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peachesofteal · 4 months

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Simple Math / Part Six

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings - tags: 18+ MDNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Nurse reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Reference to past domestic violence. Angst. Alcohol. Crying, anxiety, panic. Johnny in distress. Johnny is still a menace. Soft dads. POV switches. Note: Safe sleep for infants always. I do not endorse sleeping with your baby in your bed. This is a fic not real life. Simon does some digging.

“Shhh now, ye’re alright.”

Johnny coos, Penny cradled up to his chest. He’s not wearing a shirt, eyes still half sealed shut with sleep, and she squalls in his arms, screaming as loud as her little lungs will allow. “What is it, mah wee lamb? Are ye hungry? Do ye need a change?” He checks her nappy, efficiently looking for a mess or something to clean up and is nearly disappointed when he finds her still dry. If it’s not her nappy, then maybe her stomach? Could she be hungry again? He thumbs through the notes on his phone to find Simon’s last entry: 23:20 – 50 ML.

That was only an hour ago.

He frowns, walking in a circle, bouncing her gently, trying to settle her back to sleep. She’s so tiny, and still has grown so much in just the short time since they brought her home. It amazes him. It terrifies him.

“What is it, sweet bairn? What’s got ye all upset?” He touches his lips to softest skin he’s ever felt, his thumb trying to swipe away the tracks of tears on her cheeks. “Please dinnae cry. I-“

“You okay?” Simon clears his throat behind him, and Johnny tenses.

“We’re fine. Ye’re supposed to be sleepin’.”

“Heard the two of you in here fussing. Thought I could help.” Simon’s trying to be supportive, trying to be a good partner, Johnny knows, but all he can feel is irritation, a defensive reaction making his hackles rise.

It’s not fair. He’s so good at it. He’s a natural. And Johnny… Johnny feels like he’s failing his own kid, when she’s not even a month old yet.

“I dinnae need-“

“Hey.” Simon touches his elbow, and then his chin, tilting his face upwards. “I know you don’t, love. You’re doing a great job. It’s not your fault she’s having a rough go.” He soothes him, fingers kneading into the top of his spine, squeezing the nape of his neck and pulling him into his arms. Penny is still crying, but softer now, a low-pitched tone of misery that makes his heart ache, and he feels so overwhelmed, so helpless, staring down at her as she tries desperately to tell him what's wrong, the only way she knows how. He rests his cheek against Simon’s chest, melting into his hold, letting him wrap his arms all way around his waist.

“She hates me.” Johnny grumbles, and Simon presses his mouth to Johnny’s temple in short, succinct kisses.

“She doesn’t. She’s brand new. She can’t hate anything, yet, and certainly not her Da.” He strokes her cheek. “Let’s bring her to bed, see if we can get her down and then one of us can put her back in the crib, alright?” Johnny sighs.

“Alright.”

“What’re you doing after this?”

“Going to bed?” What else would you be doing?

“I’m thinking about going to Jackie’s for a drink… wanna come?” Nia untucks her scrubs, pulling the top up over her head.

“Jackie’s, huh?” You chew on your lip. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But… Jackie’s is a dive. It’s dark, and dingy, with black walls, black floors, no window in sight. And... it’s a hospital haunt.

“It’s my birthday.” She whispers, casting a glance around the rest of the room. “I’m not… it’s not a thing, I just want to go, have a few to celebrate.” You take a deep breath. “Please?” She tacks on at the end, and your shoulders dip down in defeat.

“Okay. One. And then I gotta go.”

“Yes!” She cheers, excitement smashing her palms together.

Nothing like a seven am beer.

Jackie’s is a distinct place. It’s one of the only twenty-four-hour liquor licenses left in the city, or so you’ve been told, and has been frequented by hospital staff for decades. It’s dart boards and dark wood floors, cheap beer and rail vodka, a worn to hell pool table, and an old, disabled juke box that someone broke intentionally, years ago. It’s an institution, and reminds you of some old places you used to frequent, when you weren’t… who you are now. Years ago, before, you used to love a good dive bar. Didn’t mind the way the floor stuck to your feet, and you considered yourself nearly tactical at darts. It was a source of pride, the accuracy, the rate at which you could make a bullseye, even when you were a few sheets to the wind.

“Coulda been a surgeon.” You’d tease, a smirk growing across your boyfriend’s face.

“If you were a surgeon, sugar, who’d be at home waitin’ for me after work?” He’d push back, coating the warning in an adoration, giving whoever was undoubtedly watching a slick smile before snaking an arm around your waist and tugging you close. “You don’t need to be surgeon. You don’t even need to work. You have me.”

You thought you knew, then. Knew how to handle it, how to navigate the ever-present, ever-growing threat… but you were wrong.

You were so, so wrong.

“So, heard there’s a spot opening up on days.” Nia chucks her purse at the bar top, climbing onto the stool next to you. “You’ve got the seniority… you givin’ it any thought?” The bartender walks by with a hello, and you nod at him.

“Old Speck please. And no, I like nights.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know Americans liked Old Speck.”

“We have it in the states. I didn’t live under a rock.” You quip, and she laughs before ordering her own poison, a choice that makes your own eyebrows shoot up in question. “Vodka on the rocks?”

“I’m a straight to the point kind of girl.” She explains. “So, no days?”

“No days. You?”

“I might. Night shift is kicking my ass.” She complains. “Don’t even know what day it is half the time. My rhythm is off.”

“You need like, at least six months to fully adjust.” You put a note down in exchange for your beer, and then the bartender scuttles away, distracted by some insistent woman at the other end of the bar.

“Six months?!” You’re about to launch into your spiel about how it’s not that bad when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

>Make it home from work alright?

>It’s Johnny, by the way :)

The two texts are the start of a new group chat with your number, Johnny’s number and the number you put in your contacts just yesterday… Simon’s. Your head jerks back on instinct, confused.

“You okay?” Nia asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, fine just…uh-“ She peeks over your arm, and giggles.

“Is that your patient? Two sixty-eight?”

“What?”

“Your patient. The military hottie. The one that’s always lookin’ at your bum.” Your face burns, and she tsks. “Ah, don’t be embarrassed. He’s smokin’. Wish he looked at me the way he looks at you.” You’re surprised at the flare of irritation that starts up in your stomach at her, a hot streak of jealously simmering there, burning away indignantly. “Aren’t they… I mean… isn’t the scary mask guy his partner?” He’s not scary, you scowl inwardly. He’s just… protective. The butterflies in your stomach startle, and you drift back to last night, in the stairwell, in the car.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

“If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.”

Nia says your name, dragging you back to earth, and you shrug. “Yes… they… they’re together. It’s just been hard on them, so I think there’s a bit of an attachment growing there. You know, it’s not unusual.” She bites her lip, mouth pushing up into a smile.

“They’re quite fit. Wouldn’t mind if they formed an attachment to me.” She pauses, delicately sucking her gasoline on ice up through a straw. “Gonna text him back?”

“Nia.” You hiss, and she barks out a laugh.

“Oh, come on, just a bit of fun. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s not appropriate.” You remind her, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re such a stick in the mud sometimes. Remember when Marshall was fucking his brain cancer girl? Now that, was not appropriate.” You do remember- Marshall’s sudden absence, the whispering, the HR investigation that spanned weeks, interviews with everyone on the floor.

Your beer goes sour in your stomach.

“I gotta get home.” You wrap an arm around her shoulder with a squeeze and a whisper. “Happy Birthday.” You feel bad for abandoning her, and maybe in another life you might even consider her a friend, but you’re already too exposed here as it is, and staying any longer would be too indulgent- not to mention, incredibly stupid.

You pass another nurse on the way out and him know that Nia’s at the bar, alleviating your guilt just a tad before you hike up your hood and make a beeline for the train.

By the time you get back to your hotel room, get showered, and collapse on top of the far too big bed, it’s nearly been an hour. You plug your phone in, unlocking the screen to flick on do not disturb, and realize the group message is still open, cursor blinking, waiting for your response.

It’s fine. You can tell you got home okay, that’s not crossing any lines.

>Yeah, just got settled for bed. See you later!

A text from Simon chimes back within a minute, and you squint at it, one eye open.

>Get some rest.

The floor is dead silent at the beginning of your shift.

Nothing beeps or whines or cries, no noise echoes around the corner to where you’re scrolling through Johnny’s chart, getting caught up on his day, triple checking that his levels and vitals are all within normal range. He passed his follow up for the liver procedure with flying colors, and the relief you feel is not unexpected, the weight of worry lifting free from your shoulders without another thought.

He’s fine, he’s better than fine, he’s… too healthy for the ICU.

Reality hits you like a truck, and you stop short, sneakers squeaking along the floor.

He won’t be your patient anymore.

He won’t… be your patient anymore.

The thought twists you into a mess of complicated emotions. A snarled, tangled viper's nest of unknowns, uncertainties, things you're desperately trying to tuck back behind your heart, hide them away so no one, not even yourself, can see them.

This is a good thing. This is what you want. Stable patients, on their way to recovery.

So, you’ll miss them, that’s okay. There’s a little bit attachment, that’s alright.

This is the best case scenario. You’re making a mess of things. You’re getting too involved with your patient and his family. You let Simon drive you home, for fucks sake.

They’re getting confused, because you’re the caretaker. It happens all the time. As soon as Johnny steps down, they’ll forget all about you.

You’re risking too much. You’re risking their safety, their child’s safety, your own.

It’s for the best.

You put your best work smile on when you approach his room, pulling as much air into your lungs as you can manage.

Focus on your job. Your patient. You’re a professional.

Johnny is alone. No Simon, no visitors, nobody keeping him company. It’s a strange sight, and he looks almost uncomfortable, creased brow lowered down over his eyes. That’s… odd. Worse, there’s a heaviness in his gaze, sadness pulling his mouth downwards, usual playful demeanor nowhere in sight. Even sad, he’s a marvel, and every day, he gets stronger, he gets healthier, he gets closer to leaving this room, amazing you with his tenacity, his will.

“Hey, you on your own tonight?” You casually knock on the door frame, and then pull it shut behind you, cocking your head.

“Aye.” He’s sullen, his despair tugging you closer to the bed, an urge to try to comfort him too strong to deny.

“How are you feeling?” You try the subtle question, hoping he'll be forthcoming, and you keep yourself composed as you wait for his answer.

“’m alright.” You tab through his chart, glancing it over once more, if only to assuage your own anxieties, and then tap into his vitals. Everything looks good, last labs look great… so what’s going on?

“Just alright?” His fingers flex in the blanket, tanned skin against white linen, picking at fibers and threads, unable to hold himself still. He looks like he’s going to burst open at the seams, explode inside this room, a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the end of the countdown.

A tear tracks down his cheek. “Johnny?” You step closer, close enough so your fingers graze his, trying to delicately let him know, you’re here. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. What’s going on?” The monitor beeps steadily in the silence, his chest depresses with a gust of air.

“It’s… it’s nothin’ bun. I’m jus’… I’m havin’ a bad day.”

“Want to talk about it? I hear I’m a pretty good listener.” You encourage, and his face twists.

“No, I- Ach. Aye, alright.” He shifts in the bed, and you hover in case he needs help, but he waves you away. “It’s… bein’ in here. I want to be wi’ my family. Penny turned one, before I left for this assignment. Was only supposed to be two weeks tops, but then it turned into a month, then two. And now, I’m home… but ’m not really home, and I-“ His voice cracks, raw thread of agonized emotion separating his words, and he swallows it, forcing it back. “I’m blown to bits and cannae even see my own daughter. I’m missin’ out on everything.” Oh, Johnny. Your heart is heavy, and it hurts for him, bleeds as he wipes his face.

“You’re not blown to bits, just a little banged up.” You give him a soft smile, and when he shakes his head, your fingers find his on instinct. You don’t even stop to second guess yourself, fully sinking into the contact with a gentle squeeze. “Hey, look at me.” His lashes are wet, sticky with tears, and he sniffles. “You’re making great progress, Johnny, going to be out of here in no time. You won’t even be in the ICU much longer, and then once you’re downstairs, Penny will be able to come visit all the time. After that, it won’t be too much longer until you’re back home with them.” He nods, and you stroke your thumb across his knuckles.

“Ye think so?”

“You’re the toughest patient I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a fair amount, you know. Traumatic injury recovery takes time, it takes patience, but you’re doing a great job of it so far. You just have to take it one day at a time. Before you know it, you’ll be at home on your own couch, bossin’ Simon around all day instead of me.” He laughs at that, a throaty chuckle capable of spreading heady warmth through your veins, and then gives you one of those stupidly stunning smiles.

“Shouldnae be cryin’ in front of ye.”

“You can cry in front of me any time you want. That’s what I’m here for. Besides, it’s not the first time.” You tease and he rolls his eyes.

“Doesnae count. I was high.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” The untouched dinner tray on his side table catches your eye, and chilling worry reappears in the back of your mind. “You didn’t eat?”

“Didnae have an appetite until ye showed up, pretty girl.” Okay. You can remedy this easily, if he's interested in eating. Lack of appetite is alarming, but if you can get him to eat now...

“You hungry? I haven’t eaten yet. Want me to grab you something?” He brightens, indulging in a spectacular smile, and you take it as a yes with a small laugh. “Alright. Let me run down to the café, yeah?”

“What’s that saying, about how I hate to see ye go, but love to watch ye leav-“

“Okay!” you practically shout, cutting him off, fire racing across your skin, and he snickers, palm pressing against his heart like he’s wounded. “I’ll be right back.” You give him a serious look, and and he rubs his palm through his hair, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Holy hell. How is he so attractive? And how is it still so blinding, every time?

You get two of the only option left this late in the evening, chicken soup and some sourdough, balancing the bowls carefully on their trays until you’re placing them down in the room, swinging the little table over Johnny’s lap and settling in beside him, perched on Simon’s recliner. The soup is warm, spiced with herbs and thick with noodles, and you're pleased that it's better than you were expecting, happy that Johnny seems to like it as well.

"Wanted to take ye out properly for our first date, but this will have ta’ do. Simon’s gon’ be so bloody jealous.” He masterfully hums between your bites, and your eyes go wide, trying and failing to swallow your soup instead of choking on it.

