#just to tide the swell in my heart

[morgana-ren]

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

#morgana and friends #astarion #astarion spoilers #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #heh that last one messed yall up huh #heres a fix for it #SUPER sappy FYI #SO ENJOY! #I don't usually write sap (or angst) so I am bad at this #sorry its bad fellas #I GENUINELY could not think of a way for him to fix him becoming her cazador so uh #have a retconn #call this a fast fixer upper lmao

[fushigurro]

𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙉 𝙊𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙅𝙊𝘽.

𝗠𝗘𝗚𝗨𝗠𝗜 𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢 𝗫 𝗙!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗫 𝗧𝗢𝗝𝗜 𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / incest, stepcest (not specified for reader's role) / threesome / unprotected piv / reader with female anatomy and pronouns / toji calls reader ‘mama’ once / 1.6k words.

so. this was supposed to be a brief thought but i have once again gone overboard. i blame @kentohours for her glorious ability to spark my brain with her ask (and all the other lovely people in my inbox giving me inspiration today).

You’re sitting on your knees on the bed, face to face with Megumi while you're both stripped down to nothing but underwear, and there's a lump in his throat. You place a hand on his thigh when you lean in to kiss him, and it takes him a moment to rest a nervous, shaking hand of his own just above your knee. The kiss is tentative and has his heart racing a mile a minute, but he can smell the familiar scent of your shampoo and it puts him at just the slightest bit of ease.

Megumi almost forgets that Toji's standing off to the side with crossed arms and a look of scrutiny in his eyes, seemingly unimpressed thus far with the juvenile nature of the kiss—evenly-paced, chaste lip locking that slowly but surely has Megumi's cock hardening in his briefs. His hand moves just an inch further up your leg and squeezes to ground himself, while his father looks on with growing impatience.

Toji's streak of jealousy colors his voice with a harsh tone, his words covering up the fact that he'd prefer to be the one touching you right now. "Feel her up. She's not made of fuckin' paper."

Megumi's brow furrows as his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip, and as much as he'd like to disobey his father out of pure spite, his need to explore you overrides everything else. He shuffles closer to you, moving his hand up to your waist and then just below your breast, feeling the swell of it graze over his fingers as you breathe.

You separate yourself from Megumi's lips and say a little breathlessly, "Toji, stop. It's his first time."

A brief wave of embarrassment washes over Megumi at the sound of your voice, but then you smile and give his thigh a reassuring squeeze. "You're doing a great job, baby."

That encouragement urges Megumi to reconnect your lips and swipe a thumb over your hardened nipple, feeling you sigh into the kiss at the careful touch. Toji huffs but silently takes note of how you respond to his son's brand of tenderness.

After what feels like eons of timid groping and testing the waters, Megumi finally has you underneath him, virgin cock leaking against your already dripping slit as he prepares to take the final step. He softly ruts between your folds with sweat on his brow, catching your clit with his tip and taking in shaky, focused breaths as he studies the familiar beauty of your face. his adoration for you consumes him, and he forgets that he’s being watched.

Toji reminds him.

"Jesus fuck, son—grow a pair and give it to her already," he berates, egging the younger man on with sharp words.

Megumi growls and resists the urge to slam into you, instead opting for a gentle push through your entrance until he's hilted and completely surrounded by your warmth. Once his arms stop trembling and he's almost certain he won't cum at the slightest movement, Megumi sets a pace with his hips and revels in the pleasure your heat provides.

Meanwhile, Toji sits back and leisurely strokes himself to the sight of you being stretched open by his own flesh and blood. He nearly takes pride in it, but it only tides him over for a while, because even though the sound of your sweet moans and praises are endearing, it’s been far too long for you to not have had an orgasm by now. Never mind that his son has no experience—Toji wants to see your toes curling, and he’ll be damned if Megumi doesn’t learn how to do it properly.

He's provided little instruction thus far, keen on appraising Megumi’s natural talents, but he anticipates having to intervene soon.

Toji moves to loom over the two of you and uses a large hand to take a fistful of Megumi’s hair, pulling the younger man’s head back to look up at him. "You gonna make her cum or what?” he says with a challenging look on his face. “Gonna give her what she needs, or do I have to step in and take care of my woman?"

“Toji—” you attempt to interject but are cut off—

“Shut up,” Megumi snarls, hips stuttering and face flushed from the exertion and humiliation of it all. 

Toji laughs at his son’s heated reaction and uses his strength to rip the boy away from you in an instant, flinging him off to the side before he can even try to fight back. Megumi’s blood boils as his spine hits the mattress in the space next to you and Toji’s taking his previous place with finesse, slipping your legs over his shoulders and putting you in a mating press with nothing less than practiced ease.

Megumi knows better than to take the risk of protesting, especially when Toji buries himself in you with one swift stroke, looks over at his son and says, “Start taking notes.”

Everything is a blur for you after that. Toji’s cock works you as well as it always does, splitting you open and sending pleasure down to the very tips of your toes. You’re unable to glance over and see how Megumi’s length twitches against the dark patch of hair on his belly at the sight of your sticky cunt being used, but Toji can see it—he makes a point to turn his head and flash a cocky smirk at his son as he rails into you.

Megumi fights the urge to touch himself while your arousal still glistens on his shaft, and although he resents Toji for stealing you from him, he can’t deny that watching you receive such pleasure is an incredible delicacy. It may be in a much harsher way than he himself had ever imagined being able to enact, but he is indeed taking pointers from Toji’s efficiency at making your eyes roll back.

After a couple of orgasms wrack your system, your husband finally presses his pubes to your clit and floods you with his seed as deeply as he can manage. Toji pulls out with a satisfied groan once he’s finished and moves to leave you wide open again, casually gesturing for Megumi to assume his position and top you off after the demonstration.

“Pop quiz. Were you paying attention?”

Megumi wants to snap and toss out harsh words, but he’s too desperate to be buried within you again to the point where he says nothing, opting for ignoring the way his father’s cum gushes out of you and pushing his own cock back inside to shove it even deeper. He immediately sets a pace and uses his indignation to drive him forward and please you, but not in the same way that Toji had—no, he’ll lick your neck and work your favorite spots in his own way, coaxing the pleasure from you with reverence and hailing you for letting him.

Toji’s admittedly a little shocked by how Megumi’s technique has already improved, albeit being quite different from his own. The younger man is still pulling those same pleased moans from your lips as he strokes your insides with filthy wet sounds, but it somehow doesn’t detract from the air of devotion that lingers between the two of you. Megumi even kneads your breast and does his best to roll your clit beneath his thumb a few times—anything to try and bring you the same ecstasy his father had.

“I wanna make you cum,” Megumi softly proclaims with a desperate voice in your ear. He needs it just as badly as you do.

“Fuck—you’ve got it. Just keep doing it like that, baby,” you reply, feeling the heat in your core build with each passing second. Megumi continues his rhythm without faltering, lest he ruin this opportunity to please you, and the nudging of his pelvis against your clit with each deep stroke has your head beginning to spin.

“Yeah, yeah… such a good job, pretty boy,” you praise him with breathless, hurried words, and the two of you are completely wrapped up in one another. Toji would be jealous if his cock weren’t already almost twitching back to life.

You’re nearly at the edge but Megumi is at his breaking point, balls tightening and promptly shooting his load out as you begin to constrict around him with need. However, he doesn’t stop his movements, pushing himself to keep fucking you despite the overwhelming desire to freeze as the pleasure takes hold of him. Thankfully, it doesn’t take much longer for you to topple over as well, milking him with the flutters of your used cunt and gifting him with the pride of having been able to please you.

Megumi takes refuge against your neck, huffing and panting as both your bodies recover from their respective highs. You’re overflowing with the seed of both father and son, the mixture trickling from your hole and onto the bed sheets before Megumi can even pull out and lay next to you. Once he does, however, Toji approaches again and captures your lips in a celebratory kiss.

“Well done, mama.” he grins and traces along your sloppy folds with a curious hand, causing your breath to hitch and body to jolt at the overstimulation. Toji then slides two fingers up your cunt and covers them with the mixture of everyone's cum before promptly removing them with a squelch. “Think we’ve got him off to the right start.”

Toji looks down at his exhausted son, filled with both pride and competitiveness at the results of this excursion, but he knows there’s so much more to be learned. 

He provides no warning before shoving his two digits into Megumi's mouth with a wicked grin, forcing him to taste the combination of the family’s pleasure on his tongue. And there's more where that came from.

"Ready to learn how to eat pussy?"

#dividers by @cafekitsune #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #re: megumi fushiguro #re: toji fushiguro #my writing.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 9

part 1 | part 8 | ao3

cw: medical emergency

He ditches his car at the top of the street, runs the rest of the way because there are too many people standing around — a small crowd of onlookers clustered at the bottom of the lane, gawking in their sleep shirts and flannels like the world isn’t trying to end for a fourth time. Fifth? He can’t keep track. He can’t even think, numb to everything but the pounding of his shoes against the pavement, the sirens wailing in his ears, the steady prayer in his pulse not her not now not both—

“Mom?” he shouts, voice cracking and raw. “Mom!!”

“It’s not for her.”

There’s a hand against his chest then, heel of a palm pressed to his sternum, and he slams into it like a brick wall. The air burns in his lungs; he can’t focus his eyes. “Wh-what?” he gets out, voice shaking, throat thick. Cold terror drools down his sweaty neck like the breath of a hungry monster. He’s a little kid again, swept up in the mayhem of a crowded mall. Where’s his mom; where’s his mom?

“Your mom’s in my house.” The voice is deep and slow, the hand flexing against his shirt. Fingers splayed. Heavy rings.

“…E-Eddie?” Steve’s vision swims, going yellow and purple then tunneling down to black, deep water filling his ears. Nothing makes any sense. “Munson, what—?”

“Your mom’s in my house,” he repeats like a mantra. Like a lighthouse in the fog, voice rumbling and sure. “She’s safe. She’s fine. You’re hyperventilating; take a breath.”

His breath is still catching quick and high in his throat, little puffs of cold mist. Can you drown in cold air? Can it condense inside your chest?

Eddie grips his shoulder, snaps his fingers in Steve’s face. “Hey. Hey, Steve? Come on, man, look at me. Steve. Look at me.”

Steve meets his gaze like the tide drawn to the moon.

“Deep breath,” he demonstrates, sucking air through an invisible straw, letting his chest and belly swell. Steve copies him until his vision starts to clear, until his heartbeat starts to calm. "That's it," Eddie tells him. "Good. Yeah, there we go."

Some hysterical part in the back of his brain wants to laugh. To start and never stop, just laugh and laugh and laugh until his fucking head explodes.

When he can breathe again, he pants weakly, “What is going on?”

Eddie guides him to a picnic table on the outskirts of the crowd, and they perch on top of it with their feet planted on the bench. The air feels calmer here.

Steve takes another breath.

Eddie points to the single-wide right next to Steve’s. “The wagon’s for your neighbor,” he grimaces in sympathy, one eye squinting shut as he cocks his head at Steve. “Ernie. You know him?”

“Mm.” Ernie Gerwitz. Late 60s, a widower with liver spots and arthritis in both hands. Bad heart, worse drinking habit. Fucking hates Steve’s mom because she backed over his begonias. “Not well.”

They didn’t interact much beyond an occasional neighborly nod, although Steve did once earn the guy’s good graces by yelling at Misty while shooing her off with a rake. (‘Little bitch left me a whole damn weasel last year,’ he’d grumbled as he stooped to pick up the newspaper. ‘Can't shoot her, though, 'cause she scares away the possums.’) And now…

Steve can’t make out much from here, just the shape of a four-man stretcher being carried out the door, strobe light streaks in his vision as the EMTs load up the van.

“Is he…” Steve gulps, clasping his hands between his knees. He doesn’t want to ask this question. The words taste moldy in his mouth. “Is he dead?”

Eddie’s hand shakes a little when he drags it down his cheek. His answer comes on a wobbly sigh, an almost melodic quality to the tension in his voice. “No-o idea, man. Your, uh, your mom, ya know, she— She found him. In, um. In the yard." "Jesus." "Said he was just, like... lying there. In the grass.” Eddie stares off into the distance like he’s seeing it right now; makes a wet clucking sound as his bottom lip quivers. “Thinks it was, a- a heart thing, or something? Shit, I don’t know. She was pretty freaked out when she knocked on my door.”

Steve can't picture it. He hasn’t seen her express a single true emotion since July.

A hesitant hitch of breath, and Eddie chews on his next words, tapping a hand against his thigh. “She’s, uh... she’s… calmer now. Or. At least-”

Steve rolls his eyes, knows exactly where this is going. Eddie tries again: “I mean, she seemed like-”

“Like a fucking zombie?” Steve supplies.

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, a nervous laugh of relief. You said it, man, not me. There’s something serious in his gaze, something curious and searching.

Something almost kind. Steve shrinks away from it like a vampire in the sun. Go on, he wants to say, ask about the fucking pills. Wants to goad him into a fight, some mean, sharp thing inside him itching to see someone else bleed.

Steve bites his tongue until he tastes metallic tang. Copper covering mildew; fresh bloom coating decay. He swallows hard, lets them both slide down his throat — blood and ghosts, life and death. The River Styx must taste like pennies.

The siren starts again, and Eddie groans and hangs his head. “Christ," he murmurs to the dirt, “Wayne’s gonna be so bummed.”

They both watch in silence as the ambulance goes by.

—

part 10

okay same deal tagging whoever commented yesterday (if your settings will let me) you’re all delightful tysm 😘 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @thefreakandthehair @slutforcoffein @manda-panda-monium @munsonfamilybandalso @aliea82 @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @lololol-1234 @hotluncheddie @pennyplainknits @disrespectedgoatman @carolinachickadee @insideiscold @acedorerryn @anne-bennett-cosplayer @violetsteve my actual wife blessings upon your house @lighthousebeams @steves-strapcollection @sirsnacksalot @stevesbipanic @slowandsteddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @so-get-this-sammy @annabanannabeth @runninriot @cuips-not-cute @a-little-unsteddie @envyadams-vs-me @ppunkpuppyy if i forgot anyone i’m sorry i am very sleep deprived

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #st fic #my writing #my fic

[gvnvks]

// zb1 boys wanting your attention / affection.

> pairings: non-idol!zb1 x fem-reader

> warnings: pet names, a lot of touch, lowercase intended, not proofread

> song recommendation: crazy by luminous (DRIVE ME CRAZY CRAZY OOH CRAZY CRAZY)

> a/n: i think im back but like fr now… thank yall for 500 followers!!

// 김 jiwoong.

seated at a corner table, you were engrossed in your work, laptop open, fingers dancing across the keyboard. lost in your world of words and ideas, you hardly noticed jiwoong, your ever-adoring boyfriend, quietly sipping his latte at the opposite side of the table.

he gazed at you with a warm, affectionate smile, his eyes sparkling like sunlight on a tranquil lake. with a playful twinkle, he began, “you know, ive always thought that if words were colors, the ones you type would paint the most beautiful masterpiece.”

you looked up, surprised by his poetic remark. a soft blush tinged your cheeks as you replied, “oh, come on. you're just saying that to distract me.”

jiwoong chuckled, his laughter like a soft melody. “maybe i am. but can you blame me? i can't resist stealing your attention away from those words for just a moment.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “you're shameless.” he leaned forward, his voice turning slightly serious. “i'm shamelessly in love with you.”

a delighted giggle escaped your lips. “flattery will get you everywhere, you know.”

jiwoongs gaze turned thoughtful as he looked out of the window, his eyes fixed on the swaying branches of a nearby tree. “you know, watching the leaves dance in the wind reminds me of you. effortlessly beautiful and always moving forward.”

you leaned back, your heart fluttering at his words. “smooth talker.”

“im just speaking from the heart,” he said, his fingers tracing an imaginary path on the table. “and my heart tells me that i miss you even though you're right in front of me.”

your fingers paused over the keyboard, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “youre the one who chose to come with me to the café, remember?”

your boyfriend sighed dramatically, a hand on his chest. “ah, but my heart didn't get the memo. its been pining for your attention.”

with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, you pushed your laptop aside. “alright, you win. what do you want, mr. heart-pining?”

he grinned, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “just a kiss to tide my heart over until youre done conquering the literary world.”

a delighted laugh bubbled up from your chest as you leaned across the table, meeting him halfway. your lips met in a sweet, lingering kiss that felt like a promise of forever.

as you pulled back, jiwoongs eyes held a mix of adoration and playfulness. “thank you for indulging my heart.”

“youre welcome,” you replied, your fingers now entwined with his. “but only because youre my favorite distraction.”

// 장 hao.

you stood by a large window, your voice weaving a gentle tapestry of words as you spoke to your mother over the phone. the room itself seemed to listen, its walls echoing with your laughter and the comforting words exchanged.

unbeknownst to you, hao watched from a distance, his heart swelling with affection for the beautiful scene before him. his tousled hair and sleepy eyes hinted at a man who had just risen from dreams, but his determination sparkled brighter than the morning sun. a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he plotted his charming disruption.

with a soft, silent step, your boyfriend closed the distance between you. his fingers brushed over the piano, and a soft melody trickled into the air, a backdrop for his silent advance. your voice continued to flow, but his eyes met yours, a playful gleam dancing within them. as his fingers reached you, they brushed against your arm in a featherlight touch.

your startled laughter bubbled through the phone, a melody that blended with the piano's notes. “mom, i think there's a tickle monster on the loose!” you teased, glancing toward hao. he chuckled, his fingers stilling on the keys.

“im innocent, i swear,” he chimed, his voice a gentle harmony to the symphony of the morning.

your mothers laughter resonated through the phone, a distant yet warm presence. “well, it sounds like you two are having a wonderful morning.”

haos fingers now traced patterns along your forearm, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. “speaking of wonderful mornings, i think this one could be even more wonderful if someone would spare a moment for her boyfriend.”

you rolled your eyes in playful exasperation. “hao, youre not going to give up, are you?”

his gaze held yours, his eyes twinkling. “never, especially not when it comes to winning your affection.”

a soft sigh escaped you, one that carried the depth of your fondness. “mom, ive got a persistent charmer here who wont let me concentrate.”

her laughter flowed through the line, a soft caress. “well, dear, enjoy these moments. love like that is a treasure.”

your boyfriends fingers found their way to your cheeks, his touch warm against your skin. “see, even your mom agrees. now, how about a kiss?”

you glanced at him, feigning resistance. “oh, fine. but only if you promise to behave afterward.”

his eyes danced with playful mischief as his lips met yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. “deal,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a whispered promise.

// 성 hanbin.

a gentle hum of laughter and conversations filled the air as you and your friends sat around the table, immersed in your chatter. the table was adorned with a bouquet of vibrant wildflowers, their colors echoing the joyous atmosphere.

hanbin leaned back comfortably in his chair, a playful glint in his eyes. hed been trying to catch your attention all evening, but you were engrossed in your friends' anecdotes.

as one of your friends animatedly recounted a hilarious work story, hanbin softly cleared his throat from beside you. you glanced at him, and he flashed you an endearing smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“you know,” he began casually, “i heard they have the most amazing desserts here. maybe we should order something sweet to share?”

you nodded in agreement, and your attention returned to your friends. your boyfriends hand found its way to the back of your chair, his fingers gently grazing your shoulder, sending a tingling sensation down your spine. he leaned in a little closer, his voice a hushed whisper only you could hear.

“i think youre the sweetest thing here, though,” he teased, his lips brushing against your earlobe. you stifled a giggle, trying to keep your composure as his words sent warmth rushing to your cheeks.

just as you thought hanbin might be satisfied with his display of affection, he took it up a notch. your friend was now sharing a particularly amusing anecdote, and hanbins fingers lightly traced patterns on your forearm, his touch featherlight and barely noticeable to anyone else. your skin prickled with awareness, and you shot him a sideways glance.

“what are you doing?” you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes as you caught on to his game.

hanbin grinned mischievously. “who, me? im just appreciating the fine art of touch communication.”

you chuckled softly, leaning closer to him. “well, mr. communication expert, what else do you have up your sleeve?”

his eyes sparkled with excitement as he leaned even closer, his lips now barely brushing against your ear. “how about this?” he murmured, his fingers tracing a heartwarming pattern on the inside of your wrist.

you couldnt help the soft sigh that escaped your lips. hanbin always knew how to make your heart dance with delight. as the evening progressed, you found yourself stealing glances and exchanging secret smiles with him, a silent dialogue of affection that only the two of you shared.

and as the night drew to a close, dessert plates now cleared, hanbins hand found yours beneath the table, his fingers interlocking with yours in a silent promise of forever.

// 석 matthew.

in the clinking of weights and the hum of machines filling the air, you were engrossed in your workout routine, headphones on, completely absorbed in the rhythm of your exercises.

your boyfriend stood nearby, a playful and yet proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips. he watched you lift dumbbells with focused determination, your brows slightly furrowed. unable to resist any longer, he strolled over and leaned against a nearby machine, his warm brown eyes fixated on you.

“youre looking incredibly impressive there,” he quipped, his voice a playful whisper that barely reached your ears above the music.

you blinked, momentarily taken aback before a grin broke across your face. “oh, so you think im finally lifting as much as you?”

matthew chuckled, his gaze dancing with amusement. “well, i wouldnt go that far. but youre definitely getting there.”

as you continued your set, matthews fingers lightly grazed your arm, causing a pleasant shiver to race down your spine. “need any pointers?” he asked, a hint of boyish charm in his tone.

you rolled your eyes playfully. “i think ive got this, thank you very much.”

he leaned in closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “ive seen your squats, and i must admit, theyre pretty impressive.”

a soft flush crept up your cheeks, but you tried to hide it by focusing on your next set. your boyfriend seemed determined to keep your attention, however. with a grin, he gently adjusted your posture, his fingers guiding your movements. “here, a little shift in your stance will give you better balance.”

you complied, surprised by how his touch not only corrected your form but also sent a pleasant warmth radiating through you. “thanks, i can feel the difference.”

matthews fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his touch becoming a lingering caress. “anytime, my personal training services are always available,” he teased.

betwixt the exchanged flirtatious glances and playfully bickering comments, matthews care and affection were evident. he fetched a water bottle for you, making sure you stayed hydrated, and subtly encouraged you through the more challenging sets.

as the session continued, he surprised you by joining in, effortlessly matching your pace. “you make this look so easy,” you huffed, sweat-drenched and slightly breathless.

matthew grinned, his shirt clinging to his chest as he mimicked your exercises. “well, someones gotta make sure youre not the only one suffering here.”

