#i think he needs a safe space and that's you!! (real)

[madi-writes-things]

Nobody Pt. 4

(C.Sturniolo X Reader)

Summary:

Chris and Y/N never seemed to get along, but sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places

Word Count: 1,332

TW: Cursing, SH (not in detail, but it is talked about), fluff, PDA, fake dating chaos, mention of cramps and throwing up because of the pain, bad sex joke, use of emojis (I have no clue how else to explain the exact reactions other than the emojis), drinking/being drunk (I’ve never been drunk, so forgive me if my portrayal is off), Not Edited

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long, I’ve literally been locked in my room for two weeks with no motivation. I really hope that y’all like this chapter. I’m also hoping to work on some other stuff coming up soon. 😁

-Madi <3

“”“”“”“”“”

Y/N’s POV

Nick and Matt stood at the island as me and Chris walked into the kitchen. I caught Nick’s eye as I set down enough food to feed a small militia. He just stares.

Matt hits him in the shoulder, prompting him to give him a dirty look before speaking. “I’m sorry…” He looked like he wasn’t sure what all he needed to apologize for. “I’m sorry that I punched you” he nodded toward Chris. “I’m sorry that I made you cry, I feel really bad about that.” He averts his eyes, and I think I see a small glint of shame.

I physically can’t stay mad at him, and I make it very obvious when I envelop him into a rib crushing hug. He whispers a small thank you in my ear before I walk back to the other side of the island to unpack the food. As I start unpacking breakfast I feel arms wrap around my waist, and a chin resting on my shoulder.

I freeze up, and Chris mumbles a quick “is this okay?” Into my hair. I look around realizing that Matt and Nick don’t even notice, much too invested in their food to care. I nod my head, trying to will the rosy shade to leave my face.

I’m failing miserably.

after breakfast me and Chris went upstairs to watch a movie in his room. Matt was quick to respond in the worst way possible.

“Sock that wang before you bang… and please be quiet, I don’t want to hear my brother doin it”

Y/N: 😨

Chris: 😮

Nick: 😟

Matt: 😁

needless to say, me and Matt practically teleported upstairs and away from that mortifying experience. Me and Chris enter his room in a fit of laughter, practically collapsing onto the bed.

After a second I noticed that Chris had stopped laughing… his laughter is addictive, and I already missed it. I turned to see him staring at me with a look in his blue eyes that I couldn’t quite grasp. He looked happy and sad and something else all at once.

“What?” I giggled as I said it, still thinking about what Matt said only a few minutes earlier.

“are you doing okay?” This question again… I never know what to say when people ask me that. Right now I’m doing great… but in 30 minutes, or a week, or even a month I might break down again.

that’s never the answer that people want. They want something simple, yes or no. He stares at me patiently waiting for my response, it makes me feel bad for not having one.

“I’m okay right now…” he gives me a quick nod before speaking again.

“Okay, will you tell me when you aren’t doing good?” Why is he offering this, he doesn’t want to deal with me. “You need a safe space, and you clearly aren’t going to tell Nick. Let me be your safe space.”

“okay”

With that we got comfy on his bed and found a movie.

“”“”“”“”“”

things carried on like this for months.

doing good.

going down.

running to Chris.

repeat.

he was always so sweet and caring. He would hold me while I cried Myself to sleep, he would walk me home early from an event if I wanted to leave, he would hold my hair back and get me a heating pad when my cramps got bad… no matter what, he was there. He had also started being more touchy in public, leaning into the fake relationship for those around us. It made me feel things that I tried to avoid for years.

I think I hate him… how DARE he make me fall in love with him, knowing that none of this is real. How dare he kiss me at parties, and hold me during movie nights, and make me feel safe when none of it is real for him.

“you okay baby?” He snaps me out of my thoughts with the use of his new favorite nickname for me. I melt when he calls me his baby, unfortunately a small part of me also dies inside every time I hear it.

“yeah, just a little tired.” We’ve been at this party for like three hours, and I haven’t even touched my drink. When Chris is tipsy he get more brave with his PDA, I don’t want to risk forgetting a single moment where he is touching me.

“do you want to walk home?” He doesn’t want to leave, he shouldn’t have to leave because I’m sad that he doesn’t love me.

“no. we should stay, you’re having fun. I’m actually going to go get a drink, maybe it will make me feel better.” He looks at me for a second before letting go of my hip, allowing me to grab a drink.

“”“”“”“”“”

How did I get here?

It’s like one second I was listening to Chris tell a story, and now I’m dancing to some annoying pop song. I need to find Chris, I definitely had a few too many drinks.

I stumbled around for a minute, everything is spinning and making me want to throw up. I don’t know if I can walk all the way home, but I don’t want to make all of them leave early. I grab my phone in an attempt to call Chris, but by the time he picks up I’ve forgotten what I was doing.

“”“”“”“”“”

Chris’s POV

I look down at my phone to see that Y/N is calling me, and it makes me a little worried. I pick the phone up to my ear, trying to head over the sounds of music and talking. I don’t hear her, only making me more worried.

She almost never drinks, because she has a very low tolerance. Last time I saw her, she was already three drinks in and proclaiming her love for the song that was on.

That was an hour ago.

I quickly scour the crowd in an attempt to find her face. And when I do my heart drops.

There she is in her skin tight jeans and corset top, looking lost with tears in her eyes. I rush to her side, immediately pulling the drink from her hand. She looks like she’s about to start crying.

“hey baby, can you look at me please?” When I say that she starts crying and she doesn’t seem like she’s stopping any time soon. “Hey, it’s okay. Do you want to find somewhere quiet so that you can sit down for a minute?” She nods her head aggressively before stumbling towards the bedroom of whoever is hosting.

The Golden Trio

From: Chris

can y’all meet me in the master bedroom, Y/N is really drunk and needs to go home.

From: Nicky Bo Bicky

for sure, I’ll bring some water for her.

I turned to Y/N, she looked out of it. Then all of a sudden life came back to her eyes in the worst way possible. She almost fell down in her attempt to get to the bathroom.

“it’s okay baby” I whispered sweet nothings to her as I held her hair and rubbed her back. Nick and Matt showed up shortly after she finished dry heaving, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drink anything as fast as she drank that water.

If I thought it was a hassle trying to get her in the car, I had no clue how hard it would be to get her up a flight of stairs. She giggled as I picked her up bridal style… it made me so happy to hear her laughing.

once she got into more comfortable clothes, she fell asleep in no time.

as she held onto me and nuzzled into my side, my heart shattered. All I want is for her to be happy, but I know that I can’t fix everything. I kiss her on the forehead before rolling over and going to sleep.

