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party-hearses · 7 months

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i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 3

do i get callous, or do i stay tender

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

pairing: joel x ofc!reader, ex!tommy x ofc!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 8k

chapter summary: the boundaries of your new relationship with joel are explored.

chapter warnings/tags: no outbreak AU, soft!joel, age gap, alcohol, language, characters eating food, alfred hitchcock, allusions to verbal/mental abuse (not joel), dry humping (i guess?). let me know if I’m forgetting anything!

a/n: this feels very ‘slice of life’, but it’s important to me, dammit! I love each and every one of you (yes, you!) who read, comment, and reblog. this fic is my baby, and every interaction means the world to me. @nostalxgic beta’d for me, because she’s the best human in the world and I love her to pieces.

comments and reblogs are appreciated! support your creators!

There was, Joel knows, a depth to the things you had shared with him. He just doesn’t know how to piece them together.

You had led him, a proverbial blindfold over his eyes, to the darkest recesses of your psyche. Allowed him to graze those things with his fingers. Not to grasp, never to grasp, but to ghost the ridges of his rough digits against the truths they contained. Visceral and unrefined, flexing without giving, beneath his prodding touch. A reluctant invitation.

He had wanted to claw his way in. He had wanted to rip you apart, to gorge himself on your suffering. To lick your velvet bones and make his home inside your ribcage. Half heaven, half hell.

Instead, he finds himself turning your words over in his head again and again, whiskey a thick smoke on his tongue. The television is still on in the background, the light flickering across the angles of the room, casting everything in jagged shadow.

Frustration curls tight in the pit of his stomach. Understanding feels just out of reach — as if the words you had spoken had been in secret tongues. If only he could decode it.

It will take time, he knows, to learn your language. To speak the complexities, to articulate the syntax. To appreciate the nuances from the inside, wrap his tongue around the letters. It will be an exercise in patience, he is sure, but one that he will commit himself to. He hungers to be fluent in reading and speaking you, to savor the delicate flavors of your dialect.

You, the unknowable creature asleep just down the hallway. That his hands had been on; that had made his cock twitch and ache; that had looked at him with those wet, pleading eyes, desperate to be known.

He rolls the wrist that holds his whiskey glass in a circular motion, eyeing the contents intently.

Asking you to stay in his home was a calculated risk. It had been when he’d first done it, and it remains to be the longer you stay. Tommy’s involvement — even in the capacity of ‘ex boyfriend’ — makes things complicated, and Joel knows that those things will border on volatile once he finds out where you are.

Not if, but when.

And truly, Joel doesn’t know what he’ll do when that happens. He hasn’t thought that far ahead, his vision too clouded with you, you, you.

He had known, since the first time you stood in his kitchen, a case of Shiner in your small hands, that the hot knife of devotion he felt when your eyes met his would eventually destroy him. Inevitability twisting its hands into his gut, whispering in his ear to prepare for his own eventual decimation. Lamb, meet slaughter, it said.

He’d let Tommy beat the shit out of him, he thinks, if it keeps you in his proximity.

The acute awareness of it had caught him off guard. Mutual, useless damage — two unfillable voids recognizing one another from across the room. A collision of fire and the ocean floor.

You, in a little black tank top and jean shorts, the tender flesh of your thigh peeking out just below the hem. Shoulders bare, warmed from the afternoon sunlight, skin aglow. It took strength he didn’t know he possessed to not sink his teeth into you right then and there. Lick up the slender column of your neck. Feast.

Tommy, grinning and oblivious as all fuck to the cosmic shift taking place two feet away from him.

Joel wanting to slug the smugness off his younger brother’s face. He knows Tommy — knows him always as a collector of people, of experiences. Not handling things — beautiful, fragile things — with the care they ought to be handled with. Leapfrogging from one thing to the next, nothing but ruin in his wake.

And oh, how Joel wanted to ruin you — but not in the way he knew Tommy would.

Your words to him tonight make his skin itch with that same recognition. That same inevitability. Asking you to stay meant there was no going back — that you would either let him swallow you whole, or he’d die trying to.

Throwing his head back to drain the glass, he savors the burn of the liquor sliding down his throat before flipping the television off and rising from the couch. Retracing his footsteps past your room, a dull throb settles again between his thighs at the thought of your body pressed against his.

It wouldn’t be difficult, he thinks, to open your door and take. He knows you because he knows himself, and what little restraint he has left is stretched thin.

But he will be patient, because it is you. Because he knows how this ends. Because he wants you to want it, too. To need it like he does. To reveal yourself to him in your own time, fragment by fragment. To recognize the inevitability.

And so he closes the door to his bedroom, himself on the wrong side of it, knowing that that is what a better man would do. And like a better man should, he falls asleep to images of your supple skin rippling beneath him, your mouth open and wanting.

You are unknowable, but you have never been a stranger.

You’re still in your dress when you wake up the next morning.

The hem is bunched up around your waist, your panties on display for the four walls of the empty bedroom. The slippery material clings to you, flesh slick with sweat, in a significantly less flattering way than it did last night.

Everything about you is less flattering than it was last night — the shimmer and sugar of it all worn off in the sweltering light of midmorning.

With a groan, you roll onto your back, the hard edges of your phone cutting into the flesh of your hip beneath you. You can’t bring yourself to look at it, to relive the previous twelve hours of…well, everything. Hands and drinks and tongues and flesh and desire and Joel’s voice.

Something else shifts into focus from behind the hazy veil — Joel carrying you to bed. Half-asleep and just on the other side of drunk, drippingly saturnine and pathetic. The recollection of it makes your chest pinch; the most recent admission into the museum of your naiveté.

You scrub your hand across your eyes, thick black flakes of mascara crumbling off your lashes and landing on your cheeks, chalky streaks of it painted across your knuckles. A strange laugh bubbles up in your throat — you can’t even imagine how wrecked you look.

Sharp hesitancy crests your lungs, tempts you to curl up further into the blazing bedsheets, to avoid. To shrink back into yourself. You raise a hand to your still-swollen lips, delicately pressing your fingertips into their fullness, the memory of Peter’s mouth slotted over yours replaying behind your eyelids.

You wish you had been drunk enough to forget that part of the night — but only that part.

Ava’s fingers interlocked with your own, the holographic sheen of her love wrapping around you, the way all of your pain had spilled out into her waiting hands on the dancefloor. Her magic had dug its tendrils into the soft muscle of your heart, her dreamy voice in your ear an incantation: I have the best feeling about you staying with Joel.

It was those things that you never wanted to forget.

And Joel — Joel. The way he had angled his body towards you, had been so attuned to your words. The consideration in his face as he absorbed them all, brows knitted in concentration. The restless twitch of his fingers.

Him sliding his hands beneath your body, pulling you close to his chest.

Everything had poured out of you so naturally, without any of the apprehension or anxiety you’d come to call companion. The sutures you had sewn years and years ago had been neatly, delicately, untied by Joel’s nimble fingers, in a way that you don’t even think he understood. And it took almost nothing.

Like something magic.

Fire crawls across your already heated skin, not so much a realization but a possibility.

It’s the only reason you get up, and peel your dress off of your sticky body, and let the cold water of the shower chill you. Your lungs open up, the buzzing of your nerves quieting under the stream.

Joel hears the quiet patter of your bare feet on the hardwood before he sees you. The beating of his heart matches the measured pace of your steps, both quickening as the distance between you closes.

He glances sideways, pulse hammering when you finally enter his line of vision. The wet ropes of your hair cling to your neck, dripping down the fabric of your threadbare t-shirt. There’s something so cozy about it, a significant intimacy that comes with knowing you’re just out of the shower.

It’s vulnerable in a way that he’s all too cognizant of.

“Hey.”

Your voice is sweet, if not apprehensive. Testing the waters. You gently pop a hip into the lip of the kitchen counter, next to the full, still-steaming coffee pot. Joel is situated at the stove, pan of something resembling food in front of him, his own mug clutched in his left hand.

“How ya feelin’, champ?” There’s a crooked smile on his face, one that disappears behind the curve of his mug as he brings it to his mouth.

You laugh, a gentle sigh of a laugh — a laugh that invigorates his blood more than the coffee does.

“I’m actually okay. Y’know, considering.” You tip your head to the side, watching as he stirs whatever it is in the pan. A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth, seeing him cook. It’s endearing, being allowed a peek into his life.

The way his cheeks round out tell you that he’s still got the same small smile painted on his face, despite the way it’s hidden.

“Mind if I have some?” You gesture with a flick of your chin to his coffee, clocking the way his face immediately falls, eyes narrowing in your direction.

“Y’already know the answer t’that.”

Gaze darting back to the stove, he’s quick to set his coffee to the side, muttering a curse under his breath as he lowers the flame burning under the pan. You twist your body to grab a mug from the cupboard and fill it with the blazing hot liquid, crossing the kitchen to settle at the table.

The subsequent silence is companionable, and you let the coffee rouse the parts of your brain that haven’t quite caught up with you, yet. You watch the strong muscles of Joel’s back, rippling and pulling under his shirt, as he extends his arm to pull a plate down from a different cupboard.

It’s mesmerizing, the agile way he moves, so it catches you off guard when he slides the plate and a fork in front of you, steam rolling off the scrambled eggs and slices of toast.

You hadn’t even noticed him using the toaster.

“Oh,” you squeak, blinking away the surprise you know is written all over your face. “You shouldn’t h-”

“Wanted to.” It’s kind, but matter-of-fact. A stern statement to dissuade you from arguing back.

As he lowers himself into the chair across from you, tossing his own full plate onto the table, you can’t help but remember his hands on your jaw the last time the two of you had been here together.

Together.

He immediately digs into his food, shoveling it into his mouth and slurping his coffee. You drop your gaze to the plate in front of you, picking up the fork and gingerly shuffling the contents of it around.

Something close to guilt needles at your stomach, and all too suddenly the words are hot on your tongue.

“I lied to you last night.”

Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look up at you — just keeps chewing and swallowing.

“Yeah?” Another bite, more chewing, swallowing again.

“I…I kissed someone. At the club.”

The confession hangs between you, though he remains as taciturn as you’ve ever seen him. It’s only when he draws his mug up to his mouth that he even meets your eyes, subtle amusement dancing in the liquid amber of them.

It’s candy Pop Rocks compared to what would have been Tommy’s dynamite.

Joel hasn’t stilled at all, continuing to drink his coffee and scoop his eggs on top of his toast.

“You…asked if I met anyone. And I lied to you.”

Toast halfway to his mouth, the small pile of eggs perched atop it dangerously close to slipping off, he pauses. His brows pull together in a question that you can’t quite read. An epiphany that you’re not privy to.

Lowering his arm, your eyes follow the eggs as they fall to his plate with a muted plop.

“Y’don’t owe me anythin’, Peach.”

Liar.

“But I-”

He shakes his head, and whatever it was that you wanted to say dies in your throat. “Y’had a reason to not tell me. And that reason belongs to you and you alone.”

You scrunch your brows together, an unfamiliar feeling building in your chest. He watches as it happens, his own chest pulling tight at the recognition of your uncertainty, of the doubt in your eyes. He’s quick to lean over the table, over the momentarily forgotten plates of food, to soothe your skin with a knowing drag of his thumb. The fork in your hand falls, clattering against the ceramic.

“Hey. Soften up, darlin’. Just don’t want you to think y’have t’tell me anythin’ y’don’t want to.” His voice is low, eyes intently searching yours. “Doesn’t mean I don’t understand why you’re tellin’ me.”

There’s something so tender about the way he tells you this, the way he touches you, that you’re sure you’ll spontaneously combust. Nothing has ever belonged to you — and only you — before. Not even your thoughts have ever been your own, the space reserved and velvet-roped for the ghosts of your shortcomings.

And you know that though Joel doesn’t quite grasp the gravity of what he’s saying, the words are bubblegum and champagne to you. Exactly, perfectly right.

“You’re good. It’s okay.” He gently brushes a still-damp tangle of your hair back over your ear, and you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is pounding. “Y’don’t always have to be so…hard on yourself.”

You’re good.

“Say it, Peach.”

Like he can read your mind. Like he can reach directly inside you, all those ties he’d undone, to extract the most vulnerable parts. Soften them. Shield them. Nurture them.

As though he can taste the desperation surging off your skin.

“I’m good.” Your own voice is so small, you hardly recognize it. The words taste bitter, grapefruit with the sugar dusted off. Unearned.

“You’re good, sweetheart,” he repeats, the rough tips of his fingers sliding along your jaw as he pulls his hand back, dropping it to retrieve his abandoned toast. “Now please eat. It’ll help.”

Hesitantly picking up your fork again, you mirror him — biting and chewing thoughtfully, humming as the toast settles in your stomach. Sipping your coffee. It’s almost easy.

Joel makes it easy.

Every now and again he flicks his eyes up to watch you, to make sure you’re actually eating, silently pleased as the amount on your plate slowly diminishes. He finishes before you do, shoving his plate forward and tipping back in his chair, fingers wrapping around his mug comfortably.

Moving the last bits of egg around the perimeter of your plate, you take the opening as Joel’s shoulders relax against the slatted wood.

“I, um, didn’t think you’d be…like this.”

It catches him off guard, a warm laugh betraying his usual stoicism. The levity of it curls around your limbs, climbs the length of your spine. “Oh yeah? ‘N what’d you think I’d be like?”

Avoidant. Brooding. Grumpy.

“Much less…pleasant?” You crinkle your nose at the word, not satisfied with it. “Or, like, you’re kind of…nice?”

This time he laughs out loud, angling his head back and opening his mouth wide. The sound of it lights you up from the inside, sparkly and hot.

“I mean…oh my god, that’s so stupid. I just mean…like, I think being here…will be good for me.”

You’re babbling now, skirting around the fact that you think being around him will be good for you. But something deep in your stomach tells you that he already knows. That he’s always known.

Dropping his head to his chest, you think you see a light sprinkle of pink break out across his tanned cheeks and nose. He clears his throat, mouth obscured by his coffee mug.

“I’m nice t’you, sweetheart.”

The remainder of the day is spent zeroed in on your work laptop, still at the kitchen table, legs stretched across the chair Joel had occupied that morning.

He had slipped out after breakfast to run errands — a few work related, a few personal — asking if you’d wanted to come. The invitation had made your heart swell, the feeling of being wanted stirring in your veins. It was hard to resist, the promise of more time with him so incredibly alluring, but you’d declined, work hanging over your head like a raincloud.

“It’s Saturday, Peach,” he’d murmured, eyeing you as you’d flipped open the slender screen of the device.

“Good thing I don’t have any plans, then,” you’d replied, clicking the trackpad to open your multiple files — budgets and spreadsheets and invoices stacking one on top of the other — thoughts turning to how much you’d rather be climbing into Joel’s truck beside him.

But he’d backed off, dropping a quick squeeze to your shoulder before leaving.

It’s not until he’d been gone for some time that it strikes you how different the interaction was with Joel than it ever had been with Tommy — no exasperation, no stomping out of the house, no argument. And you can’t compare them, you know, because he’s not Tommy, and he’s not your boyfriend —but it’s stable, sustainable. A quiet admission of knowing what you need. Of some kind of trust passing between the two of you.

A disruptive ringing snaps you back to reality, your fingers still resting on the keyboard of the laptop. The screen has gone black, an indication of the amount of time passed.

With a slight shake of your head, your eyes track to the smaller screen, your sister’s name and picture lit up. Uneasiness rolls through you, as it always does when she calls.

“Hey, Kit.” You drop your head back onto the curved wood of the chair, exhaling shallowly through your nose.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

You can hear the shrieking of children in the background, the clatter of pots and pans and running water.

“Are you doing the dishes?” It’s in your best interest to sidestep the question, her giving you the perfect opportunity to do so.

“I didn’t think you’d actually answer.”

The fingers of your other hand find the bridge of your nose, squeezing gently.

“I’ve been…busy. Work has been a lot.”

Liar sits just below your diaphragm, pendulous and dark.

“And how has living with Joel been?”

You should have known that she’d cut straight to the point. Like she always does.

“It’s fine, Kit. It’s been going really well, actually.” You can’t help but snap, the tranquil feeling of Joel’s confidence in you waning into annoyance at being treated like a child by your sister.

Beyond that, a significant part of you is determined to protect the strange, placid thing between you and Joel, whatever it is. Whatever it isn’t.

Kit sighs, but it’s soft. “I’m just calling to say hey. We haven’t talked in so long.”

“You’re calling to check up on me.”

“Is there something so wrong with that? I’m your sister.”

“Not my mother.”

You regret the words as soon as they pass your lips. You can feel her hurt seeping through the phone, from thousands of miles away. It cuts to your core.

“Kit, I didn’t-”

“You’re right. I’m not your mom. But you could at least be fucking kind to me, because I am all you’ve got.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Kit rarely — if ever — curses, and it hits you like a punch in the stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears immediately swimming in your line of vision. “You just, remind me of her so much sometimes, and…and I…”

“Have a lot of unresolved bullshit with her.”

“Yeah.”

She’s never said the words aloud before; it’s a subject the two of you had always avoided into adulthood. The crevasse between you, wide and gaping. Hearing her say it, acknowledge it, feels like sucking fresh air into your lungs after holding your breath underwater for too long.

“Daniel! Stop hitting your sister!” She suddenly calls out, and the moment crashes down at your feet.

“Look, um, I’m working. Let’s talk later this week, okay?” You sniffle, salty tears threatening to spill over. “Love you.”

You click to end the call before she can protest.

Rubbing your hands down your face, you wish you hadn’t even answered. Talking about her is never easy, but talking about her with Kit is something you’d danced around for years.

The phone begins to vibrate again, and you almost swipe to ignore it, assuming it’s Kit angrily calling back. But it’s Joel’s name splashed across the screen, and your heart thrums with familiarity. With relief.

“Hey, darlin’.” He says when you answer, the warm timbre of his voice washing everything else out of your head — Tommy and Kit and work included. “I’m thinkin’ about orderin’ pizza, that sound okay t’you?”

“Please, that sounds great.” And it does. Easy. Low maintenance. Comfortable. Exactly what you need. “But only if we can have beers, too.”

He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. “Read my mind, Peach.”

“You’re in the same exact place you were when I left,” Joel exclaims as he walks through the door, a rack of beer on his hip.

“Money never sleeps,” you reply, closing the laptop with finality and stifling a yawn.

“Maybe not, but you need to.”

“Mmm, pizza and beer first,” you hum, pushing yourself up from the table and joining him at the counter, his hands already tearing at the cardboard.

“Anythin’ excitin’ happen while I was out?” He holds a bottle out to you, fingers grazing yours as you take it. A thrill shoots down your spine, settling between your legs.

You lean back against the sink, drawing in a deep breath before tipping the beer back into your mouth. “Nothing I’d love to revisit at this moment.”

The only thing you’d love in this moment is to bask in Joel’s magic — let it wash over you, head to toe. Erase the terrible things you’d said to Kit. Be good again.

He quirks a brow at you, but doesn’t press. Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a pizza app pulled up. You shake your head, pushing it away.

“I will eat literally whatever you order.”

Shrugging, he drops his gaze to the screen, thumb flicking up to scroll through the menu slowly. “Hope y’actually mean that. Might try to order a gross pizza just to call y’on your bluff.”

45 minutes later, you’re both on the couch, beer and pizza in hand, an old movie playing in the background. One of your favorites — a sprawling mansion on the English coast, a haunted marriage, the shadow of a mysterious ex-wife, Rebecca. One of Hitchcock’s best, in your opinion.

Joel is happy to oblige, love a good black ‘n white slipping out of his otherwise full mouth.

As much as you love the film, you’re preoccupied with the way the evening sun casts the room in a golden glow, and how it seems to accentuate Joel’s innate softness. A softness you feel privileged to see, to have lavished on you. You want to drown in it — let his kindness corrupt you, let him untangle you.

Selfish fizzes at your fingertips, creeps up the span of your arms.

You shift your focus to the ropey muscles and tendons of Joel’s neck, gaze climbing up his strong jaw, covered in a smattering of salt and pepper scruff, to the long line of his aquiline nose. He balances his half-empty beer bottle on his knee, fingers wrapped around the neck of it.

And if you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, you don’t want to think about anything else. You don’t want to consider what it all means, yet. You want to just exist, here, with him. Watching the way he watches the movie, the way he gulps his beer down.

Hidden from the rest of the world.

Tucking your legs up underneath your body, you let your head loll on the cushion of the couch. You’d hide forever, if you could.

You stretch your arms above you, a sleepy, dopey grin splayed across your mouth — secure glowing fluorescent at the apex of your thighs. The movem ent draws his attention, as though he’d heard your pulse cry his name.

“Tired?” His voice thick, eyes tracing the soft shape of your arms as they reach skyward.

“Mhm. But I wanna finish the movie.”

A coy, sideways smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and he leans forward to place his pizza plate on the coffee table.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he drawls lowly, sloping back to slide his hand across your shoulders and wrap his fingers gently around your bicep to tug you closer. Turning, you meet him with wide eyes, glittering in the dark, your heart a trembling magic eight ball — are you sure this is okay?

And without words, he lets you know that it is. Lets you know that he wants you to.

Guided by his large open palm, you carefully curl into his side, dropping your head to his lap. You pull your legs up to your chest, both hands nestling narrowly under his thigh. His hand hovers over the soft curve of your hip, a barely-there touch that makes you ache.

You draw in a deliberate breath, holding it deep until he finally lets his hand drop to the exposed flesh between the band of your shorts and raised hem of your t-shirt.

A million sparks of light burst over your skin, fireworks exploding across the creamy silk of it. Your eyes flutter closed, hyper-aware of every tense of his fingers. The movie continues to play, but the whole world has fluctuated to both start and end in the exact place that he touches you.

As though there is no before this moment in time, only after.

Inevitable.

His hand slides up the length of your body, over the notches of your ribs, and higher still so that his fingers skim the delicate line of your neck. You can feel him relax further into the cushions of the couch, broad body molding to its shape, and you wonder if he’s concentrating on you as hard as you are on him.

In an answer to your unspoken question, he begins to tenderly stroke the spread of your hair, fanned down your shoulders and pooled in his lap.

“Y’know,” he mumbles, eyes still cast to the television, “we had breakfast and dinner together today.”

“We did,” you agree, a slight simper at your lips.

“‘N the world didn’t end, did it, Peach?” He angles his chin down to look at you at the same time you tilt your head to look up at him. He hasn’t stopped caressing the silky locks of your hair, and when you meet his eyes, he grasps a fistful of it gently. The pleasurepain of it makes your blood hot.

“No,” you whisper, “it didn’t.”

He leans closer by just a fraction, and you can’t help but be entranced by the shape of his mouth as his plush lips form the words that cross them.

“Want it to be like that everyday.”

He’s looking at you like there’s a peephole into your soul — a pinpoint view of the feral thing inside of you, on display for him. He’s looking at you like it excites him.

“Me too, Joel,” you breathe, the possibility a white static between you.

Not a single thing outside of the two of you exists in this moment. He prefers it that way, having you all to himself.

“Like you bein’ here, sweetheart.” There’s not a trace of hesitancy in his voice, but he says it like it’s a secret. “Like you workin’ at my kitchen table, and havin’ pizza and beer, and watchin’ old movies with you. Like wakin’ up knowin’ you’re here.”

He moves to trace the outline of your bottom lip with his thumb, and you’re suddenly looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, breathing stilted.

Closing the distance between you, he noses along the soft cut of your jaw, burying his face in your hair. He wants to drink down the way you gasp when he does; the sound burned into his brain, knowing it will come back to him when he’s stroking himself off later.

The elastic compulsion of his need so prominent, so inescapable, that the next words out of his mouth surprise even him.

“Go to sleep, Peach.” His mouth is on your ear, goosebumps rising in the wake of his breath over your skin. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

Taking one last deep breath of you in, he pulls back, resuming running his hand up and down the hills and valleys of your body.

The most that he’ll allow himself.

“I said some fucked up things to Kit today. She called while you were gone.”

The words fall out of your mouth, buried shame and anger spilling out with them. A confession.

Joel hums, hand still roaming, almost absentmindedly. It’s reassuring, a reminder of his words — you’re good.

“Siblings are…hard,” he suggests, emphasizing his point with a quick press of his fingers into your hip. “They get your best ‘n your worst, and don’t have a choice. It’s…safe to put the hard things on ‘em.”

“And bein’ the older one is…is…” he continues, pausing to clear his throat, voice tinged with something you can’t name, “a lot of responsibility. ‘N y’always wanna do right by them, y’know? Protect ‘em. But sometimes y’can’t. Hafta let ‘em figure it out on their own. Fuck up on their own.”

