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ellecdc · 1 month

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Mother, im sitting here at 4am, eating mini easter eggs and ive had tge most brilliant idea!! (Inspired by @inkdrinkerworld 's fic)

Okay so, poly!moonwater and readers been having trouble sleeping due to tensions/problems with her pureblood family. As a result shes been taking more naps, but they arent restful. So reader were napping in Rems bed (the dungeons were too cold) but after a fitful 30 minutes she gets up groggy, sleep deprived and beyond frustrated. She stumbles her way down to the common room, pin point Sirius lounging across the couch and promptly throws herself down to cuddle with him and continue her nap. Everyone (minus Siri) is shook. Jamie even asks if she got the wrong person because Reggie was sitting over there (in which he got a one eyed death glare before she burrowed into Siris chest and passed out).

Now, what everybody else didnt know was that Siri had more or less adopted reader as his own (she remined him so much of Reggie, being her big brother was 2nd nature). And while Barty was her person, he was a little too crazy to be comforting in this situation ("y/n, i'll get rid of them for you. Its not hard to do so" "Barty, no."). And of course Siri nows how bad their kind of familys are so he'd been taking care of reader on the down low as an older brother would.

Bonus if Reggie then decides that looks warm and fuzzy and wants Siri cuddles too so he joins ( it took him so long to get to a point where he could let himself be vunerable enough to openly allow Siri to take care of him 😭)

aweeee poor reader. this ended up being way more serious than I thought it would be? like it's not funny at all, there's no humour (which feels odd to me, usually I can throw some jokes or banter in there) but plenty of hurt comfort???.......idk, I can't tell if this is any good, it feels very different from my usual pieces

poly!moonwater x fem!reader whose family sucks (but it's very Sirius-centric)

CW: mentions of insomnia, mentions of abusive families, making fun of only children (sorry), hurt/comfort

You were miserable to say the least; you couldn’t remember when the last time you had a restful sleep was, and nothing you did seemed to help.

The closer it got to the Winter Holidays, the more your mind seemed to spiral. Every time you began to relax, your heart pounded as if you’d accidentally leaned too far back in your chair, reminding you of your upcoming visit home. Every time you closed your eyes, you were bombarded with images of angry faces and violent curses being shot at you.

The Slytherin dungeons were too cold, and every time you found your way into Regulus’ dorm, Barty insisted on butting in, and though you appreciated his support, you couldn’t handle his threats promises to burn down your home with your parents in it.

Remus and Regulus both suggested you perhaps talk to Madame Pomfrey about getting some dreamless sleep or sleeping draught, but you were too embarrassed to admit to your two overprotective boyfriends that you’ve used them so frequently during your life for this very reason that they had lost all efficacy.

It had gotten to the point that you managed to get the most sleep in the library bent over the table with your face on your book whilst Remus and Regulus did their work (and sometimes yours), and that honestly left you feeling more painfully tired than you had been before your nap.

So, you were nearly falling asleep at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall over your chicken and roast potatoes when Remus gently nudged you and suggested you go lie down for a bit and you wanted to weep into your potatoes which was only slightly less embarrassing than sleeping in them, causing him and Regulus to bring you up to Gryffindor tower.

You’d kicked them both out of the Marauders’ dorm room after some time – Remus for snoring and Regulus because the sound of him turning the pages of his book was distracting you. He promised to stop reading, but then he breathed too loudly and you started crying.

You were overtired, emotional, and running on fumes.

You’d counted puffskeins, you’d had a warm glass of milk, you’d taken off articles of clothing and reconfigured your outfit numerous times (which was currently Remus’ jumper and no pants), and you’d tried every position imaginable to no avail.

You think you might have perhaps gotten five minutes of sleep before you woke up with a start, a barely repressed scream grating through your teeth.

Feeling disturbingly weepy and no less groggy from your horrid sleep, you pulled on a pair of your sweatpants and grabbed the throw blanket from the end Remus’ bed before trudging down the stairs to the common room.

“You should have seen the look on Filch’s face- oh! Hi Y/N!” James called as you made your way over to the three-seater and stood over the black-haired boy currently occupying it.

“Oh, Trouble.” He cooed sympathetically at you before kicking his feet out, laying back, and opening his arms for you to join him. You quickly climbed on top of him, and he tucked you in between the back of the sofa and his side, bending your knee so that your thigh rested on top of his, and pulled the blanket over the two of you.

You let out a shaky sigh and felt the first few tears fall from your eyes and onto Sirius’ chest.

“Uhm...” James said loudly, looking over to both Regulus and Remus cuddled in a large plush chair from his place on the loveseat with Lily like ‘are you seeing this right now?’. “I think you’ve got the wrong wizard there, L/N.” He said with a nervous laugh.

“No, she’s quite alright.” Sirius gritted back at him, looking far more severe than James thought the situation called for as he rubbed his hand consolingly up and down your arm.

James looked to your boyfriends, his face clearly asking all the questions that his mouth wasn’t.

“He helps, sometimes.” Regulus admitted, not looking particularly happy that you chose his brother over him, but not nearly as murderous as James figured he might look if he’d found Lily snuggled up like that with some other bloke. And it appeared as though the look of heartbreak on Remus’ face was caused more by your current sorry state and less about your current cuddle partner.

“But...your brother?” James asked, still befuddled over this development. “Doesn’t she usually go to Junior for things like this?”

Sirius scoffed. “Junior’s solution to almost anything is fire or murder.”

“Or both.” You whimpered quietly, causing Sirius to tighten his arm around you and bring his other hand up to continue stroking your arm.

“Besides, Barty’s an only child.” Regulus said flippantly.

“What’s that got to do with it?” James asked, slightly offended at the insinuation that anything may be wrong with him on account of his only child-ness.

Regulus’ irritable demeanor over Sirius usurping you was quickly replaced by a cocky smirk at getting under James’ skin.

“Let me ask you this, Potter: last summer when Lily returned your letters unopened and called you an arrogant toerag after saying she’d rather date the giant squid, whose arms did you cry into?”

“He didn’t cry.” Lily laughed at the same time as James answered “Sirius’” without any hesitation.

“What?” Lily asked, looking slightly horrified that she may have actually hurt James’ feelings.

“Oh, all the time, every time, actually.” James said readily.

“He got snot on so many of my favourite band-tee’s, Red. As a matter of fact, I expect retribution.” Sirius commented.

“And why do you think you cried into Sirius’ arms?” Regulus continued.

“Well...because he’s my best mate.” James said simply.

“You may think that’s the reason, but you’re wrong. It’s because Sirius is an older brother.”

James scoffed at that. “Please, that has nothing to do with it!”

“Have you ever cried in Remus’ arms?”

“No, but-”

“Pettigrew’s?”

James grimaced but answered honestly. “No.”

“No. Because they’re not older brothers.” Regulus said definitively.

“That actually makes sense...” Lily mused aloud.

“You say that like you’re surprised, Evans. I know you’re not used to good idea’s coming out of men’s mouths, but I do assure you it happens more frequently than you might imagine.” Regulus taunted, earning him a pillow being hurled at his head.

Much to James’ chagrin, his seeker reflexes caught the pillow before it made impact with his face.

“Tosser.” James grumbled.

“Would you guys shut up.” Sirius whispered, causing everyone to look over at you.

Regulus couldn’t even find it in him to be miffed when he saw you sleeping what looked to be quite peacefully in Sirius’ arms. Your eyes were slightly swollen from your tears, and he could see the tracks they had left on your cheeks and over the bridge of your nose, but you looked so content.

“So... all big brothers know how to do that?” James asked incredulously.

“I doubt it.” Sirius commented quietly.

“Only ones who know what it’s like to live in a Pureblood hellscape and needed to share his bed with his younger brother who was too scared to sleep on his own for years.” Regulus added quietly, staring unseeingly towards you and Sirius. Remus pulled Regulus tighter into his side and began rubbing his arm consolingly.

Suddenly, things started to make a little more sense to James.

“I’ll write to mum.” James stated, causing both brothers, Lily, and Remus to look at him bemusedly.

“About what?” Remus asked finally.

“Y/N staying with us.” James said simply.

Regulus opened his mouth ready to argue; to argue that James didn’t have to and that he already took in both Sirius and Regulus. James didn’t owe Regulus anything.

But Sirius spoke first.

“She should be with her big brother, Reggie.” Sirius said, shooting him an encouraging smile and wink.

And seeing how your breathing had fallen even with your mouth slightly ajar as you clutched to the fabric of Sirius’ jumper like it was a lifeline, who was Regulus to argue?

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frogchiro · 10 months

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Why do I imagine farmer!price yeeting hyena!graves over the fence as if it’s a everyday thing 💀

Like its part of farmer prive daily schedule for the farm:

Feed the chickens? check

Water the veggies?

Make sure the bulls are behind the fence? Check

Yeeting Hyena!graves back over the fence? Check

PLEASE THIS IS LITERALLY PERFECT

His main points on his daily check list is:

-visiting his best cow girl and sucking her tiddies

-making sure his bulls aren't too rowdy and none of them little shits are trying to break down the fence/trying to breed with you

-yeeting another little shit over the fence back into the forest bc he just can't deal with that fucking coyote who's constantly trying something >:(

Price's history with Graves goes way back but it was only like stealing eggs, veggies and fruit, the occasional chicken and sometimes messing with his bulls since they are easily riled up amd Graves knows his way around them, even caught his trying to mount one bull or two but now he's insufferable >:(

It's basically daily routine now that he finds Philip in your pasture stuck to your tit, trying to mount or just grooming you, licking your coat and 'keeping you clean' while poor heifer is none the wiser and just lets him go at it bc he's so nice to you :((

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #he's AWFUL #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x reader #john price x reader

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kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

Whiskey Sour

chapter three: painkiller

Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences. His best friend, for one.

series masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

series tags and warnings: dbf!joel being extremely criminally attractive, big ol' age gap (40s/early 20s), unprotected piv (do not follow the leader), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), dry humping, spitting, biting, joel miller is a MUNCH, very appropriate use of a showerhead, consensual somnophilia, yoga, heavy emphasis on payphones, daddy issues, family reunions, angst, dead mom, grief and mourning, father/daughter relationship, bartending, reader is a woman in STEM (author is not), being a student in university deserves a warning probably, attempted drugging (roofies), college boys suck, possessive sex, possessive joel, protective joel, obligatory warning for joel's salt-and-pepper hair, masturbation, wet dreams, no outbreak AU, hurt/comfort, healing, no sarah or ellie, stargazing, face-sitting, pining/yearning, happy ending

word count: ~ 5.6k

chapter 3: painkiller

Stargazing, and knowing wrong from right.

