#like imagine a kettle reaching boiling

[suddenlymicah]

decided to make a test of kinemaster effects and theyre not great and it turned out a bit cringey and its so loud why did i decide to do this

[moonstruckme]

hi!!! i love all ur marauders works they’re seriously so cute and i love how you write them!! idk if you’ve done this one already and if you have just ignore this lol but could you do remus having a nightmare and reader comforting him? ik you’ve done the reverse but i wanna know what he’s like lmao. i need to see more confer remus i can’t get enough

Thank you lovely <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It’s already graying outside the window when you wake. Remus has been having some agitated nights lately, and the dim lighting of the bedroom lets you see that this has been another one. 

You’ve probably woken from the cold, all your sheets and blankets kicked mercilessly to the end of the bed. Remus’ face is twisted up tight, his hands twitching like they’re trying to grab for something, and he’s making soft, distressed little sounds that threaten to crack your heart clean in two. You hate to think how long he’s been like this without you waking. 

“Rem,” you start soft, reaching for his hand as you’ve learned to do. Touch his shoulder or any other part of him and he’s likely to wake jolting, your offending hand gripped cruelly by the wrist. Once, before you’d learned your lesson, he’d kicked himself fully out of bed from the start you gave him. You’d sat in the living room with a hot pack on his tailbone, murmuring apologies back and forth until the sun came up. 

You needle your fingers underneath his gently. “Remus, honey, you’re okay. You’re home.” His fingers twitch closer around yours, and you’re careful not to grab him back even though you want to, running the pads of your fingers down the length of his to loosen them. “You’re safe. You’re at home.” His eyes start to move faster behind his lids. “Rem.” 

That last whisper does it. He doesn’t startle, which is always a victory, but Remus still inhales sharply as he wakes. His muscles seize as though they mean to propel him somewhere, then relax shudderingly. 

You entwine your fingers with his, stay quiet. You know he knows you’re here but he won’t look at you just yet, hiding away the most frantic parts of himself before he’ll let himself turn towards you. You don’t love that he does it. You know better than to push him, though. It unnerves him worse when you try to jimmy your way into his thoughts while he’s still raw like this. 

“Sorry,” he says on an exhale. 

“Don’t be.” You start to stroke up his wrist, but Remus pulls his hand from yours, slipping out of bed and walking from the room. 

You tail him. This is part of your routine, too. You think he likes to give you the option of going back to sleep, though you can’t imagine he’d actually feel any better if you did. He’s fooling himself. (It’s okay; you’re a fool for him sometimes, too.) 

Remus isn’t surprised when you wrap your arms around his middle in the kitchen, resting your cheek against his back. He’s already got the kettle going. 

“How are you?” you ask, though you think you have some idea. He’s still trembling gently under your hands. 

“Alright.” He sets one hand over your two clasped around his front. “You should go back to sleep.” 

You almost smile at his predictability. Remus isn’t usually so stiff around you, but even he has admitted he reverts back to a younger, terser self when he’s feeling vulnerable. You could tell him that you’d have been waking up soon anyway, or that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you knew you’d left him like this, but you go with the truth that you know you’d want to hear. 

“I want to be with you,” you say simply. 

Remus turns in your arms, resting his lips on top of your head. “Thanks, dove.” 

You hum like For what? and step around him as the kettle finishes boiling, grabbing his favorite mug from the cabinet above. Remus lets you take care of him this little bit, but he doesn’t go to sit down in the living room until you’re headed that way too. 

You curl up against him on the couch, your knees tipped over his thighs while his legs bridge the gap between the sofa and the coffee table. He blows the steam off his mug. 

“Do you remember what the dream was about?” 

“Bits and pieces.” Remus’ voice is still a bit raspy with sleep, and you know exactly what he’s thinking when his lips twitch: you’ve told him more than a few times how attractive you find it like this. “I don’t think it’s worth talking about.” 

“Okay,” you say. You’re both speaking softly, like the house itself is still slumbering as morning creeps up on the outside world. After Remus’ nightmare, you imagine he appreciates the peace anyway.

He sighs, looking at you almost sheepishly. “Sorry I’ve been waking you so much lately.” 

“Sorry you’ve been sleeping so horribly lately,” you counter. 

Remus smiles ruefully. “I think it’s all this stuff going on at work. Rude of it to fuck with me even when I’m sleeping, though.” 

You hum, tracing a scar near his elbow with your finger. “I didn’t realize you were so stressed. I’m sorry.” 

“I’ve hardly realized it myself,” he admits. 

You frown, and Remus looks back into his mug, shying from your scrutiny. “Do you think it might help if we relaxed a bit more here?” you ask him. “We could start reading that book together again.” 

His eyes are soft when they meet yours, the color of honey and just as sweet. “That sounds really nice,” he says. 

You smile. It feels good to have a plan. “Hug?” you ask him. 

Remus sets down his tea to make room for you, and you straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands spread out on your back, tentative at first and then firmer as you snuggle up to him. 

“I’ll make cheese toasties and soup tonight,” you say softly. Remus sounds almost like he could purr as you start playing with the hair at his nape. He gives your hips a little tug, getting you closer. “And we can read or watch something or do a puzzle, whatever you feel like when you get home. We could talk about the work stuff, if you wanted to.” You say this last part hesitantly, but Remus hums his approval. 

“You’re so good to me, do you know that?” 

You grin. “I do my best.” 

He huffs a laugh, the sound gruff and heart-squeezing. You lapse into a thin silence, each listening to the other breathe but feeling the beginning of the new day pressing at your windows. 

“We have some time before we’d normally start to get ready,” you try. “Want to stay like this for a bit?” 

“Yeah,” Remus sighs, settling his arms around you more securely. “Yeah, good idea.”

[thatsdemko]

a sleepless night in monaco - c.leclerc

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: Charles leclerc x reader

warnings: just fluff(lmk if I’m missing anything!)

a/n: I’m sure this has been done somewhere along the lines but I didn’t dig deep enough into the ‘f1 imagines’ tag so I apologize! 😅 also feedback is appreciated if you have any🫶 cheers!

tossing and turning, irritation grew that you couldn’t drift into a deep sleep. the cool breeze from outside was blowing the makeshift curtains, that attempted to cover up the night life of monaco into your apartment.

your boyfriend, Charles, was sound asleep beside you. the light snoring escaping his mouth every so often made you smile, but also envious of his slumber. you watched his bare chest rise and fall during each breath, desperately wanting his body against yours, but there was no way of doing so without waking him up.

you let out a soft sigh removing the covers from your body deciding to take yourself somewhere else in order to not wake up Charles. you grabbed your phone off your nightstand, and headed into the living room making sure each step was carefully thought out to not wake up your sleeping boyfriend. but of course, he felt the mattress lighten causing him to stir awake reaching for you, to find you weren’t there.

he got himself out of bed now to go find you. he couldn’t think of a reason why you weren’t in bed with him. there was no argument or night shifts this week, so he couldn’t put a finger to why you were in the living room cozied up under the blankets channel surfing.

“come back to bed.” you heard the groggy soft scratched voice of your boyfriend, coming to the living room to try and take you back to bed with him.

“I can’t sleep, Charles. you have training early in the morning, go back to sleep.” you tried to push him away, but he kept pulling your arm to join him.

“baby, I can’t sleep without you.” he groaned pressing kisses to your hands in hopes of giving you some persuasion to join him. he wasn’t thinking straight after having been awoken from his deep sleep, but he knew with you out here, he couldn’t sleep.

“you’ve been sleeping without me for two nights, Charles. I haven’t been able to sleep.” it was true, you weren’t sure what was getting to you but it was now a third night with no sleep.

“how about I make you some tea? that might help.” before you could answer, he was moving into the kitchen to grab a kettle and adding water. you watched his back muscles flex reaching the top shelf where the tea bag’s sat.

“chamomile or peppermint?”

“you pick.” you yawned snuggling into the couch cushions while a rerun of an early 90s show flickered onto the screen of the television.

he walks away from the kitchen allowing the water in the kettle to boil, and it’s not long before he returns with two sweatshirts. one for him and one for you. he quickly tosses you one hearing the kettle scream, he grabs a mug and a tea bag beginning to make your tea just the walk you like it.

approaching you with the hot liquid contents he hands you the mug carefully, “this has sugar in it?” you ask taking a sip of the bitter chamomile tea.

“no sugar, it’ll keep you awake.” he replies settling down next to you on the couch, tugging some blanket into his lap. you don’t know what you did to deserve him to sacrifice his sleep for you, but you knew you would have to repay him.

“thank you, I owe you.”

he shrugs it off like it was nothing, because truth be told, he would do anything for you. you could be dying and he would retire from his race, that he was winning, just for you. that being said, making you a cup of tea and staying awake until you fell asleep, was not a big deal.

“it’s not a big deal.” he pressed his lips to your cheek watching you yawn and attempt to set the mug down on the coaster, he grabs it for you completing the action.

“now I’m sleepy, should we go back to bed?” you pulling the blanket off his lap draping it around your shoulders, your eyes fighting with sleep now.

“well now I’m awake.” he jokes grabbing the remote to turn off the television and your cup of tea for bed.

“come on, let’s sleep.”

[megalony]

Home Invasion

This is an Eddie x Buck x deaf! Reader imagine based on an anon request and I hope you will all like it. I will be doing a follow up part soon too. Feedback is always lovely.

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

911 Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: When Eddie and Evan are at work, someone breaks into their home and (Y/n) ends up being attacked.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When (Y/n) walked through the hallway towards the kitchen, a tender smile tugged at her lips and her footsteps slowed as she walked through the kitchen doorway.

Reaching her hand out, she dragged her fingertips delicately across the whiteboard pinned to the wall next to the door. The large whiteboard had many small, laminated squares of paper blue tacced to the top of the board in two rows. Each square had a diagram on with writing beneath it and there was a plastic pocket taped to the corner of the board with hundreds more squares stuffed inside.

The board was for Chris.

With his cerebal palsy, Chris was finding it hard to learn and perform sign language. He needed more ways to communicate with (Y/n) when his signs were shaky at best and it took him a long time to form one sentence using sign.

So they got a white board with hundreds of diagrams and words such as morning, hello, dinner, out, car and other vocabs so Chris could string a sentence together for (Y/n) to read. They also had a large laminate poster stuck next to the white board to help remind Chris of simple signs he could use.

Both Eddie and Evan had mastered their sign language courses the moment the three of them got into a relationship together.

(Y/n) could speak, but since she couldn't hear her own voice, she never knew if she was pronouncing words properly, if she was being too loud or too quiet or if she was muttering rather than speaking. Talking made her self-conscious and unsettled and she preferred to use sign language. But Chris was slowly coaxing her out of her shell because he was working on his words and pronouncing too so it was like they were learning together.

And if Chris spoke slowly and tried to keep his lips clear and fluent, (Y/n) was learning to read his lips. His cerebal palsy gave Chris a different way of moving his lips and pronouncing so for (Y/n) it was like learning a new language. But starting to understand Chris's speech meant he didn't always have to try and use sign language. As long as she could understand him and he could understand her signs, they would be able to communicate well together.

A twinkling smile lit up (Y/n)'s face when she looked down at the whiteboard and read the two words scribbled along the centre which was definitely Evan's handwriting.

'Love You!'

(Y/n) smiled to herself as she walked over towards the sink and grabbed herself a cup. She flicked the kettle on and leaned her forearms down on the counter, waiting for it to boil.

It always felt strange to be home alone without any of her boys. Both Evan and Eddie were at work and Chris was at school. (Y/n) never knew what to do with herself when the house work had all been done and she had nowhere to be and no work to be catching up on.

Watching movies weren't as fun without the boys fighting over popcorn and throwing it around the room. (Y/n) figured she could do some art while she had the house to herself with the tv on as a background image to keep her mind occupied.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and slowly trailed from the kitchen through to the dining room. Setting her cup down in the middle of the table, (Y/n) moved towards the cupboard at the far end where she and Chris had their craft boxes.

But just as she kneeled down and went to grab her dark blue plastic box, something caught her attention out the corner of her eye.

(Y/n) turned her head to the left and leaned forward, but she wasn't sure what she had seen, or what she thought she had seen for a fleeting moment.

Her brows narrowed but after a few seconds passed, (Y/n) let out the breath she had been keeping in and turned her sights back to the box in front of her. Maybe she had left the tv on in the living room and the changing colours caught her perceptive gaze. Maybe she had left a window open and the breeze was moving the curtains.

Box in hand, she stood up and moved back to the table and started to rummage through for her paints and a fresh canvas. Evan's birthday was coming up and (Y/n) wanted to make something to go along with the adventure course she and Eddie had booked for him to go on.

Terror ransacked (Y/n)'s body when, just as she had a bottle of paint in each hand, she felt something tangle in her hair.

A hand.

Sharp nails scratched into her scalp. Fingers curled tightly into her locks. Knuckles pressed harshly into her scalp and the force sent her head jolting forward. The movement sent a shockwave running down the base of (Y/n)'s spine and something burned at the back of her throat.

Tears burned in the corners of her eyes as her breaths started to run away without her.

Somebody was in the house.

Both her guys were at work and Chris was at school. No one else should be home except for (Y/n) and she had locked the door when she came home from taking Chris to school.

Someone had broken into their home. And (Y/n) hadn't heard them.

She wasn't sure whether she screamed or if she only made a whimpering sound but all the air pushed past her lips as her hands dropped the tubes of paint onto the table. She flung her arms out behind her and tried to scratch her assailant's arm and thrust her elbow behind her, aiming for whatever she could reach to unarm and hurt them.

Now (Y/n) was beginning to wish she had taken some kind of self defence class or at least joined Eddie and Evan when they went to the gym.

Her eyes snapped shut in panic and (Y/n) tried in the split second she had to brace herself when the hand tightened in her hair and she felt their arm pin down into her back. Whoever was behind her thrust her forward so hard and fast that her forehead bashed into the table, scattering the paints until they rolled onto the floor and (Y/n) could see stars twinkling behind her eyelids.

A roaring scream left her lips and she could feel her throat and lips vibrating from the action as her knees caved and she let go of the assailant to brace her hands on the table and hold herself up.

Tears burned down her face like acid rain and when she felt like he was going to smash her head into the table again, (Y/n) tried to push all her weight back and thrust her head back. She moved until the back of her head hit his chest and winded him enough for him to let go.

She needed to get her phone. She had to grab her phone and get out the house.

(Y/n) pushed herself up onto shaking legs and tried her best to bolt. Her hands grabbed one of the chairs and propelled herself forward while she tipped the chair behind her to try and trip him up and add some distance between them. She used the wall as leverage to push ahead and stop from falling when her knees started to buckle and her body felt desperate to collapse down to the floor.

Why couldn't she have been out when this happened? Why couldn't she be out for a walk or at the shops or even visiting her boys down at the station? Why did someone have to pick their house to rob and at the exact time that (Y/n) was home by herself?

She wasn't sure whether she said no or whether she just screamed something similar when the same rough hands clamped down on her arms and yanked her backwards.

She writhed from side to side, screaming as loudly as she thought she could just in case anyone walked past the house or the neighbours could hear her. It might make the burglar think she could hear him if she was screaming. (Y/n) had no idea if he would target her more if he found out she couldn't hear and could barely pronounce properly.

Her arms thwarted out but she couldn't block off the man's fist when he punched her in her lower chest, effectively knocking all the wind out of her and sending her down to the floor.