“”“”“”“”“”

@unbruisable @bernardsbendystraws @sturniolo-fann

#madi writes things #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris x reader

[astralstarlight]

falling asleep on you !

w/ al haitham, wanderer, diluc, tartaglia/childe

a/n: under the cut because they got really long omg

al haitham likes to rest his head on your shoulder whenever he's tired. when it's in a more private setting, he'll lay his head in your lap instead. a loud, satisfied sigh will leave his lips once he's in this position. it's almost as though all the tenseness in his body simply dissipates once you start running your fingers through his hair. he rarely drifts off for a nap, but he looks close enough to peace when he's lying down like that.

it's the closest you'll ever get to having him be needy or clingy in any way. he tends to lean his whole weight onto you without explicit warning, so it's taken some practice to make sure you don't fall over on to one side — helplessly squashed.

there are signs to look out for.

you'll notice him staring at you out of the corner of his eye, making sure you're comfortable with how you're sitting before he places his head on your shoulder. sometimes he'll even mention that it's very "quiet and peaceful" before nearly knocking you over with a heavy slump.

when he's been kept up late for too many nights, he really will drift off to sleep. he's heavy and he makes your entire body ache from trying to hold him up, but you can't really bear to move him, especially not when he smiles in his sleep after you brush your fingers over his cheek.

he won't tell you that he always wakes from your sudden touch.

and with how cute he thinks you are when you're trying not to wake him, he doubts he ever will.

"i don't need sleep." wanderer announces proudly. it takes him exactly nine minutes to pass out after you promise that you'll keep watch while he's resting. you even make sure that he's asleep by waving your hands in front of his face to see whether his eyes twitch. nothing.

he doesn't even breathe.

his arms stay crossed over his chest and his hair falls onto one side. completely at rest.

still, this is the last thing you were expecting would happen. you resist the urge to touch his face. you haven't gotten that far with him yet.

unfortunately, you end up falling asleep beside him instead of keeping watch. there's something so comforting about his weight on yours, that you lean back into him, just to close your eyes for a few minutes.

the next time you wake is with the morning sun, and with a blanket haphazardly thrown over you. you fight with it for a bit, tangling your arms even further.

"oh good, you're up," comes the familiar, haughty voice. you expect to be berated for falling asleep, but he says something different instead. "thank you."

"huh?" you murmur intelligently. it's not fair that he does this when you're still groggy from sleeping.

he turns away, pretending he said nothing else. you smile at his back. guess he's still full of surprises.

diluc's very gentle with you. he's always been the one to beckon you over once he notices you yawning or when you look a little down. the way he caresses you while wrapping you in his arms is enough to send you straight to sleep. it's cozy.

but you've never seen him asleep before you. he's always been the one to creep back into your shared bed at the crack of dawn, when you're just awake enough to know that he's there.

this time, you're the one late.

he's already sleep — legs stretched out and turned onto one side. you take a single step forward and jump as he snores, disturbing the silence.

you crawl into the bed, facing the outline of his back. you reach out for him just to hesitate before actually touching him. what if he wakes up if you try to cuddle him? what if he has a really busy day tomorrow and he'll be frustrated with not getting enough sleep?

he answers the myriad of questions for you. just your presence must be enough for him to know you're there in his sleep. he ends up turning over to face you and bundling you up in his arms, letting out a huff. on the other hand, you're tense, unsure if you've accidentally awoken him or not.

"diluc?" you mumble.

the only answer is his steady breathing.

hope you're ready to stay squished in that same position for the whole night.

tartaglia pesters you with affection. he shows up at your door in the middle of the night sometimes, claiming he has "no where else to go right now". on certain nights, he'll be covered in blood that's definitely not his with a fiery look in his eyes as though he's set alight from the inside. he's not really there on those nights.

more often, he shows up with a cheery look on his face that disappears once you start to clean him up. you don't need to look at him to know that he's already staring at you.

tartaglia is always quiet in both types of nights; an unsettled nature or a calm energy. you're never sure what you're going to get.

but you know this: he would always show up after long periods of disappearing, even if it was just the smallest scrape. just to see you.

he'll be the one tucking himself in between your legs on the couch, no matter how many times you tell him that his legs are too long and he's way too heavy to lean back on you like that. but he does it. somehow.

when you start to grow tired from listening to his shenanigans, he becomes so gentle with you. he'll carry you to bed and hold you until you sleep.

he's gone in the morning, or maybe he leaves once he's sure that you've been lulled to sleep. either way, you know he was here. even if he tries to disappear without a trace.

he's always here on the nights that you sleep the best after all.

#genshin #genshin x reader #al haitham x reader #wanderer x reader #diluc x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #also like does wanderer have a name that other people use when writing fics for him?? #or is he just. wanderer. #have gotten back into genshin recently #vv excited for another banging lantern rite soon #also i've grown to love childe recently?? #was very happy that he showed up in fontaine and then i was like wait. why am i so happy about that. #that's probably why i took some liberties with his #i think he needs a safe space and that's you!! (real) #diluc snores btw #he definitely does #also the writing feels so stilted to me i am sorry #genshin al haitham #genshin wanderer #genshin diluc #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #genshin fluff #genshin drabbles

[quirkeduptransguy]

also quick note re: my previous post's tags. have i said before that, for a presumably heterosexual man, johnny whitney has had some of the most insanely homophobic (and occasionally transphobic) vitriol spewed at him for one reason or another ive seen. because holy shit

#as a musician hes very interesting to me. non parasocially #he'll mention something in an interview and i immediately think ''i NEED to study him.'' and ill read what people say about him and have a #similar reaction #and it sucks that the immediate reaction to hearing or seeing him you see a lot is an immediate gay joke #cause his writing and vocals alone!!! so interesting to me #everything about tbb is interesting to me tho #i do admit i have a slightly weird thing with him cause of some stuff he's said in podcasts or interviews and some of how he acts #that i see/hear and go 'wow. i do that' or 'wow. i feel similarly' #but obvs idk how he is in actuality so #im gonna start putting johnnywhitneykin in my social media bios and posting mood boards etcSORRY #evil neighing compilation #but yeah onto my original point #like. for real so much insane homophobia i think about it often #in relation to his stage presence and how he presented himself etc #on purpose. like what else could it have been but to alienate the shitty hashtag hxc douchey audiences that wouldve been there #and therefore in a way making their shows. almost a safe space one could suppose? #im just spitting shit. i thiiink theres an interview where jordan blilie or someone directly says that? dont have it with me rn #but yeah. what a progressive band for the 2000s #and also. shhhhh osrry to hate post #but. they did a lot of the stuff some of u guys slobber over emo bands for #before the emo bands did. and they did it better and more explicitly #and without doing warped tour #but yeah thats me being salty speaking as per use #my original point. just pay attention to that lol

[boxingcleverrr]

Popular Hades & Persephone "retellings" are, rightly, getting dunked on all over the socials right now and, as a Pagan who has an altar to the Queen, I could not be happier. But also, I feel like a lot of people miss WHY they're bad - aside from just plain bad writing and lazy tropes. Which are, yeah, also REALLY bad.

