#must be really painful if the salt got into your eyes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trashmouth-richie · 1 year

Text

eddie x fem reader

(honey I’m home master list)

Summary: eddie waits for results and gets a heart to heart from Wayne. Recovery is tough road, but the sun shines.

triggers: dealing with ptsd and learning to heal.

Special thanks to @sweetsweetjellybean for helping me through this one! + all the others. Only 2 more chapters to go! 🥹

“This is it,” Eddie says, swiveling in his seat to look over at you, the rings on his finger tapping gently against the steering wheel.

Smiling softly, you look through the smoke stained windows of Eddie’s van up at the big brick house. He wasn’t kidding, Steve lived in a mansion compared to the small ranch style you had called home for the past few years.

You scrunch up your nose, “jeez Steve couldn’t afford anything bigger than this? Must be going broke.” Your humor was coming back in small spurts and Eddie grinned ear to ear.

“I know,” he agrees, throwing open his door and going around the front of the van to open yours, “.. ugly isn’t it? Poor bastard has no taste.” His smile is wide and toothy like it always was, but somehow more handsome. “This is okay right? I mean just gimme the word babe and we can stay with Wayne or somethin’.”

Placing a rogue curl away from his face you twist it around your finger. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the feeling of being his, but you couldn’t wait to start a new chapter in your life.

“I’d live anywhere, as long as you’re with me,” you say sweetly.

One of his big warm hands finds your cheek, wafting the familiar smell of old spice and Marlboros to you and bringing your face up to him, “you really are the most beautiful girl, you know that right?”

Steve and Leighanne had been expecting you, checking in with Eddie to make sure you would feel at home for your stay… however long that may turn out to be. They refused to accept any money from Eddie regarding rent. “It’s no good here Munson…Leighanne and I are just happy you two are safe.”

“..and you sir,” you say, working your fingers along the cotton of his shirt, a smile pressed to your coy lips, “are so full of shit.”

His eyebrows pull together and release once you stick out your tongue in a tease. A smirk replaces his concerned expression and he pulls you up into him.

His lips enclose yours and you can’t stop the smile spreading across them.

“You ready, baby?”

For the first time in three months, you had something to smile about, to look forward to, but the weeks leading up to this were not paved in gold.

——

Eddie paced the tiles of the waiting room, nails bitten and bleeding on his left hand, threads ripped and torn in the holes in his jeans. He was a wreck.

The brief conversation with the doc while you were being prepped for surgery gave little to no relief. Few words sticking with him and running like ticker tape across a news station channel screen in his head.

“high risk”

“Possible death during childbirth”

He held your hand as long as he could before you were wheeled into the operating room, apologies falling from your lips, followed by screams of pain. Eddie was terrified but assured you everything would be okay. Even if his bravado was fake, his mask held strong on his features. Calming you instantly.

He doesn’t break until the swinging doors close and he’s standing alone in the cold hallway, the pads of his fingers pressed to his lips. A silent scream trapped in his lungs. But the salt of his tears paint his face and wash away the mask, Awww

He just got you back, and now your life possibly hung in the balance, again. He just found out he was going to be a dad, and now the baby he never got more than a week to love, was gone.

Is this what it was to love him? Everyone he ever loved left in one way or another. The punishment of loving an unlovable man meant losing your life in terms of Eddie Munson.

His mother.

His child.

It was a curse. An eye for an eye. He had killed and now he was reaping what he sowed.

What kind of sick twist of fate would allow this to happen? Would allow a pregnant woman to be beaten nearly to death? To have a child ripped from his mother as she took her final breath?

Eddie started questioning everything he had ever done to deserve such cruelty bestowed onto the ones he cherished.

What else was there to sacrifice? He’d gladly die if it meant bringing them back to him. He would take their place, cold and frigid in the ground, a soft pillow in a satin box. Six feet under.

His fingers press into his eyes until he sees stars. The grief swallowing him whole into a tangled web of desperate pleas to a higher power he wasn’t even sure he believed in and mixed humidity from sweltering heat of hell.

He wasn’t strong enough for this. And if you died during the procedure? He’d certainly crawl up and perish like the weak man he was.

His boots are heavy and squeak annoyingly all the way to the empty waiting room. The calming color scheme offers nothing but a chilled brush of fear to his neck as he fishes out a quarter from his pocket when he gets to the pay phone. Messages scratched against the paint, “welcum to h3ll” “pray for me” “for a good time call Barb”.

His fingers find home on the silver buttons, clicking the number to the plant where Wayne works, only dialed when he was in too deep.

—

The monotonous dial tone seemed to go on forever, before a gruff voice out of breath voice answered, “this is Earl.”

Eddie kept his composure through the four word sentence asking if Wayne Munson was there. A grumbled remark and a slam onto the metal counter echoed through the receiver.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes fade to what felt like hours before the familiar calloused tongue rang through the other end. The dam Eddie was holding back broke as Wayne said his name, and through one sob after another Wayne told him to hold tight and he’d be right there.

Wayne left the plant in record speed. Grease smearsleft washed clean down his face from the tears that fell on the drive from the plant to the hospital, breaking all laws to get to there as fast as he could.

When Eddie’s eyes met Wayne’s he sobbed like a child. Clutching onto the man’s work uniform like it was the only comfort he had ever been offered.

A lifetime's worth of tears stream down the Munson’s faces. And Wayne eases Eddie into a chair in the waiting room.

“She’ll be alright, Ed.” Wayne offers, a rough comforting hand rubbing Eddie’s shoulder, “she’s a tough one.”

Eddie shakes his head, “she shouldn’t have to be,” his hands cover his face, he’d take the pain for you if he could, “if I would have told her sooner… if I didn’t freak her out when I did, m— fuck.. maybe, none of this would have happened.”

He had run a million and one scenarios over and over in his head on how this could have been changed if he could turn back the time and do things differently.

Wayne drags a rough hand down his face, smearing the grease from the machines at work and scratching the itch is his wiry unshaven face. To him, Eddie was still that same little boy, eyes bigger than the moon, and the weight of it all on his shoulders.

“Son, I know this is hard, but you gotta stop and think for a minute. Ain’t no way tellin’ if this could’ve been prevented.” He stops to clear his throat, years of cigarette smoke raw on his throat.

“Sounds like that som bitch was keepin’ her on a tight leash, just waiting’ on her to be alone.” Eddie winced at Wayne’s honesty, had Chad really been in the shadows? He keeps going, “You gotta open your eyes and realize what you do have and stop frettin’ bout woulda coulda shoulda.”

Eddie hung his head low, shoulders shaking with every sob he willed to swallow down, “I didn’t— fuck man, I didn’t even get a chance to love my own kid— and n— I promised myself I wouldn’t end up like him.”

He regrets it before he’s even done saying it. Truth was, he loved that baby the minute the nurse blurted out to a room full of friends that you were pregnant. He was heartbroken that he never got to shatter the Munson reputation and show himself and this fucking town how good he could raise a child.

Wayne nearly jumped out of his overalls with fury at Eddie’s speech, “Did you hurt that girl? Nearly kill her and your own blood? Out of some jealous whiskey infused rage?”

“No,” Eddie says, knowing he’s being scolded for saying something as dumb as what he just did.

“Your daddy was meaner than a Texas rattle snake. Fucker didn’t have a good bone in his body—mama always said he was born like that. Piss and vinegar blooded.” Wayne shakes his head at his own childhood memories of a brother who showed no remorse. “You think I’m yellow bellied enough to raise a man just like ‘im? Boy I thought you knew better than that.”

Eddie shrugs his shoulders and wipes a traitorous tear away.

“That,” Wayne says pointing to Eddie’s face, “you might have the Munson last name but son you are so much like your mama, think that som bitch ever shed a tear over someone other than ‘imself? Think again, boy.”

Eddie looks at Wayne through thick wet lashes.

“You’ll be a good daddy when the time is right. These are the cards you’re dealt with and they ain’t all pretty right now, but hell, a full house ain’t nothin but a few cards that look the same, no royalty needed.”

The hillbilly way of explaining things was Wayne’s greatest achievement, it gave Eddie a sense of calm, understanding. He was a good man. He had proved that time and time again. But hearing it and believing it— were on two different plains.

Dr. Newby found Eddie in the waiting room with Wayne, hung head down and knees bouncing. He had explained that everything went as well as it could have. You were stable.

Wayne asked the questions that Eddie couldn’t pluck the letters to form the words to generate the sentences to ask. He clung to the fact that you were in stable condition.

Fading in and out to catch bits of the doctor’s answers.

“The last ultrasounds she had done when she arrived here, showed a very irregular and faint heartbeat….body was in shock and the stress and trauma put her into early labor…”

“…there was never a guarantee that the baby would have even survived to the end of this week.”

The only question Eddie could muster, “when can I see her?”

—

The effects of the anesthesia wore off, dwindling like dandelion heads in the breeze in the summer. Blown away slow and easy.

You wished you could float on one of them, gentle and sweet fluttering around and not having a care in the world. Blown by a sharp gust of wind and landing daintily somewhere new, spreading the seeds of your fortune to a new land.

But the cold press of sheets and steel sides of the hospital bed bring you back to reality.

Not wanting to open your eyes and face the true cusp of the hell you were stuck in. Not wanting to see those same dark eyes swell with tears. Eddie’s heart ache seeped into your own, pulling the threads of the sewn stitches around it with each wet tear that fell down his face.

Would you ever bring him something other than turmoil? Could he find peace with you? The devil himself laughed at your pleads and you didn’t blame him.

You needed only a few more seconds, minutes, to yourself. Collecting your thoughts and trying to be strong for him.

He had promised to never stop loving you— would he still? Would he be able to look at you the same? Love you the same?

The comfort of your closed eyelids proved better than facing what lay ahead. But you couldn’t hide from him forever.

The void was suffocating, emptiness choking you and leaving you a shell of yourself, but it all faded away when you opened your eyes, and saw him.

—

Upon waking you both sobbed into one another, mourning the loss of the little family you both so desperately craved to belong too.

“I’m sorry Eddie, I’m so so sorry.” you had cried into his shirt.

Eddie held you to his chest, his arms holding you tight and his chin rested on the top of your head. “None of that, angel girl, you hear me?” He prodded, shattering the doubt and guilt from your mind, “we have each other, always.”

Days after, your body still felt hollow, empty and sunken. And the stress you had endured hung like a gown on a poorly constructed hanger around you. A dark cloud.

The doubt and demon truths sauntered their way back into your mind. Lies of telling you Eddie didn’t love you, didn’t care about you, could never be with someone responsible for what happened to his child or himself.

That was when the nightmares started.

—

“She seems good today,” Nancy chirps, her stylish heels click against the sidewalk outside of Roane County hospital, Jonathan keeping up with her quickened pace, holding his fingers tight between hers, thankful for every single day that she chose him, no matter his faults.

Eddie walked them out to their car, the sunny April morning brought birds and the promise of spring, “she’s always happy to see familiar faces, you’re like a sister to her.”

Nancy smiles with tears in her pale blue eyes, “she’s like a sister to me too, Eddie.”

“So you guys are staying with Steve and his girlfriend?” Jonathan asks, wrapping his arms behind Nancy and resting his chin on her shoulder.

Eddie sighs and leans a denim hip onto Nancy’s car, his arms crossed over his chest, a weighty sigh falls from his lips, “yeah, for a bit at least. I don’t want her to go back into that house.”

“Oh absolutely not,” Nancy agrees, nodding along, her curls bouncing, voice small, “I didn’t want to mention this to Tooty, but my mom and dad, and Jonathan’s mom and Hopper volunteered to clean it. Rip out the carpets, replace what’s broken—whatever needs to be done.”

Eddie is stunned at the support, but feels guilty all the same, “they don’t have to do that, I— once she’s clear to go home I’m gonna go over there and clean it all up myself.”

His heart ached and burned with the thought of being handed more charity.

“Dude, Jonathan started, “you’re our friends, we’re here to help, so let us.”

An exasperated breath leaves Eddie’s mouth, vibrating his lips on the way out, “alright.”

He’s overcome with emotion at the sentiment, and almost bites his lip in half to stop the flood of overwhelming tears from bursting.

“Now the only thing to figure out is… would you both move back in there?” Nancy asks timidly, her features soft and concerning, skirting on frazzled nerves, “Steve said something about finding someone to rent it out, that way she could have some sort of income..”

“I knew a guy from the paper who needed a place to live, but when I mentioned the house…he uh— well he quickly found something else,” Jonathan muttered partly into Nancy’s collar, “ arms tightening around her slender waist.

No doubt finding someone to rent the house would be difficult. The entire town was still reeling with what happened, somehow the only thing that anyone seemed to care about was Chad’s death. Never mind his crimes.

Eddie’s head spins, a headache brewing between his brow, and he closes his eyes to push it away.

“No rush!” Nancy says, her hand laying gently on Eddie’s arm, “we will all get it figured it out, okay?” The blue of her eyes twinkling with a pure presence of honesty, and hope. “Just focus on our girl in there, she really seemed to be doing well today.”

Most days he looked haggard, dark circles colored his under eyes, worry streaking down his face in thick fatigue, still he pushed forward, bit the bullet and attended therapy sessions with you for domestic violence survivors, and his own sessions for a fancy named disorder he didn’t care to understand.

He’d take care of you just like he promised.

Eddie opens his eyes and forces a smile, “Night and day difference compared to how she was the day of,” his dark blood shot eyes swim with his admission, “but we’re hopeful.. I mean things can only get better right?”

—

The first night at your new temporary place was perfect. You and Eddie were both welcomed with open arms literally, from both Steve and Leighanne. They showed you around, telling you everything that polite and generous hosts would.

After bringing in the few bags and boxes in from the van that were deemed needed and not marked to be brought to storage, your hosts leave you and Eddie alone for time to unpack and relax.

Time that you both took advantage of by immediately stretching out and taking a nap in the big king bed you had shared all those months ago. A bittersweet nostalgic memory, tinged with pain.

The love that was made, the life that was created—seemed like a different life time ago. Trauma and stress had changed you both.

And when you wept, Eddie held you close, his own tears tickled your hairline, and you both held onto the promise of unspoken devotion and undying love for one another to get through to another day.

When you woke from your slumber, Eddie wasn’t in the bed, and it left you in a small state of panic. The unfamiliar walls closing in like a trap. And you used your therapist’s tips to ground yourself; the repeated mantra, the breathing exercises, and if necessary, a shower to metaphorically rinse your mind of unwanted thoughts.

Finding the toiletries in your bag, you pad across the hall and step into the tiled shower. The hot steam coaxing the pressure off your chest. Relaxation floods your body almost instantly.

A soft knock on the door followed by Eddie’s voice, quiet and calm. The drag of the shower curtain brings your eyes up to find Eddie on the opposite side, “you okay?”

He was gentle, always. And you nodded. You would be okay, you would always be okay with him. Nobody ever made you feel safe like he did.

An unspoken agreement that neither of you were ready for anything intimate, seemed to break. Seeing him in light other than the harsh fluorescent ones in the hospital had you reaching for him.

His hooded eyes understood, and he pulled his shirt over his head, catching on the cast on his right arm.

He was beautiful, the dark lines of tattoos and smearing bruises complimented his pale skin, and a deep feeling flooded you. Only having felt it once before, the night of his concert… right before he kissed you.

The wet tile warmed his toes as he slid in beside you. Facing you and forgoing the doctors orders of not getting his cast wet, he asks just like he did that night.

Sharing kisses in the hospital and holding each other in the hospital was the most intimate you had been since that night.

And something that brought fear was once again replaced by the gentle touch of his hand. Running down the expanse of your back. Fingers moving down your spine in memory. His forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re perfect,” he soothes, running his fingers around to intertwine with yours, “I’m so goddamn in love with you.”

The tears tread down your cheeks, and he kisses them away, making your heart swell, and you muster out a blubbery, “I love you more.”

You both stand and hug until the water chills. Exiting the shower and wiping the condensation from the mirror.

The swelling around your face had gone down significantly, and even though you didn’t recognize yourself, Eddie reassured you that you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

“My girl,” he promised.

The days got easier, friends visited and cheered you both up. The hope for a better tomorrow came with the sun and pressed daintily on your skin, healing wounds deep within that in the early days of waking up screaming, you weren’t sure you would ever come back to see again.

—

“Does Eddie like tomatoes?”

The large knife moves through the juicy tomato with ease under Steve’s hand. You were perched on an expensive barstool, elbow digging into the granite counter tops as he prepped the salad for tonight’s dinner.

A smirk licks your lips, “no, he claims he’s allergic; calls them ‘ketchup testicles’”.

Steve cocks an eyebrow and blows a raspberry, “What a moron.”

“You don’t have to cook for us, y’know?” you say, picking the dry skin from your lip.

He shrugs, “it’s just a little salad, Leighanne made the alfredo lastnight, and if I follow the instructions right,” he says picking up a piece of notebook paper, including little hearts you can see through at the bottom in a very pretty cursive handwriting, “we’ll just have to heat er up.” Steve says, pushing a rogue hair from his forehead, “besides, I actually like to cook; she spoils me and doesn’t let me help.”

“I’m happy for you,” you say with a small smile, “you deserve it.”

“She’s the one,” Steve grins, love sick pupils widening at the thought of her, “but hey, you and Eddie finally pulling your heads out of your asses is the real winner— should have slapped you both for being so damn dumb.”

The middle finger you hold in the air just makes Steve laugh.

Who knew the prince of rebellion and chaos wore his heart on a leather sleeve only for you? The blinders you wore to convince yourself it wasn’t real were finally tossed aside.

He loved you, and you loved him. End of story.

Before you could answer, the mayor of mayhem announced himself back from work, keys jingling and whistling a tune you didn’t recognize. And when his dark eyes catch yours, they swim and shimmer in adoration.

Dimpled cheeks dip onto his toothy smile, “there’s my pretty girl,” he sings, coming behind you and hugging your waist. The smell of cigarettes and motor oil stuck on his curls. Chapped lips on your temple, “how was your day?... you okay?”

Eddie hated leaving you alone, taking his lunch break to come back to the big house and check on you, using his smoke breaks to call whenever he could.

You nod into him, “better now,” leaning your head back to press your lips to kiss.

