#my perpetual bed time story universe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

netherfeildren · 1 year

Text

I am a lantern

A Fear of God story : Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Birdie realizes she’s pregnant. This takes place some time within the events of chapter 2 and 3 of Fear of God.

Content Warnings: Established relationship; Fluff; Unprotected sex; Domestic kink; Oral sex; Discussions of menstruation; Mention of rough sex; Pregnancy; Internal angst

A/N: Surprise, surprise!! In honor of FoG reaching 15k hits on AO3 here’s the first of my planned extras for the FoG universe :) Thank you so much for all of your love and support 💗

Art is Psyche Weeping by Kink Y. Craft (2009)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7.3K

Read on AO3

“Here ya go, sweetheart.” He hands you the bowl of dinner he’d whipped up for the two of you.

You’d taken to avoiding the mess hall recently, too attached to the cocoon you’d wrapped yourselves in together – always wanting to be alone, basking in each other’s presence, preparing meals for one another, and then going to bed together to feel each other’s skin and fuck until either of you was too exhausted to move.

“Thank you,” you murmur, turning your face up to him for a kiss with your eyes still on the notes you’re reading. There was too much to do lately. The clinic was so busy and Connie had veritably checked out, only popping in once in a while, leaving the heavy lifting to you with Nancy’s assistance. You’re exhausted, a little overwhelmed, entirely terrified with a perpetual black cloud of self doubt and anxiety hovering over your head at all hours of the day. You aren’t prepared for this… you aren’t even a real doctor, for fuck’s sake. Not really — not in any terms that would’ve counted before. Just whatever semblance of one the apocalypse had chewed up and spit out – an entire community was way too much responsibility for you alone. You feel the backs of your eyes pinch. Your back aches and your head throbs and your stomach has been simmering on a low grade of nausea all day long, but you still have so much to go over.

When he walks out again, his own bowl in hand, you’re buried face down in your notes, aggressively loud sobs wracking your body. He stares at you for a second, brow pulled down low, and all you can do is look up at him and practically wail.

Jesus, Birdie. He sighs, long and drawn out, he’s been waiting for this – had felt the storm brewing all evening. Something’s been bugging you or setting you off the past few days, and try as he might, he can’t figure out what the real problem is. He doesn’t want to ask outright just yet – he knows you’re stressed. Connie’s been pushing harder and harder to get you to agree to let him call it quits, and Joel knows you’re scared and stressed and feeling unnecessarily unsure of yourself. If you’d asked him, he thinks you’re ready for the responsibility – more than ready. No one would be able to take care of the community better than your kind and gentle hands and magnificent mind would.

He sets his bowl down, you’ve not even touched yours, and if it weren’t for the tears, the two of you’d be having words right now about your irresponsible eating habits. He hates when you get so distracted you forget meals, fills him with an inordinate amount of stress. He just needs to know that you’re well fed and taken care of at all times, it’s as simple as that. “Alright, sweetheart. That’s enough.” He pulls your mess of papers and journals and books and your ugly, orange throw from your lap and sets it all gently on the table beside you – ignores your protests as he wraps one arm behind your back and another one under your knees. “You’re done for the night.” He pulls the book you’re trying to reach for out of your hands and scoops you up into his arms with a grunt. Damn knees. “You’re goin’ to bed. No more working tonight.” You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder to continue your sobbing.

“I– I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you hitch and hiccup. “I’m not finished,” you protest, “I have more to go over,” but your arms tighten around him, and he feels you mouth at the skin of his neck. Emotional and needy, recently. Hungry for his cock and his hands and his tongue at all hours of the day. Not that he was complaining, at all. But he did wonder what’d gotten into you.

“You are for tonight,” he says softly, “You’re exhausted. Don’t tell me you’re not.”

“I’m not,” you grouch, stubborn and too adorable for your own good. His heart pinches a little. Your weight is so slight in his arms, carrying you up the stairs, just a little bird. He wonders, more often than not, how something so small can be so powerful, can terrify him so much, hold so much sway over his life, his very existence. It scares him enough to keep him away from you, as much as he can force himself, at least, even if he sees it for the lie within himself that it truly is. The two of you are practically living together at this point. As much as he feels like he needs to force himself to lie or pretend that this is still just sex, still just something to ease your individual loneliness, if he gives himself a moment to be really, really honest with himself, he knows what this truly is.

But for now, for a little while longer at least, as long as he can stretch it out, he’ll swallow the truth of the two of you, swallow it down and pretend it’s less than what it is. That it isn’t absolutely everything.

He sets you down gently on his bed, the sheets still rumpled from when he’d fucked you this morning before he’d sent you off to work, shaky legs, leaking cunt and all. His favorite way to start the day. He helps you settle in, pulls off your leggings and his own thick socks he’d pulled over your cold feet earlier and tucks the covers in around you. He eyes the stack of books on the bedside table, a mix of his own historical fiction and westerns and the cracked and well loved spines of some of your medical texts and scientific journals – wherever he turned his eye in his house, there were signs of you, signs of the way you’d settled into his life, become an intrinsic part of his existence. He wonders for a moment if he should go as far as taking them downstairs with him, but when he looks down at your sleepy, tear swollen eyes gazing up at him, he decides you’re probably too tired to disobey.

“Sleep,” he says down at you with false severity. He’s sure he’s entirely transparent, and as you turn your face into his pillow he catches the quick quirk of your smile… yeah, definitely transparent. He hears your muffled yes, sir, as he turns to go back downstairs and tidy up the kitchen before he comes back to join you in bed.

When he makes it back upstairs, his abandoned dinner, scarfed down quickly, and the kitchen cleaned, of course, of course, the bedside lamp is on and your face is buried in one of your textbooks. You’re holding it so close to your face, the tip of your nose almost brushes it, and he scoffs, typical, at the sight of you, but when he looks down he takes in the entire lithe length of you stretched out across his bed. The t-shirt of his you’re wearing has ridden up over your ass so that your little, pink, polka dot panties are peeking up at him. The soft cotton has ridden up into the cleft of your ass so that the elastic digs into the lush swell of your bottom, and he feels his cock stir at the sight.

Yeah… too adorable, too damn beautiful for your own good. Definitely… He’s going to lick and kiss and bite all of that gorgeous skin in a second.

“What’d I tell you, Birdie?”

“Just one second–” you mumble into the page, not even turning to look at him. He goes into the restroom to brush his teeth, listens to the sound of you turning the pages, one second his ass. If he didn’t forcibly take the book out of your hand and fuck you to sleep you’d never put the damn thing down. Joel supposes he can make the sacrifice.

He comes back out into the bedroom, pulling his shirt over the back of his head and shucking his jeans and boxers down his legs before kneeling behind you on the bed. He reaches for your panties, fuck– he really likes the polka dots, and you’ve still not put the damn book away as he pulls them down the smooth slopes of your legs, and buries his face in your cunt from behind. And finally, finally, he hears the thump of the book against the wooden boards of the floor and then your moan as he licks into your pussy, pulling you apart by the softness of your ass. You groan for him, throaty and drawn out as you arch your back to give him better access.

“Yeah… that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he says into your skin, licking a long, wet stripe from your clit all the way to the tight furl of your asshole. He’d taken you hard this morning, fucking your pussy almost brutally until he’d pulled out and pushed his way into your back hole to come in your ass. The two of you had been filthy lately. You’d been particularly insatiable, but you incited something in him that turned him into a fucking animal sometimes. You had the uncanny ability to crawl under his skin and make his blood boil and rage until the only thing that seemed to settle him was your come and your spit and your sweat in his mouth, covering every inch of his skin.

If he really thought about it, he knew he was obsessed with you. Obsession verging on something much more serious – verging on… No, not yet… He wouldn’t think of that yet.

He pulls back to survey the blushing, flutter of your little hole. Fucking needy thing, he rumbles, but as he goes to push a single finger into your opening, he feels you wince and pull back slightly. Shit, he knew he’d been too rough this morning. He licks another wet swipe along the cleft of your ass. “You sore, baby?” All he gets is your muffled moan and a slight nod of your head, your face buried in the pillows as you hitch your hips higher, trying to tempt him, swaying your ass gently from side to side… like he’d said, needy. He anchors himself up on one arm, the other keeping you spread open while he lets a long string of spit trickle slowly from his pursed mouth, the thick glob covering your tight hole so that he can smear it into your skin. Joel, Joel – he hears you begging into the sheets. “Yeah… I got you, little bird. Don’t worry–” He bends his head again to bite at the crease where your asscheek meets the back of your thigh and then grips your hips to slowly roll you over.

Your eyes are hazy, glazed and wet when he takes in your flushed face. He crawls up the length of your body to lay beside you, slotting one arm under your head and the other wrapping around your thigh to bring it up over his hip. “N– no, Joel– I– I still want you to fuck me… I still wanna come,” you mewl, scratching at his shoulders and arms. Tiny little fingers digging into his skin to try and pull him into obedience.

“Uh huh, I gotcha, baby… don’t worry. But I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re sore.” He slots his cock between your thighs, pressed up against your wet cleft and starts to slide through your sensitive folds. You shake and jitter in his arms, little hiccuping moans and whimpers every time the wide head bumps and catches against the swollen nub of your clit.

Please, please, I can take it.

“My poor Birdie,” he coos, “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” The hand on your thigh sneaks back and around your bottom to slot between your thighs, pressing up on his sliding cock to apply greater pressure to your cunt. “How’s this, huh? Feel good?”

“Ungh, ah, ah ah…” So good, so good, you whisper, hot breath fanning over the underside of his chin. He feels the wet swipe of your tongue, your little teeth sinking into the edge of his jaw. “I don’t– I don’t know what’s wrong with me–” His tip catches at your tender opening and you jerk slightly in his arms, he fists the hand not between your legs in your hair to anchor you in place and presses his mouth to yours, a long, wet swipe behind the edge of your teeth. He can hear how wet you are as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, your moans and whimpers getting louder, more desperate. The sound of you is obscene, his own personal wet fucking dream.

His dream girl… come to life.

“That’s right, baby. Just like that – gonna come on my cock just like this. Didn’t I say I’d take care of you? Don’t I always take care of you just how you need?” You start to tremble even harder, your leg wrapped around him tightening at his waist so that your heel is pressed sharply into the base of his spine and he feels you jerk as he grinds the thick base of himself into your clit and you start to come. Mewling and keening his name, his good, beautiful girl. He slides his hand up your bottom and back, long, slow passes of his palm along your sweat damp spine to settle you. “That better?” he whispers into your hair. You shiver, and he feels the nod of your head as you mouth as his throat and chest.

“Yes… thank you.” He pulls back to wrap his hand around your jaw, your bones feel so fragile beneath his strength – something delicate he’s been afforded the privilege of being able to touch with these violence soaked hands of his. He can’t think about how frightened you make him, not now, not when he has you beneath him like this, soft and sated and pliant – the sweetest fucking thing he’s ever laid eyes on in his life. He smushes your cheeks together and plants a soft kiss to your puckered mouth. “Beautiful girl.” All you do is burrow further into the covers, a soft sigh as you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. And so fine, he can admit it, right here and now. He fucking loves you, and it’ll probably be the thing to kill him in the end, this recalcitrance he’s forcing himself into.

You stir awake in the middle of the night. He’s draped over you in his sleep, his face tucked into the warm crook of your neck, big hand palming the weight of your breast. He’s so big and muscular and heavy and you love the feel of his weight pressing you into the mattress. You wrap your arms around him, drag your fingers through his thick curls, and listen to the sound of his soft snores.

Your entire body feels like one unending, tender bruise. Every sensation heightened, too sensitive, like a raw, exposed nerve. You don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, what’s gotten into you. You’re on the verge of overwhelmed tears, just from the feel of him, the sound of his soft breathing, overwhelmed by how much you love him, how much you want him. You’ve been on the verge of tears for days, the slightest thing setting you off.

You lay there for a while holding him, sleep gone out the window in the night, abandoning you to wakefulness, but you realize that the reason you’d stirred awake is that you’re cramping low in your belly, a dull and chronic sort of pulse, deep in your womb. Shit, you need to get up and check if you’re bleeding.

You shift out from under him slowly, slipping from beneath his heavy paw to slip into the restroom. He turns over in his sleep, arm thrown out over the space you’ve just vacated, as if he’s searching for you, even unconscious. As you move towards the restroom there’s another throbbing pulse low in your belly, like you’re carrying around a bruise in the shape of him inside of you. Everything feels extra tender – coiled tight. He’s been insatiable lately — more than his usual. He’d had you four times yesterday alone. Twice today, plus your fooling around before you’d gone to sleep. Your cunt is sore and puffy and soaking wet, even after he’d cleaned you up with a warm wash cloth before falling asleep. Sometimes it seems like you’re fucking a teenager instead of an old man with the stamina he’s got in him. You laugh quietly.

But when you pull your underwear down to sit on the cold toilet basin, there’s nothing. Huh… you’d for sure thought the cramping meant you’d started your period. A slow simmering churning starts up in your gut, slowly, slowly starting a low boil. Maybe you’re starting soon, that’s why you’re cramping – it’s fine. You wipe and stand to wash your hands. Maybe dinner isn’t sitting right – but no… you’d barely eaten. So something you’d had before then. That’s probably why you’re so sensitive and on edge lately – you’re probably getting sick. You’d been nauseous the past few days, and there was that bout of vomiting the other day. You pull open one of his lavatory drawers, looking for the antacid tablets you know he hoards, when you’re met with the sight of your menstrual cup, sitting in the little plastic bin you keep it in.

Shit.

Why is this over here? Since when has it been over here? Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No, no, no.

You can’t remember the last time you’d used it. You try and count back the weeks – fuck, the months. Real panic starts to flutter and fizz in your belly. When was the last time you’d had a period? Surely more than four weeks ago but … but if it’s been that long, if you’re remembering correctly… then… then, it’s been closer to two months by now. So that would mean… that means… you turn towards the door where Joel sleeps, unaware, on the other side as if you can see him through the thick wood.

You feel your heart drop into your stomach, the rhythm of its beat ricocheting up to a concerning speed. Oh, God. Oh, God. How could you have been so careless – so distracted? How is this the first time you’re even thinking about this – even realizing it? But no… if you’re being honest, objective – you know you’ve only been waiting for something like this to happen – for months now. How could you not? When the two of you had never even pretended at being careful or responsible for preventing something like this. Oh, God – how are you going to tell him? What is he going to say? He’s going to be so angry.

But a voice at the back of your mind whispers that you’re only telling yourself that – that you know it isn’t true – that you know he’d be not only happy, but overjoyed at the thought of a baby. But how could you really know for sure? When he’s always been firm in keeping that last sliver of distance between the two of you? Still after all these months – unable to admit the truth of what lived here, between the two of you. That this isn’t just sex – that the two of you are in love with each other.

