it. It hurt like the fleas bite, but the effects were much different. The family gasped in awe as they watched their fingers regain their original color and all the sores on their body disappear.

“This is medicine.” Explained Asclepius, “It can come in the form of a needle, a liquid, or a solid, but the effects are largely the same when it comes to illness. Each will help cure you and your villagers of all sorts of ailments.”

Then suddenly, as Asclepius spoke the flea returned. HIGH did the flea jump, aiming for the chest of Apollo's godly son, but he quickly caught it in his hand. When he released it, it appeared that the flea had turned into a woman dressed in red and white robes. “And this woman here will be your doctor.” Asclepius continued.

“She will be the one who will give out this medicine and make more,

So do not worry about going to hades door,

My fathers arrows will strike this sickness down,

Happy shall be this town!”

This is my first time writing something specifically for children so it's probably really corny but oh well 😛 Also don't steal and claim as own work👍!

27 notes · View notes

casssssssi · 3 days ago

Text

One of The Good Ones

Ryan Leonard x reader

warnings; menstrual cycles, fluff

wc; 1,602

summary; Ryan takes care of her while on her period.

a/n; Ryan’s messages are red!

—

Usually they weren’t this bad, but right now, she feels like she’s dying. She can’t get out of bed, hasn’t been able to practically all day. She nauseous, and sweaty, and her body’s sore, and her stupid cramps haven’t gone away. She groans out, barely able to reach over to her bedside and grab her phone. She checks the time, 2:30pm. Ryan gets out of practice at 3. She figures she’ll send him a text so he can come console her… or put her out of her misery, she doesn’t really care which at this point.

| Can you come over after practice?

She hits send. She needs her boyfriend here to get her a heating pad and some chocolate and maybe even rub her back, putting her aching muscles at ease. He was going through his normal routine after practice, talking and screwing around with his teammates. He loved them all, but couldn't wait to go home and spend some alone time with his girlfriend. He felt his phone vibrate in his bag and quickly grabbed it, a smile growing across his face as he read her text.

| Of course, I'll be there in about an hour. Want me to pick anything up?

| Chocolate, the reese’s minis please, and some chips :>

She groans again, turning over to lay herself face down in the pillow.

| You got it ;) any specific kind of chips?

He shoved his phone back into his bag, gathering his stuff. His teammates could tell he was in a hurry, especially after seeing him grinning from ear-to-ear. They were definitely getting on his nerves, teasing him. “Aww, gotta rush off to see your girl?”, a teammate asks, laughing. “Shut up before I kick your ass,” he threatened, jokingly. They all knew he was the toughest on the team when it came to fighting. But the truth is, they were just jealous. He was in a committed relationship while they were all still messing around with the same few girls every week. He finally zipped up his gym bag, slinging it over his shoulder before he waved to his teammates. “Have a good night, assholes!” He shouted as he exited the locker room, heading towards his truck.

| Cheeto puffs

He fishes his phone out again, reading the text as he starts the vehicle. He smiles in response, typing out a quick reply before he pulls out of the parking lot.

| On it. See u soon <3

He turns on the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives the familiar route to her house.

| <3

He stops at a gas station along the way, buying her a bag of both her requested candy and chips, before filling up his tank and heading to her house. When he pulls up to her house, he kills the engine and hops out of his truck. He grabs the bag from the passenger seat, heading up the front walkway. He can see her bedroom light on, knowing that she was probably feeling miserable and curled up in bed. He reaches the door, knocking softly. She obviously doesn’t answer, but takes liberty to just go inside. She’d never been good at locking her door. He lets himself in, shutting the door quietly behind him. He sets the bag down on the kitchen counter before walking down the hall towards her bedroom. He pokes his head in, smiling softly as he sees her curled up in her bed. “Hey baby,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. She just groans in response, face down, buried in her pillow. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. He knew exactly how miserable she was. “That bad, huh?”, he says, sitting himself down on the edge of her bed. He rests a hand on her leg, gently rubbing her thigh. She turns her head to the side so he can hear her speak. “I think i’m dying. It’s like someone’s taking a knife and just stabbing me over and over again.”