Joel doesn't quite trust your car not to blow up, so he drives you both out near Devil’s Cove when the clock strikes eleven.

You sit next to him on the truck bench, in your little skirt, and he tries not to look at the way it slips up your thighs. He cannot stop thinking about your words: Don't think you aren't getting a gift after everything you've done to help me. Part of him is thrilled to know you think about him enough to get eager about celebrating his birthday. Another part of him doesn't want to celebrate getting older. He’s old enough.

A third part doesn't give a shit about a present, when he's got you right here, right next to him.

“You were right,” he says. “I do like the telescope.”

“Did you spend a lot of time in the country?”

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel even though the truck radio is apparently tuned to a local station that does not play music. The announcer’s voice drones on about the Longhorns’ losing streak. “When I was a kid,” says Joel. “My parents had a farmhouse—raised cows, chickens, sheep, all of it. They had a business goin’ for the locals who wanted eggs or fresh meat.”

You can picture it: a younger Joel, dressed in a farmer’s flannel and a cowboy hat, herding sheep and tending to customers with that same charming smile you know now. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Younger brother. Tommy.” Joel briefly glances your way. “Lost my dad when I was ten. After that, Mom, Tommy, and I ran the place ourselves. I dropped out of high school to do it full-time when she got sick.”

You feel a twinge in your chest. “You, too, huh?”

He sighs through his nose. “Yeah. I would've been about your age.”

“Funny, the way things work out.” You lean back in your seat and turn your head back to the windshield. “But that does sound nice. A life away from all the madness. Just… quiet. Simple.”

“You'd like that?” Joel chuckles. “Thought you were a city girl.”

“I’m not saying I want to milk cows all day,” you tell him with a laugh. “Mom and I used to drive to the east coast in the summertime when I was in high school. We’d visit all the coastal towns and the little restaurants, go whale-watching. That was the only time we could really relax, outside the big city. I looked forward to those vacations most, before she got sick.”

Joel recognises the melancholy tone your voice takes when you talk about your mother. He hears it in his own voice. “She sounds like a good mom.”

“She was.” Your eyes flick to him again, and this time, he's looking at you. “I’m sorry, Joel. I would've liked to meet her.”

“I'd like that, too.” He fixes his eyes back on the road. “You, uh… you hear from Liam lately?”

“And we were having such a nice conversation,” you tease. “He lives with me, Joel. I’m bound to hear from him on a regular basis. Practically daily.”

Not the right answer. His hands tighten around the wheel. “I don’t like him.”

“I couldn't tell.” You pull your knees up to your chest and hug yourself into a tight ball. “You know I’ve never had a real boyfriend?”

Joel scoffs. “Excuse me if I have a hard time believin’ that.”

“I’m being serious!”

“Nah. No way.” Joel shakes his head. “Those idiot high school boys were linin’ up at your door the way these idiot college boys are. You’re too pretty to have never had a fuckin’ boyfriend.”

Your cheeks feel white-hot. “Joel. That’s ridiculous.”

“I ain’t lyin’.” His grin is boyish when he looks at you again and your nerves flutter. “Guys have a way of knowin’ things.”

“Oh, you're so full of shit.” You smack him gently in the arm. “If they were all so interested, why'd they never tell me?”

“Because they were boys.” He gives you a pointed look. “And so is that asshole you live with. He thinks he's got a right to you ‘cause you live with him.”

“No, he—”

“Yes, he does. Any guy would be lucky as shit to have you.”

You lift your brows, opening your mouth to retort, but Joel just looks away, that crooked smirk pissing you off as much as it makes your heart pound with girlish anxiety. “We’re here.”

You slump back in your seat as he parks in a dirt lot by the edge of the water. Just down the road, by the docks, there will be college kids gearing up to celebrate the Longhorns’ first win of the season, and some just wanting an excuse to get hammered. You hop out of the truck as Joel unlatches the gate at the back. “Should be a good view here…”

He trails off when he looks up to find you staring at the midnight sky. The light of the stars reflects in your eyes and the curve of your neck shimmers with a faint layer of sweat in the humid air. When you swallow, he watches your throat hollow, and he wonders how a man is supposed to forget you. If a man can ever see your face, your body, your wondrous, awe-struck smile, and rest peacefully.

“They’re beautiful,” you gasp. “Just like… like the coast in summertime.”

Joel surprises himself when he joins you at your side and reaches for your hand. “It’ll look better if you're laying down,” he says softly. “C’mon.”

You put your hand in his. The touch shifts his axis. The touch is an electric shock to his entire body, restructuring his pathways, reconfiguring his brain. The touch, he thinks, will forever change the way he sees you. It will change everything.

“Joel.”

“Mmm.” He realises he hasn't moved. His fingers engulf yours, your skin so soft under his rough palms that he worries he'll somehow ruin it.

“Thank you.” It’s a whisper, your pretty lips parting in the shape of a gratitude he will never deserve but will spend his moments earning as best he can. Your eyes are fixed on your joined hands, the way your thumb caresses the space between his thumb and forefinger.

He leads you toward the back of the truck. You crawl up yourself, and it's ungentlemanly of him not to help you up, but he cannot touch you again. The world will fall out from beneath his feet.

But it still does. When you shift so you're lying on your back, barely a foot from him, the earth blinks out of existence. All that remains is the faint heave of your chest, skin scattering moonlight, and the way you meet his eyes in the void.

“Gotta look up to see the stars, baby.” His voice is rough.

Your head turns and you face the sky above, but he doesn't move. Not quite yet. He savours the image of your profile, the silvery light on your face, the contentment in your eyes. Your lashes are spidery and your hair fans out beneath you, and all he wants to do is reach out. Touch. Guide you beneath him. Gaze into your eyes as he undresses you. Watch your bones melt for him, your troubles flee your brain, your mouth drop open in a long, dark whine. His name.

“That one’s Venus.” You point to a bright star overhead, and then another. “And that’s Polaris. Those are the only two I really know. And you aren't looking at the stars.”

Joel swallows hard. “No. I’m not.”

“I like it when you call me that.” Your eyes meet his again. Your noses are inches apart.

“Call you what?”

Your breath is a warm puff of air. “Baby.”

He’s losing control of his own body. His fingers crave the warmth of your skin, the heat between your thighs, the knowledge of what's under that fucking skirt. His whole body craves your closeness, needs your attention, will die without you curled up against him. His body seeks the ruination of yours. His heart seeks the comfort he knows he can give you.

“That so?” He can barely get it out.

Your eyes are wide, buttery soft, needy. “Yeah,” you sigh. “It feels good.”

Jesus Christ. “I…” His mouth is so fucking dry he can hardly swallow anymore. “I didn’t mean for—”

“I know.” He’s going to do it. He’s going to throw all of it away and touch you. He’s going to—

Your head turns back toward the sky, and your eyes flutter shut. He can see a small pearl trail down your cheek, and he realises it's a tear. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice breaking. “This is your pre-birthday. You should be giving me ideas for a better gift.”

Joel’s own voice isn't faring much better. His laugh comes out like a hoarse whisper. “This…” He finally looks up at the stars and finds Venus. “This is all I could ask for.”

“Don’t lie to me, Miller.” There’s the playful tone he likes so much. “I’ve got your number.”

“I mean it.” He folds his hands over his stomach. “It’s peaceful out here. Reminds me of home.”

“Do you think your mom would've liked it here?” you ask.

“She would,” says Joel.

You sniffle. “Yeah, mine, too.”

Around him, the crickets chirp and the air is stagnant. It feels like a snapshot of time. Except that you're here, next to him, the warmth of your body rolling in waves over his nerves like a hundred cresting waves.

“Boys never liked me.”

Joel can't help but look at you in disbelief.

“I’m telling you the truth.” You shrug. “When I had my first crush on a boy, I avoided him like the plague, because I didn’t want to be rejected. Then I set him up with my best friend.”

Joel blinks. You laugh like you can feel his amusement. “You don't have to tell me how stupid it was. I know. I just figured, if I didn’t go for it, I’d never get hurt.”

“And what happened every time after that?” asks Joel.

“I was always too busy. I never let myself go to parties because there was always an excuse. Work, school, Mom. I had more important things to do, bigger things to worry about. Last time I went on a date, Mom convinced me to reschedule our usual hospital visit so I could go out with him. Halfway through, the hospital called me.” Your breath shudders out of you. “By the time I got there, she was mostly gone. I lost my last moments with her.”

Joel’s heart surges forward, lurching out of his chest. His hand finds a stray wisp of hair and tucks it behind your ear. It isn't in your eyes or blocking his view; he just wants to. He wants to be the one who's right here when you’re sad. He wants you to never feel like you have to put your own life in restraints—never again. “That was not your fault.”

“He was a total dud, too.” You laugh mirthlessly. “They’ve all been duds.”

And me? he wants to ask. If I put my hand here and I put my mouth there, would you deny me? Would you shove me away? Or would you let me treat you the way you deserve?

He wants to be your guiding hand. He’ll give you what you need. He’ll be as firm as you want and he’ll be gentle all the other times. He’ll show you just how wanted you are.

“You’ll find better,” he says instead. “Can’t promise they won't be fielded beforehand.”

You laugh, facing him again. “Is that so, Miller? You gonna background check them all?”

Fuck yes, I will. Joel shrugs, all pouty and grumpy again, and you just want to grace those patches of grey in his beard.

Yes, it will cross a line. Yes, it will ache so beautifully to touch him the way you want. You don't know how to reconcile these two parts of you: the part that's here to rebuild a life, and the part that wants to simply forget how difficult that life can be and drown yourself in the sweet tang of being alone with him.

“Oh! I forgot.” You bolt upright, scrambling off the truck bed so fast it gives Joel whiplash. You reach into the passenger’s side and pull out your bag. “I stole this from the kitchen. Thought you might be hungry after one cup of coffee.”