Pretty much all retellings try to wave away, or excuse, or twist the whole kidnapping bit. And I actually do have sympathy and understanding for why, when speaking from a modern perspective.

But honestly...you gotta get over it. There are other stories to play fix-it with, not this one.

The Abduction is The Thing.

Were I a little more sober I could bring up chapter and verse of the Hymn to Demeter but frankly, if you know even the middle school mythology curriculum version of the story, you SHOULD know the themes. The story of Persephone was one mothers and daughters in the ancient world held dear, because it was a reality: you will, one day, be swept away from your home to go cleave to a man you most likely know nothing about. You will miss your mother, but chances are very good that he will be a good husband, once you get to know him, certainly better than Zeus or Ares, and he will make you a queen of his home.

Leaving home to marry was often scary, and violent (look up the history of the tradition of Bridesmaids, if you don't already know it - they were originally decoys on the marriage road). Centuries later we'd have tales like Beauty & The Beast serving the same function: comfort, hope, you are leaving your safe loving home to figure life out with a (often older, powerful) stranger. Your trauma over this sudden ending of your childhood made manifest in a Beast, or a God of The Underworld.

It's wonderful that we don't NEED stories like this anymore to comfort us (here, at least, in this culture). But if you try to force them into modern vernacular it just will not work, not really, because you're gutting out the whole point just to have a more tidy romantic male hero.

I have read MANY very good ...novelizations? fanfic(? however you would frame them, but they're certainly not "retellings"), etc. that simply take advantage of the blank spaces in the myth, and there are many!

It's not explicit that sexual assault happens - "The Rape of Persephone" as a title was coined in much earlier eras, when the word was just as often used to simply refer to abduction.

"She was starving!" the gods didn't need to eat. So it's easy to read her eating the Pom seeds as a deliberate choice on her part. Like, shit, people, scholars have written whole papers on the symbolism of this moment, between marriage rites and even yeah, Seph choosing both worlds with her husband's knowing consent.

And that, I think, is the real heart of the thing. People want an utterly mundane, spelled-out story here, as opposed to what it really is, has always been, just like any other myth or religious parable: IT'S A METAPHOOOOOOR.

They don't need to be destined, or meet at a goddamned BALL and then CONSPIRE to fake her kidnapping, or shit, I once saw one where Hades got MIND CONTROLLED by Zeus?! Jesus.

Persephone was yoinked into the Underworld against her will.

That's how it went.

I don't mean this in a "stay out of my belief system!" way, shit I'm a white American chick with delusions of witchery. I mean this in a "stop stressing yourself out trying to make things palatable" way:

This is a very real, very precious myth to many people, BECAUSE for at least that one event, Persephone had no autonomy, BECAUSE for thousands of years most women had no autonomy. Erasing that, sanitizing the fact that a girl is ripped out of the spring, from her mother's arms, is erasing the thing that gave comfort to women for centuries. And people can and should still find power and healing in it now!

Fill in the blanks the story leaves in whatever manner seems fit to you, there's plenty of room, but. Come the fuck on.

#blathering #truly had a ramble bubbling for weeks #just pagan things

[evilminji]

You know what would be both Cool(tm) AND Pants Shittingly Terrifying? Eldritch Space Whale Danny!

Except NOT! Because he's not a whale! Just snoozing and Giganto-Fuck-Off HUGE!

Imagine it! Danny. Joint Custody Child of The Ancients Of Time And Space. Space is SALTY AF because their BITCH OF AN EX has used his FUCKING POWERS, AGAIN, to CHEAT. Clockwork how DARE YOU.

You knew he'd be our Son in advance!

YOU SNUCK IN AND STARTING BONDING WITH OUR CHILD BEHIND MY BACK!

YOU [REDACTED]!

Danny? Sitting off to the Side as a Sentient Everything and Nothing made of galaxies and starlight, howls expletives at their Ex, who is being... REALLY snippy back? WOW, Clockwork. I mean, JESUS, man. Danny's from "oh bless their heart" Nowhere, Midwest. And even HE thinks that last one was both backhanded and cold af.

......he should take notes. *continues to eat his popcorn*

Anyway! APPARENTLY, Space Parent has taken him in the divorce. With much huffing. Tucked under their arm Like The Football(tm). And honestly? This is kinda hilarious, so he's cool with it. Byyyyyy~ Clock Dad! See you on weekends~☆!

*Exasperated Time Noises*

It's pretty cool! He learns a lot. Learns he's probably? Gonna be SOME variation of Space Ghost. Might even take over Space's... well, EVERYTHING, should the unforeseeable occur. So obviously, gonna have to learn The Family Business, as it were!

Which?

UNSPEAKABLY HYPED, YES PLEASE.

SPACE AND STAR STUFF! HECK YEAH!

Unfortunately? Still a Halfa. Bleh, squishy need to eat and sleep. Why they get in the way of Hyperfixation? Why no more space dust? Nooooo, don't drag him away from the controls! He can still learn! Sleep is for quitters! Cowards! *whining in Give Me Back My Blorbos, You Monsters*

But, no. He apparently has to "take care of his body" and "not burn out". Eat "real food". A protein bar counts! He probably ate one of those! Give him back his STARS! He doesn't CARE if he sounds like a toddler! That's DIRECT ACCESS TO THE SECRETS OF SPACE ITSELF! He'll BITE, so HELP HIM-! *Is scruffed like a cranky infant being carried off to beddy bye*

Injustice! D:<

But, none the less, body's require sleep. He shovles down his food, washes up, and flops down in his bed. In the nice lil cozy "Safe For My Half Apprentice Who Is Also My Adopted Son" corner. He passes out in that corner. Starts to float, as he has done countless times before, when agitated before bed. Floats OUT of that corner.

That Safe Little Corner.

IN THE CENTER, THE BEATING HEART OF SPACE.

You know... the place ALL OF SPACE connects too. Where Universe Form and Die. The Grand Recycler. Dust to Dust, from the ashes of old, to the creation of new. Where PORTALS are randomly assigned. So that the Omniversal Ectoplasmic Levels may always be balanced at near to perfect levels, allowing free flow of Souls through the various Reincarnation cycles.

Space, of course, doesn't MANAGE the Ectoplasm itself. Nor the Souls! Different Ancient for THAT, but they DO manage the PORTALS. We live in a SYSTEM after all. Everyone has their "departments" as it were. So really, it's quiet... Danny? Honey? Awful quiet back there! You, uh, fallen asleep, Starlight?

*empty room*

(O.O)

*inhale* AAAAAAAAAAA-!!!!!!!

Meanwhile! He be Snoozin'! And Ghostin'! Ghost Snoozin'! Is extra comfy, cause he weightless and got not booooones~☆!

