#frank take off a layer…..or two. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leilanihours · 16 days

Note

Anything with Kate Martin pleaseee!

# GOLD RUSH

pairing: kate martin x teammate!reader

word count: 1780

warnings: none !

summary: kate being the cutest most adoring girlfriend ever while you get ready on live !

from lani: this was heavily inspired by this video bc kate actually might be the cutest human to ever walk the earth ty

"WHAT IS UP guys, welcome back to yet another game day prep," you greet to the camera propped against the mirror in front of you, "today we are going up against lsu, so there's gonna be a lot of tension in the arena today."

user1: hi y/nnnn

user2: is caitlin there?

user3: team lsu lol

user4: y/n what shampoo/conditioner do u use??

it's become a tradition for you to go live and do a little "get ready with me" on the most highly-anticipated gamedays, as you wanted to get fans excited for the face-off.

the first one you hosted got lots of love, viewers falling in love with your bubbly personality and witty remarks to your teasing teammates.

you were currently in your hotel bathroom, one you shared with your teammate, gabbie marshall. but all the girls have borderline separation anxiety, leading to half the team hanging out in your room as you all prepare yourselves for the game.

"are you on live?" you hear a voice whisper. turning your head, you see kate peeking hers into the bathroom a small smile on her face.

"yeah," you reply sweetly, "you wanna say hi?"

she nods, immediately sliding the door open to join you.

"looks like we have a special cameo today, folks, y'all got lucky," you laugh

"hi, live, how you guys doin?" kate says.

as you begin doing your skincare, you see kate take a seat on the closed toilet in the corner, carefully observing your routine.

"you okay, babe?" you ask with a grin once you notice her puppy-dog like stare. the nickname slips from your lips like first nature, appearing cordial to the camera but the two of you know the hidden meaning.

user1: help kate looks so starstruck wtf shes adorable

user2: omg wait i use that same moisturizer

user3: "BABE"?

user4: not kate just sitting on a damn toilet LMAOO

you and kate have always been close, ever since your freshman year at iowa. on the court you two bounce off of each other's energy constantly, frequently managing to raise the stakes of the game.

fans have noticed it too, of course, with proud taps after one of you makes a shot and suspiciously long post-game hugs.

the team is fully aware of your private relationship, respecting your wishes of secrecy. there have been pointed questions from reporters and interviewers, but you all know how to dodge a personal question one way or another.

a few minutes go by of you telling a funny story from the bus ride to the hotel, consisting of caitlin getting caught on video singing horribly off-key. with promises of posting the recording later that evening, you and kate both laugh at the memory.

as you start on your light makeup look, you begin reading some comments popping up on your screen.

user1: thoughts on reese and clarks rivalry??

user2: wheres caitlin and gabbie

user3: y/n can u say hi alyssa

user4: what are your guys' top 3 music artists

"'thoughts on reese and clark's rivalry?'" you read, "i mean, they've said it before, there's no bad blood between them, just some good old basketball competition," you state with a small smile as you start blending in a light layer of skin tint.

"yeah, i mean some light-hearted teasing and trash-talking always makes a game more fun in my opinion," kate chimes in, "especially when it leads to an increase in viewership."

"for sure, for sure," you smirk at her in the corner of your eye, sneakily suggesting your own dating rumors circulating before every game.

"'top three music artists?'" kate reads, "dude, mine changes 24/7 so i have no idea anymore."

"ooo," you contemplate the question as you look up in thought, "gotta be taylor swift...sza...anddd frank ocean? no, kehlani! wait actually-"

"i don't think you know either, y/n," kate laughs.

"oh whatever," you say, rolling your eyes playfully, "speaking of music, can you put some on?"

"i gotchu," kate responds, picking up her phone to connect to the bluetooth speaker on the counter.

soon enough, you hear the familiar tune of "gold rush" by taylor swift, a song publicly known to be your favorite (kate knows this, naturally, which is why she played it first).

once she notices your stretched grin and quiet hum to the lyrics, she mirrors your expression, feeling light in her chest at the sight of your happiness.

she stands up from her spot on top of the toilet seat, slowly coming up behind you to observe you even closer.

the two of you make eye contact in the mirror, immediately blushing and smiling like madmen. and, of course, nothing goes unnoticed by the live watchers so comments of you two rush in.

user1: aww the way they smile at each other im crying

user2: okay when is it my turn to get a gf like y/n or kate 😢

user3: not kate stealing my gf..

user4: they gotta be dating right??

you and kate scan over the messages, trying to keep a straight face as to not give away anything.

"kate can you do me a favor and get my setting spray from my suitcase? its in a clear bottle with a pink cap," you ask her, but shes too entranced by your beauty to hear.

"sorry, what was that?"

you giggle, "my setting spray please?"

"oh! okay, be right back, guys!"

you return your focus to your makeup and the song playing, the melodies too addicting for you to not sing along.

as kate comes back into the fairly spacious bathroom, you thank her for getting your spray, placing it on the marble counter. she reclaims her spot behind you, continuing to watch you work as if you were the most interesting movie she'd ever seen.

she wishes she could place her arms around your waist and rest her chin on your shoulder to whisper sweet words into your ear. sadly, for the sake of your private relationship, she had to settle for admiring from afar (which is really only like a foot away from you).

"y/n!" you hear one of the girls call out from the bedroom, "can i borrow your eyebrow gel? i forgot mine in my room!"

"sure, it's in here, come grab it!" you yell back. a few seconds later, jada comes sauntering into the bathroom, immediately taking notice of kate's presence and the phone displaying your every action.

"oh my gosh, heyy livee," she smiles, waving her fingers at the camera.

user1: omg jada ilysm

user2: still waiting on catilin tbh

user3: JADA!!

user4: my fav girls :((

as you apply small amounts of blush to your cheeks, jada stands next to you fixing up her eyebrows wih your gel. and, yes, kate is still behind the both of you. she has begun to fix her hair into her signature ponytail braid, quickly maneuvering her dirty-blonde locks with ease after working the style for so long.

"my teammates are so prettayy," she exclaims to the livestream once she'd finished with her hair.

"you're prettyy," jada replies, singing.

"pretty beautiful," kate sings back while you're simply giggling at the girls' antics.

you're too concentrated on curling your lashes correctly to notice that kate was specifically gazing at you with that last comment, nothing but pure love and admiration behind her words.

jada, who is now out of the frame and catching kate's longing stare in your direction, turns around to face her, mouthing: "you're so whipped."

kate playfully shoves her out the bathroom and returns to her former seat on the toilet.

"okay, guys, sorry we haven't been talking to y'all that much," you say as you step back from the mirror, "the last step of my makeup look is to apply some setting spray that, thankfully, the lovely kate martin has gotten for me."

"wait, can i do it?" kate asks, eager to help you out.

"yeah, come over here," you respond.

kate shoots up and over to you and takes the bottle from your hand. her fingers brush against yours for a split second, sending a tingly feeling throughout your body. at this point, you don't even need to put blush on, kate's subtle touches bringing more than enough color to your face.

"i'll tell you when to stop, okay?"

"okay, close your eyes for me," kate mumbles, putting a delicate hand on your shoulder.

obliging, you feel light spritzes of mist fall on your face as kate controls the bottle nervously, not wanting to mess up.

"don't t hold back, i'll tell you when it's good, don't worry," you laugh.

almost a whole minute goes by, which slightly concerns your girlfriend.

"more??" she exclaims.

finally, you tell her you've received a good amount, opening your eyes to look at her. you're instantly met those blue eyes youve grown so fond of. and again, you can't keep the smile off your face when she maintains eye contact in an irritatingly addictive manner. you practically forget about the phone pointed on the two of you, stuck in your own worlds.

"gametime, guys, let's go!" you hear a voice echo, snapping the two of you out of your trances.

user1: OMG WAS THAT CAITLIN

user2: i know my wifes voice when i hear it

user3: are we just gonna ignore the eye contact between kate and y/n??

user4: yall r so delusional lmaoo

returning to your phone, you pick it up off the mirror and follow kate out of the bathroom.

"okay, guys, hopefully you enjoyed today's live," you cheer, "make sure to tune in to espn tonight to watch the game!"

you hear an overlap of voices, each one saying goodbye to the viewers.

"bye live! see you soon!" from kate.

"bye my lovely people!" from gabbie.

"mwah love you guys see y'all at the game!" from jada.

"go hawkeyes!" from caitlin.

you snicker as you watch more and more comments about caitlin pour in, your followers going crazy at a small glimpse of their favorite athlete.

as soon as you end the live, everyone begins rushing out of your hotel room and down to the lobby to wait for the bus. hurriedly, you grab your backpack and make your way towards the door, but an eager hand pulls you back.

before you know it, a set of soft lips is placed against your own and two hands are glued to your waist. instead of jumping in surprise, you immediately melt into the kiss, finding comfort in your girlfriend's familiar embrace.

"sorry," she blushes once you pull away, "been wanting to do that all day."

503 notes · View notes

heartlaboratory · 8 days

Text

In the short movie represented, taken from the university archive, you can look at a curious experiment that took place in the firs years of the '900, when physiologist were working on the relationship between electricity and the human body. A brief report accompanies the movie. Colette De La Beatrix was the countess of a small town called "Holy Lady in the Countryside", she was married to a professor of that time. Unfortunately at the age of 32 she suffered a terrible accident while riding her horse. She was embossed down from the saddle and the horse stomped her right in the center of her chest, destroying the frontal part of her rib cage. She was saved miraculously by the university's surgeon that had to remove her sternum leaving her most vital organ covered only by a thin layer of skin. Usually she wore an iron plate to cover and protect her exposed heart. Her husband convinced her to take advantage of the events and participate in his studies about electrophysiology. She happily took part to them and once results were gathered they decided to show them to the other professors and film the experiment. The movie starts with the countess sitting on a woodden bench. her entire chest is exposed and the shape of her beating heart is clearly visible. A rudimental microphone, linked to a gramophone, is held by a belt on the center of her chest and picks up her heartbeat. Two electrodes are attached on the oppiside sides of her heart linking the organ with what was probably a battery. The report is divided into different parts:

Initial- Countess initial heart rate: 85 bpm Showing the audience her condition and her synus rhythm at rest. Single electrical pulses are charged on her heart to demonstrate electricity can start artificial systoles. Audience is encouraged to feel the countess' carotid pulse to further proove the experiment effectiveness. This part ends with a note hand-written. "remember to tell the audience to never directly touch her heart to avoid dangerous ahrrythmias".

Part 2- Artificial pacing at 120bpm The machine delivers a series of consecutive impulses to create an artificial rhythm. The countess's heart reacts to each pulse correctly contracting in a new manually-induced pace. Audience is encouraged to feel the countess' carotid pulse under the influence of the continuous pulses. NOTE: After the pulses are interrupted the countess' heart recovers its initial pace immediately.

Part 3- Reaching physiological limit, 187bpm To demonstrate total control on the countess' heart rhythm the heart is artificially paced at her maximum heart rate (220 - her age 32). electrical pacing can realize the same results as a strenuous physical effort. The battery completely bypassed her local pacemaker. Audience is encouraged to feel the countess' carotid pulse and look at her beating heart. NOTE: Frank and Starling were right, the artificial rhythm seems hard to sustain for her system. The fast her heart gets the less efective its beating becomes. NOTE2: Her heart takes some long pauses in order to recover.

Part 4- Beyond physiological limits 240bpm The domain over her natural pacemaker is so absolute that its natural limit can be higly bypassed. The heart is paced at an innatural rhythm. Audience is encouraged to feel the countess' carotid pulse and look at her beating heart. NOTE: Audience report that just a very tiny wave of blood can be felt at her neck after each heart contraction. NOTE2: The countess's heart seems unable to follow each electrical pulse as some dyastoles seem abolished in a tetanus like manner. NOTE3: The procedure is interrupted as the countess lost consciousness for a brief period of time. NOTE4: Once the machine is turned off a long period of asystole is seen with subsequent ahrrythmias after the spontaneous pulsation restarted. Heart exhaustion? another hand-written part: "I should have never tried this on my wife"

What the report doesn't says is that countess Colette De La Beatrix died of sudden cardiac arrest few days late.

#cardiophile #cardiophilia #female heartbeat #heartbeat #dark cardiophilia

191 notes · View notes

sixosix · 28 days

Note

5k event request :P

Kazuha, light stick, and fluff please

a/n hi anon! when i saw light stick, i instantly interpreted it as those kpop light sticks,, im not sure if u meant something else like those glow sticks, so i am hoping this was what u meant HAHA

wc 700, idol!kazuha/fan!reader, im sure u guys have heard of the 6REEZE group somewhere, meet-cute; disclaimer i only know how auction works from my classmates roleplaying them so ignore accuracies for fic’s sake. bless.

5K EVENT SPECIAL | EVENT MASTERLIST

Kazuha, to be frank, felt a little embarrassed.

His features stood out too much, his friends told him. To go out and enjoy the fresh air of the day, he had to not enjoy the fresh air with a face mask, conceal his red streak of hair by clipping it back and burying it under a cap, and wear green-tinted sunglasses (also to disguise the red of his eyes) that he was struggling to get used to.

In his defense, His friends weren’t any better. Aether’s braid could be recognized with only that, Venti’s glowing braids weren’t any better, Heizou’s shade of hair and green eyes would stand out—if not his unique voice, and everyone knew Xiao even if he were to shave all his hair off. Scaramouche could be salvageable, but one word from his mouth and his fans would fall to their knees—it could be his voice, but it would be the attitude.

Kazuha felt a little too hot with his disguise, but he wanted this, so he would go through with it. He tugged his mask under his nose, relaxing at the scent of the open air. The mall had an open area with trees all over; the leaves fell to the ground, and the wind brushed past. Kazuha couldn’t feel it, having been stuffed under layers, but he was satisfied.

Although it felt embarrassing to be clothed in this disguise, he couldn’t go outside this freely before. He was going to make the most of it.

And then he passed by a stall that had him doing a double take. Kazuha took a few steps back, lighting up with recognition. He couldn’t be mistaken, not with that familiar symbol of Anemo. The stall displayed a light stick of their group, released only a few days ago.

His friends would have a blast if he came back with it, most likely, Kazuha mused. Maybe he could bring it back as a gift.

A hand shot out from the side, blocking his view of the light stick. Kazuha blinked, a little surprised. He followed the arm's stretch and came face-to-face with an angry stranger.

“Hey, you!” you said. Kazuha felt like he needed to stand straighter at the tone. “I had my eye on this one first, ‘kay? Whatever number you have in mind—keep it. I finally get my hands on one of these; I’m not letting it go!”

“Oh, this was an auction?” he asked curiously. The stall didn’t seem to be being run by anyone at the moment, and no one else was there.

“Well, no,” you sniffed, “but I would win. I already told the seller I called dibs on this one—wait until she gets back.”

Charmed, Kazuha smiled. “Two thousand.”

“Three.”

“Three-thousand, five hundred?”

“Five-thousand, three hundred.”

Kazuha had to wonder: “How much do these usually cost?”

“Five thousand, if you’re lucky. I’ll make it ten thousand, easy. Are you still not backing down?”

Kazuha laughed under his breath. Were you serious? Were you actually willing to drop that much for this? “Alright, I cede. I apologize for attempting to defeat you.”

You grinned, eyes sparkling quite literally as your gaze slid back to the lightstick. You were very pretty. “Yeah, I thought so.” You eyed him curiously; Kazuha suddenly felt a little shy. “Are you a fan as well?”