Where was her phone? Where had she left it? Surely it had to be close by now that she was in the living room.

Her heart plummeted down into her stomach when her eyes locked on the man as he reached out and grabbed the lamp from the side table. Was he going to try and hit her with that? With the right amount of force to her head he could kill her.

She rolled onto her stomach, scraped her feet against the floor and tried to push up again. Her body slumped over the arm of the sofa and she managed to curl her fingers around her phone before her eyes bulged in their sockets and her head started to thud.

He wrapped the lamp cord around her neck.

She couldn't breathe. The blow to her stomach had restarted her lungs which were gasping for air but now with a thin but strong white cord around her neck pressing into her trachea, she wasn't able to breathe at all. She scratched her nails into her neck deep enough to draw blood when she tried to pull the cord away from her throat and lean back into the man as much as she could to relieve the pressure.

Tears streamed down her face, her lower lip wobbled and her jaw clicked as she gasped. Every nerve ignited with terror and her head felt like it was swelling up with air and about to burst.

She wanted her boys. What would they do? Who was she kidding, Eddie and Evan were double her size and weight, they would have no problem fighting someone off and pinning down their assailant.

All (Y/n) could do was try and throw her head back enough to catch him off guard and keep pushing him back with her dwindling energy. She couldn't stop fighting, she had to keep moving. It didn't matter how much energy and oxygen she wasted. Moving was a better option than pretending to faint and hoping in vain that he might not choke her to death.

Her minimal force seemed to prove worthy when she knocked her attacker off balance and her fingers wormed in between her neck and the cord to allow her to pull it off her neck.

Sucking in a deep breath clouded (Y/n)'s better judgement and stopped her from bolting forward. One step and she would have been able to reach for her phone. But with her eyes blocked by white spots and her lungs heaving, she stopped moving.

Hands grabbed at her arms and a body pushed against her back, sending her falling forward.

She knew she screamed that time. Her body fell through the air and her arms coiled into her chest, hands smothering her face for protection when she landed on the coffee table. (Y/n) couldn't tell whether he had fallen into her but managed to stay standing or if he simply pushed her with all his might. Either way, (Y/n)'s shuddering body broke clear through the glass coffee table.

Her whole right side burned and bounced back off the metal legs and frame of the table. Glass splintered into her skin and imbedded into every inch of her right arm, her neck, forehead and her exposed leg.

When her head smashed into one of the metal legs, everything turned black.

***

"Eddie, Buck, my office please."

Eddie's head turned to the right and his hand tightened around Evan's shoulder when Bobby's voice hit his ears.

What had they done?

He didn't like the look in Bobby's eyes or the way he didn't wait for them, he simply turned on his heels and steam-marched towards his office, knowing they would follow in his shadow.

They hadn't done anything to warrant a private chat in the Captain's office. They weren't messing about or not doing their share of the chores around the station and they had done everything as normal on shift today. Neither of them were being unprofessional either. It was in their agreement with Bobby that they were still able to work together and be on the same shifts together, as long as they remained professional. Their relationship couldn't interfere with their work and they both made sure it never did.

Unease rattled through Evan as he grabbed his shirt from the bench and hurriedly slipped it over his head, folding his arms through the sleeves while he jogged to keep pace with Eddie and follow Bobby.

"Everything okay Cap?" Evan finished up the buttons on his shirt before he settled his hands on his hips. Neither he nor Eddie went to sit down because Bobby wasn't sat behind his desk. He was stood to the side of his desk, one hip jutted out against the corner with his hands tense and stretching at his sides.

If Bobby wasn't sat down, he wasn't very comfortable and that meant this wasn't a friendly chat.

"I've had Athena on the phone, there's been a situation at your house. You both needed to go home."

The pair shared a panicked, nervous look between them before they looked back at Bobby. What the Hell did that mean? What kind of situation? Did they have a fire, a gas leak? A flood? (Y/n) was supposed to be home today, was she alright?

"Uh, what… what kind of situation?" Evan wasn't sure he really wanted to ask but they couldn't go home until they had all the details.

"You've had a break-in."

"But (Y/n)'s at home. Was she hurt?" All of Eddie's muscles tensed up until they felt like elastic bands that were going to snap. He could feel goosebumps prickling across his skin and all the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood up on end.

"She was attacked, Athena said she won't let the medics near her, you both have to go now."

Before Bobby could usher his hands towards the door, Eddie was out the door and halfway down the corridor. His shoulders squared and rose up, his jaw locked so tightly his teeth were grinding down together and his hands were curled up into fists at his sides, desperate to pummel into anything within range.

Someone had broken into their home and attacked their girlfriend. Whoever it was needed to be found and kept away from Eddie before he killed him. (Y/n) wasn't a threat by any means, she was deaf and that made her vulnerable. Someone had gone and attacked her and neither Eddie or Evan knew how badly she had been hurt. They were lucky she hadn't been taken hostage or rushed down to the emergency care unit.

Evan didn't know what to say when the pair of them stormed out into the parking lot and Eddie jumped in the driver's seat of the jeep. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to drive, but Evan didn't have the heart to tell him to switch. He wasn't so sure he would be much better, when his mind wasn't focused he didn't pay attention when he was driving and he could space out. At least Eddie would remained focused and alert.

Evan clenched his hands together and leaned forward, pressing his knuckles against his lips to try and give him something to focus on but he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Do you think she's okay?"

"Don't." Eddie dug his fingers into the back of his head and scrunched up the short hairs in his fist, tugging until his nails scratched into his scalp. He wasn't having this conversation, not until they saw (Y/n) for themselves and knew exactly what they were walking into.

"She might be-"

"Buck! Look, if they haven't managed to get her to the hospital then she's awake and alert. That's a good thing, focus on that." Suddenly Eddie felt like he had told Chris off rather than having a conversation with his partner and when he glanced over, he saw the stern expression on Evan's face. And the flames burning within his blue eyes.

He reached across after a second thought and curled his hand around Evan's thigh, trying to apologise and give him some comfort at the same time.

Neither of them felt good when they pulled up in the drive. Two police cars and an ambulance were parked out front and the front door was swung wide open.

"Athena!" Evan jumped down from the jeep and bolted across the lawn to reach the woman he classed as a motherly figure. She was stood in the doorway, clearly waiting for their arrival with apprehension in her eyes and her signature sunglasses perched on top of her head.

"What happened?" Eddie pressed a hand to Evan's shoulder and side stepped round him to push his way through the door. He didn't like the look of all these officers floating about his home. There was a gurney laid useless behind the armchair and when he stumbled forward, he noticed the two paramedics knelt down on the floor, getting no where near (Y/n) no matter what they tried to do.

"The perp broke in through the back window, from what I can gather, (Y/n) must have caught him in the act. She put up a good fight. Your neighbour called when she found the front door wide open… (Y/n) won't let any of us near her."

Panic bubbled up in Evan's chest when he took in the state of their home, following Eddie into the living room.

The lamp was broken on the floor next to the sofa, a large dint in the shade and the bulb fractured on the laminate floor. Pictures were knocked onto the floor, pens and paint bottles were scattered in the hallway. And the coffee table was a mess.

Only the dark metallic structure of the coffee table was left standing. The glass counter was blown into millions of tiny shards littered all around the floor. Along with a broken mug, a tub of pens, a magazine and the tv remotes all merged in with the glass. But what caught Evan's eye was the puddle of blood right in the centre of the coffee table. Little crimson raindrops scattered across the glass and led a trail across the floor towards the far window.

"Oh fuck, baby!" Eddie crouched down on the floor, trying to be mindful of the blood splatters and fractured pieces of glass surrounding them.

He held his hands out in front of him and waited until (Y/n) lifted her head so she could see he wasn't some stranger trying to hurt her or move her against her will. He could see the paramedics had given up trying. They were sat in front of the tv with their medic bags at their sides, unable to do anything because they couldn't treat (Y/n) against her will no matter what injuries she had.

Tears stained her face but even more flooded her face when she looked up and realised the two people she had been crying for were finally here in front of her.

When Evan knelt down on her right, (Y/n) dropped her knees down to the floor and let her body fall into him. Her head tucked into his chest, her arms stayed cocooned against her chest and a horrid scream left her lips as she started to hyperventilate.

"Shh, oh sweetheart, shhh." Evan wrapped his left arm around her waist and curled his right arm over her chest with his hand cupping her chin. This thumb smoothed across her jaw and lips and his fingers splayed out on her cheek as he tilted his head down and smothered his lips against the top of her head. He knew she would be able to feel his voice vibrate against her skin when he hushed her. He gently swayed them back and forth, brushing his thumb soothingly against her lip and chin.

Her eyes snapped open and for a second her body pushed back into Evan when a tender hand rested on her knee but she realised it was just Eddie trying to get her attention. He needed her eyes open and focused so they could talk.

Eddie waved his index finger in front of his eye before he pointed at his chest.

Eyes on me.

He curled his fingers into a fist except for his index fingers and held his hands in front of his chest, moving his hands together and back like magnets repelling each other before he pointed at (Y/n) and spoke as he signed. "Are you hurt?"

When she nodded, Eddie's chest tightened and he knelt up straighter while he tried to control his expression and remain calm as if he were on the job. But call outs were never this personal.

"Let me see." He pointed at his chest before he pointed at his eyes and moved his finger from his eye towards (Y/n). He had to see what injuries she had so he could help her. She wasn't going to let anyone else near her and for now, she was wrapped up in Evan's arms which would make her feel safer and calm. And if it was Eddie who was patching her up since he was a medic, she would let him help her.

(Y/n)'s chest shook and hitched with each breath before she uncurled her arms from her chest and held them out towards Eddie like she was waiting for him to slap handcuffs on her. She didn't like the way his shoulders slumped and how he bit his teeth deeply into his lower lip with a grimace.

Before Eddie could reach out for her hands, (Y/n) lifted her shaking hands up to sign.

She pointed her index finger out and waved it up and down before she held both her palms out and moved her hands from her chest out in front of her in a forward motion, then finally pointed her finger at her chest.

He pushed me.

When she started to point and shake her hand, Eddie jumped when he heard Evan growl like an animal. Eddie snapped his head round to see what she was pointing at, thinking for a moment that the assailant was somehow back in the room with them. But then it dawned on him. She was pointing and looking at the coffee table. He had pushed her into the table.

"Check her arm, she's bleeding onto my trousers." Evan's voice was an octave deeper than usual and his breaths were coming out harsh and forced.

He didn't lift his head from (Y/n)'s hair and spoke into the top of her head while he continued to rock back and forth, something Eddie guessed was to calm him down more than (Y/n).

Reaching out, Eddie gently cupped (Y/n)'s wrists and pulled them to rest her hands down on his thighs so he could examine her.

"I'm a medic, I need your equipment. Now." Eddie clicked his fingers behind him towards one of the medics and waited impatiently for them to set the bag down by his leg.

(Y/n) had a deep gash down her arm just below her elbow which stretched down towards her wrist and Eddie could see little pieces of glass imbedded into her skin. He needed to tie a turniquet around her arm to cut off the circulation because Evan was right, the blood was pooling down onto his trousers and had been bleeding out for a while. She might have nicked a big artery or vein in her arm and they couldn't have her bleeding out.

Rummaging through the medic bag, Eddie found a deep blue turniquet band that he laid out on his lap before he looked up at (Y/n). He held his left hand out and made a grabbing fist before he stretched his hands out, stuck his thumb and pinkies out on each hand and shook them side to side.

Hold still.

Eddie slipped the band an inch higher than (Y/n)'s elbow and popped the button into the pin hole as tight as he could until the band bit into her flesh and she winced. It had to be tight to cut off the circulation.

Once that was done, Eddie grabbed a pair of tweezers from the bag and began plucking small shards of glass from around the wound. He was relieved only a few little pieces had imbedded into her arm but he knew a doctor would have to take a closer look so they didn't stitch her up with glass still stuck in the wound.

Evan rolled his lips together and began smoothing his thumb up and down (Y/n)'s jaw when she pushed back into his chest and began to cry harder. Her body shook when Eddie poured saline over the wound and cleansed it with an anticeptic wipe.

"There we go," He mumbled quietly when he packed gauze against the wound and wrapped a roll of bandage around her forearm.

With a deep breath, Evan moved his head down to brush his nose against (Y/n)'s cheek and his eyes followed her right hand when she motioned her finger up and down near her waist. She'd hurt her leg. He moved his hands to cup (Y/n)'s hips and he gently eased her back into his chest while Eddie held the back of her knees and slowly straightened her legs out so he could assess them.

Shuffling forward beside (Y/n)'s legs, Eddie carefully cupped (Y/n)'s face and tilted her head down so he could check the cut on the right side of her temple. It didn't look to have any glass stuck in it and it wasn't deep enough to require stitches. But just as Eddie smile and kissed her cheek, his smile faded and he pressed his fingers beneath (Y/n)'s chin and tilted her head back until the back of her head was pressed against Evan's shoulder.

"Did he strange you?" Eddie's voice shook and he was glad (Y/n) couldn't hear the tremor in his tone while he hovered his right hand over his neck.

Pulling back, Evan leaned around to look down at (Y/n)'s neck and tears welled in his eyes when he noticed the thin, discoloured line around her neck. And his eyes followed (Y/n)'s hand as she held it up, pressed her fingertips against her thumb then flicked her fingers out.

Lamp.

He'd strangled her with the lamp wire.

"We're taking you to hospital." Eddie pressed his index and middle finger to his shoulder and swiped his fingertips down his arm in a straight line, then a sideways line across for the hospital symbol.

***

Evan pulled his shirt over his head and ran his fingers through his hair before he turned around to face the bed. A tender smile formed on his lips and he moved to stand near the end of the bed to face (Y/n) who was perched cross-legged in the middle of the bed.

"I have to go to work now, baby." He curled his hands into fists, held his left hand out and moved his right fist in a circular motion above his hand before he brought his fist down to rest on his left wrist. The sign for work.

He watched (Y/n) push up onto her knees and crawl across to the end of the bed where he was standing. His lips curved up when (Y/n) looped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the middle of his chest. The sudden affection was more than welcome and Evan buried his face in the top of her head, breathing in her scent as his palms pressed down on her lower back. His elbows bedded into her waist and he moved to press his cheek against her hair.

He could feel the bandage on her arm rubbing against his neck and it made him shiver. Eddie had wrapped a fresh bandage around her arm every day for the past four days since the incident because (Y/n) had started to scratch the stitches absentmindedly when they itched and she was at the point of tearing them out. A bandage was the only way to stop her from making the wound worse.

When (Y/n) pulled back and tilted her head up, Evan moved his hands from her waist to cup her neck, his thumbs brushing across her jaw before he leaned down to steal a kiss.

He sucked her lip between his teeth and gave a sharp tug, relishing in the way her fingers suddenly dug down into his back.

Evan pulled back when (Y/n) scratched her nails into his back and nuzzled her nose against his before she unravelled her arms from his neck. She shuffled back a small pace so she could hold her arms out in front of her and Evan's face softened as he went back to cupping her hips instead. Waiting patiently for her to sign something to him.

Her hands held out in front of her with her index fingers pointed out and she raised her arms up to her chest, and then tapped her chest. Her hands then curled into fists with her thumbs stuck up as she rubbed her clenched fingers together. Then finally tapped the end of her finger into Evan's chest.

Can I come with you.

Evan's brows creased and his smile started to fade. Why did she suddenly want to come down to the station with him? He was going on shift, not going out to see the team for a night out. And Eddie was still on shift, he would be finished in two hours and would be on his way home to her.

