#and my chest still literally aches with how much i miss her

[poeticpascal]

Home (Joel Miller x Barbie!Reader)

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Summary: When a deep sense of loneliness overcomes Cowgirl Barbie, she leaves Barbieland to find whatever poor kid it is that's making her feel that way. Of course, she could never have expected just how much light Sarah would bring to her life, and she certainly didn't expect the things her grumpy father would teach her about love.

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: Barbie movie spoilers, angst, angry Joel (he's insecure and protective), descriptions of loneliness, lots of fluff!

A/n: this is literally my Magnum Opus. Reader is Cowgirl Barbie. I truly hope you love this as much as I do 💖

Barbieland has been very different since Stereotypical Barbie left. Good different.

The Kens have jobs now, proper jobs, not just ‘Beach’ or ‘Surf’. They’re not the most competent workers Barbieland has ever seen; they get too distracted trying on new overalls at the building site or throwing paper aeroplanes at each other in the offices. But they’re trying, and you have to admit, it’s pretty adorable seeing them so excited to head off to work each morning.

Barbieland has laughter now, true laughter, not perfect giggles but the kind that brings tears to your eyes and makes your belly hurt. It has crying, proper full-bodied sobs that rack through your chest, aching in a good way. And it has life. Fervent, overwhelming, painfully brilliant life.

It’s magnificent, even the really hard bits. Which there are a lot of.

Like losing someone you really, really love.

Stereotypical Barbie - Barbara, as she’s known now - had been your best friend. Your Dreamhouse was right next to hers, and every morning you’d float down to the streets together, where she’d hop into her little pink car and you’d mount your pony and ride into town. It was perfect, a sweet little life surrounded by pinkness and joy, and if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you miss it.

You bonded over how displaced you both felt. Neither of you really had a thing, a specific job to do. She was Stereotypical Barbie, and you’re Cowgirl Barbie. Destined to wear dusty denim and cowboy hats for all of eternity; not a doctor, not a physicist, not an astronaut and certainly not the president. Just a cowgirl.

And there aren’t even any cows.

That was what brought you and Stereotypical Barbie together; you both felt slightly unsure of the world, however perfect it may be, and you found friendship in that.

So when she left, that hurt. 

Because she found purpose.

Purpose in feeling, and knowing, and living.

Purpose in things you could only dream about. And what you hate the most is that she was right.

It feels good to hurt. It feels good to have that pain in your chest, that ache in your cheeks when you’re not quite done crying yet. That emptiness that fills the space where flowers had once bloomed.

It feels like shit to miss your friend, and it feels incredible to have loved someone so much that you miss them.

And that’s the beauty she brought to your life. To all the Barbies’ lives.

But it still goddamn hurts.

About as much as the strange thoughts of loneliness have hurt the past few weeks.

You’re never alone in Barbieland; there’s always someone there, a friend, a listening ear. A million other Barbies who genuinely care.

But the feeling is so strong, so heavy in your gut, that all the Barbies and Kens and Allens in the world can’t take it away.

Which only calls for one thing.

“Your friend had the same problem, you know,” Weird Barbie says, walking round you in circles like prey. You gulp; she’s significantly less ‘weird’ now, what with her fancy job at the Capital and the whole ‘awakened Barbies’ thing, but she certainly kept some habits that set you a little bit on edge.

“How do you mean?” You stutter, trying to keep up as she continues to stalk around you and make strange gestures.

“First came the depression-” she pulls down a presentation screen from god-knows where, one decorated with the typical Barbie anatomy and annotated with the same notes Weird Barbie is now recounting. She points to the head, ‘depression’ scribbled beside it, and stops in front of you.

“And then-” she moves again, rotating to the other side of the screen and pointing to the drawing’s legs. “-came the cellulite.”

She pauses, seemingly waiting for some big reaction, but you just stare. Sure, cellulite was feared back then, but almost every Barbie has it now, and it’s really no big deal. “...okay?” you posit, slightly more concerned as Weird Barbie’s face falls at your reply.

“Damn, I guess we really are doing things differently now.” Her surprise is dropped quickly, as she continues to explain what it means to be overcome with these awful feelings so quickly.

“In the end, sweetheart, there’s only one way to fix this.” She leans in uncomfortably close, making you gulp. “You gotta go to the real world.”

You had a feeling she’d say that. 

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

When you arrive in the real world, there’s really only one person you can go to. The one person you’ve missed more than anything.

She was your best friend, and yet standing here on the doorstep of an apartment that looks nothing like a Dreamhouse, you can’t help how nervous you feel.

She’d given all the Barbies her new address, in case any of them managed to sneak into the real world, so she mustn’t mind that you’re here. But she’ll be so different now, so human, and you’re still just a Barbie with a jaunty cowgirl outfit and a sunny disposition.

Your worries are immediately washed away when the door flings open, and before you can even see who it is, a pair of arms are tightly wrapped around your neck and you’re pulled in for a big, warm hug. But you know who it is, and you hug her back immediately, tears welling in your eyes as you finally hold your best friend again.

Barbara pulls back, holding your cheeks in her hands, almost like she didn’t think you were really there. “I can’t believe you’re here!” She grins, hugging you again with a giggle. “I missed you so much.”

“Oh, Barbara, I missed you too,” you cry, not wanting to let her go. 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, and you finally relax your arms, taking in how much she’s changed. She isn’t wearing anything pink, or sparkly, but a white blouse and nude pants that look very professional. Very human. Very different.

You don’t reply to her question, unsure of what the answer even is, and that alone makes her worried. So she takes you by the hand and leads you into her apartment, one painted white with sweet pictures on the walls of her with Sasha and Gloria, and some other women you don’t recognise. It makes you a little jealous.

She leads you to the kitchen, sitting you on a bar stool and pouring tea for you both. You go to drink it, holding the cup away from your mouth and tipping it, but she quickly jumps up shouting “no!” and pulling the cup down.

She laughs, making you laugh nervously too, and explains you need to hold the cup to your lips and sip. “Are you sure?” you ask, staring down at the liquid and tentatively trying to drink it, the warmth on your tongue foreign but sweet. 

“Yep! That’s how we drink here. I know it’s weird but once you get used to it, it’s so good.”

You smile, putting down the cup and looking back at your friend. “Things are pretty different here, huh?”

Barbara smiles, nodding her head and swinging her legs where they hang from the stool. “Yep! Isn’t it great?”

“Yeah, it is,” you reply, with a fraction of the excitement. You push a loose strand of hair behind your ear, knocking your hat slightly which you quickly correct into place, acutely aware of yourself in the presence of someone who’s changed so much. “Do… do you ever miss us? The Barbies?”

She grimaces, making you regret asking as soon as the words leave your lips. Her eyebrows sink into concern, and she sets her tea down beside yours, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Every single day. Of course I miss you - I even miss the Kens!” You both giggle, and you’re reminded of how things were before. 

You have to admit, you almost asked your Ken to come with you, but he was having so much fun in Barbieland now that you couldn’t bring yourself to take him away from it.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.” Her eyes have welled up now, and guilt hits you like a truck.

“No, no, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so happy for you, truly.” You smile, and you know she knows you mean it. “I just… I feel so lonely. It’s like a big hole in my chest, all the time. No matter what I do, no matter how many girl’s nights and big blowout parties and days on the beach, I just feel lonely. And it’s even worse without you here.”

Barbara holds your hand tighter, and something you said seems to have caught her attention. “You mean you felt like this even before I left? Before the Kendom?”

You nod, sheepish, and her eyes squint in thought. Then, as if a lightbulb has gone off in her head, she gives you her trademark big white smile and excitedly shouts, “I know what you need to do!”

She jumps off her chair, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking LA. You stand there for a moment, taking in the view, the overwhelming sights and sounds of rushing traffic below you. It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

“You need to find the little girl who’s playing with you,” Barbara whispers, watching your amazement. 

“Isn’t that what you did?” You ask, finally pulling your eyes away to face your friend. She nods, her smile just as bright and honest as ever, and it makes the idea of facing this big wide world seem a little less scary.

“I’ll come with you, we’ll go find her, and we’ll figure out what’s been making her feel so lonely.” 

“Will you really come with me?” 

You already know the answer; of course she will. She’s the kindest person you know. Of course, all the Barbies are the kindest people you know, but that’s a technicality you don’t feel like getting into right now.

“You know it,” she grins, and you can’t help but grin back as you think about what an adventure this is going to be.

“How will I know where to find her?” You ask, looking back through the window at the huge world on the other side of the glass. How could you possibly find your kid?

Barbie tugs you to face her, straightens your hat and looks directly into your eyes, making you focus. “You gotta be really calm, okay? Just close your eyes, clear your mind, and find her memories. And then try to figure out where she is. That’s how I found Sasha!’

You nod, not quite sure how this is going to work, if this is going to work. But you try anyway, squeezing your eyes shut and doing your best to shush all the noise and confusion in your head, desperately searching for anything that could help you find your kid. You get nothing, ready to give up after a few minutes of emptiness, when suddenly - there it is, the faintest hint of a memory.

“Dad, can we have a movie night tonight?” Sarah asks, watching as Joel paces the room, frantically searching for his other shoe.

“Yeah, sweetheart, course,” he replies. She smiles, heading over to the TV stand and already searching for a film to watch, giggling as her Dad begins to lift up the couch cushions. 

She looks down, seeing the shoe hiding just behind the stand, and rolls her eyes as she picks it up and throws it at him. “How’d you find it?” He mutters, scoffing as she just laughs at him, though a matching grin is etching its way onto his lips.

He slides on the other shoe, grabbing his wallet and keys and heading over to give Sarah a kiss on the head. “When will you be home?” She asks, and he offers a guilty smile that doesn’t make her particularly hopeful.

“Soon as I can, Sarah. Around 8? 9 at the latest.” She nods, forcing a smile and letting him go, and Joel’s out the door in a flash with a final shout of “Love you, honey!” and a slam of the door.

The memory changes, then.

It’s nighttime, and Sarah lies alone on the couch, a movie playing that she doesn’t seem to be really watching. Her eyes flicker up to the mantlepiece, where the clock reads 10:13, and she sighs. 

Then she stands, traipsing into the hallway and towards the front door, where the key hangs in the lock. She turns it, unlocking the door and leaving the key on the sidetable, then picking up a piece of mail that had been left there.

“51 Mulberry Road

Travis County

Austin, Texas

Dear Mr. Miller, we are writing to solicit your contracting services for our new development…”

Sarah groans, throwing the letter back on the table and muttering “more work, great.” She retreats upstairs, slamming the door behind her and climbing into bed…

You’re pulled out of the memory by Barbara’s voice, filled with excitement. “Can you see her? Do you know her name? Do you know where she is?”

“Sarah” you mumble, still dazed. “Sarah, her name’s Sarah.”

Barbara squeals, clapping her hands together before calming herself and urging you to continue. “And? Where is she?”

You concentrate, trying to remember what was written on the letter you saw. “Er… Texas. Yeah, she’s in Texas. Mulberry Road. Is that close?”

She pulls a face, a yeah… no kind of face, then grabs a big book from under her coffee table and flips it open. You watch in amazement as she scans the pages and pages of maps inside, until she shouts, “a-ha!”, pointing to a spot on a page titled ‘The United States of America’. “Here it is. We’ll need to fly there.”

A nervous excitement brews in your tummy, your eyes glued to the little spot on the map labelled Texas. The spot where Sarah lives, with her Dad. The place you’re destined to find.

“Oh, and don’t get freaked out… but men fly planes here.” Your head snaps up, confusion painting your face, and Barbara just nods at your reaction.

“Seriously?” You ask, wondering if she was just playing a prank. “Is… is that safe?”

She giggles, putting the book down and grabbing your hand. “Yep, there’s a lot to get used to here. You’ll see. Now come on, we need to pack our bags!”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

And so here you are, on a flight to Texas, on your way to find Sarah and bring an end to her loneliness. 

Barbara tells you all about the real world. How different yet wonderful it is, how much there is to do and see and feel. She’s at university now, getting qualifications to be a psychologist and work with young girls who are struggling. It’s brilliant, but strange, you think - qualifications aren’t needed in Barbieland - anyone can just do anything. Well, the Barbies can. And the Kens really do try.

The journey is filled with new and exciting things, but it’s scattered with memories of Sarah and her dad that pop up in your mind at random. You see everything; their best moments, their worst, the times they’ve laughed and cried and screamed. 

You can see the first time she chose you. She was smaller, much smaller than she is in the more recent memories, and her Dad seemed friendlier, then.

“Alright, honey. Which one d’ya want?” Joel asks, smiling as Sarah’s eyes scan shelf after shelf of Barbies. 

“You should get this one,” he jokes, picking up a doll labelled ‘Builder Barbie’. “She’s just like your daddy!”

Sarah giggles, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “You’re not a builder, daddy! You’re a cont-ac-er.”

Joel’s heart warms, both at how much she loves his job and won’t accept a vague similarity, and her attempted pronunciation of the word ‘contractor’. 

“Well then, which one, babygirl?”

She spends a few more moments looking at each option, before her eyes widen, landing on one a little further away to the left. She stands up on her tippy-toes, grabbing the doll and admiring it, giddy.

“This one, Daddy! I want this one!” She shows him the doll, waving it in his face but not letting him take it, protective already. It’s a Cowgirl Barbie, one clothed in denim and brown leather, with cliche cowboy boots and a hat. 

“She’s just like you, Daddy.”

Joel pulls a face, looking back and forth between Sarah and the doll. “How in the hell is she like me?”

Sarah scowls, pointing to the cowboy hat and explaining, “she’s a cowgirl! And you’re a cowboy!” 

“I ain’t no cowboy” Joel retorts, shaking his head and leading Sarah over to the cashier’s desk. “When have you ever seen me in one of them hats, huh?”

Sarah giggles, itching to take the doll out of the box, and Joel knows she’ll do it the second he’s paid. “Maybe you can borrow hers, daddy, and be a proper cowboy.”

He rolls his eyes, though the smile hasn’t fallen from his face for even a second. He pays, watching with joy as Sarah scrambles to rip open the plastic, finally pulling out the doll and hugging it the whole way home while making up stories of ranches and horses and pistol duels - she was certainly her father’s daughter.

“Barbie? You there?” Barbara pulls you out of your thoughts, staring at you as you finally turn to look at her. 

“Sorry, I’m here. Just…”

“Keep getting memories, huh?” 

You nod, looking out the plane window and into the skies. She still seems concerned, but lets it go, returning to her magazine and letting you be with your thoughts. 

More memories swirl in your mind; you can see Sarah’s first days of middle school and high school, her most vulnerable moments of crying in her room and talking to you like you were the only one who’d listen, her relationship with her dad and how he’s become more and more distant over the years.

Sarah slams her bedroom door behind her, falling on the bed with a sigh. She sits back up, her eyes falling on the Cowgirl sat on the shelf across from her, growing dusty as she plays with it less and less.

She’s 14 now, too old for dolls really. And yet, that Barbie had been there with her through her toughest moments, and even now, it was comforting to have her there.

“Dad’s at work. Again.” She says, half to the doll, half to herself. “It sucks.”

She dives into her backpack, pulling out a small box and opening it up, the newly-polished watch inside glistening in the light from the window. 

She takes it out, delicately, and turns it around to see the engraved lettering on the back. 

‘No matter what, we have each other. I love you, Dad. From Sarah x’

She smiles, quickly placing the watch back in its box, not wanting to damage it before she could even give it to her Dad. “You think he’ll like it?” She asks the doll smiling at her from the shelf.

“I just… I just want him to know I love him. And that I know he doesn’t mean to be gone all the time.” 

She stands, picking the doll up from the shelf and brushing the dust away, carefully readjusting her little hat and smiling at the piece of her childhood. 

“I’ll give it to him tonight. If he ever comes home,” she sighs, lying down beside the Barbie and taking a nap, knowing she had a long wait ahead.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

“Alright, here we are!” Barbara chimes, pulling up to the house you’d been looking for. 51 Mulberry Road. 

“Are you nervous?”

“Hell yeah I’m nervous,” you quip, the fear plainly stated in your wide eyes. What if she doesn’t like you? What if you can’t help her feel less lonely? What if this just doesn’t work?

“Look, I’ve been there,” she replies, knowing exactly how you feel. “You’ve gotta remember that you’re her Barbie. You’re her friend, and she’s yours. It’s all gonna work out. My only advice? Don’t expect her to thank you for making everything amazing for women. Trust me, it does not end well.”

You giggle, remembering the story of when she first met Sasha, and hope Sarah won’t be quite as mean. You feel a little better, and thank Barbara for her support, grateful to have your friend back.

“Alright, I’m gonna go and get a coffee. If you need anything, call me, okay?” She hands you the little flip phone she bought, having shown you how to make texts and calls on it to her iPhone. You nod, thanking her again and stepping out of the car, the nerves building up as you hear her drive away and you’re left alone in front of the house.

You take a deep breath, your boots clicking on the path as you make your way up to the door, supported by a big wooden patio and a bench out front. It reminds you of home a little; your western-themed Dreamhouse, clad with old wooden floors and southern-style windows.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you raise a hand and knock, waiting with baited breath before you hear footsteps on the other side and the door swings open.

And there she is. Sarah.

She’s a little older than she was in the most recent memories you saw, around 16 now. She’s tall, with a purple cardigan on and pretty blue jeans that you’re jealous of already. Her smile is bright, precious, and if you didn’t know better you’d think she was a Barbie herself.

“Can I help you?” She asks, looking you up and down with a slightly confused, but still polite expression. 

You stall, the introduction you’d prepared completely forgotten, your mouth just opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sarah’s expression becomes one of concern more than anything, and she reaches out a soft hand to touch your arm, making you jump.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” she pauses, looking you over again. “Sorry, do I… do I know you?”

You stumble again, trying to find the right words, and she must see how genuinely nervous you are because she searches behind you into the street, then pulls you inside and shuts the door. “Come on, you need something to drink.”

She leads you to the kitchen, a beautifully decorated but old fashioned room with porcelain tiles and wooden beams across the ceiling. You trace your fingers across the counter top, looking around in awe while Sarah pours you a glass of lemonade. 

Your eyes fall to the corner of the room, where her school bag sits, and a familiar-looking cowboy hat pokes out. You walk towards it without thinking and pull out the doll, admiring the little plastic version of yourself.

“Oh, that’s - that’s not what it looks like. I’m not… I don’t play with dolls anymore, obviously, I just…”

Sarah’s voice trails off, and you assume she’s embarrassed, but when you turn to face her you realise it’s not that at all. She’s staring at you, then the doll, then back at you, with a cocktail of confusion and realisation on her face. 

“You’re dressed… you look exactly like her. What -“ She’s cut off by the front door slamming shut, and a familiar voice shouting down the hall, “Sarah? I’m home.”

Her eyes widen, quickly looking for somewhere she to hide you, the stranger she’s invited in, panicking as her Dad’s footsteps get louder.

But it’s too late. Joel stands in the door frame, staring at you, then shooting Sarah a look that says, ‘the fuck is this?’

“Dad, I can explain-“ he cuts her off, staring you in the eye and taking a step towards you. He looks older than he did in your memories - not in the way that Sarah does, but in a tired way, like he’d worked a hundred years and counting. Grey curls wash over his head, matched by a silvery beard and sunken eyes, and for all the Kens you’ve known in your life, you don’t think you’ve met anyone as handsome as him.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks - no, demands, one arm protectively stretched in Sarah’s direction.

“I- I’m- Barbie. I’m Barbie.” You stutter, clutching the doll a little tighter in your hand. Joel’s face scrunches angrily, and he looks at Sarah again, who just shrugs.

“You’re fuckin’ what?” He asks, clearly unimpressed.

You panic, holding up the doll to your face, showing him the obvious similarities between you. The same clothes, same hairstyle, same eyes. 

“You know, Cowgirl Barbie. Sarah’s Barbie,” you explain, a little more confident now, hoping they’d accept your explanation.

Your hopes are quickly dashed as Joel asks Sarah, “do you know this clown?” 

His arms are clenched, and you try not to worry about what’s coming next.

“No, Dad, but-“

He cuts her off. “So you just invited this crazy person into our home?” 

He’s shouting now, and you recoil, remembering Barbara’s first experience meeting Sasha. You wonder if this is worse.

“Dad, don’t talk about her like that,” Sarah shouts back. It makes you feel at least a little better, but it’s too late. Joel’s incensed, shouting about stranger danger and how you’re probably an escapee from some mental asylum, how weird it is that you know what dolls she owns and how to dress like them. 

“- and you” he looks directly at you now, pointing. “You get the hell out of my home and you don’t speak to my daughter ever again, you hear me?”

Tears stream down your face as you nod, throwing the doll onto the counter and running past Sarah and Joel and out of the house. You can barely make it out the front door, stumbling against the columns on the patio, before making it just far enough onto the grass outside to stumble to your knees and let yourself cry properly.

That same, overwhelming loneliness fills you again, tearing deep into your chest and only adding to your pain. Your shoulders shake, and you try to remind yourself of what they teach you at Barbieland; crying is good, hurting is good. It means you’re alive.

But it really doesn’t feel good right now.

You can hear the faint sound of the door opening and closing, but you don’t really register it, not until you feel a soft hand on your shoulder.

You look behind you, meeting Sarah’s apologetic eyes, and you try to wipe your own of their flood of tears. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I must look horrible,” you laugh, though it’s forced.

Sarah smiles, sitting down in front of you, knees crossed. “I think you look beautiful.”

And that makes you really smile.

You giggle, pulling off your cowboy hat and setting it on the grass beside you. Your denim jacket feels a little hot now, too tight, but you try to ignore the feeling and focus on getting your breathing back to normal.

“Is it true? Are you really… her?” 

Sarah’s question is soft, like she doesn’t know quite which answer she wants. You only nod, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“You’re Barbie?” She asks again, and you can tell she’s expecting a reply this time.

“Cowgirl Barbie,” you answer, still only looking at your hands. 

“God, you know, when Stereotypical Barbie came here, she had such a good time. Mind you, that was in LA, so -“

Sarah cuts you off with a gasp. “Wait, that was real? I heard about that! It was all over Twitter - Barbie and Ken on roller skates in LA, Barbie in a pink cowboy outfit-“

“Yes!” You exclaim, excited - “she told me all about it! She chose the cowboy outfit ‘cos it reminded her of me, you know. We’re best friends.” 

You’re showing off a little now, but you don’t care - it feels good to talk, to be believed.

Sarah watches you in awe. “Wow. So this is, like, real. This is real? You’re Barbie. Where’s Ken?”

“Oh, he had to stay back at home. Well, he didn’t have to, he would’ve come if I asked him to. He’s really sweet. I just… I didn’t wanna be a burden.” You explain, grateful he hadn’t seen you crying like this now you think about it.

“But isn’t he, like, your boyfriend? I’m sure he wouldn't mind.” Sarah replies.

“Oh, he isn’t my boyfriend,” you giggle at the thought. “No, no, we don’t really do that in Barbieland. Everyone’s their own person and makes themselves happy, no need for boyfriends and girlfriends. Even the Kens!”

“Rad,” Sarah grins, liking the sound of Barbieland. “So… why are you here?”

You reply honestly, there’s no use in skirting around it anymore. “Well… I feel what you feel, Sarah. And when you’re sad, and lonely, I feel that too. That’s why I came, to help you feel better.”

“Oh.” It’s all she says.

“Why do you feel like that?” Your tears have stopped by now, your face left red and puffy. You try not to start up again as you watch her face twist at your question.

“Just… stuff. With my dad. He’s never here anymore, always at work. It used to be just me and him against the world, you know? And now it feels like… like it’s just me.”

You pout, rubbing a hand on her knee. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, Sarah. You always have each other, just like the watch says.” 

You smile, trying to be as comforting as possible, but it’s quickly wiped away by the look of shock on her face. 

You’re about to ask her what’s the matter when a southern drawl sounds from behind you, “how do you know that?”

You turn, facing Joel who stands on the steps of the porch, a hand on the railing. Your nerves set in again immediately, and you turn in on yourself, trying not to cry.

“Um, the watch, the one from Sarah. That’s what it says, right?” You can see that very watch strapped to Joel’s wrist, the glass broken, and he brings his other hand to touch it. 

“No one else knows what’s written on that watch,” Sarah says, and you whip around to face her, “holy shit, this is really, really real, isn’t it? You’re her?”

You just nod, and she lets out a laugh, springing forward to hug you. You yelp in surprise but hug her back immediately, revelling in the feeling of wet grass hitting your back. Sarah pulls away, looking up at her Dad with pleading eyes, “come on Dad, you know this is real. She’s real. We have to let her stay.”

You sit up again, grabbing your hat and standing, facing Joel though your eyes stay trained on the floor. He’s silent for a long time, thinking, before he grunts and you can just about make out a whisper of “fine” as Sarah celebrates and leads you back into the house.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

You stay there a few days, mostly keeping out of Joel’s way. They set you up in the spare bedroom, but Sarah comes to get you most nights, and you stay up together having sleepovers and telling stories.

You tell her all about Barbieland, about the beautiful beaches and all-woman Supreme Court, the Dreamhouses and the perfectly blue skies. She tells you about her life, the latest drama at school, about Brad the boy who won’t leave her alone and Jenny, her best friend who definitely fancies Brad. It’s incredibly exciting, and you wonder why you never left for the real world sooner.

Barbara’s ecstatic for you, of course; she’s staying in a nearby hotel for as long as you need her there, you even plan to introduce her to Sarah soon.

You wake up one morning, covered in a duvet somewhere in the corner of Sarah’s room, a host of her other old toys laid out where she’d been explaining each one to you last night. You wondered if there’s a Thomas The Tank Engine Land, too.

There are voices downstairs, and for all the rules of politeness and social expectations you’ve learned, you can’t help but tiptoe to the top of the landing and listen in to the conversation. To make sure Sarah’s okay, more than anything.

“Oh come on, Dad. It’s just one day!” Sarah almost shouts, though it’s obvious she’s trying to keep her voice down. They both are.

“Sarah, I gotta go to work. How the hell am I meant to keep a walking-talking Barbie doll entertained for 7 hours, huh? You want me to talk about makeup and glitter?” Joel’s voice is thick and annoyed, though he’s noticeably gentler when he talks to her.

Sarah scoffs, and you can’t see her, but you know she’s rolling her eyes. “She’s more than that, Dad. She’s smart, and she’s caring. Just - just do this for me, okay? And as soon as I’m back from school, I’ll take her off your hands.”

You can’t see them, but you hear their footsteps walk a little closer to the stairwell. “Fine, fine. Whatever. You better go and wake her up then, cos I gotta leave in 20,” Joel resigns.

You see the top of Sarah’s head from your view between the bannisters, and quickly hurry back to her room and under the sheets. She enters, sitting beside your spot on the floor and whispering, “Barbie? Hey Barbie, wake up!”

You feign tiredness, lifting your head and smiling at the girl. “Oh hey, Sarah, good morning.”

She giggles, and you’re quickly aware of your bedhead, something you never experienced in Barbieland. She talks as you grab a brush and fix yourself up.

“So look, I gotta go to school today. But my Dad agreed to take you with him to work so you’re not on your own… is that okay?” 

She must see the slight panic in your eyes,  as she quickly scrambles to reassure you. 

“I know he was a bit of a hot head when you first met him, but he’s just… protective. But he’s sweet, really. Just give him a chance.”

You think about it for a moment. Barbara is still staying nearby, and you know she’d come and hang out with you while you wait for Sarah to come home if you asked. But then again, maybe it’d be good to spend some time with Joel/ It’s obvious that a lot of what brought you here comes down to their relationship, and if you can help to fix that even just a little bit, then your journey will have been worth it.

“Okay,” you answer, giving Sarah a small smile. She grins, standing up and grabbing her school bag before shouting over her shoulder as she leaves the room, “great! He’s going in 20 minutes… better get ready!” 

You gasp, jumping up from your little nest on the floor and searching through the duffel bag Barbara packed for you of outfits to wear, all western-themed of course.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

Car rides with Joel are… awkward, to say the least. 

He drives in silence, no radio, just the slow drone of traffic outside echoing between you, whistling through the open windows.

His car is very different to the ones in Barbieland. It doesn’t have an open top, the seats are worn and rough to the touch. The smell of coffee and cigarettes hangs in the air, and though you’re not used to it, you still find it comforting. Safe.

You reach for the radio, looking for a tune to play and maybe even sing - you’re sure that’ll cheer him up. But he stops you, not hurting you at all but batting your hand away and finally taking his eyes off the road.

“Don’t touch that,” he grunts, and you shrink back in on yourself again. He recoils a little, like he’s trying to appear less aggressive, and refocuses on the road.

“Sorry,” you mutter, shy.

He shakes his head, resting his elbow on the window beside him and readjusting himself, clearly uncomfortable. Whether it’s you or just the way he’s sat, you don’t know.

“‘S fine,” he mutters, barely audible. You nod, unsure of what else to say after that. You’re not looking at him, though you can see his movements in the edge of your peripheral, and you’re certain you can see him glancing at you every couple of minutes.

He finally speaks again after a long span of silence. 

“So…” he starts, tentative. “Is it hard to get here? From- from Barbieland?”