You lean against the sink for support, your shaky legs on the verge of collapse, and stare at yourself in the mirror. This puts your behavior of the last few days into better perspective. All the tears, the shaky stomach, feeling so sensitive – like a raw nerve all he needed to do was look at, breathe on, to provoke. If you really think about it, you’d been the instigator at the start of each of your encounters in the last few days. Seeking him out ravenously – hungry and desperate for his cock and his skin and his smell at every hour of the day. Weepy, swollen cunt – even when he wasn’t around to tempt you, and he’d left you satisfied, and yet, still wanting more, every single time.

You step back out into the dark space of his bedroom. He’s on his back, one bulging arm thrown over his head. His mess of curls strewn across the surface of his pillow. You watch the rise and fall of his belly, his thick, strong waist, with the cadence of his breaths. Your womb twists with lust.

Fuck, you’re probably pregnant with this man’s baby. How are you going to tell him?

You can make out the thick heft of his cock through the thin material of the sheets covering his waist, he’d not bothered to put anything else on again after he’d made you come, and it makes your mouth water and the place between your legs so achy. Your recent behavior is completely transparent now, you’d been so needy, insatiable, the only thing to settle you the heavy weight of his cock stretching you open and pounding deep into you. Fucking typical. He’d done this to you, and now he got to reap the rewards of you climbing onto his dick at all hours of the day.

You roll your eyes at him in the dark as you slide back into bed beside him, running your palm over the flat of his belly. He clasps your hand with his in his sleep as he rolls over, pulling you along with him, wrapping your arm around himself and tucking it up by his neck so that you’re spooning him. He drapes his arm back over your hip and clutches your leg, tucking his fingers right at the place where your ass cheek meets your inner thigh and pulling your front further into his back – trying to get you as close as possible to him. You listen to his deep, sleepy rumble, and you bury your face between his warm back and the bed, the sheets smell like the both of you, sweet and musky – like your sex, your love making. You’ve made a baby together. Joel’s baby. The thought makes tears pool in your eyes and start a slow, silent stream down your face. Your insides clenching wantonly at the same time that your stomach flutters and heaves with nerves and panic. There are too many sensations spilling through your body all at the same time, and you think your frame starts to tremble, an uncontainable gasp slipping out because suddenly you feel his muscles snap awake, his rough voice saying your name sharp and worried. You wrap your arm tighter around him, digging your nails into the skin of his neck to stop him from turning over. You don’t want him to see you like this, you don’t want him to know, you don’t want him to be angry or worried or regretful.

He’d never be any of those things, your heart whispers at your anxious mind.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?” he says into the dark room. You feel his muscles tense as he tries to escape your tight hold without being too rough.

“I don’t know–” you splutter into his back, your voice coming out muffled against his warm skin. “I’m– I’m emotional. I think I’m getting my period soon,” you lie. Lie, lie, fucking liar. You don’t think you’ll be getting that for a good, long while.

He sighs, gripping your wrist firmly to pull your arm away for him so he can turn over to cradle you gently in his arms. The best place in the entire world. You cry harder.

“C’mere, sweet girl,” he whispers against your hairline, pressing his soft mouth to your forehead, your temple. “It’s alright… no tears.” He pets at the nape of your neck. His voice is so deep, you feel the vibrations of it pass through his chest and rumble into your own, and it makes the tips of your breasts tighten into aching little knots. You wrap your arms around his neck to meld your chest tighter to his. You wish you could live inside of him the way he now lives inside of you. He’s left a piece of himself with you, eventually it’ll grow and the whole world will know how definitively you belong to him. You’ll be round and swollen and only his, only his. The thought makes your pussy clench.

“Joel–” you tug as his curls, his beard, trying to pull his mouth down to yours. He rumbles deep in his chest, gives you his tongue. He’s being too slow, too gentle, you need him to fuck you hard, desperate – as desperate as you feel for him in this moment, to ground you and tame this panic surging up inside of you with his strong hands.

“Kiss me – hug me,” you beg.

“M’right here, Birdie.” He cards his hand through your hair, pulls your head back slightly, “Look at me – I’m right here with you.”

“More, more, please.” You lick at his mouth, drag your teeth down his chin.

He rolls you over to settle his hips between your spread legs. You can feel the searing hot brand of his hard cock against the inside of your thigh. He’s always hard for you. He’s always hard for you, and you’re always soft and wet and ready for him, and the two of you are perfect for each other. You were made for each other, and now you’ve made a baby together. “You need my cock again, little bird?”

You spread your legs wider, “Yes, yes – I always need you,” you whine. He wraps his hand around your throat and pauses to stare down at you for a second, his brow pulled down low. He bends his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he presses his mouth to your own. You keep your eyes wide open also, looking between his dark eyes. His lashes are so long, the thick fringe of them fanning out so wide they cast a shadow across his cheekbones. The two of you are so close you can make out each individual lash, the little lines around his eyes – stress, before … but you hope, now, only from laughing too much, from being too happy. You always want him to be so, so happy he doesn’t know what to do with it all. You want him to be overwhelmed and submerged in so much ridiculous happiness. The two of you hold there for a moment, breathing into each other’s mouths. You love him so much it is a physical ache within you.

He sits back slightly then, and lifts your thigh to press a soft kiss to the inside of your leg, then another to your belly, right over your womb, your heart swoops at that and you whimper, then another right to the top of your mound. The tip of his tongue peeking out to lap at your clit, just a little.

Then he stretches over you again, giving you all his weight and reaches his hand down to pet the back of his knuckles along your slit, “Shit, fuckin’ wet and swollen, Birdie.”

“I want you so much,” you breath, eyes fluttering closed as he parts your puffy lips and pets at your clit. He starts up a gentle rhythm around your sensitive bundle of nerves that has you kicking your legs out impatiently around him for more. Why is he being so gentle and mean and soft? You need it hard, you need more.

“Please, Joel, please, please, fuck me, please.” You can feel hot tears burning down the slopes of your cheeks. He’s going to think you’ve lost the fucking plot, crying and begging for his cock like this. He continues to be mean and horrible and pet softly at your clit, like a whisper over your raging, burning skin.

“Settle down. Gonna give it to you how I see fit.”

“You’re so mean,” you kick out one leg, pathetically, at his side. The broad expanse of him has you spread so wide there’s no purchase to be found, all you can do is lie here and take it. He’s so horrible — look at him, he’s gone and knocked you up and now he won’t even fuck you how you need him to. You pout up at him, cry and mewl pathetically. “Please, harder, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh, said you were sore. Gotta be gentle with my soft, little cunt.”

“But you’re going to fuck me right?” you cry.

“Yeah, baby. Don’t worry,” he says softly, starts to circle his thumb at your tender entrance, pressing gentle pressure on it. You do your best to stifle your wince, shit, it’s not necessarily sore, just so, so sensitive. This is all his fault. You want to sink your teeth into his neck and bite him as hard as you can. Make him hurt and writhe the way he’s making you. He starts to slowly press a single finger inside. You’re so wet, dripping, the passage is smooth and slick.

“Harder,” you beg.

“Quit.” You let out a frustrated moan. He starts to fuck you slowly just like that, a single finger, his thumb circling your clit in slow, measured circles. His finger is thick, but not enough, and you clench your inner muscles, trying to bear down on it. “Stop that,” he snaps. “Take it how I give it to you. Need you to relax, Birdie. What’s got you all twisted up in knots?”

“I don’t know,” liar, liar, liar, you whine, trying as hard as you can not to roll your hips, to stay still and settled like he wants you to, but there’s a goddamn forest fire raging inside of you, and having him so close, such a small part of him inside you, is only making it worse. He pulls his single finger out, circles his thumb around your entrance, back up to your clit, swipes up and down like a feather, then pressure to your entrance again, and he’s pushing two of his thick fingers inside of you now. Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you, thank you. He starts to slide them in and out, a small crook of his fingers to pet at the soft, spongy spot inside of you. All the while he continues to circle your clit, and he bends his head to kiss at your mouth, your jaw, a soft bite to your clavicle that has you keening wantonly, then a swipe of his tongue to your jugular – you wish he’d bite you there, sink his teeth into your skin and drink. God, your thoughts are unhinged. You cannot, cannot deal with nine months of this, what the fuck. His mouth slides down to your breast, hot and wet, and he sucks hard on the aching tip, flicking his tongue back and forth slowly. His fingers haven’t paused their slow onslaught and at one particularly hard pull at your breast you suddenly feel everything in your pelvis go blindingly, white hot and tight and then loose and wet and you start to come on his fingers. Your hips rolling gently upwards to take more of him. He never goes harder, never faster, he just continues his gentle ministrations of you – playing you like his own personal little doll. You moan long and ragged, yeah, that’s it, just like that, he whispers into your hair. His words sliding through the strands like water. He guides you through the cresting waves of your orgasm, his touch becoming slower and softer as you throb on and on. Once the contractions of your muscles have slowed he pulls his fingers from your cunt, the wet suck, as loud and obscene as the thoughts in your head are, and then the burning hot head of his cock is there, slowly pushing into your still quivering flesh, so thick.

“Gonna take my cock now, little bird.”

Yes, yes, please. Thank you. All you can do is sigh, hitch your knees higher up his sides, you hook one hand under the bend of one leg, opening yourself up for him as much as you physically can with all of his weight pressing down into you.

He slides to the very end of you, letting you feel every throbbing inch and ridge as he goes as slow as everything else he’s done to you tonight.

“Hard, Joel. Harder, please,” you beg again. His only response is a rumble of disapproval as he starts to thrust into you slow, but so fucking deep. You feel split wide open, he’s split you open and peered inside of you and decided to leave a piece of himself within, and he doesn’t even know it. And you decide in that instant that you’re not going to tell him – with the feel of him as deep inside of you as he can physically get, the knowledge that he’s even deeper than even he knows, you decide you’re not going to tell him until you’re absolutely forced to. It’s wrong, perhaps, or definitely, after all, he has a right to know also, it’s his baby too. But you just can’t. You can’t face the reality of this, his potential reaction, whether it be good or bad, right now, not for a while. You need time, time to gather your courage, your thoughts, your very skin around yourself, stitch yourself together and muster your strength and prepare for whatever outcome telling him might incite.

“Not gonna give it to you harder, Birdie. Quit beggin’.”

“I don’t care– I don’t care, Joel, please.” You claw and scratch at him, but nothing you do prompts him to go harder. There’s a desperation, a wave of anxious fear surging up inside of you – the fear of him leaving you one day, of not wanting you anymore – when you know you’ll love him for the rest of your life. You are terrified of ending up alone, out in that dark forest again.

“Quit.” He gathers both of your wrists in one of his strong hands, brings them above your head to lie limply above the pillows. Divested of all your strength and fight, you’re left only to lie beneath him and take all he chooses to give you. “Told you,” he grits as he rolls his hips in long, deep thrusts into yours, the bone of his pelvis grinding into your clit. “You’re gonna take it how I decide to give it to you. Only me – you’re mine, you’re mine, I decide.”

And fuck – if that doesn’t do something to you, if hearing those words don’t settle that coiling snake within you. You go soft and pliant and submissive at his words, spreading your legs as wide as you can and tilting your pelvis up so that he can drill into you as deep as possible, right to the place where your little secret is growing now.

And he’s so gentle with you, so careful – even when he’s fucking you hard and savage the way you both like sometimes, he’s still careful to never hurt you more than you need him to. It makes you wonder at the violence it took him to become this gentle – to become so well acquainted with his own strength, his ability to maim, that he can now be so in control of it, handle you with such care.

The weight of his thrusts changes suddenly. He slides a palm under your bottom to lift you up into his impaling cock, presses his knees further up under you to anchor you more firmly in his lap and pounds into you, the wide tip of his cock concentrated against the head of your cervix in blinding thrusts, and you’re so sensitive on the inside from what he’s done to you, from the change he’s wrought upon your body, that you start to come again. Toe curling waves of pleasure start at your womb and spiral out of your limbs in searing bolts of heat, your back arched tight as a bow string. Your inner muscles throb and clench around his still battering cock and you hear the guttural moan of your name spit from his mouth, and then the kick of his cock inside of you as he starts to come too. “Fucking Christ, take it all, Birdie – every last drop of my come. Need this pussy stuffed full of me – s’only way you behave, little girl.”

All you can do is nod dumbly and take it, just like he said.

He kisses and licks every inch of your body afterwards, eating up your slick and sweat and his own come with broad swipes of his tongue. You’d never imagined this sort of intimacy – it’s something that you hadn’t even thought possible. A sort of physical connectedness that belied the truth of your current situation – the things still hidden between the two of you.

He lies beside you once he’s done eating his come out of your pussy, one last orgasm pulled gently from you with his mouth. His slick cock, soft now, pressed against your still flat belly as the two of you lay facing each other, hands tucked beneath your cheeks, legs tangled together, just taking each other in.

You think you’re probably about two months along, give or take. It’ll still be a while before you start showing. You have time yet.

You’re going to let yourself think about this now, only tonight, and then you’re going to push it from your mind until you can’t ignore the situation any longer. The reality of it is too terrifying to consider at length with everything else going on in your lives at the moment.

What will he say? What will you do if you tell him your truth and he goes away from you? How will you survive something like that? But even as you ask yourself this, you know it’s unnecessary, for despite his capacity for violence, or his own fear or recalcitrance or hesitancy, despite the lies he tells himself and you about what this is, he is also good and honorable and loyal. Joel Miller is a good man. And he’d never abandon you or a child of his, but still, you’re afraid.

So, no, you can’t focus on this now – you’ll push it from your mind until it becomes more pressing, unavoidable. There are other more important things to deal with now, other things to consider before you can think of yourself.

You run a single finger over the thick line of his brow, against the fluttering of his lashes, down the strong slope of his nose. A baby. Joel’s baby. You hope they have his dark curls.

You love him and you’re going to have his baby.

And you don’t have it in you to tell him either of these truths.

“Go to sleep, little bird.”

You sneak out the next morning. In the cold light of the new dawn, the truth you’re withholding is all the more terrifying. Fucking life changing. You slip out of his warm bed, the protective embrace of his strong arms, and shuffle around his room as quiet as you can for your clothes. Your shit is everywhere, strewn around his room and restroom. You need to go home, you need distance – space to think. You dig in a pile of clothes on the chair in the corner for your bra and tiptoe as quietly as you can to his bedside table to slip your books you need for today from between his own stack of novels. Once you’ve retrieved the texts you pause to look down at him, still sleeping. The fact that he can now rest so deeply like this, that he isn’t jerking awake at a hair triggers notice with the slightest sound or movement around him speaks so deeply to that part of you that wants nothing more than for him to be as happy as he can possibly be, safe and serene and never worried for anything ever again.