Kazuha nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from your genuine smile for a few moments. His eyes drifted down to your shirt, which had the same Vision of the lightstick—but there was something else. “You could say that.”

Your shirt had maple leaves swirling around the logo, and Kazuha could recognize it all too well because he was asked to sit down and draw it for their merchandise—something personal for each member. Did Kazuha have the right to suspect what it meant that you were wearing his?

Emboldened, Kazuha gestured at the lightstick. “As a fellow enthusiast, may I extend my offer to cover this purchase?”

You blinked and stuttered. “W-What— You don’t have to! I literally stole it from you!”

“So you confess that you pried it off of me?” Kazuha teased.

“That’s not—Listen—” You stared at him, then got flustered. “Hold on, are you hitting on me?”

“Yes.” He took off his sunglasses and tugged down his mask, flashing a sweet smile that he knew was utterly unfair. Your face bluescreened out of pure shock. Without the mask muffling his voice, it was clear as day. “So, will you let me?”

#606: 5K EVENT #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x you

188 notes · View notes

hornedqueenofhell · 9 months

Text

Steddie Sick fic pt. 2

Pt 1

“Eddie!” The kids shrieked as they all ran to the unconscious Dungeon Master’s side. Dustin knelt down and reached for Eddie’s forehead, yanking it back seconds later. “Shit he’s burning up.”

“He’s sick.” Gareth huffs as he helps the kid shift Eddie onto his back. The metalhead’s breath is rattling in his chest and he’s covered in a layer of sweat.

“Why didn’t he cancel then?” Lucas asks, looking at the older kids.

“Because he’s a stubborn ass who doesn’t know how to ask for help.” Gareth turns to the others, “Can one of you get him home?” His mom had the car tonight.

“Jeff rode with me and we still have all those stupid boxes of my dad’s shit in the back.” Frank said with a shrug, “Besides he probably shouldn’t be alone if he’s sick man, you know Wayne works nights.”

“Okay but we can’t take him and what are the kids going to do, strap him to their handlebars?”

That caused all the kids to glance at each other before turning to Will, “Is Jon still coming to get you tonight?” Mike asks.

“Yeah, and I know he doesn’t have a shift tonight.” With that settled Dustin gets up and goes to his backpack. He pulls out a walkie talkie and after fiddling with it a moment he starts speaking.

“Steve, Steve come in, over.”

Steve? How was Steve Harrington going to help here?

“I’m heading out the door Henderson don’t worry, you guys ended early tonight.” Dustin normally would ignore Steve until he used proper radio etiquette but Eddie took precedence. And besides, Steve’s little ‘secret’ isn’t so secret when he leaves his books open on the Family Video counter.

“Actually we need your help, over.”

The response was immediate and tense, “Code red help?”

“No, no, leave Lola in the trunk. Eddie is sick and passed out, no one else can help him.” Dustin turned back to Eddie who now had a wet rag on his head courtesy of someone.

“Who’s Lola?” Jeff asked the other kids who just rolled their eyes, except Will.

“Steve’s melee weapon, he named her Lola.” Well that cleared up exactly nothing.

“Because you have lifeguard training dumbass!” Dustin says, the others having missed Steve’s reply.

“Lifeguard certification does not equal a doctorate Dustin! What about his bandmates, why can’t they take him?”

Huh, Steve Harrington knows they exist, and not just in a they’re also in Hellfire kinda way. This day just gets weirder and weirder.

“No one has a ride or space available. Please Steve, he’s got a bad fever and his breathing is really shallow. There’s no one at home to keep an eye on him.”

The line goes silent for almost a minute and a half before finally crackling to life again, “Low fucking blow Henderson,” The ex-jock hisses out, “I’ll be there in five. Who is taking you brats home?”

“We’re going to bully Jon into doing it. Thanks Steve.” He shuts the walkie off and puts it away before going back to Eddie.

The older man had sort of regained consciousness by now but whatever he was mumbling wasn’t coherent. Seems he’d gone delirious from the fever.

Less than five minutes later, Jesus had Harrington floored it all the way here, the old King of Hawkins High strode through the drama room doors. He ruffled Dustin’s hair before quickly going to Eddie’s side. After also checking his temperature and his pulse the brunette turned to the band.

“Has he had anything to eat or drink today?”

The other two shrugged and turned to Gareth, “I gave him some water and crackers at lunch since he didn’t have any food with him, also brought him some tea before we started tonight. I don’t know about anything else.”

“Okay, thanks man. Dust,” He pulls out his car keys and hands them off to the other teen, “Get the back door open for me please.”

The kid runs out to do as requested, Steve turns back to the other kids, “If you haven’t yet, let Jon and Nancy know what’s happening. I don’t want one of you stranded here while I get Munson settled.”

Lucas nodded and went to do as the older boy asked. The Coffin boys knew Steve was a babysitter/overbearing sibling figure to the kids, the way they sang his praises, but this felt like a commander giving orders and everyone followed them like their lives were on the line. It was weird.

“Give my best to your families, I’ll be there for Saturday dinner kay?” He pats Will’s shoulder fondly and then turns back to Eddie.

“Okay Munson, are you with me enough to hold onto me?” Steve coaxes Eddie’s arms into looping around his neck, he’s not expecting one to immediately curl into his hair and tug weakly. Whatever face Steve made as he held back from making any kind of sound besides a pained grunt seemed to amuse Eddie greatly as he started giggling.

“Yes, yes you’re very funny.” Sighing, Steve digs his arms under Eddie and scoops the metalhead into his arms. Eddie lets out a very soft ‘whee’ in response as he’s lifted and his head tucked into Steve’s shoulder. There’s a small smile teasing the corner of Harrington’s lips. He stands and makes sure Eddie isn’t about to fling himself out of Steve’s arms before he starts walking back out to the parking lot. The rest of the group scrambles to pack their shit away and follow after them.

Pt 3

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #dustin henderson #will byers #lucy sinclair #mike wheeler #gareth emerson #jeff stranger things #stranger things unnamed freak #corroded coffin #sick fic #emt!steve #steddiefic chronicles

448 notes · View notes

theemporium · 10 months

Note

Omg please I've been craving eastablished relationship sirius x fem!reader fluff I feel like i've read through the entire tag

What about rockstar!sirius who misses reader and is moping so james and remus set up a surprise and fly her out to a show and she's standing at the baracade and sirius sees her and like jumps off the stage to go to her?

i love rockstar!sirius my beloved<3 thank you for requesting!!

To be frank, Sirius Black had been insufferable for the last two months.

When the band had been touring around the UK and Europe, you were able to join them at most, if not all, shows. Sirius loved having you by his side, knowing that one of his favourite people on the planet was with him whilst he did something he loved. And you loved watching your boy thrive in his element.

However, when the tour moved to North America, you were unable to follow.

Despite his insistence that he had more than enough money to take care of you both (and let you be his full time favourite groupie), he knew how much your degree meant to you and he wouldn’t ever want you to drop your dreams when you supported his so much. So, you had stayed in the UK to continue your education.

And Sirius was downright miserable with the distance between you.

Not that anyone would notice. To the world, Sirius Black was still going out on stage and performing like every show was his last. He was a rockstar through and through, and the world fell in love with him a little more with each performance.

But to his bandmates? They had nothing but constant whining and complaining and moping that Sirius didn’t have his girl by his side. And, to be honest, James and Remus had reached their wit’s end. They could deal with a lot, but two months of it?

No. They knew they needed to do something.

It wasn’t hard to convince you at all to fly over and visit for a short leg of the North America tour. You had been just as miserable without your boy back home. The apartment felt empty without him. And his guitars were a little dusty, which was a sight you weren’t used to. And having one side of the bed constantly cold, with his scent long faded from the pillows, it was starting to take a toll on you.

You packed a bag and made your way to the airport without a second thought, landing in Michigan the day of their show.

“This is ridiculous.”

Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s just a precaution.”

“Remus, you want me to get into a suitcase,” you deadpanned, wondering if the tour had finally driven him over the edge. “I am going to suffocate in there!”

“You won’t,” James reassured you with a bright grin. “We’ve done it plenty of times. Plus, it’s just until we can get you into the venue without fans seeing and spoiling the surprise.”

And you knew he had a point.

The boys didn’t just want to fly you over and throw you at Sirius. No, they wanted to surprise him, completely knock the air out of his lungs. They didn’t want some lame reunion in a hotel room before he was rushed off onto stage and you were forced to stand backstage until the set ended.

Go big or go home, and the marauders always chose the former.

It was why you agreed to get in the suitcase, staying in the cramped space until you reached the venue. It was why you agreed to wear the oversized hoodie, despite standing amongst the fans in the ridiculously hot crowd. It was why you agreed to keep your disguise up until the first few songs passed.

And then, you threw the hood off your head and you gripped the edge of the barricade as you looked up at the stage, as you looked up at your boyfriend and took in the sight of him for the first time in two months. The tight trousers fitted around his thick thighs, the leather jacket exposing his bare and tattooed torso, the sweat gleaming like a thin layer on his skin and the messy black hair that you missed running your fingers through.

Fuck, you missed your boyfriend.

Sirius lifted his head to look away from his fretboard, his eyes on the crowd as he played the opening riff to the next song, only to stop short when he noticed a familiar face in the crowd. He blinked once, and then twice to make sure it was really you. And by that point, security couldn’t even stop him as he shrugged his guitar off and shoved it into the hands of whoever was closest to him before he hopped off the stage and made a beeline towards you.

The crowd was going wild as they watched him, the cameras were capturing every moment but you couldn’t care less as Sirius made his way to the barricade, grabbing your face and smashing his lips against yours. It was sloppy, messy and a little desperate, and probably far too much with so many eyes on you but Sirius never really cared about any of that stuff anyways.

“Fuck, I missed you so much, love,” Sirius murmured before he leaned in for another kiss and another and another. And when that wasn’t enough, he all but dragged you over the barricade, grinning wildly when you clung onto him.

“Sirius!” you gasped, your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands rested on your ass.

“God, I missed hearing you scream my name,” he muttered, unable to wipe the smile off his face as he watched you flush at his comment.

“You have a show to perform,” you murmured, nodding your head towards the stage. “I can wait.”

“Well, I can’t,” Sirius told you. “C’mon, let’s go back to the tour bus—”

“Sirius,” you laughed, though there was a hint of warning in your voice which he recognised. “Show first, then sex.”

Sirius grinned cheekily. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you smiled, leaning down and he pouted his expecting another kiss, only for your lips to brush against his ear instead. “Plus, I want us to have all the time in the world when you see the little surprise I got for you.”

Sirius gulped. “Surprise?”

“Got ‘em done just before you left,” you told him and his spine straightened in realisation. “Should be healed enough for you to play with them.”

“Show me.”

“Sirius—”

“Baby, show me or so help me, I will lose my mind,” Sirius groaned.

But you just laughed, patting his cheek as you told him there wasn’t a chance in the world you were going to flash your tits in front of everyone. He groaned as you began untangling yourself from him, making your way backstage where you would watch the rest of the show. Sirius glared at you and your stomach twisted in anticipation.

“Good luck, baby! Knock ‘em dead!”

717 notes · View notes

huntingingoodwill · 1 year

Text

may the best man win (s.h.)

masterlist

send in requests for my 1.3k sleepover!

requested by: @hauntedheathcliff (thank u!)

mixtape: menswear by the 1975

pairing: best friend to lover! steve harrington x reader

“Where is she?” Steve’s words escaped his lips, tinged with a breathless panic as he burst into the room. His chest heaved in his pressed button-down, brown hair windswept from his frantic run over.

Robin lifted her hand to her lips, fingers peeking out from the sleeve of her dad’s oversized suit jacket. She chewed anxiously on her thumb nail, nodding toward a bathroom stall from her perch on the sinks, eyebrows knitted together tightly.

The heels of Steve’s dress shoes, the leather shiny with black polish, clicked quietly across the marble floor of the bathroom as he made his way toward the stall.

“(Y/N)?” He knocked on the closed stall door, gently. Your name tumbled off his tongue, familiar and sweet. In your distraught state, your whole body buzzing with worry, you felt a tinge of relief at your best friend’s arrival.

You couldn’t respond, voice weak with exhaustion, but he listened for you as he heard you quietly wretch. He peered down, the skirt of your gown fanning out all around you as you knelt on the floor, layers of white tulle flooding out from beneath the gaps of the stall.

From behind the door, you could hear the way his voice rumbled, deep in his chest, as he whispered to Robin. She hopped off the sink counter, leaving you two alone.

Steve sunk to the floor, the tile cold on his legs even through his suit. He knocked, quietly.

“Honey, you okay? They said you were asking for me.”

You let out a weak snivel. He frowned, pressing his forehead against the door as his brow furrowed. Years and years of friendship, and seeing you upset still stung.

“Can you open the door for me, please?” He coaxed.

You reached a shaky hand up, unlocking the door.

He pulled it open, sliding into the cramped stall next to you. The skirts of your wedding dress swamped the space, rustling as Steve pressed his back against the wall, looking at you intently. You mirrored him, sitting across from him with your back against the opposite wall. You kept your head down, studying your hands, picking at your nails as they remained folded in your lap.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, the genuine concern in his voice causing your emotions to bubble up again, the overwhelming, sick feeling flooding your senses.

“I-” You hiccuped, barely able to get the word out before you spun around, pushing yourself up onto your knees as you wretched into the toilet bowl. Steve jumped up, pushing back your hair, the once perfectly styled locks now dishevelled.

“Let it out.” He cooed, his large, warm hand running up and down the expanse of your spine.

He got you settled back down on the floor by the toilet again. He pulled out his pocket square, taking his chin in your hands to hold your face toward him. Your breath stuttered as you inhaled shakily, blinking away tears as he used the silky material to, to clean up your running eye makeup, the fabric to ghosting the corner of your lips as he dabbed at your smudged lipstick.

“I can’t marry him.” You admitted through a gasping breath. “You gotta tell everyone the wedding’s off. I can’t marry Frank.”

You sunk into his touch as he ran a thumb across your cheek.

He ignored that exhilarating, sick excitement that ran through his body. He fought back the urge to scream, to rejoice, to beg and plead: Don’t marry Frank. Please, please, please don’t marry Frank.

He scolded himself. You had begged Frank for ages to let Steve be your best man in place of having a maid of honour. He couldn’t take advantage of you when you needed him the most, telling you not to marry your fiance just because Steve happened to be madly in love with you.

He couldn’t. He couldn't, even though a little part of him died when he first saw the two of you together, wishing it was his hand you were holding when you and Frank began dating two years ago. Even though hearing the news that Frank had proposed to you crushed all the air out of him. Even though he wished you were marrying him, instead.

“Of course you can. It’s just cold feet, that’s all. You’ll see, as soon as you get up there-”

“No.” You interrupted. “I can’t. I can’t marry him.” You sniffed, your voice small but determined. You blinked, before digging the heels of your palms into your reddened eyes, taking in a huge breath to steady yourself.

“I don’t love him.” You whispered, voice faltering.

“But… of course you do, honey, you’re just-”

“No.” You shook your head, swallowing thickly. “I don’t. I know I don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I…” You gulped, eyebrow furrowing. “I realise now that… you know, we were so young, when we started dating- I mean, we’re still, so young and… as awful as it sounds…” Your voice cracked, the words threatening to fall off your tongue.