"Why?" Pressing his fingertips to his temple, Evan then pulled his hand down and curled his fingers, leaving his thumb and pinky sticking out.

(Y/n) gulped loudly, flitting her eyes around until they settled on staring at Evan's chest as her fingers curled and she rubbed her hand in a circular motion over her chest. 'Please.'

"Why, baby?" When she didn't answer, Evan's jaw tightened and his shoulders hunched. He stuck his thumb and pinky out again with the rest of his fingers curled up and pressed his curled fingers against his chin and then pulled his hand away. "What's wrong?"

Unease rattled through Evan when (Y/n) simply repeated the same thing again, without looking him in the eye. Deep down she had to know Evan wasn't going to say no to her but she also had to know that he needed to know what was wrong. He wasn't going to ignore this or pretend she was coming down to the station for a visit when he could see the panic bubbling up in her eyes.

Curling his thumb into his palm, Evan kept his hand straight with his fingers tense and waved his hand from his chin in an outward motion before he pointed at his chest. "Talk to me."

A trembling set in throughout (Y/n)'s body when Evan's hands went back to holding her hips and he tilted his chin down to look at her properly. He hated the panic in her eyes but not as much as (Y/n) hated what she was about to sign. She didn't want to admit what was rattling around in her head but the more she thought about it, the more her body started to shake and tears started to trace down the bridge of her nose.

Sticking her pinky out, she pressed her hand into her chest, then stuck her index and middle finger into a crooked position before bringing her arms up and crossing her wrists in front of her.

Tremors set in her body by the time she curled her ring finger beneath her middle finger, left her other fingers stretched out and rubbed her ring finger around her chest.

Tears burned in the corner of Evan's eyes when he watched his girl cross her arms over her chest with her hands on her shoulders, then uncrossed them and held her hands up by the sides of her head into clenched fists.

'I don't feel safe.'

(Y/n) let her arms flop across Evan's shoulders and wrap tightly around the back of his neck when he pulled her into his chest. His hand pressed tightly into her lower back and his other hand moved to cup the back of her thigh. In one swift motion, Evan lifted her up from the bed and hoisted her onto his hips. Pinching her thigh until she got the hint and wrapped her legs around his worso with her heels resting comfortably between his hips.

He pressed his lips to the side of her head, sighing against her skin before he peppered hundreds of kisses to her temple when she quivered and started to whimper into his neck.

He should have seen this coming.

He and Eddie had taken the last four days off work to be home with (Y/n), neither of them wanted to leave her when the moment they came home from the hospital, she had a panic attack on the doorstep.

They had spent the last few days calming her down, helping with the panic she felt whenever she caught something out the corner of her eye. They stopped her scratching her arm, held her when she cried and wedged her between them during the night so she wouldn't wake during the night feeling afraid.

But it didn't dawn on Evan that (Y/n) would be this panicked about being alone. Eddie would be home in just over two hours. They both thought that was a small amount of time and (Y/n) might be okay being alone until he came back. Clearly they had been wrong. They should have thought about this more and prepared for this situation happening.

Evan nudged his nose against (Y/n)'s cheek until she got the hint and lifted her head to look up at him.

"I'll keep you safe." He spoke slow enough that (Y/n) was able to read his lips so he didn't have to let go of her. He tightened his hand around her thigh and leaned forward, burying his face into her neck with his lips sucking a mark into her skin.

He would keep her safe. He and Eddie would look after her and make sure nothing bad ever happened to her again. They hadn't been here when she got hurt the first time, but they weren't making that mistake again. And Evan knew they couldn't stay with (Y/n) twenty-four seven no matter how hard they tried, but they would do their best.

For now, Evan would take her with him to work and she could wait at the station until Eddie's shift finished and she could go home with him.

[mothandpidgeon]

The Outlaws (outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader) - Chapter 3

Moth's Masterlist - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates an turn on notifications so stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ MDNI)

wc: 3.2k

summary: Wanted for murder with a bounty on your head, your only hope of escaping the Pinkerton detectives is an outlaw named Joel Miller and his sidekick Ellie. But Joel has other plans for you.

tags: old west au, enemies to lovers, grumpy Joel, handcuffed together, only one bed, riding a horse together, one mention of pee, hand touching, strip tease I guess, Tommy and Maria, morally grey characters, reader has backstory, moth never uses y/n

authors note: Been holding onto this chapter since I haven't finished the next one but I really want to share this with you! Thank you @ezrasbirdie for beta and helping me untangle this mess and being the wind beneath my wings.

There are six links in the chain that separate you from Joel Miller. You count them over and over again. As you lay awake by the dying campfire. When he rattles them just after dawn to rouse you from the sleep you’d finally fallen into. While you drink the rancid coffee he boils over the fire.

You imagine them leaving an imprint on Joel’s tanned neck. Red, purple, bruising his skin as you use it to choke him to death.  

You spend the morning following him to and fro as he and Ellie pack up camp. 

“You know how to whistle?” Ellie asks you. 

She’s been sticking her forefinger and thumb between her lips trying to get a sound out of them. 

“Afraid not,” you tell her. 

“You’re with me,” Joel says. He stands beside his horse, hand on his hip. 

“I have to wear this damn bracelet the whole way?” you ask. 

He nods. 

“Do you think I’m crazy enough I’d jump off a horse?” you ask. 

His eyes rake up and down your body and you try to ignore the heat that flashes across your skin. “Yep.”

Once he’s in the saddle, he hauls you up behind him. Not like you have much choice. 

“You go for my gun and—“

“I know, I know,” you tell him. 

You have ample opportunity to study the outlaw, at least the back side of him, as you ride behind him. He’s broad and sits tall in the saddle like he was born for it. You watch his shoulders under the fabric of his shirt, tempted to smooth your palms over them. With your wrists connected, you’ve got to keep your hands at his middle. His narrow hips roll with the movements of the animal beneath him, and you grip onto his shirt imagining how powerful it would feel to take him from behind. 

He barely acknowledges you. There are a couple of times when you rest your cheek against his back just because you know it’ll annoy him. It works. He looks over his shoulder at you and you can hear the grumble vibrate through his body. 

The three of you ride all day, stopping only twice to stretch your legs. Both times, Joel helps you down with his hands on your waist. You shouldn’t enjoy it as much as you do but his hands are big and his eyes dart away from yours. He stops touching you as quick as he can, as if you’re a hot kettle that might burn his fingers.

Your amusement is short lived as you have to suffer the indignity of squatting behind a bush with your arm outstretched towards fucking Joel Miller while you take a piss. 

It’s dusk when you reach your destination— an old two-story roadhouse with a sign that reads The Dusty Boot. There’s nothing else around but a barn, an outhouse, and open country. Seems like an ideal place to keep a hideout. 

Joel hands you down from the saddle again but before you head inside, he rounds on you. 

“Now listen here, missy,” he says. “When we go in there, you keep that trap shut. No talking about bounties or the like. Not a peep out of you. Understand?” Joel asks you. 

You twist your pinched fingers in front of your lips as if you’re locking your mouth the same as your wrist is locked in that cuff. It’s a command you have absolutely no intention of following. 

By the frown on his face, it seems he knows that. 

“And you let me do the talking,” he tells Ellie. 

“Maria’s got a stick up her ass,” she laughs. 

“Ellie,” Joel scolds. 

“You said it yourself!” she says.

Joel sighs and trudges forward, dragging you along with him. 

The inside of the Boot is cozy and rustic. There’s a large parlor with a number of tables, the paneled walls are decorated with antlers and horse shoes. After a full day bouncing on horseback, you’d love to sit your ass down in one of the winged back chairs in front of the fireplace. Most importantly for your new companions, the place is empty. If there are other guests, they’re up in their rooms. 

At one end of the room, a man in an apron with a rag thrown over his shoulder stands behind a modest bar. 

“Hey, brother!” he calls, a smile lighting his face. 

You can see a resemblance between the two men– the same dark eyes and tan complexion, though Joel’s has been kissed by the sun.

“Tommy?” you whisper to Ellie. 

She nods. 

Tommy’s as slim as Joel is broad and he looks a bit younger. If Joel ever bothered to smile maybe he’d lose a few years off his face, too. 

“Been a while, stranger,” he says. “How’s it going, kid? Still giving him hell?”

“We need a place to lay low for a bit,” Joel says, cutting the pleasantries. 

You’re not sure if Tommy’s disappointed that this isn’t a social call but he nods and says, “Yeah, alright. You gonna introduce me to your lady friend?”

Joel bristles at the suggestion that you might be anything other than his prisoner. You give a smile and lift your fingers to your brow as if to tip your hat. As you do, the chain rattles obnoxiously and Joel glares at you.

“What the hell, Joel!” Tommy’s jovial expression has transformed to a look of horror.

“She’s got a bounty on her. I’m taking her to Jackson,” Joel explains. 

“Maria ain’t gonna be happy about that,” Tommy says. 

“Isn’t going be happy about what?” 

A lean woman has appeared at the top of the stairs. She stands tall, shoulders back with a cool air. Her simple, grey dress is neat and spotless just like, you note, the room around you. 

Joel quickly takes his hat off. He nudges Ellie to do the same. He’s tense and you can’t tell if he resents this woman or he’s afraid of her. Maybe a little of both. 

You like her. 

She sighs heavily as she descends the steps. 

“Tommy, please tell me I’m seeing things because it looks to me like your brother has a woman shackled to himself in my parlor,” she says. 

“You ain’t,” Tommy replies. He sounds just as exasperated. 

Maria sizes you up with a look that’s half pity, half disdain. She’s a beautiful woman. Deep brown skin and sharp, appraising eyes. You can only imagine what she thinks of you. A night sleeping in the dirt can’t have done you any favors and certainly neither did a day bouncing around on horseback. 

“How’d she get that bruise, Joel?” Maria asks.

You stroke the spot on your face gently as though it really hurts. In truth, you’ve pretty much forgotten that it’s there.

“She came by it on her own,” Joel says.

“That true, darlin’?” Tommy asks you, his voice full of concern. 

Joel’s face contorts in what you can only describe as disgust that his brother would think him capable of such a thing.

You give a noncommittal shrug.

“That’s courtesy of the Pinkerton man she was with before we picked her up. Joel gave him what for,” Ellie explains.

Tommy nods. 

“We’re just wanting a couple nights to keep our heads down. Ain’t nothing we ain’t asked for before,” Joel says.  

“That’s fine. If you unlock her,” Maria says. 

“She’s a murderer. You want me to let her loose around your nice customers?” Joel asks. 

“I’ve already got three criminals in here. What’s one more?” she says. 

“Come on, Joel. Let her be,” Tommy says. “She ain’t gonna give you the slip. Are you, darlin’?”

“Well, if given the opportunity—“ you admit. 

“Joel, take that damn cuff off her. And you,” Maria turns on you, “give him your word you won’t try to run while you’re under this roof. Or so help me god I will throw all three of you out.”

“The hell did I do?” Ellie asks. 

You’re beginning to understand why you sensed fear on Joel. For a second there, you’re more afraid of enduring her wrath than you are facing the executioner. 

“Yes, ma’am,” you say almost involuntarily. 

“Shake on it,” Tommy suggests. 

You extend your hand to Joel with a saccharine smile. Tommy’s obviously gone soft since he left the gang if he believes somebody like you would be beholden to a handshake promise. It’s sweetly naive. 

Joel’s thinking the same thing. You can see it all over his face. He grinds his molars. 

“You do what I say when I say it,” he insists. 

“Sure thing, boss,” you say. 

He shakes your hand.

Joel watches your every move. 

He’s been wanting to get Tommy aside to talk but he doesn’t dare to take his eyes off you. You’re unleashed and eager to run and he’s not willing to lose his bounty just because his sister-in-law is so sanctimonious.

“Hey, Tommy. Why did the cowboy go to the doctor?” Ellie asks.

Evening has descended on the Boot. A stage coach pulls in for the night. Its two passengers take their supper at the bar while their driver warms his hands at the hearth. Ellie and Joel sit across from you in the corner, bowls of hot stew on the table. Hers is empty before Joel’s even managed to bring his spoon to his lips. 

Joel notices things about you. He wishes he would stop noticing how attractive you are. 

Your eyes are sharp and fast. He can tell you’re making note of anything and everything that might help you escape. You massage at your wrist which is now naked with delicate fingers. You lick your lips jealously when Tommy sets a whiskey down in front of his brother. 

You don’t have good table manners. The way you stab at potatoes is particularly violent. You probably wish those tines were going into his eyeball.

“How come?” Tommy asks. He wipes his hands with his bar rag, eyes twinkling with delight. 

“He was feeling a little hoarse!” Ellie cackles. 

Joel shakes his head. The kid is a handful but she’s grown on him. Her puns have not. 

He looks up to find you smirking. Not because you find the joke funny. No, you’re laughing at Joel. 

He reaches across the table and puts his hand around yours. He shouldn’t touch you again, not since he shook your hand and felt the softness of your skin on his. He spent all day with you practically pressed against his back, getting hints of lavender each time he turned his head in your direction. Such a sweet scent for somebody like you. It’s been a long time since he felt the weight of a woman on him. His body doesn’t know that you’re as dangerous as a mountain lion and slippery as an eel. It just cares that you’re pretty and you’re closer than you ought to be. And it wants more of that. 

Your muscles tense around the horn handle of your fork. Joel unwraps your fingers from the utensil, focusing on the task at hand not the feel of you under his fingertips or the wide eyed stare you give him. His heart is beating double time when he replaces your pointed fork with a spoon. 

Your shoulders soften when he releases you. You remind yourself to sit up straight. 

“Enough jokes,” Joel tells Ellie.

“He ain’t no fun,” Tommy laughs. 

You continue to keep your big eyes on Joel as you finish your stew. 

“That was good eating Miss Maria,” you say when she clears bowls from the table. “I don’t rightly remember the last time I had a proper meal.” 

You’re a fool if you think you’ve got an ally in Maria. Just because she got you unlocked doesn’t mean she thinks you’re anything better than trash. Her daddy was a justice of the peace and she’s never taken kindly to criminals either. It still vexed him that she’d fallen for Tommy but then again she blamed Joel for all of his brother’s failings. 

“I know a thing or two about cooking. I’d be happy to lend a hand,” you tell her. 

Joel lets out a sharp laugh. Your voice is sweeter than Joel’s heard and you're laying it on thick buttering Maria up. 

“What’s funny about that?” you demand. 

“You don’t know a thing about cooking but I’m sure you’d like to get a knife in your hand,” Joel says. 

“As a matter of fact, I do know how to cook. More than cowboy beans,” you spit. 

“I appreciate the offer. It'd be nice to get a hand in the kitchen for once,” Maria says probably just to get a rise out of him. 

“That’s too bad. I ain’t letting you out of my sight,” he says. 

He stands, stretching out the sore muscles in his lower back. 

“Got the front room for ya,” Tommy says. “I’m guessing you’re not looking to sleep in the common room.” He glances towards the other guests. 

Joel and Ellie have stayed amongst the strangers in the big room on the second floor when the rest of the private accommodations are taken. With you ready to bolt, though, it’s not an option. 

“I want my own room. Take it out of my share,” Ellie tells Joel when he gives her a stern look. “I’m sick of listening to you snore.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Maria says. 

Despite her contempt for their criminal lifestyle, Maria dotes on Ellie. Like she’s leaving a saucer of milk out for a feral cat, hoping one day it’ll come inside to lay by the fire. “Tommy’ll set that up for you.”