The silence that hangs in the air is charged with unsaid words. Unasked questions. Realities and consequences that neither of you are ready to explore the depths of. Guilt.

“Do you think I’m fucking up?”

“No, sweetheart. But I can’t say the same for other people.”

He squeezes your side again, letting his fingers linger just a touch longer than he had before. Dizziness snakes up your vertebrae, cloudy and disorienting. Desire. Want.

It’s a torrid kind of want, one that burrows under your skin and makes itself known. You think Joel can feel it, too, the way his touch roves over you — can feel it burn ing hot at the intersection of your skin and his.

But your brain pulls your body back, settles it to a low simmer. Reminds you to think instead of act.

And eventually, you fall asleep doing exactly that.

When you wake up later, sleep-drunk and unsure of the time, a too-bright infomercial in place of the movie, Joel is still there, just like he’d promised, head dropped to the flat of the couch, softly snoring. Chest steadily rising and falling, fingers curled into your flesh, firmly clasped just below your ribcage.

You don’t move an inch, afraid to wake him, and fall back asleep to the sound of his breathing.

A week passes. Then two weeks. And before you know it, summer winds into autumn, and the two of you slip into an easy routine — somewhat delicate, somewhat hesitant, but comfortable. And you feel silly, now, considering how naturally effortless it is. As though it could have always been this way.

And truly, that’s the hardest part to navigate. Drawing the line between what is, and what you want it to be.

Neither of you has brought up that night, at least to one another. But after you’ve gone to bed each night, you replay it in your mind, the feeling of his hands on you the image at the forefront of it; his name a whimper on your lips as your own fingers crawl beneath your panties.

Each night, wishing they were his.

It’s far too easy to overthink, second guess, dissect the way Joel’s fingers brush yours as you hand him his coffee, or the way his lips quirk up while he watches you struggle to assemble a bookshelf.

“Peach, please let me help. Promise it’ll be so much faster.”

Your indignant scowl, arms twisted over your chest in defiance. His soft laugh, deft hands picking up where yours had left off, piecing the cheap wood together without a hitch. Sitting back on his haunches, massive fingers tugging at your forearms to untangle them. The sticky warmth in his eyes when you let him.

“See? Coulda just asked me.”

Ensuring a soft landing, in every sense of the word.

The routine you’ve created is grounding, satisfying. Something to focus on aside from your intensely confusing feelings about Joel, something that pushes everything else to the back of your mind. Something to lose yourself in.

It’s not much — no caviar and lingerie and nightcaps, but it’s yours. An ardent, fulfilling thing that makes you feel steady on your feet. That makes the sharp, prodding fingers of your thoughts dissolve into a gleaming mist. Even the edges of the words in your head, the angry curvatures of your mother’s voice, bleed into nothing in the safety net of him.

The magic of it lies in its simplicity: taking turns cooking, laundry on Sundays, greetings with warm smiles even when you have to work late or spend entire evenings parked in front of your laptop. Some evenings he’ll go to the local dive with friends, some nights you’ll bury yourself in a book in your bed. The divine act of surviving.

The foundation of something, being constructed slowly from the ground up. Methodically. Each brick a meaningful gesture, word, moment.

You, being rebuilt from the ground up, at the skilled hands of Joel Miller.

A way back to yourself.

And it’s not like you don’t catch him watching you while you work, or let him drag your legs over his lap while your laptop perches precariously on your thighs on the couch. His hands are on you in some way or another more often than not, and you like it. You want it.

If only it were that easy.

If only it could be so uncomplicated — some semblance of normal.

But it’s not. And you know it never will be. So you take what you can get — reveling in the hours spent watching movies together, the errands run together, the shared jokes and spilled chinese takeout. Your own brand of normal.

And he tells you, often, how much he prefers this kind of normal — the one with you in it.

“You ‘n me, Peach, remember?”

The line a continuous, hazy blur — what is, and what you want it to be.

“Hi babe! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, so we should go out tonight? Thoughts? No, wait — don’t think about it, we should just driiiink about it! Love you!”

Ava’s chocolate-box trill fills the cabin of your car. Rain drizzles lazily down the windows as you click to replay the voicemail, the familiarity of her elongated words and upward inflection making your heart ache. It’s not the first time she’s invited you out since what you’ve come to refer to as the incident, but it’s the first time you’ve felt genuine remorse at turning her down.

But you will do so without hesitating, the grocery bags in the trunk of your car being the only thing on your agenda for the dreary Friday evening.

Typing out a quick text to Ava (sorry babe! raincheck!), your thumb lingers over the thread just below hers. Clicking it open again, the words on the screen send a languid fire rolling through your veins.

You: I’m cooking tonight

Joel Miller: whatever you want, peach

Whatever you want.

The possibility licks hot at every inch of you.

The kitchen has become your favorite place in the house. The heart of it, the life of it. You’ve memorized every nook and cranny, each knot and split of the woodwork. The contents of all drawers and cabinets, the haphazard organization of it all.

You move around the room fluidly, exuding a sense of belonging that’s not lost on Joel. Body propped against the doorframe, he watches as you pour and stir and salt — as comfortable, as confident, as he’s ever seen you.

A bittersweet conception stirs in him, the edges of it coming into soft-focus. Before it can fully form on the screen of his mind, grow roots in the cavern of his heart, he clears his throat to get your attention.

“Peach.”

“Hmm?” You twist just enough to catch his gaze, clocking the expectant look in his eyes. Immediately laying the spoon in your hand on the counter, you face your entire body to his, matching the open expression.

“Close your eyes.”

You obey without question, squeezing them shut and unfolding your hands in front of you like a prayer. There’s the sound of his feet and a quick hiss as Joel opens and closes the refrigerator, placing something cold and dewy in your open palms. Your fingers automatically close around the curves of it.

A wine bottle.

Dragging your bottom lip with your teeth, the corners of your mouth quirk up. Your lashes flutter open, gaze sweeping over the intricate label — a golden goddess, surrounded by ribbons of different shades of pink and blue, dotted with tiny golden star details. The shiny, beveled type spells out Prophecy just below the image.

“This is my favorite.” There’s awe in your voice. Reverence. It shines in your irises as you look up at Joel, who is posted up against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Was on sale.”

He breaks into a smirk, cheeks flushing as your sweet laugh fills the space between the two of you.

“Either way,” you respond, humor bleeding into the edges of your voice, eyes rolling fondly, “mind opening it up while I finish everything else?”

Raising his hand to retrieve the bottle, he’s quick to wrap his fingers around the arches of yours. He tugs once, firmly, pulling both you and the bottle close to his chest.

It rattles the air in your lungs, the tiniest oh fanning the base of his throat. He dips his head to meet your gaze, breath punching warm across the bridge of your nose and cheekbones. It’s dizzying, the closeness.

“How’d you know?”

You’re asking about the wine. There’s two inches of space separating you, and you’re asking about the wine.

He leans down further, the slope of his nose pulling across your cheek to graze the shell of your ear. His breathing is deep, measured, in control.

“You brought’t over for dinner once. Said the same thing — was your favorite. I just remembered, that’s all.” He says it casually, as if discussing the weather. As if knowing your favorite wine is the most natural thing in the world to him. “Wanted to get you somethin’ special.”

Whatever you want, Peach.

Your fingers draw swirls against the bottle, the heat from his leeching overtop of them. His grip tightens, words ringing in your ears. You can smell his shampoo, his cologne, him. The spicy warmth of it is mesmerizing — it infiltrates your senses, knocks you off balance.

The rest of the world feels a million miles away.

“Shit!” you hiss suddenly, wrenching your hands away and spinning to remove the saucepan from the flame. “I don’t want it to scorch.”

Joel hums amusedly, hands scrambling so the bottle doesn’t slip and shatter. You then hear him begin to drag open and slam closed multiple drawers, the clang and clatter of various utensils nearly drowning out the swearing under his breath.

“Where’s the damn—”

“Here.” Using your hand not balancing the saucepan, you stretch to retrieve the corkscrew buried in the drawer closest to you, watching through your lashes as he meets your extended grasp to take it.

His gaze lingers on you a split second, corners of his mouth downturned, brows drawn low. Analyzing. Memorizing. It doesn’t last long, him turning on his heel to retreat to the kitchen table.

Something about the way he does it pulls at you, a tangle that you can’t quite find the end of. It’s kindling to the fire smoldering low in your belly, the one you’re desperate to keep at bay — the one that roars back to life as Joel carefully pours your favorite wine into two plastic solo cups.

You can’t help but watch, the repetitive glug glug glug of the liquid into the cup matching the beat of the nearly-boiling blood in your veins. A sheepish smile overtakes his stoic facade, his eyes meeting yours across the room.

“Don’t have any wine glasses.” He nods to the plastic cups, a gentle laugh at the very edge of his words.

“Wouldn’t want one anyway,” you reply, mirroring the way his cheeks round out in a grin.

You’re just spooning the pasta and sauce onto plates when he materializes at your elbow, making a grab for both dishes.

“Uh! I don’t think so!” You click your tongue against your teeth teasingly, blocking his body with yours. “You go sit. I’ll bring them over.”

“You cooked,” he protests, smooth palm grazing your ribs in another attempt to bypass you.

“So you can clean, if you’re worried about it.” Flashing another brilliant sideways grin at him, you pick up a plate in each hand and nudge him backwards with your hip.

“Yes ma’am.” It’s a capitulation, a willingness to step back and let you lead him.

The notion strikes hot against you, nestles in the aching space between your thighs. It scales your stomach, gains speed in the span of your arms, makes your fingers tremble as you set the plates on the table.

“Cheers,” you mumble, scrabbling to pick up the flimsy cup, tipping it just so in his direction before taking a sizable gulp.

As he parallels your action in bringing the wine to his mouth, you wonder if there will ever be a time when he doesn’t trigger the roiling heat in your veins.

Then again, you think, maybe you want him to stoke that in you — always.

Fingers delicate around the body of your just-refilled red solo, you make your way from the kitchen to the couch, where Joel is slouched back, legs parted. It’s impossible not to drag your eyes across the muscled heft of his thighs, to not linger on the way his jeans stretch to accommodate him. His heavy hands rest on the bulk of them, fingers spread languidly.

While you watch him, he’s watching you. You can tell by the way his digits flex and relax, callused pads pulling patterned lines over denim. Keeping his composure, despite the way the wine ignites him. Despite the way you ignite him.

The lights in the room are low, the comforting drum of fat raindrops on the glass panes of the window constant. Your limbs feel loose, a combination of Joel and the wine. There’s a record on low in the background, but you don’t know who. You’d settled on the cushions while he’d taken the shiny disc out of the dust jacket gently, dropped the needle softly, with the most care you’d ever seen, and let the smooth rhythm of it fill the room.

“You gonna cook like that more often?” It’s casual, airy. As if the walls of the room aren’t closing in on the two of you, pushing you nearer and nearer to him.

Inescapable.

You giggle — you fucking giggle — stepping over him to curl back into your place on the couch.

“If you’ll let me.”

He scoffs, turning his body to face you. “Let you?”

You smile dreamily, looking up at him through your lashes. He’s close enough that you can climb over him, bracket his thighs with yours, take his hands and drag them up the length of your body.

There’s no voice in the back of your head telling you not to, for once. No whispers admonishing you, reminding you that you’re wicked and worthless and unlovable.

So when he repeats himself, asking “let you?” in a thick voice, you do.

Your body moves before your brain has time to react — you throw one leg over his lap, hands grasping for purchase on the back of the couch for balance, situating your thighs on the outside of his. It’s a snug fit, one that opens your hips wide, the stinging stretch of it pushing you forward. You relax your core over his, the zipper of his jeans biting into the ice-cream flesh of your inner thigh.

And when your brain finally does catch up, all you can feel are his big palms cupped around the backs of your thighs, kneading the exposed flesh there. His fingertips barely graze beneath the hems of your sleep shorts, and you’re all too-aware of how close they are to your center.

There’s a satisfied hum on his lips, a knowing growl in his throat. A silent admission of how long he’s waited for you. A confession of a different kind of hunger, a kind with legs and buoyancy.

His eyes burn into yours — no traces of hesitancy, surprise, guilt woven into the golden gleam of them.

Twin masks slipping at the same time. Resolve stretched to snapping, satisfaction within tasting distance as you grind down into him — just once, desperation sliding down your spine.

“You can have whatever you want, Peach.” His voice is low, a wanton whisper that punches somewhere near your throat.

Those words again.

Whatever you want.

You’re looking down at him, his irises shining with earnestness, and you can’t help but raise your hand from the couch to card through his thick waves. But he catches your wrist before you can, bringing it down to the heat of his mouth to press his lips to your open palm without breaking his searing gaze.

You moan. At least, you think you do, though it’s a quiet, broken thing. A whine. A plea.

His thumb swipes back and forth over your wrist, your hand small in his grip. You watch through hooded eyes as he lowers it to the crotch of his jeans, your breath catching in the cavern of your chest as you feel him for the first time.

It’s somewhat surreal — the thickness of his hard cock in your palm, separated only by the material of his pants. Every fantasy you’ve harbored about him unwrapped at the tips of your fingers, his hand pressing yours into him, unforgiving and firm.

His other hand swallows the curve of your thigh, chases up your side to grasp at your hip, dragging your cunt over him. He drops his head back, repeating the action, the ropes of muscle in his neck pulled taut as he bites back a groan.

Your head is swimming — Joel’s heady scent and bruising touch combined with the wine makes everything feel soft-focus and shimmery, like a dream. You cant your hips again, focusing on the way his jaw ticks when you do, lost in watching the way his body responds to yours.

The reality of it sits heavy between the place his skin meets yours — breaths mingling as a cry of finally, finally, finally. It consumes you both in such a way that neither of you hear a key turning in the lock, the door slamming open, or heavy boots in the entryway.

It’s not until he speaks that both you and Joel snap your heads in his direction, chests heaving, hands climbing. Caught.

“Guess it’s true, huh? Y’really are enjoyin’ my sloppy seconds.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fic #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction

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toji-girl · 2 months

Text

unspoken words | l. ackerman

synopsis: ‘Through thick and thin’ is something you will never forget telling Levi on your wedding day even when your marriage seems to be falling apart at the seams.

wc: 1k

tags: angst with happy ending + minors and empty blogs DNI still please + repost from my old blog + modern au but with canonverse season 4 spoilers if that makes sense so block #aot spoilers if you don’t want to be spoiled or anything + crying + any missing tag lmk!

“Levi just let me-” You began getting cut off as he waved his hand in the air ignoring your stare as he moved by himself, there was nothing you could do but watch feeling your heart crack seeing him, the man who everyone deemed so strong has now crumbled to this.

He hissed in pain shifting his weight to get more comfortable before looking at you, shame colored his silver eyes as he gazed at you.

“Can you push me out to the car?” He asked so quietly you weren’t sure you even heard him but nonetheless, you grabbed the bag stuffed with dinner tonight that Kuchel was holding at her house.

You grabbed the handles and wheeled him to the front door grabbing the keys trying not to let the tears stream down your cheeks, if you wiped at your eyes then you knew Levi would say something and it would just blow up more than it already has.

Silently you opened the door and pushed him outside shutting and locking the door. Turning around you glanced up at the sky seeing clouds slowly turn gray, a beautiful bright day now dampened just like your mood.

Ever since Levi came home from the hospital he’s pushed you away more times than you could count and the endless fights left you on the couch most nights unable to comfort your husband.

You sighed and opened the car door helping him inside before folding the wheelchair and putting it in the back.

More silence settled in the car when you got in the driver’s spot sitting there holding the steering wheel debating on if you should say anything.

“Are we going to sit here all day?” Levi asked looking at you.

His tone was a bit harsher than what he wanted, a look of hurt flashed across your face before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway. So many thoughts swirled around in your head thinking of the vows you made him wondering if he was going to keep his.

“Are you not going to use your turn signal? And you need the right lane or you’re going to miss your turn. My mom has been texting me non-stop about this damn shitty dinner.” Levi grunted and rolled his eyes watching you weave in and out of the lanes.

“I know where I’m going. We’ve been to your mom’s a lot of times.” You replied cooly trying to keep a level head, all the stress of him fighting and pulling away left you angry and alone but you didn’t blame him, the sudden change threw him for a loop and now he has to rely on you for almost everything and you did so without one word even though Levi was a bit brash with you.

Tears stung the back of your throat again as you focused on driving still missing the turn. “You missed the damn turn, what are you doing? Are you even paying attention?” Levi asked and huffed looking out the window.

You turned to look at him with a watery gaze as you pulled over on the shoulder gripping the steering wheel.

“I have been nothing but good to you ever since your accident and you have been nothing but awful to me. I cook and clean for you then I bathe you afterward and this is the thanks I get? I’m your wife Levi, not some fucking nurse you can speak to that way. I love you but dammit you’re being an asshole to me.” You blurted and looked at the road again.

Levi stared at you slowly chewing on your words knowing you’re right, it wasn’t fair because you put everything on hold to take care of him, your sweet words and touch at night whispering how you still love him and will always think he’s your hero.

He was never good with words that didn’t usually hurl insults or shit jokes but now he was stunned in silence as you finally pulled the car into Kuchel’s driveway seeing her standing on the front porch rushing to the vehicle opening Levi’s door.

You got out and took a moment to collect yourself pressing your sleeves against your eyes hearing Kuchel grab the wheelchair and help Levi in it. “Are you coming in dear?” She asked walking around the car to look at you with a soft smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Just leave me out here with her please,” Levi said looking at his mom then you leaning against the trunk holding your arms. Kuchel kissed the top of his head and walked back inside to peer out the window. “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been an asshole to you.”

“I don’t think right now is a good time to get into this, let’s just have dinner and go home. I’m exhausted.” You said standing straight walking past him, he quickly grabbed your hand and looked down at the ring he slipped on your finger two years ago pressing a light kiss to the shining diamond.

“I’m having trouble adjusting to everything and you’ve helped me more than anything. Thank you.” His words and tone were soft reminding you when you both stood under the altar confessing your undying love to each other in front of your family and friends.

The rain broke from the clouds drizzling over you and Levi as you stared down at him squeezing his hand, so many unspoken words were left between you as you sat down on his lap burying your face in his neck.

“I love you so much, thank you for being there for me when I need you the most,” Levi whispered hugging you tighter to him afraid that you would vanish in thin air if he let go.

#aot spoilers #Levi angst #Levi fluff #aot x reader Levi #Levi Ackerman angst #Levi Ackerman fluff #aot x reader #levi x reader #levi x you

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kairiscorner · 9 months

Text

bc i have no life, i made (and will expand):

dialogue prompts list or something

REMINDERS! imma use these on fics if y'all want, though you guys can use these too for your own fics, just make sure to give me credit and tag me, attaching a link to this post is also appreciated if you use this ^^

(btw, i can also repeat some prompts, though please be patient, i might not be able to post so much this month ^^'')

1.) "you're a bad influence on me, y'know that?" (miles 1610)

2.) "yeah, i risked my skin saving you. i don't care if you wouldn't do the same for me, i'm not you."

3.) "mind using your eyes AND brain next time?"

4.) "my heart beats all the time, shouldn't be a big deal, but i can't help but notice how loud the beating is when you're around." (teen!gojo)

5.) "never really understood poetry, but when i read a few lines from this... you were the image that came out of the words." (noir)

6.) "if you really wanted to drive me insane... you'd hold my hand for more than 5 seconds, then you'll see me insane with love." (noir)

7.) "please, for the love of GOD, never shut up."

8.) "my hands are cold... wait, what are you doing, i thought you brought mitt--never mind, this is nice."

9.) "something tells me you aren't happy about it. and something tells me you'll be angrier if i keep asking. it's okay, take your time. just know i'll be right here for you."

10.) "if you can't believe me, then i'll have to show you that i'm serious about you."

11.) "sometimes, you don't have to worry about loving me enough--you do that too much already. what you should worry about... is giving me too much love that you forget who you're supposed to be loving first: you."

12.) "man, after 5 shots of whiskey and a good laugh, i think i've made up my mind--you're gonna be the one i'll marry." "we just met." "and i just fell for you."

13.) "they came to get their shit back without even getting their shit together, how nice."

14.) "i would've thrown a brick in your window if you didn't answer, and y'know, i was going to, but then i remembered you hated getting stuff on your carpet so i left and did it in my mind."

15.) "i want a platypus. and yes, i want you, too."

16.) "your place is filthy." "it's gonna be yours too, one day." "you mean ours."

17.) "why are my eyes gross right now?" "it's... you're crying." "nu-uh." "y'need a tissue?" "yes please"

18.) "you're so stupid, and reckless, and a literal danger to my very way of life--and yet i love you to bits!"

19.) "if i could just go back in time and see you again, maybe then i'd tell myself to love you for a long, long time. even if i never knew it at the time, i regret all the years we've lost together, i regret living my life without you in it."

20.) "now before you ask why i beat the shit out of him in the locker rooms, it was because he was gonna ask you out before i could, okay?" (soccer captain!miguel)

21.) "i am a fully grown adult. i am capable, i am independent, i am strong-willed." "and you lose your shit when you see me come home with a mcdonalds' kiddie meal."

22.) "nobody loves me..." "..." "ahem, i said, NOBODY LOVES ME" "and i'm nobody?" "yay"

23.) "i just wanna bash their head in, but... it's so distracting. their eyes get me lost and i'm, i'm out of it."

24.) "man, they're a lost cause. and yet i keep busting my ass trying to save them. i love being your spouse and curse being your spouse, dammit."

25.) "i wanna kiss... right now... but my spouse'll... hate me." "i am your spouse." "oh damn, then you'll... hate me if i... if i kiss your pretty face, love..."

26.) "go to bed right now." "no." "i guess i'll give your plushie all my kisses." "ok on my way."

27.) "again, would it be me or them? me who's been with you this whole time, me who's took you in when you're so used to being refused, me who's... who's loved you, all this time?"

28.) "where are my--" "keys? here, scatterbrain." "damn, i'm so glad i married you."

29.) "kids, go to your room." "as your co-parent, i say protect me from the dragon about to breathe fire on me."

30.) "i may be his wife, but i'm not his lover."

31.) "i think you have me confused for someone else."

32.) "it's because i care about you that i push myself away, don't you get that?"

33.) "we'll never be okay again, will we...?"

34.) "the noises in my head keep getting louder and louder and louder, but only you... only you help calm them down."

35.) "oh, i get it, fine. i'll fuck off."

36.) "i want that though." "it's a waste of money." "you got it for me anyway."

37.) "how could you say i don't love you when all my life, you're all i come home to and kiss a good morning and good night?"

38.) "what a stupid man i married."

39.) "don't... fucking move... not unless you want me to do it..."

40.) "you went in my ROOM?"

41.) "i accidentally broke the bed."

42.) "i love you." "what?" "ah fuck, i mean, i'll see you."

43.) "GOD, I HATE THEM SO FUCKING MUCH." "is that why you draw you and them kissing together all the time?"

44.) "i can make a mean burned down house and scorched lawn."

45.) "i'll admit it, fine, i can't win your heart. because your heart isn't any prize to be won, you're not an object. you're... you're you. and i LOVE you."

46.) "what, why're you staring? can't handle how hot i am?" "no, it's just that you've got a shit-eating grin on your face i'd love to punch off you."

47.) "i actually hate summer vacation... i won't be able to see you everyday for 3 whole months."

48.) "ooh, you drank from my cup, you know what this means, we had an indirect kiss."

49.) "just tell your crush you like them already and stop being a big baby about this." "okay, fine. i like you." "wait--"

50.) "i know it looks stupid, but... i tried."

51.) "it's funny, because i had you in mind while making it."

52.) "you think infinity is real, or... are we just living every day hoping tomorrow will come, despite all odds?"

53.) "you're so fucking stupid...! stupid, stupid, stupid... why did you... dammit, why?"

54.) "i don't even know who i share my bed with anymore."

55.) "bite me and get what you want, what we both want."

56.) "we'll never have to see each other again after this."

57.) "quit making promises you can't keep."

58.) "tell me to shut up one more time. go, i'm waiting."

59.) "ah, sorry, i... oh, your hand's really soft."

60.) "what are you doing?" "just capturing the moment in my mind when i'm with the most perfect person in the whole multiverse."

61.) "and you know what your problem is? you can't stand seeing me happy, that's your fucking problem."

#kairi has no life #dialogue prompts #atsv x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #writing prompts #atsv imagines

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apocalypticavolition · 8 months

Text

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 42: Remembrance of Dreams

Rest easy, child. Moiraine is keeping you safe from the spoilers. This post is filled with spoilers for the whole of The Wheel of Time series and I am trying to get them stabbed into you, but you can avoid your fate! Just block the tags! Leave this post! Read the damn books or whatever! And don't blame me if you see spoilers from here on out.