You turn, though he isn’t facing you, eyes trained on the road. You keep looking at him anyway - this is progress at least.

“It’s pretty simple. First you drive, then you cycle, then take a boat, then a rocketship, then you stay in a campervan for a little while, then a snowmobile and voila! You’re rollerskating into LA.” You grin, recounting your adventure into the real world, happy to be able to share it with him. You’re not sure what it is about him, but there’s just something inside of you that’s desperate for him to get you. To care. 

Joel just grunts, rubbing his thumb and forefinger between his brows, and you’re worried for a second that he doesn’t believe you, again. But he doesn’t press, instead he seems to be thinking, and then he asks another question.

“How do you get back?”

“Gotta do all that in reverse,” you answer, giggling. You’re sure you can see the slightest pull of his lips, the hint of a smile, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared.

You decide to try and engage him, let him talk. “Do you like what you do? For work?”

He just grunts again, and your shoulders sink, giving up. He doesn’t want to talk to you. 

You decide not to press him further, but you can see him continue to glance at you a few times out of the corner of your eye, and there must be something in the air because he sighs before talking, a vulnerability in his voice.

“I used to. My Dad did it, contracting. Used to take me and my brother out every weekend and show us the trade. And when I started my business, that was good. Things were good. Now…” he trails off with a sigh.

“Things aren’t good?” You ask, trying to be careful. Trying to encourage him. 

He nods. “Things are different, now. Busy. It’s a hard business.”

You don’t reply, not because you don’t want to, but because you’re not sure how. Joel doesn’t seem to mind. After a few moments, he pulls up at a red light, switching gears and finally looking at you properly. 

“What do you do? In Barbieland?”

“Cowgirl,” you reply, being the one to avoid his gaze now.

“Cowgirl?” He repeats, and you only nod, offering a small smile and waiting for his reaction.

“So is that, like, on a ranch?” 

He’s switching gears again, cruising through the now green light and continuing the drive, muttering something about ‘almost there’ as you arrive in an upscale neighbourhood, lined with huge houses and cars that even the Barbies don’t have.

You shrug, self conscious, but you answer him. You owe him that. He did it for you. 

“No, just… you know. I wear the hat, and the denim and the boots. And I just… cowgirl. That’s what I do.”

He nods, and for the first time since you met him, you’re not nervous about what he’ll say next. You feel comfortable with him, safe even, and you’re not sure what it is about this little drive that’s flipped that switch, but you think he might feel the same way.

“Does it pay well?” He asks, a playfulness in his tone that you haven’t seen in him before. It’s like he’s lit up over the course of your conversation.

You grin, meeting his eyes properly now, where he draws away for a moment at a time to check the road but lets his gaze fall back on you straight after. 

“Better than contracting,” you sass. You’re not sure where the cockiness comes from, whether you’re matching his tone or you just feel that comfortable with him, and for a moment you’re worried you’ve offended him with the joke.

But then he laughs.

It’s not hysterics, but it isn’t an amused ‘huff’ either. It’s like a giggle, a bright, giddy laugh that spreads across his face and makes his eyes light up like stars in the sky. It’s beautiful. It’s sweet.

You tell him as much.

“You have a pretty smile.”

He slows a little, his mouth quickly reigning in its smile and his chest no longer bubbling with that sweetness it had before. But he doesn’t look angry, or offended. He looks as though he’s not quite sure what to do. Like no one’s ever told him that before.

“Thank you,” he whispers, the words quickly blowing away with the wind through the open window. You smile in reply, and he watches, neither of you seeming to notice that he’s stopped the car and you’ve reached your destination. Neither of you move.

And then he says the sweetest words you’ve ever heard. 

“So do you.”

It’s gentle, mumbled so lowly you almost think he doesn’t want you to hear it, and yet it hits you in the chest like a lorry. 

You’ve been told that before, of course you have. You’re a Barbie. Whether it’s the other Barbies complementing one another, or the Kens trying to flirt, or Allen just being the nice guy he is, you’ve heard those words before. 

But you’ve never heard them like this, like they’re hard to say, but they need to be said anyway. 

It’s powerful.

You smile again, so does he. You stay in the car a little while longer, in silence again, but it’s a silence laced with comfort and feelings you don’t know how to label. Until he finally breaks the spell, climbing out of the car and helping you out on your side.

He spends the day showing you his work, how to plan builds, how to measure up wood and mark all the right places to cut it. You learn there’s a key named after Allen, and Joel snorts when you tell him how excited you are to let him know that. He even lets you hammer a few nails, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart flutter when he puts his arms around you to guide your movements, his breath in your ear.

And things are good after that day. Really good.

The three of you spend time together, as much as you can, almost like a family. You’ve never experienced family before, true family, but when you’re sat on the sofa with Sarah on a cushion on the floor and Joel to your side, just out of reach, you wonder if this is what it means to be home.

Of course, you quickly understand what Sarah means when she says she’s lonely. You know exactly where that feeling in your chest is coming from, because the times he’s with you are so fleeting, so far and few inbetween, that it feels like gold dust when you have him and like a black hole when you don’t.

And it’s only been a week before you realise just what it means, these feelings, and how they’re not like anything you’ve felt before.

Sarah reads you like a book, cornering you one day as you play dress up in her room. 

“So, you like my Dad?” She asks, a knowing smirk already painted on her lips.

You splutter for a moment, trying to think of a rebuttal, but you give up because you know she has you nailed down. You know she knows.

“Is it that obvious?” You wince, making her grin spread even further. 

“Only, like, all the time,” she laughs, and you flip down on the bed dramatically, making her laugh more. “You know he likes you too, right?”

You sit up again in a flash, eyes wide and searching hers. She raises a brow as you stare, your mind racing - she wouldn’t joke about that, would she? “How do you know?” You ask.

She rolls her eyes, taking a seat beside you on the bed. “Oh come on, man. It’s so obvious. He always talks about you, Barbie said this, Barbie did that’.” She mocks his deep southern drawl, making you giggle. “And he’s always looking at you.”

You blush - you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed. You suppose a part of you just never let yourself believe he could feel the same way.

“What do you think I should do?” You’re nervous now, unsure of yourself. Unsure if this is real.

Sarah smiles, a cheeky sort of grin that doesn’t make you feel particularly at ease, and pats your knee with her hand. “Leave it with me.”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

She calls you down that night, late, not long after Joel came home from work. You switch off the documentary you were watching, something about the animal kingdom, one that amazed you with all the creatures that walk the earth around you. 

You tiptoe down the stairs, calling out Sarah’s name when you can’t find her in the front room, confused. You hear her again, distantly, like she’s outside, and you follow the sound through the kitchen and out the back door, where you’re greeted with the alluring smell of a sizzling barbecue.

“What is this?” You ask, stepping fully outside and taking in the scene. The backyard, usually overgrown and unkept, is littered with fairylights that wrap around the patio columns and line the fence right down to the end. The Miller’s barbecue is fired up, with an array of vegetable skewers and sausages and burgers cooking on top, Sarah proudly stood beside it in her apron while Joel watches, concerned.

Joel. He’s sat at the little table she’s put together, a round glass one with mismatched chairs on either side. He’s dressed up - his hair looks neater than usual, like he’s put extra care into styling it properly. His shirt isn’t plaid, or denim; it’s a light blue colour that matches the brown of his eyes so wonderfully. He looks nervous.

“Hi,” he says, gentle and soft. Your eyes must be wide and confused, because he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at Sarah for support. She rolls her eyes - again - and puts down the tongs she’d been using to flip the burgers. 

“You two are so boring pining over each other. So, I’ve set up a date!” She grins, turning back to the food without a care in the world.

You nod, taking another step forward, looking back toward Joel and not bothering to fight the smile that spreads on your face. 

He doesn’t fight his, either. 

You reach out for the chair opposite him, but before you can, he’s standing up and pulling it out for you, his eyes meeting yours.

Not one of the Kens have ever pulled out a seat for you, you think, thanking Joel and sitting on the little chair. He returns to his own seat, clearing his throat and pouring you a drink; red wine, a new favourite of yours since he introduced you to it. 

Sarah plates up the food, setting it down in front of you in a dramatic waiter-style fashion. 

“You’re certainly my daughter, huh?” Joel asks, pride in his eyes as he looks at the food, which you have to admit looks pretty damn good.

“The student has become the master,” she quips, and your heart melts at the sweet moment between the two. 

“Now, you two enjoy. I’ll be in my room. If you need anything… get it yourself. The kitchen is literally right there.”

You and Joel roll your eyes as Sarah bows out, laughing at her own jokes and giving a final wave as she heads into the house, leaving you both alone.

“So,” you begin, unsure of what to say.

“So.” Joel mimics, though you don’t think he plans to say anything after that. He’s not one to initiate conversation.

But then again, people can change. 

“You look really nice,” he says, his eyes so heavy set on you that it makes you feel flush. You look down, at the old baggy top you’re wearing over grey sweats, and you’re suddenly self conscious compared to his nice shirt and carefully-put hair.

“I don’t,” you reply, embarrassed. “I look like a mess.”

He interjects immediately. “No. You don’t. How could you? I mean you’re literally - you’re -“ he can’t find his words.

You finish the sentence for him. “A Barbie.”

“Yeah.”

You’re not sure why it makes you feel the way that it does. Sad. Like you’re not quite real to him, a novelty. He sighs, and for all the time you’ve spent with him by now, you can’t read what’s going on behind the man’s eyes at all.

You sit in silence for a short while, enjoying Sarah’s food, drinking wine. There’s something hanging in the air, heavy and strange, and neither of you know how to address it.

It surprises you when Joel finally breaks the silence again. “Do you miss home?” He asks, pouring you another glass.

You think for a moment. You answer honestly. “I don’t know.” His eyebrow quirks, motioning for you to continue.

“There was a time when I’d have never even dreamed of leaving Barbieland. When I didn’t want anything to change. But things are different now, since Ster- since Barbara left. Everyone thinks differently, feels differently. It’s a very different place. And suddenly everything that made me love Barbieland doesn’t matter to me anymore. The perfect wardrobe, the perfect house, the perfect life. None of that matters. It’s the things here, in this world, that matter.”

“What things?” Joel asks, and it’s only now that you notice his hand has migrated across the table, holding your much smaller one. You wrap your fingers around his, revelling in the small squeeze he gives you, fighting back a smile.

You’re staring at your interlocked hands when you answer. “Family. Purpose.” 

You look at him. “Love.”

He breathes out, like he’s letting something go, something that made him scared but doesn’t anymore. You squeeze his hand.

The rest of the night goes smoothly. It’s sweet, comfortable. It’s nice. 

Until you put your foot in it.

“Do you still feel lonely?” Joel asks, the buzz of red wine making his drawl even heavier.

You smile, glossy eyes doting on him, hands still intertwined. “Well, I felt lonely because Sarah felt lonely. So… no. I feel good.”

Joel frowns, his head tilts. “Do you know why she felt like that?”

You’re not sure how to approach this with him. It’s something you’ve thought about, pondered for days, turned over and over in your mind with no good resolution.

You know exactly why she felt like that. She told you as much.

My Dad’s never here. He’s always away, working. I don’t see him.

But you also know it’s a truth he won’t accept. Not easily, at least.

“Well,” you begin, treading lightly. “I think she just… misses you, Joel. Misses her Dad.”

He’s confused. He pulls away from you, his grip on your hand loosens. “But I’m here.” It’s an assertion, challenging your suggestion.

“I know, I know. But you’re not… you’re not here. You come home from work late, you’re tired, you go to bed. You wake up and before we can even say ‘good morning’ you’re out the door again, going to work.”

His jaw flickers, in that same way it did when you first met. He’s angry. 

“I do what i have to do to support my family,” he grumbles, fully retracting his hand now. You feel the loss of his touch instantly, in your heart. 

That same loneliness sets in again, but it’s not Sarah’s anymore. No, it belongs solely, wholly, to you.

You try to placate him. “I know, Joel, I know. I get it. I just -”

“Just what?” He interrupts you, and you pause, scared to speak. Scared to mess this up.

“She needs you to talk to her. She needs you to listen to her. She needs you to hold her and let her know she’s not alone. She doesn’t see that right now, Joel.”

He doesn’t reply, just stares into space, arms folded. Guarded.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“‘That how it works in Barbieland? Everyone gets what they want, everyone’s happy?” He asks, agitated.

You shake your head. “No, Joel, I-”

“‘Cos that’s not how the real world works, sweetheart. Everythin’ ain’t perfect. The trees ain’t made of cotton fuckin’ candy.” He sneers, mocking you, and the words pierce through you like knives.

“And I ain’t taking parenting advice from no Barbie doll.” 

That really, really hurts.

And it makes you angry, because for all your faults and weaknesses, being a Barbie certainly isn’t one of them.

“Why are you being so defensive?” You ask, your tone rising to match his. “You know I'm right. All that girl wants is her Dad, not a stranger who’s barely there, not a ghost that puts food on the table but won’t even come home on time for her. She wants her Dad, Joel.”

He stands, slamming his palms on the glass with so much force you fear it’ll shatter. He doesn’t shout, but his words are sharp, pointed, and they land exactly where he intended them to.

“You have no idea what it’s like. You’re stuck in your fantasy world, where everything’s pink, but you haven’t got a clue what it’s like to live in the real world. So why don’t you head back to your special Barbieland and leave the actual living, the hard parts, to the rest of us, huh?”

Tears threaten to spill on your cheeks, your eyes burning from the strain of holding them back. “Joel, you don’t mean that-”

“Yes, I do. Just… just get out of my house.” 

He walks away from the table, crossing his arms and facing away from you, staring out into the night. You nod, to yourself if no one else, breaking your strength as a sob racks through your body. You clasp a shaking hand to your mouth, not wanting him to hear you, but you see the way his shoulders clench. He heard. 

He doesn’t react further, though. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t make sure you’re okay.

So you do what he said. You leave.

You stalk past Sarah, wiping away the onslaught of tears that have taken hold now, ignoring her as she shouts between you and Joel. “Guys? What’s going on?”

She doesn't follow you upstairs, choosing to give you space and speak to her Dad instead, you think. You text Barbara, asking her to pick you up, and shove your clothes into your bag as quickly as you can in spite of your blurred vision and the messy hair that covers your face. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been, you’d have only thought seconds if you didn’t know Barbara’s hotel was at least 10 minutes away, but you hear her beep the horn from outside and follows its direction.

Sarah’s waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. You look down the hall, where Joel sits at the kitchen counter, arms still folded and head down.

“Please,” Sarah begs, “don’t go.” She’s crying, and it makes your heart hurt more.

“I have to.” 

You try to move past her, but she stops you, blocking the way with her body. “Sarah, I have to,” you repeat, choking on your own sobs.

“Why?” She shouts, hot tears staining her face. “My Dad told me what happened. You’re right. He’s wrong, he’s always wrong. He’s never here, but you are, and now you’re leaving me like everyone else. Like my Mom.”

Your nose scrunches. More tears fall. Your chest hurts. “I’m not your Mom, Sarah. And your Dad… he loves you. He loves you so much. Promise me you’ll remember that, okay? He loves you. I love you.”

She doesn’t stop you when you try to leave again. You all but run out the door, the once comfortable night air now painful as it hits your wet cheeks, ice cold. Barbara looks at you with more concern than you’ve seen her with before, more than when she discovered the Mojo Dojo Casa Houses, but you say nothing as you get in the car. You just stare straight ahead, and she drives.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

“I’m so sorry, Barbie. I never thought it’d end like this.”

Barbara’s holding your hands, reluctant to let go. You don’t know when you’ll see her again. “It’s not your fault,” you reply, and it’s true. It’s not her fault. It’s yours.

“And it isn’t yours, Barbie,” she retorts, like she can read your mind. You just nod, unconvincing, but she doesn’t push it.

You hug her, for the millionth time since she took you home from Joel and Sarah’s house, since she flew back to LA with you. And now here you are, at Venice Beach with your roller skates on, going back to the place you’ve always called home.

So why does it feel like you’re going anywhere but?

“Thank you for everything, Barbara. I mean it.” You pull back, wiping a tear from her cheek and smiling the best you can, your own tears rolling down your face like the skaters behind you.

She smiles back, and though she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. You know she loves you. You know she’ll miss you.

And with that, you pull away, pushing on each skate until you’re rolling away from the real world and back into your own. Back where you belong, where you’re supposed to be. Where you’re actually wanted.

There are people pointing, laughing at you as you skate past them, but you don’t care. You haven’t cared about anything since last night.

You can see the snowscape ahead, the next part of your journey. Your next step towards Barbieland and a world of pink perfection.

A world that isn’t the same to you now.

You’re nearly there, about to switch skates for the snowmobile, when a familiar, desperate voice comes from behind you.

“Barbie! Barbie, wait!”

You brake, skates screeching on the ground, as you turn to search for him in the crowd.

And there he is, Joel, clinging to a ramp on the left side of the park with the most ridiculous pair of neon green roller skates you’ve ever seen.

“Joel?” You call, immediately rolling over to him when you realise how much he’s struggling. If you weren’t so filled with the joy of seeing him here, you’d laugh at the state he’s in; eyes wide and legs falling beneath him, clearly not used to roller skating. “What are you doing here?”

“I- I wanted to- jesus, if I could just stand up-” You giggle, and he shoots you a look, which just makes you laugh harder. You help him up, laying a gentle hand on his chest as he nearly falls again, your other hand clinging to his waist as he finally finds his balance.

He’s blushing, embarrassed, but there’s something else in his eyes as they finally settle on you and he sighs. “Barbie, I’m so sorry.”

You’re not sure where to look. At him, at your hands, at those ridiculous roller skates he’s wearing. Of course, you can’t pull your eyes from him, anyway.

“It’s - it’s okay. You were right anyway, I’m not-”

“No, no,” he interrupts, placing both hands on your cheeks and quickly stumbling as he loses his balance again without the support of the rail. You hold him, giggling as he almost brings you both down, though you manage to keep him upright and he laughs right there with you.

“Jesus, this is embarrassing,” he finally huffs, and your head falls against his chest. When you raise it again, he’s already looking at you, with those big brown eyes that you never want to forget.

“I wasn’t right. I was an asshole. A huge, insecure asshole.” You try to shake your head, to disagree, but he doesn’t let you. “Just let me say this,” he begs. You let him.

“You were right. I haven’t been there for her. I haven’t been the Dad she needs me to be. I’m just… I’m just scared. Of not being good enough. Of letting her down. So I work, and come home late, and leave early, and I convince myself it’s the right thing to do. But I’m hurting her. And I hurt you.”

There’s pain in his eyes, and it pains you as if they were your own. 

“I haven’t seen Sarah this happy in a long time,” he continues, resting a hand on your cheek again, carefully this time. “Barbie, I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”

You don’t know what to say. You take your hand from his waist, tentative, making sure the other one is stable on his chest. You place it over his where it rests on your cheek, folding your fingers around his own, and turning to press a gentle kiss into his palm. He mumbles something, you don’t hear what, but from the look in his eyes you think you know.

“Don’t go,” he begs. “Don’t - don’t go back there. I want you here. You belong here.”

You look into his eyes. You know he means it. 

And so you do the only thing that makes any sense in this moment. 

You kiss him.

You’re careful to keep him upright, but he seems to have stopped caring about that; instead both hands are on you again, frantic, holding you tight like he never wants to lose you again.

When you finally break the kiss, neither of you pull away from one another, your foreheads connected and breaths intertwined. 

“Okay,” you gasp, pulling on his shirt. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Joel closes his eyes again, sighing in relief as you finally release your other hand, touching it to his neck and feeling the rapid pulse that beats against it. You’re holding one another so closely, so tightly, that there’s no way he can fall now.

“You’ll come back to Texas?” He asks, like he still doesn’t quite believe you.

You nod again, giggling at the joy that spreads on his face, though it’s quickly muffled when he kisses you again. And again, and again and again until you’re breathless and sweaty and no longer sure which of you needs help staying upright the most.

You help him turn, wrapping your arms around his waist and supporting him as you try to make your way back across the park, and only then do you see Barbara and Sarah stood to the sidelines, watching, smiling.

You realise Sarah has her phone out, pointed at her Dad, and you’re pretty sure Joel sees it too but before he can say anything, he slips again and falls flat on his bum on the floor, bringing you right down with him.

You gasp, cushioned by his chest and his protective arms around you, laughing hysterically as he groans and sits up. You watch as his face turns from pain into anger, his eyes fixated on something ahead, and you think you know what it is-

“Sarah! Delete that video right now!”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

Tag list: @vickie5446 @skysmiller @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @letmehavemyfictionalmen

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller x yn #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x barbie!reader #poeticbarnes writes #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #barbie #barbie movie

[mulansaucey]

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts.

Azriel x Reader

Prompt: Rita has a new supply of Moonshine and gives a jar to the IC. This creates a blacked out drunk Azriel.

Warnings: alcohol use, flirting, suggestive, mentions of sex, drunken behavior. Let me know if I left anything out.

Note: Literally sitting in bed when I had this idea. This is just for fun and I hope you enjoy!

Music playing in the halls of Rita’s surrounds the Inner Circle as well as laughter. Shot glasses banging against their table, squeals of joy from seeing the glasses of those pretty cocktails that Feyre and Mor like so much, and the beautiful smile that graces my mates face. Tonight is for fun and bonding.

Azriel has been on a month long mission just returning to me a few days ago where we cooped up in our cozy home, enjoying the song of our mating bond before returning to society. When he’s gone, there’s a hole in my chest. Color, music, art becomes void. Life is not as exciting without him by my side. Even after decades of being married and mated the bond is still alive and thriving as if it was still the night he took a bite out of that meal I made him to accept him as my mate.

I’m an accomplished fae. I’ve strategized wars, wrote countless books on the plant life of Prythian that has helped healers cultivate new medicines, and have helped the Inner Circle for almost two centuries now. When he’s away, I keep myself occupied and have my job to thank for that but that aching feeling doesn’t go away.

That’s the strength of a mating bond, it brings males to their knees. It brought Azriel to his. Our souls submitting to one another and refusing to settle for anything less than each other.

“What’s so interesting, love?” Azriel teases as I can’t my eyes off him. Those hazel eyes trail over me, even in the haze of faelights it feels like he can see every inch of me. He bites his lip as if he’s recalling just a few hours ago when he was biting the meat of my thighs. I know I am. Heat rises in my cheeks as he laughs and leans down to the leg of my chair and pulls me closer to him. The bond between thrums with satisfaction that our beings are even closer now. His hand finds the back of my neck and he caresses.

“You, my heart. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of you.” I tease him back.

The shots making my mind looser and my flirty tendencies arise. I’m a horny drunk when it comes to this male. Who wouldn’t?

Azriel raises his brows and smirks. He leans down to press a sweet kiss then pulls back.

“You are lovely in this dress. I can’t wait to rip it off you tonight.” He says as he presses sweet kisses along my cheek and jaw.

“Azriel you better not! It’s embarrassing having to keep going to the tailor because you have no self control.”

“Self control? We’ll see how much self control I have later, you’ll begging for me I promise you that.” He laughs.

Suddenly a heavy presence can be felt behind us. I don’t even have to turn to know it’s Cassian.

He slaps the back of Azriel’s chair and loudly yells, “Stop the heavy petting and come to the bar, Rita just got a new drink called ‘Moonshine’ it’s apparently a lot stronger than any wine or whiskey.”

Cassian doesn’t wait for an answer and picks me up while yelling over his shoulder, “If you want her, Az you gotta come get her!” We leave a trail of giggles as my grumpy mate follows.

Azriel trusts his brother and knows Cassian just missed him and wants to have fun. It’s why he doesn’t cut off his hands for touching my body.

Cassian drops me on a bar stool and leans over to drop a sloppy kiss to Nesta’s cheek as she bats him. From the corner of my eye though I can see her pulling him back to her to give him a proper kiss. I’m happy for my friends as they had a very tumultuous start to their mate ship. As I’m trying not to be nosy in my friends business Azriel comes to stand behind me, strategically blocking me from any other males or females view. Azriel is selfish when it comes to me. I can’t blame him, he’s waited centuries for me. And I him.

Rita walks up to us with a jar of clear liquid. It looks innocent, like water, but knowing her that liquid will make you regret ever being born. But that’s the appeal to Rita. She knows how to have fun and has quality supply.

“Alright ladies and gentlebats this is Moonshine. It’s technically whiskey but its process makes the alcohol stronger and you drunker quicker. I will give you a shot, on the house, if you like it I’ll sell a jar to you. This stuff is no joke and illegal in some courts. More recently our High Lord and Lady gave me the okay to produce it.” Rita winks to Feyre and Rhys.

We all look over them and Rhys shrugs, “Feyre wanted to try it, I couldn’t say no.”

We all laugh at the lack of ability our friend has to say no to his wife. I see Feyre eye the glass with excitement.

“Feyre you do the honors of first shot!” I yell out as she takes the glass and downs it in one gulp.

She freezes and we wait on bated breath. Her eye twitches and she gives a full body shiver. We break in laughter at her funny reaction as she immediately takes her fruity cocktail from Rhys, who was mid sip, and takes a few gulps.

Feyre’s face twist in disgust as she tells us, “That’ll definitely get you fucked up, I feel like I’ve grown chest hair.”

Laughter fills our area again. Rhys presses a kiss against Feyre’s head as he reaches for his own shot glass. Each of us besides Amren and Varian, who are currently in Summer, reach for our own. I clank my shot glass against Azriel’s and down my shot. I immediately regret this decision as pure alcohol burns my throat. It’s worse than the tonics Madja gives us. At least we get some what rewarded for that. I put my glass down and look over at my mate. His free hand softly rubbing my upper back, he downs the shot and smack his lips.

“It’s definitely strong but I don’t mind it.” Azriel says to the group.

I pout at him and say, “Of course it doesn’t bother you, Shadowsinger.” He rolls his eyes and moves his hand from the back of my neck to the front. Slowly moving my head back so far I have no choice but to look at him and only him.

“It’s Shadowsinger now is it?” He smirks down at me. Before I can reply peanuts that Rita supplies generously across her bar are being pelted at us. Azriel loosens his hold on me as we both turn to our family.

“You two are like bunnies, I feel like I need to spray you two with a bottle of water.” Nesta says.

I gasp and laugh out, “Like you have any room to talk! The House of Wind is contaminated with you and Cassian’s fluids.” All I get is more peanuts being thrown at me. The two of us dissolve into giggles as I throw them back at her. Cassian and Azriel having to take it away.

Cassian then turns his attention to Rita watching us in amusement.

“We’ll take a jar please, you always know how to make me feel good.” He winks at her. Rita rolls her eyes and passes him the jar.

“I’m charging you extra for that little stunt.” She says back to him.

“Oh c’mon that was a compliment! You’ve got the best stuff in the city.” He argues as Nesta shushes him. Nesta opted out of drinking, instead preferring to smoke mirthroot.

We all go back to our designated booth empty shit glasses in tow. We decide to play truth or drink. Azriel being the secretive person he is rather take the shot then tell the truth. I have a feeling he just wants to indulge the rare drink. I don’t blame him, he works hard for his court and he’s allowed to drop his inhibitions. Ever since we’ve gotten together I’ve taught him about self care and allowing one self to enjoy the moment. The centuries of training and spy work are still instilled in him, something even I can’t take away. But with the love of his mate and family he’s allowed himself to be happy.

I didn’t like the moonshine so I stuck to my cocktails then water, as I had a feeling someone needed to be more sober than the others. Azriel takes his eighth shot when he freezes. I still, looking around to see if anything was amiss. When I look back at him I see him smiling.

“You are a rare jewel.” He says so casually. Looking at me like I’m the only person in the world. He reaches over to brush my hair out of my eyes when instead he pokes me. This clumsy move tells me, he’s drunk. He giggles as I jump back slightly from a literal finger poking my eye.

“I’m so sorry love. Wow your skin is so soft.” Azriel starts touching my face in fascination. He then pulls me into his strong embrace. The awkward is angle but he just sighs constantly. Happy to be holding me. He starts petting my hair as if I’m a cute kitten.

The confused yet amused looks across the table have me pulling back from my mates embrace when he loudly says, “Noooooo, don’t leave me. I was so comfortable.”

I can hear and see Rhys and Cass laughing and clutching each other. Azriel RARELY gets drunk. I feel bad, maybe I should’ve limited how much he could drink since it’s not his usual stuff. Azriel has a fairly high tolerance for his usual whiskey or beer. Eight shots of his regular choice of drink would be nothing but him drinking moonshine has him reacting differently. I feel a little guilty but Azriel has carried me home and taken care of me plenty of times. Tonight I promise myself to return the favor.

“I know my heart, but I need a glass of water and so do you. I’ll be right back, I promise.” I caress his face and he looks at me with so much love I almost don’t want to go even if it’s a few minutes.

“Okay, hurry back. Take a shadow.” He says with a pout. A shadow always sticks with me regardless of his command or not. I shove my love down our bond for his thoughtfulness. Azriel gives me a goofy grin and pushes his love down to me.

“I need a drink, c’mon. Lover boy will be just fine.” Feyre says as she drags me away from my mate.