But! He? Is not a child anymore! Has learned to... for lack of a better term, Let Go. To finally ACCEPT his Death. His inhumanity. His Amortality. Death no longer holds him, can no longer let him go. He is... not immortal. He is disowned, by his own doing and his own choice, at his timeless moment of Ending.

When Life let go of his hand and Death kindly offered theirs, he did not take it.

And that's okay.

It took awhile. Talking to older ghosts. Most vague and vast, near formless. Because it's... it's scary. And it's all you know. All, really, you've EVER known. Inherent to your identity, even after you leave that part you behind.

You are "human". "Martian" or "Xy'xeruian", something else, and you never question it. Even when you've left behind everything ELSE. Your name, your eyes, your history and skin. Yet you fly around and pretend. Still alive, still human.

But is that YOU?

Or just the form you found your start in?

And like? It's okay if it IS! Sometimes, yeah, you ARE. You look down deep and find a "don't know what you were expecting, buddy" sign stapled to a mirror. But more often? It's that last hurdle. The final step in Letting Go.

Everyone mourns at their own pace.

And they are the ghosts of who they were.

It helped. Mourning for the kid he was. Who was fourteen and wanted to be an astronaut. Who died and will never have a grave. The longer he exsists, for he can't technically be called Alive, the more painfully young that child seems.

It was okay.

To cry for Danny Fenton.

Then? To let him go. Let his memory, be memory. And his Past be the grave that child rests in. Loved dearly and remembered, but no longer binding his soul.

He doesn't have to wear that face anymore.

No tributes to the Dead.

He got? Kinda... BIG. Like REALLY big. Spiraling, serpentine, cracking ice, and burning galaxies. Like a fourth dimensional dragon, of ice and stars, somehow forcing its way into a three dimensional space. Atop it all, between two vast, impossible horns? Made of glacial ice coating the warping hearts of black holes, who's shape themselves seem to shift in unknowable ways? There burns, like comet trails, with super novas, compressed to decorative gems beneath glittering morning frost, a Terrible Crown.

He? Thinks? He MIGHT have wings.

He can't tell.

Because APPARENTLY he's a fuckin tesseract! Oh, no, sorry. He might me a Zone DAMNED PENTERACT!!! Is THIS what he gets for hanging out with Clockwork all the time? He just liked the quiet! Now his "true form" is PHYSICALLY PAINFUL for most people to look at!

Clock Dad WHAT THE HELL?!

(You see, now, why Space broke up with him? An ASSHOLE)

So! Danny stays, usually at least, in his "Hi, yes, I am Normal Human Man" Ghost form. But NOW? Now it PINCHS. Because it's TOO SMALL. But hey, that's fine! It's not like he has an ingrained habit of transforming when super tired and stressed! To float sleep for Maximum Restfulness(tm).

Ha ha!

Why does that feel like foreshadowing?

BECAUSE IT IS!

Danny? Snoozing! Space? Has LOST THE BABY! Portals? Have done a Jood Gob in Portalling, something they are vaguely sure they are supposed to be doing! Yay them! They have no brain cells but still enjoy helping! They moved a thing! That's helpful right? Yay! Probably!

And on DC's planet Earth?

They? Just choked on their fuckin coffee. One moment? La dee daa~ oooh~ look! Stars! Deep space! Oh, hiiii~ Watchtower! The NEXT? *every alarm in the building starts LOSING ITS SHIT* Giant World OBLITERATING SHAPE completely takes up the screen.

From near PLUTO.

There are NO WORDS TO DISCRIBE HOW FUCK OFF BIG THIS THING IS, MR. PRESIDENT. It will eat our nukes and LAUGH. Call! EVERYBODY!!!

Obviously? Superman. I mean really, OF COURSE Superman. Frankly, all the Supers. Because we would like to KEEP having a planet, thanks. Only? The more reports that come in? The more everyone is getting "oh fuck. This is a Workd Eater" vibes.

A massive, massive, Sleeping Titan of a Planet Destroying World Eater.

That MIGHT BE MAGIC.

*highly stressed Everyone noises*

And WORSE? Superman? Can't TOUCH it! Oh sure, at FIRST he could! But then he apparently pushed too hard in just one spot! And it felt POKED AT. So now, after flicking superman HALFWAY BACK TO EARTH to make him stop? No one can physically touch it!

But! There is hope!

Because? The creature is GREEN. Bright, luminous, Lantern Green! And Earth's Lanterns have already sent for back up. Combined? The were able to move a... hand? Paw? Something. But! With the combine forces of several nearby sectors of Lanterns? They promise the power to either relocate the creature or at least hold it in orbit until FURTHER forces can be deployed!

They refuse to harm the creature until it proves actively hostile, as it could have been seeking a place to nap and chosen one inconvenient to established planetary life. Frankly? Earth doesn't CARE where you relocate the giant Eldritch Space Dragon. Just NOT IN OUR BACKYARD, PLEASE.

....YES WE ARE SURE! We don't CARE if the scientific community of our planet is begging you to set up an area for them to place an "observation satellite"! No giant Eldritch Space Dragons in our solar system! It might WAKE UP!

Naturally, about half way THROUGH this Highly Delicate Operation?

Danny Wakes Up.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. pretty brown eyes.

about. gojo might be the one with the six eyes, but there’s nothing special about those. your brown eyes are real weapon, here.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! sfw, fluff, hurt comfort. slight hints to insomnia, idk how infinity works sorry, reader has brown eyes, afab!reader.

“you could kill me if you wanted to.”

it’s the dead of night when he whispers your name. though low in volume, his tongue curls around each syllable loud enough for you to hear him. “

“‘toru, what are you on about—” digging the heal of your palm into your eyes, you dislodge the crust from your lash line and groan. the red lines on your digital clock read sometime between three and four am— but the digits blur as your mind swims with sleep.

“your eyes. they’re so perfect.” a loving grin etches itself onto his face when you crack one open to look at him, masking over the exhaustion seeping from his pores and the anxiety that spikes in the sapphire pools of his own eyes. “you should be able to get away with anything because of them.”

“baby,” you reiterate and roll over to face him fully. gojo gets like this when he’s overworked and worried, when there’s something big on his mind you’re not quite sure you’d understand. you move to jab a thumb into his forehead, right between his brows to alleviate the ache in his skull but you don’t let your disappointment show when rough skin meets the dull buzz of his infinity.

you forget that his six eyes flow in the dark — that his blue eyes are not as blue as they seem. “you’re talking nonsense, it’s late. get some sleep.”