“I think I tricked myself into believing I loved him, into thinking it was okay to get into all of this, because I didn’t want to think of the truth.” Your gaze met Steve’s, and at that moment, he wanted to hold you, tell you it would all be fine, kiss you and take you away from all this.

His fingers flexed at his sides. He tucked them into his pocket.

“The truth is that I was in love with someone who didn’t love me back.” You murmured. A stray lock of hair fell over Steve’s eyes, and you wanted to reach out and brush it away. You wanted to touch his face.

Your fingers flexed at your sides. You balled your hand into a fist.

“Come here.” He whispered, breaking the silence that fell between you.

You turned around, leaning against him.

Slowly, your breath steadied, falling in time with the rise and fall of his chest against your back. His arm hung loosely around your waist, the other reaching up to stroke the hair away from your face.

“You look so beautiful.” He sighed, and you could hardly believe him, your hair and makeup a mess and wearing your ridiculous wedding gown. “You’ve always been beautiful.” He said it like he meant it, like he believed in it like nothing else.

“It’s all gonna be okay.” He reassured. “You’re gonna get up there, and realise it was all just nerves. And you’re gonna forget all about that guy who didn’t love you back. Because…”

You lifted your gaze to meet his.

“Anyone who wouldn’t love you is a total idiot.” He muttered, the rough tips of his fingers ghosting your hair.

You sighed, taking a few more breaths to calm yourself.

You wished you could stay this way forever, just you and him. No worries about the wedding, or about what would happen after, if you and Steve would drift away from each other, the rift caused by married life, by the world, growing too big for the two of you to handle. If you could do anything in the world, you’d always be with him. No doubt about it.

That scared you.

He helped you to your feet, holding your face in his hands.

He gave you that million wattage smile. It broke your heart.

“C’mon, beautiful. Frank’s waiting.”

Steve stood next to the altar, fidgeting in his suit as he waited for you to appear.

Finally, the doors blew open at the end of the aisle. The air was knocked out of him, escaping him as soon as he saw you.

You walked, slowly, down the aisle, and through the veil that hung between the two of you, he swore he could see you looking at him through the translucent lace, lips upturned.

He felt his mouth lift up, and uncontrollably, he was smiling, like an idiot.

He wanted to reach out and lift the veil himself. He wanted to see your face again, that smile. He wanted to kiss you.

Then, you reached the end of the aisle, turning to Frank instead of him.

Steve shoved aside the feeling of aching misery spreading through his body.

The ceremony dragged on, every declaration of love and eternity just another blow to him. What use was love and eternity to him, if it wasn’t with you?

He felt his knuckles clench at his sides, the ridges of his hands growing white.

Then, you turned to look at him.

You glanced behind you, and for a second, you smiled at him. It filled his body with light.

“If anyone present should know of a reason why this couple should not be joined together in matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

“Me.” Steve blurted out, the words escaping his lips before he even had time to process it.

The room fell deadly silent. Then, shocked gasps rose from the crowd, murmurs of confusion rippling through the audience of guests.

You turned to look at Steve, eyebrow furrowed.

“Me.” Steve repeated, clearing his throat. “I mean-” He screwed his eyes shut. “Um, I do. I mean, I object.”

“What the hell, man?” Frank hissed.

Steve looked at him. He never noticed it before, but they almost looked alike.

“I think I’ll say a couple of words, if you don’t mind.” Steve started off, fumbling awkwardly.

“I do mind.” Frank shot back quietly, voice shaking with rage, before turning back to the guests. “Save it for the best man’s speech, huh?” He chuckled awkwardly in an attempt to save his crumbling wedding ceremony, raising a few uncomfortable laughs from the guests.

Steve ignored him.

“(Y/N), I wanted you to know that I think I spent all this time doing anything and everything to distract myself from the truth.”

Your eyes sparkled as he echoed your words, a teary laugh leaving your lips.

“The truth is… I’ve been in love with my best friend for years. Madly, truly in love. It scared me, how much I did. I was scared before, but I’m not anymore. It took me a while,” He chuckled, gesturing to all the guests staring at him, your fiance’s hands gripping yours. “But I’m not afraid anymore. I can speak the truth now. I’m in love with you. I have been, all this time.” He paused, his big brown eyes glimmering. “I love you.”

You smiled.

“I love you too, Steve.”

“Okay. Okay! That’s it! I always knew there was something wrong with you, man, but I didn’t realise you were this fucked up.” Frank yelled, jabbing a finger at Steve. “You wanna go, man? Let’s go!” He cried out, pulling his tux jacket off. His muscles strained against his dress shirt as he put his fists up, charging at Steve.

He swung at Steve, narrowly avoiding him as he just ducked out of the way.

Frank tried again, but Steve fought back this time, taking a jab toward him.

It caught him in the jaw. Frank fell to the floor.

You looked at Steve as your fiance lay at your feet, breathing hard as you felt a warmth spread across your cheeks.

You stepped right over Frank, taking Steve’s hand and running out of the building.

“Sorry.” Steve mouthed at his plus-one, the girl glaring at him as the two of you ran down the aisle, hand in hand, leaving your fiance passed out at the altar. You tossed your bouquet at her, watching as she caught it, sullen.

Your dress swished behind you as the outraged noises from the guests rose around you, but you couldn’t hear them over the sound of you and Steve screaming with laughter.

Hand in hand, you ran, not caring where you were going, as long as you were together.

The two of you made it out onto the street, passer-by glancing at the runaway bride, making her daring escape with the best man, awash in sunlight and glowing with happiness.

Steve raised his arm, trying to hail a taxi. You yanked him back.

“I don’t have enough money for a cab! Do you?”

He reached into his pants pocket, producing his wallet. Practically empty. He rummaged around in his pockets, finding nothing but a bit of loose change.

“For a moment there, I forgot I was broke.” He sighed.

You laughed, glancing around before dragging him toward the bus stop, waving at the driver of the bus idling in front of it, black smoke rising from its tailpipe as the dingy, rusty old bus shuddered.

You walked on, the two of you a vision in the drab old bus, your magnificent dress swirling around you as you walked toward the backseat, Steve using what little money he had to pay for your fare before settling down next to you.

He smiled at you. The sun was setting, a golden light settling down over Hawkins. It streamed in through the windows, settling you two alight. A glow bursted from the two of you. His eyes, warm and brown in the sunlight, shone, his tan skin luminous.

“I can’t stop smiling.” He whispered.

“Then don’t.” You responded, lacing your fingers with his.

He leaned in to kiss you, his plush lips grazing yours, and you smiled into it uncontrollably, melting into his touch. You felt a warmness spread through your chest.

“Our wedding is gonna be so much better than this one.” You smiled.

1K notes · View notes

sunflowersandsapphires · 6 months

Text

Not in this Alone (part 1)

pairing: Frank Castle x Matt Murdock x fem!reader (Fratt x fem!reader)

summary: After a week of stressful, lonely days, your boyfriends take the time to comfort you.

warnings: swearing, brief descriptions of stressful events (items breaking, period symptoms, sickness, etc)

a/n: This is the first half of a comfort fic that I wrote for my love @madschiavelique when she was having a terrible week a bit ago. I hope that you all find comfort in its softness!

w/c: 2.6k

Dropping your bag on the floor, you yanked your shoes off and plodded directly to your bed, planting face down into the mattress with a groan. A floorboard creaked behind you, signaling another presence, but your fatigue outweighed the anxiety you felt.

“If you’re here to kill me, can you do it in the bathtub? This is a new mattress.” Your words were muffled by the layers of fabric over your face.

The intruder chuckled deeply, “Not here to kill ya, sweetheart.”

“Frankie?” You turned your face towards his gravelly voice, keeping the rest of your body pinned to the bed. It had been over a week since you’d seen him—and you weren’t expecting him to be home this soon—but there he was, in all his broad-shouldered glory. Dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, that was definitely not his given the way it stretched over his sculpted abdomen. He looked cozy and soft—clearly having been home for a few hours.

“Hiya, doll. Your day was that good, huh?” He nodded down to your horizontal position, making you groan and turn your face back into the mattress. Huffing a laugh, he sat down beside you, stroking a large hand over your back. “Today’s your long day, ain’t that right?”

Nodding tiredly, you hummed in appreciation as he rubbed circles into your tense shoulders. Frank pursed his lips, thinking for a moment before poking you in the side gently. “Get up for a sec, sweet girl. Let’s get ya into some comfier clothes.”

Gluing your arms around your sides protectively, you whined, not lifting your torso from the bed. Undeterred, Frank pinched your hip before sliding his hand around your smaller figure and flipping you upright into his lap. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he smirked at your exaggerated pout, “There’s my girl.”

Shuffling out from underneath you, Frank planted another kiss on your cheek before standing to grab you a sweatshirt rather than the more presentable clothes you had on. Collapsing backward against the pillows, you stared blankly at the ceiling as you waited for Frank to return. After a grueling 11 hour day of traveling to and from your various art classes, you didn’t have the energy to do much else. On top of the sheer amount of time you’d been in public today, you’d been balancing a slew of intense bad luck–from your computer breaking to coming down with a cold. It had not been your week, and you’d been on your own to deal with most of it.

You knew that it wasn’t either of your partners’ faults, just incredibly terrible timing, but Matt had been sleeping at his own apartment all week after late nights at the office, and Frank had been out of town. The past few days had pushed you almost to your breaking point, but nothing actually terrible had happened, so you didn’t feel comfortable asking either of them to come to your aid. You’d been living a cycle of dosing up on medicine, going to class, coming home, and passing out–which was what you planned on doing before Frank interrupted you.

As if your thoughts had summoned him, he padded back over with two garments in hand. He held up one of his own sweaters and Matt’s favorite Columbia crewneck. “Ok, doll, I wasn’t sure which you’d want, but…hey, what’s wrong?”

A drop of moisture trailed down your cheek and you hastily wiped it away. Overly preoccupied with your own thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed the familiar prickle of tears in your eyes. “Nothing, Frank, just tired.” You sniffled, giving him an unconvincingly tiny smile.

Narrowing his eyes, Frank set the clothes aside, drawing you closer to him as if you weighed nothing. Draping you over his lap and holding you close, he studied you for a moment before cradling your cheek in one of his massive, calloused hands. “You sure?”

You shrugged, nuzzling into the cool touch. “It's just been a rough week, nothing to worry you or Matt about.” A part of you felt relieved that it was Frank in front of you rather than Matt, who would have surely called you out for lying. Though your treacherous emotions might have given you away regardless, given that salty tears continued to roll down your cheeks as Frank gently stroked the droplets off of your face.

“I know I ain't a genius, but I can tell when you're hurtin’, doll. Talk to me?” His voice was as gravelly as ever, but his deep brown eyes pleaded with you, encouraging you to be honest about your woes.

With another half-hearted shrug, you averted your gaze, focusing on your lap rather than your concerned boyfriend. “I dunno, it's been a long week, Frankie. I started my classes again, which is fine, but my PC broke when I was trying to finish up my assignments so I had to frantically email my professors to make arrangements. And then I started my period, and then I got sick, and then all these little things started piling up like the printer not working or my backpack breaking or my train being delayed and I just—” Your voice cut out as Frank pulled you into a tight embrace, pressing kisses against your hairline as more tears formed along your waterline.

“Sweetheart, you shoulda called me. Or Red. You been dealin' with all this on your own?” His lips brushed over your forehead as he spoke. At your lack of response, he sighed. “Honey, we've talked about this.”

“I know, I know, but I didn't want to bother either of you with something so small.” You murmured against him, shivering as he rubbed your lower back.

“You're not a bother, doll. Not now, not ever.” Frank tenderly rested his forehead against yours, touching your lips to his as he cradled the back of your head. “Here, why don't you put on my sweater?”

Pulling back from the embrace, Frank tapped your arms, waiting patiently for you to lift your arms so he could remove your top and bra. After placing a soft kiss to your chest, he slipped the soft fleece over your head and arms, nodding in satisfaction at his handiwork.

“Better?” He held your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, lips quirked up in his signature barely-there smile.

With a nod, you snuggled back into his embrace, sighing appreciatively when his fingers carded through your hair.

“Glad to hear it, sweet girl. Let’s get you bundled up and we can order somethin’ to eat, yah?”

Nodding again, you let him peel back the duvet before crawling off his lap and underneath the covers with trembling limbs. Sinking into the pillowy mattress, you sighed in relief—the exhaustion and stress of the past week sparking a deep ache in your bones.

“Where do ya want me, babygirl?” Frank’s voice broke through your sleepy haze and you smiled despite your foul mood. Flopping onto your back, you made a grabby gesture at him.

Chuckling quietly, Frank raised an eyebrow. “On top of ya? You’ll suffocate.”

Pouting, you repeated the hand motions. Your throat was aflame after crying because of the stupid virus you’d picked up, leaving you hesitant to open your mouth again—but you wanted a Frank-shaped weighted blanket immediately to soothe your aches and pains.

“Ok, doll, I won’t argue with ya after the shit week you’ve had. But promise me you’ll tap out if ya can’t breathe.” He waited for your eager nod before clambering on top of you and clumsily settling down.

His body was tense as he held himself a few millimeters above your body, clearly still worried about crushing you. That simply wouldn’t do. Bringing your hands around his waist, you began kneading his back and shoulders in the way you knew he loved.

Frank was fairly easy to please. A few well-placed touches to his upper back and he was putty in your hands. Running a single nail up his spine beneath his shirt, your lips broke into a grin at his deep, satisfied rumble. “Thought I was s’posed to be takin’ care of you.” He murmured, mashing his face against your neck.

“You are. Just wanted you to relax.” You murmured, sleep tugging at your consciousness after the immense amount of energy you’d spent during your day of classes. Your voice must have revealed how desperately you needed a nap because Frank’s body shuddered with a laugh.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I gotcha now.”

Sandwiched between the mattress and the warm weight of your boyfriend, you let sleep drag you under.

A thundering rumble sounded in your stomach, the vibrations breaking you out of a peaceful slumber. Groaning, you clenched your arms around your waist, hoping the pressure would cause the intense hunger pangs to fade. During your impromptu nap, your delightfully warm, boyfriend-shaped weighted blanket had been replaced by the duvet. Eyes still closed, you reached across the bed, groping the sheets in an attempt to find your partner and drag him closer to you, but you were unsuccessful. Whining miserably, you opened one eye, wincing at the bright rays of the setting sun temporarily blinded you.

The room was, upsettingly, empty. No grumpy-yet-adorable man to be found. Coughing pitifully, you whimpered, hands clenching around the blankets, as if they would bring you comfort like Frank had. Had your interaction this afternoon been a dream? Were you alone all along?

A drop of saline rolled down your face and splashed onto the pillow, the moisture cool against your warm skin. Sniffling feebly, you shut your eyes again, praying that sleep would take you before you could wallow in your loneliness for too long.

“Sweetheart?” Wiping your eyes, you glanced to the doorway to find the source of the voice, spirits lifting when you saw two beautiful men staring back at you, brows puckered in concern.

They were by your side in an instant; Matt sat at the edge of the bed next to your pillows and Frank crawled into bed beside you, kissing your forehead when you immediately latched onto him. Matt frowned, running a hand over your arm before sliding into a horizontal position at your back.

Their warmth was divine. Four burly arms wrapped around you, tangling you between your two partners. Matt’s nose brushed your nape as Frank hooked his chin over your head, guiding your face into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Your entire body sagged in relief, so grateful to be surrounded by the two men who loved you more than you could comprehend, so happy that you weren’t alone in your anguish any longer.