“I’ll bunk with the kid,” you say. 

“Nice try,” Joel says. 

“Ain’t this cozy,” you say. 

You’ve stepped into the room you’ll be sharing with Joel. 

Cozy’s one way of putting it. There’s barely enough space to open the door without hitting the iron framed bed. Beside that is a night stand with a porcelain wash basin, a chair, and a window. There’s about two paces of open floor in either direction. It’s hardly big enough for the both of you. 

But that works to Joel’s advantage. He doesn’t want you going far. 

As soon as the door shuts behind him, he clamps the handcuff around your wrist once again. 

“Come on now,” you whine. “What about our truce?”

“That’s for Maria’s benefit. And she ain’t here,” Joel says. 

You’re well beyond arguing and rolling your eyes. 

“Well you can’t expect me to sleep in these dirty clothes again. Can you at least give me my arm for a minute so I can get out of ‘em?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes travel over you and he swirls his tongue over his teeth. It’s not a difficult decision for him. If you want to undress and lay in bed in your underthings, he’s not going to stop you. He unlocks the cuff and moseys over to lean against the door. You’re not going to run out of there.

“You going to stand there and watch?” you ask, fingers pausing at the buttons on the top of your bodice.

Joel presses his shoulders against the door, making himself comfortable.

“How do I know you ain’t got a weapon in them petticoats?” he asks.

“If there was, you’d already be dead,” you say. 

He lets out a chuckle. 

“Suit yourself,” you say.

A cool smile comes over your features. You continue undoing the buttons as you turn towards him so he can see you straight on. Slowly, you reveal what’s underneath– the lines of your corset, a sweet ribbon at the top of your chemise, and an expanse of decolletage. You slide the bodice off of your shoulders and toss it onto the floor, then continue on to your skirts.

“That brother of yours is handsome,” you tell him. One skirt falls away. “Did he leave you for that woman or she come after that?”

Joel doesn’t answer. You don’t seem to care.

“She don’t like you,” you tease.

You square him with defiant eyes, inviting him to look, daring him to stay in control. More flesh is revealed. Your blue corset presses the swell of your breasts above the chemise and you bend forward to give him a little show. Ripe, soft. He salivates. 

Joel tries not to enjoy himself too much. He shouldn’t. And not just because this could easily turn into a trap. 

“She don’t like you neither,” he says.

You shrug.

He could have you any which way he wanted with just the promise of letting you go. He wouldn’t even have to do it. Just say the word and you’d get on your knees for him. It doesn’t feel right, though, taking advantage of somebody so desperate. So he just watches, trying to keep his features indifferent as each piece of frilly fabric hits the floorboards. He hooks his thumb into his gun belt, hoping that it might obscure the growing strain in his dungarees.

By the time you’re undoing the metal fasteners at the front of your corset, he’s biting down on the inside of his cheek. He tastes blood when there’s nothing more separating him from your body than a gauzy chemise and cotton drawers.

You go to the wash basin and splash water on your face and neck. Some droplets fall and make your chemise cling to your damp skin.Y ou moan happily, refreshed. The noise is obviously exaggerated but it still makes Joel ache.

You linger like that for a moment, lazily swaying your bare shoulders. Finally, you step towards Joel, crowding him against the door. The space between the two of you is hot and his breath shallows. He can see the outline of your peaked nipples beneath the flimsy material. The thought passes his mind again, how easy it would be to toss you back onto the mattress and help himself to all of you.

You raise your hand to him and for a moment, he’s forgotten what’s going on here. The sly grin on your lips tells him that you’re well aware of the effect your nearly naked body is having on him. He swallows and slips the cuff around you again. His knuckles graze the inside of your wrist as he locks it. Delicate, warm skin.

Pleased with yourself, you crawl onto the bed. Joel wills his cock to behave as he slips out of his boots and coat. He soaks his bandana in the wash basin and cools the back of his neck. Once he’s in his union suit, he sets his holster down on the floor beside his pillow and swings his legs into the bed. He locks himself to you and tucks the key next to his gun.

“Well ain’t this romantic,” you say from your spot against the wall. “Feels like my wedding night all over again.”

Joel stares at the ceiling. The bed’s a tight fit, his shoulders touch yours when he lays on his back. You’re leaned on your elbow smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He smells that lavender again. 

He rolls onto his side, away from your leering. You laugh to yourself as he squeezes his eyes shut for a very long night.

Comments and reblogs always appreciated!

Chapter 4

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[two-white-butterflies]

wanting was enough | a. targaryen

Description: Aegon Targaryen falls for his father's caretaker. Loosely based on Knives Out. Rating: 16+

Aegon couldn't understand why his father loved everyone except his own children. He couldn't understand why Viserys' eyes would soften around his adopted children (namely Rhaenyra), but never around his trueborn ones. It was frustrating, but he knew that trying to fight against it was impossible. It was a losing game.

"How's dad?" Helaena inquires, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

Everyone could hear Viserys' complaints of pain last night. Old age was a bitch. Aegon could only pray that his father dies soon - at least they'd be left with money - but alas, bad grass die slow.

"Don't know. Wasn't allowed inside." he answered, taking the mug out of the counter - stealing his sister's coffee before she could take a sip. "I'll ask (your name) then," Helaena replies - rolling her eyes as he takes a sip of her sweetened cup of joe.

His eyebrows bumped into each other.

"Who?" he inquires - unfamiliar with the name. "Dad's nurse, apparently he's paying for her uni. She wants to be a doctor." Aemond barges into the room, pushing his siblings away as he boils water for their mother's tea.

Aegon snorts.

"I wasn't aware that our father ran a fucking foundation." he complains. Why was Viserys paying for another person's education when he didn't want to pay for his?

"I don't give a fuck about it - but the nurse is kinda hot." Aemond ponders - a pout was on his lips, contemplating on whether or not he'd 'tap' that. "I'll see where it goes." he smirks, already imagining your lips around him.

"Disgusting," Helaena shakes her head - pouring herself another cup of coffee, making sure to add a lot of creamer in order to avoid the bitter taste. "Hel, everyone knows that you swing both ways - I'm pretty sure she's hot in a female gaze too." Aemond nods his head - like they were talking about a celebrity and not a fucking girl that was sharing the same room as them.

"I'll be the judge of that," her eyes narrowed, and the kettle began to boil. Aemond lets out a sarcastic chuckle, holding the pot in his left hand and stealing his sister's coffee with the other. "Thanks, Hel." he grinned, walking out of the kitchen before Helaena could hit his head.

Aegon clenches his jaw at the sight of you. Beautiful - that he almost forgot what his name was.

"Viserys is alright. He had a bit of a back pain last night." you smiled at his mother - eyes dazzling and joyous.

What did it feel like to be happy all the time?

Your eyes trail towards him - scanning his shirtless body with hidden intention. He didn't have abs or anything - his stomach was round and perfect. Enough to leave a lot to imagination. Aegon's eyes widen, realizing that he was just wearing his towel.

Alicent turns to look behind her.

"Umm mom, where did you put my clothes?" he scratched the back of his head. This wasn't a pleasant first meeting.

"They're in the laundry room, (your name). Can you get them?" Alicent tilted her head. You reply with a nod - immediately walking and retrieving his clothes.

He paces back and forth in his room, feeling the water drip down his body. He felt embarrassed that you saw him that way - but also slightly happy because he could see that he was your type.

A knock on the door breaks him from his thoughts.

He opens the door quickly, peaking his head through and meeting your eyes. "Here are your clothes! I ironed them, I'm sorry it took so long." you smile at him and his hand reaches to touch his shirt.

It was warm, that means that you weren't lying.

"That's okay," he kept staring at your eyes - finding himself drawn in by their beautiful hues. "Is there anything else you need help with?" you raise both of your eyebrows and he shakes his head.

"T-thank you," he stuttered - not used to saying that word.

It was the evening of Helaena's birthday. The young guests were drunk - and the old guests were either sleeping upstairs or home. Aegon couldn't find himself drinking alcohol - it was too familiar to his father - too familiar to feel safe.

His eyes drift towards the dance floor - where you were joyfully dancing with one of his ex-classmates.

He knows who that man is - Cregan Stark. A younger boy who was accelerated into his section. He hates him. Cregan was cocky, arrogant, and too sure of himself - basically a copy of Aegon.

His jaw clenches - seeing you grind against him like a whore in heat. He wanted that for him - he wanted you to do that to him.

"Close your mouth. You're inviting flies," Alys sits beside him - a small glass of champagne was on her hand. His eyes glance towards her - he was unaware that she was invited. After her messy breakup with Aemond - she was basically excommunicated from the entire family.

"New girl huh? Aemond told me that she's a nurse," Alys ran her finger around the rim of the glass.

Ah, they got back together.

"What about it?" he answered bitterly - keeping that wall high and unreachable. "According to my experience, nurses are good fucks. They're a little bratty though - since they were mean girls in high school." she teased, searching for emotions in his stoic face.

"She's from a foreign country. She doesn't look like the type to be mean." he replied and a small chuckle exits the woman's mouth. "Good, you know something about her." she slumped on the chair - looking at you while you stop dancing.

"You're welcome," she whispers in his ear - standing up as you began marching towards him. His eyebrows merged into each other for a moment, totally clueless of what Alys did for him.

"Who was that?" you ask cautiously - hands on your hips and staring at him with an accusatory glare. "Alys, and why do you care?" he tried his best to be hard to get. "I don't care, I was just asking." you reasoned - looking away from him.

There was a weird feeling inside your chest - like you wanted to stab someone and hide their body in the mountains.

"People typically don't ask unless they care," he pointed out, smiling to himself as you walk away.

Thank you, Alys.

You ignored him the following day. Cleaning around his room while ignoring his words of complaint. "Get that thirty bro," he yelled into the mic - prepared to render his cousin deaf with the screaming.

"Baela, I swear to fucking god - if that was a snake it would've bit you already." he cursed again - killing the enemy with ease. "Don't scream at me. I saw it but you KS'ed me." the girl replied in an angry tone.

"I didn't KS you. You were lagging - tell Uncle Daemon to buy better internet." he trashtalked. Staring at you while he belittled his cousin.

Was that a turn off?

Was he being icky?

"Bitch please, tell your ugly ass dad to stop subscribing to satellite network." Baela rolled her eyes, stealing her uncle's kill.

"You're the one stealing my kills, fucking hypocrite buy yourself a new personality." he groaned and his cousin turns her camera on - flashing him two middle fingers.

He rolls his eyes, seeing that Baela disconnected again.

"I swear to god," he mumbled - turning his gaming chair around, and his eyes meet with yours. You were holding a basket filled with his clothes. "Can I help you?" he frowns, still frustrated with the game.

A small laugh exits your mouth.

"Is something funny?" he takes the headphones off. "It's amusing to see you frustrated over Fortnight." you snort - still fighting off a round of laughter. "You wouldn't understand," he rolls his eyes.

"Oh simpletons will never understand fortnight. It is deeply profound and must be studied by scientists." you exaggerated.

He couldn't fight the smile on his lips.

@pearlstiare @sweethoneyblossom1@tinykryptonitewerewolf @cheri-ladyy @watercolorskyy @bellastwd @nyctophilicvitnir @fan-goddess

[annwe24]

KINDRED serie

LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X READER

Part 1

Summary: The past still haunts him as a painful reminder of being played at love. Even with such opportunity, Lucifer refuses to open up his heart.

People often say death is the well-deserved eternal rest after a life of hardship. That, unfortunately, has been proven wrong. Hell is like a punch in the face for those who seek escapism in the afterlife, leaving undone business to the living. So why the Hell would sinners be able to redeem themselves in the first place? Lucifer frustratedly thinks to himself. He is totally baffled at the idea. Even, hypothetically at best, they somehow made it into heaven, would they be accepted? However, seeing how determined his daughter is, it would break his heart to not support her only grand goal in life. He hates how he cares enough to awkwardly pour tea into your teacup with a shaky pinky at the moment. Charlie has been pushing him to leave his usual working desk to spend time socializing. It's a bonding exercise, she said. Given how well-mannered you usually are, he is glad she chose you instead of the other sinners. Ah, you. Always so caring, always so polite, always so-

Your Majesty, your tea is getting cold.

Coughing loudly, he drinks all the tea in his cup at once and silently cringes at himself.

Sorry, I’ve been having too many thoughts these days. Many things, you know.

Is there any way I can help? I noticed you’ve been so paranoid lately, I’m just worried but of course! You don't have to agree to that just because I ask you but please don't feel pressured to keep everything to yourself because I know-

Hey, it's alright! I understand your sentiment.

He softly cuts you off seeing that you are getting worked up. You always have this rather odd excitement for helping people. Your kindness stands out too much compared to others, something almost too pure. A question he's been asking himself lately is how did you end up here. It has been fun contemplating the possibilities during his free time, imagining your sweet face distorts into madness. Wait, what? Sweet face?

…

The fuck is your problem? He knows good people, even a rarity, still exist in this hellhole. Not all good people end up in Heaven, something Lucifer has long accepted. The problem is your goodness is absurd. Ever since your arrival at the hotel, it is clear that you are one of the most eager helpers, going as far as taking Charlie’s exercises almost too seriously. It irritates him to no end how you are so easily exploited.

He noticed many guests at the hotel use you as an errand runner unknowingly from time to time. There is certainly no malicious intent underneath, they themselves don't even realize that. It’s just that you are too easy, too gullible. Angel Dust is one glaring example. He has been known to ask you to fetch him stuff when he is “too fragile and sore due to overwork”. In reality, he sleeps through the afternoon and just gets too lazy. Lucifer can't help but find you suspicious. Afterall, who is going to trust someone in Hell, suffers memory loss, no identity and came to this hotel saying they wanted “a second chance”. He is determined to see through your facade, peeling you out like an onion.

Ouch!

A loud yelp followed by the squeaks of a hundred rubber ducks echo though his mansion. He quickly puts down the boiling kettle and dashes to his room. Piles of rubber ducks scatter across his room with you being the center of it all, dumbfounded. Panic reaches your eyes as you stand up hastily and say small “sorry” over and over. You look like you're about to cry.

Lucifer calmly squeezes through piles of rubber duck to get to you and places an assuring hand on your shoulder:

It’s nothing I can't fix. Here!

With a snap of his finger, the ducks magically fly back into place and the room starts to look like a room fit for a king rather than a depressed single dad. Lucifer is quite pleased with your wide-eye expression. Letting out a sigh, he guides you over to the tea table where you two would spend the rest of the afternoon. This kind of “date” has been going on for a while under the encouragement of Charlie. She is ecstatic to see her father finally be able to find someone to confide in and is a sinner. Although Lucifer can hang around the hotel whenever he feels like it, he prefers somewhere more private and quiet so that no one judges him. He hates being judged. It reminds him of his time in Heaven which he absolutely wants to forget. This is where Hell steps in. The place is literally his playground, albeit a bit grotesque, but at least he is free.

…

As time flies, the little hangouts between you and him occur more often. It has reached to a point that he finds his mansion eerie without your presence. You are not a talkative person nor a charmer, but you carry yourself with such sweetness that makes him feel peaceful, a warmth he has long forgotten. He wonders if the same happens to you. Do you find yourself incomplete without meeting him at least once a day? He certainly is not a mind reader but a keen observer at the very least. You seem to light up every time you see him, always looking, listening in his direction. He is scared. What if this was all a ploy you set up to get closer to the King, to have some kind of privilege down here? You are first and foremost still a sinner. Although he believes not everyone in Hell is bad, being in Hell means breaking some morals while you were alive. He can't handle another failed relationship. Not right now, not when Lilith still lingers hauntingly in the back of his mind, not when he can break at any moment and Charlie is the only thing that keeps him going. He can't let her get hurt too. She is just as fragile as him after the divorce.