His eyes trailing after me until Cass and Rhys grab his shoulders to get his attention. Knowing my mate is in safe hands has me turning to Feyre. We talk a little about her art studio and Nyx. She confesses to having a bit of Mom guilt when she goes out. The alcohol making her a bit weepy from missing her son. I distract her by dragging her to the dance floor, after checking to make sure Azriel was still with the boys and has a glass of water.

After a few songs Mor and Nesta join us. I still keep an eye on my mate, making sure he’s okay and having fun. The next time I turn my eyes to him he’s gone. Panic fills my chest as I look around the bar for him. When I look up to the second floor I see him and his brother attempting to climb the rail. At that moment I decide it’s time to go home. I grab the girls and haul their asses the second floor before any of our mates cracks their skull open. The boys had way more moonshine than we did.

We successfully get them away from the railing, I grab Azriel’s face and he gently shoves me off of him. I frown at him, water lining my eyes at his rejection towards me. I go to ask him what’s wrong but before I do he tells me, “I am a mated male! You can not touch me.”

He sways a little grabbing onto Rhys for support. Rhys is already getting yelled at by his High Lady but she stops to turn to Azriel in amusement.

“What did he just say?” Feyre says to me. I stay silent for a moment realizing the situation. I slightly smile at my mates loyalty even though it is me who is touching him. I tell Feyre to grab Rhys and I can handle Azriel.

“Azriel, my heart. It’s me, I’m your mate.” I tell him gently helping him find his balance.

“I don’t want to go home with you. I want my mate. She will take care of me. I don’t need you.” As he’s still struggling to walk. I ignore him and help him down the stairs all the while he’s protesting insisting he has a wife and mate waiting for him at home. I roll my eyes fondly. Knowing it’s going to a rough walk home. He insists that I only touch his arm.

“I am a gentleman and my wife would be mad I let you walk home alone but I am not sharing a bed with you. She is only one I share my bed with. I love her.” He says to me, total seriousness.

I take a look at him noting his shirt is wrinkled from Cassian constantly grabbing onto him, his hair is wild, and his walk is staggered. I make a mental note to never let him drink Moonshine again. He trips slightly making me grab onto his back and front. He looks at me weirdly and takes my hands off his body.

“I don’t know youuuu. My body is reserved for my wife, I am fine with walking on my own.” His words are sloppy and he trips again. Laughing at him I ignore his protests and guide him to our shared home. The walk is a struggle as he keeps tripping yet insisting I keep my hands off him. I shove my love down the bond hoping he’ll recognize me that way. I feel more assured that even if I wasn’t with him and he was drunk he’d always come home to me. I hear him sigh with content and he lazily slaps his chest.

“This here, in my heart, she’s calling to me. I need to go home to her. I can feel her. I want to go home.” He pouts.

“Okay big guy, I’m gonna get you home to her. I’m sure she misses you.” I say, playing along. If I play along I’m hoping it’ll make him more amiable.

“She does! I can feel her even when I’m miles and miles away. I miss her too. Sometimes when I’m in the same room as her, I miss her. I just want her all to my self.” He confesses, I notice he’s started to slowly relax letting me guide him home. The thought of seeing me being his motivator. My heart is fluttering seeing him like this. Azriel is usually so smooth and calculated. His words to me sound like poetry, like a crafted song made just for me to hear. Now he’s confessing his love to, how he perceives, a stranger. Apart of me knows that he must know it’s me. Even if it’s deep down. But I can’t help but feel so special to him.

I finally spot our home, the sight of our porch makes me let an out a sound of relief.

Azriel looks to what I see and goes, “How do you know where I live? I don’t remember telling you. I wouldn’t have told you! I told you that I don’t want to go home with you.” He pushes himself away from me stumbling to our small gate. He struggled to unlock and me being exhausted from helping a 6’5 Illryian male slap his hands away and move to open it. He rubs his hand where I slapped and looks at me with a pout.

“Oh you’re okay! Stop being a baby and come inside please.” I tell him, laughing lightly at him. He moves to walk past me but turns before I can even take a step on the porch.

“This is as far as you can go. My wife will not be disrespected by having another female in our home.” He says with a serious face. The message isn’t as threatening since he’s still swaying and eyes glossed over. I smile at him and make a move to walk around him but he pushes his arms out, clumsily I might add, and repeats what he just said. I hold my arms up in surrender to this ridiculous statement.

“Azriel, my heart. I am your wife, you are mated to me. And I want to be in our bed and snuggle. Don’t you?” I ask giving him my best puppy dog eye. I don’t even know if it’ll work if the liquor made him forget who I was entirely. He goes to reply when he bends over to his side and pukes. I rush to his side and rub his back. He stand up again and leans against a pillar on our porch. His face smushed against it I can faintly hear.

“I want my mate…I’m not going home with you.” I roll eyes, trying not to get upset with him because it isn’t his fault and I know I’m not a doll to be around when I’m drunk. I walk towards our door, it unlocks automatically due to the ward Azriel insisted on placing. I try to gently push him inside. His wings knocking over a vase I was gifted from a past High Lord of Summer, I grimace as the antique lays broken on the floor. He looks around for what made the loud sound and he gasps loudly as if I was the one broken on the floor.

“My wife is going to kill me! Fuck, fuck, shit. Oh my gods I need to go to summer now! I need to go before she notices it’s broken.” He says making a move for the door. I immediately put a stop to that and drag him to our bedroom. I think he’s exhausted himself and flops down on the bed. Not making any moves. I start unlacing his boot and once I’ve got them off I go for his pants.

He slaps my hands away and goes, “I can undress myself. You have no right to touch me there! Go home before my wife finds you, she’ll kill you. My mate is verrrry possessive of me. She won’t like youuuu.” He sings at me.

He starts giggling and taking off his pants and shirt while moving to grab my pillow and holds onto it like it’s the answer of all his prayers.

“I miss her so much. I’m in bed but she isn’t here. It smells like her, I never want to smell anything again. Only her.” I make a face at him, I didn’t see how that makes sense but he’s drunk so I don’t question it. I make sure he has a glass of water and is tucked into bed before I make my move to join him. As soon as I start to move the cover he jolts back up, still clutching my pillow.

“Thank you for taking me home but I insist you take the couch. I will never share a bed with another female. I will not have our marriage bed tainted by a stranger.” He says eyeing me like I’m the King of Hybern resurrected.

“Enough, sweetheart. Tonight has been really funny and sweet but I want to sleep. Don’t you want to cuddle?” I say, I glance at the clock noting the late hour. He doesn’t make a move and stays silent. Giving me the answer I needed.

“As I stated you can take the couch as thank you but you have to leave before my WIFE comes home.” Azriel states, emphasizing the wife part as if I’m the drunken one.

“Okay I give up, I’m sleeping on the couch. Goodnight my love.” I say stealing a quick kiss from him that leaves him stuttering and blushing.

“Y-you just kissed me! That’s so rude, that’s-“ I close the door cutting off his rant. I go down the hall for our closet where we keep the extra blankets and pillows. I settle in our large and comfy couch that Azriel insisted on getting when we moved in. I’m now thankful he insisted. I start laughing recalling the night. Tonight was stressful but has shown me how loved I am. I have a male who’s loyal and kind. Even when he thought I was a stranger he wanted to walk me home so I wasn’t alone. I’m thankful to call him mine. I’m thankful to be his. I drift off to sleep with a soft smile, excited to tease him to no end in the morning for this stunt he pulled tonight.

——

Sunlight enters my home, the warmth of it caressing my cheek. I nuzzle closer to the warmth when I realize it’s Azriel’s hand. He’s sitting on the floor, his hair is a mess and he’s laying his head down close to mine. His eyes look groggy and I can tell he didn’t have a good sleep.

“Where were you last night? I couldn’t sleep without you.” He whispers gently, as if the sound of his own voice made his head ache.

I start laughing loudly, Azriel flinching back and rubbing his head. I start laughing so hard I start crying. My mate looks at me unamused.

“I’m sorry my love. But you literally kicked me out of our bed and made me sleep here. You insisted.” I tell him, laughter seeping through my words.

His mouth drops down in shock. He’s still rubbing his head and I feel bad so I start massaging his scalp the way I know he likes. I gets himself up off the floor and into my awaiting arms. Azriel secretly loves being the small spoon so I baby him and rub down his back and up into his scalp. The mating bond compelling me to make sure he’s okay and loved.

I start recalling the night for him. Apparently after that eighth shot he completely blacked out. He doesn’t remember a single thing from last night past that point. He grumbles and hides his face in my neck. His words coming out muffled.

“I’m so sorry. I hate not being in control like that. I’m sorry for treating you like that.” He says while pressing kisses on my neck and he squeezes me even tighter.

“It’s okay, you’ve taken care of me plenty of times when I’m drunk. I’m glad you were having fun and it was really sweet of you to defend my honor and our bond even if it was me. I love you so much for it.” I tell him making sure his eyes were on me. I cradled his face, caressing the scars and stubble that reside there. He leans down to give me soft kiss once, twice, three times before he nuzzles his nose against mine.

Azriel may be hard to read, stoic, and cold to everyone else but here, in the privacy and intimacy of our home he’s lovable and soft. A privilege to be able to see this of side. The decades of trust and memories helping him become a more loving person.

“How are you feeling though?” I ask him, he groans and lays his head down.

“I feel like absolute death. Actually death would be more merciful than what I’m feeling now.” My mate, the dramatic. I go to move to make him some tea and a light meal for his tummy but he just holds me tighter.

“Just stay for a little longer, I finally feel better now that I’m with you.”

Who am I to resist and say no? So I settle in and relishbeing with my mate and husband. Enjoying a quiet morning after such a loud night.

#azriel acosf #azriel fluff #azriel imagines #acotar funny #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel being drunk #inner circle #azriel acotar

[luveline]

Okay but what about Eddie and reader having been going strong for awhile and Eddie wants to take things further and ask reader to marry him, but he wants to ask Roan’s permission first bc he cares about her opinion.

I thought this was so cute! it's almost entirely eddie and roan but r is mentioned lots and lots and is also a bit long my bad 🥺 ♡ fem!reader

He really wants to get you a ring.

Eddie Munson can be stupid. He makes rash decisions all the time. He bets on the wrong horses and he's almost always late to parent-teacher conferences. He buys Roan's clothes by holding them up to her body in the middle of the store and asking her if she likes them. He knows there's a thousand wrong decisions to make and half of them he's already made, but he really thinks this is the right one.

He just needs Roan to agree.

You're at your own place for once. Not for Eddie's lack of trying — he'd asked you to move in twice already, and though you'd kissed him silly and told him you loved him an insane amount, you'd reasoned that you should keep your place. (Though you had, in a way, moved in anyhow.)

"I don't want us to rush anything, Eddie," you'd said carefully, eyes on Roan's dark head of hair across the room. He'd followed your gaze. "I don't want to be the evil step-mom."

He'd promised that could never, ever happen.

He probably shouldn't have. While Roan literally loves you so much it makes her cry, things can change.

Right now, Roan thinks that she's sharing Eddie, and she's doing a great job at adapting to all the changes that come with that. Your clothes in his room, your coats on the hangers. Your work stuff where her princess ponies used to live, your fancy shampoo next to her jellybean two-in-one. Getting married would make you her bona fide mom. Eddie's not sure Roan realises that she's the one who'd be getting shared.

Though you act like you're her mom already. It's one of the many reasons he loves you. You've never once made Eddie feel bad for being a dad, or for having Roan full time. You genuinely miss her when she's at Wayne's. You love his daughter. You play games and you sing songs and you cuddle her whenever you can. You wash her hair and take care of her curls, you do plaits and bows and bunches. You'd learned how to do all of that stuff without ever having been asked.

Eddie wants to marry you so badly it's a physical ache.

Which is why he's as scared as he is to ask her about it.

"Roan?" he calls, stretched out over the couch with a coke can on his chest. Moping, maybe.

"What?" she calls back, voice littler still because of the distance.

"Are you busy?"

He hears the tap running and then she appears, water dripping down to her wrists. Eddie swaps her for the coke can, rubbing her wet hands dry with the excess fabric of his shirt.

She sits on his stomach. She's incredibly big and small at the same time.

"What, dad?"

"I got something to ask you."

Roan squirms until Eddie brings his legs up to let her lean against his thighs like a chair.

"It's a big question," he says tentatively.

Roan crosses her arms in front of her, hands on his stomach. "Like, big as you?"

"Right. Super big."

She nods thoughtfully before flashing a huge, charming smile. "Okay."

Eddie lifts his hands to her small face, tucking her freshly shorn locks behind her ears. Long hair like daddy had been a good idea in theory, but she just can't stand all the fuss of it.

"I'm asking because... You're five now. And I know you have lots of big feelings. I wanna know what you think about-" He doesn't chicken out, per se, more like opens softly midway through. "Uh, how you feel about Y/N."

Roan wrinkles her nose. "I love her."

"I know you do. And you don't mind that she spends so much time here?"

Again, Roan looks perplexed. How many times has she cried now because she wants to see you and you're busy? How many times has Eddie told her you can't spend all your time here? It probably doesn't make much sense to her that he'd be asking.

"No. I wanted her for my princess party after and you said no."

He grins ruefully. "I didn't say no, babe. She couldn't come because she's at her own house tonight."

"Why can't she be at our house?"

Brilliant question.

"She has stuff to do." Like make sure moths haven't eaten your clothes. And dust.

You don't really spend a lot of time there.

Roan harrumphs. "Whatever. Why can't we go to her house, then?"

He takes Roan's hands into his and toys with her smaller fingers. "I can't really explain it. But you like when she's here all the time?"

"Yeah," Roan says, clearly bored of this conversation.

He laughs under his breath and steels himself for a bunch of huge questions.

"You know I love you more than anybody else?" he asks.

"I love you more," she argues.

"No, like. Out of everybody in the world, I love you the most. I could love Uncle Wayne the most, but I love you the most." Sorry, Wayne.

And while Eddie loves you so much (and Wayne, of course), it's the truth. You're always gonna be that tiny fraction below, though Eddie's not sure he likes the word below. It's a different kind of love, regardless.

Roan seems really, really happy with this prospect. She giggles for a second and throws her arms out toward him, face landing perfectly under his chin.

"I love you, daddy," she says. She manages to sound both shy and exuberant, little face digging into his collar. "I would pick you out of the world too."

"You would?" he asks. Eddie's not too proud to admit he wells up. He laughs it off, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he can.

"You first. Um, and Uncle Wayne and Y/N and damnation and Stacey P. second most."

"Damnation your imaginary dog is on the same level as Uncle Wayne and Y/N?" he asks, laughing hard enough to shake under her hug.

"Dad!"

"Sorry. Your totally real and invisible dog."

"Well, maybe not as much as Uncle Wayne and Y/N."

"No, I thought so."

She hides her hands inside of his short sleeves. Eddie lets her get on with it, happy and honestly buffeted by her affection. He feels both the euphoria of having a great kid and the self-satifaction of a parenting win.

"Do you think Y/N loves me that much?" Roan asks. "In the world?"

"Yes," he says without hesitation. "Of course she does."

"Mm," Roan hums, pleased. "I miss her."

"If I ask you my really big question, maybe we can go see her afterward. But it's- it's a big question, Roanie, I mean it. And it's okay if you don't know the answer, or if you feel mad or angry first."

Roan looks very concerned, climbing up on his chest to giggle at him. "Ast me, dad."

He blows her hair out of her eyes with a breath from the corner of his mouth. Heart in his throat, he grabs a hold of her waist in one hand and tries.

"I want to ask Y/N to marry me."

She blinks.

"I don't know if she'll say yes, but if she does that means lots of things would change. We would live together, and we'd maybe not live so close to Uncle Wayne, I'm not sure. Do you know what I mean?"

Roan leans forward. "Marry in a wedding?"

"Yeah. A big wedding. Or actually maybe a little one. I haven't really asked. Roan..."

He drifts off, distracted by her lovely tiny face growing more and more excited by the second.

"She would-"

"She would be my mom?" Roan shouts, eyes wide with a blazing amusement. "She would be my mommy?"

"Sweetheart," Eddie says apprehensively, "I'm not sure-"

"Oh my god," Roan says, already climbing off of his chest.

"Roan, I really need to finish talking to you," he says, listening to her sprint away in defeat. He rubs his eyes for a second, stressed, though slowly he starts to smile.

That's a good reaction.

That's a great reaction.

"Roan, if we get married, that means more- It means a lot of things," he calls, struggling to keep the smile out if his voice as he gets onto his feet to track her down.

"Yeah!" Roan calls.

Eddie walks down the hall and finds her in the middle of her room, backpack in the middle of her floor and upheaved. She's crammed three different teddies inside and a mismatched pair of pajamas, and now seems to be deciding between her pens or her long crayons.

"Babe, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting my stuff!"

He bites back a ridiculous smile. "For what?"

"You said we'd ask the question and go see Y/N," she whines, expecting a rejection.

"I didn't ask my question yet."

Roan shoves her crayons into her backpack and stares at him expectantly, a frenzy of ringlets and a palpable excitement.

He feels suddenly sheepish. "So can I... Is that okay? If I ask her to get married?"

Roan starts laughing like a maniac, the smallest, most intense vestibule of joy that's ever existed. "Dad, I need my shoes."

"No, but you can't tell her! It's a secret!" he warns seriously.

"You said we could go!"

He looks down at his girl. She's frenetic, jumping on both feet with her hands bunched into fists like she's willing to fight him for this. She wants to see you so badly now she's practically vibrating.

"Alright. Alright, come on. Let's get your shoes on."

Roan screams and runs past him, almost barrelling him down. He picks up her backpack and zips it closed, standing in the middle of her room for a few private seconds.

"Holy shit," he whispers.

"Dad!"

"I'm coming, Roan," he says, closing the door behind him.

-

more eddie and roan

#eddie and roan #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader

[bambithewriter]

Student’s pet

Human!Lo’ak x female reader

College AU

Read part 2 here

Content: MDNI, 18+, all characters are aged up, dom lo’ak, sub reader, fingering, reader is a shy and subby nerd, Lo’ak is a troublemaker

Summary: Reader helps Lo’ak handle his college work but Lo’ak ends up handling her instead.

A/N: This is my first time writing human Lo'ak and I think I did okay? I'll definitely write more Avatar human au in the future! I hope you all like it and let me know what you think my beautiful flowers💗

I adjusted my glasses while shyly squirming in his lap. He gripped onto my thighs firmly, kneading the soft flesh. “Lo’ak we’ll get in trouble if we don’t finish the assignment in time.” I softly mumbled, cheeks flushed. Lo’ak grinned at my nervous state, not caring whether he finished the stupid assignment or not.

“But baby, I thought you were my good girl. Are you not?” He asked me mockingly. He knew how much of a people pleaser I was.

“Such sexy legs, mama. Bet you’re hiding something delicious between those thighs hmm? I can feel your pussy crying out for me.” He said condescendingly. I turned to look at him with a confused look. "Lo’ak vagina’s can not cry.” I said innocently.

Lo’ak let out a soft groan at my display of innocence. “Not literally, sweet girl. I can feel your aching pussy. It’s throbbing…right on top of my cock.” He grinned as he thrust his hips up, grinding his bulge against my clothed wetness. I mewled softly, squirming on top of him. “Stop.moving.” He hissed as he gripped my hips more firmly.

His hands reached for my scissors on my desk. “Lo’ak what are you doing?” I asked him softly. His pants got tighter upon hearing that sweet voice. “Sssh, just shut up and trust me.” He said, grinning. I yelped softly when he moved the scissors towards my crotch. before I knew it he cut a little hole in my pantyhose, right at the crotch.

The sound of fabric ripping could be heard when he tore a bigger hole, exposing my baby pink panties. Right in the middle was a wet spot. “Hmm, what do we have here? Seems like Miss Innocent is feeling a little aroused.” He spoke mockingly, running a finger over my clothed slit. I gasped softly, holding onto his wrist when he tapped on my clothed clit. “Lo’ak feels so weird.” I softly whined, wriggling in his lap.

”Baby, I told you to sit still.” Lo’ak said through gritted teeth. He moved my panties to the side, revealing my slick pussy. My lips were puffy, my clit red and swollen. He dragged his fingers through my folds entering a finger in my tight hole while his thumb rubbed tight and firm circles on my clit. I whimpered in pleasure, holding onto his wrist tighter.

My eyes were closed shut as I leaned my head back against his chest. “Nu-uh, you wanted to study didn’t you baby? Open your eyes for me and go back to finish this shit assignment.” He said mockingly. “Lo’ak please, c-can’t. Feels…feels too good.” I whined softly, unable to sit still no longer.

“You listen so fucking bad baby.” He grunted as he made me stand up. He pushed me forward against the desk, bending me over the desk. He had his chest firmly pressed against my chest, his bulge teasing my ass while he fingered me. I cried out in pleasure when he continued curling his finger, adding a second one while his thumb never stopped its assault on my puffy clit.

“Lo’ak!” I cried out, thighs trembling as I felt the coil in my lower belly about to snap.

He couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper at the feeling of my warm walls tightening around his fingers. “Hmm fuck, such a good girl f’me, mama. Cum for me baby.” He grunted out, his free hand squeezing my hip whilst I was practically riding his fingers.

A pleasured cry slipped past my lips when the coil finally snapped, my warm release dripping down his fingers. Lo’ak groaned softly, feeling my warm slick all over his fingers. He made me ride out my high before carefully slipping his fingers out and sucking them clean.

“Here baby, taste some of that candy.” He grinned as he shoved his fingers in my mouth. I shyly sucked on his fingers, licking them clean. Lo’ak threw his head back, groaning softly at my submissiveness.

He pulled his fingers out before unbuckling his belt. He turned me around and sat down on the chair, pulling his hard cock out. “On your knees baby, you’re gonna suck my lollipop next.” He spoke with lust, stroking his cock whilst staring me down.

#human!lo'ak #lo'ak #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak sully x reader #lo'ak smut #lo'ak x fem!reader #lo'ak x you #avatar the way of water #atwow #lo'ak sully

[callmelola111]

guilty conscience ☆ part four

 ← part 1 , part 2 , part 3 ⭑ part 5 →

synopsis: it’s your first year at college and you’re 1,500 miles away from home. you’d feel completely alone if it wasn't for your attractive roommate ellie. will this attraction complicate the already uncharted territory? or will she be the answer to all your problems?

      |✯| pairing & wc: college!ellie williams x roommate!reader. wc: 3.2k

      |✯| cw (by part): 18+ themes (MDNI), fem reader, SMUT (18+ ONLY), modern au!ellie, HEAVY ANGST, frequent swearing, sexual tension, cat lol, fingering (r receiving), oral (r recieving), kinda nipple play, dom!ellie, sub!reader, public-ish sex, ellie is a cheater cheater pumpkin eater (i think thats it but lmk if i missed anything)

a/n: honestly was getting fed up with myself writing this part. like goddamn bitch can we get a happy ending already? so much angst and drama from ellie that you might just wanna beat her tf up. it gets so slutty though and i love it. i hope this is feeds the ache for y'all, lmk cause this is my first attempt at smut!! anyways, thanks 4 the support and much love from me to you <;3

After that special night with Ellie, you realized there was no more ignoring the situation at hand. She left you feeling empty just as quick as she had made you feel full. And you cared so much for her, despite the fact. No matter how much you wanted to stand your ground, your mind always got stuck on the possibilities. The possibility that Ellie was feeling everything you were… The possibility that there was a happy ending in sight… The possibility that Cat meant nothing.

With all these feelings circling your mind, you felt too biased to make the right decision when it came to her. You decided it was time to tell Dina. You quickly picked up your phone and gave her a call, inviting her out to coffee. Thankfully Dina offered to drive, as you were still stranded at Ellie’s bandmates place. 10 minutes later, she was out front honking. 

Dina greeted you with a squeal, “Hiii love!! I missed you!”

Before you could reciprocate her greeting she spoke again, “Wait who’s house is this? How was last night? Oh my god Y/n, did you hook up with someone?? Pleaseee tell me!!” Dina’s thoughts were going 100 mph trying to guess the context of this little rendezvous. 

“That’s why I asked you to coffee. Trust me, I’m going to explain everything.” Your mysterious answer left Dina even more intrigued. The both of you arrived at the coffee shop, ordered your drinks, and took a seat at a little table in the corner. 

“Soooo… TELL ME ALREADY,” Dina exclaimed impatiently as you fidgeted in your seat not even sure where to start. You stared through the shop window at nothing in particular as you mulled over the timeline of Ellie and you. Dina could see the cogs in your brain turning and knew this conversation was going to be about more than a silly little one night stand. You finally spoke 3 words, “it’s about Ellie.”

“Ellie? God I should’ve known, I’m literally your best friend!!”

“It's fine D, I’ve been pretty radio silent about my love life on purpose. See, it’s much more complicated. Like a gut wrenching, sick and twisted, WLW heartbreak kind of complicated. How long can you stay and talk?”

“I’m all yours babe, give me every last detail. I'm serious,” Dina urged. So, you did. The debrief took a total of 3 hours and 2 iced coffees to get through. It felt so good getting everything off your chest. 

Dina gave you just the right advice too, “Communication is key.” You knew it was stupid but talking about it upfront was the last thing you had thought to do. It seemed too scary to face Ellie like that, but you knew it was the right choice. Sure it was hard dealing with these feelings and you wanted answers, but you also lived with this girl. You owed it to yourself and to her to figure out this bullshit. You didn’t want to be in a constant state of tension and resentment every time the two of you had to be around each other (which was all the time).

After a morning well spent, you and Dina said your goodbyes and she dropped you back off at your dorm. You walked through the front doors and swiped your student ID to access the elevator. You leaned against the cold, metal walls as you brainstormed how to approach Ellie. You had a good idea of what to say up until you were opening the door and coming face to face with her. She made you forget everything. But, despite your blank mind, you were determined.

“Ellie, we need to talk, seriously.” You tried to assert yourself, but your breaths were shaky from nerves. Ellie looked up from her desk nonchalantly and gave you a blank stare like she had no idea what you were talking about. This really pissed you off.

“Don’t give me that fucking look Ellie, you know exactly what I’m talking about. How could you just leave me like that?”

“Hey relax, it’s not like that.” she stood up and answered calmly, which made you want to slap her even more. Ellie could put on a game face better than she could ever be vulnerable. No matter the damage her lack of honesty caused.

“It’s not like that? Be real with yourself for one fucking second Ellie.” 

“Fuck you bro, I don’t need this shit.” she retaliated, not meaning a word she spat out.

“FUCK YOU!” you shouted, moving into her space. Instead of moving back, Ellie stayed right there with you, standing her ground. You felt the heat of her body against yours and an erotic sensation growing between your legs. Your eyes began to glaze over with tears of desperation, she had this unexplained power over you.

“Ellie, I- I can’t keep doing this with you.”

“Can’t keep doing what?” she asked. It’s like Ellie needed you to admit it first before she could even acknowledge it on her own. She longed to hear your passionate confessions and anguished pleas.

“I can’t keep beating around the bush with you. I like you Ellie and it’s driving me fucking crazy because you act like you could care less. You taunt me with your stupid sexy charm and stupid flirty touch just to run right back to Cat. But right here, right now, you can’t deny the tension between us. I need you Ellie.” Tears began to stream down your face and you wiped them away with haste. A beat of loud silence echoed through the room before Ellie finally answered.

“I don’t mean to tease, but there’s just so much at stake when it comes to me and you. Can't you see? I know I’m a piece of shit. I mean, here I am with a perfectly fine girlfriend, yet inches away from my roommate, hardly able to resist her touch.”

“Then don't Ellie. Forget about everyone and please just kiss me.” You were practically begging, it was so pitiful. Ellie placed a hand to your shoulder and shoved you against the wall.

“God Y/n just STOP IT!” 

You melted under her agonizing touch, “W-why not me?” You stuttered and took in  her hot breaths that hit your face as she panted through her frustration. It wasn’t much longer till the two of you could no longer restrain.

Ellie stared at her dirty converse to avoid your pleading eyes, “I just can’t, I can’t cheat. I'm not a cheater.” She was shaking her head profusely as if to rid her mind of the lustful thoughts that consumed her. She wanted you so bad it hurt. You took her face in your hands and lifted her gaze to yours in a last attempt.

“Ellie-,” you gasped, as the aching became unbearable. You’d surrender to her touch right now if she only asked. As Ellie looked back at you, she wished Cat didn’t exist, you were all she ever wanted and you were right there. She just had to say the words and you’d be hers.

Ellie’s head fell into the crook of your neck in desperation. Her hands moved up and down your clothed body searching for some sort of release. 

“Ellie please, I need you.” you whimpered into her ear. The vibrations sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine and just like that she snapped. All her morals disappeared as she found your wrist and grasped it firmly, leading your hand to the waistband of your pants.

She whispered back, “show me.” With her permission your hand darted down to the ache. You slid your fingers through the mess Ellie invoked with just her words before stopping on the big ball of nerves that begged to be touched. 

Before you could ease the yearning down below, Ellie interrupts, “I said show me.” A smirk grew upon her face as she watched you discern the meaning of her risky comment. You retrieved your fingers in obedience to Ellie and were prepared to do whatever else she asked.

