#HE DOESN’T JUST HAVE A REALLY LUMPY LEG | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

makoodles · 10 months

Text

ミ the mightiest

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader

🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

It was just a fluke, you tell yourself. A moment of weirdness that had come about because… because…

Okay, so you can’t really explain it.

You don’t like Neteyam! You never have! The sight of him appearing while you’re mid-rendezvous with Txetyo (the same man he had interrupted you with only a few days before!) should have sent you into an angry tailspin. And yet, you can’t forget the pulse of excitement that had throbbed low in your belly when you realised that he was standing there watching you.

Really, you should have been the one to speak up. But it was like your brain had switched off, like all your rational thoughts had gone on a temporary leave of absence; why else would you have stayed silent instead of stopping Txetyo and drawing attention to Neteyam’s presence?

Just like after your last confusing encounter with Neteyam in the healing hut, you end up sticking close to the human outpost for the next week.

It’s probably a little cowardly to hide instead of facing your problems head on, but you don’t care. You avoid Neteyam, you avoid Txetyo, you avoid any of the guys you’ve had flings with before because even the sight of them reminds you of what had happened that night in the forest. Inevitably, that leads to you avoiding the village entirely.

The outpost is as boring as ever, but it’s better than facing the mortification that’s no doubt awaiting you in the village. But at the very least, it’s not lonely.

Spider is kind enough to keep you company in the outpost for the first few days, though you quickly wish he wouldn’t. There’s not much to do, and Spider never deals well with boredom.

“Quit that.” You grit out, your eyes sliding sideways.

Spider is sitting next to you, drumming his fingers insistently on his thighs. He sighs, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling and leaning back on the lumpy couch you’re both sprawled on.

“This is mind-numbing.” He complains, throwing his dirty bare feet over your thighs. “It’s so boring here. I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time inside in my whole life.”

“You don’t have to be here.” You remind him, shoving his feet off you.

Spider sighs, swinging his legs back to the ground so he can sit up properly. “Right, sure. I could leave you here alone to mope all day by yourself in your dank little bedroom. Or you could tell me what’s going on with you.”

You grumble, and avert your eyes. Okay, so maybe your avoidance has been a little more obvious than you had intended. You’ve barely missed a day in the village your whole life, and yet in the last two weeks you’ve spent most of your time hiding out in the outpost.

“Nothing’s going on.” You say, and it rings hollow even to your own ears.

Spider purses his lips. He seems pointedly unconvinced, and stretches back on the couch with his arms across the back of the headrest.

“So it has nothing to do with whatever the hell happened when you went off with Txetyo during the hunt celebrations?”

You almost wince, but manage to keep your expression neutral as you stare at your knees. “Nope.”

Spider hums. “And I suppose the fact that Neteyam very conspicuously disappeared into the forest about ten seconds after you left is also unrelated.”

That cracks your composure, and you take a shaky breath as you glance sideways at Spider’s face. He doesn’t look like he’s judging you or anything; he’s just waiting patiently for your answer, a single eyebrow raised.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You mutter, avoiding his eyes.

There’s a long pause, and then Spider huffs out a sigh and tilts his head back to stare at the water-stained ceiling up above you. You feel a little bad about keeping secrets from him; usually you and Spider act as each other’s confidants by virtue of the fact that the two of you are humans the same age amongst all the Na’vi. But this whole mess with Neteyam is something that you’re struggling to wrap your own head around – you don’t want to start explaining the whole mortifying ordeal to someone who was as good as your brother.

“Lo’ak’ll get it out of you.” Spider says confidently.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Please tell me he’s not coming over.”

“He’s worried.” Spider protests. “You’ve been acting super weird, dude.”

“He’s nosey.” You correct.

Spider shrugs, unable to argue that point. “Well, whatever.”

It’s as if speaking his name summons him, because the shoddy linoleum floor creaks behind you as a big nine-feet-tall body steps into the room. You catch a glimpse of bright blue skin out of the corner of your eye and groan, tipping your head back against the back of the couch and closing your eyes.

“Seriously, I am not in the mood to be interrogated by the Idiot Brigade today.” You complain. “Can’t you come back and bother me another time?”

There’s a pause. And then, a low voice filled with amusement says, “Am I a member of this “idiot brigade?”

That is not Lo’ak’s voice.

For a moment, you don’t even turn around. You just breathe slowly, your eyes shut tight. Maybe if you don’t turn and look, Neteyam will just vanish from your presence as if he had never spoken at all.

But instead of Neteyam’s spontaneous disappearance, you get Spider shifting on the lumpy couch beside you before climbing to his feet. Your eyes shoot open at that, and your head whips around to stare at him in disbelief.

“Where are you going?” You hiss, already reaching out after him.

Spider stops, hesitates, his eyes flicking between you and Neteyam. He looks as though he would rather be literally anywhere other than here; you know the feeling.

“Uh… I’m gonna go find Lo’ak.” Spider mutters, his eyes darting around cagily. “Seems like you two probably need time to talk some things out.”

Before you can even protest that, Neteyam is stepping forward, marching his way around the couch. You sit up, properly startled now, realising that your window for escape is rapidly narrowing.

“Tell Lo’ak not to come.” Neteyam says simply, stepping nimbly around the couch so that he’s in front of you. It’s like he knows that you were thinking of an escape, because he tilts his head as a subtle smile tugs at his mouth.

“Yeah. Got it.” Spider sounds a little strangled, sending you a look that you can’t quite decipher before turning and scampering out the door, letting it slide shut behind him with a quiet thud.

You stare at him for a long moment, your mouth hanging open like a moron. Neteyam just stares back, his expression even, as though he’s waiting for you to speak first.

You swallow thickly, then push yourself up so that you’re standing. It’s a weak attempt to put yourself on a more even level with him, but it fails as you find yourself eye-level with his damn belly button.

“What are you doing here?” You snap, though it comes out a little weaker than you had intended.

Neteyam doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he gingerly lowers himself down onto the ancient lumpy couch that you and Spider had commandeered for yourselves from the desolate wreckage of Bridgehead. He’s almost comically large for it, his knees bent awkwardly up as he settles back, the springs creaking ominously.

“You have been avoiding the village.” He says simply.

And… oh god, you can’t stop staring. It’s stupid, because you’ve known Neteyam your whole life, you know what he looks like. But it’s like your eyes are taking him in differently now. You hadn’t spent much time with him as kids; you were always chasing after Lo’ak, Kiri, and Spider, and Neteyam usually maintained a distance as he trained under the guidance of his parents. And then he was gone, departed for the reef villages, only to return after the worst of the war years had passed.

But it’s different now. He’s a man, his shoulders broader than ever and his muscles more defined than is typical of the Omaticaya warriors – no doubt thanks to his time in the reefs with the bulkier Metkayina.

Your mouth is a little dry; it’s not a good time to be reminded that you find big, muscly Na’vi men really, really attractive.

“Yeah.” You say, your voice scratchy. “Uh… I’ve been busy.”

Neteyam’s hairless brow raises in an unspoken gesture of doubt as he leans back into the couch. Your eyes dart down nervously over his abdomen. Each sculpted abdominal muscle speaks of his physical prowess and the sheer discipline and dedication to his training, and his slim waist is accentuated by the woven battle band around his waist. Fuck, you want to touch his belly.

You can hardly believe that you had this man’s cock in your hand, or that he had been grunting and fucking your fist. Maybe you had hallucinated that. Looking at him like this, taking in his big amber eyes and strong jawline and high cheekbones, you’re reminded rather harshly of just why he’s one of the most sought-after men in the village by the unmated Omaticaya girls. It seems unlikely that he’d ever lower himself to allow himself to be touched by you.

And yet, you know you hadn’t hallucinated him standing only mere feet from you in the forest, watching intently as Txetyo had railed you into the mossy ground.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Neteyam speaks again. “Avoiding Txetyo? I do not blame you.

You almost choke at that. Good lord, the audacity of this man. He knows perfectly well that you’ve also been trying to avoid him, judging by the smug look on his face.

“No! He- he wasn’t so bad.” You protest, though the words ring unconvincingly in your own ears.

“Tawtute, you’re so tight!” Neteyam gasps mockingly, lowering his voice into a dude-bro register that decidedly does not sound like Txetyo. “Fuck, you’re so wet, I’m gonna cum—"

You squawk, hastily stepping forward to swat ineffectually at his shoulder. “Will you shut up, that’s not what–“

Neteyam grabs at your wrist when you smack his shoulders, his long fingers wrapping all the way around you before tugging. You stagger, pulled off balance as he tugs you onto the couch beside him. You end up with your limbs in an ungainly sprawl as you attempt to collect yourself beside him, flustered behind belief. He doesn’t let go of your wrist.

“And he– he made me finish, so.” You say lamely. You’re sitting next to him. Why are you sitting next to him? You should be trying to shove him up off the couch and shoo him out the door.

“I’m pretty sure you made yourself come.” Neteyam corrects, his head tilting. His glossy braids spill over his shoulders, colourful beads clicking together. “Which wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t there, by the way.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just pointing out the obvious.” Neteyam’s smug little grin is growing, and he leans in a little closer. “I don’t think you were enjoying it at all until I showed up.”

You gape at him, stunned.

“I- you-!” You stammer, your breath catching from the sheer swell of your indignation. Who does he think he is, showing up here all muscled and gorgeous like this only to embarrass you?

“Speak for yourself!” You finally manage to splutter, trying to sit up on the couch; Neteyam’s grip on your wrist prevents you from going too far, so you give up and resign yourself to being stuck beside him until he grows bored of tormenting you. “Txetyo was– That was pretty much par for the course. I mean– it wasn’t unusual, sometimes that’s just how sex goes–“

Neteyam sits up straight, so suddenly that it startles you. His brow is furrowed, his eyes flicking rapidly over your face as though he’s trying to assess if you’re being honest.

He’s… he’s leaning in rather close to you. You blink at him, but don’t move back. It’s so rare for you to be around Neteyam without your respirator mask acting like a shield over your face, and you feel a little naked now without it.

“That was a standard experience for you?” He asks, and his voice has… changed a little. That smug amusement on his face has vanished, replaced with what looks like bewilderment.

You scoff at his surprise, rolling your eyes. “Shouldn’t you know what my standard experience is? You’ve interrupted enough of them.”

He doesn’t respond to your snarky remark. He just stares at you as if he’s examining you, and you shift awkwardly on the couch, unsure in the face of his scrutiny.

“What, you’re surprised that all men aren’t sex gods?” You ask a little testily. “They want to experiment with a Sky Person, and I like sex with Na’vi men, so… win-win.”

Neteyam just frowns, pulling back a little. “No, that’s not… I don’t understand. Why do you spend time with them if they are not successful in pleasuring you?”

Boy, is that a loaded question. You don’t want to explain to Neteyam that it’s not really about sex, that it’s more about a pathological need for physical connection and comfort, especially when you try your very hardest not to think about it yourself.

“Maybe I’m just hoping one of them will really impress me.” You mumble, a little sourly. “I guess I’ll keep holding out hope.”

Neteyam’s ears flatten, pressing low against his head as his eyes widen a little. He shifts, his body looming over you like a big blue behemoth as the couch springs squeal beneath his weight.

“I could.” He says. “Impress you, I mean.”

You snort, glancing up at him with a wry sort of smile that falls off your face almost immediately when you see the look on Neteyam’s face. His expression is perfectly earnest, his jaw set and his pupils dilated with an odd sort of urgency that you’ve never seen from him. He… he doesn’t look as though he’s making fun of you at all.

“What?” You croak, blinking.

And then you realise what all this about. Neteyam is always so determined to prove himself, to be the best at everything. He’s always pushed himself beyond his limits and worked himself to the bone to be stronger and faster and wiser, to be a better leader and a better hunter and a better fighter. You probably shouldn’t even be surprised that now he’s decided to prove that he’s better than his peers at fucking you, too.

“This is just a competition for you, isn’t it?” You scoff, yanking your wrist out of his hand. He shifts forward on the couch then as though preparing to catch you if you move to run, but you’re not making any move to leave.

“No. They are not worthy competitors.” Neteyam scoffs as if the question is absurd. “This is to prove to you that you have been wasting your time with men who are not capable of pleasing you.”

You scoff again, but it’s a much weaker sound this time. “I–”

“You have bad taste in men, paskalin.” Neteyam murmurs, shuffling closer on the ancient couch.

You stare up at him, your breath catching a little in your chest. God, he’s so much bigger than you. You hate that it’s making your body heat up, and you feel yourself growing wet as he leans in close, smelling like fresh water and the forest.

“Are you going to let me?” Neteyam whispers, reaching out to trace a finger along your jawline. “Let me prove myself.”

You should say no. You should tell him to leave, to get out. You should absolutely not feed into his own ego by fucking him.

“Yes,” You breathe stupidly. “Okay.”

You’re expecting him to grab you immediately and flip you around onto either your back or stomach; in all your previous experiences, you’ve gotten right down to it with your partners. But to your surprise, Neteyam leans in and holds your hips with his big hands as he presses his mouth to yours in a kiss.

Kissing is not something that you’re used to; the Na’vi you’ve hooked up with have stayed clear of the human outpost, unlike the Sully kids who had paid frequent visits, which means that all of your sexual encounters have occurred in the forest or in empty corners in the village with your respirator mask firmly attached to your face.

Now your face feels naked and vulnerable, and you gasp shakily against Neteyam’s mouth when he leans in and kisses you firmly.

It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body.

Neteyam doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, either. He kisses with his hands, his whole body. He clutches you to him, holding you close even as the force of his kiss bends you backward, your body pressing into the raggedy couch cushions.

At the same time, it’s all you can do to concentrate and respond to the kiss itself, your attention stretched and strained by the feeling of Neteyam’s hands running over you, stroking your sides and clutching your neck and squeezing your ass.

“Hah,” You gasp out when Neteyam’s lips slide sideways to find the corner of your jaw. His mouth is hot against your skin, bruising, and you’re embarrassingly wet already, just from a little kissing.

Fuck, he’s a good kisser. That’s so annoying.

You run out of breath too fast, and you have to gasp. Neteyam breaks the kiss for barely even a second, and shifts some of his weight to his elbows as he follows you down onto the couch, nuzzling and nipping at your jaw before returning to your mouth.

There’s a hand on either side of your head during that blink-and-you-miss-it break in the kiss, but then he moves his big hands to hold onto your face like they’re afraid you’ll escape, and now they don’t want to let go at all. One of his hands cups your jaw, the other clasping around the back of your neck and tilting your head farther back, deeper into the couch, opening you up. You think about the fact that he can thread his fingers together behind your head with his palms pressed to your cheeks and nearly moan like a whore into his mouth.

Neteyam’s eagerness surprises you. The kiss is messy and graceless and airless and greedy, frantic and full of teeth, and you can only roll your hips in reflex, in mindless desperation, in a feeble attempt to buck, your mind repeating a refrain of yes holy shit holy shit YES. You can’t even squirm, because holy hot fuck Neteyam is heavy, and he’s got every inch of you covered and owned.

God, have you always been this easy? Just kiss you, feel you up a little and want you enough and you’ll end up happily whimpering under someone on the couch? Even someone like Neteyam, who you’ve been so resentful of for so long?

You spread your thighs, and Neteyam’s narrow hips slot into place like a damn puzzle piece. Neteyam hums a small laugh and pauses, pulls back an inch or so, gazing steadily at your lips and smoothing the tips of his thumbs back and forth over your cheekbones. He takes a moment to fumble with his respirator and takes a deep breath before dropping it and leaning down to kiss you again.

“Oh, fuck.” You whimper, your eyes fluttering shut when his hips roll fluidly against you.

You pull back from the kiss, just enough to get a look at his face. His eyes are a little clouded, his lips puffy and spit-slicked. He looks dazed, and there's a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths together. His brow scrunches in a frown, as though you pulling away from him is a personal offence.

Oh god, you think. I'm so fucked.

The hand that had been cupping your cheek releases you, slides down your body as well. Your breath hitches when he passes over your breasts, drags down the plush skin of your belly, before reaching in between your thighs to cup at your pussy over your clothes. His hand tightens, grabbing you. Cunt, pubic bone, the whole shebang, all of it right there in the palm of Neteyam’s shockingly big hand.

“Bedroom.” You gasp, your head spinning as he just holds your cunt over your denim shorts. “Bedroom now.”

Neteyam grins, and wraps his arms around your waist to haul you into his arms before he lifts you off the couch and practically staggers down the hall. His excitement surprises you, and you cling to his neck as he ducks his way through the corridor.

Mercifully the outpost is quiet today, with most of its human occupants out in the forest or in the village – that means there’s no one around the witness the sight of Neteyam’s enormous blue ass squeezing himself in through the small doorway of the closet-like bedroom you’d claimed for yourself, with you dangling from his arms like a doll.

You’re still breathing hard when Neteyam clumsily gets the door shut before placing you on your squeaky old bed, following you down on it. He’s careful not to crush you with the bulk of his body, instead resting his weight on his forearms where they’re planted on either side of your head.

The consideration makes something squirm in your belly, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers at the back of his head and pull him down to resume kissing him.

Neteyam rolls his hips into yours, and you can feel the thick ridge of his erection pressing into the seam of your shorts, right over your clit. The sound you make is absolutely humiliating, and you will deny ever making it until your last breath, but you twitch as you try to catch that exact same friction again.

And fuck, kissing like this may be new to you, but you never want to stop. You didn’t even know that kissing with tongue could feel so erotic; Neteyam’s hands are on your face again, angling you this way and that way and however the fuck Neteyam feels like angling you, and goddamn he must be doing it just because he can.

You try desperately to remember any little kissing tricks you’ve learned and draw a pathetic blank. Luckily, Neteyam seems intent on showing off. His creativity is more than enough to occupy you both, and you’re too busy being excruciatingly horny to really be self-conscious anyway.

Besides, your next exhale is a chest-rattling groan, and if Neteyam’s immediate grunt of approval and slow thirsty grind against your trapped body is any indication, then you're doing just fine by his standards.

But then, to your absolute distress, Neteyam pulls away.

“Hhh — Shit! Shit, hang on. Shit.” Neteyam hisses, turning his face away and levering himself up on his arms. He’s breathing hard, and the sound of the English curse words falling out of his mouth in that strained tone of voice has your thighs squeezing together pathetically.

“What?” You ask, your voice sounding dazed and stupid even to your own ears.

Neteyam huffs out a few centering breaths and then shakes out his head to clear it. He fumbles for the respirator, takes several deep gulps of air before dropping it again. He angles his hips away from you for a moment, breathing steadily.

“Why’d you stop?” You hate the way the words come out as a whine; you feel as though you’re losing your mind, as though you’re actually going to die if he doesn’t keep kissing you.

Neteyam breathes out a quiet laugh, sounding a little disbelieving as he drops his forehead down to rest on your shoulder.

“Fuck.” He whispers, but he doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he pushes himself down your body, sliding between your legs.

When he tugs your shorts, you lift your hips eagerly to help him shuck your pants off. As he’s tugging at your panties, you work on yanking your oversized pyjama shirt off you. It feels as though the two of you are descending into a frenzy, touching and kissing and tearing at each other like animals.

When you’re naked beneath him you shiver, staring up at him in eager anticipation. You wait for him to come back up and kiss you, to take his own loincloth off and stick his cock into you, but he doesn’t. Instead, his head bullies its way in between your thighs.

“No,” You whine, making a face. You don’t want him to waste time with eating you out when you’re ready now. “Just put it in.”

Neteyam shoots you a reproachful look as though he thinks you’re acting crazy. “You said you would let me please you.”

“But–” You frown, feeling a little ridiculous for having this conversation when his big head is blinking up at you from between the pudge of your thighs. “You don’t have to. I don’t enjoy getting head all that much anyway.”

But instead of changing his mind, that just makes him snort as though you’d told a damn joke.

“Let me show you, syulang.” He whispers, turning his head and brushing his lip over the soft skin of your inner thigh. He kisses you there, and then sucks a hickey-like bruise into the squidge there.

And damn, you can’t turn him down.

“Fine.” You sigh, a little irritated, and spread your legs wider so that Neteyam can muscle his way in.

He grins as if he knows something you don’t, grabs your legs and pulls them so your thighs are hanging off his big broad shoulders. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over you between your legs, and you prepare to lie back and let him lick you down there until he deems you’re wet enough to start fucking you properly.

But then he actually gets his mouth on you, and… oh. Oh.

You tilt your head back, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. That feels… better than you had expected, actually.

Each of Neteyam’s movements are calculated, precise. He laps against your clit, then closes his lips and sucks. You nearly yelp, but manage to tamp down on your reaction and merely wheeze instead. Neteyam points his tongue and presses inside of you, sucks and licks like he’s actually eating something. At one point, he even bites, and you jerk so hard that you accidentally grind against his face.

It’s not like any of the head you have ever received. You’ve enjoyed it before, sure, but it’s never felt like this, and it’s definitely never made you come. And yet, to your honest surprise, you can feel a familiar coil of tension beginning to build deep in your abdomen.

“Oh god.” You breathe, sounding a little bewildered.