Tonight’s hangout is just the same as every other hangout: comfortable silence. You are rolling on his king-size bed while fidgeting a rubber duck he especially made for you. You have been quite comfortable in his mansion, letting yourself go as if you were at home. As for Lucifer, he is at his working desk as usual. He likes it this way. Lucifer is not a chatter at heart and you are the same. After a while, you decided to break the silence:

What are you making today? You rolled over on the bed to face him.

Oh, just rubber duck, you know.

You have so many already. Why don't you make something new every then and there?

What do you like?

Huh?

What do you like? He asked, turning back to face you.

Well, um… I like stuffed animals? I guess?

Okay, it's a deal then! He said with a toothy grin.

Y-you don't have to!

It's alright. I’m running out of ideas anyways.

Thank you!! You say as you hug the rubber duck.

What am I doing? Lucifer silently thinks to himself.

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 14: "Shut Up, I'm Taking Care Of You"

Mountain makes Cumulus tea when she's coming down with a bug.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and thank you to @ghuleh-recs for making dividers for us <3

Another bonus prompt today!

It's early, sky starting to shift from black to blue, the promise of a new day. Mountain pads into the kitchen, having already been up for a while, still. There's a basket of vegetables fresh harvested from the greenhouse tucked under his arm. He heads to the sink, washing them before setting them aside to dry.

Mountain whips to face the door when he hears a hacking, wet cough behind him. He thought he was the only ghoul awake, sun just barely beginning to peek out from over the horizon, but he was wrong. As he turns, he finds Cumulus, hair tied back and deep circles under her eyes.

"Hey, hummingbird," he says cautiously, shutting off the sink. "What're you doing up so early?"

She shrugs with one shoulder, rubbing her eyes under her glasses. "Couldn't sleep." Her voice is stuffy, and she sounds miserable.

Mountain hums, taking the kettle off of its element and filling it with water. "You don't sound so good, Cue. I know you don't like tea that much, but it might make you feel better."

She mumbles something under her breath, coughing again, before sitting at the kitchen table, covering her face with her hands.

"What was that?" Mountain asks, not turning to face her as he sets the kettle to boil, digging through one of the cabinets for a specific jar of loose leaf tea, one of his own blends.

"Said you don't need to stop what you're doing to make tea, Mount. You know I prefer-" She freezes as Mountain peers over his shoulder, an emerald green eye meeting hers, eyebrow raised

"Maybe I wanted tea," he teases, grabbing mugs and the diffusers he likes to use. "No, but seriously, hummingbird, I love you. You sound like shit. Let me make you a cup."

"Mount-"

"Cumulus, shut up, I'm taking care of you," Mountain interjects, firmly but kindly. "Let me make you tea, it sounds like your throat hurts something awful."

"It does," Cumulus sighs, slumping exhausted into the kitchen chair. "I think it's why I couldn't sleep." She coughs with a wince. Mountain nods, reaching for one of the honey jars.

"I'd imagine," Mountain says, humming low in his throat in sympathy as he spoons the tea leaves and herbs into one of the diffusers. The kettle whistles, and Cumulus jolts in her chair, laughing weakly at herself for startling. Mountain takes it off of the element, pouring the boiling water into Cumulus's favorite mug and leaving it to steep.

"Now, I'm no Aether," he says, bringing the mug over to the kitchen table, setting it in front of her. "But I think breathing in the steam while it steeps might help some."

"Thank you, Mounty." Cumulus carefully takes the mug, the long sleeves of her sleep shirt pulled up over her hands as a makeshift potholder. She takes as deep a breath through her nose that her sinuses will allow, eyes flickering shut as she smells the ginger and peppermint of this particular blend.

He pours water into his own mug, his preferred green tea in his. He lets it steep, watching Cumulus fondly as she sticks her face closer to the steam. "Of course, hummingbird. Once that steeps, I'll put some honey in it. Know you like it sweet." He hipchecks her chair gently, boyishly grinning ear to ear.

"Mount," she whines, still stuffy but she's laughing, and that's all Mountain could ask for.

"Is the steam helping?" Mountain says, eyes glancing at the clock on the stove, keeping track of how long their teas have been steeping. He rummages through one of the drawers for a spoon, opening the jar of honey.

"Think so," Cumulus says. "Though it's fogging up my glasses something awful."

"Yeah, makes you look real dorky," he says, carefully taking the mug from her and pulling out the diffuser. He stirs in a large spoonful of honey and passes her the mug back.

"Mount." She laughs, blowing softly at the mug, and Mountain can feel the tingle in the base of his skull that means she's using her magick to cool it. Cumulus takes a long sip, shutting her eyes. "Thank you."

Mountain smiles a little wider as he takes a sip from his own mug. "Any time, hummingbird."

[sinon36]

Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC - Part 2

Part I

Author's block and tummy aches don't make a great team. Apologies that it took some time to post this. Enjoy!

Warnings: none other than mistakes, it's fluff.

-

Being a primary school teacher is far from easy. From the endless hours spent correcting homework or grading tests to preparing visual materials, your work never ends. Maybe you should listen to your colleagues and double down on the work you put into this. But you can’t deny the satisfaction you get from seeing your students get excited in class even when you assign extra work for them over weekends and holidays. But now that you came down with the flu, another downside of working with kids, you couldn’t care less about the little punks.

You lay down in bed covered in the thickest of blankets, shivering and barely able to breath. The house is empty and you’ve never felt so alone. You wish Simon would walk through the door and snuggle you until everything is better again. He was deployed again, and in the past few months you managed to talk to him for a total of 10 minutes. He’d call you to check on you and let you know he was fine, but he’d be quick to tell you he can’t say more about his whereabouts.

Being married to him brought a hell of a lot more stress than you could have imagined. Not knowing where he was or what he did was eating you on the inside. You worried about your husband’s well being but you always reminded yourself not to pester him too much. His job is stressful as it is, no need for you to put anymore pressure on him when he was home. You painted an image of his coworkers through his brief comments on what they did on base. The most you heard about was the Scot, Johnny, the young lad had made an impression on Simon. Even though he’d complain that Johnny was a ‘pain in the arse’, you couldn’t miss the small chuckle he let out whenever he spoke of him. You concluded that this young Scottish man was the closest thing to a friend your husband had.

The clock on the nightstand reads 2AM. The fever and headache are back. Your body hurts everywhere. you stand up readying yourself to leave the warm cocoon of the blanket and go to the kitchen to make some tea and take some more medicine. The otherwise short trip to the other side of the house seems now like an endless maze, it’s dark and you can barely see; you keep one hand on the wall just to be safe if nausea takes the better of you. You take a seat at the dinner table as the kettle starts warming up.

There is a faint click at the front door, so soft that at first you believe you imagined it. But it turns out that it was real, that the sound was a key turning the lock and the knob twisted, and the door opened. You watch everything as in slow motion, your brain too fuzzy with the flu. The massive body dressed in all black walks in illuminated from behind by the street lights, leaving their shoes on the rack. It’s Simon…. He’s home but you don’t have the energy to move. In the still and quiet atmosphere of the house the bloody kettle lets out a blood curling whistle signalling the water is boiling. Simon’s eyes dart towards the kitchen space, not having noticed you until now.

  ‘What’re you doin’ in the dark, love?’ he chuckles coming over to you. He’s becoming suspicious when you don’t make a single move to get up and greet him as you would. He first reaches for the knob to turn off the stove, then he pulls off the balaclava, reaching down to your sited position to kiss your forehead. ‘You a bit warm…’ he hums and you nod sniffling your runny nose. The rest is a blur, you can faintly remember him pouring the tea for you and handing the medicine. Next thing you know strong arms carry you to the bedroom, the same arms you fall asleep until morning.

Simon is trained in the art of staying still no matter what waiting to get a clear shot of the enemy. But since he met you, that skill has been put to a better use. He had no qualms with becoming your body pillow over night. He just loves the feeling of you pressed so closely to him, head rested on his peck near his beating heart. He would gladly stay there for an eternity is you asked him.

Anything for you. Always, no matter how costly or how small, he’d do anything to see you happy. That’s his love language, while he struggles to word it he makes up with his actions. And you’d never trade him for anyone else in the world. The following days are spent with him not leaving your side, pampering and loving you the way you’ve never been loved before.

Once you feel better, he asks you to go on a date just like first time he asked you accepted with a school girl giggle. It’s safe to say you’re in love. The date goes well and you find yourself walking through the park like two hopeless romantics, talking and laughing. He tells you that Soap caught a whiff of him being married to you and now he won’t stop pestering him with questions about you two. ‘Maybe you should invite him to dinner… if you want to.’ You smile at him. ‘Maybe’ he grunts not looking at you. Bringing Johnny to your house, to meet you, it involves risks. But he knows that he can trust the sergeant with his life, so what if his only friend meets his wife. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Bonus:

On base, Ghost approaches Soap in the armoury, making sure no one is in ear shot. He gives the Scot a date, time and the name of a bus station somewhere in suburban Manchester. At Soap’s questioning look Ghost lets out a grunt ‘Wife wants you to come to dinner.’ At that Soap grins and accepts politely which prompts the lieutenant to threaten to kill him if he tells anyone about this.

The day when Johnny arrives at your doorstep comes faster than expected. You open the door and greet him, rather warmly which is a stark contrast to your husband’s harsh demeanour. Opposites do attract, he supposes. At dinner you listen to him talk, about their time on base, stories from missions, nothing too detailed though, and about his own family. He shows you pictures of his sisters and his nieces and nephews. They’re cute. You talk about your pupils, sharing stories of your own. Johnny perks up at the knowledge that you are a primary school teacher. He asks if he can have your number in case he needs help with their homework. You gladly give it to him, asking in return to keep an eye on Simon for you. He accepts your deal.

Johnny leaves after a couple of hours, going back to the hotel, even though you insist he can take the couch. But you know that Simon is glaring at him over your shoulder daring him to accept. Once he left you turn towards your husband hugging him and kissing him. You thank him for letting you meet his colleague, and he reminds you that he’d do anything for his lovely wife.

A couple of weeks go by. You’re in bed with Simon having a heated kissing session when your phone rings. Groaning you pull off from him and grab it. Johnny’s name lights up the screen and you answer. The conversation is short, something about math and how to use the graphic method to solve a problem. Simon listens intently seeing you smile conspiratorially. When you end the call, he grabs you and pushes you underneath him, trapping you between his body and the bed. ‘Why does Johnny have your number?’ the low rumble pulls a laugh from you. You know you have no chance to lie to him, he’ll see right through. You explain to him that he wanted it so he can ask you whenever he doesn’t know how to solve his nephews’ homework. He watches you not really convinced by your answer. ‘You hate talking to parents on the phone. What did you get him do? Spy on me on base and report back to you?’ Busted. You laugh and let out an even more unconvincing ‘no’ for an answer. He knows you too well.

[vixensbrainrotts]

Wicked lover — Sanzu Haruchiyo

Content: Thriller, horror

Content Warnings: Grotesque, mentions of blood, mentions of weaponry, slightly deranged, the reader is not some sort of cold-blooded badass

Tropes: Bonten!Sanzu, Psycho!Sanzu, Yandere!Sanzu

Summary: Just when you’re getting comfortable in your new home you learn the dangers that lurk within the walls around you.

Vixen‘s two cents: hi! Let’s pretend I didn’t just disappear for like 2 years thankssss. Uh, I’ve been wanting to write for Sanzu (tokyrev as a whole actually) for EVER so I’m happy that I’m finally putting down the ideas I’ve been collecting. Yeah, having said that, please don’t be afraid to note, comment or reblog if you find yourself enjoying my content. Also please shoot me an ask or message me if you have a request/idea you have or would like to see! Now do enjoy some unhinged Sanzu <33

Coming home late wasn't quite what you had planned to do when you left work, but you had gotten caught up talking to one of your girl friends when running a quick after-hour errand. So now that your feet ached from walking around town all afternoon long, and your back and shoulders were tense from working, all you craved was a warm bath and your bed.

Sighing, you unlocked your flat and removed your shoes after placing the keys into the little dish beside the door. Taking off the heavy winter coat and scarf, you yawned a little, put on your house shoes, and went to the kitchen. Placing your bag on the counter you began to boil some water for tea, stretching your tired muscles in the time it took to steam.

After selecting your tea and mug of choice, you poured yourself a cup and waited for it to steep. The previous white noise the kettle had provided was a stark contrast to the loud and boisterous city you had been perusing through, so you take a moment to appreciate the silence of your apartment. Closing your eyes you enjoy the muffled sounds of the streets and take a sip of your tea when you hear a dull thump.

Your eyes snapped open as they quickly jolted around your kitchen, but nothing was out of place. Nothing to worry about. Deciding that it was best to ignore it, you brushed it off as noise from your upstairs neighbor and stirred at your tea again. Two sips later, however, you still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

A few more moments pass in which you're almost convinced you imagined the first thump when it sounded again. Closer this time. You could tell it wasn't coming from the apartment upstairs.

Something was definitely wrong. Slightly alarmed you set down the mug of tea and tiptoe your way down the hallway, the hairs on your arm standing up in anticipation.

this is stupid you thought as you inched your way to the bathroom, and you made a mental note to stop watching so many horror movies. your mind was going a mile a minute, intensely calculating the possible outcomes of this situation, the chances of your survival, and screaming at you for not turning on the lights and taking something, anything to defend yourself with.

All thoughts are halted though when you feel your feet slip away from underneath you. In a fraction of a second, your world shifts 90 degrees and you hit the ground with a painful yelp. Entirely alarmed, you try to soothe the throb of your head by hitting up and squeezing your eyes shut, reaching your hand up to check for any damage to your scalp. Your eyes fly open in utter shock as you feel a wet, warm liquid cover the back of your head, and upon withdrawing your hand you realize it's blood.

Your head stops spinning immediately and once you regain your senses, you feel the icky wetness covering your entire neck, back, and pant legs, the clothing clinging to you uncomfortably. A wave of nausea hits you. How is this happening You raise your hands to check that this really is blood and not some hallucination, but once the red crimson drips down your hands and onto your chest, leaving a sickening warmth, horror boils in the pit of your stomach.

A scream leaves your mouth as your hands start shaking and you try to scramble away from the mess beneath you. Your greatest efforts seem to go unnoticed by gravity though as you fail to find a grip on the slippery floor, the blood soon covering so much of you that you can smell it.

Too caught up in your terror you fail to notice the soft cursing and confused, hushed sputtering that came from the bathroom. Only when you hear the dull steps of boots against the floor do you realize that you are not as alone as you thought. All your movements cease at an instant, and you slowly pull your hands from your head, instead using them to ground yourself momentarily.

Slowly your eyes trail up figure of the intruder, noting the still wet stain of blood on the pant-leg, and halting for a little bit on the gun held on the holster of a studded belt. Your mouth was ajar but not a noise left your throat. No air entered or escaped you lungs, as if you were frozen in time.

It was a bloodied hand that wove across your field of vision that pulled you out of your trance.