An annoyed groan follows from across the kitchen island, “let’s keep it PG in here okay? I know you guys finally admitted you love eachother but that doesn’t mean I want to see all of that.”

Eddie’s chuckle fans over your cheeks and he answers Steve but his eyes lock on yours, “big talk for a guy who could make a deaf man blush.”

Steve guffaws and stops slicing, “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie grins and whispers finally looking away from you, “Quiet neighborhood… thin walls… you wouldn’t even need to ask who occupies this house with the way Steve whimpers Leighanne’s name… every night, they’re like rabbits.”

You both giggle at Steve’s expense when his cheeks turn crimson and the tomatoes he’s cutting end up mutilated.

—

Living with Steve and Leighanne was surprisingly easy. Their routines stayed the same, and Eddie went back to

work for Boom after you had settled in.

He was a saint.

He held you when the nightmares started again. Sweat pooling on your shirt waking only to find Eddie’s arms wrapped tight around you tethering you back to reality when his thumbs swept over your cheeks, and his lips kissed away your tears. Quiet whispers and soft hums of his voice lulled you as he pulled you deeper into him.

Eddie and Steve kept up the light jokes and cracks at one another all the time. it was good to be around close friends and laugh again— something both you and Eddie had missed desperately.

Laying in bed one night, you walk your fingers up his bare chest tracing the lines of his tattoos, snuggled up into his side like a cat.

His nails scratch at the fabric on your hips, “still not used to how good it feels to stretch out like this,” Eddie exhales, “I don’t know about you sweeteheart, but one more night in that hospital bed and I was going to ask Dr. Newby for fucking life alert.”

You giggle into his smooth skin, “twenty-six with life alert? Gonna thread that onto your pick chain necklace huh?”

“Shit,” Eddie chuckles, “I’d make it look so good babe, Ozzy himself would start wearing one.”

Hearing him joke around was a huge win. His bruises were fading too. But his wounds were deeper, wedged into the grim corners of his mind. Keeping him up most nights, afraid of falling asleep.

But each day the sun rose following the pattern of the moon, and another day passed. Eddie started sleeping at night again, your nightmares dormant. Medicine and therapy working into the perfect cocktail to deter his own demons.

The two of you clung together. Molded into one another like playdoh, forming a new hue after mixing your colors together. It changed with your moods, vibrant and sunny on good days and moody and dark on the bad ones. Interconnected by the fragile trauma that weaved its way into your life.

The laughing fit you are both in is partly from lack of sleep, but feels too damn good to stop. Snorting and dripping tears from your eyes, your roars turn to giggles and hiccups as you wipe your eyes.

“Didn’t know if I’d ever hear that again,” Eddie admits while rubbing your side, placing a kiss on your head.

You lean on his chest and look deep into his coal eyes.

“We’ve been to hell and back, babe… but with you, it’s, I don’t know… I just know that we will be okay, does that make sense? I’m not worried about anything because I have you, and I couldn’t do any of this without you Eddie, and I mean that. You’re all I’ve got.”

Eddie rolls you over and tucks a wet lock of hair behind your ear, “I’d do it all again if I knew I’d end up with you as my girl.”

The tears start but they aren’t sad, they’re slow and happy, grateful for having him in your life. He wipes your tears and kisses you softly, humming the same song he sang like an idiot to you in your car all those months ago.

The calloused hearted trailer park prince had won over the icy soul of that stubborn mouthy girl. A perfect pair, tarnished crowns and stitched lips.

To hell and back.

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things

683 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 1 year

Text

Always Ever Only You Part 10 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Does absence make the heart grow fonder or more frustrated? You and Bradley aren't quite sure where you stand with each other, and you're both apprehensive about how it will feel to open up communication again. And while it's hard for you to stop blaming yourself, Bradley is becoming aware of all the ways he hasn't done enough.

Warnings: Angst, swearing

Length: 5400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley picked at his dinner for the third night in a row. He sat between Nat and Bob, and both of them clearly knew something was wrong. But Bradley hadn't been able to talk about it. What was he supposed to say, anyway? Admit that he had been acting like sex with his wife was a chore? Tell them that he had made you cry the night you got promoted? Disclose that you had slept on the bathroom floor to get away from him? Announce he was that asshole who got his sperm tested without telling you?

As if that wasn't enough, Bradley could still hear the hurt in your voice when you yelled at him about the test results in the kitchen at home. The memory of it caused him a physical pain in his chest. It was an ache that he knew would be there until you spoke to him again. If you spoke to him again.

"Pass the salt?" Bob asked softly, and Bradley did it automatically and without any emotion. It wasn't Bob's fault that things went down so badly at home. And it wasn't Nat's fault either. But he could barely look at them or talk to them, and he knew he was going to need to start. Because whatever this mission brought, all of them would be doomed with Bradley in this kind of headspace.

He cleared his throat and said, "This meatloaf is pretty good."

"It's okay," Nat replied. "Nothing's as good as what your wife makes. Think you can talk her into another dinner party when we get home?"

He could only grunt in response before he had to cover his eyes with one hand.

"Hey," Nat whispered, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "You're kind of scaring us, Soul Sister. Wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head. "Not in the middle of the mess hall, but thanks, Nat."

"Maybe later? We can sit in the lounge and eat all the candy I brought."

Bradley had to close his eyes against the pain he felt over being an inadequate husband. But he loved his best friend, and he knew he'd probably feel better if he confided in her. "I'll think about it."

Just when he started poking at his dinner again, three young aviators sat down on the other side the table, the biggest one directly across from Bradley. "Hey, old timers," he said in an annoying accent that immediately reminded him of Jake. So these must be the young recruits out of Lemoore. The hotshots that all the admirals were talking about. Bradley just wanted to poke at his food and think about his wife. He didn't really feel like babysitting right now.

"Hi," Bob responded cheerily, and the three of them laughed. Bradley wanted to tell Bob not to engage with them, but it was too late. The big one, who introduced himself as Slayer, was subtly making fun of Bob's glasses, and Bradley's nerves were already too frayed.

"Hey, Nat, how about we hang out in the lounge now," he said as he stood with his mostly uneaten tray of dinner. Bradley was exhausted, all he wanted was to be able to fix things with you, and training was starting early tomorrow morning. And he needed to get away from these morons as soon as possible.

Nat and Bob stood, and followed him to get rid of their trash and trays. "I didn't think you'd actually take me up on my offer so soon. Usually you need a full week to stew in your feelings before you say anything."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "I didn't like the way Slayer was talking to Bob. You know he was making fun of you right? He literally said he'd never fly with a WSO in glasses," he said.

"Oh. Yeah. I know," Bob replied in an even tone. "Doesn't much matter. I don't have to fly with him. I get to fly with Phoenix. And I always pass my eye exams."

Bradley was in a constant state of inner panic right now. He didn't understand how his two friends could be as calm as they were. Nat was listing off all the candy she had brought with her while Bob nodded placidly and told her that Starbursts were his guilty pleasure. Meanwhile Bradley couldn't decide if he wanted to cry or jump into the ocean. When he thought about you back at home in the craftsman with Tramp, it was hard for him to breathe. You were forgiving, patient and caring, but he wasn't so sure he deserved any of those things from you right now.

The three of them stopped by Nat's bunk to get some of the candy, but after Bob snagged a few Starbursts, he turned away from the lounge.

"You're not coming?" Nat asked.

"Nah," Bob replied as he unwrapped a candy. "I'll turn in early. Good night."

Bradley just shook his head. Even though he'd be up all night, typing up email drafts to you on his phone without any wi-fi, at least Bob didn't snore. So he could be miserable in his bed with some peace and quiet.

"Come on," Nat told him, wrapping her smaller hand around the crook of his elbow and guiding him down the dim, gray corridor toward the lounge. "You'll feel better after we talk."

"I don't know," he replied, swallowing past the pain he felt. When he got into the lounge, he flopped down on his back on the narrow couch, leaving a tiny bit of room for Nat to sit next to his head. "I fucked up."

"I'm assuming by just how fucking miserable you look that something happened with your wife?" She opened a package of Twizzlers and handed him a few strands.

"We were trying to have a baby," he said softly as he spun the silicone ring around on his finger. It felt weird. It looked weird. He didn't really like it. He missed his gold band that he left at home with you. But this one would be safer; that's why he ordered it with all of his deployment supplies from Amazon. And if anything happened to him, you'd at least have his wedding ring.

"Yeah," Nat replied, shoving some gummy worms into her mouth. "I know. You already told me that. You're glued to your wife most of the time anyway. If you have a baby, you'll be insufferable."

"I don't know if she'll let me touch her again let alone have sex."

She paused with more worms in her hand and looked down at him. "Bradshaw, what the hell did you do?"

He rubbed his hand over his face and took a deep breath. "I think I put too much pressure on her. On both of us. We've been trying for five cycles, and I know when her period is due and when she's ovulating...and I realize how bad that sounds when I say it out loud. Because yeah...I kept talking about it nonstop at home. I ruined her fucking promotion night, Nat."

"Oh," she whispered. "You made her feel like she only serves one purpose for you."

"Fuck," he moaned, covering his eyes with his bicep, his Baby Girl paper airplane tattoo pressed to his face. Nat was completely right. In one short sentence, she put all of his wild, rambling thoughts into perspective for him. That was exactly what he had been doing. And when he thought he was being helpful, all he was really doing was reminding you of what wasn't happening. "Nat, I had my sperm tested, and I didn't tell her. She found the paperwork with the results."

She gasped, and he immediately felt a million times worse. He had disappointed his wife, and now his best friend was disgusted with him on your behalf. "Why?" she demanded, tossing the candy bags aside and tugging on him until he was sitting up. "Why didn't you tell her?"

"Fuck, Nat. I thought it would be helpful information to have, you know? If there was something wrong with me, then we could talk to a doctor right away."

"There's nothing wrong with you, is there?" she asked in a monotone voice.

"No," he replied softly, looking at the floor. "And then I didn't want to tell her about it. But she saw the paper, and she blamed herself for everything. Which I somehow knew was exactly what was going to happen. And I should have just fucking told her I was thinking about getting the testing done!"

When he turned to look at his best friend, her eyes looked sad, and her lips were set in a frown. "Oh, Rooster. You're such an idiot."

"I know that!" he snapped back. "I don't need you to say it!"

"Yes, you do," she replied calmly. "You need me to say it. You should have come to me with this weeks ago. Next time you have a dumbass thought, like how you're going to jerk off into a cup and not tell your wife about it, you come talk to me. We'll sort it out."

"I don't know how to fix this. We could barely even look at each other when I left." He closed his eyes and added, "And now I'm here, and she's there."

"What's more important to you? Having a child or loving your wife?"

Whether or not Nat really needed to hear what his answer to that question was, the words made him so physically sick, he had to stand up and walk around the room. "If she's not happy, then nothing else matters," he managed around the tightness in his throat. "It's not worth it. Nothing else is worth it if she's not happy with me."

"Then I think you need to start with that and work from there," Nat told him, standing and wrapping him in a hug.

------------------------------

You skipped work on Monday. You didn't call in. You didn't tell anyone. You just didn't go. You just stayed in bed most of the day with Bradley's wedding ring and a sinking feeling in your heart. Your parents called you on Monday night, probably to see how you were doing without Bradley at home, but you couldn't answer their call. And you weren't honestly sure if things were better or worse without him here. All you knew was you didn't want to go back to work, because you couldn't stop crying.

But on Tuesday morning, you felt more angry than sad, and that seemed to be the motivation you needed to take a shower. You vigorously scrubbed at your Rooster tattoo until the skin felt fresh and raw. Then you dressed in your uniform and headed out. You hadn't eaten anything since before Bradley left, but it didn't matter.

You couldn't even decide if you wanted to talk to him or not. He could call you tomorrow, or it could be weeks before you heard from him. But you kept your phone on you just like you always did when he was away. The sickening feeling of what if washed over you. What if something happened, and they needed to reach you. What if Bradley was injured again. What if you never got a chance to talk to him again.

As you made your way to your lab, you already had tears in your eyes. By shutting each other out, you and your husband had only made things worse. You had to stop thinking about him. He probably wasn't even thinking about you at all. His goodbye speech was echoing in your mind, and you could just picture his ring on your nightstand.

"Fuck," you croaked as you sat down in your usual seat. You thought you were alone, but then you heard Cat's voice behind you.

"Something wrong?"

"No," you muttered, wiping at your eyes. "I'm fine." You didn't even bother to turn and face her, but a second later, she was pulling her chair closer to you than she normally sat. Great. "I told you I was fine."

"Yeah," she replied casually. "And I heard you. But you're terrible at lying. You're too nice to be able to pull it off. Where were you yesterday?"

You stared straight ahead and took a few deep breaths. You weren't feeling particularly nice these days, and you weren't too fond of the way Cat had been treating Jake. Your heart rate was up. The desire to hurt someone, to make them feel miserable like you did, was pulsing through your body.

"You know what, Cat?" you asked, turning in your seat to face her. You got to watch her neutral expression melt away as you said, "Maybe we should cut the shit."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, very subtly moving away from you. That should have been you cue to cool yourself down, but you just couldn't.

"I'm talking about the way you're treating Jake like he's trash. Did you make out with him in secret again yesterday? Turn him down for another date?"

"I can't go out with him," she snapped back. "I can't have him around Jeremiah. He's exactly like what I left behind in Maryland."

"You like him!" you nearly shouted.

"Of course I do," she replied, dark eyes flashing. "But not seriously. He'd be a terrible fit for me now. He's a womanizer. I know he's your friend, but why can't you see that?"

"He wants to change! And he'd probably just adore Jeremiah!" you insisted with narrowed eyes. "For some unknown reason, he really likes you, even though you and your Uncle Hondo are putting him through the fucking ringer!"

Your fists were clenched, and it felt so good to be upset about something other than your relationship with Bradley. But you watched Cat's expression turn to panic.

"You know about Hondo?" she asked softly.

You laughed darkly. "Are you referring to the fact that he's your uncle? Or that he's been giving Jake extra push ups and laps around the hangars as extra punishments for weeks now?"

Her lips parted, and she looked like she was going to be sick. "He saw us. He must have."

"Yeah, no shit. I saw you, too, remember? You're not doing a very good job of hiding the fact that you think Jake is good enough for you to lead him on physically but not good enough to have dinner with him."

"Uncle Bernie is trying to scare Jake away. Because Jake is exactly like Chris, and he doesn't want me to get hurt again. I didn't know-" she started, but you cut her off.

"Well now you do. And if you truly don't give a flying fuck about Jake, then let him rot out there on the tarmac, doing a million extra push ups every day instead of eating lunch. But if you care about him even a little bit, please stop leading him on. Just tell him you're not going to date him once and for all, and tell Hondo to knock it off!"

Cat turned toward her computer and went silent for the rest of the morning. Which was fine with you. There was a lot to catch up on since you skipped work yesterday. There was no point in going to lunch since Bradley was gone. And if you did go, you'd just end up arguing with Jake. So instead you pretended to do some work while you thought about how many things needed to change between you and Bradley until you made yourself nauseous.

------------------------------------------

"Before we get started today, I'd like to just take a moment to point out that our fresh recruits from Lemoore have been doing an excellent job both in the air and in the classroom," Admiral Dean announced to the room full of aviators. Bradley rolled his eyes as Slayer and his buddies sat up a little straighter. "You're really earning the spotlight," he told them before continuing with some of the mission details.

Admiral Dean had been showing favoritism to the group from Lemoore all week, and Bradley cringed knowing he had seven more weeks of this to go. He didn't want to be here. His mind kept wandering back to San Diego. Back to you.

After a week away, he didn't even know where you and he stood. He felt numb. Desensitized. Almost like nothing could hurt him or fix him except you. Were you sleeping and eating well? Were you worried about him? Was there any way you could forgive him for the way he'd behaved and the things he'd said? Did you even want to?

It was a good thing he already had these mission parameters memorized; two teams would be working in tandem to eliminate a communications tower and a newly constructed military base. He knew it by heart, and now all he could think about was what he wanted to tell you if you accepted a call from him. He'd been talking to Nat all week, and it was clear to Bradley now that you should be his top priority. Not a baby, not having sex to try to get pregnant. Just you.

But there was so much he wanted to say to you, and he was afraid he was going to stumble over his words and just make things worse. It could be another week or two before he was allowed access to an iPad anyway. He'd put his name in to try to get chosen for an early FaceTime slot, but there were no guarantees.

"Bradshaw, Trace, Floyd," barked Admiral Dean. "Get out to your aircrafts to run some practice formations. And try to keep up with the rest."

"Yes, sir," Bradley managed to say with a perfect salute when really all we wanted to do was flip this guy the bird and then hijack an iPad for the rest of the day.

"You look so distracted," Nat whispered as they exited the classroom.

"I just need to talk to her," he replied softly. "If I can just have a real conversation with her and tell her how I feel, I think I'll be able to focus."

She nodded. "I know. I already told you that if I get selected first, you can trade time slots with me."

He just nodded, because the tightness in his throat made him more than a little nervous for how he was about to perform in the air for Admiral Dean and the other officers. Once they were all out on deck, the sun was way too hot, and Bradley could feel the sweat trickling down his back. He handed his helmet to Nat for a second so he could remove his silicone ring and wipe the sweat from his hand.

"Whoa, wait. Are you two old timers married to each other?" asked Slayer's large and annoying buddy. From the font emblazoned across his helmet, his call sign was Charmer. Oh, the irony.

"No, dumbass," Nat replied coolly. "Flying together would be disallowed according to the misconduct handbook."

Charmer looked confused by her words, and Bradley wanted to laugh. But now Slayer was referring to Bob as "four eyes" which made him want to punch something.

"How can I guarantee that you can see correctly in the air?" Slayer asked him. "I shouldn't even have to fly with you at all."

"Oh," Bob said with a good natured chuckle. "My corrective lenses make it possible for me to see just perfectly. I passed my eye exams last month."

But Slayer just snickered. "The only thing worse than flying with a guy who can't see is flying with a woman."

Bradley was about to take his helmet back from Nat when he felt his hands curl into fists. Suddenly it seemed like he had nothing to lose by leveling these assholes.