This chapter's icon is the ravens, a way of representing the Shadow that the gang is desperately trying to find a way to escape. Luckily, there's nothing really going on to threaten them in this chapter.

He took five steps into the library before he realized that everyone else had stopped, crowded together in the doorway, openmouthed and goggling. A brisk blaze crackled in the fireplace, and Loial was sprawled on the long couch, reading, a small black cat with white feet curled and half asleep on his stomach. When they entered he closed the book with a huge finger marking his place and gently set the cat on the floor, then stood to bow formally.

Aww, Loial snuggles with kitties too. This book doesn't have enough kitty snuggles, there should have been one in literally every chapter.

(Also it's cute that Rand forgets how unusual Ogiers are from everyone else's perspective because he's just that buddy-buddy with Loial already. Rand's a good friend.)

Loial liked to talk, and talk at length when he had the slightest chance, though he usually seemed to think a story needed two or three hundred years of background to make it understood. His sense of time was very strange; to him three hundred years seemed a reasonable length of time for a story or explanation to cover.

To an Ogier, this is only providing a decade or so of context, which isn't anywhere near as much.

“You always were crazy,” Perrin said, and for a moment he, too, sounded as of old. “No,” Nynaeve said. Tears made her eyes bright, but she was smiling. “None of us blames you.”

Dammit people, more hugs! Hug Mat! Hug Moiraine! Hug Loial especially and then tell me how fluffy it was.

“Yes,” Moiraine said quietly, “he still has the dagger.” The laughter and talk was still going on among the rest of the Emond’s Field folk, but she had noticed his sudden intake of breath and had seen what had caused it. She moved closer to his chair, where she did not have to raise her voice for him to hear clearly.

Rand again shows he's the overall cleverest of the group in that he notices what's up right away, and Moiraine briefly flirts with being the kind of assistant to Rand that she should be by telling him the facts straight out. See how well you two get along in this conversation, Moiraine? All of your conversations could have been like that!

Rand made a sound, and Moiraine raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought they were looking for Mat and me,” he said.

Rand's reacting to Moiraine's infodumping, which again shows just how great a team they are when Moiraine is providing all the facts instead of trying to manipulate them! This sequence is really good in the trust she offers to everyone and it's a shame she reverts to her old habits again by the second book. I blame Siuan showing up, it made her feel young again.

“That’s what I always say,” Mat said blandly, though he was suddenly grinning hard, and Egwene asked in a decidedly neutral voice, “Who’s Elayne?”

Egwene, you spent several weeks dancing with the hottest boy you could find. You don't get to be pissy about Rand interacting with another girl. It's just annoyingly hypocritical and we are leaving the part of the book where romantic misunderstandings are fun.

I met some Tuatha’an a few years back, and they wanted to learn the songs we sing to trees. Actually, the trees won’t listen to very many anymore, and so not many Ogier learn the songs. I have a scrap of that Talent, so Elder Arent insisted I learn. I taught the Tuatha’an what they could learn, but the trees never listen to humans. For the Traveling People they were only songs, and just as well received for that, since none was the song they seek.

Please internalize this, WoT fandom. The Tuatha'an aren't stupid, they're well aware of the Ogier songs, and the Ogier songs aren't what they're looking for. No song is actually what they're looking for, but the Ogier songs can't even be sung properly by people so there's no match here at all.

“That’s what the Tinkers told us,” Perrin said. “Yes,” Egwene said, “the Aiel story.” Moiraine turned her head slowly. No other part of her moved. “What story?”

See what it feels like when people won't communicate useful information, Moiraine?

(Also I am 90% certain that it was only the Three Oaths that kept Perrin and Egwene alive through this exchange, and also Mat and Rand once the dream info comes out.)

Had I known after the first such, I might have been able to. . . . There has not been a Dreamwalker in Tar Valon for nearly a thousand years, but I could have tried.

I'm pretty sure that the real reason the boys don't tell Moiraien, Pattern-wise, is that she would have worn herself out trying to help. She sadly cannot.

He can still send Halfmen against you, and Trollocs, and Draghkar, and other things, but he cannot make you his unless you let him.

I'm mostly quoting this bit to show that Moiraine and Lan are in definite philosophical disagreement here. She's way more hopeful about the task at hand than he is, though these Two Rivers folk are probably making her less optimistic by the millisecond.

Out of the mass of humanity, the Dark One can touch an individual only by chance, unless that person seeks it. But for a time, at least, you three are central to the Pattern.

Also of course, the boys aren't being touched by the Dark One. They're instead being influenced by Ishamael, who is now free enough to do whatever he pleases.

“The Father of Lies is a good name for the Dark One,” Moiraine replied. “It was always his way to seed the worm of doubt wherever he could. It eats at men’s minds like a canker. When you believe the Father of Lies, it is the first step toward surrender. Remember, if you surrender to the Dark One, he will make you his.”

And this is the part where Moiraine loses the trust again. She could have told Rand the truth, but she sidesteps so blatantly instead that he has no choice but to distrust her.

“The Pattern presents a crisis, and at the same time a way to surmount it. If I did not know it was impossible, I could almost believe the Creator is taking a hand. There is a way.”

I wonder if Robert Jordan read much of Asimov's Foundation. In those stories, a man had deduced a way to predict the future in broad strokes and had established the titular Foundation to avert the 30,000 years of barbarism he foresaw. As the project would still take a thousand years, he left behind recordings identifying various turning points and leaving hints for the Foundation's members to use to swing events the proper way - they were referred to in-universe as "Seldon crises".

Much like Wheel of Time, Asimov died with this story unfinished and had later authors revisit the series, though sadly they only did a prequel trilogy instead of resolving the cliffhanger of the final chronological novel. It also is getting adapted these days and attracting a lot of alt-right rage for having women and people of color in the cast instead of the series of interchangeable white dudes - and hopefully Amazon's Wheel adaptation will continue the parallels by having a much stronger second season after a shakier first one.

Anyway I dunno why this notion struck me here, it's just something about the way Moiraine said it. Fun fact: the Creator can intervene and we'll be seeing that before the book ends, though he won't be doing much useful.

“No!” Loial said, an emphatic rumble like thunder. Everyone turned to look at him and he blinked under the attention, but there was nothing hesitant about his words. “If we enter the Ways, we will all die—or be swallowed by the Shadow.”

Oh yeah, this is probably another thing that the chapter icon was referencing. But we'll see more about that soon. Next chapter: more bad dreams!

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #rand al'thor #perrin aybara #egwene al'vere #nynaeve al'meara #loial #moiraine damodred #mat cauthon #lan mandragoran

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urimaginespimp · 3 years

Text

A Half-naked Nurse and Wrong Ideas.

Bucky x Reader with fever.

Thank you @daredarling for the “you’ve gotten sick and Bucky takes care of you” idea.

——–

You should’ve known better than to race Sam under a thunderstorm last night. Waking up the next morning, you had a massive headache, your muscles felt sore, and you were shivering.

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Barnes says you’re half an hour late in training.” FRIDAY’s voice spoke, making you groan and bring your comforters above you.

“Tell him to fuck off.” you muffled under the sheets.

Barnes… He has been nothing but a pain in the ass to you. To this day, you don’t know what you’ve done for him to dislike you this much. And as if his snarky comments and glares thrown your way wasn’t enough, Steve actually paired you both for missions and trainings.

If he wasn’t so handsome you would’ve cut him already. If Steve allowed you.

Loud bangs hit your door outside. “Y/L/N you’re already 30 minutes late! That’s 5 laps extra for you!” You could hear the irritation lacing his voice.

Maybe if you ignore him long enough, the pest would go away.

“I know you’re in there!” He followed up after you ignored him.

Sighing in annoyance, you got up, with the blankets still wrapped around you, and weakly waddled your way to your door, not bothering to open up your curtains. Opening the door, A frowning Bucky was looking down on you. If you weren’t feeling so shitty, you would’ve snickered at his expression.

“Barnes why are you so obsessed with me?” your cracked voice barely managed to finish asking.

He was observing you from head to toe, noting how pale you are, and shivering under a huge comforter despite that your AC was off.

“You’re stupid.” That was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

“Well, you’re not that sma-”

“Will you shut up and go back to bed? You look like you’re about to drop dead any second now.” He interrupted you, his face still stern with no emotion.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back and weakly made your way back over to bed, pausing to groan as you remembered you forgot to close the door.

“If you’re still there, could you please close the door.” it almost pained you to even be so polite to him but you blame it to being sick.

Finally managing to lie back down, you stared up the ceiling when you heard the door finally shut gently. Sighing, you were about to let sleep take over you when something caught the corner of your eye.

Bucky was by the closed door, taking his shirt off over his head. You let out a shriek. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?!”

“You’re sick.” he replied nonchalantly, while kicking off his shoes, leaving him in his sweatpants and socks.

“And taking off your clothes is supposed to make me feel better?!” you were trying to support yourself with your elbow, facing his way. “And I meant that you close the door before leaving.”

“I don’t want to die of heat while taking care of you.” he replied in a duh tone before entering your bathroom to fetch some warm water in a basin.

You were still trying to process what he was getting at when he finally went back out, now basin with steaming water in hand.

“You got a clean towelette I can use?” has asked as he placed the basin on the foot of your bed.

“Yeah, it’s by the third dra- what the hell are you doing again?” you caught yourself as he was opening your drawers. “Because if you’re trying to kill me, doing it while I’m defenseless is just beneath you.”

“Didn’t think your IQ could get any lower but you’re sick so I’ll let this pass.” He rolled his eyes before soaking the cloth on the water. “I’m nursing you. Now lay flat and still so the cloth won’t fall off that forehead of yours.” he instructed, again sounding so casual.

You followed his orders before realizing that this whole ordeal was still very weird. “I’m sorry, I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”

He went by your head and placed the cloth on your forehead, making you sigh at the warmth it brought your chilling form. “Steve will have my head if he finds out I knew you’re sick and let you die.”

You stared at him deadpan.

“And partners are supposed to be taking care of each other.” he muttered, making the side of your mouth twitch.

“If you tell anyone I said that I’ll kill you.” he lightly threatened when he noticed your mouth twitch.

“Fair enough. And I should probably tell you that I’m prone to get mentally confused when I have fevers which is a normal symptom, but just letting you know in case I start saying something nice.” you chuckled.

He went over your mini fridge and opened a bottle of water to drink.

You look at him, noticing that he was starting to sweat a lot from the heat. His skin was glistening making you mentally kick yourself from staring.

“You got underwear?” you found yourself asking, making him choke on his drink.

“What?”

“I-I’m just saying i-if you’re that hot, you can just take off your sweatpants and I won’t mind.”

“You’re saying I’m hot?” he chuckled, having fun twisting your words, making you flush. “Hey, color’s back on your face. Maybe I should get you all flustered more.” he teased further.

“Shut up Barnes, I meant that the room’s too hot for you because the AC is off. You’re sweating like a pig.”

“Save the excuses, Y/N. You won’t mind if I’ll just be in my boxers?” he smirked at you as he took his socks off and started working on untying the strings of his sweats.

“Puh-lease, Barnes, it may come as a shock to you, but I’ve seen enough men in boxers. You’re not that…”

You trailed off what you were going to say when you noticed that this was a different kind of boxers. Why were they so tight?

You thought he meant boxer shorts, not boxer briefs. Dammit.

“I’m not that…?” He asked.

“I forgot. Fever brain.” You shrugged, diverting your eyes away from him. “Anyway, why are you so nice to me? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” He contradicts, placing his hands on his hips.

“Uh, yeah you do.” you paused to let out a cough. “You always make fun of me or provoke me in front of everyone else.”

“And how do I treat you when we’re alone, especially in missions?” he raised his brows at you, expecting that you’ll put two and two together.

“A lot nicer actually.” You muttered.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that the team keeps insisting I have a crush on you.” he scratched the back of his head.

“That’s ridiculous. Why would they even think that?” you chuckled.

“It’s Sam’s fault. He tricked me.”

“What?”

“He was being all hypothetical, saying what if I was only allowed to date someone from the team and who would I choose. And I uh… may have said I’d choose you. And everyone else heard.” He muttered the last part, embarrassed.

It was your turn to smirk at him. “And why me?”

“Stop that. You look like a smirking corpse.” he snapped at you defensively and cleared his throat. “It’s just that you were actually really nice to me when we met. Didn’t feel like you were masking apprehensiveness like everybody did when I first got here.”

“Sounds like you have a crush on me.” you had the courage to tease him, seeing how flustered he got from telling the story.

“This is not how you treat your nurse, Y/N.”

“Yeah, a nurse in his underwear. Very ethical. And I’m not your supervisor, but I think brooding is not advisable.”

“And now as your nurse, I would advise you to quit talking and get some sleep.” he playfully glared at you. “I’ll be by the chair to constantly check on your temperature and replace the cloth on your forehead.”

“I really appreciate what you’re doing, Barnes. I’m starting to think the team’s right.”

“Ma’am flirting with patients and vice versa is frowned upon. Now sleep.”

“Fine.”

——–

While you were finally snoozing for over an hour, gentle knocks were heard on your door.

Standing up from his chair, Bucky quickly made his way over the door to prevent more knocks from disturbing your sleep, forgetting that he was still only in his boxer briefs.

Opening it slowly, he was met with three pairs of wide eyes belonging to Steve, Sam, and Nat.

“Hey you guys, could you keep it down? Y/N is getting some rest.”

“Uhuh… I bet she needs it.” Sam replied slowly, still wide-eyed, noting how Bucky’s slightly sweaty.

“So… when did this happen?” It was Steve’s turn to speak up.

“Oh, just this morning. She was running late and I came here with the intention of punishing her for it but I ended up taking care of her.” He explained in a low voice, still oblivious to how their teammates were getting a totally different idea.

“Woah.” Nat muttered under her breath.

“Yeah, I guess her muscles are all sore because she was moving so weakly, and her voice is all hoarse now when she talks, and -”

“Look we’re happy for you, but TMI, Buck! TMI.” Steve cut him off and the three of them scrambled away from your room, with Sam muttering he didn’t need the unwelcomed visuals, and Nat screaming for Wanda.

Now left alone and confused by the doorway, he was trying to figure out why they reacted that way when it finally clicked.

“Fuck.” he whisper-yelled, knowing that the teasing was about to get worse.

——–

Final Part

Permanent tag list: @lizzarooni

Marvel Masterlist

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thunderheadfred · 3 years

Text

🦅Hawks HC’s🦅

This is SO unnecessarily long. Some NSFW. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

Has zero social life or hobbies outside of work. He knows it’s unhealthy, but like, who has the time?? Oh? Lots of people do?? Haha what are healthy work/home boundaries? He desperately wants to retire and always talks about a world without heroes, but the truth is he would have no idea what to do with himself if he got his way. Take him to a park at midnight and watch him turn into a giant repressed child on a swing. He’ll do a standing-360 and it will be terrifying.

Listens to music way too loud in his headphones to drown out wind noise. Probably half deaf at this point. His musical taste is wild; listening history all over the fucking place. Algorithms have no idea what to do with him.

That visor? It’s prescription. Wow is he far-sighted. He wears glasses. He’s not blind without them (rather the opposite) but they help him see things directly in front of him without massive eye strain. Yeah, he looks really hot in glasses.

Prefers communicating via text. Sometimes it’s a lot of dumb memes, but mostly it’s sincere. He can say what he means when he doesn’t have to put on a public front.

Smokes like a chimney. Self medicates with stimulants. Coffee, tobacco, sugar. Fidgety, likes things in his mouth or hands. Gnashes on toothpicks and popsicle sticks. He really should go back to therapy, huh? His teeth are sparkling white for the cameras but his breath could use some work. Chews gum a lot to compensate, and always does it really loudly with a big shit-eating grin.

Impatient as fuuuuuck. Rude about it. If you take too long doing anything, you’re going to hear a foot tapping. He’ll smile and laugh it off, never ever directly criticize you about it. But lord, the dramatic sighs. He WILL nudge you out of the way and take over in order to finish a task faster, and it’s truly fucking annoying.

LOVES food. Has the metabolism of an actual bird. Will seize upon any excuse to eat. No need to be self-conscious about eating in front of him; he wants you to enjoy it. Steals bites from you and talks with his mouth full. Prefers street food and take-out, usually eats while walking or flying. Sit-down restaurants are an invitation for gawkers.

He’s one of those celebrities that looks way taller on TV. In real life, he’s small and compact. So you’re surprised the first time you see him in person. He has a big head. Literally.

If you’re taller or bigger than him, he does Not Care. He treats everyone like they’re four feet tall, even Endeavor. Everything you do is cute. If you’re actually short, he’s going to carry you around all the time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Collects big chunky overpriced watches. All the better to tell you you’re late.

Half his clothes are brand fucking new. Sometimes he forgets to take off the tags. (Don’t look at the prices, do NOT) He never seems to wear the same thing twice. He also never seems to go shopping. Brands just give him stuff, and he shrugs and goes “yeah okay.”

The other half of his clothes are old, faded, and patched up. Every item he acquires for himself has deep sentimental value. If you tell him to throw away that nasty ten-year-old pair of frayed cargo pants, be prepared to find out how wrong and evil you are for even suggesting it.

He doesn’t snore; he coos. Loudly. Like a fucking pigeon trapped in a megaphone.

- - - - -

Dating

Gift-giving is his love language. Bringing your favorite snacks. Leaving novelty magnets on your fridge. He found a copy of that book/game/movie you mentioned like a month ago, don’t you remember? If he has to go out of town on a job, he’ll bring back the ugliest possible souvenir, just to annoy you.

He likes gifting jewelry especially. Covering you in shiny baubles, little golden things. Not expensive, but unusual. Antiques or handmade, even bizarre vending machine crap. Gets really handsy if you wear or show off his gifts.

Since you’re the first person who has given him The Feels, if you are resistant to his advances (like, say, because he’s way too famous and you’re terrified he’s gonna break your heart) he’s going to go fucking nuts trying to woo you. Doesn’t have a single patient bone in his body but will wait as long as it takes for you to come around. He’ll act like he’s cool with just being friends at first, just hanging out, haha. Oh you’re busy today? That’s cool. Inside he’s shrieking like a tea kettle. Go ahead, make him wait.

Don’t bother giving him a key to your place. He’s coming in through the bedroom window or patio door. Just put out a damn welcome mat on your balcony... or a bird feeder.

A bit of a voyeur. He likes to watch you do your normal routine without interruption. He can see from miles away so if you’ve got your lights on at night, he’ll creep for a while before he comes in. It comforts him immensely, seeing a little slice of the world that isn’t constantly in need of saving.

Is super talkative and funny but a terrible communicator. Makes more jokes the worse he feels. Will almost never tell you what he needs. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know. You will learn to read between the lines and gradually notice his tiny unconscious cries for help. Back rubs make him emotional.

He shows up at your place at the weirdest times. All hours. You’re never ready. At first it was infuriating, because you wanted to look your best and have time to prepare, but you figure out pretty quickly that seeing you in your natural state is his favorite thing. He never gets to be around normal people, doing normal things. A boring, lazy afternoon is his idea of paradise.

He’ll pick through your things and ask a world of invasive questions. A medicine cabinet raider. He wants to know every fucking tiny thing about you, live vicariously through you.

He actually lives in a top floor penthouse. Because I mean, where else? Never spends any time there; mostly he seems to roost on the balcony. He has used the front door maybe once. He much prefers your place, and will only take you back to his after months of dating. It’ll take like, an entire emergency. You’ll end up in his bed by mistake.

Because when you finally come over, he’s embarrassed. Its sparse. White. Things in boxes. A new furniture smell. Like he’s not done moving in, though he’s lived there for years. He wants you to move in So Bad but doesn’t want to be pushy. If you don’t start leaving your stuff there, he’ll steal things from your apartment. Where the hell is your favorite t-shirt? Or that pillowcase you like? Dammit Keigo.

He’s a decent cook, a habit he made himself pick up because he thought it might make him feel more normal. It... didn’t. He never actually cooks until you give him an excuse. He’ll bring you breakfast in bed and watch you eat every bite with big hungry eyes.

He’s got a separate wardrobe for his hero costume and all his feathers. Yeah. His feathers. Because he can detach and control his feathers at will, when he’s alone at home he kind of just... shucks off his wings. The first time you see him do it, your eyes fall out of your head. He walks around in a tee shirt and boxers with these ugly little stumps covered in brownish, blood-red down. It actually looks kind of gnarly, like he got mauled by a bear.

He’s never dated until you. No one has ever been in his apartment until you. No one has called him Keigo until you. He has some bigass intimacy issues. Because. Y’know. The trauma. But god, he wants you in his life so bad, even if he has no idea how to make time for your relationship.

He’ll want to keep you to himself for a while. Once you go public he’s going to have an arm around your shoulders at all times. Publicly Displays his Affection way more than is socially acceptable in Japan, and gives precisely -100,000 fucks.

His fans either love you or hate you. There is no in between. He will immediately take your phone and threaten to drop it from a great height if he catches you reading shitty gossip about the two of you. Does NOT care about his public image anymore, doesn’t want YOU to care about it either. He’s gonna retire soon anyway, remember? That’s a lie.

Being a charming motherfucker is the core of his public persona, so you will get jealous. A lot. He will flirt shamelessly without realizing it. He will get photographed in compromising positions with gorgeous people.

Once you accept that he’s basically an actor 80% of the time and that Hawks and Keigo are separate identities, you’ll both feel better. When he comes home (to YOU) and falls over exhausted and stops being Hawks(tm), when he scratches his ass or burps in front of you, when he yells to you from the bathroom, when he groans childishly about his shitty day while laying face-down in your lap, you’ll know you have nothing to worry about. Keigo is all yours.

Boundaries? Never heard of ‘em. He’s either a million lightyears away or he’s glued to your hip. The whiplash is astounding.

Absolutely says “I love you” wayyyyyy to soon. It thrills you but scares you off at the same time, because there’s no way Hawks - The Hawks - can actually mean it, right? (He does)

Rings? Nah. When things get serious, he will make a necklace out of a feather for you, and if you ever take it off, you better be asleep or in the shower. Even then you’re on thin fuckin ice. If you’re not wearing it he knows. He’s never mean about making you put it back on, it just makes him nervous if he can’t feel your heartbeat.

- - - - -

SPICY CHICKEN NUGGETS

High sex drive. Horny like 25/7. Probably a symptom of having way too much pent up stress.

Often takes care of it himself when he doesn’t have the emotional resources for anyone else, even his S.O. Figures you don’t want him coming on to you as often as he would like to, but he’s too stupid to talk to you about it first. Morning masturbator.

Yes he’s fucked around a lot but he’s not exactly a playboy either. People have always thrown themselves at him, and before he met you he let them do it. Especially when out of town and staying in a hotel. Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, etc.

He’d never be unfaithful to you though; his loyalty and dedication are frankly a little unsettling. Sometimes you feel like the only thing in his life other than hero work. Teach this man to knit. Make him join a book club. Christ. Anything.

Does in fact have seasonal mating patterns and it’s super embarrassing.

An underwear-sniffing perv. He’ll definitely hump your pillow.

Gets a sick thrill out of breaking in and startling you. Coming up behind you in the dark, sneaking into your bed. It’s probably his worst habit, and even he hates that he does it. If you get better at detecting him he’ll be so proud. Land a slap on him and he’ll be a horny mess.

Dog-whistles at you. Often from rooftops, and you have no idea where he is but you know he’s leering.

He will call you a lot of really stupid pet names. He likes the way you blush when he finds a newer, stupider one. Calls you angel when he’s really far gone.

Likes to scratch you with his stubble until your skin turns raw and sensitive. If it annoys you or hurts a little? Even better. Making you squirm is his new favorite thing. Especially when going down on you. Your inner thighs are always exfoliated.

His cock is average in every respect. This is not a bad thing. He knows how to please you with every totally normal inch of that cock. He has some kind of homing beacon installed on your sensitive spots.

Goes absolutely insane for blowjobs. Any time, any place.

Likes to bend you around in all kinds of positions with an assist from his feathers to hold up an ankle here, an arm there. Get used to floating mid-coitus. It just seems to happen.

Spanky.

His number one priority is making you feel adored and at home in his bed. Ohhhhh he likes to make you smile. But if you encourage him to get pushy and dominant with you, you will have a good, good time.

He’s switchy, and will lose his shit if you initiate or take control. Again, he’s always horny for you, because he can finally let go. Breathe in his direction and he’s hard.