Your greatest fear is that this news you now carry will disturb that peace, that serenity or happiness you so desperately want for him. So you sneak out of his home without waking him, head towards your own lonely house to change and wash up, you smell like his come, get the rest of your things for the day and then head to the clinic. You’ll shut this truth in a drawer for as long as you can, and once you can no longer hide it, once it becomes unavoidable, you’ll do your best to make sure he knows you never, never want him to feel obligated to you. Yes… you think, you’ll give him an out, it can be his decision. And even though the thought of that sends a searing, twisting pain to the space in your heart where you carry him, you think it’s the right thing anyways. He deserves to have a choice – when so much of his life has been forced upon him you always want to be the one place he can find choice in.

He comes into the clinic a few hours later. You’ve just gotten done delivering a baby – real great day for that – when he walks through the front door. You’re finishing up your procedure note and you turn to see him stepping through your office door, a baggie from the mess hall clutched in his hand.

“Hey… what’re you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d check in… brought you a scone.” He lifts up the offering of baked goods, gives you a crooked smile. God, your gut and your heart twist and flip at the same time. You turn back to face your mess of papers and notebooks, trying to take deep breaths to keep your tears at bay. This crying shit is really going to start being a problem soon.

You feel him come up behind you, he sets down the baggie in front of you and braces one hand on the edge of your desk, the other passing over the crown of your head and down your ponytail to tug your head back gently. You look up at him from your angled position, and he frowns down at you. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “Don’t like it when you sneak off in the mornings without telling me,” he grumbles down at you.

“Sorry–” you breathe. He huffs at you, leans down to press his mouth to yours.

“Still feeling funny?”

You shake your head, still in his hold, but say “Yes,” at the same time. You’re all over the place. He sighs, letting go of your hair and coming down to a crouch beside you. You turn to face him in your seat, knees tucked between his spread thighs.

He drags a gentle thumb over the soft skin beneath your eye, then up the slope of your cheekbone – that perpetual frown still present. He knows something’s wrong. He knows you. Keeping this from him is going to be so, so difficult. He’s going to tell something is wrong, different, off. Your only recourse is to pretend like you don’t know either. To entirely push this thing that you have no discernible idea how to deal with from your mind. As of this moment, it’s a non-reality.

“What can I do?” he asks, so gentle, so concerned.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. You can’t look at that look in his eyes right now, it’ll make you fall to pieces. You fold forward to press your face into his shoulder, turning your head to sniffle into his neck. “Nothing,” you mumble. “Just kiss me.” He slides his hand into your hair against your scalp and angles your head to press his mouth to yours, giving you exactly what you need.

You may be unsure about so much, but the one thing you do know, without a doubt, is that this man will make a wonderful father.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#FoG fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

182 notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 5 months

Note

anytime u mention zhongli my cerebellum lights tf up. speak into the mic, beloved 🎤

✮ tags ; hard incest, dubcon + noncon, penetration, fem + afab!reader, 18+ and dead dove please read at ur own discretion!!!

also this is not genshin canon it is canon adjacent. its p short also.

✮ wc ; 1.3k

✮ a/n ; honestly this is not even gross as much as its deeply uncomfortable akjdsjk. dadcest romance edition but reader is so perpetually suffering

this takes place in the same universe as this fic between old god!zhongli and daughter!reader. it wont make much sense w out having read that

It's the tenderness that nauseates you most.

Or maybe the fact it doesn't nauseate you in the way you wished it would. The numbness is upsetting in it's own right. You are so detached from your beloved Archon that him being your flesh and blood is at the bottom of your problem.

More troubling is the fact his desire to monopolize you has evolved into something much greater.

Your father never tells you he loves you. You hope he never does. You think of it some grand irony if he did decide on romantics after everything that happened between you. He is a poised man, and he's troublesome. He talks with lithe and great self-confidence, and even more he loves to correct people.

Assuredly, his pride means he will never tell you he loves you. He won't utter the word, won't clumsily confess it as if everything is sane and sensible.

But, he's tender towards you. The habit has worsened since the first time he laid his hands on you. Split you open on his fingers while you whimpered out in desperation, clawed nails and archaic forms cinching around your waist and entrapping you.

He touched you, because you are his. You are his flesh, his blood, and his so distinctly. He is the God that wills it so, and so it will be written long after you die.

(You wonder if that will make it into the stories in the long after. You are half-blooded, and Father is bound to outlive you. But someday, he too will die, the kingdom will only remain in memory and parchment stained with ink.

What will they say then? Zhongli the Archon, and the only daughter he left alive? They will assume he loved you, then. You don't want to know if he loves you now)

He took few of your firsts, plucked them and kept them safely in the blackened skin of his palms and fingers. His, forever unto eternity. Marked with scent and pressure for the rest of your life.

You are a clever enough girl to know that Archons are not moral beings. They're intelligent animals, debauched. Some small part of him had hoped that your firsts were all he wanted. Stake his claim and discard you. Toying with you is an incomprehensible mercy.

But Zhongli is an old Archon, with refined tastes. He does not partake in things lightly, though he may lay with so many. Certainly, if he will something as his he wills it completely. The concubines in the palace view this as lucky.

For you it is nightmarish. The truth of the matter is this: your father will never tell you that he loves you, though he does in the most twisted sense. And your father, does not plan on abandoning you a second time. He does not plan to discard you, or only call you to lay in his bed and take pleasure from you.

You are, against all odds, his beautiful little girl. His godling, unrefined and unruly and his. The amber of his gaze comes alight for you. For a man who has never loved in his life, you are the closest he has to the feeling.

Your loneliness doesn't subside, with him or without. Some days though, you are able to forget he is your father so completely - it doesn't make you sick to spend time with him.

Most days, all you can do is remember. Most days, like today, you're called into his office. The door latches, and no one is allowed in. Sometimes, you accompany him in silence as he works.

Other days, like this one - he touches you. With the same romantic innocence that keeps you awake in the night, turned with your own disgust. A hand on the waist or lower back, a kiss (always on the mouth) or a nudge. The grief of your very existence allows him in, despite the small voice in deep in your mind to be let out. To pick up the bottoms of your long robes and run and run and run until you have left everything behind.

Today, in particular, something you said had swayed him. He was more demanding, more possessive, more tender in some ways. What it was exactly remains a mystery.

But it was enough to topple him over some imaginary edge.

So you're here with your legs on the edge of his desk, naked with your arms around his neck - and entirely conscious about the drag and weight of his cock against your cunt. You make a noise, so soft and girlish you want to throw up, and tuck your face against his neck as you heave.

He's big. Too big. Of course that'd be the case, half-dragon and half-man, but all Archon. Your body trembles as the weight pushes against you.

"There's nothing to be fearful of," He says, delicate as he hovers of you. Long strands of hair brush against your shoulders as his face gets close with yours "I would never make you suffer half-heartedly."

"But you would make me suffer all the same."

He smiles at you like he's proud, and you can't be sure if you're hallucinating it. You're sweating from all the prep work, from his fingers that stretched you wide enough to ache. You can feel it, feel the tip of his...cock against your hole. It is terrifying but you're wet. Responsive. He's made you this way with his other less innocent half-touches. There is nowhere to go.

He meets you with baffling affection. Kisses you forcibly and wraps his hand around your nape with your body as close as possible. It's a barely there distraction from the feeling of his cock entering you, taking you. It is unceremonious, and he is too big, and you are nearly so lost you aren't sure where to return.

He grabs your hips, and he eases himself into the tight, wet heat of your cunt. Unexplored once, now marked as his. His voice is warm against the shell of your ear.

"How does it feel?" He says, and his voice is pitched with what you can only describe as amusement. You want to cry. He always seems to incite tears in you "The very thing that made you connects with you again. It belongs to you as much as you to me."

If he was capable pageantry, you're those words would've been some kind of confession. Your heart sinks, your stomach forming a pit so dreadful. You cling to him closer even though it's not what you want to do, not really - and you moan like an animal that's been lashed with a whip

Too much too fast, you whimper noisily. You don't know what to do. He's taken this from you, too - like you predicted he would so long ago. Yet it stings, and it stretches and it aches. Stirs some cross between resentment and loneliness and makes you feel like you can't breathe.

You aren't sure what to make of it. That he's made you this way. Through neglect then affection, carved you down to your bones to remember that you're like him. He's part of you, even until death.

It's like the reality finally settles, and when it does - the man who's your father and the god that oversees everything has slaughtered every remaining edge. There are no borders or restrictions between you now. Just black-nailed claws ripping the heavens apart at the seams.

Yes, it is the tenderness that frightens you most. His cock sinks deeper and deeper, and when he bottoms out - he cradles you in his arms and showers you in attention. He gives himself to you. It occurs to you this slow destruction is also a kind of love.

You are so clueless a girl. You've forgotten such a simple truth.

Archons hold the most terrible grudges, and your father the most petty kind.

"You're a terrible man," You say, weakened and dizzy and still holding on "I'll never love you as much as Papa."

He stiffens. He grips tight, and thrusts and you remember.

You were talking about your papa.

He fucks you again, harder this time and punctuates the words with a a chuckle. He likes being tested.

"I'll make you love me. Just as I've made everything else of yours mine."

#return to sender #incest cw #noncon cw #dubcon cw #dark content cw #writing tag #this is short i think !

65 notes · View notes

ieatmoonrocks · 2 months

Text

Waiting Room

Inspiration pic:

About:

Is an open-concept one-story house, furnished and decorated to fit my style.

Initially located in a seemingly endless body of shallow water, in perpetual sunset.

Has an extreme time ratio, one year here is one second in any other reality.

All realities I shift to include the safeword "sunset" which when said with intention to shift brings me here.

I am always aware that my WR exists in every reality and never forget how to get here

I initially am the only being in this reality.

It is extremely safe here.

I can't accidentally shift away, I must use the front door.

Anything I mentally script in cr shows up on a page in my scripts here.

The house "resets" when I leave, cleaning and restocking itself.

Features:

The bed is massive and extremely comfortable

There's a storage cabinet with various objects I might need

The wardrobe fills itself with any clothes I want

The living room has a tv where I can watch anything I want, including "movies" of events from any DR

The living room also has a bookshelf that has any book I want on it, including books that tell me the secrets of the universe.

The kitchen is fully stocked with the best appliances and ingredients.

The dishwasher instantly cleans dishes and teleports them back where they belong

There's a cup that is always full of whatever drink I want at the perfect temperature

The front door has a screen that connects to my laptop so I can choose from realities.

The bathtub and shower have all the fancy products and endless hot water.

There is a high quality speaker system throughout the house

The back porch has a hot tub, hammock, and dining table.

There's a front deck with a few plants.

Objects not meant to break are unbreakable and don't malfunction

And of course endless free utilites

Phone:

Is connected to pretty much everything.

Sends and receives information to the laptop, controls the speakers and tv.

Has access to any song/ show/ movie/ podcast/ etc. I can think of, even has stations for each reality.

Connects to food preparation appliances, and will alert me when the food is cooked enough/ prepared for the next step.

When cooking there's options to fast forward or even instantly cook to that steps satisfaction.

Smart alerts - phone is aware of my proximity, as well as how much attention I am paying to the phone, and adjusts how the alert is sent.

Can order any prepared food I want and have it appear on porch table.

Can order additional objects which will appear on or next to the porch table.

Can look up any book from any reality I want even with ultra specific details and then ‘send to bookshelf’ causing a copy of the book to appear on the bookshelf.

Can look up and save different environments in my phone library, and set the outside environment to match.

Can add additional items or rooms.

Indestructible, infinite battery, infinite memory, amazing speeds, stays clean.

Has access to whatever social media I want from any reality. has the best feed in all social media.

Has a library that contains records of all versions of myself in each reality, section of most interesting versions of self.

Can send info to my mirror to project certain versions of myself which then changes my physical appearance in the WR. Can edit DR apperances.

Can "invite" copies of people from my DRs, who show up at the front door.

Laptop:

Receives and sends info to the door screen and phone.

Archives all visited realities, auto generates info pages/ scripts from details received from door screen.

Has a program that works similarly to A03 ~

Can script random realities or offshoot realities, details can be filtered for/against. Pages of realities are generated with a list of ‘tags’, opening the page lists more in-depth information, that is searchable.

Realities can be saved to the main page. on the main page realities can be rated or flagged as no-go (these are unavailable in the door screen). keeps track of manually added likes/ dislikes, also generates suggested likes/ dislikes based off of traits in common between visited realities and my rating of them.

Can give summaries of what changes in between parallel realities when one thing is changed.

Has a section of good script suggestions that never end.

Contains a section per script of “mentally scripted” points that can be added or dismissed.

Has programs for designing characters, rooms, images, etc. that are very easy and intuitive.

Records daily journals of all visited realities (yes even WR), as well as videos that can be watched as any sort of genre.

High quality overall, unlimited memory and processing.

Has any video game from any reality I want, with no load times, high speed , all the good stuff.

Me:

I can eat as much food as I want, the food/ drink disappears once it hits my stomach. (Alcohol still gets me drunk though)

I don't need any digestive bodily functions to survive, and therefore no need to use the bathroom.

I don't get a period.

Drinking/ others have absolutely no negative effects on me, and doesn’t effect my immediate or long term health.

I know where everything is located in the room. I can never lose/ misplace anything, especially my phone.

I never spill anything.

I'm very creative (script ideas, reality names, writing).

All the patience!

I can never get lost in this reality. I never stray too far from the house, and I always have my phone when I go exploring which will point me back, otherwise I pretty much always know my way back.

I can’t get hurt or sick or die, including environmental damage like sunburn, poison, etc.

I don’t have any mental illnesses.

I don’t care about any of my stresses from other realities. I see them objectively.

I'm extremely smart, great at analysis, great memory.

I have perfect senses.

My appearance upon arrival is that of whatever reality I came from.

#bog is shifting #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shifting realities #desired reality #reality shifter #reality shift #shifting motivation #waiting room #bogs waiting room

31 notes · View notes

kanerallels · 2 months

Text

Good news: I'm FINALLY contributing to Magical March! Today's prompt from @monthly-challenge is Ocean, and I wrote a story about some of my OCs from my Fantasy Adventures With Waffles story!

(@taleweaver-ramblings you showed interest in this universe once and I retain that kind of thing way too easily SO get tagged, feel free to ignore it!)

(for context this is about the fantasy UPS driver and her perpetual stressed out apprentice, original post about them here!)

When Trey woke up on the cot tucked in the back of the shelter on Adelis’s raft, he could tell something was different. What, he wasn’t exactly sure. He’d been traveling as her apprentice for two weeks now, and he was still getting used to the day to day changes.

But there was something off. Trey hopped out of bed. He slept fully clothed, in case they had to make a late night delivery, or a posse of Colin’s exes showed up to kill him and they had to run for it. Luckily, only one of those had actually occurred. Yet.

The wood of the deck was rough underfoot, but Trey was used to going barefoot. It didn’t bother him at all. Stepping out of the shelter, he squinted in the morning light.

Adelis was already up, as she always was. In her steering position she stood tall, her multi-colored cloak fluttering in the breeze. “Good morning,” she greeted Trey, sending him a smile.