"You need to learn some fucking manners and put some respect on her name," Bradley growled closing in on Slayer.

But the other man didn't back down at all. "I'm sure Phoenix here can't fly for shit, but at least she's alright to look at. I'll bet your wife is a dog, old man."

That was it. Bradley was actually going to be dishonorably discharged from the navy for fistfighting another officer. But just as Bob managed to kind of wedge his arms between their bodies, Admiral Dean started calling for everyone to get in their aircrafts.

"Woof woof," Slayer called with a laugh as he strutted away. He sounded like a fucking child. He essentially was a fucking child. But Bradley still had to fight the desire to pound his face in.

"You need to relax," Nat hissed. "Dean already has it out for us, and you'll just make it worse."

"I know," Bradley growled, putting his helmet on. "But he insulted both of you."

"Bob and I are used to it, Rooster. You need to tuck your feelings way down deep inside until later tonight. I'll get out more candy and can you lay on the couch in the lounge and mope. But now is not the time!"

His friend was absolutely right. He needed to chill. So Bradley tried to clear his mind of all extraneous material, keeping only the mission details and his perfect wife at the forefront.

----------------------------

On Saturday evening, you managed to call your parents back. They sounded concerned when you lied and told them that you had a migraine and you were going to try to catch up on sleep for the rest of the weekend. You tried to engage in conversation for a few minutes more, but as soon as your mom mentioned future grandkids, you had to end the call.

The throbbing pain in your heart just wouldn't go away. You missed Bradley. It hurt to breathe as you curled up in bed wearing your husband's UVA shirt with Tramp next to you.

Jake kept texting you constantly, trying to see where you were. He tried calling a few times today, but you were ignoring him pretty successfully. Maybe you could just take some melatonin and pass out until tomorrow afternoon.

As you climbed out of bed to dig around in your nightstand, a thought occurred to you. Had Bradley left you anything this time? You'd been too consumed by your wayward thoughts to even register that maybe there was something in here for you. When you opened the drawer, you sank all the way down onto your knees on the floor.

There was a pretty, professionally bound album with one of your wedding photos on the cover. You and Bradley on the beach. He was looking at you like he couldn't believe you were real, and his fingers were resting gently on the side of your neck.

You had to squeeze your eyes closed against the tears, because you could remember that moment perfectly. You could almost feel the weight of his hands on your body and hear his voice. When you reached into the drawer to remove the album, a tiny paper airplane that was tucked in the corner fell out of it.

Thanks for the memories, Baby Girl.

You couldn't stop crying. There were photos from when you were dating and the day he bought the craftsman. There were photos of Tramp and some from the Hard Deck. There was one of you at the beach just before a crashing wave soaked you through your clothing. There were some with your parents and some at Goose and Carole's gravesite. And he had chosen the most beautiful wedding and honeymoon photos as well. Everything was in order, and they were all perfect. And each one had a handwritten sentence or two underneath.

I can't believe how beautiful you are.

How did I get this lucky?

Let's stay together forever. That's all I want.

You are my perfect wife.

You were laying flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling with tears leaking from your eyes when you heard your doorbell ring. "Fuck," you gasped as you sobbed. Tramp launched himself off the bed and ran through the living room barking up a storm.

They would go away. Whoever it was would just leave when nobody opened the door. But then the pounding started. "Angel! It's me! I see your car in the driveway."

You didn't want to talk to Jake right now. You didn't want to talk to anyone right now. You just wanted to look at the album of photos from your husband and wonder what he meant by Thanks for the memories, Baby Girl.

"I brought my spare key from Rooster, and I'm about to use it," he called through the door. Even Tramp's barks had turned to a pathetic whimper by this point, so you just got yourself up off the floor.

You almost made it to the door by the time Jake was opening it. And then he took one look at you, softly closed it behind him, and wrapped his arms around you.

"Oh, Angel," he crooned as you sobbed and shook against him. "What the hell happened?"

"Everything," you cried, burying your face in his shirt. "I don't know."

Carefully and very slowly, he guided you toward the couch as he told you that it would all be okay. But you didn't believe him. And when he suggested you sit down while he got you something to drink, you shook your head.

"Okay," he whispered, keeping his arms tight around you, holding you in the middle of the living room. You had no idea how long it took until you were able to stand on your own again, but when you finally pulled your face away from his shoulder and met his eyes, he looked very concerned.

You just sniffed and wiped at your tears as he kissed your forehead. "You ready to tell me what's wrong?" he asked, and you just shrugged in response. You knew that as soon as you started talking, you'd be sobbing again. "You ready for some tea and a snack?"

This time you nodded and plopped down onto the couch with Tramp at your feet. You could hear Jake opening and closing the kitchen cupboards, looking for mugs and tea bags. But it felt nice to have someone in your house with you, so you curled up against the throw pillow and took some deep breaths. When he set down some cheese and crackers next to a mug of hot tea, you realized you hadn't eaten all day. Your stomach growled with hunger, and then you thought you might be sick.

He sat next to you and blew on his own mug of tea. "Figured you hadn't eaten dinner," he mused, petting Tramp on the head.

"I haven't eaten all day," you whispered, reaching for your own mug.

Jake gave you an appraising look. "I think it's time to tell me what's wrong."

You tried to sip your tea, but it was too hot. "You already know I can't seem to get pregnant," you said with an awkward shrug. "It's the only thing Bradley wants, and I can't get it right."

"Angel. That's not the only thing he wants," Jake insisted, but your eyes were blurry with tears again.

"Just because he'd never admit to it doesn't mean it's not true," you whispered.

"He'd never admit to it, because it's not true. Jesus, do you hear yourself? Trying to talk in circles to reach an incorrect conclusion?" he asked, shaking his head. "Bradley would walk through fire for you. He would tame a lion, or defy the laws of physics or some shit."

You snorted in spite of yourself. But then you admitted to Jake that Bradley had gotten his sperm tested behind your back. And you told him the things he had said recently that made you cry yourself to sleep.

"He's just stupid," Jake insisted. "Doesn't mean he loves you less because you're not pregnant. Yet. Just give it a few more months. And it sounds like you both want the exact same thing, and you both want to find a way to blame yourself so the other one can be let off the hook."

"Huh." You hadn't really thought about it that way. The self blame crept in every day for you. But maybe that was part of the reason why Bradley gave a sperm sample. Blaming yourself was easier than blaming the person you loved.

Then Jake asked, "Did you skip lunch all week? I saved you a seat every day. I saw Maria, and I asked if you'd been eating with her."

You looked at him and knew you couldn't lie. "I haven't really had an appetite since Bradley left."

"Have you been avoiding the dining hall because of me?"

Maybe you had been a little bit. You didn't want to go down there knowing you wouldn't see Bradley, not with the way you left things. But you felt like things with Jake were a little off kilter too. "I don't know. Maybe."

He sat in silence for a minute before reaching for the plate of cheese and crackers and holding it out to you. With a sigh you took some of the food and started to nibble on it.

"What's going on with you and Cat?"

"Nothing."

You rolled your eyes and bit into the cracker. "I've heard that before."

He lounged back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. "I really like her. There's something about the way she looks and her smile and her voice. I don't know. But she told me a few days ago to just stop asking her out. So I did. And I've barely seen her since."

You felt like maybe this was your fault. You also felt like maybe this is what Jake actually needed. "Is Hondo still riding you?"

"Nah," Jake sighed before he drank more of his tea. "He backed off. Kind of miss it though. Make me feel like I was getting somewhere, you know?" he asked with a tiny smirk. "It's hard to get under that man's skin. But I guess making out with his niece will do the trick."

You laughed, and then you realized you had eaten most of the cheese and crackers. And then you finished your tea while Jake took Tramp out for a little walk for you.

Once he was gone, you texted Maria and Cam about potentially going to brunch tomorrow morning. Then you sat in bed and took your time with the photo book from Bradley. Every page made you smile or feel like crying because you missed him.

When you tried to put his wedding band on your thumb, it was still too big. So you unclasped the chain holding the charms he gave you, and you added it there. Then you took your melatonin and went to sleep.

----------------------------

Bradley was in line for dinner on Monday after a day of being roasted by Admiral Dean when he heard his name. "Bradshaw." He turned to see a man heading his way. "There's a free slot with an iPad if you want it."

"Now?" he asked, tossing his tray down and stepping out of line.

"Yes. Your name was at the top of the list."

"Okay," he said, heart racing as he headed for the room onboard the aircraft carrier where he could finally talk to you. He was nervous. There were a million things he wanted to say, and he wished he had written them down. But it didn't matter. He was going to get to see your face. He could finally tell you the truth about how he had been feeling and how he was going to make things up to you. And he'd beg you to be honest with him, too.

"Thanks," he muttered as he took the offered iPad and found an empty seat. He could hear other officers talking and laughing with their loved ones, and he smiled as he entered your phone number. The first thing out of his mouth was going to be how much he loved you. The second thing was going to be that the two of you would figure everything out when you were together again.

But Bradley counted each time your phone rang unanswered. Three... Four... Five.

You always answered when he called. Every single time. You answered when you were at work. You answered in the middle of the night. You answered when you were taking Tramp for a walk.

Six... Seven.

And then the line went dead. You had ignored his call.

-------------------------------

He bought that ring weeks ago. And I don't even know when he managed to sneak the gift into the drawer. And I don't know how they can fix this. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 11

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

637 notes · View notes

ohitsthemindstuffagain · 19 days

Text

British Vogue presents ‘In The Dark Bag’ with Star of the Night the Vampire Lestat. The french vampire reveals his nightly essentials, as we try to take a look inside his handbag - with no success, since he would slap our hands every time we tried to touch it.

Well it's a bling-encrusted Mouawad 1001 Nights Diamonds Purse also well known as the most expensive handbag of the world. We wouldn't let anyone touch it too If It was ours.

‘I hate when people take what isn't for them,’ says the star as he holds the little heart bag in his lap. He relents finally after some excruciating time when we practically beg on our knees for him to let us take a look. We are not embarrassed to confess that we would do just anything for him, there's something that happens to you when you are in his nefarious presence, this will sound crazy but It was like we could hear his voice in our heads compelling us to give him everything. Well, he can take all he wants.

‘Fine’ he says at least ‘If we may’ and opens the little bag with such caring and hand trembling that we all hold our breath. ‘It's a pain. These little things that we carry with us every night.’ He starts throwing the objects of inside the bag on the table in front of him - the things fall on a slow-like dance in the air, like held by a magic spell.

And so the items ARE all set on display to us. With precise moves he gets hold of a green and long cosmetic little pot. ‘I’m on a clean phase/not a thing to hide kind of moment. But I'm a huge fan of makeup, whatever… so the only cosmetic I'm going by these nights is this.”

We take a close look - closer as we dare. 'Its Jeffree Star’s gloss, from the Blood Money line. It has a pale kissed-by-the-moon effect that I appreciate, I guess.'

The next thing he holds is a little book leather bound - its so little you could cover it with your hand. Looks like a notepad but we couldn't take a pic of It. ‘Here I take some notes, write songs and also travel in time to, you know, remember why my heart is still beating.’ He opens the little book on an aleatory page. He makes a face and smiles. ‘Oh, it's a sonnet. Not mine unfortunately. It belongs to Vinicius de Moraes, a brazilian writer - his blood tasted like salt water huh.’

He reads the sonnet, of course, in a song toned voice, to our complete delight.

‘Sonnet of Separation Suddenly laughter was turned to sorrow Silent and white like the mist And mouths joined together were turned to foam And hands drove away what once they welcomed. Suddenly the calm was turned to wind That blew out the last flame in the eyes And passion was turned to foreboding And the frozen moment was turned to drama. Suddenly, no more than suddenly The lover was transformed in sadness And contentment into solitude. The close friend became a distant one Life became a wandering adventure Suddenly, no more than suddenly.’

There is red tears caressing his perfect face, we were devastated, the broken and consuming feeling grabbing us by the throat. And so he looks at the cam very seriously and closes the little book. ‘Well. Go buy a book.’

His hands start to move again and stop short over an old photograma. It's black and white. He takes some time to let us take a real look.

‘It's nothing. Just an old boyfriend. Ex husband. If you must.’ He says and we can see a black and slim man. Handsome and for the state of the photo probably deceased. He let us touch it and we can see there's something in the back, a phrase in french.

He takes it back. ‘As I said, it's nothing. In poor english it says ‘thank you, next’.' His cell phone rings, he takes it very annoyed. ‘Just a moment… oh, hello, mon amour…’ He covers the phone. ‘It's him.’ Looks at the cam again. ‘See it's really hard to get rid of the exs.’

He stands and walks out. We waited for about an hour until he got back. When he does, he is in a better mood. Holds the photo again, shows It to the cam. ‘Here, take a close up. He looks like an angel, dont him? And I must be trustful, he is… How do you say it in english when you find the one, you know, for good?’ He asks looking far away, his expression dreamlike.

He sighs and sings ‘Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand? With every guitar string scar on my hand. I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover… or whatever she said’

He kiss the pic. ‘We are meeting up tonight. So let's just wrap It?’

We nod.

He takes hold of a little red ipod. ‘I don't go anywhere without music.’

And so he takes a wireless headphone that is purple and decorated with little bats. ‘It’s a gift from my lover. He… he likes to give me cute and beautiful things - now. How time makes us better huh. But I still like to give him in return... art, head pain and sex toys but the intention is always what really matters. And I love him deeply, artistically, in a dirty and painful way.’

The last thing is a pot of lube, which is still sealed in the package. ‘Whats this… it's not mine. Oh…’ He take a close look. 'It's white wine flavored. Humm…’ He put the things back in the bag, his moves very more fluid. ‘As I said, he likes to give me things.’ He hold the bag close to his chest looking very emotive, fragile, pained and happy all at the same time. ‘Beautiful and expensive things. Nice things, silly things. We… have been separated for almost eighty years. I guess he owes me this. But it feels nice to be cared for and all this nonsense.’

And so hes gone, disappearing before our eyes.

#iwtv #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #amc interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire lestat #louis and lestat #loustat #iwtv fanfiction #iwtv fanart #its kind of a fic #lestatcore

38 notes · View notes

lazybutsmexy · 2 years

Text

Salt and pepper

Price x gn!reader

Warnings: none!

Summary: The realization of age hung heavily on his shoulders. Luckily for him, you're more than ready to share it with him.

A/N: This was loosely inspired by a section of this post by @skylarsblue (read it and you'll see which one hehehe)

Word count: 700~

Anxiety crawls up his chest while his eyes wander over his face. An angry heartburn settled in his chest, and his jaw clenched so tightly his gums protested in pain. Had the sink been a living creature, it would’ve screamed under the pressure of his hands gripping its edge.

He didn’t like one bit what he was looking at. A total of five - five - gray hairs on each of his temples. He counted them over and over again. Five on each side, in a sea of brown, sitting on the same line of his eyes.

Dozens of scenarios ran through his head. His knees already creaked sometimes the moment he stood up after being crouched down for a while. How long until his hips started hurting randomly during the day? How long until his beard also sported splotches of white hairs?

The more he looked at his reflection, the more details he noticed. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the gentle sag of the bags beneath his eyes, the little dots on his skin from the hours spent under the sun.

The realization of age hung heavily on his shoulders now, wrapping around him like a vice.

“...John? ‘s everything okay?” your voice pulled him from drowning in the lagoon forming in his mind. Your sleepy voice, which made his heartstrings tighten every time, suddenly sounded so youthful to him. It didn’t really help his nerves.

He had always been aware of the age gap between the two of you, but you had reassured him whenever he questioned your sanity for falling for an older man.

An even older man, now.

“You’ve been in the bathroom for a while, hun,” your words carried a tint of concern, and he immediately felt guilty for being one again the source of your worry, “are you feeling unwell? Need me to call someone?”

“Nah, love, I’m coming out now,” he finally sighed, finally releasing his grip on the poor sink and splashing water on his face and hair. It was early, the crack of dawn to be precise. You weren’t usually completely functional at this time of day. He could hold onto the hope that you wouldn’t notice it yet. He toweled off his face a little rougher than necessary before opening the door to reveal your sleep-ridden face to him.

His heart soared as your half-lidded eyes met his, and a small grin adorned your face the moment he held your face in his hands. His whole world, in his hands.

“...salt and pepper,” he almost didn’t catch your whisper, and for a moment he thought his ears were deceiving him, but the twinkle in your eyes proved him wrong.

As well as your hands cupping his face oh-so-tenderly, and your fingers stroking the very cause of his crisis. The inside of his lower lip got caught between his teeth, and he waited for any sign that you were unhappy - he made a mental note to run for hair dye the moment he got out of your touch.

Instead, you offered an appreciative hum and stroked the little offenders with the tips of your nails, and John all but melted under your touch.

“I’m too young to have ‘em,” he grumbled - excusing himself, perhaps? “I’ll dye them later, love, you won’t see them.”

“Don’t you dare, Jonathan,” your tone was final, and his cheeks squished a little under the slight pressure from your palms. He blinked at you, both confusion and adoration swam in his irises - he couldn’t deny he loved it whenever you used that tone on him. “I love all of you, every hair on your head included.”

You must have been a witch or a sorcerer in your past life, for just as if you’ve cast a spell, his previous anxiety began melting away, giving space to the burst of love blooming in the middle of his chest.

“Besides,” your grin turned to a smirk, and you pulled him closer to you. Your chest was flush against his and he instinctively wrapped his arms around your middle. Your lips brushed against his, and he would be able to count each of your eyelashes if he weren’t drowning in your widening pupils.

“I’ve been waiting for you to enter your salt-and-pepper era for way too long.”

#captain john price #captain johnathan price #captain price #john price #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod mwii #cod mwii x reader #gn!reader

629 notes · View notes

galacticgraffiti · 2 months

Text

If You Want to Give Me Anything (Then Give In) - Part II

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 2.1k Summary: And the yearning continues... CW: blood, canon-typical violence, gays yearning, blood-licking, knife-licking, knowingly hurting oneself, blood kink (i guess?), definitely knife kink, lewd thoughts A/N: Found the dividers here. Big bear hugs to @patchmates loml your help and beta comments mean everything to me my darling.