Doesn’t moan much, but Babe, he’s a dirty talker. He’s not smooth or deliberate about it, it’s more like he can’t fucking believe you let him do whatever he wants to you. You like that huh? Like he’s in stages of shock. He’s singing your praises to high Heaven and muttering oh shit oh shit oh shittttttt and laugh-crying as he cums. He never talks about his feelings; he fucks about them.

After. Care. King. He loves pampering and clucking over you anyway, this is simply another excuse to do it. He knows exactly how much water you drink in a day. Can’t take care of himself for shit, but you? You’ll never have a need he won’t try to fill. What’s all that hero work for if not this? Yeah, soak it up. You deserve it.

#hawks #takami keigo #hawks headcanons #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #gender neutral #smut #bnha #mha #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha fanfiction #bnha x reader #mha x reader #fred writes #no idea why I’m writing these #guess I’m just in a Mood

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ghostly-cabbage · 3 years

Text

Party In The Graveyard (Shiptember 2021 : Drunk)

It’s a day late but heres the Danny x Wes fic I wrote for @ghostgothgeek ‘s Ship Event!! Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Language, Underage Drinking, Mild Suggestive Themes Additional Tags: Post-Reveal, Aged Up Characters, Mutual Pining, Flirting, Getting Together

Summary: So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay? This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea. Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class. And it's just getting better and better. Why? Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.

Or a fic in which Wes sees Danny getting shitfaced and says, "Is anyone else gonna take care of him, or?" and then doesn't wait for an answer.

Words: 6,233

Ao3

“I take back all my poor words. Talk is cheap, but my mind is rich When I close my eyes You grab my wrist, And pull me in to your cold dead lips”

So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay?

This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea.

Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class.

And it's just getting better and better.

Why?

Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.

He walked in like he owned the goddamn place and the reaction went through everyone like a Whoop—like some kind of synchronized celebration of a miracle.

What, just ‘cause everyone knows he’s Phantom now?

Give him a fuckin’ break.

Currently, Wes is standing adjacent to the fridge, nursing a god-awful drink Kyle shoved into his hands before disappearing back into the throng.

Lighten up, bro, he’d said.

Yeah.

Sure.

The music pounds through the house—a heart beat—a fucking jack-hammer.

People talk and yell and spill their drinks on just about every surface that can stain.

A cheer goes up from the dining room and he rolls his eyes.

He slams his drink and focuses on the outdated calendar on the side of the fridge to keep from shuddering. It makes his mouth water, burns the whole way down and Jesus, seriously, what the fuck did Kyle put in this?

He throws his cup at the overflowing trash can.

His cheeks feel warm, but not even a buzz touches the wound up feeling in his chest.

He passes through the dining room, stops to watch Danny and Dash shotgunning sixteen ounce Mike’s Harder cans. From the looks of the table, they've already gone a few rounds.

Danny finishes five whole seconds before Dash. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and crushes his can.

“Slowing down already, Baxter?” he says, a smug grin plastered across his face. His shoulders are slumped and he talks just a bit too loud.

Dash finishes his and tosses it over his shoulder, which—cool. Fucking nice, what, does he think they have a fucking maid?

“In your dreams, Fenton. We're just getting warmed up. No way I'm getting out-drank by a twig like you, half-ghost or not.”

“Guess we’ll see.” Danny shrugs. He talks like he’s one of those people, has always been one of those people.

Wes rolls his eyes and is just about to slip out of the room when—

“Ohhh shit! If it isn’t the one and only Wesley Weston!”

Fucking hell.

He turns and levels as unimpressed of a look as he can manage at Danny.

“Imagine that. It’s almost like I fucking live here.”

Danny swipes up a plastic cup and then proceeds to walk through the table towards him. People act like they’re finding out all over again.

“Oh come on, Wes. You’re not still mad are you?” He comes up to him and slouches against the archway’s frame.

Wes scrapes his tongue along his teeth. “Mad? What could I possibly be mad about?”

Danny looks at him like a puzzle.

When he talks his voice is quiet, hard to hear over the music. “I dunno, the fact that you knew all along but no one ever listened? They thought you were crazy and you weren’t but no one's even said sorry?” His lips quirk up at the corner and Wes can smell the artificial black cherry dancing on the top of the alcohol in his breath.

He wrinkles his nose and it has nothing to do with the smell.

“I was being facetious, prick.”

Danny smiles bigger, and his eyes glitter, something doe-eyed.

“Right. So you are still mad?”

He pushes air through his teeth.

“Not like it matters,” he says, looking away from Danny, drifting over the room. “Where’s your chaperones? Weird to see you anywhere alone.”

Danny just stares at him for a few seconds before understanding sparks.

“Ah. Sam’s got a family thing. Tuck took a closing shift.” He waves a hand and his head lolls against the wall with a thunk. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a swig.

Everything about him looks heavy. It’s weird for Danny.

“Have you tried the jungle juice your brother made?” he says. “It sucks. You’ve gotta try it.”

Wes lifts a brow and crosses his arms over his chest.

“How many’ve you had?”

Danny looks down into his cup, swirls its contents. It’s silent for several seconds too long.

“I’m not really sure, honestly. Didn’t know I was supposed to keep count.”

Wes slides a hand down his face.

Jesus Christ.

“Listen, maybe you should slow down—”

“Yo! Fenton! Stop flirting with Wes and fucking get over here, we’re not done.” Dash calls across the room and—

Flirting?!

They weren’t fucking flirting.

What the fuck.

Wes’s face heats up far beyond the liquor in his veins.

Danny looks up and flashes Dash a thumbs up. And then Danny is even closer—grabbing his arm. The chill of his hand goes right through to his stomach.

“Hey,” he breathes, “come watch me outdrink Dash.”

“Why would I wanna do that?” He ignores the way his breath flutters in his lungs, the way he feels light all the way to his toes.

Danny smiles like what he’s about to say is a secret—like it’s just for him, and all of a sudden Wes wants to be as far from Danny as humanly possible.

“Isn’t watching Dash lose at something for once reason enough?”

Wes forces himself to keep breathing and he swallows.

“Fine,” is all he can force out and then Danny is dragging him towards the table. He ignores all the people looking at them.

The fragmented group of A-listers cheer again and Dash slams a bottle of Fireball onto the table, making people's drinks jump and slosh.

“Let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” he says, grin just shy of evil.

“Where’d you get that?” Wes asks.

Dash cocks a brow. “Paulina found it? Duh.”

God, Kyle really wasn’t joking about getting people fucked up.

Wes is not going to clean up anyone’s puke this time. This shit is all on Kyle.

“Dude, is it even cold?” Danny asks.

“No, it wasn’t in the freezer long enough,” Paulina says. She’s drinking from a champagne flute for some fucking reason. He didn’t even know they had those.

“Gimme that,” Danny says, swiping it from Dash. “No way in hell I’m drinking warm whiskey.”

His eyes glow blue, and when he breathes out its a thin vapor. Frost creeps over the glass and Wes can’t help but shiver.

“Dude, fucking wicked. I’m still not over this,” Dash breathes, clapping his hands together.

How could Wes forget that Dash is Phantom’s number one fanboy after all?

But Danny isn’t looking at Dash—he’s looking at him.

Only it’s different this time. Because before it was always a taunt, blatantly rubbing it in Wes’ face when he used his powers and no one else noticed.

But the way Danny is looking at him now… like he’s waiting for something, thinking about something.

Danny hands back the Fireball and his eyes slip away from Wes and he feels like a fish wrenched from water.

What the hell was that?

“Fuck yeah, Fenton.” Dash unscrews the whiskey, flicks the cap off the mouth with a finger, sending it flying. He pours directly into their cups, the liquid glugging through the frosted neck of the bottle.

“Two shots of vodka,” someone says and everyone laughs.

“No chasers?” Danny asks, eyeing his cup.

Dash puts down the Fireball. “What’s the matter, you scared of the burn?”

“Not a chance,” he says, and holds out his cup to Dash. They cheers each other and then they’re throwing it back.

It sinks in his stomach like a rock. There’s no way this ends well.

It’s on the sixth round of Fireball that Dash starts to look green. He sets down his cup and leans on the table. He stares at the clear storage container of jungle juice and Kwan comes up beside him, pats his arm.

“Dude, maybe you should call it.”

“I’m fine, ‘s fine…” His words slur together. He tries to stand up straight and Kwan and Paulina both have to keep him up right.

Danny laughs. “Not lookin’ great, Baxter,” he says, his own words falling sluggishly from his mouth. Danny goes to lift his cup to his lips again and Wes puts his hand over it.

“Nope. You two are done.”

“Come on, Wes. Don’t be a buzzkill. I’m good!” Danny says. “Dash is the one that lost!” He flings his hand towards Dash and knocks the Fireball over, spilling it all over the table.

The group all crows at once, a choir of “oh shit” “nice one” and “duuuude noooo”’s. A few people rush to grab their phones from harm's way.

Danny blinks at the table. “Oops,” he says.

A smile splits his face and he starts chuckling. It builds from him, a laugh, something outside of him—beyond him.

He laughs until he’s doubled over, holding onto Wes to keep himself stable.

“Yeah, that’s it. You’ve had more than enough.” He grabs Danny’s cup from him before he can spill that too and drinks it himself. The cinnamon burns through his sinuses and he shudders. Ugh.

Danny straightens and sways just a bit, stumbling into him—their faces inches apart.

“Hey, that was mine,” he says, voice twisted in a pout. “Not cool.” His breath is cold, thick with the smell of whiskey.

Wes feels frozen, feels like he can’t breathe.

His heart pounds in his chest and he prays Danny isn’t so close he can feel it.

Around them the choir starts again, a chorus of suggestive “ooo”’s. He can feel their eyes on him and it makes his skin crawl.

Fucking dammit, this is all Fenton’s fault.

He pushes Danny away from him. Not fast or rough, just to arms length. He coughs.

“Star, you should go to the kitchen and get them both some water,” he says.

She gives him an annoyed look.

“I don’t see you doing anything else,” he snaps.

“I’m drunk too, you know,” she says, but gets up and leaves towards the kitchen.

Paulina and Kwan coax Dash into a chair, and he puts his head down on the table, groaning. A few others are sopping up the Fireball with paper towels.

Danny sags in his grip, goofy smile still plastered all over his face.

“I’ve never been drunk before, this is awesome,” he says.

Wes rolls his eyes, and maneuvers Danny into a chair. His head lolls back and he stares at the ceiling for a second before perking back up and trying to go for someone else's cup.

“Dude, I’m serious.” Wes moves the cup out of his reach. “Quit while you’re ahead.”

Danny groans, sinking down in his chair like he’s boneless.

“Come on, Wes,” he says. “You think I don’t know my own limits?”

“You just said this is your first time being drunk.”

Danny blows a raspberry.

Star walks back into the room and hands Wes a glass of water and then slides one across the table at Dash.

“Here. Wanna drink? Drink this.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says.

He’s a few swigs into it when he stops.

“God, it’s hot in here. Is anyone else hot?” And before anyone can answer his eyes glow that bright blue and a chill works through the air, plummets the temperature.

“Danny—” Goosebumps rise over Wes’ skin and his breath fogs from his mouth.

At varying levels of exasperation, the people around cry out.

“Dude, cut that out,” he says, smacking Danny’s arm.

“Ow, why are you hitting me?”

“Because you’re being a pain in the ass.”

Danny looks at him, blinks heavy eyelids. He smiles.

“What.”

“Nothing, you just… You’re cute when you’re all annoyed sometimes.”

The ground feels like it opens up underneath him.

His thoughts screech to a stop. It smells like burnt rubber, like cinnamon and black cherry.

It’s just the alcohol. No fucking way Danny of all people would say that to him.

“You really are drunk,” he says, but his voice sounds off kilter.

Across the house the last song fades out and Usher’s Yeah comes on. People scream and cheer.

“Holy shit, I love this song,” Danny says and stands up. He sways and catches himself on the edge of the table, starts laughing again. “Whew, that was close. The spinning is normal, right?”

Fucking Christ, how did he end up on babysitting duty again? He rubs his temples.

Is he really about to do this?

“You should lay down.” He heaves a sigh. “Come on.”

“Jeez, Wes, that's pretty forward,” Danny says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Heat flashes through him.

“Would you just shut up,” he hisses. “And stop making it cold. Jesus.”

Danny snorts and when he moves from the table he wobbles. Wes grabs him before he topples and slings Danny’s arm over his shoulder to keep him up.

Danny leans into him, almost unbalances them.

“You got a problem with the cold, Wes?” he says, this time his cold breath is against the side of his neck. It sends chills down his spine.

“I don’t have to help you, you know,” he says, voice thick. “You can get alcohol poisoning for all I care.”

“You’re a bad liar, Wes.”

Wes yanks Danny along beside him and out of the dining room.

“Shut up, Danny. You’re drunk.”

He hauls Danny past the living room and the knot of people dancing and singing. A few call out to them, ask them to come have fun. He steers them away before Danny can pull away and join them.

“But I wanna have fun, Wes,” he whines.

“Dude, you can’t even stand without my help right now, you really wanna try dancing?”

“Dance with me, then.”

Wes stops. He looks over at Danny and…

He—

He blinks, shakes his head.

“No, not—not right now,” he mumbles.

“There’s a whole reason I came alone, you know,” Danny says.

“What, so you could get fucked up and no one would stop you?”

“Yeah! I mean… well, that’s part of it.”

Wes guides them towards the stairs, ignoring the looks.

“Your house is bigger than it looks from the outside,” Danny says.

“Thanks?”

“Mmhm.”

God. This is so not what he thought tonight was going to be like.

“Where are we going?” Danny asks.

“Somewhere you can lay down and sober up.”

“Tha’s not vague.”

Wes starts pulling Danny up the staircase. The second floor is dark, and he gropes around to hit the light.

The first few steps are fine, which is to say the next steps aren’t fine.

What he’s saying is that Danny says, “oh shit.”

And then he’s falling—pulling Wes down with him.

More accurately, Danny trips and pulls Wes down on top of him.

They end up in a heap and Danny groans like someone does when they fall on the fucking stairs.

“Ow.” He reaches for the back of his head. Then he’s laughing, like it's the funniest goddamn thing in the world, what just happened. His face screws up, the face of someone who doesn’t know he’s in pain, just pretending.

“Seriously?” Wes snaps. His shin smarts—must have hit it on the stairs.

“Sorry, sorry.” He laughs each syllable. “You good?”

“No, I’m not—” And he looks down and he realizes how close they are. Realizes the way Danny’s hair falls into his face, the light catching the slope of his jaw.

Danny quiets at the same time and it’s like they get stuck there. Like nothing else exists other than this staircase and this moment and the way Danny feels cool and solid like a summer night underneath him.

“Hey,” Danny says—sounds almost breathless. “Come here often?”

Wes rolls his eyes and just like that the moment is over.

“Ugh.” He pushes himself up, detangles himself from Danny.

Danny reaches for him, that stupid smile back on his face.

“Oh come on, Wes,” he says.

“Quit messing around, dude.”

Danny pushes himself up, runs a hand through his hair and Wes tracks the motion with his eyes against his best wishes.

“You’re so mean. I could have a concussion and this is how you treat me?”

Wes stands up and straightens his clothes. “You’re fine.”

Danny gives him a look and then something sparks in his eyes. “I’m going to text Sam and Tucker and tell them how mean you are to me.”

Psh. He says that like they don’t already hate him.

“Would you just get up?”

“These stairs are actually kinda comfy,” he says, head rolling back, sinking back down and closing his eyes. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

Wes kicks his leg.

“You can lay down in the room. Get up.”

Danny heaves a sigh, throws an arm over his eyes.

“Fiiinnneee.” He pulls himself up by the handrail, stops in a sitting position. “Jesus,” he says, voice just above a whisper. His breathing gets weird. It makes Wes pause.

“You okay?”

“...Spinning,” Danny breathes. He’s quiet for a bit, and Wes just lets him sit there. Danny holds his head in his hands for a while.

Worry creeps into the back of his mind. Maybe Danny wasn’t kidding about the concussion thing. Maybe he should get someone—

Then Danny is standing up and Wes steadys his other arm.

“I got you,” he says. “Feeling okay?”

Danny sends him a weak smile. “Yeah. Laying down does sound good though," he mumbles.

They make it up the rest of the stairs, and Danny leans against the wall as Wes opens the door to his room.

It’s dark and quiet inside and he flips on the light.

He helps Danny in, and he flops face first onto his bed. He groans and rolls over.

“I’m thinking those last few shots of Fireball were a bad idea…”

Wes snorts and closes the door softly behind him.

“Oh, just the last few, huh?”

“I was havin’ fun, smartass,” Danny grumbles.

Wes leans back against his dresser and crosses his arms. “I said you should have stopped but noooo, no one listens to Wes.”

It gets quiet and he can feel the heaviness in the air. He clears his throat. “If you throw up in my bed, I’m kicking you out the window.”

“I’m not going to throw up.”

“Famous last words, Fenton.”

“Shaddup,” Danny says, and it gets quiet.

Wes can feel the bass from the music through the floor, the muffled sound of singing, laughing, talking. He’s used to ducking out at parties early. He’s used to laying in bed and listening to the songs through the walls until the voices slowly fade and the house is empty again. He listens to Kyle stumble up to bed and knock into the walls and yell “I’m okay” when he does.

He’s not used to having… company.

Danny sits up like a puppet on too few strings. He makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s still hot,” he sighs.

“It’s the alcohol, dude.”

Danny runs his hands over his face, and then reaches back and starts pulling his hoodie off. It drags his shirt up with it and Wes can’t help but look. He looks at the multitude of scars staining Danny’s skin and the way his muscles move over his ribs and—he pulls his gaze away and studies the floor instead.

“This is your bedroom, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t look how I thought it would.”

Wes wrinkles his nose. “How'd you think it would look?”

Danny takes his time looking around the room, hoodie pooled in his lap, before he looks at Wes and gives a boneless shrug.

“I dunno. More,” he holds his hands up, splays his fingers, “raah!”

“I… don’t know what that means.”

“You know! Like… newspaper-clipping red-web on all the walls,” Danny says, smile creeping back.

Wes squints at Danny. He pushes off his dresser.

“That’s still all you think of me?” He picks a pillow from his bed and throws it at Danny’s face. Danny lets out a yelp.

“Besides, I took all that shit down when the truth came out anyway,” he says, trying and failing to keep the inkling of a smile from his voice.

Danny looks at him blankly for a second before he starts to smile again.

“Wait, was that… Did you just make a joke?”

Wes snorts.

“You did! Holy shit, Wes has a sense of humor, this is bigger news than my shit. I gotta tell everyone.”

Danny looks soft, sitting like this in the middle of his bed, eyes warm in a way Wes didn’t realize they could be.

Something in him loosens.

“Good luck getting people to believe you…” he says.

“Oh, how the turn tables,” Danny says, and for a bit all they do is smile at each other.

Danny looks away first, he glances up at the light and squints.

“You got a light that isn’t so fuckin’ bright?”

“I thought the light sensitivity was supposed to happen the morning after drinking.”

“You’re full of jokes tonight.”

Wes rolls his eyes and flips on the bedside lamp and then shuts off the overhead light.

Danny hums and flops back down. “Better,” he says.

It’s silent for a few beats and Danny lifts his head to look at him. He smacks the comforter a few times with a flat hand.

Wes blanches; he’s all too aware of himself, of Danny and the dim light and the closed door.

“Dude, chill,” Danny says, like he can read his mind—wait, he can’t actually do that, right? Ghosts can’t do that?

“Sit down or something. You just standing there watching me is creepy,” Danny says.

Wes swallows his own heartbeat, shakes his head. “Seriously, between the two of us, I’m not the creepy one.”

“Says the stalker.”

“I didn’t stalk you.”

Danny gives him a look, with raised eyebrows and everything.

Wes sits on the side of the bed, scoots back so he’s leaned against the headboard.

“I was… investigating.”

Danny laughs. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say,” and his voice is like smoke—hickory and rough but winding through the air like silk.

They fall into an amiable silence, cotton soft, but cold. Danny has an arm over his eyes again, and his breathing is so slow it’s hard to pick out from the music downstairs.

He rakes a hand through his hair and takes out his phone. He unlocks it and scrolls mindlessly for a while.

He can’t focus.

Not with Danny so close like this. Not when everything is different now. His mind drifts off and he tries to keep track of every breath, wonders if he’s fallen asleep—

“Hey, Wes.”

He jumps. Just a little bit.

“Y-yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

He puts his phone down.

“...For what?”

“For making everyone think you were crazy.”

Wes twists his hand in his comforter. Why the hell is Danny apologizing to him? After everything he’s done to him… tried to do to him. It gets stuck in his throat.

“It’s… You don’t have to—” he wishes he’d had a few more drinks.

“Nah. I do. Looking back, I didn’t handle you knowing very well.”

He chews on his lip. He’s never felt so out of place.

“Danny…”

Danny moves his arm and looks up at him and his courage almost shrivels.

“I’m the one who should apologize. Not you. I—” He balls his hands into fists. “What I did, trying to basically out you, that wasn’t… that wasn’t okay.”

“You didn’t know the whole situation.”

“Did I need to? It was still fucked up and. I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in wanting to be right that I didn’t care what it could have done to you.”

It feels like glass coming up from his throat.

He’s lost sleep, engraved in the ceiling all the ways he fucked up, all the times he's glad now that no one listened to him. His eyes feel hot and there’s no way in hell he’s going to fucking get emotional in front of Danny.

“It all worked out in the end,” Danny says. He says it easy, gentle. “You were still technically right, though, so… There’s that.”

Wes huffs. “Yeah. I guess.” He fights through all the mess. “I don’t know how this didn’t happen sooner though. You were terrible at hiding it.”

Danny props himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, I'm a great liar.”

Wes leans his head back on the headboard. “Sure, but you’re reckless as hell. How many times did you stick your arm through your locker in front of God and everyone?”

Danny smiles wide and bright.

“Honestly, after a while, it was just fun to see how far I could go before anyone noticed.”

Wes can’t help but chuckle. “Pretty far, obviously.”

“No kidding.”

Wes runs his palms over his jeans.

“You’re good though, right?” Wes looks anywhere but Danny. “At home and all that.”

“Oh. Yeah. It was, uhm, a lot for my parents. But we’re getting there.”

“Good… That’s good.” The words feel sharp and blocky, and he doesn’t know what else to say. What else can he say?

His buzz pulls away from him, pulls him down, makes his lids heavy.

“How do you think Dash is doing?” Danny says.

“Pf. If he isn’t hugging a trashcan right now, I’ll be shocked.”

Danny laughs.

Wes leans over onto some of his pillows.

“How are you this okay after drinking all that?”

Danny shrugs. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m feeling it. My guess is something to do with the healing factor ghost shit.”

“Right, makes sense.”

He feels tired and heavy and the darkness at the corners of the room get fuzzier.

“Paulina brought her own champagne glass,” Danny tells him. And he laughs because, who does that?

He rolls onto his back and they stare at the ceiling.

“Are you kidding? Paulina does that, it’s Paulina,” Danny says.

They stare at the ceiling like it’s not a ceiling, like it might become more than just ceiling. Wes imagines it disappearing completely.

Danny likes stars, doesn’t he?

When Danny talks again it’s like he’s far away. An arms length, an atmosphere’s length… he doesn’t know.

Danny says, “sucks that I’m missing the Super Smash Tournament.”

Wes tries to keep his eyes from slipping shut. The bed pulls him like quicksand, the smell of sleep. “Trust me, dude, Kyle always wins anyway.”

Danny says something, something about who he mains or doesn’t main. It becomes all the same, the sluggish rise and fall.

At some point between light and dark Wes decides that he likes the sound of Danny’s voice. He somehow likes that the room is colder than it usually is.

And maybe somewhere between all that he decides some other stuff too.

—

Wes wakes up before Danny. The sun streams in through a gap in his curtains, pooling on the wall and floor.

He doesn’t have a headache, but his neck hurts like hell.

Danny is lying on his side faced away from him and, fuck, thank God. He thinks about last night, about Danny in his arms and he—

He sits up and rubs his hands over his warm cheeks.

Water. He should get some water.

He slips out of his room and goes downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet.

Well.

Mostly.

He can hear the sink running and the clink of glass. When he comes around the corner he sees Kyle washing dishes. The house is only half as trashed as he thought it’d be.

Kyle looks up at him as he walks in.

“Morning.”

He grunts, going to pluck a clean glass from the drying rack.

“Hangover?”