“Morning,” he said, holding back a yawn. “Morning, Colin.”

The golden-haired selkie gave a lazy salute from his position lounging against one of the stacks of packages strapped to the deck. Colin liked to give the impression of uselessness, but it hadn’t taken long for Trey to realize that he was always up to something.

Generally, that something was trying to see how many females of any species he could flirt with in each town. But sometimes it was something genuinely useful and productive.

“Are you hungry?” Adelis asked him. “Colin was just thinking of rustling up some breakfast.”

“You have two choices,” Colin told him. “Leftover soup from last night, or… that’s it. Okay, there’s also dipping into our dried food reserves if you want to ruin your own life. We really need more supplies, Del.”

Nodding as she expertly maneuvered them around a corner, Adelis said, “I know. We should make it to Bethany today. Care to take a guess at how soon?”

Colin frowned thoughtfully. Tilting his head to the side, he sniffed, taking in a long draught of the fresh air. “Hmm… I do smell the ocean. Early afternoon, maybe?”

“The ocean?” Trey said, his eyes widening. Maybe that was what was different— now that he thought about it, there was a slight tang on the breeze. “Are— are we going to see it today?”

“Absolutely,” Colin said, an unusual smile crossing his face. Most of the time it was sardonic or charming. This was genuine, joyful. “It’s been too long.”

“You’ll get your share of it once we get to Bethany,” Adelis told him. “We’ll be taking a coast run, dropping off packages to quite a few of the coastal cities.”

Rubbing his hands together gleefully, Colin said, “Excellent. I can’t wait. Trey, are you excited?”

“I… think so?” Trey said tentatively. “I’ve never seen it before.”

Colin sat bolt upright, his gaze locking onto Trey with utter horror. “You— what? You’ve never seen the ocean?”

“That’s not uncommon,” Adelis assured him. “But I think you’ll like it— you handled the river travel well enough, so you’ll probably be able to deal with any potential sea sickness.”

“Adelis! He’s never seen the OCEAN? But— we live on an island!”

Rolling her eyes, Adelis said, “It’s a big island, Colin.”

“And I’ve never left my home village before now,” Trey reminded him.

“Right,” Colin said, still looking shaken. “Skies, I can’t imagine.” A smile crossing his face, he said, “You’re going to love it.”

As he got up and headed into the shelter, Trey looked at Adelis questioningly. “Am I?” he asked in an undertone. “Or is this a Colin thing?”

Adelis laughed. “A little of both. He’s a selkie, so he grew up in the ocean. The idea of being permanently landlocked is terrible for him— and having never seen the ocean is unthinkable. But I think you’ll enjoy the ocean. It’s a beautiful and powerful sight.”

“What’s it like?” Trey asked.

Adelis thought for a moment. “You know those massive banyan trees that grow near your village? The ones that are so big that three of your tallest men can’t wrap their arms around it, with leaves the size of your face?”

“Yeah,” Trey said.

“It’s like standing underneath one and looking up.”

This told Trey approximately nothing, but that wasn’t really new for Adelis. She could be a little vaguely cryptic sometimes, and said some pretty strange stuff. Colin had theorized that it had something to do with her being half Fae, but Trey thought it was probably just how she was. In this situation, he didn’t really mind, and contented himself with waiting.

The morning slipped by peacefully— the three of them had an unorthodox breakfast and then Trey worked on sorting packages for their next stop in the town of Bethany, while Adelis checked them against her manifest. Colin was put in charge of steering, with dire warnings about what would happen if he started messing around.

They were halfway through their work when Colin, who’d been singing one of his sea songs to himself, stopped short. “Ocean, ho!” he said, his voice delighted.

Trey looked up from his work and followed Colin’s pointing hand. His eyes went wide at the sight before him.

They’d crested the top of a hill. From there, the river wound its way down, cutting a silvery scar across the green treetops. And at one point, it widened out, and the land just… stopped.

Past it was water, more than Trey had ever seen in his life. The sunlight sparkling off of it in dazzling bright diamonds that didn’t diminish the vivid blue in the slightest. Somewhere, out in the distance, the sky and the sea met in a firm, dark line, and it was just so much. Suddenly Trey thought he knew what Adelis had meant earlier.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Colin said happily. “And look— you can see Bethany off to the right!”

Trey took a moment to look towards where a large, walled city followed the curve of the coast. Clusters of white specks moved around it in the water, and it took Trey a moment to realize they were sailing ships, cutting through the waves like a bird through the sky.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“Wait until you see it up close,” Adelis said, her voice knowing. “We’ll spend the night on the shore before we head into Bethany tomorrow— our last night of peace.”

Colin let out a delighted whoop, and Trey almost felt like following suit. The idea of being so close to the vast expanse before them was incredible, if a little terrifying.

Adelis took over steering, and they slipped down the sloping hill with ease, following the curves gently. The mouth of the river was a few miles away from the walled city of Bethany, and Adelis pulled them in on the other side.

At this point, Trey could barely tear his gaze away from the ocean. The deep rush of the waves and the salty taste of the air enthralled him— he’d really never seen anything like it before.

Colin seemed just as excited, bouncing up and down on his heels as he stared out across the sandy beach. He had a familiar jacket slung over one shoulder— his selkie skin, Trey realized, glamored to appear like whatever outerwear would blend in best. At the moment, it was a soft tawny colored undercoat.

“Hey,” Adelis said, pulling both of their attention from the ocean. Looking amused, she said, “Help me secure the raft, and you’re both relieved of duty.”

Colin immediately scrambled to help, and Trey followed suit hurriedly. Before long they had the raft safely secured to the shore and checked to make sure the packages were safe. But even then, Colin shot Adelis a questioning look, edging closer to the nearby beach.

Grinning, she said, “Go already.”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than he let out a whoop and took off towards the water, sand spraying up from under his feet. Trey watched as he plunged into the waves without removing his clothing, and disappeared into the water a few seconds later.

Glancing at Adelis, he said, “Is he—”

“He’ll be back in a little while, probably with dinner,” she said. “If you want to go, too, go ahead— I have a few things to finish up here, but I’ll join you soon.”

Trey hesitated for a minute, almost tempted to wait for her. But the rhythmic voice of the ocean was calling, and finally he headed away from the raft and towards the sea shore.

The banks of the river had been grassy, but that gave way to soft, loose sand as Trey approached the water. It slipped and slid underfoot, impeding his progress. But it wasn’t long before he made it to firmer ground, the sand wet from the pounding waves and easier to walk on.

Cautiously, he approached the water. He could smell the salt, as well as a distinctly fishy smell that was just shy of unpleasant. But with the late afternoon sun beating down on him and the breeze ruffling his hair, Trey really couldn’t complain. As he grew closer to the water, he noticed bumps in the sand— shells, he realized, but not like the river oysters or snails he was used to.

Bending down, he picked one up— a creamy white, concave shell— and was so busy studying it he almost didn’t notice when the first wave washed over his feet. Almost— the cold shocked him, and he actually jumped into the air, landing with a subdued splash as the water washed away again. Trey gazed, wide eyed, as another wave came roaring towards him, only to slowly lose momentum as it thundered across the beach. By the time it reached him it was only energetic enough to wash over his toes, lapping at his ankles.

Gazing out at the blue-green expanse before him in wonder, Trey breathed the sea air in deeply, listening to the roar of the ocean. It’s incredible. It’s beautiful, he thought. But it was more than that. It was more than just words could describe. It was simply too big for that.

He caught sight of a flash of movement out in the waves— tawny gold fur and the flick of a tail. Colin, he realized. The selkie was in his seal shape, and was also heading straight towards him.

When the water got too shallow, the seal ducked under one last time, and Colin came up, shaking water from his hair and sputtering. “Tell Del I’m working on dinner,” he said with a sharp grin. “Any chance you can bring her the fish as I catch ‘em?”

“Sure,” Trey said, finding he didn’t mind an excuse to stay by the water as long as possible.

Before long, Adelis joined him, and they spent the rest of the afternoon splashing around the shallows, collecting the fish Colin brought them and overall enjoying themselves immensely.

By the time they’d gotten enough for dinner, the sun had sunk to just above the water and was burning a glorious shade of red-orange. Adelis led the way back to their campsite, Colin still dripping but looking far happier than Trey had ever seen him. He cleaned the fish while Adelis and Trey built a fire, then rummaged around in their stores to see what they had to best cook fish.

Eventually they decided to wrap it in leaves filled with salt and spices and some slices of a rather shriveled lemon Adelis found, then buried it in the coals and waited for it to cook.

As they waited, they watched the sun sink into the ocean, bleeding gorgeous shades of scarlet and gold across the waves. Letting out a long sigh, Colin said, “There’s no sunset like an ocean sunset. It’s even better when you’re out there in the middle of it.”

Adelis nodded in agreement. “The best ones are on the coast of Wrinhart, though. That’s the island where I grew up,” she explained to Trey. “We’ll go there someday soon. It’s beautiful, and these stunning white flowers grow along the shoreline. Sometimes it looks like it’s snowed, there’s so many of them.”

“That sounds amazing,” Trey said.

“It is.”

It wasn’t long before the fish was ready, and they all enjoyed themselves carefully eating the white, flaky meat, trying not to burn their fingers or their mouths. It was one of the best things Trey had ever eaten, with the evening breeze whispering around them and the waves singing to them from a distance.

There were days when he was still scared of the crazy adventure he’d ended up on. Of everything that could possibly go wrong— and there was a lot.

But the days like this made everything else fiercely worth it. There was no question about it.

#monthly challenge #magicalmarch2024 #fantasy adventures with waffles #writing stories is a kind of magic too

7 notes · View notes

magnoliabutters · 1 year

Text

• CAN YOU TAKE IT ALL? •

pairing: eddie munson x steve harrington

summary: the munson-harrington friendship gets a tad bit more complicated.

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; st spoilers; ptsd-related nightmares, first kiss, fluffy fluff, smutty smutty, oral, etc.

word count: ~5.7k

support your writer: reblogs for the steddie boys 🤤

note: my dear staffi, your 1k is 1k% well deserved. i could think of nothing better than to honor @seidenbros with a steddie smut fic. this is inspired by my homie @steveshairychest post and miss staffi's thoughts, as well as the nightmares mentioned in her beautiful steddie post. this story is set in a cannon divergent universe post season 4’s events. i hope you like it! also i will say there’s a lot of back and forth so i hope it’s not too too confusing 🥹 there’s also a narrator type of feel in there, idk my adhd brain’s like mad scattered so good luck?

prompts included: (1) scars tell the story of where we’ve been, they are a part of us, and you show that to your loved one with kissing all of their scars, (2) “you taste like heaven, and I can’t get enough,” & (3) “will you stop talking, or do I have to make you shut up?”

He will never forget that red thundering sky.

The sounds crash above him. His instinct is to look up, but he keeps his eyes focused as the demobats spiral around him. His grip tightens onto his shield. He knows he is going to die. He knew that when he decided against going through the portal in his living room. When he walked away from Dustin’s screaming pleas. He wanted to be a coward no more. He would need to die to ensure the party’s safety - his safety. He is fine with this. He honestly could not think of a better way to go. He just prays it will be quick.

He watches as the bats seem to alter their flying at the sound of each clap of thunder. His mind begins reeling. What can he do to use this information against them? He feels the fear bubble up through his chest. He yells out to give himself the bravery he desperately clings onto. He thrusts his spear into the tornado of bats just to be met with their attack. He holds as much as he can back with his shield but they overwhelm him. He falls.

Once recognizing the floor pressed against his back, he knew it was time. It was his time. He uses the shield to cover as much of his body as possible. He feels hot strikes of pain through his shins and thighs. He cannot help but scream as he grips tighter onto his shield’s handle. They are killing him and it is not quick. He feels every single bite. Each bite plays on repeat in his head.

One wraps it’s tail around his throat. He cannot breathe. He quickly digs his nails against his own skin, struggling to put distance between his neck and the tail. Panic hits him like a train. His entire body is in this confusing mixed state of stillness and desperation. He is moving in slow motion, perpetually stuck in death.

Steve wakes to a thumping sound. His eyes open widely. His body is startled, but swiftly ready for action. Was it happening again? Was Vecna coming? Or was it the demodogs this time? Did they come back? He raises from his bed and continues to listen. He keeps his eyes on his closet, knowing he has a shotgun waiting for him. A gun he purchased back when he found out the truth about Barbara - how close death was. How was he never meant to feel safe in his home again.

He hears a voice. Eddie’s voice. The mental grog from waking up blurs his mind, but Eddie’s voice pulls him through. He remembers that he invited Eddie to stay with him while they both heal and particularly while he is technically still on the lam. As much as his voice calms him, an interesting reaction he notes, it sounds a bit troubled now. He quietly stands from the bed and walks towards his parents’ room - where Eddie was sleeping.

Steve feels worry as he tip-toes down the hallway. He does not want to scare Eddie, but something is wrong. The altruistic side of him would never be able to ignore that, let alone fall back asleep. He hears mumbling again and suddenly a scream. He bursts in the through the door, quickly scanning the room for any threats. He stands above Eddie who wriggles in his sheets. His brows pressing in and out as he mumbles in his sleep.

Part of Steve is clearly concerned. The other part could not help noticing the sleeping beauty below him. His lips supple. His hair thick and incredible. His shirt cut at the shoulders. His biceps on full display. From far, Munson looks scrawny but from where Steve stands, the boy has muscle. Quickly, he pushes those thoughts from his head. His face scrunches as he struggles to ignore the light hearted feeling of letting in that type of thinking.

Steve has only felt this way towards two people in his life, despite the trail of people he has left behind in his high school career. The feeling of his heart being drawn out of his chest. He felt it with Nancy. He feels it again with Eddie. It caught him off guard. Nothing prepares you for a sudden longing of a guy, especially when you pride yourself as a ladies’ man.

Steve felt a brief attraction to Billy Hargrove when he so aggressively beat him in basketball. It definitely had nothing to do with his personality - how could it? But how he pushed against him, with that sweat-filled bare chest. There was a moment where anger and annoyance subsided, and Steve did not mind being pushed around by Hargrove’s strength. Of course, this thought was pushed down deeper than the pits of hell. Especially after he heard what Billy had done to Max and Lucas.

Once Dustin began high school, Eddie became a prominent person in Steve’s life - whether he liked it or not. Dustin loved this guy, compared this guy to Steve. Anger and jealousy fueled his mind anytime “Eddie Munson” was discussed. Yet, when he finally met the man, he felt a spark. Eddie jumped out of nowhere and pressed Steve against the shack’s wall, hard. A hand on his collarbone and a broken bottle dangerously close to his juggler.