You produce a styrofoam container with a piece of chocolate cake inside. “I may have also asked Dad what kind of cake I should bake for your birthday.” You bite your bottom lip. “This’ll have to tide us over until the real thing.”

He doesn't know how to cope with the amount of affection surging up his throat, overfilling his bloodstream. Your mouth is so fucking close. How would it taste? Your dark, sexy perfume smells so good, your hair so soft and a little wind blown from the car ride. You would be so perfect, so beautiful, so soft to touch.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He’s pine and sawdust and a little bit of mint. He’s manly, dark and a bit of grey, strong and broad. Capable. “You don't have to eat it,” you tell him, “but I brought two forks, just in case.”

His chest squeezes. “C’mon up here, baby.”

You climb back up onto the truck bed and situate yourself next to him, both of you sitting up against the back window. You hold the container as you both dig in, the cake a little too soft but still good. Still chocolate. And he's sharing it with you.

It’s not even his birthday yet.

“How’s that Daily Texan gig workin’ out for you?” he asks.

Your eyes light up. He remembered? “I’ve been put in charge of the Student Wellness section. I don't know why the fuck they thought that was a good idea.”

“Gives you an opportunity to learn how to relax.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Any suggestions?”

“This is a good start,” offers Joel. “Stargazing.”

You pocket that idea. “At least I didn't get put on Sports.”

“Y’know I was on the swim team in high school?”

“With those shoulders? Doesn’t surprise me one bit.” You lift your eyebrows at him and all Joel can think is, I want you, I want you, I want you.

When you both decide it's time to head back home, Joel eats the last bite of cake at your request and you slide back into the passenger’s seat. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “That was a hell of a lot more fun than trying to sleep.”

“No, it wasn't,” you laugh. “But I’m glad I could help, even a little. You don't sleep well?”

Lately, baby, it's because of you. “Pretty much not at all.”

Your brows knit together, but Joel shakes his head. “Don’t need it much, anyway. I get by just fine.”

“You tell me that when you pass out at the wheel because the caffeine wore off. Do you want me to drive?”

“You still have to drive home on a shitty alternator,” he argues, a little more worried about the state of your car than he's letting on. “I’ll be okay. I’ve gone longer on less sleep.”

You chew on your lip, and Joel brushes the rough pad of his thumb over your chin. “I’ll be okay,” he repeats. “Just buckle up.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Just don't kill us.”

I haven’t tasted you, he thinks. Dying won’t do just yet.

In his dream, you’re wearing the black thong. Nothing else.

You knock on his bedroom door and he lets you in. He doesn't know why. He shouldn't. But he does. And you're there, your pretty tits sitting so perfectly for him, your hands demurely clasped behind your back, your eyes looking up at him expectantly. Wanting. Dark.

He takes control. He pulls you against him, his chest against your back, tilting your head back, exploring your skin with his mouth, dipping his fingers into the flimsy waistband of that godforsaken thong and ripping it in two.

In his dream, you're naked. Joel grabs handfuls of your ass while his hips batter you from behind, your slick, hot pussy sucking him in so deep that his whole body may disappear into yours. It's a dream. It doesn't make sense. But sense knocks at his ribs and cracks them in order to escape. Your mewls and moans as you take his cock replace any inkling of conscience, consciousness. You melt into the mattress and forget your worries with every thrust. He makes you forget.

That's it. That's it, baby. You can take me. My good girl. So fuckin’ good, baby, that’s—

He’s awake. Joel grunts, shucking away his covers. His cock is tenting his boxers, which he scrambles to get off as he burns from the inside out. His cock slaps against his stomach, precum pooling at his navel. He hisses, grasping his shaft at the base, his hips bucking helplessly into his hand. His head tips back against the pillows as he begins to jerk himself off to the image of you underneath him. Moaning. Whining. Joel, Joel, yes, oh, my—

“Fuck.” He grits his teeth, spitting into his hand and twisting his hand around the head of his cock. Your mouth parts around the tip and your tongue darts out to lap up the precum on his slit, and he grunts your name. It’s fucking filthy. He’s filthy. “Goddamn—”

Holding you, cradling your head, watching your mouth take him, the tip prodding your throat. Your watery eyes, your needy, leaking pussy, your knees folded so primly under you. As if his cock isn’t down your fucking throat. “Jesus,” he growls, jerking faster, the pressure building in his ears and his throat and his stomach, his balls pulling up—

His cum spills over his hand and stomach as he groans your name, long and loud, to the empty room. He pants, staring up at the ceiling. Running his clean hand over his face, he shakes his head. Mike would kill him if he knew. And he’d fucking deserve it.

Because Joel knows that he doesn't just need any warm body. He doesn't need to forget you by finding someone else. It isn't just a vague need.

It is you.

“Is this seat taken?”

Your head jerks up so fast your neck twinges. There's a guy looking at you with a sheepish smile, gesturing to the seat on your left. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean to… interrupt.”

“No! No, I’m sorry. Please, feel free.”

He slides into the seat and pulls out his books. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

You're a little surprised to see him offer his hand to you. People your age still shake hands with one another? Giving him a smile, you introduce yourself. “You just had to catch me while I was lost in thought. I’m usually a lot more suave.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” says Steve. He has a charming smile; he's about your age, with dark hair and a lean figure, and a pair of kind blue eyes. “Have you started studying for the midterm?”

You snort. “Please. If I think about it for one second, I’ll be breaking all the rules of my article.”

Steve laughs, assessing you with a brief once-over. “I recognise your name. You edit for the paper, right?”

“Guilty.”

“Only if it were bad. I liked your last piece.” He places his hand over his heart. “Your dad taught you this?”

You smile. He actually read your latest article. “He did,” you say brightly. “I was freaking out over the move here, and he told me how to ground myself.”

Steve grins. “Well, it's good to know the paper has someone of quality writing for them.”

You roll your eyes. “Smooth.”

“I know. Practised it over the last couple minutes in my head.” Steve taps his pen on his notebook. His notes are neat and his handwriting is small. “Hey, if you ever decide to brave the hell that is the study guide, I’d be happy to do it with you. Okay, more like reluctant, but happy to do it with you.”

You really could use the study buddy. “Yeah. That would be great.”

“Thank God,” sighs Steve. “I thought I’d have to beg.”

“Oh, you still can, if you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says with a laugh, turning to face the front of the room as the professor walks in. Wordlessly, he writes down a phone number on the corner of his page and rips it out, sliding it over to you. You stuff the scrap of paper in your bag.

Neither Joel nor your father show up at the bar tonight. They both have to get up early to drive across town for the job, but work is a little less alive without the company. Rob still makes sure to walk you to your car when your shift ends at eleven, and it only takes three turns of the key for the engine to start.

The problem is that halfway through the journey home, a torrential downpour starts slicing rain in a diagonal path to your windshield, and your engine sputters until the lights go out. “Fuck!” you cry out, turning the key again and again without luck. Your car is dead.

You climb out of the driver’s seat and wave your apology to the people behind you as you run to the bumper and begin to push in the direction of the road’s shoulder. “Come on,” you beg, shoving and digging your heels into the ground.

Several cars behind you begin to honk their horns, and it only makes your eyes fill with tears. The rain lashes you in the face and soaks your hair through to your scalp, your clothes drenched in freezing-cold water. You don't even have a jacket to stay warm.

“Come on!”

The car gives when you manage to get the front right wheel on the shoulder. Not a single person gets out to help you push the rest of the way, instead deciding to veer their cars around you once there's enough room. Still, they don't care enough not to splash you in the deepening puddles as they race by.

“Don’t worry about me,” you scream, your voice getting lost in the pounding of rain on the ground.

Shit, shit, shit. You're too far away from home to walk the rest of the way, and there isn't a payphone in sight. So, you wrestle your keys from the car out of spite, gather your bag with your work uniform, and make a decision.

He’s making dinner when there’s a knock on his front door. He cleans his hands of raw chicken and heads toward the door. It’s pouring rain; what the hell kind of solicitor wants his business this badly?

The door swings open, and you're standing on Joel’s porch, dripping wet from your head to toes, clutching your bag close to your chest. “H—hi.”

The look in your eye is so resigned, so sad, that he can't for a second think about how it looks for you to show up at his home so late at night. “Jesus,” he says. “What the fuck happened?”

“My car br—broke down. Dad isn’t h—home, and I had to wa—walk.” Your entire body is racked with relentless shivers as you hug yourself. “Do you m—mind if I use your dryer?”

Joel’s heart cleaves in two at the sight of your soaked-through jeans, your drenched sweatshirt, and his blood simmers at the thought of you having to walk home without anyone to keep you safe.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, brows pinching as he ushers you inside and envelops you in his arms. Your whole body sags into him, and he doesn't give a shit that rainwater is seeping through his clothes. You’re cold and he’s warm, and you can relax. Fuck, just being held like this makes you sniffle, forgetting the cold, damp walk and the pile of work you haven't done and the money you don't have in favour of imprinting the feeling of his hard chest and his soft belly pressed against you.

“Joel…”

Your weak, soft voice rattles in his brain and tastes like honey on his tongue. He pulls away to cup your face in his hands, moving your damp hair from your face. “You’ll catch a cold. “Let’s get you out of those clothes, okay?”

You nod, slipping off your shoes and letting him lead you to his bedroom. “Take whatever you want,” he tells you, gesturing toward his closet where all his shirts are hanging up. “Pants are in the drawer there. You want coffee? I’m just making dinner.”

Despite yourself, a little laugh slips out. “You’re making d—dinner at mid—midnight.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I was waitin’ for you.” His hands caress your arms, up and down, up and down, watching the tension in your shoulders ebb away. “I’ll let you shower.”

“I d—don't want to stay,” you tell him. “I mean, I do, b—but it’s s—so late.”

He shakes his head, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “Shhh, baby. You've never been a bother and that hasn't changed now.”

“Joel.” He turns at the doorway to face you again. “Thank you.”

He leaves without another word because he doesn't trust himself not to rush back inside and gather you up in his arms once more. You're in his goddamn bedroom. You're feet away from the bed where he jerked off to a dream of you last night. And you can never know. You will never know—no matter how many lines he crosses.