“my eyes. they could kill me if i worked too hard.”

satoru’s eyes are a lot stormier than most would expect, they can be dark and cold. like an angry ocean tired of tournament. they can be bright, full of hope and loving — you notice that change whenever he’s with your students. they hide behind the frame of his ability, the one that hardly ever turns off despite how it really could kill him.

his mind is always running, his body almost always on empty.

in the moonlight, you see a faint sliver of silver between the flecks of diamond and stormy skies.

he swipes a gentle thumb just over cheek yours to catch a fallen lash. “but yours,” gojo continues, voice thoughtful and low. tired above all else. “those pretty brown eyes…baby, they’re dangerous in a different way. beautiful in another that makes me feel safe. puts my mind at ease or somethin’. one look ‘nd I’d be doing anything for you,”

there the two of you are, face to face in the dark — cheeks pressed to pillows and heads under the covers as if you’re children shielding yourself from the world. creating the safe space to let satoru confess.

“if those pretty brown eyes were the last thing i got to see before i died. then i think i’d be okay.”

“don’t say that.” your face crumples and his infinity falls away as if gojo had been anticipating your touch, the buzz just shocking through your skin as you wrap your arms around his larger frame, pull his head down to your heart beating in your chest. “you’re not allowed to die, satoru. not yet.”

“i know.” for once he’s grateful he can’t see your eyes — he hates the way they shine when you cry.

“i need you.”

“i know.” he’s quiet. “i need you too.”

“then rest, you don’t have to keep watch.” gojo feels the shake in your lungs as you speak. you worry too much about him. but with your hand cascading through his soft locks, and the other squeezing him close he’s finding it hard to resist.

usually when he lays next to you, he’s stiff as a board, always anticipating whatever danger might come next. but the biggest threat to him of all is you, and those big brown bambi eyes of yours — the way they’re wet with love, shiny with tears because you adore satoru gojo. you care about him way too much for your own good.

those eyes of yours are convincingly treacherous , he can’t help but let his body sag and let go of his cursed technique while you rub his back and soothe him.

“you’re dangerous, yanno,” satoru grunts, lips dragging along your skin with every word. “especially when you look at me like that, with those puppy dog eyes…can’t say no to you.”

but you smile as he drifts off, his tall frame heavy against you — your lashes blinking soft against his forehead as you curl around him protectively. “i’d rather use them to get you to rest, rather than kill you. ‘toru.”

your words are wasted on deaf ears — his deep snore indicating that gojo is finally asleep, doing himself a favour and locking his pretty blue eyes away.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

#gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #gojo x yn #satoru gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader #idk im sad and i love him #self indulgent slay #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted #angelshubnetwork

[nocturna-iv]

You're a loser, baby~

I love the level of detail in "Loser, baby" on a narrative level and how much it can tell us about HuskerDust. Husk didn't want to go after Angel; Charlie sent him. But at that moment, when the mask began to fracture, Husk extended his hand to the real Angel.

The smile? Husk has a plan. The kind of plan that involves pure nihilism and stopping self-judgment so Angel knows he's not alone. Husk doesn't need to do this, but he already knows the real Angel (when he's drunk) and likes him. So, Husk is offering the real Angel his company.

Angel is waiting for the typical “everything is going to be fine” talk. How many times has he heard it? Cuddles, hope, and light But Husk surprises him by treating him like an equal, someone who won't break. Obviously, it bothers Angel, and he gets defensive. Is this guy kidding?

The same guy who was annoyed by Angel's presence is now all over him, with the most pretentious smirk in the universe, calling him a LOSER (and baby). Angel is so confused by the turn of events.

So, obviously, Angel thinks Husk is playing with him. His face says it all! And Husk is still all over him, telling Angel the truth.

In this part, Husk shares his insecurities. Yes, there was a time, but the pain is still there. And from what he's gotten to know Angel, Husk feels like they could connect there. “You are not alone” goes both ways.

Husk manages to get Angel to open but does it with sarcasm. At this point, Angel doesn't think anyone is going to accept him as he is. So, he says something that many know: his contract with Valentino, who has a dangerous reputation. That's the opening Husk was looking for.

This part isn't Husk making light of Angel's situation. He's making it clear to Angel that he's not “unique”, that is, he's not alone. His suffering is not something that separates him from others. Husk is breaking into Angel's self-isolation due to his abusive relationship.

Obviously, Angel doesn't believe him. Years of abuse made it clear to him that no one is going to care for the real Angel. But he's indulgent with Husk, playing along, visibly skeptical, wanting to know where this is all going.

And Husk takes him by surprise again. He is gentle, guiding Angel, giving him space, always offering his hand. It's a fun dance for two. They are both losers. Husk isn't insulting him. He is telling him that it's okay to make mistakes. They both have done it.

So Angel decides to trust. Just a little. Because he knows how people react when they know who he is. Angel is barely singing, not fully entering the song.

And when Husk tells him that he's fine with Angel being like that, it's liberating. Angel sings, there is a crack in his voice, because he is having fun! He is not acting, he is being sporadic and exaggerated, almost a parody of his flirtatious mask.

Now it is Angel who seeks out Husk, recognizing him as the one who can understand him and is liberating! And Husk reaches him, reminding Angel that they're in all of this together. And Angel smiles. A big and real smile.

Husk shares his addictions to give Angel the opportunity to share his in a safe space. And now Angel sings with all his potential, being himself and having fun. And Husk reaffirms him. This is Angel, the real Angel that Husk met when Angel was drunk.

And that is the theme of the song. Embrace who you are and don't be ashamed. Take every self-destructive comment, dirty insult, and don't let them sink you. Say "So what?", it's you, you're fine, you're good.

Accept your mistakes, your failures, your flaws, and stop being your own enemy. It's hard to escape, but there is someone who understands you, and you aren't alone. Existence sucks; bite it with a smile!

And that's the point. Things aren't magically going to get better. The problems are not going to disappear. Life sucks, but you're not alone. The burden doesn't disappear, but it may be more bearable.

Angel is the one who comforts Husk, telling him that yes, existing is difficult, but he's not alone. He has him. And for Husk, that's something. The song is about them, after all.

And Husk tells him that maybe he and Angel can be losers and find happiness.

And now it's Angel who offers Husk his hand. Now it's Husk who puts his hand on Angel's. And Angel can't erase his surprise and smile.

Now Angel is the one accompanying Husk. Angel's voice becomes an instrument that follows Husk in harmony. The fun dance of two returns, but Angel includes his style. Husk no longer has to guide him.

They both reach for each other. Husk extends his hand almost at the same time as Angel, with his eyes closed, extends his.

And in the end? They both support each other, literally and symbolically. They are equals. Husk and Angel meeting in the middle. The real Angel being accepted by Husk.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin angel #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #huskerdust

[madschiavelique]

Restraint - Miguel O'Hara x fem!Reader

summary : you convinced Miguel to wear a muzzle to fuck you, and let's just say it drives him insane.

content warning : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex, unprotected safe (be safe kids), miguel becoming a tiny bit angry because he can't kiss you nor bite you, possessive miguel, no use of Y/N word count : 1,1k

note : needed to get this out of my brain, enjoy (english is not my first language and i tried to proofread it properly fdbfdgf)

Miguel grunted, his teeth clenching over the empty air. He snarled, thrusting further into you, trying to press his face into your neck to squeeze the metal and get closer to your skin.