Steve initially thought the spark was the fear and adrenaline pushing through his body. He rose his hands to show he wasn’t a threat. Once Dustin started talking, Eddie began to let his guard down, placing space between them. It gave Steve the opportunity to look into those gentle chocolate eyes and see the genuine sincerity and beauty within them. He knew in that moment that every incredible thing Dustin said about Eddie was true. He had to know more. The spark, he now recognizes, turned into a red hot flush to his cheeks…

As another disturbed mumble falls from Eddie’s lips, Steve is pulled from his thoughts and lightly pats Eddie’s shoulder. “Eddie,” he whispers. “Eddie, it’s just a dream.” He continues to mumble, his movements more jagged. “Eddie,” he says louder. He shakes his shoulder and sits on the edge of the bed. He begins to stress, wanting to remove him from this scary state. He shakes a bit harder.

Eddie’s eyes shoot open. His breathing heavies as he grips onto Steve’s shoulder. “Eddie, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Steve soothes. “Where’s Dustin?” he mumbles on as his brows pull together. Eddie struggles to grip onto reality, but he recognizes the mattress and sheets below him. He realizes it is not the upside down’s floor plastered against his back. He pulls his eyes towards Steve’s. “Steve?” he asks out of breath and still panicked.

“Hey, yeah. I think you had a bad dream,” Steve answers as he places his hand upon Eddie’s chest. “You’re safe.” Eddie watches with confused eyes. He feels comfort from Steve’s warmth but still lost in bouncing thoughts between what is real and what is not. His eyes travel towards Steve’s hairy chest and green pajama pants hanging by a draw string. He immediately pulls away and places all his energy on not staring. Steve’s eyes are focused upon his hand. He’s both shocked and overjoyed with his hand’s placement. Ambiguous thoughts flood his mind.

Where Steve has hidden his attraction, even from himself, Eddie has always been straight forward with those he’s closest to. At first, Eddie was not the biggest fan of Steve. He even told him so. Dustin spoke of him at length. Each conversation that surrounded Harrington just reminded him of every conversation he had in school. Everyone spoke of him and his gorgeous hair.

Yet, when Eddie finally had the opportunity to interact with Steve, all that changed. Through the danger, gore, and fear within the weeks filled of Vecna, Eddie felt a burning inside of him. He recognized immediately that Steve was someone special and that he wanted more. He had no care in the world and openly flirted with him any chance he got. He particularly enjoyed the confused looks of the members of his party. Not to mention a shirtless Steve wearing his denim vest? Eddie was done for. So when all that shit was finally done and Steve asked if he wanted to stay at his house, Eddie did not hesitate.

“Thanks,” Eddie says with a shaken tone as he lifts himself from the bed, resting back on his palms. Steve lightly pulls away as his focus has shifted back to concern. He remembers the last time he saw Eddie like this. It was a horrifying sight. He walked up on Dustin cradling Eddie in the darkness of the upside down. Henderson’s tears falling upon Eddie’s lifeless face as blood pooled at the edge of his mouth. They thought he was going to die. But Steve was going to work his damned hardest to make sure that didn’t happen - especially not in front of Dustin.

As gently as he could, Steve flung Eddie over his shoulder and ran into the trailer. He heard a grumble and a wince. Both sounds that burst energy through his body. He was alive. He and Dustin worked together to hoist Eddie through the portal. Nancy and Robin were shortly behind. They both quickly jumped into the roles of doctor as they treated his wounds with bandages and disinfectant. Steve can still hear his screams when they dowsed his injuries with alcohol. Steve wanted nothing more than to run to him in that moment. To comfort him - hold him. Instead, he watched from the corner of the room, gripping tightly onto his chin as he bit his trembling lip.

Eddie’s eyes flick towards Steve. He observes the shift in his face’s expression. His first instinct is to raise his hand to his face, pull him back from whatever thoughts clouded him. He strongly stops the urge, clearing his throat. “Steve,” he says softly. Quickly Steve’s eyes look back into his. “Sorry,” he laughs and pushes his hand through his hair. “It’s okay,” Eddie says softly. “Get lost in your thoughts?” Eddie asks. Steve turns to look at him with a smile. “Something like that,” he replies innocently. “Yeah, that happens to me too,” Eddie nods as he looks down at his hands on his lap.

Steve took that moment to realize that he may have overstayed his welcome. He stands and gestures a goodbye. “Well, I’ll let you get back to bed,” he says as he turns towards the door. Panic rushes through Eddie. He isn’t ready for Steve to leave. “Wait,” he says loudly. “You can stay if you want,” he coyly murmurs.

Steve reaches the door handle and turns back to Eddie. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I’m sure, Harrington,” Eddie reassures with a smile. The devilish smile that Steve has been waiting for. It quickly eases his worry and melts his heart, all at the same time. Most of all, it pulls a big grin upon his face. Eddie has the best smile, whether you would like to admit it or not. And Steve will admit it.

With a failed attempt to not be awkward, Steve sits at the foot of the bed. He rests only a few inches away from Eddie's feet. Eddie stifles a laugh as he watches. "You can sit up here," he chuckles as he pats the bed beside him. Steve laughs at himself. "I wasn't sure what would be weirder," he mutters under his breath. "Hm, I think the sitting at the edge of the bed is weirder," Eddie says with a bit of flare.

Steve shrugs, amused, as he stands and walks over to the other side. Surprisingly, he lays back onto the pillow comfortably and without hesitation. His feet cross in front of him. He intertwines his fingers as they rest upon his stomach. Without looking at him, he gently asks, "Did you wanna talk about it?" Eddie turns towards him and smiles as Steve's eyes remain down. "It's nothing too bad," Eddie tries to downplay. "Just some nightmares after everything that went down."

That was enough to pull Steve's eyes towards Eddie's face. Eddie watched as his sweet honey hazel irises peer into his soul. They were so full of anguish and worry. "But it's okay. It's not that bad, remember?" he tries to reassure. Steve's brows continue to furrow as he watches in sadness. There is a certain twinkle to his eye that Eddie doesn't recognize.

Steve pulls his eyes from Eddie once more. "When I first got dragged into all this, I had nightmares every night for at least 2 months straight," Steve says solemnly. Eddie listens intently, now his turn to worry. "I had a few months of life going back to normal, which - I knew wouldn't last. But then the demodogs showed up-" he shares. "Demodogs?" Eddie asks. His mind immediately screams at him for interrupting. Steve turns back towards him with a small smile. "Yeah, they're like smaller versions of Demogorgens," he answers. "You know about Demogorgens?" Eddie scoffs. "It's what the kids call it - I don't know," he laughs. "Just talk to Henderson. He'll give you the whole run down."

Eddie smiles as his eyes fall upon Steve's. "I'm sorry I interrupted," he murmurs. "What were you saying?" Steve could swear his heart stopped beating for a second. Those sweet eyes give him all the pleasure and all the comfort he could ever want. "After Vecna, the nightmares came back for good. I haven't had a good night sleep since," he weakly laughs. "I wake up to the slightest of sounds and if I manage to get to sleep, I dream about those bats choking the life out of me." Eddie's heart races as he hears Steve's account. He almost forgot that Steve was attacked by the bats too. That he shares the same wounds - physically and mentally.

"I've been dreaming about them too," Eddie sighs as he plays with the blankets. With a deep breath, he plasters a brave smile on his face. "I'm just happy I made it out alive." He places a hesitant hand upon Steve's. "Thanks to you," he whispers under his breath. Steve could not help but blush. He pulls his eyes from Eddie's touch, as if not to bring attention to it. "You would've done it for me," Steve says. Eddie laughs, "I'm not sure I would've been able to do that." Steve joins him in a nervous chuckle. "What do you mean? You wouldn't have come back for me?"

Eddie pats his hand on Steve before holding it against his own laughing abdomen. "I don't think I'd be able to carry you, dude," he tries to say through bursts of laughter. Steve chuckles as he pulls his head back onto the headboard. He smirks and playfully punches Eddie's bicep. "You wouldn't be able to carry me with these muscles?" he scoffs with an eyebrow raised. Eddie smiles at his touch, but quickly wiggles it away. "Maybe I could," Eddie mumbles under his breath with a shrug. Steve grins as he looks back at those gorgeous eyes of his.

"I would have never left you there. No matter what," Steve murmurs with a shake of his head. Eddie pulls the side of his mouth and nods. "I would do the same for you," he whispers. Steve recognizes the sincerity in Eddie's eyes. Eddie enjoys the warmth in Steve's smile. They sit there for a few seconds, which feels like hours. But for the two of them, hours are not enough.

Steve's heart races. He can feel his pulse in his ears. Nerves rush through his extremities. Happiness fills his chest. Eddie feels a pit in his stomach. His muscles tighten as he struggles to remain calm. He is caught off guard by this reaction. He usually only feels this when he's nervous before a show. Luckily for him, the usual adrenaline that follows shortly rides throughout his body. Without a second thought, Eddie slowly leans closer towards Steve. His eyes focus on his supple lips, hoping that this isn't a mistake. Before Steve could even think, he places his hands on Eddie's cheeks and pulls him into a kiss.

Now, this is not your typical first kiss. There is no sweet peck and pulling away to look into each other’s eyes. No. There is a huge fire burning deep within Steve and Eddie. It’s been building for months. And it finally has a way out.

Steve’s hand travels towards Eddie’s ear. He intertwines his fingers within his brunette curls. Eddie bites into the kiss. His neck extended as his body slowly follows. He notes that Steve’s lips are supple and sweet - sweeter than expected. His ringed hand feels cool against Steve’s cheek. The painful longing they both felt now turned into an aggressive match of love.

Eddie’s fingers grasp harshly against Steve’s skin. Steve’s body scoots closer to his, eventually toppling over him. The ends of his soft hair tickling Eddie’s face. The two struggle to gasp for breaths as they crash their tongues against each other. Eddie spreads his legs as Steve leans between them. Steve’s hand rests upon his waist as Eddie ruts his hips up. Steve could feel that bulge against his crotch. He wants nothing more than to…

Steve pulls away with a gasping breath. His eyes dragged from Eddie’s as he slowly begins to lean up from the embrace. Eddie rests frozen in place, completely confused. “I’m sorry,” Steve mutters as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. He crashes back onto his side of the bed. His head leaning onto the headboard as he tracks his hands down his face. “It’s alright,” Eddie says as he watches Steve out of his peripherals.

“I haven’t done anything like this before,” Steve says as he places his hands on his legs out in front of him. His body language screaming “uncomfortable.” “We don’t have to do anything-” Eddie starts. “But I want to, Eddie, that’s the thing,” Steve says with distress, finally turning to look at the chocolate eyed boy. Eddie sighs as the sides of his mouth curl into a smile.

Steve puts his hands to his own face. “Have you done this before?” he asks, peering out curiously from behind his fingers. Eddie softly laughs at the sight. “Yeah, once or twice,” he murmurs. “Oh god,” Steve says as he drags his hands down his face. “Harrington, it’s okay,” Eddie soothes. “Let’s just take this slow.” Steve sighs in relief as he shakes his head. “I can do slow,” he whispers. “Yeah,” Eddie says as he places a hand to his shoulder. “That way we’ll have a better story to tell our grandkids.”

Steve’s head shoots up, “Hey! That’s not slow!” Eddie bursts into laughter. To the point where his knees are at his chest. His hand at his stomach. Steve can’t help but chuckle alongside him. “I’m kidding, Harrington,” he manages to mumble between laughs. “You are too easy.” Steve smiles as he rolls his eyes.

“Eddie?” Steve asks with a softened tone. Eddie smiles as he directs his attention torwards the god of beauty in front of him. “Do you mind if I sleep here, with you, tonight?” he asks. A tightness balls in his chest. Eddie can’t help but smile larger at his request. “Yes,” he says. Steve immediately beams. “But only if I get one more kiss,” he adds.

Steve bites his lip as he leans in towards Eddie. They both close their eyes as their lips meet in a gentler embrace. Steve pulls back and whispers onto Eddie’s lips. “Good night, Munson.” He turns over and gets under the blankets. The two begin their sleep with their backs to each other. Only to wake up to Eddie resting his head upon Steve’s chest, and Steve’s arm caressing Eddie’s back - pulling him closer.

Not much has changed for the Harrington-Munson friendship. One month later and a handful of heavy make out sessions to show for it. The biggest change was that neither of them slept alone anymore. Since that first night, they have slept in the same bed. They have slept better than they ever have. They both had no intention of sleeping without each other again.

After a long night of Eddie trying to teach Steve how to play dungeons and dragons, Steve finally was able to suggest saying goodbye to the group. “I’m not at all surprised that you chose a Paladin,” Dustin says with a sheepish laugh as he packs up the dnd game. Eddie smirks from across the table. “Yeah, I still have no idea what that means,” Steve says as he grabs another chip from the designated snack bowl.

“I would’ve thought he’d been a Cleric,” Will shares with a shrug of his shoulders. “Big boy’s got the energy for both. Don’tcha, Harrington?” Eddie says with a tilt of his head. Steve watches his taunting smile with hunger in his eyes. “Still got nothing,” Steve says with his hands thrown up. “We’ll be back next week,” Mike says as he waves for Lucas to stand up. They clearly have somewhere to be.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve says as the boys rush to the front door. “Next week?” His face full of confusion. His face squished together in worry. “I thought this was a one time thing?” Eddie smiles, biting on one of his rings, as he softly laughs. He adores the man. “Yeah, we made our characters and next week we play,” Lucas says dumbfounded. “What did you think we were doing here, Steve?” Dustin asks with a chuckle. “I thought we were just making characters. Isn’t that what you guys do?” Steve asks, pushing a hand through his hair and raising his other hand. “Yeah, and then we bring our characters into battle,” Will says sarcastically as he shares an annoyed glance with Mike.

“Okay, okay. Whatever next week,” Steve says, shooing the gang away. Eddie immediately stands and begins to clap his hands. “Let’s go boys,” he yells. “We were just leaving-” Mike whines. “Up-up-up,” Eddie interrupts. Steve smiles as he watches him from the side of his eye. “That doesn’t sound like leaving, Wheeler.” Will laughs and quickly grabs his die. “Quick feet, Beyers. Let’s go!” Eddie claps closely at Will’s back, enough to make him hop and skip to the door.

With confused faces and devilish laughter, Eddie got the boys out without much of a hassle. He closes the Harrington’s front door and flicks the lock. He turns with his arms held high and bows before Steve. Steve watches amused but with teetering brows. "You're welcome," he says with that demon smile. "Thank you," Steve scoffs as he crosses his arms against his chest. Eddie walks over to the couch and flings back with dramatic intent. “Alright, Harrington. Come ravish me,” he says with a deep breath and closing his eyes. Steve laughs as he walks to the other end of the couch. He picks up Eddie’s crossed legs and places them onto his lap as he sits upon the cushion.

“Or … I could ravish you,” Eddie says as he raises his torso closer to Steve’s. His hand is placed against Steve’s chin, pulling his eyes towards him. “Ravish me?” Steve laughs. Eddie leans in with a bit lip. Steve’s lips meet him half way for a short, simple kiss. He pulls back with a sweet grin. “We wouldn’t be doing anything you haven’t done before, Harrington,” Eddie says as his finger travels down his chin to his adam’s apple and to his collarbone. Steve’s eyes light up. “This has all been pretty new, Munson,” he scoffs.