After your shower, you pick out a too-big sweatshirt emblazoned with his company logo and a pair of grey sweatpants. Your cheeks feel warm knowing that he's worn these, maybe even slept inside them, and you dry your hair in a towel. You feel clean, less miserable, and bone-tired, but you still hesitate before you turn the knob and leave Joel’s bedroom.

He’s in the kitchen—you can smell chicken, steamed broccoli, maybe cheese?—and your mouth waters. You didn't know you were hungry until now. Joel’s gaze finds you when he hears footsteps.

You. Wearing his clothes. Dressed in his sweatpants. You even fucking smell like him, your hair cleaned with his shampoo and your body washed with his soap. He may keel over. Blood rushes to his cock, filling it out in his own sweatpants, and if you notice, you don't say a word.

Settling into the chair at the little, circular dining table, you meet his eyes across the way. “This looks good, Joel. Thank you.”

“Where’s your car?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“On the shoulder of a road somewhere,” you reply. “Your neighbourhood was closest, and there aren't exactly many payphones in the suburbs. I’ll call a tow truck in the morning.”

“You pushed your own car to the side of the road?” Joel’s angry instincts are prickling again, his ears burning at the thought of you alone in the dark and the rain, helpless to get anywhere but to him. “Did someone help you?”

Your eyes find a fascinating spot on the table, your silence giving him all the answers he needs. Your clothes were even flecked with mud when you came to him, meaning you'd been splashed by passing cars. Joel’s jaw ticks, his fingers flexing into fists.

He couldn't fix this. He couldn't be there when you needed help. He couldn't even know about it until the damage was already done. “Fuck, baby.”

“It’s okay.” You meet his eyes again, giving him a sad smile. “I’m all right.”

He sighs harshly through his nose. “Come here.”

You follow orders beautifully, closing the distance between you and him. Slowly, so slowly, you bracket his thighs with yours and lower yourself onto his lap, your arms winding around his neck.

He knows you can feel the insistent press of his cock against your thigh. He knows the telltale widening of your pupils, the darkness in your eyes—the thrilling catch of your breath when he finally lifts his hand to the small of your back, fitting you against him.

There is no going back from a thing like this.

“You're upset,” he says into the thinning air. It feels like a slight. “You don't want me. Not like this.”

You don't reply. You just begin to move.

“Jesus.” His hands find your hips on instinct, squeezing hard as if he can get you to stop. “Shit. What are you—”

“I want you,” you whisper as your hips gyrate slowly over his stiff cock. You never break eye contact. “I want all of you.”

Your forehead drops to his, your noses brushing as he keeps pulling you closer, guiding your hips over him, betraying the words that leave his mouth. The heat between your thighs warms his body, your cunt dragging over his length and your mouth dropping open at the sparks of pleasure against your clit.

Joel grits his teeth, helping you move. “Fuck. Fuckin’ hell, baby.” His cock twitches, leaning precum into his boxers. “That’s it. Take what you want. Take what you need, baby girl.”

He will drink your soft moans down and guide your whimpering voice into his mouth. But you need to come first. You need to take, so he can give. “So fuckin’ good,” he grunts.

“Joel.” It’s a mewl, quiet and pitched high.

He thinks about the truck bed, the stars, the times he wanted and wanted but never took. But it's never been about him. This is you, baring yourself for a man who will hold you and admire you and expect nothing in return. He doesn't. He wants you to know it.

This is about you. He can be selfish later.

He can feel that you're close, your hips stuttering and your breath catching on every intake. “I know. I’ve got you. Just keep goin’.”

Maybe it's his voice. Maybe it's the consistent pressure against your clit. Maybe it's the need to be warm and safe and pliable in his arms. You come, grasping the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his messy hair as your other hand clutches his shoulder. But he's got you. He won't let you fall.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He holds you close as you shiver, the cold pulsing out of your body and warmth settling deep inside. Your brain is a bit fuzzy, your eyes a little unfocused. His hand cups your cheek, pulling you away so he can look at you from a better angle. The sounds and sights of your orgasm will linger on the ceiling of his brain like a light that's always on.

You just came on his lap. You've never even kissed him, and the mere feel of his body ground you into a fine golden powder. “I meant it,” you tell him, combing his tousled hair away from his eyes. “I want all of you.”

“You’ve got me,” he says, and he means it. You’ve both tangled a hundred lines into one another; the mess you've both made is unrecognisable. A Gordian knot. But this is real, and it's clear. This is true and present and whatever happens next is inconsequential compared to the peace he feels when he has his hands on your body.

There are no muddied waters when he looks into your eyes.

“When's the last time you ate?” he asks.

An answering rumble in your stomach makes him chuckle. You giggle, still somewhat high from your orgasm. “Today. Yesterday. What time is it?”

He squeezes your thighs and gestures with his chin toward your side of the table. “Eat.”

“But…” Your eyes drop to the space between you, where his cock visibly strains against his sweatpants. You take your lip between your teeth. “You're hard.”

“Yeah, I am. You’re a sexy fuckin’ woman who just used me to get off.” His thumb traces your bottom lip. “I’m old, baby. I can be patient.”

You pout, but he pats your ass and lifts you off him. Your legs tremble as you lower onto your chair. It’s a plain dinner, and it’s not steaming hot anymore, but at least he can cook. And it tastes so much better after an orgasm. After the hellish night you've had. Joel watches you while you eat, and you watch him, too.

“I’ll drive you home,” he says, breaking the silence. “And I’ll call the tower in the morning.” You swallow a piece of broccoli. Joel points his fork at you. “And don’t argue.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.” He’s right. “You’ve got enough to worry about.”

You look at him awhile. His cheeks feel warm under your scrutiny, the way you openly admire his face, his body, his hands. “I think you're my hero, Joel Miller.”

Jesus, if that doesn’t make his chest puff up a bit. “That so?”

You take a sip of his lukewarm coffee. “Will you let me show you?”

Under the table, your foot trails up his ankle. Joel breathes in hard. As much as he wants to bend you over the fucking table and pound you senseless, you need to rest. And he needs to make sure you get safely home, where your father will never hold suspicion of the things Joel has done to his daughter. He’ll fashion a story that's close to the truth. He gave you his clothes and drove you home, and he did not let you grind on his cock until you came on top of him.

“I won't tell him,” you say softly. “I won’t.”

Joel senses your unease, your hesitation. “I know, baby. I trust you.”

The smile creeps up your face and fills his ribcage with warm light until it's seeping through the bones. “I know what I’m going to give you for your birthday.”

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #whiskey sour #tlou hbo #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

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hxney-lemcn · 28 days

Text

Not Allowed — Lorsan (AFK Journey/Arena) x gn! reader

summary: you met a strange wilder and found yourself falling for your fantasy. What seemed like a dream had become a distant memory, but Lorsan thought of it as anything but.

tw: uhhhh lovesick fools making stupid decisions

a/n: I kinda went off on this one. Ending kinda sucks, sorry.

wc: 2.7k

Master List

It has been a fairly normal day for you. You woke up before the crack of dawn, barely taking care of yourself before you made your way outside. It was a crisp autumn morning just like any other which helped you wake up slightly. You dragged yourself over to the chicken coop after picking up your basket. The hens were barely awake, all the easier to grab their eggs. After refilling their water and food, you put the eggs safely away in your kitchen. Then you made your way over to your dairy cows. The nice thing about cows was that you didn’t have to feed them, the bad part was giving them water. You started the horrendous trek of taking your metal bucket, going over to the water pump, filling the bucket, carrying it over to the water trough, and repeating the cycle.

After all the animals were taken care of, you made your way back to your house to fully take care of yourself. I mean your animals were fed, time to feed yourself. The sun was shining brightly now, the sound of your animals filling the silence. It was a comforting atmosphere, something you wouldn’t trade for the world. You decided to cook a few of the eggs, after all, it's best to have them fresh and you had the freshest. It was when you made your way back to milk your cows had your day changed.

“Oh boy!” You heard an energetic voice call out. “I wonder if there’s any food.” Fully opening your front door, you watched as a man with bunny ears looked around your farm. At first glance you did find him cute, but that doesn’t mean he can just go stealing your hard work.

“Excuse me!” You called out, walking over to him. “Do you need food?” The man paused, quickly turning around, he looked as if you had caught him taking a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Oh, uhm, you see I’ve been traveling a great distance and I haven’t had much to eat,” He explained, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

The sheepish look on his face had quickly calmed you down, and you felt yourself sympathizing with him, “I can make you something if you’d like.”

“Really?” He asked, perking up.

“Yeah,” You smiled back. “As long as I can get your name first.” You both introduced yourselves to each other, and you made him a salad at his request (thankfully you still had some lettuce and vegetables). As he ate, Lorsan, as you learned, had talked of his adventures and all he had learned. You, a mere farmer, were quite intrigued by his tales. You rarely left the farm as you sold your products to Rowan who would come to you. The only time you left was to go to the local village to buy items you were running low on once a week. So Lorsan’s tales were quite fascinating.

“I have to finish my chores now,” You spoke up after Lorsan finished his food.

“I can help,” He replied, ears twitching slightly. “To thank you for your kindness.”

“Do you know how to milk a cow?” You asked, head tilting to the side.

“Well…no,” Lorsan responded sheepishly, then a bright smile took over his face. “But I’m a quick learner!”

“I don’t see why not,” You smiled back. His enthusiasm was contagious. You were quickly proven that you should not have trusted him so easily.

“Ah! Careful!” You exclaimed, quickly grasping Lorsan’s wrists to stop him from squeezing too hard. “You’re gonna hurt her if you squeeze like that. You gotta be firm but gentle. Like this.” You moved your hands to cover his and showed him the right amount of pressure.

“I-I see,” Lorsan stuttered slightly, you missed the way his cheeks turned a light pink. He proceeded to follow your directions after you stepped back and you smiled proudly at how well he was doing now. You had to teach Lorsan how to do some basic chores, but with him by your side, you found yourself enjoying the daily routine that started to feel boring. By the time you both finished, the sun was starting to set.

Feeling a bit of concern (and a bit of selfishness), you asked Lorsan if he wanted to stay for the night. Once again, he was a bit astounded at how kind you had been to him so far. Not to say that people from other villages were unkind, it’s just they were more hesitant to help, and none of them had gone as far as you had. Yes, he had helped you with your chores, but it didn’t feel like much of a chore as you did it together, making jokes together. In fact, Lorsan found himself dreading the day coming to an end. He couldn’t waste any time in just one spot, as the longer he took to find someone to help his people, the more danger they may find themselves in.