♦ My Masterlist • If you prefer AO3 ♦ Taglist Signup

Part II

It’s been weeks. Neither of them have spoken a word about their exchange.

Oh, they don’t avoid each other. They eat together, spar together, sit together. But they don’t talk about it. By now, Johnny is half sure that Ghost must have forgotten about it, must have thought it was a fever dream of pain, or simply doesn’t remember it at all. He couldn’t have meant it.

Sweet’eart.

Because it’s never anything, not really.

Johnny makes Simon’s tea just the way he likes it: with lemon and copious amounts of sugar, always in his favourite cup. When the cup isn’t clean, Soap scrubs it himself. Simon doesn’t like the other cups, says their rims feel strange against his lips. This is what they have always done: Just like Simon makes coffee for Johnny, so strong that the spoon practically vibrates out the mug, grinds the beans fresh, and it’s a roast Soap likes because it doesn’t upset his stomach and yet still manages to make his brain nice and quiet and calm.

Ghost keeps the bags of coffee beans hidden now, has done so since the time Soap had around nine cups and swore he could hear God talking in his heartbeat. He almost told Simon that God sounded a whole lot like him. Almost confessed that, when Johnny pictured the voice of God these days, it sounded like Ghost’s scratchy, dark voice through the mic. Almost said that he would build an altar at Simon’s feet and worship him instead of the good Christian God Johnny has been raised to love if only it meant he would be loved back. By him.

Soap never said any of it, of course. Still thinks about it every time he takes a sip from his mug, the one Simon got for him, the one that says ‘Don’t throw Sodium Chloride at people. That’s a salt.’

Johnny’s world shifts at the edges every time he tries to grasp the way he feels about Simon. And so, he doesn’t think about it. Simple as that.

It’s normal. It’s fine. It’s not anything.

Soap’s glances don’t linger longer, Ghost’s hands don’t find their way to him more often than they did before. They don’t talk more– talk less if anything. Soap stays by Ghost’s bedside until he is well enough, just like Ghost has done for all of Soap’s injuries. This is what they do. It really isn’t anything.

But eventually, another mission rolls around. They still haven’t talked about it. (Because it’s not anything. Right?)

This time, Ghost gets the fucker who tries it before he gets got, and Soap has never been happier to see a goddamn bloodied knife in his life. Bloody knife means Ghost is safe.

And Ghost’s voice doesn’t cry out for help, and his side is whole and untarnished and he breathes properly when Soap rounds the corner. His eyes are warm, so warm for all the death they bring, and not hazy like last time. And yet still, the way Ghost breathes his name sounds eerily familiar to weeks ago, when Soap thought he might lose him for good this time.

“Johnny.” All his relief packed into that one word, and it’s like a punch in the gut.

“You got ‘im quick this time, LT,” Soap grins, chest swelling with pride. Because that’s how good Ghost is at what he does: He survived, made it through that fucking cunt that stabbed him in the back. Is the dread of his enemies still, every time. Kills like that, but measures Johnny’s coffee to the gram so it’ll be perfect, because he takes care. Because he’s like that.

It’s not anything, but it’s special to Soap.

Ghost’s blade shimmers in the low light when Soap’s gaze fixates upon it.

“Got ‘im with my favourite fucking knife, too,” Ghost grunts, staring down at the body in front of him. “Wasted on this bloody bastard, can’t believe this is what it’s come to. The fuck do we even have guns for anyways- knife’s always been more effective for hand to hand, but God, do I hate the cleanup after.”

He kicks the body at his feet, and Soap has to take a moment to breathe when he sees – really sees – the knife in Ghost’s hand: It’s the one Johnny gifted him for his last birthday, with a carved handle and a double-sided edge; the metal of the blade twisted and hammered over and over to make a beautiful damask pattern. Supposed to make it sturdier, keep the sharpness for longer, combine only the best to make it better than the sum of its parts. It took Johnny ages to find the perfect knife, and one that Ghost would not already own, but his research was worth every second when he saw the way Simon’s eyes lit up.

Now, the blade is coated in red, Ghost’s fingers holding it easily, twirling it slowly.

“Gun’s no fuckin’ better, LT,” Johnny grunts, gesturing pointedly at his own tac vest that’s covered in blood and viscera. “Fuckin’ close range combat. Get ye dirty every time.”

“Hm.” Ghost’s fingers stop twirling the knife. A thin rivulet of blood drips from it. Ghost stares down at the blade, and Soap thinks he can see him snarl even through the mask. “Meant the knife itself, sweet’eart.”

Sweet’eart.

There it is again, spoken in those low, rough tones only Ghost can manage, that sinful inflection, the fatal tilt of his head to accompany it. It’s just a word, it’s not anything, not really, but all of a sudden, no air is left in the room.

Soap makes a pained, strangled noise, and Ghost’s eyes meet his.

Everything he is, everything he wants, is laid bare in the darkness of his warm irises, is written into the shadow his white lashes cast onto black. It’s Ghost who stared down at the body of the man he killed, but it’s Simon’s eyes looking at Johnny now. Reality grows thick like syrup, and all Johnny can do is stare and stare, and wait for his mind to catch up to the moment.

Simon’s eyes go impossibly soft for a moment, when he stretches out his hand and pulls at Johnny’s very fucking soul with his next words, so gently Soap might not even notice it’s gone.

“Johnny… come here, sweet’eart.”

It’s one breath, two steps across the room, stopping so close to Ghost that Johnny can feel his body heat. He raises his hand slowly, sliding it down Ghost’s arm until Soap is gripping the knife over gloved fingers.

“Thought you didn’t remember,” he mumbles, so quiet it’s just a whisper of air from his lips. But Ghost’s gaze goes sharp and dark at the words.

“As if I could ever forget a thing you’ve said to me, Johnny.” He cocks his head, and all of a sudden, his eyes are heavy-lidded and sweet, his voice a low purr that makes Soap’s chest vibrate in turn. “You think I could ever burn the memory of you callin’ me love out of my mind? Nothing in this world or the next could make me forget the sound of tha’. Should be fuckin’ ridiculous with the accent, but-”

“Love,” Johnny breathes, lets the world melt away until it’s just them in it. Grips the knife harder, pulling Ghost’s hand towards himself with it.

“Johnny, the fuck are you-”

Soap drops to his knees. Stares up at Ghost like he is the idol on the altar Johnny worships at. Maybe he is. Has become it so naturally. It’s pathetic, really, the way Johnny’s heart beats so fast that it wants to explode out of his chest as he stares up at Simon and thinks that this must be a dream.

Ghost cradles Johnny’s head in his hand, and Soap can’t help but sigh at the relief that comes with being touched like that. Like he is all Simon has ever wanted. Johnny’s words are pleading, sweet like he can be only for Ghost, begging for permission, starving for approval.

“Let me clean it for you, love. Please?”

A shudder runs down Ghost’s body when Soap pulls at his hand, until the cold, hard metal of the knife is right in front of his face. Lets his tongue dart out to lick at it, knows exactly what he looks like when he does. What this must look like. Debauched, his cheeks red, his eyes swimming. Begging before anything has even begun.

“Please, just let me- I want to- Ghost-”Soap is vaguely aware he is babbling, too caught up in how fucking perfect it feels to look up at Simon like this, to be the object of his desires, the sole thing Simon’s dark eyes are focused on. To be known- to be beheld.

Soap is careful at first. Presses his tongue to the flat of the blade, licks up drops of blood and watches Ghost’s eyes go wide at the sight, watches his pupils dilate and his broad chest heave with laboured breaths.

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.”

Soap smiles, doesn’t care about the coppery taste of a stranger’s blood on his tongue, not if it gets Ghost to look at him like that. Not if it makes Simon’s fingers twitch under his own like all he wants to do is bury his hands in Soap’s hair, tug at him – God, tug him right where he wants him, his face pressed up against thick thighs, inhaling the filthy scent of him and getting his mouth on his cock– finally–

Soap runs his tongue along the blade, barely feels it when it nicks him, barely registers when the cut goes deeper, sharp as it is.

Johnny has seen Simon sharpen his knives, has watched his precise movements as he does, knows he has done it hundreds of times before, knows how meticulous he is. Knows Simon keeps his blades sharp enough to split a fucking hair, but in this moment, Johnny would happily cleave his own tongue in two if only it meant Ghost might keep looking at him like that.

Blood drips down Johnny’s chin, and it’s like Ghost wakes from petrification. He pulls at the knife frantically, and as much as Soap wants to protest, he loosens his grip around Ghost’s hand to let him draw back, mourning the feel of the cold blade against his hot tongue.

“Ye do nae have tae protect me, Ghost, I-”

Ghost just shakes his head, wipes the knife clean on his own shirt, purges the blood and the dirt and the spit from it. His breaths come raggedly, and his voice is uneven when he speaks.

“Fuck, I- Can’t let your blood mix with that of enemies, Johnny. It’s a holy fuckin’ thing to bleed for me, sweet’eart. Would be blasphemy for me to taste you less than pure.”

The words are a sacrilegious prayer, offered up to Johnny’s worshipful mouth before he proffers the knife again, pressing it to Johnny’s waiting lips.

“Again,” he says, and it’s the sweetest word Soap has ever heard.

It makes his blood sing and his heart race as he lets his tongue lap at the blade again, prepared this time for the dull throb its slice leaves in its wake. Barely feels the bite of steel until his blood, warm and bitter, drips down his chin again. Is too focused on the way Ghost’s pupils seem to swallow the whites of his eyes in the low light, staring down at Johnny like he’ll never get to see anything else ever again. Like he doesn’t want to see anything else ever again.

When the knife clatters to the floor, it’s with sweet surrender that Ghost drops to his knees as well, fingers frantically wiping at Johnny’s face, cradling his cheeks, kissing away the blood until forehead presses against forehead.

Ghost’s mask, hastily tugged up, is stained red as he licks into Johnny's mouth, moaning quietly.

“My good boy,” he mumbles into him, lips barely leaving bloodied skin. “Oh, my sweet boy, my perfect- fuck- sweet’eart, come here, let me taste you-”

Blood and sweat mix and the world shatters off its axis only to glue itself back together again, everything in its place and yet not the same as it was before. Simon’s lips meet Johnny’s, Johnny’s canines biting down until he tastes copper and salt, and all he can think is:

This just might be something.

Part I ⮜ ♦ ⮞ Part III

I've added a CoD option to my taglist!

Taggies for the eternals @patchmates @purgetrooperfox @certified-anakinfucker @ulchabhangorm @pinkiemme @baba-fett and uhh some others who seemed to enjoy the story so far (lmk if u don't want to be tagged anymore no hard feelings) @almond-orchid7 @colonelcaroldanvers

#ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #cod #call of duty

24 notes · View notes

sparklypinkflightsuit · 6 months

Text

Blessed Be: Chapter 5

Pairing: Detective!Bob Floyd x Reader

WitchAU

Summary: The coven bands together to save Bob, and you finally give yourselves to one another.

Warning: Smut, Swearing, Violence, Attempted Murder, Angst, Fluff, Witchcraft

- Chapter 4 Here -

—————————

Warning: Smutty Chapter

18+ Only Beyond This Point

—————————————

You fully prepared yourself to feel the sharp rocks below you pierce your body as your hand slipped from the root. You closed your eyes tight and prepared for the impact, and for everything to end.

You expected to feel the cold water crash over you before everything turned black, but you didn’t get that far.

After what felt like forever, but must have only been a matter of nanoseconds after your fingers left the slippery root, you felt a strong, warm hand in yours.

Your eyes flew open as you realised you were no longer falling, and looked up into deep, sparkling blue eyes.

Bob.

You sobbed loudly, out of pure relief and joy to see he had come back.

“B-Bree!” He gasped, struggling to pull you up as your hand began to slip from his.

You swung your other hand up and grabbed his forearm and he began to lean back, pulling you bit by bit back into the ledge.

You grunted as you tried to get a foot up on the ledge, and suddenly, almost unnoticeably, the blue eyes turned brown again, and the frown of exertion on Bobs face turned into a menacing grin, as he let go of your hand.

You let out a scream as you flew back, scrambling at the grass and dirt as you slipped back over the edge.

You managed to hook your fingers into a tangled grass root just in time, and prayed with all your might it wouldn’t snap and send you plummeting to your death.

“Bob, please!” You cried out. Your feet scrambling desperately against the cliff face, trying to find a rock or dip you could hook them into to lessen the weight on the grass root that held you.

Bob tutted, smirking down at you, but you knew it was was really Alex. He walked over to you slowly, teasingly.

“Not gonna lie, he fought pretty damn hard and almost got me there. Pity you’re just not enough to bring him back.” He chuckled.

“Bob!” You cried again, you knew he was in there, he came back once, he could do it again. “Robby!”

Bob walked over to you and stood on your hand with all of his weight. As much as it hurt, you knew this meant you were pinned and wouldn’t fall, for now.

He began to grind his heel into your hand, and you cried out in pain.

“Robby please. I need you! I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me.” You whimpered. You were sobbing again, and you hoped that if you were going to die, that Bob could at least hear you before you did. You needed him to know.

“I love you.” You cried, preparing yourself yet again for the end. “I love you Robby.”

You looked up one last time at his beautiful face, but instead of the brown eyes you expected, the blue eyes were back, and brimming with tears.

He dropped to his knees and grabbed your arm, pulling you with all his strength until you were safely over the ledge and you fell on top of him. His arms wrapped around you tightly, as if terrified you were still going to fall, and you could feel his body shaking violently.

You pulled back to look at his face and noticed he was crying now, and his eyes were still his eyes.

You kissed his face, over and over again, and then kissed his lips until he stopped shaking. He kissed you back like it was the only thing keeping him from disappearing back into the abyss of his mind, and maybe it was.

“I love you, Bree.” He said inbetween kissing you, the taste of salt from both of your tears reminding you just how real this moment was.

But you could feel him slipping, the goosebumps disappearing as quickly as they had appeared, his eyes pulsing from blue to brown to blue again.

“I need you to hang on, just hang on and we’ll get him out, I promise.” You begged, but you could already see Bob disappearing back into the void. He tried so hard to hang on to your voice, your touch, anything, but Alex was clawing him back.

—————————————

All Bob remembered of that day were flashes. He remembered your voice, calling out to him desperately, he remembered seeing you hanging over the edge of the cliff before everything went black again. He remembered you saying you loved him and feeling your lips on his. But it all felt like a fever dream.

There but not there. Like if he closed his eyes, he’d wake up back in his apartment in Wyoming, having imagined the whole thing.

And that’s just what Bob did, he closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to, but something strong was pulling him under. A demanding force that he couldn’t overpower, and felt himself drifting off into the darkness again.

Bob was confused when he was in the darkness. He couldn’t hear or see anything, and it felt like he was suspended in liquid. Like a sensory deprivation tank, holding him against his will.

He would occasionally see or hear the odd thing, but he couldn’t make out what they were. Flashes of light, only brief, or echoes that bounced around the confines of his mind.

He recognised some of the echoes as your voice, but he couldn’t make out what you were saying.

Weeks passed, at least that’s what Bob thought, and he remained imprisoned in the dark room, unable to make sense of anything, but all he could think about was the last thing he heard you say. You loved him.

—————————————

You had had to restrain Bob by tying his large hands behind his back using your shawl, and pressing your knee against it as you called and screamed for help. Bob, or Alex, thrashed underneath you, trying to buck you off of him so he could throw you once and for all into the sea below.

You closed your eyes tight and focused.

You needed help if you were going to get out of this, with both you and Bob in one piece, and you could only think of one person who could do it.

“Mom. Mom I need you. I’m at the ledge daddy used to take us to. Please come, please come.” You whispered, focussing your minds eye on your moms face.

Your only hope was that she would hear you and get to the ledge, quickly. Bob was a strong man, and bulging arm muscles struggled against you and your make shift rope, it wouldn’t be long before he got loose.

—————————————

Bob wasn’t sure how much time passed before he noticed the small object on his pocket. In the darkness and confusion he hadn’t thought to check his pockets for anything that might help him.

He reached in with his right hand and pulled out the small candle he had bought from your store.

Bob wasn’t sure how it got there, as he was sure he’d left it in his room at the B&B, but he chuckled in surprise as he held it up to his nose.

Peaches and mint.

Had it always smelt like that? Bob wasn’t sure, but he relished in the memory of that day and yearned so badly to see you again, he wanted nothing more than to escape this prison and take you in his arms.

Wait. Bob thought. What was it you had told him that day when he bought the candle?

Bob thought hard, it wasn’t easy in this place, it made everything fuzzy.

Yes, that’s right.

“If you’re ever in a dark place, figuratively or literally, you light this candle and tell it what your hearts deepest desire is at that moment in time.” Your voice rang out and echoed against the dark walls.

Bobs fingers fumbled through his pockets for a lighter or matches or anything he could use to light the candle. Crap, he hadn’t thought to buy one, and suddenly hated the fact that he never took up smoking.

Bob grew frustrated and sighed, “I just need a goddamn light!”

And as it was said, the candle flickered alight.

Bobs eyes widened and then immediately closed, blinking away the sudden brightness.

He opened his eyes again, and laughed. He couldn’t believe that had actually worked.

Staring at the candle for a few long seconds, he thought hard about what he wanted more than absolutely anything. It didn’t take him long.

“I wish… I wish I was out of this goddamn place so I can be with her again…” he mumbled. Nothing.

Frustration overcame him suddenly. He huffed and shook the candle in front of his face.

“I wish I was out of this PLACE, so I can be with my Bree again!” He shouted this time, feeling anger erupt from his chest.

Suddenly, almost too suddenly, the dark prison illuminated and he was surrounded by a group of women, the dark kitchen was still too bright with its candles arranged around him compared to the pitch black he had gotten used to.

Wide eyes he didn’t recognise surrounded him, as he propped himself up on his elbows, confused. Bob turned his head until eventually they landed on a pair that felt so familiar his heart hurt.

“Oh my god, it’s Bob. Bobs back.” You cried, his blue eyes an indication that you had gotten rid of Alex, finally. Dropping to your knees inside the circle, candles and wax being kicked in all directions, you grabbed his face and looked at him to make sure he was ok.

