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ghouljams · 5 months

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Let Me Keep You(Here's My Name, Burden Me) Rating: Explicit (MDNI) Word Count: 4k Tags: John Price x f!oc/reader, first time, fluff, virginity loss, dirty talk, oral (f!receiving), piv sex, minor breeding kink, confessions, fae au, witch!reader Summary: "When I fuck you," Price breathes, brushes his lips against yours, "and I will fuck you, Sweetheart," he assures you, "I want it to mean something.” That was months ago, months of wondering when he'd finally decide you meant something. Well, the dam can't hold forever, and when it breaks it's not courage that parts your lips.

“What was that perfume you were wearin’ when we first met?” Price asks you out of the blue. You glance up from your cauldron in time for a cloud of purple smoke to belch out of one of the oil slick bubbles.

“I don’t know,” You really don’t. You don’t even know if it was a perfume, or if it was a combination of herbs you’d been working with. You stir your potion thoughtfully. “If you could describe it,” You decide, “I might be able to tell you.”

Price hums, he does that when he thinks, it’s terribly charming. You like how he fills your space with noise. Both of you know that he’s as silent as fresh snow, but for you he’s as loud as an elephant. It’s comforting, in some strange little way, always being able to hear him near you. It’s harder to be alone. Clearly. You- Logically you know he’s there, but it’s- you shake the thought from your head, no sense tainting your potion with ill advised sorrows.

“Like dry grass on a warm day,” Vetiver you note, “and honey without the sweetness.” Citrus, potentially, wildflower likely. You tick mental boxes, sorting through your mental catalog. What were you shopping for that day? Were you killing time on a spell?

“Anything else?” You ask over your shoulder.

“Summer, but that was probably from-” you hear the rustle of fabric as he waves his hand behind you.

“From the garden,” you finish with a smile.

“Smelled expensive, dark, like that red dress you’ve got,” he leans back in his chair and you hear his heels tap against the wood of your kitchen table as he kicks them up, “Should wear that for me some time, hugs ya’ in the prettiest places.”

“The perfume, darling.” You remind him, and he clicks his tongue.

“Keep callin’ me that sweetheart, and you won’t remember either.” He smiles when you glance at him, arms crossed over his broad chest. The relaxed posture shows off his arms well, his sleeves wrapped tight around his thick biceps. Temptation in a man. You have to stop letting him in when you’re trying to work.

“Why are you asking about my perfume?” You redirect the conversation. You doubt Price has suddenly taken an interest in aromachology, and you doubt he’s looking to buy you a gift considering all his are magic related.

“I want you to wear it tonight,” He replies plainly.

“Are we doing something tonight?” You don’t think you’ve forgotten anything. No date night on your calendar for tonight, no holiday or witches gathering.

“I’m goin’ to fuck you.”

Your potion explodes. You cough and sputter against the smoke, the pink dazzle of failed intentions attempting to choke you as your entire body bursts with heat. Price snaps his fingers and the smoke is sucked out your garden door like a vacuum.The mixture is still bubbling in your pot, though now it simmers at a nice vibrant red. A love potion instead of a protection potion. You’ll have to start over.

“That’s hardly romantic,” You tell Price, because you have no idea how to respond in a way that doesn’t scream “I’m a virgin.” Price spins you to face him, silent in his movements, and draws up the apron around your waist to wipe off your face. You’re sure you’re a sight, covered in pink and barely able to look at him.

“I’m givin’ you time to say no,” He explains, patiently. You take your apron from him and finish scrubbing your cheeks.

“I can’t say no during?” You joke. Price settles his hand on the counter behind you and leans close.

“You can, but you won’t want to.” Another burst of heat courses through you at how serious he sounds. You swat him away to clean up your potion. You don’t think you’ll be able to get any magic done today.

Price monopolizes your day. Monopolizes your thoughts anyway. You can’t concentrate on any of your spells, your workspace tainted with him. He drips into every corner of your home, his smoke filling the cracks and crevices. You’ll have to cleanse the whole space the next time you want to do anything.

He’s quiet too, which is the worst part. It makes you nervous, like he might be rethinking. Yet each time you turn to look at him he’s staring at you, his eyes warm and full of open affection. You can’t look at him for long, and you always turn away with your cheeks burning. The way he looks at you, like you’re the missing piece he’s been looking for…

“You’re staring,” You tell him, after dinner, you mean it to be chastising.

“Am I?”

“It’s distracting.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He almost could pass as concerned, if it weren’t for the crooked smile, the slight smirk that says he wouldn’t even if you asked. Truthfully you don’t want him to stop, you like the way he looks at you.

“When are we going to-” You wave a hand, feigning nonchalance. He catches it and kisses your knuckles.

“Whenever you want,” He smiles more genuinely, his eyes crinkling at the edges, “Just say the word sweetheart.”

You shed your skirt on the way into the bedroom, his fingers tug down the zipper as you walk, and you’re more than happy just stepping out of it. Happier still when Price hauls you up and drops you on the bed. He crawls over you and you cup his face to kiss him. Each slick slide of his lips against yours makes heat pool in your stomach, something warm and anticipatory taking hold as he breaks away to slide down your body.

Price kisses your stomach, laves his tongue against the soft skin and sucks appreciatively. His beard tickles, and you squirm without meaning to. He explores the exposed skin with his mouth, his hands sliding your shirt up to give himself more room. There’s something reverent in the way he moves you, helps you tug your jumper off and smooths his rough hands over you. His hands knead your breasts through your bra, kissing them where they push against the fabric. His eyes meet yours as he does, and you bite down a smile.

“Take it off,” he orders, sitting back to give you room. You sit up and fiddle with the hooks in the back while he strips his shirt off. You get a little distracted by the broad well muscled expanse of his chest, the dark hair. He pushes you back down against the bed, a finger hooked in the front of your bra to pull it off as you fall. He’s rather good at this, you think before he’s kissing you again. His hands cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples. You press into his hold, feel his tongue slide against your lips, and open your mouth to suck on it. He pushes his hips against yours, the fabric of his pants making you feel all the more naked under him.

You want to feel him, really feel him.

His hand disappears, fabric rustles and Price lets out a breath. You glance down to see he’s taken his pants off, his hard cock standing proud against the swirls of hair that trail up his stomach. You snap your eyes back to his face, and his brows raise.

“See somethin’ you like?” He smiles, and you shrink down against the bed. Very much so, but you don’t want to stare. “Plenty of time for that later,” He tells you, “For now-” He sits back, tugs your panties down. He follows their journey down one leg, kissing your thigh, knee, your ankle, until he can toss them to the floor. Then his attention falls heavily onto you.

He presses your hips more firmly against the bed, holds them hard enough to bruise, and you watch the rise and fall of his chest as he stares between your legs. The usual ice of his eyes has been swallowed by the deep hungry black of his pupils. It makes you squirm to be under such a heady inspection. His brows twitch, his head tips, the slight movement making you twist your fingers in the bed sheets.

"Fuck," he groans, before snarling, "fuck." He falls into you, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling them up over his shoulders as he buries his face against your cunt. His tongue licks a broad stripe over you and you jerk against his hold, a nervous giggle falling unbidden from your lips. You've never done this before but you probably shouldn't be laughing.

"Wait, Price," you try, your fingers shake as you press them against his hairline, threading them through the short brown strands. He growls, glares at you, like a dog trying to protect its bone. Your breath hitches.

His tongue prods at your clit, rolling over it with firm strokes. It's wet, warm, and well practiced. It sparks in your stomach, making it jump as you shiver and tighten your grip on his hair. His fingers only hold you more firmly, anticipating every squirming movement of your hips as his tongue wiggles against you. You whine, press the back of your free hand against your lips and try to stifle the noises he draws from you. Though he doesn't seem to be doing the same.

Every low groan and slurp at your leaking cunt sends another shock of heat through you. You whimper when he sucks at your clit and he responds in kind.

"Good girl sweethear', taste so fuckin' good." Your cheeks burn, at the gravel in his voice. Your head feels hot and your body feels tight. His tongue presses into you, licks over you, like he's starving for it. He laughs when you buck your hips against his mouth, a deep throaty chuckle that doesn't help the heat in your face, "Knew you'd squirm."

You swallow, press your hand a little more firmly to your lips. Price lifts his head enough to let you watch his tongue flick against your clit, his eyes trained on the jump of your stomach, all the soft parts of you he likes best, absolutely burning for him. "Squirm for me baby," he tells you, amusement clear in his voice, "show me how much you like it."

You twist in his hold when he lowers his mouth back down to suck on your clit. You try to, at least. He's strong enough to keep you in place, almost like you hadn't moved at all. It's cruel really. You try a different approach, grinding your hips with the movement of his tongue. He allows it, guides your hips with firm hands, his nose grinding against your clit as his tongue presses into you.

You whine, short and high, your fingers tugging at his hair as you arch your back. Everything feels so tight between your legs, so slick and warm. Price’s tongue twists against your cunt, pushes in and out of you in a maddening dance. He presses sucking kisses to your folds, lapping up every drop of your slick with deep satisfied groans.

“God,” He growls against your cunt, drunk on you, “could eat you whole-” He hums, and you squirm as the sound vibrates around your clit, “-doing so good for me.” You nod, every inch of you blazing, you’re sure you must be a sight for him. “So good,” He mumbles. He sucks at your clit, the pressure tugging at the swollen nub released only to be started all over again. One of his thick fingers presses into you and your breath hitches.

“Price,” You tug at his hair to get his attention, your hips raising with tense tingly pleasure as he curls his finger against your gooey walls. He strokes inside your cunt firm and delicate, hardly listening to you. Your legs shake, on either side of his head.

“You gonna cum sweetheart?” The low timber of his voice makes goosebumps rush over you. You nod, mutely, and he wiggles a second finger in beside the first. “I know,” he coos, “I know baby, can feel it.” His fingers pump in and out of you, hitting something that makes your stomach jump and clench. “Go on,” He tells you, “cum on my tongue, give it to me, hard as you can.”

The tight heat breaks into desperate trembling, your stomach jumping as you squeeze his head between your thighs and try to wriggle away from the constant rolling pleasure of his tongue. You moan, rock your hips against his mouth, squeezing and pulling him as close as you can. Fuck do you want to get away or stay like this? You don’t know. It’s too much and not enough. You can feel your body fluttering, clenching on his fingers greedily. Price’s groans are desperate, hungry, indulgent, his eyes hot as they watch you fall apart.

Your cunt sucks at his fingers, trying to draw them in further, clench on them tighter. He keeps stroking that soft spot inside of you as his tongue laps up the slick that pools around them. His mouth is sinful, sweet torture that doesn’t stop even after you’ve cum. His beard scratches your thighs, smears your wetness over them as he kisses the soft skin. His fingers don’t leave you, even when his mouth does, they keep stretching you out, toying with your cunt. You shake and shiver for him, unsure what to do with yourself as he watches you.

“Could drive a man mad, lookin’ at ‘im like that,” He tells you, kissing your bent knee. You tug at the blankets, press your hips down against his fingers. Price hums, thinking, his eyes rake over you as he leans close. “Stick out your tongue baby,” He murmurs, and you do without fuss. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, closing your eyes when his tongue presses against it, licking over the wet muscle with firm strokes before sucking it into his mouth. You do your best to keep up. The way he kisses you, dips his tongue into your open mouth, feels dirty, makes your head spin.

You whine against his lips when his thumb rubs against your clit. The calloused digit pressing firm against your sensitive bud, as he pulls back to watch his spit drip into your mouth. You swallow it all too eagerly, and pant against his lips. You grip his shoulders as he dips down to suck at your neck, your voice soft and high, pleading, in his ear. You need something to hold onto as he sparks pleasure up your spine. You’re just starting to shake again when he pulls his fingers from your dripping cunt.

You grab for his wrist to put it back, you’re warm and throbbing, and you’re so close. He just stares at you, chuckles a little when he grabs your wrist and brings it to his lips. Price sits back, holds your hand with slick soaked fingers, and grabs his cock around the base. You suck in a breath at the size of it. It looks so long and thick, is that really going to fit inside of you? Did he stretch you enough?

“Look at that, mm,” Price sighs, rubbing the tip of his cock through your wet folds, “pretty little pussy.” He feels bigger than he looks, the head of his cock just catching at your entrance with each stroke. It bumps against your clit, mixing pre-cum with your slick. You watch him move, watch the way his cock drools against you, with libidinous eyes. You chew on the inside of your cheek, raising your hips to try and convince him to fuck you already. He hums, his smile, his eyes flicking to meet yours, all too hot for a man from Winter.

“Beg for it,” He tells you, “You want this cock, I wanna hear you beg.”

You want to, you want to beg so badly, but you feel like all the words have left you feeling him twitch against you. You let out a shaky breath and give him the only word you have left. “Please,” you shudder, “Please, plea-”

He presses against your entrance, the fat head of his cock slipping inside, and you gasp. Price murmurs something to you that you don’t catch, too focused on the roll of his hips as he eases his cock into you. Your eyes roll a little, breath uneven as his girthy cock stretches you out. The burn of it is sinful, absolute bliss, and you feel yourself run a little hotter with each thick inch. There’s so much of him, and you’re so full already.

He stops, his breaths ragged, releases your hand to grip the backs of your thighs and press them up against your chest. The new angle forces Price’s cock deeper, letting the veins of it drag against that squishy soft spot in you. You squeak, and he shushes you. “Needed a better-” Price groans, “fuck sweetheart, you’re so tight, such a good girl.” He eases another inch into you, you try to raise your hips and find yourself pinned under his weight. “Just a bit more baby,” He drags his lips against your gasping mouth, “you can take it, know you can.”

You don’t know if that’s true, when his hips finally settle against your ass you’re shaking with the effort of keeping still for him. He lets out a sigh, smoke dripping down over you, filling your lungs the way his cock fills your cunt. It makes you a little dizzy, dizzy enough you don’t notice he’s pulling out until he snaps his hips and fills you again in one clean motion. Then that’s all you feel.