“You ok, my love?” Matt’s gentle, unexpected question pushed your delicate constitution into emotional turmoil.

A choked cry ran through your body with a tremor. Barrier broken, your body was suddenly wracked with vicious sobs, interspersed with weak coughs and sniffles.

The muscular walls around you compressed as your partners pressed impossibly closer, cooing in sympathy as you bawled.

“Hey, you’re ok, doll. You’re ok.” Frank’s dulcet rumble shook his chest beneath your ear.

“That’s it, darling. We’re here now.” Matt spoke quietly, kissing the shell of your ear when he finished. His large hand splayed over your stomach, rubbing gentle circles as you trembled. Frank’s hand mirrored the motion along your back.

The pair of them continued caressing you tenderly as your cries gradually halted. Drawing in a deep, hiccuping breath, you wiped your eyes, a rush of embarrassment flooding your body.

“‘M sorry.” You whispered, blinking back a new wave of ashamed tears.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, babygirl.” Frank promised.

“After the week you had, I don’t blame you.” Matt sighed, placing a line of kisses down your neck. “Next time you’re this miserable, pretty girl, give me a call, ok? I’ll come check up on you at the very least. I don’t want you at home alone when you’re this upset.”

“I didn’t know if I could ask you to come over.” You explained shakily.

“Oh, love,” Matt sounded almost mournful, hugging you tightly from behind. “Always. I’ll always come for you.”

You nodded, a few lingering tears slipping down your cheeks.

“You’re a bit feverish, darling. Are you feeling ok?” Matt’s voice was tight with worry.

Shrugging timidly, you sighed, burrowing further into the cocoon of limbs you were wrapped in. “‘M ok. Better now.”

Frank huffed out a laugh, kissing the crown of your head. “Forgot to mention, she’s got a cold.”

“On top of everything else? You poor thing.” Matt crooned, running a knuckle over your cheek comfortingly.

“It’s nothing.” You assured them, because it really was the least of your worries right now, with all of your impending assignments and broken equipment.

Your loves seemed unconvinced, but they didn’t say anything more on the subject. Instead, Frank switched gears. “I’m sorry I left ya, doll. I ran to pick up dinner and got stuck talking to this one,” He gave Matt’s arm a shove, “In the living room.”

“You started talking to me!” Matt argued with a bright chuckle.

“You wish, Red. I was tryin’ to get back to my girl and you were blabberin’ on about court.”

”YOU asked ME how my day was!“

”Out of politeness, and you went way beyond the one word answer I was hoping for.“

”Well, excuse ME for thinking my partner wanted to hear about my day.“

The two continued bickering, their dramatic inhales expanding their chests, pushing you around like the bellows of an accordion. It could have been annoying, being jostled by their argument, but each swell of muscle reminded you of their presence, soothing your nerves.

You let your limbs go slack, your body bouncing between the two sturdy frames surrounding you as if you were a ping pong ball. Smiling happily, you let their rising voices wash over you as you began to nod off again.

”You alright, sweetheart?“ Frank's question startled you awake and you were unsure of how much time had passed. ”Ya got quiet on us.“

”'M fine. Sleepy.“ You responded, basking in the soft touches that you were once again bombarded with.

Matt chuckled against your neck. “That makes sense, my darling girl. You can rest here with me while Frank gets the pizza.”

You could practically hear Frank's resounding eye roll at Matt's demanding tone, but you were more interested in the promise of food. “Pizza?” You asked, hopefully.

“Yah, doll. Pizza. From your favorite place. Thought you deserved somethin' tasty after everythin' you had to deal with this week.” Frank kissed the tip of your nose, sliding out of your embrace and off the bed. “I'll be right back with it, ok?”

“Mmmkay.” You yawned, making both men smile. Matt carefully maneuvered your body so that you were propped against his chest, sitting up ever so slightly.

“There we go, pretty girl. How's that?” His lips tickled your forehead as he spoke and you giggled.

“Tickling me, Matty.” You whispered, tilting into his grasp with a sigh.

“Thought you were s'posed to be helpin' her rest.” Frank remarked from the doorway, pizza box balanced precariously as he wolfed down a slice.

Matt scoffed, “And I thought that pizza was for her.”

Shrugging, Frank smirked at his boyfriend. ”It's my tip. For the delivery.“

Matt snorted in response, taking the box from Frank so he could sit behind you.

”Let's get some food into ya, doll. Then you can sleep as much as ya want, ok?“

The rest of the night was spent laying on a firm chest as the boys fed you slices of your favorite pizza, eventually falling asleep blanketed by their embrace.

Admiring your beautiful face, your expression lax with sleep, Frank spoke as lowly as possible to avoid waking you.

”We have some work to do, Red. You ok handlin' things here if I go out tomorrow?“

”Absolutely,“ Matt confirmed. ”It shouldn't take us long.“

”Nah, but it'll make her day.“

”And that's what's important.“ Matt smiled, kissing Frank's arm that was draped across the 3 of you.

242 notes · View notes

sunshine-and-moonshine · 1 year

Text

Thick!Fem!Survivor in a Bikini

Requested: Yes! [love your works. never stop doing those please.. also just see your request are open so.. i want to request for ghostface, the legion (frank and julie), wesker, the trapper and the doctor react to their fav fem!survivor in like a bikini outfits (also if you could make her have a big boobs or maybe like some sort of chubby body then i would love it even more :))]

Warnings: ✨Spice✨, FEM!Reader

A/N:

Ghostface

Pictures. So so many pictures, each one more perfect than the last in his eyes. And there was never enough, no matter the fact that he had so many that his card read as full. Good thing he had a spare on him! This one empty of any photos, though soon to be full as well. He’ll waste away the whole trial following you around, his hands running along the thick curves of your body whenever he can get close enough without you noticing him. But even if you did notice him, it’s not much of a deterrent. Did you really think you could show up in front of him while wearing that and just get away?

Frank

Drooling. Drooling SO much. He’s staring the second he sees you, immediately reaching out to grasp your thick waist in his bandaged hands as he presses his chest into your back, his mask on the ground as he bites and sucks on the back of your neck, grinding into your plush ass through his jeans. Frank is such a sucker for big girls, it makes him look stupid and by the end of this trial you will be sitting on his face, your thick thighs smothering him to death. Legit doesn’t even care if you actually kill him while doing it, since he’ll just be resurrected by the entity anyways. He hopes.

Julie

Much like Frank, Julie is drooling, wanting to bury her face between your thighs and just suffocate. But Julie is just a tad bit more subtle than Frank. She’s not just outright groping, she’s fingers trailing softly down your spine, plucking at the strings of your bikini. She’s not deep bites and bleeding scratches, she’s a whisper in your ear, carrying the most sinful promises. She and Frank are two people that compliment and contrast each other perfectly in almost every way. Brawn and Brain, Force and Manipulation, Fast and Slow. She’s likely to invite you to share both her and Frank’s bed, once she’s done making you ride her fingers in this trial.

Wesker

Wesker is definitely surprised to see you in such an outfit at first, staring you down from a distance, slowly getting closer to you, taking in the shape of your body from every angle he can see, and once he gets close enough? He can’t help but let ouroboros wander over your skin, slipping under your scant clothing, between your thighs. Even when you’re crying and shaking from everything he’s doing to you. How could you ever expect him to resist when you just looked so good like that? Like a present just for him.

Trapper

N I C E. You can’t look at Trapper and tell me he doesn’t like thick girls. He fucking LOVES thick girls, remembers how he used to trail after daughters of the miners with chests so thick they almost popped out of their modest gowns, hips so thick that they showed through all the layers they wore. Part of him enjoyed indulging in thoughts of how it was money that his family gave their fathers that kept their bellies so full, kept them as thick as they were, their healthy pallor. He’s reminded of those thoughts as he looks at you. Granted, you’re not so modestly dressed as them but he actually likes it, likes the way they scant fabric clings to your skin. But what’s even better is when he rips it off you, clutching you to him even as you squirm, feeling along your curves, between your folds, cupping your full breasts. Yes, he really enjoyed this.

Doctor

Very bold of you to assume that the Doctor didn’t carefully plan this all out, to the very last detail. Down to convincing the Entity that yes, the bikini was necessary, and that no, he definitely didn’t have anything particularly heinous on his mind. Not that she believed that at all, but he had been doing particularly well in trials and she thought he deserves to be rewarded. Which is how you ended up Adrianna Imai’s bed (she was going to KILL you in all your future trials with her), The Doctor’s hands emitting little pain-pleasure sparks as they roamed your skin, snapping at the strings of your bikini while emitting his usual maniacal giggles.

#dbd #dead by daylight #Danny Johnson #danny johnson x reader #frank morrison #frank morrison x reader #julie kostenko #julie kostenko x reader #Albert weaker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil #evan macmillan #evan macmillan x reader #herman carter #herman carter x reader

837 notes · View notes

carnivalcarriondiscarded · 7 months

Text

hey remember that caramel-carmel Fake Script i was writing? yeah it's technically not done but i'm tired of tinkering with it so here it is! we'll just say it's a uhhhh uncovered partial script or somethin

this is not in any way official! it's a 100% unaffiliated fanwork & i am Just Fucking Around for Funsies

BARNABY: oh, I love carmul!

FRANK: [long, disgusted pause] …what?

BARNABY: Carmul! You know, those tasty little treats you’re holdin’!

FRANK: You mean caramel?

BARNABY: That’s what I said.

FRANK: [scoffs] No, you didn’t. You said carmul.

BARNABY: We’re sayin’ the same thing here.

FRANK: We absolutely are not!

JULIE: [giggles] You really aren’t.

BARNABY: Carmul, caramel, tomato, tomahto! What does it matter!

FRANK: [flustered, stammering] It - it matters! Julie, you agree with me, don’t you?

JULIE: Well… I don’t know, Frank! I think both are fun!

FRANK: You’re both wrong, then! Wally, you agree with me, don’t you?

WALLY: [hesitant] …I say carmul.

FRANK: No! Not you too! How could you poison him like this, Barnaby?

BARNABY: Don’t look at me! I’m innocent, honest!

FRANK: Ha! So you admit that carmul is the wrong pronunciation!

BARNABY: [groans] ah, geez… throw a dog a bone!

FRANK: I’d be delighted to if you’d just-

[distant yelp as Eddie trips off-screen]

FRANK: Eddie! Thank goodness, finally someone who can put an end to this debate!

EDDIE: [nervous laugh] Oh no, what did I stumble into this time?

BARNABY: Hold on a tic, Frank. Hey Ed, take this. What do you call that tasty treat?

EDDIE: [with a tinge of fear] A… caramel?

FRANK: [triumphant] a-HA!

SALLY: [approaching] Did someone mention carmul?

FRANK: AGH!

BARNABY: [delighted] Perfect timing, Sally!

SALLY: What, for a delicious morsel? Hand it over, thank you!

FRANK: You’re all wrong, and I’ll prove it! We’re going to go around the neighborhood and - wait. [under his breath] One two three four - [returns to normal volume] we’re taking this to Poppy’s!

BARNABY: Then Home, then Howdy, yeah yeah - might as well ask the daisies, too.

JULIE: Oooh, and the butterflies!

SALLY: While we’re at it, we should phone everyone in the book, just to get the widest audience input.

FRANK: [unamused] You all think you’re so funny.

EDDIE: Well, you gotta admit it’s… it’s…

[brief, tense pause. Eddie clears his throat]

EDDIE: It’s perfectly sensible!

[Frank makes an affronted noise]

FRANK: Poppy will see sense.

POPPY: I’d be delighted to have a cah-mehl, but I’m afraid it-

FRANK: [aghast, truly astonished] You’re joking. You have to be joking. CAH-MEHL? Does no one in this town have sense?! Besides Eddie, of course. And Julie - on a technicality.

EDDIE: [oddly pleased] Why thank you.

POPPY: My goodness, did- did I say it wrong?

BARNABY: [gleeful] Not in the least, Pops!

SALLY: As far as I’m concerned, you added an extra layer of… pizazz to the word. In fact, I may adjust my own pronunciation accordingly!

POPPY: [flustered] Oh, well, I didn’t - don’t change on my account -

SALLY: Take the compliment, Poppy.

POPPY: [meekly] Thank you.

[Sally wanders from the group, practicing the slightly adjusted pronunciation]

WALLY: I’m not sure I understand. What’s wrong with carmul or… care… mul… carmel…

POPPY: Don’t strain yourself dear, you’ll get a migraine.

FRANK: What’s wrong is that it’s ENTIRELY incorrect! It! Is! Pronounced! Caramel!

JULIE: Aww, Frank, I’m sure Home and Howdy will agree with us! Team Caramel, WOOO!

BARNABY: [barely restrained disbelief] Boy, won’t they!

POPPY: I’m not sure what the fuss is about… there isn’t much of a difference, is there?

[Frank makes a high pitched, frustrated noise and stomps off. He can be heard calling Home’s name in the background]

JULIE: Oop, there he goes!

POPPY: Oh - oh dear. I didn’t mean to rile him up.

BARNABY: Don’t twist your beak about it - Frank’s just bein’ Frank. Now if you’ll excuse us, I wanna see how it goes with Home.

WALLY: [quietly, thoughtful] But Home doesn’t talk like us…

POPPY: If you’re sure… Do let me know how it goes.

SALLY: [swaying back to the group] I’ll phone you post-haste! Or even better, I can come by for one of your delicious muffins and regale you with the whole escapade, in detail.

POPPY: [audibly pleased] That sounds - well that sounds like a wonderful idea! I have some fresh from this morning-

BARNABY: Sounds great! See you around, Poppy.

FRANK: Home, I have an important question to ask you. Is the correct pronunciation for this candy ‘carmul’, or ‘caramel’? One creak for caramel, two for the incorrect carmul.

BARNABY: Talk about a bias…

[Home stays silent. Sally yawns.]

FRANK: One creak for caramel, two-

[Home slowly shuts their curtains]

FRANK: Hmph! The nerve… well, I suppose a house that can’t speak shouldn’t have a say, anyway.

WALLY: Home can speak. He just does it differently.

BARNABY: And I’m pretty sure they just agreed with me, Walls, an’ Sally.

JULIE: They did not!

BARNABY: Looked like it to me!

SALLY: I have to agree with Julie. Home just declared itself a neutral party, and so the vote can’t be counted either way. On to Howardson!

JULIE: Yes! Howdy! Our last hope!

FRANK: He may have terrible taste in company, but he’s a sensible businessman. Poppy and Home have let me-

JULIE: Us!

FRANK: -us down, but surely Howdy will back us up.

BARNABY: [faux-serious tone, knows something they don’t] Absolutely. Without a doubt.

[store bell chimes]

HOWDY: Howdy-do - [brief pause, a tinge of surprise] everyone! My my, what brings the entire neighborhood to my bountiful bodega? Finally decided to clean me out for good?

BARNABY: [snorts] With how fast you restock? I think I’d break my funnybone!

FRANK: We have important business.

HOWDY: [mildly curious] Do we? That’s news to me! But I’m letting you know now that I don’t deal in bugs, Frankly. It’d be hypocritical.

FRANK: Believe me, I wish I were here to talk insects. Unfortunately, I need to settle a score. Mr. Dear, if you would?

EDDIE: If I would what?

SALLY: [stage-whisper] Barnabello gave you the, ah, parcel earlier?

EDDIE: The…? Oh! Oh, right - I have it right here, just… give me a second… which pocket…? There we go.