Normally, Lorsan would fool around, he was notorious for his mischievousness back in the dark forest (much to his dismay), but he couldn’t make light of his people’s situation. He had no idea how bad the corruption had gotten, and he feared that by the time he got help it would be too late. It had already been two years since he left after all. But his naive personality still poked through.

He agreed to your invitation to stay the night as it wouldn’t hurt to get rest in a proper bed. He messed with the salad you made him, green eyes continuing to glance up at you every so often. The conversation had come to a lull as you started to consume your stew. Lorsan felt conflicted, he greatly enjoyed your presence, even if you both had only known each other for a short period of time. He didn’t want to leave so soon, he enjoyed how easily he was able to make you laugh, the look of awe in your eyes as he mentioned his abilities as a Windwhisperers, and your gentle touch as you corrected him.

His heart beat faster at the memory. Lorsan thought he was coming down with something. It was weird, he hadn’t felt this strongly towards someone before, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. It kept gnawing at him, a part of him wanted to stay, even if it was for just a bit longer, but his guilty conscience weighed more heavily.

“I wish you could join me,” Lorsan spoke, eyes falling onto a tomato amidst the leafy greens.

You paused, but didn’t think too much of what he said, “That would be nice. Your travels sound quite fun when you’re not being chased off.” You laughed lightly at the teasing remark, but quickly stopped when Lorsan didn’t laugh with you.

Your eyes scanned his face. His emerald eyes were down cast, his lips tugged slightly downwards. He used his fork to push around his food, ears slightly droopy. You then realized he was being 100% serious and you felt your heart jump. The scenario reminded you of a cheesy scene in a romantic novel you managed to read in your sparse free time.

“You would love the dark forest,” Lorsan continued, now twirling his fork. “I think you would get along well with Lyca.”

You fiddled with your napkin, suddenly feeling a heavy weight on your shoulders. He does understand your position, right? You are the sole owner of this farm, you have a life, you have animals and people that depend on you. There was no way you could just drop everything on a whim because you met a cute wilder who wanted you to become his companion on his journey. But you were also young, and the thought of being tied down to one spot, never truly seeing the world, also weighed down on you. It was easier to forget about your wish to explore as you lose yourself in your chores, lose yourself in books and lose yourself in your trade. Lorsan had brought that longing back to the forefront, the want to explore, the need to see sites that laid only in your wildest dreams.

It was all too conflicting for you.

“...you know I can’t leave,” You muttered, eyes downcast. “This is my home.”

“I know,” Lorsan responded despondently. A pregnant pause followed, and you found yourself wanting to mend whatever had just broken.

“Come back,” You stated, leaving no room for debate. Lorsan finally lifted his gaze to meet yours. “When you find whoever you need to, when you fix your land, come back.”

Lorsan felt his mind race. He hadn’t thought of coming back, he didn’t need to…not before at least. Would he even be able to come back? His position was high ranking, and he would be needed a lot more once he returned…but he also wanted to see you again. His eyes soaked in the determination in your gaze, how could he deny someone he found so breathtaking?

“Okay,” He agreed, a small bittersweet smile overtaking him. “But only if you consider one of us going with the other.”

You felt your face warm, that was such a drastic decision, but you supposed you had time to think it over. Yet you still wanted to tease him slightly.

“Are you asking me to run away with you?” You teased, hiding your smile behind your hand. “We’ve only known each other for a day.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” Lorsan stubbornly replied back, trying to hide how warm his face felt. You were right, after all. What business did he have asking you to leave everything behind for him? Because he felt strangely for you? He hardly counted that as a reason, but he still held hope, heart fluttering at the thought of you by his side.

“Too bad there wasn’t a way we could stay in contact,” You sighed, standing up to clean the table.

Lorsan’s ear twitched, eyes widening at his brilliant plan, of course it would take a bit of a toll on him, but for you, it was worth it, “I could contact you through the wind! You’ll just have to keep an ear out for my messages.”

Your eyes also widened, not having expected such a response, “I would be able to hear it?”

“You should,” Lorsan nodded excitedly, ears bouncing with the movements. “I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been pretty good at all this Windwhisperer business from a young age.”

“Then I’ll look forward to the wind.”

That had been over a year ago. The time between Lorsan updating you had grown far and few in between. Your naiveness has dissipated. It was a wonderful fantasy while it lasted, but there were too many flaws in the plan. No matter what way you thought, a problem arose. There was no way you could sell your farm or animals, there was no way you could drop everything just for him. It was too extravagant an ask. And Lorsan couldn’t drop everything for you either. Yes, he may have always dreamed of the world beyond the dark forest, but he had a duty that held him back. That didn’t stop his chest from aching every time he was reminded of you. Farm animals were common on his journey, and he remembered how sweetly you smiled at him as you showed him your chickens. How he longed to stay with you. He didn’t want to be tied down, but was it really being tied down if you were by his side?

While you had given up, Lorsan was still pursuing his dream. He had finally managed to find someone that could dispel the corruption. Not to mention it was thee Merlin. He didn’t waste any time getting them on the first ship to the dark forest. It took more time than he’d like to clear everything. He had met his sister and old friends, but a part of him still felt like he was missing. He loved his people, he really did, but he would constantly strain his ears, listening to your soothing humming that the wind mercifully sent his way.

When everything was said and done, his Master Arden had noticed the gray haired man’s despondency. Lorsan had been given many tasks, not allowing him a moment’s respite. Not even being able to think of coming back to you like he had promised. That familiar feeling of the trees closing in on him returned. The comfort of the forest had become a prison once more.

“What’s troubling you,” Arden asked his pupil, wanting to alleviate his worries.

Lorsan snapped out of his stupor, he had found himself trying to listen for you once more. “I met someone,” Lorsan explained, knowing better than trying to hide from his mentor. “But my duty lies here, in the dark forest.”

“A good whisperer should listen to not only the wind, but also to his own heart,” Arden responded wisely. “Need not worry about us, as our problems have been resolved.” Lorsan felt his breath hitch, hope overtaking him once more.

…

It has been a normal day for you. Waking up before the crack of dawn, barely taking care of yourself before going to the chicken coop. You put the eggs in your basket, the movements being nearly autonomous. Your days blended together, repeating the same motions over and over. The wind had become a low whistle like it had before, no longer carrying the words you once searched for. Your days have dulled once more. You were just a mere farmer after all.

“I wonder if there’s any food.”

You paused, not sure if you were just hearing things. If your monotonous days had finally broken you and you were hallucinating a reality that had once been real. Your head turned, albeit hesitantly, and your eyes widened at the familiar head of gray hair, green eyes, and bunny ears. You could never forget such a pretty face, nor the sheepish look that rested across it.

“You’re back,” You stated, slight awe in your tone. You hadn’t really thought he’d ever come back.

“Of course I’m back,” Lorsan scoffed, crossing his arms. “I did promise you, didn’t I?” Your eyes soaked in his figure, noting the backpack that he carried and the slight grin on his lips.

“It’s just been awhile,” You replied, rubbing your arm nervously. “I thought you forgot.”

Lorsan’s jaw fell slack (somewhat comically might I add), “How could I ever forget someone like you!” You felt your heart jump. That feeling you thought you’d gotten over returned like nothing had ever happened, like you both hadn’t been separated for years.

Feeling a bit insecure, you couldn’t help but bring up what weighed on you, “You stopped sending messages.”

His ears drooped slightly in response, “I’m sorry about that. It takes a lot of energy for me to do that, and when I found someone that could help, I wanted them to help as quickly as possible so I could come back.” You truly felt silly. Of course he was busy, he was a hero after all.

“It’s alright,” You smiled, the ache wasn’t fully gone, but you understand. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”

Lorsan perked up at that, a bright smile overtaking his features, “Yes! Do you remember the second half of our promise?” That was the part you were dreading. Telling him you couldn't move to the dark forest. You nodded, shifted back and forth on your feet.

“If it would be okay with you, I would like to move in.”

For the second time that day you felt yourself freeze. He…wanted to live with you? Didn’t he want to be with his friends? Didn’t he want to live where he grew up? Was he being serious?

“I-I mean it’s okay if you say no,” Lorsan fumbled, feeling his nerves consume him. “I understand, b-but I really enjoyed that day, and I wouldn’t mind helping you with your chores.”

You really shouldn’t say yes. Yes, you got to know him better through his messages, but he still didn’t know you all that well. Even though it had been years since that day, it felt like a rushed move, but his pretty green eyes had your resolve melting.

“Okay,” You agreed, a sheepish smile crawling over your lips.

“Really?” Lorsan gasped, bouncing on his feet.

“Yeah,” Your grin widened. “Just don’t cause too much trouble.”

#afk journey x reader #afk arena x reader #afk lorsan x reader #afk journey #afk arena #afk lorsan #afk journey lorsan #afk arena lorsan #afk journey lorsan x reader #x reader #afk arena lorsan x reader #lorsan x reader

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tf2-headcanon-quotes-confesions · 7 months

Note

How good is each merc at cooking?

Merc Cooking Scale

Soldier 0/10

Everything he makes is poison. Or radioactive. Or stone. Or some combination.

That is, if there’s even anything left of anything after he’s done

Many, many, many, wild explosions have happened. Stuff that’d make Demo amazed.

He is banned from the kitchen.

Sniper 2/10

This man lives off instant meals.

He’s just the kind of guy who learned how to make what he likes and has stuck to that.

Not only that, but he would absolutely suck if he tried anything else. He’s not interested in learning, either.

He will eat plain wild game to survive if need be. He's got such bland tastes you can't convince me otherwise.

He does not like trying new food.

Medic 3/10

I don't trust him.

Pyro 4/10

They’re actually a pretty okay cook when they can focus! They enjoy helping around the kitchen.

Usually, they enjoy finger food that doesn’t require a lot of prep. They make those faces/pictures out of platters.

They are an excellent sweets maker. But when working with complex savory stuff things get much harder for them.

And when the stove is involved... well...

Somehow, though, their damage has never been bad as Solly’s.

Engineer 5/10

Man can cook a solid meal. He doesn’t, usually, but he enjoys it when he does.