Immediately, Ellie took your sticky fingers and brought them to her plump lips. Slowly she planted kisses from the tips of your digits down to your knuckles. It felt like a dream. Of course, Ellie knew she should stop, but when her freckled nose caught the sweet smell of your juices she dreamed of tasting them too. 

“Put your hands back in your pants.” she demanded with agency. Back inside they went, fingers quick to locate your empty hole. You couldn’t take it, your middle finger gently slid in and a breath escaped your open mouth. You shut your eyes and an in-and-out rhythm ensued. Ellie grew wet herself as she watched you writhe with pleasure. She couldn’t help but tell you.

“I love watching you touch yourself like that.” Her comment evoked a strained moan from your lips as you imagined her fingers inside instead of your own. Ellie cupped her cunt, trying to fight her infidelity but failing miserably.

“Can I see your fingers again please? I- I wanna taste it.”

“Need me that bad?” you teased, like you hadn’t been dreaming of this moment for ages. But Ellie had no time for games and took matters into her own hands. She captured your fingers herself. Her tongue flattened to the length of them before her mouth completely closed in on the treat. She sucked with vigor until your flavor dissipated.

“Tastes so good” she hummed, eyes blown out with pleasure. 

“How about you really taste it?” you taunted. The twisted and erotic nature of the interaction left you in a trance. 

“You know I can’t Y/n. It- It would be wrong.” Ellie spoke as if sucking your roommates slick right off her fingers wasn’t just as much of a betrayal as any sexual act. At this point morals felt so out of the question but your words from nights before continued to repeat in her head.

“Me? Mess it up for you? Don’t worry Ellie, you can do that all on your own, believe me.”

She was at odds with herself, not knowing whether to dive in head first or run away while she could. 

“Please Ellie, I need you inside me.” you begged. She brushed the back of her hand down your face apologetically and planted a kiss on your forehead.

A single tear fell as she said, “I just can’t do this. I have to go,” and turned towards the door. Ellie disappeared out of the room and you sunk to the floor, defeated once more. I guess old habits really do die hard. 

After Ellie left, she didn’t show back up to your dorm for the next 3 days. At first you were pissed off and hurt, but the longer she was gone, the more that bitterness turned into worry. She became the only thing on your mind. You had tried calling and texting but to no avail. Out of desperation, you even decided to ask Cat in class. Dina supervised from afar as you confronted her.

“Cat, I know you don’t like me, but can I please just ask you something,” you said with hesitance.

“Great observation! You’re right, I don’t like you. Now, what do you want?” she snapped.

“It’s about Ellie, I haven't seen her in 3 days and I’m really worried. Do you know where she is?” Cat paused to think before she gave you an answer.

“She’s been staying at my place. Is there a problem? I mean, I am her girlfriend,” she scoffed. Truthfully, Cat hadn’t seen Ellie for the past 3 days either but God forbid she let you find that out. She didn’t want you thinking you had any sort of chance with her girlfriend now that she seemed to be getting iced out too.

Of course, her plan worked just how she wanted and you were just about ready to give up on Ellie. You walked back to your dorm dragging your feet hopelessly. When you arrived you were greeted by none other than the girl who’d been fueling your worry.

“Ellie? What the fuck. What are you doing here?”

“I mean, I live here right?” she answered while rummaging through her things. Here she goes again, pissing you off like usual.

“I thought you did too until you went awol for 3 whole days without saying a thing. If you wanna stay with Cat that bad just tell me. I don’t need you sparing my feelings. You’ve already done enough.” Your anger spoke for you and Ellie was baffled.

“Cat? What makes you say that? I’ve been at my parents this whole time.”

You snapped, “Don't lie to me Ellie, I know you were at her place. If you love Cat so much, just be with her and leave me the fuck alone.” Ellie then grabbed her guitar and slinged on a backpack.

“Fine, I will leave you alone. I have a show to be at anyways.” And just like that, gone again.

You replayed the past hour in your head and considered the fact that maybe Ellie was telling the truth. Cat was never known to be a saint, so her lying all of the sudden seemed likely. This time, instead of waiting for Ellie to come back around, you decided to chase after her.

You quickly threw on a revenge outfit and put on some mascara. You stared in the mirror at your black mini skirt and tight crop top. You couldn’t deny it, you looked fucking hot. The peak in confidence pushed you right out the door and to the venue of Ellie’s show.

When you arrived her band was already on stage playing. You realized this was your first time ever hearing them together and decided to really soak it in. Ellie looked so happy doing what she loved despite all the drama happening off stage. She was even better than you thought. You watched as she plucked the strings and bobbed her head along with the beat. You hated how much it turned you on. The tattoo you loved so much was on full display and her arm muscles flexed with each chord. She’d occasionally bite her bottom lip in concentration and it drove you wild. Her set finally finished and you were more than pleased, mentally and physically. Ellie got off stage and you quickly ran after, shouting her name.

“Hey can we talk please? I wanna say sorry.” you explained.

“Fine, come with me to the bathroom, it’s quieter there.” She grabbed your hand and led you. You pushed yourself up to sit on the marble counters that housed the sinks. Ellie looked you up and down, waiting for you to speak. She took note of how good you looked before frantically spewing an apology.

“I’m sorry for accusing you of lying. I was stupid and asked Cat if she had seen you recently. Of course she told me you’d been with her and I blindly believed.” 

She seemed to be listening so you continued your ranting, “I really hate to fight Els. I miss having fun with you. I wanna move on from everything and just be happy. Together, me and you.” You looked up to flash her some puppy dog eyes when you noticed her attention being diverted.

No matter how hard Ellie wanted to pay attention to what you had to say, she couldn’t help but stare up your skirt. Your positioning on the counter gave her the perfect sneak peek of the space between your legs. Once you had caught on to her pervy behavior Ellie fumbled to save face.

“Shit sorry um, I was just, uh, you have cute panties.” She then flashed you a sideways smile trying to make up for that dumpster fire of a “save”.

“You don’t have to apologize, Els.” A cocky look spread across your face and Ellie recognized what game you were playing.

“Well then I’d just like to say, the wet spot on them is even cuter.” Your face turned hot as you registered the fact that the same girl who made you soak through your panties was about to be the one to take them off.

Ellie slotted herself between your knees as you sat on the counter. Shock turned to hunger in a matter of seconds as you practically consumed each other. Her mouth engulfed yours as if there was no need for air. You desperately clung to her body, using your legs to pull in closer. Ellie grabbed at your chest as she slipped her wet tongue into your desperate kiss. You gasped into her mouth when she found your nipples through the thin fabric of your top. She twisted them with power before removing your shirt completely. Ellie separated from your mouth for just a split second to admire the beauty before her.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” she gushed and then used both hands to push your legs apart. Your cunt was on full display through the soaked fabric, your skirt bunched up around your hips. Ellie used her calloused fingers to trace the delicate folds peeking from the cloth and you jolted as she brushed past your sensitive spot. She hooked into your panties to scootch the fabric to the side before you suddenly interrupted.

“Ellieeee, we’re in a public bathroom.” She pouted at you with desperation. Ellie needed you now. Out of pure impulse, she grabbed you by the hips, hands cupping your ass, and stumbled with you into the big stall. 

“Take them off” she demanded. You seductively slipped the pink, lace thong you were wearing down to your ankles. The cold air alone on your exposed folds was enough to send a sensation through your body. Ellie retrieved your littered painties and shoved them into her pocket for “safe keeping”. She remained on her knees in the tight bathroom stall and began planting kisses on your inner thighs. These kisses turned into small bites as the shared arousal became overwhelming to your senses.

Ellie eventually found her way to right where you wanted her. Her fingers spread you apart taking mental note of each delicate fold. You gasped in pleasure, as if to urge her to continue. The wet sensation of her tongue finally met your aching clit and a sultry moan escaped your lips. Your opening clenched at the contact as she coached you through the bliss that was her mouth.

“I know it feels good but you gotta be quiet for me baby. Just breathe.” You had barely gotten the hang of keeping calm before her fingers dove in to give you twice as much satisfaction.

You gripped Ellie’s forearm for support as she twisted in and out of your throbbing cunt. She was determined to make you feel good. She needed to make up for her bad behavior.

With that thought in mind, she dove back in with her mouth followed by the curling of her fingers inside you. You couldn’t help but screech and Ellie quickly shot a hand up to cover your mouth. So goddamn noisy. As she continued, you inched closer and closer to the precipice of an orgasm.

The bathroom brimmed with the wet sounds of Ellie’s tongue lapping you up, her fingers assaulting your hole, and the moans she did her best to muffle. But, suddenly, those weren’t the only sounds that filled the room.

“Ellie? Baby, is that you?”

← masterlist ⭑ part 5 →

taglist ☆...

@machetegirl109 @gold-dustwomxn @menatoia @ximtiredx @robinismywifee @elliepricefield @alexpritch @jokirxmae

#ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie smut #ellie tlou #ellie williams fan fiction #ellie williams series #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #wlw #ellie x fem reader #tlou 2 #tlou fic #tlou x reader #tlou x you #the last of us #sapphic #ellie tlou2 #the last of us ellie #the last of us 2 #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #tlou dina #the last of us smut #ellie williams fanfiction #tlou series

[alittlesil]

wait a second

Kit Walker x Fem!Reader 💓

a/n: finally something new on my acc😭 i don’t like this imagine much but it’s still not bad (i hope lol)

summary: you and Kit was waiting for intimacy for too long and finally gave in 🍀

warnings: 18+ MDNI, not proofed😔 p in v, overstimulation (m receiving), whiny Kit (also SHITTY WRITING BC ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE)

(pic from pinterest)

Not a while ago you and your amazing, caring, soft, loving husband had finally married. You got money as gifts and decided to do a repair in your little house, so you had to move in the bigger house of your sister for some time, just before the repair end. 

You adore your sister. Really. She always was so cute ans funny, and she always knew how to help you, and nothing changes: she’s still amazing and she still always helps. Her house is much bigger than yours with Kit, so there’s enough place for everyone. What problems can be here?

Oh, your sister is a housewife. She’s always at home. And her kids.

You and Kit held on as best you could. You both understood that you can’t have sex while you were just “visiting” the family of your sister, especially when half of it was always at home. The kids were to young for school, your sister was to busy to hang out with some of her friends even once in two weeks. 

But one day, when your sister’s husband took their kids for a walk, and your sister was cooking dinner, watching TV loudly, your temper ended…

“Shhh, shhh, shhh.” Kit whispers, while his own breath hitches in his throat, as he pulls his whole length in and you squeak. You sit on top of him, your hands on his broad chest. He tries his best not to moan out loud, biting his lower lip and squeezing his eyes shut. The feeling is too overwhelming for both of you: after three weeks of no contact at all, it was like your first time together. You tilt your head downwards, trying to contain moans, but one desperate whine still falls down from your lips, and Kit quickly covers your mouth with his large hand, squeezing your cheeks as he does. This roughness from your usually sweet husband makes you even more aroused, and you start to move your hips just to make some friction, but Kit’s free hand grabs your rear to stop you. He leans in closer to your ear, his eyes closed: he breaths deeply in attempts to calm down.

“You-“ A heavy huff. “Wait, sweet one- i have to-“

You mumble something under his hand, and when his grip becomes lighter and his head weakly falls onto your shoulder, you can’t contain yourself anymore. Your core clenching around his cock desperately, aching for some movements, and it makes Kit whine as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, moaning quietly against your hot skin. He loses all his strength at this moment, and you start to bounce on him again, making your poor husband gasp in shock. This delicious feeling of his finally moving dick inside of your pussy sends a shiver down your spine, all of your moans muffling because of his grip onto your face, and it’s so. fucking. good. 

“Suga’, wait a second-“ Kit literally begs, taking all his powers to stay as quiet as he could. He knows that if you continue, he’s gonna cum right now and right here, without any usually long fun. “I can’t freakin’ hold it-“

But it’s too late. You were waiting too long, and now there’s no way back: you increase the speed of your movements, gripping onto his shoulders, and your hands already start to shake because of overwhelming pleasure. Your whole body is on fire, and you feel familiar knot in your stomach starting to appear, as Kit suddenly moans loudly, completely forgetting about his words about staying quiet. He cums after only one minute of your movements, the warm sticky liquid covers your walls, and you almost roll your eyes as you missed this feeling so much. He whines, nibbling on your shoulder, as he tries to muffle his desperate noises but fails when he feels that you continue moving even after his release, milking him. 

“Honey, please-“ Kit whimpers pathetically, his overstimulated but still hard cock already ached. He puts his hand away from your mouth, placing both of them on your ass, trying to slow your hips down. “Too much!”

“Kit, i’m begging you-“ You gasp, finally able to moan properly, tugging onto his soft brown hair and making him growl quietly. “I need it.” These words slip down your lips with whimper, and you ride him as if your life depends on it. He breaths heavily under you, the pain mixes with pleasure of how lovely it feels to be inside of your tight walls after all and, oh my God, to cum inside of them.

He brings his slender fingers to your clit, starting to rub on it in circles motion with his thumb, and you can swear you see stars. After a few seconds you feel the rush of heat, and your legs start to shake as you reach your peak. Your pussy clenches around Kit’s already semi-hard cock, and he moans as loud as he never has moaned, and you can’t really understand: was it the sound of pain or of satisfaction? He quickly lifts you up from him, almost throwing you onto the mattress, and collapses on top of you, his body goes almost limp. His face buried in the crook of your neck again, and his hot shaky breath hits your sweaty skin.

“I freakin’ love ya.” Kit mumbles under his breath, placing soft and tender kisses on your collarbone, and you slip your fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp in a soothing manner.

“I love you more.” You smile tiredly, kissing the top of his head.

—————————————

a/n: thx for reading ♥️

#american horror story #ahs fandom #kit walker #kit walker smut #kit walker x reader #kit walker x you #kit walker x y/n #evan peters fanfic #ahs fanfic #fanfiction #kit walker imagine #kit walker fanfic #writing #kai anderson #tate langdon

[paranoid-borderline-insane]

Not the Intruder I Expected

John Price x she/her reader

Summary: Exhausted after a hard day at work, you come home to an empty house, void of your military husband. Except maybe you’re not as alone as you seemed.

AU where Ghost lives with you and Price as a roommate.

I literally wrote this through text to @tulipsbymybed in about an hour or so, so don’t expect huge things 

Warnings: Consensual non-con, unserious ending, established relationship, roleplaying that reader has never climaxed before and has a shitty husband, contextual slut-shaming (part of the roleplay), rope play, not a full smut fic.

Minors, I can't even begin to monitor or curate your internet experience, but DO NOT INTERACT with me or my smut

You’ve just come home from work, headphones still on your ears as you walk your way through your house, humming quietly to the beat, not hearing as a man sits in the living room armchair in the dark, eyes watching your figure as you miss him.

It’s not until you’re beat over, untying your shoes so you can toe them off more comfortably that you feel the blunt side of a knife tuck under your chin and a strong arm wrap around your chest and biceps, pulling you straight into a firm body as you scream, headphones knocked off your head with a strong chin, the man’s hands already occupied.

“Fuckin’ scream again and this knife is going straight through your teeth.” 

On instinct your hands are up and wrapped around the arm around your chest, but even you know that no matter how much strength you put into pulling, the arm around you isn’t going to budge.

“Your tosspot of a husband shouldn’t ‘ve made it so clear that he was leaving. ‘ll that tin on his chest made ‘im forget there’s dangerous men ‘ere at home too,”

The knife is tossed, plunging itself perfectly into the wall across from you, in a show of finesse and talent that should have you shaking. Should have you weeping.

Instead you feel a buzz run through your body, the gusset of your underwear beginning to moisten. 

The arm that threw the knife is now manhandling you over his shoulder, smacking and grabbing your arse firmly when you squirm as his shoulder blade presses uncomfortably into your stomach.

Your body bounces as it’s thrown on your marital bed, a moment of freedom before the man wrangles your wrists and pulls them together wrapping a rope around them before using his strength to pull your entire body further up the bed, your shoulders aching as they’re pulled to the limit of their sockets with the strain of pulling your body with it.

Once you’re situated to the man’s liking, he wraps the other end of the rope tightly around the bars of the bed frame.

Most other things are a blur as he tugs your work clothes off, the sounds of stitches pulling and the small whimpers you let out as you bite your lip to prevent more noise coming out. 

You wouldn’t win against him in any constructive way, he’s proven that with his strength already. Trying to stay quiet and keep the tears to a minimum seems to be your best course of action. 

If this man just wanted sex and fear, he could have it from you in spades. The fear was already pouring from you, and sex felt like nothing to you anyway. If your husband, your first love, couldn’t make it feel like anything, this strange, terrifying man wouldn’t be able to fix your broken body. A body unable to receive pleasure, just give it. A hole to fill.

“Oh what’s this ‘ere?” A rip is heard as your underwear is torn from your body by the crotch. The man goes from your legs to pressing a heavy knee by your waist and sneering over you. “What a filthy girl you are. Look at all this slick comin’ from you”

You don’t actually get a chance to look before the gusset is pushed into your mouth, large fingers pressing the fabric that had just been up against your core onto your tongue. Even through your taste buds you can feel how wet the material is though.

“So fuckin wet for a man that isn’t your husband, what a whore,”

Your eyes widen as he smirks at you, staying next to you as he pulls the thigh closest to him up until your lips are pulled apart and your hips have curved uncomfortably just to accommodate how he’s tugged your body to his whims.

Bending down, the man keeps his eyes on yours as he pulls your body closer to his mouth until his mouth is clamped over your cunt like a mutt holding on to a stolen meal. His teeth lightly dig into your flesh as he sucks your whole core into his mouth, allowing his spit to further lubricate as his tongue makes first contact with your clit

A scream comes out of your mouth before you can stop it, his teeth clenching just a bit tighter to hold you still as his face furrows in anger before he pulls away from your flesh. 

“What did I fucken’ say!”

“What was that!?” You screech in return, your chest heaving with the tingles from the sensation.

The anger is wiped from the man’s face before being replaced with a wild glee

Not answering your question, his grin only gets bigger with the greed and realisation flowing through him.

Instead of engulfing your entire cunt into his maw again, he instead focuses on wrapping his mouth around your clit, changing the pressure and frequency of his sucking, flicking his tongue when appropriate until you’re crying. Not from fear, but from pleasure.

Screeching and sobbing into the air, neither you or the man caring about the noise anymore. Your legs now sprawled over his body to get closer, shaking down to your toes. Your wrists blindly burning as you unknowingly pull against the force of the rope.

His mouth pulls away with a lewd, wet pop. Fluid all over the bottom half of his jaw as he wildly smiles over you.

“W-wha- wha’ happen-“ you’re exhausted, incoherent, drunk.

Watching as he wipes his jaw on the hair of his arms, the gleam of the fluid shining in what little light is coming through the window.

You’re still heaving, catching your breath as you ask, tracking the fluid that now sticks the dark hairs together.

“L-lube?”

“Why the fuck would ya need lube now?” A glimpse at your eyes and he changes his question, “you think I lubed you up? Nah, love. This’s all you. That husband of yours must be real shit to make you need shit like lube.”

The man shucks off his trousers down to his thighs, now kneeling directly between your thighs, his cock bobbing as it’s released. “Now you stay quiet, Princess. ’m gonna fuck you like a real man” 

Lightly pushing his tip against your entrance, it’s clear that even with your wetness, he’s going to be more than just a stretch.

“Jesus. Gonna need t’ take you home at this rate. Your shithole husband’s only been gone 48 hours, no way you’ve tightened up this much after only that long. Gonna need to take you and fuck you open every day till he comes back. Gonna leave you gapin’ by the time he lays eyes on your pretty hole again-“ he’s been babbling this whole time as you’ve clutched the air between your fingers, his gentle pulsing of his hips pressing his cock slowing into your cunt in such a divine way that your eyes are already rolling back and he hasn’t even popped in.

“Yeah, gonna steal y-“ You’re both spooked by the front door slamming, your heads whipping to the direction of the sound.

“I’m home!”

You gasp and whisper, “my husband!”

“You shush.” John snaps quietly down at you, too high strung right now to acknowledge your joke.

The sound of heavy footfalls carry through the house as you both look back at each other.

“He’s not meant to be home yet-“

“I know he’s not meant to be home yet, Kate said he’d be another week at least,”

“He’s on your task force for a reason, I guess”

“Fuckin’ hell” John tucks himself back into his trousers and buttons himself away, pulling his shirt, that was still on, back down over his stomach before trudging over to your bedside table and grabbing scissors before carefully cutting the rope from around your wrists. 

Once your hands are free, John only gives your wrists a quick cursory rub, more habit that care right now, before opening and shutting your shared bedroom door with a slam, shouting the other man’s name

John surely would’ve wanted you to stay in bed and wait for him to come back, but your throat hurt from all your crying, and you had missed your ‘roommate’, so you quickly threw on some pyjamas and left the bedroom to join the boys.

“He was an idiot, didn’t even need a scope to clock ‘im”

“Surprised you’re not out celebrating then”

“Nah, Soap and Gaz had paperwork they left undone so they needed to stay behind”

“Should’ve led by example and helped them- what are you doing up?”

“Just thirsty, grabbing a drink”

“Honey-“

“John, I’m okay”

“Everything ‘lright?” Simon asks, eye black creasing as he squints.

“Yeah, great! Just a bit tired.”

You’re looking in the fridge for an electrolyte drink when your forearm is taken and held.

“What the fuck is-“

Looking between the distinct marks of rope burn on your wrist and the scowl Price has continued to wear since he came down the hallway, the pieces finally clicked for Simon.

“Jesus-, Just fuckin’ tell me next time I’ve interrupted your fuckin’ kink shit! ‘m goin’ to the fuckin’ pub then back to base- Jesus Christ.”

Simon continues to swear and cuss you two out as he grabs his duffle bag and leaves the way he came, John taking the time to rub the crease in his brow away and watch you find and sip your drink through his lashes.

Once the front door slams shut again, John sighs heavily and comes to your side to grab your available wrist and inspect it, meeting your eyes when you put your drink down and place your other hand into his for him to check the other wrist.

“You wanna keep going?”

“I’m so tired now, can we just lie in bed and fuck? I don’t wanna do the whole set up again.” 

John chuckles before responding

“I’ll grab the burn cream and you go lay back in bed, I’ll be in soon.”

With a kiss on your forehead and both of your hands, John sends you off back to the bedroom, watching you go for a few more seconds before turning back to grab what he needs before he joins you.

#john price #john price x reader #cod #cod x reader #captain john price #captain price #cod price #cod mw #price x reader

[honkytonk-hangman]

Just Another Thing – [1]

Walt 'Finn' Finnegan x Reader/OC

Summary: God help anyone who might've thought a nice, stable relationship might bring some kind of change to Walt Finnegan's usual mischief and mild-hedonism. God especially help them if they also thought a girlfriend would provide any sort of calming influence over him.

She definitely influenced him, anyone could tell you that, unfortunately just never in any way that could even remotely be described as 'calm'.

Warnings: cussing, mentions of and talk of sex, sexy body parts, ect. reader/OC is named Kimberly/Kimber, but it is still written in second person and her name shouldn't come up very often.

Notes: oh boy oh boy oh boy you have no clue how excited i am for this fic. it's literally been in the works for over a year. i'd even go as far as to say it's my fave fic in recent memory!!! Im not sure yet how many parts, but the story does have a beginning and end.

It's not necessary to have watched the film before reading this fic, as this is set in the year after, around 1982, however certain character dynamics could be confusing. Also i definitely headcanon Finn and Beverly becoming good friends, hidden beneath a layer of exasperation of course but he is definitely the type to go to all the theatre stuff like come on look at him!!!!!

okay enough from me now heres the fic I really hope you enjoy!!!

You register the alarm on your friends’ face’s far too late to do anything, and the next thing you know you’re clutching the crown of your head, a dull throbbing ache now pulsing under your fingertips.

It wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar sensation, you’ve been hit in the head by a ball plenty of times, but the sheer weight behind this particular impact stood out to you. That, and you knew it couldn’t have been the volleyball you and your friend’s were playing with, because you currently held it.

“What the fu–” you begin angrily, already whipping around in the direction you’d been hit, cutting yourself off at the sight of an approaching man, a look of genuine remorse painted on his features as he jogs toward you. Behind him, a group of guys with baseball gloves watch on with various cringing expressions. Just as the man nears you, his eyes subtly travel up and down your figure, his lip quirking with approval, but he keeps his face apologetic. He comes to a stop several feet away, where the baseball had landed, but doesn’t take his eyes off of you, placing his hands on his hips and lifting his chin at you.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says, and it at least sounds sincere. “Roper’s never had much of an eye.”

You purse your lips, but try not to look too angry. He was cute, you realise dumbly, still rubbing your head. Dirty blond hair settled in light waves at the top of his collar, a matching blond moustache groomed neatly above his upper lip. He was tall, broad across the shoulders and chest in a way you’d only ever really seen on guys who worked out, athletes and the like. He also looked a little older than a lot of the students you’d see walking around campus, and he certainly didn’t approach you with the confidence of a freshman, so you figure he must be at least an upperclassmen.

“Well, maybe y'all should work on that with him,” you grumble lightly, and drop your hand.

“You okay?” he nods at your head, and you shift to lean on one foot, not missing the flicker of his eyes to watch as you do, or the way he lingers on your rapidly rising and falling chest before he meets your eye again.

“Isn’t the first time, certainly won’t be the last. Hair probably won’t sit right tonight, though,” you complain.

“Big date?” he asks, the teasing tone unmistakable. You lift your chin a little indignantly.

“I’m sure your day is just riding on my answer, but I don’t feel particularly inclined on telling you that,” you huff, heart rate doubling when he laughs, looking away from you for the first time as he grins widely.

“Well, how about this,” he starts once he’s sobered, bending down to swipe the baseball from the grass, taking a step toward you as he does. “The next time I see you, I promise you won’t get hit in the head,” he waves the ball as if you need reminding, but takes another step closer. “And you tell me what night works best to take you out?”

You fail to hide the amused smile that pulls at your lips, but then again, you weren’t really one for playing hard to get. You can see now that he’s only a few feet away, that his eyes are a startling green, and you think you wouldn’t mind running into him again, sans head injury.

“Alright,” you tell him, stepping back with a nod. “Next time.”

It takes all of your will power to turn away from him and move back towards your friends, though you feel his eyes on you for some distance, and make sure you swing your hips just a little more than you usually might.

Part of you regrets not making plans then and there, but the other part of you shivers at the already building tension of your potential next meeting.

Squinting at your reflection in the mirror, you flip your feathery waves once more over your shoulder, before almost immediately letting it fall back where it was. Just as you’d predicted, thanks to the decent-sized lump on the crown of your head, your Jerry Hall blowout was looking less supermodel and more super-odd.

Scrunching your nose as you mess with your tresses one last time, let out a huff, and force yourself to turn away, just in time for Nancy to appear at your open door, her curled fingers tapping gently on the wood.

“Hey Kimber,” she begins, pausing to give you a whistle as you exit your bathroom and do a twirl for her. Your collared halter-neck jumpsuit was supposed to be worn with a ruffle-neck blouse, but you’d never intended to style it that way, not to mention it was tight enough that you’re not totally sure you’d even be able to fit said blouse beneath it anyway.

“Something’s telling me Miss Texas ‘56 didn’t have this particular ensemble in mind when she ordered this for you outta her fancy lil’ Saks catalogue…” Nancy teases. You roll your eyes.

“Saks don’t do catalogues.” you correct her with a faux air of haughtiness, but don’t bother to contend her point. All of your housemates were more than familiar with your former Beauty Queen mother, despite never having met her. The monthly ‘care packages’ she sent you, filled with various ‘in season’ (see: frivolous) items of clothing and ‘essentials’ spoke volumes about who exactly Mrs Charlene Wynne was. That mostly just amounting to ‘eternally neurotic but well-meaning’. 

Nancy pokes her tongue out at you and scoffs out a laugh.

“Whatever, the point is; Mama doesn't always know best. You look foxy!”

You let out a laugh and smooth your hands over your thighs, thanking her softly.

You weren’t at all oblivious to the way you looked. Certainly you were no Raquel Welch, but most days you could manage something in the realm of Christie Brinkley or Cheryl Ladd, which was pretty damn good. You had your mother to thank for that, though your dad was no slouch either, but considering your mother couldn’t walk ten steps without someone recognising her from her Miss Texas win almost thirty years ago, you’ll give her most of the credit. As a result of your parent’s contributions, you’d become aware fairly quickly of the effect you tended to have on men, especially College men.

“Did you need me for something?” you prompt after a few more moments of Nancy preening over your outfit, remembering that she had come up here with a purpose some minutes ago now. Nancy blinks, before she makes a soft gasping sound, and straightens up.

“That’s right! Beverley arrived a little while ago, she was asking for you!” she informs you, waving her hand in the vague direction of the stairs and the party quickly coming to life on the first floor.

“I’m coming now!” you tell her, giving your hair one last flip before you move for your door, closing it behind you and quickly following Nancy as she all but skips. 