The maddening drag of his cock against your gummy walls, all slick friction and heat that pulses through you, makes you gasp and whine. Pretty sounds just for him, just for the way his hips smack against you. He hits some impossibly deep part of you, and doesn’t stop hitting it. Each thrust winds you tighter and tighter, makes you clench and drip around his cock.

He releases his hold on your legs, lets you wrap them around his waist as he settles comfortably over you. His lips drag along your jaw, the scratch of his beard making you tip your head. He’s so warm, or maybe he’s reflecting your own heat back to you. Either way you feel wrapped up in him. His smoke, his mouth, his cock. Fuck, his cock.

"Be a good girl and play with that clit, rub it real nice for me," Price mumbles, you whine and reach between you to rub yourself, "there you go sweetheart, clenchin' on me so well." You can feel him thrusting into you like this, grazing your fingers against his cock as you rub tight circles. Everything is hot and wet. Your stomach clenches as he pushes in deep. Each drag of his thick cock is a delicious build on the already tight heat coiling in you.

"I- mm," You squeeze your eyes shut, tip your head back as your back arches. You've never felt anything this good.

"No, no, eyes open sweetheart," He coaxes, his hands hold your face, tip your head forward, "Want you to look at me."

You don't want to, it feels easier to keep them closed, but you want to be good for him. Every time he praises you it feels like your skin gets a little hotter, and it's so- you always thought you were good at taking compliments, but the way he says them, so low and filthy, makes you want to stutter like a nervous little girl. He doesn't stop fucking you, but he does slow down, gives you a small reprieve to open your eyes in. When you do, you're immediately treated to his smile.

"Don't look away, unless you're looking at-" he tips your head forwards so you can look between you at where his cock pushes into you, "-that." He groans as your breath hitches, eyes fixed on the fluid motion of his hips. You clench around the stretch of his thick cock. You can see the dark curls at the base wet with your slick, the muscles of his thighs moving, the bruises he's left on your hips.

Your legs curl towards your chest again, shaking, the feeling of his cock pounding into you suddenly too much all at once. You bite your lip to keep quiet, as your orgasm breaks over you. Wet heat slapping slick noise to the pump of Price's cock, and snapping over your spine as you arch your back. You've trained yourself so well you don't even notice you're biting down your moans.

"Speak," Price commands and you can't help the tumble of noise that falls from you as your mouth opens. Soft swears and pleas and his name like a prayer, over and over. He groans, catches your desperate mouth with his own and fucks you. His full balls knock against your ass as his hips piston into you.

"Price, God, Price," you whimper, clawing at his back. His cock hits you so deep at this angle, your toes pointing as he keeps you full of him.

"John," he whispers, kissing into your vernacular. John. You breathe his name in. You knew it. John the conqueror, the morning's glory, the Highest exalted, remover of obstacles, dominator of will. Yours to be known.

"John," you sigh. Yours to keep, but never use. A shiver racks through him, you wonder how many times in his long life he's heard his name. He puts himself in your hands without asking for the same in return, but you want to give it to him. You want his admission to mean something. You whisper your name between kisses, feel the twitch of his cock as he rolls his hips against yours, the stutter in his breath. You love him, you love him, you love him.

It's real and terrifying and it strings between you so heavily you can't ignore it. He says your name, whispers it, and it’s like you’ve never heard it before. You shake, shiver with sensitivity as you feel hot cum flood your cunt. Price’s hips don’t stop, fucking his thick seed deep into you with a low groan. Fuck you could cum again just feeling him wiggle his hips against your poor cunt, like he’s trying to make sure it all stays in.

He sighs, more smoke pouring from his lips before he can kiss you. Sweeter this time, but no cleaner. You push your tongue against his, arching your back to press up into his chest, feel the click of your teeth when you press a little too close. Desperate, you’re so desperate for him. How could you ever not be? You could go again, you want to go again. He chuckles against your lips, and you do your best to swallow the sound.

“Easy,” He tells you, the low timber of his voice rumbling through you, “we’ve got all night.”

You wake up heavy and warm. There’s a pleasant ache low in your back, and an arm slung over you. You close your eyes against the sunlight streaming in the window, and cuddle back against Price, put yourself in his hold without fear. There’s a weight in your chest that feels too important to touch, so you don’t. You can feel it though, as clearly as you feel Price stir behind you, feel him hook his leg over yours. It’s natural the way you fit together.

You wiggle, turn to face him. He doesn’t open his eyes, just waves his hand to make the curtains close and lets you cuddle close. You kiss his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You gave him your name, and you’re still here. Still breathing, still laying here with him. Easy as anything. This is real, you think, he’s real. He’s not going anywhere, he’s not using you for anything, he wanted this to mean something. It does mean something. He means something to you, something you didn’t have a word for until now. Funny how sex makes things so much clearer.

“I love you,” you whisper to him, sure he’s still sleeping.

“Marry me,” He whispers back, like he’d been hoping you’d say something.

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sunonyoreface · 1 year

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One Cot - Simon “Ghost” Riley

Hi there, this story is a one shot about Simon Riley. I haven’t played COD before and I don’t know much about his character, but I love the thought of tough men being soft.

Summary: You help Ghost on a cold night and he returns the favour.

Word count: 2398

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: none, fluff.

Crews like task force 141 aren’t the type to pack extra cots. They don’t need them. Because crews like 141 don’t make a habit of bringing home extra bodies. There’s only ever one scenario when they have extra cots. Luckily for them, tonight’s not one of those nights.

For me, however, that means another night on the floor with my ankle cuffed to the bottom of one of their cots in case I try to run.

Although I’m deemed non-violent, I’m also a flight risk. According to them at least.

According to me, I have no clue where we are or how I’d even survive away from them. I’ve got no money, no ID, no map or compass, or even the slightest clue how I’d escape. Regardless, the cuffs stay on.

My wrists face the same fate. But my hands are free enough to rake them through my damp hair, working them through the tangles. It’s a soothing feeling of normalcy in this strange place.

In his cot on the other side of the room, Soap waits for one of the other boys to return from the showers and trade off babysitting duty.

One thing I can say is that chivalry is not dead, because they allowed me to shower first. Not that it matters all that much. There’s no hot water anyway so there isn’t much of a benefit in going first. But it’s the thought that counts.

Ghost is the first one back. It’s strange not seeing him wear layers upon layers of tactical gear. Instead, he only wears dark jeans and a black henley. And the balaclava too. I’ve yet to see him take it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showered with it on. I don’t know that the other guys have seen him take it off either. They make comments sometimes, little jabs and jokes about how it never comes off. Ghost hardly notices though. Or maybe I should say hardly reacts. He’s stoic through it all, preventing any emotions from breaking through.

Soap leaves without a word. They understand their positions. So well, that half the time I think they’re communicating through their thoughts.

Ghost places a duffel bag on the cot I’m cuffed to. I sit cross-legged on a blanket on the floor as he ruffles through it.

His strong form towers over me two feet away. Ghost doesn’t make eye contact as I watch him search through the bag. He’s less threatening without the bulky gear and a gun in his hand. But that mask is still terrifying enough to find its way into your dreams.

However, it's not the mask that sets me on edge around Ghost, it’s his eyes. They’re cold and unwavering, giving away nothing. They’re the eyes of a killer. Of someone who enjoys inflicting pain. Of someone whose been in so much pain himself, his only release is passing it on to others.

He hasn’t bothered me that much since my first day with them all. Back when he was ready to put me down like a lame horse. I was a loose end that needed to be tied up. Still am, if I’m being honest. Price stopped him, but if it was up to Ghost, I’d have been dead for days now. Even now, I’m sure part of him wants to kill me knowing it’s the more logical option. But until then, he’s under orders to keep me alive.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a staring problem?” His rough voice breaks the silence. He rarely acknowledges me so for him to speak up must mean I’ve struck a nerve. My mouth suddenly feels dry.

“Just you,” I say. “Sorry.”

But I don’t look away. I continue to watch him search through the bag. I don’t know what he’s looking for but he can’t seem to find it. The tight sleeves of the Henley hug his strong arms. Even through the fabric, I can see the defined lines of his muscles. His posture is nearly perfect and his movements could almost be considered robotic.

“What’re you looking for?” He doesn’t seem like the type of person to misplace his things.

“Nothing,” he responds bluntly.

“Maybe it fell behind the cot. I can check for you?” I offer.

“Negative.”

“Are you sure beca-“

“Stop talking, y/n,” he snaps. I flinch at his response. As he says this he finally makes eye contact with me and I regret ever looking at him. There’s an anger in his eyes that no man I’ve ever met has been able to match. A deep-rooted hatred for the world and all of its inhabitants. It’s not a look that you’re born with. It’s one that’s carved from years of pain and betrayal. He’s witnessed the type of things that would break most people. The intensity of his gaze is too much. I break eye contact to stare at the floor.

Fine. I won’t try to help.

I lean against the cement wall and try to think about anything else. I press my hands to the inside of my thighs in an attempt to warm them up.

When they found me I was only in ripped shorts and a ratty tank top with nothing else to my name.

Since then some of the men spared me a set of long johns, a long sleeve shirt, and a pair of thick socks. I’m not allowed shoes in case I try and take off. It’s better than what I had but the warehouse is cold and the cement floor seems to suck out any heat my body produces.

Ghost angrily zips up the duffel bag and tosses it on the floor at the other end of the cot. I watch the bag skid for a foot before finally coming to a stop.

He climbs onto the cot with a dissatisfied grunt. Ghost sleeps with his head on the far side of the cot and his feet at the end I’m cuffed to. He doesn’t take his shoes off. None of them do. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t sleeping with more gear on. Some days they’ll all sleep in their tactical gear as if they’re waiting to be attacked. Part of me is relieved they don’t feel as though that’s a threat tonight.

I can hear voices echo down the halls. Some of the others must be done in the showers.

I lie down on my makeshift bed: a pillow and a blanket that I fold in half to act as a mattress and duvet.

When I lie down, however, something shiny catches my eye under Ghost’s cot.

It’s a tiny chain. A necklace.

On my hands and knees, I crawl under his cot to grab the necklace.

“What’re you doing?” Ghost mumbles above me. I hear him shift his weight against the rough canvas fabric.

When I back out from under the cot, he’s sitting with his legs off the edge. Suspiciously eyeing my movements. His right hand is in one of his pant pockets probably wrapped around a knife in case I try something.

I kneel in front of the bed beside his legs. My damp hair clings to my neck and the tip of my nose is red and cold.

I raise the chain up to Ghost. His eyes latch on immediately.

“Is this it?” I ask. He eyes me suspiciously. I see him searching for any signs of deceit. Maybe I lied to him and hid the chain from him. Maybe I pickpocketed him before he went to shower. But I didn’t do any of those things. I hold his eye contact this time. His brows soften ever so slightly. It seems to be enough.

Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply grabs the chain from my hand. His fingers brush against my palm as he scoops it up. He examines it a moment before slipping it over his neck and tucking it under his shirt.

I don’t know why but I was hoping for a thank you. Or at least an acknowledgment that I’d helped. But Ghost remains silent. At the same time, the voices reach the room. Roach and Gaz round the corner from the hallway.

At their entrance, I turn back to my makeshift bed and pretend to sleep. It’s not that I don’t like them - although I don’t, in fact, I don’t like any of them - but I don’t have the energy for more questions from them tonight.

I hear Ghost shift in his cot and it seems our thoughts are on the same track.

As hard as I try, sleep doesn’t come. They shut off the main lights over an hour ago, yet I still haven’t calmed down enough to drift off. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop shivering from the cold.

The warehouse remains utterly silent except for the light snores and breathing of the men. Only the emergency lights fill the corners of the room with dim, orange light. They’re almost comforting in a way.

I pull the single blanket tighter around my shoulders and ball up even smaller if that’s possible, but nothing helps. My bones shake and my teeth rattle. If only I had another blanket.

The cot next to me creaks as Ghost shifts in his sleep. It creaks some more and then I notice he’s sitting up.

Ghost spares a glance in my direction as he rummages through his pocket for something.

Something silver glints in the light and I realize it’s a key. He wordlessly tosses it in my direction and by some stroke of luck, I catch it mid-air.

It’s the key to the cuffs. I spare an uneasy glance in his direction. He wants me to uncuff myself?

Ghost doesn’t react. Instead, he watches as I process my thoughts, as I push through my weariness and unlock my ankles first before freeing my wrists.

I reach to pass the key back to him but instead of grabbing the key, his large hand wraps completely around my wrist and tugs me in close.

I’m face to face with him as his other hand wraps around my jaw so I can’t pull away.

“If you try to run, I��ll kill you,” his low voice is barely above a whisper. The edge to his tone makes the threat feel all the more real.

“Okay,” I nod in response. My heart is racing and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

“Come here. Bring your blanket,” he motions to the cot. I spare a glance at the narrow bed. Surely he doesn’t want to share it with me? There’s barely enough room for one person let alone two.

“I don’t know,” I whisper back as though it’s an option. I don’t know where he’s going with this suggestion and I don’t think I trust him.

“That’s an order, y/n,” his response does nothing to ease my soul, but I grab my blanket anyway and crawl onto the cot.

It’s now he notices my hesitancy. How I purposely leave space between us on the bed. That I’m unsure of why he wants me up here. The fogginess of his intentions.

“I can't sleep with the sound of your teeth rattling in my ears all night,” nothing changes in my expression so he tries again, his tone softer this time. “You’re safe, y/n. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen.”

I sigh in relief but don’t say anything in response. He knows.

“C’mere,” he lifts the blanket for me to slide in. The warmth immediately welcomes me into the space.

The cot is more narrow than a twin mattress and leaves little to no wiggle room for two people. I’m pressed tightly into Ghost's chest as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer and preventing me from falling off.

I thought I’d be tense but the heat under the blankets completely relaxes me. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. His balaclava is soft against my cheek. I hear his breathing pick start to pick up. I can feel his chest expand deeper than before.