[sound of a small, hard candy placed on the countertop]

HOWDY: A carmul all for me? You shouldn’t have! No, really, you shouldn’t have. I’m on the clock.

BARNABY: [loud bark of laughter] I knew I could count on you, pal! So what’s the tally, Frankie?

[Frank mutters something inaudible]

BARNABY: What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of me bein’ right!

FRANK: [explosive] You’re all wrong! The correct pronunciation is caramel, CARAMEL! You’re all - you’re all just - heathens! Heathens, I say! I’m taking my company elsewhere!

EDDIE: Mr. Frankly…

JULIE: [overlapping, following] Aw, c’mon Frank!

[the door jingles. Julie and Frank’s hushed arguing in the doorway underlies the dialogue]

HOWDY: It sounds like I missed quite the context! Mind filling me in?

BARNABY: That was pretty much it; a real potato potahto argument.

HOWDY: If you say so, Barn. Speaking of potahtos-

[the background argument abruptly cuts off, the door jingles again as it's closed]

FRANK: [rapidly rejoining the group] Hold it! You don’t really say potahto, do you?

BARNABY: [under breath] Here we go again…

SALLY: [deeply amused] Where on Earth did you pick up such a butchered pronunciation? I must have missed the sign on my tour down from the heavens.

EDDIE: [baffled, underlying the dialogue] I’ve never heard anyone say it that way.

JULIE: Oh! Is it a joke? Like, Barnaby says potato-potahto, and then you jokingly say potahto to make us laugh?

HOWDY: It’s not a joke. That’s how it’s said.

FRANK: [genuinely disturbed] No - no one says that. It’s potato.

HOWDY: Well I say potahto, thank you very much! And if you ever want one from my store again, you’d do well to accept that.

[Various grumbles of reluctant acceptance]

HOWDY: Good. Now, can I get any of you a refreshing drink after such a squall? You must be parched!

WALLY: I wouldn’t mind a glass of mulk.

[Horrified silence. A pin drop would be deafening]

[Sudden uproarious and overlapping argument]

#consider this a low budget dollar store fanfic #didnt want to write an actual fic so Just The Dialogue Works Fine #anyway ive never tried to write a script-adjacent Anything so have mercy on me #i dont know what im doing ever! im having fun anyways!#and for the record! im team carmul #well all pronunciations are valid in my book but i say carmul #always have always will dont know why dont know how #my parents tried to make me say it 'caramel' growing up and uhhh No <3 #its fuckin carmul to me. To Me.#i dont say potahto tho. who the fuck does that who isnt a 50s mob boss in jersey #if a 50s mob boss in jersey is reading this: you'll never catch me alive #absolutely unprompted #welcome home #hmmm i should have a writing tag at this point #yk what ill just reuse - wait no i cant reuse the one from my dc sideblog #oh fuck it we'll stay on theme #snippets from the bog #yeah this little writing thing has been in my docs for like.#checking my nonexistent watch here. mmmmmmdont know. a while #and im slightly terrified to post!#its one thing posting art - posting any sort of writing is like breaking your ribs open with a crab cracker #and saying Hi! Have A Taste! I Hope My Viscera Isn't Completely Disgusting!#my god i hope they're at least acceptably in character. im trying im trying #i hope this gives someone a laugh!#or at least a hearty Chortle #or... blowing air through your nose in amusement. yes

154 notes · View notes

brights-place · 3 months

Note

hihi!! i didn’t see that asks were closed but if they are then please ignore:)

can you do an alastor x fem/gn mafia boss? (from 1920s)

tysm!! soz if it’s too specific:(

Alastor x Mafia boss! Reader

Pairings: Alastor X F!Reader (platonic!)

Warnings: Death, murder, Drugs, Weaponry

A/N: Alastor Is aroace so I'm making it platonic because well as an person under the aroace umbrella since I'm an pansexual person who is an mix of an cupioromantic and demi-sexual person so yeahhh! Anyways hope you enjoy the request! <33

- When you first arrived in hell you were confused looking around the area their were beings and strange creatures walking around - The area appeared to be a rundown city and industrial area with rampant criminal and gang activity as the sky was filled with red stars and an flipping coin that was suppose to be the moon...?

- You stood up looking down at yourself and back around seeing signs that had the word 'Mammon' on it or an sigil of an M which made you confused

- You staretd to walk around eyebrows furrowed at whoever or whatever tried to reach you as you easily took them down.

- Next thing you knew after a day you were ruling a spot in the greed ring… you don’t know how! You just DID - You were soon known as 'Lady Ploutos' the woman who held wealth and power which made you an target but it was very easy for you to take them down with an snap of your fingers - You soon became an 'overlord' whatever that mean't to you. You were soon invited to an 'Overlord' meeting which you complied to go to due to the fact you were bored and you currently weren't gun smuggling or committing some more crimes

- Due to having relations with Mammon and helping him gain more wealth that the greedy man wanted he'd allow you to leave and come back whenever you pleased

- As you left the greed ring after having permission from mammon you stared out the window of the car watching everything shift as you were now in the pride ring.

- Your driver dropped you off as you hopped out of the car and glanced behind you to the driver who whipped his gun up swiftly towards your direction as you didn't turn around to face him once more as an blood curdling scream was heard after some moments later you glanced back to the car - His body was limp against the steering wheel eyes rolled back and his jaw ripped off showing only the top layer of his teeth and face as one eye was popping out his head like an caterpillar or an worm peaking out from an apple his body pale and numb as the deads driver bottom half of the jaw was on the car floor with blood pooling out of what was left of the males mouth as an wound was noticed coming from the nape down to his abodoem.

- You couldn't care less as you continued to walk up to an elevator noticing an male with an strange posture standing there with small eggs? following him with an taller slender male beside him as the two turned towards you as you walked past them and entered the elevator

- After the meeting you were absolutely confused scratching your head "What the fuck was that?" You uttered as you glanced across the table to Zeezi who was laughing as you glanced to the angel head that was being poked by Alastor the radio demon who glanced towards you as you muttered an “The fuck?” In an confused tone

- When you both left the meeting you entered the same Elvator as alastor spoke “You are Lady Plotous right?” “Yeah People call me that but I’m actually called (Name) my title is something those imbeciles call me” You said waving your hand dissmisvly as Alastor smiled “Alastor. Charmed to meet the person who controls the greed ring! Didn’t think their was someone outside of the pride ring who controls that half” You raised an brow “Uh huh” you said shaking his hand

- You both created an bond about how you both enjoyed peoples sufferings and making deals

- Your company is good for him since you both waited for frank to come down after snopping and being an spy.

- The news of Angels being killed made you smirk and chuckled as Alastor smirked you two sharing an look

- You flipped open your phone and texted your right hand man to get ready to order some angelic weapons since you HAD the money. - As an Mafia leader well people thought you were the Mafia leader but you were actually the god father of the mafia's around the greed ring even crimson was an puppet of yours. - Godfather also known as (The Boss of all Bosses) or (The King) It is a phrase used mainly by the media, public and the law enforcement community to indicate a supremely powerful crime boss in the Sicilian or American Mafia who holds great influence over the whole empire. It has seldom been given to specific bosses because it could create tension between different factions (otherwise known as families) within the Mafia. Typically the title is awarded de facto to the boss of the most powerful Mafia family which was you. - You were ruthless and cruel yet sometimes gave pity which some said was an flaw but secretly you needed some people to think you were low ranking unaware that you were above them.

- Whoever asked you for money you would give you were technically an loan shark yet you still killed whoever disobeyed you and ere you were right now

- You were in the pride ring beating the shit out of someone who had owed you money with brass knuckles as Alastor was walking down the street to hear the grunts

- He smiled when seeing you with blood coating your fingers and some on your face as you smiled "Alastor! My favorite Overlord!" You called out chuckling walking over smirking as Alastor spoke "My! What have you been up to?" "beating the shit outta an asshole who owed me" You said shrugging

- Alastor would visit you and would smirk just to ask if he could make deals with your victims which you allowed sometimes since you enjoyed how Alastor worked

- When Alastor was gone for 7 years you were annoyed to lose an close friend- I MEAN Colleague!

- When he returned you invited him over to have some drinks and wanted him to tell you about where he had went yet he didn't tell you anything which you found annoying but understood.

- You enjoy listening to Alastor is stories and when he cooks some Jambalya he says you have good taste

- You both bond on liking Jazz and sipping Whisky together

- You figured out he was Aroace the second when an woman tried to hit on him. It was entertaining

- When your stressed and overworked with your useless Soldiers not doing their jobs properly Alastor dosen't mind pulling an few strings... and limbs to help you out - You enjoyed Alastor is company I mean he is the radio demon he is the most cruel overlord with you coming second since you weren't as bad as him - Your bond was strong and tight for an Mafia leader and well an Radio man.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

83 notes · View notes

the-scandalorian · 1 year

Text

two

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 5.1k Warnings: sort of dubcon due to intoxication; alcohol and drug use (by both reader and Joel); mention of reader’s hair being long enough to tangle his fingers in (no details otherwise); smut (fingering, oral, spitting on her pussy, p-in-v); grief and angst Note: There's no part one out yet; this is the second of a potential series of loosely tied oneshots that are coming to me out of order.

The living room is blue. All the surfaces, the shelves and the antique piano, are coated in a thick layer of dust. It feels wrong to disturb anything in this house—in this perfectly preserved resting place—so you tuck yourself into the corner of Bill and Frank’s old couch, out of the way, toe off your boots, and pull your knees up to your chest.

Ellie thunders up the stairs and shuts herself in one of the rooms, gone at the first opportunity for privacy.

Joel doesn’t disappear. You expect him to take the other bedroom and close the door. Instead, he watches you settle onto the couch and drops heavily into the seat beside you. He leans over the armrest and opens a cabinet, retrieving a bottle of dark liquid.

His casual knowledge of the space speaks to how much time he’s spent here, to the depth of his friendship with Bill and Frank. It makes you sad; it makes the room dark. It makes jealousy sour your stomach. Joel has people: a place to fit in this fractured world.

Had. He had people.

There are paintings on the walls: landscapes, still lifes, portraits. Mostly of Bill, you think. With that glower? Definitely Bill. Joel did say Frank was the nice one.

The likenesses vary in style. There’s a gradient from careful, detailed studies to less refined renderings with loose, painterly brushwork. All of them, in their own unique way, capture the same steely gaze—the spiteful tenacity that must have fueled their survival for decades.

You ignore the many versions of stern eyes watching you.

The worn fabric under your fingers is scratchy, the upholstery splashed with roses, the hard back of the couch draped in crocheted blankets. It’s dated, the whole place frozen in time while the world fell—falls—apart around it, chaos kept out by a chain link fence and Bill’s gritted teeth. A bell jar in a hurricane.

You wonder if Joel and Tess ever considered leaving the QZ permanently for this place. If that was ever offered. You imagine it would have been almost…idyllic.

You look up at Joel. He’s holding the unopened bottle in his lap. His sharp profile is limned by the soft moonlight filtering through the window behind him. It catches on the silver flecked in his hair and beard.

He knows you’re watching him. He says nothing. He’s thinking about the letter.

About Tess.

You’re trying to think about anything else.

You study his face. Even like this, anguished and lined, filthy from the road, with a half-healed slash across his cheek, he’s handsome. He has rugged good looks, with those brown eyes and that granite-cut jaw. The natural pout of his bottom lip. In a different time, a different universe, he could have been an actor, a model—the face of an ad campaign for a devastatingly masculine cologne. Those big, veined hands modeling watches on the pages of a fashion magazine.

He wouldn’t have. It wouldn’t suit. But he could have.

It’s strange to think about what he could have been.

Instead, he’s here. The peaks of his knuckles are split and scabbed, the valleys a mottled black and blue, their edges fading to a sickly yellow. His skin is rough and dry—it snags when he runs his hands absentmindedly over the denim of his jeans. His palms are calloused. You know because when shit gets serious, he grabs your wrist or your forearm or your bicep—never your hand—and shoves you behind the wall of his body or pulls you along as he takes off at a run. His middle is thick and soft, his shoulders broad and strong. He’s going gray, and fuck, it looks good on him.

You study him because it feels inconsequential. Your presence feels inconsequential. To him, you think, you’re just another ghost in this house.

Or maybe he is.

A small part of you is braced for him to break, to buckle under the weight of Bill’s last words—the words that are hanging over this house like a storm cloud. Anyone else would.

Joel won’t, though. You watched him stalk away from the burning capitol building with white-knuckled stoicism, and you felt sure that he was already too utterly broken to break again.

Like molten metal, bent and hammered and folded over on itself, again and again and again. Until it’s shatterproof.

He’s leaning forward, his elbows braced on his spread knees. Even on a soft couch, he doesn’t fully relax. He drops his head into his hands and scrubs one over his face. Then he reaches into the pack by his feet and rummages for something. A little plastic baggie. He just holds it for a minute. You watch him decide.

It’s safe here. As safe as anywhere can be. And Joel hasn’t slept in days.

He shakes two white pills out of the bag and chases them with a swig of whiskey, knocking the liquor back with a quick tip of his head, squinting against the slight after-burn. You extend your open palm. He shakes out a couple pills for you without question, without even looking up.

He passes you the bottle, and you down them. One harsh gulp.

It’s real whiskey, with a label and everything, not something homemade. Not top-shelf quality by any means, but it’s better than anything you’ve had in a long time. It should be sipped and savored. Back in the QZ, you could have gotten a hefty stack of ration cards for this one bottle—even half empty. It doesn’t matter now.

You take another drink and hand it back.

You watch as a glazed calm gradually slips over Joel’s troubled expression and he finally sinks into the give of the couch cushions, letting his head drop back. You watch as the pills soften his edges. Just barely. They erode a little of the hard, calcified layer he must have started building the day of the outbreak. It grants you a fuzzy peek into the Joel before. His shoulders lose their tension; his fists unclench. If you squint, you might be able to see the Joel who drank with his buddies and winked at women at the bar. The one who drove a pickup truck with the windows rolled down in the summertime.

You sit in silence as the haze takes you too, creeping up the back of your neck like a warm tide until you feel just numb enough. Any and all troubling thoughts are caught and trapped, restrained like moths in amber, so all that’s left in this blue room is pleasant quiet.

You’re just starting to feel drowsy and loose when he turns to you, wanting. Joel shifts in his seat and fixes you with a look—the first time he’s looked directly at you in an hour or more. The usual bite of his penetrating gaze is muted, the crease between his brows deep with feeling; his brown eyes are big with a question. A need.

It’s the tiniest chink in his armor, a momentary blip of him without a mask. A second of vulnerability, so foreign on his stoic face that the urge to soothe him is visceral. It jumps up the back of your throat.

This is Joel breaking.

He’s asking you for something—for distraction, for comfort. To be put back together.

You unfold your limbs and climb directly into his lap.

He makes a low, approving sound when you straddle his spread thighs and drops his head to your chest to inhale deeply against your shirt. If you weren’t buzzed, you might flinch away. You’re filthy, sweaty and dirty from days on the road. Neither of you have taken advantage of the shower yet. You can’t smell nice.

Joel does it again, though, chasing the comfort by burying his face between your tits, his hands tightening on your hips, his long fingers slipping inside the back pockets of your jeans to grip your ass. He pulls you down against his lap. Hard.

He’s hungry for it this time, watching the place where your body meets his, denim against rough denim. Like he’s imagining the way your naked body will fit against his.