The ‘little’ get together had officially started a little while ago, but you’d had a study group that had run long, meaning you were now fashionably late to your own houseparty, if there were even such a thing.

Almost immediately once you crest the lower steps, you feel yourself shift into focus, totally in your element now, a cool, easy smile finding a place on your features. It isn’t difficult for you to move through the light throngs of people, despite your arrival not going unnoticed by those around you, but instead of excusing yourself meekly past distracted conversationalists, you’re liked enough that partygoers both consciously and subconsciously make way for you, plenty of familiar faces greeting you warmly in passing as you go.

You aren't surprised to find the kitchen milling with guests too, though the music is a little quieter here, so you figure it will remain more sparsely populated until later in the night, when everyone is comfortably tipsy.

“Kimberley!” A female voice calls out, perhaps a little too loudly, but you’d come to expect as much from anyone deeply involved in theatre.

“Beverly!” you match her energy, volume and all, knowing that she was likely already feeling a little out of place among the other guests, who were all mostly part of the College’s various sports teams and who you suspect weren’t even aware there even was a theatre program.

You can’t stop yourself from grinning ecstatically, overjoyed to see your friend for the first time since classes had commenced for the year. However, you feel more than you see the redhead that collides with you, her much shorter frame crashing into yours with a comforting force, and thanks to your non incosiderable height, as well as your many years playing volleyball, you hardly even budge from the impact, even in your chunky platform heels. You quickly hug Beverley in return, but far sooner than you’d like, she’s pulling back and launching into what sounds like a planned monologue.

“Okay! So, you know how ages ago I said I was going to set you up with one of Jake’s housemates from the baseball house?” Beverly starts, already waving her hands expressively, her expression bright and excited. You search your mind, but honestly, you aren’t sure if the conversation sounds familiar or not. You’d had a lot of people say similar things to you throughout your college career so far. Most of the time they were totally off-base matches, but you were always happy to experience new things, new people.

Beverley doesn’t wait for your reply though, clapping her hands and rubbing them together.

“Well, of course the team was invited tonight, meaning I can finally introduce you!” she exclaims, looking wildly over her shoulder, as though the person in question was supposed to be just behind her. When she sees an empty kitchen, she frowns and purses her lips. The glimmer of annoyance is wiped from her face by the time she’s looking back at you, and she huffs good-naturedly.

“I told him to wait for me…” she links your arms as she speaks, and you happily let her lead you to the kitchen door, where a light bubble of conversation floats through from outside. You have to let out a laugh at her sheer excitement, which appears genuine, though not in her usual manner. 

The usual manner meaning that every so often when the two of you found yourselves at the same club or bar, whenever she or her friend’s were being bothered, the pretty redhead would giddily inform you that she had someone she wanted you to meet, then standing back and watching gleefully as you casually sapped up the creep’s attention, only to bluntly shoot him down and send him off. 

You don’t get the feeling this is one of those times, but from what you knew of the baseball team, you very well may have to do some shooing on your own behalf tonight.

Outside on the tiny back-deck, a small group of people had gathered and right away your brain sparks with familiarity, though you have very little time to consider this before Beverley is releasing your arm and stepping forward. She smiles brightly as she sweeps between you and a man who turns around as if on cue.

“Finn, this is Kimberley Wynn! Kimberley, this is Finn! I am almost certain that the two of you will get along famously,” Beverely announces with a flourish and a wink. You and Finn both blink startled at one another for several moments, before mutual recognition quickly sets in. Your lips slowly pull into a wide grin, and you don’t bother hiding the fact that you’re now looking him over with no subtly, just as he’d done to you earlier in the park. 

“I’m not about to get clobbered again, am I?” you begin flirtily, glad that the man, Finn, recognises you as well, though unlike you, he seems to avoid taking the opportunity to check you out again, to his loss. Instead, he smiles big, almost showmanly, and takes up a slight lean on the railing behind him.

“If it’s any consolation, your hair looks great,” Finn replies cooly, and it’s almost as though you’d never parted ways at all. You flick your hair over your shoulder, seeing how his eyes follow the movement before they’re locked back on yours and you already know you’ve got this man hook, line and sinker.

“Luckily for you,” you sniff, though your smile undercuts any real resentment. Finn seems to grin a little wider then, more genuinely than the showman smile. You think the way his eyes crinkle in the corners is sweet, and that he should smile that way all the time.

“Wait, you two already know each other?!” Beverley cuts in, suddenly reminding you that she was in fact still standing there, watching and listening. “How?!” the redhead demands, not going so far as to stomp a foot, but she does cross her arms in a huff as she looks between the two of you in betrayed disbelief, though you note most of her ire seems directed at Finn.

The blonde swings his gaze back to the shorter woman, seemingly tickled by her apparent annoyance, yet his teasing expression is full to the brim with endeared fondness. You get the impression that this was the natural state of their friendship, and that Finn is about to say something inflammatory just to get a bigger rise, which might be a little funny, but you cut in before he can speak, relieving Beverly of her confusion.

“All Star over here threw a baseball at my head this afternoon,” you say pointedly, making sure he doesn’t mistake your happiness to see him for forgiveness. Finn holds his hands up then, and jerks a thumb in the direction of a man in the larger group of party goers on the porch.

“Roper threw a baseball at your head this afternoon,” he corrects you, as though that should absolve you of your attitude.

“Oh, that’s right! You just failed to catch it!” you tease, watching as he winces dramatically and grasps at his chest.

“You wound me sweetheart!” he exclaims ruefully, and despite the vaguely amicable antagonism, you can see now why he and Beverly are friends.

“Then we’re even.” You say. You already agree with the redhead’s earlier assessment; the two of you were going to get along famously.

Finn shrugs in a manner that reads more as relenting than indifference, and at least some of his overly performative act comes away. Beverley scoffs a laugh, rolling her eyes heavily as she reaches out to shove Finn in the arm. He sways, you think for her benefit, which makes you smile.

“Only you could throw a baseball that hits the one girl on campus who’d actually put up with you…” she snorts, seemingly assuming his chances with you were now dashed. Finn raises a finger in protest.

“As we just discussed, I only failed to catch the ball that hit the one girl on campus who may or may not be willing to put up with me. I’d like that to go on record.” He smiles at her simperingly. Beverley regards him with a withering look for several seconds, before choosing to ignore him entirely, turning to you.

“Have fun.” she says, sounding much more like her usual manner, though before you can tell her it’s alright, she’s already spun away, and when you find her again, she’s tucking herself under the arm of her boyfriend, Jake.

You shake your head, and look back at Finn, finding his gaze already locked on you. He pushes away from the railing then, and steps toward you.

“You know what this is?” he asks you, once more sounding like an actor reading lines, and gesturing between you. “Fate.” he says, lowering his voice somewhat like it was a secret just for the two of you.

You cock your head at his odd little act, though you aren’t entirely un-charmed by it. It was rather different to when you’d met this afternoon, despite his blatant flirting then, now it was as if you were speaking with a completely different person. A stage magician, perhaps.

“So, why don’t we go get a drink in your hand, and then you can tell me which day works for our upcoming date.” Finn gives a slight flourish, and while his whole demeanour is still clearly put on, there is an endearing element to his theatrics, a silliness that you might find more charming if it didn’t feel so much like he was performing for you.

He offers you his arm graciously, which you can imagine combined with his hyped up charm, would have plenty of women already giggling into their sleeves, which you don’t do, but you do place your other hand over his warm skin as well, and allow him to lead you back into the kitchen.

“So what’ll it be? Beer? Fruity punch? Fruity punch and beer?” he wiggles his eyebrows at you, and even though he’s still playing a role of some kind, it’s not hard for you to see through it.

“Fruity punch,” you say decisively. “Can’t stand the taste of beer.” You tell him honestly, watching as he goes about procuring you a glass of the punch you yourself had made, and appreciating the effort he puts in to make sure you have at least two cherries, though, you don’t think he means it to be suggestive, despite your own thoughts going straight to the gutter over the matter.

“So, what you’re saying is; I should switch to the punch if I want to test this theory about you being the one girl on campus who’ll put up with me later?” he asks in amusement, at last handing you your drink, his eyes sparkling. You accept the drink and give a noncommittal shrug as you take a small sip. 

“Oh, that’s not necessary, but I’ll certainly appreciate it later.” You really feel no need to go along with his act, not seeing any reason to play coy about your intentions, not in the way he seemed to feel was par for the course at least. You watch as Finn takes a moment to actually process your words, a brief mix of surprise and curiosity passing over his features, but it’s quickly covered up by a much more ‘cool’ looking mask.

You have to crack a smile at his sheer determination to convince you to have sex with him, the poor man somehow didn’t realise he was preaching to the choir.

“You really do look fantastic, by the way,” Finn says after a few moments of awkward quiet pass. You push aside your amusement, and grin happily at him, smoothing your hand over the material fondly.

“Thanks! I feel like one of ‘Charlie’s Angels’,” you gush a little, briefly feeling silly for bringing up the comparison, however, this time Finn’s smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle in that way you liked, making his whole face seem softer and more natural, pouring with warmth.

“Trust me, Farrah’s got nothing on you right now,” he tells you sweetly, continuing to fondly watch you preen, not just at the compliment, but because you think this might be the first time all evening he isn’t speaking from some kind of script.

The moment passes quickly, though, and as you duck your head to accept his praise, you see his face momentarily scrunching up in a wince, like he was scolding himself for saying something so saccharine. You consider telling him that you found the sweetness endlessly more endearing than any of the other lines so far, but you hold your tongue. You had a small feeling that his pretence was really more about him, than about you, at least to a degree.

Finn is about halfway through earnestly telling you about his apparently ‘average’ sized cock when you at last run out of patience. The gimmick itself was entertaining enough, definitely an original approach to picking up women, and you’d even played along to start with, but you can’t help wondering why you’re standing around talking about his cock when you could be doing other things with it instead.

While he’s still talking, you reach into your pocket and dig around for a moment, before you find what you’re after. Finn trails off when you turn and lay the coin face-side up on his forearm. He blinks at it in confusion, for a few seconds, before looking questioningly up at you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask before he can speak again, and force yourself not to pump your fist triumphantly when his confusion is quickly replaced with affection. Sure, you knew he wanted to have sex with you already, but now he thought you were cute, too.

“Alright,” he answers simply, fully angling his body toward yours, leaning in closer to you at the same time.

“So, this whole ‘average sized cock’ thing, does it actually work? I mean, has it worked when you’ve used it before?” you tip your head up at him, genuinely curious, but you don’t miss the way Finn’s features fall blank for a second after you speak, his smile fading, replaced with mild discomfort. He seems to shift back from you slightly, regarding you once more before he replies.

“I guess this is the time it doesn’t.” He all but mutters, his frown deepening as he looks away from you again, clearing his throat this time and straightening up, obviously embarrassed. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks back at you evenly.

“Could’ve stopped me earlier,” he says a little stiffly, though seemingly coming to terms with whatever direction he now thought this conversation was taking. You can’t help yourself then, his sulking making you laugh, fully and joyfully, but before he can sulk further, you lay your hand gently on his arm, over the penny, and give him a light squeeze. You shake your head as your laughter dies down, and fix him with a warm expression

“I never said it wasn’t working– in a manner of speaking,” You softly tell him, watching as he blinks down at you. You hurry to explain. “I mean don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t working, but only because it’s totally unbelievable.”

Finn at last relaxes somewhat, though his slight frown remains as he considers your complaint.

“What’s so unbelievable about it?” he demands, in a way that tells you this pick-up tactic was one he was proud of, though clear playfulness had returned to his voice.

Confident that you were now talking, actually talking to Finn as he was, and not as he thought would get him laid, you feel energised to engage with the subject matter more seriously. You scoff and roll your eyes at his indignation.

“Firstly,” you start, shifting to lean on your hip, bringing you closer once again. “No guy is ever going to accept, let alone admit that he has an average sized-cock, and he’s definitely not going to admit it to a woman he wants to fuck.” You say matter-of-factly, though you didn’t have anything more than your not-insubstantial intimate experiences with men to go off of as proof.

“Guys who really are average, don’t think that they are, and they probably never will because no woman is going to bring up the fact that his seven inch cock looks suspiciously closer to five.” you wave your hands a little, not realising before now that you really had any firm opinions on this subject.

You see the cogs in Finn’s brain turning as he regards your words with something that resembles amused but genuine interest. You figure he hadn’t expected you to really have a point, which to be fair, you hadn’t expected either. You do plan to let him respond, but you suddenly remember something else you’d been thinking about earlier, when he’d first brought up the concept.

“–And! In my experience, guys who do have big cocks, they don’t really say anything, or they mislead you entirely, so that they can get off on hearing you telling him how big he is.”

That earns a hearty laugh from Finn, who shrugs a shoulder in admittance at that point at the very least. He’d returned at last to watching you fondly, and you think once more that Beverley had been spot on in introducing the two of you. You’re pretty sure Finn is the only man who would so happily, or nonchalantly debate with you about the size of other men’s cocks, just as you’re sure that you’re the only woman on campus who has ever challenged him on it.

Finn hums in thought. “So, you believe men will only ever overcompensate or undercompensate?” he asks, but it's more of a statement. He watches you intently as he tips his chin, and you nod.

“Exactly.”

A moment passes between the two of you, before Finn leans forward, right into your space, wearing a pleased smirk.

“In that case honey,” he starts, voice sounding a little deeper now, huskier somehow. “What’s the verdict then?” he stares at you unwaveringly, challenging you. You frown.

“The verdict on what?” you ask, though at this point you couldn’t muster much genuine interest, not when all this verbal foreplay was slowing down the process of getting him in your bedroom for some actual foreplay.

Finn’s smirk grows then, seemingly glad you’d asked. You watch as his eyes dip briefly down to your chest, where his height and closeness grant him a very good view of your tits. He meets your gaze again before he speaks.

“Do you think I’m overcompensating, or undercompensating?”

You blink and stare at him as you process, not even bothering to hide your captivation, but it lasts for mere seconds before your lips are curling into a coy smile to match his own. You copy his move then, dropping your eyes to take in the front of his jeans, but you don’t look back up again as he had. Instead, you reach out and begin tracing his belt buckle. Finn inhales sharply, clearly taken off guard by your forwardness, which was clearly working for him.

You’re momentarily distracted from his belt as you catch sight of the rather sizable bulge forming at the front of his pants, giving you a pretty good idea of what the verdict should be. You lick your lips without really thinking, but take full advantage of the way Finn’s eyes follow the movement, tracing the path over your now wet mouth as he awaits your answer. You lean in, closing the miniscule distance between you at last, and give his belt a teasing little tug toward you.

“Y’know, I haven’t a clue,” you lie nonchalantly, your smile only growing when you use his belt to pull yourself in and press right up against his front. “But I’d love to find out.”

#everybody wants some!! #walt finn finnegan #finnegan x reader #walt finnegan x reader #idk what to tag ethis even

[sturn3]

based on "cameras/good ones go interlude" by drake !

it's safe to say no one knew about you and chris.

not even that you guys were ever together. not even that you had to suffer watching him with a new girl. showing her off like he never did with you. making you wonder if you were the problem.

his friends knew about her. his family knew about her. hell, even his fans did.

which made you wonder if you truly ever meant anything to him. spending hours on the phone with your best friend analyzing every little thing and what you could've been.

unfortunately for you, you still had to see him. seeming as you were still very close to his brothers. nick even knew about your little situation and truly felt for you. it pained him to see how much you loved his idiot of a brother.

after months, when you finally decided to move on from him and go out with other men, the universe did not have your back. drunk chris calling you?? someone had to be kidding you.

"i miss you." ,"please come back to me. ", "baby, she look like a star but only on camera." ,"it look like we're in love, but only on camera."

"can you believe his audacity?" you said to your best friend as you replayed the voicemail to her ,licking the spoon of ice cream you were holding. "no honestly, who does he think he is" "no literally calling me baby too??? like bro where your girl at"

well your question was quickly answered the next time you hung out with nick "THANK GOD they broke up, she was unberableeeee y/n save us. all chris does nowadays is talk about how much he misses having you around." he said. "i do miss him nick but i can't bear to be that girl anymore, running after him like a lost puppy!"

when you'd come over, he'd race everyone on the way to open the door ,like a dog waiting for his owner. too bad for him, he only got the dryest "hi chris" in return!

it's safe to say chris was suffering without you. hating to see you so happy since you stopped talking to him. it was truly selfish of him but he couldn't help it. sabotaging your dates wasn't even an option for him anymore. he was royally screwed.

he'd have to fight hard to win you over again.

"so let me get this straight, you were with y/n?" matt said trying to wrap his head around it. chris nodded in confirmation. "and you were hiding it from all of us?" ,chris nodded again. "and now you broke up with elle cause you want her back? even though, you called the whole thing off in the first place to be with elle?" ,chris sighed and leaned his face in his hands "yeah." he said quitely. matt laughed at his younger brother and put a hand on his shoulder "good luck buddy" he said as he resumed playing his game.

next time chris saw you was at a friend's birthday party. walking down the stairs in your little black dress and kitten heels, looking as beautiful as ever and having everyone in the room take a second glance at you. you were truly glowing and making his heart ache from how beautiful you looked.

all he could do was look at you for the rest of the night and watch you turn down every boy that approached you. till you decided you had enough and went upstairs to hide. he found that as an opportunity and followed you up. he knocked on every door ,interrupting make outs and seeing stuff he tried to forget until he found you sitting on a well-made bed on your own.

"oh my god chris you scared the shit out of me" you said holding your chest. "sorry, i didn't mean to. i just wanted to talk to you if that's okay." he said as he tried to put on his cutest face that you could never resist. "sure." you finally replied as you sat up straighter to be the same height as him and look him in the eye.

"i just wanted to apologise for everything. i know, i was in the wrong. but i can't seriously live without you. you're like my best friend and my soulmate all in one. i was so stupid to let you go. i realized that so late, when you started going out with other men and when elle broke up with me cause i said your name in bed. my thoughts are utterly and completely consumed by you. i love you." he said in one breath and you were seriously smiling like an idiot by the time he was done. "what did you say chris?" you said as you smirked teasingly "i love-" you cut him off by leaning and pushing your lips onto his soft ones, you felt his hands slowly creep onto your waist, literally your weakness!!!! you pushed him off of you before it got too heated "i love you too dumbass"

this is for my chris girls !!!😝

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

[cognacandlilac]

To the Depths - Part Five - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader) The Pirate's Waltz

AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4

Rating: Explicit/MDNI Chapter Summary: You struggle with the terms of your punishment even as you begin to win over the crew. For a moment, all is well even though you are technically a prisoner. Will the sea allow a moment of peace? Chapter Tags/Warnings: def a little nsfw but not nearly as much as other parts, nothing that hasn't been in past parts. Not beta'd bc I was too impatient to get the update posted lol *edited on 8/5 to fix mistakes that would have been caught with beta reading. There is a lesson here...*

You flee the cabin immediately without another word. Your entire body hums, rages, cries, and begs for release and you know you will not find it in that room. Something stings and burns in your chest, wrapping around your heart and squeezing tight. You’re reminded of Silco’s sea serpent tattoo but immediately shake the thought away. His body is the last thing you want to think about right now. 

Especially since the ache between your legs only grows with each step. You briefly entertain the idea of finding a dark, shadowy corner of the ship to bring the relief denied you, but that thought flies out of your mind the moment you see the crew standing idle on the deck, their faces all turned toward the short stairwell you’ve just climbed. You freeze on the last step.

Before Silco dragged you back down to the cabin, you’d passionately declared for all to hear that you were the reason they had to spend the night fighting a violent storm and why thick pools of drying blood now stain the deck. No doubt you’ve made an enemy of yourself to every single person staring at you now. 

You could return to the cabin but the thought of being enclosed with Silco is unbearable. You are caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Almost literally. 

Luckily, you aren’t trapped in your frozen state for long. Jinx darts into your field of vision, her eyes wide and frantic. 

“You look awful ,” she says, cupping your face in her dainty hands. The coolness of her skin alerts you to just how scorching your face is. No doubt flushed, too. “I hope he wasn’t too harsh with you.”

Harsh certainly isn’t the word you’d choose to describe what just happened in his cabin. “I received the punishment I deserved for my error,” You say, hoping to avoid bringing up any particulars of that punishment, not when your ass still stung in the shape of his hand. Before Jinx can ask another question, you make your way across the deck to the poor crewmate you tricked. 

“I owe you an apology.” You speak to him with the same grace and dignity you would reserve for a noble. “Tricking you wasn’t just wrong, it was cruel. If I thought for even one minute that things would turn out the way they did, I never would have done it but that does not make it acceptable.” 

You bow your head and sink into a half-curtsy. 

“Please, accept my sincerest apologies.”

The walleyed crewmember says nothing at first. Your cheeks grow red from embarrassment as you try to figure out what you ought to do next. He saves you from your discomfort when he lets out a loud, cawing laugh.

“All those fancy words for me, miss?” He guffaws. “In all me days I never thought a lady would speak so pretty to me.” He throws an arm around you in a friendly, but rough, manner and you straighten up to avoid falling over altogether. “So, am I forgiven?”

“Ya ran a bad scheme and it bit us all in the ass. We’ve all done it,” he assures her. “But it’s nice to know you aren’t too high and mighty to take the consequences.” Relief floods you as the other crewmates circle around. They give you approving nods, though you won’t go as far as to say they look upon you with trust or friendliness. 

“Surely, the Captain requested more than just an apology,” Sevika says with a suspicious glint in her eyes. 

“The apology was my own doing,” you say as you approach her. “His punishment dictates that I am to report to you. I am to clean the deck.” Her eyebrows twitch as the corners of her mouth quiver like she’s trying not to laugh. 

“I wouldn’t trust someone so soft-handed with the care of my deck but if the Captain insists…”

She trails off as she walks away. You realize you are meant to follow and hurry after her. She doesn’t offer anything by way of instruction. She tosses a bucket and a thick bristled brush towards you, which you fail to catch. The items clatter onto the floor. Your cheeks burn when you hear chuckles behind you. “Get to it,” Sevika grunts. You look at the empty bucket, noticing that it’s…well, empty. 

“Where would I find water?” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realize your mistake. Everyone who heard begins to laugh. 

“I think you can figure that one out on your own, princess,” Sevika smirks before heading below deck. 

Jinx appears at your side, silent as a ghost but with the energy of a toddler who has had nothing but sweets all day. 

“I rigged up a pulley system so you can fill your bucket. I’ll show you.” 

She loops her arm through yours and pulls you across the deck. You fill your bucket with saltwater and approach one of the more gruesome remnants of the morning’s violence. Your stomach heaves as you spot something that might very well be a skull fragment. 

Determined not to look foolish or weak, you get on your knees and scrub. You work diligently and without complaint, even when your arms start to ache and the wood remains stained despite your efforts. 

It isn’t the approval of the crew you want, exactly. But you are going to be trapped on this ship for two weeks. While you aren’t looking to make friends with your captors, you also don’t want to find your throat slit in a moment of anger. 

“How long are you going to keep doing that?” Jinx materializes by your side. Her braids fall into the puddle you’ve created with your scrubbing efforts. She doesn't seem to mind that she might be getting blood in her long hair. 

“Is this a trick question?”

“No.”

You lift your head to find wide blue eyes staring at you with curiosity. 

“I will keep doing this until the deck is clean.”

She barks out a laugh. “You’re never going to remove all the gross stuff with just water. Didn’t you know that?”

“I don’t often find myself in positions where I am scrubbing up gross stuff ,” you reply. “What else am I supposed to use?”

“Did Sevika not tell you?” Her brows knit together in a mix of concern and confusion. 

“Tell me what?”

Jinx studies you for a moment longer before giggling. “Oh, I get it. Sevika’s having a go at you. Don’t worry. Everyone knows you’ll work without kicking up a fuss. I’ll be right back.”

She bounds off, leaving you confused. You take a moment to give your aching arms a break. You are aware of eyes on you, though the crewmates scattered around the deck do a decent job of not staring at you directly. You know this is some kind of test, one you’re determined to pass with flying colors even if the reward is earning the respect of pirates. 

Jinx returns with a small tin. 

“Watch this.” With a grin, she opens the tin to reveal vibrant purple powder. She sprinkles a little over the blood-soaked wood. “Pour a little water on that.”

You do as she instructs. With wide eyes, you watch the water hiss and bubble. It takes on a pale purple hue as it spreads. It eats away at the blood but leaves the wood unblemished. 

“More water,” Jinx instructs. You comply. The bubbles wash away leaving behind smooth, clean wood. 

“What is that?” You ask, eyeing the purple power. 

“We’re still working on a name. I have several ideas but they always get shot down,” she says as she replaces the lid and tucks the tin into one of her many pockets. 

“We?”

“The ship’s doctor. He likes to experiment.”

“This is the same doctor you got that strange drink from before, when I was first brought aboard?” You press. 

“Yup!” Jinx beams. 

“Well, the Captain tore that drink from my hands and threw it overboard before giving me water. What was wrong with it?” You shudder at the thought of drinking a substance that is capable of dissolving blood and chunks of brain matter being served to you in a cup. 

“Nothing!” Jinx raises her hands, palms facing you. “Sometimes it has side effects, but usually it’s completely safe.”

“Usually?” You arch a brow. 

“Sometimes it makes your veins swell and glow and you can occasionally develop abnormal growths on your body,” she explains. “But that’s only if the batch is made wrong or you take way too much.” 

“None of the words coming from your mouth are bringing me comfort.”

“It’s science! It’s all about trial and error,” she shrugs. “If I thought it would hurt you I wouldn’t have given it to you.” 

Despite everything, you believe her. You haven’t seen a hint of malice in her since you were brought aboard. 

“But you still haven’t told me what it is,” you press. 

“It’s…a tool,” she says with thoughtful consideration. “Depending on how we process it, it can do a lot of things. It can be medicine and poison at the same time. It can clean wood with gentle precision but also dissolve bone. A tricky thing, it is. Truly fascinating.” 

“Interesting,” you murmur as your mind wanders to a person who possesses that same versatility. Another tricky thing. 

You see Silco’s face in your mind’s eye but quickly shake his image away. You don’t want to think about the Captain right now. You’re still cross from the way he teased you and denied you. You’re even more cross knowing how much you would have begged for your pleasure had he not chosen to punish you the way he did. “Thank you for the help. Can I have some of that powder to help me clean?”

Jinx almost seems like she’s going to agree but she holds back. “I’ll just stay with you. We can talk and I’ll sprinkle a little whenever you need it.”

“That works for me.” You offer her a warm smile, a genuine one. She smiles back and settles between two crates to keep you company as you clean. ******** Though you finish cleaning the blood and gore from the deck the very day they were spilled, Sevika isn’t shy about giving you extra tasks. She never gives you anything too difficult though you know it’s not out of consideration for you, but for the ship. 

You’ve scrubbed the deck twice a day for three days. When you aren’t scrubbing, you put your sewing skills to use mending sails. The thick material is hard to work with and the needles are little more than scraps of half-rusted metal but you make do. 

With the help of quick hands, fast learning, and the strange purple powder Jinx offers you soon have far too much idle time on your hands. 

You aren’t particularly fond of aimlessly pacing the deck. The Captain’s cabin is always open to you, but you spend as little time there as you can manage.

Despite Captain Silco’s demanding schedule, he always manages to be in the cabin whenever you are. The room is small enough as it is, but when you are in there together, the very air seems to struggle for space. You don’t speak to him. You don’t look at him unless you can help it. Yet, he never misses a chance to brush close to you. You feel his eyes on you, always. Even when you sleep. 

Sharing his bed is a necessity but you keep your limbs tucked close to you and your body curled toward the cabin wall. He never touches you, which brings both relief and unimaginable frustration.

On the third night, you lay wide awake. Your entire body hums with pressure from the release that was denied days ago. The longing never went away but tonight it’s nearly unbearable. 

You listen in the dark. Silco sleeps beside you. His breathing is deep and even. Though there is a soft glow from the ember of his ruined eye, you know he’s asleep. Slowly, very slowly, you shift onto your back. You wear only a borrowed shirt to sleep in. Your legs are left bare and your undergarments never recovered from your unexpected dip in the ocean. Tonight, it’s an advantage. 

With great care, you slowly lift the long hem of your shirt until you feel the skin of your lower belly. You part your legs only an inch or two before letting your hand slowly wander between your legs beneath the shared blankets. 

You listen intently as you move. Silco’s breathing never changes and you keep the rustling of bedsheets to a minimum. 

You find it safe to assume that Silco is a heavy sleeper. Between the winds and rocking of the ship, it would be difficult for a finicky sleeper to find peace here. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. As sound as your logic may be, logic is not what drives you at this moment. 

The sensation of your fingertips against your skin is enough to make you shiver. You freeze, silently admonishing your lack of self-control before making another attempt. You don’t need much. Just a few light, indulgent touches. Just enough to remove the biting edge of desire that has taken up permanent residence in the back of your mind since Silco bent you over his knee. The pad of a single fingertip brushes against that sensitive, soaked bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hard enough to hurt. The pain is necessary if it keeps you from making even the softest of sounds. 