You feel his tongue against your clit again, hardly noticing that his hands are gripping at your ass until he yanks you forward as he buries his whole damn face between your legs. His fingers return, delving into you, deep and searching. His mouth works against your clit and it feels like you’re being squeezed between the kinds of pleasure, worshipped and wrung out and attacked all at once.

“Neteyam,” You gasp like a fool. “Oh, what the fuck, it– Neteyam, hang on, it’s too–”

Neteyam is still devouring you, sucking hard and persistent until you cry out. You try to clench your thighs around his head as he laps at you like a man starved, but his hands are still on your thighs, locking you in an iron grip, keeping you spread wide for him, and you can hardly breath because every time you think to try and take a breath his tongue is moving over your clit again and he’s sucking against you.

Your head swims, and you wonder why on earth you had been so resistant to allow him to make you feel good like this. Fuck, have you just been getting really bad head this whole time? You didn’t even know it could feel like this.

Your heels are digging into his back, and the closer he brings you to the edge the harder your thighs clamp around his head. He barely seems to notice the force you’re exerting, merely groaning to himself everytime you squeeze tighter.

Your thoughts splinter and unravel, and you can do nothing but buck uselessly against his hold, desperately chasing more of his lips and his tongue.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” You chant, eyes squeezed shut tight as you whine.

He's just so good with his tongue, and you’ve never felt like this in your life. It feels as though you can't breathe properly, as though you’re melting from the inside out. None of those awkward, fumbling sexual encounters with those other Na’vi ever had you feeling like this.

Your breasts are heaving with the effort it takes just to breathe through the white hot pleasure crashing through you, and you stare down at him with wide eyes as he suckles again at your clit. When he sees you looking down at him, he throws you a cheeky wink as he laps at you.

You let out a helpless, gasping laugh at him, your hands clenching compulsively in his braids. Your giggle has him pulling back a little so he can look up at you properly; the grin he shoots you is extra shiny thanks to the fact that the lower half of his face is covered in his spit and your own slick, but he looks dopey and happy.

You manage one word, on a long and broken moan- “Please!”

Neteyam laughs quietly, the sound vibrating through his lips and into your pussy, but then his tongue is on your clit again, sucking you into his mouth, and you’re shattering around him as he finally pushed you over that edge you’ve been teetering on.

You keen and shake violently, spasming around Neteyam’s fingers and jerking into his mouth, coming so hard that you see black spots in your vision. Neteyam doesn’t let up, pulling broken moans out of you with tongue until you’re writhing.

You squirm and whimper until suddenly it’s too damn much, and then you’re reaching down to push at Neteyam’s neat braids to try to get away from his relentless tongue. Damn, he’s acting like he’s hungry for you, like he’d swallow you whole if he could. He doesn’t let up until you’re begging him to, albeit wordlessly — whimpering and shoving at his face, trying to arch away from the too-sensitive touch.

Finally, Neteyam relents. He lowers your legs from his shoulders and you practically crumple, going limp against your mattress. Neteyam’s face is wet and shiny, and he looks ridiculously smug. You’re still trembling, throbbing with the aftershocks.

“Mm, you sound so pretty.” Neteyam murmurs, his words coming out muffled and almost slurred as though he’s drunk.

“Fuck.” You whisper to yourself, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes as you struggle to catch your breath.

Neteyam hums, pressing kisses all over your pubic mound and lower belly. He seems so damn pleased with himself, pushing himself up your body so that he can nuzzle into your neck, pressing sweet nipping kisses to your throat.

His breathing is a little strained, and you grab blindly at the respirator hanging around his neck before bringing the mask up to his face.

“Breathe, Neteyam.” You gasp out, still a little breathless yourself.

He grunts, as though irritated over something of secondary importance, and takes a couple of deep breaths before dropping the mask again. His pupils are blown so wide that his iris is barely visible, just a thin ring of gold around a pool of black.

You laugh, panting and overwhelmed at the sight of his shiny face, and reach up to wipe his slick face with the palms of your hands. He huffs a quiet laugh of his own, turning his face towards your hands and nuzzling against you like an oversized cat.

“That was… that was better than I expected.” You say, still struggling to collect yourself.

Neteyam’s smile turns a little sly, his teeth flashing as he kisses at your palms. “Impressed?”

And you can’t help but laugh at that, feeling as though this whole situation is spinning around far beyond your wildest imagination. Fuck, he’s really giving his all to this, just to prove to you that he’s superior to the other men of the clan.

“Not yet.” You whisper, biting your lip and hoping that he takes it as the challenge/invitation you mean it to be.

And luckily he does, his smile only growing.

“I should keep going then.” He murmurs, his hands stroking up your sides.

He gently caresses both breasts, a little knead of big, rough hands that can cover much more than just one tit and you love it. Your back arches as you shiver, revelling in how bizarrely gentle he’s being with you.

“Yes,” You whisper eagerly, your legs spreading further until the muscles of your inner thighs are burning with the strain of it. “You definitely should.”

You reach out to tug at the band of his loincloth, your fingers actually trembling a little as you try to unknot it at the sides. Neteyam’s own breath hitches, and his much more nimble fingers reach to help you untie it and draw it away.

And fuck, now he’s naked too. You sit up eagerly, peering down between your bodies to try and catch a look at him properly. You may have touched him that day in the healing hut, but it’s completely different seeing him.

He’s big. So big. All the Na’vi are big when compared to you, of course, but this just… it feels different, because this is Neteyam. His cock is the same pretty blue shade as the rest of him, decorated with darker stripes and pretty glowing tanhì. Your heart thumps recklessly at sight of it twitching towards his belly, and you reach out towards it eagerly.

Your small fingers wrap around the hard length of him — he’s too thick for you to comfortably hold in one hand, but that doesn’t seem to matter because he groans appreciatively anyway when you run your fingers down his length and then back up, feeling warm and sticky precome gushing from the tip to coat your fingers.

“Ah!” Neteyam groans breathily, his hips rocking as your hand slides up the long, velvety length of him. “Fuck… so good.”

You feel like you’re burning up, your skin sweat-slick and far too hot. The weight of his cock in your hand has your head spinning; you want him inside of you, stretching you wide and fucking you deep. If he fucks as good as he eats pussy, you feel like you’re in for a very good time.

“C’mon,” You breathe, writhing a little. “You– you promised me that you’d.. That you would…”

“Mm, I promised I’d make you feel better than Txetyo ever could,” Neteyam finishes for you, leaning in to kiss your neck. “You like ‘em big and stupid, huh? That’s why they can’t please you, syulang.”

You toss your head back, your eyes fluttering shut as his sharp canines drag over the sensitive skin at the side of your throat. Fuck, maybe he’s right. None of those guys have ever made you feel this good before; you don’t think you’ve ever been this slick and eager in your whole life.

“God, you have such a big head,” You huff, quivering. “Maybe you’re big and stupid too.”

He just laughs at that, a dark chuckle that has your nerves buzzing, and leans down to nip at your shoulder hard enough to make you jerk beneath him. “I am not like Txetyo, or Art’alak, or Pewalsku, or Urtiltey.”

You scoff, before reaching up to push hard at his shoulders. You’re not actually strong enough to shift him, but he pulls back obediently, falling back to lay on his back on the bed. You rise up on your knees then, looming over him as he lays flat.

The way Neteyam is looking up at you, it’s like he’s seeing god. If he could worship you with just a look alone, he is. It’s a little overwhelming, and you feel something deep in your stomach knot just at the sight of him looking at you like that.

“Prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.” Neteyam whispers, reaching out to grip at your hips, guiding you into straddling his lap.

You don’t think anyone has ever talked to you like this, or looked at you like this. You hardly know what to do in the face of his attention, so you revert to what you’re familiar with; you settle yourself against his lap and grind there, feeling the length of his cock glide along the seam of your cunt.

It feels as though your belly has been set alight, and you take a slow breath as you rock against him. His lips drag from the base of your throat up the length of your neck, then he nips gently at the hinge of your jaw. The softness of his breath against the sensitive skin of your throat elicits a shiver from you, and Neteyam’s hands pull you closer when he feels your reaction.

You make a soft sound against his mouth when his fingers clench tight around your hips. His hold on you encourages you to grind down against him. It's not as though you really need the encouragement, but the way his eyes darken as he stares up at you is enough motivation for you to tilt your hips and grind down just like he wants you to.

"Fuck." He breathes, his eyes going half-lidded as he tilts his head back against your bed to watch you move above him.

Heat is growing alarmingly quickly in your lower belly and at the apex of your thighs, and you tremble over Neteyam as you use your grip on his shoulders for leverage. The soft sounds of pleasure that are pulled out of his throat every time you roll yourself against him send sparks through your entire nervous system; it feels as though you just can't get close enough to him.

Your patience runs out, unable to keep up the teasing; Neteyam seems to feel much the same. When you raise yourself up, chest heaving, Neteyam grabs at his cock and holds it still to allow you to settle against it, the head notched against your entrance. He glides over the opening again, pressing in the barest amount. You can already tell it’s going to be a stretch. Neteyam is thick, and you want it in you, want to feel it pressing you open.

You clench around the head of his cock, trying to pull him in, and Neyeyam groans.

“You’re—” He starts to say, his big hands clutching at your hips. “Shit. You’re tighter than I even imagined, paskalin.”

The idea that he might have imagined this is almost more than you can take, and you surge forward to kiss him again, your mouths clashing clumsily.

“You—you thought about it?” You manage to say, your words coming out a little muffled as he sucks at your lower lip.

He just rumbles a laugh, as though your question is ridiculous, and doesn’t even bother answering. Instead he places one hand securely under your ass, the other adjusting himself—there’s a short, sharp burst of pain as you felt him start to push in, just the tip and your head is spinning. Your nails are digging into his shoulders but if he feels anything it doesn’t show.

He kisses your cheek and then pushes in a little deeper as his mouth falls to yours once more—swallowing up your sharp cry as another inch sinks into you, and you feel like you’re splitting open.

Fuck, you feel as though not grabbing lube was probably a mistake; you were too cocky, too confident in your ability to take him, so sure that he’d be as adequately satisfactory as the other Na’vi men you’ve been with.

He goes in and in and in, pressing farther into you than you even thought was possible. The stretch and the pressure inside you is glorious, so tight that you can barely even flex around him. His mouth is open, each breath escaping him quickly, and you can see your own amazement reflected back to you on Neteyam’s face.

You dig your nails into his shoulders to offset the pain radiating through your core as he shoves himself deeper into you, chased by another wave of warmth as his free hand move between you, thumb settling gently over your clit.

“Ohmygod,” You gasp, pleasure mixing with that burning ache. You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you try to rock your hips against his hand even as you try to ease the feeling of his girth inside you.

“Ungh..” Neteyam groans into you shoulder as he rocks another inch into you, until you’re sobbing and moaning by turns. “Oh. Fuck. Txetyo didn’t deserve this, syulang. Didn’t know what to do with you.”

You whimper in his grip as he just holds you there, buried to the hilt, thumb still working at your clit and sending frissons of electricity up and down your spine.

“Feels good,” You slur. “You feel good.”

Neteyam pulls out half an inch and fucks back into you from below, making your breath hitch. “Yeah?”

“So big,” You gasp. “I-I want—"

“I know, I know. I’ve got you,” Neteyam rumbles, his full lips brushing gentle kisses over your temple, right in your hairline. “Take what you want, lovely girl.”

And you do, rocking your hips and taking one of his enormous hands to pull between your legs so he can continue to rub at your clit with his fingers, so he can feel all the ways you’re leaking onto him as you lean forward to run your own hungry mouth along his collarbone, his pecs, as your hands grip his shoulders to try and lift yourself up and onto him over and over again.

It doesn’t take long for that coil in your belly to swell, sweet and hot. It’s as if Neteyam is intimately familiar with the way you want him to rub your clit, how you want it pinched but only just so between two fingers, as if he’s been taking fucking notes all those times he had walked in and interrupted you. It doesn’t take long until you’re trembling and squeezing impossibly tight around him, taut like a violin string.

It’s like Neteyam is puncturing your lungs, and every time he fucks into you, you respond with stupid sounding little ‘ah’ sounds.

“Ah, ah, ah!” You gasp, teary-eyed and desperate. Neteyam’s mouth is parted, his eyes wide. They flick over you quickly, drinking you in as you ride him.

Your movements are slow to build, but gradually you establish a steady, desperate rocking. It doesn't take long for you to realise that grinding in his lap feels better than raising yourself all the way up and down. Distantly, you feel little guilty — you know that grinding and rocking in his lap in the way that you are feels better for you than it does for Neteyam, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's watching you with a rapturous expression, his arms urging you closer so that your sweat-slicked chests are pressed close together and your foreheads are resting against each other.

You find a rhythm that both satisfies and stokes you, riding him with abandon as your thighs clench tight around his narrow hips. Neteyam’s hands slide from your hips down over your lower back, worshipful as they drift lower to clutch at your ass and use his grip there to help lift you up and down.

You ride him with mindless intent. His fingers dig at the meat of your ass, his mouth dropped softly open as he fights to keep his own breaths even — it takes a long moment for you to realise that he's fighting to keep himself still and to stop himself from thrusting wildly into you. His restraint and the realisation that he's really allowing you to have all the power in the exchange strikes you hard. You’ve never felt any real sense of agency in sexual intimacy until now, and the realisation that he's being so considerate of how you’re feeling only contributes to the intensifying of those flutters in your belly.

The rush builds in you, relentless, mounting with every jerk of your hips. There would be no catching your breath until it broke.

You rock on him, hard, hard and fast and there, there it is, that’s it — that perfect deep unfurling. A moan rises from the depths of your chest as you gasp at it, your body trembling. Neteyam just stares up at you, mouth open, eyes gone wide and dark.

The wave crests, the world explodes around you, a kaleidoscope of sensation as you come undone in his arms, trembling even as he keeps sliding home into you. You keep moving over him through the ebb of it, through the helpless little sounds that break from his throat. You’re still shuddering when he reaches up to take a firm hold of your waist. As though he can't help himself, his hips thrust up into you.

“Yes,” Neteyam hisses, his flat nose all scrunched up in a feral sort of pleasure. “That’s my girl.”

You tremble, gasp-moaning as your joints turn to jelly. Your orgasm very slowly gives way to thunderous aftershocks that rocket through your body every few seconds, shuddering your whole frame in intervals.

"Fuck," He groans, his breathing gone ragged. "I'm going to-"

He doesn't even finish his sentence before he seems to lose some of that iron control he's been exerting; his hips jolt up into you, and then again, until he's thrusting up into you with a sense of urgency that's almost breath-taking. All you can do is cling onto his hair and bury your face into the crook of his neck, attempting to muffle the embarrassing little gasping sounds that you’re making into his skin as his fucking into you prolongs the breath-taking pleasure of your orgasm.

You don’t fuss when his big hands use his grip on your ass to lift you up himself, fucking up into you and letting loose. Then he's shaking, stilling, spilling himself inside you, and you watch eagerly as his face goes slack and relaxed.

You don't go still immediately. Your hips keep rolling slow and steady as you tremble against him, chasing that feeling of molten shivery pleasure that's still burning in your belly even as it starts to turn into almost unbearable oversensitivity. It's not a fully conscious movement, as you’re moving mostly on instinct, and after a few moments Neteyam takes a hold of your hips to slow you to a stop.

He stays inside you like this for what feels like an eternity, spent and nestled deep inside you as you sit in his lap, slumped against his large strong chest.

"Oh my god," You whisper eventually as another pleasant shudder jolts down your spine. It feels as though you’ve been kicked in the chest, as though the breath has been knocked out of you entirely to make room for the lovely floaty lightness that's beginning to fill the space between your ribcage”

"Mm." Neteyam hums quietly, his fingers tightening in the soft flesh of your hips as he tilts his chin up to brush his lips over your sweaty temple. "Alright?”

No, You think, with no small amount of panic. You’re absolutely not alright. Neteyam may have just been fucking you to prove a point, because it’s always been so important to him that he’s perfect at everything he tries his hand at, but it feels as though he’s just cracked you wide open. You don’t think anyone will ever make you feel as good as he just did.

When you don’t immediately answer, one of his big palms cups the back of your neck so he can tilt your head back, and he leans down to kiss you again. He sucks your swollen bottom lip into his mouth so he can worry at it while you whine, toes curled where you tucked them under your legs, balanced on his thighs.

"Impressed?” He murmurs into your ear, his warm, dry hands stroking soothingly over your sweat-dampened skin.

You laugh despite yourself, and it comes out breathless and broken. “Fuck. I—yeah. Yeah. I’m impressed. Asshole.”

Neteyam’s expression brightens, his ears twitch back as his smile grows. He leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, then three times in quick succession, and out of the corner of your eye you see his tail coiling lazily against your sheets.

“Feel like I need to lay down,” You say. “For a week maybe.”

Neteyam just chuckles as you slowly lift your hips; when Neteyam slides out of you a soft sound of loss escapes from his mouth. You sympathise — you feel uncomfortably empty now that he's no longer nestled inside of you, but Neteyam is already gathering you into his arms and flopping back onto your mattress with you all curled up ontop of his chest.

It all feels so natural — you’ve never cuddled after intimacy like this, and you never would have imagined that Neteyam would allow you to do this. But it seems like he craves physical touch as badly as you does, because it feels as though his hands are everywhere as he holds you.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself, dickhead." You grumble, though you’re already relaxing under the pleasant warm weight of his hands

Neteyam’s smile only grows. "Why shouldn't I be pleased with myself? Have I left you unsatisfied?

You groan loudly, before burying your face in the pillow. The worst part is that it's true — you’ve never felt so satisfied in your life. You think that you could close your eyes and cheerfully float away on a cloud, but you don't want to suffer the humiliation of admitting that.

“I’m satisfied.” You admit, mortified. “It— yeah. You won that stupid competition. Well done.”

That has exactly the effect you had expected it to have; Neteyam’s chest puffs up where you’re laying across it, his eyes crinkling up as he grins. God, he’s so fucking smug.

You manage to swallow down your embarrassment so that you can ask the question that’s been knocking around your head since the first time he had kissed you.

“Can we… do that again, sometime?” You mutter, keeping your face pressed into his chest so he can’t see the vulnerability on your face.

Neteyam’s chest rumbles in a deep laugh, and his large palm settles between your shoulderblades.

“Whenever you want, yawntutsyìp. We have all the time in the world.” He murmurs, nuzzling his face into your hair. “Where ever you want. Here, the forest, my hut in the village—”

You laugh, blinking in surprise at his eagerness. You guess he must be absolutely pussy-whipped right now, which is pretty sweet.

“Next time we mate, we’ll do it in the forest so Txetyo can find us.” He says, and you can feel his teeth against the top of your head when he grins. “Let him watch as I make you scream again.”

"I did not scream!" You snap, embarrassed, reaching to smack at his chest. But then his words actually parse in your head, and you push yourself up quickly on top of his chest so you can look down at him, wincing a little at the ache between your legs.

Neteyam obviously catches your wince because he frowns and one of his hands reaches for your thigh, but you grab at his wrist as you gape at him.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You blurt.

That must have been a slip of his tongue. Every man you’ve been with before has been so damn careful to avoid the term mating, obviously terrified of you somehow getting the wrong idea; they made it painfully clear that it was just fucking, with no strings attached, because you were small and exotic and apparently the tightest thing they’ve ever gotten to put their dicks into.

Neteyam blinks owlishly, as though confused by your response. “What?” He asks, before his face relaxes. “Ah, it’s only the thought of me watching that does it for you?”

“No, it—” You blink at him. “You said… you said next time we… we mate.”

“Yes.” He says, wrapping one big arm around your waist to tug you back to him, as though he doesn’t like the fact that you’re shifting away. “I enjoyed mating here, where I can kiss your face, but it is very...”

He pauses then, and glances around your room. For the first time, you see it through his eyes; it’s small and dingy, the electric lights buzzing and flickering as they run on the ancient generator that Norm and a couple of the other older scientists had dragged from Bridgehead. Even though he’s gotten comfortable cuddling you on your bed, it’s far too small for him; his legs are hanging off the end of it, his feet flat against the floor. Compared to the fantastical natural homes of the Na’vi, your little bedroom seems like a shithole.

“You will be more comfortable in my hut in the village.” Neteyam says decisively, using the arm wrapped around your waist to pull you closer to his chest again. “I wish to take you in the forest, at Vitrautral, as is tradition.”

“Mating.” You repeat, just to check if you had heard him right. “We—that was mating.”

“Mhmm.” Neteyam’s hum sounds casual enough, but you can see the ridiculously pleased wave of his tail in the air behind him. “I told you that you were wasting time with those skxawngs, but I did not mind waiting for you. I did not like hearing them talk about you, about how you felt and how they pleased you, but… I knew I could prove myself a better prospect than all of them.”

��But—” You’re still struggling with this, staring at him with a bewildered expression. “But it—that was sex. It wasn’t—”

“I will take you to Vitrautral tomorrow, and mate you properly,” Neteyam murmurs, and you feel his big chest rumble beneath you in a pleased purr at the idea. “You do not need any other now. Yes?”