“Johnny, we… this… I- this isn’t a date!” you squeak.

“Why not?” He asks, inflection innocent, and your brain rattles around inside your skull, splitting down the middle, falling apart in bewilderment. Why not? What does he mean?

“You… you have a partner. Simon? You know, your family that we were literally just talking about?” He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with this look on his face, one you can’t interpret. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What did Simon tell ye, the other night. When he took ye home?”

“What? He… I don’t remember.” Does he know that Simon gave you his phone number?

Of course, he knows, he started that group text.

Does Simon know what Johnny said, about you coming into their lives? About-

“Didnae he tell ye, we’re here for ye?”

“Y-yeah.”

“We, bunny? We.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” He sighs. What is he trying to say? What is going on?

“We like ye. Like I said, we think ye’re really special. Simon, and I. Together, bun.”

“Wh-what?” Puzzle pieces snap together and then break apart, like a landscape jigsaw that you spent days completing once before it was promptly ruined. Does he... does he mean... Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no. You have to squash this. Now. Just explain it, he’ll get it. He’s smart. “No… no, Johnny it’s just… it’s this thing, that happens. Patients get attached to their nurses or doctors sometimes, it’s normal. You d-don’t like me, I promise. There’s nothing even to like.” He blinks, jaw grinding under stubble. If Simon’s stare feels like he’s reading your mind, then Johnny’s is like being pinned down in one place, unable to move. You’re paralyzed, and powerless, lost in the icy blue sea of his eyes, drowning with a hand sticking out above the crest of the surf, reaching for him.

“Why would ye say that? That there’s nothin’ about ye to like? Nothin’ could be farther from the truth.”

“I don’t… there’s not. It’s… I’m your nurse, Johnny. That’s all.” Sweat glosses the small of your back, slicking upwards to cover your spine, and your heart hammers, it beats, beats, beats- so loudly you’re sure the pulse point in your wrist is visible. “Johnny.” His name shakes from your lips, and he relaxes, gentle concern replacing the relentless intensity in his gaze.

“Shhh, hey. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didnae mean to upset ye.” You're still frozen, a statue, and he reaches for you, trying to grab onto your hand. The heat of his skin breaks you from the spell, and you force a robotic, bedside smile onto your face, scooping up your half empty bowl.

"It's okay." You need to get out of this room. Now. The walls feel too close, Johnny feels too close, everything is compounding on top of you, threatening to derail your entire life, ruin your plan. They cannot like you. They cannot care about you. They cannot show interest in you. You can’t let this happen. “I’ve gotta check on some other patients, okay? I’ll swing back your way in a bit.” You promise him, guilt eating you alive about running away, and when he gives you a sad smile, you almost lose your resolve.

“Alright, pretty girl. I’ll see ye later, then.” He murmurs, and you try not to trip over feet during your hasty exit.

Fuck. You’re so fucked.

Simon and Johnny’s house is finally silent.

Penny is down, safely tucked into dream world, her grainy grey-scale image flickering on the video monitor at Simon as he pours two fingers worth of bourbon into a glass.

Poor baby girl. His stomach twists. She put up such a fight tonight, hollering at the top of her lungs, standing up in her crib, working herself into an absolute state. He hates leaving her alone to cry, and on nights like this one, the only way she’ll close her eyes is if she’s being held, snuggled in Johnny's arms, or against Simon's chest.

He’s a sucker, he knows. Doomed from the day she was born, but he can’t help it. Neither of them can. She’s their baby.

So, he doesn’t blame her for being so out of sorts. She always sleeps better when her Da is home. They both do.

His phone vibrates with a text, a short message from Johnny, and he scrolls through it, settling on the couch with his laptop, unopened email from Laswell blinking impatiently.

>She’s jumpy. Tired. Looks like she hasn’t gotten any sleep. Simon frowns.

> She manage to find a pair of panties for work today?

>Unfortunately. He can practically see the pout on Johnny’s lips, can hear the way he probably huffed and puffed when you first came into the room this evening, your hips swishing side to side, pretty smile on your face for him.

>I think I made her upset. Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. Johnny, love. Why can’t you listen? He takes a deep breath, trying to relax the worry that’s creeping up the back of his neck.

Disagreements aren’t for text messages. They’ve learned that the hard way.

>Take it easy for the rest of the night, then. She’s skittish. He shoots off the recommendation, and then pulls his laptop across his knee, clicking open the email from Kate.

Simon, Your girl is a ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level… are you sure she’s a nurse? I’ve attached everything I could find, but it’s pretty scarce. The name you provided pulled a copy of her NHS nursing license, her taxes, an award she won at work last year, and a COVID vaccination record. No birth certificate, state identification, or public records of any kind, even after a global hand search. Nothing that even proves she exists or is an American except a sealed record from two years ago in the states. It’s not accessible, even for me, which means it could be WITSEC, or a court ordered name change in relation to a domestic violence case. There are 18 states that seal those records to protect the victim, so she could be from anywhere. My gut says it’s probably the latter, which is why she doesn’t exist prior to. You’ll notice on the vaccine record, she marked ‘unhoused’, and I couldn’t find any lease/rental agreements, sale records, or mortgages in her name. I wish I had more for you, but she really is a bit of a puzzle. I’ll keep digging. -K.L.

There’s an unsettling rattle going off in the front of Simon’s skull. It’s a siren, a smattering of warning bells, and he swallows the rest of the bourbon in one go, embracing the burn that slides down the back of his throat.

Who are you, little bunny? And who are you running from?

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader x soap #soap x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader x ghost

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cevansbrat0007 · 23 days

Text

Sugar Fix

Summary: Your poor attempt at a joke lands you in hot water with your man. Takes place directly after the events in Sweet Tooth and Sweet Tooth Deluxe.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Discussions of Poor Body Image, Arguing, Manhandling, Mentions of Punishment, Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Spanking, Oral Sex (fem rec), Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @writer84. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“God, that was good.” You lean back in your seat, lazily stretching your arms over your head. Your man smiles as he dutifully picks up your plate before briefly giving into temptation long enough to press a tender kiss against your lips.

“Mm.” Ari hums low in his throat as he repeats the action once more. “Glad you enjoyed it, baby. Still find it hard to believe that you’d never had chocolate chip pancakes before today.”

“Hey! You promised you wouldn’t make fun of me.” You pout, reaching out to swat his perfectly sculpted ass, which was now unfortunately hiding beneath a pair of black sweatpants. At least he’d forgotten to put on a shirt.

Mostly because you were wearing it.

“And I’m not.” Your man chuckles while adding your dishes to the growing pile in your sink. “I’d never do something so foolish. Especially since we only just made up.” He tosses a wink at you over his shoulder.

Yeah, and that was mostly your fault.

“I am really sorry about that.” You murmur, feeling a twinge of regret over having subjected your man to several days of the silent treatment. “I should’ve talked to you about that whole business with Charline.”

“Water under the bridge, baby.”

Resting your chin on your hand, you watch as your bounty hunter busies himself with filling the sink with hot water and dish soap. Some days it still floored you that you were seeing a man who didn’t put up a fuss about cooking. Or cleaning for that matter.

“I just meant that I’m in no hurry to have you toss me out on my ass again just yet.” He continues while sudsing up one of the new sponges you’d left laying on the counter. “That’s all I was saying, little Bird.”

“Well that wouldn’t be very hospitable of me, now would it?” You’re quick to counter, allowing your gaze to drop to your bare knees. “Seeing as you were kind enough to break into my home and cook me breakfast.”

“I had a key.” He snorts dismissively.

“Yeah, one that you stole!” You fire back, doing your best to hide your grin. “From me!”

“What the hell does any of that matter if you were already gonna–” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head before deciding to change tactics. “Look sweetheart, if you wanna argue about semantics can you at least wait until we’re both naked?”

“I guess so.” Comes your breezy reply as you fiddle with the hem of Ari’s t-shirt. Granted the fit was much too big for you, but it didn’t change the fact that you loved how wearing it made you feel. There really was something to be said for being surrounded by the heady scent of your man.

“Thank you.” Ari grunts before returning his attention to the stack of dishes in need of a good scrub. “Did you have enough to eat? Can’t have you wastin’ away on me.”

“Sure did.” You beam at him, content to sit back and enjoy the view. No man should be allowed to look that flippin’ sexy while doing simple household chores.

“Good.”

“To be honest, I didn’t even realize I was that hungry until I took that first bite. I suppose that’s what I get for not really eating…” You trail off when Ari turns toward you, his piercing blue eyes locking with yours. “...much over the last couple days.”

Your pulse speeds up as you watch your Bounty Hunter brace his still-wet hands on the edge of the counter. Which is when you belatedly realize that you probably should’ve kept that tidbit of information to yourself.

“Little Bird?”

“Yes, sugar?” You can’t help but wince at the way he says your name. Even still, you decide to stand up, hoping to distract him from the direction his thoughts were taking. “Want some help drying those plates? Because I don’t mind–”

“When was the last time you ate something?” He cocks his head to the side, almost like he’s studying you while he waits for your answer. “And before you get cute on me, baby, I’m talkin’ about before today.”

You can feel yourself physically wilt as you weigh your options. While you tended to believe that honesty was the best policy, sometimes being too honest had the tendency to get you in trouble with your man.

“I had some toast the other–”

“A full meal.” Ari swiftly interrupts, clearly not in the mood to mince words.

“Well, if you really must know…” Crossing your arms over your chest, you prepare to stand your ground. “I haven’t found myself with much of an appetite lately.” You sniff, ignoring the way his nostrils flare. “Probably on account of our tiff.”

Okay, now that was absolutely true. Because whether this man realized it or not, he had a knack for always making sure you ate at least one proper meal before the day’s end. With him out of the picture, you hadn’t really had any desire to eat.

Instead of responding, Ari turns to stare out the window, quietly sucking on his teeth as he does. You knew without asking that he was working to rein in his temper before he spoke again, lest he say the wrong thing and start another fight.

“C’mon Beast, it’s really not a big deal.” You shrug, biting your thumb as will him to cast a glance your way. “Besides, I’m pretty sure these hips could stand to miss a meal or two.”

While it was certainly a poor attempt at levity, you felt that one of you had to do something to lighten the mood. You startle when Ari suddenly throws down the sponge into the sink, sending water splashing everywhere.

You watch him slowly dry his hands with a nearby towel before tossing it aside in favor of bridging the distance between you. Good sense and the need for self-preservation has you backing up; however, you scarcely make it two steps before you feel your butt collide with your kitchen table. But your bounty hunter doesn’t stop moving until he’s standing directly in front of you.

“What was that?” He asks without an ounce of friendliness in his tone. In fact, his question comes out sounding more like a dare than anything else. “I reckon I’m a little hard of hearing these days.”

Later, you would kick yourself for taking the bait.

“Ahem.” Clearing your throat, you can’t help but notice the clench of his jaw. “I said that these hips – my hips – could probably stand to miss a meal.” You repeat, giving him your best prim and proper tone.

Sometimes the facts weren’t up for discussion.

Moving with a speed that belies his size, Ari manages to wrap one brawny arm around your waist before using his considerable strength to pin you face down against the kitchen table. Shocked by this sudden mistreatment, you open your mouth fully prepared to protest, only to snap it shut the moment you feel a cool breeze ghost across your bare backside.

“Try again, sweetheart.” The lawman grunts before delivering a hearty smack to your ass, eliciting a rather undignified screech from you. “Oh? I’m afraid I still didn’t quite catch that.”

“There’s no need to act like a brute!” You cry as you struggle against his impossible hold. “It’s not right for you to–ahh fuck!” You damn near lose it when his heavy palm connects with your traitorous cunt, the sound of the wet slap echoing throughout the room.

In that very moment, that sweet bite of pain had never felt so good.

“Ah, sweetness.” Ari coos, a hint of mocking laughter curling around his tone. “Could’ve sworn I’d fucked some sense into you earlier this morning. Are you tellin’ me my work still isn’t done?”

You think back to something he’d said when he was busy fucking you senseless. He’d said, or snarled as it were, that you needed a Sir or a Daddy to help keep you in line. At the time you’d assumed that he’d simply got caught up in the heat of the moment. But now…

Apparently it takes you too long to answer because his next smack has you rising on your toes. You clench your thighs together, desperate to ignore your body’s response. Although it does little to stop your man from wedging a proprietary hand between them anyway.

“Now is not the time to go quiet on me, little Bird.”

He gently cups your most intimate flesh before expertly parting your messy folds with his thick fingers. A soft cry escapes when he lightly pinches your swollen clit, making your hips buck.

Sweet Christ! You honestly had no idea just how much you actually enjoyed being manhandled until you crossed paths with this guy.

“All I was trying to do was answer your question!” You grit out, doing your best to ignore the filthy wet squelch of his palm colliding against your core once more, causing a fresh wave of arousal to dampen your thighs.

“And I didn’t much care for your answer.” Ari hums, taking a moment to lazily pet your now glistening cunt.

And who’s fault was that? Just because the man thought he owned the rights to your body didn’t give him the authority to…to…punish you like this. But when you inform him of that, the only response you get comes in the form of an annoying chuckle.

“I was joking, damn you – ooh!” You whine, stomping your foot for good measure – both of which manages to earn you another spank.

“But that’s just it, baby.” He rumbles, taking a break from further abusing your poor, overworked flesh. “Last I checked, jokes were supposed to be funny.” You press your face against the cool surface of the table as two sinful fingers playfully tease your entrance. “And talking shit about these curves ain’t funny, right?”

“Y-yes! I mean right.” In need of a little relief, you attempt to entice your man by wiggling your ass. But instead of doing as you bid, those same fingers soon find their way back to your swollen bundle of nerves, pinching just hard enough to get and hold your attention.

“Glad you think so.” He murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips along the sensitive shell of your ear as his free hand moves to rub soothing circles along your lower back. “And since I’ve finally got you in the mood to listen, how about we talk about something else?”

Instead of responding, you merely nod – giving him leave to get whatever the hell he wanted off of his perfectly sculpted chest.