He remembers himself for a moment, looking up at your face. “This okay?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you say. “I want it.”

“Good.”

His forehead drops lightly against your sternum as he moves you against him. He guides your hips into a slow grind. Your knees sink into the plush of the old sofa cushions, your hands braced on his shoulders.

If he were anyone else, you’d have kissed him already. You settle for pressing your face against the side of his neck, dragging your nose up the column of his bared throat. He smells like sun and sweat and pine, like the dry, dusty road and something else...something distinctly him. It's subtle. It makes your mouth water.

He holds you tight, a strong arm wrapped around your back. You run your hands over his biceps, over the hard lines of his muscles, his shoulders—feeling what often distracts you when he crosses his arms over his chest and the fabric of his shirt pulls taut.

Joel is content, for now, to lift his hips, just barely, into the steady roll of your hips. You think about last time—his clinical, efficient approach. It was all deliberate movements and quick work. He'd made a growled promise that it would only ever happen once.

And yet.

This time, he seems to be letting himself enjoy something, reveling in the pleasure. That alone feels like an unaffordable indulgence, like if you drew attention to it, you’d scare it away.

His big hand slides heavily up the curve of your spine, a needy drag, and back down again, settling on your lower back, urging you harder. Faster.

More.

It feels good. You rock your hips, grinding yourself into his lap, where he’s full and hard now, thick and straining against his fly, and you groan together when he adjusts his legs wider and pushes his hips up to meet you, letting you get at his clothed erection a little easier. The metal button on your jeans clicks against his belt buckle as you move.

He turns his head to set his teeth against your shoulder, biting with no pressure, and breathes hot against the fabric as you ride him, his chest expanding on a sharp inhale as you drag your core over the stiff arch of his cock and chase the embers of pleasure sparking low in your belly.

All at once, it’s not enough.

Joel grunts and grips your ass, fingers digging into your soft flesh, and he half-shoves, half-lifts you backwards as he straightens, setting you on your feet in front of him. You make a squeaked sound of surprise at the sudden movement, clutching his biceps for balance as you find your footing, and the corner of his mouth twitches up into the barest beginning of a smile. You smile back at him, radiant.

Smiles.

The pills are hitting. It’s all a little delirious.

The moment feels surreal, like this dated living room has been snatched from the current of time and set down on solid ground. Just for a moment. Just to let you both breathe.

It evaporates quickly. His stern expression returns.

“Bedroom,” Joel says with a bossy little jerk of his chin.

You snatch the half-empty whiskey bottle from the coffee table and head down the hall.

There are two spare bedrooms in this big, white house—the one upstairs that Ellie disappeared into and a second down here on the first floor. It’s situated down the hall from the locked door. You try not to think about that room. Try not to wonder if Joel and Tess shared this same spare room when they used to visit.

There are too many ghosts here tonight.

You pop open the bottle and drink deep, and Joel shuts the door behind him with a quiet click. He stoops to switch on the lamp on the bedside table.

You drop the corked whiskey onto an armchair and reach for the top button of your shirt, eager to avoid an awkward interlude, eager to please him.

There’s something about Joel that makes you desperate to be wanted by him—something more than just his gruff appeal or the situation you’re in together or the fact that his care promises some measure of safety in this world of scarcity. It has everything to do with how he acts around the people that are his. More than just protective. Possessive.

This want is practical. And it’s not.

It’s animal too.

He rounds the bed and stands close, stopping your hand with his. You look up, and he inclines his head toward the bed.

“Lie down.”

You move to listen, but he stops you.

“Wait.”

He bends to grip the bottom edge of the bed frame, and Joel grunts as he slides the whole thing a few inches away from the wall. The feet squeak along the hardwood floor.

He straightens and nods. “Alright, go on.”

The image of him arched over your body, fucking you so hard and deep that the headboard knocks against the wall—thump, thump, thump—sets your heart racing. You scramble up the bed, and he takes his time unlacing his boots then follows with a slow crawl, watching you with dark eyes. With intent so potent it makes you want to look away.

You don’t.

He’s here this time.

As present as either of you can be when you’re a little high. Just the barest edge of sedated. You imagine your own eyes are glassy, lacquered in the low light of the shaded lamp. Joel’s don’t seem to be, though. He’s alert.

He crowds you further up the bed, and you scoot back until your head hits the pillow. He makes space for himself between your legs and reaches for your collar. You watch his deft fingers work quickly down the line of buttons on your shirt.

His eyes flick from his hands to your face and back. There’s naked want there—desire etched into his hard features. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve only seen him two ways: serious or furious.

This is something else. This is intoxicating.

Your head is starting to spin.

He gets your shirt open, helps you shuck it off, and pulls your bra off with a practiced ease. His large, warm hands palm your breasts as soon as they’re free. He’s immediately fixated, and the attention sends a flush of heat over your bare skin. He tests the weight of each, kneading lightly, his mouth parted in muted awe as his fingertips sink into the give. He tweaks your nipple between two fingers, one and then the other, and watches, satisfied, as they pebble for him. He studies your reactions to his touch, eyes lingering on your face as he plays with you, as if your response is as important to him as the feel of you.

He takes his time. Unhurried. Like you have all the time in the world.

Joel leans down suddenly and licks a warm stripe up the line of your sternum, through the valley of your breasts, and your body reacts to him: you arch your back into the heat, your hand automatically burying itself in his thick hair, your lips parting around a moan.

His tongue.

You must taste like salt and sweat, and yet, he looks a little smug when he pulls back, his lips quirked in a half smile.

“You like that?”

He looks young when he smiles. You can see thirty-year-old Joel in that look. Unburdened Joel. Fifty-year-old Joel without the trauma.

The margins of your vision start to smudge as you look at him; colors bleed freely in the dim light, his features running like wet ink. His smile melts away. You feel off-kilter, like you’ll slip off the solid plane of this mattress and drop into nothingness if you don’t hold on. You fist your hands in the comforter.

A hand frames your cheek. You can’t focus your eyes. Your lashes flutter.

Joel says your name, concern woven between each syllable.

Once. Again.

He drops his weight onto you. The spinning stops, and your hands release. You meet his eyes.

“Joel—”

You remember last time—the first time you fucked, the smothering weight of his hand on your mouth when you said his name—and you bite your lip before you can say anything else. But he doesn’t react to it this time. He’s too lost in it.

It feels good to be lost together.

“You alright?” he asks, his brow pinched not in anger or distress, for once, but in naked concern. “Too much?”

You're not sure if he's asking about the pills and the booze or the pace or just...him.

“No, no.” You shake your head. “I’m good now.”

There’s so much care in his eyes that it feels like he’d give you anything you want in this moment. Like he’d lie down and hold you if you asked him to. You’re seeing him without his hardened front, and it makes you shiver. You slip your fingers around the back of his neck and pull his face down to yours, taking the thing you want most. He bends for you willingly.

His lips are a little chapped, his facial hair scratchy. You’re expecting a light kiss and a retreat, a concession. You’re not expecting his whole body to respond—the press of his chest against yours and an arm slipping under your shoulders to force you closer. You’re not expecting to be enveloped by his wide frame, for your back to be lifted a couple inches off the mattress in his urgency to hold you tight. You’re not expecting his tongue to slip between your lips first—to lick across the roof of your mouth in an utterly invasive, possessive way that makes you gasp.

He coaxes your shocked body into a response with careful waves of his tongue, consuming you with hungry lips and searching, grasping hands. Gentle teeth worry your bottom lip, soothed by the pass of his tongue. His nose nudges tenderly against yours as he kiss kiss kisses his way across your cheek.

He pulls back, fixing you with a serious look.

“You sure you’re okay?”

You can see him so perfectly in the before for a second. How he might have asked you the same question in some mundane situation, helping you to your feet after a stumble with a steadying hand on your shoulder. The dip of his accent and the color of his eyes would have spelled the end for you. You would have been a goner.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m good.”

“You wanna stop?”

You tighten your fingers in his shirt and shake your head. “No.”

He nods, sweeping light fingers across your cheek, and leans back in.

You fumble blindly with the buttons of his shirt as he kisses you, working as quickly as you can in the tight, shifting space between your bodies. When you have it almost all the way open, he sits back on his heels and yanks it off the rest of the way, tossing it off the bed. You tug impatiently at the hem of the white t-shirt he has on underneath, but he goes right for the button on your jeans, popping it open and ignoring the zipper completely. It comes down on its own when he hooks his fingers in your belt loops and jerks the denim off your body. Your underwear goes with it.

You reach for his belt buckle, but he stops you.

“No,” he says, stern, not unkind, “I’m gonna make you come first.”

He waits for your nod, then slides down the mattress and situates himself between your legs, spreading them open with a decisive push.

You’re naked under his gaze.

You watch, tense with anticipation, as he leans down to part you with the v of his fingers, one forearm hooked over the top of your thigh. He takes his time admiring the natural gloss of your arousal, his face situated so close that you can feel the warmth of each individual exhale on your skin, and then he looks up at you from his position between your thighs.

Without breaking eye contact, he adds to your slick by pouting his lips and letting a line of his spit drip slowly onto your pussy.

When he did that the first time you fucked, you chalked it up to efficiency, necessity—a way to bypass intimacy by cutting down on foreplay. Now, watching him track the slow seep of his saliva over your glistening cunt with hungry eyes, you realize he just likes it. He’s just nasty.

Joel dips his head and licks through the mess.

Your knees start to close reflexively around his ears at the first direct stimulation against your clit, but he forces your legs open with one hand and the width of his shoulders.

He looks up at your face.

“You gonna keep these open for me or do I need to do it for you?”

He says it in his usual deadpan, but there’s a challenge there, a hint of provocation behind his expression, the buried hope that you might want to fight him in the way he’d like. You tuck that away for later.

For now, he takes your look of surprise as an affirmative and dips his head again, satisfied.

He works his tongue over the aching pearl of your clit with a gentle, targeted flick—up and back, the bridge of his nose pressed hard against your mound—and your mind goes blank. You arch into him, fucking yourself against his face in a languid rhythm, as the tension begins to build in your body.

He likes it. His throat vibrates with an approving hum.

You grip the comforter as your muscles pull taut, as your thighs tense in his tight hold. You can hear the flick of his tongue and the suck of his lips. The low, wet sounds.

He exhales sharply through his nose and readjusts, his hands forcing your thighs open and up, so he can taste you how he wants—where he wants. Where you’re dripping for him.

The rough pad of one finger rocks steadily over your clit while he fucks you with his tongue, moaning into the heat of your body as he pushes in as deep as he can. His other hand is gripped around the back of your thigh. Bruises will blossom there by morning, a shadow of his hold on you.

You crook an elbow and drop your arm over your face, turning into it to muffle the noises he’s dragging out of you. A whine. A choked moan.

His mouth moves back up, and a finger takes its place, eased inside you with little resistance. He slides it out, and a second joins the first when he presses them back in. They’re thick, and he pushes them deep.

Joel builds your pleasure to a peak—with his hand, with his tongue, with the low sounds grunted in his throat—and it climbs steadily until it breaks. He climbs with you, the cadence of his breath picking up as yours does, his body rocking gently into yours in time with his fingers' movements inside you, his shoulders pressed against the backs of your thighs. The bed is shifting, the mattress springs whining quietly as you writhe.

You clench tight around his thrusting fingers, their tips curled repeatedly against the spot that makes your heels slip down the bed, and he closes his eyes as he works you through it with the hot lick of his tongue on your clit.

Through the shock, the tremors, and the slow fade. Until you’re limp.

His voice is a husky drawl, his breath humid on your hip. “Fuck, baby, you feel good.”

It’s barely anything. From him, it feels like a revelation, like a fucking love poem. You reach for him.

“Please, Joel—”

He sits up, kneeling between your legs, and rips his shirt over his head. His heaving chest is flushed. He opens his belt buckle with one hand, the clink of metal and slip of leather loud in the quiet room as it slithers out of his belt loops, and he drops it to the floor. He moves from the bed to kick off his jeans, and when he settles his body over yours again, the only thing left between you is the thin fabric of his boxer briefs.

You can feel the heft of him through them. The strain and the heat. The body-warm fabric pressed against your wet cunt.

He’s heavy on top of you, his hips caught between your thighs, his chest warm against yours, knuckles ghosting over your cheek. You shove the elastic waistband over his ass, impatiently searching for skin.

“Need you to fuck me,” you breathe.

He helps you push the fabric down, gets them off, and holds himself over you with a hand braced by your ear, gripping the base of his cock to tease the head through your folds. He meets your eyes as he catches the tip on the notch of your entrance and starts to sink inside you, dropping his hips forward in a slow, purposeful movement as he drinks in your reaction. You’re wet and aching to be filled, but he’s still a stretch, so he thrusts shallowly against the resistance until the crease in your brow smoothes and your body welcomes him deep.

He drops to his forearms and lets you feel each other. He’s thick inside you, sharp and vital in a way that feels incredible, hugged tight in your heat. Joel dips his head, your foreheads brushing, and he presses his mouth to yours in a light kiss. Sweet and quick. Almost chaste.

He tastes like you.

Then he circles his hips, a slow grind that ends in a controlled thrust—powerful and targeted.

You get to collect little pieces of him while he moves inside you, as his cock kisses the deepest parts of you, as you cling to him. Gray hairs are threaded among the dark brown ones on his chest. His neck is dusted with faint freckles, only visible this close. There’s a shiny pink scar on his left shoulder—a deep cut, old and healed. A much newer one puckers the skin of his bicep. A bullet graze.

He likes to kiss your neck and suck on the supple skin of your breasts while he fucks you.

He gives you a second orgasm before searching for his own, reaching between your bodies to take you over the edge with the practiced ease of his fingers.

He was right to move the bed away from the wall.

He works his way up from a slow, deep rhythm to a pace that has each punch of his hips threatening to drive you up the silky fabric of the comforter. He slips a hand under your back and curls his fingers over the top of your shoulder, keeping you in place as he impales you on his cock, pulling you back down to meet him each time. The pleasure has you pressing your head back into the pillow, your eyes closed tight.

He doesn’t like that tonight.

“Look at me.”

Joel shoves a hand under your skull, tangles his fingers in your hair, and holds you fast. He’s panting as his eyes flick between yours. Searching. Almost…frantic as he starts to fuck you harder, with less control. The mattress complains under your shifting bodies.

You watch him unravel.

One hand still caught in your hair, he pulls out and jerks himself over you, chasing his orgasm as he watches your face. He bares his teeth when he comes across your stomach in warm pulses, pearly lines dripped over your skin. The pleasure punches a grunt and a hiss from him, his hand squeezing tight around the base of his cock as his whole body tenses and releases, the tug of his fist slowing to a stop as he milks the last drop.

He’s breathing hard as his gaze traces over the spots where you’re painted with him, and something flickers behind his veiled eyes. Before you can really catch it, he scrubs a hand down his tired face and reaches for his discarded shirt. He uses it to wipe the sticky mess off your skin and tosses the crumpled thing back onto the floor.

He settles on the edge of the bed, sitting with his back to you, and you slip underneath the blankets. Now that you’re sated, sleep is starting to weigh at the edges of your consciousness. Insistent.

Joel pulls on his jeans and leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. You hear water running.

You lie there—torn between feeling sure he’s coming back, especially seeing as the rest of his clothes are here, and the creeping thought that he’d probably rather sleep on the too-short couch then blur an already murky line by sharing this bed for something other than sex.

It would be so nice, for once, not to sleep alone.