It feels almost too good to be true. Almost. Because damn, you want that so badly that it actually aches. After so many years of craving intimacy of any kind, it seems shockingly unlikely that it’s being offered by Neteyam, the very personification of an Omaticayan golden child. How have you gone from getting fucking in empty corners and deep in the forest to having the Olo’eyktan’s son talk about mating you?

You think of the herbs and plants he always brings to the healing hut, the bones and fibres he forages, the food he brings you after hunts. You had always thought he was just shoving how great he was in your face, but now all of that is starting to rearrange itself inside your head. Was he seriously just trying to impress you?

You laugh a little disbelievingly, and Neteyam’s arm tightens around you.

“I have a necklace,” He murmurs, nuzzling against your forehead. “Made with freshwater pearls from the ocean. I was going to give it to you earlier but—we got distracted. It is in my tewng—”

“Get it later,” You whisper, clinging to his chest. You’re so comfortable, you don’t want to move, just in case the moment slips away forever. He made you a necklace. Fuck, he made you a necklace! You’ve only ever seen Na’vi mating gifts from a distance; the thought of receiving one is beyond anything you’ve ever imagined.

Neteyam’s chest seems to swell, his expression brightening the moment you cling to him. He hugs you close, his purr now reminiscent of a damn chainsaw as he curls his whole big body around you.

Taking a chance, you do something that you’ve always sort of wanted to do, ever since you found out what it was; you reach behind him and take his kuru in your hand, feeling the thick, glossy protective braid in your fingers.

Neteyam shudders under you, his rumbling purr stuttering a little as his eyelids flitter, his eyes going dark. He doesn’t stop you, watching you with lightly parted lips as your hand closes around the most sacred, sensitive part of him.

“This is okay?” You whisper, your vulnerability clear in your voice.

“Of course,” He whispers back, as though the moment is a soap bubble that could burst at a slightly raised voice. “It is yours, syulang.”

Emboldened, you drag your fist down the glossy braid until you reach the end, where the glowing tendrils that make up the exposed manifestation of his nervous system. The fleshy pink tendrils writhe in the air, and you watch in eager amazement. You’ve only ever seen diagrams of this part of the Na’vi anatomy, and you want so badly to touch it.

“You can play with it all you want,” Neteyam murmurs, and his voice is breathless.

You breathe a laugh, glancing up at him with a little grin. His pupils are blown, his lips parted, his chest heaving. You want to gnaw on his ribs, swallow him whole; he’s so cute.

“I’ll save that for tomorrow,” You whisper, the words ringing like a promise.

Neteyam looks briefly disappointed, before his mood is promptly buoyed at the thought of mating you again at the Tree of Souls, as he had promised you. He buries his face happily in your neck as you pet absently at the protective braid covering his kuru. It’s a non-sexual touch, and yet he goes entirely boneless, purring up a storm as you stroke your hand over it.

“Told you those others could not please you, paskalin,” He murmurs, his words slurring a little as his eyelids flutter with every soft touch to his kuru. “Told you they did not know what to do with you.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the fond smile pulling at your mouth.

“Mm. You did. Guess I needed someone like you, huh? A mighty warrior?” You say, teasing him with that silly little nickname he always called himself when you were a teenager. At the time you had thought he was so annoying, but now, looking back… you’re willing to admit it was pretty adorable.

Neteyam’s drowsy face pulls up in a sweet smile, his flat nose brushing against your collarbones. It seems like he’s pleased you remembered, or maybe he’s pleased that you’re impressed with him.

He kisses your neck, then mumbles sleepily, “The mightiest.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam x human #neteyam fic #Neteyam #avatar 2 #avatar x reader #na’vi x reader #na’vi x human #avatar way of water #fics

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strangethlngs · 2 years

Note

Wayne walking in on eddie and the reader having sex!

thanks for the request luv <3

request a blurb for steve, eddie, nancy, or robin!

Eddie would die if anyone else from school heard the way he cheered your name when you arrived on his doorstep the night after you’d been gone the entire two weeks of Christmas break. He embraced you in his arms right away, nearly tripping over the doorstep in the process. Cold air swirled around you two as his lips quickly attached to yours.

“You better have enjoyed that vacation because I’m never letting you leave me for that long ever again,” he pulled away, staring down at you, fingers curling in your hair, stroking your head.

“I was visiting family, dork,” you giggled before his lips crashed onto yours again. You took a deep breath in, taking note of Eddie and his smell. Cigarettes, leather, and the soap you had gotten him a few months ago. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t seen him in two weeks, maybe it was his smell mixed with how undeniably good he looked tonight, but all the sensations mixing made your thighs clench. Anything to subdue the fire that was igniting in your stomach, and the way your skin burned everywhere he touched you. The fire that went straight from your skin to the growing wetness between your thighs. “Okay, really, can we go inside? I’m going to freeze my ass off.”

He pulled away, holding the door open for you. “Now, we wouldn’t want that to happen, now, would we?” he bows, signaling for you to enter. You walk through, but not before Eddie lands a harsh slap on your jean-covered ass.

It takes no time after Eddie follows you into the trailer before you’re on each other like animals in heat. Eddie pushes you against the door, not even bothering to lock it before his lips are on your neck, guitar-calloused fingers exploring your body under your shirt like it’s the first time. It could have been, though.

“Two weeks was too long,” you moan out as he frees one of your breasts from your lacy red bra.

“You’re telling me,“ He sloppily leaves kisses around your nipple, the sensitive skin becoming covered in goosebumps. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Every day since you left.”

You move your hand between your bodies, between your thigh that’s hiked around his body, to run your hand over the growing tent in his dark jeans. You grip onto it harshly, earning a shamelessly loud moan from Eddie.

“Don’t even think about it, princess,” he quips, stopping your hands that were in the process of unbuckling his belt. He grabs you from under your ass, muttering a “jump”. He holds you up and walks you over to the side, laying you on the rough, lumpy couch. You make quick work of shedding your shirt as Eddie slips his own shirt off, tossing them to the side.

“Are we really going to do this here?” you ask, referring to the living room. Eddie slides your jeans past your knees, kissing along your thighs as he tosses them to the side with the shirts.

“I don’t think I can make it to my room…” he throws your legs over your shoulders, “I need you… I need your pussy now. I can’t wait another damn second.”

And then his lips are finally on your wet, lace-covered heat. Your head is thrown back, fingers knotting his curly black hair. His tongue licks fat stripes up and down, and his fingers finally hook through the sides, and he yanks down.

This time, his finger joins his lips, immediately curling to hit the sweet spot. It all crashes over you at once and you sit up on your elbows, yanking on Eddie’s hair to pull his wet chin up to your lips. You kiss him deeply, getting the tangy metallic taste of yourself on your tongue.

“I won’t last much longer. Take your time with me another time, I just need you right now,” you whimper.

“You practically read my mind, sweetheart,” he grins devilishly.

He slips off his jeans and boxers, pushing his wide length into you without warning. Your leg hikes up onto his shoulder, and he doesn’t hesitate before pulling out and pushing back into you quickly, picking up a rhythm immediately. You gasp out, lips pressing to his puppet tattoo. Your nails dig into his back, and he hisses in response.

The sounds bouncing off the trailer walls were pure vulgar, something that would be fitting for some ridiculous porno tape. But rather than it being some woman faking it, you were genuinely a mess under Eddie. Wet squelching, skin slapping, disgusting words you normally wouldn’t think about saying in a sweet, normal hookup with Eddie. You felt your walls clench tighter and tighter, his soft moans pushing you closer to the edge when suddenly, the sound of a door opening yanks you out of your trance.

You and Eddie, both horrified, looked over to the door opening. You yelp, covering your eyes, and Eddie screaming some obscenity to alert whatever was opening the door (as if the loud vulgarities weren’t alerting enough).

The door slammed just as fast as it opened, and you heard a disgusted exclamation from the voice you recognize as Wayne, as in Eddie’s uncle.

“Ah, shit,” Wayne yells through the door. You peek through your hands at Eddie, now kneeling between your legs, both frozen in fear. You reach to the side for your shirts, needing something, anything, to cover yourself, and what was left of your dignity, up. “Sorry- I didn’t…”.

“We’re going to my room now…” Eddie yelled, slipping his hand into yours, leading you to his room and grabbing the scattered clothes in the process.

“Oh, God, I’m mortified,” you whisper, awkwardly covering yourself as much as you can running and flinging yourself onto his bed. Eddie follows and you dive into the sheets. The door to the trailer opens again, and Eddie peeks his head out of his room.

“Sorry Wayne…” you can tell Eddie’s choking back a laugh. You hear Wayne’s voice through the door, now submerged in Eddie’s sheets.

“It’s fine, kid, just… not on my couch, please. I paid good money for that thing.”

Eddie nods and closes his door. You cover your face with the sheets.

“I’m never going to live this down…” you whine, stifling a laugh.

Eddie slips into the sheets next to you, arms wrapping around your waist and planting kisses on your neck.

“Oh, come on… Wayne’s cool…” he suggests. You finally look at him and finally crack, both of you breaking into a fit of laughs. Somehow, Eddie ends up on top of you, his hand finding your mouth, slipping over it, and cooing a, ‘shhhh’.

“Let’s just try and be quiet, now, if you think you can,” he smirks, slipping under the sheets and sinking between your legs, once again.

#anon #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson st4 #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #stranger things smut

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geminisecrets · 9 months

Text

You First

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! NSFW! Explicit sexual content, coarse language, oral sex, unprotected sex, mild drug and alcohol use, dirty talk idk I think that's it???

Word Count: 4750

Summary: friends with benefits turns complicated when someone's keeping a secret <3

Authors Note: It has been a long time!!! We really are amazed with the writers on here who never lose motivation and always put out the bangers, you guys make it look so easy and that's really cool!! But, alas, we have missed this and are happy to be getting back into the swing of things! We love you guys :')

Y’all are super duper fuckin' rad for telling us what you think about our stuff. ☯️

Requests are open :)

Join our tag list ✨

*disclaimer: apparently the gemini constellation is only seen in Dec/Jan but just pretend you can also see it in July gaslightgaslightgaslightgaskightgaslight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Jake, just tell me!” I laugh as Jake digs his fingers into my side, causing me to squeal louder.

“Some secrets are better kept…secret”, he responds with a grin on his face, finally easing up on me as I push him away. “Trust me.” I sit up straighter on his lumpy, familiar couch, but he doesn’t give me any more personal space. He has a way of doing that. Taking up my space. And I wish I could say it bothered me. “Besides, what if I was the one annoying the fuck out of you until you told me your deepest, darkest secrets?”

“First of all, drama queen, you never said this was a deep or dark secret, second, you know everything about me, I’m sure of it. I’m an open book. A free bird,” I respond enthusiastically, getting up off the couch and spreading my arms out like wings.

“Okay, free bird, you first. Are you going to admit you were faking your orgasm last night?” he asks, slouched into the couch, legs spread and hands folded in his lap. That same miserable grin is back on his face. I feel blood rush to my cheeks, coloring me guilty, immediately.

“Fine,” I shrug, attempting to appear unbothered. “Yes, I did. I was tired and you were taking too long.” His grin widens slightly, but his eyes squint as he reads me. It’s times like these, I wish he didn’t know me as well as he did. I really and truly do wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions tend to play on my face, like a movie screen. “Your turn,” I shift, crossing my arms over my chest.

Jake stands and closes the gap between us in two long strides. His nose is practically brushing mine, he’s so close before he says, “Nice try,” and walks past me into the kitchen.

“I’ll pry it out of you one way or another”, I say, following him begrudgingly.

Jake and I have known each other for years. He was my first crush in middle school, who turned into my first boyfriend in highschool and after graduation, my biggest heartbreak. We tried the whole dating thing, but it was bad for both of us. Jake is very demanding of time and attention. He’s passionate and jealous and honest. I, on the other hand, have always been more free spirited, tending to go with the flow. We’re completely different. Fire and ice.

I could sit here and tell you all the ins and outs of how he hurt me, how I hurt him, and all of the baggage that comes along with young love, but I’ll spare you the sob story. Just trust me when I tell you that Jake and I don’t do relationships well. Neither of us. I couldn't tell you the last time I had a boyfriend for longer than a month before it crashed and burned. And Jake? Jake’s exact words to me the last time I asked were, “I don't really do girlfriends.”

That hasn’t kept us from ignoring the obvious, though. No, we’re well aware of just how well we do fit together physically. Without saying it in so many words we’d become friends with benefits, fast. When I’m home from school and he’s in town, there aren’t many nights we spend without each other. Jake might be too prideful to admit the same, but I can say, honestly, that he’s by far the best sex I’ve ever had.

“What time is everyone supposed to be here?” I question, as I watch him unload the dishwasher, stacking his coffee cups in the annoyingly particular way he always does.

Jake’s throwing a small party tonight with some of our old mutual friends from home, since most everyone is in town for the fourth of July. The usual suspects will be here, I’m sure of it. We’ll fall back into old habits. Playing stupid drinking games until half of us can’t see straight and have to Uber home with our heads hanging out the window in a desperate attempt to dispel the nausea.

I however, know without a shadow of a doubt, as much as I stand at the mirror and tell myself I won’t, that I will be in Jake’s bed tonight instead of the Uber in question.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings. “Come in!” Jake belts out.

“Long time no see!” Jake’s twin brother, Josh, calls from the front door with a lick of sarcasm under his tongue. He shuffles into the kitchen and unpacks what appears to be half of the entire liquor store onto the counter top.

Followed by Josh are Danny and Sam and their usual posse.They all say their hello’s and waste no time making their way into the kitchen to get the drinks flowing.

An hour later, the house is full and the laughs are loud. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the banter, the blaring music, the escape from reality and the ability this house, this town, has to make us all forget how much distance there really is between the lives we live now and the ones we left behind.

When it’s finally dark enough outside, we gather in the middle of the cul-de-sac and try our best to dodge the sparks flying off the dozens of fireworks Sam and Danny haphazardly detonate. Whoever decided to give control of the explosives to the two drunkest party guests should be criminally charged.

The party quiets down a little bit and migrates to Jake’s backyard. We sit around his dingy homemade fire pit and watch the rest of the fireworks go off all around the neighborhood. The joint being passed around mellows most of us out and we sit there with our heads on the backrest of our camp chairs, tilted to the sky.

“That right there is Gemini,” Sam says, pointing up towards the stars.

“Huh?” I overhear Jake question.

“The Gemini constellation, stupid. The twins?” he scoffs, sounding truly offended, as if this is common knowledge for just anyone.

“You sure you weren't just seeing fireworks?” Jake teases. Sam rolls his eyes into the back of his head and grunts out a rebuttal.

I think in Sam’s past-life he was some kind of hippie astronomer. He knows far too much about the cosmos for someone who decided against post secondary education. However, it’s a helpful tool to gauge just how far-gone Sam is. He always wants to talk about astronomy when he’s had one too many drinks.

The conversation merges into talk of the ‘Good Ol’ Days’ and it’s just a matter of time before–

“Remember when you and Jake tried dating?” Josh yells from the opposite side of the firepit, gesturing to me. There are a few chuckles and eye rolls from the group. Josh loves this story. Loves making me blush and riling his brother up.

I usually ignore it, but it drives Jake insane for some reason. He doesn’t always know how to keep his cool when he is annoyed, especially with his brother. “Is something funny?” he chides.

“Uh oh. Did I poke the bear?” Josh taunts, throwing me a wink.

I am all too familiar with their typical twin banter bullshit, I’ve been around it for years. They like to egg each other on until the other explodes, and if Josh keeps going, he’s going to get exactly what he’s wanting out of Jake.

“Come on, Josh, that topic is so tired, what about your tryst with that one guy…” Danny steps up to save the day and change the conversation as Jake turns to me.

“I’m tired,” he says quietly, yawning widely. Jake has a very small social battery and when he’s done, he’s done.

“Me too,” I breathe, catching his contagious yawn. As we stand to make our way inside, the rest of the party seems to naturally disperse as well. One by one, the party starts to fade out, until there is no one left but Sam.

“I have about $5 in my bank account so uber isn’t an option. Cool if I just crash in the guest room.” Sam says.

“Let me go grab my stuff out of there,” I offer, moving past him to reach for the door handle.

“Oh, shit, sorry I don’t want to put you out if that’s where you were planning on sleeping tonight,” Sam interjects.

“Sam, just go to bed,” Jake orders. I can’t tell if his curt response is due to the fact that I know he’s tired or if he doesn’t want to get into the logistics of exactly where I’d be sleeping instead.

Sam begrudgingly obeys and drags his near lifeless body into the bedroom. I follow him, flicking on the light and collecting my bag off the bed before wishing him goodnight. Before I even have the door completely closed, the light flickers off and we hear a loud thud.

“Jesus, it sounds like he catapulted himself onto the mattress,” Jake huffs out a lazy laugh, wiping away the sleep from his eyes and meanders into the bathroom.

“If I had nine shots of tequila and a rack of beers to myself, I’m sure I'd be doing the same”, I yawn, grabbing my bag and making my way to the living room.

I’ve almost got a little bed completely set up on the couch when Jake snatches the blanket from my hands.

“Come on,” he says, dragging my blanket down the hallway towards his room without muttering another word, let alone giving me half a second to respond. I follow him anyway, stopping in the doorway to watch him shuffle out of his jeans.

“Jake,” I nearly whisper. “If I sleep in here, will you tell me your secret?” I ask as coyly as I can muster at this ungodly hour in the middle of the night. His movements come to a halt when he pulls his shirt over his head, glaring at me.

“I think I’d tell you just about anything to get you to let me sleep,” he groans, but the upward tilt of a smile on his lips reassures you that there’s no real malice behind his words.

I roll my eyes and finally close the door behind me. By the time I take my makeup off and change into a t-shirt, he’s already in bed with the lamp off and the TV on, playing his usual reruns of Shameless. I crawl into bed next to him, and make myself comfortable.

This is…new for us. Sure, I’ve been in bed with Jake before, but not like this. This feels… domestic. Intimate in a way I’m not sure I know how to process. I peer up at Jake, watching him for a few moments as he watches the TV.

“So… this secret…” I coax.

“Hmm,” he barely acknowledges me.

“A deal’s a deal, Kiszka,” I remind him, shifting up on my elbow, my head in my hand, waiting for him to come clean.

“I don’t remember making any deals with you, succubus,” he suppresses a grin as he lazily tosses his arm up and under his pillow, eyes still fixed on the TV.

“I’m in your bed, aren’t I?” I ask, “Now it’s your turn to–”

“I’m pretty sure my exact words were ‘I’d tell you just about anything’. Emphasis on the ‘just about’ part.”

“Are you—”

“You’re gonna have to work a little harder than that,” he breathes out, no longer attempting to hide the smile that’s creeping onto his lips.

I let out a ‘humph’ and fall flat onto my back, arms crossed. I lay there awake for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the ever soothing sounds of Southside Chicago from the TV.

There’s a kind of tension in the room that I don’t think either of us can really place. Sexual tension is not something Jake and I are strangers to. I’ve felt that with him since the day we met. This is not that. This feels tethered to something much deeper.

I think about giving up and calling it a night, but the longer I lay there the harder it is for me to fall asleep. Jake and I don’t do feelings. We’re friends, sure. Friends who have casual sex, but the boundaries we have in place are all unspoken.

I finally work up the courage to break the silence by rustling the sheets as I change positions to lay on my side, facing him. Lazily, he turns his head to look at me. His expression is blank as he waits for me to say something and I become increasingly aware of how close his face is to mine.

“What are you hiding, Jake?” I ask as I intertwine my leg with his under the covers. I feel my breath bounce off of his lips and back on to mine. He scoffs, turning his face back toward the ceiling and pinching the bridge of his nose as if I’m pestering him like a small child.

I maneuver myself even closer to him, my lips latching on to his neck, peppering kisses in a routeless path between his ear lobe and collar bone. I hear him exhale through barely parted lips as he relaxes into my advances.

“Sleepy?” I ask, not-so-subtly propositioning him.

“Not anymore,” he responds, tucking his hair behind his ear and sitting up on his elbows.

I shrug the covers off of myself and maneuver on top of him until I’m straddling his waist. His hands palm my naked thighs as I reach for the hem of his worn t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

I let him pull mine off as well and his hands latch on to my breasts almost instantly. Shaking my head, I peel them off of me and place them at his sides, holding them down tightly at the wrist. He gives me a look of confusion and I try and fail to suppress a grin as I lean in to kiss him.

His lips move slowly but persistently against mine and part for me immediately as I lick into his mouth. His tongue slides against my teeth and I take the opportunity to bite down on it gently, causing him to groan into my mouth.

“Jake,” I sigh into his mouth, swiveling my hips against his as I feel him, semi hard between my legs. His hands twitch under my grip.

“Let me touch you,” he breathes, biting down on my lower lip as he pleads.

“No,” I whisper back, kissing him harder as I fall into a rhythm with my hips. Reaching between us, I pull my panties to the side and position myself directly on top of his hard dick, the only thing separating him from my wet core is the thin fabric of his boxer briefs.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, eyes squeezing shut.