“Thank you,” my voice is barely audible, but I know he heard.

As I adjust to our proximity, I breathe in the scents that linger on his skin and in his clothes. I can smell the same standard citrusy shampoo on him as myself and the rest of the crew use. But there’s also a remainder of smoke and gunpowder from the day’s work. There’s something else more unique to him and yet I can’t put my finger on it. I take a deep breath and allow myself to revel in the calming smells. This shouldn’t be comforting and yet it is.

Nothing about this situation should be comforting and yet I feel safer than I have in weeks.

Wrapped in Ghost's arms, I know nothing else in the world can get to me. My only danger is the man who holds me. Yet I know in this instance after he’s sacrificed his space and his bed for me, that I’ve got nothing to worry about.

Ghost shifts against the canvas again. This time pulling me on top of him as he spreads out across his cot. He wraps his arms around my back he readjusts for the final time. I feel so small on top of him. Ghost spreads a hand out across my lower back and it feels as though it takes up the entire width of the space. His thumb soothingly brushes back and forth along the arch of my spine.

I lay my head on his chest and listen to the thrum of his heart. It beats strong and steady like a bass drum. I feel myself relaxing even more as my breathing starts to match his. I feel myself start to drift as my head lulls with his chest when it rises and falls.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t worry about what tomorrow brings. I’m so content in his arms that I don’t think about what’s next. All that fills my mind is the strength of his heartbeat and the distant scent of gunpowder. The last thing I think about before finally nodding off is the feeling of his thumb brushing up and down along my back, letting me know everything is going to be alright.

Edit+A/N: I have never received this much attention on a story before so thank you!! When I have time should I write more for Ghost?

Fic based on this concept:

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uplatterme · 1 year

Text

playing dangerous.

—this has been rotting in my google docs for a while but i finally finished it, thank god. i also got too into this omg, very self indulgent.

—sub!bottom!heizou/dom!top!reader, amab!reader (no gendered terms or pronouns) | yandere!reader/obsessive!reader, handcuffs on reader, blowjob (chara!receiving), dumbification, degradation, breeding, overstimulation, belly bulge

The incidents happened a month ago. A rise of crimes within Inazuma right after the Vision Hunt Decree was deemed no more. Of course, it would make sense for there to be riots as lots of lives were lost and ruined. And while that should be the most logical answer, the Detective certainly doesn’t think the same way…

There was something strange about these cases, something that he just can’t put his finger on.

His wall is plastered with different clues and yet none of them seemed to connect, except for the fact that they were always done on a Sunday.

That would usually be his day off but because of these incidents, he has been staying far longer in his office than he should be. All he does is pace around his room, annoyed that this was happening.

The incidents were too far from each other. Arson, Robbery, Trespassing, Blackmailing…

He reads the letter again from the latest case. It is nothing to note off, just a few words of threat.

Perhaps he should get the handwriting examined, see if it matches with anyone. Unfortunately, that would take too long. Who knows what would have happened by then?

He drops the letter, ready to move on to another piece of evidence when he feels something strange.

Heizou stares at his fingers. “Wax?”

A part of the letter is covered in waxy material. He smells to check, to see if it is wax.

The letter surprisingly smells of cherry.

“What?”

Why would a letter threatening someone that they’ll kill them if they say anything smells of cherry?

He eyes it in confusion.

The detective leaves his room, wanting a second opinion from someone. Someone who can answer this for him, preferably.

He grabs the first person he sees, urging them to come with him. They immediately follow, already used to the detective’s usual quirkiness. He’s the one who earns the station their meal tickets, so they don’t really find themselves complaining.

They are in awe at the state of his room. “Detective? Is something wrong?”

He holds the letter up. “Can you smell this?”

The worker stares at it before hesitantly taking the object. “It’s sweet.”

Heizou hums.

“Right. Do you have any idea what that may be? It seems to be a wax of some sort, from a candle maybe?” He deduces.

“Pardon me, sir. But I don’t think it’s from a candle.”

“Oh, is that so?” He lets them continue.

They nod. “It’s uh, an ointment. A new one. I think this brand is really popular.”

An ointment? Does that mean that the perpetrator got injured from one of their crimes?

“What’s the ointment for?”

“It’s a…beautification product. The ointment prevents dry lips, keeps them plump.”

“Huh.” Heizou says, stunned.

He did not expect that at all.

“Is that all detective? Shall I go now?”

“Yes, you may leave.”

That…just brings more questions unanswered. Was this whole thing planned? Did they plan for him to notice this clue or was this just an accident? If it wasn’t, then why? What’s the purpose of the letter being tainted with the ointment?

This was turning out more annoying than it should be.

Another Sunday, another crime.

Heizou hasn’t left his office despite it being his day off, knowing that he’ll be called once again if something happens.

He sits with his feet both up on the table, waiting.

Once the door slides open, he immediately stands up, wondering what he’ll face today. Will it be a repeat of the previous crimes? New ones? Or perhaps, they’d finally gone out of their way to take someone else’s life.

“Detective. Is something wrong?”

“No? I’m quite fine.” Heizou responds, confused by the accusation.

“You were smiling, so…”

The detective bites his cheek. He shouldn’t be enjoying this, and yet…

It’s been a while since he’s been faced with such a challenge. He can’t wait to unravel this piece by piece.

“Poison? That’s a new one.” Heizou checks the scene, seeing the mess that unfolded. There was dried blood on the floor, something that the victim coughed up.

Close.

They were just tipping over the line of possibly killing someone. If help wasn’t called, he probably would have died. It’s lucky that the victim is only suffering from a bruised throat.

He’d want to ask them questions but since that victim is in a comatose, he can’t exactly do that.

“Where’s that person who called for help?” Heizou asks.

He’s brought to the residence next door. He reads the name outside and finds that he has never once crossed that name in his investigations. That kind of thing is rare. Almost everyone has some kind of dirt relating to them. So it’s either that this person is as innocent as they come, or…

Once he knocks on the door, the person on the other side is quick to respond.

“Yes?” You answer.

“I’m here to ask a few questions? You are aware of what happened, yes? Since you’re the one who called for us here.” Heizou states.

He waits for an answer from you, only to receive none.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“Is there a need for this? I assure you I haven’t done anything.” You say.

“Just making sure, we all do this with the people involved in these incidents.” He explains.

“If that’s the case…you may take your time.” You tell him, smiling at the detective and letting him inside your residence.

Heizou searches your place and he finds…nothing. Everything is clean. Not a trace of anything suspicious.

What’s strange instead, is your behavior.

He notices how you watch every single move he makes, eyeing him up and down. Perhaps you were merely curious. Otherwise, he isn’t sure why you’d do such a thing.

“I’m not your suspect, am I?” You ask.

Truthfully, you were far from it. You saved the victim’s life unintentionally.

“What is it that you work again?” Heizou knows but he asks anyway, seeing if you’ll slip up.

“I’m a writer. I write mostly romance novels, I assume you aren’t familiar with my name? After all, I’m sure the great Shikanoin Heizou has experience with romance in real life that he doesn’t need to turn to fiction, no?” He irks his tongue, knowing that you were only complimenting him. However, that with the way you look at him seductively suggests another thing.

That you were flirting.

He takes the bait and bites back, smiling as he replies. “I haven’t heard. Would you mind giving an example of the things you write?”

You chuckle softly. “A sample, you say? Oh, you know. Just your usual flirtatious lines.”

“Like what?”

“I’m afraid they’re a bit too…provocative. I shouldn’t say such things when you’re working.” You admit, though he’s sure you’re only saying that to be polite.

“I can take it.” Heizou says.

“Can you, pretty boy? Are you sure I’m not too much to handle? Ah, why don’t you use those tight handcuffs of yours? I might be unable to keep my hands off you if you keep talking like that.”

The detective stills. He stares deep into your eyes, not expecting that. He stumbles a bit with his words, unsure of what to say. Heizou keeps his trembling fingers in his pockets, not wanting to seem as if he’s that easy to fluster, though that doesn’t shy away from the slight reddening of his cheeks.

“That’s…a good one.” He simply states, keeping his eyes on your soft lips.

“Is it, Mr. Shikanoin?”

He’s aware that you’re teasing him, he knows that it’s all for fun. Yet, that doesn’t stop the fastened rate of his heart.

Next thing he knows, his own hands are moving and he’s clasping the handcuffs around your wrists.

He drowns in the approval your eyes give him, letting him know that he’s doing such a good job.

“Oh? Have I done something wrong, Detective? Or is this also protocol?”

He nods.

“You’re under arrest…for stealing my heart.”

You laugh at his statement. “You’re so cheesy. Is this how you usually act with your suspects?”

“I…Hold on.”

He lets you go, continuing to search your house. There has to be something in here, it’s too suspicious that there’s nothing. He can’t have himself distracted by you toying with him like this.

Then, he spots something inside the bedroom. He didn’t notice it at first, thinking it was a picture frame because of the way that the bedside table was covering its bottom half but now that he realizes it, he’s sure that it’s a door.

“May I move this table?” He asks.

Heizou sees you grin. A grin that sends shivers down his spine. Was he onto something after all?

“Sure, the key’s inside the drawer.”

He opens the drawer and takes the key. He then shakily opens the door right after he removes the obstacle that is your bedside table.

Heizou doesn’t like how eerily silent you get, how you’ve bruised your bottom lip from biting too hard.

He almost hesitates to open the door, intimidated by what he’ll see inside. His fingers hold the key tightly, he breathes deeply and looks back at you.

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly amused. “Scared?”

“Yes.” He admits.

“You shouldn’t. I’m the helpless one in handcuffs, not you.” You reassure him.

While he knows you’re right, there’s still an uneasiness in his chest.

“I-I suppose.”

Heizou turns the key, expecting a crime scene. He had his choices in his head. Maybe you kidnapped someone and put them in there. Or, a dead body rotting inside that you had no way to get rid of.

However, what he sees is something unexpected.

That’s because Shikanoin Heizou sees himself.

Newspapers about him solving different crimes, arranged from when he just started to his most recent one. Pictures of him were taken discreetly, some of them even being done while he was sleeping in his office. Paintings of him, strands of his hair, and clothes that he thought went missing. It was a collection. Sort of a shrine even, but the center of it all is him.

He turns back as he hears you snickering and he has never been this glad to put someone in handcuffs in advance.

“W-What is this?” He questions.

You stare at him, confused. A confused look on your face.

“My love for you.”

“Love.” He restates.

You smile widely. Too wide that he sees your gums. Heizou’s fight and flight senses were tingling but were left with one option when you close the door with your back.

He reassures himself that it’s fine. He has a vision, you’re in handcuffs. If things were to go out of hand, he’ll end up being the victor.

“I really wanted to kill that guy.” You tell him.

“That guy?”

You nod, tightening your fist. “He was insulting you. I wanted to rip his throat out, show him what he deserves for saying such things.”

Heizou continues for you. “But you didn’t.”

It’s stupid. You know he’s a detective and yet you’re telling him all of this, as if you’re certain that you’ll come out of this without any repercussions.

“I didn’t! I knew you’d hate me if I did.”

It slowly starts to click in his head. You wanted to see him in public during his day off, that’s why you always orchestrated it at the start of every week. The letter with the beautification product, you were probably kissing it while you wrote it, knowing it’ll land in his hands.

As he thinks, the detective gets occupied and doesn’t notice that he’s centimeters away from you.

“I like that.” You say.

“Huh?”

“You’re smiling.” You point out.

Heizou uncomfortably relishes that fact. This is the second time that he’s been told that.

He hates the fact that this whole mystery has brought him such great entertainment. He’s been so focused on dealing with political problems within Inazuma that a mystery just like this brings him that thrill that he’s longing for.

This is so much better than that.

He shouldn’t enjoy it, and yet here he is.

The little detective is caught off guard as your lips smash on his. He tastes the blood from your bruised lips, how you press your mouth, your tongue sliding inside. He’s dizzy, unable to figure out whether he’s starting to choke because of how you tickle the back of his throat with your tongue or due to the lack of air.

He wants to escape, to take a breather. However, despite your hands being tied down, that doesn’t prevent you from putting pressure on his crotch to keep him still. Pleas escape from his mouth as you continue pressing down.

Heizou’s not fighting back and it stresses him. Instead, he takes your tongue so obediently as if he’s not the one who has the power to keep you locked up.

He pants as you separate from him, head buckling down and trying to focus on standing up. The fact that everything he sees is his face doesn’t help.

“Oh, I love you. I want to keep you all for myself.” Heizou sees the lovesick eyes that focus on him.

It amazes him how you’re able to handle him so easily.

You let your mouth do all the talking. Your tongue licks every sensitive part of his body, trailing saliva all over him.

“Haaa—Fuck~” He feels his knees weaken.

“Make more of those sounds, Heizou. Let me hear you more. More, more, more…”

Your insanity is nothing to laugh at, and yet he follows exactly what you say.

He pulls at your hair, tugging at your scalp as feels the same tongue on his shaft. He cannot stand up for long, whimpering with each and slow agonizing lick. He’s aware that you want to hear him beg, to scream out how much he needs you to cum.

He bears being on the edge…until he starts to get desperate.

“Please…!”

“Please, what?”

He’s too drunk on the feeling of being edged that he can barely answer, only a stuttering mess as his cock rests in your mouth.

“M-More…N-Need to cum!”

His back meets the wall as he tries to stay on balance, holding onto your head. He keeps mewling, forgetting the reason why he’s here in the first place.

“That’s right, baby. I won’t let your dick forget, make you unable to cum without me.”

He tilts his head back as he cums, sweet noises flooding your ears. His thighs shake and he’s this close to hitting the floor hard if not for your assistance. He lays meekly on the floor, white drenching his legs.

“Sweet detective, so fucked dumb. Here I thought you were a genius.”

“H-Hard again—Want to cum…” Heizou replies, showing off his ass while starting to get on all fours.

“You’re fucking your stalker. Such a pervert, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’d let anyone get with you?”