But you’re used to sleeping alone.

His steps creak on the hardwood outside the door. Too much relief blooms in your gut.

Joel shuts the door behind him and stands at the end of the bed, scratching a hand through his tousled hair. Something about his rumpled appearance, his uncertainty, his half-dressed state is endearing. It’s so rare to see him…undone. He’s studying you, like he doesn’t quite know how to bridge the gap between your bodies now that the lust has dulled. Now that it’s just you and him and a bed.

“You want me to find another room?” you ask, knowing full well that the Texas gentleman buried somewhere inside him would never allow that. He’d leave if he wanted to be alone.

“No,” he says, making a decision and reaching for the light. He shuts it off with a click. There’s a shuffling of clothes, off and on, and he slips under the blankets.

In the dark, it’s easier for him. He gets close. He doesn’t reach for you, but in the quiet black, you can hear him angle his body toward you, settling on his side. He doesn’t resist when you slide closer; his hand rests on your waist when you press your nose into the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt.

In the morning, he’ll be gone again.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #tlou spoilers #the last of us spoilers

522 notes · View notes

reds-writings · 6 days

Text

souls further entwined

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: finally an update for these two! sorry to keep you waiting! I've got a lot of life changes in the works so updates might come a little slower over the next few months depending but i hope this tides y'all over for a bit! this takes place sometime after if only tonight we could sleep

word count: roughly 2.5k

warnings: (PLEASE LOOK BEFORE CONTINUING) discussions of abortion, child loss, forced/unsafe medical procedures, bad family situations, angst angst, cursing, semi-not-so-smut at the end, minors avert your gaze or else!!

The hidden gem of a restaurant that Rust had brought you to somewhere in the French Quarter was rather nice with its live jazz band playing in the corner and lavish decor. The tinkering of silverware layered on top of the low rumblings of fellow diners did what it could to fill the void of silence that had long settled between you and the man sitting adjacent. He had spontaneously asked you– well more like told you to go out with him tonight. Something about wanting to do things right once and for all after all this tiptoeing around. The whole notion had taken you off guard, admittedly.

You’d been buzzing so bright leading up to tonight that you could've probably put a lightning bug to shame. He’d asked you on a real date. A step forward from the semi-clandestine meetings you’d both been settling on for far too long now. It was unlike him to outwardly admit to much but you doubted it was a wide occurrence that he’d take a girl on a date just because he was bored. This had meaning.

With that thought swirling in mind, you’d found your best dress and took what constituted as way too long of a pampering shower to best prepare for a promising night out with the man you'd become so deeply enamored with. It wasn’t often you got to get all prettied up for some fun given that work always managed to swallow you whole.

God you’d been so excited.

From the time you’d gotten into Rust’s Ford up until you’d sat down to eat he had yet to utter a single word to you. Hell, he’d hardly even managed to look at you either and it was starting to cause a distasteful rock that went by the name of dread to sink lower and lower in your gut.

Dexterous fingers stayed picking at the table cloth as a form of lengthy distraction and you fought the bubbling urge to snatch his hand and demand what gives. It wasn’t hard to miss the anxiety bleeding from his form with those tense shoulders and that telltale faraway look in his eyes. You didn’t want to continue the cycle of jumping to conclusions when it came to the routine lack of forthcoming involving his more vulnerable thoughts out of insecurity so you bit the bullet,

“Y’know…usually on a date there’s a bit more talkin;. Maybe startin’ with questions like ‘what’s your favorite color’-- it’s blue by the way, or ‘where’d you get that lovely dress’. Could also do with lookin’ a little less green in the gills.”

That got him to stop fidgeting but a response was not yet prompted. You sighed and looked down at the vibrant cloth napkin in your lap,

“If you’re startin’ to regret this we can just forget about it and head back-”

“I don’t know if I can be what you need.” He all but blurted and it had your head shooting back up in suprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t…I don’t find myself being suited for marriage like before. I can’t give you kids because I don’t think it’s right-”

“Wait a minute just-...slow your roll for a second.” Your mind was going a mile a minute at his frank outburst and you were having trouble pinpointing just where it all came from.

“First of all, I don’t necessarily need the promise of marriage to feel fulfilled. I’m about to hit 30 soon enough and I’ve supplied plenty for myself that I'm not sure some flimsy marriage papers can add on to. I’m not just sayin’ all this to make you feel better either so don’t go down that route.” You were tenderly stern in your delivery to make sure what you were saying was actually sticking without sounding offended.

All he could give was a slight nod as the tip of his thumb came to his mouth: a nervous tic.

“Secondly…” You cleared your throat slightly and gave yourself a moment of pause. The latter concern wasn’t that of an easy subject. For either of you. Besides your family and probably Marty, not many knew of your reality when it came to the idea of starting a family.

“I can’t have children. So that wouldn’t even be on the table to begin with I suppose.”

That seemed to stun Rust. His expression working out how, what, and when this came to be. You cleared your throat again. Talking about it was never easy no matter how much time passed.

“The gist of it is…well I got knocked up when I was sixteen. Total accident, shocker. And um…my pa didn't approve. Not one bit, bein’ the respectable county figure he was as a seasoned lawyer n' all.”

Your sinuses began to sting but you willed away any threat of tears as you tried to explain. Rust didn't say a word, his expression hardening minutely with a knowing sense of where this was headed.

“I didn’t wanna listen. I was scared of course but the boy I was foolin’ around with at the time was nice and had a family who wanted to be involved so that was enough for me. My uppity family could shove it for all I cared,” You scoffed wryly but continued, “But pa was adamant. He couldn’t have some little whore of daughter muckin’ things up but we were a church family so abortion was obviously out of the question. At least one would think that was the case,”

“Long story short he dragged me to some back alley clinic where things would be kept under wraps. They fuckin’ botched it of course and made me sterile. Didn’t really know how bad it was until another loss and a visit with the doctor after trying with a serious boyfriend some time ago…” You shrugged as you fiddled with your unused silverware. You hadn’t spoken with your family since then. Letting you be mutilated for the sake of preserving a frivolous public image was a hard thing to let go of.

You remember how sick you were afterward. Infection from the procedure and a decent amount of blood loss, go figure. You only recall the house's maids nursing you back.

Your pa had never been able to look you in the eye again. Your mama just pretended nothing had ever happened the way it did.

Sometimes your mind had the habit of taking a dark turn every now and then, wondering if they would’ve felt any remorse if their forced course of action ended up actually killing you. With a selfishness like they had you couldn't help but doubt it.

They had always taken more pride in your sister anyway.

“So yeah…you don’t have to worry about the possibility of kids when it comes to me. It’s not like with our line of work it’d be much of a good idea anyway. Marty’s a prime example I'd reckon.” Your laugh was brittle in a weak attempt to lift the heavy weight you felt like you’d set over the mood.

Rust’s large hand reached over to encase your shaking one to garner your attention. Looking up you weren’t met with pity or disgust, but with recognition. One shared in the experience of grief. Of having something meant to be so precious ripped from you in the cruelest of ways. He didn’t feel sorry for you. He understood you. More than anyone else had or could.

“You’re enough for me, Rust. I don’t know if you’ve noticed by now but there’s not much you can do to send me runnin’ for the hills. I like you as you are and I don’t need more. I wouldn’t expect you to change your mind over somethin’ like that anyway. It just wouldn’t be fair to ask.” His eyes glazed over at your words and he had to let go of the troubled breath he’d been holding. He brought your hand to his lips and kept them there as an unspoken thank you.

After a moment or two he set your hand back on the tabletop, still grasped in his.

“How about we find some shitty dive and let loose over there. This place is startin’ to feel a lil’ too stuffy for me.” Your light-hearted jab made the corner of his lips quirk up before he nodded,

“Yes, ma'am.”

—

After a relaxing drive accompanied by the tunes of Willie Nelson in search of a dive bar that was sufficient enough, the ice from all the worries of earlier had melted as fast as they had formed. The establishment you ended up coming across was a more than welcome change of pace compared to that of the restaurant (as lovely as it was). It wasn’t big by any means but there was room to dance and plenty of open spots to sit around and drink.

You looped your arm through his and leaned into his side as you made your way to settle down. There wasn’t enough time or clarity earlier to truly appreciate just how good he looked for the occasion but now you had all the time in the world to shamelessly ogle.

He’d donned a black dress shirt, forgoing a tie and leaving a few buttons undone in a way that had you feeling dizzy, as well as a nice fitting pair of jeans that had plenty of passersby’s eyes glued to his shapely form.

“The ladies of Louisiana might just beat me up for a chance with you. If your face ain’t motivation enough your ass surely will be.” You nudged him and he shook his head mirthfully.

“One would say jealousy is unbecoming.”

“Who said anythin’ about jealousy? I’ve earned my stake in claimin’ you as eye candy fair and square. They can try all they want but they were just too slow to the draw.”

“With your pension for being scrappy, I’d say they wouldn’t have much of a chance to begin with.”

“Gee, is that the only reason they don’t stand a chance?” You quirked a brow. You knew the answer but pestering him to fess up hardly ever got you far.

“What d’ya wanna drink, Miss Envy.” He drawled, not one to fall into your traps so easily and you flicked him with narrowed eyes.

“Last time I checked my name don’t even come close to rhymin’ with envy so you can quit with that.”

The shithead just smirked.

“I’ll take a jack and coke. Now run along.” You waved him away and he just shook his head. In his short absence you’d found a high top and decided to claim as your territory for the night. The music was clearer over this way and your heart jumped at the beginning notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Beautiful Child.

Upon his return, Rust had hardly been able to set the drinks down before you were grabbing at him to park yourselves out on the dancefloor. A few other couples were swaying in place so you figured it wouldn’t be all that awkward to steal a moment for yourselves.

It was strange, being able to be so open in your affections without the curious eyes of Marty or anyone else from the precinct to make judgments. You could just be yourselves. It was a breath of fresh air after all this time.

As the song gained momentum, you wrapped your arms around his neck, toying with the hairs at his nape while his strong ones made home around your waist to pull you in closer. A small spark of pride lit up your chest at him being able to be this comfortable with you.

As you rested your head along the expanse of his chest you felt the feather-light stamp of his kiss at your crown. The tenderness of the simple act almost had you turning into one hell of a mush puddle. You settled on burrowing deeper if that were any more possible as Stevie sang on. Fighting the effect he had on you was always going to be a losing battle.

You wouldn’t trade this moment for a damned thing.

—

It was nearing almost three in the morning by the time you arrived back home. Your mind had been pleasantly warmed by the drinks and all the dancing. Rust even seemed to have a newfound glow to him and it was triggering something innately carnal in you.

Taking an opportunity from the pocket of silence, you scooted along the Ford’s bench seat to make a place for yourself along his lap.

The relaxed daze displayed across his features was something you’d never had the pleasure of seeing before. It was nothing like the faraway trance he’d trap himself in with all the pills and whatnot in fruitless efforts of chasing undisturbed sleep. No, this was true content.

“I had a good time.” You didn’t mean to sound so coy but it couldn’t be helped as your hands crept up to frame his fine face.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” He hummed as he took in every feature your beautiful face had to offer. It was like striking gold. Especially in this expansive wasteland of a state.

“When we get a chance we should do it again. S’nice to go out…feel normal…” Hair lying in his line of light distracted you as you moved it out of the way with a gentle sweep. The truck’s cab could probably burst with the steadily increasing tension so you did what any normal woman would do with such a man in front of them and kissed him with all you had.

It started out syrupy and languid as if you had all the time in the world to be out macking in the car like a pair of careless teenagers. Your skin hummed like a live wire at his sudden grasp on the plush fat of your hips which served as the green light to go further.

Your delicate fingers carded through his soft waves as the muscle of his tongue took dominance over the kiss. A meek whimper cracked within your throat as you tried to keep up with what little oxygen you had remaining. When Rust kissed, it was all-consuming. It was no act he took passively when it came to you which had been made crystal clear to you by now. With each pass of his wet-hot caress, you could feel everything he wanted to say to you without complication of expression through words.

His mouth traveled across the apple of your cheek down the expanse of your neck, nipping and sucking with such lax reverence it had you arching as if you could fuse your ribs with his. Souls to be permanently intertwined.

With a starting grind of your hips that your body had no willpower to control you could feel him hardening with each intensifying roll. His choked moan had you remembering where you were and you’d be damned if your first actual night with him was in this old, damned truck right outside your house.

“D’ya wanna take this inside?” You offered in a breathless huff, trying to catch your breath in vain. You’re sure that even in the dark of the truck’s cabin the heat of your face could set the whole space aglow. He nipped at your bottom lip and soothed it with another peck,

“I would.”

The sudden tangle of limbs clambering to make haste towards the beacon of your front door would’ve been downright hysterical had you any hubris.

a/n: sorry to blue ball you lmao. I HOPE THIS WASN'T CRINGE AHHHHH. i'll probably come back and edit this later. feedback is always appreciated!

#reds-writings #rust cohle #true detective #true detective season 1 #rust cohle x reader #writer blog #rust cohle imagine #true detective imagine #matthew mcconaughey #jj universe

51 notes · View notes

amethystfallenangel · 1 year

Text

jazz bar (ethan hunt x reader)

"You like jazz?" You hear a hoarse voice behind you, and in the warm lights of the bar, you see a familiar figure, standing amused with a whisky in hand. It was Ethan. You smile incredulously, scoffing in amusement as the agent sits opposite you on the leather sofas, the jazz playing softly in the background. It was a cosy bar, with low lights and little booths as the slow hum of cars whirring in the streets outside had almost rocked you to sleep until Ethan had showed up.

He exhales lightly, leaning over his drink with that tight-lipped smile he always has tugging at his lips. You give him a once over: his hair has grown, uneven layers. It looks quite nice.

You clear your throat.

"What are you doing here, Ethan?" you hum.

He clenches his jaw ever so slightly, still calmly sipping his drink.

"Ethan..." you repeat, your voice a whisper.

He purses his lips and looks up, his eyes softening slightly. He answers with a sleepy voice, seeming unbothered.

"You mean in a jazz bar?"

"Very funny. I mean in New York." You lean forwards over the table. "You working a job?"

He chuckles lowly, tilting his head.

"I could ask you the same. Last time I checked, you work for Mi6, same as Ilsa. You're not here on holiday either, are you?"

You sigh, falling back into your seat.

"You're stubborn, Hunt."

He smiles warmly into his drink, swishing the liquid around, as if lost in thought. The music changes, as the band begins playing 'While We Were Young' by Wes Montgomery. For a moment, the bar seems quiet. People are whispering and chuckling. The soft sounds of glasses and footsteps are mixed with the slight smell of earthy tobacco and roses. A few people walk off into the garden at the other end of the jazz bar.

After a minute or so, Ethan turns to the band, leaning over the back of the sofa to watch them play. You've never seen him so laid back before. Somehow, he can feel your gaze on his face, and he turns with a little grin.

"I'm not working a job, actually. Not yet, anyways."

His answer takes you by surprise. Why would he be here?

"There is a job that Hunley has for the IMF, but I thought I'd come ask for your help."

You chuckle.

"Really? But why?"

"Because I just came back from the meeting, and as I was passing this bar, I saw you through the window."

"So you thought you'd just impulsively ask me to join your mission?"

"...Unless you're working a job."

"I actually just finished a job." You smile, looking down into your lap.

"Perfect then."