You wait for a moment, listening to Silco’s breathing. When you are certain there is no change, you allow another slow drag of your fingertip. Then another. And another. Pleasure spins through your mind and soothes the needy ache you’ve carried in your core for days. 

Fragmented images from the night of the storm slip through your mind. The memory of Silco’s soft groan when you rode him so slowly sends another ripple of warmth through your body. You can recall the exact sensation of his tongue as he teased your nipples. You can feel the way he throbbed inside of you when you drove each other to maddening releases. 

Yet, somehow, you manage to keep your movements minimal, discrete, and silent. Even as your blood heats up and your heart pounds, you have enough self-control to keep yourself quiet as you relieve your desires. 

An intoxicating sense of smugness adds another layer to your pleasure. Though it was memories of Silco that fueled that pleasure, he remains asleep beside you. Completely oblivious. 

His ability to consistently underestimate you was truly something-

“What do we have here?” His velvet voice slides through the darkness and wraps around you as his hand finds yours. You’re grateful for the pitch blackness of the cabin so he cannot see the redness of your cheeks. Your mind, still caught in the haze of pleasure from your fingertip, struggles to come up with any sort of explanation. 

There is nothing you can say for yourself. You’ve been caught. 

His hand, still covering your hand, moves. He presses down on your fingers, forcing you to tease yourself. You push your hips down into the mattress to avoid the pressure of your own touch. “Oh, now you wish to follow the rules?” He taunts lightly. 

You roll so that your back is to him. You tell yourself that you remain silent because you will not sink so low as to dignify his taunts with a response. Yet, deep in your belly where that spring of desire sits tightly coiled, you know that you cannot trust your own tongue right now. If you open your mouth to slice him with scathing words, there is a chance you’ll simply end up begging for pleasure. 

Hatred blooms within the blush on your cheeks. How dare he toy with you in such a way? How dare you struggle so much to keep yourself in control around him? What happened that night, within the violence of the storm, was about control more than it was about pleasure. 

But now? You have your hand between your legs, sneaking pleasure when you’ve always been able to go without when it suited you. 

He’s made you desperate. 

You remove your hand from between your legs and tuck both arms against your chest. You clamp your thighs together and pray that the sweet ache between them fades soon. 

“If I catch you doing that again, I will not hesitate to bind your hands behind your back.” Silco’s voice comes through the darkness once more before he falls silent. You continue to say nothing. When the sun rises, you dress as quickly as you can and flee the cabin. Silco sits at his desk and you do not even have to look at him to know there is a smug smile on his mouth. Embarrassment and irritation propel you through your daily tasks in record time. It is not yet midday when you find that you have nothing to do. 

The rest of the crew mill about at a comfortable pace. They don’t seem to be in any particular rush. Jinx is nowhere to be found. You assume she’s below decks with the strange doctor you have yet to meet. Disappointment flutters in your chest. As strange as it is, your favorite parts of the past few days were when she would perch near you ask you worked, and ramble on about everything and nothing. She often jumped from topic to topic without rhyme or reason and rarely bothered to make sure you had the proper context to understand anything she said, but you enjoyed listening. She helped you keep your mind busy. 

When your mind is not busy, even for the briefest of moments, your thoughts always turn to Silco. More specifically Silcos’s hands. Or his mouth. Or his voice or his cock or his insufferable personality. Without care, it’s so easy for you to lose yourself in a whirlpool of obsessive, never-ending thoughts about that ridiculous, despicable, revolting pirate bastard. 

Prickles of pure fury ripple over your skin. With a soft snarl of annoyance, you scan the deck for Sevika. You find her near the bow, watching the calm sea. 

“I need something else to do,” you say. 

She initially seems as though she does not hear you, but you’ve come to realize that it’s part of the game she plays. She makes you wait before turning slowly and looking at you as though you’re a piece of flotsam. 

“Mend the sails,” she says. 

“They’re all mended.” Despite their somewhat worn-down appearance, the sails are of remarkable quality. Even after that vicious beast of a storm, little mending was needed. 

“And the deck?”

“As spotless as it can be with all of the wood rot.” 

“And the spare line?”

“In perfect condition. It may as well be coils of silk.” 

“How many pickled eggs are in the barrel?”

“Two-hundred and seventy-three.”

Her thick, dark brows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”

“If you want to double-check, you’re more than welcome but please give me something to do first before I throw myself overboard.” 

Several emotions fight for dominance on Sevika’s stern face. You see flashes of surprise, humor, annoyance, and perhaps a little bit of respect though that might have been a trick of the light. 

“Arlo is doing one of his big cooking hauls today,” Sevika says. “I’m sure he can use an extra set of hands.” 

You had yet to venture below deck to meet the ship’s cook and see the mess deck. Jinx preferred to eat in the open air and had taken it upon herself to bring an extra serving for you at mealtimes. 

You find the meal offerings of the Zaun’s Revenge to be, frankly, repulsive. At first, you assumed it was because your palate was used to Piltover’s fresh vegetables, vibrant spices, and choice cuts of meat. But you’d seen the way others look at their meals with disgust and longing and you knew you weren’t alone in your dislike of the cuisine. 

Of course, could you truly expect to find something tasty aboard a pirate’s ship?

Sevika does not wait for you to answer. She turns away as though you are not there and focuses her gaze on the sea once more. You wonder if she’s looking for something or simply pondering. It’s not hard to imagine that those aboard this ship have had difficult lives filled with strife. You have more than most ever will, despite your losses, and you often need to take a moment to deal with the weight of it all by gazing at a soothing view. It clears the mind. 

You make your way below deck, passing the crammed tables of the mess deck. 

Arlo isn’t difficult to find. The mess deck and the kitchen are one and the same. A heavy-set man covered in a light sheen of sweat frantically tosses…something in a wide pan over a massive flame. The air carries a scent of burnt food and vinegar. Arlo watches the pan as though he believes the contents will jump out and bite him. To be fair, that doesn’t seem impossible. 

“Hello?” You call softly, over the violent sizzle of the ill-fated meal. 

Arlo looks over his shoulder and sets the pan aside, looking relieved to do so before a stern expression overtakes his somewhat doughy features. You can’t help but notice the red tinge to his watery grey eyes, irritated by the fumes of cooking such a creation. 

“No early meals. You should know the rules by now, princess.”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “I’m not here to beg for food. Sevika suggested you might need an extra hand. She said you were doing some kind of…food haul?” While you understand what each of those words mean separately, you are unsure of the combined meaning of them in this context. 

“Aye?” He sniffs as he brings the corner of his apron up to rub at his eyes. “I like to cook big batches of things all at once and preserve them so it is easy to handle mealtimes. This lot is hard to feed.” 

“Preserve them?” You ask. “You have enough salt for such a task?” 

“Of a sort,” he says. “The good doctor below decks whipped up a preserving powder that works wonders. It tastes like nothing.” 

Arlo jerks his chin towards a bowl sitting on one of the stained, cluttered counters. The bowl is filled with a grainy substance the same vibrant shade of purple as the powder that helped you get blood out of the deck. 

“What is it?” You ask, leaning forward just a little. 

“Beats me,” Arlo shrugs. “It’s not my place to ask questions, especially not when I’m given something helpful for free.” 

“I can understand that,” you nod. “Do you need help with your food haul?” 

“I won’t say no. Can you cook?”

You hesitate for a moment. “No. But if you have a recipe I can look at, I can surely figure it out.” You’ve always been a quick learner. And so many people know how to cook so how hard can it truly be? You doubt whatever concoctions Arlo makes take much skill. 

“I don’t waste my time with recipes.”

“Then how do you cook?” You ask, unsure if you want to know the answer. 

“I do what feels right.”

What feels right often leads to grey foods that are both mushy and crunchy at the same time. 

“Did you study somewhere to become a cook?” Your training in polite conversation rears its head before you can stop it. Of course, he didn’t train anywhere. He’s a bloody pirate. 

“People are trained to be cooks?” He looks at you with utter confusion. 

“They prefer to be called chefs, but yes.”

“Ach,” he waves her off. “I’m no chef and I do not pretend to be. I just do my best to use whatever isn’t rotting or foul to keep the crew fed.”

Well, at least Arlo seems to have some sort of self-awareness. “Were you not able to gather more ingredients when we stopped at Port Fairna?” You ask. You vividly remember plenty of spice sellers and bakers lining the dirt streets. 

“No,” Arlo answers sharply. “I do not mess about with such things.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “You do not manage your own stock?”

“No.” Came another curt reply. The cook avoids your gaze, choosing instead to look at his own hands. 

You decide not to push the matter and instead, turn your attention to the shelves of the well-stocked scullery. Unfortunately, your confusion only deepens. The shelves are lined with rich spices from all over the world that look untouched. You spy garlic, onions, potatoes, carrots, and all manner of staple ingredients labeled and stored with heaps of the purple preservative. 

“What are all of these?” You ask. 

Arlo looks at the shelves you point to but quickly looks away. “Don’t know. Never seen ‘em before. Don’t know how to cook with ‘em so I don’t use them.”

“But it says what they are right on the containers,” you point out. “Surely, you’ve heard of garlic and potatoes even if you’ve never had them. Right?” 

Arlo goes quiet for a moment and you briefly wonder if you’ve made some unforgivable error in an innocent question. “Aye. Yes, I’ve heard of them but I did not know we had them.”

“But they’re labeled. Did you not label them yourself?” He controls the kitchen, does he not?

Arlo’s cheeks turn a patchy red color that is not from the fumes or heat. “No, no I didn’t. I…can’t.”

You stare in confusion before shame and embarrassment creep into your gut. “You do not know how to write?”

“Or read.”

Arlo can’t meet your gaze. He seems frozen in place. Though he is nearly the side of the large, tattooed crewmember that once pulled you from the sea, he looks like a small child. 

“Oh,” you say softly. It’s clearly a point of tenderness for Arlo. You don’t wish to upset him even more. “Well, then this seems like a perfect arrangement.”

He lifts his head and looks at you with a quizzical expression. “What?”

“I can read but I cannot cook. You can cook but cannot read. It seems like an ideal pairing to me.” You offer him a smile. 

For a brief moment, you wonder at your own actions. You’d never go out of your way to be unkind to someone who did not deserve it and you always try to do what’s right, but you know yourself. You have a temper and a spiteful streak that prevent you from ever calling yourself a nice person, though you like to think you are kind in all of the ways that matter.. Arlo is a pirate. Arlo likely knew of the plan to kidnap you and hold you for ransom. Arlo is one of Silco’s men and, therefore, cannot possibly be a good person. 

Yet, you find it easy to be nice to him. Natural, even. He doesn’t seem like a scowling, sneering member of a villainous pirate crew determined to put you through hell before returning you to your father and fiance. 

He’s just…a person. 

So is Jinx. 

You are surrounded by people. Just people. 

You shake away the thought. Yes, the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge are people but they are people who willingly follow a terrible man capable of terrible things. There are no innocent people aboard this ship and you cannot allow sentimentality and loneliness to cloud that fact. 

Still, if a little teamwork can yield some decent food, you’re willing to give it a go. 

With Arlo’s approving nod, you push into the scullery and examine what you have to work with. The stock aboard this half-rotted ship rivals your larder back home. You gather up ingredients you know work well together and read the labels to Arlo. His eyes light up with inspiration. 

“If I had known we had such things, I would have used them ages ago,” he says with an excited smile. 

“No one helped you until now?” You press. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly a helpful bunch. We handle our own responsibilities and we don’t gripe to anyone else. No one wants to be seen as a weak link in the chainmail. Weak links don’t last long. Asking for help would mean dumping some of my responsibilities on someone else’s lap. It’s just not done, you see?” 

“No, not really,” you answer. “Asking for help is not a weakness.”

“We can agree to disagree on that but let me ask you something.” Arlo took a head of garlic and began peeling and mincing the cloves with speed and precision. “When was the last time you answered a call for help?”

You open your mouth to answer but falter. You cannot remember a time you were last approached by someone in need of help. 

“Well, no one has asked me for help in recent memory so I cannot say,” you answer. 

“And that automatically means that no one around you needed help?” 

“I-” you stammer. “I don’t know.”

“I bet you live in a big, fancy house. Yeah?”

“Yes,” you say, your cheeks coloring with embarrassment as you pass a vial of dried green herbs to Arlo. 

“And lots of people get paid to be in that house and make your life easier?”

“Yes,” you repeat. 

“And you don’t think those people have struggles that you could probably help with?”

You want to say no. You want to believe that everyone working for your family is happy and content with their job as well as their personal lives but you are not that naive. 

Except…perhaps, you are. 

“I never thought about it,” you admit. 

“And they never asked because that’s not how it’s done. Their burdens are their own. My burdens are my own. It is the way of things.” 

You let his words sit heavy on your chest as you rummage through the scullery. You’re almost grateful when you smell the thick stench of rot from ingredients kept too long. You clear out everything that doesn’t look right and shove it into a bin to be disposed of later. 

You think of your lady’s maid and realize you know little about her. You do not know if she has siblings, a lover, a best friend, or even if her parents are alive. You have no idea why she applied for a position with your family. As much as you’d like to think your family are good employers, you know it’s foolish to believe her greatest joy in life is tightening your corset and brushing your hair. 

“Would this be a tasty addition?” Arlo calls, bringing you out of your thoughts as he holds up a jar of dried peppers. You read the label and wince. 

“Are spicy dishes popular among the crew?” You ask. “Just one of those would set your mouth on fire.”

“Better leave it for another day, then,” he shrugs. “I don’t want to overwhelm anyone with too many new flavors.” 

Though Arlo never had any training, his instincts as a cook come to life the moment he fully realizes just what he has to take advantage of. Vegetables are minced and sauteed quickly. You find some bone broth tucked away in the scullery. There is no shortage of fishmeat to choose from. You read the labels to Arlo who looks on in wonder. 

“I thought this was bass and this was carp,” he says, pointing to two containers of preserved fishmeat. “I never knew that was eel. It all looks so different when it’s sliced up and skinned.”

“Who does the fishing?”

“A few crewmembers have a knack for it. All of Sevika’s gadgets make her the obvious choice for skinning, deboning, and filleting,” Arlo explains. “It’s brought to me all packaged up like this.” 

It seems odd to you that the systems around food are so sloppy, especially since Silco seems to thrive on order. Upon further reflection, you realize you haven’t actually seen him eat. He left his plate untouched at the tavern. He let you eat his bread and potatoes. You saw him drink from his tankard but you cannot recall him taking a bite of his food. 

Surely, he must eat. Though he is a pirate, he’s displayed a sense of elegance and taste on more than one occasion. You simply cannot see him eating the food prepared by his illiterate cook. 

But why does it matter to you? He’s obviously eating enough to keep himself alive. Why would you care what he eats? 

You don’t care. And you don’t want to think about him. You have an important task on hand that is, truthfully, quite fun. You’ve come across many of the spices and herbs stored in the scullery during your travels. Smelling them brings pleasant memories. While you do not know how to cook, you know how to describe what things taste like. In the event Arlo knows nothing about an ingredient, you are sometimes able to provide some knowledge. It’s a strange system, but it somehow works. 

Arlo keeps your mind busy. He even teaches you how to chop a few things. Your hands are clumsy but you make it work. Within an hour, you are dutifully stirring a massive pot of fish stew. While it’s not something you’d choose for yourself, it’s an improvement on whatever Arlo made before. “It’s strange to be a cook on a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean and have access to things I never even knew existed growing up,” Arlo says, holding a potato in his hands. 

“You never had a potato until joining this crew?” You itch to ask why he joined in the first place but you allow him to reveal information about himself at his own pace. 

“Potatoes grow from the earth, yeah?” He asks. You nod. “Which means they need something in order to grow.” He gives you an expectant look. You know you’re being tested again but potatoes are a safer topic than the unknown personal lives of your staff. “Sunshine, water, and fertilizer, I presume.” 

“There is no sunshine where I come from,” Arlo says. “Water can’t be wasted on plants but even if it could, there is no earth. You can’t grow something of the earth if there is no earth for growing.” 

“Oh,” you murmur softly. “You’re from the Undercity, then?” 

“Almost all of us are,” Arlo says. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

“Well, I haven’t been in a very social mood as of late. Being kidnapped tends to do that.” You offer a small smirk, which Arlo returns. 

“Fair enough,” he nods. “You seem like a decent sort for a spoiled heiress.”

“You seem like a decent sort for a pirate who can’t read.” 

Arlo barks out a laugh. “Perhaps, your ransom money will buy me a tutor.” 

You can’t help but laugh at that as you continue to stir the stew. With a little thrill of accomplishment, you realize that you’ve not only assisted in the preparation of a meal but you’ve done so without thinking of Silco for more than a few moments. He’s hardly entered your mind at all. 

Footfalls thump on the wooden stairs leading to the deck. You spot tall, well-kept boots wrapped around slender legs. 

It is as if your thoughts - or lack thereof - summoned him like some kind of devilish moth to a flame that would prefer to be left unbothered. “Ah, there you are,” Silco says as he enters the mess deck. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Working,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the stew. 

“I did not assign you to the kitchen.”

“You told me to take orders from Sevika. Sevika sent me here. Arlo and I are getting along brilliantly, aren’t we?” You look over your shoulder at the cook who glances between you and Silco with a look of panicked confusion. Eventually, his gaze stops on Silco. 

“I didn’t know you didn’t want her working in the kitchen, Captain,” he says quickly. His voice trembles with nerves and you feel anger flickering to life in your stomach. 

“I should warn you, Arlo,” Silco speaks as though the cook said nothing. “Our prisoner does not have a talent for following directions. She can be sneaky and disobedient if she believes she can get away with it.”

Your cheeks burn as you understand exactly what he means. 

Before you can stop yourself, you pull the wooden spoon from the stew and chuck it at Silco. He dodges, but barely. His good eye widens in surprise as you search for something else to launch at him. Perhaps a nice sharp butcher’s knife. Instead, you find a whisk. You throw it without hesitation. 

“Have you gone mad?” Silco snaps, dodging the second projectile. How can someone with one working eye be so good at dodging and judging distance? Although, you don’t know for certain if the ruined eye still has a vision. Could that be possible?

You let out a frustrated groan as your mind tries to give in to your curiosity about the infuriating pirate before you. 

“Oh, I see,” Silco chuckles. “You’re just upset I won’t let you cu-” 

He is silenced by a spatula spinning through the air as it hurtles toward him. He dodges once more. 

“I have plenty of things to throw at you,” you warn him. “And if I have gone mad, it’s entirely your fault so I will not feel bad if I crack your nose with a rolling pin.”

“I don’t have one of those,” Arlo murmurs softly. 

“Temper, temper,” Silco tuts before backing up toward the stairs. “Don’t let her poison me, Arlo. I don’t put it past her to try.”

Arlo gives you a concerned look as Silco vanishes. 

“Don’t worry,” you say with a bitter note in your voice. “I won’t poison anyone.”

“It’s not that, though I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “But you just threw things at the Captain. Have you lost your bleeding senses, woman?”

“Most likely.” You find another spoon to stir the stew with and continue on as though Silco did not interrupt your work. 

“Just be careful,” Arlo warns. “The Captain is not to be trifled with.”

“Neither am I.” ******** The stew is well received, but that’s not a surprise. Even if it still tastes off to you, it’s a massive improvement. The mess deck is packed with crewmembers licking their bowls clean and sniffing out second helpings. You and Arlo made enough stew to last several meals but it is all gone in the span of an hour. Arlo frets about rationing ingredients but his worries are soon put to rest from an overflow of praise. Even Sevika cracks a smile as she sips her broth. 

Silco does not eat with the crew, but that doesn’t surprise you. A spiteful part of you is glad that he will miss out on such a delightful meal. It serves him right for being so…so… Him. 

As night falls, the crew settles into a leisurely state. 

You get to work scrubbing the dirty dishes, eager to have a task that will keep you out of the Captain’s chambers for as long as possible. 

“Ach, leave it to me,” Arlo says. “You’ve done enough.”

“I don’t mind,” you protest, even though dishwashing is not an appealing task after seeing the way the pirates eat. “I should be helping.”

“Come have a drink with us,” comes the deep voice of the tattoo-covered man. After listening to the conversation during mealtimes, you gleaned that his name is Locke. 

“Oh, I-” You stammer, surprised by the invitation. A slender crewmember with dark choppy hair moves to Locke’s side. You’re fairly certain they go by Ran. 

“Come on,” they urge. “You’ve worked hard enough. And none of us have given you proper credit for taking Walley’s punishment the other day. It took nerve to speak up like that. Most of us wouldn’t have done that.” 

You look back at Arlo, who gives a nod of approval. Your gaze returns to Locke and Ran. Though they do not look as intimidating as they did when you first came aboard, you wouldn’t call their demeanors friendly, either but that’s something you’ve come to expect. Everyone on this ship comes from a rough place. It makes sense that even kindness looks abrasive in your eyes.  “Okay,” you nod. A part of your mind begins to scheme. If you can befriend some of the crew, perhaps you can pull off an escape after all. The other part of your mind is simply glad you have a reason to stay out of the Captain’s cabin. Besides, it will surely irritate Silco that his crew is being so welcoming to you. That’s a lovely bonus to this situation. 

You follow Locke and Ran to the main deck where quite a few members of the crew including Jinx and Sevika stand around a cluster of torches bound together in a damp barrel. It doesn’t seem like the safest arrangement, but you don’t say as much. You move to Jinx’s side. She beams when she sees you and throws a playful, but rough, arm over your shoulder. 

“It’s about time you started being social,” she says with a glint of mischief in her eyes. You almost want to remind her that you are a prisoner, a captive. Socializing is not a priority. You decide against it. She’s just a kid. She’s happy and she’s aware of the situation. You’ll leave well enough alone. 

“Here, princess.” Sevika presses a tin into your hand. You can smell the alcohol even though the tin is nowhere near your face. 

“What is it?” You ask. 

“The finest vintage imported from uppityland courtesy of Star Crossed Shipping,” Sevika snorts before taking a gulp of her own drink. You try not to bristle at the mention of your father’s company. 

“Seriously, what is it?” You whisper to Jinx. 

“I don’t know. I only drink coralberry juice,” she shrugs. “Nothing else is sweet enough.” 

You’ve never heard of coralberries or their juice. It’s entirely possible that Jinx is making up a random drink for the fun of it. Either way, your cup is filled with something dark and pungent. It is only when you notice that many crewmembers are watching you with curious and expectant looks that you realize they’re waiting for you to drink. They probably expect you to choke and sputter, proving that you’re too soft and fragile compared to them. 

You don’t know why the idea bothers you, but it does. You brace yourself and take a drink. 

And it is awful. 

If you had to guess, you’d say it was some kind of spiced rum but that doesn’t make the burn any easier to bear as you swallow it down. Your eyes water so much that everyone blurs together in a smudgy mess. For a moment, you think you’re going to be sick. Or that your skin is going to melt off. It’s hard to know for sure. 

Even when you swallow the liquid down and the feeling passes, your tongue feels numb. Surely, that’s nothing to worry about. Right?

You are rewarded with approving glances but never any outright praise. Not that it matters. Why would you want the praise of a bunch of pirates? Why would you want praise for choking down something that tastes like it was made in a boot? 

You shudder as you realize that it likely was made in a boot or something equally foul. 

Thankfully, attention moves away from you as everyone settles down to swap stories. Jinx pulls two crates together and urges you to sit on one. 

“Every word of these stories is utter shit, but they’re entertaining,” Jinx whispers to you. “I hope Locke tells about the time he caught a deep sea spineshark with nothing more than a stick and some fishing line.” 

You listen to the stories and Jinx’s words ring true. It quickly becomes clear that the purpose is not to share experiences, but to outdo each other with fictional feats of glory. Though, when Sevika speaks of punching a ravenous whale right in the eye, you feel as though there is a measure of truth in her words. Especially if that punch was done by her three-pronged attachment. 

“I wonder who is going shout liar first,” Jinx murmurs as her eyes scan the faces of those around her. 

“What?” You ask. 

“Eventually, someone tells a story that’s so impossible, so unbelievable, that someone else calls them a lair. Then they fight over it.” 

“Fight? As in, fight ?” You shake your head. How is this considered a fun activity? 

“Yup!” Jinx’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “It’s the best part.” 

“If you say so,” you shrug and continue to listen. 

Sure enough, a skinny sailor with sunken eyes and a permanent scowl tells a tale that is just a little bit too farfetched and it sends Locke over the edge. 

“Lair!” Locke booms, spilling some of his drink. 

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass,” the other sailor snarls. 

“This is going to be a boring fight,” Jinx mumbles. “No one will throw a punch at Locke and Locke is too honorable to punch someone smaller than him.”

Never in a thousand years would you have looked at Locke and thought the word honorable applies to him. But Jinx’s prediction rings true. The two sailors shout and swear at each other for a little while but they do not come to blows. 

“At least I am a decent shot,” Locke grumbles as the argument reaches its head. 

“My nan is a better shot than you are and she’s fuckin’ blind,” the other man snarls, earning a round of snickers from the rest of the crew. 

“Your nan died three years ago, you twat.”

“Yeah! And she can’t see for shit!” 

You nearly spit out your tentative sip of likely-rum at that. You try to rein in your laughter when you realize everyone else is doing the opposite, especially Jinx. 

“Bring me a rifle,” Locke snaps. “We’ll settle this now.”

“You don’t have any targets to aim for, you buffoon,” Ran quips as they drain their cup. 

“That don’t matter,” the skinny sailor says with a dismissive wave. “I’m so drunk I can see just about as well as my nan.” 

“Then how are we going to settle our little disagreement?” Locke demands. “By proxy?”

“Sure, I’ll choose a proxy to defend my honor,” the sailor scoffs. His bleary eyes scan his surroundings before his gaze lands on you. “I bet the little heiress can outshoot you.”

Locke rolls his eyes and your cheeks flush red. 

“I’ll bet my life’s earning she’s never even held a firearm before,” Locke mutters. 

“Yet she can still outshoot you,” the sailor slurs. 

Your apprehension melts away as you realize everything is said in good fun. For reasons you are unsure of, you decide to join in. 

“I’ve never held a firearm but I’m certain Locke has never danced a waltz,” you say. 

Locke levels you with a hard stare, one brow arched. “Who needs waltzing?”

“Who needs to be a good shot in alone in the middle of the ocean?” You point out. 

“Good marksmanship is very useful in piracy,” Locke says. “Waltzing is not.” 

“Waltzing requires grace, balance, self-awareness, spatial awareness, and the ability to read those around you. You don’t have only your partner to worry about but other pairs around you. Can the same be said for shooting?” 

“Yes!” Jinx exclaims. “Well, maybe not the bit about a partner but that’s all true.”

“What a load of shit,” Locke grumbles. 

“It’s true,” Sevika chimes in. Her word seems to make all the difference even if she only speaks up for the sake of her own entertainment. 

You look at Locke who still seems to be struggling with the idea that a waltz and a rifleman use the same skillset. “I propose a challenge.” 

That gets everyone’s attention. 

“If I can shoot better than Locke can waltz, I win,” you say. 

“Win what?” Locke asks. 

“Bragging rights?” You suggest. You don’t want to trade away any chores since you need them in order to avoid being alone with Silco. 

“Done,” Locke nods with a smirk. Despite his menacing appearance, he looks almost…giddy. Like he’s happy to take part in something that’s truly ridiculous. “Come take your shot.” 

You stand and approach Locke as Ran brings a rifle to him. 

“Do you have any idea how to shoot this at all?” Locke asks. 

“Nope,” you admit. 

“In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’ll show you just enough to keep you from hurting yourself,” he says. 

“How gallant.” 

He shows you how to hold the rifle, which is far heavier than you imagined. As per instruction, you keep the barrel pointed toward the open ocean at all times. As you hold it, your arms start to tremble. Locke prepares the rifle for firing and you suspect he’s taking longer than necessary just to see you struggle. 

“If there is no target, how can we know whether I’ve made a good shot or not?” You ask. 

“Don’t worry. That won’t matter.” 

“But my part of the challenge is a test of marksmanship,” you protest only to be met with a chuckle. 

“Okay, princess. Go ahead and fire.” Locke gives you a nod and you gently tap your finger against the trigger. Aiming at the endless, empty expanse of the black ocean, you pull the trigger fully. You expect the loud boom but you do not expect to feel the entire rifle revolt against your grip, slamming into your shoulder. You stumble back with a small yelp, much to the enjoyment of the spectators around you. 

Locke tosses his head back and laughs, his shoulders shaking. 

“What the hell was that?” You stammer. Ran takes the rifle from you, freeing your hands to rub at your shoulder. 

“Recoil. To be honest, I expected to you land on your ass,” Locke chuckles.

“You might have given me some warning.”

“Where is the fun in that?” The pirate says. 

“Well, once I confirm that my shoulder hasn’t been launched from its socket, I’m going to make you waltz and we’ll see how you do,” You mutter, still testing the soreness in your arm and shoulder. “If you complete the waltz without tripping, you’ll win. Is that fair?” That seems fair to you since Locke expected the rifle’s recoil to send you to the ground. 

“Easy enough,” he agrees. 

“Good. Stand here.” You direct him to stand in front of you. “Watch my feet.”

With a phantom partner, you demonstrate the basic steps of a waltz before returning to Locke. 