// 김 taerae.

as you stood by the stove, carefully flipping pancakes, your boyfriend entered the kitchen with a rascal expression. “hey there,” he chimed, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. his touch was both affectionate and reassuring.

you chuckled, focusing on not letting the pancakes burn. “good morning, taerae. whats the occasion for this sneak attack?”

he rested his chin on your shoulder, observing your culinary skills with genuine admiration. “no occasion. i just realized how lucky i am to have a girlfriend who can turn flour and eggs into something magical.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “yeah. youre just buttering me up because you want some pancakes.”

“guilty as charged,” he admitted with a chuckle. his fingers traced gentle circles on your waist, sending shivers down your spine. “but also because i want some of your attention too.”

you finally turned off the stove and turned to face him, your eyes meeting his twinkling gaze. “you have my attention now. what do you want?”

taerae feigned innocence, his lips curling into a youthful grin. “hmm, maybe a kiss to start with?”

you pretended to consider his request, tapping your finger against your chin. “lets see. pancakes or a kiss… tough choice.”

he gasped in mock astonishment. “are you saying my kisses arent as delicious as your pancakes?”

you leaned in, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “definitely not as delicious, but close enough.”

he pulled you into a warm hug, his arms encircling you tightly. “ill take close enough.”

as you both swayed gently to an imaginary rhythm, the aroma of breakfast filled the air. taeraes fingers idly drew patterns on your back as he spoke softly. “you know, i think im addicted to your touch.”

you chuckled, nuzzling your head against his chest. “oh really? do you need a daily dose of my touch to function properly?”

“absolutely,” he replied without hesitation. “its like a warm, comforting energy that i cant get enough of.”

with the pancakes ready, you playfully extricated yourself from his embrace and set the table. “well, i guess i cant deny you your daily dose of affection then.”

he helped you with the plates, his eyes never leaving your face. “you know, im starting to believe that the best moments in life happen right here in this kitchen.”

you handed him a plate with a smirk. “are you saying that my cooking is the key to your heart?”

“among other things,” he teased, winking at you. “but honestly, its the love and laughter that fill this space that make it so special.”

// 리키 ricky.

as you saw the sun dipping below the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the quaint little restaurant, you found yourself seated at a beautifully set table alongside your family. the ambiance was serene, with gentle music playing in the background and the distant sounds of laughter and clinking cutlery from nearby tables. the scent of delectable dishes wafted through the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation.

ricky sat beside you. he was dressed in a crisp white shirt that accentuated his blonde, tousled hair and his beautiful grin. you could feel his leg occasionally brushing against yours under the table, his way of seeking connection even in a crowd.

as the first course arrived, ricky leaned in slightly, his lips almost grazing your ear as he whispered, “hey, have i told you how stunning you look tonight?”

you chuckled softly, feeling a warm blush creep up your cheeks. “if im not mistaken, you already mentioned it thrice," you replied with a playful twinkle in your eye.

across the table, your sibling raised an eyebrow and grinned knowingly. “are you two whispering sweet nothings over there?” they teased.

your boyfriend leaned back, a sheepish grin on his face. “just trying to keep the romance alive,” he quipped, earning an amused chuckle from your parents.

as the main course was served, rickys fingers found their way to yours beneath the tablecloth. his touch was gentle and reassuring, a silent reminder of his presence amidst the family gathering. you intertwined your fingers with his, giving his hand a tender squeeze, and he responded with a loving smile that melted your heart.

between the clatter of cutlery and the hum of conversation, rickys foot subtly brushed against yours. you shot him a questioning look, and he raised an innocent eyebrow, feigning innocence. “oops, sorry,” he said, barely suppressing a mischievous grin.

your mother, ever perceptive, couldnt help but notice the exchange. she leaned in, a knowing smile on her lips. “just be sure to save some affection for dessert, you two,” she advised with a wink.

dessert arrived in the form of decadent chocolate cake, accompanied by a scoop of velvety vanilla ice cream. rickys eyes lit up as he took his first bite, and he couldnt resist offering you a forkful with an impish grin. “here, a taste of heaven.”

you indulged in the delicious treat, savoring the sweet and creamy flavors. “mmm, youre right. this is amazing,” you agreed, your eyes locked on his.

as the evening drew to a close, with your family engaged in cheerful chatter and laughter, rickys hand found its way to the small of your back. his touch was light yet possessive, a silent promise that he was there by your side, no matter the setting.

with a satisfied sigh, you leaned into his touch, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. the restaurants warm lighting and the soft buzz of conversation created a cocoon of intimacy around the two of you.

as the night wound down and your family began to bid their farewells, your boyfriend stood up, helping you with your chair. his fingers brushed against yours again, his touch lingering as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “thanks for letting me crash your family dinner,” he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

you turned to him, your heart full of affection. “anytime, as long as you keep bringing that charming smile of yours,” you replied with a grin.

with a final, lingering touch, he intertwined his fingers with yours and led you out of the restaurant.

// 김 gyuvin.

as you sat on your plane seat, you decided to put on your favorite playlist, drowning out the noise of the plane engines with your favorite tunes.

beside you, gyuvin shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. he glanced over at you, an affectionate smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “hey, you,” he said, leaning in closer to you.

you looked up from your phone, surprised by his sudden closeness. “hey there,” you replied, taking out one earbud and offering him a curious smile.

“mind if i join your musical adventure?” he asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to you.

you grinned and removed the other earbud, handing it to him. “sure, pick a song.”

he scrolled through your playlist, his eyebrows raising in pleasant surprise. “you have great taste,” he noted before selecting a song.

as the music played, you both bobbed your heads slightly in time with the beat. the melody created a light, carefree atmosphere, perfect for the journey ahead. gyuvin leaned back in his seat, but his fingers couldn't seem to stay still. they tapped rhythmically against his thigh, his hand occasionally brushing against yours.

“you know,” he began, his tone casual, “ive heard that couples who listen to music together are destined to stay together.”

you chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him. “is that so? and whos your source for this theory?”

he pretended to ponder for a moment, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. “well, the source might be me, but its still a valid theory.”

you playfully rolled your eyes, but a warm feeling spread through your chest. his playful nature was one of the things you loved most about him. as the music continued, gyuvins leg brushed against yours more frequently. he let his pinky finger graze against yours, his touch sending a tingle up your spine.

turning to him, you teased, “is this your subtle way of asking for affection?”

he chuckled, his cheeks taking on a faint rosy hue. “maybe just a little,” he admitted. “i mean, its a long flight. a guy needs some cuddle time, right?”

you laughed softly, your heart swelling with adoration for this man beside you. “well, i guess i cant argue with that.”

leaning a bit closer, gyuvin intertwined his fingers with yours, his touch warm and reassuring. “see, thats better,” he said with a grin. “much cozier.”

the two of you shared a comfortable silence, the music playing in your ears as the plane continued its journey. the sun had now fully set, painting the sky with shades of deep purples and blues. the cabin lights were dimmed, creating an intimate ambiance.

your boyfriend leaned his head against yours, his breath tickling your ear. “you know, i wouldnt mind if this plane ride lasted a little longer,” he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of playfulness.

you turned your head to meet his gaze, your heart fluttering at the affection in his eyes. “whys that?”

he shrugged, his lips curling into a tender smile. “just means more time for us to listen to music, share some cuddles, and maybe steal a few kisses.”

blushing, you leaned in, capturing his lips with your own.

// 박 gunwook.

you lay in your bedroom, your peaceful slumber untouched by the world around you. your room was like a haven of serenity, decorated with gentle shades of pastel and sunbeams filtering through the sheer curtains.

with you being unaware, gunwook has arrived earlier that morning. a playful smile danced on his lips as he watched you sleep, cherishing the quiet moments when he could admire your beauty without your witty retorts. he sat at the edge of the bed, his tousled hair giving him an endearing charm.

“gosh, youre so adorable when you sleep,” gunwook mused to himself, his voice a tender whisper.

a faint snore escaped you, and he chuckled softly. leaning in, he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. his fingers lingered on your cheek, caressing it ever so gently, as if he was painting his affection through touch.

your lips curved into a slight smile in response to his touch, even in your slumber. he leaned closer, his lips hovering just above your ear.

“hey sleepyhead, time to wake up,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling your skin.

you stirred, a sweet sigh escaping you. “five more minutes,” you mumbled, your words laced with sleep.

gunwooks fingers traced a delicate path down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. he chuckled again, the sound like a soothing melody. “you say that every morning, sweetheart.”

he let his fingers dance along your arm until they reached your hand. taking it in his, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “come on, the world is waiting for us today.”

you finally cracked open an eye, meeting his adoring gaze. “hmm, cant we just stay in bed forever?”

he laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with affection. “as tempting as that sounds, theres a whole day ahead of us. and ive got plans.”

your curiosity piqued, and you sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “plans? what kind of plans?”

gunwooks grin widened. “ah, thats a secret for now. but first, i need you to be fully awake.” he tugged playfully at your hand.

you smirked, a playful glint in your eye. “so, waking me up is just a ploy to get my attention, huh?”

he leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in a soft kiss. “well, that and the fact that i missed you.”

your heart fluttered at his words, a warm feeling spreading through you. “okay, okay, im up. but only because youre cute when you're desperate for attention."

your boyfriend feigned shock, a hand placed dramatically over his heart. “desperate for attention? me? never.”

you both shared a laugh, the sound filling the room with joy. as you got out of bed, gunwook wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“ready for the adventures of the day, my love?” he whispered, his voice filled with anticipation.

you leaned back into his embrace, a content smile gracing your lips. “always, as long as youre by my side.”

한 yujin.

pages were turning, notes were being jotted down, and equations were being solved as you were studying for your upcoming exam. little did you know, your doting boyfriend had something entirely different in mind.

with a twinkle in his eyes, yujin strolled over to your table, his tall figure casting a gentle shadow on your books. “hey there, brilliant mind,” he whispered, his voice a warm caress against your ear.

startled, you looked up, a surprised smile dancing across your lips. “yujin, you scared me…”

he snickered, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns on your back as he leaned down to peck your cheek. “sorry about that, but i just couldnt resist interrupting your study marathon.”

you playfully rolled your eyes. “oh really? and whats the occasion?”

he smirked, his hand moving to ruffle your hair affectionately. “no occasion, just missing my favorite person.”

returning to your notes, you raised an eyebrow. “mhm, and how exactly do i know youre not just craving snacks?”

yujin leaned against the table, his elbow barely grazing yours. “well, i might be a bit peckish too, but mostly i wanted to spend some time with you. just the two of us and these captivating textbooks,” he winked, his voice dripping with playful sincerity.

you couldnt help but chuckle, your annoyance at the interruption melting away. “youre something else, yujin.”

he grinned, his fingers now drawing soft circles on the back of your hand. “thats why you love me, right?”

you sighed dramatically. “i suppose so. but only because youre cute.”

yujins laughter filled the air, warm and melodic. “ah, youve discovered my secret weapon.”

with a mock sigh, you finally surrendered, closing your book and turning your attention to him. “fine, you win. what do you want to do?”

his face lit up, clearly thrilled that he had your full attention. “how about a study break? we can explore that garden outside. i heard theyve got roses that rival your beauty.”

you playfully nudged his shoulder. “smooth talker, arent you?”

he winked, his fingers now tracing your palm. “only for you.”

as you both stood up, yujin took your hand in his, his grip gentle and warm. the two of you walked towards the french doors leading to the garden, your steps light and laughter echoing in the air.

the garden was a riot of color, with vibrant flowers swaying in the breeze. your boyfriends arm found its way around your waist as he pointed out various blooms, narrating stories about each one. you couldnt help but be charmed by his enthusiasm.

as you both found a cozy bench beneath a blossoming cherry tree, yujin pulled you close, his head resting on your shoulder. “you know, i think i could get used to studying like this."

you smiled, leaning into him. “well, its definitely more enjoyable with you around.”

he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his fingers idly drawing circles on your thigh. “ill always be here to distract you, you know that, right?”

you tilted your head to look at him, your heart swelling with affection. “yeah, i do. and i wouldnt have it any other way.”

© gvnvks 2023. do not copy or translate any of my works.

#zb1 #zerobaseone #zb1 imagines #zb1 headcanons #zb1 reactions #zb1 x reader #zb1 drabbles #kim jiwoong #zhang hao #sung hanbin #seok matthew #kim taerae #ricky shen #shen ricky #kim gyuvin #park gunwook #han yujin #boys planet reactions #boys planet headcanons #boys planet x reader #boys planet

[brewed-pangolin]

Fine I'll send another. Captain MacTavish ON THE BEACH. 🥵

I love the beach. I live on it during the summer. It's my second home, I swear. And the way the sea salt air and warm waters can cure the soul is something I just can't ignore with this man. I love this ask so much!!!

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes

You sat alone, comfortably in your beach chair with a cold beer in hand under a magenta colored sky as the sun set beyond the horizon of a turquoise painted surf.

The rhythmic sound of the waves synchronizing with the beat of your heart as the scent of sea salt and sunscreen etched itself into your skin.

The air was still warm, yet it carried a cool breeze off the waters edge as the slow curtain of dusk crept over the white sanded landscape.

It was perfect. A picturesque conclusion to a hot summer's day.

And off in the distance, with a Yeti tumblr of whisky in one hand and a cigar permanently clutched in his mouth, Captain MacTavish cast out his last line into the crashing surf and placed the warn grip seamlessly into its plastic holder dug into the sand.

The beach had done wonders for him since his retirement only a few years ago.

Soothed his war torn psyche with the constant ebb and flow of the tide. Molded his scars beneath a layer of sun kissed skin that further accentuated the seascape blue of his eyes and made every woman swoon with just a mere glance and a smile.

Yet it was here, under the blanket of encroaching night that you saw the man he had truly become.

A man at peace with himself. Letting the setting sun and roll of the tide absolve him of his past and breathe fresh life into his lungs at dawn's first light.

You couldn't pull your eyes off him anymore, and you were no longer ashamed about how your stare lingered on him.

The loss of sunlight elongating the shadows within the curves of his musculature. Accented by the seafoam swim trunks that hung perfectly on his hips. Creating a more defined sculpture of his frame as he effortlessly strutted along the sand to take his place beside you.

"How long you gonna fish for tonight, John?" You asked quietly, rim of the beer can caressing your bottom lip.

"As long as you'll let me, m'lass."

You smiled, watching him raise his tumbler in cheers to take a healthy swig while gently tapping the ash of his cigar into an empty can.

"Guess we'll be here all night, then."

"Aye. Looks that way."

As he relaxed back in his Tommy Bahama chair, your hand reached out to instinctually cusp the back of his head. Thumb and index finger pressing into the back off his skull, pulling a slight groan from his chest as your touch soothed his sun drenched soul.

"Careful, lass. Y'know what that skillful touch a'yers does to me."

"Mhmm. It's a good thing we brought the boat."

Soap rolled his eyes, glancing between your smirking expression and the vessel anchored just beyond the last sandbar.

"Which one ya love more, hm? The boat, or me?"

You raised a brow at his testing inquiry, firmly pressing into the back curve of his jaw with your fingertips as a hushed murmur fell from your lips.

"Don't ask questions you know the answer to, John. Won't get you anywhere."

Soap growled in response. Placing his hand on your thigh and giving your flesh a firm yet playful grip.

"May have ta shorten th'fishing trip then. Looks like I gotta assert my claim over you again."

"Claim over me, John?"

"Aye. Ain't no way I'm losing you to a gas guzzling bàta."

-

You both lasted no more than another twenty minutes before loading everything into the skiff and jetting back to his prized vessel. Where Soap MacTavish made good to his word and staked his claim over you once again.

Spreading you over every flat surface beneath the bow and docking his thickened cock repeatedly into the deep cove of your cunt.

Master of the Swell Masterlist

This is but a taste of the new WIP I have in store for you, Soap Squad. Johnny's got the 4Runner, the Captain's got a yacht. And goddman, do I have plans to rock that boat.

Tagging those who showed interest. Let me know if you liked to be tagged for further posts. Much love 💛

@deadbranch @ohgeesoap @astraluminaaa @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @d3athtr4psworld @ghosts-goldendoodle @homicidal-slvt @shotmrmiller @glitterypirateduck @macravishedbymactavish @sofasoap @tacticalanxiety @random-thot-generator @writeforfandoms

#teaser for master of the swell #this asked warmed my sun kissed soul #love the beach so damn much #soap squad™️ #glitterypirateduck #the brainrot of Captain MacTavish #captain soap mactavish #captain mactavish #captain soap x you #captain soap x fem reader #og soap x you #og soap x fem reader #soap smut #call of duty #cod

[drarrily-we-row-along]

All My Dreaming, It's Only Given a Name

Inspired by the Hozier song "To Someone in a Warmer Climate"... I'm fucking obsessed with it. I can't stop listening to it. If you haven't heard it, you simply MUST.

Harry woke up slowly, the room was still dark, his body warm and so content he couldn't be bothered by the ways his muscles twinged with the need to shift.

There was a comforting weight around his shoulders, a hand in his hair, anchoring him to the warm presence beneath him. A second hand had slipped under his shirt, hot palm cupping his side.

Godric, he never wanted to move again.

"Hi," murmured softly against his temple, lips brushing over his forehead in a lazy approximation of a kiss.

His heart swelled and burst, pressing against his ribs, pushing his lungs until he couldn't breathe with it; this easy, gentle affection. A love so full, so gentle that it felt like the tide washing over him and pulling him along. Words seemed to great a feat, so he just pressed his nose into Draco's collarbone, hoped it was enough.

"Hello, darling," whispered soft and sweet into Harry's hair as Draco's fingers carded through the curls there, his other hand drawing Harry even closer, lightly squeezing his side. "It's so early, love."

A low whine escaped Harry's throat, his body pressing closer, stretching out against Draco's until their bodies were aligned.

"That's it," he murmured encouragingly, holding Harry like he was something precious. "Come closer," he added, "close as you like."

"I'd like to crawl inside of your skin," Harry mumbled, then realized how odd that must sound.

Draco just chuckled softly, "I do understand that impulse," he said. "It doesn't ever feel like I can get close enough to you either."

He sighed, let the short-lived worry of being misunderstood fall away. "I used to dream about this, you know?"

"Did you?" he asked, voice warm like honey; indulgent, like he wanted to hear whatever Harry wanted to say no matter how ridiculous it might be.

He shook his head, "Not exactly," he said softly, turning to prop his chin on Draco's chest.

The other man shifted a bit so that he could look down at Harry, chin scrunching up in a way that should be unattractive but that Harry found impossibly endearing.

"My dreams are paltry in comparison to the reality of you," he murmured like a confession.

"Poetic," Draco replied, lips tilting up at the corners to soften his words, to tell Harry he was teasing, that he was feeling shy about being praised.

He hummed, "My whole life," he whispered, "There's this," he broke off, searching for the right word, "ache," he said, tapping his fingers against Draco's breastbone. He shook his head, "There's always been this yearning to be loved, to be held, to be cared for without the expectation of what I'll be able to give."

"Darling," Draco whispered, and Harry could hear the ache reflected in his voice. It was like this sometimes, like Draco took whatever was hurting Harry and held it in his own body, reflecting it back at him with an empathy and tenderness that left Harry elated and terrified all at once.

"But then there was you," he continued. "And all of my dreaming, it seems like a shadow compared to the reality of being loved by you. All of my longing, my yearning; the restless pursuit of something I never thought I could actually have-" he broke off, eyes stinging.

Draco's thumb brushed away a tear and lightly traced his cheekbone.

"I found all of the things I'd dreamt of in you," he managed. "And more," he added. "This is the fulfillment of everything I've ever wanted; a simple, cozy love. A shared bed, a shared home. Dinner together and evenings on the sofa, weekends attached at the hip. Someone to hold me gently, to kiss me tenderly. Someone who will let me hold them and love them with my love that's too big and never sufficient all at once."

"Darling," Draco murmured again. "You're not too much and you are enough," he assured. "I don't need anything more."

Harry nodded, snuggled back under Draco's arm, resting his head on his shoulder once more. "You make everything better."

"I love you," Draco breathed in that way of his, wondering and helpless, like the way he loved Harry was something that he found immense pleasure in. Godric, Harry loved it when he said it like that. "I love you so much," he repeated. "You make everything better too, darling."

"I love you too," Harry said softly, the simplest thing he knew. The truest thing he knew.

"Do you want to sleep a little more?" Draco asked through a yawn of his own.

He shrugged a shoulder, "Maybe," he said, "I do want to stay like this, even if I can't sleep any more."

"Alright," he agreed, dropping a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "Do you mind if I go back to sleep for a while?"

"Of course not," he said, squeezing Draco's ribs and kissing his collarbone.

Draco hummed, squeezed Harry a little tighter. "You're alright?"

Harry nodded, "Better than," he replied truthfully.

"Kay," Draco whispered, then as though sleeping was as easy for him as breathing, he dropped back off to sleep.

He lay there, listening to his beloved breathe, and couldn't fathom how his life had turned out sweeter than his very best dreams.

--------------------

(Read more of my fics, if you'd like)

#drarry #love #soft #fluff #short and sweet #one shot #Inspired by Hozier's Song “To Someone in a Warmer Climate” #That song is soooooo good. Seriously. Go listen to it. #is Harry Ace? Probably. But not explicitly stated. #“embracetheace” is the hashtag I've been trying to get trending in my friend groups. using that here too

[nerdraging4point0]

Power Play // Chapter 1 // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV. 