“Robby, I’m so sorry.” You cried, your tears falling freely down your cheeks.

Bob couldn’t believe you were real, and his hand moved to your cheek. He rubbed his thumb through your tears and his breathing caught in his throat. You were real.

“Bree.” He whispered, “Oh my god, Bree, I thought I would never see you again.”

He pulled you in and kissed you with what strength to he had left, savouring the way you felt and tasted. He didn’t want to let you go.

You smiled into the kiss and sighed with immense relief. You pulled back to look at him, worry still etched across your features.

“Are you okay?” You asked, brushing his hair off of his face.

Bob nodded, his body shaking as any adrenaline he had began to wear off, “How long was I gone?”

“26 hours.” You nodded. It felt a lot longer for Bob, as he had no sense of time when he was locked away in his own mind.

You explained what had happened and how your 2 sisters and 2 aunts had flown home as soon as your mom called them. They still needed at least two more women to perform the exorcism as it required a full coven, so had called on Carla and Linda too. Carla and Linda worked at your store, and had done this before, years back when Aunt Gillian had been possessed by her deceased ex boyfriend at the time, Jimmy.

It had taken 4 hours to get rid of Alex’s spirit, and Bob wasn’t sure if it was the exorcism or the candle that had done the trick, but everyone was relieved once it was over.

Bob thanked everyone, but his energy was depleted and so you ushered him up to your room and told him to sleep. And sleep he did.

The next afternoon while you sat in the garden with your sisters, catching up on all the things missed while they had been away, Bob shuffled outside, half asleep, and stretched as the warm afternoon sun kissed his skin.

You grinned as you noticed him, a smile on his face as he made his way, barefoot, into the garden to join you.

“Hi.” You smiled.

“Hi.” He grinned, bending down to place a soft kiss on your forehead.

Your older sister, Kylie, gagged. “You two are so gross.” She joked, sipping on her sangria.

“Shut up. You’re just jealous.” You winked at her.

Bob sat down next to you and sighed.

“I just wanted to thank you all again, for everything. I heard that you flew back just for this.” He said solemnly, appreciating that total strangers would drop everything just to save him.

“Well, if (Y/N) says you’re the one, we believe that. You’re one of us now.” Your other sister Antonia confirmed and Kylie nodded in agreement.

“But we’ll leave you two to catch up.” She said, pulling Kylie by the arm.

“Wait, my drink!” Kylie squeeled, but was quickly dragged away.

You laughed as they disappeared back inside the house, and then turned to Bob.

“You feeling better?” You asked, intertwining your fingers into his on his lap.

“Yeah, I feel a lot better.” He nodded, his crooked smile returning. “Hey, can I ask you somethin’?”

You nodded.

“Did I dream it, or… did we say I love you to each other?” He chuckled awkwardly.

You flushed bright red and bit your lip. “Nope, you didn’t dream it.”

“Good. Does that mean you’ve made your mind up about me staying?” He grinned, grabbing your chair and pulling you closer, so that your legs slotted neatly inbetween his, faces inches apart.

“Mhmm.” You nodded, your eyes flitting between his eyes and his lips.

Bob bit his lip to stop the grin from growing ever wider, and his hand gently slid up from your knee to your thigh, eliciting a sharp intake a breath from you.

“Before we got interrupted the other night… I was gonna tell you I loved you then. But truth be told I think I’ve loved you my whole life and I didn’t even realise it.” He said lowly in your ear.

You shivered as butterflies ran rampant in your stomach.

“Robby, you’ve already got me, you don’t need to keep tryna woo me you know?” You chuckled softly.

“Oh Bree, I wont ever stop tryna woo you. Not as long as you’ll have me.” Bob grumbled, almost a whisper now.

You were about to jump onto his lap and kiss him until you were both gasping for air, tangle your fingers in his silky locks and-

“Bree dear! Are you and Bob up for a game of bowls?” Aunt Jet called from the kitchen door.

You sighed, and Bob laughed.

“No thank you!” You called over your shoulder, plastering on a frustrated smile.

“Hey, I need to grab some things from my room at the B&B, you wanna come?” He asked, running his hands up and down your thighs, more than likely not realising what he was doing to you.

“Yeah, please.” You chuckled, welcoming the excuse to be alone with Bob, even for just a moment.

You told your sisters where you were going and hopped in Bobs car.

You soon pulled up to the air B&B and walked hand in hand up the stairs and into the quaint little room that hadn’t been touched in a few days.

As soon as Bob closed the door, you pushed him up against it and planted your lips to his.

Bob grunted and flipped you around so you were pinned against the door, his hands both snaking around your waist and holding you still.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and licked his bottom lip, begging for entrance, which he quickly obliged.

Your tongues explored one another’s as Bobs hand dropped to your ass, squeezing and causing you to moan. That was enough for Bob, and he picked you up and pinned you harder against the door, your legs wrapping around him for support.

You pulled away to breathe and Bobs lips latched onto your neck.

“I… I need you.” You whimpered, and Bob took that as an invitation to grind against you, desperate for friction.

“Fuck.” You cried, frustrated at all of the fabric separating your bodies. “Take this off.” You instructed.

Bob immediately did as he was told, and pulled his white T-shirt over his head in one motion, then went straight back to sucking purple marks into your skin as he worked to unbutton your dress.

You took the opportunity to feel his now exposed skin, running your hands from his broad shoulders down to the hard abs that dipped dangerously close to his v-line. You tugged at his jeans, begging him to take them off.

“Uh uh, not so fast little lady.” He tutted in your ear. “Not until I get this dress off of you.”

You grunted and pushed him off of you, ripping your dress off and tossing it to the side. With one finger on his chest, you pushed him slowly to the bed.

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m not gonna last another second.” He chuckled, his hard length now clearly visible through his jeans. You licked your lips and dropped to your knees, tugging his jeans down to his ankles, which he slowly kicked away.

Your hands slowly slid up his legs to the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs as you looked up at him lustfully. Bobs pupils were blown even larger than usual and his mouth hung slightly open as he watched you.

You hooked your fingers in the waistband of his underwear and slowly tugged them down until he sprang free.

You gulped, he was so much bigger than you expected, and wetness pooled between your legs as you slowly took him, inch by inch, into your mouth.

Bob moaned loudly. “Shit.” He groaned. “Such a pretty mouth.” His accent growing thicker as he let his guard down further. He threw his head back as you sucked, but soon enough he was pulling you to your feet and pushing you onto the bed.

“I want to feel you.” He growled, kissing from your ankles, up passed the inside of your knee, and to your thighs. Your core was now soaking through your underwear, and suddenly without warning, Bobs tongue flattened against it as he licked the wet fabric.

You gasped as your back arched, and Bob slid both hands under your back, wrapping his thumbs around your waist to hold you in place as he teased you through your underwear.

Eventually this got too much for him and he used his teeth to pull them down to your knees, and his rock hard member throbbed as he looked up at you, almost completely naked. Almost as if you read his mind, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, throwing it to the other end of the room.

Bob crawled back up and devoured your now exposed centre, like it was the first thing he’d eaten in days, and you whimpered as he held you still.

“Bob!” You cried, “Stop! I’m gonna cum. I don’t wanna cum yet.” You panted, your eyes screwed shut to try and stop the intense build up you had started to feel.

Bob did as he was told, and crawled up to look you in the eye.

“Do you wanna stop?” He asked, kissing your face all over.

“No.” You chuckled breathlessly. “I just want… you.”

Bob understood, and he kissed your lips passionately as he gently lifted up one of your legs, pinning it with his forearm, as he carefully ran himself through your wet folds. You moaned into him, and he slowly pushed into you, bit by bit, until he was fully seated.

You both rocked together gently, looking into each others eyes as you made love for the first time. It was passionate and slow, each move deliberate and careful, savouring every thrust, touch and kiss.

You moaned and sighed into each others ears, which only spurred each other on more, before eventually you were tipped over the edge and you tightened around Bob, a lewd gasp making its way out of your mouth. Bobs eyes rolled to the back of his head at the feeling and his trusts sped up, until he was shuddering on top of you as he released himself.

He collapsed on top of you and you both panted, sweaty and exhausted.

Nothing had prepared you for this, the feeling that exploded inside you when you were with him. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that you were made for him and he for you. There was no you without him. No sunset without the sunrise. No Bob without Bree.

—————————

- Final Chapter Here -

Notes: I’m sorry for the totally soppy and possibly mega cringe chapter 🤣 I’m not great at fillers either so this chapter felt like it moved really fast.

Taglist now open, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed 💛

@wretchedmo @seitmai @hiireadstuff @xoxabs88xox @mrspedropascal5683 @darksparklesficrecs

#lewis pullman fanfic #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd #rhett abbott #practical magic #witchcraft

28 notes · View notes

multific · 1 year

Text

The Unbreakable Vow

Part 3

Aegon II Targaryen x DarkWitch!Reader

Series Masterpost

Summary: Thin vines appeared as you put your hand into his, Aegon tried to pull away but the vine didn't let him. It kept tightening around his skin, he feared it might tear his hand off. "If you break our vow, you will die, if I break it, I will."

When you saved Aegon from the fire, you felt your whole world change.

It was only a small burn.

Not even close to what he would have received, you knew it was worth it. Saving his life in return for a small burn to your hand.

It seemed like you underestimated the fire of a dragon.

Aegon was furious. He held your bandaged hand, shaking with anger.

"How fucking dare they?! Hurting my wife!"

"It is okay, I saved your life so it was worth it."

"And you got hurt as a result!"

"It would have been much worse if you took the hit instead of me."

"I will feed her to my dragon! No one touches my wife!" you put your other hand on his cheek, lifting it to meet your eyes with his.

"Thank you, it is a small prize for our future."

"Your smallest finger is... almost gone. I really liked that one. It was very cute."

"Now it shall be a cute burnt little one. It doesn't even hurt as much as it did before, Aegon. I promise I'm fine. I shouldn't have underestimated dragon fire. I hope it is still your favourite."

"All of you is my favourite."

You offered him a kind smile.

"Can you tell me... what would have happened to me?"

"Broken bones, half of you burnt, your left arm... my favourite... would have been the worst. It would have caused you pain so great, so terrible, I would have not been able to watch."

"You would have killed me?"

"Oh, no. Healed you. But it is forbidden. My grandmother often told me about spells which should never be cast. Demons, beings, which should never be talked to."

"You know such beings?"

"I have seen one. Well... its eyes at least. It is often hiding in the dark, following me."

"What does it want?"

"I'm not sure. It has red eyes and it is tall. If you ever see it, please, never talk to it! Promise me Aegon. No matter what is says, no matter what promises it makes!" you looked genuinely terrified. Aegon was quick to nod.

"I promise. I shall never talk to a being like that."

"Have you been to the... basement recently?"

"No. Why?"

"I have a circle down there. A circle of salt. Salt keeps the spirits inside. If you ever see a circle, never break it."

"What if it's already broken?"

"Tell me, run and tell me."

"What about the crying?" he asked.

"You hear crying?" he nodded.

"Late at night, you are always asleep when I hear a woman cry."

"I'm afraid, My Love, that my very being is attracting them. It is why I often moved from village to village. They are dangerous. They cry so people would go to them and they would..."

"Kill them?"

"Murder is the easy way out. There is one, a very very tall man-like being, has a wicked smile, it cries so people would approach it. Then he eats them, inside out, while they are alive."

"Can you stop these things?"

"If I'm awake, yes. It is why they come when I'm sleeping."

"What about the hunters? Who hunted you for being a witch? From who you hid in my dreams?"

"It is the only good thing that comes out of ghosts and demons following you. If hunters follow you, they are the first to fall."

"And what do the beings want from you?" he asked.

"My powers, but they wouldn't kill me, they want me to give them souls."

"It is rather confusing. But I understood that I do not break salt circles, I know that if candles suddenly go out and there is a cold shiver, I must run. I must not follow crying. Any more rules?"

"For now, I just have one." Aegon rolled his eye as he awaited your final rule for the day. "You must make love to me every single night." you smirked and soon, so did he.

"I believe, that can be arranged." he pulled you close and kissed your lips.

---

After you saved Aegon, your identity was basically revealed to his family.

But only Aemond was brave enough to talk with you after.

"I can save your life as well, Aemond." you told him.

"For my soul?"

"For your daughter to be named after me." you smiled.

"Daughter?"

"I believe my name would sound strange for a son. But your daughter can have it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Alys."

"How do you know about her?" his voice dropped low.

"I know everything Aemond. As I said, just name her after me. Your brother already asked me to save you anyway."

"Aegon did? What kind of a spell you have on him?"

"I would ask what spell he has on me. I love him so much. I truly do." your smile was so gentle and genuine, Aemond understood. "You must know how I feel for you are also in love." Aemond nodded once.

"What about my sister? Why didn't you save her?"

"Your brother took a vow with me. I'm sorry about her, but she died so none of you have to after."

"And her children?"

"I didn't kill her or her children. You uncle and sister did that." you reminded him and he knew you were right.

"You play with people, you let monsters into this castle. I have seen the woman, the one that cries every night, yet she has no eyes. You let them in here. You are dangerous."

"You will drown. Tied to your dragon at the bottom of a lake." his eyes fell. "Tell me please, why is it that every time I tell someone their fate, they never question if I'm lying or not? Why is it that you all get so scared?"

"Because I can see it in your eyes that you are not lying. Because when you say it, you tell as if you have seen it."

"I did see it."

"And I can see in your eyes that you did. It's the truth, I'll die and...Alys..."

"You can live, with her, with your children. Rhaenyra is now scared of me. Daemon is now scared of me. They will soon make their move. And I can promise you they will not survive it. But you have to listen to me."

"It is the best proposition I have."

---

The Dance of the Dragons ended, and Green stayed victorious, songs were written of the witch who helped the Greens. The witch who became Queen.

Some said she bewitched Aegon. Others said they were in love.

And the latter would be right.

Your love for Aegon was true and pure.

Your first proof was your firstborn daughter, Aliece. Said to be as beautiful as her mother, named lovingly after her grandmother, your beautiful grandmother.

Then your son was born, Aeden. A true warrior, he became the true successor of Aegon II. The first wizard to sit on a throne. The first King who had magic and a fierce dragon by his side.

When Aeden was three you gave birth to twins, two little boys. Aemond II and Barion. Two energetic and sweet boys, both grew up to be great warriors and dragon riders.

Then, another son was born, Aemis, who was a true wizard, following in his mother's steps, Aemis grew into a truly powerful man and a great right had to his brother.

All five of your children grew up in a loving household. You always made sure they had everything they could ever want and need. You loved them deeply and it showed. They all grew up close and loved one another.

Aegon often stood under the shades of a tree in the gardens, just watching his children running around, laughing as you followed them.

You showed him a side of life he never thought existed, true love.

Pure and unconditional love.

You would also make sure that he was more involved with your children than a husband would be. Aegon promised the moment his daughter was born that he shall never be like his father was.

"Aegon!" your voice snapped him out of his dream, he sat up in bed, noticing the morning sun beginning to rise. "You saw it too? The children?" you asked and he quickly nodded.

"It was a dream?"

"It was no dream, more like a prophecy... Aegon, I believe I am with child." you whispered the last part and Aegon grabbed your hand, placing a kiss on your pinky which had the scar on it.

"I love you so much." he said and just as the sun began to rise, your smile almost blinded him, in your eyes he saw his past, present and future. As the beautiful glow of the sun shined in them, Aegon also smiled.

"I love you too, Aegon." you leaned over to give him a kiss.

He felt like his life has only just begun.

And to think it all started with an unbreakable vow.

TUV Taglist: @linkpk88 @fan-goddess @kotonei-molyneux @heavenly1927

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

142 notes · View notes

unpredictable-probabilities · 4 months

Text

No Longer a Dream || Chapter 1: His End

Main Summary:

Hob had felt a sense of worry about Dream ever since they last saw each other.

When Dream appears on his doorstep a month later, Hob's worries only grow.

But now he has a chance to be there and actually take care of Dream. And by God, he'll do his damnedest to keep his friend safe.

Total Word Count: 13,712

Author's Notes:

This work is a gift for @zzoomacroom as part of the @mr-sadman 2024 Spring Exchange <3 If you prefer to read it on AO3, here's the link~

Heads-up that I haven't read the comics leading up to the Significant Canon Event I mentioned here, I just got information about it from the internet, including the personality of a certain character that hasn't appeared in the show yet. So if the timelines or some other things don't match up, that's why.

Anyway this was really fun to write, and I hope you all have fun reading it too! ^_^

Chapter Summary:

Dream appears on Hob's doorstep injured and barely conscious. Hob helps him recover and worries about what could have happened to hurt his friend that much.

Chapter Word Count: 4,386

---

The butter sizzled on the tagine pot, so Hob lowered the heat on the stove before double-checking if he had evenly coated the chicken wings with the breading before frying them. He had become fond of the mixture of ground cinnamon, ginger, turmeric, pepper, salt, and olive oil ever since he first tried the recipe last Christmas.

While the chicken cooked, Hob got to work on the glaze; simmering honey, a cinnamon stick, and some apricots in a saucepan.

He usually didn't make elaborate dinners after a school night, but seeing as it was a Friday and he had just finished marking the backlogged essays, he figured he deserved it.

After everything was cooked, he set them on the coffee table in front of the telly. Some Jeopardy and then a good book would be the perfect way to end the evening.

Hob put his feet up on the armrest, the plate on his lap, and was about to take a bite of chicken just as the show was starting.

A knock on the door made the fork stop halfway to his mouth.

Hob sighed and put the plate down on the coffee table before walking towards the door.

One downside about living in a flat above The New Inn was that sometimes his staff came up to ask for his input about one thing or other. Tonight could be about the inventory; they usually had to restock for the end-of-month specials.

He opened the door and his eyes widened, any thoughts of the Inn fleeing from his mind.

“Hob…” Dream was standing unsteadily, his voice barely more than a breath.

His black coat was in tatters, and his pale cheekbones seemed more prominent on his bruised face. A cut above his left eyebrow was bleeding.

“Jesus, Dream—” Hob barely got the words out before Dream's legs buckled.

Hob quickly caught him, wrapping his arms around his friend’s waist as Dream slumped against his chest.