“Nah. Slept wrong.” He fills his glass at the fridge and downs it all at once. The water helps wash the sour taste from his mouth. Ugh, he should still brush his teeth.

He fills the glass again and heads back upstairs. He pushes back into his room and when the door creaks he sees Danny jump.

He walks around the bed and offers the glass to a squinting Danny.

“Awake?” he asks.

Danny groans and pushes himself up. His hair is messy, hanging in his eyes. It's infuriating.

He rubs the side of his face and when he takes the cup their fingers brush.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

“We have pop-tarts and cereal and shit downstairs.”

Danny gives him a thumbs up while he drinks.

He wants to ask if he’s okay... He decides to leave it for later.

Wes leaves his room and goes back to the kitchen. When he gets there, he pulls the pop-tarts down from the cabinet.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Kyle says, “if you wanna clean the dining room, I’ll clean the living room.”

“Nope, no. This was your thing, dude. You threw the party.”

“But Wes,” he whines, “Dad’s gonna be home tonight.”

“Then you should probably get started,” he says and claps him on the shoulder on his way to the toaster.

“Dude, cold blooded. You’re just gonna watch me slave away for hours and not even help your own brother?”

“Uh... yeah.” He slots the pop-tarts into the toaster. He turns towards Kyle and leans against the counter, grinning at him.

Kyle gives him a look.

“How much.”

“No. No, I’m not gonna be bought this time.”

“Twenty bucks.”

“Kyle.”

“Fine, you drive a hard bargain. Forty.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“‘This time?’ What happened last time?”

They jump and look at Danny as he comes down the stairs. He has his hoodie slung over a shoulder and the half empty water glass in his hand.

“Holy shit,” Kyle says.

“It’s not important,” he says, sending a glare at the back of Kyle’s head.

Danny walks up to the counter and sets the glass down to pull his hoodie on.

“No fucking way,” Kyle says, voice pitched up. “I didn’t believe it when everyone was talking about it last night, holy shit.”

Danny tugs the hem of his hoodie down and gives Kyle a confused look that he moves over to Wes.

He returns the look, just as lost.

“Dude, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You two hooking up last night,” Kyle says, like it’s obvious.

It feels like for a second time stops—

Hooking up?

Hooking up?!

His heart skips in his chest and heat rushes to his face and the tips of his ears. He feels like he’s been slapped across the face.

Danny looks like a deer in the headlights.

“Uh—”

The toaster pops.

“Which, can I just say, I totally called it. I knew there had to be another reason Wes was so obsessed with yo—”

“Kyle!” he snaps, his voice higher than he anticipated. “Kyle, oh my fucking god, shut up. We didn’t— Nothing happened last night, we just—”

His breath feels tight in his throat and he wants to lock himself in his room forever. He can’t make himself look at Danny.

“Who the hell told you that-that we—”

“Uh, dude, a bunch of people saw you guys go into your room together. You know Pualina was telling me that Danny was all over yo—”

“Okay! Thank you, Kyle!” he cuts in. “Jesus fucking—” He buries his face in his hands.

This is it, this is how he’s going to die.

“I’m just glad for you two! I mean, like, jeez, finally!”

“Kyle, I’ll help you clean if you shut up right now and never bring this up ever again.”

Kyle stops, face lighting up. “Dude, deal.”

“Cool. Now please leave.”

“What?”

Wes grabs him by the arm and starts dragging him out of the kitchen. “Leave. Go get the cleaning shit from the garage or some shit, I don’t know.”

“Oh. Ohhhh, I see. I get you. I’ll leave you two kids alone to enjoy your breakfast together,” he says with a wink and holy fuck, he’s going to kill his fucking brother.

Kyle heads for the stairs and calls down, “Lemme know when it’s safe to come back down!”

Wes drags his hands down his face. He lets out a slow breath and he tries to ignore his pounding heart.

Wes goes to the nearest counter and puts his head down. The surface is cold against his burning skin. He groans like an injured animal and at this point he really wishes someone would put him out of his misery.

“Well…” Danny says from behind him.

He hears Danny moving and the sound of the fridge being opened. He looks up, watches as Danny takes orange juice from the fridge. When he turns around he sees his face is red too.

“I mean… hardly the worst rumor to get spread around about us,” he says. That stupid smile makes its way onto Danny’s face.

“I once had this dude tell everyone at school that I was a ghost. It was super weird.”

Wes shakes his head. “Dude, shut up.” But he can’t help the grin that pulls at his lips.

Danny laughs, a quieter thing today than it was last night.

“I can have some, right?” he asks, lifting the OJ.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

They fall into silence while Danny pours a glass and Wes goes to numbly retrieve his pop-tarts.

“It’s probably spread through all of Casper now, huh.”

Danny glances at him. Something dances through his expression. He hums as he takes a drink of his juice.

“Uh. Probably further than that, now that everyone knows I'm… you know.” Danny shoots him an uneasy look.

Right. Right.

This was just getting better and better.

He takes a bite of his pop-tart. It crumbles in his mouth like sand.

“Are you… okay?” Danny asks. He reaches back and rubs his neck, and dammit, now he’s just adding insult to injury.

He looks at him, and he sees the nerves in the way he holds himself, stitched into the way the light hits him. He’s not asking just one question.

Wes swallows.

“Yeah… Yeah, I mean, like you said. There could be way worse rumors,” he says. He looks at Danny like he’s too far away, like he enjoyed last night way more than he should have. And he sees it in Danny too, some sort of mirror.

“I think so too,” Danny says, heavy the way he exhales it.

They break eye contact and Wes doesn’t really know what to do, what to say.

“Well, uh. You have cleaning to do, I guess. I should probably get home before my parents get too freaked out.”

Wes nods. “Yeah, probably.” He wonders if Danny knows what’s in his voice. The dark from last night is clouding his mind, pulling him, begging him to just say it.

“Yeah… I’ll, uh, see you at school?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

But Danny doesn't move.

He lingers like a shadow. He looks like he wants to go. He looks like he wants to stay.

“Wes,” he says.

Wes looks at him.

He worries at his bottom lip and moves along the counter towards him.

“Thanks. For last night.”

He lets out a puff. “Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t die the rest of the way from alcohol poisoning.”

Danny rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were pretty bad.”

“Not even.” Danny smiles.

And they’re close again, sharing each other's space.

“It wasn’t… awful, I guess,” he says before he can stop himself. “Even with you being a pain in the ass the entire time.”

“Maybe we could do it again sometime,” Danny murmurs.

“What, me looking after your drunk ass the whole night?”

Danny snorts. “No, I was thinking more like I match you drink for drink instead,” he says.

“At least then you’d last till the Smash tournament.”

Danny glances away.

“I didn’t mind missing it too much, actually.”

Wes’s breath gets stuck and his heart beats like a drum in his ribcage.

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

In some ways it’s just like last night; Danny’s close enough he can feel the movement of his breath between them.

“It’s way more fun, bothering you.”

It’s a slow motion sort of thing, a hair raising thing.

“Well you’re an expert at it by now.”

Wes thinks about theme parks. Sitting at the top of the sky and just before his stomach drops—

“Always room for improvement. I could get better at it if you want me to.”

And what if he does? What if he wants to see Danny in all the ways he can? What if he wants to know Danny for real this time?

Maybe he wants pictures, proof that it’s real.

Maybe it’s always been leading to this.

Maybe it’s fucked up.

Wes having the power to hurt him all over again.

“Drink for drink?” he says, barely a whisper.

“Drink for drink,” Danny says—closer, closer, breath against his lips.

Danny gives him time to pull away. But Wes doesn’t. Something to do with what he decided last night.

“Prove it.”

#Unidentified Flying Ship #danny/wes #Danny Phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #my writing #DP Shiptember 2021 #drunk prompt #one-shot #wes weston #wesley weston

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honestlyfrance · 3 years

Text

SAMBUCKY BOOKMARKS

it’s fic yeah friday over at @fuckyeahsambucky so i wanna do a lil something something for the fandom :) check out my #fic rec tag for more!

enjoy the more than 50 fics listed here :) be careful of the tags!

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart by Lunar_Pull

Today is the day that Steve received an invitation to the love of his life’s wedding.

Philopatry by Areiton

"I want to be safe," he says. "But I'm not." "Then why come here? Why put me at risk?" Something flickers in his eyes, little boy lost and utterly cold, and it makes Sam want to give the dude a hug and also pull his sidearm. "I have no reason to hurt you," Winter says. "I don't want to hurt you," Bucky adds, earnestly.

farmhouse by Tazmaster

"You know, I think I'd want a farmhouse."

"A what?" Sam turns to look at him, slightly annoyed. This was the first thing Bucky has said in the past hour and a half they've been cramped in this god forsaken car. He had a knack for impulsively voicing his dumb thoughts at the worst times, but whenever you wanted to know what was actually going on in that head of his, he'd never say.

They were staking out the front gate of a large mansion, very much not a farmhouse. It was mind numbingly boring, being stuck in a beetle with absolutely nothing else to do than stare at the gaudy gates of some rich asshole.

"A farmhouse," Bucky repeats nonchalantly, "If we ever get out of this business, or you know, live long enough to retire maybe--- I want a farmhouse. With a lot of animals."

---

Bucky keeps talking about a farmhouse and it drives Sam crazy, that is until he finally asks why.

Employee Discount by bopeep for queenmab_scherzo

Sam Wilson doesn't love working in a store that makes him wear vanity-sized polos and breathe in clouds of men's cologne like the worst kind of GQ aromatherapy, but the view from his cash register across the mall to the Hot Topic and the sullen Dark Prince of Wallet Chains he loves to hate may just beat the minimum wage blues.

In warm water, swimming down by targaryen_melodrama

“Why are you hiding?””Tired.”Bucky raises an eyebrow. “So you decided to swim.”“So I decided to be alone.”Bucky’s quiet for a moment. “I can go, if you want.”It’s the last thing Sam wants.

I figured out what the slashes mean by Teaismycoffee

Sam, Steve and Bucky are all living together in a safe house. Bucky and Sam discover fan fiction written about them. Steve doesn't approve. Sam and Bucky are really into secretly reading fan fiction together, or maybe it isn't the fan fiction part they are really into.

Chicken Soup for the Soul by bioloyg

“S’not my bed time,” Sam says as he buries his face in Bucky’s upper arm. Bucky laughs. “Tough. You’re sick.” Sam lets out a loan groan and says, “But my bed is cold. I was so warm, why’d you move me?” “Because your neck would’ve hated you if I didn’t.” He tries not to be so amused by how fussy Sam is when he’s both sick and half-asleep. It’s cute. ~ A fic wherein Bucky takes care of a sick Sam.

two nights in L.A. by CapnWinghead

Bucky kindly volunteered Sam to be a groomsman for Scott’s upcoming wedding. Of course, that meant Sam and Bucky had to go to the bachelor party.

at the end of the war (what's mine is yours) by notcaycepollard

They don't talk about it: that's how it works.

I'd Like That by honestlydarkprincess

Sam has been up for over 24 hours and has been dreaming about his Coffee Caramel Fudge non-dairy ice cream since about the 18-hour mark. When he gets to the store, there's only one carton of it left and, unfortunately for the guy innocently holding said carton, Sam's not leaving without it.

Or, the one where Sam is sleep deprived, yells at a cute guy, and gets both ice cream and a phone number out of it.

Ready, Set, Date! by bioloyg

Bucky wants to sleep, Natasha wants to find him a date for Steve's wedding (so he'll leave her alone), and Sam is the best thing about this whole speed dating disaster. But, Sam's not in the speed date rotations - he's at a different table weathering through dates just like Bucky is. ~ "Three dates in, Bucky decides he has made one of the worst decisions in all of his life by coming here. His first date had been an attractive enough man by the name of Greg. He introduces himself as “The Big G,” to which Sam laughs at in the middle of introducing himself to his own date. Greg likes to talk about cars a lot, which is fine. Bucky also likes cars. The only problem is that Greg’s love for cars borders on… erotic."

We'll rise up free and easy by Sarsaparilla, woofgender

Steve and Natasha are away on a mission when Sam receives intel about the Winter Soldier’s location. When he follows the lead, Sam finds something unexpected—but despite his initial impression, it’s certainly not all bad. (Post-CATWS, not AOU- or CACW-compliant.)

__________ "'Jesus Christ,' Sam said, 'Are you planning on fighting an entire army?'

Barnes looked up from examining the sights of a sniper rifle. '...no,' he said, a little guiltily, and adjusted one of the--five? Six? guns he’d already strapped to himself."

love is in the air (i smell coffee) by Flora_K, hermionesmydawg

Sam Wilson - graduate student, part-time barista, part-time salesman, and full-time father - doesn't have time to sleep, much less date. At least, that's what he tells himself.

Up at Night by bioloyg for lunaaltare

With Halloween nearing, Sam is feeling more in the mood for a scary movie than usual. He'd never watch one on his own though, so he invites his roommate to pick one out and join in on movie night. or Prompt fill for Samtember ~ "It’s quiet for a while after that. Like always, the two of them start on opposite sides of the queen sized bed with at least a foot of space between them. And, like always, they drift closer to one another as time passes, though whether it’s habitual or instinctual Sam would never dare delve into."

flowers in darkness, the moon above the sea by 27dis

Sam enjoyed his job, really.

But, not when a certain person came in.

A quick detour and a sudden arrival by iwillnotbecaged for heuradys

He found Wilson shivering in the snow, left for dead. Sloppy.

You couldn’t trust the elements to do your job for you. They were rarely so obliging.

A mission gone awry, unexpected help, and close quarters makes for an interesting couple of days.

Don't lock the door on me by TuskFM

Sam’s desperately trying to sleep when he gets a visit from the Winter Soldier at three a.m., bleeding and asking for help. Sam’s not the kind of guy who let someone bleed out on his front door, even if the said someone threw him off an helicarrier and stole his wheel.

and i run, further than before by hermionesmydawg

"What do they call you?" Bucky carefully pulls out an equal amount of caramel and cheese kernels of popcorn and pops them into his mouth. "Birdman?"

"No."

"Captain Canary?"

"Hell no."

"The Winged Avenger?"

"Falcon, dammit, and I am not an Avenger," Sam snaps, and now he's kinda pissed because yes, it's a bird name. He didn't sign up for this kind of ridicule from an amnesiac assassin.

***

Basically, the 5 times Sam actually found Bucky and the 1 time he tried to hide from him. Don't tell Steve.

Exquisite Flavor by enchantedlightningwrites for honestlyfrance

W&M's Grand Corner's growing to be one of the popular restaurants in New York, where Sam Wilson works as a chef for his sister. A wedding's in a few weeks and he has no idea on what to do about it. Notorious for his picky taste and blunt reviews, Bucky 'Winter Wolf' Barnes pays a visit. Little did he know, food could really win one's heart and lands on his stomach.

He's a Beta, You Hear That? by 27dis

Reasons why Sam didn’t realize Bucky was courting him this entire time: 1. He is a beta 2. He is oblivious 3. He thought Bucky is way out of his league 4. He is a beta for fuck’s sake

See? It’s hardly his fault for not noticing it. Why was Bucky flirting with him anyw—

Oh. Oh.

Or; Bucky swore flirting with someone was never this hard before.

stay where we belong by glittercake

He doesn't know what the hell he's doing when he turns around and shouts, "Yo! You know what—" and Barnes turns on his heel in a flash, "It's getting late, man. Looks like rain."

Sam motions to the grey sky above, and Barnes follows his eyes beyond the hanging Willow branches. "Yeah? What are you saying?"

He's got that terribly smug look on his face, the one Sam can't stand but kind of misses when it's not irritating him. But mostly, he can't stand it, "Nothing! Forget about it!"

Arms Spread Out Wide, Turn Falling Into Flight by irisesandlilies

It was easy, nothing has ever been easy for Bucky. Except this, and that terrifies him.

Years in the making by glittercake

Bucky and Sam meet as two young soldiers, but the time is never quite right to make it anything more. Until it eventually is.

Sam refuses to let himself fall in love while he's deployed. Bucky pines endlessly for years about the prettiest bird he’s ever seen. Sam’s no better.

If At First You Don't Succeed by SonnyD

Bucky finally gains the courage to tell Sam about his feelings. He comes up with a list of methods to woo him that were bound to succeed. He didn't account for each and every one of them failing in unexpected ways. The five times that Bucky attempts to woo Sam and the one time that Sam returns the favour.

if i could take us back, if i could just do that... by safelikespringtime

Bucky laughed, cheeks flushing red, “I’m glad you didn't. Don't know what I’d do without my wingman.” Sam groaned, poking Bucky’s side, “That was awful.” Bucky laughed. “You couldn’t survive without me. We both know it.”

How right he was.

***

Sam dies. Bucky mourns.

Strawberries and Cigarettes always taste like you by winterscaptsam

There’s a sweet agonizing simplicity in leaving behind your safe haven, like the thrill of adrenaline, reaching the top of Everest, allowed to admire its beautiful icy view but with the everlasting fear of not making it back down. Maybe that's why it was a natural instinct for Bucky to reach out for the closest thing that felt like home, slowly then all at once falling for the sweet warmth of mahogany eyes, what soon became his safe haven.

Baked With Love by Siancore

Bucky Barnes’ family owns a bakery in a small town. High school has long been over, and Bucky is dying to move to the city to pursue a musical career with his band. And his future looks promising, if he can just persuade his father to let him leave his job behind at their struggling family bakery.

It is no secret that Bucky used to love baking with his father, but things change. He just can’t fathom wasting his life away watching rising dough and hot ovens. With his mind made up to leave, Bucky convinces his father to advertise for a replacement. While interviewing candidates to fill the position he has vacated, Bucky meets Sam Wilson: An easy-going guy who is as eager about baking as Bucky is about leaving. They bond over baking and become close. Love looks like it is ready to bloom between them if Bucky, in his haste to escape, does not ruin it.

Beneath this Crown by winterscaptsam

Sam traces his fingers from James’ hairline, down to his jaw, resting the pad of his thumb on James lips. He will let himself relish in this feeling. Not even the sculptors, painters or poets could carve their words and materials to accurately describe this.

“Do you think the history books will remember us?” Sam had once asked. And James’ words were made of the purest of golds, “my love, we will be legends for the children yet to come.”

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes' love story, one a prince and the other a knight.

make my body come alive (i've got a right to hurt inside) by notcaycepollard

The body is weak. The body is hungry and soft and human. He looks at himself in the mirror, the bones of his shoulders, his cheeks hollowed out from hunger, and he thinks, gentle, you didn’t deserve this.

safe like spring time by quidhitch

“I already told you it looks good. What more is there?”

“I don’t know, man, you’re gonna live here. I just wish I knew a little bit more about how that’s sitting with you.”

Sam knows Bucky feels fine. What Sam’s probably actually after is how he feels about the fact neither of them have anywhere else to go, not with Natasha dead and Steve wrinkly. Therapists. Even the good ones, always so circular.

“I like the terrace,” Bucky offers, mostly to appease him.

Airy Laundry by AmarieMelody

Sam watches what happens when Bucky buys a clothesline.

lucky by CapnWinghead

In retrospect, it took Bucky an embarrassingly long time to realize that everyone and Scott's mom thought he and Sam were dating.

not an end, but (the start of all things) by notcaycepollard

They keep driving, for lack of anything better to do. A mission, Sam had said, and maybe that's true; maybe wherever they're headed is the way out, the way up.

So You Run On Gasoline by 343EnderSpark, ABitNotGoodieBag, OriginalCeenote

Bucky may have bitten off more than he could chew with this job, he thinks, as he ambles along the sidewalk to the cafe after leaving campus. He is running off the fumes of exhaustion and hasn’t had more than 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past week. Between his students and his thesis, he knows that it’s foolish to try so hard to hang on to his barista gig, but DC isn’t a cheap place to live and Bucky can’t live with other people.

Bucky is just trying his best, despite being a human disaster.

we could jump the state lines (we only get the one life) by notcaycepollard

It starts in Paris.

“You can’t steal things just because you like them,” Sam tells Bucky, feeling innately that this is a losing battle, and Bucky cocks his head to the side, considers Sam very thoughtfully.

“Really,” he says. “I’m stealing you, aren’t I?”

we were a fire with no smoke by notcaycepollard

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. Take the boys out of New York but they’re still Brooklyn Catholics, that’s clear enough. Bucky catches the gesture, smirks hard enough Sam can see his eye teeth. It should be dangerous but he’s beautiful, pale and charming and recklessly easy.

“You wanna come in?” Sam asks, ignoring the noise Steve makes, and Bucky’s smile gets wider.

“Yeah,” he says. Steps up close to Sam. “I do.”

Peace Begins with a Smile by Siancore

Bucky just likes the way Sam smiles.

They're Good Drones, Brent by chase_acow

When Redwing becomes infected with an alien A.I., Sam has to balance the needs of the team with his own curiosity about his new partner. Redwing isn’t the only one acting strange, he also needs to get to the bottom of Bucky’s weirdness. It takes a training exercise gone wrong that Redwing and Sam might not survive for their secrets to be exposed.

Wet Asphalt (This Is What Love Is) by ObviouslyOtter

Soft words in the dark tell us all we need to know about love. Better when they come from the person you need to hear it from most. It's crueler when you don't realize it till afterward.

Sam and Bucky go out shopping for candles.

i'm gone by bi_marvel

After infiltrating a Hydra base, Sam and Bucky are sent to a safe house, and there's only one bed. Oh, golly, I wonder what will happen!

Covert Coffee & Flirtation Special by glittercake

The reporter says "—for Captain America to—"

And Bucky rolls his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

Sam looks at him then tips his head sideways, got a weird grin on his face. "Not a fan?"

"Not that. Just… the guy seems too good to be true, right? Wings and a shield? Come on."

"Uh, is that why your eyes are like glued to the screen whenever he's on?" Kate says. "Is that why you call him Captain Tight Ass?"

"He's a goddamn show-off, and you know it. Tight ass or not."

Just then Sam snorts, real loud, grabs his coffee and suffers a horribly controlled laugh on his way out the door.

The Starting Line by birdlight

A Series

Lone and Level Sands by quantum_consciousness

The almost-smile disappears off Sam’s face and he takes a step deeper into the water, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt as he wades further. One look over his shoulder and he chucks the shirt to shore, and Sam dives into the water. The ache in Bucky’s chest deepens as Sam swims. He supposes, Sam has lost a lot more, he supposes, sometimes Sam feels as lonely as he used to.

in which love doesn’t ruin us by joesnick

“Idiot,” Bucky said, so natural and deliberate that she couldn’t hear well but it was there. Relief and happiness under a small light. “Don’t do that to me again.”

“Hey, I’m here,” Sam said, before getting closer and pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. “I’m here.” They ran out of words. They didn’t need them, not at that moment. Their steadying breaths and their tenderness, saved only for each other and fed by each other, was all they needed.

Ride of Shared Melodies by enchantedlightningwrites for honestlyfrance

Two strangers, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson meet in an unexpected encounter in the airplane. Over the course of the ride, they discover their mutual love for music and connect.

Let's Fly Away by Unclesteeb

"If I could fly, I could go anywhere. I could do anything.”

Sam’s mom gives his shoulder a gentle pat. “You can in your own way.”

“How?”

“Sammy, all you have to do to be as free as a bird is to just do the right thing.”

Sam furrows his brow. “What does that mean?”

“Well,” Sam's mom starts. “The right thing is doing nice things for people. It's treating everyone how you would want to be treated. It's going out of your way to help people and love them, even if they're not nice to you at first or at all. People deserve love, and I know you have plenty to give.” She leans down to give his cheek a kiss. “All you have to do to find your wings and fly free is to just do what you feel is right. You have a beautiful heart, Sam. I know you'll use it the right way. Then you'll fly.”

Been one of those days (can I lean on you?) by hazel_eyed_bi

Sam and Bucky wrap up an exhausting, weeks-long mission, only to go back to their mutual pining while forced to share a bed at a crappy motel. Also, Nat knows what's up.

Find your love and fight for it by winterscaptsam

Sam learns to love again, quiet and composed. Love letters stay in between walls and stolen kisses don’t leave his apartment. It's not that it's a secret, loving Bucky the way he does, lord knows he’d scream it from the rooftops, travel all the way to space to let any living life form know it as well. But that’s the problem, he just doesn’t know how and it aches him to his core to keep Bucky like a secret, like this love is something to be ashamed of.

Sam decides it's about time to come out.

Kings of Everything by glittercake

Twenty-five years after the events at a popular New York Bistro, Timothy DumDum Dugan tells the true story of infamous mobster Jimmy Buchanan and the man he gave it all up for.

arson we commit by winterscaptsam

Bucky seeks adventure, reaches out for an adrenaline rush whenever he can get it and he reckons this fellow will be the one to give it to him. All sweet smiled and dolled up figure showing off his attributes. Like he’s daring anyone to take the rush.