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

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I sank into the faded beige couch in our cozy two-bedroom apartment, soaking in the last moments before everything would change. Through the open window, the sweet scent of yesterday’s rain drifted in on a gentle breeze, reminding me of all the lazy spring days spent here with friends. Marissa plopped down beside me, and I felt a pang in my heart realizing how much I would miss this—being with her, my best friend and rock through the chaos of senior year. Now, a few months out after graduation, a bittersweet nostalgia washed over me. I etched each detail into my memory: the worn fabric beneath my fingertips, the birdsongs outside, Marissa's quiet presence. Soon we'd close this chapter, but the memories we made within these walls would blossom in our hearts for years to come.

The last four years of nursing school had flown by in a blur of late nights studying and early mornings in clinicals. Now with our bachelor's degrees finally in hand, my best friend and I found ourselves at a crossroads. Where did we go from here? I was tempted to jump right into a job at the hospital we'd done rotations at, but ultimately decided a few months off would do me good. Time to decompress after the whirlwind of college, and spend some much-needed quality time with my dad before launching into my nursing career. Though the future felt wide open and uncertain, I knew this break would help me recharge and figure out my next steps. 

I gaze at my suitcases lined up by the door, like soldiers ready for battle. The rest of my belongings sit sealed away in cardboard coffins, soon to be shipped off to my father's house. In a few short hours, I'll board the plane home, leaving this chapter of my life behind.

I glance anxiously at my phone. The Uber is ten minutes away, coming to ferry me to the airport and the imminent end of my time here. Ten final minutes before my ship sinks into the sea of memories.

Part of me thrills at the thought of going home. But another part dreads that I won't summon the courage to uproot myself again as I did to come here. I feel caught between the familiar comforts of home and the terrifying freedom of the unknown.

As the minutes tick down, the nerves and sadness swell within me like the tide. I'm unsure if I'm ready to leave, but the choice has been made. My bags are packed. The car is on its way. My ship is sinking, and it's time to go down with it.

Marissa grasps my hand, intertwining our fingers in a familiar, comforting way. "This is just a new chapter for us," she says gently. "You know we'll find our way back to each other soon. Just give me a few months to settle into my new job, and I'll come out to Cali for a long overdue visit." Her words wrap around me like a warm hug, reassuring me that our bond can weather any storm.

As we stand from the couch and fall into a tight embrace, I can't help but feel a pang in my heart. Her messy bun tickles my nose, and the familiar scent of cleaning products and lavender clings to her old sweats and university tee. We had spent all day tidying the apartment, scrubbing away remnants of late nights gossiping over takeout and movie marathons. With each swipe of the washcloth, another memory got wiped away.

My phone pings, the Uber waiting to take me to the airport. I cling to her a little tighter, not yet ready to let go of my best friend. We'd been through so much together in this little apartment - late night study sessions, tears after bad breakups, celebrations after every accomplishment. And now we had to say goodbye.

I feel her tears dampen my shoulder as we sway back and forth, the unspoken "I'll miss you" hanging thick in the air. This isn't the end, I know, but as we finally pull away and I gather my bags, my heart breaks nonetheless. One chapter was closing, but a new adventure awaits for both of us.

She helps carry my bags down to the curb where the driver puts them into the trunk of his SUV. We exchange one more hug and a few tears before I climb in the backseat, waving goodbye out of the tinted window till she is out of sight. I pull out my phone shooting a quick text to my dad that i’m on the way to the airport. He wasn’t so much of a worrier, but he’d be upset if I didn’t at least warn him. 

The afternoon sun peeks through the clouds as I drive down I-5, weaving past exits for Tacoma and Federal Way. The leaves on the tree limbs turning a faded shade already line the highway, a sure sign of Autumn in Seattle. Before I know it, I'm pulling up to Departures at Tacoma International Airport, the scent of coffee and jet fuel mingling in the air. Two overstuffed suitcases roll alongside me while my backpack bounces on my shoulders.

After checking my bags, I meander through the terminal, watching businesspeople rush to their gates while families herd overexcited kids onto flights. My flight isn't for another hour, so I find a seat by the window overlooking the tarmac. Planes taxi and take off as I confirm my hotel reservation. I could've stayed at my dad's place, but I know by now my old bedroom has likely become his at-home office. Anyway, it'll be nice to have some independence on this trip back home.

The call comes over the intercom: "Now boarding Flight 784 to LAX." I grab my carry-on and hustle to the gate, eager to secure my window seat near the front. The line inches forward as passengers jam the jetbridge, jostling for position. I finally reach my row and hoist my bag into the overhead bin. As I plop into my seat, I peek out the oval window at the tarmac below. Ground crew in neon vests scurry around the plane, making final checks. The cabin door slams shut, and we lurch into motion. The engines rumble as we gather speed, pressing me back into the headrest. My pulse quickens in that familiar pre-flight rush. The nose tilts up, and we're airborne! Home, here I come!

The LA sun hangs low in a hazy orange sky as I collapse into the hotel room's plush queen bed, weary from a day of travel. Cleaning and packing left me exhausted, so I had to cancel dinner plans with Dad despite his obvious excitement on the phone. He mentioned some "proposal" he has for me - likely another attempt to get me to ditch the hotel and stay at his place instead. But this modest room has everything I need - soft carpets, textured walls, and pillows galore.

After a long day, the thought of going back out into the bustling city streets makes me weary. I decide to unwind in the cozy confines of my hotel room instead. Stepping into the shower, I turn the heat up high, letting the warm water envelope my tired muscles. As steam fills the air, I feel the stress of the day wash away. Wrapped in a plush robe, I settle into the comfy armchair and flip on the TV. The sports channel is covering the latest NFL news - the FortyNiners are gearing up for a big pre season. But soon they switch over to hockey, and my ears perk up. It's an update on my dad's team! I lean in, eager to catch every detail and stat. The lively commentary of the sportscasters fills the room as I relax into the overstuffed cushions. 

"Folks, the Rooks are looking like a force to be reckoned with this season," the announcer says with enthusiasm. She’s blonde, wearing a gray suit and enough makeup to cover her crows feet and forehead wrinkles,  "Coach Brody has lit a fire under this team during preseason and you can see it in the intensity of their practices and scrimmages. The offense is clicking and putting up big numbers, but don't overlook the tenacious defense - whether it's the starting unit or the backups on the ice, these guys are shutting down opponents left and right. The Rooks are hungry for a championship and have all the pieces to make a deep playoff run. If they keep up this level of play, we could be in for an electric season with the Rooks!"

The Rooks take to the ice, a blur of black jerseys with fiery red numbers, names shining under the arena lights. Skates slice and sticks flash as they circle the rink, putting on a show for the cameras. 

“Goalie McClain is a steel wall with his saves.” the announcer gushes as the footage switches to practice - the puck rockets toward McClain's net but the goalie drops, gloves flung wide to make the save. You can almost hear the ice spray and skate blades carve as the team flies around the rink, hockey poetry in motion. The Rooks glide and dash in a choreographed dance, aggressive and graceful all at once, as their dark uniforms and gear mesh into a cohesive force.

The defense barrels towards their opponents with unrelenting intensity, their eyes locked in a fierce glare. "Sanchez is proving himself as the team's starting center this season," the announcer declares, her voice rising with excitement. "Sebastian and Karlsson - the league's top defense duo - are an unstoppable force!"

A tender smile spreads across my face as I gaze at my father's team, my heart swelling with pride. My phone chimes softly, lighting up with a new message from the coach. 

Dad (04:45PM): Visitor pass will be at the front desk of your hotel in the morning. Should get you into the rink for the game on Saturday and tomorrow. Come down to the rink after four, we will grab some dinner once I'm done with practice. 

Curled up under my warm blankets, I open my phone to a new Snap from Marissa. Her selfie pops up on my screen, a pouty expression across her face with the words "miss you" scribbled in playful handwriting. I can't help but smile, picturing her exaggerated faux sadness at our time apart.

The sun melts into the horizon, casting an amber glow over the Los Angeles skyline. Palm trees dance in the gentle evening breeze as the city begins to wind down for the night. The view from my hotel is stunning, with the skyscrapers silhouetted against the vibrant sunset. I open the blinds to take it all in, the concrete jungle transformed into a sea of gilded light. There's a magic in the air at this time of day, a tranquil beauty that washes over the urban landscape. For a moment, the hectic pace of LA seems to fade away. I breathe deeply and let the fading light soothe my soul, appreciating the simple joy of a perfect sunset over the city of angels.

#bad omens cult #noah sebastian #bad omens #noahsebastian fanfic #bad omens band #hockey player noah #hockey #bad omens au #bad omens smut #hockey romance #hockeyomens

[revrover]

The Stranger - Pt. 3

Part One  |  Part Two

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Language, Violence, Depictions of drowning, Fluff

Summary: Delivered to safety following the battle on the beach, you are left reeling as you grapple with nightmares and questions about an uncertain future. But as you come to know more about the Talokanil people and grow closer to their king, Namor is faced with a question of his own -- what does he do with this stranger from the surface?

A/N: It’s heeeeeere!! As always, thank you so much for your patience, for being here, and for reading! And a BIG thank you just for taking the time to engage with and be a part of this story. You all have been so encouraging to me as new writer, and I love being able to create something around characters that so many hold so dear. Comments and reblogs make my heart happy, so please show some love, share the joy, and be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

Bullets fly as bodies hit the ground in front of you. There on the open beach, spears soar high above your head. Your gaze is drawn to the heavens as a chopper falls from the night sky. It crashes onto the shore below, an intense heat flashing against you as you shield your face from the explosion.

Suddenly, the sounds of dying men and burning metal fade as you lower your hand. You look down to find yourself waist-deep in a raging sea, the battle on the sand becoming a distant memory as waves beat harshly against you, unrelenting and unforgiving. A deafening melody accompanies each swell of the tide. It consumes your mind with pain and serenity as you are pulled further out into the ocean’s depths, following its call. The chorus grows louder as the water rises to your chest, building with intensity. Then, suddenly, all is quiet.

And there he is.

Hovering just above the water’s surface, his winged ankles carry him effortlessly. His reflection glistens perfectly against the water, now calm and smooth as glass. Illuminated by the full moon behind him, his body is covered in beautiful armor made of gold, jade, and other metals. A finely crafted serpent headpiece with bright feathers crowns his head, resting just above his brow.

Namor.

Wordlessly, Namor stretches out his hand, beckoning you to come to him. You reach out as if your very being is at his command. But, before you can grasp hold of him, the chorus of voices returns with a vengeance. A violent tide drags you under, swallowing you beneath the waves. Further and further down you are pulled as darkness surrounds you. Looking up toward the fading light, Namor’s silhouette above the surface dissolves from view. Your lungs burn as you begin to drown.

You jolt awake, your body shooting up in a cold sweat.

Chest heaving, your mind desperately claws its way back to reality. You quickly scan your surroundings, clinging to any detail that will anchor your consciousness and keep you from slipping back into that nightmare.

Gripping the stone surface beneath you, you take in every porous curve your fingertips graze over. Looking upward at the high rocky ceiling, you study the patterns of limestone stalactites that hang like icicles. Droplets of water run down a few of them, their melodious drips echoing in small pools below, falling like a gentle, rhythmic rain.

This is the place Namor had spoken of the last time you saw him. The one where he promised you would be safe. And for good reason — here in this cavern, you were well below the ocean’s surface and out of range of any agents who might come searching for you.

By your best guess, you figure you have been down here about two days. It’s hard to be sure without the reference to natural light. The cavern itself is beautiful, though. Illuminated by pockets of glow worms that drape down from the ceiling, their soft luminescence casts gorgeous green and blue hues across each surface their light touches.

As your heart rate begins to even out, you continue to survey the cave. You look over at your belongings, bag laying on the ground, clothes hanging on a line to dry. Your heart drops a bit when you see your little leather-bound book, its pages separated and spread out across the rocks. Ink bleeding. Pages ruined. You had made your best attempt to salvage what you could. Perhaps if you had asked Namora how the two of you would be traveling to this safe haven, you wouldn’t have brought a damn book with you.

The dissonance of the Talokan melody still rings in the back of your mind. You cradle your head between your knees, rubbing your temples with your thumbs when you hear light footsteps approach.

Looking up, you find a familiar face entering the cavern. No longer geared up for battle, Namora dawns a lovely dress that gathers over one shoulder and flows down to the floor. It moves like waves with each step she takes toward you. Instead of a spear in her hand, she now carries a small tray with a medley of food.

“Eat," Namora says, placing the tray on a small end table beside you. She then moves gracefully over to your draped belongings, removing them one by one from the line and folding them into a neat pile.

“Can I ask you a question?” You inquire as you begin to nibble on a piece of food.

Namora shoots a skeptical look over her shoulder but says nothing, so you ask anyway.

“Have you always been a warrior?”

Unresponsive, she keeps her attention on one of your shirts which she has just pulled from the line, tucking it into itself and placing it with the others.

“It's just, I mean the way you fought those agents on the beach, you are — you are very good at, you know—” you should have given more thought to what you were going to say before opening your mouth because as you reach the end of your sentence all that comes out is, “—killing people."

Nice.

You cringe at your comment. It hangs in the air, practically mocking you.

“I’m just saying," you add, trying to recover, "you obviously know what you’re doing. It was impressive. Me on the other hand…” Your voice trails as you raise your bandaged hand, recalling how your first instinct in a fight was to block a fucking knife with your open palm. Next to Namora, your combat skills pale by comparison.

Halting her task, Namora finally turns to face you in one calculated motion. She stares for a moment then her eyes quickly dart toward the side entrance of the cavern where she had come through only minutes ago. The entryway is empty. When her eyes settle back on you, there is resolve in them.

“Up.” She says, walking toward you with purpose.

“What?” You reply in a tone that matches the confused look on your face.

“Up.”

You do as you are told, hastily pushing yourself to your feet. Namora steps in close and then taps your elbows.

“Up.” She orders a third time, only now she seems to be referring specifically to your arms. You follow her instruction, raising them awkwardly out in front of your body. You can almost hear the sigh of hopelessness when Namora, her brow furrowed, grabs your arms and positions each one in a fighting stance. Slipping a hand up to your left wrist, she grips it firmly while tapping your exposed forearm with the palm of her other hand.

“Shield.” She says with emphasis. Her eyebrows raise, looking for any indication that you comprehend what she is trying to explain. When you nod, Namora moves her hand from your wrist up to your fingers, balling them into a fist and tucking your thumb on the outside.

“Weapon.”

Namora then steps back from you, putting her own arms up to mirror your stance.

“Shield, weapon,” she repeats, patting her forearm and waving her closed fist.

“Shield, weapon,” you echo back to her, nodding your head again as you begin to understand more fully.

Just as she begins to step back toward you, a deep voice calls from behind.

“Namora.”

You both look up to see the large man who wears the hammerhead skull standing in the entry of the cavern. Attuma is his name, as you have come to learn. Namora straightens her posture as she turns to face him, her hands behind her back as she squares her shoulders in a commanding stance.

Attuma saunters a few more feet into the cavern, then speaks to her in their native tongue, a language still unfamiliar to you. The two of them converse back and forth for a few moments. You may not know what they are saying, but you can tell they disagree about something — whether with each other or someone else, you are not sure.

Namora swiftly turns back to you, her face serious again and her brows pinched together.

Fighting lessons must be over.

“Come,” she says.

Without any further instruction, she pivots back toward Attuma, who also turns to leave. You quickly grab your belongings which Namora had folded for you, stuffing them into your bag. You sling it around your shoulder as you exit the cavern.

Following the two generals into a tunneled hallway, you find yourself moving through a network of caves, each tunnel connecting to a series of other openings and pools. Soon, Attuma splits off into one of these open caverns, nodding to Namora as he does so. Your eyes trail him as he joins with more Talokan warriors, and just as you stare at them, they stare at you.

You continue walking behind Namora past them, their whispers reverberating through the tunnels.

“When was the last time someone… not Talokanil came here?” You ask. In typical Namora fashion, she remains silent and unresponsive to your question.

“Sorry,” you say apologetically, “back there it just seemed like they hadn’t seen someone new in a while.”

The two of you walk, furthering yourself from the turnoff where Attuma parted ways. Cautiously, you step around the uneven surfaces of the rocky ground. You can feel yourself being led deeper into the maze of caverns. If Namora decided to up and ditch you right now, you are certain you would be lost in this labyrinth forever.

“You are the first,” Namora says rather abruptly, catching you off guard. Not only does her response come well after your question was asked, but it is also the most she has ever said to you at one given time.

“The first?” You ask, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“To come here,” Namora answers. “The first surface dweller to receive Talokan’s aid. The first the king has ever…” she pauses a moment, searching for the right word, “tolerated.”

The influx of her voice is not lost on you.

“And you don’t approve?”

“It is not my place to approve, " Namora clarifies as she leads you around a bend and past several open pools of water. "I am… concerned. When it comes to you, I fear he is blind.”

Silence befalls you both again as you enter another cavern, this one much larger and more spacious than any others you have seen. Within it are several large pools, glistening with light reflected from more glow worms above. Their tendrils hang from the high vaulted ceiling like sparkling chandeliers.

In the center of it all stands a large hut enclosed by beautifully woven fabrics. You follow Namora shoulder to shoulder up the stone-carved steps to it until you nearly reach the side.

“We’re here,” Namora says, coming to a dead stop. She then takes a step back from you.

Still unsure of where “here” is exactly, you glance over your shoulder, looking to her for further instruction or explanation. But Namora gives you nothing. The moment you begin to take a step backward as well, her hand shoots out, holding the back of your shoulder in position with a firm grip.

Ah. Don't move. Got it.

Subconsciously you begin to hold your breath, bracing yourself for the unknown.

Then, there he is.

From around the corner of the hut comes Namor. Immediately you are taken aback by his appearance. Up to this point, you have only seen him suited for battle. Now he stands before you dawning a beautifully woven cape plated with gold and draped across his broad shoulders. His hair is slicked back and his arms are adorned with various metal cuffs. Truly a wardrobe fit for a king.

A single nod of his head and Namora is dismissed. You hear her small footsteps fade as she leaves the two of you alone.

“How is your hand?”

Namor’s question snaps you out of your daze.

“Oh,” you raise your hand, glancing at the worn bandage. "It’s fine, thank you.”

Staring at the gauze, you can almost hear the lullaby Namor hummed as he gently tended to your wounded palm the night of the battle. Something flutters inside you as you touch the corner of the fabric. Realizing your mind has drifted again, you bring yourself back to reality by following up with your own question.

"Are we in..." you stop to rephrase, shifting your weight from side to side as you look around the cavern, “Is this… Talokan?"

If it is, it's very different from what you pictured.

Your question brings a smile to Namor’s face.

"No," he answers with a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "Talokan is far beyond this place. I assure you, your body would not survive the journey to its depths. But these caverns are safe, I promise you.”

Namor then shifts the topic of conversation.

“I am told some of your belongings were ruined on your traveling here, including your book. I apologize. I had hoped to make up for it.”

With one arm, Namor ushers you around the corner to the entrance of his quarters, inviting you inside.

Intrigued and eager to see what awaits, you accept his invitation. As you enter, you find yourself in a study of sorts. Lit by several lanterns, the room is warm and bright. Within it sits a small table, a prominent desk full of scrolls and artifacts, and a cozy hammock hung in the corner. But what catches your eye most of all are the walls.

All around you hang gorgeous tapestry walls with breathtaking murals that stretch from floor to ceiling.

“Did you do all of these?” You ask in disbelief as you move to one at the far end of the room. Your eyes widen as you gaze in admiration at the beautiful artistry.

“Yes,” Namor answers humbly, following behind you. “I think you will find a more accurate depiction of my history here.”

“I don’t know,” you say with playful skepticism in your voice as you inspect the artwork closer, “always be weary of your authors, right?” You smirk as you shift your glance sideways to Namor, echoing his words back to him in jest. His face is serious at first but quickly turns to amusement.

“You remembered,” he says nodding his head, an impressed grin now stretching at the corners of his mouth, “that is good.”

You return your attention to the paintings. What a gift it is to be standing here in front of them. Full of stories, full of history. And to be accompanied by the man who created them himself — who lived them himself. It is all a far cry from the vague glyphs you tried so hard to decipher in your book.

"They're amazing." You say in awe, following along the panels as you trace the line work delicately with your fingertip.

Immersed in the murals, you are too busy to notice Namor's softening gaze as he watches you study his work so intently. Here you are, an outsider who he has welcomed into his space. It is not like him to be so open, especially not with a stranger from the surface — never someone from the surface — yet, something about you causes a stirring inside of him. Perhaps it is your enthusiasm and wonders for his culture or your refreshing dose of humanity towards his people that compels his desire to be close to you.

As you follow the artwork from panel to panel across the walls, you arrive at a scene that suddenly makes you freeze. Your wrist snaps your finger back as if repelled by the paint itself. In front of you is a large image of Namor dawning a serpent headpiece as he hovers above the water. You are immediately back in your nightmare, your mind flashing to Namor’s outstretched hand then the darkness that closes in around you as you start to drown. You can almost feel the fire in your lungs as they grow desperate for air.

“What troubles you?” Namor asks with genuine traces of concern in his voice. Your sudden silence has not gone unnoticed. He moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with you now, looking up to analyze the same part of the mural.

"Nothing," you lie, shaking your head while your hand drops to your side. You withdraw from the painting, taking a few steps back from it and Namor.

“Your people," you say to change the subject, pointing your thumb to the rest of the artwork in the room, "they honor you. It's admirable, what you've done for them. To keep them safe all this time."

“But?” He senses there is more on your mind.

You stare at him, then turn your focus back to the tapestries surrounding you. Scanning them from wall to wall, you notice a pattern in the stories shown.

“It’s just,” you begin with uncertainty in your voice “for someone who has spent his whole life bringing peace to his people, I wonder how much of it you have experienced for yourself?”