“The next time you get the bright idea to shut me out without givin’ me a chance to plead my case, you had better do a damned good job respecting this gorgeous body while I’m on ice.” The air of danger in Ari’s husky purr has goosebumps rippling along your heated flesh. “Because if you don’t, I swear to God the moment you let me back in, I’m gonna do a lot more than spank this pretty pussy. You get me?”

Still unable to form words, you decide to let your body do the talking. Groaning low in your throat, you arch your hips and wiggle your ass, purposely grinding your cunt against his now drenched palm.

“Ah, sweetheart.” He rasps in approval, gently nipping your earlobe with his sharp teeth. “You get me. Yeah, you do.”

As a reward for your submission, Ari takes pity on you by slowly spearing his fingers inside your sopping wet core. Now it’s his turn to groan when he feels your velvety walls flutter around him, eagerly sucking him back in when he tries to pull out.

“Fuck if my girl ain’t got a greedy fucking pussy.” Your bounty hunter muses, more to himself than to you. “Are you sore? Need me to let you rest some more?”

In all reality, what he really wanted to do was splay you out on the table and kiss your puffy pussy lips until you were a sobbing, trembling mess. But he’d also settle for burying himself balls deep inside of you too.

Regardless of which one he chose, they both all but guaranteed that you’d remember this particular lesson for days to come. Because no one was allowed to talk shit about his beautiful Bird – not even you.

“Want you to fill me up again.” You tell him, meaning every word even as his expert touch threatens to rob you of breath. “Help me work up an appetite. Please, Sir.” You tack on the last bit, hoping that might be enough to tip your man over the edge.

Your now frantic pulse sings to new heights when you’re treated to the sound of Ari’s sweatpants hitting the floor behind you. Apparently he felt that you’d been punished long enough – something for which you were grateful.

You can’t help but whine when he finally removes his fingers, leaving your empty walls clenching around nothing but air. Anticipation fills you while you wait, expecting to feel the bulbous head of his cock glide its way through your slippery folds.

However, you’re surprised when he drops to his knees instead. His large, slightly calloused hands grip the backs of your thighs, forcing your legs apart just enough to make his intentions clear.

“How ‘bout you feed me first, greedy girl?” He growls, possessively nuzzling his nose along the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need all my strength to help your stubborn ass work up a proper appetite.”

“Oo-okaay!” Your legs threaten to give out when Ari’s wide, flat tongue begins lapping at your damp flesh, making a show of savoring your sweet honey. He holds you in place while he feasts, his subtle use of strength letting you know that your only job was to keep still and submit to his sensual assault.

“Mm...” Ari rumbles, enjoying every desperate little whine and whimper that makes its way past your lips. "Best meal I've had in days." Forgoing his need to breathe, he fully buries his head between your thighs, content to eat you from the back as if he had all the time in the world.

Which he did, especially now that make-up sex was once again back on the menu.

END

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readychilledwine · 5 days

Text

Mine

Summary - Cassian always gets a little riled up when he gets to fight for your honor.

Warnings - Blood, smut, focus on reader and Cassian's differences physically, reader is thick because it felt right, oral (female receiving), Cassian going to pound town.

A/N - based on this post and our comments from @loneliestluvr I refuse to apologize for how quickly this became smut.

Being mated to the Lord of Bloodshed was never easy, especially as an illyrian female blessed to have found him before your wings were taken. “Sorry,” you whispered as he flinched. You had got to the cut on his eyebrow, wiping it down as gently as you could.

Cassian was covered in blood. A mix of his own and another male's who had not known you were claimed by the male sitting in front of you. “You okay?” He had his eyes shut as you took care of him, content under the feel of your soft hands.

“You're the one who ended up in a fight with 6 other males and walked away. I should be asking you that.” You gently reset and healed his nose, silently thanking the Mother for such a useful gift.

Everything about you two had been so perfectly planned. The skilled warrior. Loud, personable, quick on his feet. Then you, the talented healer. Intelligent, shy, soft spoken. You were balanced perfectly. A match truly made by the Gods. You continued wiping the blood from him, ensuring he would not have to change the water multiple times once you got him bathed and stepped away before offering him your hand.

It was another contrast between you two and Cassian's absolute favorite. Your soft manicured hands, his rough and calloused ones. He laced your fingers together, pretending to allow you to pull him up at he stood. “I'm fine, baby. You should see the other guys.” He smiled at his own joke, walking into the bathroom of the cabin. “Are you going to undress me too?”

“Absolutely.” You were graceful with buckle, each tie, gently pulling armor and fabric from his body until it sat on the vanity nearby. Habit took over as you folded it all, putting the clothing into baskets to be cleaned before turning back to the god in fae form behind you.

The moan Cassian released as he sunk into the warm water had your thighs clenching. You watched his head fall back as lavender scented steam came from the tub and as his shoulders fell in relaxation. “Can I wash your hair?” He groaned again at the thought, smiling as you sat behind him with the soap. “Need to show you my love and appreciation for protecting me.”

He gave a breathy laugh, shutting his eyes in bliss as you began massaging shampoo into his wavy locks. “I will always protect you, y/n. Always. You are mine.”

“I am,” he growled at your agreement, his need to possess you was high. Illyrians had always been more feral with their bonds, and you absolutely allowed him to enjoy the primal tendencies that came with it. “I will always be yours. In this life and the next.” You began rinsing his hair, ensuring every spec of blood and dirt was out before applying a deep conditioner.

“Lean forward so I can wash your back, Cassian.”

“I don't deserve you,” he was drifting off under your touch, enjoying the feeling of you kneading sore muscles as you lathered his scarred skin with a soft scented soap. “Could you get my wings?”

You leaned in, whispering in his ear. “I planned on getting them once I got you fully cleaned and the water changed.”

“Fuck that,” Cassian forced you over, pulling you in thin night gown and all before ripping it off of you. His lips were on yours and hungry. He was grabbing your hips, loving their plushy feel. “Want you now.”

“Cass, this water is disgusting.”

His head hit the tub with a thud. “Fine. Fine. It's fine.” He was, in fact, not fine. You could feel how hard he was. His length was pressing into your stomach. “I just need you. You know how I get when you take care of me.”

You were washing him again. Cleaning off his chest and face, scrubbing his arms. He was memorized by you by your body. He remembered learning about the Gods of old from Rhysand's mother, and you had to have been crafted by the goddess of love. It was another contrast. His rock-hard body, toned and cut from years of training. Your soft body, curves landing in all the right places, thighs so thick you genuinely worried when you sat on his face.

He lifted you with little effort when he knew he was clean, climbing out of the water with his lips attached to the point on your neck that drove you wild. “Done waiting,” he carried you to the bedroom, sucking that spot until he knew a deep purple mark would form.

He threw you down on the bed, not caring that it would soak the sheets and mattress as he watched your full breasts bounce. When he was like this, you knew you were in for a ride. Knew that headboard wouldn't be enough to keep you in place as he pounded into you over and over again, only content when he had ensured you were filled and would smell like him and sex for weeks. He was studying you like you were his prey, waiting to pounce at just the right time.

He found it as you shifted, laying down more on the pillows like the queen he knew you were. He did not bother kissing your lips again. Instead, it was him instantly pulling your legs over his shoulders and licking your already soaked core. Your hands shot to his hair, moans ripping through your throat. He was eager tonight. So damn eager.

“Cassian,” he hummed against you, looking up through hooded lust filled eyes. “Slow down.”

He shook his head, not even letting your clit out of his mouth as he did. “Baby, I'm going to cum if you don't go slower.” His brows shot up and a smirk formed. It spoke of every intention he had, you would not leave this bed, not without him carrying you.

Every flick of his tongue, every long drag, the soft kisses all had you melting further Into the mattress as your nerves came to life. Cassian was as calculated in bed as he was on a battlefield. Everything was precise, done with intention, and meant to fulfill his goal. His forearm went against your hips, locking you in place at his mercy.

He could feel every wave of pleasure from you shooting down that sacred and special bond. He could sense the moment you fell. Your fingers tightened on the sheets, your back arched, it was silence before the scream. Between your own pleasure, you could feel his pride leaking down the bond. Pride with how easily he could pull you apart with nothing more than his tongue. Pride over the way your body was so easily his.

He only pulled away when you began to whimper and push, but he was instantly crashing his lips on yours as he kicked off his pants. His forehead went to yours once you were both breathless. Those Hazel eyes you melted in the gaze of were feral and dark with desire. In one smooth motion with no warning, Cassian was inside of you with one single word, “Mine.”

There was no split second of calm before the storm, no moment to catch your breath after he took it from you. Cassian began to pound into you, hitting that perfect spot and making you see stars. Your nails dug into his chest, leaving small marks to join the littering scars and cuts from his earlier fight. “Mine,” the growl was deep, an ancient part of him almost begging for affirmation of the word.

“Yours,” you moaned out for him, back arching as your stomach tightened. “All yours.” Cassian's arm went across your back, hand roughly gripping your hips he could force you to move exactly how he wanted.

You could hardly breathe, mind lost to anything but Cassian. Your mate. Your everything. You could feel him down the bond, feel him getting closer with each squeeze and twitch of your walls. The room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the sound of his groans and you whispering and moaning his name like a prayer to some long forgotten God. “So fucking beautiful,” his free hand forced your head up, forcing you to watch as his cock slid in and out of your core, soaked in your essence. “Watch me fuck you. Watch me mark this pretty perfect pussy as mine.”

You couldn't help but to moan, feeling that edge approaching faster and faster with his. “Cassie.”

“Do it. Cum on my cock, baby.” He let you go limp below him, placing your head back on the pillows gently as he did. Wave after wave of need and pleasure washed over you, blinding your senses to anything but the feel of Cassian filling you as you Came around him. He fucked you through the high before finally finishing, not even bothering to pull out and opting to instead hold your hips so close to his you could not even tell where he began and you ended.

When he finally let you go, he barely caught himself before collapsing on top of you as his exhaustion hit him. You could help but place soft kissed along his face. His scarred brow and lip, his nose that you'd reset and healed so many times, his jaw. You finally sighed with one last lingering kiss directly on his full lips as he smiled. “That was faster than I hoped it would be.”

“Always is when you fuck me after fighting.”

“Always yours.”

He kissed your neck softly on the mark he made, whispering one last time. “Mine.”

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#acotar #acotar x reader #cassian acotar #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian fic #cassian smut #cassian of illyria #lord of bloodshed

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undiscovered-horizon · 6 months

Text

[Sanji finds you crying and pretends to believe your excuses. Is anyone up for slow dancing in the rain?]

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When the time for supper came, Sanji knocked on your door to let you now. He was met with silence, so he naturally assumed you were sleeping. Not much of a problem - he'll set aside a portion for when you wake up hungry.

The problem is, that was around two hours ago.

Sanji knocked on your door again and when silence answered him this time also, he allowed himself to peek inside. Only to discover your bed is empty. He grew suspicious, if not worried, when no one could tell him where you went. It's the middle of the night and the rainstorm doesn't stop. Sanji also noticed how quiet and upset you've been most of the day, making him all the more tense that you are unaccounted for. The thought that you're obediently suffering in silence breaks him more each time he entertains it.

Sanji is scrubbing the cutting board with feverish vigour. The faster he finishes, the faster he can get to making sure you're fine. As though the fish scales knew his thoughts, they simply wouldn't get off the wooden surface.

The steel scrubber escapes his hands. It hits the sink with a quiet clank. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down and looks away from the pile of dishes. That's when he finally sees you through the smudged porthole. The rain outside obscures your silhouette. Nevertheless, Sanji is beyond convinced that it is, in fact, you. Despite the initial relief, he feels his chest tighten. You look like a marble statue, forever frozen still in grief.

Leaving the cutting board in the sink and grabbing his suit jacket, Sanji dashes out the door, making haste to you. What on Earth do you think you're doing out in this weather?

The cold rain hits him like a wall of ice. True, the cool water may feel refreshing after the hot and humid daytime hours but not at this rate of rainfall. Even if the nights in the open sea weren't so dark, it would still be impossible to see anything beyond the ship.

He has to come close to you to see the heartwrenching details of your silhouette. You're hunched over, staring at the turbulent waters below. The clothes you're wearing are absolutely drenched, no dry string in their material. Every now and then, your freezing body shivers violently.

"Love?" he calls out to you in an unsure voice.

But you don't react - at least not in the way he has been expecting you to. Instead of looking at him, you turn your face further away, quickly wiping it with your hands.

Sanji wastes no time. In long strides, he finds himself pressed up against your side and forcing his jacket around your shoulders. Considering the heavy rain it won't do much in the long run but maybe it can keep you warm until he convinces you to go back inside.

"Hey, look at me," he pleads in a soft voice.

Too tired and heartbroken, you let his warm fingers guide your face towards him. As if time suddenly slows down, you notice each wrinkle that appears and disappears when he studies your sorrowful expression. If he was a little less perceptive, Sanji would think your face is just wet from the heavy rainfall. The red veins of your bloodshot, puffy eyes are hardly visible in the darkness of the rainy night but not black enough to remain unseen by Sanji.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying? What happened?" he keeps asking. With each question, he feels the tension in his chest only rising.

"I'm not crying, I'm perfectly fine," you reassure him. Your forced scoff is followed by a pathetic sniffle. "It's just the rain. Saltwater irritated my eyes."

Of course, with your whole "I'm brave and strong and I can manage on my own" facade, you're not going to openly admit to weakness in front of anyone, even if it's painfully obvious. As much as Sanji considers your tough image charming, he wishes you would discard it once in a while - for your own sake.

"How can you be fine with saltwater in your eyes, princess?" Sanji goes along with your poorly constructed lie. His arms engulf you in a warm, albeit drenching wet, hug. "It must burn."

"Yeah, it does," you mumble against his soaking shirt. With a little more light, you would be able to see his bare skin from underneath the wet material. "But it's getting better."

One of Sanji's hands is keeping your head against his shoulder while the other drags up and down your back in a soothing gesture. The jacket he has put around your arms is already drenched, too. He feels your body shaking but can't be sure whether it's because of the "saltwater" or the cold weather. In any case, his heart breaks each time he feels those spasms. His mind panics in search of something that could possibly lift your mood.