“Got it?” You ask. 

“Yes,” Locke nods though he does not seem very confident. 

“Good. Remember, if you trip, I win.” You place his hands in the correct positions and do the same for yourself. He’s much taller and broader than anyone you’ve ever danced with. Your arms feel suspended in an awkward way that almost makes you laugh. 

“I don’t suppose we have any music?” 

“Depends. Can one play a waltz on the side of a barrel?” Jinx asks. 

“Likely not,” you chuckle. “It’s no matter. I will count out the beat. That won’t be too difficult for you, will it?” You taunt Locke who only nods. 

You begin to count, but nothing happens. Locke stands stock still. 

“You’re the man. You’re supposed to lead,” you prompt him. 

“Right. Naturally,” he grumbles and waits for you to begin your count. When you do, he steps forward instead of backward, trampling your foot. You hold in your laughter as you shake your head. 

“I didn’t think you’d stumble on the very first step,” you tease. “Had I known such a game would be so easy to win I would have joined the fun sooner.”

“I’ve never done any of that fancy Piltover dancing before. Let me try again,” Locke mutters. “It’s a stupid dance. It’s not that hard.”

“If you say so,” you shrug before taking up position again. You begin to count once more. To Locke’s credit, he manages two steps before stumbling, earning a round of laughter from the crew. 

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice like a burst of cold wind blew over the deck. Silco stood at the top of the stairs leading to his cabin. The laughter amongst the crew faded into nothing. Only Jinx looked unaffected by the Captain’s sudden presence. 

“A friendly challenge,” you explain. “Nothing more.”

“I can see that,” Silco says as he steps closer to the cluster of burning torches. The firelight casts his face in harsh shadows that make him look even more inhuman than he already does. “But I cannot allow the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge to look incompetent. Locke, step aside.”

“Aye, Captain.” The confusion is clear in his voice as he stumbles back. You are unable to fully hide your confusion as well, especially when Silco steps before you and takes your hand. 

“The honor of the Zaun’s Revenge is at stake. You will not leave this ship under the misbelief that no one here can execute a decent waltz.” 

Well, that’s an unexpected development. 

“Do what you are able,” you reply with a note of challenge in your voice that does not go unnoticed by your new partner. You bring your hand to rest on his shoulder as you prepare to dance. “One more thing,” he says before looking to his crew. “Walley, do you still have that old fiddle?” 

“Aye, Captain.” 

“Fetch it.”

The crewmember scurried away and quickly returned with the promised fiddle. 

“Play Across a Sea so Clear and Blue, ” Silco orders before looking down at you. “I doubt you know it but it will suffice for a waltz. Surely, you can adapt.”

“Surely,” you bristle. 

Walley beings to play his fiddle. Though you do not know the song, the time signature is well-suited for a waltz. You wait for Silco to lead you into the dance, expecting him to miscount or falter but he doesn’t. The pair of you move across the deck as though you’ve done this a hundred times before and plan to do it a hundred times more. 

You quickly adjust to each other’s movements and soon he leaves room for you to add flourishes to the simple steps, which you do without hesitation. Your movements are slow and precise. As you dance with him, you cannot help but think of how different this is from the passion you shared during the storm. Silco leads you through the dance expertly, trusting you to be a competent partner. This isn’t a show of dominance or power but a display of grace and unity. Two bodies moving as one to create something elegant and lovely. 

The song ends far too soon, as does the dance. You feel breathless even though the dance was not at all physically demanding. You’re speechless even as your body moves you through the motions of curtsying to your partner. 

Thankfully, Jinx appears at your side. She’s nearly vibrating with excitement. 

“How did you do that? You looked like you were floating!” She says, looking between you and Silco. Her question is a good one. 

Where does a pirate learn how to waltz, let alone waltz so well? 

“I…” You start only to trail off. “I need a drink.”

You move away from Silco, back to your abandoned cup. You force yourself to take a sip and you are grateful that it goes down easier this time. The alcohol settles in your belly and dulls the unwanted feelings swirling through you. 

Jinx joins you soon and within minutes, the crew is back to swapping stories and boasting as though the waltz never happened. 

Your gaze wanders to the bow. Though that part of the ship is kept in darkness, Silco’s figure is even darker and you can see him easily. 

Curiosity and something deeper that you do not wish to think about tugs at you. You do your best to ignore it for as long as you are able, but it’s like a persistent buzzing fly hovering around your head. 

With a resigned sigh, you get up and move toward the bow. No one stops you or questions you. 

You reach Silco’s side and stand quietly in the darkness for a moment. You can hear the gentle lap of the water against the ship’s hull and you can see the sparkling array of stars above, but everything else is black. 

“If you’ve come to beg for another dance, I’m afraid I will disappoint you,” Silco says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, as though he does not wish the stars to overhear him. 

“I wasn’t going to,” you say. “But I was going to ask where you learned to dance like that.”

“It does not take much to learn how to waltz,” he says. Though you cannot see his face, save for the glow of his ruined eye, you get the sense that he’s avoiding something. 

“It’s not just that,” you say. “You dance like a gentleman. You carry yourself like a gentleman. You speak like a gentleman, for the most part. Yet, you’re…”

“A pirate? A sea hound? A scoundrel? A criminal?”

“You could have stopped at pirate but yes,” you nod, earning a soft chuckle from Silco. “But even still, you’re nothing like the pirates my father has encountered.” 

“I’ll admit to that,” he says. “I am not like any other pirate roaming the seas. I have no wish to scavenge from trade ships. If I wished to fight for scraps with a thousand other desperate fools, I would have stayed in the Undercity.” 

Silco does not need to see your face to know his words have thrown you. 

“Is it more believable that a pirate can carry himself well than it is to believe a gutter rat can do the same?” 

“I have not known what to believe for several days now,” you say. “I’d be willing to believe almost anything.” 

The chuckle that leaves Silco’s throat is dry and humorless. “The Piltover Naval Academy loves bottomfeeders with a sad story.” 

Your eyes widen in the darkness. 

Of course, that makes perfect sense. He wasn’t daunted by the storm. He runs his ship with precision and discipline one would not attribute to ordinary pirates. He’s managed to instill a sense of both fear and loyalty in his crew. And those who attend the academy are taught etiquette, dance, deportment, and anything else that can shape them into shining jewels of society. 

Your mind snaps back to the day you were kidnapped, before everything went to hell. Captain Vander spoke of the academy briefly. There was a moment when a shadow fell over his features as he spoke of his past. And he knew Silco. As did Quartermaster Benzo. 

“Did you know Captain Vander?” You ask softly, unsure if you wish to know the answer or not. 

Silence stretches out between you and Silco. Even though you are within arms reach of him, you feel as though you may as well be an ocean away. 

“Yes.” His voice is soft yet somehow still harsh. Bitter but sad. 

“Were you…close?” you ask, unsure if there is a better way to phrase it. The way Captain Vander looked at Silco aboard The Hound went beyond normal anger. There was history there. 

“For a time,” Silco replies. 

You’re shocked that he gave you any kind of real answer. 

“What happened?” You press, wanting to see how far you can take your questions. 

“Professional differences,” Silco mutters. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.” 

Silco turns to look at you as silence falls once more. Though you can barely make out his features, you can see he is fighting some kind of war within himself. You are about to take the high road and apologize for prying, as the rules of polite conversation demand, when the ship suddenly heaves hard to one side. 

Unable to right yourself in time, you start to fall. Silco’s arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you to him, allowing you to use his body to steady yourself. Farther down the deck, the crew voices their confusion amongst themselves, unsettled by the sudden jolt. 

“What was that?” You ask, turning your gaze to the sky as though you expect another terrible storm to blow in out of nowhere. But the skies are perfectly clear and the wind is calm. The ocean, however, tells a different story. The faint light of the torches reaches the water closest to the ship. Instead of the calm, docile sea, the Zaun’s Revenge glided on only moments ago, the water was as violent as a bubbling cauldron. 

“Get back,” Silco urges, guiding you away from the railing. 

“What is it?” You repeat. 

Silco does not get a chance to answer. In the blink of an eye, the sea erupts. At first, you fear the ship has nudged some kind of explosive. You can think of nothing else that would explain the towering column of water rising just off the starboard bow. 

The water crashes back down to the ocean’s surface except that it doesn’t. Water rolls off the form of something huge, something that also looks like water. You blink over and over, trying to make sense of what you are seeing. 

You spot two glowing orbs that shine brilliant blue, brighter than any star in the sky. They look like glowing stones that are somehow perfectly round. Your stomach drops as the crew leaps to action around you and more torches are quickly illuminated. The glowing stones are not stones at all. 

They are eyes. 

Glowing, unnatural eyes deeply set into a massive head made entirely of living water. The head boasts a long snout. Water vapor floated like smoke from what you believe to be nostrils. Its long, curving neck ripples as the water that made up its body somehow managed to keep its shape. Its serpentine body vanishes into the sea as its proud head takes in the sight of the ship. Its watery jaw opens revealing long, sharp teeth that look deadly despite also being made of water. 

The creature let out a shriek that makes your vision go blurry for a moment. Your mind still grapples with what your eyes attempt to understand but there is one thing you know for certain. You are not safe. 

The water monster shrieks once more and dives toward the deck with open jaws. 

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco arcane #pirate!silco #silco fanfic #silco fic #silco smut #to the depths

[wreckedandpolemic]

wet - george daniel

(mdni) another request for u all thank u lovely anons

warnings: 18+, unrealistic unprotected shower sex, praise, literally just straight porn from the get go, BARELY proofread

The girl in the mirror smiles at you as the robe slides off your shoulders and crumples on the floor. You smile back, licking your gaze up her body, white-toed feet tracing up to calves and strong thighs, your cunt nestled between them. Hips and stomach and ribs and tits and shoulders and jaw; all the soft, pretty curves of your body. Steam curls out of the shower and you step under the spray, tipping your head back and letting the water run over your face. You trail your hands over your body, squeezing the flesh of your breasts and pinching a wet nipple just to feel that quick sting of pleasure-pain. You play with yourself like George would, all sharp nails and digging fingertips. 

You graze your clit quickly, whimpering. You clench around nothing, feeling the emptiness of the room and your cunt like a physical ache. Dipping a finger in yourself, you cry out for George. It feels off. Your fingers are too small, the pads too tender, the stretch not half as euphoric. Still, you shut your eyes and pretend. Pretend you’re leaning back against his wet, toned chest, that he has one hand buried in your wet curls and that your fingers are his, teasing and delicious. You rub your thumb in slow circles over your clit, waves of pleasure spilling over you, tracing the wet rivulets down your body. You cry out for him again.

“Can I help you?” teases a low voice you know all too well. He’s home, you think, heart swelling, mind registering his voice before you even react to his presence.

“Oh, God, I missed you so much,” you whimper, not slowing your motions at your clit. “Come in here, touch me, please,” you beg, biting your lip, imploring him with your best bedroom (or, shower) eyes. His gaze rakes over you, prickling your skin. He admires your tits, flesh spilling out from one of your hands where you pinch your nipple, then drops to where you thrust your fingers in and out of yourself in a poor mockery of the way he fucks you.

He pulls off his shirt in one fluid motion, hands fumbling with his belt buckle until he can kick off his jeans and boxers at once. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, half-hard, and a pulse of want throbs in your belly so thickly it almost hurts. George steps into the shower, immediately crowding you against the tile. Your head knocks against the wall, wiping your mind of everything but him. His breath warms your lips, so close that it’s torturous until finally, finally, he closes the gap between you. Dizzy, you lick into his mouth, clawing at his shoulders, your nails scraping a crosshatch of desire into his skin. His hands roam everywhere, unpredictable. He uses one to pull you flush against him and takes a handful of your ass with the other. “Missed you too,” he says, a dopey, lovesick grin lighting up his face.

“How much?” you tease, breathing the words into his mouth.

“Why don’t I show you?” he murmurs, lowering a hand to circle your clit. The shockwave of pleasure that ripples through you is so intense and immediate that your legs almost buckle, grasping at him to steady yourself. You whine and roll your hips forward, chasing the sweet feeling of George’s hands on you. “You want more?” he asks, smiling faintly at your frantic gasp of agreement. You choke on a moan as he slips two of his thick fingers inside you and you clamp down on it like a vice, rutting against his hand mindlessly. “That’s it, beautiful. Fuck yourself on my hand. Shit, I love you like this, so pretty and wet for me. My fucking girl,”

You nod. God, you fucking love being reminded that you’re his. “Yours,” you confirm, reaching between your bodies to grasp his cock and revelling in the staccato breaths that fall from his lips as you pump him slowly. His fingers fill you divinely, every quick thrust bringing you closer to God. You indulge yourself in him for a few more long moments, the warm shower spray and the sweet pleasure buzzing in your limbs melting the tension from your body, then take hold of his hand to stop him.

“I wanna come on your cock,”

George stops breathing for a second, then his face breaks out in a dirty smile. “Is that right?” he asks, sliding his fingers out of you and sucking on them without breaking eye contact. “God, I fucking love the way you taste,” he says, taking your face in both his hands and kissing you hard. Your eyes roll back at the taste of you in his mouth and you kiss him like a starving woman, messy and harsh. He grips your thighs. “Jump,” he instructs, but you pause.

“I’ll fall,” you warn.

“I’ll catch you,” he promises, and you melt for a second, because you know he will. He always does. God, how you fucking love him. You jump and he pins your back against the wet tile, steam curling around your bodies. “Good girl.” His hands dig into your thighs, nails biting crescent-shaped divots of love in your skin and you wrap your legs around his back.

“George, please,” you whine, sick with desire. He doesn’t have it in him to tease, remind you to be patient — he’s desperate too. He lowers you onto his cock, and you scream. Pure pleasure wipes you clean, hot and electrifying. Your cunt throbs when he bottoms out, the familiar fullness almost enough to make you come on the spot.

He fucks you hard, chasing his release. There’s time for slow, loving reunion sex later. Right now, you’re both wild, sprinting full-force to your orgasms. Your cunt squeezes tightly around him as he hits that perfect spot inside you over and over, white euphoria burning behind your eyes. You’re past words, moans and grunts echoing off the tiled walls of your bathroom. “Fuck, I’m gonna—” George gasps into your mouth, cock pulsing inside of you, cum spilling out of him for what feels like an impossibly long time. One of his hands leaves your thigh to pinch your clit, and that’s all it takes. Your world shatters, head detaching and leaving you floating. You come and come and come, body shuddering. Molten euphoria rushes through your veins, your heart pumping you full of it. You’re headless, weightless, boneless, an explosion of heat and light and love and feeling, your body only existing where his skin touches yours.

You come to slowly, floating, whimpering when he pulls out of you. George kisses you gently, supporting you when you set your shaky legs on the ground. “Welcome home, darling,” you murmur, smiling against his lips. You feel warm inside and out, sure you must be glowing with contentment.

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” he promises, voice rough with sex.

You wrap your arms around his neck as he tangles one of his hands in your wet hair. “Is that so, rockstar?” you tease, pressing against him, roaming soothing hands over the marks your nails have left on his skin.

“Mhmm,” he confirms, his eyes never once leaving yours. “Love you, baby.”

Your heart swells, lovesick. “Love you more,” you promise, then press your shampoo bottle into his hand. “Now, will you wash my hair?” He smiles, squeezing shampoo into his hands and working them into your hair. A moan falls from your lips as he massages your scalp and you let your eyes flutter shut, the heat of the water and the pressure of his hands lulling you into a blissed-out state. You think this must be what heaven feels like.

#george daniel x reader #george daniel #george daniel imagine #george daniel smut #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #writing #the 1975 smut #smut #request #DISCLAIMER i have never had shower sex and Dont think it would be that good or fun But this is fiction so i make the rules

[thespillwaysofyoursoul]

The Cove

AN: Please bear with me I literally haven't written fan fic in like 7 years but I cannot get this concept out of my mind.

Word Count: 1930

Dew enjoys being a fire ghoul, he does. But that doesn't mean he doesn't occasionally miss the water. When it starts to get to him Rain is there to help.

Dew keeps a small vial of water around his neck at all times.  It’s filled with water from a small saltwater cove in the woods behind the abbey. Terzo had the cove put in for Dew when he noticed how excited the ghoul was after a group trip to the beach. Technically water ghouls are connected to all water but Dew had always had an affinity for saltwater.

It’s been a few years since the ceremony and the transition but part of him still yearns for his former element. When he’s alone he remembers the peacefulness of floating aimlessly in the sea and his fingers drift to the slight bumps where his gills once were. You wouldn’t notice them if you didn’t know to look but to Dew, they were a constant reminder. A reminder of being called into Sister Imperator’s office, of being told what was going to happen, of how they chanted and he screamed as they burned his element from his body, of the months after spent in bed trying to breathe through the smoke suddenly coursing through his veins. 

He’s still unsure of why it needed to happen. Why they couldn’t just summon another fire ghoul from the pit when Ifrit left. The clergy rarely explained themselves and certainly not to the ghouls. 

Don’t get him wrong, he does love his newfound warmth and the boost of energy he gets when Papa calls for pyrotechnics during rituals. He loves how his packmates fight to be next to him when it gets cold on the bus. But he can’t help but feel like he lost a bit of himself that night in the abbey.  So he wears his little reminder no matter where he is, he looks longingly out the bus window when they drive past the ocean, and when all else fails he leans on Rain. 

Lucifer knows he doesn’t deserve Rain. He was terrible to him when he arrived. Jealous of the new ghoul who got to commune with his element while Dew lay in bed feverish, dehydrated, and struggling to come to terms with his situation. It took months before Dew warmed up to him but Rain had never held it against him.  Rain is his rock when it all gets too much. 

They had been back from the last leg of the tour for a day. It was a rough one for Dew, he had tweaked his back during one of the first nights and the dull ache had persisted for the next few weeks. The weather had been bad enough that they had to cut down on the fire in the shows, so he wasn’t even getting to commune with his new element. And if that wasn’t enough to make him feel off, they had spent most of the tour driving up the coast, which meant he had spent far too much time curled in a ball and staring out the window at his beloved ocean. His packmates tried their best to lift his spirits but it only helped so much. 

Everyone had split up to recharge in their own way upon their return to the abbey. Rain had stopped Dew to check in but Dew had assured him that he was just tired and gone to bed. Rain wasn’t sure he believed him but went to soak in the lake and recoup. 

The air ghoulettes are curled up in the common room watching a movie when Rain walks in 12 hours later, hair still dripping with water. “Has anyone seen Dew?” 

 “Aether was looking for him earlier but I don’t think he found him. Did you check his room?” Cumulus responds when Cirrus shakes her head.  

Rain makes his way to the ghoul hallway and knocks on Dew’s door. When he doesn’t get an answer he knocks again “Dewdrop I'm coming in.” He opens the door to an empty room. The bed still perfectly untouched, Dew’s tour bag sitting on top of it unopened. Now he’s worried. 

Dew is sitting on the grass by the cove with his knees pressed against his chest and his hands clawing into the messy bun he’s had his hair in since the last ritual. His tail wrapped around himself. Tears still occasionally run silently down his cheeks. Fire ghouls normally can’t cry, their body temperature warm enough to evaporate the tears but it’s one of the few remaining traits of his old life. He only allows himself to cry here. At his cove. Nobody uses it these days, lying forgotten by the clergy. It’s still his favorite spot on the grounds. He doesn’t go in anymore, scared of what will happen when it doesn’t feel like it used to. But he comes and sits by its banks when he can. Rain is the only one who knows about it. 

Rain, who’s probably in the lake right now. The flow of the water recharging him. Relaxing as he uses his gills for the first time since tour. Dew misses that feeling. Sure the excitement of fire is great but he misses the serenity of his beloved cove. His tears start back up in earnest when he thinks about it. He’s sobbing with his head between his legs before he can try to calm himself. He’s too in his own head to see Rain making his way over. 

Rain picks up the pace when he sees Dew curled up. Diving onto his knees once he’s close enough. “Oh, Dewdrop. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it was this bad.” He hugs Dew into him as he sobs. He knows Dew is in no shape to speak like this so he just holds him for as long as he needs. 

“Rain…  I miss it. I miss it so bad.” Dew eventually whispers.

 “I know Dewdrop. I’m so sorry.” Rain wipes the tears off Dew’s face. 

“I just- I want-“ he stops himself. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

 Dew shifts uncomfortably “Forget it. It's dumb.”

“It’s not dumb if you want it.” 

Dew’s quiet for a minute and Rain can feel the smaller ghoul steadying his breathing. “I mean… I just wish I could be swimming. Like I used to.”  

“That’s not dumb. And you know you can still swim. What’s stopping you?” 

There’s another moment of silence before Dew quietly answers “It won’t be like it used to be” 

Rain puts his hand under Dew’s chin and turns him to look at him. “It won’t be. But that doesn’t mean it won’t still be nice.” Dew still looks hesitant. “Want to start by dipping your toes in? That could be nice.” Dew nods and begins wordlessly struggling with his boots. Rain kicks off his sandals and helps Dew where his hands are shaking too hard to untie his shoes. 

Dew lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding the second his toes hit the water. Rain watches as his brow relaxes and does his best to pretend he can’t hear the quiet purrs coming from next to him. They sit quietly for a while with their feet in the cove. Eventually, Rain can sense the tension returning. “Dewdrop” 

“Hm?” 

“Do you want to go further in?”

 “… I don’t know”

“I’ll go in with you.” He stands and pulls Dew up with him. “Do you want to go first or should I? I’ve never swum in this cove before.” 

Dew looks at his reflection in the water “You should it's a good cove” 

Rain takes his hand “I wouldn’t want to without you.”  Dew watches Rain’s reflection, thinking about how good it would be to be swimming together. 

“What if I don’t remember how to swim?” Rain can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous notion. 

“You’ll remember. I promise. It's in your blood. Come on.” 

Rain takes off his shirt and pulls off his shorts. Dew stares at his gills and freezes. Rain has seen him shirtless before, he knows about Dew’s closed gills but for some reason, he has never felt more vulnerable. “I can help you. If you want.” Dew nods and Rain unbuttons his shirt before helping him shimmy out of his jeans. The second he’s undressed Dews's hands shoot around his body to cover the spot where his gills were. “It's ok Dewdrop. You’re ok.” He reaches to unclasp the chain holding the vial around Dew’s neck. Dew grasps what has become his security blanket and after a moment slowly takes it off himself, hands shaking. He gently puts it on top of his clothes. Rain gently takes his hands in his, kissing them. He puts his forehead to Dew’s and starts breathing deliberately to help calm the anxious ghoul. When Dew’s breathing has steadied, Rain finally speaks. “Do you want to walk in together?” Dew nods again and Rain slowly leads them into the water. 

Dew grips Rain’s hand tightly as they walk in. By the time the water hits his knees, his face has erupted into the purest smile Rain has ever seen. A tear runs down his cheek and the taller ghoul wipes it with his thumb. 

“Welcome back Dewdrop” Rain kisses him on the cheek. Dew pauses and lets go of Rain’s hand to let his hair down. Rain takes a step back so he can fuss with his long locks. Once he’s sufficiently shaken out his bun Dew looks Rain in the eye, smiles, and dives in. Rain waits for just long enough to be pulled under by Dew, who has decided he’s not moving fast enough. 

It may have been a few years but the cove is still Dew’s domain.  Sure he can’t see as well underwater and he did momentarily forget he would have to go to the surface to breathe, but he knows these waters like the back of his hand. Rain follows him around as he gets reacquainted, allowing Dew to show him around the rocks, plants, and fish that live there. It’s the most excited Rain has seen him in a long time. They swim around like that, taking trips up for Dew to breathe until Rain notices Dew’s swimming begins to slow. He leads Dew towards the shallow bank of the cove and they lay there blanketed by the water. 

“It’s our day off and we decided to go to the aquarium and there was this lovely little cowfish who clearly wasn’t being cared for properly and it was really pissing me off. So I ran and bought a small tank from the gift shop and got Aether to cause a distraction and I rescued him. And then I snuck him out of the aquarium and onto the bus and kept him hidden from Papa in my bunk for the rest of the tour. And that’s how I met Bubbles! I’m so glad he’s still doing ok.” They had been laying there for an hour, Dew spread across Rain’s chest telling him stories of the different creatures he had in the cove. 

“Of course, he’s doing ok, you take such great care of him. Of all of them.” 

Dew lifts his head up just enough to look at the ghoul beneath him “I try, I come out as often as I can. I get worried about them when we’re on the road.” Dew yawns and lays back down. 

“You know you can go to sleep, Dewdrop. The cove and I will still be here when you wake up.” 

Dew considers protesting but snuggles into Rain and for the first time in years falls asleep to the gentle lull of the waves.

#no beta we die like men #instead of a pet name Rain calls Dew by his full name don't ask me why but it's correct #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghouls #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghost #rain ghost #raindrop #ghost fanfiction #rain x dewdrop #rainy dewdrop #sodo ghoul #sodo ghost #i wrote a thing

[my-moony-and-padfoot]

A hand to hold

Word count: 3 500

TW: eating problems, disordered eating talking about it and mentions of throwing up etc. It's set in the fifth book, kind of, it doesn't really matter but anyway Note: I wrote almost all of this in one sitting, so even though I've proofread this twice now there still might be weird bits here and there. Because quite literally this is written in the span of five hours, just my thoughts flowing, I hope you can follow :)

Sirius stared at the plate of food in front of him, there wasn't a lot, some vegetables, and chicken, but he didn't really feel like eating, the thought just made him feel sick. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths before looking around. Tonks was sitting across from him, eating her food and chatting with Ginny, then glanced at Molly who was at the end of the table, she was already done, her head resting on her hand as she waited for everyone else to be done as well, so she could clean.

He glanced back down at his plate, swallowing down the growing sickness, before looking away. The seat on his right was empty, there was no one he could hold hands with secretly underneath the table. A simple gesture, but it just felt like home. It was something they had done since they were kids, and every time Remus was away he missed it and realized how important it actually was to him. It had been a week now and Remus should've been back yesterday, so he was starting to get worried.

Eventually, he ate a few pieces of the chicken and a few slices of the steamed carrots. It didn't really taste like anything, but at the same time it tasted too much, making him feel sick, but Sirius did his best to ignore that feeling.

When people started to be done and left the kitchen, Sirius decided to stay behind and do the cleaning, letting Molly go do whatever else she had on her endless to-do list. She thanked him before leaving the kitchen, and he just smiled before focusing on the task. Though they didn't always come along, he still liked to help her every now and then. Right now, he just needed something to do, something to do to stop the continuous buzzing in his brain.

He gathered everyone's used dishes, emptying them and washing them by hand. He had always liked washing the dishes by hand even though he could use magic, Sirius just liked doing it like that. When he was done washing and drying them, he set them back into their places.

After the kitchen was cleaned, he went upstairs and into his bedroom, well, what was now his bedroom. He had refused to sleep in his childhood bedroom, though he hadn't told the reason to anyone, not even to Remus when he had asked. The things that had happened there he had always kept to himself, and he would do it in the future too.

He was tired and wanted to sleep, it felt like he was always tired, no matter how much he'd sleep, he'd be tired even if he did nothing but lay in bed, he was just tired. He sat down on his bed, grabbing Remus' jumper from the floor where it had been left a week ago. It still faintly smelled like Remus; vanilla, and occasional cigarettes, but it wasn't enough to soothe the ache in his chest he felt when he thought about Remus.

The smell was comforting, it had always been, ever since their days in Hogwarts, it just was something he had found comfort in even in the hardest of times. That was one of the things he had missed the most during those twelve years, and still, he missed it every time Remus was away.

It was only afternoon, he had already decided not to come out of his bedroom before the next morning, so he changed into the red checkered pyjama pants, pulling Remus' jumper over his head. There was an old record player in the corner of the room, the only thing he had brought from his old bedroom. He put some classical music to play in the background, not liking the quietness of the room.

Then he laid down in the middle of his bed on his side, grabbing a pillow to hug, needing something to hold, so he could ground himself because Remus wasn't there, or no one else for that matter.

Sirius was really starting to be worried about Remus, he was meant to be back yesterday, and he wasn't. He knew Remus didn't like being where he was now, so he didn't really understand why he'd stay there for longer than he needed to.

Maybe something had happened? Something bad and he just didn't know, or simply wasn't told. What if it had been a rough full moon, and he had gotten really ill after because that happened often. Remus also didn't like to be alone after his transformation, and even though Sirius knew he technically wouldn't be alone, still he had this dreadful feeling that something was horribly wrong.

Lately, he had been thinking about Azkaban a lot, and every so often he felt like he was still there. It was this weird memory of cold stone wall on his back, the wind blowing through the bars at the small window, the Dimentors sweeping past. The incredible coldness he could feel deep in his bones, the coldness that wasn't just a feeling, but rather an emotion that made him forget and feel forgotten. It reminded him of all those nights he had spent looking at the moon, sometimes it was full, sometimes creasing, and sometimes it matched the tattoo inked on his wrist. But every time the moon came up, it brought Remus to his mind, his moony.

There was this reappearing thought where he felt like he was still prisoned, like he had always been. Like he had gone from one prison to another all his life. When he was a child, he had been locked up in his home until school, then he had spent twelve years of his life in Azkaban knowing he was innocent. And now, he was here again, back at his childhood home, without permission to go outside.