Heizou whines as you say that. That’s not true at all, you just don’t understand. He wishes he could explain, but with the way he is right now, he doubts if that’ll be possible.

The noise that leaves Heizou’s mouth as you stretch his hole out and penetrate him is embarrassing. He sounds like an animal in heat like this is what he’s made for, to mate with your dick inside of him.

He quivers as he feels your hand on his back, pushing him down but in doing so, keeping his ass up as he pushes on his own deeper into you.

He breathes in between moans, your cock screwing into his walls while his cum spills easily on the floor.

“S-So good—C-Can’t think!”

“That’s right, squeeze your walls onto my cock. Remember my shape. You’ll be taking no one else’s but mine, my love.”

He thinks that you’re so vulgar with your words, your tone encourages Heizou into another orgasm.

He cries and shivers while he gets hit with it, his walls clenching tight.

Heizou’s body is so sensitive at this point, his body being as limp as it can be.

He flinches as you empty into him, your warmth dripping to his thighs since his tiny hole can’t take all of it.

He watches it in shame, wanting all of it, wanting every single drip to be contained inside of him. The look he gives is so seductive, it would put kitsunes to shame.

You thought of ending it but with that face he made, you reconsider this decision and flip him, having his face in front of you this time.

The detective doesn’t know what he’s just gotten himself into.

Heizou sees his own cum pool onto the ground, the tears blur his eyes, he can’t stop crying at how you pound so roughly into him.

He’s lost track of the time of how long he’s stayed in this god-forsaken room. The logical part of his brain should tell you to stop, if this keeps going on, he’ll for sure be unable to even walk himself to the bathroom. Unfortunately, his mouth says the complete opposite, blabbering and even encouraging you to keep going.

“Hmpf—! Cock—Too good!”

His nails grip the tatami as he cums again. He doesn’t know how he’s still able to go on when his clothes are soaked to the brim.

He hears you laugh again. “How about a change in profession? I heard the brothel’s hiring, detective.”

He understands you’re teasing. You would absolutely not let that happen, you would kill whoever lays their hands on Heizou.

For such a person with a small stature, he has quite the stamina and skill. He sheathes you in so easily, though of course, with the necessary moaning and gasping of your name. Not only that, he perfectly warms your cock like he’s been doing this for years.

“Shit. With how much cum you’re taking, I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn up pregnant.” You say, spreading his ass to see his beautiful hole leaking cum.

“Please…” He cries out.

“Hm?”

“Please do…”

It doesn’t take much to rile you up. It’s also very obvious that anything Heizou says, you will follow.

You slam hard into Heizou, each thrust has it that the detective’s insides are being flipped, his guts being adjusted just so he could take more and more of you.

He can see your cock’s shape in his belly, his thin figure doing nothing to hide it. It’s starting to round up due to his belly that’s filled with your cum. You keep fucking him hard, until your load spills inside his walls.

When Heizou wakes up, he realizes that he can’t move an inch. He’s clean, his clothes are changed and he smells good.

He’s in your bedroom. He concludes this because he sees a glimpse of your strange room filled with things of his. With the amount of time he’s spent in there, he gets light-headed even from just thinking about it.

The doorknob turns and he sees you come in, a bowl of warm noodles in your hands.

He blinks.

You’re not wearing the handcuffs.

He wonders how you got out and where you put them instead.

He looks down.

Heizou sighs.

#plattered writings #heizou x reader #dom reader #sub genshin impact #dom!reader #sub genshin #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #sub heizou #sub!heizou #heizou shikanoin

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merakiui · 7 months

Text

while in captivity, floyd encounters a human and unintentionally pair-bonds with you during a moment of biological vulnerability.

(cw: gender neutral reader, nsfw, omegaverse/abo, heats, captivity)

The marine lab has recently acquired a unique specimen—unique in that he is half-human and half-fish, hailing from deep, dark, indescribable depths. An eel merman, to be exact. You’ve only ever glimpsed merfolk in outdated textbooks and fairytales, the latter of which depicted them as whimsical beings capable of feats beyond scientific understanding. Magic. Although in the realm of biology, such folly is never entertained and so what the world calls ‘magic’ other fields built upon the foundations of research refer to it as a ‘miracle’. In your eyes those words are interchangeable, but then the idea of a miracle is far easier to digest than the concept of magic.

Merfolk have always been elusive, covert creatures, hence why there is hardly any conclusive data on them. In fact, they’re so secretive that they were believed to be mostly extinct—a figment of dreams and hallucinations. Most of what humans know stems from the tattered notes of long-gone sailors, their presences nearly lost to time itself, and for a while all anyone ever knew were four key details:

They are spread throughout the sea, living out their lives in frigid fathoms.

They are hypnotic and deceptive.

They are predatory.

They rarely interact with humankind unless absolutely necessary (e.g. to hunt or observe).

But with plenty of promising technological advances, some of the theories and myths surrounding merfolk have been bolstered or disproved, respectively. Merfolk are just as diverse as the rest of the animal kingdom. Some live in solitude. Others thrive in groups. Some make their home out of caves and grottos. Some dwell within the labyrinths of volcanic rock formations. It is every marine biologist’s dream to come face to face with one of these mysterious creatures, if only for just a few minutes to glean more information.

That dream is made reality today.

The eel mer was discovered off the coast of a tiny island, entangled in fishing lines and plastic litter. His large, winding body, snake-like in its sleek build, was littered with scars and scrapes. There was a hook lodged up in the folds of his gills. Despite his thrashing, his tail swishing wildly in the sand and nearly knocking down three researchers like they were bowling pins, he was wheezing and gasping, drained of energy and air. When the first bucket of seawater came down upon his dry gills, he settled briefly, wide, crazed, mismatched eyes flicking from face to face. Likely assessing the situation or counting the amount of bodies, the report claimed.

He fell still after that, and it took two teams of ten people to load him onto the lift so he could be flown to the lab.

After he spent a week in recovery, where he healed surprisingly fast, he was transferred to a much larger and wider tank, its depths far deeper than the average swimming pool. He doesn’t swim to the surface much, and he only ever pokes his head out at night, scanning his surroundings with intelligent, keen eyes. And then he turns and disappears below. It’s a pattern he’s stuck to for weeks now. No one really understands it, and they haven’t had the opportunity to try. He’s uncooperative and unpredictable. It’s much too dangerous to send a diver down there.

So they transfer you to his enclosure, assuming you might have more luck. You’re not sure and you can’t make any promises of potential success, as you’ve only ever interacted with marine mammals. A merman is…different. Not only because he’s half-man and, by that same logic, likely possesses a human brain that is capable of a higher level of thought, albeit one that is wired to suit his mer biology, but because he’s bigger. A lot bigger.

He could kill you.

You saw the documentation. The serrated teeth, the powerful claws, the dangerous jaw, the bulky, muscular build that cuts through water like a bullet. He is a predator in every sense of the word, and you’re supposed to look after him. Coax him to the surface. Get him to trust humans. Interact with him just inches from the edge of his tank and hope that he doesn’t get hungry or violent.

He might kill you.

But there are safety measures put in place for these things. Ethics to be followed and whatnot. It’s a slippery slope because he’s part human and therefore could possibly have the same level of intelligence humans have, in which case it would be wrong to trap him here. There may be ways to skirt around it with other animals, but he’s not like other animals.

For now, he’s kept here under the pretense of recovery and scientific study. The lab treats him like the big fish he is, going so far as to buy a shark suit in your size and instruct you to wear it even though you’re not going to get in the water. “It should prevent him from biting through,” they had said, “but it won’t lessen the force of his bite.”

“What good will that do? I can’t fight him off.” Though you knew it had nothing to do with anything, you added, “I’m an omega. Merfolk might not have the same sub-genders as we do up on the surface—or maybe they do; I don’t know—but if he were human he’d definitely classify as an alpha. Put that into perspective. I can’t. Fight. Him. Off. It’s biologically impossible.”

“So you poke his eyes. Dig your fingers into his gills. He should let go of you then.”

“That’ll hurt him,” you protested, clutching the suit to your chest.

“Not as much as he’ll hurt you.”

You suppose it’s a clinical priority. Survival of the fittest, but it’s the human who has to live. The lab could afford to lose you, but they don't want to. And if they did, they might put the mer down. Shoot him up with enough tranquilizers to keep him comatose. Maybe it only bothered you because, yet again, he’s half-human and no one on the team knows the extent to which he thinks and functions.

To simplify it, they consider him a shark. But like any creature, sharks learn and adapt as they go. Death is instinct.

He will kill you.

But you don’t want to think like that, which is why you put on your best smile and trudge into the enclosure he’s being kept in. The tank looms before you, seawater clear and beamed through with streaks of light from the harsh, glaring LEDs above. The deeper the water gets, the darker the shadows. You press your palm against the glass, observing the murky darkness with a frown. Somewhere in this tank, at a depth you can’t even imagine, is an eel merman. A big, strong, powerful, scary eel merman.

You swallow a steadying breath, curl your fingers into fists, and climb the spiral staircase to get to the attached platform. Your reflection follows you with each step, countenance set in grim confliction. Once you reach the top, you peer out at the surface of the pool, listening to the droning hum of water filters and other hidden machinery. There’s a very shallow part of the tank, a dip in the design that allows for the mer to lounge if he so pleases. You’re reminded of the dolphins in live shows, who slide up onto their stomachs to face an awestruck audience. You doubt that’s what he’ll use this ledge for. If anything, it could allow a researcher to kneel in the shallows while they interact with him at an intimate propinquity.

You don’t plan on being that researcher.

Instead, you pace a healthy distance away from the edge, holding a bucket of his breakfast in one hand and a notebook in the other.

“Um!” You cringe at your voice as it reverberates around you in a nervous echo. Cautiously, you inch towards the water. “I have your food!”

You wait three seconds, expecting him to come bursting up from the darkness like the shark everyone wants to delude themselves into thinking he is. The water remains still and unbroken. You wonder if your voice can even reach such a depth. If not the sound, the vibrations might. Or maybe he’s resting. It’s still relatively early in the morning. Perhaps his sleep schedule is thrown off. Yours would be if you were taken from your home and dumped in a manufactured version of your habitat.

You lurch forwards with the bucket and watch as a collection of shrimp, crab, and small fish soar through the air in a sloppy arc before landing and sinking into the waiting depths below. Nothing happens. The tension in your body ebbs away, and when it becomes clear that he isn’t coming up to greet you and feast on your offering you relax completely, collapsing against the wall with a great sigh.

If they really want to study him, they should just watch him on the security feed, you think, peering up at the camera in one corner of the room, its red eye fixated on you and the surrounding enclosure. He’s not going to come up during the day. Not when there are humans walking around.

Still, you wait your shift out, scribbling nonsense in your notebook and occasionally glancing up to gauge the state of the water.

The mer doesn’t show, so you resolve to try again.

Try you do, and try you have.

It’s been one week of perfunctory routine, arriving and feeding him at the same time in hopes that he might understand what you’re doing and come up to investigate. Or, at the very least, recognize you’re a recurring figure in his chapter of captivity. You don’t intend on befriending him. You only wish to fulfill your duties as a researcher, however skewed they may have become. Even though you know you ought to be grateful the mer hasn’t caused any problems, you want something to happen. Anything! At this rate, you’d sooner tire yourself out playing with rowdy sea lions than sit around in silence while waiting for an appearance from him.

It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon when the first beat of unrest hits.

The mer’s enclosure is kept at a comfortable temperature for humans; it’s the water that’s freezing below the surface. So when you step up onto the platform and peer into the chum-infested deep, the empty bucket now set aside, you feel warmer than usual. Odd, considering the room is normally so chilly. Not extremely so, but chilly enough to give way to a pleasant cold.

Tugging at the collar of your shark suit, you cover the distance to stand under a large fan situated just near the dip in the pool. Cool air kisses your heated skin, providing you with much-needed relief, and you peer up at the propellers that spin in endless circles. Around and around and around. Your eyes follow the motions until you dizzy yourself, and you step back on wobbly legs. Your foot misses the metal platform and instead slips into the ledge built in the tank. With a startled yelp you fall backwards, landing in the shallows on your rear.

“Of course,” you mumble, bitter with embarrassment. “Leave it to me to fall right into the predator’s tank.”

You scoot further up onto the ledge, staring at the water below. It’s quite calm here, where the shallows lap languidly at your waist. If you were delusional, you might think this was a jacuzzi pool that you could dip your toes in. It’s not. Of course it isn’t. Not when there’s a beast lurking just below. But while you’re here, you run your hands through the saltwater while your own body temperature rises as if it’s a hungry flame in a stone hearth.

You place your hands on either side of the ledge, intending to push yourself up and onto the platform, when something tightens inside of you. Your heart stumbles in your chest and you lose the strength in your arms at once. With a noisy splash, you flop back into the shallows, your compromised body rigid and shaky with a tingling, all-encompassing warmth. Horrified, you raise two fingers to your pulse to feel it stutter wildly beneath your skin.

Swallowing thickly, you lower your head onto your arms and wait for the feeling to pass. The seconds slip by and in that short amount of time your state seems to worsen. Your temperature is volcanic, your every sense restless, and you’re sweating through the shark suit as if you’ve just run a marathon and more.

“Not now,” you hiss, slapping your hands upon your face. “Please not now. Anything but now…”

You intend to haul yourself up and out for good this time, desperate to get as far from the pool before your brain is completely overrun by your encroaching heat and robust omega instincts, when fingers brush against your leg. Something chitters behind you, a low, slow sort of sound that is shot through with curiosity. You turn as if you’re frozen in ice, your heart in your throat and senses on high alert.

The eel mer is right there, clutching your ankle in a firm grip. Not to hurt you, but to keep you there. And you’re not at all in a hurry to leave. Not when those claws are so close to your calf, capable of shredding through to your very bones. Even with the shark suit, you worry. He stares at you with narrowed eyes, his head angled in a cute, childish way. He appears confused and rightfully so, considering you’re a creature he’s likely never interacted with so closely before. You mirror his befuddlement, your brows furrowed, lips creased in a thin line.