“No, no,” I reach my free hand up to take his jaw in my grip, the other hand still holding his arm down at his side. “Eyes on me.” His eyes meet mine again as my mouth falls open. A silent gasp escapes me as I slide my wet core against the material of his covered cock. I release his wrist and jaw in favor of placing both hands on his bare chest. “Oh my God, Jake,” I whimper, closing my eyes and tossing my head back. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t putting on a bit of a show. “You’re so hard,” I sigh.

“Can I please fuck you?” he asks breathlessly beneath me, hands knotted obediently in the sheets at his side.

“Hmmm,” I consider, “how could I let you fuck me when you’re keeping all these big secrets?” He glares at me before reaching up and taking me by the waist, knocking me on my back until he’s hovering over me.

“You like secrets,” he reminds me, lips at my ear, sucking on my earlobe before licking a stripe down my neck.

“Do I?” I question, letting myself fully melt into the feeling of his lips and tongue and hands on me while he’s not seeing just how much I’m enjoying it.

“Mhm…or did you want Sam to know what we’re up to in here?” He asks, right hand tugging at my nipple while the other still holds me around my waist, trapped between me and the mattress. I roll my eyes, causing him to pinch my nipple tighter. The sound I let out is somewhere between a moan and a yelp and I clamp my hand over my mouth instantly. Jake giggles, letting his head drop to my chest, kissing at the skin he’d just pinched. “See, secrets are fun. Necessary, even.”

He continues kissing down my body until he reaches my underwear. Looking up at me through his eyelashes, he takes the elastic between his teeth and pulls them down as far as he can before finishing the job with his hands.

When I’m bare and naked before him, he parts my legs wide enough for him to settle between them. “How do you want it tonight?” He asks. This is new territory for us. We don’t… take it slow. We don’t ask questions and, in fact, this is only maybe the second time we’ve ever hooked up in an actual bed. Closet, car, tent, couch, sure. The bed feels… intimate. Where we’re usually rushed and frantic, simply trying to get each other off, we’re now slowing down, touching softly and intentionally.

“Uhm,” I start, not sure how exactly to answer the question. Feeling out of control, I panic, sitting up and taking his face in my hands. My lips crash against his and he’s caught off guard as I press him back against the mattress.

“Not what I was thinking, but I’m not complaining,” Jake smirks, relaxing into the mess of bed sheets, his eyes still tracking my every move.

I make my way down the expanse of his chest to his cock, freeing him from those damned briefs. I don’t waste time pressing my lips to his tip, gently sucking. I watch as his breath causes his abdomen to flutter, up and down. Admiring the way his hip bones jut out on especially deep or sharp inhales. The second his hands are in my hair, I slide him down the back of my throat.

His hips immediately buck upwards as he thrusts himself deeper into my mouth, and I hear him mutter out words of admiration and praise.

“Oh fuck”, “deeper”, “slower”, he doesn’t stop. He’s always been vocal during sex and I can’t get enough of it.

I pull him out of my mouth the second I sense he’s enjoying it a bit too much; moving back up towards him. His hands are still in my hair, but move down the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him. His tongue meets my lips first and then slides under mine like velvet as he slowly repositions me until my back is pressed into the mattress; him hovering over me.

“How bad do you wanna know?” He breathes, eyes meeting mine before his head dips to press wet, sucking kisses to the curve of my neck. I feel myself losing the control I had over this situation, but I can’t seem to make myself care. He lowers himself onto his elbows so that his body is flush with mine. I can feel him, hard, pressed against me.

“Bad,” I mutter, reaching down between us in an attempt to slide him inside of me.

“Ah-ah,” he shifts his hips back, away from me. “Sounds like you’re gonna have to earn it tonight.”

“Earn it?” I ask, trying to focus as his head slowly snakes down my body until I feel his lips press warm kisses on the inside of my thighs.

“Sh”, he silences me. His two fingers dive into my core, and he scissors them, stretching me the way he knows I like. He takes a moment to pull his hair back into a loose bun and he smiles when I make a crack about things getting serious. His tongue finally licks a stripe up my center, pressing hard and flat against my clit, his fingers simultaneously pumping in and out of me.It doesn’t take long for me to get there. I’m close. So close, already.

I feel my legs tense and clench around the sides of his face and my breathing hitches frantically. He uses it to his advantage, pulling me closer by the hips and nearly suffocating himself with me. His palms press against my stomach, holding me firmly in place while I ride out my orgasm.

When he pulls away, he crawls over me and lays his chest against mine. His lips press against the shell of my ear and I feel his breath echo as I stare at the ceiling and try to gather myself.

“I fucking love the sounds you make when you finish”, he whispers as he huffs out a laugh. He uses a free hand to brush the hair off of my neck, tucking it behind my ear.

“Hmmm,” I smile a hum against his shoulder, “probably almost as much as I love hearing you whimper for me.

He scoffs, lifting his head to meet my eyes. “I do not whimper.”

“Wanna bet?” I ask, pressing against his shoulders, pushing him back against the bed.

“Be gentle with me,” he teases. Teases, because he and I both know he prefers me to be far from gentle.

Without another word, I line myself up over top of him and tease him at my entrance. His hips buck up against me immediately, and there's that little gasp. That throaty, breathy puff of air that pours out from between his lips, reminding me that at the end of the day, he really is putty in my hands.

“This gentle enough?” I ask, peeking down through my lashes at him. “Can I make you feel good, now?” I grind my hips downward, my wetness sliding against the length of him as my mouth opens, jaw falling slack, mimicking his. I nod my head slowly, grinning when I finally hear the faintest whisper of a whimper. There it is.

“So impatient,” I grin, only half joking, but he proves my point when, seconds later, he grabs my hips and slams himself into me. My back arches immediately as I let out a loud moan and I hear him gently mock me. He thrusts into me, taking back all that power I had over him, reminding me this time, that I’d do absolutely anything to keep him exactly where he is, inside me, for as long as possible.

Feeling unsteady at this pace, he’s set, I reach behind me to grab his calves for support, hoisting myself up. I let my head fall back as I feel his cock stretch me better at this angle.

“Oh my God, Jake,” I whine, “I c– I can’t–”

Before I can blink, I’m falling swiftly to the mattress below me. I squeal as he grabs my legs behind the knees and folds them up against my chest. He takes his cock in his hand and circles it around my clit, my body pulsing every time I feel the soft head of his cock pass over that ever sensitive bundle of nerves.

“So pretty,” he breathes out, “all of this for me?” He asks, more of a statement than a question, dipping himself into the pool of wetness at my entrance, causing my breath to hitch as he stretches me slowly. I look up to see him grinning and staring at my face, eager for praise and compliment. So I give him just that.

“All for you,” I respond, completely breathlessly. “You’re so good, so so good, best fuck I’ve ever had,” I gasp as he finally pushes himself all the way inside of me, right to the hilt.

I can feel his cock throbbing inside of me, even with the quick snap of his hips. My head starts to bang against the headboard and I would laugh if I wasn’t fully and completely on another planet.

Thankfully he notices without me even saying a word and drags me further down the bed with just one arm around me.

“Sorry, baby,” he grunts, “lemme make you feel better,” his thumb reaches down to press circles against my clit, and I swear to God I see stars.

“Gonna cum again, for me?” He asks, once again, knowing the answer to his own question as he knows my body better than I know it myself. “Wait for me.”

He leans down, breathing heavily against my chest as his sweat slicked forehead rubs against the beads of sweat on my neck. It’s messy and it’s hot and it’s fast as he presses wet kisses to my skin. Somehow, he maintains the perfect pace and I feel him begin to twitch as he lets out a moan, muttering sweet praises into my ear. “Yes, baby. Good girl. So good for me.”

He continues to fuck into me for a moment longer until he feels me cumming again, pushing himself deeper into me, harder, exactly how I like it. He waits a few beats as we catch our breath, enjoying the closeness. He pulls out of me and we both collapse on the bed next to each other until the silence in the room is stiff enough to choke me.

“Can I ask you something?” I question, taking his silence as permission. “Why do you let Josh get under your skin so much?” he turns his head toward me, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, a hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I was– inside you, thirty seconds ago and you’re asking about my brother?” A loud laugh bubbles out of me at his blunt response, but I continue,

“Sorry, timing is weird, I know, but I was thinking, like…” I swallow, directing my attention to the chipping nail polish on my pointer finger, feeling suddenly small under the weight of his stare. “I feel like every time he brings us up, you get weird.”

Jake’s eyes practically roll into the back of his head like some kind of unofficial response.

“Okay fine maybe it’s not Josh, but the subject?” I push further, daring to meet his eyes again.

“Damn, you aren’t gonna give this up, are ya?” He huffs.

“Fine, if you don’t want to talk about that, then at least give me my fair share of the deal.” I lift up on my elbow to peer down at him. “I’d say I more than earned this secret.” I smile.

He looks up at me and for a moment, I can tell he's looking at more than my face. His eyes drift to the hollow of my collar bones, the hairs falling out of the disaster of a ponytail it was in, the space between my ear and neck that he’d breathed quiet promises into just minutes ago.

“What if the two are connected?” He asks, finally. When I give him a look of confusion, he continues, “the way we used to be and– and the secret?”

“I’m listening,” I feel my heart begin to beat just a touch faster, my cheeks warming ever so slightly. He leans up to mirror my position, his eyes meeting mine at a direct level.

“I guess I was just hoping it wasn’t really a secret at all,” he says, eyes searching mine, practically begging me to understand what he’s not saying. The air is heavy and thick between us. He swallows hard as I begin to realize what he’s alluring to.

“Forget it, I–” he begins, breaking our eye contact, ready to make up some lame excuse about being tired and choosing to talk about it in the morning.

“I love you too, Jake,” I blurt out before I can chicken out.

And I will never– ever forget his face when he looked back up at me in that moment.

Because I was finally able to answer, in one sentence, the question he’d been asking for years and years. “Do you love me, like I love you?” Yes, resoundingly and conclusively, yes.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@doodle417 @gvfrry @spicedandicedtea @yeehawbesties @samkiszkalover @gretavansteph @mannick @theweightofjake @basiccortez @lallisonl @sammiejane22 @sammyslappers @gretavanfleas @jakeyboiiiiiii @keighoe @myownparadise96 @gretavanbitches @s0livagant @aconfusedhippie @jordierama @writingcold @fuzzybatpersonafan @mamalikes-gvf @laurenlovesgretavanfleet @alwaysonthemend @saoirsemaeve

#greta van fleet fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #gvf smut #gvf imagine #josh gvf #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fan fiction #gretavanfleet #greta van fleet #greta van smut

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faeriekit · 7 months

Text

Health and Hybrids (XIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here and this is part thirteen??? Hello??

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off...

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

…Bart doesn’t really do patience.

He doesn’t have to, so he doesn’t. Growing up in a world that wasn’t exactly real didn’t make for a real strong understanding of reality, or timing, or estimating how long something takes, or how long it would take a garden-variety human to complete a task.

He sits in the chair. He kicks his legs.

So. Bart doesn’t really do patience. When he wants to make his way through a book, it takes a few seconds to read through the whole thing at his standard pace. It’s great! Finishing the Troy Dodson series had taken ten minutes. He watched the full set of movies on quadruple-fast mode in about half an hour, and then still had the time to show up to the tower for trivia with the team that afternoon. It had been Crash!

And when—when Bart had wanted to learn how to cook, he went through half the recipes in Ma Kent’s copy of The Delights of Cooking in two days flat. And that was with missions. He even taught himself how to prepare squirrel from the back of the book! It tasted…uh, weird, sure, but that might have been his substitution of Caribbean jerk seasoning for garlic powder.

Patience is… Well, when Bart is on a mission and he has to wait for everyone to go at a human-comprehensible speed when laying out the plan of action, that’s patience. Sometimes he jumps the gun a little, maybe—but usually it all works out!

And when Bart has to wait for Barry and Wally to be free and off work for their day jobs, because they’re adults with real world things they have to do and Bart’s just—well, he’s—he tries to be patient! And he distracts himself with other things, and he takes the time to explore the world and get in new experiences he couldn’t have before in his own little virtual world, and he tries new things, and he eats new foods, and then Wally or Barry shoot him a text or ring him up and then he’s back in town in seconds anyway!

…But there isn’t a way to speed this along.

The doctor with the cute cat lanyard and Wonder Woman both have been trying to explain to Bart how bad the damage is. But Bart can tell. He has eyes.

His friend is physical now, but he’s not…right. His face is caved in, like someone hit him really really hard, or someone gouged out the whole front face of his skull—Bart can’t see any red matter, but that’s because of the pulsing green sheath that’s covered all of his friend’s open injuries.

And there’s a lot of green.

That means he’s super injured. Bart can see most of his glowing green not-face through the window of the metal tube his friend is sleeping in.

It’s not just his missing face, his crooked jaw, or his barely-moving chest, or his green-soaked fingers anyway; there’s open pits in his chest, slathered in green goo that shifts when he breathes and glows just a little in the odd light of the medical wing, lumpy and half-scarred from stitches that were sloppily applied. Utilitarian.

Tim told Bart that the sutures were probably meant more to prevent extra clean-up in a lab setting than to keep Bart’s friend alive.

…Bart doesn’t really want to think about that.

There are lime-tinged scrapes and scars across and around his friend's hands and up his arms, verdant-veined legs that aren’t exactly the right shape and orientation legs should be, crevasses in his stomach, his chest, against his collarbone, and the clawed-out pit where a face should be.

All green. So green. Like grass… Like the Earth, when Bart comes home from space.

It’s scary. It’s frightening.

Wonder Woman gave Bart a hug and said it would be okay when the Medical team started to apply white-swathed casts around misaligned legs, and Bart almost cried. The medical team thinks the green is his friend’s body working on healing him. That Bart’s friend will be okay.

Bart lets everyone say comforting things, because it’s kind when everybody’s kind. But Bart’s been an experiment in healing the unhealable and he knows as much as anyone else does that there’s simply no way to know if his friend will be okay.

But his friend isn’t alone like he was. Bart makes sure of it.

So he sits at his friend’s bedside, eats a granola bar, kicks his feet in the stiff chair Medical had to offer him, and Bart practices his patience.

By the end of this, he might even be good at it.

#Medical is just holding a bunch of clip boards with question marks on them #“So...what temperature is he meant to be???”#“uh”#“hm.”#“The green stuff is...part of him. Right?” “...yeah? Maybe?”#We got ONE partially-formed teenager!!#sure he's missing a lot of his face. Oh well!#dp x dc #danny phantom #tw gore #tw body horror #health and hybrids #dcu crossover #cryptid!au #dpxdc #dcxdp

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thissortofsorcery · 1 year

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It’s just a green Hawkins Tigers sweatshirt, kind of old, color already faded after too many washes, lumpy on the armpits from being used too many times.

Billy makes it look brand new.

Even sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed, eyes fixed on the window, with the line of his spine hunched with the weight of what he ran from, of why he came to Steve tonight, he looks beautiful. His hair is damp from the shower, curling around his ears and his neck, and his bare toes are digging into the carpet. In the soft light of Steve’s bedroom, in Steve’s old sweatshirt, Billy looks almost delicate.

Steve loves him so much, he doesn’t know what to do with himself sometimes.

“Hey,” Steve says, from the bedroom door, and Billy turn to him. He doubts the thoughts Billy was lost in were good, so he doesn’t mind breaking him out of them. “Found you some cigarettes, if you want them.”

Billy arrived at Steve’s in workout clothes, just a tank top and shorts, shivering with dried sweat and with a bloody lip. It looked like he didn’t have time to grab anything but his keys.

Billy lights a cigarette as soon as Steve hands the pack over. It’s cute how he goes straight to the window and opens it, blowing the smoke out into the night air, like Steve minds. His hands are shaking a little, still, and he’s jiggling his foot where one leg is crossed over the other, leaning against the wall.

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve says, like he does every time. He sits on the bed where Billy was. “It’s fine.”

Billy’s eyes flick to Steve, from where he was staring out the window again. His face is set in a deep frown, with that awful crease between his eyebrows that means his head went somewhere shitty. He takes a deep drag from the cigarette, but his hand misses his mouth once before he gets it right. Billy doesn’t say anything, but he pushes away from the wall and starts to pace.

“Are you hungry?” Steve asks, and starts bouncing his own knee. He tries to think of what food he has in the fridge. “I can make you a grilled cheese. Or I have leftover pasta, if you want.”

“No,” Billy says quietly, even if his expression would demand him to shout. Smoke comes out of his mouth, of his nostrils, and Steve pictures it coming out of his ears, almost, like a pissed off cartoon character. Except he knows when Billy looks his angriest it’s because he’s the most sad. “No, I had dinner.”

Steve watches him pace. Thinks of what else he can offer, how else he can fix it even knowing he can’t actually fix it. He wants to hug Billy, to hold him, but being still isn’t what Billy needs right now.

He’s pacing the room like a caged animal, going from the dresser to the nightstand and pulling on the cigarette. For once, the wallpaper in Steve’s room seems fitting.

“Steve?” A crackle comes from the nightstand, and both of their heads snap toward it. “Steve, come in. It’s Max. Over.”

Both Steve and Billy lunge to grab the walkie, and Steve only takes it because he was closest. Billy hovers by his side, staring at the walkie anxiously.

“This is Steve. Max, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Is Billy with you?” The walkie crackles again, and Billy’s face goes slack, eyes closed. Relieved.

“Yeah, he’s right here. He’s alright,” Steve says, and Billy huffs, like they’re being dumb for worrying about him.

Billy grabs the walkie from Steve’s hand, “Max, you okay?”

Steve thinks any other thirteen year old would be annoyed to be asked that twice, but Max just says,

“Yeah, I’m in my room. I told them I was going to sleep,” They both go silent for a while, then Max says, “Are you really okay?”

Billy shoots a glance at Steve, moves only to tangle their fingers together briefly.

“I’m good, shitbird. I’m gonna spend the night at Steve’s,” Billy says. “Same as usual for school tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Max says, and she sounds calmer, but still subdued. “I’ll grab your bag and stuff.”

Billy lets out a long sigh, shoulders slumped, and presses the walkie hard on his forehead for a second.

“Thanks, Max. Night.”

“Bye, Billy.”

The walkie clatters on the desk, and Billy puts out the cigarette bud on the ashtray Steve got for him ages ago. Where he was almost vibrating before, now Billy is too still, almost dragged down, like he ran out of gas and rolled to a stop on the side of the road. Steve hates to see him like this. Billy should always be full of energy, full of life.

Steve approaches slowly, makes sure his steps make sound, and lays a hand on Billy’s back. He leans back into it right away, so Steve plasters himself against Billy, runs his hands down his arms, lets his hair tickle Billy’s ear.

“What do you need?” Steve says, laying a kiss on Billy’s shoulder. “How can I help?”

“I don’t know,” Billy says, almost a groan. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, hiding his face. “Can we just-”

He cuts himself off, like he doesn’t know what he means. Steve thinks he does, though, Steve knows Billy, has seen him rage and cry and laugh a hundred different ways since November. Has been by his side for a good portion of it.

So he takes Billy’s hand and leads him to the bed, gets in after him and pulls the covers over them both. Billy rolls into Steve immediately, tucks his face into Steve’s neck and breathes in, and Steve runs his fingers over Billy’s scalp to help him relax. To make him sigh.

“You look great in that sweatshirt,” Steve says, out of nowhere, out of a desire to make this moment theirs and talk about stupid stuff. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”

Billy’s breath hitches, and his fingers squeeze Steve’s waist, but he doesn’t say anything. Steve runs his fingers down Billy’s spine, shifts his head to lay a kiss on Billy’s hair, on his temple.

“I mean, you look good in anything,” Steve says, voice so quiet it’s almost a murmur. “But when I came in and I saw you… You’re so beautiful, Billy.”

“You trying to get in my pants, Harrington?” Billy’s voice comes from Steve’s neck, muffled. He doesn’t move.

“I’m serious,” Steve laughs, “Do you even know what a catch you are?”

“Of course I am,” Billy mumbles. “Sex on wheels.”

That’s not what Steve meant. He runs a hand down Billy’s arms until their hands meet, laces their fingers together. His lips kiss from Billy’s temple to his brow, and he speaks against his forehead:

“I meant more like how great you are,” Steve says. When Billy huffs, he continues, “You’re so, so smart.”

“Shut up,” Billy says.

“And you’re a smartass but you’re actually hilarious about it. You make me laugh so much,” Steve kisses the bridge of Billy’s nose, his eyelids, his cheekbone. “You’re honest. You’re dependable. When you want something, you give your whole self to it.”

Steve can hear Billy’s breath shake, and his eyes are closed. He rubs their noses together, says against his mouth, “I really feel like I can trust you, Billy.”

“Steve,” Billy breathes, and when he opens his eyes they’re wet, spilling over the bridge of his nose and onto his temple.

“And you’re good,” Steve says, “You’re a good person.”

Billy squeezes his eyes shut, and presses his forehead to Steve’s, breathing against him, fingers tangled together close to their chests.

“Smelled like you,” Billy says, “the sweatshirt.”

Oh.