„Heya pretty.“ A dull, slightly strained voice crowed down to you. „Listen, you weren’t supposed to find out like this, but uh.. all that blood really looks good on you, it really brings out your eyes.“

[madhattervanessa]

Valerian Root

This is a blurb I have been writing on for a while - it might spin off into a longer fic but I’m not sure I’ll ever upload it... if I’ll ever do it, you’ll find it on ao3

-

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Deathless x f!Witch!Reader

Summary: As you suffer from another wave of migraines, an unexpected guest returns to your home to take care of you... in more ways than one.

Warnings: Migraines, consensual-ish drugging (It’s for the reader’s health) and sudden appearing in readers living spaces, nipple play, biting, scratching, grinding/dry humping, rough-ish p in v sex

Words: 4646

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

“I seldomly see you return this often, little witch.”

Your eyes stray from the beautiful scenery and towards the edge of your dream, the fibrillation coming from the deep timbre catching your attention - because despite opium and valerian root making for potent sleep and pain aiding drugs, this was not one of the usual effects.

You find him wandering through the darkness at the edge of the clearing before he manages to come closer, through the soft grass and into the light.

His long coat swishes through the moss and ferns as he slowly approaches, like someone attempting to feed a stray cat. Centuries of experience make him know to be careful - your dreams had always been fragile bubbles of calm and you’d grown protective of them even as a child. Now, more than ever, he was reminded of your first few meetings.

He knows, even cats who have grown docile will bite if given reason.

You purse your lips and avert your eyes towards a pile of books off to the side. He lets his eyes trail over you, the long, lightweight gown that floats just shy off the ground as you sway back and forth on the padded swing you sprawled out on.

He stops just shy of the swing, his presence carefully pushing into your personal space, gently intruding, waiting for you to pounce, retreat… or stay.

His coat is shed as he takes another form, jumping up into the swing with you to rub a soft cheek against your bare leg, carefully nudging the thin fabric covering you.

You smile and set your eyes upon the large, black cat nuzzling into your skin. You reach out and carefully pet his chin, moving on to his cheek before it smashes against your skin again.

A low rumbling purr starts as you continue caressing the soft fur behind his jaw, your other hand reaching for a book to read.

You keep the illusion for a while but then the walls of it shudder again and a slither of pain runs down your spine as the connection to your body strengthens again, the dreaming barely holding on.

-

You groan as you wake, still trying to hold on to the comfort your dream had brought you but it’s too late: The sharp pain and thrumming behind your eyes has returned with viciousness. You forcefully try to relax the muscles in your face as you look over your sun filled apartment.

It’s of no use, though.

So you carefully detangle from your sheets and pad through your apartment towards the kitchen. 

There’s already some darkness creeping over the smooth tiles there. You sigh as the first step brings a cooling sensation underneath the soles of your feet, a short lived comfort.

You click the electric kettle on and grab a fresh thermos before filling it with your hand mixed tea as well as some honey.

As you wait for the water to boil, you hear the pearl curtain in your hallway clatter softly, despite it being absolutely windless in your apartment.

You’ve reached for a knife without much thinking. Your heartbeat immediately feels more prominent than your nausea as you peek around the fridge, down towards the hallway.

No one there.

You’re about to sign off of it being all in your imagination. But checking other rooms would not hurt. It had never been a bad idea in any century.

The kettle clicks and you hear as the water starts boiling.

But as you take a step backwards, the hair on the back of your neck stands and goosebumps litter your arms as you feel a presence stepping closer.

“Put the knife down, little witch.”

You jump, despite the soft murmur, and the knife clatters to the ground.

Two hands quickly envelop your shoulders and pull you back, the knife’s edge only just missing your bare feet.

You turn your head. “Morpheus”, you murmur, returning the fond look he has leveled at you, his hands slowly smoothing down your arms as he takes you in. “I- I have not called upon you-”

“I made time, after sensing your distress.”

He lets you go and carefully picks up the knife from the ground. Meanwhile you are still standing, quite starstruck, trying to make sense of this.

The last time you had seen him had been just months ago, a brief meeting after a hundred or more years of his disappearance. Nothing but a quick reassurance that he was back and would return to you once the rebuilding of the dreaming was done. Paired with a short request to look after a particular member of the Constantine family.

He strolls past you and into the kitchen. As you turn to follow him, another wave of nausea crashes against you and you hold on to the doorframe before deciding to sit down at the desk on the other side of the hallway.

The clinking and clattering from the kitchen grates against your sensitive nerves and you hesitantly open an eye to watch as he fills a teacup with boiling water before sprinkling some of your tea mixture into it.

The clattering stops and you close your eyes again, trying to focus on the distinct silence and the way the air seems filled with his presence.

A soft touch to your knee makes you open your eyes again to find Morpheus kneeling in front of you, the cup of tea in one hand and a small, white pill in the other.

You roll your eyes, contrary to your smile, despite the pain it causes.

“You know I don’t like painkillers-”

“Amuse me.”

You glare at him, your smile falling as you look back towards his offerings. As you reach for the teacup, purposefully ignoring the pill, he levels another soft and openly amused look at you.

“I’ll have the tea. Thank you”, you murmur and he sighs before tilting his head in silent acceptance.

You tentatively sip at your tea, finding at the perfect temperature. He watches closely as he gets up and you take another gulp. The pill is placed on the desk, well in sight of your weary eyes.

“Have it your way, then.”

“I always do. You know Hecate makes sure of it.”

The reference to the Moirai makes him straighten up for a second before he smiles - no doubt catching your remark as what it is. 

You had not just idled around, you had found out where he had been all this time, what exactly he had been up to.

As you sip your tea, he follows his own curiosity, doing what he hadn’t been able to do the last time; carefully cataloging your apartment, the changes, the new additions. One of them being a plush armchair, the blue hues of its padding close enough to his eyes to have reminded you of him, just like the dark wood had reminded you of his attire and hair.

The dull ache in your head goes on and you hardly listen to the sounds surrounding you, trying to focus on your heartbeat.

That is, until you hear the dull sounds of boots falling, one by one, harshly interrupting your meditation.

“What are you doing over there?”

You turn to find him carefully draping his coat over said armchair as a wave of drowsiness overcomes you, his boots already neatly stacked underneath.

His pants follow, leaving him in underwear and a shirt, just like you.

You look him up and down before meeting his eyes and your breath hitches, the urge to get up and join him increasing with every second of eye contact shared between the two of you. But then there’s another wave of drowsiness and the pounding pain in your skull dulls to a gentle knock.

“You put something in my tea-?”, you murmur, your tongue feeling sticky and heavy in your mouth.

You put the tea down and your head lolls to the side before a gentle hand caresses your cheek and your temple rests against the soft fabric of his shirt. The smell of moss and old books from your dream fills your nose, a clear testament to his visit in it just mere moments ago.

“I do have access to more elusive ingredients for potion mixing, aiodos.”

The endearment runs down your spine soothingly as you frown, even though the energy to do so is leaving you steadily.

“Though I admit your mix of opium and valerian root to be quite potent.”

You blink again and feel your old heart slow as if you were a bear about to enter hibernation, your lips tingling pleasantly as if you had sipped some spiced wine instead of tea.

You want to say what you think of his little betrayal, want to curse and spite him-

“Come now, let’s get you to bed.”

You find yourself in his arms, despite your pitiful whine, despite trying to push him away. Your head falls against his chest and suddenly you feel frail like glass.

He carries you through the short hallway with care, his lips at your temple as the fight in you returns for a second, the need to prove you can damn well take care of yourself but a shush and his lips pressed to your forehead makes the seed die before it can sprout.

You sigh and go limp in his arms, then, the numbness traveling from the toes of your feet and your fingertips, up your body with every breath you take.

“Rest now. There’s nothing you need to fear. I am watching over you.”

When you next wake, the moon is barely peeking through the curtains, bathing everything in a cool, glittering light.

The heaviness you feel in your bones makes you feel like you have slept for eons.

It takes you a moment to remember, to become aware of the warm nook of a shoulder you are pressed into, the arm wound around you, the soft breaths fanning over your head.

You glance up at him and find him resting. A rare sight, even in your living spaces, thoroughly secured by runes and protection circles.

You can’t help but smile as you turn and let the flat of your hand carefully roam over his chest. There is no shame in staving off the inevitable a little longer, not after all this time.

So you watch the moon slowly illuminate the altar off to the side of the room and wait, relishing in the calm. It is then that you notice the absence of your pain and exhaustion.

“I trust you are feeling better?” The low grumble underneath your ear almost makes you jump had there not been the steady climb of a second hand towards your thigh.

You sigh in response and rub your leg against his underneath the plush blankets. A low hum sounds in return and you know there’s a pleased smile on his face without turning. The hand on your thigh moves in calming back and forth motions like a pendulum.

You lose yourself in the gentle touch before your hand travels higher, up to his collarbones and you feel him tense for a moment as you trace the lines up to his neck, the links of his necklace. As your touch travels to his jaw, he relaxes again.

It’s quite telling, really, that he is still laying here, instead of leaving you, knocked out cold.

“I feel... exhausted. Thoroughly rested.” You take another deep breath and prop your head up as your fingertips dance over his chin and back down to his throat. There’s the slightest hint of stubble there, underneath your touch and you wonder if it’s to feed into your own desires or if it’s an unwanted symptom of him not resting before taking care of his kingdom.

“You worried me.”

You hum and keep appreciating his form, wetting your lips as your fingers trace the lines of his chest. Inside, the admission had made you freeze and almost catch your breath.

Your eyes flick to his but you find him looking anywhere else, your sleep mussed hair, your shoulder peeking out from underneath the blankets - anywhere so as to not meet your eyes. It is more telling than him looking back but you simply take it in stride.

“I do apologize if I distracted you from your duties, milord”, you murmur, a teasing smile on your face as he finally returns your gaze. He tugs you over himself by your thigh, fully covering himself in you. His fingertips tickle the back of your thigh and you bite your lip.

However, before either of you can start to banter, a distant flutter, followed by a quiet squawk distracts you.

You turn your head and catch a shadow moving outside, then another flutter and the distant sound of bird’s claws on the balcony just outside your living room and kitchen.

You level a glare at Dream from the corner of your eye before you shuffle out of his grip and out of bed.

A call of your name and another sigh follow your footsteps through to the other room. Still barefoot and only in a shirt and underwear. You fumble with your fingertips at the seam of it, only then realizing the black color, the soft fabric- it lifts your sour mood just slightly. The smell of petrichor and sandalwood envelops you, following you, just like Dream’s eyes do.

There.

You spot just the slightest hint of a beak through one of your windows before the small, black shadow flutters to the next.

You hasten your steps in turn and manage to pull the window open before they can hop any further.

They jump, visibly shocked as you face them with a grim smile.

“Hello there. May I help you with something?”

After a few inquisitive turns of their head, they clear their throat.

“I-I-” You take your time to muster the bird, thinking them to be the familiar of another witch but then there’s that smell, that energy surrounding the little spy.

“You’re quite handsome.” The nervous flutter of feathers makes you perk up and you look him up and down a bit more intently as you lean onto the window sill. “You’re Dream’s new raven, aren’t you?”

“Oh- uhm... yeah, I keep an eye out for him, he... he tends to... get into trouble.”

You smile sweetly at him and nod.

“He does. But he is safe here, you know. And I do appreciate my privacy.”

“I-I understand but he’s been-”

“Matthew.” 

The raven nearly jumps off of the sill at the low growl from behind you. 

Pretty name for a pretty bird.

You welcome the warmth pressing against you from behind as an arm winds around your waist. “I told you not to spy on me.”

“I know, Sir, but after yesterday-”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Morpheus reaching towards the window.

“Give Lucienne my regards, Matthew. And please do visit again, I feel like we have much to talk about”, you quickly manage, sensing the impending end of your conversation, and as soon as your last word leaves your lips, Dream slams the window shut right in front of Matthew’s beak.

“I’m sorry about him.”

You arch an eyebrow at that, the word sorry had seen few uses in Morpheus’ vocabulary over the centuries. His nose presses against your cheek, just shy of a kiss.

“Let’s head back to bed.”

You spot the point of a raven’s beak as you just outside the window as he presses you impossibly closer, his lips trailing over your cheek to your neck.

Another arm wraps around you and you watch his hand trail over your collarbone before a thumb briefly rubs against your nipple: cheeky, and yet not to be unexpected from your lover.

“Morpheus-”, you whisper, rendered breathless at the overflow of tender motions. You give into the distraction and avert your eyes from the window.

“Mhm?”

“I’m barely back on my feet.”

“So let’s return to your bed, lover”, he murmurs, already pulling you back, away from the window and out of your kitchen.

You chuckle and turn in his arms, meeting his eyes before you lean against his forehead with your own.

“You should not be so harsh on him, you know? Jessamy’s footsteps are big ones to fill.”

“He is too curious for his own good. He needs to learn.”

“Is that what this is, then? A lesson for your raven?”

“It does present itself as a welcome side effect. Though my visit was motivated by very selfish cravings.” The low murmur makes heat lick up your spine. A knuckle tilts your chin up to his and your lips are captured in a kiss, his nose nudging against yours as his lips delicately press against your own.

The kiss leaves you in something akin to a trance and you follow him through the apartment to your bed, his hands steadily wandering over your body as do yours.

You are tempted to push him against a wall instead but as if he were able to read your mind, then, he kisses you again and holds you tight against him, his hands sneaking underneath your shirt. It sends a thrill up his spine to hear you moan in response, to feel you fit into his hands once more.

He grunts as he walks backwards into your bed but you just chuckle and redirect him.

He sits back and you crawl into his lap, before pressing another kiss to the frown that had presented itself on his lips.

“You know this would be easier in my realm.”

“Mh- but I dislike the journey there too much and you know full well.”

He sits back against the headboard and you settle there together, your hands trailing over his chest as he grabs you by the nape of your neck to pull you into another kiss.

You hum and grab the hem of his shirt tightly as he opens your mouth with his own, your breaths mingling as you inhale each other’s presence.

His hands fit themselves into your waist, relishing in the bare skin underneath as he seems to swallow you whole. He could, potentially. Kidnap you and keep you, like Hades did with Persephone. But he knows better than to upset your matron goddesses.

“You know I struggle with the waking world just as much.”

“If you insist”, you whisper back, a faint smile on your lips before you peck his lips again. As you lean back to take your shirt off, however, he leans in to press more kisses to your jaw and down to your neck.

You sigh in content, melting in his grasp as you let your head fall back. However, when you shoot a quick glance towards your alarm clock, you find the space empty.

As teeth scrape over the thin skin covering your collarbone, you do another double take. But it’s gone.

“Dream-”, you mutter, still distracted, especially as he gentles the rasp of his teeth with his tongue. “Morpheus, where is my alarm clock?”

“Irrelevant.”

You frown and this time it’s you who grabs him by the chin to make him look at you. You lean back to look at him, even though you miss the proximity immediately.

“How long did you make me sleep for?” He purses his lips, the annoyance clear as day on his features. Oh, you could picture it perfectly well now, that glare towards the alarm while you were sound asleep on his chest. One time must have been more than enough, then, for him to make the poor thing disappear.

He sighs.

“Two days.” He trails off, his eyes caught on your lips for a moment before they flick back upwards. “I think.”

“You think?” You let go of his chin and shake your head at him. “Two days. I have a job, Morpheus.”

“That job is pointless. You’re a witch”, he grumbles, pressing another furious kiss to your neck. “Besides, you had fallen ill. No use in working when you can hardly stand.” He tugs you back to fully sit in his lap again, winding his arms around you as if you were a dream about to catch flight in the world. Your boiling anger simmers at the tender motion, if only for a moment.