You look up, shaking your head. It had been two years since you last saw him. You'd actually met him through your colleague, Ilsa. The two of you ended up dating for about three months, but you decided to part, simply because it was too complicated. You were a British agent. How often would you really see him? You were glad to have parted on good terms, though.

He signals to the space beside him on the sofa. You chuckle, getting up and placing yourself next to him.

"What are you doing, Ethan?" you breathe out.

"I wouldn't mind your company again for a while," he answers, his breath soft and steady, close to your neck.

You turn to him, gazing into his eyes.

"It always ends up bitter sweet, hun," you sigh, offering a sheepish smile.

He says nothing, only nuzzles your hair ever so softly, his lips parted as if he had many things to say, but could not.

You lean into his touch, burying your head into the crook of his neck, even though you know that it could never last forever.

The band begins to play 'Rain in My Heart' by Frank Sinatra, and you smile with a sort of melancholy.

You mumble into his neck.

"How's Benji? And Luther?"

"They're good. They miss you."

"I miss them too. Ilsa misses you all, by the way."

He nods and the wraps his arms around you, playing with a strand of your hair.

You sigh, delicately running your hands over his chest, settling his silk dark blue shirt. He always looked very elegant in this shirt.

"You'll take the mission then?" he whispers, kissing the top of your head.

Your only answer is to lift your head, moving closer, so that your lips are brushing against one another. You shouldn't, but you close the distance, as you feel him softly move against you, humming into the kiss.

You pull away, as his lips still linger tenderly right below your bottom lip.

"Damn you, Ethan," you chuckle, "I missed you."

He smirks playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Likewise," he replies, his voice as comforting as the first time you heard it. You grab his neck and kiss him again, more passionately this time, and his hands drop to your waist, tugging slightly at your skirt. His mouth moves gingerly against yours. He was always gentle with you. Gentle and patient.

He cradles your head in his arms, as you fall into his chest, with a giggle.

"Shall we go to my apartment," he mumbles into your hair. "I've got my bike. Benji and Luther can meet us tomorrow."

You caress his cheek, then his forehead, admiring his features as if it had been a century since you'd last looked into his eyes. You raise your eyebrows and laugh.

"Of course, Ethan."

#mission impossible #ethan hunt #tom cruise #mission impossible fallout #x reader #ethan hunt x reader #fluff fic #comfort character

268 notes · View notes

thebibutterflyao3 · 2 months

Text

Day Thirteen - Prompt: Necklaces @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 797 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Evan toyed with the layered necklaces that he always wore as he waited for the next customer to sit down. Just like yesterday, the tattoo shop was packed with people taking advantage of holiday time off. There was nothing quite like the high of new ink to brighten their drab lives. Evan knew that better than anyone.

The bell over the door trilled to announce yet another new customer. He leaned up in his seat to see if it was one of his regulars. It would be nice to see a familiar face.

He registered the faded green tips of the bloke’s hair before anything else and immediately ducked back into his cubicle. Evan cursed under his breath as he busied himself with straightening up his supplies. The last thing he needed today was to deal with Barty.

“Frank? You want to see Frank?” Emmeline said, sounding puzzled. “Alright, but you’ll have to wait a bit. He has three people ahead of you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll wait.”

Evan ground his teeth together in annoyance. He should be glad that Barty requested Frank. It saved him the humiliation of refusing to serve the prick. Barty wasn’t known for taking rejection well, as was evidenced by his confrontation with Pandora.

“Do you know what you want?” Emmeline asked.

“Nah, he can pick. You know I don’t care, Em.”

“Yeah. I assumed as much, but I had to ask.”

Emmeline wandered through the cubicles on her way to Frank. She aimed an apologetic smile at him as she passed his stall and mouthed “sorry.” He shrugged and feigned indifference.

As she delivered the message to Frank, Evan’s hands balled into fists in his lap. He needed to pull himself together. This was completely normal for Barty every time he came in. He never asked for anything specific or even bothered looking through the idea books on the counter. It was always, “whatever you want.”

Besides, he was Barty’s flatmate. It made perfect sense for him to request Frank. They were barely friends, from what he’d seen. Definitely no chemistry between the two of them.

I don’t care if they did have chemistry. That’s not my problem anymore.

Except, he did care. Too much, probably.

Emmeline leaned into his stall on the way back. “Are you alright? Do you need to take a break?”

“I’m fine. Just give me something to do, Em.”

“Do you want a big piece? I have a bloke waiting that wants a dragon.”

“Yes, I’ll take it,” he said eagerly.

She nodded curtly and disappeared. “Tonks? Are you ready? Stall two.”

When the man appeared in his doorway, Evan smiled politely and offered his hand. “Evan Rosier. Nice to meet you.”

“Ted.”

“What are we doing today, Ted?” Evan settled onto his stool and gestured at the table. “Emmeline mentioned a dragon.”

Ted nodded as he pulled off his shirt. The outline was already placed and trailed from the top of his spine down to the small of his back. It was a detailed piece and appeared to be custom-made.

“Is that one of ours?”

“No, my daughter drew it,” he answered, grinning as he plopped on the table. Ted turned to let Evan examine the piece. “Pretty good, right? It’s a surprise.”

Evan studied the design carefully. It was intricate, but large enough that he shouldn’t have any trouble with it. The dragon’s scales were hinted at with a few small sections instead of the entire animal, which was doable.

“Colour and shading or line work only?”

“Line work. I figured I’d let her colour it in when it heals and take a picture, so you can see how to finish it later.”

“That works. Is this your first tattoo?” he checked.

“Yes.”

“This will probably take a few multiple hour-long sessions. Is that alright?”

Ted glanced back at him and nodded. “I can handle it. Don’t worry.”

Evan patted his side with a grin. “Just making sure you’re prepared. How’s your pain tolerance?”

“Good. I broke my arm two years ago and didn’t know it.”

“Nice. Go ahead and stretch out on your belly for me. Try to relax and let me know if you need a break,” he advised, turning to gather his supplies. “Music preference?”

“Nah, whatever is fine.”

Evan picked up his phone and opened his favourite playlist. “This one’s a mix of genres, so I’m sure there will be a few you like.”

As the opening notes of Mr. Brightside flowed through the speakers on the counter behind him, Evan bobbed his head. He tucked a clean cloth in the waistband of Ted’s jeans to protect them from the ink and give him a comfortable place to rest his hand.

This is great. I’ll be too busy to even think about him.

Next Part>>>

#barty crouch jr x evan rosier #evan x barty #barty x evan #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #barty jr #evan rosier #rosekiller #rosekiller microfic

29 notes · View notes

messrmoonyy · 1 year

Note

please please Tess being alive and living in Jackson with reader and Joel and Ellie and Tommy and Maria and everything is happy and nice and no one dies

When the snow gives way to spring

Tess servopoulos x fem!reader

A/N- I will say straight up this is a little shorter than my normal weekly uploads because I’m sick rn and just not been in the mood to sit down and write. But. Enjoy all the same. I did remove her backstory because she reminisces a little bit in this and I needed her to be single pre outbreak .

Warnings- absolutely none. It’s tooth rotting domestic fluff

Word count- 1.9k

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

The world was currently in that odd part of the year where winter was ending and spring was on its way, where some days she didn’t need a jacket but others she had to layer up. The snow was starting to disappear, patches of green grass sprouting up in spots that it had melted, flowers were reappearing in the window boxes and the sky was looking more blue than grey.

Tuesday had blessed the world with one of the warmer days, when Tess could walk home with her jacket slung over her arm because the sun was warming her skin just enough. She’d just dropped her horse back to the stables, after being called upon by Joel in the early hours. Tommy had the flu and even though it was meant to be her day off, Joel had asked her to cover the ski lodge route with him.

So she’d reluctantly sacrificed her morning wrapped up in bed with you, scribbled out a quick note and left. At least it was one of the nicer routes. Though honestly all the routes weren’t that bad. There was never more than a few stragglers around. And the horseback rides through the woods were actually quite therapeutic.

People smiled and waved at her as she made her way home, they’d accepted her, Joel, Ellie and you into their town with ease. And you were all solid parts of the community now. It did throw her off balance sometimes though, at how stark the contrast was in Jackson to Boston.

In Boston she had power. Control. People moved out of her way when she walked by and knew that she was not to be fucked with. But in Jackson everyone had equal levels of power, she didn’t need to exude a scary confidence that made people fear her. People liked her. They didn’t turn the opposite way when they saw her coming, they’d walk up to her and start conversation.

It had taken some getting used to. But now she’d have it no other way. She’d never felt more like her pre outbreak self, never felt at such… peace.

The added levels of safety were a bonus too of course. She no longer had to worry about keeping you alive. You could handle yourself of course, but she’d always panic. She’d always feel obligated to take care of you, because you were hers. And she was yours. But now she didn’t have the ever looming fear of you getting snatched up by FEDRA officers coming back from a run. Or some wannabe drug Lord trying to prove a point by hurting you to get to her.

She could walk around town and hold your hand. Could dance with you when Maria held her little get together in the Tipsy Bison at the weekends. She didn’t have to hide away her affections anymore in fear someone would see her, see you, use you as a target.

She’d could happily leave home for the day and know you’d be perfectly safe. And vice Versa. It was nice not to be so stressed all of the time. You were happier. She was happier. No worries of if you’d die tomorrow, Instead she could actually picture you both growing old together now. It was nice to think about.

You had joked in the past that you two would end up like Bill and Frank. Grumpy. Old. Hating the world together. Not that she’d ever deeply believed it could happen. She’d never really believed that she would last to reach old age. But now she could see it.

She was starting to feel it too. Though you enjoyed telling her she wasn’t old at all.

She liked having a house to go back to. A home. The apartment she had shared with you back in Boston had never really felt like home. Too decrepit and too many rules. Rations of food and water. Constant bright lights shining though the windows at night from the wall. Gunfire and explosions the chosen ambience.

But now she woke up to the sun. Or the sound of horses or birds. She had an entire house with you. One that you had both made a home. You were everywhere in it and she loved it. The framed pictures of you both, of you with Ellie, of the four of you all together. The slightly wonky knitted blanket that you had secretly been working on with one of the women in town that you’d gifted her for Christmas. The flowers you liked to keep around the house when they were in season. The fairy lights. The boots that weren’t falling apart, that were sat by the door.

As she walked up the porch steps a smile pulled at her lips seeing the daffodils in the pots by the front door were blooming. She’d never really been one for flowers but you’d wanted to plant them. And she couldn’t deny you of anything. And they were nice to look at. As she walked through the front door she could hear music coming from the kitchen, you humming along to it happily, and it made her smile grow more.

She hung her coat on the rack by the door and kicked off her boots, quietly making her way through to the kitchen. You were washing dishes, hips swaying along to the song playing and she watched you for a moment. She leant against the door frame and was almost overcome with emotion.

If someone had told her back when she’d first met you all those years ago, that she would still be alive. That she would still be with you. That you would both be safe. She’d have thought they were off their head on pills. And yet there she was. There you were.

She wasn’t young anymore, yet in those quiet moments like that she could pretend she was. She could remember what it felt like to fall in love with you when she was young, could smile to herself and wish she could go back and talk to herself. Tell her not to worry. Tell her that fighting her feelings for you was a pointless thing, because the future would be exactly that moment. Together. Safe. Happy.

Watching you there she felt like she was back home. Pre outbreak. No infected roaming the planet, no real threats other than if her boss at work was going to be in a good mood or not. Or if you were going to have burnt your attempt at dinner again. She wondered if you’d have liked Detroit.

She’d had a nice apartment. A decent job. You wouldn’t have even really needed to work if you hadn’t wanted to. Though she knew you would’ve, you were no housewife.

The wife part did sound nice though…

She walked over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“ hey you “ you turned your head to look at her, capturing her lips in another kiss before turning back to the dishes.

“ I thought we weren’t working today “

“ hm. Tell that to Joel “ you laughed a little, shaking your head and placing a mug onto the drying rack. Tess rested her chin on your shoulder and gave a small sigh, relishing in the pure domestic warmth the moment held.

She didn’t know what had gotten into her really. Why she was so overcome with emotion. She was just so suddenly aware of how lucky she truly was. How much she loved you. Loved your home. Loved her life now. Which was strange when she really thought about it. The world was a mess and people died every single day. Yet she was safe and content. And so were you. And that’s all that really mattered.

“ was everything okay? “ you asked, drying off your hands and then turning around in her embrace.

“ all clear “ she confirmed “ Joel was telling me today he was planning to go scope out that museum Maria told him about. Wanted to know if we’d go with him. Make sure it’s all clear, find a safe entry point “ Joel had been planning something big for Ellie’s birthday. Some way to make the kid have at least one day of pure and simple happiness.

She was much better now. She didn’t have so many quiet days. But still.

“ she’s gonna lose her shit when she finds out about it “

“ Maria said there’s a whole hall about space. So yeah. She’s gonna lose her shit “ she could already picture the joy on her face. She definitely wanted to be there for that. And she wanted you there too. And she knew Ellie would.

Ellie loved you. Maybe even as much as she loved Joel. You were the first one to trust her after all. The one to convince both Tess and Joel that taking her was a good idea.

“ is he going today? “

“ was planning to set off early tomorrow morning “ you nodded and your smile grew as you clearly thought about something “ what? “

“ why don’t we tell Joel me and you will just scope it out? That could be nice. Like a little get away “

“ yeah nothing says romantic getaway like camping out at an old museum “ you rolled your eyes and wriggled from her grasp but she grabbed you back around your waist and pulled you back “ hey don’t get grumpy I was joking “ she said with a laugh, nuzzling her face against your neck. It actually could be nice. Some time alone without Joel waking her up or Ellie charging in because she found a feral cat and wanted to adopt it.

Not that she’d change any of that for the world.

“ so you’ll ask Joel? “

“ I’ll ask Joel “ you turned around in her arms again and beamed a smile at her. You always got your way and you were always just as smug about it. Not that she really cared anymore. She’d do anything and everything if it meant you’d be happy.

“ it’ll be nice. You were joking that it wouldn’t be romantic but I’m gonna romance your fuckin pants off. You watch “

“ oh you are? “ she asked with amusement in her tone, watching you cook up the ideas your head

“ yup. We’ll be like the modern day Romeo and Juliet. Or. Juliet and Juliet? “

“ don’t they both die? “ she asked with a quirked eyebrow

“ I’m trying to be romantic now and you’re ruining it “ she couldn’t help but laugh at you. Not because she was making fun of you. Because you were.. sweet. You pressed a quick kiss to her lips before escaping her arms again, pulling open a kitchen drawer “ trust me I have this all planned already. You’re gonna come back from this trip and you’ll be ruined for anyone else “

“ as if I’m not already “

“ I’m serious! “ you called, disappearing into the hall and returning a moment later with a notepad and pen “ I’ll make a list of things we’re gonna need. It’s like what a couple days for a trip there, look around, then back? Will you get Maria to let us out with our horses tomorrow? Oh! No. Just your horse. That’s step one. That’s romantic “ she watched you in amusement as you scribbled things down

“ sharing a horse. Romantic. Got it “ you looked up at her and raised an eyebrow

“ why are you still here? Joel. Maria. Off you go. Go go! “ she shook her head but did as she was told, first walking over to you and pressing a kiss to your head and then your cheek.

“ yes ma’am “ she joked before heading for the door.

“ I love you! “

“ love you too, you sap “

#tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopoulos #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou #anna torv #the last of us fic #lesbian #lgbt #x you #fluff #Joel miller #ellie williams

175 notes · View notes