So, Bucky goes and gets what he wants.

“What’s your damage, doll?”

Bucky is the hitman and Sam is the target.

The Boys of Summer by Siancore for avintagekiss24

Sam Wilson returns home to the small town he grew up in to complete his med school residency. He hasn’t been back for an extended amount of time since he left for college. While he only consistently kept in touch with childhood friend, Steve Rogers, he was keen to see the people he had grown up with. With the exception of Bucky Barnes. They had a falling out the summer before Sam left for college. What happened between them? Can they move past it now that they’re adults?

Sam's Plan by OhHelloFandoms123

“I have a plan,” Sam said smugly, hands on his hips. “I have a three-step plan for you to marry me.” At first, he thought he was joking. Then, he saw Sam’s genuine smile.

Bucky groaned, “there is no way in HELL that I’m marrying YOU, Wilson.”

Wreck In the West by OhHelloFandoms123 for honestlyfrance

There’s just something about leaning on his chest as the sun goes down and the smell of tea whilst into the air feels so amazing. And he was a wreck because of it, it tore him apart and put himself back together because it was so blissful, he almost couldn’t breathe at first.

Gay cowboy proposal.

Belonging Season by OhHelloFandoms123

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes have lived their most happy, married life for 70 years. Death won’t stop them today for living an eternity.

neverending; by glittercake

Sam passes away after a long and happy life with Bucky, but Bucky never ages and life keeps introducing him to Sam's reincarnates for the next 156 years.

Lighthouse by glittercake

This guy’s trouble. Bucky knows that in his bones. It’s not bad trouble, is the problem, it’s good. Sam is so goddamn inherently good and if Bucky even touches that with a ten foot pole—fuck if he even looks at it—it’ll turn to shit.

He can’t afford another move to yet another city because his colleagues started recognizing Brock’s fist prints on his face.

But Sam is a ridiculously bright glowing light, a beacon, and Bucky goes toward it like that idiotic moth to the flame.

masterlist | ko-fi | patreon

#onlysambucky #sambucky #fysbfriday #fysambuckyweek #winterfalcon #sam wilson #bucky barnes #france: fic rec #fic rec #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes

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cypric-rat-hyperfixation · 8 months

Note

I too got to pet and hold one of my friend's baby pet rats :)

HOLY FUCK THAT IS A BABIE

#INFANTILE #i noticed how absolutely YOUTHFUL that thing is before i even read the part about it being a baby rat #rats #fancy rat #ratblr #kittens #<- baby rats are called this leave me alone cat people jfc #dammit i keep forgetting to make and use an ask tag #and the new shorter ask tag because this site is the sticky gunk on the underbelly of a dumpster isssss *drum roll please*#ratsk tag #because that's the best i can do for ya at 10:40am on thursday septempter 14th of 2023

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unprofessional-bard · 3 years

Text

Chapter 13 - The Climax

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader/OC

Warnings: angst and smut – jealous/angry sex, joel getting the ride of his life?

Summary: "Are you accusing me of something?" // "Should I?"

Word Count: 5.868

Author's Note: I suck at tagging so bad I keep forgetting 😭 I'm sorry people if you wanna get removed I understand djsnjdndjd (or if you wanna get tagged lmk!) + please check out the previous chapter if y'all haven't it flopped 💔

Enjoy!

gif credits: gwynbleidd

"Good morning," You walked into the kitchen quietly, the presence of Ellie putting a smile to your face. She hadn't been stopping by as often as she used to – it didn't take you too long to figure out something was wrong.

"Hey Dolly," She smiled back where she sat, a tense expression on her face.

"Mornin'," Joel smiled briefly from where he was cooking scrambled eggs. "D'you sleep well?"

After the bath, you two were quick to move to the bed. Joel had immediately turned you to your side and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck and peppering small kisses along your soft spots and shoulder. After what had happened a few hours prior, you neither wanted to leave his arms nor stop feeling his warm lips on your skin. That encounter was too close and it had you winded– trembling softly in his arms. The both of you were too worn out to make love, to feel one another and make sure you were still there.

"Yeah," You walked over to where you normally put your coffee, only to remember you didn't have any left. "Ah, dammit."

"Those traders haven't passed by in so long, hope they're doin' okay," Joel commented as you silently agreed and dragged your feet to where Ellie was.

"How're you holdin' up? Heard you got some action last night," Ellie eyed you curiously as you sat down across her.

"A bit shaken, but I've been worse," You replied as you rubbed your eyes sleepily. After briefly telling Ellie about the details from last night, Joel served you and himself scrambled eggs: "You're not eating?"

"I had some breakfast at Jesse's," She shrugged and got up, offering Joel her seat silently. "Anyways, I gotta run. Just wanted to check up on you."

"Thanks, Els," You beamed at her. Then, there were a couple knocks at the front door.

You tried to get up, but Joel was quicker: "I got it, don't tire yourself."

Tsk, you rolled your eyes with a small smirk: "It's not like I haven't broken my ribs before."

————

"Just rest up for me," Joel replied and opened the door to an unpleasant sight.

"Hey Joel," It was Kiki. She had a bag hanging from her arm, and she was also wearing a pink and white floral dress that went down to her knees and covered her shoulders. She also had a big floppy hat that covered most of her face. Without waiting for him to react, she began talking: "I just wanted to say thank you– for last night. To (Y/N), too, but I imagine she's resting. Here..."

She proceeded to pull out a jar of coffee beans from the bag: "I had this for awhile but couldn't adjust to the taste, so I figured I should give 'em to someone who lives off'a these..."

Joel carefully studied the jar in his hand after taking it from her: "Well, uh. That's very kind of you."

"Don't mention it," Her smile spread innocently. "As I said, take this as a thank you for saving Ward's life. I know you like your coffee."

Joel gave her an odd look: "I didn't save his life. (Y/N) did. You should be thanking her."

"That's what I said! She must be resting, so tell her I gave this would you?" And with that, plus an enthusiastic wave of her hand, she said Bye! and skipped down the porch and left, leaving Joel dumbfounded.

————

"Who is that?" You asked Ellie when you couldn't hear what was going on.

"I can't tell," She said nervously, which let you know she was lying.

You wanted to reply, or to get up to make your point, but you just kept quiet and stared at the side of her face for a while instead. She kept looking around and at her feet, anywhere but your face, the muffled conversation dying out in the background for you: "What's bothering you sweetheart?"

That came to the teen as a shock, which made her look at you: "Nothing. I just– I have a lot on my mind."

"Okay, you know I'm always here if you ever wanna talk," You immediately decided not to press her and leave it at that.

"Yup," She gave a brief nod and started playing with her fingers – the nervous Ellie gesture.

You really worried for her, stuck between changing the subject or asking once more, hoping she'd tell you what wad wrong; ultimately you decided to change the subject: "How's Jesse? Haven't seen him around in awhile."

"He's fine." A brief answer, which didn't make her stop playing with her fingers. She still wasn't looking at you.

"Ellie..." You spoke softly but also with a little seriousness to draw her attention, and you did. You gave her a stern but worried look: "Talk to me?"

She turned to you as she chewed on her bottom lip, eyes wide. Just when she opened her mouth, you heard the door close. Joel walked in with a jar in hand, a displeased look spread across his face. Ellie took the interruption as her chance to leave: "Well, I'll see you later."

You nodded, Joel murmuring his own goodbye at her. He put the jar on the counter island– it was coffee, but he didn't seem happy: "Today is our lucky day, huh?"

Your attempt at making him say what was bothering him (without directly asking so he'd open up a little more easily) wasn't entirely fruitless. He placed his hands on the counter, leaned forward silently with a leg in front of the other.

"Kiki gave this as thanks for saving Ward. I'm guessin' you'll skip coffee?" He sounded more harsh than he intended to, but even though you had gotten used to it, it still stung. You didn't reply, instead turned and started eating your eggs with a sour expression. Joel stood like that for awhile, staring at you, then pushed himself off: "Yeah, I'm skipping too."

This made you stop chewing and give him a look that said what did you just say? He ignored it and sat across you, grabbing his fork to start nibbling at his food. This time it was you who stared: "What are you doing?"

"Having breakfast with my wife?"

"Joel." You spoke sternly, warning him. "You haven't had coffee in days, go drink some."

"I don't want to drink that coffee."

You slowly got up: "Don't be like that, I know you want to. I'll make some if–"

"No, (Y/N), I don't want to drink that coffee." He insisted a little harshly.

"What's wrong with you?" You replied coolly, giving him a confused and slightly angry glare where you stood.

"That's how you sound like when you don't want to get involved with Kiki." He spoke calmly, going back to his normal self.

You stared at him, the stern look making the lines of your face deeper and your features sharper. He had a point, several, even; and you felt embarrassed like a 5 year-old.

"Now I'm going to drink that coffee and enjoy it like I usually do, not because it's from Kiki but because it's coffee." He got up and took slow steps towards you, he also had a stern look on his face. "After last night, I'm thankful for Ward, but that didn't make me like 'im more. Same for Kiki. You may not like them– I don't like 'em, but they're of Jackson now. We gotta find a way to get along when it's necessary."

I don't like 'em.

Something had to have happened for him to say that, because Joel wasn't a person to openly dislike people unless he had a solid reason. Not anymore.

You remained silent as he brushed past you, grabbed the jar and began making his coffee. He was right, and the expression on your face was more than enough to let him know that you knew that.

You didn't talk to each other until you left for patrol. Brief goodbye's were exchanged as you made your way to the eastern gate. Maria changed you and Ward with Astrid and Cedric's watchtower shift: she had offered to put you both off schedule, but you said you could handle lighter duty.

What you liked about Ward was that he didn't talk too much. At first, it was worse– too quiet that you worried if it was because of you. He started opening up bit by bit, feeling more comfortable each week. It was casual conversation between you both now, but still he was mostly quiet which you appreciated.

After talking briefly about last night, thanking each other a few rounds, you spent the patrol thinking about everything: Ellie, Joel, Kiki...

Before you knew it, the sun was gone. A gorgeous mix of dark purple, orange and everything in between coloured the sky and reflected down onto the streets. Tonight was an adults only event Maria had been arranging for the past few weeks, and you weren't planning on going– neither was Joel, which made you feel slightly bad about what you were about to do next.

After handing your rifles to the usual keeper, Paul, you walked with Ward and once you neared the split on the road, you grabbed his shoulder briefly: "Let me get you a drink."

Ward, with bewildered eyes, blinked: "What?"

"Come on– look," You put your hands on your hips awkwardly. "I feel like I've been a complete dick towards you, so I just want to make up for that and find a way to, y'know, get along better." Ward looked around, still shocked, then back at you after a moment but remained quiet. You tried one last time: "You know Maria's got that event going on, but if you don't want to, I can't make you, I'll be out of your hair–"

"No," He blurted out. "I'd– I'd like that. I... I haven't exactly been the nicest either, so. You're right, let's go."

"Alright," You offered a small smile and started walking towards the bar.

The bar was more spacious than the Tipsy Bison, with two wide counters across each other and more tables where twice as many people can be fit inside. The wooden walls and the Wyoming-esque interior with a hint of Texas created a cozy atmosphere. It was one of those days when Tommy was available and serving the drinks personally, which added to the place's aesthetic.

What you didn't expect to see when you set foot inside however, was Joel's back to you at the counter to the right, with a woman sitting in front of him. Scanning the room you were going to walk into was second nature to you, so the sight was quick to stun you in place.

A couple of people greeted you as they passed by, and you waved back while trying to make out who was sitting across him... but you already knew.

"Hey, (Y/N)!" Eugene put a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, Ward. How y'all doin'? Come on, let me get you both a drink..."

There was rush in his movements as he walked you to the counter to the left by your arm, claiming your attention for a brief moment as your mind raced.

Kiki was sat across Joel, and their body language was more than enough to erupt jealousy and anger from deep within you, your breath hitching. Eugene pressed down on your shoulders to sit you on the stool as he whispered: "Relax."

He pushed a glass of what you assumed to be whisky in front of you across the wooden counter and you immediately downed it at one go, the liquid burning down your throat and fueling the fire beginning to light alive inside you.

Ward, noticing the change in your behaviour, eyed the people around you but also met the same fate as you: The sight of his wife with your husband immediately sending jolts of rage through his veins.

Tommy approached the three of you then, with his usual grin: "Dolly, Ward, what a nice surprise."

"Yeah," Keeping a calm posture, you offered a fake smile, while Ward was obviously fuming.

Your in-law's confused, blue eyes shifted towards where Joel and Kiki were for a second. He sighed in a defeated manner, pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly unaware of his brother's presence in the crowded space. He leaned in so Ward didn't hear: "Is that what you two've come to? Makin' the other jealous?"

"What? No!" You hissed. "Wait, why did you say that?" Tommy suddenly looked like he realised he made a mistake, exhaling deeply. You bit the inside of your bottom lip and nodded ironically. Seems there was still a long way to go to make Joel open up to you a bit more easily.

————

Joel walked into the bar in hopes of finding his younger brother, trying not to attract too much attention to himself as he made his way to the counter on the right.

"Hey Joel," Mike was behind the bar serving drinks. "Surprised to see you here. Where's (Y/N)?"

"Hey," He tilted his head at the slightly younger man. "She's at the walls. I'm just lookin' for Tommy, heard he was here."

"Oh, he just left, but he'll be back in a few. Why don't you sit, let me fix you something?"

"Eh, fine," Joel debated for a brief moment but ultimately placed himself on the empty stool he was leaning over. Mike pushed a glass of whiskey in front of him and they chatted briefly, before a hand gently wrapped itself around his arm. A small hand which made him tense up.

"Hey, Joel– Mike," Kiki greeted the men with a smirk. She looked a lot more different than she did that morning: She was wearing low-waist jeans which hugged her frame tightly, on top of that she was wearing a light gray, deep V neck t-shirt – In the morning, she looked like she was on her way to church, now she looked like a woman who worked for a fashion magazine.

Don't get him wrong, Joel didn't find her attractive– or anyone for that matter ever since he had laid eyes on you years ago in that house with water. He just took your and Eugene's words into consideration then, and prepared himself accordingly.

"Hey," Mike greeted the woman louder than Joel did. She proceeded to make herself comfortable on the stool to the left of Joel.

"What're you fellas up to?" There was something different about her face, on her eyes... had she made her own eyeshadow?

She and Mike chatted briefly while he fixed up a drink for her, then left the two by themselves when more townsfolk came in. Joel was deep in thought and uncomfortable– where the hell is Tommy?

"So," Kiki gave her best charming smile as she leaned her arm on the counter with a relaxed posture. "How'd you like the coffee?"

Joel felt a characteristic urge to be left alone: her body language and tone was more than enough to prove you right. Dolly was right: "I didn't drink it, we already had coffee."

"Oh," The disappointment was unfortunately not enough to make her back off. "You know what occurred to me later on? I should'a kept the coffee and invited you over for some–"

"Kiki," Joel faked a smile and turned his body towards her on his seat. "I said I 'preciate the coffee... I know what you're doing."

"Oh? What am I doing, Joel?"

There it was– the attempt at being seductive. Joel couldn't even begin to try to imagine how things would've played out if you weren't in the picture, and with her advances, the eldest Miller felt his blood beginning to boil with protective, cool anger: "You know exactly what, and it ain't workin'. Never did."

"Not even a little?" She made those stupid doe eyes at him that she's been making.

Joel, despite the anger in his tone, kept his bitter smile and relaxed posture to not attract any attention on them: "I am a married man. Happily at that, and I have no intentions of breaking that bond over the likes o' you."

His words seemed to have stung her, and he actually saw her grow a little pale. Good. He felt his pissy behaviour settle in, the one he tried to suppress after settling in Jackson– his life wasn't as cruel as it was back in Boston, so he had to be kinder and a little less brutally honest about what he had in mind.

"Likes of me, huh?" She kept her composure, her eyes now cold as ice.

"Yeah, seem to forget you're married yourself. Makes a feller worry..." A cruel, bitter grin on Joel's face made Kiki appear like a hissing cat. "You're makin' my wife uneasy– you're makin' me uneasy, so I'll give you a warning: Keep ya distance. Next time I won't be as polite."

Just then, Mike appeared with a new glass of whisky for Joel. The ex-smuggler thanks him with a straight face and downs his drink at one go, the booze beginning to make him tipsy and bolder by the minute.

"I'm making her uneasy?" Kiki suddenly replied with confidence, shooting a pointed look across the bar. Joel turned his head to find you and your hand on Ward's shoulder, his heart dropping to his stomach. "See, Joel," He turned his head back to face her. "I wouldn't exactly do you like tha–"

Without a warning, a hand he immediately recognised grabbed his jaw, twisted his head to the left, and his lips were suddenly occupied by the unmistakable pair of yours.

You went as far as to indicate that you were about to shove your tongue down his throat, something warmer than the skin of your hand burning into the skin of his jaw as you took his breath away with your kiss.

"I'm going home." You stated simply, looking into his eyes with an expression which sent a shiver down Joel's spine, then giving an even worse look at Kiki. You were pissed.

He watched, completely forgetting about Kiki and everyone else's presence as you stormed off to the exit. By the time he snapped out of his shock, Tommy had walked up to him, whispering: "You're in deep."

Joel gave his brother a confused look, immediately got up, while Tommy glanced at Kiki with his brows knitted: "Some'n funny?"

Joel looked back to find the woman in question smirking in a satisfied manner. The older Miller felt his fists ball up into fists, but he made the right choice of going after you instead of making a scene.

————

"I found what you were askin' for, by the way." Tommy suddenly changed the subject. "When I went out the other day."

Your face was quick to soften at his words: "What?"

Tommy proceeded to pull out a small, black box from his jacket pocket. He opened it to reveal two wedding rings in perfect condition. He had asked you a few weeks ago about whether you two were gonna put a ring on the other, that he had seen a jewelry store some miles outside of Jackson and that he could look around for a pair of whatever he could find.

"I don't mind, honestly, but that would make Joel really happy... and that makes me real happy." You had smiled.

"Ever the romantic, my brother. A'right, I'll keep an eye out next time I go."

You took one out of the box carefully, your eyes going a little shiny and soft as Tommy added: "Came back from there a few hours ago, found these rings but they may not match your size, they're a li'l big."

"Tommy," You gave him a soft, quite gasp as you studied the ring between your tumb and index finger. "Thank you, I–"

"Of course," He smiled sincerely and placed the box in front of you carefully.

You held the ring in your hand for awhile, brows slowly drawing back together as you felt tenderness turn into hurt, and hurt turn into anger. You were not going to let another woman get her hands anywhere near Joel, and you were determined. It was now or never, the consequences be damned.

You glanced at Ward to see him still fuming, nothing like how he was this morning. You put a hand on his shoulder: "I'll handle this."

"Don't make a scene!" Eugene hissed as you jumped down the stool, put the ring on as best as it fit, and started stomping your way towards Joel.

Once you reached home, you were breathing heavily through your nose. Hands on your hips, you whispered to yourself: "What the hell am I doing?"

Unsure of what to do, standing across the windows, the sofa and bookshelf to your left in the living room, you suddenly heard the door open and slam back shut: "What was that?"

You turned around with a half angry, half something else Joel couldn't quite put his finger on expression spread on your face. He was quick to walk into the living room as he spoke, keeping a healthy distance from you while crossing his arms.

"Go ahead," Joel challenged as you eyed him even angrier. "You did that for a reason, you're pissed. Wanna tell me why?"

"I was making a point," You shrugged.

"Yeah, you made a point alright," Joel nodded. "Gave her the satisfaction of knowing that she's poisoned us."

"Poisoned?" You raised your brows, mocking.

"Don't you start," Joel warned. "You know damn well what she's been doin' and has done so far."

"You're angry at me 'cause I was right all along?" You made a face, tone harsh and matching his, arms spread.

"I ain't angry!" He groaned, proving himself wrong. "Just 'cause you were right and I took some time seein' that don't mean you get to piss me off with your new drinkin' buddy." He spoke loudly, clearly and with that look he used to have more often before Jackson.

This time your eyebrows rose with a what did you just say to me? and an oh is that so? air to them, the look in your eyes saying it all. You remained silent, hands settling on your hips slowly, as you gave him some time to realise the words he's said.

"And just what were you doing with your little drinkin' buddy?" You mimicked his accent in the last two words.

"This ain't about–"

"Like shit it isn't," You huffed sharply. "You told me to get along, since I'm the one who's poisoned–"

"Do not twist my words, (Y/N)," Joel warned, he took a small step towards you.

"Only when you stop misplacing excuses," You gave him a bitter, not at all sincere smile, then turned around to face the windows again.

"(Y/N)." He said and took another step forward, while you stood your ground. They weren't threatening, they were instinctive, almost childishly curious like a little boy wanting to stick a branch into the hornet's nest.

"What? What do you want me to say?" You sighed, exasperated. "You want me to apologise for telling a woman who's hitting on my husband to fuck off? 'Cause I won't."

"I don't!" He groaned. "I was telling her to back off before you pulled your little stunt!"

"What?" Your voice was quick to go back to normal.

"She was hittin' on me, y'know what I did? Gave her a damn warning." He leaned in a little, keeping himself at arms length. "Then she makes me look over, what do I see? My wife with the bastard who probably wants her all to himself since his own wife won't look him in the eye."

You were a little stunned, the series of emotions coursing through your body pinning you in place. Then, the jealous and bitter side came on top.

"Are you accusing me of something, Joel?"

"Should I?"

"Oh fuck you," You spat before you thought.

You pushed him, not with too much force but just enough to make your frustration clear, making him fall onto the couch. You went to take off your pants as he tried to wrap his head around what was going on, but then you remembered the ring on your finger and the other in your pocket. You pulled it out and threw the box into his lap: "Guess you don't want this."

He quickly opened the box to find a gold wedding ring, then his eyes went to your hand to find the same one on your finger, which was now closed into a fist. Guilt washed over his face, but before he could react, you started taking your pants off: "We're not getting anywhere with this pointless banter."

You didn't give him a chance to reply and quickly straddled his hips, making him groan when you grinded on his cock. You then proceeded to undo his belt as his hands grabbed at your thighs, but you growled: "No touching."

"What–?"

"If you touch me, Joel," You looked straight into his eyes with a terrifying glare. "I'll leave."

His hands dropped too quickly to the sides of his legs, his cock hardening at your change of behaviour. His anger now accompanied confusion as the tip of your noses brushed while you looked down and got rid of his belt, throwing it somewhere behind you with a loud clink.

He wanted to speak, but the logical part of him knew that you both were in it too deep to resolve matters simply by talking. You were angry, he was angry and now you both shared a possessiveness with it, which made both of your bloods boil with a new sense of anger.

Christ, he thought. Fuckin' rings... It was the moment Joel knew he'd choke on his guilt for awhile, but also knew that things were probably going to be better between you two.

You unzipped his pants, and grabbed him through his briefs, making him choke back a moan. He threw his head back and made to speak, but you firmly grabbed his jaw in your hand, hushing him: "Yes, I am jealous, there you have it."

You spoke with so much irritation, Joel didn't dare tease to ease the tension. This had never occurred between you two, so instead of trying to interfere, he let you have your way almost instinctively: "I'm gonna make it your problem, since I can't make it hers."

Joel's anger dissipated a bit at your words, went as far as to bring the edges of his lips upwards, but never got the chance to actually do something when you suddenly pulled him out of his restraints, pumped him several times and sunk down on his length after moving your panties to the side. Loud groans left both of your lips simultaneously, Joel throwing his head back when you grabbed his shoulder with one hand and the side of his abdomen with the other, bunching his t-shirt in your palms.

You started riding him, rocking your hips back and forth with an urgency and roughness Joel had neither felt nor seen before, and he was having an incredibly hard time keeping his hands to himself. Once he let a groan slip at the way your walls hugged his cock greedily, Joel couldn't stop himself from groaning and moaning some more.

You on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with romance or love-making. This was fucking — wild, ruthless and animalistic, a primal side to both of you unleashed because some woman hit on Joel. Plus, his moans didn't help your case, it truly was the most wonderful sound in the world.

He didn't dare admit it, fearing that you might stop by some chance –even for a second– but he enjoyed every single second of you fucking him. A pleasure that could've been explored with less fury, probably; but the said fury just made Joel harder, if that was even possible.

You grunted when you repositioned yourself on his lap and started slamming down on his length, grabbing onto his chest and shoulders just the way he liked it.