He grimaced. He had never experienced period cramps himself, but he could only imagine the amount of pain she was in. “I'm sorry, babe,” he said, continuing to rub her thigh, “I picked you up some chocolate and some snacks. Can I get you anything else? A heating pad?” “Please”, she says and it’s practically a whimper at this point. She’s exhausted and hungry, but she can’t sleep or eat because of the cramps. She has no idea why they’re so bad. Usually, she’s at like MAYBE a 4 on the pain scale, but today, she’s at like a 9. He nodded, getting up from the edge of the bed and heading out of the room. He returns a few moments later with a microwaveable heating pad, a package of Advil, a few bottles of water, her chocolates, and her chips. He sets them all down on the bedside table, gently rubbing her back. “Try sitting up for me.” She groans in discomfort, but manages it anyways. She can feel the way her stomach is basically twitching, trying to find some resting position that stops the pain. He adjusts the pillows behind her, propping her up against the headboard. He then grabs the heating pad, placing it over her lower stomach. He picks up the bottle of Advil, unscrewing the cap and shaking a few out onto his palm. “Open up.” She opens her mouth lazily, just wanting to be able to sleep. She lets him drop the pills onto her tongue and bring the water bottle up for her to drink. She gives him a small smile after she swallows them. “Thanks Lenny”, she says.

He returns her smile, placing the heating pad over her stomach, then running his fingers through her hair. “Of course, baby.” He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You just relax. I'm gonna take a quick shower and then I'll come join you, alright?” She nods, laying herself back down in bed. By the time he gets out, the Advil has started to kick in, and the heating pad is helping to relieve some of the leftover discomfort. Her eyes are closed, and she’s almost asleep. He dries off and throws on some sweatpants and a plain shirt, climbing into bed next to her. He gently pulls her towards his chest, letting her rest her head under his chin and listen to his heartbeat. “You feeling a little better?”, he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Mhm”, she hums softly, opening one eye, half way to look at him. He smiles down at her, brushing some of her hair out of her face. “You're so pretty, even when you're miserable.” He teased softly, tracing light patterns on her waist. “m’not”, she mumbles. Truly she isn’t. She hasn’t been able to to get out of bed to brush her hair, her teeth, or make herself look presentable in any way for him. She’s in bed, messy hair, no makeup, in one of his hoodies and a pair of pajama pants she’s had since she was in middle school. He chuckles. “Yes you are, don't fight me on that.”, he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You're my beautiful, half-dead girlfriend.” He jokes, tightening his grip around her waist, pulling her even closer. She lets out a little laugh at that. “Love you”, she says softly. He smiles. “Love you too, baby.” He presses another kiss to her forehead before burying his face into her hair, inhaling deeply. He always loved the smell of her— a mix of vanilla and her favorite coconut shampoo.

He could tell that she was finally beginning to relax. He gently rubs her back, trying to soothe any remaining discomfort from her cramps. She sighs, pushing back into his touch. Her back is killing her, so his hands working over the muscles there feels heavenly. He could feel the tension in her muscles as he worked his hands across her back. He used his thumbs to apply a bit of pressure, massaging out the knots one by one. “You're so tight,” he murmured, gently kneading the area just below her shoulder blades. That makes her laugh. It’s funny if taken out of context. He chuckles in response, amused at the unintentional innuendo. “I didn't mean it like that and you know it.”, he smacks lightly at her hip, continuing to rub her back. She lets him keep massaging her, working out the tense muscles in her back before she pushes his hands away, coming to lay herself on top of him. He grunts softly as she suddenly plants herself there, the unexpected weight catching him off guard. But he quickly recovers, a grin spreading across his face as he looks up at her. “Well hello there,” he says, his hands instinctively finding her hips. “Nap time”, she says, latching herself onto him like a koala, grip tight as she slots her face into his neck. He laughs softly, wrapping his arms tightly around her as she burrows into him. He loves how clingy she gets, especially when she's not feeling well. “Alright, sleepyhead,” he says, resting his chin atop her head, “Go ahead and take a nap. I've got you.” “Wake me up at 7”, she mumbles, not wanting to sleep too long and not sleep tonight. He chuckles softly at her request. “Okay, baby,” he says, gently rubbing soothing circles on her back, “I'll wake you up at seven.” He relaxes back into the pillows, feeling her body go limp against him as she drifts off to sleep.

—

a/n; This one’s kinda short, but still cute. As always, this is based off of one of my c.ai chats. Requests are open and feedback is greatly appreciated! Love you guys, thanks so much for reading!

#Spotify #hockey x reader #ryan leonard x reader #ryan leonard imagine #ryan leonard #rl9

17 notes · View notes