The noise of the rainfall is disrupted by a soft, low hum. A melody you vaguely know rumbles inside Sanji's chest. Dean Martin...? Strong arms hold you tightly against his torso as he ever-so-gently sways you to the rhythm of the song.

A quiet giggle escapes your lips as you let yourself sink into the comfort of him. Up until this moment, the cosiness of a loved one's arms confronted with the coldness of a rainstorm, you've thought that scenes like these exist only in sappy novels written for naive young women.

"Slow dancing in the rain," you finally speak up. If it wasn't for the rather unpleasant rain drenching you to every last string of your clothing, yous wear you could fall asleep like this. "Aren't you a hopeless romantic, Sanji?"

"I'm just getting started, love," he murmurs against your hair, still slowly swaying your bodies despite having stopped the humming. You're inclined to believe that his chivalry ventures far beyond dancing in the rain.

"Oh, yes, please."

A low chuckle rumbles inside his chest. It merges into a symphony with the soft thrumming of his steady heartbeat.

"Feeling any better?" he asks in a serious tone.

To Sanji's dissatisfaction, you lean away from him to look at his face. Your eyes are still red but the curious glint he's learned to associate with you has found its way back into them. It seems like your grit, honesty or facade, has returned.

"What will you do if I say no?" you ask back.

As relief washes over him, Sanji smiles down at you. His hand slicks your drenched hair out of your puffy face.

"I should figure something out just for my baby," he answers without missing a beat. His fingers brush along your jaw and chin.

Before you have a chance to inquire, Sanji leans down and lifts you. A yelp of surprise is pulled out of your chest. Without much problem and clearly with a lot of enjoyment, he carries you back inside the lower deck of the ship.

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luveline · 1 year

Note

if you’re taking joel requests here’s one :3

touch-starved!joel who isn’t aware he’s touch starved but then extremely affectionate reader comes along and just always! touches! him! loving & intentional touches, casual touches—all of it drives him wild and he loves it!!

thank you!! I hope this is okay! Touch-starved Joel who wants you but doesn't know how to want you w/ mutual pining ♥︎ fem!reader 2k

Joel wishes you wouldn't work the same shifts as him. Wishes you didn't have to work any shifts at all, wishes you didn't know this life, but you do. He wishes you wouldn't pick all the high-paying, devastating jobs that he does, wishes you didn't insist on keeping him company. And above all, he wishes you wouldn't touch him, because he can't handle the way that he feels when you do.

Sharing shifts turns to seeing one another outside of the old meat market by accident. In turn, that becomes purposeful. Before he really knows it, you're comfortable enough to come by his apartment and you'll wait there even when he isn't home just to see him. Precious hours of your life spent curled in on yourself at his door.

Joel nudges your sleeping body with his shoe and then feels like the world's biggest asshole. He sighs, kneeling down despite his aching back, and shakes your shoulder. He notices how soft your jaw looks when you sleep and has to look away, lest he think about it too much now, and remember it later. You have this habit of chasing him into bed when you're not there.

Your hand wakes before your eyes do, and you curl your fingers around his wrist, half on his sleeve and half on his skin. Where you connect hums with heat.

"Why are you out here?" He changes his prerogative, feeling as though chastisement is more important. "You have no sense of danger, even now. Get up."

He doesn't speak without fondness. You'd have to look hard to find it, but it's undoubtedly there.

His tone has you awake and alert quickly, your gaze on his face. "I do," you say croakily, letting him pull you into a standing position.

"Then what are you doing out here?"

"I can't call first… You look tired."

"I am. I'm not staying up." He pulls his wrist from your lingering grasp. "Should've called."

"You act like you don't like me," you say without inflection, following him in through the door and closing it softly behind you.

He drops his jacket over the back of the couch and scrubs his face with both hands. His back aches from standing and heaving all day, his arms tight with a cramping tension.

If he were younger he'd turn around and wrap you up in his arms. He'd tell you what he really thinks of you, your head hooked in the crook of his arm, his free hand roaming lazily over your back. His pinky finger would run along the line of your jeans playfully, and maybe you'd laugh. You don't laugh as much as you should.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"No, Joel."

You'd lie even if you were.

He moves into the kitchen, makes himself a small glass of water, and leans against the counter. He tries not to drink it like a total pig knowing you're watching, but he's dehydrated and cotton-mouthed.

The window paints you in a weak light, like iced tea. You pick over his things and arrange yourself on the couch like a tired house cat, pulling your legs up and rubbing your cheek against the backrest. Shoulders to the arm, you're almost lying down. He could superimpose you into his sheets, imagining how you might look in bed, not naked or waiting or anything so salacious, just how you’d look getting ready to sleep. He wonders if you wear pyjamas, figures you likely sleep dressed as you are now in your shirt and jeans. Maybe you swap denim for sweatpants, maybe you don’t. Maybe you peel your shirt off, maybe your bra. He entertains a life where he gets to see it and finds it painful as wrapping his hand around a hot poker, because that life is alarmingly close to this one, if he were to take one small leap.

“Where were you today?” he asks.

He sees a flicker of humour flit across your face. He knows it as one of your tells — you'd thought about bending the truth.

"You don’t have to worry, I’m just… rundown. Felt sicker than usual, so I stayed home."

It's automatic for him to give you a once over as he would with anybody who feels under the weather. You haven't been unlike yourself, you aren't sweating or irritable. You're fine. You’re more than fine.

You have a strange inability to look after yourself. He believes in positive (and negative) reinforcement.

"Good girl," he says.

You smile at your hands, picking at nails he knows are scrubbed raw and clean as he crosses the room to sit with you on the couch. You're quick to push your legs over his lap, your jeans riding up until the rarely-seen skin of your ankles peak out.

"I had an incredible headache," you continue. "And I felt like the blood was rushing in my ears when I stood up but I wasn’t dizzy.”

You touch him and it's like all his agitation starts to numb itself. The weight of your legs has him forgetting his aching back and his sore arms. He stares at his closed fist by your foot, willing himself to touch you; all he wants to do is grab your leg, feel the dough and softness of it under his palm. You sit up a touch to brush a longer piece of hair sticking out behind his neck.

He pretends you aren't moving at all.

"Do you feel better now?" he asks.

Your knuckle brushes under his jaw. He feels the short hairs of his beard catching.

"I feel fine," you say. "How are you feeling?"

He turns to face you head on. He’s not going to answer your question. You already know he won’t, but you've asked anyway. He isn’t sure what to do with that.

“You really do look tired,” you say softly, concern knitting your brows together. He thinks it’s your most devastating look yet. “I don’t wanna keep you up, Joel, I’ll go home. You can get some real rest.”

He almost says Hey, I don’t want you to leave yet, and you’re already standing up. You look more sorry than you should, believing that you're a burden on him when you aren’t — you're a lightness. You drain the levy, and he can’t see himself getting any rest at all if you leave.

You’re saving him the awkwardness, climbing off of his couch and out of his lap to track down your shoes. “And, you know, you could shower,” you say, trying to infuse some life back into the room, “I know the cold water bites but we all gotta do it.”

He stands up too fast and feels an absence of noise. No blood rushing in his ears, no beating heart. He’s too tired, in every sense of the word, to ask for what he wants. He can’t ask you to stay.

You lean down to hook your finger into the back of your sneaker and stop at his expression. You stand a little taller. Whatever vulnerability he sees in you now, your short black socks against the floor, your sweet-eyed, tentative smile, he suspects he’d find it doubled in the mirror.

“Joel, I…”

He can’t ask you.

But that doesn't mean you can't ask him.

"Do you think I could stay, after all? To sleep. Just to sleep," you say. Your voice is quiet, like you're trying to spare yourself some dignity if you need to take it back.

He thinks about it. You, in his bed. You, sleeping as you had been in his hallway, your lashes skimming the delicate skin under your eyes, your neck craned in. You, with your hands under your cheek, your sluggish breathing, your heart capering only a handful of inches from his.

A beat. "You kick in your sleep?" he asks, cotton-mouth returned.

"No," you say. You laugh through it, making the word so thick it's almost sticky. Honey in sound.

It solidifies what he's said yes to. He doesn't know how to sleep next to you. He barely knows how to talk to you, and doesn't try as he leads you into his bedroom. Thankfully, you spare him. He knows you aren't the most confident person on the planet, and that each bold move you make is for his benefit. He tries to be unflinching in return, kicking out of his shoes and throwing back the blankets to lie flat on the sheets. You settle in next to him with little ceremony.

You keep your legs hiked up at first, your heels digging into the mattress near his knees. You turn your face to his, and he turns his face to yours. He can see your every wrinkle and line this close. You must be seeing his.

"You got lucky with the neighbour lottery, huh?" you say, not quite whispering. "It's silent."

He doesn't want you to stop talking, but he can't help himself. "Almost," he says wryly.

You know him well enough to smile. "I guess you don't need the quiet," —you turn carefully onto your side, letting the weight of your knees rest on his thigh— "'cause you work all day every day."

The opposite. The shit he sees on shift is enough to give anybody insomnia.

"I'm the bad neighbour."

"Oh, right, your radio." The back of your hand touches his arm. The slightest of touches but enough to make him realise how much he wants it. He can't remember the last time somebody touched him who wasn't you, not for years now. It's an amicable casualness he can't explain away. He wants it worse than a hydro.

"I might, uh, might cling a little, in my sleep. You can push me away, swears. Even if you gotta really fight me on it." You close your eyes, burrowing your face into one of his flat pillows. Your knuckles jump up his arm as you get comfortable. "Jus' shove me."

He closes his eyes. The dark of his eyelids is usually a torment, but with you this close it lulls him quickly and without finesse. "I'm not gonna shove you," he says while he still can.

He's on the precipice of sleep when your hand slides up his bicep. You feel along the soft ridging of his muscles until your fingers slot between his arm and his chest, and your nose is kissing his shoulder. It's as if the moonlight has heat and it's bearing down on him through the dirty windows as every stressed ligament, every tensed tissue in his sore body finally gives in to rest.

When he wakes, he's missed his morning shift start. You're clinging to him like you said you would, harder than he'd think possible considering your unconsciousness, with your lips pressed to his shoulder. He thinks it might leave a bruise.

He dips his face toward yours until the tip of his nose nudges your forehead and goes back to sleep.

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enha-stars · 2 months

Text

✧ the love game

pairing: gamer!heeseung x reader (fluff, smut)

summary: heeseung loves his video games, but he loves you a whole lot more

warnings: fluff, kissing, sex, p in v, riding, oral (f rec.), cockwarming, minor exhibitionism, unprotected sex (don’t), overstimulation, mdni

you stumbled through your front door, feet aching as you dropped your bag on the floor. you glanced around the dark room as you breathed in the familiar scent of your apartment, giddiness filling your chest.

it had been a tough day–no, a tough week. everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. you were tired and a bit hungry, and all you wanted was to shower and lay down with heeseung. it was finally friday, which meant you could sleep in and not worry about the next day.

you kicked off your shoes and tossed your jacket to the side. your lips quirked upwards when you heard the sound of heeseung’s laughter from your bedroom and you quietly walked to him, hoping he was finishing a game.

you pushed open the door and leaned against the door frame, your eyes falling on a familiar figure. heeseung sat in the dimly lit room, fully immersed in the world of gaming. his fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard and his eyes were fixed on the screen as he mumbled into the mic attached to his large headphones. your eyes softened at the sight, warmth flickering in your chest.

you quietly chuckled and shook your head, walking further into the bedroom. when heeseung played, sometimes, he was completely disconnected from the real world. like now, for example, he hadn’t heard you come in so when you rested your hand on his shoulder, he flinched and screamed.

“fuck!” he turned his head to you, eyes wide as his fingers stilled. “you scared me.” at your grin, his surprise settled and his eyes softened, a gleam of happiness shining in them. he smiled at you and your heart squeezed at the sight of his soft smile; the way his lips stretched and his cheeks filled.

you smiled down at him and he paused his game, muting his mic as he slipped off the headset. he turned his chair slightly and brought his hands up to your waist.

“baby, you’re home.” he looked up at you and you leaned down and pressed your lips against his. he smiled against your lips and the heaviness of the week slowly began to melt away. “welcome home. how was your day?”

you shook your head and stood straighter. “it was certainly a day.” heeseung frowned at the exhaustion in your eyes and he squeezed your hips once. “i’m gonna go shower. i’ll be back.”

heeseung nodded and pressed a kiss to your clothed stomach. you ran your hand through his hair once before stepping away. he watched you strip as you walked to the bathroom through the reflection of his computer scream, shaking his head to rid the racing thoughts.

he picked up the headset and unmuted his mic, rolling his eyes when jay chastised him for just leaving mid-way. instead of answering, he started a new game and immersed himself in the bright colours and characters.

you slipped into the shower and sighed in relief as the warm water washed all the day’s dirt away. you scrubbed your body and washed your hair, eyes softly shut. you could hear heeseung’s laughter and yelling and it brought you a sense of immense comfort.

you turn off the shower and grab your towel, wrapping it around yourself. a part of you wonders what would happen if you toss the towel and just walk into your bedroom naked. there’s a need bubbling in your chest and as you slip on one of heeseung’s old shirts, you wonder how long you’d have to wait for heeseung.

you step out of the bathroom and shake your head, running your fingers through your hair. your eyes land on heeseung’s back and the way his fingers dance across the keys, fast and precise. you bite your bottom lip as you stare at his fingers; long and veiny and skilled.

you toss the towel to the side and make your way to him, hoping he’d understand the need in your eyes. because your week had been so busy, you hadn’t really seen a lot of your boyfriend. you missed him, and you needed him to hold you. you wanted to fall asleep in his arms and not worry about your alarm.

heeseung doesn’t notice as you approach him, too busy staring at the screen as he tries and saves riki’s character. “for fucks sake, we’re going to lose,” he mumbles into the mic, eyes fixated on the screen.