"(Y/N)," Joel reached out for your waist, hips– anywhere that was you, but you grabbed his wrists and pinned them against the sofa: "Fuck–"

You moaned at the way he looked, which was absolutely wrecked. You started grinding your hips faster, fucking him into the couch. His cock poked deliciously through you each time you rocked down, which made your eyes roll to the back of your head. You then put your arms around his neck for support, the wet sounds making the both of you feverish.

"You're killing me, (Y/N), please–" He pleaded. You both knew that he could've easily gotten what he wanted, but the way he was willingly doing what you told him– the way he didn't want you to leave didn't escape you, the grip of your pussy driving him absolutely wild.

"What?" You moaned and proceeded to take off your shirt along with your bra. Not slowing down and leaning forward, Joel felt himself go weak at the sight of your breasts and hardened nipples, feeling his patience shatter.

"Let me touch you–" He spoke so quickly that you almost missed it. You leaned into the crook of his neck then, breasts brushing against his hairy chest and breath blowing down hot on his ear.

It was then, when you shamelessly moaned into his ear and kissed his neck, the band finally snapped and his hands wrapped around you. One arm went around your waist, while the other went to your back, hand holding you down by your shoulder. You let out a louder moan when he grabbed you like that, then bit the skin over your collarbone and started slamming into you.

"Fuck!" It was your turn into an absolute mess, the way his hips smacked against your ass echoing in the room driving you mad. He kissed the places he bit expertly, and you pushed yourself impossibly closer, wanting more, more, more of him.

"I should make you jealous more often– shit," Joel growled into your hair as he kept fucking up into you.

"Don't you fucking dare," You growled in return, and tugged at his hair, which suddenly made him stop.

He got up slightly, turned you to the side and pushed you down on the couch, then pushed his pants down a little more. He looked into your eyes all the while, then began pistoning his hips again. He held onto your shoulder and waist as he leaned down to kiss you, but a slight tilt of your head you made him go for your neck. This made him pull your legs up higher and wrap them around his waist, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips while you raked your nails down his shoulders, back and ass. He somehow seemed to go deeper and deeper with each thrust, which made the pitch of your voice rise.

"Fuuck," You mewled when he bit your neck, losing your mind over how rough he was fucking you.

"Yeah? This what you wanted doll?" He grunted into the crook of your neck and grabbed your ass with one hand, while the other remained on your shoulder. You didn't answer, already too lost in the pleasure to utter a word, the tension in your body ready to snap. You felt sore, too – you hadn't felt this sore in a long time.

He fucked you until a sudden wave of anger washed over you, which made you push him off onto his back and get on top of him again, throwing the cushions onto the floor to make more space for your bodies.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but you settled for grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head against the armrest as you, once more, started riding him.

"Shit," He groaned, eyes closed. You felt him struggle in your grasp as you rode him with a fast and brutal pace, moaning or whimpering as you also closed your eyes and focused entirely on how his cock felt like he was going to split you in half.

"I'm gonna– Fuck, (Y/N), I'm gonna cu–"

You let out a loud moan and let go of his wrists: "Come– come inside–"

"What–?" Joel's eyes shot open as he pinned you down by your hips as soon as his wrists were free.

"Fuck, Joel, come inside me," You repeated urgently, which made him jerk his hips up. You threw your head back and groped at your breasts, making Joel sit up.

"You sure?" He wrapped his arms around you tightly and slammed you down while thrusting up. His tone had a different type of possessiveness to it, accent thick and voice deep with lust.

"Yes!" You cried out and craned your neck back, allowing him to suck and bite there.

"Fuck–" He growled against your skin and went to play with your clit, rubbing and drawing circles on it, panting like a wild animal – very much like you. "Say it."

"Joel–" You mewled as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and leaned into his ear. "Come inside me, please."

Finally and for the first time, Joel came inside you, letting out a broken moan when your cunt clenched down on him, milking the length of his cock as he emptied his load into your depths.

Three, four and five more thrusts along with delicate but firm strokes on your clit later, you also came undone and hard. Your whole body shattered into pieces above him, making you grab onto the armrest and lean down slowly.

Both of you panted, voices pitched a little. The both of you couldn't stop the small moans even after you began calming down, the sensitivity and stimulation nailing both of you in place. Joel managed to put an arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders, while you rested your head against his chest, his heart beat loud and clear.

"Goddamn," He let out something between a chuckle, huff and a wheeze after a few minutes. When you didn't respond, he tilted his head to see your face, only to find you fast asleep on his body, his cock still inside you.

Your face looked so relaxed and peaceful, Joel didn't dare move for a time, carefully pulling out his cock and hissing quietly when his cum dripped down from your entrance to his shaft. He wanted to keep going, only if you weren't tired...

He carefully got up with you in his arms, felt you wake briefly as he carried you upstairs and laid you down on the bed; after debating a long time about whether he should eat you up where you slept or not, he ultimately decided to clean you up and lay down next to you...

...Unaware of the catastrophic event that was going to take place tomorrow.

————

tagging: @assinteractions @sherry-212 @joelsgeetar @spideysimpossiblegirl @peachymelon69

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kawaiijohn · 3 years

Text

Rewind, Rinse, Repeat Chapter 1

For Invisobang Minibang 2021

Ao3 Link

Chapters: 3 finished, 12 total Rating: T+ Warnings: Major and Minor Character Death- all temporary, Implied Child Abuse/Neglect, Strong Language, Mild Body Horror, Mild Injury. Other warnings listed by chapter Characters: Clockwork, Danny Fenton, Pariah Dark, Levi | Leviathan (OC), Mal (OC), Observants, Mentions of other characters Ships: Lost Time, Dark Ages, CW & OC child, CW & Levi | Leviathan (OC) Genre/Tropes: Human AU, Magic AU, Found Family, Character Origin, Hurt/Comfort, Original Magic System and Lore Additional Tags: Existentialism & Existential Angst, Memory Loss & Amnesia, Corruption, Clockwork Centric, They/Them Pronouns for Clockwork, The Fenton's A+ Parenting, Obersvant Bashing

Summary

“Clockwork can I ask you something? How did you become a ghost?”

The tale surrounding the mystery of Clockwork's existence; a world where magic is common and ghosts are not. A world where one lonely, average mage tries with all their might to save what means most to them. A world where things need to be remade into something better.

Shout out to my betas @bibliophilea and @moonlights-shadow-warrior for keeping me sane, @13thdoodle for letting me use their OC, Levi, @dailudannos and @sailor-toni for providing art for later chapters, and all the folks over at @invisobang for being awesome!!!!

Chapter One below the Cut. The rest is available on my Ao3 account because tumblr linking/posting is hella broken.

Chapter 1: An Inquiry

“Hey, Clockwork? Can I ask you something?”

Clockwork looks over from the mirror they were watching intently. “You already have, Daniel,” they reply, offering the other a smirk.

“Oh, ha ha. You've never said that to me before.” The reply is filled to the brim with sarcasm, as per usual. Danny rolls his eyes, but a small smile gracing his lips betrays the fact he isn't annoyed in the least. “Seriously, though. It’s something that's been on my mind like... every day for the last two weeks!!" He raises his hands towards the sky, flopping back in the air dramatically. "But... it's kinda, y'know. Personal-” Danny trails off, slightly embarrassed.

Of course. Clockwork finds themself smiling fondly- Danny thought he’d said something he shouldn't have- an inquiry that could make his guardian upset (as if it's even possible to upset Clockwork like that). A question is a question, and this is a worrying habit of his that the Time Master is trying to help break, even if it's still somewhat endearing to them.

“I uh, I mean... it’s personal about- to you, not to me. That’s what I meant!!” Danny continued.

Clockwork stares at him, unblinking. An idea (or thousands) of what he may ask flashes through their mind’s eye. With a single, calming pulse to their Core, Clockwork pushes the involuntary slideshow of timelines aside as if they're no more than curtains. They need to focus on the window in front of them; the here and now, not the temporal drapery.

It's a habit they are trying to overcome for Daniel’s sake. To ensure their ward's growth, they need to stop peering into the near future as often- not discourage his asking of questions. After all, what is a child if not but a well of endless curiosity? Cutting Danny off is also sure to disallow the development of any trust or patience Clockwork needs to build within their young ward. They wouldn’t receive either of those things if they assume what he wanted to ask.

It's common decency to not assume, lest it ‘make an ass out of you and me’, according to Daniel.

It is going to be a tough habit to break, but by the (other) Ancients, they're trying their best. Their ward deserves the infinitesimal choices all other children have when asking things of their guardians, so even if they do glimpse to the future, they will not mention it to him. Clockwork refuses and will continue to refuse to take their ward’s agency away; to not have a choice in things is a fate worse than fading.

The boy has been quiet, stuck deep within his own thoughts even after an impressive five minutes and thirty-seven and a half seconds of silence (uncharacteristic of the boy, Clockwork notes).

Now that just won't do- he must have lost his train of thought. Clockwork gestures at the ghost boy, motioning for him to continue. It works- Danny adverting his eyes and clearing his throat, "Well, it’s just like- you know so much about me- like, how I died, the whole Ghost Zone Prince business, that entire disaster doomed timeline with Dan... I just keep thinking- no- realizing, that I barely know anything about you!!” He throws his arms up in thinly veiled frustration.

Clockwork smirks. “You had another question, did you not?” They place a hand along the edge of the closest Temporal Mirror, turning to face the mirror- still halfway facing Danny. They can see his inner debate clearly written on the boy's face- the mirror reflecting as if it were an ordinary object (for now). They turn towards it fully and watch Daniel's reaction from behind them, acting as if they aren't finding joy in their ward's hesitation. It's always adorable when he tries not to offend Clockwork. "I may be able to work with time, but that doesn't mean I wish to float here waiting for an answer all day."

Danny blinks a few times, rolling his eyes again in response. Clockwork is certain that if they weren’t secured to his skull by human musculature they’d fall out and roll away. “Well, I’m sorry for trying not to be rude and like, asking outright... but since it’s you I have to always be super direct!! Jeeze you’re frustrating sometimes!” He floats towards his mentor, crossing his arms.

Danny often forgets Clockwork isn't easily upset over trivial things such as questions. Most questions are about things they already know the answers to, anyways. And the few things that they don’t know when asked, they figure out soon after. Such is the duty of the Master of Time- to be a step ahead of everyone and everything else always. Besides, in most timelines (68.3% of them, to round up) the question Daniel wishes to ask is along the lines of ‘What was your past like?’ Another small fraction (a little under 20%) the question is ‘How did you get so strong?’ . And even in the remaining timelines, the question would be along the lines of ‘How do your time powers work?’

They are each things Clockwork expects Daniel to ask them at some point or other, as it were. There isn’t really anything Daniel can ask that could be too shockin-

“Clockwork, I was wondering… how exactly did you become a ghost?”

They... did not see that coming… in any of the timelines they’d glimpsed. Clockwork stills for only a fraction of a moment, but it’s long enough for Danny to flinch, feeling as if he’s crossed a line. They hear more than see Daniel shrinking in on himself as they look off into nothing, buried memories waking slowly in their mind.

Clockwork is brought from their introspection by a mumbled curse. “Shit! I mean... uh crap??" They just stare at Danny as they are brought back to the present. "Never mind just... sorry for asking... Oh man! Did I offend you somehow? Ancients dammit, this is what I was worried about!!” They watch him curiously, soft whirring coming from their ward's anxious core. “We can just forget about it if-” Daniel’s hands wring together nervously, shoulders tense with worry and face full of guilt.

Right- facial expressions are also important for a young ghost's emotional communication and development. Sometimes the Time Master wonders if their isolation in Long Now affected their social behavior (it did). Their face is carefully blank most times, so they set to fix it- they offer a small grin, hand coming to rest on Daniel’s shoulder. “It is more than fine, Daniel. You asked if you could ask a question- which is in fact, two questions, I should note- but I gave you consent to ask it of me.” They squeeze his shoulder to placate the worry.

“It’s about time I told you this story, as it were. I just did not foresee it being told at this very moment." Clockwork floats slowly, turning away from their Mirrors. "Come along- it’s best we sit for this. I’ll have one of your friends bring us some tea.”

Danny floats after his mentor, looking around the room the two normally use to study history of the Realms. “So, uh… is it a long story or...?”

“Oh, it is very long, indeed.” They fly through an ornate door and over to their favored 'chair'- a stack of comfortable cushions in violets and blues, both impossibly cool and warm at the same time. They recall Daniel discovering the room, eyes full of wonder and posture relaxed. Clockwork chuckles- the first time their boy had wandered in here he'd decided to take a running dive into the pile, jumping up in surprise when it was cold as ice, yet warm as fresh laundry. The expression on their ward’s face is one of their fondest memories; a happy moment amongst all the tedium of watching time.

“It may take a while to tell this tale proper. But, it is a story that ought to be told.” Daniel makes himself comfortable on his chair of choice- an unholy combination of 'borrowed' pillows and what appears to be a more modern gaming chair- complete with an obnoxiously bright green-black color scheme. Clockwork has to hide another smile as Danny wiggles himself deep into the pile. “So, Daniel- what do you know of the phrase ‘Totems of Power’?”

“I thought I was getting a story, not a pop quiz! Unfair!!” His disdain for schooling makes Clockwork laugh fondly before the boy continues. “But they’re like… hmm how do I explain this? Well, there’s the universe right? Like every timeline and every result of every timeline all at the same time kind of ties into the main universe thingy- but there's still a main timeline, and that's kinda like... Main Street, and the other possible timelines are uh... like side streets with dead ends? But there's other forces that like, aren't time and… uhhh...”

He hums, crossing his arms deep in thought. Clockwork takes the time to purr-sing-hum at one of the many blobs floating in and out of their lair; Daniel had asked them to keep some around as pets and the Time Master was happy to oblige. They were unable to deny something so beneficial to the young Prince, after all. The one deemed ‘Mr. Pants’ by one of Daniel’s friends answers their call. Clockwork buzzes to it a quiet request- ‘bring Daniel's favorite tea and mugs for two, please.’ The little thing chirrups and zips off through the walls- eager to serve the Lair’s owner and be (potentially) rewarded with pats (from Daniel).

The Time Master brings their undivided attention back toward a grumbling ghost boy, lost in thought. “Daniel if you need to ask for help I’m glad to-”

Danny snaps his fingers, coming to a realization before his mentor can finish. “I got it!! The best way to explain it is ‘The Universe needs to run smoothly, so there’s certain forces- like Time or Space- that are upheld by a powerful entity, like a person or like… the avatar of that concept? Yeah, something like that, but they ensure the aspect they represent is properly cared for so the universe doesn’t completely like, die.’” Danny nods to himself. "It's why you stepped in to stop Dan, to make sure the world didn't end like that."

“That is correct- it is my job to ensure this universe of ghosts and reality doesn't crumble prematurely. Now, do you have a recollection of any other Totems you may have encountered?”

“Well, yeah! We call them ‘Ancients’, though- so like… Pandora is the one for war and history, and Nocturn is for like… dreams? The Void or something, maybe? And then there’s old man Pariah who isn’t one, but he said there’s a Leadership Ancient somewhere, and then-” Danny pauses, blinking at Clockwork in realization. “Wait, you asked that for a reason, didn’t you?”

“That I did. Becoming the Totem, or Ancient of Time is where this story starts.” Clockwork hums, seeing Mr. Pants fly back towards the two- nearly spilling scalding tea all over the ground. “Now then. We have drinks. We are sitting comfortably. I believe it’s time I spin my tale for you.” They take a sip, closing their eyes in bliss.

They open them once more and see Daniel sitting, eyes full of stars and eager- Eager to hear, eager to fire off a question a minute. It makes a chuckle bubble up in their throat, to see their favorite person so excited to learn.

“Once upon a time, there was a human; average in most ways, a simple person living a simple life. They would get up in the morning, perform their daily tasks, and go to sleep at night. Day in, and day out- a boring, but fulfilling existence.

“However, where this story differs from what we recognize as reality, is that in this realm, humans who could control magic were the norm. Think as if it were like one of those fantasy games you and Tucker play together- mages, healers… all of those and more were commonplace when I was alive. Yes, humans can wield magic now, but it is nowhere near as frequent as they could in our tale.”

They pause, seeing that Danny was about to interrupt. “Wait wait- this realm? Like- this is a completely different reality?? And people can wield magic now??? Are you messing with me? Like… I thought it was all just-” The boy stops, his train of thought drifting off the tracks as it tends to now and then.

“Yes, first, this is a completely different realm from either the Mortal Plane or the Ghost Zone. Second, Daniel- tell me... have you not noticed the magic of those you have encountered? Blood blossoms… a reality warping gauntlet? The existence that is ‘Freakshow’ in general should be a red flag, seeing as his talents were… strangely non-ghostly in origin. Not to mention objects such as the Infi-map...”

“Man, I wish I could forget about Freakshow… who mind controls ghosts??? He was the worst!” Their young ward crossed his arms and grumbles.

“If you’re done sulking about your past misadventures and former foes, I was in the middle of telling a story, if I recall correctly. One you asked I tell you…” Clockwork simply stares, unblinking as steam wafts from their slowly cooling tea.

All is well, they knew Danny would only take approximately 4.85 seconds to snap his attention back to their story. Clockwork sips their tea, waiting.

Danny snaps out of his thoughts only a millisecond off of Clockwork's prediction. “Sorry... it’s just super weird to think that magic actually… still exists? Like ghosts are real and all but magic being a thing feels a bit far fetched, don’t ya think?” He pouts, brow furrowed.

The Master of Time finally closes their eyes, removing the hood from their head. White hair floats gracefully behind them, settling just past their shoulders. Clockwork opens their eyes again- a serious, yet warm expression directed at their ward. “Magic is simply defined as reality altering acts using both energy and the willpower of a sentient being, if that helps.” Another sip. Mr. Pants made a wonderful batch of tea, as always. They smile wider when they notice Danny’s expression- the boy has never seen them without a hood, and they know doing this will (in 99.78% of all possible timelines) convince the boy to take what they said seriously. ”Just as ghosts can be defined as ‘ectoplasm given form and consciousness’, forces beyond humanity and the physical realm can be explained with scientific terminology if you know where to look.”

“So like... what all did magic have to do with this ‘simple human’ version of you? Did you ever have the power to shoot lightning?? Could I shoot lightning if I tried? Like were you some sorta time wizard? Is that why you’re all… timey-wimey and powerful?” Danny wiggles his fingers with a look of confusion on his face.

Clockwork always finds their Core warming when their boy acts his age. He's abnormally prone to shoulder the destiny of the world on himself and often forgets he's just a kid. “You could continue asking questions one at a time, or you could allow me to tell my story. The choice is yours, Daniel.” They smirk, watching as Danny purses his lips, his steady flow of questions stopping short. The best answer. “Perfect- all is as I thought it would be.”

They close their eyes and reminisce as they continue. “Now- to answer your last question… Yes. You could say magic is how I came to be the Master of Time in both the Infinite Realms and the mortal plane, but there is much more to the story than that. Other players, situations, and pure circumstances. The universe in its infinite chances and possibilities brought myself, as well as many others to the situations they face here and now.” Clockwork pauses, taking the moment to stare straight through Danny’s soul. “Even yourself.”

The boy shudders, an appropriate response. “Wait... me? Did you… do something in the past to like… a past version of someone we know?? Can that even happen???” Danny is already enraptured by the story, eyes twinkling as his mentor opens up about themself. The boy is obviously thinking about everything that has happened, everything that could possibly have happened, and everything that Clockwork could possibly drop on him.

They feel Daniel cautiously tug on loose strands of time to see if he could possibly scope out what is about to be said, quickly failing to do much else beside give himself a small headache. “Time stuff is still really confusing, Clockwork…”

“You could say that. You could even say that trying to mess with time in the inner sanctum of Long Now is the most confusing ‘time stuff’ one could do if they were not myself.” They grin- a Temporal Mirror appearing behind them with a thought.

“What’s the mirror for?” Danny catches sight of himself and looks away, embarrassed that he’s been literally glowing with power after trying to do something so simple with his developing powers. The glow is something he’s been working on suppressing recently. After all, it would be a shame if other ghosts could see the boy powering up by aura alone.

The Master of Time smirks, bringing tea to their lips again. “I thought it would be fun to attempt braiding my hair and doing my makeup for once. It has been an awfully long time since I’ve done either.”

They stare at Danny who just bursts into laughter. “Did you just use sarcasm??? Man, I didn’t know you could lighten up, Clockwork!” The boy laughs harder, sinking deeper into his nest of pillows. After a few minutes he was finally wiping tears from his eyes. “But no. Seriously… what’s the mirror for??”

“Why, what they are always for, Daniel- seeing through time and space.” Clockwork waves their hand. The mirrors show an image of a human with dark hair and burgundy eyes. They have a large, hooked nose and medium brown skin- and Danny finds himself having a hard time guessing their gender. The human sits at a desk, paused in time with the delicate gears of a clock sprawled along the desk surface, tools in hand.

Behind Clockwork, the image changes, showing the human living through an average day- images play in small spurts, never showing the whole story. “Do you understand what’s being seen?” The young boy nods, grabbing Mr. Pants out of the air as the blob drifts between the two. Good, he will probably need the companionship, especially towards the end.

This isn’t the easiest story to tell, nor is it easy to listen to, but with a sip of their tea, Clockwork continues.

#danny phantom #invisobang #invisobang 2021 #dp #phanfic #art #my fic #RRR #dantes vibe corner

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germvity · 3 years

Text

RISES THE MOON

leon s kennedy x reader // 6 // thorny heart

soon enough the two of you are talking again, and leon almost forgets the rejection until you doze off. "as long as you're okay..." he whispers to himself as he brushes fallen hair from your face. "i couldn't care less about my own feelings." he smiles, tears stinging his eyes as he pulls you into his chest.

genre: fluff with a spicy(ish) surprise- enjoy :))

tags: deciding to have leons pov for some of this one <3, you broke leons heart atm but he recovers, not gonna spoil <3 this is just relationship development tbh

warnings: my awful slow burn development </3

tag list <3

@trinswhimsys , @hex-touchstarved <3

---

leon's stomach felt like a washin machine. he couldn't sleep, and he didn't want to disturb you. tears dried on his cheeks long ago and he held you close for his own comfort. "fuck." he mumbles, eyes fluttering closed again as he cradles you close. "god dammit i'm so stupid." he continues and you shuffle. "leon?" you mumble sleepily, breathing in a yawn. "it's okay, i'm sorry, go back to sleep." the man tries to soothe you back to sleep like he normally did, but this time it didn't work. "hmm... what's wrong? you're not normally still awake." you reply, peeling your eyes open to look at him. "nothing's wrong. just go back to sleep." he tries again, hoping it was too dark to see his tear stains. "you've been crying." you frown, cupping his face as you wipe the trails away.

"i'm fine." he whispers, but you shake your head. "leon, i'm sorry.. i just don't want to lose you, or get hurt with the slim chance you're not being honest.." you explain, and he nods. "i know." he sighs, letting you nuzzle your nose against his as you hold him. "i'm sorry..." you whisper, and leon cracks a small smile. "it's alright. i don't mind." he lies, and luckily you believe him. "if you're sure... we're in this together now, right?" leon replies with a solid "right." you smile, "then you can tell me your troubles as well as listen and take care of mine. no matter how small, how big. i wanna help you just as much as you help me." you say, gently stroking his cheek.

"fuck." leon whispers, pressing his forehead against yours more firmly. "for what it's worth. i like you too, i'm just too scared to do anything in case it goes bad.." you admit, and leon feels tears building up again. "i know.. i'll always be here for you." he smiles at you, and you wipe his tears away. "i'm sorry.." you say again, and he chuckles. "stop apologising." he says, taking your hands in his as he pulls you into a hug. "sorry.." you say before giggling. leon rolls his eyes as your hands find his back, tracing soft patterns with your fingers. "that feels nice." leon admits, and you smile at him. "yeah?" your voice is so soft and it makes leon's hurt heart thump. "yeah.." leon responds quietly. you keep going, massaging his shoulders as he hums happily.