His cooking is always super greasy.

His meals are also pretty limited. Really only knows how to make meat-based stuff like bacon, BBQ, eggs, chili, and roasts.

He’ll try his best if you can't/won’t eat meat but it's not the best.

His breakfasts are so good though.

Heavy 6/10

He’s actually a very decent chef but is brought down by the limited resources he had growing up

He’s had to find pretty much every way to cook a bear there is. His family and him are tired of bear meat but to fresh mouths it’s delicious!

He’s slowly learning how to include more variety in his cooking. Sandwiches were an easy introduction and are now his favorite food.

Cooking has become a hobby of his but he’s limited by his own pallet.

His cold meals (meals that don’t involve stove/oven/crockpot/etc., not literally cold food) are very good!

Spy (7/10)

He knows how, of course. He can make plenty of gourmet meals if need be like any respectable gentleman.

The problem is he hates actual doing it.

He can make a bunch if specific fancy meals very very well. They are delicious. They are beautiful. They are perfect.

But he can only make those things. He’s got absolutely zero creativity in the kitchen and could not tell you the basics of cooking.

He can follow a recipe but won’t bother to learn why you take the steps you take in it.

Demo (9/10)

He’s actually got a very similar story to Heavy but without the lack of resources.

He’s a mixologist. He’s a chef. He’s Husband Material.

After he went to live with his parents again, cooking became favorite chore.

As they got older, it also became an obligation. One he fulfilled with love and service.

He loves cooking for other people. He won’t ever really do it for himself. He likes sharing his meals much more than eating/preparing them.

It’s the social aspect for him.

Scout 10/10

Scout? How’s Scout so high up? It feels like he shouldn’t know how to do more than make toast, right?

WRONG.

His oldest brother is the best god damn cook in all of Boston. You bet your ass he spent his childhood eagerly observing him and their Ma.

From the time he was old enough to grip a spoon was eager to help out and prove himself.

He’s an excellent chef—and a resourceful one. He can make a gourmet meal out of five bucks.

Everyone is absolutely SHOCKED the first time he cooked for them. Spy accused him of ordering it from a restaurant to fool them but he was too genuinely knowledgeable/passionate about it.

His chicken meals are exquisite.

#tf2 #all mercs #headcanon #tf2 headcanons #soldier tf2 #scout tf2 #sniper tf2 #medic tf2 #demo tf2 #spy tf2 #heavy tf2 #pyro tf2 #engineer tf2

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matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl · 2 months

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Good Morning ✯

Matthew Gray Gubler x Fem!Reader

Summary: Morning sex on the ranch with Matthew takes a slight turn.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Nsfw, unprotected p in v, cream-pie, soft!dom Matthew, fem!reader, no use of y/n.

Alarms were unnecessary when you had Matthews’ lips gently waking you up every morning. They started as soft pecks on your jaw and neck as your sleeping bodies were entangled, and as you began to wake up and giggle from the tickle of his lips, they soon reached your mouth, giving you a proper ‘Good morning’ kiss. Life on the ranch was just different. You didn't have to suffocate yourself with your pillows just to block out the sounds of the city, or leave your window open with the worry of somebody slithering their way in. It was peaceful. Waking up was like waking up on a cloud, the world slowly waking up around you, the sun creeping out from behind the white while the chickens ruffle their feathers before getting back to warming their eggs.

“Good morning…” you replied to Matthews welcoming kiss, smiling before hearing his reply. “Hello, beautiful,” he hummed, letting his lips continue to kiss your neck gently. The fresh Nevada breeze blew through your windows, the drapes flowing effortlessly before returning to their natural state. As your fingers found Matthews hair, gently massaging his scalp and tugging on the strands, you pulled his lips back to yours into a kiss. “Matthew…” you whispered, his instincts making him crawl on top of you, your bodies still tangled in the sheets. “Yes, my love…?” he mumbled as his kisses trailed down your neck again, his strong and slightly calloused palms running down your sides, tracing your silhouette. You didn't reply, only letting out a soft whimper. He knew what you wanted. It has become part of your morning routine already. “I know, baby… I know…” he whispered, letting his hands slowly rest on your hips, his fingertips fiddling with the lace trim of your underwear. “This what you need?” he asked. You nodded, eyes still closed because you were tired but also too horny to open them. “You know I like when you use your words…” he whispered to you, his hands moving away from your panties and up your sides again. He wrapped his lips around the fleshy part of skin on your neck, sucking gently, causing a soft moan from your lips. “Yes–” you breathed. “Please…”

Matthew let out a small giggle. It was so cute when you begged. His hands traveled back down to your hips, slipping his fingers into the waistband and pulling them off your legs. Left just in your tank top, he looked between your bodies, the soft light filtered through the white sheets lighting the area he wanted most. “You're so wet–” he whispered, almost letting out a gasp as he let his fingers dip into your wet pussy, collecting your arousal around his fingers and spreading it through your folds. The warm, wet sensation was enough to make his tip gently ooze the smallest amount of precum. His erection was already so promident through his dark gray boxers. He already had a partial when he woke up. This made you shudder, gasping from each smooth movement.

Matthew slowly let his middle finger slide inside your hole, gliding in and out effortlessly. You flexed around his digit, but it wasn't enough. He knew it wasn't enough. He retracted his middle finger almost all the way until the tip only remained, his ring finger joining as he slowly pushed both in, a soft moan choking out of your mouth. Matthew smiled at the quiet noise of pleasure, causing him to pump his fingers in and out, hungry to hear your beautiful sounds. Your eyebrows furrowed, hips rolling against his hand as he fucked you with his fingers. “Baby…” you whispered, a certain tone of urge in your voice. Matthew curled his fingers upwards, making you let out a high pitched and sudden moan. As your pleasure grew, Matthews' impatience also got stronger.

The pleasure was suddenly gone when Matthew removed his fingers, the warmth around them disappearing. He tugged down his boxers, revealing what you really wanted. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, biting the skin eagerly as you watched him align himself with your pulsating, wet hole, ready for his cock.

You pushed your hips towards him, showing just how incredibly needy you were. You were tired, yet so needy. Matthew capsuled your lips in a tender kiss as he pushed into you, both of you moaning against your joint lips. You could feel his pulse, his twitching tip against your warm inner walls. Parting from the kiss, his breathing grew heavy as he slowly began thrusting into you. One of his large hands cradled the back of your head while the other arm wrapped under your waist, holding you close to him, your bodies moving in unison, small beads of sweat already accumulating on your skin.

As Matthews hips grew faster in pace, your moans grew in volume and more pronounced. Matthews groaned and became hungry, primal. His thrusts became animalistic, wanting more and more of your sweet flesh against his. “Fuck… fuck–” he muttered, his breathing becoming heavier. What was meant to be soft morning sex was quickly becoming more erotic than intended, but you weren't going to object. As he muttered more obscenities, his thrusts became faster and rough, the perfect pace for what you needed. You were finally able to squeeze around something larger than just his two fingers, but this wasn't enough to make you cum. Matthew noticed a conflicted expression on your face. He wanted to be able to help in any way possible.

“What do you need, baby–?” he questioned. “Mo… more.” you managed to get out between your labored breath and moans. You didn't need to elaborate, although it would have entertained Matthew a lot if he made you use your words. His hand immediately flew between your moving bodies, his thumb pressing onto your clit, circling your twitching little bud rapidly. This made you go crazy; he knew it would. You quickly tightened around his cock, joints locking as the pleasure finally released and flowed throughout you. Matthew felt relieved knowing that you came, finally allowing himself to chase his own orgasm.

“Where–?” he breathed, his hot breath making your skin itch. “In–” you managed to get out. “Inside–” That was all Matthew needed, quickly bursting into you, his warmth filling you to the brim, if that was even possible with his cock still buried deep within you. His thrusts slowly stopped, his length staying inside your warmth. He couldn't help but present a goofy smile, and once you caught your breath, you smiled back at him.

“Wow…” He whispered, pregnant beads of sweat trailing down his forehead, dropping off and soaking into the sheets, along with all your liquids soaking into them. They would have to be washed, of course. “That was… amazing–” you managed to say, letting your arms gently drape around his shoulders as he laid on top of you for a brief moment, rolling onto his side so you could properly breathe.

Matthew let out a soft chuckle. “You were amazing…”

#fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler fan fiction #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler fan fic #mgg #mgg smut

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piratesexmachine420 · 5 months

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I've been thinking about mules, and how fucked up the Discourse™ would be if humans and some other sapient hominid were in the same situation as horses and donkeys. The chromosomal mismatch (horses have 64, donkeys 62, mules 63) renders their offspring infertile and bring out some "primitive" traits not commonly expressed by their parents-- imagine what might happen in the development of a sapient creature.

Can you imagine how fucked up the fight for equality in marriage, sex rights, etc. would be? Would it be justifiable to have a child with your partner, knowing said child will suffer the consequences for your actions? Full scale eugenics is probably off the table for ethical reasons, but would it not also be unethical to bring into the word a child guaranteed to be infertile, developmentally delayed, or unable to live longer than their parents? The fight for LGBTQ+ rights has been ridiculously difficult, and there's literally no downsides. The debate over the rights for Human-46s and Human-48s to get it on would be terrifying.

It only matters in cases where pregnancy is a concern, but we all know how fucked everything about normal birth control is. How bad would your offspring need to have it for mandatory sterilization to be on the table? The dating scene for straight people would be so fucking dystopian. Sure, you like this guy, but do you like him enough to get a hysterectomy? Are you sure he's the one? That you won't fall apart in three years? That you won't find yourself with someone of the same species, craving children of your own, but unable because of a decision you made as drunk college kid? It matters less if you're gay/straight but one of you is trans/otherwise unable to produce a child via raw-dogging, but I trying to envisage the discourse around "The government forced me to tie my tubes even though my partner tops" makes me feel ill.

Growing up as a Human-47 would also have to suck -- knowing your parents cared more about a five second orgasm than the fifty years you get to spend knowing you're inferior to both of them. "Was it really worth it, Mom?" you ask. "Did he make you cum well enough to offset my fifth-grade reading level?"