Warmth spills in Steve’s chest like a fountain, like smoke from Billy’s lips, filling it with happiness until there’s no room for his lungs to expand. He rubs his nose along Billy’s cheek, presses a path of kisses until he finds the center of his lips. Kisses him gently, unhurried.

“I love you,” Steve says. “You know that. Right?”

“Yeah, pretty boy. I know,” Billy says, and his smile is small but it’s blinding. “Love you too.”

every time anti bullshit shows up on my dash, I write Steve loving on Billy | II

#harringrove #billy x steve #harringrove ficlet #harringrove fic #billy and max #billy hargrove #steve harrington #mine #sorcery writes #spreading billy love

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vodika-vibes · 3 months

Text

Nimble Fingers

Summary: You've never been a crafty person...but Jesse makes you want to try.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Jesse x F!Reader

Word Count: 2019

Warnings: Fluff

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I had Jesse ping-ponging around my brain, so I had to write him before I can write anyone else. Sorry.

You stare at the lumpy, misshapen thing in your hands, and you sigh, “Nana, I don’t think I’m going to be able to do this.” You finally admit.

The older woman hurries over to you, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla following her into your space. She takes the thing (it’s supposed to be a sweater) out of your hands and looks at it through critical eyes, “It’s not…terrible, sweetie.”

“Nana.”

“You’re new at this, baby. You can’t expect it to be perfect on your first try.”

“I…” You sigh, “I know, Nana. I do. But-”

“-but you want it to be perfect for your boy?” Your Nana asks with a sly smile.

Your face heats and you drop your gaze, “Maybe I’m just not made for crafts-?”

“Nonsense. Everyone can create.” She says briskly, before she tosses the misshapen sweater into the pile of half finished projects, “But, perhaps we should have started with something easier.”

You cross your legs on the chair and wait for her to finish her thought.

“Let’s try quilting!”

“...isn’t that harder?” You ask dryly, “On account of the fact that I don’t know how to sew?”

“Nonsense, that’s what sewing machines are for! On your feet, my little Orange Blossom!” For such a tiny woman, she’s remarkably strong as she’s able to leverage you out of your seat and drag you from the living room and into her quilting room.

The Quilting Room is filled with just about every type of fabric that you can imagine, and several that you’ve never once considered. And there are dozens of quilts in bags to be delivered to the people who ordered them. And there’s one sitting on a drying rack.

“This is new, nana.” You note as you eye the pale yellow and green blanket.

“Oh, yes. Your brother asked me to make a blanket for the baby.” She moves some crates out of the way, “Here you go, darling. Have a seat.”

Obediently, you slide into the chair, and look at the sewing machine, suddenly feeling a lot younger than your almost 25 years, “Nana-”

“Hush, I’m going to teach you how to use it. First we have to plan what we’re sewing.” She pauses and glances at your slightly overwhelmed face, and she laughs, “Okay, how about we take a step back, and just pick on colors and a pattern for a blanket, hm?”

“Well…blue and white for the colors,” You say, thinking about Jesse’s armor colors, “And I don’t know about patterns-?”

“We’ll do something very basic then-” She mumbles as she scurries around the room. Your nana returns with an armful of cloth and a box of supplies, “Alright. So, quilting-” And she starts to lecture you on how to quilt.

10 minutes in, your eyes are wide and slightly panicked, and you turn your frantic gaze to your grandfather, who’s been listening for about five minutes.

“You’re overwhelming the girl, Jyll.” Your grandfather scolds.

“Honestly, this is really basic-” She huffs.

“Basic for you, perhaps. But she’s not done this before.” Your grandfather lightly claps your shoulder, “Come with me, girlie.”

You scramble to your feet after him, and he leads you through the house to his own workroom, which smells like different types of woods. Your grandfather is a woodworker, though now he doesn’t make as much furniture as he used to, preferring to make vanity pieces now.

“Now, you want to make a present for that nice young man you introduced to us at dinner last week, right?” He asks as he settles in his chair with a groan, “Jesse, is his name, right?”

“Yeah.” You turn your gaze away from a carved tooka that looks like it’s going to spring to life and jump at you, “He doesn’t have things, and I just want to give him something-” You sigh, “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

He kicks a stool over to you, and you sink onto it.

“Not at all.” He smiles at you, “Your nana made me a blanket when we first started dating all those years ago, and I still have it. It was my most cherished possession…right up until she gave me your mother and uncle.”

You smile at him, “That’s sweet.”

“It is.” He agrees, “And, unless I’m greatly overestimating your boy, I think he’ll be happy with anything you give him, especially if you make it.”

“But, that’s the thing.” You say, “I can’t make things!”

“You think he’ll treasure it any less because it’s a little lumpy or misshapen?” Your grandfather asks with an arched brow, and your argument dies on your tongue.

Because he’s right, of course. He generally is.

“How about we carve something for your boy. Something he can wear around his neck maybe.” He strokes his beard for a moment, “Come over here, lass. Let’s find a good wood for this.”

It’s been two weeks since the day you finished the simple wooden ring with your grandfather. You carved the whole thing yourself, under his supervision, and then left it with him so he can treat it and find a cord for it to hang from.

But it’s finally done.

You used a pale colored wood, and carefully (but clumsily) carved your name and Jesse’s inside the band, while the outside is covered in vines. And the ring itself is hanging from a leather cord.

It’s not perfect. There are some obvious mistakes to the carvings, but your grandfather swore up and down that Jesse will love it, mistakes and all.

So here you are, waiting for Jesse in your apartment, with the small box holding his present on the table next to you, and dinner finishing up on the stove.

The box is something your grandfather made, claiming that all men need a good box to store their valuables in, and no amount of talking would convince him that Jesse doesn’t have any valuables. There’s also another smaller box inside the box, though your grandparents refused to tell you what was in it, claiming that it’s a present for Jesse and that you’re not allowed to look.

You learned a long time ago that your grandparents will do whatever they want, so you didn’t push too hard.

The familiar sound of your door code being entered reaches your ears, and you step into the hallway just as the door slides open. Jesse looks exhausted, but all of the exhaustion drains away when he sees you standing there.

“Cyare!”

You grin at him, “Welcome back,”

Jesse sets his helmet down on the shelf next to the door, and then he holds his arms out so you can throw yourself into them. “I missed you,” He says warmly as he folds you into a tight hug.

“You saw me this morning,”

“I know, a whole 12 hours without being able to see you, it’s practically torture.” Jesse says dramatically, before he pulls away and kisses the tip of your nose, “How was your day?”

“It wasn’t bad. I saw Nana and Grandpa today. They missed you at lunch.”

“I’m sorry I had to dip out on them,” Jesse says, releasing you so he’s able to remove his armor, “I talked to Rex, and barring a surprise deployment, I might be able to make it next week.”

“They’ll be thrilled.” You reply, “Mona is close to popping, and they want you there to meet the baby. I think my sister-in-law likes you more than me.” You add with a laugh.

“Now, I know that isn’t true.” Jesse says easily as he finishes pulling his armor off and rolls his shoulders, “Dinner smells amazing, what are you making?”

“Oh, I’m just warming up some of the stew Nana made for lunch. It’ll be a little bit before it’s done if you want to change?”

“Hm. Might not be a bad idea,” He rolls his head, “I’m going to grab a shower too,” Jesse glances at you and flashes a mischievous smile, “Wanna join?”

“Only if you want dinner to burn,” You counter, before you step closer to him and stand on your toes to kiss him, “I have a surprise for you when you’re done.”

“Oh?”

“Go shower, it’ll hold.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jesse kisses you three times in quick succession, before he steps around you and heads to the bedroom. You wait until you hear the water turn on, before you step back into the kitchen.

You glance at the stew, and try to smother your nerves, but finally it gets the better of you, and you open the box to pull out the ring you carved him. It’d be better if you gave it to him personally anyway.

You curl your hand around the ring, and move back to the stove to make sure that the dinner won’t burn.

Jesse emerges from the bedroom less than ten minutes later, and he immediately slides his arms around your waist and kisses the side of your neck.

“Feel better?”

“Much.” Jesse presses another kiss to your neck, and then he turns your head to kiss you properly, “Your shower does wonders in working out my muscle soreness.”

You laugh, “That is why I bought it.” You glance at him with a broad grin on your face, “If you’re nice, maybe I’ll give you a massage tonight.”

“I can be nice.” Jesse says immediately.

You just grin at his predictable answer, and then you nod towards the table, “Everything in the box is for you. Including the box.”

Jesse glances at the table and releases you, allowing you to turn and join him at that table. He curiously runs his fingers over the fine wooden box, “He carved a star map into the box.” Jesse says, sounding surprised, “Leading back to…huh…”

You tilt your head curiously and Jesse flashes an amused smile, “It’s more than a star map. It’s a road map back to here. This apartment. In case I can’t find my way home, I guess.”

You laugh softly, “That sounds like him.”

He opens the box, and pulls out the other box with an amused quirk of his lips. Slowly he opens the box, and his jaw drops, “Babe, I can’t accept this-” He blurts.

“What is it?”

“Uh…well…” He turns the box towards you, revealing a very nice watch. Actually, it looks almost identical to the watch your brother got when he reached the age of majority. “This is too much-”

“Check the back of the watch,” You offer with a small smile.

Jesse eyes you suspiciously, but flips the watch and stares at the back of it silently for a moment. And when he speaks there’s something fragile in his voice, “Welcome to the family, Jesse. Love Nana and Pa.” He reads out, his voice slightly shaky. “Babe-”

“I didn’t know that they were going to do that,” You say quietly, “But I’m not surprised. My family loves you.” A smile lifts your lips, “Almost as much as I do.”

Jesse slides the watch around his wrist, and it fits perfectly, “I love it.” He admits quietly, “I don’t know how I’m going to thank them for this.”

“A simple thank you will be enough, Jesse. You’re family now, after all.” You pause and bite your lower lip, your gift really doesn’t compare to a watch, but you want to give it anyway. “I have a present for you too.”

He turns his gaze away from the watch and focuses his attention on you, “You do?”

“I…It’s not a watch,” You offer sheepishly, “And it’s not very well made, I’m not really crafty-” You trail off as you pull the ring from your pocket and hold it out to him.

Jesse takes it from you, and slowly runs his fingers over it, “You made this?” He asks, his voice hushed.

“Yeah, I mean. Grandpa helped a lot. And it’s not perfect, and it you don’t like it-”

“I love it.” He interrupts a broad grin on his face, “Did you do the carvings too?”

“Um…yeah.” You admit, “they’re a little wonky-”

Jesse drapes the ring around his neck and slides his chair so he’s sitting right next to you, “I love it. I love you.”

Your face heats, “I just wanted to show you how much I love you-,” You admit.

You’re unable to finish your sentence as Jesse crashes his lips against yours, “I love it.” he repeats against your lips, “So much. Almost as much as I love you.”

You kiss him gently, “I love you too.”

#star wars #tcw #arc trooper jesse x reader #jesse x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

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twst-drabbles · 7 months

Text

Deuce 3

Summary: Deuce doesn’t like walking down the path to Sam’s Shop alone. While you’re more than a little weird, he at least knows that you don’t have bad intentions. He thinks.

(Eldritch Prefect, though this piece is not that heavy in the horror. Just unnerving.)

Deuce wants more than anything to think that these twisted trees with black bark and wayward shreds of clothing are products of Headmage Crowley’s unique aesthetic sense. That he just woke up one day at the crack of dawn with an idea that he thinks would be brilliant. Maybe if it was Halloween, sure Deuce can see that, but right now, it’s the tail end of spring.

One after the other, these trees would suddenly pop up when no one was looking, as though wanting to stretch out their branches to whoever walks down this stone path. Deuce goes through his clothes like no ones business, no thanks to Grim’s temper tantrums. His allowance is crying out in suffering and the trees are gathering closer and closer, but Deuce refuses to attend class with a sloppy appearance. That’s how bad habits start and spiral down.

He can’t worry his mom’s heart again. He’s not worth such heartache.

Deuce felt a tap on his shoulder and instincts had him ducking and curling into a ball. The only thing keeping his ears from bursting into flames was that he didn’t scream.

From behind, you gave a warm chuckle as though you were strolling through a valley of gentle sunshine. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You were a little lost in thought there, huh?”

Right, right Deuce brought you with him. He said it was because it make the shopping trip be less lonely, which isn’t wrong but it’s not the entire truth.

“Y-yeah, I guess I was a little too into my own head,” Deuce coughed and shook his head before slowly starting to get up, “Did you want to say something, Prefect?”

But a guiding hand on his shoulder forced him back on the ground. His knees were forced to meet the stone path and the back of his neck was locked in place. You loomed over him, Deuce can feel your gaze burning onto the top of his skull.

And from the trees beyond with their wrinkled roots and knobby branches, something rustled and cracked. And his unhelpful mind thought of that monster with that bottle of ink for a head reaching through a thick trunk, re-birthing itself into this world just to swallow him whole.

“Keep your head down,” you spoke too loudly for Deuce to feel safe, “looking will only catch its attention.”

What? What thing? What’s coming?

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, as though you were simply waiting in line, biding your time.

“Nature is certainly beautiful, so beautiful that it has seduced a neighbor of mine to copy its form,” you patted his head, ruffling his hair and Deuce felt his shirt stick to his back, “though, I’m sure you don’t wish to know such a joy, right? You like your body as is, don’t you?”

Deuce didn’t say anything. He couldn’t, because your ‘neighbor’ shuffled over from behind, the passed you by. It dragged, like thick furred leather over stone ground, as though it was struggling to handle its own weight. A lumpy shadow, shape shifting as though sunlight through warped glass, blended with Deuce’s own before shifting off.

“I thought so,” you tapped his shoulder, “alright, let’s hurry to the shop now. It won’t be open all day, since I told Sam to close up early. There’s cleaning to be done and I need to be left alone for a bit.”

He wanted to get up, really he did, but his knees refused to support his weight. You helped him up with a firm grip on his waist and all Deuce could do was lean into you.

“S-sorry,” Deuce whispered out, his own voice failing him with his mind numb with terror, his fingers sinking into your arm.

“It’s alright,” you rubbed his back, “come on. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #heartslabyul #deuce #deuce spade #eldritch au #reader insert

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masterqwertster · 29 days

Note

For Loads of Snuggles and Hugs - One being slumped against the other on a sofa, comfortably having the other's arm around their shoulder - For Ashton and FCG? Maybe something Krook House adjacent~?

Snuggles and Hugs Prompt Certainly. A little pre-campaign fluff, it is!

“C’mon, up on the couch,” Ashton insistently slurs, flopping onto the Krook House’s lumpy old couch.

Fresh Cut Grass would be fine standing (as much as he can stand with no legs), but a drunk Ashton doesn’t give him much choice, easily lifting him up by the arms. Thankfully, it’s not that difficult to tuck his wheel up for a proper sitting position as the genasi settles him on the couch.

Oddly enough, Ashton’s right arm remains slung around Fresh Cut Grass’s shoulder. This is a new and exciting development to their relationship when the genasi seems so careful about bodily contact.

…Even if it does turn out to be a drunken behavior.

It’s a better drunken behavior than Ashton being even shorter tempered about how people treat Fresh Cut Grass. Or how when Dancer was drunk, she’d be up for making out (and more) with anyone willing to flirt with her.

FCG is broken from their musings as they’re pulled into a sway by Ashton’s arm around their shoulders and a deep, rumbling hum rattles into their frame. They really do like when Ashton hums, the way it resonates through the air around the genasi. FCG thinks Ashton is humming a drinking song from the bar they were at earlier, before the automaton urged them home while the genasi was still capable of walking (with a bit of guidance).

In a burst of whimsy, Fresh Cut Grass does his best to hum along. His own notes are a bit tinny and echoey, but he thinks he harmonizes alright with Ashton’s bassy hums. Well, at least once Ashton stops giggling a bit at his attempt at music.

It’s real nice, sitting here, humming. Definitely one of the nicer evenings FCG has spent with a wasted friend associate.

…Maybe a little less nice with the sudden and not insignificant weight of Ashton slumping over them.

All that weight leads to a slow tipping over onto their side, despite Fresh Cut Grass’s attempts to remain upright. Ashton grumbles incoherently as he wriggles where he’s fallen behind FCG, dragging the automaton down his front while also scooting up the couch himself. Ashton’s vest’s buckles scrape along FCG’s backplate until the genasi can tuck their nose into the mess of wires atop their head, his left arm curling around their chassis and pulling them snug to his chest. A contented hum resonates through FCG’s frame as Ashton snuggles in. It’s quickly replaced by plate rattling snores.

…This isn’t so bad either. A little noisy for FCG’s tastes, but cozy, all snuggled up like this. If he actually slept, FCG thinks this would be quite a pleasant way to sleep.

He’s not sure how much later it is when Milo walks through, pausing when they notice FCG and Ashton on the couch.

“You doing okay there, Letters?” the tinkerer quietly asks.

“Yup! Just smiley,” Fresh Cut Grass softly chirps back.

“Okay. But fair warning: Ashton’s not gonna let you go until they’re awake, so if you want out, speak now or forever hold your silence,” Milo warns, a slightly playful glint in their eyes.

“Nah, I’m good,” FCG reassures them.

And he is. After all, an automaton doesn’t need to get up to use the bathroom. Nor can his limbs be put to sleep by the weight of stone draped over him. He doesn’t even find the hardness of Ashton’s body uncomfortable (and apparently Ashton doesn’t find the hardness of his own metal body to be unbearable).

“If you’re sure,” Milo concedes with a nod. “Night, Letters.”

“Goodnight, Milo!” FCG calls after the human’s retreating back.

Ashton stirs slightly behind them, arms hugging them a little tighter.

“Goodnight, Ashton,” Fresh Cut Grass whispers, rubbing a stony arm. Then they go into stasis, snuggled and content.

#MQ&A #snuggles and hugs prompt #MQfic #ashton greymoore #fcg

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boybasher · 1 month

Text

•

my poem:

I burn my hair

Cloud up my mind

And break my own heart

Blue eyeshadow and dark eyes

Tight hips with f-cked up childhood stories

Dreams of bunnies with bows

Pretty is my priority

So I trap myself in my room

3 Coats of mascara

I’m only beautiful when I’m untouched

I like the boys with f-cked up teeth

Dirty Smiles

And a taste of whiskey in their breath

Love is annoying

I don’t text back

If you want my words

Come and kiss my mouth

You know where I sleep

Where I dream

God Is Real

Touch me and you’ll see

Electric veins, warm blood

He’s in me and he’s in you

I hate you

And I love you

And I’m losing my f-cking mind!

Convinced myself

You’re one of a kind

I never left town

An hour that way

A black hole we call the Central Valley

My town is small

Cars race by

As I close my eyes

And wish myself into another story

Where I’m queen

And everybody loves me

Where roses are gifted freely

And hugs aren’t scary

Love’s not torture

And a ring doesn’t mean slavery

Bound to god

My mouth belongs to me

I let out a whisper as my heart talks

My legs loosen up

Come over and get to know me

I’m just a girl

Confessing her sin to anyone who’ll listen

Amen

To any man who’ll put up with me

Living life can be so lonely

When you have nothing to hope for

Maybe a lobotomy could fix me

I’m shocked when he sticks around longer than my pack of smokes

I go through these bros, like a Pack of Marlboros

I hope In another lifetime

I look forward to waking up

My body too heavy

Living in my brain, more than I do in my own home

Did you really think you could fix me?

I’m tired of playing mommy, when I’m empty of my own

Be my daddy, you’re older than me

He calls me Heaven

Little does he know

I’m Living Hell

I’m a burden to everybody

My body is lumpy and bruised

From cuts I was too afraid to deepen

He told me to try vertically

They prey on the pretty

Robbing energy

Stealing all of me

Lacking energy

I sell my milk for free

To whoever’s watching

Offering me ecstasy

He’s my Shot of Hennessy

My one before the one

My in-between boyfriends

My husband’s out there

My husband’s out there, right?

They never stay

Why would they

I can’t give you a baby

Only a promising holiday

My heart’s for breaking, not for keeping

My shadow reminds me

Of my mortality

No ones following me

Yet I still run like he wants to murder me

I close my eyes

Hoping this is all a nightmare

I don’t need rest

I don’t need a nap

I need a coma

Chew on me

I’m sweeter than a cigarette

I don’t last as long

I burn at both ends

Complaining to nobody

I’ll turn up the beat

Knock myself out

Regret I ever dreams

I’m my own boyfriend

And to be honest, I would dump me too

Void of a woman

No matter how much pink lipstick I apply

My smile doesn’t change

Happiness is an expensive mistake

I don’t wanna fix him

Who’s gonna fix me?

I’m broke in more ways than one

Beauty is pain

When you’re born this ugly

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ehlnofay · 5 months

Text

It’s not until she hears Sissel’s knees hit the floor that Efri is jolted back into her body.

She blinks, whipping her head around. Sissel is kneeling, bracing a palm on the ancient stone pavement, at the barrier – no, the barrier’s gone, it’s just Sissel on the floor. She lifts her head and meets Efri’s eyes; her hair is wispy and wild, the little plaits meant to keep it neat come loose and tumbling, her eyes wide. The barrier's gone, but still, her pale face is lit up blue.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She doesn’t speak loudly, but it echoes in the great stone chamber.