“hee,” you quietly say. you put your hand on his shoulder and the corners of his lips turn upwards at your voice. he side-eyes you and you squeeze his shoulder. “are you almost done?”

he turns and looks at you for a brief second, smiling widely at your freshly showered face and his gaze drops as he takes you in; standing before him in nothing but his shirt. “almost, baby. you wanna lay down and i’ll join you in a bit?”

you bit the inside of your cheek and shook your head. “can i just be near you?”

instantly, heeseung’s eyes soften and his heart breaks a little, wanting nothing more than to scoop you up and lay with you on the bed. he lifts his fingers from the keys and rolls his chair back. he looks up at you with wide, shiny eyes and you smile at him as you straddle him.

heeseung sighs softly when you put all your body weight on him, your chest pressed against his as your arms circle his neck. he wraps one arm around your lower back and pushes you flush against him, breathing you in. “i missed you today, y/n.” he tries not to pay attention to the way your shirt–his shirt– lifts up and your bare legs and pussy rest on top of his sweatpants.

you tucked your head in the crook of his neck and shoulder and closed your eyes, contentment filling your chest. you pressed a soft kiss to his neck and smiled when his skin erupted with goosebumps.

“i missed you too, hee.”

heeseung kissed your forehead before he began playing again, mumbling soft curses to jake and sunghoon who teased him at his softness. you breathed his scent in, love filling your heart as heeseung kept quiet, only mumbling and whispering in the mic, afraid he’ll hurt your ears if he screams.

as heeseung continued to play, you ran your hands through his hair, playing the hair on the nape of his neck. you kept your eyes shut and pressed an open mouthed kiss to his neck and jaw every time his body tensed in frustration. whenever he didn’t need both of his hands on the keyboard, he kept on on your lower back, drumming his fingers against your skin.

you open one eye and peak at the time, sighing softly as you shift a bit of your weight. as you moved, your bare pussy rubbed against heeseung’s bulge and you both quietly sighed, your breath hitching.

heeseung’s quiet ranting came to an end and he squeezed your hip once before he went back to playing his game. you, on the other hand, couldn’t focus on anything but the heat that spread through your body.

you began kissing heeseung’s neck feverishly, sucking on his skin as he shifted below you, rubbing his hardening dick against your cunt. you pressed your hips down and began grinding down on him, unable to control yourself.

“baby,” heeseung murmured, squeezing his eyes shut as you rubbed yourself against him, your wetness soaking through his sweatpants. he muted his mic as you pressed your forehead against his shoulder, lost in the bliss. you were tired and needy and you wanted him so badly. “i’m almost done, i promise.” he tried not to jerk his hips upwards.

you removed one of his headphones from his ear and pressed your lips against the shell of his ear, your breath tickling his skin as he stilled. you pussy was wet and you had gotten all your juices on his sweatpants, not a single care in the world.

“i want you, hee. i need you.” you kissed the skin below his ear and his dick twitched. his fingers slowed and the characters all blurred together at your words. “please.”

heeseung moved his head back and almost threw his keyboard off the table at the look on your face; your plump, bitten lips and wide eyes. he knew that you had been having a bad week and he wanted to make it all go away, but you just needed to be a little patient.

you both stared at each other for a few seconds before he moved his head towards you and kissed your lips softly. you tightened your arms around his neck and pressed your hips down on him, trying to keep his lips on you.

he pulled away and brushed a piece of hair out of your face, kissing your nose softly. “just a little bit more, angel. i can’t leave the game without getting banned so just wait a little, kay?”

you nodded and he smiled at you. “then, i’ll give you everything you want.” his words were low, raspy as his lips hovered yours.

“hyung, where are you? we’re literally dying.” you heard sunghoon’s agitated voice through the headphones.

before he could unmute his mic, you moved your head back and one of your hands trailed from the back of his neck to his throat. you lightly pressed down on his throat as he looked up at you, need burning in your eyes.

“what is it, baby?”

you swallowed and looked away from him, suddenly a bit shy. heeseung spread his legs further and smirked when your eyes widened at the feeling of his dick pressed flush against your pussy. he had a feeling that he knew what you wanted, but he still wanted you to ask.

“take your time,” you said. “but can i… can i sit on it?”

heeseung tilted his head, his mind going numb at the softness of your voice and the dirtiness of your words. he squeezed your hips and moved your hips up and down his legs once before he nodded. this was the least he could give you.

“go ahead, baby. take it out.” he slightly lifted your legs as you eagerly pushed the waistband of his sweatpants down and pulled his semi-hard dick out of his boxers. he hissed when you wrapped your fingers around him and watched as you guided the tip to your soaking pussy.

he watched with heated eyes as you lifted yourself off him, letting your slick coat his dick before you lowered yourself on him. you moaned in his ear as he slid in, stretching you out and filling you up.

“fuck, baby,” heeseung whispered, eyes sewn shut. “you’re sucking me in.”

you fell into his body as the base of his cock hit your core, taking him completely. the feeling of being stretched felt so good and all you could do was tuck your face into the crook of his neck, biting back a sob.

he softly kisses your forehead. “try not to make too much noise, okay?” he unmuted his mic when you nodded, smiling when your pussy clenched around his cock. he was often the one to ask you to cockwarm him as he played but this time, it was you who asked.

“hey guys,” he greeted, quietly. still mindful of his volume. he grinned when all of the other boys started yelling at him, reprimanding him for leaving when he did.

as heeseung continued to play, you kissed and bit his neck, sucking to soothe his skin. you tried to ignore how wet you were, trying to ignore the mess you were making on him and his chair as you slowly rotated your hips. at the friction, your pussy gushed and heeseung rubbed your back, knuckles turning white as he tried to control himself.

your entire body was on fire and you needed more. his cock stretched you out well but you needed to feel him everywhere; needed him to fill you up and make you cry.

slowly, you started moving. lifting your legs a bit, you began fucking yourself on his cock. you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to silence your whines as his long, girthy cock slid in and out of you.

your head fell back onto his chest and you bit his shoulder, holding onto his neck tightly as you used all your strength to ride him. his cock twitches against your sensitive walls and you almost cry out. one of his hands grips your waist protectively, offering help in any way he can.

you moved hastily on his lap, and his hold on your waist helps lift you up and down, guiding you closer to your orgasm. his hand goes to your ass and he grips it, moving his hips with you. once he begins fucking into you, you bite his shoulder harder and dig your nails into his skin, trying not to make a sound.

your thighs begin to shake and your cunt clenches around heeseung’s rock hard cock. he isn’t really paying attention to the game as he fucks his cock into you, loving the sounds your juices as they spilled all over him.

your breathing in his ear becomes erratic and broken and he knows you’re close. he mutes his mic once again and brushes his lips against your ear. “go ahead and cum, pretty baby. you’re doing so well.”

his words were enough to push you over and your eyes flutter shut as he thrusts into you, his hips meeting yours forcefully as his tip hits just the right spot. your vision blurs as you moan out his name. your body stills as your pussy starts to uncontrollably flutter around his dick and your cries consist of his name and his soft grunts of praise.

your release washes over you and you fall against his body, whines leaving your mouth as he continues to slowly thrust into you, making your ride out your orgasm as he cums inside you, filling you up. his cum is warm as it mixes with yours and he throws his head back as you begin to suck on his adam’s apple, eyes teary at the overstimulation.

“fuck, baby,” he whispers. he continues slowly thrusting into you, ignoring the slight pain in his cock. the need to pump his cum back into you is stronger than anything, and that’s why he unmutes his mic. “sorry guys, i’m leaving.” he doesn't wait for an answer as he leaves the game, ignoring the warning that flashes on screen.

he throws his headphones across the room and grips your waist tightly, panting into your shoulder as you both catch your breath. after a moment, heeseung lifts his head and grips your chin, making you look at him.

your eyes are watery and your bottom lip is swollen; but you’re so incredibly beautiful to him. he cups your cheek and smashes his lips against yours, dick twitching in your pussy as you grip onto his shirt tightly, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

tongues and teeth smash together as the sounds of your lips smacking and juices echo through the room. when heeseung pulls away, a string of spit connects your lips and he instantly presses his lips against yours, licking your bottom lip.

“your game?” you ask quietly, eyes on his lips. heeseung smiles dumbly at you, the right corner of his lips curving upwards as his round eyes shine with love.

“how could i focus on my game with your tight pussy clenching around me, baby?” your neck heats at his words and he brushes his nose against yours. “you’re more important than all my games, y/n.” he licks your neck and bites your ear lobe. “all my attention is yours now, baby.”

before you could say anything, heeseung swiftly places his hands under your thighs and lifts you up. you squeal and wrap your arms tightly around his neck and your legs around his waist. his dick is still in your pussy and as he walks to your bed and plops you down on your sapphire sheets.

his body follows yours until your back is on the bed and his knees are in between yours. you stare up at him with such wide, loving eyes that he can’t help but kiss you. the kiss is sloppy and hungry as he slips his tongue into your mouth and caresses every crevice. you pull him flush against you and moan into his mouth when his cock slides out of your pussy, cum dripping out of your cunt.

heeseung pulls away and pulls off his shirt, grinning at the way you stare at his toned chest and broad shoulders. he stares at you as he pulls off his sweatpants, licking his lips when he tosses his boxers somewhere across the room.

you stare at him with intense lust and love in your eyes, arms stretched out as he crawls into them, kissing your forehead. he looks down at you and grabs the edge of your shirt before raising an eyebrow. you nod once and he takes the shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind him.

he stares at your naked body below him and his cock twitches. he says nothing when your delicate hands wraps around his shaft, squeezing once. “speaking of games,” heeseung leans down, hand on either side of your head. “should we play one? the love game.” your eyes widen in confusion and he grins.

“i’ll start.” he brings his lips to your eyes and kisses your eyelids. “i love your eyes.”

you open your eyes and smile brightly at him. “really, hee?” he grins at you, teeth on display as he shrugs.

“let me play my favourite game.”

you roll your eyes and bite your tongue, secretly loving this stupid game he had come up with a while ago. you lay there as he kisses your entire face, his soft lips lingering on your cheeks and neck.

“i love your face.”

“thanks,” you tease, pinching his nose. “i’m glad.” he smiles against your skin before he lowers his hips and grinds his hips against yours, his dick pressing against your cunt. you whimper at the feeling and he nips your jaw.

his lips trail down until he captures one of your nipples in his mouth. your back arches and you grab his hair, pulling as he sucks and probes your nipple. one of his hands grabs your other nipple and he pinches it, rubbing the bud when you cry out.

he kisses your breast before he sucks the other nipple, spending the same amount of time just sucking and nibbling. your hands are in his hair and he loves it when you pull the strands a bit harder than usual.

he releases your nipple with a pop and presses an open mouth kiss to your cleavage before looking up at your hazy expression. “i love your tits.”

your hands are still in his hair as his lips trail down your body and he kisses and licks your stomach. as he gets closer to your core, your body heats up. you try to squeeze your thighs together but he’s holding on to them tightly.

“i love your body.”

his nose brushes down your abdomen as he spreads your legs further apart and buries his face in your cunt. you cry out his name and pull at his hair when he licks a harsh stripe of your core, pressing his face closer to your cunt as he licks and sucks new and old juices.

“hee, hee,” you pant. “please.” you’re not sure what you’re begging for, but heeseung seems to know. of course he does, he knows your body and you better than you do.

the sounds of slurping and his lips smacking around your clit made your legs shake as his nose pressed so deliciously against you. “i love how you taste.”

you pull at his hair as he lifts his head, your slick coating the lower half of his face. you stare at him with half-lidded eyes as he licks his lips and coats his ring finger in your juices before licking his fingers clean, staring intently at you.

you moan at the sight and he simply stares at you as he sensually sucks your slick off his fingers.

“i love how wet you are, how wet i can make you.”

“heeseung,” you whisper. it’s too much. he’s too much. your legs feel weak and your sweaty but you need him in you again.

he smiles at you and he looks like the devil; with his hair all unruly and his eyes wide with lust but a soft precious smile on his sinful lips. he kisses your inner thighs before kissing up your body. when he reaches your collar bones, he bites your neck softly.

“i said i’d give you everything you wanted.” his lips hover yours and you tilted your head up, trying to capture his lips, but he lifts his head. “so, tell me. what do you want?”

you sigh and throw your head back on the bed, heaving. your entire body was on fire and your orgasm was on the brink of release. all you needed was him.

at your wide eyes and pout, heeseung kissed you and gently cupped your cheek. he rubbed your cheek gently before brushing his nose against yours. “tell me, baby. what do you need right now?”

“you,” you whispered. “need you to fuck me again, hee. please.” you sounded so pretty, so polite as you asked him to fuck you.

heeseung had no choice but to comply. instead of teasing you, knowing you couldn’t handle it, he simply kissed your cheek. “good girl, asking so well.”

you shut your eyes as he lined himself against your entrance, using your slick to wet his cock. he spread your thighs further apart and watched intently as he pushed his head in, smiling at the way your cunt sucked him in. “i love how well you take me, baby.”

slowly, he pushed the rest of his dick inside you and whimpered at the feeling of your warm gummy walls clenching around him. “i love how tight you are,” he whispered.

“fuck,” you breathe quietly as his cock slides so easily into you, filling you up once again. your breathing staggers and you try your best to keep your eyes open.

heeseung grits his teeth together as his eyebrows furrow. he wants to slam into you, make you cry out, but he wants this to be about you. he tries to steady himself and slowly rocks his hips against yours, loving how soft and warm you feel wrapped around him.

your whines and moans get louder as heeseung’s pace quickens, unable to help himself. your perked nipples rub against his chest and your eyes water at the sensitivity of it all.

“you’re filling me up so well, hee.” you ramble, nails digging into his back. “i love it so much.”

heeseung leans his head down and presses his lips harshly against yours, swallowing your moans and breathy words. “i love you so much,” he mumbles against your lips. when he pulls away, both of your lips are wet and swollen.

he rests his forehead against yours as he slams into you. “listen to how wet you are, baby. you feel so good.”

“feels good,” you agree, mind hazy with pleasure. the bed shakes from under you as your sticky bodies press against each other.

“yeah?” he licks the skin beneath your ear. “feels good? like how i fuck you, baby? how my cock stretches you out?”

you can only nod eagerly, knowing he understands exactly how you’re feeling. and he does, he knows exactly how you’re feeling because he can feel it. the way your pussy is sucking him in, making it harder to slide out, the way your nails are digging into this back.

he presses his hand on your lower stomach, grinning wickedly as he feels his cock deep within you. at the pressure, you cry out and grip his wrist. you look up at him with watery eyes and he fucks you harder, tearing through your body.