You had managed, in a way that still impressed you right then, to convince Miguel to wear a muzzle during sex. You had smiled, telling him that "you won't be able to resist, it's impossible for you," because the words 'bite' and 'Miguel' were simply inseparable, whether in everyday life or just in bed. With an air of pride and restraint, he had replied, "I'll resist, and you'll be biting your fingers off."

And now, he was pounding into you, body all sweaty with the muzzle on. The restraint had enough space between the bars and his mouth that he only managed to partially graze the sides if he tried to spread his lips or his tongue.

At first, he had put it on almost like a medal, because he was convinced that he would overcome his cravings and control himself perfectly well. How wrong he was.

As soon as he realised that he wouldn't be able to kiss your lips again, that had been a problem. But to admit at that moment that he didn't like it would be to admit defeat a little too soon. However when he realised he couldn’t bite you ? Now that was a problem.

His hands came to grasp your body more tightly than ever. The lack of grip he had with his teeth resulted in his fingers digging into your skin, which turned red under the pressure.

His fingers were pinching, his hands grabbing everything they could get their hold of that he couldn't bite. He took one of your breasts in his hand, his thumb starting to play with it, but when he lowered himself to lick it, he was instantly stopped by the distance between his tongue and the metal. He frowned, but eventually resisted using just his fingers.

Then he realised he couldn't trace your belly with kisses and light nibbles. But the real weight of his little wager began to sink in when, on reaching your legs, he realised what a mistake he'd made. The soft skin of your inner thighs, where the traces he had left the previous time he had fucked you were beginning to fade, was beyond his reach. The very idea that he couldn't make sure it was newly marked, right here, right now, was driving him crazy.

And then, when he got to your pussy, disaster. It was already so wet, glistening with your own desire for him. He was already salivating at the thought of tasting it, of getting drunk on it until he fell off, of hearing you moaning as he made you go from orgasm to orgasm.

But he couldn't, the cool metal dampened by Miguel's breath on the muzzle sending a delicious shiver down your spine when he tried to kiss you there.

He grunted quietly, frustration really beginning to set in, and started to work his fingers instead of his tongue. You breathed a sigh of relief as he came back to you, wanting to nestle into the back of your neck, wanting to kiss it, to feel your cheek pressed against his. But once again, he was stopped by the meagre metal frame. This was where deprivation became sincerely complicated. He hadn't noticed until now how much power his mouth had over your pleasure. He still had control over his words and his voice, but everything else was forbidden to him.

He bit his own cheek as he thrust in you, the first thing he wanted to do with the moan you let out was to swallow it, to relieve himself from the taste of your voice, your whimper and all the others that were to come.

The idea occurred to him to suggest removing the muzzle, thinking that the argument of "but it ruins our common pleasures" would do the trick. But he stopped himself, setting off at a frantic pace, his frustration reflected in the depth and power of his thrusts. All those delicious noises you were making, he wanted them for himself, in his own body, he had caused them and they were rightfully his.

So he tried to press the muzzle aside, hoping that by contorting his lips he would be able to kiss your shoulder, but he couldn't.

"Cariño," he breathed at last, slowing slightly, "What do you say I remove this stupid thing, hm?"

The little flash of satisfaction lit up your eyes like lighters.

"What is it ?" you whimpered, looking up at him through your lashes. "Can't handle yourself ?"

His nose wrinkled under his frown, his lips forming an angry pout. But he had to retain some pride, so, reluctantly, he replied:

"I can handle this perfectly."

He turned you over, your head on the cushion, ass up for him, resuming its previous rhythm as your cries were muffled into the pillow. He'd thought maybe if he heard them less he'd be half as tempted to want them for himself, but the urge weighed.

And the noise that his pelvis made against your ass was pushing all the right buttons.

His fingers dug into your skin again, the desire to bite and kiss you becoming more and more unbearable. Perhaps in another position he would be less tempted?

So you moved into cowgirl, your pelvis undulating against his as his hands gripped your ass and your thighs. But seeing you like this, your teeth biting into your lips from time to time, prevented him from thinking straight. It was his own teeth that should have done that.

"You look frustrated," you noted as you leaned over him.

You had taken care not to kiss or bite him either, but you allowed yourself the small temptation to kiss his neck, and Miguel's desire was growing by the second. Then, with a mischievous smile, you came back to face him.

"I wonder why," you smiled, licking from bottom to top the surface of the muzzle in a slow, almost lazy gesture.

It was too much, he couldn't take it any more. So with a sharp jerk, he grabbed the strap of the object of all his torment and pulled on it, the strap ripping immediately.

He pounced on you, hungry, his lips attacking yours, swallowing your every moan with monstrous satisfaction. Inevitably, he lunged at the crook of your neck, biting down harder than he was used to into your flesh. He consumed everything in his path, insatiable.

"I'll burn that thing," he said between a kiss and a bite, thinking of the pleasure he would take in destroying the muzzle.

One thing was certain, he would never tire of devouring you whole.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #miguel x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x y/n #miguel spiderman #miguel atsv #madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎

[serotonins-stuff]

3am pregggy cravings

~BNHA

_____________ ❤︎ _______________

♡︎ Bnha boys

♡︎ f!reader

♡︎ Sypnosis: You suddenly get strong pregnancy cravings in the early hours of the morning

♡︎ Includes : Bakugo, Izuku, Todoroki , Aizawa, Hawks

____________ ❤︎ _______________

_____________ ❤︎ _______________

(characters are aged up)

Bakugo

He shuffled in his sleep, while low grumbles and sniffles echoed from downstairs.

He guessed he was having a dream till the cries sounded way too real and familiar. He patted the space next to him, expecting to feel your warmth but it was empty.

He jumped up from his sleeping position in the warm blankets, shirtless and disheveled as he scrambled out of the bedroom in a panic. Concerns flooded his head but he had no time to stand and think.

Were you ok?

Why the hell are you crying?

He strumbled on various things in the dark, causing him to curse lowly but he moved on.

"Y/n!?" He half yelled, still hearing your sobs echoing through the house. The sound guided him to the kitchen downstairs, so he made sure to be cautious moving toward it.

He clutched a broom nearby, in case something bad was happening so he could prepare. Hell- he didn't even know why you were crying in the first place.

The kitchen was pitch black, although the pantry next to it was beaming with light. The alarm didn't go off which means you were safe.

He strolled into the pantry quietly and the sobs grew louder. He was temporarily blinded by the bright light but blinked repeatedly so his eyes could adjust.

And there you were, sitting cross legged on the floor while holding onto your big tummy.

"Shit-Whats wrong?" he rasped and squatted in front of you, holding onto your shoulders and looking over your features just to make sure nothing bad had happened to you.

"You hurt?" he asked and you shook your head no. "Is the baby ok?"