“Oh what, you think because it’s two guys it’s different?” Eddie says with a smirk as his finger tracks down his chest. “It’s still just two people who enjoy each other’s company and making each other feel good.” Steve chuckles as his finger twirls a curl in Eddie’s brunette locks. “That’s one way to simplify it,” he says under his breath.

Eddie plays with Steve’s happy trail and finally hooks his finger beneath his waistline. Steve’s eyes are pulled quickly towards him. The two have spoken of moving forward before but no one has initiated, until now. Nerves send shock waves out to Steve’s body. His touch hesitant and thought out. Eddie smiles as he crawls onto the living room floor and plants himself between Steve’s legs.

Steve watches as Eddie looks up at him with those “fuck me” eyes. God, did Steve want to but he is so nervous. He is more nervous now than his first time with Lacy Pickett. Eddie slowly spreads his legs as his hands smooth out the denim of his inner thighs’ jeans. Sharp breaths leave Steve’s nostrils as his chest tightens and he feels the blood leave his head.

“You can always tell me to stop, Steve,” Eddie says as he licks his bottom lip. “I promise it will be okay. We can try again another day.” He squeezes his hands against his inner thigh, massaging as he playfully taunts his groin. “I-I don’t want to wait another day,” Steve mutters softly. He could feel how hard he was for Eddie. He would not be able to leave without releasing some form of pressure. Eddie blushes as he bites his lip. “We’ll go slow,” he says with a nod.

Steve returns the nod as he reaches for his shirt, pulling it off rapidly. He then gently reaches for Eddie’s, but is met with hesitation. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says as his worried eyes make another appearance. Eddie takes a deep breath as he sits back onto his knees. “I just-,” he laughs, trying to brush off his feelings. “I just haven’t gotten used to the scars yet.” Steve slightly smiles as he completely understands.

“I love your scars,” Steve says as he holds Eddie’s hand. Eddie scoffs as he keeps his eyes down. “They show how strong you are. How much you’ve been through. They are a part of you now,” he murmurs. “They’re disgusting,” Eddie adds with a sheepish smile. Steve shakes his head. “Not to me. To me, they scream bravery and strength. You saved us, you saved me. I love them, Eddie,” he says with all sincerity.

Eddie’s eyes finally make their way back to his. Steve slowly raises Eddie’s shirt, watching him for any sign of discomfort. Bites rest on the sides of his torso. One broke through his spider tattoo. Steve joins Eddie on the ground. He places a kiss onto each scar softly. Eddie jumps at ticklish spots, making them both laugh. “I love them,” he says as he places a kiss on Eddie’s lips. “I love yours,” Eddie adds.

Steve smirks. “So what the hell is a Paladin?” he asks. Eddie quickly shakes his finger no as he returns back on his knees. “No seriously. Can we go over that part again because-” “Will you stop talking, or do I have to make you shut up?” Eddie asks with a daring look. Steve scoffs as a grin sprawls across his face. “You might need to make me,” he jokes. Eddie smirks. “Shut up, and get your ass back on the couch,” he instructs with his finger pointed. Steve laughs with his hands up. He stands and follows Eddie’s demands. “Yes, sir,” he mutters. He sits with his legs spread and a growing mass at his groin. He leans back into the couch in excitement.

Eddie carefully unbuckles Steve’s belt. He lightly pulls it around his waist. Their eyes remain on each other. He then unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down. Steve lifts himself up so that his pants could pile at his ankles. Eddie glances at the thickly lined cock hidden under Steve’s boxers. Eddie could feel himself hardening at the thought of it. His tongue presses against the roof of his mouth as excitement hits him like a wave.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Eddie mutters under his breath as he tugs onto his boxers. Steve quickly leans forward to place a sweet hand to Eddie’s cheek. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since we met in that shack,” he says with all sincerity. Eddie is speechless, completely frozen in shock. Not once did he imagine Steve returning the level of attraction and affection that Eddie had for him.

Without any more words being said, the two knew in that moment that they are not just a fling. They are not a curious experiment. They are not a frivolous mistake. There is something real between them. Something special, something they have never had before.

Eddie’s smile grows as he pulls down Steve’s waist line. Steve’s hand now behind his curled locks as his eyes remain on Eddie’s. A small gasp escapes Eddie’s mouth as he catches a full glance at the thick, girthy cock in front of him. The blood rushes quickly down to his groin, but he tries his best to stay on task.

Eddie lightly wraps his hand around its staff as Steve lets out shaky breaths. Eddie slowly makes his way up and rubs his thumb against the bead of pre-cum falling from its slit. He uses it as lube as he begins to strengthen his grasp. His eyes flick up towards Steve, just to see Steve struggling to maintain his slow breaths.

As he quickens his strokes, Eddie’s tongue dances against the back of his front teeth. He struggles to keep it in. Steve’s eyes begin to close as he rests his head back. Eddie can feel Steve's hips grinding against his forearms. He could feel the slight thrusts into his grasp. Eddie’s other hand lays flat and tight against Steve’s upper thigh.

Steve lets out slow, low-toned moans as he wriggles under Eddie. “Oh fuck,” he mumbles under his breath. His grip behind Eddie’s head becomes tighter. “Steve,” Eddie says, breaking Steve’s concentration. “Hold my hair up,” he demands. Steve quickly raises to gather as much of his thick hair as he could.

Eddie lowers his mouth onto the tip of his cock. Steve’s mouth opens widely and quickly shuts with a bit lip at the sight and sensation. Eddie’s tongue wraps around the head as his grasp tightens at its bottom. He lets out a sweet moan as he takes another inch in. Steve’s grasp of Eddie's hair tightens even harder as he watches Eddie take more of him in. “Shit, shit,” he whines as he begins to slowly thrust into his sweet mouth.

“Eddie, fuck,” Steve moans as his hips wiggle. Eddie takes in more as he squeezes Steve’s thigh. He grinds his own cock against the couch’s side. Eddie loves feeling Steve's thick cock in his mouth. It’s grooves and veins excite him, making him salivate. He rubs against it as it lightly rides down the center of his tongue. “C-can you take it all?” Steve softly blurts out, struggling to keep his breath. Eddie smiles at the request and takes in a deep breath from his nostrils. He takes as much as he can, with Steve’s hand guiding him down.

Steve releases a moan that Eddie will remember for the rest of his life. It was sweet, yet dominant. He loves it. He wants to hear it again and again. He lifts off Steve’s cock with drool seeping from the side of his mouth. Steve is still breathing heavily, now with a hand in his hair. Eddie goes back in taking a little bit more. “Shit, Eddie. Oh my god,” he says as he thrusts further into his mouth. Eddie lightly gags but fights to stay enthralled with Steve. He could feel his curls at the tip of his nose.

With a gentle movement, Eddie begins to play with Steve’s balls. Steve quickly and instinctually pulls back as to not overstimulate himself. Eddie begins to circle his tongue around his head once again. His thumb plays with the thick vein underneath his shaft.

Steve feels a familiar pit in his stomach. Without thinking, he begins to thrust into Eddie’s mouth lightly. Eddie encourages him by quickening his movements and licks. Steve thrusts quicker, harder into Eddie’s throat. His mind reeling as he feels his muscles tighten. “Oh fuck, Eddie. Oh god,” he moans breathlessly. Eddie can’t help but smile at the beautiful sounds. He knows he must be close.

The pit in Steve's stomach is growing in size. His toes tighten and straighten out. He feels tingles at the top of his head. “I’m cumming, Eddie. I-I’m cumming,” he yells. Eddie begins to feel the shots of salt within his mouth. The taste that brings an incredible rush of happiness through his body. Steve’s muscles tense and relax as he thrusts into Eddie’s mouth. He releases more than he would have expected.

With a final groan, Steve goes limp. His chest heaving. Sweat building at his collarbones. Eddie swallows and wipes off the drool from his chin. He slowly rises with a smile and sits next to Steve with his arm resting behind his head. “That was different,” Steve murmurs with his eyes slightly opening. Eddie’s brow peaks in curiosity. “It was better,” he adds with a light laugh. Eddie rolls his eyes and playfully bumps against his shoulder.

“Come here and kiss me,” Steve says, barely able to move. “Let me brush my teeth first,” Eddie answers with a smile as he attempts to stand. Steve quickly grabs his pants to pull him back down. “No, kiss me,” he whispers. Eddie’s smile pulls to its side. He gently pushes back strands of hair from Steve’s sweaty face. He places a soft kiss upon his lips. “You taste like heaven, and I can’t get enough,” Steve whispers between kisses. Eddie smiles until his cheeks hurt.

note: i think my perspective has slowly shifted to eddie the pansexual god and steve the bisexual hoe. and i love that. please let me know what you think! shall there be more? who knows. i hope you like it staffi! check her out @seidenbros (you won't regret it)

✨don’t forget to reblog and/or comment lovelies!✨

• nav • no-no plagiarism • one shot • requests open •

146 notes · View notes

aelaer · 1 year

Note

Alright, let’s take that follow up ask 😂

18. What are some tropes that others love, but you just tend to avoid?

Or something along those lines. Things you like/dislike. What marks the difference between a “good” and a “great” fic for you?

Whelp I lost my draft as I started this. I figured that's as good a sign as any to save this as a draft and review it a few times to make sure I'm critical of the *genre and trope* and not the individual writing it. And yes I think they're two *very* distinct things. And I'd like to piss off as few people (who aren't blocked) as possible while still remaining true to myself. We'll see how successful it is.

Cut cuz it got long and if folks click it thinking they might get mad, and then get mad, well, you can't say I didn't warn you. I don't like quite a few popular tropes in a lot of stories you see Stephen in. And I'll not hide my own opinions on my own blog. 😜 What's the terminology? Don't like, don't read? Yeah, if (general) you don't like strong opinions that might go against yours, don't read on. You've been warned!

Let's start with some of the most popular AO3 tropes, taken from the 2016 Fanfic Survey from Fansplaining. Here's the top 20 tropes across the survey and if I dislike it, I have bolded it and have a comment beside it. Otherwise I'm indifferent to it or I like the trope.

Friends to Lovers

Canon-divergent Alternate Universes

Slow Burn

Rescue Missions/Saving Each Other

Bed Sharing (aka One Hotel Room Left) Honestly I find this trope really stupid in most circumstances. It just makes me roll my eyes. This isn't to say that fics with this trope are badly written, I just... think the situation's really contrived. There's better ways to explore pining.

Teamwork

Fluff

Hurt/Comfort

Huddling for Warmth I only dislike it if it's adding unnecessary sexual tension. Like if you're in a perilous situation you don't need to talk about how omg touching him makes you feel things. It's like - dude you're gonna lose fingers otherwise. Characters, you need to shut the fuck up, this is not the right time. You guys can be romantic later. Hell this even counts for established relationships; characters getting aroused when they're in actual perilous situations is one of my biggest pet peeves in romance. It's dumb. (Note- this doesn't count if they're joking about it, joking is a great coping mechanism. I mean legit horniness as they're half-dead or something. What the fuck. Exception if the author explicitly lists being in legit perilous situations as a fetish in which case, good for author for that creativity.)

Mutual Pining

Established Relationship

Fix-it Fic

Isolated or Trapped (e.g. in a cave, a Canadian shack, etc.)

Missing scenes or fill-in fic

Everyone Knows They're In Love

Unresolved Sexual Tension

Fake Relationship (incl. Married for a Case and Marriage of Convenience)

Pining

Worldbuilding

Only 2 out of the top 20, not bad! Most are "take it or leave it" but some I like so yay.

Okay now for the next part.

On my Doctor Strange AO3 filtered page that I have up in perpetuity on my phone, I have the following filters applied to exclude (which takes off about 20% of all fics in the category from sight). Ordered from least likely to offend to most likely to offend others:

Non-English fics

Peter Parker/Stephen Strange

Stephen Strange/Reader

Not Civil War Team Captain America Friendly & Not Steve Rogers Friendly

An honorable spicy mention that isn't easily filtered so I don't filter it but I get into it below. It involves Peter.

Not English fics: With as picky a reader as I am, auto Google Translate simply doesn't work well for me. Trust me, I've tried and I was very sad when translate proved to be less than great. I wish I could speak/read all languages.

Peter/Stephen: I had to block this one because it was just coming up too much after NWH, but America/Stephen falls here as well (it's just significantly rarer and I can easily skip those fics). No hard feelings to those who write/ship it because they're, you know, fictional, but I'm definitely not a fan of the trope. Underage with two minors already skeeves me out, underage with a middle aged man and a minor is a big no-go unless the adult is framed as a villain in the narrative (and with luck gets justice served to him). But in the shipping sense this isn't usually the case in the story, and while some authors do a great job in showing it's not right/good, this isn't my flavor of Stephen at all. Even villain Stephen.

In the case the minors are aged up to be legal, I still dislike it. I find it incredibly creepy IRL when a person goes for someone who is young enough to be their child, and I can't separate that feeling in the fiction I read for the most part. The exception to this rule is when the person is like over 35 - by that age you know if you want to be with a 55 year old, and you have all that life experience. But there's so much growing done in the 20s and a lot of life experience that nothing but time can provide.

Finally, I find men in their 40s who are looking for someone (especially a girl) 24 or younger incredibly immature and, frankly put, the absolute opposite of dignified and sexy. There are exceptions of course, but my good guy!Stephen doesn't fall into that category. He's interested in brains, personality, and life experience, with looks being like, the 4th factor, haha, so no need for such a large age gap. Again, just skeeves me out.

Stephen Strange/Reader: I wouldn't have blocked it if it wasn't so prevalent, but it's literally Stephen's second-most popular ship. All respect to anyone who enjoys reader-insert fics, but I just... don't. The handful of times I've tried it I couldn't see myself as the supposed character because they were so different from who I am as a person. "Choose your own adventure" books that I read in my youth worked for me because I had choices in steering the story; that's not the case in reader fics so I'm left seeing "myself" doing things that I'd never do in a million years. That contradiction just makes me unable to appreciate them myself.

Big reason I don't have that problem with OCs is because they're not me, and so I don't have that weird contradictory feeling while reading the fic. They're another person so I can appreciate them as another character, especially if Stephen manages to stay in character within the story. But as romance isn't a genre I actively look for, I don't tend to look out for OC fics either as they're usually super romance-heavy as opposed to the romance being a side plot (which is how I get through canon char romances - if it's a side plot in the very long story I'll get through it for juicy plot).

Not Civil War Team Captain America Friendly & Not Steve Rogers Friendly: Blocking these two covers the majority of the stories that are not other-character friendly, and it blocks almost all Civil War Team Iron Man fics, so these two tags cover basically the entire gauntlet of that type of MCU fic. Ever since AO3 canonicalized those tags my blood pressure has lowered significantly and it's made browsing AO3 so much less stressful.