For a long while, the two of you watch each other. If you look past his predatory design, he’s quite pretty with his smoky teal coloration and dark stripes. Your gaze pans over to the water, where a long, powerful tail disappears below. The paranoid side of you says he’s going to drown you, but then he doesn’t seem outwardly malicious in his intentions.

“Um…”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up to your throat and then your lips. Your attempt to pull your captive leg back is thwarted when he lurches, rising out of the water to grab hold of your foot. You gasp and shake your head at him, your senses sharp and dull all at once. Your heat-addled mind just barely parses the threat of danger, looming and ever-present.

“Please,” you beg, your tone sticky and breathless. “Don’t…”

The mer tilts his head the other way. The fins where his ears might be if he were human shiver, as if listening to the desperation in your syllables. He chirrups, lips widening in a sharp-toothed smile, and then he’s dragging you towards him. Panic seizes your nerves and you dig your palms into the smooth basin in an effort to get away. His expression falls when he notices your struggle and he lifts himself onto the ledge with you, draping himself over your legs like an oversized rug.

“Wait… H-Hold on; get off!” You grunt and weakly prod at his chest. He doesn’t budge. “You… You’re heavy!”

His webbed hand closes around your waist, steadying you in the shallows, while his other arm cages you beneath him. Instinctively, you arch into his touch, your breath coming in tiny, frenzied huffs. He clicks at you, and words that you can only assume are meant to be gentle and soothing are produced in a sweet melody. It relaxes you more than you’d like to admit, a lyrical balm to your terror.

You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for the worst. For the searing pain and the stinging agony. For the blood that will color the water a dark, foreboding red. For the sight of him merrily tearing into your jugular, his maw spattered with crimson. But none of that ever comes. He cradles your face next, his thumb running along your cheekbone, and slowly you peel your eyes open. His face is inches from yours, looking on with an intensity that’s almost primal.

Warily, you lift your arm out of the water and touch his hand. It’s much bigger in contrast to yours, but he’s handling you with such immaculate tenderness.

“You’re not going to hurt me…” you mutter, amazed. “You’re just curious.”

As if responding, he chitters. You nod even though you have no idea what he said. He doesn’t smell like an alpha or an omega or a beta. You’re not even sure if he’s capable of releasing pheromones, but if he were you’re certain it would have driven you much crazier than you already feel.

You hold his stare and reach up to pat his cheek, and he leans into your careful touch. Your hand soon trails down to trace his lateral lines, which earns you a pleased hum. You watch in awe as the gills on either side of his body flutter.

Led on by your own wonder, you follow the pattern to his waist and press your thumbs into his hip bones beneath smooth, slippery skin. “How fascinating… I wonder if it’s possible to take an X-ray. Would you allow—oh!”

Clumsily, he lifts you into his arms to embrace you, rolling his hips against the chainmail shark suit. Your breath hitches, and you fumble to grasp his broad shoulders.

“Ah, w-wait. I’m not… You can’t…”

He clicks thrice and lowers you into the shallows, his face scrunched in annoyance. You think he might’ve understood you, but then he’s palming between your legs and it occurs to you that he wants the suit off. Carnal delight shivers through you at the prospect of being wanted to such a degree, and though you know it’s the heat muddling your sensibility you can’t help indulging him just a little. You undo the zip at the back and slide it from your body, revealing your shoulders and bare arms for his wandering, mismatched hues. He leans in to nose at your scent glands, chattering happily as he inhales. You can’t understand a word, but he sounds pleased—even more so when he runs his hands along your arms, squeezing and petting in equal measure.

His tongue laves across your neck, and what fragile restraint you have left snaps. You cling to him like he’s your anchor, meeting his searching hips halfway with every awkward thrust that doesn’t quite connect as it should. You chew your lip, tamping down a torrent of filthy moans. Your mind is clouded with lust and instinct, and you dig your fingers into his hair, holding him against your neck while he continues to lick and nip.

It feels right up until the haze parts momentarily, allowing temporary sobriety when you spy the tip of something poking free of its encasing. Dazed and inquisitive, you reach between your bodies to prod at his slit, hoping to coax more of his prehensile cock from out of its folds. But then the door below opens and the mer lifts himself from off of you, his head turning in the direction of the sound at an alarming speed. You blink up at him, lazily following his line of sight. His lip curls up in a silent snarl, the beginnings of razored teeth peeking out, and then he slithers back into the water, his hands lingering on your ankles.

Despite the dizziness you sit up, your arm outstretched. “Wait, don’t go!”

I didn’t get to cum yet. You didn’t even claim me either…

He peers at you, neutral for all of a minute before swimming over to you. He presses his face into your palm, chittering softly. There are footsteps on the stairs, and he grits his teeth, withdrawing completely before turning and diving under in a spray of seawater.

You fall back into the shallows, panting like a starved, feral monster. A researcher comes to your aid, her expression equal parts shocked and disturbed. You don’t catch her questions, each one tacked onto what feels like a ceaseless rant, while she helps you to your feet. Something about danger. About heats. About omega biology. About how the researchers watched the both of you on the cameras, swelling with queries of their own.

“I’m not sure,” you mumble as you’re helped down the stairs, stumbling in a heat-drunken stupor. Thankfully, your fellow researcher is an omega like you and that relaxes the hypersensitive part of you—the part that fears being taken advantage of when you’re vulnerable like this. But the needier, greedier part of you wants the mer—wants his hands and mouth all over you, ripping you free from your suit and indulging in the bare skin beneath. “I think he...wanted to help…”

No one can explain his behavior. But it seems promising.

While you’re led from the room, the eel mer stalks you from the gloomy confines of his tank.

In the days following your heat, you return to the marine lab with your head on your shoulders and are immediately barraged with requests. Amongst all of them, one common demand stands out: You have to get him up to the surface again. Part of you doesn’t want to face the mer again. When you truly mulled over that day, tossed the memory of it around in your mind like it was a tennis ball, you were hit with shame.

It’s not…normal. Researchers do not tangle themselves in sexual situations with their subjects, especially when said subject was an eel mer from the Coral Sea. It’s unheard of. Luckily, the team of researchers you work with swears to secrecy. You were out of it and your judgment wasn’t in the best state. That’s the excuse they’re using. It works enough to push the humiliation from your thoughts.

You wonder if you should feel disgusted by the events. Rather, you didn’t mind it. For all of his rough, scarred, monstrous edges, he was gentle.

You press your fingers to your scent glands, recalling the feel of his tongue.

Today you’ve donned your usual work attire, foregoing the shark suit and any other protective gear the lab expects you to wear. Something tells you you won’t need it anymore. Not after everything that happened the day you went into heat.

Feeling rejuvenated and refreshed after your mini break, you trudge up the staircase with a food bucket, determined to finally fill your notebook with data. You’ve only made it up four steps when color flashes in your peripheral. You turn and find the mer is at your eye level, following you up the spiral staircase adjacent to his tank.

You pause and wave experimentally. He watches your hand move to and fro and then he mirrors your actions. He swims the rest of the distance to the surface, breaching it just as you make it onto the platform.

“Good morning, Mister,” you greet, bending down to empty the contents of the bucket into the water.

Disinterested, he watches bits of shrimp sink deeper. And then he looks back to you, his mouth opening and shutting. “Fu… Fu…” he forces out, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Fu…? Food?”

He nods and then shakes his head, hissing at himself in what you think might be admonishment.

“Fu…ro…”

“Furo?” You set the bucket aside and scoot closer to the edge. “What’s that?”

He tries once more before the syllables fizzle out on his tongue and, with a few frustrated clicks, he swipes a fish from the surface and stuffs it in his mouth. You giggle, and the sound has him tilting his head. Without a shred of apprehension, he meets you at the ledge. You watch him munch on the fish between his lips, content to observe in silence. He polishes it off rather quickly before procuring a handful, which he dumps onto the ground beside you. You shake your head at him, smiling weakly.

“Thanks, but no. It’s all yours.”

The mer shrugs and indulges without you.

“I should thank you for not hurting me back then,” you add. He pays close attention to your lips; you think he might be attempting to read them while listening. “Um… But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not sure if merfolk are like humans, but we have this system… Or not a system… It’s more like…groupings? Secondary classifications?” You frown. How can you explain the complexities of sub-genders to a mer who doesn’t even speak your language? “Basically, I was in trouble and you helped me out. Kind of. In any case, thank you.”

He stares at you for a while, chewing and swallowing. You think he might swim back under once he’s finished, but instead he places his hands on the ledge and hoists himself up on his arms. He’s in your face next, all eager smiles and chitters.

“Fu… Furo. Furo…ido. Furoido,” he sounds out.

You read his lips in the best way you can before it finally clicks. “Ah! Floyd, right? Is that…your name?”

Floyd points to himself, makes a few upbeat clicks, and then nods. He’s pointing at you next.

“And me? Oh, my name is (Name).” You take your time sounding it out for him, and he repeats it with an awkward tongue. You smile and nod encouragingly. “That’s it. That’s me.”

He flops back into the water with a celebratory trill, a wild smile tugging at his lips. You watch him swim laps from you to the opposite end of the pool and back. Ditching the shark suit was the right call. You’re no longer uncertain. This time, you know for a fact that you’re going to be getting along very well with him.

And you look forward to fostering this flowering friendship.

#meraki mumbles #fluffy floyd hours #n/sfw #tw: abo #tw: omegaverse #he's so cute >w< i love floyb orz #okay now it's back to tmdg!!!#jade is going to kill me for writing about his twin when i should be writing him ;;;;

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obsessive-valentine · 3 months

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Errmmm what about yandre beffy military men 🥹🥹🥹

Yandere!Ex-Military-Man x GN!Reader

Probably not what you were asking for but it inspired me to write this, hope you like this bear with a soft heart and a whole lot of feelings. Dry random Headcanons let me know if you want more of him. TW unspecified age gap and mention of murder

He retired from the military after serving for 10 years, wanting to go back to working odd jobs and having peace and quiet. He didn’t have much waiting for him when he got home but his community sure did respect him and he missed his home. That’s as until you came along. He wasn’t expecting to find love at all, especially now he’s late 30’s and on top of that his time serving aged his face.

Often you both get odd looks and maybe offensive questions about the age gap, but he doesn’t get offended usually bluntly correcting them and carrying on with his day not giving it a second thought.

He’d messed around with a few women but they never went far, it never felt right. But with you he wants to take it slow, make sure you know he loves you as a equal not as some phase to get his rocks off. Maybe he’ll marry you one day.

Scary dog privileges any time anywhere, he’s most always looming behind you scaring off anyone he wants.

Convinces you to spend most nights at his house, he doesn’t expect sex or anything, he just likes being able to provide for you and be around you. Which is a bit hard in the beginning of the relationship when you live else where.

At some point it becomes more logical to live with him officially instead of paying rent to a place you rarely go. Especially when the heating or air-con keeps suspiciously breaking, so you have to go to his house to cuddle up or use his pool to cool down.

He’s pretty domestic for a man who could bench press a bear, loves cooking dinner for you and sometimes visits your work to drop off food if he’s passing by (actually books out time from work to deliver you food)

Could and would kill for you. He’s learned a lot during his serving years and is could be very dangerous with just his hands.

Very affectionate, be prepared for lots of PDA. Also possessive, always has a arm slung around you or holding your hand just so people get the message and don’t try ask your number or gawk at you right infront of him.

Can seem a bit stand-off-ish and reserved when around others but when you show up there’s a noticeable relaxing effect on him. He also doesn’t get angry in-front of you, he’s learned how to keep his anger to himself and blow it off at the gym. Pretty controlled with his emotions for a man who feels a lot.

You help him sleep peacefully, some nights he gets up a few times from unpleasant memories and possible PTSD, but not so much with you around.

Maybe sometimes unintentionally man-handles you... lovingly though! He can’t help but snatch you up or pull you onto his chest when his feelings get to big. Would stop at the slightest sign of discomfort.

#Ex-Military Yandere #yandere oc #yandere #x reader

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nualbums · 1 year

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Dry Kill Logic - Of Vengeance and Violence (2006)

#illegible #dry kill logic #of vengeance and violence #2006 #metal

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theemporium · 8 months

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Please could you do something where Sunshine is avoiding Daniel because something happened and he’s not going to like it? Thank you xxx

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

tw: talks of harassment and sexual harassment

You should’ve told him.

You knew you should’ve told you, and a part of you wanted to tell him. You and Daniel didn’t keep secrets, not ones like this and it killed you to not tell him. But you also knew what he was like, you knew how he would get.

Daniel was protective. He was protective over the people he cared about, and you were lucky enough to be one of those people. But when it came to those he loved, he tended to lose all logic and rationality, and you knew this would be no different.

You knew if you told him, he would lose his top. He would be pissed (never at you though). And, if you were being totally honest, you didn’t tell him because you were scared of the repercussions.

You didn’t want Daniel to act on impulse and do something stupid that would result in him losing his job. It would eat you up if you knew you were the reason he lost his dream. You couldn’t do that.

So, you decided to keep your mouth shut about the nosy journalist.

At first, he was just that. He was nosy and got in your space a little too much. He would hound you with questions about Daniel and your relationship, follow you through the paddock until you could escape into the garages.

Then, his questions got more personal and sexual, and your discomfort was growing. He started questioning your sex life, asking what you did to please Daniel in bed. You knew it was wrong, of course you did. But that voice in the back of your head told you that you were being dramatic, that no one would believe you and that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t taking a joke right.

It was during one of these insistent questioning sessions that Max witnessed it. He was pissed, raging beyond belief. The question he interrupted wasn’t even that bad, tame in comparison to what you were used to. But Max saw your discomfort and snapped at the journalist to fuck off.

You made him swear not to tell Daniel anything, saying that you wanted to tell him yourself. Max was hesitant, but agreed.