Namor is quiet for a moment.

"And why do you wonder this?" He finally replies, turning to face you fully.

“I guess I look at these and I’m curious… how? How can you do that without completely breaking under the weight of it all? Even with—” you begin gesturing to his body and suddenly become desperate to come up with the right words in time, “superhuman strength.” Thank god.

“Hmmm,” Namor exhales, thoughtfully nodding as his gaze drops to the floor. He folds his arms over his chest, the golden band around his exposed bicep reflecting the light that softly glows from a nearby lantern. Taking a few steps toward you, he lifts his eyes to yours.

“It is true,” he says, “the burden I carry for the sake of my people does not always permit me the personal luxury of peace. It… can be difficult.” His tone shifts from diplomatic to vulnerable. “And who is to say I have not broken under it? It is that brokenness that has made me the leader I am.”

Turning his head toward the mural, he looks at it carefully before speaking again. His chiseled jawline accentuates the exposed veins protruding from his neck.

"To your question,” he continues, “I believe how is never as important as why. Why would someone fight to bring others peace when they themselves cannot have it?” Namor takes another step closer and lifts his hand to your chin, delicately angling your face upward toward his own. "Because we sacrifice to protect what we love.”

His eyes search yours earnestly. After a moment, Namor quickly drops his hand from your chin and you watch as he moves towards his desk, shuffling a few scrolls around before looking back up at you again.  

“I love my people,” he says, planting his hand firmly on the desk, “and I have seen evil, what it is capable of. I watch as the rest of the world grows desperate in their greed and ambition, their desire for power. They are becoming more dangerous by the day."

"You mean — surface dwellers?" You ask.

Namor raises his brow at you knowingly.

"Yes,” he answers cooly.

"I'm a surface dweller. Am I...dangerous?"

Namor sighs with a small smile.

“Yes. Though not in the way you may think.”

He moves from out behind his desk and back over in your direction.

“Now I have a question for you,” he says in a low voice, approaching you with a dark look looming over his face. “Please consider your answer carefully.”

The silence is intense. Your heart feels like it is going to jump out of your throat as you anticipate what damning question the king of Talokan has in store for you.

Namor’s expression changes on a dime, and he suddenly asks in a lighthearted tone,

“Are you up for a swim?”

—

You follow Namor out of his quarters and into the large open cavern. As you pass by several beautiful pools of water, you are enchanted by how the light dances across the rich tones of Namor's skin. The same light casts dazzling hues of aquamarine and cerulean across the surface of the pools, reflected onto the rocks surrounding them.

Namor approaches one of the bigger pools and removes the cape from his shoulder, exposing his bare chest underneath. Here is the Namor you recognize - prominent necklace, bare chest,  emerald green shorts. Before dropping his cape to the ground, however, he pulls out a Talokan mask from the fabric like the ones Namora and the other warriors wear.

“Take a deep breath,” Namor says as he turns to you. He pushes your hair back from your cheek delicately as he applies the apparatus to your face. Doing as you are told, you inhale deeply as the mask fastens over your nose and mouth.

“Stay close,” he instructs. You nod, and Namor steps to the edge of the closest pool. He looks back at you with a hint of a smile on his face. Then, with all the strength and grace of a god, he dives perfectly into the water and disappears under the surface.

You step closer to the pool. The faint rhythm of droplets falling from the ceiling rings throughout the cavern. You glance behind you toward the entrance, but there isn't a soul in sight. Namora’s words echo through your mind.

When it comes to you, he is blind.

You dive in, following Namor.

Once in the water, you quickly orient yourself. Looking around, you see the outline of Namor, his silhouette waiting for you in the distance. As you swim closer, he gestures for you to follow him. You kick your feet to propel yourself further downward, ears popping as you equalize to the increasing pressure.

You swim until you are clear of the caves. Though your muscles ache, there is something serene about being beneath the water; the quiet, the weightlessness, everything drifting harmoniously in rhythm with the current. For the first time since you can remember, your mind feels still. Free from the chaos. Somehow, the vast open sea does not frighten you with its deep blue void as it did in your dream. Not even a little. Instead, you feel a calmness in your soul as you lose track of time entirely, trailing Namor as you move through the ocean’s depths.

Quite literally in his element, you watch in awe as Namor swims so effortlessly. To him, it must be as easy as breathing. He looks more relaxed than you have seen him. Perhaps even enjoying himself?

You continue to swim, the water getting lighter as the visibility becomes clearer. A school of fish rushes past, their scales glimmering with each flick of a fin or contour of their bodies. Countless numbers weave around you in sync as if part of the same carefully choreographed ballet. You can’t help but smile as you watch them move so freely, and Namor can't help but smile as he watches you.

Suddenly the fish rapidly disperse and within seconds a huge mass flashes past you with incredible speed and agility. Your eyes widen and adrenaline rushes through you as you witness a killer whale chase the school, its size completely dwarfing your mere human frame. Involuntarily, you begin hyperventilating as you watch the giant creature swim off into the distance. When you feel a touch against your arm, you turn to find Namor next to you. His hand rises and falls in front of his torso, gesturing for you to take deep breaths. In, out. In, out.

The two of you remain suspended in the endless ocean blue as you your breath slows and your muscles recover. Namor looks upward, and as you savor the moment of rest you follow his gaze. You can tell by the light above that you are getting close to the surface, which must mean you are nearing your destination. When he nods, you know it is time to move. Slowly the two of you start your ascent and the ocean becomes warmer as you gradually near the top.

When you arise from the water, the sound of the rushing wind, the rolling waves, and birds flying overhead rush into your ears. Less than a hundred meters from you stretches a beautiful coastline covered in soft white sand and lined by rich green foliage.

You make your way towards it. Soon you are walking knee-deep in the waves, the tide splashing against the back of your legs as you near the shore. Removing the mask from your face, the sweet breeze of the island races by, rustling your wet hair and filling your nostrils with the earthy aroma of some nearby palm trees.

Namor has already reached the sand. He stands tall, water still running down his body. Staring out at the horizon, he runs his hand over his face and pushes his hair back, inadvertently flexing his bicep as he does so. The sun slowly begins its descent toward the Earth, its warm rays casting brilliant tones of red and orange across Namor’s exposed skin. It contrasts the deep blues and greens that illuminated him in the caverns, and at this point, you are confident he looks devastatingly beautiful in any light.

As you reach the shore, you take your place next to him and stare out at the skyline.

“Hard to beat a view like that,” you say breathlessly.

“My mother would always describe to me the beauty of the setting sun,” Namor responds. “I have no love for the surface world, but from time to time I visit this island. See what she saw.”

“Is this—?” You begin to ask.

“Where she is buried.” Namor answers before you finish your question. His eyes drop as he reflects, “I am not sure what I expected to see the day I came to lay her body to rest. I suppose the beauty of an island she spoke of so fondly. Instead, I found my brothers and sisters enslaved by men who took life without a second thought.” His jaw clenches as he recalls the bitter memory. “But I saw to it the favor was returned.”

His meaning is clear. You are not sure which makes you more nervous — the calm and cool way he says it, or the menacing smile that accompanies his statement. Either way, his smile disappears as quickly as it comes. You have seen Namor’s ferocity firsthand and know what he is capable of, especially when it comes to protecting his people. A nervous feeling grows in the pit of your stomach as you begin questioning his purpose in bringing you here.

You consider the facts:

You are a surface dweller.

He did call you dangerous.

Oh shit.

Anxiously you glance at him, then redirect your gaze back to the horizon to maintain your composure. The soft waves break along the shore, racing up to your ankles. As the sand beneath your feet gets pulled out by the tide, you wish with all your might you could be pulled away with it. Instead, you sink deeper into the ground, more immovable than before.

“Are you going to kill me?” The words come out blunter than you intend, but you stand by them despite the quiver in your voice.

The question pulls Namor out of his thoughts as he turns to you, eyebrows raised. He studies your face carefully before answering.

“I probably should," he says. There is no malice in his words, only honesty. “The knowledge you have of me and my people... it puts me in a difficult position.” His eyes are solemn. "But I have lived a long time, and in that time I have witnessed many in their final moments before death when one truly reveals themself. That night on the beach, in what you believed were your final moments, you kept your word to me and my people. You said nothing to those men, even with your life on the line. There is no truer test of loyalty.”

Without a word, he reaches his hand out for the mask you still carry. You cautiously hand it over.

"There is a village eastward,” Namor continues, “you will find everything you need there, and the means to leave this place."

You feel his palm slip under your fingers to receive the mask. He takes a deep breath, then purses his lips in the direction behind you.

“Or, just up the way beyond those trees is a house. It is not much, but comfortable. It is yours to use... if you wish. You would be safe here.”

The offer catches you off guard.

“I… I don't understand." You mutter in slight confusion.

With a deep inhale, Namor squints back at the setting sun to collect his thoughts. Then, taking another step closer, he eliminates virtually any remaining space between you. His eyes are deep and mesmerizing as ever. Your heart races from his sudden proximity and you find yourself holding your breath as you wait for him to speak again. He peers down at you, so impossibly close that you can sense the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

"You are no enemy of mine," he says with authority, "and no prisoner of Talokan. You have my trust. And because of that trust, I will not order you to stay." Namor then drops the mask into the sand like it is worthless and gently slides his hands underneath your jawline, cradling your face in both of his palms. “But I am asking you to.”

You are speechless. The way he is holding your gaze, the tenderness of his thumb brushing against the apple of your cheek, the fluttering of his lashes as his eyes flick down to your mouth.

"Stay," Namor says fervently in one final clarifying word. It is not a command, but an invitation. Perhaps even a plea. But most importantly, it is a choice. Your choice.

His eyes quickly dart back up to yours as he awaits an answer, but even Namor is not strong enough to keep his attention from dropping back down to your lips. He is clearly focused on more than just the words he hopes to hear come out of them.

In an overwhelming wave of boldness, you allow instinct to take over. No lives at stake, no siren’s song  — it is only the burning desire within your very soul for him that compels you. You close your eyes and melt into Namor’s touch, pressing your lips to his.

The moment you do so, it is as if a surge of energy courses through your veins, electrifying your entire body. Namor immediately welcomes your advance, molding his lips to your own. The smooth piece of jade that pierces his septum presses cooly above your lip, contrasting the heat of his skin to ignite your senses. As he slides a hand around to the back of your neck, his fingers curl into your hair to bring you in even closer.

A small moan escapes you as the tip of his tongue traces along your bottom lip. You can feel his smile against your mouth, then a tug at the same lip with his teeth. Another invitation, to which you gladly accept. You part your mouth open to let Namor inside. Both of your tongues dance together as your kisses become deeper and more indulgent.

Consumed by his taste and his touch, you slide your hands up his bare chest, desperate for more of him. Without missing a beat, Namor responds by running his arms down your body and hoisting you up off the sand with ease. You wrap your legs around him tightly and take full advantage of this new, higher angle. Moving your mouth in tandem with his, you savor the richness of his lips and entangling your fingers in his dark locks of hair. 

The two of you ebb and flow just like the rolling ocean waves, losing yourselves in each other. It’s not until you feel a faint burning in your lungs that you face the harsh reality of having to break away for air. Everything inside you fights it. If Namor were the sea, you would gladly let yourself drown in this moment.

But Namor, also sensing your need for oxygen, begins to slow down. He lowers you gently to the ground, though he is careful not to let you slip too far away from him. The two of you breathe heavily as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. Namor gives you another passionate kiss, this one slow and deep. His lips then move to the corner of your mouth and trail up to your ear, the heat of his breath spreading like wildfire across your skin. You can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Holding you close, Namor leans his forehead against your temple and presses his lips against your ear.

“Please," he whispers. "Stay with me.”

--------

Tag List! (I think I got everyone who requested to be included!) @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses @jamesbarnesbestgirl @nellycanwrite @namorlover @queenofthekill @uhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmm @cosmic-lavender @fckwritersblock @doimakeyounervous-blog @viktoryn @bontensbabygirl @lokidbadguy @sammi-doll483 @violet-19999 @artaxerxesthegreat @zeeader @star-dusst @hawkins-2000 @madsothree @takeheartyall @slytherheign @agustdboyoongie @nightingal3-tales @psamathegoesrawr @myotakureprieve @spideyworldsposts @ginger-swag-rapunzel  @jurneesjourney @kpopgirlbtssvt @commondazy @vicky-8426 @05-redacted @boredoutofmydamnmind @h34rtsformilli @adoiescents @ari-fay @daddyslittlevillain @namorswhore @loversjoy

#namor x reader #namor #namor x you #namor x gen!reader #mcu namor #Namor x y/n #namor imagine #namor fanfic #k'uk'ulkan #namora #attuma #black panther wakanda forever #namor of talokan #k'uk'ulkan of talokan #namor fluff #namor fanfiction #wakanda forever

[vibrantbirdy]

You are so incredibly talented! I love reading all of your works! : )

Could I request a Cal Kestis x female reader (or OC, no preference really). I’ve been super into the game recently and just love his character. Maybe a really strong female character, but she gets flustered by Cal’s confidence, and how much she has grown to like him more than friends. I totally see him being a complete flirt (but still sweet). Haha. I’ve always had this idea that it would be cool for a force user to show someone what it’s like by holding their hand and pulling something to them (like aiding them in using the force). Stupid maybe I don’t know lol, basically Cal being suave and laying it on thick. Fluff, crack, little spice, I’m here for whatever creative piece you get going ❤️

Firstly, thank you for your lovely words! Secondly, yay, Cal! Thank you, I'm glad someone's asked for Cal, this is a cute prompt.

Character x Reader requests are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first. Masterlist of my fics can be found here.

Title: Proximity Fandom: Star Wars Jedi Fallen Order/Survivor Games Setting: Prior to events of Jedi Survivor Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Fluff - This is tooth-rotting fluff with a little added spice as requested ;) Warnings: This fic is 18+ so please heed and respect the adult rating. Descriptions of sexual longing/arousal; one scene of strong consensual sex - nothing too descriptive but probably on the borderline of (hopefully still sweet) mild smut. Pairing: Cal Kestis x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: approx 5.5k (Because I have no self control) Summary: You are an accomplished Coruscanti thief who has been recruited by the Rebel Jedi, Cal Kestis. As you join him and his crew on their adventures aboard the Mantis, you and Cal have to navigate your growing feelings for each other.

You are standing in some Imperial-worshipping Senator's private vault in a bank nestled deep in the heart of Coruscant's palatial financial district. You've just located your prize - a data stick containing the names of high standing political and military figures within the Empire who have Republic, perhaps even Rebel leaning sympathies.

It's the Senator's insurance policy, his get out of jail free card - something he can produce at the eleventh hour in case his unwavering loyalty to the Empire turns out not to be enough to save him from the pull and push of the Imperial tide of oppression swelling across the Galaxy.

You'll sell the data stick to one Rebel faction or another, whoever is willing to pay most for your service in getting information out of Imperial hands and aiding the Rebel's recruitment drive in the process.

You're in the middle of internally congratulating yourself on successfully extracting the data stick from its complex security casing when a male voice, almost conversational in tone, rings out behind you.

"I can't let you leave with that."

Startled, you whirl around to see a man standing no more than a meter away from you. You wonder how long he's been there, watching you.

He has bright ginger hair which is swept back from his face, short at the back and sides, but longer on top and slightly ruffled. His matching red stubble sits on his cheeks, chin, upper-lip and travels up his well-defined jawline to his ears. He is dressed simply in a fawn shirt, dark grey pants, and sturdy brown boots.

A small red and white droid, bipedal, with a flat rectangular head and two photoreceptors, one slightly larger and beadier than the other, hangs almost casually off his shoulder like a pet. It's a BD unit, you think.

Both the man and the droid are rather dirty, but then, so are you after squeezing your way through a maze of dusty ventilation shafts. It makes sense the only possible way they could have gotten in here is the same way you did.

The stranger is holding something metal in his right hand that glints occasionally in the vault's dim security lighting, but you can't quite work out what it is. A weapon?

You raise your blaster.

"Don't!" he shouts, holding out a palm towards you, "The vault is magnetically sealed, if you miss, that bolt's going to cause us both a world of problems."

You raise an eyebrow because one, you already know that, and two...

"Bold of you to assume I'll miss at point blank range," you say levelly.

You keep your weapon trained steadily at the young man's chest.

He adjusts his grip on whatever it is he is holding and a green beam of light extends from the hilt of what you now realise is a lightsaber. A deep thrumming sound resonates around the small chamber.

A Jedi. Great.

You thought they were all extinct after the Emperor's purge. Briefly, childhood memories of evening strolls with your parents past the monumental ziggurat of the Jedi temple glowing golden in the low Coruscanti sun flash through your mind. You remember the thrill of excitement at seeing the Jedi, elegant and regal in their grand robes, lightsabers clinking at their belts as they swept by on important Republic business.

Right now? Here? This is the last place you want to see one.

The light from the blade illuminates the young man's face which, you have to admit, is a rather attractive combination of youthful and rugged. His nose and cheeks are peppered with freckles and his eyes contain green irises so deep in colour that they almost match his blade. A thin, red scar runs almost horizontally across the bridge of his nose, dipping down onto his right cheek. The ghost of a smirk is now playing on his lips and it has the irritating effect of making him more handsome.

You don't know why, but for some reason, you trust him instinctively not to try and cut you in half with that humming beam of hot, vibrating energy. At a stalemate, you lower your blaster. He follows your lead by deactivating the blade of his saber immediately.

"If you make me a good offer, you can have this right now," you say, one hand on your hip, the other waving the data stick in front of him impatiently.

You never like staying on the scene of a job too long and you are starting to feel on edge.

"I've got ... uhhh ... one hundred credits?"

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he speaks. He knows it's a stupidly lowball offer and you scoff loudly to let him know you think so too.

"Look, I know the ISB would pay a lot for information like this but..."

"I don't sell to the Empire," you snarl, cutting him off.

He holds up his hands in a gesture of apology which seems genuine enough. He tries again.

"I really need to get this to a contact in the Mid Rim..."

"The Mid Rim?" you interrupt abruptly, "that's off-world."

"Yeah..." his brow furrows and a slow, quizzical smile spreads across his face at the obviousness of your statement.

You curse yourself for being as predictable as a cheap holo novel. All your life you've lived on Coruscant. You've never been anywhere else. These days, the endless maze of unnatural, lifeless spires and struts and blocks of artificial construction seem to press in and in and in on you so that, despite the sprawling size of the metropolis, it feels like you are living in a tiny metal cage.

Still, this stranger didn't need to know that, and you realise you've given him his angle - a bargaining chip.

"I can't buy it off you," he reasons, "I don't have the credits, but I do have a proposal. Work with me and my crew. It's regular and we're rarely on one world for too long..."

There it is...

You got in here," he continues, gesturing around the vault, "we could use someone with your skill set. And, you get to piss off the Empire in the process."

You consider his offer. You are used to working alone and you don't like the complications that come with relying on others. Trusting anyone is difficult after fending for yourself, all alone, so successfully and for so long....

But with the Empire continuing to close their fist around all aspects of daily life, work was difficult to come by on Coruscant these days. Thieving in the city from Imperial targets in particular was becoming more and more fraught with danger.

While it riled you that he was able to read you so easily, really, what did you have to lose? Because by the Force did you not want to get off Coruscant? Isn't this what you'd been waiting for your whole life? An adventure?

"One job," you counter pragmatically, extending your hand to shake his, "And we'll see how it goes from there."

"Cal Kestis," he introduces himself with a disarmingly friendly smile, "And deal."

*************************************************

One job turns into another then another and another. Weeks turn into months and soon you've been on Cal's ship - well, borrowed ship you had come to learn - the Mantis for nearly half a year.

You've grown close with the crew of the Mantis. Cal, Gabs, Bravo and the two hulking Klatooinine twins, Lizz and Koob. This type of camaraderie is new to you. You really thought you'd struggle with it, that your independent nature would rail against the confines of living in close quarters with ship mates and fitting your own whims and desires and wants around others. In reality, you've never felt more at home. You didn't realise how lonely you had become before.

And the missions you run with the crew are exhilarating. This new life is so much more than just pilfering here and there from the Empire. You feel like you are really making a difference, like you're spitting directly in the face of the Imperial machine with every job. You feel like a Rebel.

It's not all sabotage and espionage and fighting Stormtroopers though. Off duty, life on the Mantis is mainly based around friendly joshing and winding each other up. And the dull minutiae of life still goes on.

Like now.

You and Cal are patching up the Mantis while the others are out on a supply run. You are currently crouched on your haunches so that the service hatch you are examining on one of the walls inside the ship is at eye level.

Cal is stood behind you, arms folded across his chest. You've been arguing good naturedly about what the problem is with the engine cooling system for an hour and you are now impatiently waiting for BD-1 to finish his scan to find out which one of you is right.

The little droid crawls out from the tangle of wires and gives you little nod and a boop of approval. You pat BD on his rectangular head and he scurries up your arm and on to your shoulder.

"I told you that was the problem," you say, craning your neck to look up at Cal with a triumphant grin.

You gesture to the wiring tool in his hand.

"Give that to me, I'll do it."

The Jedi looks down at the small instrument in his hand then tosses it up in the air and catches it again. He has that mischievous look on his face, the one you've learned to recognise as a sign that he's about to do something really annoying.

"Kestis..." you warn standing up, unable to stop your lips curling into a smile.

You make a lunge for the tool in his hand, but he's too quick. In a flash, he's holding it up above his head. Cal is almost a head taller than you and there's no way you can reach that high, even when you stretch up onto your tiptoes.

Instead, you decide to play dirty. You jab him hard in both his sides with your fingers where you know he's ticklish. He makes a funny sort of snorting noise in surprise and his hand drops for long enough that you manage to snatch the tool from him and make off with it at great speed.

Cal darts after you, both of you careering in to the kitchen of the Mantis, the thud and scrape of your boots on the ship's durasteel grated floor ringing throughout the ship in chorus with your laughter.