“You’re not usually this disagreeable with me.”

The murmur is almost lost on you but the memory it procures definitely isn’t. Images of past meetings make your still weak head spin, make you bite your lip at the memory of hastily rucked up skirts and wanton moans that had left neighbors in many a century both flustered and angry.

You lean in to kiss him again, then, because that is usually all it takes, especially when he frustrates you: The memory of time you had spent together when you could.

“Next time you are in distress, call for me.” Teeth nip at your bottom lip, a silent reprimand and you let your fingertips trail over his neck, towards the nape where you can sneak into his hair.

“I have friends and other, less busy lovers for that, Dream. You don’t need to take care of me”, you mutter, tongue too quick and nudging against ancient disputes between the two of you.

The hands on your hips tighten at the mention of the others. While he tolerated your need for more than his sparse visits, he didn’t necessarily like it.

“I’m sorry, I-”

Instead of a wrathful reply, you receive a fierce kiss, one that makes your teeth click. You can taste a hint of blood from where teeth must have pierced your lip but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

His hands gently cup your face and he grunts as you cant your hips against his. He turns the two of you so you’re flat on your back. Your mouths never part, locked in a hot and messy tangle. A tongue nudges against yours and you lose your train of thought. The soft touches quickly escalate into something more desperate after that.

One of his hands grabs your ass to hold you steady as you squirm underneath him, the soft touches underneath your shirt turning into rough groping, his thumb steadily rubbing against your nipples.

You hold on to his shoulder, losing yourself in the kisses exchanged as you gasp for air. He lets you grind your pussy against his hard length, the damp fabric catching on your clit with every one of your combined movements.

It’s a stubborn game, the silence between the two of you. Every time one of you moves to kiss the other’s neck, their jaw, the other muffles their own sounds. When you bite down on his earlobe, a small gasp escapes him and you grin triumphantly as the thrust of his hips jolts you up the mattress with your own moan.

You let your lips trail over the shell of his ear. As you grind your pussy down against him, you moan into his ear and the groan he responds with makes you shudder. Out of the corner of your eye you see him furrowing his brows and both of his hands tug you down harder, his own hips searching for the friction.

Finally, he rips your underwear off of you - you scramble to get your shirt off but he is faster than you, pinning you down to line himself up with your pussy.

You’re abruptly shoved up the mattress and gasp as he presses into you with a rough shove.

“Morpheus”, you whisper and grab his chin to lead him into another kiss.

“What is it? Tell me.”

Your fingertips dig into the bone of his jaw. You would be drawing blood with any of your human lovers, you know that, but he is leaving imprints of his teeth in your skin and you can’t help yourself. You bare your teeth as he leans down to suck at your pulse.

“What do you want?”, he murmurs over the wet skin and you feel yourself growing wetter as you grind against him.

“You know exactly what I want, you just want me to say it. I shouldn’t give you the satisfaction”, you sigh and roll your hips against his a little harder, finding that perfect spot to rub your clit against, a perfect bit of friction that makes your cheeks heat up. “Undress me, Morpheus. I want to feel you. Please.”

He hums and slides his hands over your back, up, underneath the shirt. He pulls it off very carefully and your hands move on to his shirt before your own is even fully discarded. You’re less careful than he is and he seems to approve, visibly impatient as he shuffles you until your chest presses up against his before his lips find yours again.

He starts moving his hips again and you keen into his mouth at the friction. You pull at his shoulders, wanting more but unable to voice it.

You let your hand trail over his back, down until you can scratch your nails over his thigh. It makes him moan, his hips jutting forward until you can grasp it in one of your hands.

“Cunning”, he murmurs but he doesn’t resist your pull, doesn’t so much as blink an eye. Instead he pushes two of his slender fingers against your clit, the slick sound drowned out by your moan.

"Morpheus, more-"

"Be patient", he murmurs and you want to bite at him, your lips already searching for the skin of his neck.

You faintly hear your phone ring but Morpheus pushes his slick fingers between your lips.

You meet his eyes, fully entranced, your legs haphazardly nudged to the crooks of his elbows as he pushes closer, closer until you can feel him bottoming out.

You bite down on his fingers. It changes his sullen expression, his brows furrowing, his lips twitching as he presses his hard cock deeper until you keen and let go. 

Spit slick fingers trail down over your bottom lip before he leans in to kiss you again. The spit smears against your arm before he intertwines his fingers with yours. Your moans are muffled by the kiss, a harsh and passionate thing, aided by tongue and teeth as he thrusts into you.

The headboard creaks with great offense as you grab a hold of the wood and dig your nails into it.

He drags his palm over your arm before it settles next to yours on the bedframe, his nose dipping down to press against your cheek. His thrusts are almost punishing. Every single one is making the breath in your throat catch.

You lean your cheek against your knee that is pushed up next to your head. He follows the movement, his lips smearing against the tendons in your neck.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, yes”, you gasp, mindless in the pursuit of your own pleasure.

He doesn’t let up until your orgasm burns through you and he has to muffle your sounds with another kiss before he follows with his own orgasm.

You pant heavily as he lifts his mouth from yours. You detangle carefully, your whole body aching. Meanwhile Morpheus is quick to get dressed again before he is off to your bathroom.

You awake to a warm feeling and crack one eyelid open to watch as Morpheus carefully cleans you with a wet, warm towel.

When he is finally done, he joins you in bed again, his hands dragging over your still naked body, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

“How do you feel?”

You snort and scooch closer until you can put a leg over his hip.

“Godlike”, you finally sigh. It earns you an amused chuckle and another murmur that you don’t catch over your increasing drowsiness.

[stargirlsmooch]

i miss you

steve rogers x fem!reader

when you hear steve with another woman again, you just can't handle it. but it appears that he can't either when he calls her by your name. angsty + talks of sex. 18+ 1.2k words.

He brought another girl home tonight. You feel no anger over his acts, just pure undiluted sadness. You kick yourself for letting him go, once telling yourself that you would be so much better on your own- no liabilities. So you pushed him away and now had to deal with the consequences. 

You never wanted people to worry about you, but it was especially hard in your line of work. After Natasha’s death, you were the best female field agent on the team and were consistently sent on lone missions with no guarantee of returning. The job you held was dangerous- you didn’t want to fall in love only to leave them behind.

But it was nights like this that you wished you would’ve let Steve protect you, so you wouldn’t have to listen to the breaths and moans of pleasure that permeated through your shared wall and feel the heartbreak that came along with them. 

Putting your headphones over your ears and turning up the volume, you tried to drown out the unwanted sounds that bounced around your room, hoping that the pain would wash out with them. But it never did.

It never got easier for you. Every day that you’d wake up on your own, no strong muscled arm grasping your waist, you’d let a feeling of sorrow overcome you, taking every cell into its clutches and squeezing until you had no choice but to cry. You missed him. 

Time after time you saw him in the compound, he’d avert his eyes like the sheer image of you hurt him, ignoring the looks of longing that you sent his way. How you wished you could find the courage to fight for him, just take his face in your hands and tell him how much you needed him. 

Steve himself had never felt so lost. Never been one for casual hookups, but after you left him, he couldn’t help himself. Sex seemed to be the only thing that gave him temporary peace away from the hurt you caused him. When he was especially heartbroken, he’d imagine it was you he was moving inside of, it was your sweet gasps he was hearing, it was you he was pleasuring. 

He could remember the way your words struck his heart on the night you fell away from him, the way your face crumpled into tears at the pain you were causing yourself too. Deep down he knew you didn’t want to end things with him, somewhere within your guarded heart you needed him as much as he needed you. He missed you. 

Trying to fall back to sleep was useless, with the unwelcome image of what was going on in the other room taking up space in your brain, you decided to head into the kitchen for some tea, hoping it would replace the sour taste on your tongue.

You threw your headphones on your rosy duvet and opened your bedroom door, letting it quietly click shut behind you as you crossed the lounge into the open-plan kitchen. The kettle boiled obnoxiously loud, the steam bubbling up into the harsh night air and heating your surroundings. 

Opening the cupboard and grabbing your favourite mug, you regretted not keeping your headphones on you, the noises seemed to be even louder out here. You could see the light of Steve’s bedside lamp pouring out from under his door- he always kept it on when the two of you were together. He said he wanted to see your beautiful face when you came.

Somehow, your sadness deepened. Knowing that he was in there, doing to someone else what he had once done to you, unlocked another realm of misery inside of you. You didn’t expect the tears to start flowing, the dejected streams moving down your cheeks in neat lines and dripping onto the counter you were leaning on.

As the kettle shut off, you stood up with your mug in hand and made your way over to it. As you reached the other counter, Steve let out an especially loud groan, causing you to close your eyes with a wince. He sounded so pretty, you dreamed about that beauty being directed to you again. 

“Fuck, y/n.” 

You dropped your mug. The ceramic shattered across the tiles in a flurry, like snowflakes gliding along on the wind. 

There was no way. No way he just said your name. No way he was thinking about you.

But your thoughts were suddenly squashed when his door swung open and a gorgeous woman flew out, her clothes were thrown on haphazardly. Steve followed her, stopping at his door with his hands covering his modesty.

You turned around quickly, pretending you didn’t see anything and hoping to keep some of your dignity. Bending down to clean up your mess, the silent tears flowed a little faster- seeing him with another woman was completely different to hearing him. And you didn’t want to see it.

Some nights you could convince yourself that he was just watching porn, he wasn’t with someone else. But now you’d never be able to imagine that again- the picture of a woman leaving his room ruined that escape you had built for yourself, the escape you used on the nights you just couldn’t deal with the pain. 

His bedroom door slid shut as you knelt on the floor. You thought that he had gone back to bed until you heard his footsteps nearing you. Steve leaned down beside you and started picking up your shattered mug too.

You swallowed your sobs and said,” It’s okay, Steve. I’ve got it.” Desperately wanting him to just go back into his room, and let his now-sweatpant-covered legs take him away from you so he wouldn’t have to see you cry. 

“What’s got you so upset?” He asked, sweeping the smaller pieces into his hand. 

You thought over your response carefully- should you tell him he was the reason you were crying? Should you tell him that your tears flowed because you couldn’t handle hearing him with someone else? 

You didn’t expect him to speak again. “I want you back, honey.”

“Steve. I just heard you fucking someone else.” You laughed humourlessly, caring less that your tears were on display.

“Yeah. And did you hear how that ended? I called her your name. I can’t stop thinking about you.” He said, dropping the shattered material on the side and pulling you to stand up with him. “Please. I miss you.”

You missed him too, so much. It hurt you so deeply that he wouldn’t leave your mind. Whenever you had a moment of peace, his beautiful face would pop back into your mind and send you down a spiral of regret again.

Of course, you wanted him back, too. And it was your fault the two of you were separated. And in the grand scheme of things, he hadn't done anything wrong. But the thought of what just happened was still present in your mind, and you struggled to let it go.

“I want you back too. But, it might take me a little time.”

The fears and dangers of your job still haunted you too. How would you survive if you lost Steve in the fight? What if Steve lost you?

That’s something that would take you a long time to cope with, but Steve was here to help you…

“That’s fine, baby. I’ll wait for you.”

[icemankazansky]

What about a spy AU for Ice and Mav???

Thanks for playing! I hope you are open for an omegaverse spy AU, because that is what happened.

Maverick takes the long way around the safehouse as per usual, checking the perimeter before entering.  He notices a single white rose tucked between the curtains and the glass in his bedroom window, and smiles.

The traps have been disengaged, as he knew they would be, but he’s careful opening the door, anyway.  It’s dark in the entryway; Maverick can see low lights on down the hall, and there’s a record playing softly somewhere further into the house.  He follows the noise, the low light, like a moth drawn to flame.

“Honey, I’m home,” he says softly when he reaches the source.  

There are lamps on in the living room: just low, warm light.  The record spins; it’s one of Ice’s, playing something slow and moody.  Ice himself is in the plush armchair beside what was once a fireplace and is now a cleverly concealed cache of weapons and tech.  When Maverick enters, Ice slides a bookmark between the pages of his book and sets it down on the side table.  

He smiles, a warm, gentle thing.  “Hey, stranger.”

They meet halfway, embracing in near synchrony.  Ice nuzzles Maverick’s cheekbone, then finds his mouth, kissing him slowly, deeply, well.  

“Missed you,” Ice murmurs, then licks hot into Maverick’s mouth.  

Ice’s hands grip him, not needfully, but almost like he’s afraid if he doesn’t hold on, Maverick will slip away.  Something feels off.  Maverick runs his hands over Ice’s body gently, checking for any sign of injury.  He finds none.  Disquieted, he breaks away from Ice’s kisses, just a little, kissing his cheek, the joint of his jaw, his throat.  Maverick licks over the scent gland on the side of Ice’s neck, urging a shuddering breath out of him, and then breaths in deep, lips parted so he can get every bit of information Ice’s pheromones have to offer.

Ice feels safe in Maverick’s arms, a respite he’s been desperate for finally here: the one safe place that is actually safe.  He wants to burrow into his alpha’s embrace and never leave.  That’s not unusual.  Maverick smells that on Ice often.  But there’s something else behind it, a much fainter but nevertheless insistent sour tang of anxiety.  And something else beneath all of it, the whisper of a powdery sweetness, like a young girl’s first perfume.  Not the warm, sticky sweet of Ice’s heat, but something Maverick cannot place.

“You could just ask,” Ice says softly.

Maverick pulls away just enough to look him in the face.  “Do you feel like talking?”

Ice looks at him.  Pulls back a step, out of his embrace.  “You want a drink?”

Ice doesn’t wait for an answer, just goes to the kitchen and begins pulling out ingredients.  Maverick follows him.

“Ice,” he says gently, “are you in some kind of trouble?”

Ice laughs, short and sharp.  “Uh, that is … an interesting way to put it.”

Ice sets the kettle to boil.  He’s fished bourbon and honey from the cabinets; Maverick imagines he’s looking for cinnamon sticks, which he won’t find there.  It’s cold today, but not cold enough that Maverick thought of a hot toddy when Ice offered him a drink.

“Look at me,” Maverick says.

Ice turns.  Looks at him, eyes the steely blue of a stormy sky.

“I don’t care what it is,” Maverick says.  “Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it.  I’ll take care of you.”

He sees Ice soften so quickly and so completely that it’s like watching a video of three months of winter and snow transitioning to the bright blooms of spring, sped up to play in mere seconds.

“I’m pregnant,” Ice says.

And now this moment, time slows, mere seconds stretching over a season.

“Oh,” Maverick says.  And then, “Oh.  Oh.”

Ice looks away, some of the frost returning.  “You don’t have to do anything about it—”

“Stop,” Maverick says.  He closes the space between them, takes Ice by the wrist; when Ice won’t look at him, he uses his free hand to turn Ice’s chin so he’s facing him.  Ice’s eyes flicker up, the Arctic Sea, an impossibly clear, glacial blue.  He looks hopeful.  He looks young.  

He’s beautiful.

“You’ve already decided, haven’t you?” Maverick says.  “I know you better than anyone.  I can see it on your face: You didn’t think you could ever have this, so you wrote it off.  No use wishing for something that’ll never come.  But now it’s happened, on accident, almost, and you find that you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything.  But you still think you can’t have it, so you’ve decided that instead of letting yourself have the best thing that will ever happen to you—”

“It’s impossible,” Ice says.