I'll say it up front: I don't think a fic can be good writing if it's written to be Not Team Cap Friendly. That's not to say that the writer themselves is incapable of writing quality works because that's usually not the case. But for works with that specific trope, I do not think that work can be good. A significant factor of what I consider good fanfic writing/bad fanfic writing is characterization, and the characterization is usually butchered in this genre of fic.

If an author chooses only to write this trope POV, all the more power to them. However, I think they are limiting their capabilities in choosing to ignore the grey storytelling the MCU brought to the story and are definitely limiting their visions by choosing to view these grey characters and their grey choices as black and white/good and bad with all the nuances erased. And because those choices are made, I don't think that the fic that comes out with those limitations can be considered good writing. And here are the reasons why, largely centering around characterization:

The only way these fics work is by making Steve completely OOC. I've seen writers erase all his leadership capabilities established in the first 3 films he was in, his ability to think fast on his feet, any sign of intelligence that is firmly established in the first three films he was in, and make him callous in a way that he hasn't ever shown in canon. I've seen writers make Steve unaware of email, I've seen them say that he never led men in WW2 (and isn't an actual captain), and most ridiculously, I've seen them say he was trying to kill Tony in Siberia and left him for dead there and completely ignore all his training in that if he wanted to kill Tony, he very well could have. (And ignore that T'Challa was there as well ffs - that's another rant.) But yes - this is all OOC to Steve's character. If someone wants to know why saying Steve trying to kill Tony in Siberia is OOC and thus not Steve friendly, send me a separate ask as I have a write up on Discord that I can bring here if folks want clarification on that front.

If you have to make other characters OOC to make your best boy shine better, I don't trust you to write best boy well. And usually he isn't. Tony is a terribly flawed character which is why he's so so so interesting, but Not Team Cap friendly fics are determined to erase all of Tony's flaws and everything that makes him interesting. For instance, I've seen Tony suddenly become an expert negotiator and politician, ignoring both IM2 and his lack of finesse with Ross in CW (this isn't him delegating the work to lawyers/PR people - this is in fics where he's the figurehead behind this because he's suddenly an expert political negotiator). Then in some fics Tony's suddenly a socialist, ignoring the fact that he's made his fortune and still makes money from his corporation and there's nothing in canon that suggests that he ain't still benefiting from the capitalist institution. He's *generous*, absolutely, and I headcanon he put in hundreds of millions into rebuilding Sokovia - but he's not suddenly a socialist. He's a rich white man with rich white man privileges and while he's doing his best to make good in the world, he has benefits that the rest of the world just doesn't. And Tony's still arrogant and it can still be hard to work with him and erasing all those flaws makes him just... not Tony. He's just this bland vanilla OOC caricature.

In a lot of "not team cap friendly" fics I see a tag along the lines of "actions have consequences". If that's the case, why the hell wasn't Tony prosecuted for making Ultron? Wanda didn't force him to make anything - she amplified his fears, absolutely, but he made the robot. In secret. And that robot killed a city. Tony in CW is rightfully really regretful about it - but if actions actually had consequences and Tony tried to get Team Cap like, jailed or forcefully retired (like he or his friends do in some fics), Nat should strike back and tell everyone that he was behind Ultron. IT'S LIKE EVERY CHARACTER MAKES MISTAKES OR SOMETHING AND THAT NONE OF THEM ARE PERFECT. WHAT A THOUGHT. And that's why that tag is not very well thought out. The tag ignores the stark (hah) fact that all Avengers have made mistakes, some of them major - and Tony's absolutely not exempt from that. And his mistake-making didn't stop after he became Iron Man.

All of Tony's friends ignore that Tony recruited a 15 year old to Germany and guess what? Pepper and Rhodey aren't Tony boot-lickers. They'd give him the appropriate "What the fuck were you thinking" language because yeah, that was fucked up! Ignoring that happened is another big item in these type of fics.

Stephen's personality is typically bland and he often has no life beyond Tony's in these type of fics. He definitely has no opinions on the Avengers that *differ* from Tony because him having his own opinions, or taking the time to form his own opinions from his own interactions, would be showing more nuance and depth than these fics want to get into.

Stephen's often petty and violent, especially towards Steve - and again completely ignores all of Tony's mistakes because Tony doesn't make horrific mistakes, oh no! I'd argue the petty violence is OOC, but fucking DS2 and fucking Waldron Jossed that. So if you want that petty violence, it's technically seen on screen, but that's a *Waldron* idea so... yeah. I don't know any big Stephen fan who is particularly fond of Waldron and what he brought to Stephen's character. But this whole essay is about OOC characterization so I can't argue that this is OOC anymore. Fucking Waldron.

Like Stephen, Rhodey and Pepper also lose their personalities and ability to argue with Tony because Tony is always right. Rhodey forgets that Tony is a billionaire and can easily go use a lab in Stark Industries buildings across the country, or go to one of his many homes that all billionaires have because they're *billionaires*, if he *has* to avoid Steve for some reason. Rhodey also forgets that Tony could handle this with the best therapist money can by if he can't physically handle being in a room with someone he dislikes. If Steve actually tried to kill him in a fic, please go back to the first bullet point on this list. An IC Steve wouldn't so there wouldn't be that fear of more physical retaliation because Steve wouldn't be trying to stop Tony from killing Bucky, so again, unless Tony tries to kill Bucky once more, the situation won't escalate to violence. But yes, in these fics, Rhodey would prefer that the civil rights breaking Accords that allow indefinite imprisonment with no promise of trial stand. He'd rather the rest of the Avengers remain fugitives with no home because he forgets his friend is a billionaire with virtually unlimited resources to go wherever he wants and to get the help he needs. The growth we see in his stance that came with IW after he saw the Accords' rollout just poofs away.

Pepper tends to be turned into a secretary again just there to help with Tony's emotional needs instead of a powerful CEO whose really fucking busy running a company.

So with an OOC Steve, it usually leads to an OOC Tony, OOC Rhodey, OOC Pepper, and OOC Stephen. And that is why I consider these fics bad.

There may be exceptions to this, but when I was still attempting the tag in 2019, I never found a fic under the tag that was an exception. I stopped trying the last 3 or so years. And unless you're an author who's written in that tag and you want me to read your story and want to try to change my mind (because you're a masochist? why would you want to do this to yourself?), don't send me those fics. 99% I'm going to find them bad.

I'm not gonna subject those authors to the above opinion because they enjoy the black/white world and they have a huge readership who loves that crack. And good for them! That doesn't change my opinion that I think it's lousy writing because characterization is 70% of my opinion of a fic. If you have all this OOC characterization in a non-crack/parody fic, I just won't have a high opinion. And I'll say it in my own space under a cut, but I'm not going to search you out anymore - I haven't since 2019 (early 2020 was the cut off). Writers have the right to write what's popular - and I can dislike that popular content. But it's a lucrative readership and if that black and white world brings you joy, then all the more power to you.

Important: Not character-friendly fics are different from Dark!character fics. Dark character fics acknowledge that in canon, the characters are written as protagonists and heroes, and the author is purposefully changing this. In not character friendly fics, the author is usually inventing something stupid or terrible (and often enough ooc) for the character to have done/not done to strengthen the position of their chosen protagonist, or is ignoring canon traits of the character to, again, strengthen the position of their chosen protagonist. This is especially seen with Steve.

Honorable mention: I dislike the majority of fics (no idea of percentage but very likely over 50%) labeled Supreme Family, *strictly* due to how Peter is treated. Let me explain.

Peter is an incredibly independent teenager living in NYC with his own friends and his own brains and solo superheroing the majority of the time. These fics have a tendency to erase all of this, making him overly reliant on Tony, making him act as if he's aged between 8 to 12 rather than 15 to 18, and erasing his connection to May, Ned, and MJ. His whole life is made secondary to be part of the Tony Stark fanclub and it's *weird*. Peter is so much more than his connection to Tony and fans of this trope sometimes forget this.

I'll give a real world example. There's a large age gap between my sister and myself, so I got to see her in her teenage years while I was an adult. She's smart, fiercely independent, and had good friends and extra curricular activities throughout high school just like Peter did. We had family dinner together on occasion but she wanted to be doing her own thing as much as possible. She'd text my parents for the "Hey I'm alive" check ins but otherwise? She was AWOL as much as she could get away with.

Peter may be less so, especially if May insists on dinner together at least a couple times a week with his form of extracurricular activities, but I cannot emphasize enough how Peter having his own life is so important to his character and him being around Tony most of his free time outside of school and Spider-Man is *weird*. Even if he likes him!

This is just one teenager in my example, but a staple of teenagers is finding their independence as they grow into adulthood. Clinging to other adult figures does not tend to be the trend with those who have a big independence streak.

Peter in canon is all about establishing his independence - and you could see this especially throughout all of Homecoming. His independence is integral to his character. And if Tony was his adopted dad in the fic, I'd say him always hanging out with him is doubly weird because, again, independence. It's a major part of most teenagers and it's very well established in Peter's personality.

So yeah. Fic writers please stop writing him like a 10 year old unless he's actually 10 in the fic. Let him live his own life in the Supreme Family trope. Let him go out with friends and do after school clubs and not go to Tony's lab after school every day of the week because it's just not him and his movies established that very well. Let him get annoyed at the tracking and let him yell at his parental figures because conflict is normal. Let him be a teenager.

(And as someone who loves Found Family, I can't emphasize enough how much that theme falls short if the characters within the family forget their independence and lives outside of the family. It's just no fun.)

So yeah. Have all these spicy hot takes!

#meta #so many spicy takes #if you get easily offended by strong opinions don't click the read more #the rest of the tagging is for my own internal sorting rather than tumblr algorithm #so apologies if some mcu fans who don't know me come across this #this post may not be for you because i do have some minority opinions in the space #ask #answered #mckiwi #fanfic #tropes #tony stark #anti fics #steve rogers #stephen strange #peter parker #strong opinions

17 notes · View notes

mysteriouspresence · 6 months

Text

my favorite stranger

nov 18, 2023 (something different than usual! i wrote a short story)

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

Five days left.

I peeled open my eyes and tried to blink the dryness away.

In five days, my mood for the holidays would be set – carved into history as a letter on a PDF. Silly? Certainly. Why must I be so preoccupied with my grades when I can hardly muster passion for the subject I study? I could easily pass with mainly A’s and some B’s, yet I can’t help but push myself overboard for an unobtainable 4.0, long ruined by my lack of talent and motivation. If I cared less, I’d probably do better anyway, unburdened by the crushing weight of my own standards. Why do I want a perfect GPA, anyway? It’s not like it matters much in the long run.

College isn’t high school; I need to move on.

With these thoughts already gathering over my head like mosquitos, I rolled out of bed and began to get ready to leave home. To be on track with my study plan, I needed to arrive at the cafe by 8 AM to grab a table in a nice corner. There, I’d lay out all my notebooks before anyone else tried to take the seat across from me. I hoped the covered table would speak clearly enough that I wouldn’t have to open my mouth even once.

If I’m planning to sulk alone then, you might ask, why would I even bother leaving my home? Then I would respond, that’s a fair point, but I need society’s eagle gaze on me to be held accountable. Eyes perpetually recording, assuming, and labeling – the Big Brother in all of our hearts. His eyes scare me, and fear keeps me in line.

Ah, that’s a long-winded response, but I hope you also guessed that that is not the real reason. I will study hard for everyone to see, yet I hope no one notices me at all.

I am a viewer, tuning in to streamers playing a game that I wish to play, a game that I’m fascinated with, a game that I know so much about, yet a game that, for some reason, I can’t bring myself to pick up.

I spent all that time explaining myself because I hope you’ll forgive me for what happens next. It’s frustrating, I know as much.

I hope I’ll forgive myself.

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

I scored a nice parking spot – shaded by trees and a short distance from the side entrance. From there, I walked into the cafe at 7:59 AM, bought a mocha latte, and found an empty table for two.

I took a nice sip of the warm drink and unpacked my bag. Laptop, notebooks, scratch paper, pens. I laid them out in front of me, each item within convenient reach, layers carefully considered to save me the fuss of rummaging through the pile for a specific item.

Another sip, and I begrudgingly started work.

Attributions to luck and fortune don’t really occur to me – it’s a calculatable probability, after all – but I suppose the smooth start was the best thing that happened to me that day.

That last bit was a lie. A better thing did happen, but I screwed it up.

I am why I can’t have nice things.

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

I want to sit you down and plead you for an answer, any answer.

Why?

Why must the universe always give me just enough hope to keep me going? It’s so cruel – how it teases me relentlessly with something that might give me that missing piece, that raison d’etre, that answer.

But the universe is not cruel. It is not uncaring, either. It simply is. I am the one who assigned arbitrary meaning to chances and luck.

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

You, the ephemeral bloom, the morning star, the luna moth.

The shooting star that grazed past my vision before I could reach my hand out.

The bus that drove past my stop before I could take it out of this dreary town.

The book that I threw out before I truly understood the meaning of.

You walked into my life at 10:30 in the morning, frantically looking for a seat in the crowded cafe. Hair, clothing, a rumpled mess. Backpack, half open. And your eyes – the state-of-the-art surveillance system – landed on the empty chair across from me.

Were you bold, or were you simply too rushed to bother reading my signpost?

Either way, you beelined to my table and made the standard gesture that could only mean one thing. And I, on instinct, moved my stuff aside for you.

You sat down and pulled out your laptop.

You typed for ten minutes at max.

Then you looked up and said those dreadful words.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

Like the fool I am, I got tempted by the invitation. Someone was waving the game before me, asking me if I liked to play. The game I’m not fit for. But I do want to play it so badly. So, so badly.

“Eh, finals, you know? What about you?”

“Same! What are you working on now? Oh, and your major? I can tell you mine too!”

And from there on, we chatted a little while we worked. We didn’t share any classes, but I already took a few of the courses you were studying for, so I gave you some tips and tricks. Meanwhile, I was curious about your major, too, and you happily gave me your insights. It was a slow back-and-forth interrupted by long periods filled with nothing but the sound of your keyboard taps and my pen scratches. Still, it was a conversation nonetheless. We ordered lunch or something; I don’t quite remember if we ate. All I remember was feeling strangely at ease. Your eyes did not rip into my flesh. And the passion in your voice, your genuine enthusiasm, split through the molasses of my apathy. For the first time in years, I studied with an aim: Maybe if I kept working hard, my soul would light up like yours.

At around 7:00 PM, you declared that you had to take your leave – you had to rush to your night shift job, but you’d be back here tomorrow.

“Ah, that’s cool. I’m going to come back too, same time.” And then, the intense longing showed its ugly face. I couldn’t help it. I really couldn’t. I blurted out the horrible words that established meaning to this chance meeting. “Tomorrow, you wanna sit together again?”