"Yeah" you cried. "The baby's fine"

Your face was tear-stained and your eyes a little puffy. The baby seemed fine, and you also seemed fine physically so what was the problem?

He positioned himself to sit behind you and placed his hands on your stomach from behind, rubbing it soothingly in hopes to calm you down. "Shhh," he cooed onto your nape softly.

Whatever he was doing seemed to work because, you had calmed down.

"This is gonna sound so stupid but-" you began talking "We don't have any of the food I'm craving!" You wailed in his arms.

Your husband's eyes widened at your mini rampage. He honestly didn't know where to start. "Listen I'll go get you some right now ok?"

He understood that your hormones were all over the place at the moment, so you couldn't control your emotions.

"I don't know why I'm crying so much over ice cream" you sobbed quietly "M'sorry Kat"

"Oi don't apologize for that alright?" He consoled you, still drawing soft circles on your enlarged stomach. "You've got our kid in there, and your hormones are all over the place right now"

He helped you up and guided you to the couch, wrapping a blanket around you and switching on the tv while he walked over to the door. " Call me if you need more stuff." he glimpsed back at you while searching for his cap.

He wouldn't want to be recognized by fans this late at night. Luckily there was a 24 hour convince store nearby your home, so he'd be back before you knew it.

He completed his look with a black face mask, not bothering to change out of his oversized tee and sweatpants.

"I'll be back" he stated, but before he left he made sure to glance at you once more to make sure you were ok but your eyes were glued to the tv screen.

He scoffed a smile as he closed the door and locked it. You had the spare key so it wasn't a problem. Off he was to the covience store.

He didn't take long, only about 15 minutes when the sound of his shoes and the opening of the door could be heard.

He headed over to you first thing and pulled out the food you've been craving the whole night.

"Thank you!" You beamed widely as you accepted it, already eager to open it. Katsuki exhaled a chuckle at your cuteness, flopping himself next to you on the couch and pulling out a tub of ice cream.

He brought another spoon for you in case you would want to taste some. You snickered at dramatic shows on the tv enjoying each others company.

Eventually Katsuki could feel the weight of your head on his shoulder. He peeked to the side to find you snoozing peacefully, some ice cream smeared across your lips and soft snores pouring from your nose.

He sneered back the grin that wanted to appear on his face, giving your stomach one last rub before getting you cleaned up and heading to bed.

_____________ ❤︎ _______________

Izuku

"If I can just figure this out" Izuku mumbled from where he sat on the bedroom floor, holding his chin while he stared at the various papers scattered across the carpet.

He knew that you were fast asleep on the bed. You needed the rest as your belly grew each day, nourishing the little bean inside of you.

A shuffle from the bed made him freeze slightly. He didn't want to make any fast movements that would wake you up.

Once you had stopped moving he continued, but as soon as he turned his head away you called out to him.

"Izuku?" You rubbed your eyes "You still up?"

"Um-yeah I just had some work I had to finish" He rubbed the back of his head. feeling a bit guilty if he were the reason you woke up.

"Did I wake you?" He stood up and walked over to your side, leaning down behind you to rub your back.

"No you didn't do anything I just-" you sighed, not wanting to sound silly by telling him that you were craving something at such an early hour.

"Is it the baby?" he asked with slight panic, pulling the blanket down so he could come eye to eye with your stomach.

"Well yes and no"

He raised a brow in confusion.

"This is going to sound stupid but I'm craving some food " you looked at him apologetically.

"Hey" he held your hands and you turned around so your body could face him.

"Nothing you say is stupid" he smiled At you softly. "It's completely normal to feel what you're feeling and I don't blame you because you've got a whole life growing in there" his hands made their way to your stomach.

You smiled at how reassuring he was. This is exactly why you fell in love with him in the first place, he was able to make your troubles vanish just by flashing a smile.

"I'm going to drop some paperwork off at the agency anyway, so I'll get you some by the store alright?"

You nodded.

"Alright then, I'll be back soon" he placed a kiss to your cheek. "Do you need anything else?"

"I need you to eat it with me when you get back". You glanced at his tired features, he was working hard to make his agency successful but it was taking a toll on him.

He's more stressed than usual, and you only see him for a few hours a day because of his messed up sleep schedule. He promised that it would only be for this week, but it's only been 3 days yet you've been missing him like crazy.

He misses you too. He calls you everyday from work and sends a caretaker to look after you and the growing baby in your tummy while he's not around.

"Okay I promise"

_____________ ❤︎ _______________

Shoto

He could feel you shuffling uncomfortably beside him. He was half asleep but woke up to check if you were ok.

"Love are you alright?" he rasped sleepily, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your belly. His hot breath tickling your neck as he spoke

"Yes I'm fine Shoto" you stretched your legs.

"Are you craving something?" He asked and you looked at him in bewilderment.

"H-how did you know that?"

"You were staring at pictures at it all day, so I figured you'd crave it at some point" he rubbed his eyes and yawned "You also mumbled it while you were sleeping"

You squealed in embarrassment, covering your face with the blankets. Could you have spoken about food while you were sleeping? You could barely even remember what you were dreaming about.

This only made Shoto laugh lightly, you had such a cute reaction and he just couldn't help it.

"I can order us some right now if you'd like?" You heard him shuffle towards the nightstand, and the light from his phone blinded you temporarily.

"What store is open at a time like this Shoto?"

"There's a twenty-four-hour convenient store nearby that delivers," he said nonchalantly, tapping away at his phone "Looks like they have more than enough"

He proceeded to buy so much of the item that it was out of stock. You scolded him for that but he didn't have much of a reaction

Eventually the items you were craving arrived and you sat onthe bed together, devouring them.

"You are so amazing" you groaned in delight, taking another delicious bite.

"Anything for you," he said with a half-full mouth, also enjoying the delicacy.

_____________ ❤︎ _______________

Aizawa

"Shota" you whined, shaking the sleeping man next to you.

"Hm?" he answered almost immediately, meaning that he was probably awake for the whole time this early hour. You knew his insomnia bothered him, but he refused to take pills or anything like that because of the side effects they gave him the next day.

"Trouble sleeping?" He inquired cuddling up to you.

"Yeah I'm having really strong cravings right now" you sighed into his chest. "Insomnia keeping you up again?"

He hummed an agreement at your question, It was a bit difficult to cuddle with the little human between the two of you, but you were excited that soon you could meet your cute little chunk. Who hopefully won't cry throughout the night and keep you awake. You heard a conspiracy theory once that children could inherit that from their parents.

"Did you cry a lot as a baby?" You asked suddenly, playing with his hands that lay on your stomach.

"Never let my parents sleep a wink" he huffed, recalling the stories his mom would tell him. "My mom often called me the pub crawler"

You snickered loudly at that name "Pub crawler....seriously?"

You went silent and he knew you were up to no good "Don't even think about calling me that" he cut your thoughts off.