BD-1 takes this opportunity to leap of your shoulder and onto the kitchen table with an indignant whirr, determined not to get involved in this organic tomfoolery.

Cal is on you in seconds. He grabs you around the middle and lifts you off the ground with ease, spinning you around and deliberately tickling you in between making grabs for the wiring tool.

You squeal and let out perhaps the most ridiculous giggle to ever escape your mouth. You can't let him get away with forcing you to make a noise like that so you elbow him in the stomach. It's only a gentle prod really, but it's enough to make him grunt and let go of you.

As Cal doubles over, winded, you sprint back around to the opposite side of kitchen table holding the instrument aloft and performing a little victory dance.

Across the table, Cal straightens and, with a cocky look on his face, he stretches his arm out towards you. You stumble forwards slightly as if pulled forwards by an invisible rope tied around your wrist as he uses the Force to tear the tool easily out of your hand and bring it flying through the air to rest in his own outstretched palm.

"That's cheating!" you say, breathlessly.

Despite your half-hearted admonishment, in reality, you're delighted. And you're certain Cal knows it. The more time you spend with him, the more that old fascination you held as a child with the strange powers of the Jedi has returned. You are always enchanted by Cal's displays of Force ability.

"Alright kids, we almost ready to go?" Gabs' voice echoing through from the Mantis' doorway signals the return of the others.

Cal shrugs at you and you both grin, panting from your exertions. Keeping his green eyes locked on yours, he backs casually towards the door to help Gabs and the others load up the supply crates. Just before he exits the ship, he tosses the wiring tool to you underarm and you catch it with an elaborate flourish and twirl that makes him laugh.

You return to your work fixing the Mantis's cooling system with BD-1. You try to concentrate, but you feel slightly giddy. You can still feel Cal's strong arms against your body as if they remain wrapped around you. His masculine scent, pleasant and earthy and fresh like petrichor, seems to linger in your proximity and on your skin.

BD-1 tries his best to keep you right. He trills or nudges you every so often either to correct your wiring or to encourage you to stop staring into space with that inane, absent-minded smile.

When you lie in your cot bed that night, the hum of the Mantis' hyperdrive lulls you into a comfortable drowsiness and your thoughts return, unbidden, to Cal.

Over the past few months, it's like the very idea of him nestled deep into your brain and now refuses to budge. Every morning when you wake, you look forward to the sight of his honest, open, expressive face. The warmth of his slightly crooked smile. The way his red brows arch when he finds something funny before he squeezes his eyes shut so tight that they crinkle at the corners as he throws back his head, letting out peels of joyful, open-mouthed laughter.

Even when he has those strange moments of quiet introspection which you don't quite understand yet, you find it hard not to watch him. You can't help it, even although you sometimes feel like you are intruding on a private, sacred moment of reflection. It's always the same. His eyes glaze over as he stares out into the distance at nothing, a muscle works in his chiselled jaw, and then his head drops as if in dignified, melancholic prayer. These periods never last too long - not when he has a crew to lead.

There's no point in denying it anymore, at least not to yourself anyway. Your feelings for Cal go beyond comradeship; beyond friendship. And a hopeful notion has formed in your head that he might actually feel the same way about you.

It's both frightening and exhilarating at the same time.

A sudden heat blooms deep within your very core and rises in your cheeks as your mind conjures the image, no, the feeling of Cal's solid, toned body, pressed against yours in a feverish, impassioned embrace, your limbs entwined, fingers woven tightly through the flames of his red hair

Force, you want him.

You place a palm against the cool durasteel wall above your head that separates your room from the Jedi's. You wonder what he's thinking of on the other side of the thin sheet of metal.

****************************************

Cal Kestis can't sleep. Like most Jedi, he can't actually read the thoughts of others, but his connection to the Force allows him to feel the emotions and state of mind of those around him.

Over the past few months, the Jedi has noticed your feelings for him blossoming into something more than friendship, mirroring the growth of his own affections for you.

But tonight, Cal can sense that something in your emotional frequency has changed. Evolved. A clarity, a new and vigorous and glorious certainty in your desire for him radiates incandescent through the Force. It's like the smouldering embers of a fire have ignited into a ferocious blaze.

As the feeling permeates through the thin sheet-metal wall dividing you, the intensity of it, the heat of it, drives him crazy. He wants to rip through the flimsy partition separating you and give you everything you want from him and more. His whole body is aflame with almost painful arousal and he is aching to bring himself release.

Cal resists, teetering on the very edge of giving himself over to his desire. Is this voyeuristic? Is he trespassing? Crossing some unspoken line? Should he be trying to block you out? He doesn't know.

The Jedi hisses through his teeth in frustration. Reluctantly, he rolls out of bed and, sinking to his knees on the floor, surrenders himself to the Force in search of whatever temporary solace he can find in meditation.

Even as he does so, he knows that the only real relief he'll be able to get now is if he can find it with you.

***************************************

The crew of the Mantis are taking some time to rest after a run of particularly eventful jobs. You've landed on the quiet world of Brax at the edge of the Mid Rim. It's a beautiful, lush planet adorned with meadows of wildflowers, glassy lakes and sprawling coniferous forests.

Everyone is making the most of their down time.

Gabs and Bravo have gone off for a hike in the nearby woods.

BD-1 is having a well earned oil bath on the Mantis.

The twins are snoozing in the meadow amongst the flowers. When you'd crept past them earlier, you'd smiled fondly - the peaceful serenity on their faces was such an odd juxtaposition to their usual chaotic enthusiasm for life.

Having successfully sneaked past Lizz and Koob without waking them, you are now sitting atop a large slab of rock which juts up and out of the meadow. You alternate between admiring the view of the lake and cleaning your blaster.

It is a warm day, but a gentle cooling breeze keeps the heat at bay. A gust suddenly whips up the heady, sweet smell of wildflowers all around you. For some reason the scent triggers something inside you, your heart suddenly full to bursting with a strange concoction of melancholy and joy.

To think that all this beauty, all this Galaxy was just out here, waiting, your whole life. And if you'd never met Cal, you might still be crawling through filthy ventilation shafts smelling of metal and damp and darkness just to get by on Coruscant.

You are just about ready to reassemble your weapon when you look up from your task towards where the Jedi is meditating with his back to you. He's kneeling a few meters in front of you on the sandy shore by the still water. You always think it's strange how he chooses to sit on his knees, rather than cross-legged. It looks uncomfortable to you, but he seems to be able to sit like that for anywhere up to an hour. Maybe you'll ask him about it one day.

Cal is shirtless. Even from here, you can see the freckles littered like celestial constellations across his strong back and down his broad shoulders and muscled arms. You take the opportunity to admire the outlines and angles of his taut, athletic body.

You start as the Jedi begins to stand. You'd rather not get caught staring at him quite so openly and you quickly shift your gaze back to your blaster which is still in its various component parts.

Cal turns and advances towards you up the beach and onto the grassy meadow. You pretend not to have noticed him at all, but you keep catching glimpses of him in your peripheral vision. He walks a few paces, then stops and looks around as if he's searching for something on the ground. Then he crouches down. He does this several times.

What is he up to?

"Hey," Cal says casually as he finally wanders over to you.

He has to crane his neck to speak to you, perched as you are on top of your rock, and use a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He's hiding something behind his back you realise.

"Oh, hey," you reply, as if you're surprised to see him there.

He pulls his hand from behind his back and reaches up to you. In his grasp is a bunch of wildflowers, beautiful pastel blues and pinks and purples.

You exclaim softly in surprise, a rather giddy sound that makes Cal beam up at you. As you take the blooms from him, his fingertips, calloused and tough from years of wielding a weapon in combat, brush gently against your hand. Even that small touch feels like a spark of electricity arching between you.

"See you at dinner," he says, and he's clearly pleased with himself as he retreats towards the Mantis, head held high, a jaunt in his step.

As you twist in your seated position to watch him disappear into the ship, you realise you were so enchanted by the gesture that you forgot to say thank you.

That's the thing about Cal Kestis. He's completely disarming. He has a rare, effortless charisma and an easy, flirtatious way about him that is somehow both sweet and suave at the same time. Few men you've met have ever managed to render you so flustered.

You look down at the delicate blooms in your hand and bring them to your nose, inhaling their fresh scent. Smiling to yourself, you shake loose the functional way you usually wear your hair to keep it out of your face and retie it, carefully weaving the wildflowers that Cal has picked for you through your locks.

When you come in for dinner - Bravo's turn to cook - Cal is already sitting at the kitchen table. He looks up and inclines his head to the side as he takes you in, his eyes widening. You blush furiously to see the genuine pleasure at the sight of you and your decorated hair written so openly on his face.

Amid the usual convivial hubbub and chaos of dinner in the Mantis' kitchen, you and Cal steal glances at each other across the table.

**********************************************

That evening, the moon is low and yellow in Brax's dark sky, hanging like a ball of golden light above the lake. You have an hour or so before you all depart for a rendezvous with a contact on Naboo. It's the twins' turn to do pre-flight checks and you find yourself on the shores of the water, skimming stones with Cal to kill time.

Before joining the crew of the Mantis you'd never skimmed a stone in your life. Not many places to do that on Coruscant. But Gabs in particular is an ace at it and she's taught you well.

Cal spots a likely candidate for his next projectile and he brings it flying casually into his hand using his Jedi abilities.

"What does it feel like like?" You ask, suddenly.

Cal smiles at you, seemingly understanding that you are talking about the Force. He hesitates for a second, looking down at the stone in his open palm. Then he places it back on the ground in an obvious position, nestled in the sand a few feet in front of you, and moves round to stand behind you.

He's so close you can feel his heart beating against his chest. Instinctively, you lean back into him, enjoying the safe feeling that his nearness gives you, and the warmth of his body against yours in the chill night air.

"It's time for instruction," he says softly.

He's said that phrase before when he's showing anyone how to do something new. You've come to understand that it's a fond impression of his late Master's dignified voice - a touching habit you've always thought.

Tonight it sounds different. His tone is light and teasing, but the smirk you can hear as he speaks makes the words sound almost seductive in a way that causes something to flip then tighten in the pit of your abdomen.

"Hold out your hand."

You extend your right arm, holding your palm outwards as you've seen Cal do many times. He places his own palm against the back of your hand and interlocks his fingers with yours.

His other hand comes to rest at your waist, pulling you ever so slightly closer into him. He doesn't need to put it there and you both know it. Nor does he need to rest his chin on your left shoulder, so close to your cheek that his stubble almost tickles your skin.

Yet you can tell that you are both revelling in this rare, private opportunity for proximity between the two of you, and it is as thrilling as it is maddening.

"Focus. Breathe."

You realise you've been holding your breath. You feel Cal's chest rising and falling against your back and you match your own breathing in time with his. You can't help but notice it's at a slightly elevated pace.

"See the stone in your hand."

You nod and exhale, your eyes boring into the rock as if you really are going to levitate it yourself. You try and fail to stifle a sudden giggle at the ridiculousness of such an idea.

"Concentrate," Cal scolds quietly in your ear but you can hear the smile in his voice as the hand round your waist tightens its grip ever so slightly.

"I am," you mutter, but it's only half true.

You wonder if it's just your imagination, but in the seconds that follow, you think you can feel an deep, vibration flowing through Cal and passing through his body and into yours, binding your lifeforces together.

The rock flies so suddenly into your palm that you jump. You just about remember to close your fingers around the stone's cool, smooth surface as you shout out in surprise and delight. Cal lets out a good-natured laugh at your reaction and you glow as it rumbles through his whole body and yours.

You've just made up your mind to twist around in his arms kiss him when BD-1 comes running through the grass at great speed on his little legs, beeping and chirping urgently.

"Ok buddy, ok, we're coming," Cal says kindly to the little droid, but you can hear the exasperation at the untimely interruption in his voice.

*******************************************

Course set, the Mantis is travelling at lightspeed and, nestled safely in the cradle of the hyperlane, you will probably make it to Naboo in about six hours.

You suspect the rest of the crew are all sleeping soundly. The Mantis takes care of herself for the most part when travelling through hyperspace. With the life you lead, the importance of catching rest when you can cannot be underestimated.

You, however, cannot sleep. Thoughts of Cal and your interrupted moment by the lake race through your mind. The wildflowers he gave you are still in your hair and every so often you catch the ghost of their aroma, reminding you of your almost idyllic day on Brax.

You sigh and drag yourself out of bed, deciding to go and sit in the empty cockpit of the Mantis for a while and watch the stars race by as you hurtle through the hyperlane. Although it should really be frightening, you love to watch great swathes of the Galaxy disappear in a flash before your eyes as the Mantis catapults through space. It's a novel experience for you still - being off Coruscant, light speed travel, new worlds.

You wave your hand over the control and the door to your room hisses open. You jump to see a figure already standing there in the corridor. With a jolt of excitement, and with a strange feeling that you've summoned him somehow, you realise that it's Cal.

"Uh, hi.."

You don't let him get more than two words into his sentence. You grab him roughly by the front of his loose night shirt - which is slung low, revealing tufts of ginger hair on his chest and the elegant lines of his collarbone - and pull him into a deep kiss.

Not breaking away from your lips, and hardly hesitating, he picks you with almost alarming ease. You wrap your legs around his waist and curl your fingers in his red hair as he carries you back into your quarters. He places you up onto your workbench situated against the opposite wall as the door slides closed behind you.

"You look so pretty with those flowers in your hair," he mumbles into your neck you shiver with pleasure as his mouth brushes against your skin as he talks.

"Yes, it's a shame you're about to make such a mess of me," you whisper into his ear.

He pulls back to stare at you for a moment, green eyes wide as if dumbfounded by your forwardness. His delighted, slack-jawed expression forces a loud giggle from deep within you.

"Shhh," Cal warns emphatically, keenly aware of the proximity of the rest of the crew and how thin the walls of the Mantis are. He presses a kiss to your mouth in an attempt to silence your outburst, but you can feel his body shake with his own barely contained laughter as he grins against your lips.

Once your stifled mirth subsides, you hastily start to undress each other. You barely have time to appreciate the now naked, muscular form of the Jedi before you, when, in his enthusiasm to remove it, Cal accidentally rips your flimsy night dress away from your body. As it comes apart in his hands, the fabric makes a loud tearing sound, louder even perhaps than that of your previous bouts of laughter. You both freeze, as if anticipating someone will burst through the door and catch you in this compromising position, before dissolving into poorly restrained giggles again.

As he drinks in the sight of your body, Cal's expression changes into something primal. His brows knit together as if he is trying to understand how you could possibly be sitting in front of him like this. Then, his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare before he crashes his mouth back down on to yours into a deliciously rough kiss.

You don't move from your position on your workbench, and you coil your legs around Cal as tight as you can as he starts to move in you. The pace is urgent. You don't mind. There'll be opportunities for languid and gentle love-making in the future. Right now, this is a matter of need for both of you. The cord of tension that has been tightening between you for months finally snapping in a glorious, frenzied, explosion of mutual lust.

As his pace increases and his movements start to become uncoordinated, Cal moves a hand down between your bodies, splaying his palm against you, and settling the pad of his thumb between your legs at the very place you most need it to be.

At this, your hand which was tangled in his flaming hair flies down to join the other at his back and he growls as you claw your fingers in to his flesh between his shoulder blades.

You press your lips hard into his shoulder to muffle your cries as you approach your peak and then, suddenly, you are crashing over the edge and seeing stars. You gasp out his name, over and over, open mouthed and breathy against his ear.

This, combined with the sensation of your body in rapture, sends Cal hurtling towards his own oblivion. You cling to him while the great, strong muscles all over his body tense and release, and he lets out a long, shuddering groan into your neck that is almost a whimper.

The sight of him, the sound of him falling apart in front of you is beautiful.

Once you've both caught your breath, Cal lifts you gently off the table, and carries you to your tiny, single cot bed. You manage to position yourselves fairly comfortably in the snug space by lying on your sides. The Jedi has one arm laced underneath you with the other slung over your waist, hand resting on your stomach and holding you close to his warm chest.

As you are lulled almost into a doze by the sound and feel of his slow and steady heartbeat, you take in the rather sorry sight of the flowers which once bejewelled your hair, now scattered in ruin across the functional durasteel floor.

"I told you those flowers wouldn't last," you muse drowsily.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Cal removes his hand from your waist and reaches out his arm, palm splayed open. A blue bell flower, stem and petals astonishingly still intact- a brave survivor of the onslaught of urgent hands through your hair - floats lazily up from the floor and towards you on the bed.

Cal plucks it out of the air and gently weaves the bloom into your locks just above your ear. Then, he kisses you gently on the cheek and then on your shoulder, his beard tickling your skin, before sinking back down on to his side and resuming his previous position curled comfortingly around you.

For some reason, despite the eroticism of what you've just done together, this sweet gesture makes you flush disproportionately and you feel your cheeks turning pink.

You're starting to realise, perhaps hope, that the heady feeling of being slightly flustered in Cal Kestis' proximity might never go away.

#cal kestis x reader #cal kestis fanfiction #cal kestis x you #cal kestis x female reader

[newtabfics]

Thunderous. Sidon x Fem!Reader SPICY Fic

TW: For spicy content.

The crash caused the prince to shoot up in fear as his heart hammered wildly in his chest. He panted for a moment before finally slumping back into the tide pool. 

Sidon rubbed his face. It was always the more intense thunderstorms. It only reminded him of the day he lost his dear sister.

She had run by, stopping a moment to kiss Sidon’s head. “Hurry to Father. Tell him it’s time. I have to go. I’ll be back soon.”

Mipha never came back. She had gone into Vah Ruta and the storm suddenly overwhelmed the domain. He watched the glow shift to red and the storm was overbearing.

For days, Zora’s Domain was buffeted by the storm when Vah Ruta suddenly stopped. Silence settled over not just the domain but over Hyrule as a whole.

A small hand dipped into the water, gently waving to get his attention. He surfaced to see Y/N sleepily watching him with worry.

“Si?” She mumbled.

He sighed and came out slowly, clinging to the smaller Hylian. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Uh uh. The storm startled me. What happened?”

“Just…it startled me too,” He muttered.

She hummed for a long moment before nodding to the bed. He smiled and carried her there, laying in it with her. 

They put a tide pool in a small room just for her. Something about Hylian comforts? It didn’t matter. They shared a room, though he tended to slip out of the bed once she’d dozed off to sleep in the water.

Though, this seemed different as she moved to lay over his chest, smiling softly at him as she brushed the fin by his face aside.

“What aren’t you telling me?” She asked.

Sidon smiled. “Never a secret with you,” He hummed. A deep sigh escaped him as he rubbed her back, looking out to see the ruins in the sky, sludge falling from them. It had only just started the day before. He was exhausted but… “It reminds me of the Day of the Calamity,” He confessed.

Y/N blinked at that, waking more. The day she’d only heard about from her grandfather’s mother. Something that had only recently been resolved. And yet…

“The storm went on for days. It was horrible. When Vah Ruta finally stopped, she…” He gulped thickly as he clenched his jaw.

Her lips pressed against his nose, making him sigh in relief as he nuzzled her gently. “I know just how to distract you,” She hummed, startling him when she slid down to grind against him.

His breath hitched as her thighs tightened against his hips. “Let me give you a reason to love storms?” She tried, nuzzling his chest as she kissed it gently.

Sidon let out a breath as he gripped her hips, bucking up against her. “You’re so tiny,” He muttered in leiu of an answer.

She smirked and moved up, kissing him as she shed her clothing. Y/N only barely heard his joke about moving to wearing more traditional Zora garments instead of her Hylian clothing but it fell on deaf ears as she moved down and kissed along his lengths. She stroked one slowly with her hand and kissed the tip of the other.

Sidon moaned and let himself relax into the bed. When a rumble of thunder made him flinch, he was shocked by the warmth engulfing one head and moaned lowly.

Y/N moaned as she slowly ran her tongue around the head and sucked gently. Her chest swelled in pride when he whined and twitched reflexively, bucking his hips as she squeezed his other length gently.

Once he was lubed up enough, she moved until she was straddling him and slowly sinking down.

“Oh goddesses!” Sidon grunted, biting his lip as he gripped her hips tightly. 

He would apologize for the bruising the next day, but he could hardly apologize when she bit her lip as her eyes rolled back when she had fully seated on him. His second length was twitching against her stomach, leaking precum as it ached for its own attention.

Sidon whined softly as she finally calmed on his length, watching him with a loving smile before she rocked her hips slowly.

“You’re my beloved prince,” Y/N said gently, squeezing his hands as he moaned under her. “You’re my brave prince who always wants to save me, wants to satisfy me–” She dropped down hard as she spoke, making him choke a moan. “And I can’t help but want to be my prince’s little girlfriend.”

Sidon groaned and bucked his hips up before flipping her under him. He smirked as she squeaked and mewled in pleasure as he began to pump into her rapidly. “You’re so mcuh more than just my little girlfriend,” He whispered as he leaned down and kissed her, practically folding himself to dote on her.

She whimpered. “I’m supposed to help you.”

“You are,” He chuckled before growling as he began to rut into her more aggressively. He wanted to tell her how cute she was riding him. Instead, he showed her in the way he began to thrust and growl out her name under his breath.

The next morning, Sidon let out a deep sigh, seeing the sludge. He wanted to find a solution quickly. Instead, he heard Bazz making a comment.

“If that huge storm comes in tonight, it might get worse. Or better? I really don’t know.”

“It’s going to storm?” He asked before following Bazz’s finger to see him pointing towards the stormclouds heading their direction. “I’ll…need to tell Y/N then.”

“She’s scared of storms? Surprised.”

“Not anymore,” He chuckled before hurrying away to hide his hardening lengths.

#totk fluff #prince sidon botw #botw fluff #prince sidon totk #totk spoilers #prince sidon x f!reader #totk fics #prince sidon totk fics #fluff #totk smut #prince sidon smut #prince sidon x reader #sidon x fem!reader #comfort

[retrobutterflies]

The Eddie Special | e.m.

Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: When the world suddenly feels like it's crushing you under its weight, one person always manages to make you feel whole again. And it's getting increasingly harder not to admit your true feelings for him.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Themes of sadness and anxiety, Major Fluff, Friends to Lovers

A/N: It's okay to feel sad or lonely or anxious for no reason. It's the silly price we pay for being humans. But you'll be okay.

It had been the most uneventful and mundane day, with little to note and even less to remember and yet for some reason as you pushed out of the swinging double doors of school, flat of your shoes scuffing down concrete steps, you felt like you could barely breathe. It was like you and Atlas had switched places and all of a sudden the weight of the word was on your shoulders and your shoulders alone. The waves of anxiety that had started shallow at the start of the day had swelled and were building like a tsunami of raw emotion, ready to swallow you whole if you gave in.

You weren't sure when you had bit your lip but you could taste the metallic iron on your tongue. And the chilled air nipped harshly at your cheeks and your heart was hammering in your chest and you could feel beyond the horizon of anxiety the blanket of sadness waiting to wrap around you until everything was dark and bleak and empty.

You stumbled over a stray rock and noticed one of your laces was undone but you didn't have the energy to bend down and tie it so you kept walking, tripping a few steps later and feeling the burning shame of embarrassment mix in with the dread and unease like oil and water sploshing around in your stomach.

You wanted nothing more than to go home, crawl into your bed, and fall asleep if only to escape the overwhelming emotions for a few hours. And maybe when you woke up they would be pulling back like it was low tide again and you'd be able to breathe. Because these emotions had no cause. Sometimes they just happened and they curled around your neck and layered over your eyes until you felt nothing other than hopelessness like a cruel and wicked game with you as the unwilling pawn.

You crossed into the parking lot with heavy eyes sweeping over car hoods and bobbing heads until they settled on a familiar untamed mane. Eddie Munson was leaning against the side of his truck staring down at Dustin Henderson whose mouth was forming words quicker than you could've attempted to decipher. And Eddie was rolling his eyes and saying something back, arms crossed and head quirked.

"You're missing the entire point! It's not the fact that they fought the Soul Reaper, it's the fact that they chose that specific route which would put them in his path which was foreshadowed in the first book–" Dustin's voice was adamant and they way he argued had you believing his point without even knowing the context for the conversation.

"Does luck not exist in your world, Henderson? Happenstance? Coincidence perhaps? Or the fact that it was the only route that didn't involve a known threat?" Eddie's voice was a mixture of annoyance and barely concealed amusement. 

"It's never a coincidence in a fantasy trilogy where even the color of their cloaks has meaning, Eddie!" 

Eddie was first to notice your presence, turning to face you with his eyes lighting up.

"Y/N agrees with me, don't you?" he said, shifting his body so his back was resting against the frigid surface of his van so he could face you. Dustin rolled his eyes and let out a scoff.

"She does not–" Dustin sounded frustrated, seemingly ignoring the muffled voice coming from what you presumed was his walkie-talkie buried somewhere in the depths of his bag.

"Yes she does. She always does," Eddie shot back, turning to cast him a look.

"She doesn't even know what we're talking about–"

"Yeah, well, she knows I'm right–"

"She doesn't–Oh my god," Dustin huffed, dropping his backpack to the ground, ripping open the zipper and viciously digging through it to find his walkie-talkie. The voice coming from it was louder and more clear as he plucked it from his bag and wrestled with the antenna.

"What, Mike?" he hissed into the receiver.

"I've been calling you for like the past ten minutes! Where are you Dustin–" Mike's heavily irritated voice crumbled through the static and Dustin squeezed his eyes shut in aggravation.

"I'm coming! Can you tell Steve to look up the definition of patience," Dustin struggled to zip his bag back up, tucking the walkie-talkie in between his neck and shoulder before swinging the bag over his back.

"Steve says to run or he's leaving you," Mike quipped back and faintly you could hear Steve's voice grumbling something about Henderson and idiot and manners.

"Sorry, I gotta go. I'll see you Monday," he said to Eddie, a rueful grimace on his face. He turned to you, face brightening into a smile, eyes squinted in childlike glee.

"Y/N, it's nice to see you. You look lovely," he said and you were barely able to give him a parting smile before he was darting across the parking lot in the direction of Steve's car, hissing something else into his walkie as he ran.

Eddie let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he watched the freshman nearly barrel into a disgruntled couple before turning his attention back to you.

"Hey, sunshine." 

Two simple words and you felt like you were going to burst. His regular term of endearment for you felt distinctly out of place on a day where you felt like all the storm clouds in the world were nestling in your brain. You took a shaky breath, chanced a look up into his eyes and felt your throat tighten. 

He slowly pushed himself off the van, arms falling to his sides as he took in your appearance. Shoulders slumped, hair messed up from fidgeting with it it one too many times, lower lip bitten raw and swollen. But your eyes clued him in to your inner turmoil. He felt his own mood plummeting as he studied you and your rounded doe eyes lacking their usual sparkle.

"What happened?" he asked, taking a step closer, feeling his hand flex as if he wanted to reach out and touch you. And a hot rush of anger splashed his cheeks directed at whoever or whatever was causing your chin to wobble and his heart to clench.

You shook your head, biting down on your sore lip as you fought back the embarrassing stinging of tears in your eyes because nothing had happened. There was nothing remotely different from yesterday where you were laughing so hard your stomach ached from one of Eddie's anecdotes to today where you felt like the winds had been viciously ripped from your sails.

"Nothing," you managed to squeeze out, feeling salty tears collect in your lashes, one or two spilling out, chasing each other down your cheeks, "Just, sad, I don't know, I feel–"

You couldn't finish, feeling your throat tighten more as the tsunami crept closer and closer. And the panic that had been lurking under your skin since the moment you had woken up started clawing its way up your neck until your breaths started coming out shaky and uneven.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, shame suddenly burning hot in your stomach as more tears fell and soon you were crying, the emotions you had been fighting all day winning the battle.

He stepped closer until his cologne was invading your senses and you could feel the heat emanating from his body. Hesitantly his hand reached out to your back, scratching lightly at your shoulder blade, ducking his head down to catch your eyes that were focused on the ground because looking at him made your embarrassment worse.

"Hey, woah," he said, his other hand reaching up to capture your chin to tilt it upwards so he could see your face, feeling his heart clench at the sight of your tears, "why are you apologizing?"

"Because nothing happened and I'm crying for no reason and I'm being stupid–" a few choppy breaths followed by a hiccup cut you off and Eddie was grimacing at you like you were causing him physical pain.

He knew you've had these moments before where the world felt suffocating with seemingly no explanation. He's had them too where he's locked himself in his room and buried himself in his comforter, no energy to even listen to music. But you weren't being stupid. The price of having good moments was that sometimes bad moments lurked between. And he'd be damned if he let you feel the gnawing sense of hopelessness that he knew well.

"Sunshine," he felt his own breath get stolen for a moment, both hands moving to rest on your cheeks, cradling your face as he angled it higher until you could do nothing but meet his eyes.

"You're not being stupid," he chided, stuck between poking fun at you to lighten your mood or soften his tone to quell your anxieties. 

His eyes followed the glinting tears as they created rivers down your cheeks, soaking underneath his fingers that rested on the plush of your cheeks. He slowly swiped his thumbs under your eyes, collecting the moisture that made your eyes sparkle prettily up at him. And he swiped at the flecks of mascara that mimicked freckles, fingertips softly grazing so his callouses didn't hurt you.

"I'm crying," you sniffled, voice pinched and watery. He unconsciously mirrored your slight pout, brown eyes rounding as he felt his heart squeeze painfully.

"Yeah and I can't believe you still look cute while doing it," he replied, his thumbs pushing slightly into the fat of your cheeks as if he was goading a smile to your face.

And you managed a small one at his sweet words but a familiar pain stabbed into your chest. A pain that was long simmering and ever-present at the thought of his affection lacking the same weight as yours. His stemming from years of close-knit friendship and yours from your stupid unrequited feelings. And with the way he was cradling your face and looking at you like you were physically breaking his heart for just being sad, you weren't sure how much longer you could go without telling him you were disgustingly in love with him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the image of him starting to become a dagger in your heart and he was wincing at you, feeling his own stomach coil in dread and anxiety at your anguish. He wanted to lean in, rest his forehead against yours and steal the war raging in your head so he could deal with it for you.

"Let me take you home, yeah?" his voice was quieter, a low rumble painting his words. You blinked your eyes open at him, tears obscuring your vision so you could only see a watercolor outline of his silhouette. But you were nodding and he was smoothing your hair back from your face, hands trailing down until they found your back and directing you to the passenger seat of his van.

The ride was quiet. Eddie had fumbled with the collection of cassettes stashed in the inner console, looking for one he knew was your favorite. And he had put it in, volume low but humming to help distract you from your thoughts as he drove. His eyes found yours at varying moments, brows tugging closer as he watched you gaze out of the window to the amalgamation of orange and red, eyes faraway, looking at something he couldn't see.

Nothing in his life caused him as much desperation as you did when you were upset. When it was something tangible like someone making a rude comment or a shitty grade on a test he could deal with it head on like threaten the kid who thought his snide remark was funny or scrounge up enough money to pay someone to give you a few tutoring sessions promising you that it was free. But when it was your own mind who was making you upset, he felt defenseless and he felt desperate. 

When his van had rumbled to a stop in front of your house, driveway empty and lights off, he turned to see you frowning at it. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it a second after, fearing he had no words that would make you feel better. 

"Eddie?" your quiet voice sounded over the soft music that he was already reaching to shut off. He turned to you and waited until you were ready to speak. You were worrying your bottom lip between your teeth again and he wanted to reach over and swipe it free and soothe the raw skin with his thumb.

"Can you come in?" He repressed the sudden urge to laugh. He wanted nothing more than to follow you inside. The thought of leaving you alone when your teary eyes made him feel sick to his stomach was incomprehensible. But he didn't laugh. Instead, he reached for your hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze and offered you a tender smile.

"Yeah," he breathed, shutting off the ignition before adding, "Of course."

The house was dark but warm as you stepped into the threshold, the heat settling into your bones and coaxing a soft sigh from your lips. Your bag fell from Eddie's shoulder followed by his own as he tucked them next to the litter of shoes. And you were still unmoving when he turned back to you, flicking a few light switches on illuminating your sunken features.

His hands moved before he could think and he was unzipping your jacket, softly peeling it from your body. You let him bend down and untie your one shoelace making it match it's already untied sibling before he was urging you to lean onto his shoulder for support as he tugged off your shoes. And then he was doing the same for himself, jacket draping over yours on the coat wrack and shoes finding a home clumsily next to yours.

"You hungry?" he asked. You shook your head on instinct but he was tutting at you. "C'mon, you should eat something."

So you acquiesced as his hand found yours and pulled you to the kitchen, flipping switches in his wake to brighten the house. He pulled out the chair to the kitchen table, guiding you to sit down before wandering over to rummage through your fridge.

"I'm gonna make you the Eddie special," he declared, squinting into your fridge and pushing things around as his hands searched for anything enticing.

There was no Eddie special but he liked the little laugh you let out at the declaration. He grabbed ingredients that he knew you liked, haphazardly pushing them onto the counter. He grabbed a half loaf of bread from the bread box and a plate from the cupboard. He nearly dropped a glass cup, juggling it in the air for a moment before securing it to his chest with a quick expletive. 

You watched him flit around and felt your chest compressing in affection and longing. Eddie never failed to make you feel better, though today was tougher than most. He was the first person you called when you were worried about something, the first person you thought of when you wanted advice, and the first person you went to even when you knew you were going to ugly cry in front of him. And he never shied away. Instead he wiped away your tears and played your favorite music and made you an Eddie special, which you knew didn't exist but it still made your heart swell at the thought.

Those three words sat on the tip of your tongue, soaking sweetness into your taste buds. He glanced up at you, tongue peaking out of his lips in concentration, smile quirking to the side as his eyes squinted at you. And then he was walking towards you, placing the plate in front of you with a proud Voilà leaving his lips.

It was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a bundle of strawberries, and a glass of orange juice but the strawberries were laid out in what was meant to be a smiley face though the fruit had rolled around distorting the picture. He rubbed his palm to the side of his jean clad thigh, suddenly nervous at your prolonged stare at the plate.

"'S not much but–" he started, insecurity pooling in his stomach.

"I love it," you interjected. I love you, you thought.

He let out a small breath, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he took the seat beside you. You scooted your chair closer making the bottoms of it scrape loudly on the tile, pushing the plate to rest between you and you grabbed half of the sandwich and held it out to him so you could share.

He wondered if you could see the fondness rushing out of him as he took a bite of his half just as you took a bite of yours. He wondered if you could hear his heart hammering in his chest as you leaned in to take a strawberry from the plate. He wondered if you caught his eyes trailing to your lips as they circled around the red berry, a droplet of juice running down your chin. 

He was swiping it away instantly, thumb brushing your chin before tasting it between his lips. You felt your heart flutter at the action, feeling nearly breathless at the casual way he licked the juice from his thumb.

You were blinking at him and you felt like your chest was concaving. Your heart was beating a mile a minute and he felt suddenly frozen at your stare. He opened his mouth to say something but his voice was stolen as your hand moved up to caress his cheek. You watched his Adam's apple bob as your fingers moved to weave through his hair. You brushed wiry strands back, tucking them behind his ear. Your thumb ghosted over his eyebrow, then brushed his temple, then followed the curve of his cheek from the bridge of his nose to the swell of his cheekbone.

"Eddie," you breathed, anxiety pinching at your throat and he hummed. His eyes now hooded and heavy trailed from your eyes to your lips, up the slope of your nose and back to your eyes that he swears could get him to commit murder.

"I love you." The admission had nausea flooding your stomach but you couldn't hold it back any longer. You knew things wouldn't be the same after this. You knew you could be shattering a delicate bond but the words were starting to grow sour in your mouth the longer you held back from saying them. And you needed him to know. He needed to know that the more he treated you this preciously the worse off you would be when you got your heart inevitably broken.

"Yeah," he was breathless as your fingers traced his face. His cheeks felt hot and goosebumps erupted on his arms at your touch. He wondered if his eyes were heart-shaped by now–

He felt like his brain had short circuited. You had said something. You had said–

"What?" His voice was a ghost of a whisper. His eyes met yours and saw the doubt and fear and anguish swimming in your irises. You opened your mouth but no words came out and he felt desperate for you to repeat yourself for fear that he had misheard you or had mistaken you for one of his fantasy versions of you where you wrapped him in your arms and professed your love for him between kisses.

"What did you say?" his voice was firmer now, sandwich long forgotten on the place as his hands flew to your cheeks. Your hand fell to grip his bicep, squeezing nervously. "Please," he breathed, desperation soaking his tone.

"I love you," you repeated. You weren't sure if it was healthy for your heart to be beating this fast. And you waited with trepidation for his rejection and for that dark shadow of hopelessness to consume you whole.

But suddenly his lips were on yours. Warm, velvety, soft lips molding into yours, air expelling from his nose to brush your face as he sighed into the kiss. His fingers were intertwining into your hair, tugging you impossibly closer and you were melting into him nearly falling out of your chair to get closer, hands grasping at the cotton of his shirt.

"Say it again," he mumbled against your lips, forehead burning against yours, eyes shut as he memorized the feeling of your lips against his. 

So you whispered it again and a third time when hot desperate kisses followed. Soon you were pulled onto his lap, one arm encircling your waist to press you closer and other moving his hand to cup your cheek.

"I love you, too," he replied, voice breathless and low and rumbly. 

Like a man starved, Eddie's kisses didn't wain. And he paid special care to your abused bottom lip, hoping his sweet kisses would ease any lingering pain. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself closer as if having any part of you not touching him was painful.

His fantasies of you spanned nearly all facets of his life from the most mundane tasks to the softness of his sheets but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine kissing you would feel so wonderful. His mind had turned foggy and suddenly the only working braincells he had left were telling him to kiss you over and over and over again.

"Be my girl," he murmured, lips lifting from yours to let the words out before they were reconnecting again. And you hummed against him, brain registering his words on a five second delay and tingling at his overwhelming affection.

"Sunshine," he muttered, finally finding the will to pull back so he could open his eyes. Your lips were swollen and your eyes were warm and you chased his lips with furrowing brows at his halting affection. And he kissed you again and again before repeating the term of endearment finally getting your attention.

"I want you to be my girl," he said again, voice stronger, arms wrapping around your torso tighter, lips leaning in to kiss your jaw and then where your jaw met your neck and then over your throat making your breath hitch.

"I thought the answer was obvious," you breathed, tingles shooting up your spine as he nipped at your neck before kissing away the hinting sting.

"I wanna hear you say it," he said against your skin, kisses alternating with soft love bites.

"Yes," you replied, leaning in for another kiss before adding a soft, "dummy."

You squealed as his hands dug into your sides, retribution for your name calling. And he grinned up at you, hugging you closer and repeating his three favorite words again against the underside of your jaw. And you felt like you could finally breathe again, the looming shadow of anxiety and dread pulling back, sulking off to haunt you another day. But you were okay with it because when it came back you knew exactly who to go to. And he'd make you an Eddie special and kiss you until you forgot your own name and you would be okay.

Bonus:

"Do you have any consideration for other people's time, Henderson?" Steve's voice was sharp as Dustin swung open the back door of his car. Lucas and Max were squeezed next to each other leaving him a spot. 

"I was running late from class. Sue me, Steve, really," Dustin grumbled, slamming the door shut behind him. Max scoffed at him.

"We could see you talking to Eddie," she quipped, arms crossed over her chest as she glowered at him. Lucas grimaced from beside her.

"Yeah you big fat liar," Steve mumbled before snipping at him to put his seatbelt on.

"Hey, no need for the name calling," Dustin said back and Steve shot him a look from the rearview mirror. Mike twisted around from the passenger seat and held up the walkie-talkie .

"Is this a toy to you? Do you carry it around like an accessory? Because, funny enough, the rest of us use it to communicate especially if were making everyone wait–" 

"Okay, now you're being dramatic," Dustin rolled his eyes.

"Well, did you only answer me because Y/N got there? I think they'd have enough consideration not to make out in front of you," Mike added, annoyed that he had seen Dustin deliberately ignoring his repeated calls despite chucking in a code red just to see if he would finally answer.

"They don't make out. They're not even . . ." Steve trailed off, squinting into the distance at you and Eddie and how much closer you had gotten since his last glance.

"They sure look like they're making out," Max said, eyebrows raising as she shoved Dustin harshly into his seat so she could lean closer towards the window.

"Hey–Ow!" he whined.

"I wanna see!" Lucas piped up, leaning over Max's shoulder making her elbow dig harshly into Dustin's stomach.

"You're–Crushing–Me!" 

Taglist: @eateraa

Let me know if you would like to be added to a taglist! The request for this can be found here.

Link to my masterlist :)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things one shot #stranger things fanfic

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part two)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter two: do you feel it, too?

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: you fight hard to keep old habits at bay. joel falls into his head first.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn / (for this chapter) -> semi-public dry humping, kissing, mentions/fantasies of p in v sex, possessive thoughts, no one is drunk but everyone blames the wine, joel miller loves his kid!

word count: 5.3k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: i'm in shambles over the response to the first chapter, this series is my baby and it means so much that you guys liked it. thank you a million times for reading!

read on ao3 / main masterlist

“The wait begins as soon as I wake up. There is never any “after”. Life stops from the moment he rings the doorbell and enters.”

Annie Ernaux - Getting Lost

───────

Joel hasn’t touched the plastic tube since he brought it home last week. 

It’s become something he has to hide from, a nagging thought that pulls at his pant-leg like a child, clawing for his attention—open me, open me. Over and over he hears it, while in the office or cooking dinner or folding the wash, a whisper that begs him to reach in and claim his prize. When he’s really tired, brain damp from the days he has to work, the voice pours into something smoother, and suddenly it's that pretty girl—the one who’d made the thing—asking for the same; to be peeled back and stretched wide for him, cunt and heart and all. 

He finds himself losing a lot of very real time in the fantasy, chunks of his life spooned out to make room. 

The compulsion isn’t unfamiliar; it’s one that Joel thinks has something to do with his protective nature—or maybe that he’s seen enough living through the filters of hurt and mistrust—that makes him cling to the things he finds precious.

It traces back as far as the girls in grade school, when they would bring him little home-made valentines and wave him kisses first stamped onto open palms. He grew enamored with them, picking them flowers and scribbling symbols of promise in their note-books—the very beginnings of his acts of service. His heart would swell with it, a cartoonish thing, growing and pumping until he could keel over to one side from the size. He chased it in those early years, back somewhere between the brothering and fathering, moving through many someones he could fawn over, easing his need to possess. 

He can feel the need rising now, for the first time in too long, his body hurtling itself towards the ledge of something scarier, and he welcomes it. His hands itch for it, for the kind of love with teeth, that bites and tears into the edges of a substance much meatier, providing a place for the points to pierce and hold. He won’t call it what it really is, prefering to stomp out the whisper that warns him of its arrival—obsession. He likes to use less severe terms: thoughtful, involved, fascinated.

Knowing better in his age, he tries at least to be realistic during waking hours, and around Ellie, reminding himself that he has a hard time stepping down when he builds his hope high enough. He moves instead to just dreaming about you—in little tidbits and at guest-star capacity—to tide himself over until the week rolls back around.

Now, on a new Monday, he lets his daughter head off to class before he allows himself the privilege of unwrapping his reward.

He fishes around in the back of the hallway closet where he hid the case, retreating to his room to finally have his time alone with the creature he’d made of the object, letting it free from its cage.

He pops off the cardboard top of the roll, pulling the drawing out with the very tips of his fingers to not smudge something on accident. The sound of it sliding out sets his skin alight—this gift is one he asked for, but it feels like it was given to him all the same. Sharing a piece of you with him so freely, he feels special. 