The flip side is also bad: what if Human-47s were better than their parents, but still infertile. Are you so committed to the survival of your species that you're willing to forgo that hybrid vigor? Is it more important to you that your child produce sperm/eggs than be capable of true, total self-actualization? Do you you love your spouse enough to (relatively) stunt your children? On the flip side, is your child's success more important than letting them raise a family? Growing up Human-46/48, especially if you don't even want kinds, can you forgive your parents for their choice? Can a wanting Human-47 mother or father forgive their parents?

Not trying to draw explicit parallels with real-world issues here, and I think most of these questions aren't too hard to find good solutions to-- but I've been turning this idea over in my head like a rotisserie chicken for months and I think it might kill me if I don't get it out.

#counterfactual timelines #biology #genetics #my thoughts

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todaysbird · 7 months

Note

hey allergic dog solidarity. mine's allergic to almost all proteins, especially chicken/egg. it's so hard to find good treats and i have to constantly check the recipe of his food too x_x

my dog is allergic to eggs too :( it sucks because hers came on with age and we used to give her eggs as a treat all the time, she doesn’t understand why she isn’t allowed to share anymore

#asks

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just--some--prompts · 4 months

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Sentence/Conversation Starters:

Random things my friends and I have said over the years on Discord

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

✦ — Person A: “Something on my face?” Person B: “Yeah it's called being too handsome, now stop it.”

✧ — "Two cups of chicken broth, two cups of heavy cream, and then add the lego's–"

✦ — Person A: -makes struggling noises- Person B: "Are you ok?" Person A: "Nope" Person B: "Ok then"

✧ — "Don't shoot me! I'm pleasantly thick!"

✦ — "You’re starting another cult. You bitch."

✧ — Person A: "I’m allergic to honey because I’m allergic to beeeeeeees." Person B: "That's… not how it works?"

✦ — "You were here, you were our side hoe!"

✧ — "The hetero's are upsetero."

✦ — "Why does he not have clothes!?"

✧ — Person A: "We're not clean in the eyes of God." Persona B: "You're not clean in the eyes of your bathtub. How can you be clean in the eyes of God?"

✦ — "Consent is hot when you're fucking my life"

✧ — Person A: "You tire me" Person B: "Then go to bed"

✦ — "You were so far in the closet you were finding Christmas presents from 4 years ago!"

✧ — "I want... to put a pop-tart in his mouth. Do you like smores'?"

✦ — "Life of crime? Naw. Life of shaking ass? Sure."

✧ — Person B: "You're the opposite of a friendly boy." Person A: "What's the opposite of a friendly boy?" Person B: "A bitch."

✦ — -takes a fighting stance- “I'm ready to bite yo ass"

✧ — "People not talking to me? Ideal."

✦ — "You are all a burden upon my shoulders"

✧ — Person C: “Ima eat yo fucking al dente ass ligaments u Italian deviant” Person B: “You're welcome to. End my meat lineage.”

✦ — "Lol, simping for some sleep"

✧ — "Cucked for a soft pillow"

✦ — "Get cucked consciousness"

✧ — Person A: -struggles to breathe- Person B: "Breathe" Person A: "Who needs air?" Person B: "You need air to survive." Person A: "Debatable…" Person B: ".......shut up"

✦ — "I like my men like I like my food... Genetically modified."

✧ — “Bitch, you got crabs?”

✦ — Person A: “Suc-Fuck you!” Person B: “You were gonna say suck.” Person C: “You were gonna say suck,” -Person C leans in closer- “that’s kinda gay bro.”

✧ — Person A: "So what are y’all talkin about?" Person B: "Uh... we were talking about gender reveals but with spaghetti"

✦ — "It's a millennial thing innit? Eatin' ass?"

✧ — "I'd stuff my face with you."

✦ — “Screams in slut, what!?”

✧ — Persona A: “I’m not mad.” Person B: “Don’t lie.” Person A: “Shut your whore mouth!”

✦ — -hands slam down on table- "They’ve had sex together!!!!"

✧ — "Rip in shit, binch. Sloshed and forgotten."

✦ — “This is how I die. Tell people it was something cool and not spicy egg salad.”

✧ — Person B: "You don't eat your phalanges [Person A]. Rookie mistake."

✦ — "When the Campbell's chunky take chunk out of you."

✧ — "Excuse me, Ma'am, can you put down a wet floor sign? You're a bit of a hazard."

✦ — "My gamer arthritis is making it hard for me to hold my wife's hand"

✧ — "Is this roller camping? .............I'm gonna fuck your mom."

✦ — Person A: "I struggle with his emotions–" Person C: "So does he."

✧ — "I thought by ‘squirt’ you meant that the clowns had venom sacks."

✦ — "We learned our lesson, don't convert–"

✧ — "You fed me eggs, now the government can track my location!!!"

✦ — Person C: "Anyway, back to the topic at hand–" Person B: "God, I wish his throat was under my hand–what?"

#sentence starters #sentence prompts #rp starter #rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #dialog prompts #conversation prompt #crack prompt #fluff prompts #spicy prompts #my sentence starters #personal post

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tj-dragonblade · 11 days

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Tell me something about the academic conference AU? :D

The Academic Conference AU is a long-term beast that started life more than a year ago as a quick smut fill for the prompt 'bed sharing' and turned into an anticipated four chapters of hooking up (at an academic conference) and relationship development (assuming I can see it all the way through). There are pieces of it scattered all over and tagged for convenience and here is a second-chapter snippet that I shared on Discord last fall but that has not been seen yet on tumblr:

"Hope these next panels are at least interesting," Hob says through his last bite of tikka chicken sandwich back in their room. "It's awful when it's the boring shit." "And did my presentation fall into this category?" Dream is cross-legged on the rollaway bed, giving Hob that same coquettish look that's been steaming up his glasses for the past couple of days. "Course not," he says, winking as he leans back in the desk chair. "You were riveting. Enthralling. Couldn't take my eyes off you." "Flatterer." Dream does not seem terribly upset about it. "In all seriousness, you were amazing." Hob leans forward again, earnest and sincere. "By far my favorite panel this year. You really know your stuff and you make it accessible and interesting." "I—well." Dream is decidedly more flustered by the sincerity, which Hob finds infinitely charming. "You—ah. You have something—" He gestures at his own face, changing the subject with an endearing lack of grace. "Oh? Oh." Hob swipes the corner of his own mouth with his thumb, comes away with a smear of mango chutney. He licks it off without a thought, pops the digit into his mouth to suck it clean. Dream makes a soft, strangled noise; Hob freezes and glances up, an abrupt awareness of symbolism and suggestion crashing over him belatedly. The look on Dream's face says everything, but he speaks anyway. "It becomes you. Having something in your mouth like that." Hob feels his temperature ratchet up a couple notches, and keeps his thumb where it's at as he swallows. He scoots the chair closer to Dream, wheels squeaking. "Yeah?" He pops his thumb out with a lewd wet noise and grins. "Such a thing to say, Dr. Murphy. Is there something you'd like to put in my mouth, perhaps?" Dream visibly suppresses a shiver, and his slow smile positively smoulders. "In due time, Dr. Gadling." Hob can't take it, this weighted flirting on top of the anticipation bubbling low in his stomach; he leans in close. "Sorry, sorry, there's just—something we didn't get to last night that I really want to do—" He reaches to touch Dream's face, draws him into a softly-open kiss. Dream tastes a bit like the egg and cress sandwich he'd just eaten and a bit like nothing Hob can describe, and he is just a little dizzy with it. He slides his hand around the back of Dream's neck, presses closer; Dream, frustratingly, twists out of the kiss and grasps him by the wrist, removing his hand. "Stop. Stop." Hob's heart plummets. "But…no?" Anxiety spikes sharp in his gut, the accusations of a dozen exes rising swift and ugly behind his eyes. Too fast, too soon, too much— Dream lowers Hob's hand in both of his, holds it grasped with the back of it pressed to his own chest, head somewhat bowed. "Do not misunderstand me, Hob." And that's when Hob feels the gallop of Dream's heart beneath his ribs, the way his breath is coming faster. "We are required to attend the sessions this afternoon, and if I kiss you—" his eyes lift to Hob's, shadowed by the thickness of his lashes and the flop of his curls and absolutely molten with intensity "—then neither of us is leaving this room for the rest of the night."

WIP Title Ask Game

#askmemes #TJs Writing #Sandman #Dreamling #wip: academic AU

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jadewritesficshere · 1 year

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Eddie cooks and Steve doesn't is a rule in their house.

Eddie is an amazing cook. He sucks at baking because he always stops following the recipes, but cooking??? Eddie could be a chef with how delicious the food is. Eddie learned how to cook out of necessity, and quickly found he actually enjoyed it. Eddie just gets distracted and lazy, tending to go for the quicker options that are still tasty. Put everything in a crockpot and push a button? Sign him up! Throw everything in a stew and stir it? Hell yeah! if he imagines he's making potions for a group of travelers well who really needs to know.

Steve, on the other hand, can't cook. He burns every thing he has ever made. He never really learned how, as when he had to take home ec in school he spent most of his time talking to Tommy and Carol. His dad had told him cooking was "a woman's job"- Steve wishes he could go back to his younger self and punch him for ever listening to his dad's misogynistic bullshit (hell, he would even punch his dad). Steve stuck to sandwiches and cheap frozen dinners, but most nights he bought fast food. It was easy and he always had money for it. He always made up for it by being active in sports (and he wasn't a total fiend he knew enough about health, some days he ordered a salad and grilled chicken sandwich instead of a burger and fries. He always drank diet soda, claiming it was healthier).