“so–so close,” you whisper, tasting your climax on your tongue. “hee.”

heeseung cooes at you and kisses your nose as he pounds into you and your whines turn into sobs as your orgasm washes over you, making your head fuzzy as your legs shake. he continues to fuck you, the squelching sounds only enticing him.

“that’s it, baby,” he praises you. “cum for me like a good girl.” his voice is in your ear, low and inviting. .

heeseung prolongs your climax as he fucks you, making you ride it out completely. you can’t handle anymore and you grip onto his shoulders, eyes wide. “cum inside me, hee. please. i need it.”

at your words, he grunts and smashes your lips together, pounding into you as he reaches his climax. his hips stutter as he releases his cum inside of you. his body is practically covering yours as his warm cum fills you up, once again mixing with yours. “i love you,” he whispers. “i love you, i love you. i love you.”

he continues to rock his hips against yours as he cums, making sure every last drop is in your pussy. you wrap your arms tightly around his neck as you kiss him, tongues and teeth against the others.

“i love you,” you mutter against his lips. your foreheads are pressed together and he pants into your mouth, his dick slowly softening inside you.

“i love you more than all my games.”

at his words, your eyes shoot open and he grins softly at you, bashful and full of adoration. you stare at him before kissing his cheek.

“i know.”

a/n: okay this is my gift to you as i actually disappear for a while because i really do need to study :/

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 7 months

Text

Good Evening - Charles Leclerc

You hadn't seen Charles for pretty much the whole of the day, since he had been stuck in online meetings. You had taken him some drinks and lunch, but all you received was a quick kiss on the cheek accompanied by a 'thank you'.

Now, you were in the kitchen, not sure of what to do for dinner. Charles was still in a meeting for as far as you knew, so you didn't want to interrupt by knocking on and asking. You were at a loss, unable to come up with anything to do with yourself.

In the end, the stack of dishes beside the sink seemed like something that needed tackling, and you hoped to be done by the time Charles was finished. Asking the speaker in the corner to play some soft jazz, you set yourself up in front of the sink and set the hot water running.

You piled dish after dish into the sink, before setting it on the rack to dry, and it took you awhile to even get through half. You couldn't even remember how it had gotten so bad, it felt like you had done them yesterday.

You gently swayed your hips along to the music, humming as you carried on scrubbing. You jumped a little when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, a kiss landing on your cheek.

"You done for the day?" You asked, continuing with the dishes as Charles rested his weight onto you. "Mhm," he hummed, burying his face into your neck.

"What do you want for dinner?" You also asked as he squeezed you tighter. Charles took a minute to think, but his brain had already done double the amount of thinking it could handle for the day. "I don't mind, whatever is easiest," he answered, offering absolutely zero ideas.

"Thanks for the help on that one Charles, really inspirational," you teased, and you felt him huff against your neck. He was grumpy, and you liked to rattle him just a bit when he was. "I'm tired, baby," he groaned.

"I know you are, you've had a long day," you told him, finishing up the last of the dishes and resting your arms over his, just standing there together. "Can you come to bed with me? I'm not hungry, just tired," he whined.

"OK, OK, we can go to bed," you said, turning your head to the side and kissing him on top of his hair, which was ruffled as much as it possibly could be. The songs were still quietly playing in the corner, and you still swayed your hips to the rhythm.

Spinning in his arms, you slung your arms over his shoulders as he swayed with you. He pulled you close, leaving his arms grasped around your waist. You gently rested your head on his chest, hearing the slow thuds of his heartbeat.

He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo as you silently swayed to the music. "I love you, so so much," Charles mumbled, just having a moment.

There were just these times when he was filled with love for you, and he just had to tell you at any given opportunity. You were the light of his life, and you were everything he had ever wanted in his life.

"I love you too," you said, your words muffled by his chest. As you swayed, you eventually made your way to the kitchen door. "Can we go to bed now?" He asked, already trying to tug you towards the bedroom.

"Yes, we can," you said, letting him pull you through the apartment and into you room. The lights were never switched on, Charles just flopped down on the bed and let you close the curtains.

You chuckled to yourself as he fell down face first into his pillow, waiting for you to join him. You purposely took your time, quickly leaving the room to get a glass of water. "Baby! Hurry up, I'm tired and I need cuddles," you heard him yell.

You could just picture his scrunched up, grumpy face with a pout on his lips. "I'm coming!" you called back, switching off the lights as you walked through the apartment. "I'm here, you can stop whining now," you playfully scolded, lying down on your side of the bed.

With all the energy he had left, Charles hauled his body over to you, until he was practically on top of you. "Now this is what I need after a hard days work," he muttered, snuggling into you. "You call sitting in online meetings all day hard work?"

"You don't?" he softly laughed, closing his eyes as he listened to your heartbeat.

"Well, you can sleep now," you told him, tangling your fingers into his chocolate locks and mindlessly playing with the strands, earning a hum of happiness from him. "And sleep I will," he smiled, settling comfortably.

"Goodnight," he mumbled, feeling the good vibrations through his head as you messed with his hair. "It's 5pm," you told him, and he just groaned at you.

"Fine, good evening then," he said, eliciting a chuckle from you.

"Good evening, Charles," you smiled, liking the fact he was pretty much acting as your weighted blanket. You were both tired, and an early night never hurt anyone.

A/N - Another short little thing I whipped up until the big day tomorrow! Fun fact, it's not only Maxie's birthday tomorrow :0... There WILL be a celebratory post, and look out for a poll to do with something Christmassy coming soon! Requests are open, so send in whatever you like! Have a wonderful evening/day, and I love you loads 💖

|masterlist|

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anadiasmount · 23 days

Note

day in the life w bf!jude but your sick and not well/feeling so down. jude being all caring and protecting while you are mentally drained and hurt (like my throat LMAO) he’s all taking care of you and immediately on bf protection mode. when you wake up, to when you’re both out, to when you’re both visiting his moms, showering, to when it’s time for bed . then before bed he’s holding you so comfortably, endlessly asking if your okay or if you need anything or to take your thoughts on the pain away, asking you want to watch something w him?

would be the biggest and softest bf ever :(( NEED HIM NOW 😔😔

it was strange to jude you hadn’t woken up early, in the kitchen either on your online class or making your gifted smoothies. it was almost 11am when jude returned from his morning run, walking into your shared room where your were completely tucked in your sheets, head barely peaking as you slept.

jude frowned, walking quietly and sitting on the bed, where you didn’t budge. “y/n? darling? you okay?” he whispered, brushing his fingers on your cheek and tucking your messy and all over the place hair back. you groaned turning away from him, ducking under the covers, “let me sleep! it’s so early jude!” you complain.

“it’s almost 11:30 love…” jude reclaimed, running his hand and massaging the middle of your bare back. “so? still early…” you tried to defend but ended up sneezing and sniffling. “are you sick?” asked jude, immediately opening your night desk drawer and looking for cold and flu pills. it explained your mood and tiredness.

“shh stop talking… my head hurts really bad jude,” you whined, covering your ears. you hated being sick, and it was super rare when you did. though when you were, it was the worst. constant headaches, runny nose all day, congested nose and throat, and body chills, aches all over, which made it hard to do anything. “sit up for me, i have some medicine,” jude ordered listening to your protest but doing as he said.

he opened the bottled water, placing the 2 pills in your mouth and helping you so the water wouldn’t fall or spill. your eyes remained closed, knowing the light would cause more pain. jude gently rubbed your eyes, and brought you to his chest. “promise you, you’ll feel better soon…” he placed a kiss on your temple, rubbing the sides of your arms, “especially if you take a hot bath and eat something.”

“i’m not hungry,” you dismissed shaking your head, “i know but the medicine won’t have any affect if you have no food here,” jude tickled your tummy hearing you let out a small giggle. “drink more water,” he helped you again, seeing as you almost drank it all. “cmon i have to shower too, i’ll help you baby,” he picked and helped you to the bath.

jude softly scrubbed your skin and washed your hair, paying close attention to you being soft with his movements. he loved to take care of you, returning the affection especially when you did it to him after his games or long travels. he massaged your back and neck, feeling the tension go away after. “it feels so nice jude,” you praise, wanting to return the favor but he wouldn’t allow you, saying he didn’t want you to lift a finger.

jude then also helped with your hair care and skincare, knowing you would cause a fuss if you didn’t at least have any moisturizer on. helping you change into some loose and comfortable clothes after rubbing your skin with lotion. “do you want some herbal tea your mom brought us? it will make you be able to digest some food and clear your sinus?” jude spoke softly, seeing as you nodded.

while he prepared and made some soup, he brought you a warm blanket and your tea, setting it down along with some cookies, and antibiotics incase you had an infection or virus. “do you need any help?” you pout feeling bad as he was doing all this work after his game the day before. “no love, i have it handled. i just want you to rest okay? you need to or else how are you going to get better?” he quoted your words when he was injured. you let out a small smile, “thank you, handsome,” your leaned up and hugged him tight.

“we still have stuff to do. we need to go grocery shopping and visit your mom, i promised her to join her later today,” you recalled, sitting up and holding your head. “you can’t go out like this!-”

“i wasn’t asking. i was telling you. i have put it off for so long and there’s barely any groceries left. it will be quick and easy, same with your mom! she needs one on one girl talk and i haven’t seen her in so long,” you tell jude to where he rolls his eyes at your stubbornness. “one on one girl talk? about what?”

“it’s called one on one girl talk for a reason jude… we can leave a little later okay? i’m feeling way better compared to the morning,” you admit, standing up but jude ushers you to sit down, taking your mug to the sink and washing it for you. “i can’t talk this one out of you right?”

“nope,” you deadpanned.

jude made your warm soup, organizing and cleaning up the kitchen so it wouldn’t be a mess. writing down stuff that was missing from the refrigerator, pantry, and other necessities, making note to also refill your medicines. he insisted you wear a jacket, knowing the grocery store would be cold and he couldn’t risk you getting a deep cough and sickness.

“what else is left?” jude asked, placing different veggies in their bags into the cart. he was in charge of bagging and you crossing off items on the list. “new toothpaste, cases of waters and juice, and your snacks,” you read off, following jude as he filled the bottom with water and juice like you said.

“i know i can be annoying when im sick, but thank you for taking care of me,” you said, feeling overwhelmed with joy and happiness to have a boyfriend like jude. he was patient, loving, helping, and sooo protective. he wanted you to feel safe and cared for by his side and he never failed to do that.

“see that’s what we’re not going to do,” said jude when you rejected his kiss, he grabbed your face a placed a messy kiss on your lips. “don’t care if i get sick, just need you to know i’ll do anything for you okay? sick or not,” jude hugged you, as you waited in line to pay.

after returning home and unpacking, you took a small and well needed nap. jude doing some laundry and placing it where it goes, watering your plants and worked out. he also took you to his moms after you insisted, where you guys talked for hours and then did some re-arranging in the house. if there was one thing jude loved, it was watching his two favorite girls get along so well, sharing laughs and making new memories.

you fell asleep once again in the car ride home on jude’s lap, jude massaging your scalp where you fell into a deeper sleep. he carried you to the room again, changing you into a long sleeve and some shorts, also helping you brush your teeth and take the night pills for your cold and headache. “wait for me here okay? gonna make sure everything is off,” he kissed your head.

he brought back a warm blanket and waters, doing his own night routine before joining you in bed. you immediately looked and seemed for comfort on him, resting your side and head on his chest, eyes closing softly wanting to stay up with up. jude held you tight, so in love and infatuated with your beauty even when sick.

“how are you feeling?” jude asked, running his hand along your spine, tracing shapes, and holding you close to him. “mmm better, but my headache returned in the car… and before you worry, the medicine is helping though,” you reassured him, knowing he would be quick to jump out the bed to help you. you loved when he was clingy and just so protective like this. especially when it was about you. “i’m gonna be waking up every now and then to check in on you okay? if you don’t feel better by tomorrow we’re booking an appointment,” he said seriously.

“okay jude,” you nodded, your hand resting on his chest as you felt your sleep return again. it was a long night for you the day before, so sleep is what you planned to do this night, to catch up on it. “if you don’t feel good, just me me know okay? i don’t care if it’s the smallest pain or ache.”

“i promise i will jude.”

“do you need anything else before we go to sleep?” he whispered, “no jude. im right where i want to be,” you smiled, kissing his chest and then a longing kiss on his lips. “we can watch a movie in the mean time? your choice,” you relaxed in his hold, grabbing the remote for him. jude scrolled and scrolled for minutes, finding the perfect movie to end the hectic day.

not even 5 minutes in, you had fell asleep, brows pulled in and a small pout as you rested soundly. you tried to stay up for him but the medics had done it’s job and jude couldn’t complain. him to was tired, after watching a few more minutes he turned off the tv, charging your phones and bringing you up close to him, careful to not wake you.

“sweet dreams darling…”

#judey thoughts 5️⃣#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurb

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grapefives · 1 year

Text

WHAT WE LIKE | HC

hotaru x fem!reader

fluff + married + stay at home wife reader + this is a bit short

him getting married was something the village NEVER expected

and to a sweet but fierce y/n much less. another shocker!!

anyway, your life with him is… pretty hectic.

at first, as his first relationship, it was quite stressful.

but the two of your were already quite old, looking for something serious so communication came very easily.

affection was quite tuff but soon it was the main expression of love and gratitude.

anyways, you had come up after a long day of selling

while you were a stay at home wife, that didn’t stop you from going up the mountains and giving out lunches to the hard working swordsman, especially that hungry husband of yours.

normally you’d be the first to get home, because of how dangerous night time could be .

despite how protected the village was, you could never be too cautious

but to your dismay, today was quite too long and you got home after dark

and to your surprise, hotaru was already home

“where were you?” he asks with a pout and a huff.

“sorry,” you apologize with a pout, “i had someone ask for so many orders i took all day cooking and packing that’s why i gave you yours first thing in the morning.”

he could see how tired you were, and as soon as you walked over to him, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into his lap

his calloused hands grab your mask and pull it off, revealing your smile, despite how tired you were and looked, you were bright and enchanting in his eyes

“you left dinner before you left, hm?”