He’s gotten used to seeing himself around the house, Ellie’s ever-growing library of renditions of him are fixed to the fridge by mis-matched magnets and framed in little glass panels in her room. It leans on the side of betrayal to have someone else’s version of him up, but he just wants to see it—if it’s as intense as he remembers it. As different.

His knuckle follows the curl of the paper to flatten the image, tacking it up to the wall with painter’s tape to avoid damaging the surface, like his daughter taught him. Joel sits on the corner of his bed and feels a hot wave of emotion fill his chest. 

He looks hopeful. It’s a garment he’s never seen himself wear. He’s soft and shy and child-like, face penciled in with detail that reads like a well-worn novel, bending and twisting to the curve of his expression. It’s a finely crafted summary. It’s guide-lines. It’s instructions, the very important parts of him spelled out in bold, black charcoal, with the gray shades of his complexion filling in the gaps. 

Was he that easy to pick apart? 

He’d seen some of the other drawings, the way everyone else had chosen to capture solely his pose, perfectly articulating the crook of his elbow or the network of muscle under the skin of his calf. 

But you’d chosen to show him. 

Something about it looks so familiar, enough to bring forward a memory of the conversation that had him feeling the briefest pass of deja vu—of you glancing down at the ground, quieted maybe by his proximity or his compliments; bashful. 

He walks out into the living room where Ellie keeps her sketchbook, the one with all the references. He thumbs through it—she’s given him permission to see this one—and flips to the page he remembers watching her use last week. And when he sees it, he feels like he’s going to faint. 

It was you. 

That was your face his daughter had been so beautifully replicating. Upon examining the fragmented portrait, he sees a striking resemblance to the one you’d made of him. They’re the same. Not the likeness, of course, but the visage. You knew what he felt like—had felt it yourself.

He already knew you, before you’d even spoken a word to each other. He admits that Ellie was only capable of piecing together so much of you, and even with the extra bits he’d caught in your brief meeting, he feels like he’s missing out. He wants to see the whole picture. You, in totality. 

When he arrives at the school building, he’s overtaken with a wash of what he thinks might be stage-fright. It makes him feel sick, stomach rolling with an embarrassment that scorches like youth—fight low and flight high—and his body starts to feel sore with the effort it takes to keep himself from fidgeting. 

Ellie’s teacher meets him in the hallway and passes him his slip, and he hums his way down to the bathroom to undress, admittedly working up the courage to confront you. 

As he enters the classroom, his excitement bottoms out. You’re not there. He keeps sweeping the room with his eyes, hoping you somehow had been hidden amongst the other bodies. He tries to sell himself the idea that you’re just in the bathroom, or on a break or late, but the wooden bench you’d sat in last week is obviously untouched. 

He clambers onto the stool, trying to replicate his pose from the previous lesson, much more uncomfortable now that he has nothing to distract him. The two hours are painful, and he finds himself counting seconds to fill the minutes in increments of ten until he can leave. 

His back hurts when he stands. 

On his way out, the blonde woman hands him a little flier, two pieces of neon copy paper glued together to make a double-sided image, advertising the group show this coming Friday. Ellie has already reminded him more times than he can count, but he takes it from the woman with the best smile he can muster, slipping out the door in a stride he’s hoping doesn’t come across as wounded. 

───────

The on-campus gallery is what someone a lot kinder than Joel would call cozy—a tight, short chamber with no windows and a single entrance, like a trap. 

He’s too keyed-up to be kind. He feels like nitpicking.

The metal door at the head must have been an afterthought, kicking back into the frame loudly every time someone walks through, nothing implemented to catch it. A continuous beam of fluorescent lighting wraps around the room in an all-encompassing spotlight, cooking the smell of fresh paint off the wall. It reminds him of picture day, or apartment hunting or something else equally unpleasant. 

He was always going to come to this, because he can’t imagine a version of himself who wouldn’t support his daughter, but he’s not happy about it, and he’s starting to feel dizzy from the too-fast swirl of anxiety in his stomach. 

Ellie had removed herself from his side the moment they made it into the building in search of her friends, with just a squeeze of his forearm and an ‘I’ll introduce you later’ left in her wake. He’s clung tightly to the wall ever since, making his way around the room to look at all the drawings, again and again and again until he feels like he’s on a track. 

Discomfort is a factor, but most of his indignation has to do with not seeing you in class—pointed at himself for the absurdity of his expectations—the voice in his head taking a bitter turn. Were you avoiding him? Would you not attend this, either? Did he do something wrong? His mind rambles on as he fiddles with his imitation cocktail glass, the shiny slip of plastic sticking to his fingers. There’s still a generous portion of what has to be five-dollar wine pooled at the bottom, bitter and opaque enough to stain. The woman who poured it for him did so nearly to the top, maybe sympathetically, disregarding that there was money obviously trying to be saved—deeming his cause a worthy one. He doesn’t even want it, really, nauseous at the idea of actually finishing it, but not having something in his hand was winding him even tighter. So he nurses it—even as it goes warm between his grasp, more unappetizing now than it had been twenty minutes ago—sip after sip to try and appear engaged. 

Eventually Joel grows tired of waiting, for Ellie to come back or for you to come at all or for this night to just be over, and picks a drawing to pause in front of. It’s a portrait of someone he’ll never meet, another graceful stranger coming together in an amalgamation of grays. He can hear people walking behind him, talking quietly and occasionally stopping to look over his shoulder at it in passing. 

“Hm. Quite the fan of my work, are you?” He almost ignores the comment, thinking it's for someone else, as it usually is, until there’s a figure taking up too much of his periphery. 

He’s a little dazed when he looks over, the hot, sour wine settled now in the pit of his belly, buzzing with a flare of something not-missed. He’s prepared to see more than one person beside him, perhaps a couple that had been talking near him rather than to him, but when he swivels his neck, it’s you. You’re just as pretty as he remembers, the face that he looks for in his sleep, but this time you’re not as shy, staring at him straight on—maybe similarly loosened by the pale yellow liquid in your own cup. 

Heat gathers at the rim of his jaw—his neck is red by now, he’s sure of it. Already exposed and driven by the faint whisper in his mind, he opens his mouth to speak without thinking, “You weren’t there this week.” 

You make quick quotes with just your pointers half-heartedly, “‘Sick,'” and breathe a laugh, “Had a few academic duties to fulfill. Gotta keep the scholarship intact.” 

There’s a thick moment of silence, but he can’t look away, eyes weighty and cheeks stinging. It’s awkward but he finds comfort in it, embracing the adjustment like it's a step towards better connection. 

Someone brushes his arm as they walk by and Joel uses it to his advantage, “Do you want to step outside? It’s a little hot in here.” 

There’s a flash of something like surprise across your eyes, but you shrug, “Sure.”

He crowds behind you as you walk step-in-step out the unarmed emergency exit, just to feel the closeness of your body, much better than the distance he’d felt in your absence on Monday. 

The night is worse than cold but it feels good against the heat in Joel’s chest. He can smell your perfume wafting back as he follows your movements, and it makes him pant. He’s ill, has to be—that or the wine was stronger than he thought, because the weird tie he feels is one he can’t explain as being healthy or normal or not fucking scary. But when you turn on your heel to face him, taking a seat on a hip-high planter in a secluded outer corner of the building, it feels right. Natural. 

He shuffles so that he’s far enough for you to be safe from his touch, and he shoves a hand in his pocket for good measure, “Thank you again for the drawing. It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you for saying that.”

He wants to say something more, like you’ve captured me in a way that makes me hopeful about myself, but settles instead for, “My daughter liked it a lot, too.” It’s a bold-faced lie, but he thinks that keeping your gift a secret would look less appealing. 

“Is she here?”

“Somewhere, yeah. Ran off the second we got in. I’m not a comfort anymore, I guess.”

“Is she yours? Comfort, I mean.” You pick at the crown of the cup, rolling it gently in your hands like its real glass, and you both watch the fuzzy pattern of light that catches on its uniform surface. Joel wonders if you have a comfort of your own—if you need one.

“Is it bad if I say yes? It feels cheesy but the kid is my rock. Dunno what I’m gonna do when she grows up.” He shoves at the concrete under the toe of his boot. It didn’t taste as bad coming out as he thought it might. He hasn’t said that out loud to anyone other than himself, but you look at him like you know exactly what he means. The delicate beginnings of a smile crest on your face, cheek pinched, void of all the uncomfortable sympathy he's gotten from Tommy and Maria at the few things he made the mistake of revealing. He can’t find it in himself to stop now with your gesture, feeling relief in having a place to voice his heartbreak, “Honestly I’m scared, but not just for me, y’know? I worry about what she’s gonna find in the world. I just want to keep her safe.” 

“She knows it, I’m sure. I know what it feels like to have no one to root for you—I would’ve killed for that. The only thing you can do for her is be there when she comes home,” You’re looking down again, and he doesn’t like whatever’s made you want to pull back from him—be shy, “Spend time with other people you care about and that care about her. Make that network for her to lean on.”

“All I got is my brother. His wife too, sometimes. My nephews. A few years ago it was just me and him. Ellie—that’s her name. She, uh, isn’t ‘mine’,” he makes the bunny-eared quotes with the hand holding his drink, “Not by blood, anyway. But she popped up out of nowhere and I don’t know how to go back to being on my own.” 

“It’d be good to have a network of your own, too—if you’re up to it. It’s hard to do, trust me, but I don’t think I could do a lot without my friends.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s in the cards for me anymore. I can’t conjure up much of anything worth listening to these days. Forgot how.” 

“Don’t do that. You have a lot to say—you’re plenty. Just start with one person. There’s always time to make more.” He knows you’re talking to him, but it feels like you’re also talking to that little boy inside of him, small and unloved and still bleeding.

“Do you need any more? Friends.”

You look up from your lap, pushing a piece of your hair back from your face like you need to get a better look, searching for a way you could be misinterpreting him, “I might have room. You have a recommendation for me?”

He reaches out, grabbing the empty cup from your grasp, stacking it with his own and depositing them by your side. He doesn’t miss the way you watch him, how you widen the spread of your legs on instinct, enough to suggest his entrance. He wades out on one leg to bring himself in, testing the water.

Your lips are parted, and when he looks into the opening between them he imagines he’s seeing to the center of you, and everything else keys out. Cars pass by on the strip of street behind him, driven by ghosts, providing nothing but a low song for your bodies to dance to together, his chest swaying closer to yours with every breath. You move with him, and it feels rehearsed, like all of the steps you've taken to get to this moment were purposeful, done in perfectly orchestrated succession for the hundredth time. 

“Do you feel that, too?” He asks, wanting to know if he’s reading too much into it, feeling that sweet edge of thoughtful-involved-fascinated scrape his skin like a sharp knife, “Do you? Like you know me?” 

“Yes,” you breathe, and it’s all the permission he’s ever needed. 

He leans in, lips skating yours, the warm cave of your mouth begging to be explored. He tries so hard to take his time, soft brushes tethering you to each other with the weight of everything he’ hasn’t had the time to say. His whole body is pins and needles—a fierce heat that floats so high it feels like ice. You sigh into him, the start of a moan, and his composure snaps. Service, he reminds himself, act on it—it feels almost divine when he thinks about all the ways he could pledge his loyalty, ready to bend at your altar every day of his life if it meant you’d sing for him again.

Joel brings a hand to the side of your neck, thumb digging into the pulse point at the corner of your jaw to bring you forward, licking into your mouth in search of more noise. He groans when you relax into his hold, so pretty and willing, and works you until you’re just as fervent, daring to suck his bottom lip between your teeth—going for blood. 

The voice in his head is yours again—open me, eat me, unhinge your jaw and swallow. 

He slots his other hand around the bone of your hip, pulling you nearer to the ledge of the planter, pressing his cock into your inner thigh as it swells to life. You gather his shirt in your hand, a tight fist, shifting yourself against him so you can grind into it instead. No one else exists, no one else could ever exist in this moment, or any moment you attend, for the rest of forever. He wants to fuck you, to see how far the attachment could go, how far he could reach down before he finds a warm, bed-shaped slot for him to rest in. He wants to live inside the body of someone who sees him so clearly. He wants to know every thought in your head before it comes to fruition. 

The wine tastes better coming from off your tongue, and he’s gleaning the flavor from every corner of your mouth like he can achieve a second-hand high. His full weight is rocking into you with enough force now that he has to plant a heel in the ground to keep you both from tumbling. He risks a thumb in your waistband in the flurry, tugging at it in the hope of another invitation. 

Before you have a chance to decide, the loud press of the swing-door at the front of the building opens, and Joel staggers back, remembering where he is and why. 

You look winded to say the least, hair bent from the imprint of his hand, mouth in a perpetual ‘o’, and he’s scared to see the state of his own face, not to mention the visible strain of his cock in his pants. He kicks an ankle out to try to adjust, heaving through an open maw at the thought that you might be affected in that way as well, picturing the slick wet in between your legs—a beautiful sheen from just his mouth on the top half of your body. 

You shimmy off the edge, straightening your shirt and he immediately steps back in for more, draping the full breadth of his hand against your collarbone, curling the tips around the top of your shoulder.

“Joel. I— I need to go inside.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?” 

You lay a hand over his with a squeeze and he retracts it, “Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting… I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

He can feel his breath restricting, heart plummeting down so far it feels like it’s landed in the ball of his foot; the second time this week you’ve pulled away. He thinks back to the face you made at him in the gallery, back before he fucked this up. Maybe you never meant for this to happen at all.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice strained, “I just need a little time. Just some time, I’m sorry.”

“No, no I understand. Don’t be sorry. Will you take my number? Just in case?” He wants to make sure you’re okay after this, if you want that, and selfishly he wants to give you a way to have him, knowing this might be the last time he runs into you. He’s too afraid to leave it up to chance.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” You pass him your phone with shaky fingers. 

“Only if you want to, honey,” He’s disheartened by the whole thing, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he’s careful to double-check, even if it’s a blow to his hope, “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I’m just—the wine, sorry. I think it was bad.” You huff out a strained laugh, “I want it. Your number, I mean. Promise.” You practically shove the thing at him and he takes it this time, entering the contact with as little squinting as possible to save himself from any further humiliation. 

───────

You all but run into the bathroom in the back of the building, needing a moment alone to consider what the fuck it is that’s going on right now—what’s been going on since he walked into your class two weeks ago and overstayed his welcome. 

You stumble in, bracing yourself against the porcelain basin, switching on the faucet to drown out some of the pounding in your head. You’d been lying when you said the wine was catching up to you—very much sober—but now, in this suffocating, gray room, you feel like it must have at least accelerated the churning in your gut. 

You let water gather in your hands, bending to dip your face in the too-cold pool between them. 

Every day has been mostly encouraging if not indifferent but this feels like the start of a bad dream you won’t be able to wake up from, dragging you right back to that dark box you’d been existing in. He came in from nowhere, kicking down your reserve, for what? For a fuck? To enjoy you in passing? Or worse, to stay? You’re unsure which would be harder to receive.

And it’s unfair—for him to show up right at the point of being fully on your own, as soon as you’ve chosen to avoid getting caught up in that part of your life. You’re past the point of surrendering your time—know better than to want to be bogged down by a crush or the preconceived idea of the perfect stranger. 

You don’t know him, and you don’t need to. 

But you want him so bad it hurts; so bad you had to fake a cold to skip class because you couldn't face the idea of seeing him for the last time. You debated skipping the grade for the exhibition too, but you used any excuse to convince yourself he might not show. You weren’t sure who his daughter was, or how enthusiastic she was about the program, so you figured it was a fair shot. You outwardly willed him not to come, at yourself in the mirror and in the shower and out loud the car, all while secretly praying he’d be in attendance, right up to the moment you saw him.

When you stand up, staring at your rigid body in the plastic mirror above the sink, you’re pained at the sight. You look tired, shoulders tense and eyes bleary. Stray beads of the cool water stick to your skin, refusing to dry in the lingering humidity, balling up together to drip into the open lip of your shirt. You can barely feel it falling over your chest before being soaked up by the material. You feel outside yourself.

Someone starts to knock at the door, a quick and invasive interruption to the moment of absolute panic you’d been enjoying. You managed to twist the lock shut on the door at least, so you click your heel against the tile in a wordless someone’s in here, but the knocking persists. 

“Occupied.” You try, wet hands slipping against the edge of the sink. This shit isn’t normal. None of that even comes close to normal. 

Still, the heavy thrum against the hollow metal continues, and you take a deep breath before practically ripping it out from the socket of its frame. When you have it open, Ian’s posed between the V of the slot, face bewildered. 

“Really, truly, I love you, but what the fuck was that?” 

───────

Four days from the start of spring break, you’re out at some stranger’s place off Maple, invited by both Ian and your roommate—making it a little harder to get out of—in a joint, well-intentioned attempt to make you leave the safety of your room. A party will be nice, they’d explained, nothing serious, and a week off’s supposed to be fun, right? 

The house is pretty, but whoever owns it has demanded everyone remain out on the cobblestone patio, uneven flooring making for a jagged line of bodies packed too tight to fit. 

A fire burns in the middle of the yard, billowing out puffs of smoke you know will linger in your clothes for at least two washes. You swipe at some soot that's gathered in the bowl of your jacket sleeve absentmindedly. There’s no music tonight, maybe because there’s real school tomorrow—the elementary school down the street not quite on the same schedule—and you start to think going out on weeknights is quickly becoming more your speed. There's just the soft blanket of everyone murmuring, trying to stay warm in the chill of the wind. 

Ian’s prepping some guy across the fire to meet you; you can tell by the look on his face, like he’s planning something elaborate. You smile at him, at least amused by his effort to help you forget the weekend. He’s right, it is spring break, and Joel is nothing but a consequence of your stress-induced impulsivity. 

Still, despite your efforts, you’re thinking about him again, even if to punish him. You can still feel the line of his cock against your thigh, pressed hot and heavy into your body like an offering. You rub your thighs together, cursing him for giving you enough material to fantasize about for weeks—your punishment in return.

Ian crosses the circle with your new prospect, and you tilt your cup in mock cheers. Behind him he mouths hot and nice, tell me what you think. You nod, and the guy steps forward to block the flame. He’s handsome, airbrushed face and sweet cologne and long, thin fingers, nothing like how someone else’s had felt at the junction of your hips. 

You swallow, hard.

You honestly don’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth from the second it opens, not even to catch his name. Instead, you think about how nice it’d be if you could pay attention, how much easier it would be to fuck someone you thought was nice and safe and not at the forefront of every free moment you’d been afforded in the last two-and-a-half weeks. About what a relief it would be for him to mount and rut into you without consequence—no emotional burden, just boring and lukewarm like the last bite of something you can’t find a place to throw away. It’s always been easier when you didn’t want more. Yet now you want every night, hold out a hand in your dreams and let him into the part of you that has already carved out a hole in his shape. 

This guy couldn’t pull your mind off of Joel even if he was fucking you. 

When he offers to grab you a drink, you agree and then head into the house, like you’re not supposed to, as soon as his back is turned. There’s a few locked doors, and then one at the end of a hallway that opens up into a bathroom. You slip in, not bothering to switch on the light in an attempt to hide out from being found.

Here you are searching for reason in a dirty mirror above another sink, with nothing but the weak glow of a plug-in air freshener to guide you, too soon after the last time. 

You’re angry, suddenly, at how far he’s burrowed himself into your head, with so little to go on. He’s doing nothing but showing you yourself, a tired tactic to get you to fall in love with him while you do all the work. He was just pretending, right? He couldn’t actually want to love you. You groan, when the fuck was love even part of this equation?

You dig your phone out of your purse. The lock screen is bright—bold lettering reminding you it’s nearly midnight—but you click into your contacts anyway, because it’s not like you’re going to call him or anything. His page is still open, the Texas area code populating under Joel - Ellie’s dad—typed out with caps and all like that’s his only meaningful identifier. You scroll to see where he’d punched in ‘just in case‘ in the notes section of his info-card, and that decimates the cliff of restraint you'd barely managed, sinking in on itself under you.  

Your hands are wet with unease, held hostage by the way he’d read your thoughts out loud. You did feel it too, that searing weight of knowing—of being acquainted with him despite only meeting once before. He had to have been honest in at least that confession. You ask yourself for permission—‘was he going through this as well? what exactly was he feeling? would he explain if you asked?’—until it turns into selling yourself justification—‘you could just fuck him, right? that’s all this has to be, right?’.

Yes, you decide. Just another test of will—you can do it. You can pass. 

Your finger hovers over the number, closing the screen and opening it again and again and again until you just bite the bullet and fucking press it, the screen going black as you shove it against the side of your ear, covered again in darkness. 

He picks up within two rings. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi. Joel,” You offer him your name like a secret, “It’s me. Did I wake you up?”

“No, sweetheart. Are you okay?” 

“Can I come see you?”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

[blindmagdalena]

Hiii, Amy, how are you? Like really, how are you? I hope you're well.

I saw you reblogged this post and a fic about Homelander literally eating a supe!reader who has fast healing would be awesome! Imagine, she's not bulletproof, she can't fly, her thing is just really fast healing, like Wolverine. One night, she offers Homelander her fresh because she loves him so much that she wants him to literally consume her, would he accept, would he say no, what would he do?

girl. i cannot believe you inspired me to write straight up erotic cannibalism. (yes i can.)

dead dove! do not eat! smut and literal eroticized cannibalism under the cut. lite blasphemy? 18+.

It all begins with a bite.

Your hand in his hair, moaning in his ear. "Harder," you gasp, his teeth at your throat, teasing the delicate flesh there. He thinks you mean for him to fuck you harder, and he snaps his hips hard enough to rattle your teeth, but you shake your head.

"No, darling–bite me harder," you urge, legs locked tightly around his waist.

He obeys without a thought, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder. It doesn't matter how rough he is with you, it doesn't matter if he shatters you, your body mends by the time he draws back for the next thrust.

He likes the way the pain makes you moan, and he loves the way it makes your pussy clamp down on his cock. He's not convinced you even feel pain, not with how wet it makes you.