Steve never realized Eddie could cook. Steve had lamented over how he's a terrible cook, to which Eddie replied "oh me too". So, Steve had decided to try and cook Eddie a meal for their date one night. Of course day of, he may have set the oven wrong. And he maybe didn't know to cut the potatoes for mashed potatoes and just stuck them whole in a pot with milk. Eddie had come over early and they were kissing when a beeping noise was heard. The smoke detector going off is what alerted them to something being amiss. Eddie had taken one look at the burnt chicken and the smoke rising from the oven and immediately decided Steve was never cooking again. His eye twitched as he had lifted the lid on the pot, seeing a whole ass potato sitting in milk that was sticking and burning to the bottom of the pot, and slowly lowered the lid. Steve had tried not to cry, unable to look Eddie in the eyes as they opened windows to let the smoke vent out. Eddie had kissed his forehead and went to the fridge to see what was available. Eddie ended up making cheesy scrambled eggs, pancakes, and ham. Steve was still upset, disappointed and mad at himself. He took one bite before freezing and then looking up at Eddie. "Does it not taste good?" Eddie had asked. "It tastes like...betrayal! You know I can't cook and don't even mention you're a fucking wizard in the kitchen?" Steve had mock glared at him. "Oh excuse me, well you shouldn't have betrayal," Eddie went to grab Steve's plate and narrowly missed the fork that Steve had tried to stab at his hand, "You can take this food from my cold dead body!" Eddie had went to say something but Steve hunched over it and said "My precious" before shoving food in his face like a gremlin. Eddie's heart had soared at the fact that Steve had made a reference to something he knew Eddie liked even though he never read the books. Steve's heart soared at the fact that they wouldn't have to live on fast food and thought thankgodsomeonecanactuallycookthisissogoodholyshit.

That was the date that cemented the rule that Eddie is the one who cooks.

#Eddie still claims he can't cook to which Steve glares at him and bitches at him #Steve is immensely glad he doesn't have to cook #Steve got a private chef for free #Eddie is also insanely glad but any time Steve tries to cook he takes one bite to at least say he tried #Sure he may spit it out but he tried it #He'll swallow other things #That joke is gonna get me canceled whoops #ANYWAYS enjoy the blurb or whatever the fuck this is #As always minors do not interact #Sure the fic is innocent but I am not #Respect the boundaries people #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Steddie #Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson #Steddie drabble #Steddie blurb #The potato thing actually happened my friend did not think and did that I heard about it and went what the fuck #Jade is Talking

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wheels-of-despair · 1 year

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@funsonmunson-again's Birthday Week Writing Challenge The Eddie: Janitor!Eddie The Prompt: #3: janitor!eddie tries to make a cake for teacher!reader's birthday. as mentioned in 'love me tender' he's not a chef lol, so it's a disaster. Words: 1.7k?! Oops. Contains: Baking mishaps, cuteness, and a sugar coma.

"Shit!"

Oliver's jaw dropped.

"I said shoot."

Oliver grinned. He was standing on his stool at the kitchen counter, watching Eddie prepare to make a birthday cake. He'd greased the edges of the pan a little too high, and had dropped the slippery metal on the floor with a loud clang.

Eddie had everything he needed lined up and ready to go. Oliver had helped him double-check: a greased pan, a mixing bowl, a little bowl containing three eggs, a bottle of oil, two measuring cups, a whisk, a box of cake mix, and a container of icing. Using a boxed mix wasn't really the same as starting from scratch, but he knew you'd appreciate the effort anyway.

He measured the oil and water, and began cracking the eggs into their little bowl. ("Always crack eggs separately," he'd heard you tell Oliver once. "Otherwise, you'll get shells in everything, rather than just the one bowl.")

It's a good thing that bit of advice stuck with him, because all three eggs had left bits of their shells in the bowl. "This one's not on me, there must've been something wrong with the chicken," he joked as he fished them out, causing a giggle from Oliver.

And finally, the bag containing the mix… which ripped weird, and showered Eddie's shirt and the counter with a fine layer of chocolate powder.

Oliver, wearing his apron, covered his mouth with his little hand so Eddie couldn't see him laughing.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" Eddie asked with a playful grin. Oliver shook his head, mouth still covered, laughter barely contained. Eddie licked his finger, swiped it across the counter, and came at Oliver with a chocolate-coated mess. The child shrieked, leaped off his stool, and retreated to the safety of the living room.

With a laugh, Eddie returned to his cake-making alone.

Eddie dumped the dry mix into the big bowl and carefully added the water and oil and eggs, not wanting to cause another cake mix cloud. Next time, he'd buy a backup box. Just in case.

He mixed the batter by hand, not brave enough to attempt the high-powered electric mixer. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

When the lumps were gone, he gently poured the batter into his greased pan, and opened the oven.

Which he'd forgotten to pre-heat.

He turned it on with a sigh, and called Oliver back to the kitchen. They each grabbed a spoon and went to town on the mixing bowl. Mom had warned them about the dangers of eating raw eggs, as all moms do, but it was just a little bit. And it was the best part of baking. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. They licked their spoons clean, and Oliver returned to his toys on the living room floor.

When the little red light came on the oven, Eddie slid the cake onto the rack and started on the dishes.

After he finished cleaning up his mess so far, he leaned on the counter and watched Oliver play. He was such a good kid, with a great imagination. He could sit and entertain himself for hours. Kind of like Eddie when he was little, but much quieter.

Soon, the cake began to smell like cake, and Eddie looked at the timer… which, of course, he forgot to set. He opened the oven door to take a peek. How was he supposed to know when it was done? He didn't even know how long it had been in there.

He wished they'd picked out a vanilla cake. Those get brown when they're done, like toast, right? How were you supposed to tell with chocolate?

He pulled out the cake and gave it a poke with his finger. Still jiggly. He sucked the chocolate off his finger - hot, but not bad - and stuck the cake back in the oven.

He leaned against the opposite counter with his arms crossed, deciding to check on it every minute. Even though he didn't really know what he was looking for. When he finally decided it was done, he removed it from the oven and set the pan triumphantly on a towel.

The smell of cake summoned Oliver back to the kitchen. "That's it?" he asked.

"Yup," Eddie said proudly. "Careful, it's hot." Oliver looked at the cake with wary eyes, making Eddie suddenly self-conscious. What was wrong with it? Sure, it was a little dark, but it was chocolate. It was supposed to be!

"It just looks weird because there's no frosting on it yet," Eddie assured him.

"Oh!" Oliver said brightly, restoring Eddie's faith in his cake a little bit. Oliver returned to his toys, and Eddie opened the container of frosting and slathered it on… and it disappeared. He picked up the container and read the instructions. You're supposed to wait until the cake cools. Dammit.

Eddie looked at his wet chocolate monstrosity and wanted to cry. He tried. He really fucking tried. He didn't even know why it was so important; you could whip up a cake anytime you wanted. You did it for his birthday, and for Oliver's, and for Wayne's. He just thought it would be nice if he did it for you too. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he wondered if he had time to run to the grocery store and buy a cake. Or even just the dollar store, for a box of Little Debbie cakes. Birthday tradition demands a cake!

And then you walk in the front door, back from your birthday brunch with the girls.

"Hi, boys!"

Oliver jumps up and runs over for a hug. He buries his face in your stomach, and you sway back and forth with him a few times.

"Wow, did you really miss me that much? I was only gone for a few hours!" you tease with a tussle of his hair. Your eyes meet Eddie's, and you give him a smile. The kind that makes him weak at the knees.

"We made you a cake," Oliver informs you.

"You did?!" you ask with slightly exaggerated surprise. "Show me!"

Oliver leads the way into the kitchen, where Eddie is seconds away from crawling into the oven to hide in shame. Oliver's stares at the cake's current state, and cuts his eyes at Eddie. Even the kid knows he screwed up.

"Ooooh, looks chocolate-y." You look from the cake to Eddie. "Did you help, or did Oliver make this all by himself?"

"This one was allll Dad," Oliver says, making a quick exit. Traitor.

Eddie blows out a huff of air. "I tried," he shrugs.

"It looks great."

"The frosting melted."

"That's okay. It's still there, it'll just make the cake a little wetter."

Eddie looks at you in disbelief. He royally screwed this up. Even Oliver knew it. How are you always so optimistic?

"Have you guys had lunch yet?"

Eddie nods. They'd wolfed down sandwiches and chips before they started gathering ingredients, for baking fuel.

"So can we try it now, or do we have to wait 'til after dinner?"

"You don't have to eat it," Eddie says, "I'll go get you a real one."

"This is the one I want."

"It's going to be terrible."

"Have you tried it?"

Eddie shakes his head. You open the silverware drawer and retrieve a fork, sticking it in the edge… where it does not penetrate. You move the fork a little closer to the middle. Still hard. You keep stabbing, moving a few centimeters closer to the center each time, until the fork finally sinks in. Eddie is mortified. And then he notices your shoulders shaking.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No," you laugh, not looking at him.

"You are so!" he accuses, and you stop trying to hide it. You let out a laugh and attack him with a hug, leaving the fork sticking in the chocolate disaster. Soon, he's laughing with you. Oliver watches with fascination from a safe distance. Grown-ups are weird.

"Alright, moment of truth," you announce, returning to the counter and lifting a forkful of cake out of the pan. You offer it to Eddie.

"Not it!" he calls before covering his mouth. You turn to Oliver, who ducks behind the counter.

"Wimps!" You take a bite and chew thoughtfully. "Hm."

"Hm?" Eddie asks.

"Hm," you repeat. "Give me a bowl."

Eddie reaches in the cabinet behind him and offers you a cereal bowl.

"We're gonna need bigger bowl."

He grins and swaps it for the mixing bowl in the dish drainer. You nod, and give him a kiss on the cheek as he hands it to you. You turn to the chocolate catastrophe and scoop out the soft middle of your cake, and some of the melted frosting that hadn't completely sunken in, and drop it in the bowl. Then you walk to the freezer and pull out a carton of vanilla ice cream. Eddie fetches the ice cream scoop from its drawer and hands it to you, watching silently.

You cover the cake in ice cream, then grab a handful of chocolate chip cookies from the cookie jar. You crumble them on top of the ice cream, then add a little whipped cream, and some sprinkles for a dash of color.

"Three spoons, if you please," you request as you pick up the bowl with both hands. Eddie pulls three spoons from the silverware drawer and follows you into the living room. Oliver's eyes widen when he sees the size of the massive birthday sundae. You set it on the coffee table with a thud, and take a seat on the couch.

"Alright boys, I'm gonna need some help with this."

Eddie hands out spoons, and you all crowd around the bowl.

Thirty minutes later, Oliver has lapsed into a sugar coma. His snoring little body is stretched out across both of your laps. Your and Eddie's feet are propped up on the coffee table, legs touching, and your head is resting lazily on his shoulder.

"Thank you for the cake," you whisper.

"I tried," he says again.

"I know, baby. And it was perfect."

#writings of despair #funsonsbdaygame #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #janitor!eddie munson

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