Nine, Efri doesn’t know.

She blinks again, looks down at her hands, clinging to the metal stick so fiercely that her joints ache. (Her own stick, her nice wooden one, is still on the floor somewhere, where it slipped out of her grasp when she hit the wall.) The lumpy heavy end of it, the clobbering end, is still resting on –

Not on. It’s in the thing’s head, fitted neatly in the opening of its dented helmet, the horns spiralling over the floor. There’s a tooth, perfectly preserved, by Efri’s foot.

One by one, she unwraps her gloved fingers from the handle of the metal stick, letting it drop to the floor with a clang so loud it makes her wince. Kazari is nosing at her side. (When did they let go of it? When did they get so close? She must have missed that. She feels out of the loop. Her heart is juddering like fish on a line, battering like some frightened trapped thing at her ribcage, and her breath is coming fast and heavy.) Absentmindedly bringing up a hand to press over her sore shoulder, she says, “’M fine. Not too – barely touched me.”

Kazari turns and spits on the floor. Efri blinks. She does it again, tongue lolling out of her mouth, face very disgruntled – and oh, Efri gets it. She does not glance down at the thing at her feet; she doesn’t need to, she knows what its arm looks like, chewed almost to pieces even through its banded armour. (If she hadn’t been so busy being scared of it, that sight might have made her a bit scared of Kazari. But not now, when they’re trying to hack and spit the taste of dead man arm out of their mouth.)

Efri unclips her canteen from her belt and holds it out. “Here,” she says. Her voice is rough. Her heart is racing too much to let constructing sentences be easy. “Not much, but –”

Kazari stands still while Efri tips half of the remaining water onto her tongue, and then Efri watches her swilling it around in her mouth, trying to bathe all of her teeth in it, before she spits it again on the floor at the dead thing’s feet.

The water is still clear. That’s something, at least; the dead man was too old to still have blood in him. Or maybe he was embalmed, drained of it hundreds of years ago, thousands.

“Are you okay?” Efri asks Kazari when they’re done, because they were the one doing most of the fighting, who was closest. They tip their head, shift their weight – wince when they put weight on one foot. Their lips peel back from their teeth. Their clothes on that side are singed.

Efri points it out. “Your robe,” she says, which makes it sound much fancier than it is. She’s too tired to think of a better word. She rubs a hand over her face, pushing the hair back over her forehead, says, “I’ll reinforce it for you when we get out.”

Kazari noses at Efri’s shoulder – the shredded fabric of her dress, the fraying edges stained with blood. Efri says, “I know. I’ll have to sew that up too.” Over her shoulder, she calls, “Kazari’s leg’s hurt, I think.”

“There’s blood on you,” Sissel replies. She peels her hand off the floor and leans back on her heels.

Efri touches her shoulder again. “’S fine,” she says. “Just a scrape. The blood’s drying already.”

It’s really sore, actually – the flesh abraded and tender, an ache sinking deep into the muscle – but it’s normal sore, the kind of sore you really should be after being thrown into a wall. It doesn’t feel sprained or dislocated or anything like that. Just like it will be bruised a whole rainbow of colours come tomorrow.

Kazari noses at it again. She leans too far forward and falters on her maybe-hurt leg – rights herself, wincing, and rolls her shoulder. It gleams, just for a moment, and she nearly stumbles again. Efri puts out a hand to steady her. (It doesn’t really accomplish anything – Efri’s strong, but she’s not that strong – but it’s the principle of it.) “What was that spell?”

“Pain relief,” Sissel says from behind her. “I think. Doesn’t actually fix anything, but.”

“You’ll be okay ‘til we find someone?” Efri asks, and Kazari nods. She presses a hand against their shoulder and nods back.

They both turn to look at Sissel, then, who’s just kneeling on the floor, sitting on her heels.

“You all right?” Efri asks her.

“All right,” Sissel confirms. She doesn’t look at them. “Didn’t even come near me.”

She’s staring.

Efri crosses the floor to stand with her. (She needs to lean on Kazari – her legs are too wobbly, and she doesn’t want to touch the dead thing’s stick, doesn’t want to look for her own. Kazari limps a little on their sore front leg.) There’s a moment of total, humming silence – all of them still and staring, necks craned back, looking up at the thing.

Whatever it is.

It’s a ball. Big and blue and shimmering, it floats above a wide crystalline dish set into the floor, spinning on an axis. Just spinning and spinning and spinning, endless motion. Its smooth surface is cut through with dark wavering lines, etched with lettering, and it doesn’t quite glow but it doesn’t not glow, either, the light moving across it silkily, like clouds in a blue sky. It looks like something that should be humming – a low pitch in their ears, an eerie shiver dancing over their skin – but it’s silent. Inert, maybe, but for the spinning.

“What is it?” Efri asks. Her voice cracks as she speaks. She looks down at Sissel’s face, staring as though mesmerised, illuminated by the room’s dim lighting – the fires that should not still be burning down here, the luminous not-glow of the ball.

Sissel says, “I don’t know. Something important.”

Hovering above the dish, it spins, and spins, and spins.

“Is it what the ghost was talking about?” Efri asks. She tilts her head and squints at it. It doesn’t – well, it looks strange and unearthly and powerful, but it isn’t doing anything. And it hadn’t been clear what the ghost was talking about, exactly, according to Sissel, just that it was something important – but what else could it be?

Sissel, still watching it, shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says. “I think so.”

Efri watches it with her, brushing a bit more hair out of her face. It’s sticking to her sweaty forehead. She feels a drip of not-dry blood running down her arm under her sleeve.

Kazari is staring at it too – just as confounded as the rest of them. Efri sees the light in their irises shifting as the ball spins.

They’re not learning anything from staring, the ball staying strange and mysterious as ever, so Efri raps her knuckles against her sternum to steady her breathing (it’s slowed a bit – not normal, but closer to it) and climbs up onto the stone rimming of the dish. Kazari, behind her, lows in consternation; Sissel catches her breath, a noise like a creaking door. “Careful,” she says.

“Promise,” Efri replies, and places her feet very, very carefully on the glassy blue flooring. Nothing happens. She doesn’t step on the dark curved lines as she treads toward the ball in the centre, slow and wary as if she were approaching a skittish animal. Nothing happens.

She reaches out, and, with just the tips of her fingers, she grazes the ball’s surface.

Nothing happens.

It’s cool to the touch, and smooth, like polished metal or not-frozen ice or delicate glasswork. It continues to spin gently under her fingers, warming her glove with friction, no smudges left on its clouded face.

It really feels like there should at least be a tingle running up her arm, a strange and unfamiliar current, a spark. But it’s just Efri, standing with an arm outstretched, pressing her hand to a ball.

“It’s not doing anything,” she reports, and Sissel clambers up onto the dish with her, fitting her palm to its gently hovering underside. Kazari balks, begins pacing agitatedly. Efri frowns. “Why isn’t it doing anything? Shouldn’t it be doing something?”

“It’s important,” Sissel says definitively. There’s ancient dust on her fingers, but none of it seems to transfer. “It’s something really special, I think.”

Efri shifts restlessly. She shifts her grip and tries to grab onto the dark ridged curves ringing its surface, but they slip easily away from her grasp as though her touch was no barrier at all. “But what does it do?”

Sissel shrugs.

Behind them, Kazari lows.

Efri drops her hand and grabs Sissel’s wrist. “C’mon,” she says, and when Sissel frowns at her, “We’re not going to learn anything about it this way. We have to look for clues!”

Kazari makes a more impatient noise. (Efri thinks she found a clue.)

Sissel gives the ball one last searching look and lets Efri tug her away, off the weird blue dish and down to where Kazari stands on the stone floor, at the head of the table where the dead man sat. Efri sniffs loudly and tries not to think about it too much. The table is smooth polished stone, worn a little away with time; Efri trails a gloved finger over the edge and directs her attention to where Kazari points with their chin.

There’s something carved into the surface, the edges blunted and shapes softened by however many years it must have been since it was put there. Efri squints, trying to make it out. She has to stand right up on her tiptoes to get the right angle to see much of it in full.

“That’s not letters,” she says eventually, frowning. She’s pretty sure she knows her alphabet well enough by now to know that. “Is it magic?”

Sissel shakes her head. “I don’t know what it is. It’s not like magical writing I’ve ever seen.”

Efri looks at Kazari, who also shakes her head. “Maybe it’s a different sort of lettering,” she theorises. It must have been written a long time ago, if it’s from back when the city had people. Onmund’s been reading all about it for ages, and he’s told her a bit – Saarthal was the city of Atmorans, populated by proto-Nordic people. All complicated history stuff. But they weren’t quite the same as Nords today, he said, so it stands to reason they had different writing, too. They’re supposed to be uncovering and cataloguing artifacts (at the thought, Efri glances back at the hovering ball and swallows an inane bubble of laughter) so she suggests, “Maybe you can copy it and we can show it to someone. I’m sure there’ll be someone at the College what knows what it is.”

Sissel, also standing on her toes, nods dutifully. “What will you do?”

The chamber they’re in is cavernous, and about empty but for the ball in the dish, the altar and chair, the body on the ground. “I’ll check him,” she says, and points. “See if he has anything on him that’s special.”

Sissel follows her finger and grimaces.

She digs out her note-paper and her stick of char, and Efri assumes it’s clues time, but when she turns she feels a hand grip her elbow. She looks back over her tattered shoulder at Sissel’s face, her furrowed brow.

“Promise you’re really okay?” she says, voice anxious and solemn.

“Promise,” Efri says, twisting her arm to touch her friend’s hand. Sissel presses her lips together and lets go of her arm.

Kazari trails after Efri to look at the dead man.

First thing is the metal stick. It’s magic someway, Efri knows – he waved it and threw her into a wall, flung spells with it – but she’s not sure how. Doesn’t know enough about enchantments. Didn’t need to, to use it; when Kazari clamped down on his arm she just ripped it from his grasp and –

She doesn’t quite exactly remember, actually, except for the bitter tang of adrenaline in her mouth and nose, the horrible grunting and scuffling sounds, the heft of the stick in her hands. Impact, over and over and over, against something that had a little more give each time.

Efri scrubs a hand over her mouth and grips the handle of the stick. It takes effort to wrest it out of the thing’s face, caught as it is by the edges of the helmet, and when it’s finally yanked free it’s – actually not as bad as she might have expected. There’s no blood, and the corpse was so desiccated it already didn’t even really look like a person anymore, so it registers less as someone with horrible violence done to it and more as a really gross art piece. It’s not nice. She doesn’t like the twisted, gaping mouth, teeth embedded wrong-ways in its tissue and scattered like coins over the floor. And one of the eyes, which had glowed unearthly blue, is now a dull, rotten black, squished like a plum in its socket.

It's worse the more she looks. She sniffs and turns away.

“This is magic, right?” she asks Kazari, testing the weight of it in her hands, the cool surface of the metal, and they nod. “A good artifact?” she adds, and they nod again, emphatically. Efri sets the stick aside and kneels.

It wasn’t wearing any clothes, really – or if it was, they rotted away. She touches the rusted armour gingerly, tries to avoid brushing her gloves against the shrivelled skin at all. Whoever it was had expensive taste, it seems – there’s jewellery in a shockingly well-preserved beard, pendants around the neck, armbands. Efri asks Kazari if each thing is enchanted. No to the armbands, no to the beard-ring, and then, pressed against the wizened chest where the flesh contours to the ribs, she finds some kind of necklace, sharp-edged and thrumming. Kazari nods to that, and, face scrunched up like an old fruit, Efri reaches around the ancient neck to slip it off.

She tucks it into a belt pocket with the tripwire necklace they found at the weird wall.

“Done,” Sissel says. She folds her paper and slips it into her own pouch. Her footfalls on the echo-y stone floor as she approaches the body for the first time are almost silent. “Did you find anything?”

“Necklace,” Efri replies, watching Sissel’s face pinch at the sight of him. “And – stick.” She scoops up the metal stick and holds it out. “He did spells with it.”

Sissel looks at it warily. “Is he a draugr?” she asks, glancing back down at his mashed-up face.

“I mean,” Efri says, “he’s got to be, right?” She’s certainly never seen a draugr before, but what else could it be?

(Calling it a draugr makes her shiver, the set of her shoulders quaking. She’ll stick to dead man.)

Sissel shudders. She reaches out to grip the handle of the stick, and Efri’s not sure if she’s taking it or just trying to keep herself upright. “I can’t believe that happened,” she says. Her voice sounds, suddenly, fragile. “I can’t believe we’re alive.”

“Me neither,” Efri says. She presses the tip of the stick into the ground so Sissel can lean on it, stands a little unsteadily.

Kazari, with a hushed murmur, telegraphs something. Efri recognises the head incline of understanding – she’s familiar with that word, that idea – and, after a moment, the flickering ear of doubt.

“They’ll have to believe us,” she says with conviction, because she means it. “We’ll show them. They’ll see for themselves.”

Kazari presses their nose to her head.

Efri clasps her hands together. “We’ll go tell someone now,” she declares – though it’s easier said than done; they were lost in the ruins ages before they even found the crumbling wall, the halls, this horrible wonderful chamber. But they’ll get un-lost eventually. They’ll get out eventually. Surely. They have practice enough with walking. “But first – help me find my stick.”

#little girl has a kill count now!! more at 11 #for context: I altered stuff leading up to the discovery of the eye #efri and sissel went off to play in the undiscovered halls of this ancient archeological dig site #on the grounds that efri has a great sense of navigation and they'll find their way back to the group no problem.#(efri has a great sense of navigation in the wilderness.)#(introduce her to a series of roads and buildings and she is lost in the sauce.)#their friends split up to look for them after they've been missing from a while (wandering around with great interest and no sense of place #(incredibly lost)#kazari happens upon them right as they've found a necklace at the end of a dead-end passageway that - when dutifully grabbed #for archeological research purposes - ended up triggering the wall to crumble or disappear or otherwise remove itself from the equation #and efri wasn't going to just. LEAVE that opening there.#come ONN kazari that's weird!! we can't just leave it!! what if it closes up and we never ever find it again and there's incredible secrets #that the college never finds! what if we never know what's through there!#we HAVE to know what's through there!#so on they go.#and so ensue the horrors #they pass a lot of dead bodies before the main all but those ones are all immobile #also sissel is the only one to receive the psijic projection warning. which she explains to the others as a ghost telling her secrets #which efri accepts bc this seems like the kind of place that would for sure have ghosts #and kazari goes sure that tracks this place is fucking creepy can we leave now (<- is also curious but HAS to put on a show of reluctance #because clearly no-one else is going to)#(permanent babysitter of kids with the worst self-preservation instincts imaginable)#(she is so strong. living every childcare worker's nightmare)#ANYWAY #:D #normal type stuff #posting because it matches the artwork I'm also posting! look at that thing!!!#fay writes #oc tag #efri

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howaboutcastiel · 10 months

Text

The Robe and Crown: Final Chapter

Summary: Rusty old futons are not very comfortable. Especially for Joel’s 40-year-old back. Just because he’s tired, though, doesn’t mean that he isn’t sharp. Series Masterlist.

Content Warning: basically, ALL of the content warnings that come alongside The Last of Us. Violence is on par with the game, not the series. This chapter, being the finale, is loooong. Oh also, angst! Really disgustingly angsty angst. Because you know me.

Also, stay tuned for the sequel series that will have more brain cells.

~~•~~

He knew Tommy was awake.

Joel was all too familiar with the sound of his brother’s snoring by now, but he’d never mentioned to Tommy how his breathing often resembled a chainsaw or jet engine the second that his head hit the pillow. He knew that a quiet room at night meant Tommy was either awake or dead, and tonight the only noise coming from the den was the faint crackle of the fire.

Still, Joel didn’t have a choice but to walk past the couch his brother was splayed across on his way down to the basement. He knew the creaking of the old wooden floors and the popping of his knees would make it difficult for him to creep through, but Joel still did everything in his power to avoid unnecessary noise. Maybe Tommy would think Joel assumed he was asleep. Maybe both of them could pretend they didn’t know.

He could pretend that Tommy hadn’t heard him come down for the washcloth, either.

By the time Joel had made it down both flights of stairs, his head was pounding just as hard as his heart was. His body was exhausted, but his mind sure as hell wasn’t going to let him sleep. Joel unfolded the futon and pressed his back against it, letting his legs hang off the end and his feet touch the ground. He focused his eyes on the cracks in the ceiling.

I’m exactly the kind of man she expected me to be.

Joel ran his fingers along the rough upholstery.

I just proved her right. All I did was prove her right.

His eyes burned the longer he went without blinking, but he couldn’t bring himself to shut them.

I never should have touched her.

For hours, Joel laid on the lumpy, dust-ridden futon. He tossed and turned and wrestled with his blanket until laying down became more agitating than standing. After that, he paced. Joel walked circles around the couch until his knees creaked and his feet were aching. At that point, he would have ripped his heart right out of his chest if he thought it would help him calm down enough just to get some sleep.

His eyes burned. His throat was on fire. If he didn’t know better, Joel might have thought he was going to cry.

Why did he even care?

Joel had never claimed to be a good person. He knew what he was—a killer, a manipulator, a survivor. He knew he was violent, erratic, and ruthless. He knew that there was blood on his hands from people who deserved better. Joel knew that he was bad people, and he had come to terms with that. Hadn’t he?

Still, Joel Miller wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t a sadist, wasn’t cold, wasn’t cruel for the sake of cruelty.

He wasn’t a monster.

…was he?

Eventually, he found himself lying flat on the floor. The racing thoughts never slowed down, but deliberately slow and deep breaths had his heart somewhere near normal again. Insteading of ramming against his ribs, it simply ached in his chest. The pain, at least, was something more familiar. Something that he was used to. Joel could at least close his eyes and let it consume him.

And when he woke up, it was with a start. Per usual. It wasn’t just his chest that ached with grief—wasn’t just his mind that screamed at him that he’d lost something dear. Joel had somehow turned onto his side while he was asleep. The cold, unfinished floor pressed against his temple. Every muscle in his body was stiff.

He couldn’t imagine how much you must be hurting.

When Tommy called him upstairs for a meeting, he couldn’t look you in the eye.

Why did he even care?

He was starting to get tired of asking himself that question. After Sarah, Joel had been to hell and back trying to find something else to care about. For three and a half years, all it had been was Tommy, and Joel told himself that would be enough. It had to be enough, if not for Joel’s sake, then for his little brother’s.

But he’d had to make himself care, even then. With you… it came naturally. Instantly. The kicker was, Joel knew he was the last person you deserved to be stuck with. It hadn’t been 24 hours, and Joel had already taken everything from you.

It was selfish of him to care. You would be better off if he didn’t care.

He convinced himself not to push you any further. Joel would keep his distance. He would help you survive, he would avoid being short—avoid scaring you—and nothing more. If he dared to do anything more, he’d only be putting you in more danger. Joel knew he would only find more ways to hurt you. Find more things to take from you.

And he wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

Joel wasn’t good people, but he was better than this.

The ride to the foothills might give him time to clear his head, at least. It would give you time and space away from him, and that was a good thing.

Hell, maybe you would make the detour to Raleigh after all.

~~•~~

Joel didn’t quite understand why the alarm bells went off in his head, but he’d learned by now to trust them anyway.

He could understand why you left the room. Sarah never could stand the sight of needles, either. He remembered bribing her with ice cream before vaccinations. Rewarding her with a new CD player after a bad soccer game had left a cut on her elbow too deep for a simple bandage. He didn’t question the way that you turned away—had to get out for some fresh air before the smell of blood could cross the room. It wasn’t that that had his head blaring sirens.

It was the way that Colin—of all fucking people—offered to check on you. Colin, who Joel hadn’t failed to notice had ignored your every move since the moment you’d showed up. That had rolled his eyes at the suggestion of tending the wounds on your back.

The ex-marine hadn’t shown the faintest interest in you, save for the brief glances that bore what Joel could only interpret as inconvenience.

So when the two of you returned inside and Colin’s hand rested on the small of your back, Joel decided that something was wrong. What kind of wrong, he didn’t know, but the dull fear on your face only heightened his sense of dread. No one else seemed to feel it, which wasn’t uncommon for Joel. He didn’t know why he had a sense of danger that the others couldn’t feel, but he did. At the very least, when Joel’s alarm bells rang in his head, Tommy would be quick to notice. And he was.

The passing glances they shared over their plates had them on the same page about just one thing.

Something was wrong.

Tommy didn’t know what, and Joel didn’t know what, but the eldest brother knew at the very least that whatever impending disaster was in their midst had something to do with you, and he suspected something to do with Colin as well. Joel heard himself crack a deadpan joke as he watched you avoid your plate. Your halfhearted smile might have seemed convincing, if not for that glazed-over look in your eyes that sent pain to Joel’s chest. He hadn’t had much time to learn your tells—no time at all, really—but he knew that look at least. Mateo cleared the air with a more lighthearted joke and everyone went on with their meal when you reluctantly took a bite of food.

But Joel didn’t feel better.