"Harder," you say again, yanking his hair roughly. "I want you to taste my blood."

Homelander is delirious with his own pleasure, so near to the cusp of release, he doesn't question it. His sharp teeth slide through your skin like butter, and the copper tang of your blood fills his mouth in an instant.

It makes you scream. He fucks you hard and fast through your orgasm, lapping up the blood from where you've already healed. If not for the familiar sweet taste of you, it would be like it was never yours.

You take him by the face and kiss him with more fervency than he's ever felt, licking your own blood from his teeth.

"Take more of me," you plead against his lips. "I love you. I love you so much. I want to give you everything." He doesn't understand what you mean. He has you. More than he's ever had anyone before you, more than he ever will.

So he thought.

“Bite me harder,” you keen, digging your nails into his back. You’re frail by superhuman standards, only a little stronger than a human, but your regenerative healing makes you practically indestructible. “I want you to fucking eat me.”

He moans outright when you drag your nails along his scalp.

Because you demand it, he does it again. He bites down, and both your hands cup the base of his skull as if you're nursing him against your body.

His lids flutter.

You feel incredible. You taste even better. Your touch has always made him salivate. His love for you has not been an end to his loneliness, it has become an extension of it.

When you're gone, it's as though the sun loses warmth. Color loses saturation. Food loses flavor. Where he once thought love, ever present in his heart, would reinvigorate the world, he has found this is only true when your hand is in his, when he is inside you, when the taste of you is raw on his tongue.

He must always keep you near. Without you, the world feels too much like a sterile white box beneath fluorescent lights.

"Eat," you whisper, quivering in his hold. "Feel me inside you."

Yes, he thinks. Stay with me.

Your body gives beneath the press of his teeth like it was made to. Blood carries bite-sized portions of you down his throat like the tide brings driftwood to the shore.

"That's it, baby," you moan, voice breathy. You sound as you do on the precipice of release, a swelling of need and incomprehensible pleasure. "I love you."

He believes you.

He tastes it in the spill of you down his throat, and in the white-hot clench of your body. The wet of your cunt, your blood, the saliva you swallow back.

You're hungry, too. You're left drooling as he feasts. He thrusts faster, lips pressed deep in your sinew.

To love is to devour.

To give.

He will give unto you as you have given unto him.

From the moment he met you, he was animal-like in his craving of you.

Perhaps this was always his natural trajectory. He has never known a love he did not choke down, swallow, tear apart at the seams.

You are the first capable of enduring him.

Every bite he takes of you replenishes itself in seconds. He can drag his tongue along his own teeth marks and feel your flesh push back against it, mending itself, born anew to be swallowed again.

This. This is what he has always needed. Too long have love and affection been a finite resource dangled at the end of the very stick they used to beat him. He bore this gnawing emptiness for so long, it grew teeth.

How did you know how to feed it?

He screws his eyes shut, keening into the bloodied crook of your neck.

"Let go," you whisper. "Let's fill each other." Your fingers are delicate in his hair. Your tenderness is relentless, worming deep into the rotted thing that drums in his breast. You dare his heart to beat for you, and suddenly he can't remember a time when it didn't.

"Come for me, baby."

Climax hits him so hard, he forgets how to breathe. He thinks he feels you shatter beneath him, but he can't be sure. You're whole again in seconds, your arms around his neck, your lips against his, your hearts beating against one another like caged birds as he pours himself into you in load after load after load after load.

You're both left panting. Sweat, blood, come and tears all salty and wet between your bodies.

He has taken your blood and your body into himself, and given you all he can in return.

Is this what they meant by holy communion?

He's convinced that it is.

This is the closest he has ever felt to heaven.

#icb how many of y'all were excited for this. you're ENABLERS #homelander x reader #homelander x you #i hope this is coherent because it feels to me like a fever dream #i tried not to be like. overly gory but he IS most definitely eating her #i love you mari thank you for suggesting this LOL #my writing #smut #the inherent eroticism of cannibalism #dead dove do not eat #dark fic #ALSO i'm good!!! i've been doing much better mari thank you

[anonymous-dentist]

In my head, the Evil Dead au would go a little something like:

-

When Roier finally pulls himself out of the shower, the cabin is silent save for the faint scratching of the record player from the other room. The record itself must have run out while he was distracted, whoops. He hopes Cellbit isn't too annoyed at him.

So Roier is quick to dress, and he's up to his shirt when he realizes, oh no! It's Cellbit's shirt! Just a bit small on him, small enough to make Roier's muscles really pop out. Just the way Cellbit likes.

He winks at himself in the mirror before unlocking the bathroom door and opening it. He shivers at the sudden cold- Cellbit must've finally found the air conditioning panel. Fucking finally, it was hot in the bedroom earlier.

"Gatinhoooo!" Roier moans, throwing his head back dramatically. "Dónde estás?"

He walks into the cabin's main room, and-

"May the blood of the plenty fuel the forsaken souls of us few," the record abruptly says.

Roier jumps and swears, pressing his hand to his chest. He stares at the record- now silent again.

Slowly, he relaxes, shoulders slumping as he looks about the room.

"Cellbit?" he calls.

He frowns. It's a one-room cabin, what the fuck? Where did he go? Back to the car?

The record skips. "When the oceans ran red with blood, the world was full of what we now call the living dead."

Roier shivers. Ugh, creepy much? Maybe it's a good thing he missed out on the whole 'listen to the supposedly-cursed audiobook of the damned' thing. He loves his boyfriend, but this is a bit much.

Suddenly much less happy than he was a second ago, Roier huffs and turns the record player off.

"Cellbit," he says, "this isn't funny. Where are you?"

The room is still empty. There's no other room in the cabin- it's just this one big huge room and the crummy bathroom, and that's it. And with the car stuck in the mud down the road, there's nowhere Cellbit could be besides that creepy-ass basement or the toolshed out in the woods. And Roier does not want to go out there, not this late at night.

It's as he's sulking his way to their bed that he notices the curtains fluttering over one of the windows, the one closest to the record player and the chair Cellbit was sitting on when Roier had gone in to shower. But the windows were all boarded up when they arrived. For the weather.

Confusedly, Roier makes his way to the curtain. He pulls it back and sees... nothing. Just the woods outside.

And a big, splintered hole in the center of the window, bloody glass shards sticking out from behind the equally-bloody remains of the wooden boards.

Roier yelps and drops the curtain, skittering backwards and slipping on-

"And when the dead shall return, they will go for the wicked first, for they shall be the easiest to convert to their cause."

Roier's head snaps towards the record player as he tries to catch his balance. Its static is loud, almost as loud as the beating of his own heart. What the fuck?

Swallowing a growing lump in his throat, Roier looks down to see what he had slipped on, and he sees...

"Oh," he weakly say.

He crouches and picks up Cellbit's glasses. He holds them in both hands, biting his lip nervously as he takes in the cracks in the glass and the... and the blood across one of the lenses.

"The second to go shall be the mortal, for they shall be the easiest to kill. The dead's ranks will swell like the rising tide, and it shall be glorious."

And then he hears it from outside, a quiet whisper. A whimper, even, pained and pitiful and all too unpleasantly familiar.

"Guapito?"

Roier's eyes snap to the window. The curtain has been blown aside by the wind, and there he is. Cellbit. Right in the window with his hair plastered to his head pathetically like a cat stuck in the rain.

But it isn't raining.

But this is Cellbit.

So Roier carefully approaches, clearly hesitant, and that's fine, okay?

"I think I want to go home," Roier says.

Cellbit pouts. "What? Why? We just got here!"

Oh, why does he have to be so cute?

This is. Weird. Bad. Weird.

The record skips. And then it says, "The end of days will not come in a storm. It will come as gently as a lover through the window..."

Cellbit glares at the record player. "Shut up!"

The record stops.

With a cheesy grin, Cellbit slumps against the window, his arm propped up on the sharpened edges without a care. He leans his cheek against his arm, pleasantly ignoring the fresh blood dripping down his arm.

Roier, frankly, stares. His grip on Cellbit's glasses tightens, and he backs up a step.

"Ignore them." Cellbit rolls his eyes. "Come here, guapito, they don't know what they're talking about."

"I don't knooow, it sounded pretty sure..." Roier awkwardly says. He laughs, unsure, and he stops completely when Cellbit laughs with him in a voice that probably isn't his. Probably?

He glances at the record player, and then back to Cellbit, and then back to the room when he hears a sudden crashing noise from the bathroom.

"Will you marry me?" Cellbit asks.

"What?" Roier faces him incredulously. "Now?"

Cellbit shrugs. "Why not?"

"I mean, yeah, but-"

"Yes?"

Cellbit's eyes light up... literally. Bright blue, and in a way that's probably beautiful to, like, a moth, but not a Roier because what the fuck what the fuck what the fu-

Roier can't help the little scream that escapes him as Cellbit pulls himself up and drags himself through the window, bringing him into the light for the first time since- since he-

"What's wrong?" Cellbit asks, head cocked at a dangerous angle. It's hanging off of his head, barely hanging on by a literal thread. His legs are mangled- his jeans shredded and his skin red and slick and wet and his bones and his-

Roier covers his mouth with a hand to keep himself from vomiting. Because one of Cellbit's arms is turned backwards, and that arm has a hand turned the right way around, and that hand is holding a little white ring, and that ring is the same color as the bone sticking out of Cellbit's knee awkwardly.

He skitters backwards, tripping over the rug and falling right onto his ass. Fuck.

"Guapito?" Cellbit frowns. "What's wrong?"

Only he doesn't speak it. His mouth doesn't move.

The record player skips and repeats the question, this time in a much less concerned tone of voice.

"Ooooh," Cellbit gasps, this time with his mouth. He raises both hands and sets his head on straight, wiggling it slightly for grip.

Seemingly happy with himself, he grins- sharp teeth stained black with his own blood. "That better?"

"What the fuck, Cellbit?" Roier chokes out. He likes to think of himself as a badass, but this?

Cellbit shambles closer, and then he crouches next to Roier and takes his hand gently in both of his.

"I promise it won't hurt," he promises, and Roier only has half a second to wonder what the fuck that's supposed to mean before Cellbit laughs with a dozen voices in one and he grabs Roier by the throat and he squeezes.

Roier drops Cellbit's glasses to the floor in his panic, his hands scrambling to try and push his dead boyfriend away but he can't see and he can't breathe and there are lips on his and there are teeth and they're biting and-

"No!" he screeches, and he manages to grab Cellbit's head by the hair and he fucking rips it off.

Cellbit's body goes limp, collapsing over Roier oozing blood onto his- Cellbit's shirt.

Roier looks up at Cellbit's head, out of breath and wide-eyed and crying sobbing panicking confused-

Cellbit frowns. "What the fuck, man?"

Roier screams and throws his boyfriend's head across the cabin. He cringes as he hears Cellbit swear in Portuguese. He watches Cellbit's body push itself up off of him and crawl its way blindly to its head.

He stands, and he slams the cabin door open, and he fucking runs.

#tw gore #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose. #i'm really bad at writing horror sorry lol #brain worm though! #spiderbit horror au #i have such a soft spot for this au

[thetypingpup]

xiaojun being the type of person that likes it when you stroke his hair as he's going down on you, petting him little a good little puppy and he whines in your folds when you tug on his hair to tug him closer to you, feeling his tongue lap you up -- guess who ;>

sorry i'm on something of a siren!xiaojun kick today so this is gonna be siren!xiaojun too 😅

he's also the type to lean into your touch when you stroke his hair or caress his face and smile against your folds oh my heart🥺 when it's just you and him in the sea cave, with only the moon and stars above to bear witness to your illicit endeavors, he couldn't be happier that he gets to have you all to himself. having you completely bare like this, splayed out over the rocks that trace the edge of the pool, elates him like nothing else. imagine feeling the perpetual curl of his lips against your sensitive flesh, faced with the ecstatic glow in his eyes whenever you look down to meet his cobalt blue gaze. he's just so enamored with you he can't stop grinning, especially when you bestow such affectionate praise on him.

he adores pleasuring you, beams with pride whenever he does something that makes you feel good, wanting to show you how much he loves you with pleasure. so when you indulge in his efforts, stroking his hair like a precious pet, he leans into your touch and lets his eyes slide shut to savor your gentle caress, smiling so brightly it brings a twinkle to his eyes. the lapping tides make the water ripple around him noisily, but all he can hear are your sounds of pleasure. the fresh scent of the sea surrounds you both, but the only aroma he hones in on is your arousal. the cool tides wreathe around him in a familiar embrace, but the only embrace he sinks into is the plush warmth of your inner thighs, and the silken heat of your innermost depths. the silver light of night beams down from above, but all he can see is how it illuminates your skin with an ethereal gleam. fuck you look beautiful. the sight of you, completely naked and perched on those wet rocks, is simply divine, like a goddess offering herself on an altar and allowing him to worship. how he managed to get you all to himself is beyond him, but he thanks the moon above everyday that he has the privilege of loving you like this.

"fuck, that's it." you moan, letting your head roll back as you relax into the rolling tides of the pleasure he gives you, "you're so good at this, xiaojun. so fucking good."

and he whines, mostly to himself, but you can hear the vibrations of his muffled squeal of happiness. he loves when you say his name, especially when your sweet voice moans the syllables so erotically. he keeps going at the same pace, pressing open mouthed kisses to your clit, with his tongue sweeping over the prominent bud with every kiss. he keeps his mouth flush against you the entire time, his nose buried in your heat, as he doesn't need air to breathe. he can keep pleasuring you like this for all eternity if you let him, needing only the gentle waves that lap at the gills on the sides of his neck for sustenance. in truth, his passion for you is so intense, so all consuming, that he wishes it was your essence he could use to sustain himself instead of water, just taking you in and feeling an aphrodisiac rush of ecstasy with every breath he takes. such a thought arouses him beyond belief.

he feels you getting close, and he clutches your trembling thighs with webbed hands. you trade the motions of your fingers smoothly sliding through his hair for rough grasps at the roots, trying to hold yourself in place as your pleasure begins to mount. you meet his imploring gaze, knowing he's wordlessly begging you to let go for him, to let him make your pleasure swell and crest until the waves crash against the surface. clutching his hair, you roll your hips against his mouth, grinding against his nose, gyrating your hips at the same tempo as his lapping tongue. waves of pleasure roll back and forth throughout your body, the heat rising more and more by the moment. your moans turn to whines, climbing in pitch as your ecstasy gets more and more intense by the moment. when it all comes to a head, you grab onto his wet hair with both hands, letting your release flow right onto his waiting tongue. you ride out your orgasm on his face, the silver light above turning blinding white before your eyes slide shut, supreme, heavenly euphoria overtaking your entire body in surges of bliss.

once you let go of him, he pulls back, albeit slightly and a bit reluctantly. he knows how sensitive after you cum, so he doesn't want to cause any pain, but damn what he wouldn't give to just have his mouth on you again. you take him in, his elegant countenance, his unreal, aquatic beauty, and feel your heart race. not only at his supernatural allure, but the way he looks at you with such reverent amour, has you smiling down at him. the afterglow of your orgasm is incredibly pleasant, a serene sense of calm relaxing your whole body. tension is a distant memory. right now, all you know is delighted enjoyment. you slip off the rocks and into the water with a soft splash, right into his arms, and he instantly wraps his arms around you and holds you close. the coolness of the water further soothes you, especially since you have him to keep you afloat. your eyes give him the praise you can't find the words to give, far too lost in the aftershocks of bliss. but he knows what you want to say, and he savors your wordless affirmations, as well as the tender caress of your warm hand upon his face. he leans into your hand, eagerly accepting your praise, his lips softly pressing against your palm.

#wayv smut #wayv xiaojun smut #nct smut #nct xiaojun smut #sub!idol #dom!reader #sub!nct #sub!wayv #sub!nct xiaojun #sub!wayv xiaojun #merman!wayv

[dancingtotuyo]

Before | 2. feel the tide turning

A Woman Story

Rating: Mature

Summary: consumption of alcohol, implied smut

Tags: backstory, Woman Universe, romance, Jackson Life, TLOU

Words: 1227

Series Masterlist | Woman Masterlist | Author Masterlist

It’s an odd sight. You’re still getting used to life around people again. It’s only been a week. Alongside the group, you’ve made substantial progress on reviving Jackson. So when a couple of the guys found old booze, got a generator running, and gathered up enough weak gas they decided to turn the Tipsy Bison, an old restaurant, into Party Central. 

Lights are strung up through the rafters, your first peak at electricity in years. An old record player turns in the corner. Your worn copy of Rumours sits in the stack of vinyl records, the only thing you brought with you when you came to Jackson except for clothes and a few photographs. You haven’t heard it in years, but something in you couldn’t leave it behind. 

People dance to the music and laugh. The air burns with electricity and excitement, yet you sit there with your finger of whiskey watching from the sidelines. Your brain can’t make sense of it all. How can they be so happy? So carefree?

“Not even a party can make you smile, Doleful.” Gabe smiles brightly, taking up the stool next to you. The swelling in his eye has gone down almost completely, the scratches down his cheek nothing but flakey scabs. 

You roll your eyes slightly. “Not much to celebrate.”

“We’ve been wandering a long time. Finding a place to stay is a lot to celebrate.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“You're starting to sound like a broken record.” Gabe raises his eyebrows at you. “Gotta get that smile out of you again.”

“Sorry, I only smile once a year.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” You take a sip of your drink, finding yourself fighting a smile. “Come back in 51 weeks for a sighting.”

He tilts his head to the side. “I think I can pull another one out of you before then.”

“Oh really?”

“You can bet I’m gonna try.” He winks.

You bite your lip, feeling a smile threaten to break through. He’s figuring you out, much worse, you’re letting him. The human interactions feel nice and warm, thawing out your heart.

“How long has it been since you danced?”

“Take a wild guess, Romeo.”

“Romeo? Does that make you my Juliet?”

You can feel the heat blooming in your cheeks “And what would give you that impression?” 

He shrugs, grinning at you. “You’re the one who called me Romeo.”

You finish off your drink with a sigh. Your eyes drift back over the room. The dance floor has grown. The room is warmer, or maybe that’s the alcohol in your veins. It still feels odd to see, like a glimpse into the past. You feel like you’re an outsider looking in, like someone watching a snow globe as it settles. You wonder if there’s a way in. You think you want it, but will you always feel like an outsider with them? Like you can’t experience life as they do. 

Gabe kicks his stool back, moving into your line of vision. He offers his non-injured hand, smile overtaking his face. “Come on, Doleful. Dance with me.”

You hesitate, staring at his hand like it’ll burn you. Why does this feel like a leap of faith? You’re moving into uncharted territory. 

“Unlike you, I won’t bite."

“I didn’t bite you.”

“No, just maimed,” he laughs. It’s good to see he doesn’t harbor any bad feelings about the injuries you inflicted. “Take my hand. Let yourself live just a little bit.” 

He looks so earnest, hopeful like a little kid waiting for their slice of birthday cake. Before you know it, your hand is in his. He pulls you out, navigating through other couples until he’s satisfied with a spot off to the side. He tugs you close, one hand in yours and another on your waist. It feels almost foreign, but you think you could get used to it. 

Your movements are stiff, uncoordinated. Your body is used to running and fighting for survival. The easy sway of dancing is gone from your bones. 

“Now, I know you have better moves than what you’re showing me,” Gabe says.

“I haven’t danced in years. I’m out of practice.”

“Ease your hips into it.”

You try, but it feels awkward and off beat compared to Gabe’s. “How are you so good at this?”

“This isn’t my first dance,” Gabe chuckles. “Let me help you.” He moves both hands to your hips, easing your body into more fluid movements. 

Heat spreads through your body, searing where he touches making it difficult to concentrate. Gabe smiles at you, encouraging you. You feel the easiness come back slowly. As you sink into it, your muscles loosen up swaying to the music. 

“There you go,” Gabe encourages. “I knew you had moves in you.”

 “Aren’t you just the knower of all things.” Your hands slide around his shoulders. 

“Well I was right about your smile, and your dance moves.”

“My dancing is subpar at best.”

He looks between your eyes. He tugs you a little closer, your body flush against him now. Your skin prickles with excitement as you fall into rhythm with him. It’s not something you’re used to. Desire has had no place in your life since the day the world collapsed. What might it be like to experience something beyond survival? You think it might be there now, blooming under the surface so unfamiliar, but natural. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Gabe asks. 

“My thoughts are worth more than that.”

Gabe chuckles, spinning you around with a few quick moves before you fall back into him. “I suppose they are.”

Your lips flash to his lips, slightly chapped but inviting nonetheless. Then, the song ends. The air feels hot and thick around you as you stay in his arms, breath mingling with eachother’s.  

A slow smirk spreads across Gabe’s face. “Your thoughts are getting easier to read, Doleful.”

Your pulse beats in your ears, adrenaline and want and need course through your veins like it hasn’t in years. You lean your weight into him more. “What are you gonna do about it?” 

His thumb caresses your bottom lip, oblivious to the people around you, but they’re oblivious to you too. “Make you smile.”

You let out a breathy laugh, a smile hiding behind the flash of faux annoyance. “Among other things I hope.”

Heat flashes behind his eyes. He’s tempted to do it here, but he won’t. Once he starts, he doesn’t want to stop. His lips dip to your ear. “Grab your coat.”

You smirk, pushing off of him. His long, determined strides follow you. You wave to Maria as you grab your coat, a smile on your face. She clocks it immediately, a moment of shock rolling across her face that settles into a smirk. You roll your eyes at her. You’re really starting to warm up to the woman. 

Gabe’s hand is warm on your lower back, pushing you toward the house he’s occupied for the past week. He kisses you on the front porch, your uninhibited laughter filling the night before he hulls you inside. 

When he wakes up the next morning, the bed is empty, your clothes are gone, and there’s nothing but dirt where you left your boots last night. 

It’s only a week before you fall into his bed again, but months before you smile. 

#the last of us #joel miller x reader #tlou #woman (joel’s version) #woman (joel miller)