Like was trapped inside this house, no way to escape, but at the same time nothing to escape from anymore. His parents weren't there anymore, none of the horrible things he had to go through wouldn't happen anymore, it was only a memory. Maybe it was that, maybe it was the memories making him feel trapped and stuck in the same place.

It was almost three hours later when he heard a knock at his door, pulling him out of his thoughts. As he got up he realized that the music had stopped as well, how hadn't he noticed? Maybe he had drifted off or something.

Getting up made his head spin slightly, and he had to wait a moment to gain balance, but he decided to just ignore it. Sirius opened the door, seeing Tonks standing there with a cup of tea in her hands. “I thought you'd like some tea.” She said with a smile, giving the cup to Sirius, who smiled back, even though he felt nothing like smiling. He set the cup down onto the dresser next to the door, leaning against the door frame to keep himself upright as he looked at Tonks. The dizziness had grown over the past few hours more than he had expected it to, and it was hard to keep himself balanced. “Everything alright, Sirius?”

“Mm yes. Just tired. Don't worry, Dora.” She nodded, though gave him a pointed look because of the name. “Alright sorry, thanks for the tea though.”

“You're welcome.” Tonks smiled again. “Have you- Have you heard anything from Remus?” Sirius shook his head, looking away momentarily, the same dreadful feeling coming rushing back. “I'm sure he'll be back soon, try not to worry too much.”

Sirius nodded with a small smile, looking back at her, playing with a loose thread on the sleeve of his jumper. “Albus visited.” She said after a moment of silence.

“Oh.”

“Nothing new, just repeating old things, everyone didn't even have to be there.” Sirius nodded. “Anyway, I just wanted to see you before I go.”

“Say hello to your mum and dad for me.” Sirius smiled, and tonks nodded, suddenly pulling Sirius into a hug. It took him by surprise, and the tight grip hurt, but he hugged her back, patting her back a few times. “see you.”

“See you, bye, Siri.” He waved at her before slipping back into his bedroom and closing the door behind him. He grabbed the tea cup, sitting down at the desk with it, he glanced at himself in the small mirror, not really liking what he saw there. He took a small sip of the tea, it was made in the way he liked it to be, lots of honey, but today was one of those days when the sweetness of it made him want to throw up.

It wasn't the first time this was happening, Sirius knew the feeling all too well, but he never said it out loud. He didn't exactly know what it was or where it came from and why it happened. The feeling just came, and stayed, not going away.

But it had always sort have been there, the weird feeling that came with eating every now and then. When they were in school, it always got worse after the holidays, he always got thinner during the summer and Christmas breaks, and Remus had always been the one to notice. It always took some time until he'd admit what he had been doing, and talk about it and let Remus actually help.

When he was in Azkaban, he didn't get to choose what he'd eat and when he'd eat or how much. There was this same small portion of food each day, and Sirius wasn't sure if he liked that or not. But when he got out of there, he continued in that same routine without even realizing what happened until it was a little too late.

Remus had once again been the one to notice what he was doing and how he kept getting thinner and thinner whenever they saw each other. And for a few months it had been better, he had been doing good, but some time ago, it had taken a turn for the worse once again. Sirius did realize that it always got worse when Remus was away because then there was no one keeping an eye on him and his eating habits. He could do whatever he pleased without making anyone throwing worried glances at him and asking him to eat. Though sometimes he missed that too, missed the worried glances and someone just caring.

His tea had gone cold, not that it mattered, he wasn't going to drink it. He did appreciate the gesture, and he could tell tonks had seen him during dinner, and that he simply didn't eat. Because she usually didn't come to say goodbyes to him that often, she did that only when she was worried, but not worried enough to say it out loud.

Sirius got back into bed, this time getting under the covers and just listening. Someone was walking up the stairs, someone was pacing around in the bedroom above him. Doors closing and opening, stairs creaking because no one else but him knew which ones to avoid.

But after a while those sounds died out too, everyone had gone to bed, or at least locked themselves into their bedrooms. But Sirius couldn't find himself to fall asleep as the clock ticked on. He was too worried, too unwell and too scared. There was just too much of everything.

It was a few hours later when Sirius heard the front door opening downstairs, immediately making him scared, though he knew no one he didn't know had access to this place. Then someone walked up the stairs, but none of them creaked, Sirius turned to lay on his side, so he'd be facing the door.

The light that was on shined into the hallway in a way that Sirius could see the shadow of whoever would walk past. When the shadow came, it stopped in front of his door, and then the door slowly creaked open, and Remus slipped in, trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Hi.” He smiled, looking at Sirius, who smiled back with a small, but genuine smile. “I thought you'd be sleeping already.” Remus said, starting to change his clothes into something much more comfortable than what he was wearing.

When he was dressed in his pyjamas and a new clean jumper, he sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Sirius. “Why are you not sleeping?”

“Dunno.”

“Just can't sleep?” Remus started to play with Sirius' hair, twirling the curls with his fingers. Sirius shrugged. “Okay.”

“Cuddles?” Sirius asked quietly, looking up at Remus who smiled, nodding before he laid down. Sirius rested his head onto Remus' chest, closing his eyes with a content sigh. “I missed you.” He whispered, throwing one of his legs over Remus', who wrapped his arms around Sirius.

“Missed you too.” He whispered into Sirius' hair. "m'sorry, they just wouldn't let me leave when I wanted to. And Albus sent me a letter about something I had to do before I could come back.”

Sirius nodded, snuggling closer to Remus. “you're still a jumper thief.” Remus said, and Sirius could hear the slight grin in his voice. Remus had been calling him a thief as long as he could remember, he hadn't done it in a while, though. “Did twelve years teach you nothing about law?”

Sirius smiled slightly, but he didn't want to think about that now. “Don't, re. Please.”

“Okay, sorry.” He whispered, before letting the silence fall over them. Remus gently rubbed Sirius' side over his jumper, then he let his hand slip underneath his jumper. He felt Sirius' ribs, and hip bone, but Remus was sure that they stuck through more than they had before.

He felt bad that Sirius did it to himself, he didn't always do it on purpose, but sometimes he did and it always worried Remus. Sirius looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, his hair was tangled from the back and his lips chapped, like he'd forgotten to take care of himself.

“Love?” He whispered after a while, and Sirius hummed, fluttering his eyes open. “How have you been sleeping?”

“Just fine.”

“Don't have to lie to me, y'know.” He said gently, not wanting to push Sirius into talking if he didn't want to, but knowing at the same time that it would be better if they talked, it always helped, and Sirius knew that too. “I only want to help you, yeah? Don't want anything bad for you.”

“Can't sleep. It's like my mind is running all the time.” He mumbled. “Been having bad dreams.”

“You've been having more nightmares?” Sirius nodded. “poor baby.” Remus whispered, kissing his head. “When was the last time you ate?” Remus asked, dreading the answer, as usually, it wasn't anything good.

“Today.”

“Properly, Sirius.”

“I don't know. A few days ago?” He said slowly, and quietly. “Just don't feel well. I feel sick.”

“You feel sick 'cause you haven't eaten.” Remus said, waiting for Sirius' reaction before continuing. But it didn't come, he stayed quiet, starting to draw shapes on Remus' side with his finger. “And if you don't eat, you'll start feeling even more sick. I know it's hard, I know love, but you need to eat.”

Sirius shook his head. “c'mon, look at me.” He whispered softly, and Sirius nodded slightly, shifting, so he could look at Remus, his chin resting on Remus' chest. “Tell me what you're thinking about?”

“I don't know, Remus.” He said. “It just feels so- wrong. It's stupid.”

“It's not.” Remus said, brushing a loose curl behind Sirius' ear. “You said you are today, what did you have?”

“Some vegetables and a small piece of chicken.” He admitted quietly. “Dora brought some tea.”

“Did you drink it?” Sirius shook his head, hiding his face into Remus' chest. “That's alright. Don't worry. Let's get up.”

“No.” He protested, not wanting Remus to drag him downstairs and eat something, like he knew Remus would do. He always did. He appreciated it, yes, and knew it was for the better, but still, he still didn't want it. “Remus, please no.”

“Sirius?” He whispered, and Sirius looked back at him. “I know you don't want to, but you look like you're going to pass out any minute. And I'd rather not have that. Let's get up.”

Sirius nodded slowly, moving to let Remus up from underneath him. Then he slowly sat up and inched closer to the edge of the bed, the ever-growing dizziness was even worse now than it had been when tonks came. He was usually very used to the constant nausea and dizziness, but sometimes it just tipped on the side of too much.

He looked up at Remus, who smiled slightly, offering his hand to Sirius. He let Remus pull him up from bed by his hand, the sudden upright position made his head spin, and he closed his eyes. He did notice the hands holding on to his shoulders, it did help to steady himself on his feet.

“Ready to go?” He asked after a moment, and Sirius nodded slightly, looking up at Remus, he looked really worried now, and it made Sirius feel bad. Remus took his hand, slowly leading him out of the room and down the stairs.

When they got down to the kitchen, he sat down on the chair, tucking his knees up to his chest as he watched Remus look through the cupboards.

Then there were two slices of toast and a glass of water set in front of him, and Remus sat across from him with a tea cup. “You don't have to eat all of it, and I can find something else for you if you'd like, but just something, please?”

Sirius nodded, staring at the two lightly buttered slices, taking a few deep breaths, but eventually, he just hit his forehead on his knees, not wanting to look at it anymore.

It broke Remus' heart to watch Sirius struggle so much, it broke it even more that there was nothing he could do or say to make it better. The only thing he could do was to be there with him, trying to support him the best he could and offer comfort when he needed it. Even though he didn't exactly understand why Sirius did this or why it happened, he didn't know the reason behind it, but he'd still be there, the reason didn't really matter.

He reached across the table, placing his hand over Sirius' shaking one that was resting on his knees. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, before intertwining their fingers together.

It took some time until Sirius finally looked up, he first glanced at Remus, then at the plate that was still in front of him. His eyes looked wet, like he was on the verge of crying and like he had been holding the tears for a while. “Talk to me.” He whispered softly, rubbing small circles into Sirius' wrist with his thumb.

“I feel really sick.” Sirius whispered. “I can't Rem. I just- I don't want to. I can't.”

“Yeah you can, I know you can.” Remus said, looking Sirius in the eyes, he was looking back at him, but not really, there was just something off, but Remus could quite tell what it was. “But I also know it's scary and difficult, and there's nothing wrong with feeling like this, absolutely nothing.”

Sirius nodded slowly, looking down at the plate, biting his lip. “I know you're feeling awful and sick right now. But you're going to feel worse if you continue this.” Remus tried to reason, but at the same time he tried not to be too harsh because that wasn't good either. “Just have a small bit? And let's see how you feel after?”

Sirius nodded after a minute, glancing at Remus, before letting go of his hand, he grabbed one of the slices, taking a small bite after a few deep breaths. He closed his as he slowly chewed on the piece, it soon turned into tasteless mush that felt impossible to swallow down, but eventually, he managed.

He wasn't sure if it made the nausea or the spinning in his head worse or if it did nothing, so he took another small bite. It didn't feel good, but it didn't exactly feel bad either. He wasn't sure what the feeling was, so he let it be, taking a few more bites of the toast, though still chewing for way too long.

Sirius could feel Remus' worried gaze on him the whole time, but he didn't mind. He knew Remus was worried and that he couldn't help it, he had always done it, ever since they were young. It was fine. It wasn't the judgmental type of staring that he didn't like, and was used to, it wasn't that, so it was okay.

It took a long until Sirius was done with the first slice, but time didn't matter, it was just important that he ate. “Feel like you can eat the other one?” Remus asked, and Sirius shook his head, glancing at him as if to check it was okay. He nodded, getting up from the chair, grabbing his tea cup and Sirius' plate, quickly cleaning them.

When he was done, he walked back over to Sirius, who set down the now empty glass of water. Sirius looked up at him, his eyes still looked shiny and he just looked so sad. Remus reached his hand to cup his cheek, gently running his thumb over the sharp cheekbone.

He leaned down to kiss Sirius' forehead, who closed his eyes, focusing on it. When Remus leaned back, he offered his hand to Sirius, pulling him up and into a hug when he took it.

Sirius hid his face into Remus' neck, holding on tightly, as if Remus would just slip away. The slow gentle hand going up and down his spine, soft whispers into his hair, and the steady breathing made him feel calm and gave something to focus on.

“Let's go to bed, love.” Remus whispered after a while, and Sirius nodded slightly, taking a few more moments before pulling away from the warm embrace, letting Remus take his hand again and lead up to their bedroom.

A/N:

Hello, hope you enjoyed this one :) and could follow it just fine.

I like the idea of Sirius and Tonks having some kind of a relationship, that they care for each other because they're cousins so I thought I'd add that into this, hope you liked it too

This one is a little different than what I usually write, it has very little dialogue, because most of my works are more dialogue than describing things, if you know what I mean. It was fun to write though. It also has significantly less pet names than what I usually use, but I thought it wouldn't have fit as well in this

Anyway, take care, see you

(please tell me if there's something else I should tag)

<3

#sirius black #remus lupin #sirius orion black #remus john lupin #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #wolfstar #fluff #fluff? #fluff and angst #angst #disordered eating mention #tw eating issues #tw disordered eating #disordered eating thoughts #eating disoder trigger warning #order of the phoenix #tw emetophobia

[8turning]

hi ji!

i was thinking a lot about comfort with yungyu the other day; and i know you don't write for him so i was like hm.. you know who would probably have the best comfort as well ever? minho!

so could i request minho comforting a burnt out / stressed reader after he finds her by herself?

no worries if this isn't something you want to write i just wanted to put it out there:) needed to clear my 8turn thoughts HAHA

hi hi omi!! i read this ask before i went into work and literally could not stop thinking about it :(( this fits minho so perfectly!! he's such a safe and comfortable person i cri 💔 thank you for this request!! :D

☆⠀⠀YANG.MINHO — a shoulder to lean on !

bff ! minho x gn ! reader ★ minimal angst. comfort ★ wc 1.9k

warnings: not eating due to stress. eating mentions & food consumption. reader doesn't reply at times. let me know if i missed anything!

n. i wasn't sure if you wanted this to be platonic or romantic BUT!! my first minho fic!! we cheered!! gonna be real i forgot if i proofread this or not. oops

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀〈 REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED ! 〉

despair stung your chest from the inside as you watched your ceiling fan spin - perhaps it could hypnotize you for just a moment, allow you to be unaware of your surroundings and feelings long enough to convince yourself everything will get better.

the breeze it created hit your face, drying out your eyes and causing you to inevitably blink away the few tears that formed as a result.

with the simple action, you're brought back to your reality. you exhale slowly, feeling as though the comforter beneath you could consume you whole - maybe that's what you wanted.

your legs bent at the knee on the edge of your bed, hands intertwined against your stomach as your chest shallowly rises and falls. your eyes follow one fan blade subconsciously, the repetitive movement causing your temples to ache.

your brows furrow, and only then do you pull yourself up from your bed, leaning forward on your palms as you look around your dark room. different items of clothing scattered your floor and desk chair, trash overflown with crumpled papers and drink bottles, and your desk illuminated by your laptop, assignment long forgotten in favor of. . . nothing.

you didn't want to distract yourself from your worries - you simply wanted to do nothing. you wanted nothing.

the fan wasn't to blame for the tears that lined your eyes this time; it was your own emotions. the constant pressure to perform well and provide caused you to neglect how you felt - it all boils over eventually. everyone had a limit, perhaps yours was seeing just how awful you were treating your wellbeing; maybe yours was how you saw it all but had no desire to fix it.

you heard a knock sound through your apartment, but you couldn't move; your body wanted to stay still. your breathing remained steady as another knock struck against your door. your phone chimes, it chimes again, then it rings.

you heard it all. you couldn't answer any of them.

another knock. then another chime.

"y/n!"

then a shout from a familiar voice - then a pause.

"i'm gonna break down the door! then i'll have to pay for property damage! so please, just- just let me in!"

the fear of a noise complaint caused your breath to quicken, aching muscles push you up from your spot, heavy footsteps sound through your hallway as if you forgot how it felt to walk any distance further than your desk to your bed.

you swallow thickly before slowly bringing shaky hands to your door lock, the click sounding much louder in your otherwise silent apartment. opening the door, you see minho's worried face, two plastic bags in his hands as a smile grows on his lips.

"hey," he says, glasses perched atop his nose and sounding out of breath from all of his shouting. all you can bring yourself to do is break eye contact with him, looking down just past his shins to the carpeted apartment corridor. "is it okay if i come in?"

his voice is gentle, picking up on the signs of you feeling emotionally unwell. minho's head tilts at his inquiry - you can see such from your peripheral vision. you pause for a moment, and minho waits patiently despite the ache his arms feel from the bags he carried. he watches as you take a step back, allowing him inside.

minho steps in, removing his shoes before walking over to your kitchen and setting the bags down. your counter is lined with dishes and take-out containers - the disarray of your home is obvious, but minho never comments on it.

"have you eaten yet?" he questions, setting down the bags in the only vacant place he could on your counter - the sound of dishes clinking accompanying his voice.

you don't answer, slowly making your way to sit at your dining table.

"i brought some stuff," he continues. part of you felt relief he wasn't probing you to reply to him - you let out a soft sigh. "is ramen okay with you?" minho questions, two containers in his hands as he looks in your direction.

he saw how your eyes were clouded over as you stared down at the floor. through he was worried, he knew you'd open up once you were ready. and so, minho decides to take the quicker route, filling both containers with water before putting them into the microwave.

the dull hum filled the air, and a pang of guilt washed over you as your eyes flick over to minho's form, his hands carrying your dishes into the sink and tossing trash into the bin.

this wasn't for him to clean, but he did so with no complaints.

your eyes felt heavy, shoulders slumped over as you took little care in keeping your posture straight. the sound of your faucet running could be heard, a paper towel being torn and the sound of disinfectant being sprayed followed it. the artificial smell of lemon did not pair well with the ramen broth that was being cooked, but you didn't say a word.

minho was quick to switch out the cooked ramen for the other, allowing the completed one to sit on the counter for a few minutes too cool off.

he continued to clean up your space, sink filling with bubbles as he soaks your used dishes, tossing the used towel into the bin before straightening out what was on your countertop, turning off your faucet in the process.

the microwave beeps for the second time; your eyes close and nose scrunch at the piercing noise. he removes the second container, copying the same routine he had before.

you can see how he approaches you, placing the first container in front of you along with utensils before grabbing his own, sitting across from you.

you stare blankly at the lid, the translucent plastic now fogged over from steam as minho pulls out his phone, scrolling as he waits for his own meal to decrease in temperature.

your hands fidget under the table, disconnecting from one another to carefully remove the lid of the ramen. your met with a wonderful aroma, and although you didn't show such in your expression, you were pleased with this choice of a meal.

minho's eyes raise from his phone as he watches you cautiously grab for your utensils - his heart aches seeing how shaky you were, your energy alarmingly low.

he watches you for a moment - watches as you bring some ramen to your lips and take a small bite. you chew slowly then swallow, and minho feels a weight being lifted from his shoulders when you go in for another bite.

shutting off his phone, he slides it back into his pocket slowly, not wanting to startle you from any sudden movements. you hear as he begins to eat himself, a pleased sigh leaving his nose at the first bite.

"i'm a good cook, aren't i?" he jokes with his mouth half full, watching as the smallest of smiles appears on your face, falling soon after. but to minho, that was a win.

you both continue in silence, minho trying to match your pace in eating as best he could so he could keep watch of you longer. although his efforts, he finished before you, tossing his ramen container into the trash before standing at your sink.

your faucet turns on once more, minho rolling up his sleeves to his elbows before reaching into the water bath he created prior. he was careful in washing your dishes, and with newfound energy, your eyes flicked over to where he stood.

your gaze remained on the back of his head, the purple in his hair a bit more faded than the last time you saw him. he groans as water slashes on his shirt, a soft laugh escaping your nose, and it was then when you understood that you didn't need hypnosis to realize things will get better.

you were worthy of being cared for, both by others and by yourself. you shouldn't have to live dreadfully just because that's what you think you deserve. you felt guilty for assuming minho cared so little for you when he's only ever shown you love and gratitude.

your chest ached, no longer from muscle pain but from grief - eyes watering, breathing becoming increasingly unsteady as you plant your palm against the table, pushing yourself up from your seat and approaching your friend.

your arms cautiously wrap around his torso loosely - the sound of water running making your footsteps unintelligible to him. your temple rests between his shoulder blades, and you can feel as his head turns to try and see you from his position.

minho turns around in your grasp, hands soaked in water and lingering bubbles as he raises them away from you. his heartbeat is heavy against your ears, quick and uneven as he processes your shift in emotion. tears soaked his shirt and minho tuned out the sound of water running behind him.

"y/n- are you-" he was at a loss of words, eyes wandering around your apartment before reaching the top of your head once more. "can i hug you?"

he was unsure if that's what you wanted, especially when his hands were covered in water, but when he hears you mumble a simple, "yes, please," - the first time you had spoken to him tonight - it was more than enough.

you feel the cold water against your back as he wraps his arms around you, but you didn't care. your fingers bunch minho's shirt into your fists, holding onto him tightly - he could feel how uneven your breathing was.

"i got you," he says, leaning his back against the countertop, allowing you to rest against him. "i got you. . ."

your eyes close, tears drying against your cheeks as you take a deep breath. minho's fingers draw circles against your back - you hear as he begins to hum, the vibration buzzing against your temple.

you had half-the-brain to decipher the melody, instead choosing to let it calm your thoughts - this remedy proved to work well.

after a few beats of silence, you find the strength to speak again. "th-thank you for be-ing here," you whisper, voice broken as it was the first time you had spoken in days.

"of course i'd be here," minho replies, his volume matching yours as he reaches an arm around him to turn off the faucet. "go rest, okay? i'll take care of everything here," he continues, pushing himself off of the counter but keeping you closely pressed to his chest.

the walk to your room was almost impossible, walking backwards and not being able to see definitely made the commute much more interesting. minho made no comments about the state of your room, sitting you on your bed and making sure you tucked yourself away under the covers before he left to continue his work in the kitchen.

there was a small feeling of shame in having someone else clean your space for you - its a very vulnerable position, but minho allowed you to show your vulnerabilities without judgement. although you never wished to get to a point where he needed to take care of you, you knew he would do it again all in a heartbeat.

minho would take care of you as many times as you needed to be, because no matter what you're dealing with, you deserve to feel loved.

© 8turning 2023.

#8turn fluff #8turn fanfic #8turn writing #8turn x reader #minho fluff #minho fanfic #minho writing #minho x reader #yang minho fanfic #yang minho fluff #yang minho x reader #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic #.mine #.minho

[livesincerely]

You asked for asks, so: very curious about your new Tease series idea!

I’m going to put the bulk of this below the cut as all Tease entries are decidedly nsfw ;) Hope you enjoy!

Feat. Werewolf!Jack and Incubus!Davey.

The concept is Davey is coming off a dry spell and is struggling to find his next meal, so to speak - he’s very picky about sexual partners because informed consent is very important to him and because the average human has a lot of trouble keeping up with him. Enter Jack, who gets introduced to Davey as a favor to Sarah, and the two hit it off immediately….

“Uh, Sarah,” Jack starts with a wince. “You know I’d do just about anythin’ for ya, but Katherine would literally have my dick in a vice, so—“

“Not for me, moron,” Sarah cuts him off, rolling her eyes. “For my brother, David.”

“Since when do you have a brother?” Jack asks, tilting his head.

“Since birth,” Sarah deadpans. “We’re twins.”

“And he’s like you?” Jack asks. “He’s a succubus?”

“Technically, he’s an incubus,” Sarah corrects. “But yeah. I finally convinced him to let me set him up on a blind date, and you still owe me for covering for you last month—“

…

“You’re not cute,” Davey informs him pertly, and the challenge in his voice probably isn’t meant to be as enticing as it is. Probably.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jack purrs, and he lets his fangs drop as he leans forward, running his tongue over the razor sharp canines that peek out from underneath his smirk. “I’m fucking adorable.”

He doesn’t miss the way Davey’s eyes drop to his mouth, the way his throat bobs around a heavy swallow.

…

“Jesus,” Jack murmurs, watching Davey’s wide-eyed expression as he bottoms out, a little overwhelmed at the absolute vision he makes splayed out against the sheets. “Jus’ look at’cha. I didn’t realize how much ya needed it.”

Davey’s lips are red and kiss-swollen, his hands fisted into the bedding on either side of him, but he manages to gasp out, his chest heaving, “You can still back out, if all this is too much for you.”

“‘S a little late for that, ain’t it?” Jack muses. He pulls out just a bit, then carefully thrusts back in, sinking even further into that exquisite heat. “I’m literally balls deep inside you.”

“Consent is a continuous contract,” Davey lectures, but his words are a breathless rasp, his voice threaded with aching, blatant desire. “It can be retracted or reassessed at any time—“

He breaks off with a gasp as Jack rolls his hips forward, nice and slow, then does it again, starting up a steady rhythm.

“Quierdo, unless you say otherwise, they’d have to drag me off of you by my hair,” Jack vows, not entirely sure if he’s exaggerating or not. There’s just something about Davey—the snark and sweetness and sin of him—that draws him in, beckons him closer, makes something deep inside of him pant and tremble and howl. “Is this good for you? More, less, or…?”

“More,” is Davey’s immediate response. “More, oh god, please more—“

Jack leans in and kisses him then, unable to resist, and Davey arches into him like he’s starving for it—Christ, he probably is.

He ducks down and presses his nose into the space just under Davey’s jaw because he has to, has to lick and nibble and mark all that delicious, delicate skin, and Davey makes a noise that’s pure want. He tilts his head, baring his throat to offer Jack better access, and Jack can’t help the rumbling growl that carves its way out of his chest, deep and possessive.

“Oh, fuck,” Davey moans, his heels digging sharper into the small of Jack’s back.

#*editor's note #*ask #*the writing desk #tease series #bits & bobs #just a lil preview! #really hoping I finish it by the end of the month #fingers crossed

[seresinsbabe]

Finn with an innocent gf, literally teaching her everything about her own body and his… ohhh yes please

It’s me I’m innocent gf

thank you thank you thank you for this thought that blossomed in my mind. i sat on this for a long while trying to decide how i want to respond to it but whew has it been heavy on my mind. so i hope you enjoy this little smutty drabble:

finn would take the utmost care in teaching you all about one another's bodies and the different levels of pleasure you can bring one another to.

"you see baby, there are seven different erogenous zones - here" finn starts at your ears nibbling them lightly, "here," he lightly dances his finger tips along yours and then your palms. "of course here." he hums against your neck as his fingers ghost over your nipples before tweaking them just enough to elicit a moan. every touch was sending another bolt of lightning straight to your already aching pussy. "your inner thighs," he grinned as he felt a shudder wrack through your body. finn's toes lightly brushed against the bottom of your feet. "here as well." each touch was light as a feather, just enough to tease but god was he lighting your body on fucking fire. "this little bundle of ten thousand nerves," the pad of his finger brushed ever so slightly against your clit before he rubbed a dedicated circle around it. this time your moan was louder and your head fell back as your legs twitched in response to the touch. "and the piéce de rèsistance," two of his fingers dipped down and played at your entrance. "right in here," his fingers dipped in, stretching you as they pressed against the spongy spot on the roof of your cunt. you twitched even harder and cried out. your chest was heaving as your cunt clenched around him, trying to find deeper pleasure.

and when it came to teaching about himself he'd be so gentle with you.

"easy baby, just learn it," finn cooed after you took a little too much of him into your mouth. "we'll work on taking more later. this is all about learning me." his hand caressed your cheek softly. "you do look real pretty. all doe eyed with my cock in your mouth." he fought the urge to buck his hips. "never g'on tire of seeing this." finn hummed and reach over, grabbing your hand and wrapping your fingers softly around the length you couldn't fit. "stroke and suck at the same time, use your tongue," he continued with the encouraging words, guiding you with each stroke.

finn would have you on top once he was ready to be seated inside of you. "rock your hips just like this baby," finn grunted, grinning up at you. his fingertips dug into your hips, helping to teach you just how to move. "fuck...yeah baby that's it." you collapsed forward, your hands seeking stability on his chest. your peak was drawing closer and your eyes rolled back into your head. "god my baby looks so pretty like this." his hand left your hip and moved up to grope at your breast.

"finn..." you whined, trying to follow the guiding of your hips. the closer your orgasm drew, though, it became harder to follow his instruction and finn could tell.

"let it happen baby, cum for dr. finnegan," his finger came down and rubbed a decisive circle on your clit, sending you over the edge. your head fell back and cried out. your nails digging into the skin of his chest.

finn followed soon after, spilling inside of you with a loud grunt. the room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and you rolled off, landing next to finn on the mattress, your legs still slightly tangled.

"cum for dr. finnegan? really?"

@sebsxphia @topguncortez so you guys don't miss out on the finnegan smut

#finnegan imagine #finnegan everybody wants some #dr finnegan #finnegasm #ask ash