"god why are you so good at this?" leon laughs, and you smile, "i'm good with my hands." you tease, and leon flushes a deep shade of red. "after repairing so many generators, of course." you grin at his expression. "r-right! of course." he agrees, embarrassed at his dirty mind. "relax, i'm just teasing." you smile, and he does in fact relax. "you're so mean." he pokes your forehead and you laugh. "i'm sowwy." you giggle, nuzzling you head under his chin as you continue rubbing his shoulder blades. leon wraps his arms around you, rubbing your own back as he closes his arms. "mmm, leon?" you murmur, and he hums in response. "you're too good for this place, y'know? you're way too good for anything like this." you sigh, and leon huffs too. "it's alright, my normal job wasn't too different to this. well it was but y'know.. i dealt with nemesis before but not for long term." leon rambles a bit, and you roll your own eyes as you listen. "that sounds tough..." you mumble, slowly dozing off. "i'm used to it." he smiles, knowing that you're falling asleep. "leon...?" you yawn, "y/n." he responds, and you mumble something. "sorry, i didn't catch that." leon says softly, "i don't deserve you." you mumble, "don't say that." the blonde shoots back immediately, but you've already fallen asleep. "i love you." leon whispers, but you didn't hear it. the blonde can't help but cry again, eventually falling asleep.

leon wakes up to you moving around. concerned that you're having another nightmare, he pulls you close and rests his head on your own. "leon..? i didn't mean to wake you." you say softly, and he hums. "no, it's fine. are you okay?" leon lets out a tired breath, as you cup his face to nuzzle your nose against his. "yeah, i'm okay." you whisper, settling on top of him as he holds you. "are you okay?" you shoot back, wiping his cheeks for him. "yeah, i'm alright." he finally opens his eyes, looking at you fondly. "hi." you smile at him. "hi..." leon responds, watching you sit up as his hands find your outer thighs subconsciously. your hands combed through his hair as he hums softly, you're practically pampering him as he slowly wakes up. "is there coffee in this place?" he asks you as he rubs circles on your thighs. "not that i know of, sorry." you smile, letting him run his hands up and down. "that's alright." he smiles up at you and you place your hands either side his head.

leon's fond gaze turns curious as he watches you lean down, your forehead meeting his as you give him an eskimo kiss. leon adapts quickly, letting you show him affection, his heart soaring. you glance at his lips, and leon's chest tightens. "fuck it..." you whisper, you lips finally meeting his. leon melts into your kiss, hand cupping the back of your head as he pulls you closer as his left hand stayed on your thigh. you hum softly into the kiss, lips moving smoothly against his. when you pull away, leon chases your lips slightly, giving you another soft peck before letting you pull away fully.

"fuck... your lips feel really good." leon blushes, desperate for more but not wanting to push you. "yeah? want more?" you tease, grabbing his chin with your forefinger and thumb to make him look at you and angle his head at the same time. "yeah..." he whispers, sitting up so he could pull you closer. you smile, letting him kiss you again. your lips mould with his perfectly as he kisses you with more confidence. "fuck... leon.." you whisper against his lips, and he fights back a smile as he continues to kiss you. you tilt your head to deepen the endearing gesture, wrapping your arms around his neck. the two of you break away from each other to catch lost breath, and leon presses his forehead against you as he rubs your back.

"that felt really good..." you whisper, and he agrees. "i've been waiting to do that.." he admits with a small laugh. you giggle too, giving him another eskimo kiss as you coddle him close. "trials might start soon..." you say, glancing out the cracked window at the brightened (yet still dark) sky. "nah, we still have a while." leon grins, leaning in to give you a loving smooch. you hum happily, cupping his face as his tongue gently brushes against your bottom lip. "we have at least an hour.." leon trails off, and you catch his meaning immediately. "yeah, we do." you smile.

#leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #dbd leon #leon s kennedy #dbd x reader #dead by daylight resident evil #dead by daylight #germvity writing #<3

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mrfandomwars · 2 years

Text

Flowers and Thorns

A/N: Go scream at me in my ask box

Or in the replies and tags or comments idc. Just go

Summary: “I can’t believe you!” Thorn said the moment they were alone, turning around to face her.

“Thorn-” Padmé tried to speak, but he cut her off, betrayed.

“My siblings need help in the battlefield, they are dying by the hundreds, and you get the vote that would have helped them shot down!? A vote that either way it would have killed them!?” Thorn said, helmet off, looking at her with a mix of emotions.

“I can’t believe you!” Thorn said the moment they were alone, turning around to face her.

“Thorn-” Padmé tried to speak, but he cut her off, betrayed.

Anger, betrayal, hurt-

No, don’t be manipulated, keep the focus on the rational side.

“I had to help the civilians Thorn, I know your brothers are having a difficult time-”

“Difficult time? They are barely holding on, they need help! And the vote would have done that and ensured that ner’vode would have lived!”

“And you want to help them by killing more of your younger siblings?” Snapped Padmé, Thorn jerking back in surprise “And I can’t focus on your brothers in every session of the Senate Thorn! I have other people to focus on, I understand why you want, why you need the matter to be focused on, but I can’t forget the people of the Republic.”

“Right, the people of the Republic” Thorn said, “The same people that spit, punch and kriffing kill the other Guards. Those same people. The same people that have no problem writing defamatory news about you because you are against the war. Besides, even with you making the vote be rejected it’s not like they won’t die.”

“Thorn-” Padmé tried to speak, but Thorn just shook his head.

“No, I need to go, I need to finish my shift.” He said, grabbing his helmet.

“You can’t use that excuse every time we argue.” Padmé snapped, fed up “I know that the clone troopers don’t have that many shifts!”

Thorn froze, before slowly turning around.

“What?” He carefully asked, face a emotional-less mask.

“I talk with Anakin, I know that clones are only supposed to work 8 hours, not 18 hours. And I know that all that paperwork you complain about shouldn’t exist because I have seen Marshall Commander Cody’s paperwork and he can manage to still have more free time than you claim to have! So if you simply don’t want to spend time with me just say so dammit!” Padmé said, staring right at him, head raised. Holding her ground.

She knew that he was probably doing nothing, maybe resting from shifts in the Senate (Shiraya knew she needed one after every day of work), maybe training other vode.

But honestly, why didn’t he say so? She knew that outside of the patrols and shifts within the Senate, he didn’t have to do anything, and even then she heard from Anakin’s Captain, Rex, that that was by done by volunteer work and that meant that at most the Guards would have less than 6 hours of work.

“The regulations of the GAR don’t apply to the Republic Clone Guard, it’s a separate identity.” Thorn said slowly, as if explaining something to a child, his hold on the helmet tightening.

“The basics are the same.” Pamdé said, unimpressed, knowing fully well of the matter as Chancellor Palpatine had explained what the regulations were to basically be, even though she couldn’t remember what he had said about the Guard’s regulations.

Mentally shaking her head, she pressed on.

“If you are so busy drop the volunteer work and come to the Rotunda, I can cover why you are there.” She tried.

“It’s not volunteer work.” Thorn said, sounding offended and hurt.

Why on the Galaxy would he sound like that?

“Thorn, Captain Rex of the 501st said that this is volunteer work and so far I have no reason to not believe him.”

“Captain Rex doesn’t work with the Guard, he might have once been close to Commander Fox but he doesn’t know how the Guard works, and he definitely hasn’t kept contact with Fox.” Thorn said “If you wanted to know how we work, I would have explained it to you. Hells, I would have given you the regulation book and even some recordings if you so wished!”

“Thorn, for the love of-” Padmé said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Thorn, I know that the basis of the GAR regulations, which clearly states that the home base troopers shall only train and any work is volunteered and should be treated as such, and I know that basically everything in the Guard Regulations should be basically the same with a few exceptions.”

“Right, a few exceptions.” Thorn scoffed, before moving as if he was about to turn.

“Look,” He said “If you don’t want to believe me so badly, then fine. I know how you are when you truly believe, so come back when in your investigation to proves me right. Here’s a tip, a home base trooper is different from a Republic Clone Guard.” With this, he turned around, ready to march off.

“Don’t you dare turn your back on me CC-83-1962!” Snapped Padmé, hands bailing into fists, angry.

Only to freeze when she realized what she had said.

“T-Thorn, I’m so sorry, I-” She tried to say, taking a step forward with her hand raised, moving to touch him-

But he stepped back.

He stepped back, away from her.

“Thire was right.” He said, staring at Padmé with eyes full of heartbreak.

Nononononono, he shouldn’t have that, Padmé had to fix this, she had to-

“I should have never dated a Senator.” He said, staying still for a second before moving.

Putting on his helmet and stepping away, out of the door.

Leaving Padmé alone with her mistakes.

#not on ao3 #commander thorn #yes the number is a reference to thor #also yes when he says killed it has double meaning #padmé amidala #padmé nabierre #padmé/thorn #Commander Thorn/padmé amidala #star wars #star wars the clone wars #sw #tcw #swtcw #the clone wars #clone wars #my writing #mr writes #break up fic

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gay-otlc · 2 years

Text

Snap the Pen in Half

Tiergan/Prentice angst lmao

Summary: Dear Prentice, Hi. This is stupid. This is really stupid. Why am I doing this again? It's not like you can read this.

Content warnings for cursing, and like death/loss

Word count: 3477

@if-only-wishes-were-answered you asked to be tagged?

Read on AO3

Okay, so, maybe it was irrational that Tiergan wanted to snap the fucking pen in half. It's not like the pen was to blame for anything. But xe wanted to break something, and the pen was conveniently in xyr way. With a sigh, he stopped looking at the pen like it personally had taken Prentice away from him, and started scribbling furiously.

Dear Prentice,

Hi. This is stupid. This is really stupid. Why am I doing this again? It's not like you can read this. Not that anyone can ever read my handwriting, but you can't even try to decipher it, because you're...

Nope. Not writing that. Not in pen, where xe can't erase it, because writing it is too permanent. Maybe if he doesn't write it, he can pretend this isn't permanent.

This is stupid.It's supposed to be therapeutic, or whatever. A healthier way to deal with everything than locking myself in my room and blasting the Beatles so loud it hurts my ears and eating ice cream and crying. I don't think this is helping. I just want more ice cream, even though this is something that even Ben & Jerry's can't fix. And before now, I didn't think that was possible.

Dammit, Prentice, why'd you have to get yourself hurt? I don't care if the moonlark fixes the world or whatever, you were my world. (That sounds ridiculously cheesy. But it's not like you're around to laugh at me. I wish you were around to laugh at me.)

Fuck you. I know it's not your fault, I know you were just trying to help and that you never wanted the worst to happen. It's not your fault, but fuck you, fuck you for leaving me. Didn't you know how much you meant to me? You had to have known. I'm sorry if I didn't tell you that enough. Who am I kidding, of course it wasn't enough. It never would have been, because I never wanted to tell you I loved you for the last time. But if there had to be a last time, I wanted it to be later. I wanted to tell you at least one more time. Just one more "I love you," one more kiss, one more day together. Fuck you for leaving me without that.

I'm pissed at you, I guess. It's not just you. I'm pissed at everything. Alden Vacker, obviously, and the council. Quinlin. Forkle. Me, I'm pissed at myself. Hell, I'm pissed at the pen I'm writing this with. I just hate everything.

Writing this did not help. I still hate everything. I still feel like I'm being strangled or stabbed or whatever poetic shit people use to describe grief. This was a stupid idea.

I barely survived a week without you, Prentice, how the fuck am I gonna survive a lifetime of this?

Xe shoved the paper away before falling tears made it even more illegible. Then he threw the pen across the room. The thud it made against the wall was kind of satisfying. Not satisfying enough. Xe stuffed the letter in a drawer where xe wouldn't have to think about it more.

Prentice,

Why am I doing this? I guess the last letter did help. Not that I'll ever repeat that.

So maybe this was more healthy than making himself sick on cookies and cream. It still felt stupid. But xe was out of ice cream now and too emotionally drained to go to the store, so this was xyr best option.

In character for my trademark shitty memory (you used to tease me for that, i'd kill for you to tease me again), I keep forgetting you're gone. Which is weird, since losing you feels like there's this giant gaping hole in my life. Like I've lost a limb or something. But according to Livvy, who's a smart doctor person so I'm gonna trust cer on this one, people who lose a limb still sometimes feel like it's still attached, like they could swear it's still there, but it's not. It's called a phantom limb. I guess that's what my brain is doing with you, stupid brain.

I mean, having a phantom you is better than no you at all. But also, it really really sucks to get punched in the face by reality and remember.

Someone will say something funny and I'll go "Prentice would find this hilarious, I have to go tell him" and I'll be happy for about three seconds before I'm left more heartbroken then before. Or I'll wake up in the middle of the night and it's really fucking cold, so I'll think "Prentice is warm, I'm gonna go hug Prentice" and then it feels like I've been stabbed.

I think my favorite part of the day is just when I wake up. Ironic, I know, since you always have had- was it weird to start crying over verb tense?- a horrible time convincing me to get out of bed in the morning and usually you'd have to bribe me with pancakes. But yeah, I guess I like waking up in the morning now. Awake enough that I can think straight (not that anything i ever do is straight. get it? haha. puns. this is not a good way to cope), but asleep enough that my memory is still hazy.

So in the first thirty seconds to a minute, I think you're still here. I still think you're on the other side of the bed, or maybe downstairs making breakfast. There's no distinction between early mornings Before and early mornings After, because I'm too sleepy to remember After.

And then I remember, and that's my least favorite part of the day.

Love, Tiergan.

Yeah, so, that one didn't really make him feel better. It honestly just made everything worse. Grief was easier to cope with when xe just tried to stop feeling things. Ignoring it altogether was impossible, missing Prentice was just... everywhere, it took over everything. But it was easier to try to just feel less of it. Feeling all of it was too much. Unfortunately, he was now feeling all of it. So, the obvious solution was to sleep. Because maybe xe would forget when xe was asleep. And maybe everything would be okay for a few moments when he woke up.

Stupid as it felt, xe decided to keep writing to Prentice. It was like writing in a journal, except he was pretending that the words would be received by his as-good-as-dead boyfriend. Well, when Tiergan put it like that, it sounded really depressing. But it was just... talking to Prentice, like when they would pass notes in boring Telepathy classes, or Black Swan meetings where Forkle wouldn't shut up. And xe didn't have to think about how he would never respond to xem. He would anyway, because his brain was annoying as fuck, but... it did help. Again, xe would never admit that.Sometimes he would just write some lighthearted shit. Xe missed lighthearted times with him. Now, thinking about Prentice was usually heavy and painful, but it used to be that they could just pointlessly banter for hours and he would braid xyr hair and xe would laugh until xyr throat hurt. (Damn, he missed that.)

Dear Prentice,

Fuck Alden.

That's it. That's the letter.

XOXO Tiergan.

And sometimes xe would write to pass along good news, as if he could still celebrate with xem.

Dear Prentice,

Wylie started Foxfire today. They really hate the capes in the uniform. Aww, they take after you. They're also ridiculously smart. Definitely didn't take after you in that regard, we can probably thank Cyrah. Wylie's really excited, but also pretty sad that you're not here to see them. I'm sad too, but that's nothing new, I'm always sad. I'm happy too, though. I'm happy for them. You'd be really happy too.I don't know. I know you aren't receiving these or anything, but I guess it's nice to pretend that I'm actually telling you this. It's something you'd want to hear, you'd be really proud of them.

Love, Tiergan.

And sometimes Tiergan would write when everything went to shit, even shittier when it was normally. That's what he did, right? If it was all just a storm of misery, and xe was completely lost, xe'd still find xyr way back to him. Because when they were together, things were- they weren't okay, but they were slightly easier. He'd take what he could get. So xe would find Prentice when xe was lost and scared and upset and all the bad emotions in the dictionary. Except Prentice wasn't here anymore, so his next best option was a piece of paper that wouldn't respond.

Again, xe'd take what xe could get.

Prentice,

Prentice, fuck, you have to come back and get magically healed or whatever. I don't know what to do. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. You have to come back, because I need you, because Cyrah died is gone and I'm adopting Wylie and I love the kid to death but I can't do this, Prentice. It's not like I'm gonna try to fuck Wylie up but I probably will anyway. I don't know how to be a father, I don't really know how to do any of this- I can barely take care of myself, how am I supposed to take care of a kid? I'm really sorry if I end up making things even worse for your kid. Our kid? Shit. Shit shit shit. And Cyrah's gone and I miss her and Wylie's devastated, obviously, and I want to help them but I also really want to just go back to blasting the Beatles and crying in my room. It was horrible when you were gone but at least I had her, and now I'm just alone and I have to raise a kid who's already been through so much and I'm going to be so bad at this. Fuck I'm just rambling and this isn't doing anything or helping and dammit, it's so stupid, but writing to you is the closest I can get to you and Prentice, I really need you right now, I can't do this without you, I just- fuck.

That was a really fun time in his life, wasn't it?

The letters slowly got less... whatever that was. Not exactly cheerful, never cheerful, but a little better.

Dear Prentice,

So, Alden came by to give some half-assed apology, and I maybe accidentally just snapped and punched him in the face. I am a terrible example for Wylie. But they found it pretty funny. It was pretty funny. Should I feel bad about that? Should I feel bad that I don't feel bad? Whatever. He'll be fine.

-Tiergan

Xe was actually almost happy when xe talked about Wylie. The kid was great. (It was really fucking sad that Prentice wasn't around to see that, but that wasn't the point.)

Dear Prentice,

Wylie manifested as a Flasher. They're pretty talented. Got that from Cyrah, probably, since they sure as hell didn't get that from you. They like making rainbows. I think that means the Gay Agenda is working. They also make a lot of nonbinary flags- they're nonbinary, I can't remember if I put that in one of those letters already, cause I don't reread these, but yeah. Wylie's nonbinary. Sad they never got to tell you, but I made sure they knew that you would support the hell out of them.

Love, Tiergan.

When he first met the moonlark- Sophie, her name was Sophie- he felt something weird. Hope? It'd been a while. Xe wrote to him almost immediately, because it was stupid, but honestly it did help. And maybe, with Sophie, he'd eventually be able to talk to Prentice in a way that involved talking and didn't involve that fucking pen.

Prentice,

The moonlark finally came to the Lost Cities. Her name's Sophie. I'm her telepathy mentor, apparently. So I guess I'm going back to teaching. She seems nice enough- really powerful. Was she worth you... getting exiled? Writing that out did not feel good. Especially in pen, where it was permanent. Definitely not. But it's not her fault, so I won't take it out on her. Maybe I'll just punch Alden again. For legal reasons, that's a joke.

Pros of mentoring Sophie: I do still kinda like teaching. She's got perfect mental barriers and can transmit from what looks like any distance, so definitely a pleasure to have in class. I'm in charge of her telepathy training so I can maybe nudge her in the "heal my boyfriend" direction.

Cons: I have to dress up for Foxfire, apparently I can't just show up in a Beatles t-shirt. Blatant homophobia. Love loses. And she insists on calling me Sir Tiergan, which is overly formal and also not a good gender feeling.

Sophie's definitely good at what she was designed for, so it's not like you sacrificed yourself for nothing. And maybe it's gonna work, maybe we'll get you back. I really hope so.

Love, Tiergan.

And then, more hope, when she managed to heal Alden's broken mind.

Prentice,

I think I'm actually going to get you back, this is the first time in... ever that I've been this optimistic, but I think there's a decent chance. Alden Vacker's mind broke, since he felt guilty about everything. Which, at least he regrets it? I still don't forgive him, and it's not like that erases anything, but I guess I hate him a little less. Maybe to the point of, I can have a civil conversation with him but that doesn't mean I'll like it.

But yeah, his mind broke, and it took a little while, but Sophie brought him back.

It works. It's possible. It's actually possible. We're gonna get you back, Prentice, it's going to be okay.

After the Black Swan managed to very definitely legally get Prentice back from Exile, Tiergan was reminded of why xe didn't like optimism. Because it usually ended in disappointment. Because they got Prentice back, almost, they were so close, but he was unconscious and unresponsive and he wasn't really back at all. Still in a coma, just in a different location.

Prentice,

Wake up. I fully recognize the irony of this, of me yelling at you to wake up, but please.

It's really great to have you back. To see you again. You look like shit. No offense, but after you're in prison in the center of the earth for thirteen years (not that I'm counting), and I don't think they have baths down there, you look like shit. It's still really good to see you.

And Prentice, I got to hug you. I know, I know, I don't even like hugs that much most of the time? But dammit, after thirteen years, I really wanted to hug you. So I did. It was very one sided, but I had you in my arms. It was so familiar and at the same time really strange.

I think until now, Sophie and her friends were under the impression that I wanted you to be healed because back in the day we were very close, totally platonic friends. Just bros being bros. I kind of wonder if anyone still believes that. It would be very funny if it weren't very disappointing to remember that heteronormativity is a thing that exists.

You're back, but you're really not. It really sucked to get my hopes up only to have them crushed again. This is why it's best to just always assume the worst.

I still have a little hope that you'll get better eventually. It's pretty small. But it is there, I don't know what I'd do without it.

Love, Tiergan.

That was the last time Tiergan added a new letter to the messy pile in one of his desk drawers. Because now, xe didn't have to just glare at xyr pen until it wrote everything xe wished xe could say to Prentice. He could just say it now. And everything xe ever wrote just disappeared from xyr mind. What did you say to the man who was basically your husband for the first time you saw him in over a decade of him being basically dead? There should have been a guidebook for this shit.

"I really fucking missed you," he ended up choking out.

Prentice smiled and opened his arms up slowly, hesitantly. Tiergan didn't hesitate at all to launch xemself into his arms. "It's okay. I'm here now. I'm okay."

"I love you." He'd wished he could say I love you just one more time. Fucking finally.

"I love you too."

And it wasn't great, at first. They were all still pretty broken. With Cyrah, thirteen years, and a decent portion of Prentice's memory gone. It was kind of shitty, but Prentice was mostly back, and this was so much better than a sheet of paper that couldn't respond. Xe could try to help him remember everything, rambling about the two of them Before because apparently xyr memory saved that but not the information for history exams.

They got married. It wasn't exactly what one might call legal, and they didn't get the tax benefits or whatever. But a mildly exasperated Forkle pronounced them husband and husband and they kissed and Wylie yelled "About fucking time!"

(He kind of wondered if Sophie had figured it out yet.)

One day, Tiergan's group of accidentally adopted kids were out shopping together, and xe was lying on xyr bed, trying to procrastinate entering grades for xyr students. Currently, his procrastination method was catching his husband (damn, he loves that phrase) up on human music, and Prentice was having none of it. He was searching through xyr horribly disorganized desk to find the papers xe should be working on and force xem to actually work on them.

He held up a sheet of lined paper, slightly crumpled, that does not look like boring Foxfire paperwork. "Hey, Tiergan, what's this?"

"You think I can read my own handwriting?"

"'Dear Prentice, hi. This is stupid,'" he read.

Oh. That. Tiergan had almost forgotten he'd done that. Xe liked to write the letters and then try to ignore their existence, because the letters were just pain spilled onto a page, and xe really wanted to ignore the pain too. And he hadn't had the reason to think about that in a while. Xe fidgeted with xyr cape as Prentice's eyes scanned the writing. Finally, he set it down on the table.

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"Tiergan, I'm so sorry I-"

"No, I. Um. Don't apologize. I mean, yeah, I was mad at you, but that doesn't mean you did anything wrong, you know? I was mad at the pen."

"Maybe the pen really was behind everything bad that's ever happened to you."

He breathed a shaky laugh. "Probably."

"I really am sorry, though, that you had to go through all that-"

"It's okay," xe interrupted.

"No. It's not."

He didn't have a very good response to that. Eventually, xe said "I have other letters. Same drawer. You don't have to read them, but if you're like, wondering how I was when you were..." he swallowed. "Um, they're there. I don't remember what half of them say. They're probably horribly depressing, though."

"Probably," he muttered.

"Losing you really sucked."

"I'm here now, okay? We're together. I promise I'm not gonna leave you again."

"Oh, you won't. If you do I'll bring you back just to kill you myself." Xe grinned, and Prentice kissed xem on the forehead, and maybe xe was pretty fucked up, but not so fucked up that xe'd never be okay.

Dear Prentice,

I've written you a lot of really sad letters over the years, so now I feel obligated to write a happy one.

Do you remember how we met? It's okay if you don't. Maybe you've been pretending that it was super romantic, with candlelight and music in the background or some shit. Yeah, so, in reality, we both had to stay after school for Alchemy tutoring. And I maybe accidentally almost killed you in an explosion. I regret nothing. You were convinced to start up a conversation with the kid who nearly burned your face off, and we started talking, and then we started sitting together at lunch, and then I fell in love with you.I'm really really glad I suck at Alchemy.

Do you remember the first time I said I loved you? Honestly, I don't. It was probably super embarrassing, so it's okay if you forgot that one. But you better not forget that I love you, because I will be reminding you constantly, and it will be very annoying.Love, Tiergan.

He set the pen down and smiled.

#angst hehe #tiergan x prentice #tiergan alenefar #shevit's writing #he/xe tiergan supremacy #also these bitches gay good for them

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