“Dream? Dream?” Hob heard the growing panic in his voice when Dream's limp form didn’t respond.

He half-dragged, half-carried Dream to his couch, barely registering the sounds from the TV show.

He propped up Dream's head with a pillow and gently brushed away the lock of hair that was sticking to his forehead.

Was Dream sweating?

Dream’s eyes were half-closed, and he seemed to be mumbling something.

“What? What do you need?” Hob leaned closer to hear him better.

“...leave. I must leave.” Dream looked like he wanted to stand up but couldn’t seem to remember how.

“Leave?” Hob said in surprise. “Mate, you can barely keep your eyes open."

"Must… Keep you safe…"

"I'm perfectly safe. It's you we should worry about. And why’d you come here if you’d just leave immediately?”

Dream shook his head, wincing as if the small movement caused him pain. “I did not… I was brought here.”

“What?” Hob frowned and took a breath. Each answer from Dream just brought up more questions. “That doesn’t matter right now. What’s important is you recover, yeah? Stay here.”

Hob quickly got the first-aid kit from the cabinet and went back to Dream's side. “Just gonna clean up that cut on your forehead. This might sting a bit.”

Dream flinched when the cotton made contact with his skin but didn't seem to have much energy to protest.

“Right then,” Hob said after cleaning up the cut. “I have to remove your coat to see your other injuries. Is that alright?”

Dream frowned and grudgingly nodded, his face contorting in pain as he tried to shrug off his coat.

Hob tried to help as gently as he could, and the coat practically fell apart in his hands with how shredded it already was.

“Jesus…” Hob tried not to think of the last time he saw Dream. His friend visited for a drink, and there had been a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach that made him reluctant to let Dream out of his sight.

The shirt underneath the coat was torn in a lot of places too, and the fabric stuck to Dream's skin with dried blood. Hob frowned and took a closer look. The dark patches of blood had a shimmering quality to them, like there was glitter mixed in. He checked the cotton he had used for the cut on Dream's forehead; it was faint but it was there, the glitter with the dark red.

Alright, so his oldest friend was bleeding starlight on his couch. But more importantly, most of the bleeding seemed to have stopped already. He didn't know if Endless even needed their wounds to be cleaned and disinfected, but it was better to be safe.

“I'd have to cut your shirt off of you to clean the rest of the wounds, sorry. But if you're not comfortable with that, I can… Uh…” Hob racked his brain for an alternative. He knew what Dream had gone through from 1916, and he didn't want to make his friend feel so exposed again, but he didn't want to risk him getting an infection either.

Dream reached for his hand and gave it a weak squeeze. “I trust you.” It was barely a whisper but Hob heard it clearly.

Hob smiled reassuringly at his friend even though he's not sure how well Dream's half-closed eyes could see him.

It didn't take very long to get the shirt out of the way and clean the cuts on Morpheus’ torso. Hob’s army doctor knowledge came naturally to him, and all the while he pushed down his worries about what could have possibly done this much damage to his godlike friend.

Dream's pants were intact and had no cuts, as well as his boots. So after making sure that his face and torso were tended to, Hob removed his boots and gently lifted him up from the sofa, supporting his back and the backs of his legs.

Dream grumbled a noise of protest, but his eyes were fully closed.

“Just taking you to the bed, you'll recover better if you're more comfortable,” Hob explained, carefully walking towards the bedroom so as not to jostle Dream. “So you get the bed tonight and I'll take the couch.”

He placed Dream down on his bed and quickly put the blanket up to his chin.

“There. You rest up, and tomorrow, tell me who I need to fistfight,” Hob said mostly to himself, he suspected that Dream was asleep already.

He sighed and looked down at his friend. He had never seen Dream sleep before, and seeing it now made him feel a surge of protectiveness, not unlike what he felt in 1789 when Lady Johanna’s thug pointed a knife at Dream's throat.

Hob returned to the living room to tidy up before he could fully analyse such feelings.

He tried eating the chicken on his plate, but he had lost his appetite and felt too nauseated with worry to eat properly. He cleaned up and put all the food in the fridge, glancing from time to time at the open doorway to check on Dream.

After everything had been put away, he returned to his bedroom and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. Dream looked much more relaxed now, the crease on his forehead had smoothened and his breathing came more evenly.

Hob knelt down and brushed a strand of hair from Dream’s face, barely touching the skin. “Good night, love,” he whispered, warmth spreading in his chest at how right the words felt.

He stood up and turned to go, deciding to leave the door open in case Dream needed something. But before he could walk away, he felt a hand grab his own.

“Stay,” Dream’s voice said, soft with sleepiness.

Hob looked at him in surprise, unsure if he heard correctly. “You… want me to stay in this room? Okay, um, just give me a moment to get the spare mattress—”

Dream shook his head and blinked blearily at Hob. “Beside me.” He moved aside to make more space on the bed, not letting go of Hob's hand.

Hob swallowed. Dream’s grip on his hand might still be weak, but Hob didn't feel nearly strong enough to pull away. He felt himself nodding. “Of course.”

He climbed in beside Dream, who pulled the blanket over the both of them as soon as he lay down.

Dream pressed in closer to Hob, tucking his head under Hob's chin, his hand over Hob's chest. “You are very warm.”

“Uh,” Hob managed, his brain still trying to process how they ended up here.

Dream felt cool against him, and Hob wondered if he was cold. That would certainly explain why he was suddenly all snuggly.

Hob tentatively turned and put an arm around Dream, making sure that his touch stayed over the blanket and not on Dream's skin. “Is this better?”

Dream made a contented hum, and when he didn't reply several moments later, Hob realised he had fallen asleep.

Hob sighed, resting his chin on Dream's soft hair. Tomorrow, he would ask Dream what had caused his injuries. He'd see what else he could do to help and what else Dream needed.

But for now, they both deserve a good night's rest. And in the darkness of his bedroom under the covers with Dream, Hob allowed himself to believe that he deserved this, too.

***

Hob began to wake up when he felt the mattress shift. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and saw a slim figure get up unsteadily from the bed and onto the floor.

“Dream,” Hob sat up, the events of last night coming back to him all at once. “Is everything all right?”

“I apologise for intruding on you last night. It was not my intention…” Dream trailed off and looked down at his bare chest, seeming to notice it for the first time. His eyes widened fractionally, and Hob was quick to jump out of bed and get to his closet.

“Here, take this.” He got the first black shirt he saw and handed it to Dream.

Dream looked at it uncertainly for a moment before putting it on. It hung loosely around his frame; the sleeves reached down to cover half of his hands and the neckline showed his collarbones. “I thank you for your kindness. I will be sure to repay it soon. But for now I must leave.”

“There’s nothing to repay— Wait, leave? You were barely conscious just hours ago, are you sure you should be going out by yourself already?”

Dream nodded once. “I feel quite alright. You have taken care of my injuries and…” He glanced to the bed and averted his eyes for a moment. “I apologise for my behaviour. It was crude of me to insist upon your company as I did last night.”

Hob shook his head. “Not at all. We’re friends, right? I’m always happy to keep you company.”

Dream gave him the barest hint of a smile. “I must go. I will return your item of clothing as soon as I am able.” He turned and headed for the door.

“Whoa wait,” Hob followed him to the living room. “I don’t care about the shirt. At least let me check on your wounds before you leave.” He kept remembering the way Dream looked when he arrived, how he fell limp and unresponsive in his arms.

“You have done more than enough for me, my friend,” Dream said gently. “By all rights I am… not even supposed to be alive anymore. But I am grateful that it was you to whom they brought me. Regardless, I cannot stay long. I thank you again.”

He walked quickly towards the front door, but Hob was faster.

“Hey,” Hob grabbed his arm and spun him around so they faced each other. “Not supposed to be alive anymore? What are you— You can’t just say that and then leave! What…” he trailed off, looking into Dream’s eyes as he held Hob’s gaze.

“Hob. I must go.” Despite his firm voice, Dream looked conflicted.

Hob couldn’t discern if the conflict meant he wanted to stay longer, or at the very least explain more. But Hob didn’t want to cause him any more distress. He reluctantly let go of Dream’s arm. “Okay, but… will I see you again next week?”

Before Dream had visited him a month ago to say that he was going to do something important, they had seen each other every week since Dream’s return from Fawney Rig.

The second that it took for Dream to answer was enough to make Hob's stomach turn with nervousness.

"I believe so, yes."

Hob nodded. "You take care, alright? If you need anything you know you can always come here."

The smile that Dream gave him was less subtle this time. "You take good care as well, Hob Gadling." He went out the door and closed it behind him.

Hob almost immediately began to pace the floor. There was something he couldn't quite figure out about the conflict in his friend's expression. Maybe two centuries ago Dream would be too prideful to stay or rely on him, but he was different now. Something else was stopping him from staying with Hob even though it seemed like he wanted to.

Hob stopped in his tracks as he remembered something that Dream said last night.

"Must… Keep you safe…"

Dream left to protect him. Dream was worried that whatever attacked him last night might follow him here.

"I am… not even supposed to be alive anymore."

Something was after Dream.

Hob flung open his front door and raced outside, praying to whoever god was listening that his friend hadn't teleported away.

He was just able to see Dream exit the Inn as the door closed behind him.

“Sir? Who was that?” The bartender asked Hob but he was already running to the door.

Dream walked fast. He had already gone a good distance when Hob got out onto the street.

The rush of the morning commute wasn't helping. Three times Hob had lost sight of Dream in the foot traffic, and each time he was afraid that Dream had teleported. Maybe he was overreacting, maybe there was nothing to worry about, but he'd rather not risk it. He had no idea that Dream had been captured and imprisoned for over a century; if Dream went away and died somewhere, would he ever know? Or would he keep waiting century after century for someone who would never come back?

Hob pushed down the wave of nausea that rose with that thought, and focused on keeping his eyes on Dream. He had considered calling out to him, but worried that it might only drive him away further.

Dream turned a right to the park, and Hob followed, keeping his distance.

Dream went to an empty bench and sat down.

Was he waiting for someone? Hob stood half-hidden behind a tree a few feet away, unsure of whether to approach.

“Will you not sit with me, Hob Gadling?” Dream said without looking at him.

Hob was only briefly surprised, then he chuckled to himself and walked over to the bench. “So you knew the whole time, then?” He smiled sheepishly, tugging at his left ear.

“I would recognize your presence anywhere.”

Hob was relieved to see that Dream didn't seem upset and even looked fondly at him—if Hob dared to believe it.

Hob shifted uneasily in his seat, feeling Dream's warmth even though there were a few inches of space between them. “What’s wrong?” he finally asked. “Are you in danger somehow?”

Dream seemed to weigh his words before speaking. “You must not worry about me, Hob. You need not have followed me here.”

“You're my friend, I'll always worry about you. Especially when you pass out in my house and say stuff like you shouldn't be alive anymore,” Hob said pointedly.

Dream looked down for a moment, his long eyelashes catching the light of the sun. “I suppose I do owe you an explanation after all that you have done for me.”

“No, it's not that.” Hob sighed. “You don't owe me, I'm just concerned. And if I can't do anything to help, at least let me be someone you can talk to.”

Dream stared out into the park where families were having picnics and kids ran around with their dogs. “What do you know of the story of Orpheus?”

“The bloke in Greek mythology?” Hob furrowed his eyebrows while trying to remember what jumbled knowledge he had of the myths. “He had a lyre, and he was the one who almost succeeded in getting his wife out of the Underworld, except he looked back when he wasn't supposed to.”

It was one of the more popular stories, and one that stuck with Hob as someone who had also lost a wife too soon. He would have also braved the Underworld to get Eleanor back, and like that poor sod Orpheus he would have also looked back.

“Indeed.” Dream kept his eyes looking in the distance. “Shortly after his failed quest, Orpheus was killed and his body hacked to pieces. His decapitated head remained conscious and was able to provide prophecies to adventurers and travellers alike.”

Hob pondered that for a moment. “What a way to live, eh? Just a talking head. Travelling would certainly be out of the question. Even I'm not sure how long I'd be able to do that.”

Dream was quiet for a few seconds. “He did not wish to continue living like that himself. And in exchange for a boon, he asked me to help him. End his life.”

“...Oh. You knew him, then?”

“Yes.” Dream said calmly. “He was my son.”

Hob stared at Dream, speechless in his surprise. After having known Dream for centuries, he had half-expected that most people in mythology were real. But knowing that Dream lost his son in such a way made him feel a deep sadness; no pain compared to outliving a child.

“And did you…” Hob couldn’t even finish the thought.

Dream nodded. “I asked for his help in finding my brother. In return, he made me promise to help him end his existence as a lone head of an oracle. He was unhappy, and I could not refuse when he asked for my aid.”

Hob fell silent. If he had been in Dream’s place, would he have had the strength to do the same? If Robyn had asked for his help in ending an unhappy existence, would Hob be selfless enough?

“I'm…” Hob trailed off. What could he say? He was sorry that Dream had to help with the death of his own son? Dream wouldn’t want to be pitied. “I'm glad to see you're okay, at least. But what did you mean that you're not supposed to be alive?”

“The old laws forbid us from killing our own blood, on pain of death. When the Kindly Ones found out what I had done for my son, they came to enforce the law.”

Hob could only imagine what it must have felt like for Dream, knowing he would be killed for fulfilling a promise to his son.

“How did you escape?” Hob's voice came out in a whisper, as if speaking any louder would bring the attackers upon them again.

There was a slight frown on Dream's face as he tried to recall what happened. “I am not entirely sure. I had no plans to escape. I regained consciousness shortly before my siblings brought me to your door.”

“You had no plans to escape?” Hob said incredulously, horrified. “You knew that your punishment was death, and what— You just— You just sat there while they tore at you?” He didn't even want to imagine such a scene.

Dream finally looked at him. “You are upset.”

“Of course I'm bloody upset! You just told me you planned to die. Were you ever gonna tell me?” Hob had gotten to his feet. He didn't know when the tears had started to well in his eyes.

“I had said goodbye to you. Before.” Dream looked at him with a sombre expression.

“What…” Hob frowned, processing what that could mean. “When you visited me for drinks a month ago? That's it? Was I supposed to wait for you for an eternity not knowing that you had died?” His voice broke.

“There would have been a funeral,” Dream looked up at him, his voice soft and his eyes resigned. “You would have been invited.”

“Oh, well then that makes everything better, doesn't it?” Hob was almost yelling now. “Centuries of friendship and I'm only supposed to find out about your suicide mission at your bloody funeral?” Hob’s tears began to fall, and Dream's eyes widened as he stood up.

“Hob…” Dream said in concern.

“You don't understand, Dream. You're the only person whose funeral I'm never supposed to attend. I've long since accepted that I would one day lose everyone I care about, but not you! What happened to meeting every century? Why didn't you wish to live?”

Dream stared at him in surprise and confusion. “I… did not think you cared that much. About our meetings. About…” he seemed to struggle in getting the words out. “Me.”

“Of course I care about you,” Hob's voice quieted down. He suddenly felt exhausted. “I never hid that, did I?”

There was conflict again in Dream's eyes, and a moment later he had stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Hob, pulling him in a loose embrace.

“Is this alright?” Dream asked softly.

Hob clenched his fists onto the back of Dream’s shirt and ducked his face into Dream’s chest, letting the last of the tears fall. All his pent-up worries since finding out about Fawney Rig and Dream's visit last month had surged up all at once, and now he was having a meltdown in the middle of a park. He'd be embarrassed if he didn't feel so wrung out.

He gently pulled away once his breathing had evened out. “Sorry, I've cried all over your shirt now.”

“It's your shirt,” Dream said with a hint of playfulness.

Hob chuckled. “Right. But seriously, Dream, are you still in any danger?”

Dream glanced at the sky, as if making sure there wasn't anything approaching. “If the Kindly Ones still wanted me dead, I believe I would be already. Something has happened to stop them, though I do not know what that could be.” He looked at Hob again, and when he spoke his voice was quieter. “I did not want to risk them following me to your home. That is why I had to leave.”

“Yeah I figured that much. But if you said they were only upholding some law, then they'd have no reason to harm me, right?”

Dream paused to consider it. “Indeed. But still I would rather you not encounter them.”

“And I'd rather you have a safe place to stay while you recover. Do you have anywhere to go?” A thought occurred to Hob. “Can you still teleport?”

Dream glanced down and didn't say anything. It would make sense that he was weakened enough not to have his powers; Hob should have realised that sooner.

“Wanna come back to my place and maybe we could figure something out over tea?” Hob asked gently. “There's also the spiced chicken I made for dinner last night, would take no time at all to reheat it.”

“I do not need to eat.”

“But I do. And I'm famished, love.” Hob belatedly realised what endearment he had just said, and he cleared his throat before averting his eyes in what he hoped looked like a nonchalant gesture. “Anyway. Shall we?”

Dream looked at him contemplatively before nodding.

They walked in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other's company while they went past the shops and restaurants. Some couples they came across were holding hands while walking, and Hob vaguely wondered what it would feel like to hold Dream's.

He should probably turn his thoughts to something else now.

“So, if you had a son, does that mean you're married? Is someone out there waiting for you to come home?”

Dream looked caught off-guard for a second and Hob wanted to kick himself. He never could stay quiet when it was the smarter choice. He was about to apologise and take back the question, but Dream was already answering.

“I have not been married in a long time. My former wife and I… We have had our problems even before our son was condemned to being an oracle. We had grieved separately. No one is waiting for me.” Dream's voice held an almost indifferent resignation, and Hob wanted so badly to tell him that he would always wait for him. That he did wait for him, all day and night at The White Horse in 1989, and every day since.

Dream stopped in front of a food stall. “I believe they sell grilled meat and bread over here. Shall we purchase some?”

Hob looked at the stall and raised an eyebrow at Dream teasingly. “I thought you said you don’t need to eat?”

“But you do. Love.” The corner of Dream’s mouth turned up.

Hob felt his face warm and he chuckled nervously. God, this man was going to kill him. “I don't have any money on me. I ran out of my flat in just my pyjamas, you know? Barely managed to put my shoes on. Besides, we're almost back there now,” he rambled, looking at anywhere but Dream.

“Then let us proceed to your home. I would not want to further intrude on your daily routines.” Dream began walking again.