But then, things escalated further.

You were running late, having slept in a bit longer than you were meant to. Daniel was at the gym with his trainer early that morning, so you wouldn’t see him until later in the day when he arrived. You were rushing through the crowd of people to get to the garage, not paying attention to where you were going until a hand suddenly gripped your arm and tugged you back.

You lost your footing and fell to the ground. You winced at the impact, and tried to tug yourself free, only to see the journalist standing over you. You freaked out, you thrashed around but the journalist wouldn’t let you go until you answered his questions.

The camera he was trying to shove in your face ended up knocking against your forehead, and considering the dripping you could feel down the side of your face, you knew you had been cut.

The journalist seemed to finally back off when he noticed blood, freaking out and giving you enough time to run off to the safety of the McLaren motorhome, which happened to be the closest.

You were too busy looking behind you, that you didn’t even see Lando until you ran right into him.

“Woah,” he laughed, his hands on your shoulders to stop you from falling back. But you flinched at the movement, and when you turned towards him, his face fell. “What the fuck happened?”

“I—” But your throat went dry and you couldn’t really speak. You couldn’t get the words, you couldn’t do anything but stare at him with wide eyes and shaky breaths.

“Okay, wait, no, it’s fine,” he murmured as his eyes darted around the room before quickly leading you towards the bathrooms. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? You don’t have to tell me anything.”

And he kept his promise. He led you towards the bathrooms, had you leaned against a counter whilst he managed to scavenge a first aid kit from another team member. He didn’t say a word to you as he cleaned the cut on your forehead before placing some butterfly stitches over the wound.

“You can’t tell him,” you rasped out eventually, breaking the silence between you. “He can’t know.”

Lando paled. “You should—”

“He will freak out,” you said to him. “I don’t want him to do anything that will damage his reputation.”

“Mate, I think you’re passed that point,” Lando murmured as he nodded towards your arm. Your sleeve had rolled up, revealing what looked like a bruise starting to form where the journalist had grabbed you. “He will know the second he sees you.”

You pressed your lips. “I can avoid him.”

The Brit sighed. “I really think you should tell Daniel.”

“Just…promise me you won’t say anything?” you pleaded to the driver who had become a close friend to you over the years. “Let me handle the rest.”

And just like Max, despite his hesitance, he agreed.

It was hard. Way harder than you thought because the second he reached the paddock, Daniel was blowing up your phone to see you. You tried to make up excuses but he wasn’t buying them at all.

He tried to find you in between meetings and in the garage, but it was like you were a ghost. A pit formed in his stomach when he asked the third team member if they had seen you, only to scrabble out some shitty replying before running off.

He knew you were ignoring him and he wanted to know why.

Daniel went as far as hunting down some of your closest friends in the paddock to see if they knew why you were acting weird, which led him towards the McLaren motorhome where Lando and Max were standing outside, talking away about something that seemed serious considering the expression on their faces.

A conversation that came to a halt the second they noticed Daniel.

“Have you seen Sunshine?”

Neither boy said anything.

Daniel frowned. “What’s going on? What’s with that look on your faces?”

Max tried laughing it off, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing—”

“Something happened to her this morning and she doesn't want you to know!” Lando blurted out before he slapped his hand over his mouth.

“Fucking hell,” Max muttered.

But Daniel felt like every thought came to a screeching stop the second the words left Lando’s mouth. His heart was pounding in his chest and he swore he could hear his blood roaring in his ears.

“What do you mean something happened to her?”

It took less than two minutes for the boys to break. And less than a minute for them to reveal where you had been hiding all day.

Your head snapped up when the door to Max’s driver room opened, expecting to see the boy returning with the coffees he promised to run out and grab. But your face fell a little when you noticed it was Daniel.

His eyes were locked on you, or more specifically the cut on your forehead. You didn’t even realise your hand subconsciously moved to cover the forming bruise until his eyes dropped there, and there was nothing but pure anger in his expression.

“Daniel—” you started but he was already moving across the room, kneeling down beside you and reaching to cup your face.

“Are you okay?”

The question caught you off guard slightly, almost like you expected him to start demanding answers instantly.

“Sunshine, are you okay?”

“I….Lando cleaned me up,” you murmured slowly.

His jaw clenched slightly. “What happened?”

You stayed silent.

“Sunshine,” he said in a firmer voice.

“I don’t want you to do something stupid,” you blurted out. “I…promise me you won’t. Please. I don’t want you getting in trouble with something—”

“Stop,” he said with a shake of his head. “Sunshine, I can’t promise anything of the sort.”

Your face fell. “Daniel—”

“He hurt you,” Daniel gritted out between clenched teeth, his eyes dark and stormy. “He has been bothering you for weeks, he should have been dealt with ages ago. So no, I am not gonna promise I won’t do anything stupid because he hurt the love of my life, and that’s not something I am gonna let go.”

Your lips parted into a small ‘o’.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, his voice a little more agonised as his thumb brushed over your cheek. “Baby, you can tell me anything.”

“I don’t know, I just—” you let out a sigh, shaking your head. “I thought I was being dramatic.”

Daniel’s eyes softened. “Tell me next time. Please. I…baby, you were hurt and I wasn’t there for you.”

“M’sorry,” you murmured but he quickly shook his head.

“Don’t apologise. Not for this.” Daniel said, leaning in to peck your lips. “Come on, we are taking you to the hospital.”

Your eyes widened. “Daniel, I’m fine. You have—”

“Nuh uh, I wanna make sure you don’t need proper stitches or have a concussion or anything,” he said as he pulled you off the couch you were currently sitting on. “And once I know you are okay, I am gonna ruin that fucker’s life for ever laying a hand on you.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” you said in a softer voice.

“Oh please,” he murmured, a small smile growing on his face. “Christian will protect me while I protect you.”

You snorted.

“And afterwards, I am gonna kick Max and Lando’s asses for not telling me.”

“They were just being good friends,” you told him. “I asked them not to.”

“Still kicking their asses!”

#daniel ricciardo #formula one #f1 #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x y/n #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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daintcas · 1 month

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love tropes with jj maybank !

best friends to lovers. strictly friends, you were sure to stick to the 'no pogue on pogue macking' rule between the group. the playful fights that were always taken too far and too intimate, excuses to spend one-on-one time together, unintentionally breaking off from the others and found innocently messing around. afraid the ruin the perfect dynamic, it would always stop and be brushed off before anything went too far. it took just one night when the 🍃 hits too hard, it's all jeopardized and you find yourself messily making out with your best friend on his creaky pullout couch, logic thrown out the window. but hey, who's complaining?

second chance. you first love, unavoidably first heartbreak. it was inescapable as you were both unwilling to part from your closest friends. always around and always reminding you of what you once had. nobody wanted to pick sides, but everyone knew who fucked up, even saw it coming before it happened. the betrayal took a visible toll, and he tried to brush it off until he decided it couldn't end like this. doing everything to get back in your good graces, above and beyond anything he did when you were together, and the realization killed you. but how could you resist? you wanted to be his, even if it meant facing the embarrassment of getting back with your ex.

situationship. jj is probably the worst person to be in a talking stage with. his dry texts and ridiculously long response times convince you he's just not interested. somehow though, he redeems himself when you naturally run into each other. you'd never bothered to confront him about his feelings, deep down knowing you weren't the only one, just some fun in his free time. pathetically enough, you took any amount of attention he gave you and unknowingly became one of his 'favorites', as bad as it sounds. eventually, there was only one person he was checking his phone to respond to and could sweep you off your feet when he tried. it took convincing to assure you that he wasn't interested in anyone else, and after months of pining, you made it into a relationship.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank prompt

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starlightsalvatore · 8 months

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decisions, decisions / damon salvatore x reader

heyoooo ! new damon fic ! I don't know that this one will have a part two, but I loved the idea of it :) lmk what you think!

decisions, decisions / damon salvatore x reader

summary: the two times you discussed your apprehension to transitioning with Damon, and the one time you didn't get to.

word count: 5.5k

warnings: mentions of death, blood, violence, etc. typical tvdu stuff, no real reference as to when this takes place in canon

As you walked through the doors of the boarding house, flanked by both of the Salvatore’s, you thought of the night your parents had died and how you eerily felt the same way as you did then… your boots clicking against the wood floors could be heard by anyone, though it wasn’t quite reaching your ears, neither were the voices of Stefan and Damon as they led you into the kitchen and sat you on a bar stool. Logically, you knew exactly where you were, but really if someone asked you wouldn’t have an answer. The only thing you knew for certain in this moment was that your skin was itchy and your mind was racing, replaying the events of the past hour as it tried to sort and categorize what it had seen, what it had done.

“Should we… call someone?” Damon asked, and this you heard but your eyes remained locked in place, looking at something that wasn’t really there as you felt a hand on your shoulder and a glass pressed to your lips, thankfully your body had the instinct to go on autopilot and sip the water Stefan was forcing you to drink.

“Who?” he shot back, and if these were different circumstances you would have laughed, said my dead parents? A crisis counselor? A therapist? Good luck explaining this one.

“Bonnie, Elena, Caroline?” Damon listed off and each name made you wince.

“I don’t think any of them will be much help right now,” Stefan answered. Good, at least someone is thinking clearly.

“I’m fine,” you finally said, voice hoarse as you spoke for the first time in over an hour, and both boys snapped their heads to look at you, varying levels of concern clear on their faces. “I just, uh…” you paused, looking down at your hands, blood caked underneath your fingernails, seeped into the fabric of your clothing, even down to your socks. “It’s a lot of-” your hands started to shake and Stefan was quick to grab them, steadying them as he pulled you up.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said softly, leading you up the stairs and into a bathroom where you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and had you had the capacity to process the sight before you, you again might have laughed… an inappropriate reaction to an inappropriate situation. Stefan left quietly, leaving you alone as you began stripping yourself of your now-ruined clothing, trying to ignore the way it clung to your skin before smearing the blood everywhere… as if it would have made a difference.

You didn’t even flinch when the door opened, unconcerned with the fact that you were standing in just your bra and underwear because it’s not like there was anything to really see beneath all the red and Damon’s eyes were apologetic as he sat a stack of clothes and several towels on the counter. “Sorry, just leaving these here for you,” he said and you gave him a dry smile.

“It’s fine, sure you’ve seen worse.” you replied.

“I’ll be just outside, shout if you need anything.” You nodded softly as the door shut once more, and you peeled off the remainder of your clothing before flicking the faucet on and stepping under the stream. The shower floor quickly became a violent red, bright and angry, as the water washed over you and it did nothing to quell the images flashing through your mind. You almost felt embarrassed by how shell shocked you were, it wasn’t like you hadn’t killed before… a rogue vampire, or a werewolf that one time, in the heat of battle amidst the chaos that was now your life but this was different.

This was a hunter, a human, someone new drawn to the horrors plaguing Mystic Falls that set a perfect trap for Stefan and Damon, leaving you in the crosshairs after a training session in the woods. The irony of you pinned to the ground with only a small knife to your name after an afternoon spent wielding weapon after weapon was not lost on you, and the real kicker was the stake driven through your abdomen… the only human staked with two vervained vampires laying a few feet away. Instinct and self-preservation had taken over, mixed with a little fear, and in all honesty you don’t know where your knife had landed, just that you’d fought with all your might until his body slumped against yours. You’d known it had to be you, if either of them had awoken they wouldn’t have hesitated, you had to be the one to do it.

You briefly thought of Carrie, how the pig’s blood poured over her and drenched her so completely… only this wasn’t a movie, you weren’t on a stage in a pink dress, and this was not pig’s blood. It was sticky and hot pouring over your face, dripping down your neck, seeping through your clothes… it was human. It wasn’t a vampire, or a werewolf, it was another human just like you. You’d seen the light burn out in his eyes, you’d felt the limpness in his form as you shoved him off, you’d felt every inch of the stake as you pulled it out with shaking hands, terror pumping through your veins as you realized if you died right here, you would not be dead.

It was something trivial, a knife slicing through your palm so deep you felt woozy, you remembered the laughter as Damon begrudgingly gave you his wrist and Elena’s comment… I think we need to establish a schedule, make sure you’re with a vampire at all times otherwise your clumsiness is going to be your doom.

You scrubbed your scalp, nails raking across the skin as you desperately waited for the water to run clear. It felt like there wasn’t enough soap, enough water, enough patience. But eventually it did, what’s the saying… all bleeding must stop? Soon everything will pass. How long until this passed? You recognized Damon’s scent as you pulled on his clothes after drying off, wrapping you in a sense of comfort you found odd. It wouldn’t have been the case had it been Stefan’s, you always felt safe with him, trusted and valued… but Damon? You were friends, sure, by circumstance not choice, you never fully knew where you stood with him which left you on edge and unsettled in his company.

You opened the door to find him exactly where he said he would be, leaning against the wall opposite you, eyes glued to the floor until they snapped up, searching yours for the answer to a question he didn’t ask, a question he wasn’t really sure of in the first place. He let out a chuckle as he scanned you, settling on the sweatpants threatening to drop right off your frame, and he gently reached out to secure them tightly around your waist. “Better?” he asked and you nodded.

“Finally feel clean,” you answered, voice still scratchy and hollow, as he led you down the hallway to his bedroom where he pulled back the covers for you to settle in. You looked up at him with a look of confusion and amusement as he busied himself with tucking you in, truly fretting over you. “Who are you and what have you done with Damon Salvatore?”

“Ha ha,” he responded sarcastically. “Thought this would be more comfortable, the guest rooms are kind of creepy in my opinion.”

“If you say so,” you replied, a smirk clear on your face and he tried not to dwell too much on how reassuring it was to see you sinking back into your old self.

“Do you need anything? Water, food, Stefan?” he asked and you just shook your head, “okay, I’ll be down the hall… or you know where Stefan is, whoever you’re more comfortable with, if you need anything…” he said, rambling as he was overwhelmed by the emotional intimacy of tending to you, yet he still felt like he wasn’t really doing enough as he walked towards the door.