“i did,” you sigh and he massages your shoulders, eyes closing.

“let’s eat, hm? i don’t like eating without you.”

you grin, “awe, what a cutie.” you flick his forehead, “but i know you ate already. you just won’t have the second bowl without me.”

he denies it harshly but you laugh hard as he picks you up and carries you to the dining table.

he always places you gently, making sure you’re comfortable.

to your enjoyment, he serves both of you.

and you enjoy the meal a lot more when he tells you about his hatred towards kamado tanjirou and his love for blade polishing.

while you yourself knew how to make blades, you’d much rather hear about it than do it.

as hotaru says “you weren’t made for that.”

and he makes sure you’re pampered for the rest of the night.

a nice bath. a nice scrub. a nice change of clothes.

and a warm cuddle to fall asleep in.

oh, and that warm kiss of your forehead. along with whispered praises and hopes to see each other in the morning.

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer oneshots #demon slayer imagine #hotaru x reader #hotaru x y/n #hotaru x you #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #anime x reader #anime x female reader #anime headcanons #anime imagines #hotaru haganezuka

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dilatorywriting · 11 months

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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: What do you call a deaf pirate? Not 'Siren Food' apparently, which is really sort of hilarious when you've been kidnapped by a hungry Siren. Not for the Siren though—he's definitely not having a good time.

A/N: *rushes in at the 11th hour* Happy Mer-May!! I've been back and forth with clinical rotations and also working on some commission things and Leona's Part 4, but like, it's a fanfiction holiday. I couldn't miss out. And for one of my favorite tropes nonetheless. So here we are.

[PART 1] [PART 2]

There was a legend that floated throughout the Sage Island Seas of the Pirate With No Ears. Which was ridiculous—half because such a tall tale managing to survive so long and so wildly really showed just how pathetic the rest of the gossip around here was, and half because you still had ears. They just didn’t work very well was all.

Some said you’d been deafened by a prowling sea sorcerer who had tricked you into trading away your once keen sense for some mortal foible or other. Others whispered about how you’d been trapped in an ice cavern, surrounded by electric eels and sharks, and that the only way you’d been able to weasel your way out was by cutting off your own ears so that you’d have enough wiggle room to escape from your bindings. Which made absolutely zero sense at all.

In reality, all you’d done was stand far too close to a canon for far too long when you were far, far too little, and ever since all you could hear was the dull ringing of post-battle silence. Sometimes it was a bit sad. When the waves crashed against the shore, or when the gulls flew overhead—you were sure all those things sounded very lovely. You remembered music and laughter and sometimes they echoed in your head at a distance—a memory not quite forgotten but certainly fading at the edges. But other times, like now, where your fellow crewmates were bawling into their ales and wailing about lord knew what… well, it was always nice to find a silver lining in these sorts of things.

One of the tipsy lads tottering around the deck of The Rose Queen tripped and landed against the wood with something that looked like it’d be a very loud smack. Your brain helpfully filled the silence with some nonsense noises and park-play-style laughter instead. You watched Cater stumble by out of the corner of your eye. He patted your head and said something that twisted his mouth into a gaping ‘uuuuu-eeeee-oooo’ before he puttered away to leech off First Mate Clover instead. Ace threw a drunken arm around your shoulder and burbled something against your cheek that popped with the scent of stale booze, and you decided to pretend that you were as alone at sea as your muted senses would like to think.

The party raged on long into the evening and you stared down at the rabble contentedly from your perch in the crow’s nest. They were a good bunch—dullards though they may be. You’d heard (hardee har har) that they were planning to raid the Port o'Bliss, and something must have gone terribly right. You only really hung around to scrub barnacles off the paneling and keep an eye on the tides well enough that Deuce wouldn’t run the lot of you ashore, so you weren’t really sure how the whole ‘pirating’ business actually went about. But clearly they were doing a pretty good job of it.

You rested your chin on your crossed arms and sighed into the salty breeze. The night was warm and pleasant, and before you knew it, you were nodding off against the rough fabric of your sleeves. You weren’t quite sure how long you spent dozing there tangled in the ropes of mast, but it was long enough that by the time you snorted back awake the festive lights had dimmed to embers and most of the crew had sidled away below deck to either keep drinking themselves blind or collapse in a pool of their own colorful vomit.

There was a lone figure swerving towards the bow—precariously close to the railing for someone so clearly unsteady on their own legs, if you did say so yourself. You squinted suspiciously at his mused lavender hair, not entirely sure you recognized the head bobbing around below you. But perhaps The Rose Queen had picked up some fresh recruits at the Port, or maybe the crew had gotten a bit too booze happy with some dye. Purple Hair leaned up against the rails and tipped forward on his toes like he was thinking about diving in, or maybe barfing. Either or, you sighed and shimmied your way down to stop him from tumbling into a watery grave.

“Oi!” you called, the shout vibrating up and out of your throat, and the kid jumped half a foot in the air. “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from there. Riddle’ll have your head if we have to send out the rescue rafts this late at—”

The kid turned to face you with wide, wide, glowing eyes. Your own went round as dinner plates as you watched his too-dark pupils pulse like drumbeat. They were so bright, practically illuminating the whole of his delicate face, but there was no light to them. Matte and sleek like a shark’s eyes.

He shouted something at you so whip fast that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and then he was glancing nervously back and forth between the roiling waves at his back and the encroaching deckhand at his front—making all sorts of nonsense gestures that had you sighing behind gritted teeth.

“Look,” you said, interrupting whatever indiscernible gibberish he was spouting, “I don’t know who you think you are. But you’ve picked the wrong ship to try and—I don’t know—seize? Pirate? You can’t pirate a pirate ship! But either way, you—”

Then the kid opened his mouth like he was screaming, and you frowned again. There was strange prickle along your arms that had goosebumps crawling up your skin and the hair raising at the back of your neck, but you shook it off and moved forward with another weary sigh. You pulled a length of rope from the belt slung around your hips and held the limp bundle of salt-soaked mesh up like a threat.

“I will throw you overboard. And hogtie you first,” you promised cheerily. “So you actually sink.”

Purple Hair just looked like he was trying to scream louder, and you were sourly tempted to stick your fucking tongue out at him and make petulant ‘nyeh nyeh nice try’ noises at him, but then there was a heaviness behind you. A creak in the wood that you could feel if not hear. You rolled out of habit—tumbling across the deck just in time to avoid a nasty swipe along your back. And oh no. The thing crawling up over the railing was worse than any lavender would-be ship thief. The black tipped claws and flared fins were telling enough, but the sharp-toothed grin was somehow more so. It tilted its unnaturally lovely head at you and spoke politely—clearly and very, painfully, slowly.

“What’s—this—perhaps—” you were able to vaguely make out. Maybe. The dark and your panic were both a terrible hindrance to putting shapes to sound. His lips curled into something wicked before parting far more smoothly than the younger man’s had. Singing. It was singing, not screaming. Hauntingly green eyes glowed bright and you felt the tunk tunk tunk beneath your feet of the rest of the crew starting to move around beneath you. Around you.

Then there were more of them—crawling up over the railings, trilling into the night air. All far too lovely and far too sharp to be anything but predators. The moonlight illuminated their fangs and scales in a ghostly white glow. There were shivers running along your spine, but otherwise nothing but silence echoed through your head. Small mercies. You watched several of your fellow crewmates rush out of the cabins only to double over with their hands clasped over their ears. Others stuttered and tumbled forward towards the railings as if they were being dragged along like puppets on a string. You cursed and ducked between them—looping your rope around their legs as you went and tugging them to their knees like a line of falling dominoes.

You let your hapless comrades collapse to the deck and curled the last throws of rope around your fists. You were decent enough with a knife when it came to dueling an unmoving, completely unaware foe—like a barnacle or some rusted over door hinges. But real people? Sirens?Fucking literal blade-tipped-merfolk straight out of every sailor’s nightmare? No thank you. So the teeny blade stayed sheathed at your hip and you dove into the fray to find something rope-wrangle-able.

At the other end of the bow, you watched Purple Boy straighten from a crouch. There were new, silvery blue scales crawling up his neck and forearms. He was still tottering around on legs that he clearly wasn’t all too used to, and you watched as the little guppy started to make a furious beeline for Captain Rosehearts. Which—no. Absolutely not. You were never one of those pirates who was like ‘oh, Captain, my Captain~’ but Riddle was good. He was tough, and taciturn, and could throw a tantrum that could bring down an entire harbor. But he’d written out all of his ridiculous six hundred rules by hand so that you could have them. And the teeny furrow in his brow as he staunchly taught himself hand sign after hand sign so that he could yell at you in earnest was so endearing that you’d protect that little firecracker for as long as you breathed.

So you went after Lavender Head, and then of course Lavender Head turned and tried to shout at you all over again. When that continued to not work at all, the Siren began to backpedal in earnest. He turned his head and squawked at whoever was around to listen, but in the chaos of the attack there didn’t seem to be many of his pod free to lend him a hand.

You descended on the little snake, rope at the ready and perfectly happy to make sushi out of the fucker, when something big overshadowed the both of you. Another Siren crested over the side of the ship, larger and clearly more impressive than the rest of its kin. Which matched your stupidly terrible luck just fine. Ah, yes, Mister Big Bad. Please. Go for the deckhand rather than the literal trained mercenaries less than ten feet away. Brilliant. The Siren bared its fangs like some great, terrible, beast and tore into the paneling with its curved claws as it attempted to drag you down to your watery grave. You cursed, and kicked, and yelped in a panic when the thing managed to get one of those cold, pale hands around your ankle.

Despite the fact that all of it surely happened in less than a few seconds, your descent seemed to progress in steps. First, the Siren tugged you over the side. Second, you smartly flipped the loops of your rope up to try and lasso yourself a handhold. Thirdly, you outright missed the ship and instead tangled the spools of thin rope all around your Murderer To Be. Said Murderer’s eyes widened in shock as your unintentional trap wrapped the both of you up like a mess of bugs in a spider web. And finally, the pair of you crashed towards the churning ocean in a knotted-up heap and slowly sank beneath the waves.

You rubbed the grit and salt from your eyes and sat up with a groan. Where were you? Not too far out at sea, hopefully. Washing up ashore had been nothing short of a miracle, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant you got to avoid becoming chum for another day. The sand beneath your fingers was soft and white, and it slipped beneath your palm like water. You moved to push yourself to your feet and froze—a blur of amethyst swiping out and knocking you back onto your ass with a splash.

You spluttered and spat, and had just barely managed to flip yourself over like a turtle who’d been upended on its back when you caught sight of the absolute last creature in the world that you’d ever wanted to see again.

The big Siren had washed up nearby.

Because of course it had.

The creature narrowed his eyes at you and immediately set about lashing his rope-twisted tail against the sand like a rattlesnake. He bared his pointed teeth in a hiss and you were dowsed in a barrage of saltwater ammunition.

“Stop! Stop!” you begged, spitting out wayward chunks of seaweed, and shells, and gods knew what else. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

The Siren curled his lips unpleasantly, putting that wonderful row of dagger-like pearly whites on display. He spat something completely indiscernible—the line of his mouth so harsh and flat that you couldn’t have even begun to pick up the shape of things if you tried—and you scooted as far back as you could without toppling yourself over again.

He dug his clawed hands into the sand and said something else, just as clipped and tight. You assumed it was an accusation. You were very used to recognizing the glare that accompanied those. When you didn’t respond, his brow tugged down low and he snapped something else—this time jabbing those pointed, black, nails in your direction. Ah, so definitely a complaint then.

You cocked your head at him out of habit and that griping turned into a snarl so ferocious that you could feel it racing up your skin like static. Which was definitely pretty trippy.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you told him honestly. Which just made the spiked fins flatten all along the side of his head and another wave of those zippy sneers dance up your arms. “Literally,” you tried. “I—”

The Siren opened his mouth and that sparky static from earlier amplified into something near painful. It was strong, and prickly, and left the imprints of invisible shackles all along your already aching joints. You could feel his voice carrying on the breeze—brushing against your cheeks and playing with hair. Thin, icy, fingers digging their way into your brain and yanking. But there was something missing from all that ethereal hypnotism. Something pleasant and sweet to complete the circle of temptation. A voice, you’d guess. There had to be a call after all, or else it hardly mattered how deep and all encompassing the need was to answer.

When you didn’t immediately, like, fall to your knees in subjugation or drown yourself in the inch and a half of tepid water pooling at your hips, the Siren’s eyes dimmed with something that almost looked like hesitance. His brow pinched tight and he parted his red lips wider. A seagull dropped from the sky. Three different crabs crawled out of the sand to bow down.

“I can’t hear you!” you tried again, loud enough to have your teeth aching. His mouth went wider, and an entire ass tuna beached itself to flop pathetically near your ankles. “It’s not a challenge!” you wailed. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

The static disappeared all at once, and the Siren’s lips slipped into a small, surprised sort of ‘o.’ He blinked his too-long lashes at you and stared you down like you were some sort of escaped alchemical experiment.

“There,” you huffed. “Finally.” And then went quiet and a bit concerned. Because apparent Song Immunity or otherwise, the thing was still hugely impressive and scary looking. His claws definitely wouldn’t have any problem picking the leftover bits of you out of his teeth, and you knew well enough that if he dragged you into the depths with that powerful tail of his, there would be no resurfacing.

The Siren too was using this time to glare at you like you were somehow a threat to be taken seriously. Which was half flattering, half pretty funny.

“Well…” you said after a long moment. “I should get going, I suppose.”

You made your way to your feet in the mucky sandbar and started heading off to see where you’d been stranded. You could feel the Siren’s heavy gaze on you the whole while, and decided he was probably trying to figure out if you’d taste better paired with seaweed or a nice jellyfish spread.

The pair of you had been stranded on a small, crescent, islet that couldn’t even rightly call itself an island. You were able to walk from its curling east to west coasts in just under fifteen minutes, and that was at a meandering pace where you stopped to peer into all kinds of little grottos and rocky formations. There was some vegetation at the heart of it—short palm trees and tufts of grassy knolls—and thankfully a few deep divots that had collected some still rainwater, but otherwise it was entirely boring and stupid. Not even any weird tortoises or anything meandering about to make friends with.