“You're not intruding,” Hob said as he walked beside him. “How many times do I have to say it? I'll whack you over the head until you understand that you're welcome to stay with me anytime.”

Dream looked at him with a frown that Hob would never say he found endearing. “You would not dare.”

“Or what?” Hob challenged.

Dream narrowed his eyes at Hob. “You have grown insolent,” he said without any bite to it.

“Always been,” Hob winked.

Dream looked back at the road again, but not before Hob caught his smile.

---

Note:

I had no idea what a tagine pot was before I wrote this fic, but it sounds pretty cool and I can see Hob owning one.

---

(Chapter 2) ->

(Masterlist)

20 notes · View notes

lingering-42-long · 2 years

Text

Gentle touch

König x female reader

As much as I love Simon ghost Riley I also really love König. He’s such an anxious big guy. I wanted to do a Story on him and hopefully I’ll do more in the future. I was also feeling kind of mopey so I wanted to write something comforting. I wanted to try my hand at first person. Enjoy!

Warnings: woman’s menstrual cycle, blood, self-insecurities, mountain man freaking out, simping over his girl, fluff

I woke up around 3:46 am in pain, my lower region felt like a serrated hot knife was stabbing it relentlessly. I groaned as I tried to roll over to stop the pain in someway shape or form. Nothing was helping. I looked over my sleeping mountain of a man. König, The tall Austrian was passed out next to me, Curled up around pillows and blankets as he cocoon himself from the world. Another stabbing pain injected its self into mean as I winced and clutched at my stomach area. I ground and pull the sheets back and silently cursing as I saw a huge dark red blood stain on the blue sheets that I had just bought not two months ago.

I hobbled my way into the bathroom as I began to start a nice hot bath to help relieve my cramps. I decided to add some bath salts and bubbles to at least help with the healing. Everything was so tense my body was shaking due to the pain. Taking off my shirt and spoiled pants I dipped into the hot water and relaxed with a sigh. It was nice to finally be able to relieve some of the pain, though it was still there, the hot water was helping.

Meanwhile… (König’s 3rd person pov)

König woke up shortly after (y/n) had gone into the bathroom. He was a little parched and wanted some water to quench his thirst.

He noticed the bathroom light was on but thought little about it, (y/n) must be in there. He did not want to disturb her.

He pulled the sheets back and saw something dark on her side. Looking at the spot more closely he saw it was a large patch of blood. König gasped and quickly got out of bed to the washroom. “Liebling!!! I saw blood, are you hurt?!?!” Panic rose in his chest ad the thought of you injured made him sick.

( (Y/n)’s 1st person pov)

“Liebling!!! I saw blood, are you hurt?!?!” I heard my sweet boyfriend’s muffled call on the other side of the door.

“Yes I’m fine just in pain” I winced as the imaginary knife stabbed me once more. “Owww” I moaned as I tried to reposition myself in the warm water.

“Mein Schatz…. May I come in?” He asked

“If you want too” I groaned.

The door slowly opened as König began to take in the situation. He saw me in the tub looking like I was getting gutted and the bloody mess of clothes that laid by the toilet. “Scheisse.” he murmured and knelt by the tub next to me. “Ve need to get you to the hospital vight now!”

“No no that won’t be necessary.” I winced

“But your bleeding!” Fear and sheer panic was on his face. I cupped the side of his cheek and smiled tiredly, “It’s ok honey. This is normal.”

“How is this normal?!” His eyes widened.

“At least let me see.”

“No. Absolutely no” I vigorously shook my head.

“Liebe, I need to see! Your hurt! I don’t even know where your bleeding from.” He was trying to coax me out of the hot, soapy water. “I know where.” I grumbled and sank back into the water.

“Do you not trust me?” König looked sad now. He felt like shit not knowing what was wrong.

“Hunny, do you know what a menstrual cycle is?”

“Hardly. I am familiar with the term. The woman sometimes get them.”

“Ok, women usually get them every month, and we… shed our uterus membrane as a way of cleaning ourselves.

My man just sat there blinking.

“It’s painful, it feels like birthing jellyfish.”

König winced, “but the blood?”

“A woman can loose as much as 44.36 ml (3 tbsp)”

“Scheisse! It looks so much more on the bed” he winced

I groaned, “I forgot about it… could you do me a few favors?” I asked.

“Certainly! Anything for you.” König smiled a bit as he was finally glad he could help. The man could barely sit still for no more than two minutes. “ Could you first change the sheets on the bed and put fresh new ones and take the sheets that are spoiled and put them in the wash machine? Then could you get me a glass of water and my ibuprofen? The The bottle is clear with the big words ibuprofen written on the side in the medicine cabinet. Also can you get me fresh Sleepwear? All of these are spoiled and can you get me a pad? You can set it with the clothes as well.” As I was speaking I could tell König was taking a mental note of everything.

“Ok Liebling, I vill be right back. Stay there.” He leaned over and kissed my head. I gave him a tired smile. “Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“Please, mein Täubchen, I am more than happy to tend to your needs” He got up to get the things done.

“Oh one more thing… sorry” I blushed slightly.

“Ja?” He turned around and looked at me.

“Could you get a hot water bottle going for me. They’re in the medicine cabinet as well. They’re red you can’t miss them they’re on the bottom shelf. Fill the kettle up with water and once it’s boiling put the water in the water bottle. Could you also wrap it in a towel? They get too hot sometimes.”

“Ja of corse.” He nodded and walked out. I sighed and did what I could to relax.

I listened to the noises around me. I could hear König shuffling around our flat, doing the various tasks that I requested. I could hear him shuffle around the bedroom stripping the beds, and then I could also hear him opening up the drawer to my dresser, and picking out pajamas. I heard him walking to the kitchen, and also I could hear the washing machine turn on, followed by a few minutes of quiet, then the kettle singing; König turning off the sound and quite presumably pouring the hot water into the bottle. Sure enough, shortly after that, I heard a sharp cry “Scheisse!”

I winced. He probably pored to fast and burned his hand. I felt really bad for making him do all of this at now 4 in the morning.

It was about 30 or so minutes later when he finally came back with a glass of water, a pill, a hot water bottle, new clothes, and a pad.

“Sorry it took me so long the water got my hand.”

I sighed “I’m so sorry for making you do this you should be in bed, it’s my shit not yours.”

“Vhat?! Nein! Don’t say that!” König handed me the glass and pill. “I wanted to do this for you. Your in pain. I hate seeing you in pain. I will do anything at any time, to make sure your ok.” He sat next to the tub and smiled at me “Your the best thing that has ever happened to me, how could I not take care of Sie.”

This was most this man had spoken in a wile. He was a quiet soul but in the privacy of his home, he could be quiet the chatter box.

I had tears forming at my eyes and I sniffed. “Oh don’t cry meine Liebe.” He stroked my chin “Ich liebe dich zu sehr, um dich weinen zu sehen.” I nodded and swallowed the pill with the water. “I’m sorry my hormones are all over the place… could you help up.”

He offered his arms and hands for me to grab on. As I took them, he carefully hoisted me up to my feet. I twinge of pink, dusted his cheeks as he avoided looking at my body. “Ummm h-here is Y-your Towel.” König’s shy, bashful self came out as he handed me a towel. “I’ll be in the bedroom.” He quickly left me for my privacy. I would have laughed at his shyness if I wasn’t still in pain.

I came out a few minutes later in my pjs and found him sitting on the edge of our bed fidgeting with the strings on his sleeping pants. “Hey big guy” I smiled as I laid down next to his sitting form. This broke him out of his trance and he stared at me. “Hello Schön.” König glanced at me, now one lamp was on so the room was lit better to see each other.

“It still hurts” I groaned and closed my eyes.

“Vat can I do?” He asked not sure if there was anything he could do more to take my pain away.

“Could you rub down here? Please? If not it will be ok.”

“Y-you vant me to r-rub were?” His eyes opened wider as he seemed nervous.

“Right here, under the stomach, where my ovaries are. Massaging really helps. If your too uncomfortable with it-“

“ nein, nein, I can do it.” His face was a deep shade of crimson. As he placed his hands awkwardly on me just above my hips. “O-ok where?”

“OK hold me as if you’re keeping my hips down in sex.” Poor König gave me the ‘deer in the headlights’ look. “Like this.” I just did his thumbs to sit on top of where my ovaries and uterus would be and his other four fingers on the sides of my hip. “There. Like that. Now you can use your thumb to rub in circles, not to deep, right where they are.”

Slowly, König began to massage the areas, carful not to hurt me. “Like this?” He asked, unsure.

“Yes baby just like that. Don’t stop” I groaned in pleasure as I closed my eyes. König smiled a little at this. Happy that his hands could be put to good use in this situation, and he was not going to lie, seeing me lay like this with his hands on me felt… erotic. König shook his head, now was not the time.

After some time the Ibuprofen finally kicked in and I was feeling a lot better. The pain subsided to a dull throb. Now it was around 5 o’clock am. The sun would be rising soon so there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. I just laid there on the bed sideways, with König now massaging my back. He was humming a tune which meant he was content. “I love you” I said out of the blue. I felt a gentle squeeze on my shoulder “Ich liebe dich mehr” I rolled over to face him and smiled, “Can we go cuddle on the couch till the sun comes up?”

“Oh I vood like that” he nodded and without second thought, picked me up like a baby, and carried me to the living room.

He sat down and I snuggled in his lap. He carefully grabbed one of the blankets on the couch and spread it over us, as I was fiddling with the TV remote finding some thing to watch. I fell a kiss on the head and his arm rubbing my shoulder as we settled down to watch some Christmas bake off show.

#könig x reader #könig #x reader #cod x you #cod x reader #fluff

309 notes · View notes

that-sarcastic-optimist · 3 months

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY

Doing this for the first time ever and here we go--

So, a few days ago I say people doing something called wip wednesdays, and that looked fun, so here's mine--

It's a one-shot for my drabble series, and not edited AT ALL, so have your pinches of salt ready.

Is it really fair to have one’s life reduced to seventeen years?

It’s kind of ironic, isn't it, Caroline asks herself, to live, die, live again, and then promptly die once again promptly in the same year?

She’s sixteen, she’s seventeen, and then she’s seventeen forever.

Well, not anymore. She’s dying.

She’s almost dead.

Caroline’s favourite grandmother, her mom’s mother, had early onset Alzheimer’s since she was forty-nine. Caroline remembers visiting her at the old age home, watching her beloved grandmother pinch her cheeks and ask her mother what she and her lovely daughter were doing at a place like this.

She remembers the lucidity. A few precious moments every few months, when her grandmother would remember who she was and Caroline and her mother rushed to the home to spend those few minutes with her, celebrating the fact that she recalled them.

It always felt fake, to Caroline. Something unreal. Another effect of the disease slowly eating away at her grandmother.

Similar to the disease that’s eating away at her. She’s been hallucinating since an hour, plagued by memories, mostly of her grandmother and her parents. The period right now, the one where she’s just lying on her bed, waiting for her hallucinations and the poison from the werewolf bite to just take over her, wating to succumb to the pain because she just can't—

She can't—

That’s her lucidity.

Calling her mom is hopeless. She loves her so much, so blindly, that her mother’s spent the last hour just searching for a cure to werewolf venom, when in fact, there isn't one.

Well, not one that’s going to be given to her anytime soon, anyway.

So Caroline waits. Waits for the poison coursing through her veins to kill her without even trying. Because what's even the damn point, when she can't even have her stupid birthday in peace without dying, again.

And the hallucinations must be reaching a point where she’s nearly dead, because they’re getting more and more vivid, because there’s no way Klaus Mikaelson would be in her room.

She cracks open her eyes.

Oh.

There he is.

He’s standing at her door, looking at her as if she’s—

He doesn’t care. Whatever’s on his face, he just doesn’t care. Live or die, Caroline Forbes, Klaus Mikaelson couldn’t give a flying fuck about you. You're just a pawn in his game, something to be sacrificed. She’s a test subject to make sure the sire bond worked.

She’s nothing. And he agrees.

So she says, “Are you going to kill me?”

She hates that her possible last words sound so resigned. So weak, so pathetic, when she promised herself that at least her death would be prouder than how her life had been.

Caroline Forbes, born 1992, died 2009. She didn’t do anything worth living in those measly seventeen years that she got. Go on, Klaus, rip her head off. It isn't like she can do anything to stop you anyway.

Klaus’s eyebrows pull back, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s actually surprised. “On your birthday?”

It doesn’t shock her that he knows today’s her birthday. He could have known her social security number and she wouldn’t have been surprised. She makes no effort to show him any emotion when he continues, “Do you really think that low of me?”

She could have laughed if it weren't so pathetic. Was he kidding her? She was dying because of him and he had the audacity to ask her if she thought he was a lowlife? There had to be some amount of shame in the man, right?

Clearly not.

“Yes,” she rasps out, not bothering to keep the contempt out of her voice.

#klaroline #wip #wip wednesday #drabbles #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes

15 notes · View notes

overshelter · 10 months

Text

REVIEW: Married Thrice to Salted Fish

WARNING: It's full of SPOILERS, so CAUTION!

Well, about this one...

IT'S TOO CUTE, MY GOD! I REALLY CAN'T STAND IT!

Seriously! Despite how labored, painful and even harrowing the plot may be, MTSF is definitely a novel with a very, very cute and sweet plot!

This story is truly about love, development and how a relationship should be. The way Jiang Xing and Lin Qingyu fell in love little by little, and then got into a relationship, was definitely a sight for sore eyes, a pure delight for anyone reading! The author managed to write in such a sincere and natural way. You can clearly see the love growing between them with each reincarnation of Jiang Xing and you're able to fall in love with each interaction, as well as being fascinated by the changes in the way they treat each other with each one. I still can't get over the way they flirt! It's so sweet, funny and definitely daring that you can't help but smile with every paragraph of narration. I really love the way this author has developed them. I think I rarely come across novels where the relationship is written in a way that gives you that sense of reality, where you can feel that the couple are truly and intensely in love. And what's worse? It's not even toxic or intensely bad! It's just right!

I also love, ABSOLUTELY LOVE, Jiang Xing and his salted fish dream! I can totally relate! Too bad I'm a mere mortal and can't really reach the brain of our favorite slacker. I really wish I could, though... but even though I can't, I like having the privilege of reveling in the fact that he's still going to have to "work hard" for his Baobei for a long, long time! Anyway. Jiang Xing is also a beautifully developed character, with a captivating personality and way of thinking that easily draws anyone in. I completely understand Qingyu and why he is so enamored of this "mere student", even more so with how proficient this student is at appeasing and pampering our great beauty.

Apart from our Jiang, I obviously love Lin Qingyu, our cold and poisonous beauty, who could easily end your life with a single comment. Petty? Who cares! It's his great charm! After all, just like Jiang Xing, I can't help but get excited and anxious to see such a beautiful person poison his offenders to death and stomp on them. Honestly? If I were them, I'd even be grateful. After all, it's not every day that someone so beautiful and so prestigious is willing to pay attention to you, even if it's just to throw you in a grave. But anyway. Our beauty is not only cold, it's also unbearably cute and sweet. Of course, that's just for student Jiang and, later, a little bit for their adopted son, Shen Huaishi – another one I totally wanted to hold and spoil in every possible way! –.

Another point here is the narrative. It flows very well, and the writing doesn't leave you alone until you've consumed every chapter! I'm being honest! I finished one hundred and forty-seven of them in two or three days! I couldn't stop unless I finished it in one go and, if it hadn't been for the fact that I had obligations and had started reading in the middle of the week, I would definitely have finished it in one day after spending the night obsessively and psychotically involved with the story of these two. So believe me when I say that this is a poisonous novel that won't let you go until you have no more content left!

Well, I don't want to say too much because, even though I've already given away a HUGE spoiler just by mentioning "Jiang Xing", I still really want to preserve some things and experience before you read on. So I'm not going to say anything other than that this novel should be a must-read and high on your priority list. Especially if you're looking for a couple with real development, a compelling dynamic and a great story to tell.

In short...

READ IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!! I'M BEGGING YOU!!!

#novel #danmei #novel recommendation #novel review #book review #books & libraries #books #yaoi bl #yaoi #gay #gay men #gay couple #lgbtqia #married thrice to salted fish #lin qingyu

37 notes · View notes

syrupgirl · 2 years

Text

I only have eyes for you -Lo’ak

All around you, it is still. The sound of waves crashing are barely a whisper as they travel across the air and the sea of black above you punctured with glimmering lights. Bright and unmoving.

Because of the calm, Lo’ak’s words hold even more emotion in them.

“I don’t know why he doesn’t…understand me. Mother says I remind her of him more than I know but if that’s true, why can’t he understand?”

This was one of the rare occasions where you got Lo’ak to speak his mind, without feeling the need to yell to be heard. Despite his aloof exterior, your Lo’ak is as delicate and temperamental as the kenten that floated down from the tops of trees, reacting at a moments notice.

You must be careful in what you say next.

“They say…parents who see themselves in their children, particularly parents who have been though hardships in their lives, will feel…” You pause, not wanting to rub any more salt on the already painful wound. “They will feel as if they have let their child down. That they could have raised them better to be anything, anyone that isn’t a reflection of the themselves.”

Lo’ak turns to you and his feet stop swaying in the water, simply sitting and staring at you to elaborate.

“Your father sees himself in you and it scares him. He thinks you deserve better than him, Lo’ak.”

There is a pregnant pause and you hope in your heart that the words will sink into Lo’ak’s mundane stay there, because this feuding between father and son benefits neither of them and they know it.

Tentatively, you shuffle closer to Lo’ak on the rock edge and place a hand on his thigh. The touch startles him and he looks up with eyes wide.

“You hear what I am saying, Lo’ak?”

He nods.

“Do you really?”

He nods again.

“I hear you. You are the only one I hear.”

Somewhere in the distance, you are sure you see a bright light shoot across the vast see of stars above you. An omen for something to come?