“Damon?” you called, and he was quick to turn around, eyes warm and curious as they settled on you. “Could you maybe… stay? If that’s not weird?” you asked, and he was sliding into the other side of the bed in an instant, careful to leave an appropriate distance to not spook you.

“I think we left weird back in the woods,” he answered and you let out a soft laugh. Silence permeated the space as you both tried to figure out what to say next, there were about a dozen thoughts on the tip of your tongue and only one question on Damon’s that he finally found the nerve to ask. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, I think so? He was going to kill all of us, I know I did the right thing, but… it’s just weird, I guess I was overly prepared for killing something supernatural, and underprepared for something human.”

“You did do the right thing, and you saved one of us from the hunter’s curse… thank you for that, by the way,” he said, and you cracked a smile. “It was him or us and you chose right.”

“I almost died,” you nearly whispered, recalling the feeling of your blood rushing out of the wound in your abdomen, using all of your strength to crawl over to Stefan and Damon’s unconscious bodies. “I know it’s not the first time that’s happened, but it was the first time I felt it, the losing energy, feeling weak… when neither of you were waking up I was terrified I was going to die.” You recalled your panic, both of them out cold as your hands darted around the ground, sifting through dead leaves to try and find the knife you’d dropped to slice open Damon’s wrist to drink from.

“And you still had my blood in your system,” he finished, and you looked over to him a little shocked that he remembered, and that he already seemed to know that’s what was really bothering you. “You don’t want to turn?” he asked, genuinely curious. You’d always refrained from giving your two cents on the matter when it came up, and you were usually impossible to read.

“I don’t know,” you answered. “I’ve thought about it, not enough to figure out my stance on it. I don’t feel the same as Elena did, it was her worst nightmare… She wanted kids, and the picket fence, and sitting on the porch swing old and gray. I don’t want the same things, I don’t view vampirism as a hindrance to my goals or an unnecessary evil, but I also don’t know if I want to give up my human life.”

“You’ll stay here the next few days,” he responded and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “Until it passes from your system. You deserve for it to be a choice, and I don’t want you out in the world where you could stumble into another person on the hunt for me… or with your luck, oncoming traffic.”

You let out a laugh, “thank you.” You settled into the blankets as a wave of exhaustion rolled over you, and you tilted your head slightly when you saw Damon lift an arm up for you, creating a space for you to lay against his chest. You exhaled in relief as he held you firmly, caging you in and wrapping you in a sense of protection.

“Get some rest, I’m not going anywhere.” he whispered, fingers drawing absentminded patterns against your skin as you already began fading into sleep. Nothing about the day had been predictable, but the most unexpected thing was this peaceful moment with Damon…

The incident with the vampire hunter had left you rattled for weeks to come, while you weren’t subject to the hunter’s curse that didn’t stop it from hanging over you like a storm cloud, lightning threatening to strike at a moment’s notice, but it became easier to manage with time… you were able to compartmentalize and rationalize. Yes, he was human, but he was also trying to kill you and two of your friends. At least, that’s what you (and everyone else) were constantly repeating. Eventually, the dreams subsided and you were able to take a shower without seeing pools of red at your feet, and life began to return to normal.

Well, normal except for one key difference… Damon had become not just a friend of circumstance, but a genuine friend. You’d seen a side of him you were entirely certain didn’t exist and he had suddenly seen you as something more than just one of Elena’s human friends. He had discovered that you were deeply insightful, had good ideas when he actually listened instead of tuning you out, and you were a hell of a drinking buddy despite your weak tolerance for bourbon, which he was currently pouring for himself as you laid sprawled out on his bed with a grimoire underneath you.

“This one is a dead end,” you sighed, crawling off the bed and discarding it on the stack of books Bonnie had asked the two of you to read before swiping his glass and finishing it off, nearly snorting the amber liquid at the look on his face.

“That is good bourbon meant for sipping, it’s not meant to be treated like cheap tequila.”

“My bad,” you said, amusement lacing your tone as you held your hands up in surrender. “I didn’t realize there was a protocol to drinking alcohol.” He just gave you a look as he refilled his glass and poured one for you, one that said you’re insufferable. “I’ll let Bonnie know we didn’t find anything.”

“We’ll figure it out eventually,” he responded, placing the glass in your hand as you clinked it against his. “Got any plans tonight?” he asked, eyes darting to the window showcasing the setting sun.

“Besides drinking you out of house and home?” you answered with a question, tilting the glass back and swallowing it in one gulp, as if to further annoy him, “nope.” He rolled his eyes, walking towards the door and you followed him instinctively, like he was a magnet pulling you along with him, and you let out a gasp when you landed in front of the liquor cabinet, watching him pull out a bottle of tequila.

“That is for you, if you insist on not enjoying your drinks.” It was your turn to roll your eyes as you pulled the top off and drank directly from the bottle.

“We can’t all be old like you, I’m firmly in the stage of my life where alcohol is a means to an end,” you responded with a shrug of your shoulders, making your way over to records where you flipped through, looking for something to put on.

“I’m not old,” he protested and you raised your head slightly to shoot him a look.

“You fought in the civil war,” you pointed out. “On the wrong side, might I add.”

“Not by choice, and I deserted... a fact you always conveniently forget." he protested, rolling his eyes. “Why is it that this is always the album you pick?” he asked, changing the subject entirely as he watched you take another swig from the bottle.

“Do you have a problem with Prince?”

“None at all, however… variety is always a good thing,” he mused.

“Did you ever see Prince? Like, in his heyday?”

“Once or twice,” he responded, smirking at the way your eyes lit up just imagining it. “Perks of vampirism… compelling yourself into the best spot at any show… One of my fonder memories is watching Fleetwood Mac from the side stage.”

You sighed dreamily, “that is something to put in the pro category.”

“Given it anymore thought?” he asked, extending his hand for you to take as he twirled you around to the sounds of I Wanna Be Your Lover, and you obliged his request to dance instantly, allowing yourself to be pulled into his orbit as your hips swayed in motion with his, both of your bottles long since discarded on a nearby table.

You nodded, “the incident put things into perspective, made me consider things a little more thoroughly. I actually remembered a conversation Elena and I had, long before we ever met you and Stefan, after watching a vampire movie… it was the middle of the night, we should have been sleeping but I asked her ‘if vampires were real, would you want to be one?’ She answered, ‘if they look like Brad Pitt, definitely.’” you paused to chuckle. "But, this isn’t a hypothetical question at a sleepover, it’s a real possibility I’ve teetered on the edge of more than once.” You two were no longer really dancing, merely swaying side to side as he looked down at you with rapt attention, more invested in what you thought than he ever would have imagined. “When I look at you I see endless opportunity, wild fun and trips around the world once, or twice, or a dozen times just because you can, and freedom. When I look at Stefan I see a constant struggle for control, longing for the true humanity he lost, and deep-rooted self-loathing for where he’s been and what he’s done. You two are on opposite ends of the spectrum, which makes it really difficult for me to gauge how I actually feel.”

“You could look at Lexi,” he pointed out. “She was the poster child for self-control and moderation but that girl got up to some wild things when she wasn’t saving hero hair.”

You smiled softly, “I did, actually… I only met her once, and granted I didn’t know she was a vampire at the time, but she did seem good, and free-spirited.” You watched his face fall slightly, no doubt reliving the moment he killed his brother’s best friend, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to break him from the thought. “I want to be like you… uninhibited, bold, a little reckless at times because you’re just invincible enough to be okay no matter what… but then I think of Stefan, or how much Elena wishes she could change things, or how hard Caroline tries to make the best of it and it pulls me right back into questioning everything. And the rub is that if I decide I want to stay human, I can change my mind at any time… if I decide to be a vampire on the other hand…”

“There’s no going back,” he finished and you nodded. “Whatever you decide, you’ve got my support. It’s kind of admirable, the way you’re really taking the time to actually figure out what you want.”

“Was that a compliment?” you teased and he harshly tugged you closer.

“Definitely not,” he whispered before letting you go to return to his bourbon… and you to your tequila.

“If you say so,” you mused, making your way to the record player to make a new selection.

“For the love of god, no more Prince.” he protested, already seeing you halfway through making that choice. You raised your hands in surrender, a cheeky smile on your lips as you instead selected Bon Jovi.

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that.” he said, already lunging for you as you squealed and ran thorough the living room, desperately trying to evade him.

Trudging through the dark woods you struggled to see more than a few feet in front of you, entirely unguided by the light of the moon and the dim glow of your phone screen. One wrong turn had you separated from the Salvatore’s with Klaus on the loose and you thought to yourself that there couldn’t be a worse time for you to be lost and un-flanked by the brother’s. You were unsure of exactly why you were facing off with Klaus, the whole thing felt rather ridiculous to you, but you were whisked off the front porch just as you’d raised your hand to knock… simply there to collect a forgotten textbook. You shouldn’t have been surprised, this was just your life now, breezing from one supernatural disaster to the next.

You thought about calling out to them, but realized it would only alert the person you were desperately trying to avoid, and settled for your careful and slow movements, one foot in front of the other, until you finally, hopefully, found them before Klaus found you. It was an effort entirely in vain, you were human, he was an original vampire, you couldn’t even be shocked when you heard the tenor of his voice or felt a strong arm wrap around your waist as he hauled you through the forest kicking and screaming. “Klaus! Put me down!” you tried, but that was also in vain.

“I can hear you, Stefan,” Klaus sneered as he dropped you rather unceremoniously to the ground, and you scrambled to your feet… contemplating running but it would only make matters worse.

“Just let her go, Klaus.” Stefan said, emerging with Damon through the tree line and you felt the tiniest bit of relief that was quickly squashed as you realized if they’d angered Klaus there was only so much backpedaling they could do.

“I thought I told the lot of you to stay away from my family,” Klaus roared and a shiver slinked down your spine… if they messed with his family you were really done for.

“I thought retaliation was fair play,” Damon replied, confusion evident in his tone as he walked towards you, stopping only a few yards away. “Might want to tell that sister of yours to keep her emotions in check.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along the message,” he said, turning to harshly yank you forward. “But it appears you all need a message in return.” He bit into his wrist and you struggled in his grasp as the brother’s moved forward, only to stop in their tracks when Klaus said, “take one more step and I’ll snap her neck.”

“Klaus, don’t!” Stefan pleaded, you could already see the guilt clear as day across his face as he realized you were about to suffer the same fate he wouldn’t wish upon anyone else. “She wasn’t involved, don’t do this to her.”

“Makes for a better lesson then, doesn’t it?” he asked, shoving his wrist against your lips and you tried to fight it but it was futile as you choked his blood down. “An innocent life, completely derailed by your actions.”

“Klaus,” you whispered, the shaky fear drawing his attention to you. “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, love,” he responded, brushing a stray tear from your cheek and you stiffened at the touch. “You’re what's known as collateral damage, it’s nothing personal.” The worst part of it all was that as you looked up into his eyes you saw genuine remorse… he didn’t want to do this to you, he felt like he had to. “Perhaps in a few years when you’ve adjusted to this new life of yours, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Alright, come on… you’ve given everyone a good scare, message received, just let her go and we can all forget this ever happened.” Damon tried as Klaus’s hand gently cradled the back of your head.

“The next time you think of crossing my family, I want you to look at this lovely young girl, frozen in time, immortalized as a monster, and reconsider,” was the last thing you heard before everything went dark.

You jolted upright in a bed that wasn’t your own, chest heaving as you looked around frantically, trying to decipher where you were and your breathing slowed, only slightly, when you realized you were in Damon’s bedroom. Your mind was reeling as you checked yourself over for injuries before realizing if you were waking up in the boarding house whatever had happened had already been magically erased from your body. You stilled when you heard arguing on the other side of the door, Damon and… maybe Elena? Your head throbbed as you swung your feet over the edge of the bed, prepared to stand and figure out what the hell had happened when it all hit you like a freight train… snapping twigs, Klaus’s blood, darkness. You were in transition.

You jumped to your feet just as the door swung open and Damon was surprised to see you awake, “there she is. How are you feeling?” he asked in an uncharacteristically chipper tone and he was unsurprised when you charged towards him, tiny fists clenched and thudding against any inch of his chest you could hit.

“What the hell did you do?” you shrieked as he just stood there taking it, allowing you to get it out of your system and it didn’t take long for you to realize it wasn’t going to change anything and you stopped as you stepped back and ran a hand through your hair. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach, a chill in your veins as you whispered, “I’m a vampire.” You thought of the conversations you’d had with Damon, exposing your feelings on the matter to only him, feelings you hadn’t quite deciphered for yourself. It was a choice you were debating, only for that choice to be ripped from your grasp.

“I really didn’t think he’d take it that far,” Damon tried and you just scowled at him, if looks could kill he’d be staked by now. You stood there for a moment, sorting through the mountain of emotions swirling through your head and your heart before laughter bubbled past your lips, true unfiltered laughter.

“Is everything okay?” Stefan asked, entering the room and you noticed the blood bag in his hand he was trying to keep concealed.

“Oh, everything is just peachy,” you replied, thoroughly in a fit of giggles as Elena was pulled in by the sound and the three of them just watched through confused eyes with concerned expressions. “I mean, I don’t respond to texts for what…? Three hours? I try to have just one night to myself, and that’s the night you decide to piss off an original and I get murdered in the woods,” you ranted, breathless laughter still surrounding your words. “He called me collateral damage to whatever idiotic stunt you pulled with Rebekah. Collateral fucking damage,” you whispered the last part and Elena shared a look with Stefan that translated to what should we do? “That for me?” you asked, striding across the room and plucking the blood bag from his hands, and Elena flinched when you ripped the top of it off.

“You don’t have to drink it right now, you have time to decide-” Stefan started but another bout of laughter cut him off.