You smiled and nodded before rushing out. Forces of nature come and go as they please, on their own whims, unchained.

I, however, am a concrete bunker.

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

Over the next four days, you showed up as we agreed upon. To be fair, the time wasn’t consistent since we both had other obligations, but most of our day was spent in the cafe at that humble table by the window. Something about you made the other people boring and plain in comparison, so my attention only flickered between my work and your voice.

Somehow, even when quiet, you made the long hours pass by less painfully.

But by the fourth day, I got greedy. I wanted to talk to you more than anything. I really wanted to. But I did not have the patience to wait. I should’ve waited. I’m sorry. It was all my fault.

Between the fourth and fifth days, the atmosphere changed. Before, it was silence mixed with words, but it became conversations interrupted by brief periods of studying instead. I learned why you decided to come to school. You learned about my current projects. You shared your dreams and values while I told you nerdy jokes. Information (especially when it concerns me) is worth more than gold, but the little exchanges I made to learn about you were worth it. If I ever have the chance again, I wouldn’t mind telling you more…

It was good, wasn’t it?

At the end of the fifth day, you asked me if I’d come back here after exams, and then we could chat again. I agreed, saying that I’ll forward to it.

I lied. Who am I to be able to predict the future? Even the most mundane “see you tomorrow” might not come true.

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

My finals went poorly, and I silently blamed you for distracting me.

I was a fool. The decision to talk was mine as well, and if you weren’t there, I wouldn’t have been able to stand cramming for so long.

You made everything bearable for me, yet I found it unbearable that I had “fun” when I should’ve been suffering, burning up in their eyes.

Then, I spent the holidays sulking, cold and alone.

Nevertheless, the worst part was how I wanted to apologize so badly to you, for standing you up, for blaming you in my head when you showed me nothing but pure-hearted kindness and warmth. But I don’t have your contacts, not a single one. I don’t even know your last name.

Thus, if you’re reading this letter – sloppily tacked to the cafe community board – I hope you can forgive me. I won’t bother you if that’s what you wish, but if you don’t mind… Would you give me another chance? If you leave me a fishing line, I’ll gladly take the bait again and again.

You’ll always be my favorite stranger.

#writing #creative writing #flash fiction #prose #original work #coffee shop #short story #college student #finals week #ambiguous ending #i asked my friends for a prompt and they gave me this #i wrote this but then it took two days for me to want to edit lol #its myst's current writing how rare #writeblr #poets on tumblr

4 notes · View notes

lunarllovely · 1 year

Text

Sphinx of black quarts, judge my vow.

~A Story of Poems~

Next week, I hope I’m somewhere laughing.

What would happen if I decided to survive more? To love harder?

“The world you live in is not at all as you believe it to be, because actually it is not as you see it or sense it. You judge on the basis of the relation of your senses to all the objects surrounding you, and your senses beguile you infinitely more than you can imagine…There is no precision, no truth in their testimony.”

I want to be the tree.

Hope is an axe you break down doors with.

I am going to learn the secrets of the universe, and then I will become one.

Dance with a person who puts their hands on me reverently, methodically, shakily.

Our math cannot explain or conceptualize infinity. But it is there. Oh, how it is always there.

Love is stored in the kitchen.

let me stay tender-hearted

despite despite despite

what if everything is intentional. what if dancing with your friends matters as much as picking up groceries. what if you put color in your hair and a stranger feels seen. what if someone makes soup for you. what if tears are sacred. what if it’s all love.

I got stones in my pocket at the midnight mass.

I, only I, am the spectator in the orchestra.

Maybe the idea of things is not enough to conceptualize their reality

With you, I could summon the gods and the stars

Watch them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heart

And we’d laugh at the ghosts of our fears

august is like: my heart is breaking in real-time, i can't recognise my own hands, but the world is drenched in honey and i’ve forgotten how to stay hurt for too long

Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another dawn risen on midnoon,

and under every deep a lower deep opens.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

“I love that sweet smell of decay that surrounds me in forests and woods. A kind of mulchy, deep, rich rot that has no connotation of death or ending, but rather of life and age. A sense of perpetual destruction and rebirth.”

Saturday morning, and I am at the old game of catching time between my fingers as it is running, forever running, away.

there’s that feeling of like going on a bike ride in your neighborhood on a summer evening when the air is cool and your arms are covered in goosebumps and you ride past the high school football field and all the lights are turned on, even though no one is there. and the very similar feeling of when you pull up to a gas station late at night and everything is bathed in neon light and there are a few people filling their tank and all the windows of your car are rolled down so you can hear the music they’re playing by the pumps. and the other very similar feeling of when you wake up first during a sleepover and its just barely light out and you can hear the crickets buzz outside and everything is cold and you turn over in bed slightly and feel your friend breathing beside you and adjust the blanket and start to fall back asleep again.

the one (perhaps only) thing i’ll always like about growing older and maturing is the never-ending opportunity to develop and refine your personal taste in pretty much anything. fashion, food, music, literature, art, design, furniture: the older you get, the more knowledge, insight and experience you acquire and it all adds up to a treasure of source material to create a new you from. carve, prune, distill, expand, sculpt, evolve - you can recreate yourself always and aging gracefully is all about endlessly enriching yourself through that recreation.

“I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it's these things I'd believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn't all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.”

Suffering cracks open the shell of the ego

you always look out for others chris, it’s okay that you’re doing this for yourself

As long as I know the shape of my soul, I’ll be alright. -Jake

Nothing happens for a reason, it’s absolute fucking chaos. -The Traveler

Growing up is something you have to decide to do. - Greg

“And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.”

#poems #sphinx of black quarts #judge my vow #word weaving #wordpress #sapphic poetry

21 notes · View notes

priestessamy · 1 year

Text

RE: Kindle

Got first honorable mention in my company's writing contest. So I figure I'm probably good to share this here.

* * *

She’s had this perpetual look of exhaustion lately. And I’m not an idiot, I know where that look is coming from. Me, of course. Who else?

And who could possibly blame her? We were so close, Once Upon a Time. She was so full of ideas and stories, and I would support her and listen intently for hours at a time. I would bring her some new gift to spark her creativity, and then bask in the glow of her joy as she shared new universes with me.

But then things got in the way, as they always do. College and grad school, text books and scholarly articles. More than a few identity crises. And so much moving. Life just kept happening, and the gap between us grew and grew until it was a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge.

Sure, I still brought her gifts, but it just wasn’t the same. They were little more than fascinating trinkets and treasures to burden her with—pretty little things to suit me, not her. She was my trophy cabinet, my dress-up doll, my darling centerpiece.

And while she sat there, weighed down, waiting for me to wake up and remember that she exists to be more than that, I let myself get distracted by each shiny new thing that crossed my path. When I booted up yet another video game, I’d catch her disappointed glances out of the corner of my eye. When I settled in at the end of a long day, I streamed some meaningless TV show instead of paying attention to her. Cruelest of all, I would lie to her and say that we could snuggle up together in bed at night, before deciding at the last minute that I was too tired, and watch videos on my phone until I fell asleep.

But that’s not the end of our story. I can’t say we’ve reached a Happily Ever After. But following some difficult late-night conversations, and more than a few interventions from concerned friends and lovers, I’m putting in the effort again. Now that I’m making my own worlds, my own narratives, I’m reminded of just how beautiful and wonderful her creativity can be. We’re rediscovering all those things about her that I let myself forget. Her incredible artwork, her wonderful sense of humor, and a loyalty that I took for granted.

I’m so sorry, dearest Bookshelf, that I ever made you feel neglected. A thousand apologies that you were denoted To-Be-Read, always left in the future tense. I’m so, so happy to see you smiling again. I’m smiling too. Let’s explore a million realities. Together.

#the prompt was something about writing and reading #and what it means to you #so i wrote a little apology to my bookshelf #and also it's gay #please to enjoy #writing on tumblr

5 notes · View notes

epicspheal · 1 year

Text

I posted 403 times in 2022

215 posts created (53%)

188 posts reblogged (47%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@a-tale-of-legends

@weliveinapokemonworld

@epicspheal

@incorrectpokechampionquotes

@ballonleaparadise

I tagged 402 of my posts in 2022

#ask epic spheal - 101 posts

#champion leon - 74 posts

#cactusverse - 67 posts

#pokemon worldbuilding - 55 posts

#pokemon oc - 44 posts

#anipoke - 32 posts

#pokemon meta - 28 posts

#pokemon headcanons - 28 posts

#rival hop - 27 posts

#pokemas - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 121 characters

#i love headcanons like these that show how people who can't get the traditional starters might choose their first partner

My Top Posts in 2022:

Okay, a few weeks back, I posted how the success of someone trying to make a career out of Pokemon training largely depended on starting location and what their financial background looked like. So after thinking about it, you realize that of all of the regions with leagues so far, Galar is actually the fairest league as far as eliminating barriers for trainers to compete. Let's start with the money. We know at least in Pokespe that Rose has made programs in Galar to help poorer trainers get into the gym challenge (which confirms my sad headcanon that many trainers are screwed out of a traditional journey out of socioeconomic states *stares at my Trainersona and her story*). So we know Galar does make an effort to help struggling trainers. Then let's think about the sponsor system (not so much the endorsements as that just seems to be a letter of recognition and that the endorsers seem to not be obligated to give other support). We know you can gain sponsors as you become more well-known on the Galar circuit, which would mean extra monetary support. Then there's the whole starting location thing. I know many people IRL complained about the strict linearity of the gym challenge, but in universe, it makes a lot of sense. By having everyone start off with the same first gym, it's easier to accurately measure skill level. By having the opening ceremony be the send-off place, everyone is literally starting off in the same location Motostoke. That means a trainer from Wyndon isn't burnt out just trying to get to Milo's gym, and it doesn't give the trainer who already lived in Turrfield an unnecessary advantage by just hopping out of bed and mosying down to the gym. Even the fact that the gym is on a schedule helps create equality. The gym challenge is likely chosen at a time when there are no big harvests (therefore not screwing over trainers from Turrfield/Postwick/Wedgehurst who might need to help on the family farm) and when the weather is relatively mild so that trainers from say, Circhester or Wyndon aren't being snowed in and thus maybe having to halt their journeys due to a blizzard. Having a set date for the start (and thus dates for registration and endorsement) gives people the same amount of time to prepare. The watts trading system in the wild area also helps by allowing trainers to passively collect watts and can be used to buy needed Pokeballs and TRs at prices they may not be able to afford with regular money. This helps improve movesets among poorer trainers compared to rich trainers who can buy the expensive TMs from the Pokemon Center Stores early on. Now it doesn't mean Galar's system is perfect. One could argue that the endorsements (not the sponsorships) could still perpetuate class inequality because there's theoretically only a limited number of endorsements per year (as it's not realistic to expect Milo and Nessa to challenge hundreds of trainers per year in a small timeframe) and that people with more connections are more likely to rub elbows with people who could give them an endorsement. And again still coming from a rich family may give you a leg up by having Pokemon bred for you or just having extra money to spend on yourself and your Pokemon. But still, I believe the Galarian gym system sets up the fairest gym challenge for its trainer by actively attempting to reduce barriers that prevent sizable chunks of the trainer population from reaching their full potential.

106 notes - Posted April 20, 2022

Alright I’m going to just say this now. I’m predicting that the antagonists of Pokemon Scarlet and Violet are going to be the professors of the game. There’s two ways I can see this going. The first is to have the opposite version professor be the main antagonist. So in Scarlet, it would be Professor Turo, and in Violet it was Professor Sada. I’ve seen quite a few people talk about this option and it’s definitely a viable option especially to make sure both characters exist in both versions. Personally I’m thinking about the idea that it would be the reverse. So in Scarlet, since Professor Sada is the main professor, she would also serve as the main antagonist in Scarlet (with Turo doing the same in Violet). I call them antagonists because I don’t necessarily think they will be flat out evil (I mean they could absolutely end up being monsters but I don’t feel like jumping to that conclusion just yet). I could see their deal being potentially just obsessive over a certain ideal, romanticizing it even and not really looking at the pros and cons. Perhaps they had an event in their life that makes them yearn for the past (Sada) or the Future (Turo) without considering the that the past, present and future all have value.

111 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

Okay, so I realized I haven't done a review of the Hisuian Snow episodes yet (which, spoiler alert, I think are really adorable) and I will do them soon. But for now, I wanted to focus on one part of the episode: the medicinal leek. I've always been curious about how the healing items in the Pokemon world and how they're able to heal. For the longest time, I thought that the modern potions we get in non-legends mainline games were just marvels of modern pharmacology. But then comes Legends, with probably my favorite mechanic in the game, crafting and foraging. And then, with this second Hisuian Snow Episode, we get to see exactly how the leek works. By squeezing some of the liquid from the inner portion, the shiny Hisuian Zorua was able to help Alec's sprain heal instantly. That's amazing, and honestly, I wish we had something like that in real life. Also, that debunked my original theory of the potions being a modern marvel of pharmaceuticals but just the fact that even the non-Pokemon plant life has special properties. This checks out when you consider the copious amount of berries and their effects in the games. Yet Legends Arceus does pose some limitations. As we see in-game, there's a whole medical corp that often contains people who were seriously maimed by the wild Pokemon. So there's obviously a limit to what things like the berries and leeks could heal both in humans and Pokemon. We've even seen massive injuries in Pokemon, like Ash's Pikachu having to be defibrillated or his entire DP team being bandaged up long after the Paul battle at Lake Acuity. Even in the Yellow chapter of Pokespe, Pika is badly injured getting back to Oak's lab, where it surely passed by berry trees. Even if we can assume Pika did consume an oran berry here and there, it still wasn't enough to heal everything. So it definitely begs the question of where the line is drawn between what can be healed by leeks, herbs and berries and where more modern medical advances need to be brought in to save the lives of both people and Pokemon

115 notes - Posted June 15, 2022

It's been 25 years in the making but our boy finally did it... Ash Ketchum is now the strongest trainer in the Pokemon anime! Yes, I may be a diehard Leon fan, but before Leon was created I was an Ash Ketchum fan. Ash and Pikachu were what got me into Pokemon all the way back in 1999 and now to see this. After so many failures and setbacks, this was the thing my kindergartener self always wanted to see for Ash

This shot from the episode in particular put me into absolute tears. These are the Pokemon I grew up with (yes I'm a gen 1 person) and I knew at this point Ash was going to win. There was no way Ash could lose after a scene like that and with them playing Mesaze Pokemon Master. And also it makes sense storywise...Leon is always meant to lose his crown as the unbeatable champion...so Leon winning would just defeat the whole purpose of his own story arc

See the full post

312 notes - Posted November 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

My thoughts are with the people of Ukraine today as they deal with the invasion as well as the people of Texas as they deal with the horrific anti-trans legislation that is being put into law. It’s been a horrifying past 48 hours to see so much of the world fall into even more violence against innocent people.

360 notes - Posted February 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

2 notes · View notes