“And you are the only one I see.”

a/n: banged this out in a few mins just to keep me in the groove😚

#not beta'd #not beta read #lo’ak sully x reader #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak #lo’ak sully #lo’ak imagine #lo’ak fanfiction #lo’ak fic #avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #avatar imagine #avatar fanfiction #atwow #avatar way of water

185 notes · View notes

milflewis · 8 months

Note

Brocedes Shot glass of tears

“So,” Jenson starts, shaking an unnecessarily large amount of salt onto his side of roast potatoes. “I learned something new the other day.”

Nico sips at his glass of Viognier — he’s having seafood. “How to spell your name?”

Jenson smiles at him. “You always were funny, Britney. No, did you know that it doesn’t matter if you don’t fuck — that it doesn’t actually kill you if you get that,” he waves a careless hand in the air, salt shaker shaking, “Fuck Or Die drug thing?”

He pauses. Frowns. “Or is it a flower pollen?”

“It’s a drug made from a flower, like heroin,” Nico says, instead of saying, no, he did not know.

Jenson hums consideringly. His faux pensive expression is hideously exaggerated. It isn’t as charming as Nico suspects he thinks it is. He also suspects that Jenson doesn’t much care at the moment.

“Or,” Jenson continues. “At least, it didn’t kill Lewis.”

James isn’t returning his calls. Nico doesn’t even bother trying Valtteri or Bono. He has no desire to be laughed at so Susie and Sebastian are also out.

Toto picks up on the seventh ring.

“This is Wolff” he answers, already sounding tired.

“Is it true?”

“Ah, Nico, hello,” Toto starts. “Is what true?”

Nico makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. His gut is doing something weird and cramp-like, and his head feels hot and stuffed even though he only had three glasses of wine with a full dinner.

“Lewis. And the drug. Is it real?”

“Hmm. Is this Friend-Nico talking, or Sky-Nico talking?”

It is a question that Susie likes to regularly ask Nico, though her version of the term ‘Friend-Nico’ is distinctly more mocking.

Nico does not snap at him. He is in control, even when he isn’t. He is.

Nico has never carried a bag of sweets around in his pocket. He is not one for setting himself up for failure. He knows what he is good at and what he isn’t. It is it’s own form of self discipline.

Nico isn’t sure Lewis ever really believed that. Other people definitely didn’t.

“Toto,” Nico says, and Toto sighs heavily.

“It is true. He — he had no one, and nothing happened. He has been medically cleared. No lasting side effects.”

Toto says the words like they’re not the first times he spoken them, and still, there is a note of slight reluctant disbelief. He has e never been one for awe.

Nico hangs up without saying goodbye.

The fan had been aiming for Sebastian.

Apparently they had taken offensive to his excessive flirting with everyone in his five foot radius. Nico understands their pain.

He doesn’t know what happened after Baku. No one does. But, even three years later, whatever it was meant that it wasn’t surprising to find Lewis hanging off of Sebastian’s elbow at races, laughing at his terrible jokes.

It is because of this that Lewis gets a face full of Amyl Nitrite, instead of Sebastian.

The layers of irony here amuse Nico for a nice long moment. It helps that Nico knows from Jenson that Lewis was left to deal with it on his own. No Sebastian in sight.

“His poor dick must be stripped raw,” Nico says over the phone.

Mark makes a high despairing sound. He doesn’t like it when they talk about Lewis’s dick.

Ted makes Lewis laugh seven times in his three minute paddock pen interview on Thursday. Nico is used to seeing Ted make Lewis laugh. They're both pretty shameless in that regard.

There are no circles under his eyes - no visible ones anyway, concealer is a thing - or tightness around his forehead. Nico squints at the screen to see if he has any of those tiny broken blood vessels he gets he presses his knuckles into them, trying to sleep. He can't see any.

His braids are neat and pulled back from his face in a high pony and his shirt is loose around his neck, thick silver chain glimmering. He is wearing his usual amount of jewelry.

"You know what it's like, man," Lewis is smiling, face scrunching up behind his mask. "We always try to start off on a good vibe and see where we go build from there. We've got a good team and a good car, and I like where we're at."

He does not look like he's in any form of discomfort, let alone pain. He does not look like his dick is raw. This means nothing as Nico knows.

Ted says something else and Lewis laughs for an eighth time. Nico turns off his tablet.

It is from Fernando that Nico finds out what happened in the end.

Fernando tells him that Lewis came to stay in his hotel room for the night, to ride out the drug’s effects, like this set of actions were obvious and he couldn’t imagine why Nico was even bothering to ask.

Absence, Nico realises, does not always make the heart fonder. At least where Fernando Alonso is concerned.

“Where else would he go,” Fernando says slowly as if Nico is particularly dim. “I don’t do that sort of thing, and I always have a lot of alcohol on me.”

He is filling another two shot glasses from a bottle of clear vodka he already had at the table when Nico arrived.

“Right,” Nico says. “Of course.”

And then: “Is that how he survived then? By drinking himself limp?”

The thought isn’t as funny as Nico would like it to be.

Fernando rolls his eyes. “I told him he didn’t need it. People are just weak. This drug does not kill. People get scared. They give in. They want. After, they are ashamed, so they make up stories, is all.”

Fernando’s mouth twists into something sour. The lighting in the hotel bar is low and dark, throwing shadows across his jaw.

“Hamilton is not weak,” Fernando tells him and Nico does not snap back that he knows.

Instead, he informs him calmly that his opinion on drugs and people’s susceptibility to them and their effects is outdated and uneducated and privileged. He leaves Fernando to pick up their tab. This seems to piss him off more than the lecture.

+1.

Lewis flips the pancake high in the air, grinning to himself as it lands perfectly back into the pan. He’s shirtless, shorts low on his hips, and barefoot. The curve of his belly is softer than it was back when they were racing.

“Morning,” Nico murmurs, pressing his mouth against the knob at the top of Lewis’s spine. His skin is still shower warm and only slightly damp.

“Hey,” Lewis says, reaching a hand back to squeeze Nico’s hip. “You hungry?”

Nico checks in with himself as he takes down two glasses from the cupboard. He opens the fridge to grab their jug of water — already Britta filtered and with several slices of lemon bobbing on the surface.

“Nah, not really, I’ll only have one or two.”

“Mhmm, okay.”

Nico pours them both out two glasses and grabs a pair of forks. He sits up on one of the island stools and sips at his drink.

He should really have his shot of apple cider vinegar and greens but his stomach is feeling kind of weird this morning and he wants to eat first.

Lewis’s cross tattoo is fading. He’ll need to get it touched up soon.

“Bon appétit,” Lewis declares sweepingly, setting Nico’s plate down in front of him with a flourish. He’s in a good mood this morning which means he deliberately butchers the pronunciation, saying it like “Bon apple teeth”, to annoy Nico.

Happiness on Lewis has always looked childlike.

It is strange — the times Nico thinks about it, after all these years.

You were going to kill yourself before letting anyone fuck you again, Nico does not say to Lewis. He cuts into the top pancake, smothered in syrup, and chews slowly.

Lewis turns back to the stove, already sure it will be liked. It’s a well used recipe.

Did you know that it was an old wives tale, or did you just not want to pick up the phone that badly?

Nico’s therapist has been pushing him to ask Lewis for years. Nico told her he will when he is no longer afraid of the answer. He is trying to be more honest, if not with Lewis than with himself and his therapist. She had looked remarkably unimpressed.

“This is enough for me,” Nico tells him. “Thank you.”

Lewis hums, throwing a grin over his shoulder. He is shimming slightly to the music coming from the speaker perched on-top the fridge.

Roscoe is snoring on the couch in the sitting room area of their open floor plan.

“I’m thinking of going swimming later.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“How much later?”

Nico thinks for a second. It’s a Saturday and he has no meetings. Neither does Lewis.

“I told my Dad I’d give him a call at around eleven, so,” he checks his phone. It’s a little before ten now. “Maybe have an early lunch after that and then go at around two or so?”

“Okay.” Lewis turns off the stove, plating up the last of his banana pancakes, and comes around to sit next to Nico. He turns a little so he’s facing him, knees nudging his thigh. “Sounds good.”

At this angle, one of Lewis’s nipple piercings keeps catching off the light when he moves to eat his food and winking at Nico. It’s vaguely distracting in a distant this is your favourite meal but you’ve just eaten kind of way.

“We’re having dinner on the yacht tonight,” Nico decides.

Lewis glances at him, that half amused look he only ever gets around Nico on his face, like he doesn’t even have to thinking about being that way, it just happens naturally.

“Okay,” he says again. “Sure.”

“I want to suck you off under the stars after,” Nico tells him and rinses off his plate before putting it in the dishwasher, and leaving the room to call his dad.

“And they say romance is dead,” Lewis calls after him, grinning, eyes hot. It would be embarrassing for him, the way Nico knows Lewis’s dick twitched when Nico said that, if Nico wasn’t just as easy for him.

#i don’t gen write brocedes but akira is tired rn and i love her and i can’t give her a hug but i can give her this #hope u enjoy anon!#sex pollen trope #brocedes #little fics #anon tag #niamh.asks

43 notes · View notes

sumu-samu · 1 year

Text

Behind The Glass

This was how I imagined Tank reacting to the things Quinn was saying. Please have in mind I wrote this before Quinn’s Aftermath was uploaded I was just busy posting the Broken series and don’t have the energy to rewrite it. So if things don’t match up exactly I apologize

“He’s gonna try and get into your head Sam, say… say things that aren’t true to try and get you to tick. You have to take everything he says with a grain of salt. And no small talk. You have to go in knowing what you want. You give into his stalling he’s just going to get more and more under your skin.” Tank’s heart was beating at a rapid pace. What did Quinn want with Sam. It didn’t make any sense to them.

“Darlin.” Sam grabbed their face so they could look him in the eyes. “I know.” He said staring deep into their eyes. They could tell he was trying to calm them down. It only half worked.

“Sam there’s been things I haven’t told you….. he… I want to be the one to tell you personally but… knowing Quinn he’s going to bring them up. Please…. If you hate me after what he says then… give me at least a chance to explain myself.” They held on to him tight, they couldn’t let him go. He was their mate, their world.

“Darlin, Quinn is a sick fuck. I’m not going to let what ever bullshit he spews change my opinion of you. I love you, with my absolute everything.” Hearing him say that made their heart metaphorically skip a beat. He kissed their forehead and walked out to go confront Quinn.

When he got in there he did everything they told him to do. Skip the small talk, go straight to questions. But Quinn had other plans, as per usual.

“Why the hell am I here?” Sam asked.

“Because I want to get to know you Samuel. We’ve barley even met.” Hearing Quinn’s voice again was like needle’s piercing their skin from every direction.

“Oh I remember the night we met, perfectly. That image is never gonna leave my mind.” Sam shook his head No Sam don’t tell him that.

“I do look rather dashing in blood. Don’t I?” Quinn laughed, the needles pushed in harder.

“That supposed to be funnny?” Sam cocked his head.

“Two and a half years.” Quinn ignored the question “You think they would all blend together over the decades. But I never forget a face. How if Freddie doing? Does he still wake up screaming at night, thinking of me?” Quinn smirked. They could see the smoke coming off of Sam.

“Keep his name, out of your fucking mouth.” Sam seethed.

“Fredrick Collins.” At that point Tank themselves wanted to jump through the glass and strangle the fucker. “He did take your name didn’t he? Must have left a pretty good impression as a maker then. Was that your way of compensating for than your own less than stellar undead upbringing?” That got Tanks blood boiling. How fucking dare he bring up Sam’s turning. Especially knowing how hard it was for them.

“Tank, calm.” David shot them a look.

“Sorry.” They cleared their throat.

“Where is she?” Sam pushed

“I’m not done playing with you Sammy.” The nickname made them growl.

“Calm.” David repeated.

This was going on way too long, Quinn kept stalling, trying to get under Sam’s skin. They didn’t expect much less from him but they weren’t the most patient of people.

“I’ve never had a progeny. Tell me, what’s it feel like when he has the nightmares? Do you feel them too? Do you feel his fear like it’s your own or something separate? When he remembers my teeth tearing through his skin, ripping muscle off the bone. His blood splattering his face. Do you feel it whgen hes sobbing in bed, trapped in a dream begging for his life. What doe that feel like.” Tank was thankful Bright wasn’t here at the moment, the pain and anger they would be feeling having to listen to that.

Sam saw the two as if they were his own kids, as with Sam being their mate they met the two of them many times. They were good kids gone too soon. Sam was often really hard of Bright but Tank was able to get him to lossen up on them. Bright reminded Tank as themself, only younger and having more to live for. That night at wonderworld they never would have known Quinn would attack. They probably didn’t even know he was there. They were unempowered, and that world was hidden from them, for all they knew vampires were pale white teen heartthrobs who sparkle in the sun light.

“I don’t have to sit through this.” Sam started to get up.

“Is her life worth less than your comfort?” Quinn asked when Sam had his hand on the door. “Sit.” He demanded, a tone Tank heard a lot during their time with him. “Do you hold him when hes crying or is that too much? Consoling isn’t everyone’s strong suit.”

“Clearly.” They could practically hear Sam roll his eyes. “I have a question of my own,”

“Oh yes, ‘where is she?’ I heard you the first ten times” Quinn mocked

“No, something different.” Sam sounded proud, like he was able to get the jump on Quinn.

“And what might that be?” Curiosity, something rarely used by Quinn.

“Why am I the one in this chair? You know who you should actually be facing.” Tank’s eyes went wide, what was he doing.

“Be cause this is more fun.”

“Because youre a coward. Because youre scared to face them-”

“Because theres no greater pain I can give them than denying them closure. Because I know that having me this close just out of reach, refusing to talk to anyone but their beloved mate-” Tanks eyes could have popped out of their head hearing him say that.

“David….” they whispered.

“What?”

“He’s been watching me…” Their breathing got faster.

“What? How do you know?” He took a step closer to them.

“He called Sam my mate” The fear could practically be heard on their voice.

“Ok? So? He is.” David was very confused.

“But how would he know that? I’ve never called anyone that. Not even him…”

“Why are you doing this to them?” Sam questioned.

“I take betrayal very seriously.” Betrayal? Betrayal? He was the one who betrayed them, hes the sicko who attacked innocent people.

“You have to have trust before you can have betrayal.” Sam countered.

“Oh, they trusted me. They trusted me with every part of them.” Tank’s stomach dropped. “I was their safe place for all those ugly thoughts in their head, because they knew what was in my head was much worse. That I wouldn’t judge them for it, that they could ask me to do anything to them and I’d do it with a smile. Anything for my precious” The name made them want to puke, to scream, to cry. “Are you enjoying my sloppy seconds?” They felt something in their heart hurt, like Quinn took a wooden stake and gud it into them, their chest got tight.

“I’m enjoying being with my mate” Sam seethed, “Someone who is stronger than the shit you’ve tried to put them through.” Sam defended them.

“This is why your more fun Sammy! You don’t crack under pressure like they do. Not yet anyway. I wonder how many buttons I have to press to push you over the edge.” Quinn was trearting this like a game. To him it was.

“Save us both some time end this. tell me where the girl is.” Sam tried to get back on track.

“Game’s not over yet. Tell me something, vampire to vampire, their blood tastes like heaven, doesn’t it.” Their face got hot with shame. They could feel David looking at them. “And the sounds they make when the fang sinks in.” They shut their eyes, tight. “The way they’d wind their fingers into my hair, dragged me in tighter like they wanted me to bite hard enough to hit bone. It’s like nothing else.” They knew he was doing this to get under Sam’s skin, but they couldn’t help but feel absolutely disgusted by who they used to be, what they used to do.

“Where is the girl?” Sam didn’t let him in.

“Do they still prefer their bites on the thigh? I was never picky. Ephemeral artery would suit me just fine. Especially with how hard they always wanted me to bite. But with a mate, maybe they prefer the neck nowadays.” Tank tried to hide themself, the look they felt coming off of David was enough to send them back into their old self.

“He… bit… you?” David’s voice growled.

“It…. It was all consensual at the time David….” The tried to hide even harder.

“What is the point of any of this.” That obviously got on Sam’s nerves.

“I guess I’m asking the wrong person… because… you’ve never bitten them… have you?” Quinn chuckled. “I’ve been close to them Sammy, so close. With out them even noticing. I would have detected your mark on them. But I haven’t. You refuse to taste them. How interesting.” The smile on Quinn’s face sent a chill through them, the metaphorical needles in their skin were practically hitting bone at this point. “Surley they’ve asked for it by now. Knowing them.”

“You don’t know anything about them.” Sam was trying so hard to keep it together.

“I’m sure you wish that was true. Sorry to burst your bubble there cowboy. They always were my favorite thrall.” Quinn chuckled at Sam’s obvious anger. “How are the scales looking? Your comfort weighed against the life of a stranger. Still worth it?”

“If listening to your sick shit is what it takes to ensure that girl’s safety. Then yes, it’s worth it.” Sam looked into Quinn’s eyes.

“You mean that… how interesting. You know, I considered adding the stipulation that no one be listening behind the mirror while we spoke, I do love my privacy after all.” Quinn poked.

“Why didn’t you?” And Sam bit.

“Because then I wouldnt have the satisfaction of knowing my favorite thrall was in the audience.” He laughed and it made everything in Tanks body run cold. “I know you’re back there Precious. Have you missed me?”

He smiled looking at the mirror almost like he was looking directly at them. And that’s when they broke, the fear and anger and sadness that was running through their body had started to overflow. Their breathing got rapid, their eyes began to well with tears, their body began to tremble.

“Tank? What… hey.” David grabbed their shoulder but it only just made them jump and slip deeper into the panic. “Woah, hey, look at me. Tank, it’s okay.”

Almost as if he could sense their panic Sam shot up out of his seat “you asked for me. Talk. To. Me. Leave them out of this.” His words like knives

They felt their knees start to give out. And luckily David never let go of them, he lowered them down as they continued to let the panic attack run its course.

“It might be best to get them out of here. They don’t need to relive stories of their trauma from the one who gave it to them.” The detective interjected.

“No… Sam…” they managed between gasps.

“Sam’s going to be fine Tank. Come on, let’s get you some water.” David lifted them up and carried them out to the car to calm down.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted headcanons #redacted shaw pack #redacted sam #redacted david #redacted darlin #redacted quinn #redacted tank #redactedaudio #redacted department #Redacted trauma

74 notes · View notes