“We do impossible things every day!  We were trained for it, Ice.  It’s our business.  It’s our … our craft, our art.”

Ice is breathing shallowly, and he’s flushed high up on his cheeks, which Maverick knows means he’s trying not to cry.

“Ice, I love you.  I want you.  I want you always, I want the baby; I want any and every single thing that will make you happy.  I will get it for you.  I will do it for you.  This will be hard, but we can do it together.  We’ll get you out.  We’ll get you a new name, and I will find you a safe place, and if you just trust me, I will spend the rest of my life making impossible things happen for you.”

Ice does cry, now, and he closes his eyes against it, reaches out for Maverick, who pulls him into a tight embrace.  Maverick can feel Ice’s heart beating against his chest, can smell the relief and joy coming off him like a lighthouse beacon, and he knows what Ice’s answer is before he even speaks it.

“Yes.”

[jiminiecrickets]

So you mentioned that (love's little dagger part 2) oc hooked up with jimin and tae saw jimin in oc's bed.

Can I request a drabble where tae tells oc (after seeing jimin in oc's bed) that next time they should keep it quiet (tae is jealous) and oc provokes him? ^^

kinda nsfw but not really?

your bedroom door is slightly ajar. taehyung can't help but step towards it naturally, a bubbling taste of something bitter rising up his throat and settling in his mouth.

the shower is on, muffled water hitting the tile passing through the crack under the door. you just got in. you won't be out for a few minutes more.

taehyung watches himself place his hand on the handle, pushing it open an inch wider to catch the edge of your bed in view. half of your curtains are open and late morning sunlight leak through, bathing the foot of the bed in pale light, and sparse dust motes float through the air.

there's a pretty boy in your bed – pretty in that awful fae-like way, too good to be true. even dead asleep, limbs wrapped around himself and framing his soft face, his slightly-parted lips are sweetly pink, and his hair appears silky, messy in the way taehyung spends half an hour perfecting in the bathroom mirror.

the boy shifts with a soft breath, tucking his face into the crook of his arm. the sheets slip down around his bare waist.

taehyung's hand slides off the handle and he rolls his eyes, jaw working as he stomps into the kitchen.

why him? he thinks, annoyed. the moment the kettle finishes boiling, he steals it and pours himself a cup of instant coffee. of all the people you bring back, why him?

he's shoving spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth on the couch, watching a replay of last night's news, when he hears footsteps leading into the kitchen. you don't greet him, but he knows it's you by the way you exhale softly, popping your back before you place a pan on the stove and dig around in the fridge for some eggs.

"is this some sort of revenge?"

you glance up, only to find taehyung tucked up on the furthest side of the couch, determinedly not looking at you. you scoff and crack a couple of eggs one-handed against the side of the quickly-heating pan. "not everything revolves around you, taehyung."

"but this does, doesn't it?" he taps his spoon absently against the rim of his bowl as you turn on the stove fan, as if to drown him out. "fucking pretty boys just 'cause you can isn't your style."

"you know what my style is? didn't know you cared so much," you say wryly, grabbing a spatula out of a drawer. "why? you jealous, puppy?"

"only a loser would be jealous over a thing like you," he says rudely, and you make a face of mock hurt, touching your heart.

"ouch. long diary entry about that tonight."

he stops speaking, moody in his corner of the living room. you flip eggs, humming to yourself, and reach for the pack of bacon, eventually replacing the eggs with hot bacon. you take a moment to cover the eggs with a plate and find yourself face-to-face with taehyung on the other side of the kitchen island, glaring at you as if he's imagining eighty different ways to kill you on the spot.

"what? you want some?"

"out of all the boys you could bring back, how do you always know who the loud ones are?" he blurts out, his cereal bowl in hand.

you lift an eyebrow and half-assedly bite back your smirk. you begin to butter four slices of bread. "are you offering something, taehyung?"

he lunges forward an inch or two, as if moving to leap the island and wrap his hands around your throat. he settles for a deep scowl, flicking his bangs out of his eyes.

"you disgust me," he seethes, and doesn't even put his bowl in the sink. he rests it on the bench, relishing in the way you glance at it and your jaw ticks. "you're so fucking petty. bet your boy wouldn't like it if i told him you're only sleeping with him for revenge points against me."

"oh, he knows i'm better than that," you retort, resisting the urge to place your palms on the bench and mirror his stance. you give him one last glance before turning back to the stove, flipping the bacon and letting it sizzle a little longer to match the colour on the other side. "you're the one going on and on about 'revenge' and everything. are you sure you're not just making it up to justify your continuing dislike towards me?"

his mouth falls open. "that's gaslighting. that's actually gaslighting. that's so fucking rude."

"it's only gaslighting if it works. is it working?" carefully, you remove the bacon and reach over by him, winking as you grab your bread. you grin to yourself as he growls, and you set the buttered bread in the middle of the pan with a hiss and a sizzle.

"what is your fucking deal, dude? why are you so against me? i bring some company back, and then you go out and do it twice as bad as i do. twice as loud, twice as long, twice a night." he lists them on his fingers. "i'm about to stop being nice to you if this is the kind of thanks i get: no sleep and no peace."

you scoff. "that was you being nice? shit. i shouldn't've held back, then. could've gotten double the 'pretty boys' in that time. you could've joined, if you wanted to."

"join—?" he sputters. "join—! what gives you the impression i want to sleep with you, huh? what keeps giving you that impression? or is this some kind of immature boyish humour that everyone else left behind in ninth grade? fucking 'do i want to sleep with you'..."

a figure appears in the hallway, pattering down into the kitchen with a delicate yawn. he stretches, lifting his too-big white t-shirt above his hips. he wears a tiny pair of black briefs, and taehyung can't believe it. this boy has his own clothes drawer in your room. jesus christ.

"good morning to you, too, dolly." you grin, bringing a plate with a toastie over to him as he takes a gentle seat on the edge of a stool, shooting taehyung a sweet smile. you retrieve a knife from a drawer and cut the toastie for him diagonally, gently pulling the halves apart to show him the perfect golden insides: egg, bacon, cheese. you can never go wrong with a classic.

"morning," he hums, swinging his legs. he combs his fluffy hair back from his forehead and giggles as you bring your own plate over and cut it in half, leaning over the bench with an elbow crossed over your front. "you did all this for me, hyung?"

"mm, of course. you've got classes until six today – i want you to get a good breakfast."

"you're too sweet," he coos, picking up a warm triangle of savoury goodness. he takes a big bite out of one corner and moans, brushing his fingers lightly over his glossy lips as he stares up at you with crinkled eyes.

"you're exaggerating. i do this all the time for you."

"hm – maybe it's the new reason? what was the entrée to this, again?" he grins, leaning forward, and subconsciously, so do you, glancing up at each other between bites and hiding your smiles behind slices of crisp toasted bread.

"this is disgusting to watch," taehyung says bluntly, standing up. "i'm heading out. please keep all your fluids to your bedroom, i insist."

you watch him grab his jacket and bag, whisking out of the apartment with a whip of hair and a glare. you smirk behind your toastie, clearing your throat to stop a laugh.

he's always been a drama queen.

[krisdreaming]

Pairing: Suna Rintarou x gn!reader

WC: 690

A/N: Titles are overrated 😅 tbh I don't even know what this is. Is it... good? I don't know, but I kind of like it.

You survey the instant ramen selection, tapping your chin as you consider which flavor to choose. This convenience store has more options than you're used to, and you never have been good at making decisions.

"Ya pick a flavor yet?" Rintarou hangs his head over your shoulder, and you jump slightly at the sound of his voice so close to your ear.

"Can't decide," You murmur petulantly, picking up two that look promising and comparing them.

"That one's good," He points to the one in your left hand, and you give it a closer look. "Pick out whatever ya want. It's on me."

You turn to look at him and quirk an eyebrow. "So generous," You laugh, glancing around the small store.

"But only if ya pick in the next five minutes," He adds, "I don't have all night." You narrow your eyes at that, but he shoots you a teasing grin and you can't hold the expression for long.

"Lies," Is all you say with a chuckle. You both know you have no plans at all.

Finally, you decide to take the flavor he'd recommended and set the other package back on the shelf. Wandering down the aisle with your impatient boyfriend on your heels, you select some chips, some gummy candy, and a drink, balancing them carefully in your hands.

"Ready?" He asks when you step back, and you nod, following him to the register. When the clerk finally hands him the bag filled with your spoils, he takes it and immediately reaches for your hand with the other.

Stepping out into the cool evening, you hold onto his hand a little tighter. He glances sideways at you, and you can just make out the smile curving the corner of his lips. He pulls you just a little closer to his side, and in the chilly early fall air you're glad for the added warmth. Neither of you says a word, but you don't need to.

Twilight has almost fallen by the time you walk the few blocks to his apartment, and the warm glow inside is a pleasant contrast. While he sets the water boiling for the ramen, you organize the purchases on the kitchen counter.

"You bought to much," You say as he sidles up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"We'll eat it," He assures you, pressing a quick, feather-light kiss to the crook of your neck. "Besides, I didn't want ya stealin' all of my food like last time."

"Hey!" You say indignantly and try to pull away, but his grip on you is too tight.

"'M just tryin' to keep ya happy," He murmurs, his lips finding your neck again and lingering longer. You sigh, just about to formulate some kind of retort when the kettle flicks off, signifying that the water is hot.

He reluctantly pulls away from you, fingertips lingering at your hips for just a moment before he reaches for the kettle and pours the water over the ramen. You lean back against the counter and just soak it in.

This has become a familiar routine by now. The convenience store run, the teasing banter, and the quiet evenings spent just the two of you - you wouldn't trade it for anything. Just watching him bustling around the kitchen like this fills your middle with a curling warmth.

It must show on your face, because Rintarou glances up and frowns. "What're ya smilin' about now? It's creepy."

"Oh, just planning which of your snacks I'm going to eat tonight," You quip, a bubble of laughter escaping when he rounds the table and catches you around the waist again.

"Yer impossible," He says as he pushes the pile of snacks out of your reach. "Ya know that? You're lucky I love ya." He spins you around so that you're facing him, and despite his teasing words, his expression is soft.

"Yeah, I guess I am," You reply with a grin, and tilt your chin up to accept the kiss he presses to your lips. No, you can't imagine anything more perfect than this.

[sim0nsays]

Simon Ghost Riley Imagines. | Chapter 1 - Control

TW‼️:: self harm, thoughts of suicide, abusive language, mentions of abuse, mature themes; 16+

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"Get me a beer, recruit!" You hear his voice boom down upon you. "Get it yourself." You scoffed, crossing your arms as you looked directly at him. "Did I stutter?" He asked, walking towards you as he grabbed your face, forcefully. His nails dug into your cheek, you raised your eyebrows; trying to pry his hands from your cheeks. "Get me a couple beers and pour it for me while you're at it." He finishes his order with a smirk. You swallowed your pride, stalking over to the fridge in the far back. You opened the door before closing it with a loud slam, pulling out three bottles of beer that you brought back to him, placing them down in front of him. He tapped his mug with a smirk, "Pour it for me." He ordered. You let out a small sigh, twisting the cork with your hands as it comes off. You leaned the bottle onto the edge of the mug, pouring the beer into his mug. "Now, why don't you make me something to eat?" He asked, smirking at you. 'You think this is funny?' You narrowed your eyes at him. "Did I stutter? Go make me something to eat!" He shoved you into the small area—where they'd had a kitchen. "This is all you're good for. To serve me." He chuckled, sitting a few feet away from you. "Fuck you." You gritted out, throwing the dishes and pots into the sink as you got ready to wash them. You reached for the pipe only to have your whole head yanked back. He grabbed a fistful of your hair in his hand, squeezing tightly as he pressed himself against you. He growled, pushing your head into the cupboard as you let out a slight cry in pain. "Stop being so pathetic." He grunted. "Make sure you make something I can actually eat, this time." You stared at the dishes in the sink as you washed them, thoughts running through your mind. 'Why you?' You thought, asking yourself as you glanced over at him. He didn't notice you looking at him, taking a sip of his beer as the placed his legs on the table.

After around 45minutes was done, so was the food. You looked at the time, noticing that it was getting late. You served the food in front of him as he looked up at you. "And what exactly is this?" He raised an eyebrow, looking at you. "Sausage Roll. Eat, I have more if you need." You responded to him, turning away as you walked back to the kitchen. You turned on the kettle, heating up the water as you waited for it to boil. "Bring me two more." He grunted, letting out a burp as you reached to grab a plate. You opened the container, placing two more sausage rolls in a plate as you walked towards him again, setting it down in front of him without a word. "Attagirl." He says, slapping your ass. You jumped startled, "Did you just-" your tone raised slightly. "What? Can't handle a little touching?" He looked at you with a smirk, standing up as he towered over you. "I was just praising you." He shrugged, eyeing your body with his intense gaze. "Don't you ever touch me-" You hissed, until he interrupted. "I'll touch you whenever I want, wherever I want. Got that, princess?" He grabbed your chin, swiping his thumb over your lips. "I'll report you." You glared at him, crossing your arms. He chuckled, "Who will believe you?" he laughed, taking a few steps closer while you backed away. He grabbed your chin, pulling you towards him forcefully. His lips attached to your ear, "You think you can take me down? Have at it." He growled, scoffing as he released you, pushing you towards the ground. He stepped on your chest, the weight of his foot crushing your insides. A tear slipped from your eye, falling down your cheek. "I don't understand why you're treating me like this!" You shouted as you looked at him. Tears started to well up in your eyes as you felt humiliated by him. "Don't be so pathetic." He grinned, staring down at you. You glared at him, "You're the one that's pathetic. Does it feel nice to abuse a woman? I'm sure it does for men like you." You spat, pulling on his pants as you tried to pry his foot from your chest. "Pathetic? No, I don't abuse women. I'm just teaching you, your place." He dismissed your words, pulling his foot off your chest. "I hate you!" You shouted, standing to your feet as you ran out of the room.

Your tears began to fall, blurring your vision as you tried to run past anyone you saw. You stopped in front of your quarters, opening the door as you slammed it shut. You locked it, reaching into your dresser as you grabbed a box cutter, heading straight to the bathroom. You closed the door, locking it before sliding down the walls as you shoved your face into your knees. You raised your head, clutching the blade in your hands as you thought to yourself. You cried, recalling all the things he did to you these past 3months.

It didn't feel like anything to cry about. It felt like it wasn't that serious, that maybe you should just suck it up. You shoved your head in your hands, letting out sniffles every 5seconds. It hurt your pride, you felt humiliated. You were being walked upon all over by him. If you had to be honest; his insults did hurt a lot. You were insulted your whole life, it's nothing new. You just didn't understand why his insults hurt so much. You do know one thing for sure; You hate it here. You want to be gone, just to disappear and never come back. You thought to yourself, wincing as you carved a line into your arm, followed by two more before you take a breath. The lines started out as light red before small droplets of blood, started rolling down your arm. Your tears came harder, carving another set of 3 lines on your arm. You felt the despair as you thought about your life here. 'What did you do so bad to deserve this kind of treatment?' You felt, helpless. You didn't like feeling that way either. Tears blurred your vision as you carved another set of lines into your skin. Tears rolled down your cheek, feeling the sting that the wounds brought. You swallowed, slouching against the wall as you tried to cope with your problems.

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i don't know, man. i got the idea from talkie with my simon riley ai. 😭 i like talking to them.

the next chapter is going to be sweeter, less abusive language and mature themes. i hope you enjoy the chapter.  🖤