Conversation moved forward and Joel played along. He took in everything he could, including the way you only shrunk in on yourself even more as the meal went on. Tommy wasn’t on-edge, but he was ready for Joel’s command. The silent understanding hid behind his soft, warm smile. Isabelle seemed to gather the weight of it, too, as Colin and Mateo chatted absently about Tommy’s fall from earlier. The feeling of dread only drew him to Colin the more that the vet acted nonchalant.

Still, Joel didn’t know what was wrong. He didn’t know what was going on, and he didn’t have any way to bring it up. He didn’t have any evidence except for the blank stare on your face, and he was sure that he was the only one who understood what it meant.

He decided that he needed time. Joel offered a day of rest tomorrow, which no one seemed to protest. If he could just have a moment to ground himself, maybe he could understand. Maybe he could see what he was missing.

Joel had been staring too long. You were starting to look flustered. For a passing moment, you glanced up at him. Something new was on your face, something Joel must have been imagining. It almost looked like…solidarity. Like maybe, just maybe, you were seeing him as less than a monster. Like he was an ally, even.

Just like that, the look was gone. Your eyes were glazed and your body was still, and Joel knew you were in pain.

He was putting something together. He didn’t know what, but the dots were slowly connecting.

Then Colin was standing, and Joel fought the reflex to pull his gun from the holster. This was crazy. For months now, Joel and Colin had trusted one another with their lives. Hadn’t they? They had kept one another afloat just as everyone else in the group had helped them survive. So why was Joel’s heart on edge now?

He thought back to the army of men at your village.

They also trusted one another with their lives, didn’t they?

What was Joel’s mind trying to fucking tell him?

Then Colin was behind you, and your eyes were shut, and Joel was holding his breath.

“Are you done with that?” The man reached in front of you, picking up your plate.

And everything made sense when the man had passed and made his way to the sink.

“Yes, sir.”

You knew he’d noticed. Joel watched as your eyes snapped open, trained intently on him and terrified. He wanted to tell you not to be afraid, wanted to tell you he’d fix everything. Joel wanted nothing more than to banish that fear from your face for the rest of time. He couldn’t find the words to comfort you, though, and he could barely find his voice for a moment or two. All that Joel could feel was the bashing of his heart and the white noise in his ears.

He wasn’t asking why he cared anymore. He just knew he did.

He looked at Colin, who was running water over the dishes. And back at you. You swallowed hard and didn’t dare to make a move. At Colin again. He didn’t look up. He seemed none the wiser to Joel’s epiphany.

And again, at you. Joel couldn’t help the dread that ran through him as your eyes stared off into space.

When Tommy and Joel again shared a glance, it was one that said ready yourself. Isabelle didn’t need a further warning, either, and Mateo had noticed the quiet that circled the room.

Ready yourself. For what exactly, Joel had no idea.

But when he stood to his feet, Isabelle stood with him. Joel’s gaze lingered on you and Iz took the signal, bringing herself to stand at the side of your chair. The dullness only grew on your face as you got to your feet, and you made no reaction to the sound of Tommy’s voice.

“Why don’t you let Iz help you change your bandages, honey?” He spoke softly to you. When you nodded, the three of them noticed how dazed you appeared. Iz placed a hand on your shoulder, leading you slowly to the bathroom. Whatever was about to happen, they knew it was probably best if you weren’t in the middle of it.

But you stopped in your tracks, your eyes still following Joel, and you furrowed your brows before an ounce of panic showed itself underneath them. Joel realized he was standing on guard. He must be scaring you again.

That’s the last thing he wanted to do.

Your voice was flat when you spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Colin’s hands stopped moving in the sink.

“Sorry for what?” Isabelle asked sweetly.

In response, you just shook your head. Your gaze never broke from Joel. After realizing this, Colin’s attention turned to him as well.

Joel shook his head, trying to make himself look less mad. “You got nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.”

“Come on,” Iz urged. “Let me patch you up. I don’t want you to scar.”

You didn’t budge.

Joel thought you most resembled a deer in headlights.

For a moment, everyone was still and quiet. Joel gritted his teeth and glanced at the ground before looking past you and addressing Isabelle.

“If she doesn’t want to go, don’t force her.” He didn’t know how the tone in his voice got so soft.

She tilted her head. “I wasn’t going to.”

Isabelle’s hand dropped from your shoulder.

Joel didn’t know what to do next. He still wasn’t sure. But Tommy’s fight or flight was getting to him. He fidgeted where he stood.

“Joel.”

The older brother turned his head, a fraction of an inch. By now, Tommy had gathered that the source of Joel’s unrest was in the room with them. He sincerely doubted that it was Mateo, who couldn’t be menacing much if he tried, which only left one other person for him to suspect. He had no idea what the problem with Colin could possibly be, but Joel had a problem. So Tommy did, too.

Isabelle moved in front of you, as if she was shielding you. Had you been more present, Joel thought you might have thanked her for it.

But then, if you were more present, you’d be terrified. Because Joel was angry.

He glanced around the room a few more times before coming to a decision. Joel needed to know, and he couldn’t trust the ex-marine to give him a straight answer. Swiftly as he could, he walked closer to you. Colin followed the movement, but Joel’s voice was low enough that only you and Isabelle could hear.

“Did he hurt you?” That was Joel’s first question. The shake of your head to say no was barely perceptible. He weighed the next one carefully. “He touch you?”

Again, a no. Joel could feel his cheeks burning. “D’you come on to him, then? It’s alright if you did.”

It took a few moments for you to shake your head. You repeated yourself. “I’m sorry.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t understand why you’re apologizing, sweetheart.”

Your voice was almost too quiet for him to hear, even this close.

“I don’t know what to do.”

He shared a glance with Isabelle.

“Listen to me,” Joel tilted his head down, trying to level with you. He sounded desperate. “Did he threaten you?”

You looked at Colin, who was giving you a death glare. You stumbled over your words. “He—I…I don’t—”

He shushed you, giving a curt nod of understanding and turning around.

Joel had heard enough. That wasn’t a no. Colin had threatened you. But Joel wasn’t fond of interrogating you, which is what it felt like he was doing. His attention turned to Colin, who was looking about as ready to pounce as anyone.

“You got something to say to me, kid?” He seethed.

Colin kept his voice level. “Not particularly.”

“I think you do,” Joel insisted.

“Why? Did she say something about me?” His glance over to you was patronizing.

“Don’t worry about her. I’m asking you.”

Colin squinted at him. “Not everything’s your business, Joel.”

Joel’s hand was on his holster. Tommy and Isabelle took a step back, and you followed suit.

“This is my business.”

His whole body was on fire. Joel bore his teeth like an animal on guard.

But Colin seemed self-assured enough. “Why? Because she’s your bitch? You don’t get a claim on her just because you found her.”

Joel’s hope of keeping his composure was long gone after that. His voice rose to a shout.

“Watch your fucking mouth!” His voice all but shook the ground. He heard fumbling behind him, but Joel’s vision was tunneling quickly. “That girl’s not a bitch, and she sure as hell ain’t mine. Now what the fuck did you do, you piece of shit?”

“Nothing,” the vet whined. “I just wanted to have some fun with her. Loosen up.”

Joel rounded the kitchen counter, grabbing Colin by the neck of his shirt. In his periphery, he saw you on the bottom step, your hands on your ears and knees tucked to your chest. He hated the sight, but Joel knew he was past the point of shielding you from whatever was coming.

He spoke through gritted teeth. “What kind of fun?”

“You know…” Colin gulped.

Joel’s hand tightened enough to affect his breathing. His patience was gone.

“What FUCKING kind?” He growled. Even Tommy flinched.

But Colin seemed angry just as much as scared. He lifted his head.

“The only kind she’s good for, Joel.”

That was enough for him. Joel saw red. His other hand came up to greet his first, and Joel was throwing Colin against the counter with full force. His shoulder blades got the brunt of it, but the ex-marine recovered quickly, sending Joel backward with a jut of his leg.

Tommy stepped forward, but Joel held his hand out. “Stay out of it,” he warned.

And his brother listened.

Colin’s expression turned from wariness to determination as he regained his footing. “I don’t know what your problem is. You had your fun with her already. Didn’t your mama ever teach you how to share?”

“She ain’t just some toy,” Joel spat through his teeth.

He scoffed. “She’s not much more than that.”

Matt and Isabelle both flinched visibly at the words. Tommy stepped closer to you, his eyes locked on his brother.

“Can’t you see she’s terrified of you?” Joel asked. It was his genuine expression of shock and disgust that had Colin laughing rowdily.

“So what, Joel? Is this where you draw the line? After everything you’ve done?”

“I do what I have to,” he scolded. “This is different. What I do, I do to survive.”

“Yeah, well,” Colin lamented, “I’m tired of surviving. I wanna be living again. Starting with getting my rocks off.”

Tommy couldn’t help but interrupt. “And it don’t matter to you that she doesn’t want it? It don’t matter if you hurt her, then? Or that you’re scarin’ her to death?”

Colin sealed his own fate with his answer.

“Hasn’t ever mattered before, has it?”

But he took it a step further still.

“It’s not like she’s saying ‘no,’ Tommy. I’m not gonna hold her down or anything. She’ll do whatever you want her to. Hell, you can have your turn with her when I’m done.”

Tommy couldn’t even muster a response to that. After a beat of silence, Colin iced the cake with a final statement.

“Unless Joel decides to keep her, of course.”

Colin was on the ground in less than a second. Joel’s fist came down once, then twice onto Colin’s nose before he broke himself free. He managed to knock Joel’s gun away from him and, being unarmed himself, Colin fought tooth and nail to keep Joel off of him. For a few solid seconds, he defended himself. When Joel got winded, though, Colin decided it wasn’t enough to play defense. Joel felt the shift in his body and a single thought crossed his mind—

I want this to hurt. I want him to hurt.

For a split second, Colin gained the upper hand. He slammed Joel’s full weight into the linoleum floor, his head hitting so hard that Joel saw white for a moment. He didn’t stop thrashing, though, and before long Joel had landed a punch straight to Colin’s windpipe. When he brought his knee up to the vet’s chest, the ex-marine stumbled back, retching and gasping for air.

They were back on their feet, and Joel stole a quick glance at you to see that pure terror had stolen all the haze from your eyes. Isabelle’s body still formed a barrier between the two of you. Her face was similarly distraught, though it was much more calculated, as if she was ready to jump in at any moment.

Mateo couldn’t do much besides sit and watch, which he did with few qualms. Tommy did as he was told and stood away from the kitchen, but the worry in his eyes told Joel that he still might step in if it came down to it.

He’s going to hurt.

I’m gonna make him hurt.

With a shout, Joel threw his weight forward. Colin managed to dodge and sent a good jab to Joel’s ribs before he could rearrange himself.

The smug look on his face made Joel’s body run hot. He felt something shift inside of him and suddenly, his head didn’t hurt anymore. His side didn’t hurt either, and he felt like he could lift a truck.

Joel wrestled with the man for another five seconds and his hand was gripping a proper fistful of Colin’s hair. When he tugged, the man’s groan of pain faded into a giddy laugh. Colin seemed to have the same understanding as Joel about his position—neither of them had the option of tapping out. Colin was a combat veteran, though, and his body was younger. He must have been confident in his odds, and he knew that Joel’s hold on him was superficial. Colin’s back was against Joel’s chest, one hand around the wrist above his head and the other poised to pry him out of Joel’s restraint. There was nothing to do but change positions, it seemed, if either of them had any hope of hurting the other.

That was, until Joel threw them both forward with all of his strength and the edge of the cabinet made contact with Colin’s skull with a hollow crack. Isabelle’s gasp didn’t register in Joel’s mind, but the pathetic whimper that fell from below him surely did. It was music to his ears, and it wasn’t followed by a laugh. Joel felt the man’s body go slack beneath him. Colin hissed with genuine distress.

He did it again.

With full force, Joel brought the man’s temple down to the granite. Blood splattered across the top—probably more than just blood, if he was honest—and he swore he could hear a faint ‘please’ from deep within Colin’s chest. The man was begging for mercy, already too far gone for it to do him good. Venomous words rang inside Joel’s head.

“That hasn’t ever mattered before, has it?”

A third time, Joel lifted the man by his scalp until he was flush against Joel’s chest. The cabinet was slick with red and the room was dead quiet, but that didn’t stop the grunt of force and the snap of Joel’s arms. The sound Colin’s head made on contact was similar to a crunch than any other noise, and Joel released his grasp.

The pathetic heap of what once was a man tumbled to the floor.

No one moved.

Joel was grateful that Isabelle’s body was blocking your view. After a half-minute of stillness, she had the good sense to turn around and downright cover your face. She couldn’t pretend you hadn’t heard the whole thing, though, and the sound alone left little enough to the imagination. Isabelle didn’t have to give any verbal instructions to lead you upstairs, and she and Joel alike knew you wouldn’t come back down until you were asked.

And this time it was Joel’s turn.

“I’m sorry.”

You seemed to have a knack for saying that to one another. But Joel knew that by far, he took the cake for being the one with a reason to apologize. In fact, from where he stood, you’d never done a damn thing wrong at all. He was almost overwhelmed by the urge to beg your forgiveness.

But you were upstairs and, anyway, he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. You surely didn’t deserve to hear him grovel for it, either. Just as he thought—Joel had cared, and you had been hurt. He didn’t know exactly what he’d managed to take from you this time, but he knew that it left a hole.

He glanced down at the floor. It was covered with blood, as was Joel’s shirt and pants and his hands were caked in it. Colin’s face was not even recognizable. Joel couldn’t bring himself to be sickened by the sight of what he’d done.

~~•~~

They dragged his body out to the edge of the fence, hoping a shallow grave would be easy enough to dig in the dim moonlight. Joel said nothing—not that there was anything to say, anyway—but Tommy cleared his throat when they tossed the corpse into the hole in the ground.

“Are you okay?”

That wasn’t what Joel was expecting to hear at all. He was grateful that Tommy couldn’t see his expression in the dark. He knew his face would contradict his answer.

“Other than a few bruised ribs, I am.” Joel shoveled a heap of dirt into the grave, aiming for Colin’s face before anything else. “Iz says I probably have a concussion, so I should stay up tonight as long as I can help it.”

Tommy nodded, joining in on covering the hole.

Joel’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I take it you heard just as much as he did last night.”

He had known Tommy was awake when he went to the basement, but Colin had no way of making the connection that you and Joel had shared a bed. It wasn’t hard for Joel to make the assumption that he’d heard more than footsteps, then. And if Colin had heard, then so had Tommy. Maybe the lovebirds had, too, if they were awake.

It must have painted a pretty damning picture—the sound of your begging, pleading and groveling. The absence of noise when Joel should have rejected you, should have come downstairs and left you alone. It must make Joel look as guilty as he felt, the image of him shuffling to the basement shortly after he’d taken advantage of you. Not to mention his avoidance of you the next morning. The way he couldn’t even look you in the eye.

Tommy must have been thinking along the same lines as the veteran—Joel had come to view you as some sort of plaything. He had done exactly as the reverend had expected, been exactly the kind of scum the priest was counting on him to be.

It wouldn’t be surprising if Tommy thought Joel was capable of that.

“I heard you come down the stairs. Figured you’d fought over who was takin’ the bed. Then you went back up… and came back down again. And I guessed that it was none of my business.”

Joel clenched his fists. “It was a mistake. But Tommy… it wasn’t like that.”

The younger brother let out a deep, shaky breath. Dirt nearly concealed the whole body by now.

“I don’t need you to justify yourself to me,” he replied. It was a loaded statement, and they both knew it.

“That’s not what I’m doing. I need you to understand.” Joel didn’t know if he himself could understand. “I think that… I think she thinks that she has to do it. It’s hard to explain, but she asked me to. She begged me to. I got the sense that leavin’ her alone was gonna upset her more. I was—I don’t know what I was doing.”

Tommy huffed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” Joel offered, dumbfounded. “But I’m tellin’ you, I wouldn’t have done anything she didn’t ask me to. If I’d’ve had better sense, I wouldn’t have done anything at all. I’m not—it wasn’t like Colin said it was.”

“So that’s it then?” Tommy stuck his shovel in the ground upright. “You couldn’t let him accuse you of something like that?”

Joel shook his head, which he didn’t know if Tommy could even see.

“Or you think that’s some twisted way of defending her honor?” He added on.

“I don’t know,” Joel replied honestly. “Not sure it was either. I just thought he deserved it, and I didn’t know what would happen if I didn’t stop him.”

The grave was smoothed over now. Joel stuck his shovel in the ground beside Tommy’s, and the last remnants of the day’s light were scattered at the very edge of the horizon. The light of the moon was just enough to lead them back to the house. At his side, Joel heard a gruff whisper out of his brother’s mouth.

“He definitely deserved it.”

This time, Joel took the couch. It was about time that Tommy got a nice bed to lay in, and it wasn’t like Joel was closing his eyes any time soon.

Keeping the fire going would be something to do, at least.

~~•~~

Joel had to do it. He had been thinking about it all night, and there was no other way to set this right. The rest of the house would still be asleep and, if he played his cards right, it would all be over before they woke up. He already knew that it wouldn’t make a difference if he knocked, but he thought the courtesy would convey what his words could never.

He nearly crumbled at the broken sound of your voice.

“Come in.”

You must have been expecting Isabelle, because your eyes blew wide the second Joel came into your line of sight. It was colder last night than it had been the previous one—instead of Joel’s shirt and some underwear, you were wearing a pair of sweats, a new shirt of your own, and the robe that you had arrived in. You sat against the headboard, your knees in your hands. Your back must have been killing you, he thought. He didn’t understand why you were sitting like that.

Shutting the door as quietly as he could, Joel came to sit on the edge of the bed as you watched silently. His heart wasn’t hammering against his chest this time around, but he knew that yours must be racing.

“Did I wake you up?” He asked.

You shook your head.

“I thought maybe you’d have managed a better nights’ sleep than me.” Joel pressed his lips together. You only stared at him. “Reckon you can go back to bed after breakfast. Warm food always helps me sleep.”

He could tell you weren’t interested in any of his pleasantries.

“I’ll be quieter this time,” you muttered to him. He tilted his head in confusion. “We won’t wake anyone.”

“What are you talkin’ about, sweetheart?”

Again, Joel should have known. But this time was different. “Just do whatever you want to do, okay? I won’t make any noise.”

“I just came up here to talk to you, darlin’.” He knew better this time. He knew that the ball was in his court. “And to apologize again, about the other night. I was being selfish. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

You huffed. “But you wanted to.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head.

“I told you to.”

“And I should’ve said no,” Joel insisted. His tone made you sink lower against the headboard. “I don’t know what kind of ideas that reverend has put in your head, but you don’t have to do anything just because I want you to. Surely you outta know that by now. Maybe it was different with—with your husband, but I ain’t him. And like I said, you ain’t mine, either.”

You averted your eyes from him, staring at the quilted pattern of the bed.

“What else was I supposed to do?”

He closed his eyes, sighing and shaking his head. I’m all his travel, all his time on this earth before and after outbreak day, he’d never seen someone so lost. So genuinely lost. Whatever was going on in your head, it must be torture. Joel was determined to say his piece, whether you’d understand it or not.

“How much have I hurt you these last two days?” Your eyes came up to his when he asked the question. “How much have I taken from you? How messed up have you been because of me? How scared?”

“I don’t know.” Your expression was confused. You didn’t know.

“I stole you away from your home, darlin’. I killed the only family that you had left. I—I took advantage of you. I can’t imagine what you’re feelin’ right now. How much hurt I must’ve caused you.”

There were tears in your eyes. Joel knew you must hate him. He hated himself. That was what he’d expected, though. That’s what he had planned for before he’d even walked up the stairs.

You swallowed a sob. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Nothing,” he insisted. “I don’t want to take anything else from you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

You didn’t skip a beat.

“I’m not.”

Now Joel was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sorry,” you repeated. “About any of it. And if you want me to forgive you, I do. I forgive you.”

This wasn’t his plan at all.

“Please don’t.”

Joel reached into his pocket and pulled something out that you couldn’t see. It fit into his palm so that you couldn’t make it out, and he reached his other hand to pull one of yours towards him. He placed the object in your hand, but didn’t let go of you yet.

“I don’t have anything else to give you, but I want you to listen to me for a second.” Joel cleared his throat, like he was trying not to hesitate. “Tommy and the lovebirds are headed for Boston. There’s a QZ up there, word is that it’s the safest one of the bunch. Still ain’t as pretty as things were before, but it’s some kind of hope. All this time, I’ve been going with them to keep Tommy safe. That’s all I’ve been doing, for three and a half goddamn years. All that I’ve had was protecting that boy.”

Your hand was shaking underneath his grasp. Your eyes never parted from his, and he felt his heart drop as he went on.

“But he’s been fine without me. Hell, he survived just fine in Iraq while I was building condos and changin’ diapers. He’ll make it to Boston. They all will, and they’ll protect you. They’ll get you back on your feet.”

Joel uncurled his fingers, dropping the cool metal into your hand before closing it into your grasp. He felt you jump a little as you recognized the feeling of the tiny switchblade.