“Decide? That decision has already been made for me. I mean, what am I going to do, just let myself actually die?” you replied as you sucked the liquid down and he suddenly felt like he was in over his head. While this reaction from you wasn't shocking for Damon, Stefan had expected tears, breakdowns, and maybe a broken vase or two… but he might have been right about the breakdown, he was at a loss for any other way to describe what he was currently seeing. When the bag was empty you discarded it on Damon’s desk and took a moment to steady yourself, inhaling and exhaling all of the bad.

“Okay, what’s done is done.” you said suddenly and Elena’s face twisted up in confusion.

“It’s okay if you’re not okay, you can take a minute… process what happened,” she tried.

“Your emotions are really heightened right now, I think you should just sit down and take a beat.” Stefan added, and Damon was being unusually silent.

“Nope. I’m good, we can’t go back, we can’t change it… this is how things are. What’s done is done,” you repeated.

“That’s… it?” Elena asked and you nodded.

“That’s it. Now, I’m going to go home, take a shower, take a nap in my own bed, and I will be prepared for whatever hero monologue about self-control and moderation you were preparing during my brief stint into death tomorrow,” you said, directing the last bit to Stefan as you moved to exit the room and Damon cleared his throat.

“About that… you can’t leave, yet,” he said, voice cautious as you turned on your heel, eyes catching the sunlight and you took in another deep breath to steady yourself.

“Turns out we used the last lapis lazuli ring on hand for me…” Elena started, “Bonnie’s out getting one right now, but until then…”

“I’m stuck here.” you finished. You nodded, “perfect. Cool if I raid your kitchen?” you asked, but didn’t wait for a response. “Great, thanks so much.” You bounded down the stairs, stumbling on the landing as you realized you moved far quicker than you intended to… something for you to get used to, and you threw open the fridge with a huff as you sorted through its contents and settled on what looked like leftover takeout from the Thai place you loved so much, not even bothering to heat up the noodles as you hopped up onto the counter.

“By all means, help yourself, wasn’t looking forward to those later or anything,” Damon said as he entered and you let out a humorless laugh.

“Don’t even,” you warned as he leaned against the counter across from you. “Should I make you the same promise you made Stefan? An eternity of misery?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he answered and you focused your attention on your noodles. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? It’s not like you pissed off Klaus and robbed me of having a say in how I live the rest of my life,” you replied and he nodded, knowing there wasn’t really anything he could say in this moment to make it right. “I meant what I said, what’s done is done. I just… I didn’t know if I wanted this,” you sighed.

“I know,” he responded, and he did. “I had a plan if you’d ever decided you wanted to.” he said, and that pulled your attention back to him, eyes curious and prompting him to continue. “I was going to give you one last truly epic human day… maybe a little road trip away from all the chaos here with greasy drive-thru french fries and milkshakes, deserted dive bars with questionable décor, cheesy roadside tourist traps, maybe a hike thrown in there to remind you of the utter humanness in struggling with something as simple as a walk. Then we’d stop at a motel, watch really terrible made-for-tv movies, and when you were all tuckered out and fast asleep that’s when I’d do it… so you’d just wake up in your new life.”

“That’s… oddly sweet,” you said, skepticism lacing your tone.

“Everyone’s story is traumatic… I didn’t want that for you. I wanted it to be easy, and peaceful.” he said and you smiled softly at the sentiment. “I’m really sorry my choices resulted in the opposite, and got your choice taken away.”

You sighed, “it’s okay. I meant what I said, what’s done is done. I have decided that I did decide I wanted this, I just hadn’t shared that with anyone yet and really Klaus did me a favor. I’m reframing and moving on.”

He chuckled, “you’re incredible, you know that?” he asked as he stepped in between your legs, palms resting on your thighs. “I will spend the rest of my eternity making sure you have the most fulfilling vampire life possible. My bad choices are not going to hinder you from having the life you want, whatever that ends up looking like.”

You laughed, “you shouldn’t have told me that because you just gave me so much power,” you teased. “I already have a request.”

“Whatever it is, consider it done,” he replied, smirking at you.

“Can you go get me some clothes from my house? Something cute and fun…. you’re taking me out as soon as the sun goes down because I’m hungry and not for something that comes out of a blood bag or a take-out container.”

“On it,” he answered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “In the meantime, go upstairs and relax. Take a bath, raid the liquor cabinet, raid the fridge in the basement, whatever you want, and when I get back I’ll give you the best first night of vampirism you could ask for.” he said and you laughed as he disappeared, hopping down from the counter to follow his instructions. Sure, this wasn’t how you’d imagined it, before you woke up you weren’t even sure this was what you wanted, but there was no use dwelling on things that could be unchanged… there was only making the best of it, and welcoming your new life with open arms.

taglist: @caseysalvatore @minalblood @styxflower

#the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fan fiction #the vampire diaries x reader #damon salvatore #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore x you #damon salvatore fan fiction #damon salvatore fanfiction #damon x reader #damon x you #damon fan fiction #damon fanfiction #tvdu #tvdu fanfiction #tvdu fan fiction

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vroomvroomcircuit · 2 months

Text

A never-ending Worry

(A/N): Ikea gave me a big anxiety attack the other day. Here we are now.

Summary: Reader discovers her own anxiety together with Max through several instances.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Wordcount: 2k

🏎Masterlist🏎 _____________________ Anxiety is a peculiar thing, especially when you suffer from it. It is for (Y/N) at least.

Ever since her first anxiety attack at the ripe age of 16 years, (Y/n) started to worry. About everything. All the damn time. Her head is running the whole time, thinking about different scenarios that could happen. Like her best friend once said:

“The possibility of a baby killing you is slim, but never zero.”

Maybe the possibilities for any of the “what ifs” really happening is low, but she will be prepared if it does happen. It’s an odd sense of safety she can find refuge in, especially in a world of unpredictability.

This is where the peculiarity comes into play. She does not have the knowledge or vocabulary to describe it all.

But (Y/N) never really talked about her constant worries coupled with a never ending feeling of nervousness. Never spoke of this feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Everyone feels like that, right?

“Hey Schatje? How many pairs of underwear have you packed for us?” Max called out for (Y/N) as he unpacked their suitcases, that his girlfriend herself packed for the two a couple of days before the trip even started.

A bit befuddled by his question, (Y/N) walks from the kitchen of the rental apartment, where she just finished putting away the groceries they got from their first run to the supermarket, to the bedroom.

“10 pairs for each of us. Do you think it won’t be enough? We can still go out and get some more tomorrow.” Max halts his movements for a second to check if her serious tone matches her face.

It does.

His girlfriend really means what she said.

“No, they will definitely suffice. You do know that we are here for only four days, right?” Max smiles at her. Maybe she just got something mixed up.

“Yes, of course. I planned our activities. It would be bad if I didn’t know about the length of our vacation.” She laughs to herself while moving to help Max unpacking. “Why are you asking?”

“Oh, nothing particular. Just checking.” Ok so. It is a thing for many women to overpack, especially regarding their underwear. “Can you explain your thoughts on the number to me? Why did you decide to pack 20 pairs of underpants in total?”

(Y/N) throws him a look. “Well, we need at least four, one for each day. Then I doubled that number, because something could have gone wrong on our car ride here or will on our way back, making us stay on vacation longer. Then eight felt like it’s not enough. Adding to the extra days, an accident could happen that makes you need an extra pair a day, right? And nine is an odd number that is not even a prime number, so I rounded up to ten. Completely logical.”

Well, it’s logical to her at least. Max was partially amazed by her train of thoughts and worries. He just let it be like that. After all, it’s just over packing and he loves how prepared she is in any given situation.

Prepared (Y/N) is. Always.

“Man, it is so hot, my fingers are sticky with sweat.” Daniel complaints. It’s a race weekend in Singapore and the Aussie is right. It is hot.

(Y/N), who walks with Daniel around the paddock while she waits for Max to get out of a meeting, starts to rummage in her backpack. The back she carries with her all the time. It’s close to iconic.

“Here is some hand disinfectant. It makes you feel a bit less sticky.”

Daniel smiles thankfully while taking the little bottle from the female’s hands. “Thank you. I just need to remember to put on some lotion, I don’t want my hands to dry out.”

As soon as he finishes his sentence, she replaces the disinfectant with another small bottle. “Don’t worry, I got you girl.” She winks at the Aussie.

“Oh wow, do you have everything important with you? Can you flee the country with that backpack spontaneously?” Daniel jokes, but it goes over her head.

“Yes, pretty much. I got a small first aid kit, my laptop and all needed chargers for my electronics. Oh, and my passport and IDs of course. Ah, and some small knick-knacks and snacks. Gotta be prepared for the worst case scenario, right?” Her seriousness unsettles something in the driver. But he kind of lets it go, just nodding to her statement. She is right, at least a bit, after all.

“Do you get more nervous when you get into the car? Or is your level of nervousness on the same level?

(Y/N) and Max cuddle in bed back in the safety of their home in Monaco. While asking the question in the wariness of the night, she traces the same shapes over and over again in her partner’s skin. It gives her an odd feeling of safety, the repetition.

Max has a confused look on his face. “What do you mean?” “Well, does your level of feeling nervous rise from the usual one before or during a race?” It sounds plausible to her. But it doesn’t for him.

Max sits up, leaning his upper body against the headboard to have a better look at his girlfriend. “Yes, it does rise, because my usual level of nervousness is zero like for everyone else. Of course I feel different from that, when I get into the car that can bring me over the finish line as a winner. I don’t get the question.”

(Y/N) blinks at him with a frown. “Not- no, not everyone’s level is zero. It’s really just for you that low.” Of course Max is always cool as a cucumber. He only gets this feeling in extreme situations.

“Oh Schtaje. It’s really not. Most people don’t feel nervous often. Do you?” He pulled her close to him, enveloping her completely.

“Not always. Right now, I’m not. But that is, because I’m with you. I know that together we can solve anything.” Max senses that (Y/N) doesn’t want to continue the conversation. He lets it be another time, partially to not make her feel completely uncomfortable in a peaceful moment, partially because he wants to do some research.

Her conversation with her boyfriend sparked something inside (Y/N). Hearing that not everyone is feeling the same way she does, it’s a lot to take in. So she started to do some reading of her own.

Many people on the internet describe the same moments she has: Constant nervousness, the need of being prepared at all times or she’ll break out in a sweat, plus the endless worrying.

And the sudden bursts of intense panic. These moments, where an all consuming fear grips her whole body into a chokehold. That makes her breaths become heavier and her thoughts even faster.

Reading about similar experiences to hers, it makes (Y/N) feel less alone. But one word stood out to her.

Anxiety.

She heard of it and has seen the portrayals on TV. But those are not what she feels. Or is it?

Everything and nothing make sense at the same time.

“Do you want to drive?” Max offers as they get ready to go out for dinner at a restaurant that is a tad too far away to be considered walkable distance. He regularly lets her drive, it’s a bit of emancipation. Why shouldn’t she drive when she has a license for that?

(Y/N) shakes her head no. “I don’t like today’s thoughts. I also feel extra nervous right now, I couldn’t find the menu of the restaurant online.” Max nods, understanding what kind of thoughts she is talking about - intrusive thoughts.

He also appreciates her openness with him about those feelings. “It’s ok, Schatje. I love driving for you, it’s my favorite kind of ride. We will also find something for you, we can order some dishes and share them until you decide which one you want.” He gives her a reassuring kiss on the cheek, hoping to ease up her worries.

During the drive, she holds his hand on the control stick. “It’s good to have you back. Last night I woke up in a panic and thought something must have happened to you on your flight and that this was the reason I had this huge anxiety attack. I couldn’t sleep until you texted me this morning when you landed at the airport.”

His heart grows heavy at that confession. He hasn’t known the extent of her anxious feelings. Max didn’t know how much they overshadowed her in her daily life.

(Y/N) herself never realized how much she has been hindered in her routines by her own thoughts and worries.

“It wasn’t the first time this happened. But it was the worst it has been so far. I thought you died. I waited for my phone to ring or the police to stand at the door, getting notified that you died in a plane crash. I already planned the next steps I had to take from there in my head.” (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look at her boyfriend after this admission.

It is weird to say something out loud, that she used to bury deep inside of her. This kind of vulnerability, it makes her want to crawl back into that hole again.

Over the last couple of weeks she realized that those spiraling thoughts are not here to make her feel safe. That the need of over preparedness is not necessary. That her anxious feelings are not some signs of something bad.

These thoughts are false friends, waiting for your demise, your downfall, to be able to say “I told you so”.

But where to go from here, from the realization of something going gravely wrong, to getting a grip of the situation. To make it all go away?

Max squeezes her hand before putting a kiss on it without taking his eyes off the road. “I’m here for you. I want to hear all those thoughts. As silly as they may sound out loud. I can help you in differentiating if they are necessary, needed, thoughts or if they are the product of overthinking. I want to help you. I want you to not feel anxious all the time. I want to help you through the anxiety attacks. We can get counseling - for only you or together. Just, let me be here for you during every step you take.”

His pleading brings tears to (Y/N)’s eyes. She didn’t know how noticeable her anxiety issues were to outsiders. She doesn’t know what it feels like for Max, seeing her in her most anxious states.

“Yes”, she answers him, “I want you to be here with me. I don’t know if I can do it on my own.” “You don’t need to find out. I’ll be there, for better or for worse.”

Turns out, Max’ deadpan and brutal honesty is exactly what (Y/N) needs.

The evening, where he was away for a race and she had to stay behind, because of her own work schedule. (Y/N) called him in the middle of a not very pretty anxiety attack. “I have this doctor’s appointment. It’s a check-up for my physical health. And what if I-I’m deathly sick and we are catching onto that only now?”

“This is a dumb thought.”

The female halts in her movements. Is it a dumb thought?

“I mean, yes. I regularly go out to donate blood. But maybe they haven’t caught something important accidentally.”

“That is stupid and unlikely.”

She stops again. “You are right. I actually have nothing to worry about.”

The road to having less anxiety is a twisted one, paved by setbacks and a small gap between succeeding and failing. But with Max as a passenger princess on that path (Y/N) knows she got it.

She will be ok, eventually.

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