By the time you circled back around to your original stranding point, you had fully expected the Siren to have flipped you the metaphorical bird and fucked off back into the ocean, never to be seen again. Instead, he was still stretched out in the shallows of the bay, carefully fanning his long tail out in the seafoam and picking through the mess of it with his pointy claws.

He reminded you of a beta fish—with wide, flowing, fins that looked far more like silk than skin or scales. The tips were a deep, plum purple that gently faded from near black to violet and finally a vivid sort of lilac at their junction. The bulk of his tail looked like it could be made from literal gemstones with the way it shimmered in the morning light (gems that had perhaps been a bit dinged and/or literally torn out in chunks from where he may or may not have been smashed into the rocky shore curtesy of your terrible hogtie, but who’s to say).

There were jagged cuts lining the right half of his pale torso. They oozed a strange sort of silver ichor that was probably some kind of mystical merman blood, but you absolutely refused to get close enough to try and find out. The fins framing his pelvis were tangled and thin looking, and the sweeping ones that trailed all the way down to the tip of his tail were battered and torn. Clearly pulled to bits by your handy, dandy lasso skills. Which… was still tied up at the base of them. Huh. You’d assumed he’d be able to slice through all that knotwork without issue. But maybe…

You approached the Siren cautiously. You caught the exact moment he must have realized you’d returned because the fins along the sides of his head flattened like the ears on a pissy cat and he turned on you with a very dramatic snarl that probably sounded all sorts of menacing.

“Hello,” you greeted, and the merman spat something that you assumed was probably a very polite ‘fuck right off.’

You nodded because, well, fair enough. And then pointed to his injured fins and the waterlogged ropes still twisted up around the heart of them.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

He shouted something no doubt very indignant and then was back to hissing at you. Which definitely didn’t sound like an agreement not to immediately murder you on the spot.

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Your loss, I suppose.”

Well, your loss, really. Keeping a wounded Siren around was just asking for trouble. Their pods were viciously protective for one thing, and that wasn’t even taking into account the poachers and rivals who’d be more than keen to come sniffing after the fresh trail of blood in the water. Maybe you could find a big stick or something and just, I don’t know, push him back into the ocean and be done with it.

The thought must have shown on your face, because suddenly he was smacking his tail against the sandbar and spitting something that you very much assumed was a demand along the lines of ‘you are going to take accountability for this.’

Which absolutely no way in Hell. He’d kidnapped you sort of, so that made you his problem, thank you very much.

You felt your stomach gurgle, and it must have been pretty loud going off the stink eye he sent your way. You turned your nose up at him and went about collecting the various critters that had been washed ashore in his tenor’s tantrum.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly as you worked on scaling the tuna with the knife from your belt—making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so.

The Siren sneered at you and went back to grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

The rest of the afternoon became a sort of pissing contest between the two of you to see who could earn the title of Bitchiest Beach Bitch. You thought you were definitely winning with the whole ‘eating something that could have been his long-lost cousin’ thing, but then he went and swamped the entirety of the small fire you built (and all of said ‘cousin’ being cooked over it) with one sweep of his tail, so now you were at the very least tied. You set up a nice little shaded hutch out of driftwood and ferns to escape the sun, he called down seagulls to shit all over it and pick it to pieces. He tried to roll around to reach some of the tighter fibers tangled in his pectoral fins, and you chucked rocks at him until he reared on you with a scream that had all the hairs on your arms standing on end. Y’know. Perfectly mature things like that.

That night you curled up beside a tall, jagged rock just at the outskirt of the bay—determined to get some shut eye but to also keep within range of your newest pest in case he decided to try and pull something sneaky. But every time you’d just about settled in to sleep, the shallow tide would lap against your toes in harsh shush shush shushes that had you furrowing you brow until you finally had enough and sat up to see what all the hubbub was about.

The Siren was tossing around in the shallows like a fish in a net—throwing his long body against the bindings and flailing like his life depended on it. And as much as he’d definitely deserved to get caught up in your unintentional hogtie, watching something as large and no doubt powerful as he was wriggling around like a worm on a hook was… Well. Something soured a bit in your gut as you watched him give one, final, great buck against his bindings before collapsing back into the shallows in a circle of seafoam. He panted against the surface of the water, the tips of his pale hair dripping down in a curtain around his haggard face, and you could see a fine tremor running along his shoulder blades.

You turned back to your rock and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes, fighting the absolute batshit insane urge to feel bad for a monster who had literally tried to drag you to your death less than twenty-four hours ago.

The water was calm and still for the rest of the night.

The next morning, you picked up a few of the crabs who had crawled up to shore and went about getting them clean and fit for eating. You glanced at the Siren, who was busy preening over his janky fins and fussing over his hair. It was entirely unfair that you probably looked like a half-drowned rat, and yet this creature that wasn’t even meant to exist on the surface was somehow managing to put himself together well enough to rival the courtesans you’d seen meandering around some of the wealthier coastal towns.

You stared at the crabs. There were three of them. It wasn’t really sharing if it was meant to be a bribe to keep him from eating you whole. Or at least, that’s what you reassured yourself as you cautiously tiptoed back to the water’s edge.

The Siren swiveled on you with a snap of something that looked sort of like a ‘What?!’ and you held up one of the gutted crabs in offering.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…” You waved the limp crab awkwardly.

The Siren rolled its purple eyes and said something fast and sharp that you couldn’t really parse. Something, something, not, something, something, are crust—Something, something, are you that stupid? (you recognized the impressions of those words well enough to mouth them even in your sleep).

“Look, do you want it or not?” you interrupted, and he bristled—all those delicate, violet, fins flaring up like a porcupine’s spikes.

The Siren crossed his arms stiffly and pointedly turned in the other direction with a mutter of something you had no hopes of catching.

“Whatever,” you snapped and went to bite into your meal. Only to immediately forget that these pointy little fuckers still had their shells on them. You reeled back with a yelp as you stabbed a million, tiny, carapace-shaped holes in your tongue.

The fucking Siren had the gall to turn back around so that you could see him laughing at you.

That night he was back to flipping around in the shallows like a miniature hurricane.

You counted out the waves sloshing against your heels, telling yourself you’d intervene in his self-destructive tsunami once it hit one hundred. And then it became two, then three. You shifted hesitantly to peek over the rock’s edge and watched him curl into himself like some terribly wounded creature before shaking himself out of the fog of pain that had clearly settling over his nerves, and then continued with his nonsense.

You hurled a big, pink seashell at his head and he whipped on you like a rabid dog, practically foaming at the mouth and raring for a fight. When he lunged forward with the waves—seething with hatred, and blame, and nearly crashing onto his already shredded front in the process, something angry in your snapped.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you demanded, stomping perhaps a bit closer than would be rational. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

The Siren roared something back and slapped his tail in the surf. Static zipped along your cheeks and you grit your teeth. He glared at you bitterly and then began to repeat one word over and over—slow and angry.

‘Eeeeehhh-Pppe-llllll’ said his lips. Strong and harsh with the shape of it.

And then he was back to spewing all kinds of rapid-fire vitriol that you wouldn’t have bothered to keep track of even if you could. Something in his expression shifted almost quicker than you could notice and he lifted his massive tail out of the water. He smacked the fins in your direction and pointedly jabbed a clawed finger at the creases of them—where delicate, silky, tendrils met strong, gem toned, muscle. Where the purple was light and clean. A pale, shiny, lavender. Almost just like—

“That kid?” you frowned. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

He sneered again and pointedly sent a splash of seawater into your face.

“You—” you grit your teeth. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. For all the good it would do. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

The Siren’s face twisted up like you’d force fed him soured milk, and he looped back around with a dramatic fwoosh of water to dive into the shallows. It was maybe two or three feet deep at best, and he was barely submerged. Not to mention how utterly ridiculous it looked to see a creature that was no doubt usually the peak of grace and athleticism reduced to flopping belly first into the waves with his proverbial legs tied up behind him. But you recognized a door slamming in your face when you saw it, no matter the species. Fine. Let him be a petty bastard. He could rot away in the sandbar for all you cared.

The next day you woke up with goosebumps crawling up and down your limbs.

There were all sorts of gulls crash-landed in the sand around you and more sad, little, sea creatures gasping on the beach than you dared to count. You shoved a particularly chubby octopus back into a tidepool as you passed and wondered just what sort of nonsense your co-strandee was getting up to now.

The Siren was circling the bay with his head held high above the low waves—lips parted and clearly caterwauling like a dying porpoise. The surface of the water trembled with whatever was making its way out of his mouth, and he looped and looped around the shores. It reminded you of the time you’d seen a whale calf separated from its pod. It had gotten trapped in a shallow inlet when the tides had changed, and your ship had been anchored just off the same coast. You’d watched it circle and circle, lifting its heavy snout to snort sharp jets of water into the air. Deuce had passed you a scribbled note when you’d asked him what it sounded like.

‘It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’

There was a moment where the Siren paused in his paces and tilted his head. The fins there flared out to the side, like he was listening for something. But after a long moment the spines drooped back against his damp hair and he went back to his singing an aria to no one.

‘It’s looking for its family,‘ Riddle had signed to you when you’d asked him why the calf didn’t simply leave once the tides had turned in its favor. ‘This is where they last saw it, so this is where it will stay.’

“Maybe they forgot about him already,” you mused petulantly, turning back towards the center of the islet to try and scavenge up something to eat from all the poor creatures who had collapsed beneath your nemesis’s wailing.

The bitter thought wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it ought to be.

That night, the waters were still.

You squinted suspiciously at the merman curled in the shallows of the bay. He’d pulled himself half-out of the water, resting his more human looking bulk in the soft sand as gentle waves lapped at his tail. He slept on his front with his arms crossed beneath his pointed chin—his unbound fins sticking up behind him in a way that deliriously reminded you of bedhead. You watched him carefully for nearly an hour, searching for any tightness in his muscles or change in his breathing that might indicate he was faking it. But as the evening stretched on and he never lurched awake to try and gauge your eyes out, you assumed he might actually be properly resting.

He'd been swimming in circles all day—the aborted, stuttering, beats of his bound tail looking painful even by your non-tail-having standards. Eventually the tremors along the ocean had grown stuttered and strange, like perhaps his voice was giving out on him. And once that had happened, he’d curled up exactly where he was now. And hadn’t moved since.

You stared at the Siren hesitantly. He was certainly in enough of a state that you could probably pull off that whole ‘shoving him into the depths with a stick’ thing. He’d probably just let you do it—sink to the bottom in a mess of shredded fins and tangled twine and never rise again.

You gnawed at your lip, feeling something unpleasantly hot and sticky twist up your stomach.

The knife glinted between your fingers and you thought of crying whales and of the crew that you already missed so much that it felt like a gnawing chasm had opened in your chest.

You huffed out a miserable sigh and lamented for not the first time in your life that you really were just so fucking stupid sometimes. And then you were cautiously making your way down towards the waterline and the sleeping Siren sprawled out in the sand. Slowly—so very, very slowly—you tiptoed towards the mer and tried to get a quick glance at what amounted to the worst of the damage.

The rope had been thin and long, and the more he’d struggled, the more he’d dug the twine into his fins. You reached forward at half speed and slipped the blade into one of the too-tight creases beneath the bindings. You winced a bit in sympathy at the raw, pink skin beneath. No wonder he hadn’t been able to just rip the fibers away. He’d probably just ended up tugging them over and over against the oozing wounds beneath.

The first strand broke beneath your fingers with something that almost felt like a pop. Like seams ripping on a shirt. You glanced quickly at the sleeping Siren to confirm he was still lost to the world and not gearing up to bite your fingers off at the knuckle, and then continued making your way through the worst of it. It reminded you a bit of the time Ace had accidentally snared a sea turtle in one of his fishing nets and the lot of you had spent the better part of an hour slowly working the thing free of the seemingly endless tangles. You delicately worked the tightest edges away from the harsh indentations they’d left against his scales and peeled back the muckier bits with enough gentleness to avoid mangling anymore of his already battered fins.

The last of the rope finally came away with a satisfying, wet weight and you let it fall to the sand beside you with a pleased nod. Now you could let Mister Merman swim away in the morning with no unpleasantly gross sense of moral obligation weighing down your consciousness. Maybe he’d even be thankful enough to look at you with something other than a venomous glare for once. Certainly nothing like the one leveled at you right now. And—

Oh.

You didn’t even have time to properly gasp before you were being flipped and pinned into the wet sand. The Siren loomed over you, digging his black claws into your shoulder until you could feel the first pricks of blood breaking the surface. He snarled in your face, the curtain of his pale blonde hair shadowing his eyes in something so dark it was nearly black. The brilliant purple cast off his glowing irises were like little spots of stars in an otherwise empty night sky.

He leaned forward, teeth bared, and then some sort of tight expression flickered over his face. He paused, brow tugging together steep and angry. He hunched down once more, fangs at the ready, and then ducked back out. He shook his head, like he was trying to clear fog from his brain, and then he was snapping his canines at you all over again.

The Siren reared back with a booming snarl that sent ripples through the soft tide lapping at your ankles. He turned with one, final, icy glower and dove back into the shallows, disappearing beneath the surface in a flash of amethyst scales. He flicked his tail sharply as he went, and one of the tattered fins snapped against your nose with enough of a crack to make you yelp.

You sat up in disbelief, rubbing at your aching skin and watching in outright consternation as the great predator of the oceans swam tight laps beneath the warm waters of your little lagoon—fins occasionally cresting over the surface to smack pointed fistfuls of water into your gaping face.

Deliriously, one of The Rose Queen’s hundreds of nonsensical rules bounced about your head. Happy to fill the otherwise entirely empty space behind your eyes.

‘Never save a Sea Serpent on a Sunday,’ Riddle had demanded, hands at his hips. ‘No Serpents, or Sea Horses, or Sirens to speak of.’

‘Man,’ you thought wildly, brain high on adrenaline and static as you watched one of the aforementioned Sirens swan about like he hadn’t probably just been a half second away from gnawing on your literal bones. ‘If I get out of this alive, Captain’s definitely gonna collar me this time.’

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