“Maybe you can go back to school. I’m sure there’s plenty of job training in a QZ like that. You could find some people your age. Find whatever it is that that village took from you. Get on with your life.”

“And what about you?” You sniffled. He could see the fear in your eyes now. “This sounds like a goodbye.”

“That’s up to you, sweetheart.” Joel’s smile was something else. It was the first smile you’d ever seen from him, he knew, and he could feel on his face how genuine it must be. It made sense. Joel was at peace. This is what he wanted—to set everything right. To have a real purpose again.

“I reckon there’s more than a handful of people in this world you’d like to rip into, and I’ve gotta be one of them. So you take that knife and… you do what you want. You wanna kill me? Go for it. I left a note for Tommy, he’ll understand. The lovebirds will, too. No skin off their backs. You wanna just mark me up some? That’s fine too. I’ll take some bandages and be out of your hair before the sun comes up.”

This time, you couldn’t stifle the sob that escaped from your chest. “What’re you talking about, Joel?”

His face only softened all the more.

“I want you to stop bein’ scared of me. You can give me whatever you think I deserve.”

“But you’re talking about dying. About—about me killing you.” You stumbled over the words, all but spitting them out.

Joel sighed. “Yeah, I am.”

“No.” You gritted your teeth, shaking your head. “No, you have a concussion. Mateo said that you have a concussion. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I promise I’m in my right mind, sweetheart.”

“You’re not!” You didn’t raise your voice, but Joel noticed the edge. The distress. “I don’t want to kill you. Why would you think that I want to kill you? I don’t want to kill you! I never tried to hurt you. Please don’t think that I’m trying to hurt you—”

He put his hand on your shoulder, steadying and shushing you. Joel didn’t like to see your distress. That was precisely the thing he was trying to avoid.

“What do you want, darling? Whatever it is… we’ll try to make it happen. I can make it happen.”

“Why do you want to die?” You were insistent, tears rolling down your face. “Why do you want me to do that?”

But Joel deflected. “Don’t worry about me. What do you want?”

You gathered your breath for a few shaky moments. He lifted his eyebrows, waiting patiently for you to think through your answer.

“I want you to stay.”

That was probably the last thing Joel was expecting.

“You do?” He was almost convinced he had imagined your reply. It didn’t make any sense.

“I do,” you confirmed for him. “I want you to stay. Please stay. Please. I don’t want you to go. I can’t—I can’t lose anything else.”

“I don’t understand, darlin’.” Joel felt a lump in his throat now. He hadn’t felt like crying when he expected you to slice into him. “Why would you want me? I ain’t done nothing but hurt you. All I’ve done is scare you to death. I thought you’d want to be away from all that. Didn’t think you’d ever want to see my face again.”

You almost laughed at him through the tears. Joel was all the more taken aback by your slight amusement. You dropped the blade from your hand and wrapped your fingers in his.

“You never hurt me, Joel. I promise. You’re… the first person who’s protected me. The first person in years to—to even try to understand. You kept me safe. Why would I want you to leave?”

“Tommy can keep you safe.” Joel’s voice was weak.

You pulled him closer. “I want you to keep me safe.”

He didn’t budge as you pulled him into a hug. Silent tears streamed down Joel’s face, and he was grateful that you couldn’t see them.

“Please stay. Please.”

Joel knew if he said no, he would wander the mountains until he got bitten or shot. There wasn’t anything else out there for him. He knew there wasn’t any other purpose out there for him. But if he said yes? God, he had his work cut out for him. He didn’t know if he could do it. After all of this time, he didn’t know if he could care this much again. And he was already so much less than you deserved. Would he only be setting you up to leave him once you finally came to your senses.

You squeezed him tighter. He remembered just how strong you were. How he’d figured that you could take him in a fight. His bruised ribs ached.

“Joel, please.”

He drew in a breath he knew you could hear was shaky. The sun was almost above the horizon now. Tommy would wake soon. He would find the note that Joel left on the table.

Joel swallowed thickly, then swallowed again. He made his voice as steady as it could be.

If not for his sake, then for yours.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll stay.”

He brought his hands up to hug you back. You relaxed into his touch, and Joel felt the tension releasing from his own body. He smiled into your neck, and a tear dripped onto your shoulder. Joel stopped trying to hold them back.

“I promise. I’ll stay.”

~~•~~

@frogers @daughterofthequeen

Okay so… I wrote it. I know that none of these events are realistic, but I wanted to set this shit up for the sequel! And also, this is how I wanted this one to end. If you want an actually-put-together continuation of this story, then stick around for the second part. And if you’re questioning why the hell this series was called The Robe and Crown… well, you saw the robe. We’ll get to the crown.

#Joel Miller #the robe and crown #masterlist #the last of us #joel tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x reader

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mylevisdontfitanymore · 1 year

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Tell me why I can’t stop thinking about little Steve with an Iron Stomach™️ who doesn’t really love food but is very fond of non-food objects?

Basically, object vore… I’ve been so, so obsessed with object vore recently. 🥴🥴 I can’t help it. There’s just something about it 🤌

Little Steve with object vore:

Unbeta’d Steve Rogers belly kink. Warning for object vore, stuffing, slight oviposition, etc. DO NOT EAT NON-FOOD ITEMS. IT WILL MAKE YOU SICK. IT IS NOT SAFE. THIS IS PURELY FANTASY.

Sand

Steve would love being full of sand because it’s just… so heavy. There’s no way he can be filled up with sand and walk normally. He’s forced to waddle, swaying unsteadily, and not making it too far before he has to take a rest. Constantly out of breath under the dome of sand in his pot belly. He’s also forced to arch his back to compensate for so much weight tacked onto the front of his body. It’s like he’s overdue with too many babies.

When he’s swallowed as much sand as he can, his belly is totally, perfectly round, filled from the top of his stomach, taut, to the bottom of his stomach where his intestines bulge out too. However, his belly is also drooping. It wants to center the weight on his hips. It wants to hang low between his legs. Sand is heavy. It’s a lot of work to carry it around, but it’s so worth it. It feels so good. It fills him up so good.

Sand fills Steve so easily, too. The sand particles are so small that they fit into every little nook and cranny of his throat, belly, and intestines. The more and more full he gets, the more the sand weighs, and the more it stretches him. Bigger and bigger. He feels like his very own play sandbox. His own beach.

Another great, great thing about sand is that no matter how full he gets of sand, it still shifts around inside him. Steve can be completely solid when totally full and yet if he rolls from one side to his other, lying down, struggling under the small beach’s worth of sand in him, he can feel it move. He feels like a stress ball. Or maybe like a snow globe, if snow globes were full of sand rather than liquid.

Also, there really isn’t anything as satisfying as pressing his fingers into his belly when it’s packed full of sand. He can be so full he’s about to pop, but there’s still just a little bit of give. A little bit of squish. It’s the perfect feeling.

Coins

Steve craves the feeling of coins once they’re in his belly, they aren’t the best to swallow, especially the larger, heavier ones, but once he has them down… oh, God, they’re so clinky and heavy and cold. Which, all of those attributes are good things to Steve. He loves it.

Also, he doesn’t mind the taste - metallic and smooth on his tongue, in his mouth. Then, less smooth down his throat, but he’ll deal with that one downside because it’s really all about the belly feel here. Past the throat.

Filling him.

Rounding him out with a lumpy, uneven belly. Leaving his tummy to have visible impressions of the hard edges of the coins, especially as he swallows more and more. It’s so obvious, what he’s done. What he swallowed. What he’s full of.

When Steve is full of coins, jumping or running is a no-go, obviously, that’s too much. But shifting around a little, walking slowly, and/or squeezing and massaging his own belly is the best. All those little clinks… coins hit together and thump against the tender inside of his belly. All the heavy weight behind his every shift, every step, and every squeeze. It reminds Steve of how much he’s swallowed.

Squeezing his tummy when it’s full of coins is so nice. It’s lumpy and hard and weighs heavily on his lungs when he sits down or lays on his back, but there’s something about the feeling that feels good, too. The coins pressing against each other and against him… yes. He knows he’s freaky, and it probably wouldn’t feel nice to anyone else, but to him it’s everything. So full.

And the cold temperature of the metal coins feels good too - for as long as it lasts until the coins heat to his temperature - it leaves him with a solid, chilly core. There’s nothing he would rather do on a hot day than first have a freezing belly, like he’s filled with ice cream but so much better. So much more solid and heavy and yes. Then, when his coins heat up, he can pant and struggle around their weight. At that point, he feels like a hot water bottle, sweating and turning red, but… with cargo much more precious than water…

He’s like a fucking coin purse.

Something to be used and treasured and ideally kept full. Always, always full.

Marbles.

Not just regular marbles though, the big ones.

Jumbo marbles.

Steve likes these marbles for similar reasons to coins - they’re clinky, heavy, and cold. But, different from coins, these feel heavier and are nicer on his throat. When he swallows them down one after another after another after another, they practically roll down into his stomach. Hitting the growing pile with a satisfying little chink. And there’s almost nothing better than that.

A belly full of marbles? Jesus. It gets him so heavy and so noisy. He can’t even breathe without them making noise. Shifting inside his gut. Resting heavily in his lap. Pressing harshly into Steve - hurting just enough to feel good. He’s so painfully full. Steve couldn’t fit another marble into him, right?

Then why does his mouth water at the thought of popping just one more into his mouth and letting it roll down his esophagus, bulging his throat, until it finally makes its home in his huge tummy?

When Steve gets really full of marbles, it makes his belly look like he’s stuffed full of little eggs or golf balls. Maybe he should try golf balls… but, aren’t golf balls lighter than marbles? Maybe not. He likes his belly, his cargo in his belly, heavy.

Steve loves the idea of all those marbles rolling around inside of him. Massassing him, almost, from the inside. If they were eggs, they’d grow and expand inside him. They’d get heavier and heavier and he would want them out so badly, whining and moaning about how he’s about to pop - about to burst. Too heavy. Too full. Too much. And, yet… always wanting more. Always wanting his collection of eggs to grow and get larger and larger.

Rubber bands

Steve started swallowing rubber bands by accident. The first time he ate one, it was because he had been chewing on it like it was a piece of gum. It’s not too dissimilar, really. And it’s especially not too dissimilar if you’re Steve and you tend to enjoy non-food items texture and taste more than real food items… Anyway, when Steve swallows a rubber band, it hardly feels like anything. It hardly feels like anything when he swallows one at a time.

But he can stuff in quite a few at once.

Also, they build up.

The more rubber bands he swallows, the fuller he gets. They’re relatively light and small, so it takes a long time to get there, but… it’s well worth it to Steve because when he gets enough in his belly, it makes him all rubbery and squishy and almost perfectly round. His muscle and skin cover the gaps between rubber bands and any uneven ways they might poke out. So he just turns into a dome. Round. Smooth.

When he’s full up of rubber bands, Steve likes to imagine he’s swallowed a single rubber band ball, solid, just one huge mass of stuff.

Heavenly.

Squishable while still being firm. Heavy enough that he can feel all of what he’s shoved down his throat but still light enough that he can walk and do anything he likes.

He can lie on his belly when it’s full of rubber bands, they presses into him a little bit but… it also feels so nice. Again, it’s squishy. And there’s something so nice about feeling all those rubber bands squish inside him, making his belly bulge out from his sides and making him look wider and fatter than he is when he presses his belly into the ground. Maybe he’s lying on his bed, but maybe he’s just stopped what he’s doing to press himself to the floor of his apartment. He can be mobile and do things while full of rubber bands, but he can’t not get distracted. He likes feeling full too much. It drives him crazy. All he wants to do is swallow more and more and more and get bigger and larger until he’s enormous and everyone can’t believe their eyes, seeing such a little guy carry such a massive gut.

In conclusion: I have no regrets.

I'm so obsessed with little Steve who has a huge belly because he's so desperate to be full that he will stuff anything into himself 🥵🥵

#mylevisdontfitanymore #steve rogers #chubby steve #belly kink #text #object vore

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mar-the-magician · 2 years

Text

Sweet Fae Creature Helps With Injuries And Guidance

Part one of a currently unnamed storyline. Alrighty. Everyone give a big thank you to @glassbearclock cause they’re the reason this is public. Enjoy!

Sweet Fae Creature Helps With Injuries And Guidance

"Oh well this is just fucking amazing." I tugged at my leg again. Nope. It was firmly caught underneath about six willow branches, and I had no ideas on how to get it out. Plus, this stream bed might have been "dry", but it was still muddy. And work pants, however sturdy, could only stand so much.

“Come-on-now-little-fuckers—“

“M- ah, maybe don’t pull on it anymore,” a soft voice said. I looked up to face possibly the prettiest pre-teen boy I had ever seen. He had an adorable little swoop of a nose, that turned up at the end and was peppered with freckles, as was his whole face. I really couldn’t decide if his eyes were green, hazel, brown, or the color of honey— they seemed to shift with every minor turn of his head. His hair was a curly thatch on top of his head and his skin was tanned and smooth. He was walking a little oddly, like his legs were having trouble bending the right way. He gave me a small reassuring smile.

"If you pull on it too hard, you could hurt your ankle. May I try to help?”

"Sure, I guess. S'not like you're gonna be much more likely to get it out than I am, but thank you for… caring…" I watched in mild confusion as he crouched beside me and placed his hands on the dead willow branches, humming quietly.

"What are you doing?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm prepping them!" He said, like that explained everything. I decided not to ask. And then to my shock, in another second he was… detangling? That might be the word— the branches and extracting my leg from them with such ease that I thought I might be going insane.

"There we go!" He trilled, drawing out the ‘there’. As I tried to stand he grabbed my arm at the last minute crying—

“I wouldn’t do tha—“ I rested my full weight on the ankle and cried out, suddenly gripping his arm much harder. He winced.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you… you've got pain all tangled up in there. I can… try to help with that, if you’d like,” I eased myself into a sitting position on the creek bank. Less mud here anyway.

"How are you gonna do that?" He snapped his fingers on both hands, and I noticed that his fingernails were a little darker and longer than might be expected. Odd. He grinned at me and said

"Liiiiiike this!” He placed his hands on my ankles and I felt… something. Some strange burst of energy, somewhat similar to when you pour warm water on your skin, somewhat similar to how a burst of adrenaline feels. I let out a soft noise of surprise and stared down at him. His legs really were odd… so lumpy and hunched and muscly for a kid his size and age… were— were his pants changing color? They had been black before, now they looked almost… brown…

"What the fu— I mean, on earth?!" Something about this kid made me not want to cuss. His head jerked up.

"What? What’s wrong?"

"Uhm…" I stared down at his legs, which were now brown and soft and hairy looking, and it seemed like there were hooves at the bottom of them, digging into the soft mud of the stream-bed. He jerked his hands off of my ankle.

"Oh dear, oh no, oh no…" he snapped his fingers again and they were back to looking like slightly odd, but definitely human legs. I vehemently shook my head.

"Nope. No. Uh-uh. I know what I saw. What… what are you?"

He hung his head.

"Oh boy, you weren’t supposed to see that… well, I guess it doesn’t really matter all that much… I'm what you humans would call a faun? I think? I'm fae. And I'm a messenger, healer, forager, apprentice. That’s why I’m not very good at healing yet, ahehe— Your ankle's not really gonna be much better. But it won’t hurt as much!” I lifted my ankle, testing it on the ground a couple times.

"Well I didn’t expect it to be any better at all— I expected to have to walk back to my car with it like that, which would not have been fun. So thank you,” I said. He frowned.

"Right. Car. Uhm, from which way did you come?” I pointed in the direction of the trail I had hiked up and down before deciding it was a good idea to try to avoid getting my shoes muddy by walking over flimsy dead willow branches.

"Do you know what a car is? Sorry, I guess I should have asked that—“

He laughed.

“No, no, of course I know what a car is!! Pffft, silly, I'm living in the human realm, of course I have to know some of the things about it!” His face got a little more serious.

"Still I guess it makes sense that you don’t know much about us… you really shouldn’t be wandering in these woods alone, I don’t know how you even got in when you clearly aren’t… well… ah, moving on, it wouldn’t be a good idea to walk back to your car right now. Your ankle feels better, but I wasn’t able to really mend that much of the damage. If you do that massive long hike all the way back to your car, you’ll just end up hurting it more, and then it’ll be harder to heal in the long run!”

I snorted.

“Well what am I supposed to do??”

"Ah, well, there’s a meadow not far from here where you could rest and we could get someone to help you…” Right now the idea of being able to lie down on something soft like grass that wasn't muddy sounded like just about the best thing ever, and I mean… he was a kid. Granted a strange, seemingly magical kid with hairy brown goat… or… deer? Legs, and nubby little horns protruding off the top of his head, but he seemed generally harmless.

"Okay then, I can live with that.” I said cautiously. He smiled a sunshine smile and grabbed my hand.

"Great! Okay, stay close to me and step where I step.”

I stared at his hooves and followed. They really didn’t look like goat hooves or deer hooves. Some weird mixture. I cleared my throat.

"So, uh, how do you like being an… apprentice? What does that entail?”

"Hm? What does entail mean?” I almost laughed.

"Uh, like, what does being an apprentice mean? What do you do?”

"Oh! I learn a lot! Since I’m an apprentice healer, among other things, I have to spend a lot of time in the human realm to learn about how humans work. I travel back and forth a lot since I’m a messenger, so I've gotten pretty good at spotting access points, too! I'm apprenticed to a couple different people for healing, one here in the human realm and one at home. I’m basically a full-fledged messenger at this point, too!” He said proudly. I smiled. Wow, this kid was enthusiastic.

"That’s great! What kind of messages do you carry?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

"You really do know nothing about us, do you?” I squirmed a little. He sounded rather suspicious.

"Not… really, no…”

“Oookay, well— I’m not supposed to talk about what kinds of messages I carry. That’s private, between whoever I’m carrying for and the person I’m carrying it to.”

“I'm sorry,” I said hurriedly. He smiled again.

“It’s okay! You didn’t know, and now you do! Watch out for that root,” he pointed.

“So… is it okay to ask about foraging?” He giggled.

“You are curious! Yes, it’s okay, and thank you for asking! Foraging is looking for safe and humane ways for my friends who live in the human realm to feed! We don’t want to hurt people after all,” Well. That wasn’t concerning at all. I decided to skip past that for the sake of my own sanity.

“What’s your favorite part about being an apprentice?” He hummed.

“Probably that everyone is always ready to explain things to me when I ask if they know I'm an apprentice. I can just ask a question and get an answer, no fuss, no muss, and no-one acts like I’m stupid. What about you? What do you do?” Oh no. Not this again, even with a weird little faun boy that I met in the forest. I coughed.

“I, uh, I’m currently in between doing things,” I said.

“Oh! That’s nice! Now you have a bit of time to think about what you might want to do when you start doing things again!” And that was that. Wow. Okay. I loved this child now.

“So why were you here?” He asked, looking at me curiously. Honey-then-green eyes.

“I heard about some weird shi— things. Stuff. Weird things, happening in these woods and I wanted to check it out. I’ve always been interested in things like that. Things… other people don’t understand or believe in, I guess…” He gave me the sweetest smile I’d ever seen.

“That’s really lovely. A lot of people don’t take time to understand things. I love that you think about things like that and want to learn about them,” I coughed self-consciously. He gently guided me to the side, avoiding a pile of rocks as he lead me by the hand into an increasingly grassy strip of land that then led into a meadow, filled with flowers and surrounded by stacks of boulders.

“Okay, now we just gotta wait until—“ he suddenly put a hand to his forehead.

“Oh shoot. Someone’s— someone’s calling me. Ugh, oh dear. I— I can’t ignore this, but I don’t want to leave you all alone in a strange place—“

“I'll be okay.” I insisted. He cocked his head at me.

“Huh. Okay… oh! I have an idea.” He scrambled in the leather satchel tied around his waist and came up with a smooth little grey stone.

“This is an adjoinment stone. I have one to match! If one of us is in danger, the stone of the other one will vibrate. Not that yours will probably ever vibrate. You don’t have to take it… if you don’t want to, but it might be nice… like… insurance? I think is a term you would connect with?” I laughed.

“Sure. I’ll take the insurance. Thanks,” I held out my hand. He started to hand it to me, but then drew his hand back.

“Wait, here’s something to make it easier to keep track of!” He reached down and pulled up some ground weed. He started humming again, weaving it in and out through his fingers. Then he held up, and the vine looked… tougher, somehow, and was also inseparably fused to the rock. He grinned goofily at me.

“Humans like to wear ‘pendants’, don’t they?” I laughed.

“Yeah, we do!” I grabbed it and put it around my neck. If nothing else, I got a sick new piece of jewelry out of all this. Plus, if this was gone when I got back home then I would know that this was all a hallucination.

“Awesome! Now you should lie down, Traveler!” He trotted away, leaping with his nimble little hooves up on the rock piles. Then he turned and shouted back to me

“My name’s Eris, by the way!” And then he was gone. I checked the area around me for bees (not that there seemed to be any in the whole meadow, which wasn’t weird at all) and then lay down. It was shockingly extremely comfortable. And I was exhausted. Before I could help myself, my eyes were closing.

Deal gently with me my dear friends, this is the first time I've ever posted anything original.

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