"You're no fun Shota"

"How would I take you seriously if you called me a pub crawler?" He deadpanned.

"I think it suits you considering you're up at this hour"

"Then I'm calling you a incubator"

Now it was your turn to deadpan. "On second thought I think Shota suits you better"

Shuffles could be heard from him when he slowly arose from your intertwined position on the bed. You pouted your lips at the sudden emptiness next to you.

"Maybe I could get some sleep if I get some fresh air outside" he rasped slowly, stretching as he put on his shoes "I'll go get your cravings from the store nearby"

"Let me go with you" you also sat up from your position but he halted you, placing the blankets nice and snug around your body while a chuckle of amusement left his lips.

"I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you need to rest"

"Party pooper as always" you rolled your eyes.

"I won't be long" he stepped out of the room, stopping in the middle of the doorway to wait for your reply.

"I'll see you then pub crawler" you smirked sheepishly before he breathed a chuckle and swiftly closed the door.

_____________ ❤︎ _______________

Hawks

He had never panicked so much in his life.

He didn't even have time to think when he jumped out of bed shirtless with pajama shorts. Your soft sobs echoing in the living room downstairs. Luckily his feathers sensed your discomfort and that's what woke him up.

He jumped down the staircase gracefully, his wings making it possible for him to land softly.

His eyes caught your figure, sitting on the couch while the tv playing in the background. He walked up to you slowly, calling your name to not scare you by suddenly appearing.

"Keigo?" You sniffled and the couch dipped slightly next to you from his sudden weight. He hooked his arm under your legs from where he sat beside you, his other arm gently making its way to your back. You couldn't feel a thing when he lifted you into his arms. Cradling you on the couch as he also tried to figure out what was going on.

He smiled softly, sensing that it was just your hormones making you feel this way. "Is nugget keeping you awake?"

You nodded your head pointing to the tv. At first, he didn't understand what you were implying till he saw delicious food being made and eaten on the screen.

"Ah I have just the trick" he yanked out his phone, typing for a while before placing it down. "It should be here in about 20 minutes Peach"

He was expecting to see you smile and thank him for being the greatest lifesaver ever but was surprised to see tears still spilling out of your eyes as you looked away.

"C'mon talk to me" he clasped your chin so you could look at him.

The truth was that you felt bad for waking him up at such an early hour just for some food. You know very well that he has work tomorrow and he has to be up early.

"Keigo, I feel bad" you whimpered. For some reason, having a baby was making you cry at every single inconvenience. "I know you must be really tired from work and I'm over here ruining your sleep schedule for cravings"

"You have nothing to be worried about, you're waaayyy more important than work," he said making sure to exaggerate the way. "And if anything you're doing me a favor, I haven't been getting much food in because of everything that's been happening lately, so thank you"

He made sure to order some for himself so you could enjoy it together. Spending time with you and nugget makes him feel unstoppable.

"Being with you and nugget gives me extra strength to face the next day." He pecked you on the lips.

"I also think that your cravings might have affected me 'cause now I'm hungry" he deadpanned and giggled slightly.

He would do anything if it were to see that sweet smile all the time.

#anime and manga #my hero headcanons #mha x reader #bnha deku #izuku midoria x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #pro hero hawks #hawks x reader #aizawa x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #mha oneshot #oneshot #my hero acedamia #plus ultra #fypage #mha fluff

[aniseandspearmint]

THE GIGGLE SPOILERS

okay okay so, there is a Doctor just chilling on earth for the next however long, taking quick jaunts occasionally, but LIVING linear time and everything.

There is an entire regular meeting support group for companions of The Doctor.

That Donna is definitely going to be invited to, right?

Does Donna open with, "Hi my name is Donna Noble and The Doctor is currently living with me 'cause he finally burnt out after a few million years and needed a break. He's recovered enough to be gettin' antsy and a nice local trip or two to see old friends would do him good! Anyone object to me binging him along next week?"

The big question is, would it be rude for 14 to show up?

On the one hand, this is technically a support group for people to talk about their adventures WITH him, in a safe space and all that.

I can't imagine he'd be unwelcome, but would it be too awkward????

OH WAIT NO HILARIOUS THOUGHT.

Donna attends the companion support group.

Donna talks about The Doctor in the present tense a bit, but in such a way that the rest of the group think he's an elderly working dog she's adopted and is rehabbing.

That she named The Doctor because of fond memories with her own Doctor.

And it's just SO clear she's talking about an elderly pet. The tone, the stories....

"Rose has been real helpful gettin' him to be more active. She'll chase him around the yard for a few laps, tossing a ball around!"

"Granddad's been trying to get him to go out and shoot moles with him, but The Doctor doesn't like guns much, you know."

"He's been driving my mum up the wall, sniffin' around the kitchen every time she's cooking. Course, he does it to everyone but mum's nearly stepped on him a few times!"

"My daughter makes lovely stuffed animals *shows pics on her phone*, The Doctor loves them! We find him napping in the yard with one as a pillow all the time. She sells them by the way. Her etsy shop is-"

And then one meeting she's like, "Oh, would you lot mind if I brought the Doctor next week? He's feeling better, I think it'd be nice if he got out of the house for a bit?"

And of course everyone is like, 'oh sure' 'yeah' 'alright' 'no problem'.

And then next week rolls around and-

That is an ENTIRE fully bipedal Gallifreyan Doctor. Huh.

#doctor who #14th doctor #donna noble #fic ideas

[freedomfireflies]

Love Me*

Summary: The fifth and final part to Teach Me*

You and your best friend Harry have a few things to figure out.

So, why not figure them out while you're riding his face?

Word Count: 8.1k

*Contains Mature and Explicit Content. Take care of yourself first, only consume what you feel comfortable with!*

“Watermelon.”

Instantly, you go deathly still, muscles straining as the word echoes around the walls of your mind. Repeating itself over, and over, and over.

You attempt to sit up, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps his arms around you like a vice, caging you against his chest as his heart races beneath your cheek.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, a certain ringing in your ears that won’t quiet. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Somehow, his touch constricts even tighter, snaking around your ribcage as if to suffice as his reply.

“Harry?” you ask a bit louder, and you feel him stiffen at the sudden volume. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

He’s quiet. Far too quiet as his chin meets the crown of your head. 

“Harry,” you stress for a third time. “What happened? What is it? If you’re gonna use your safe word, you have to tell me—”

“Nothing,” he breathes, fingers digging into the skin on your side. Bracing himself from the truth. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Never mind?” you nearly gasp as he finally lets go, allowing you to scramble upright. “Harry…you can’t say that and then never mind—”

“I didn’t mean to say it,” he mumbles, meeting your eye for only a moment before his lashes flutter and he looks off into the bedroom. “I just…I forgot. It’s nothing. Everything’s fine, okay? Just forget it.”

He pushes himself up as you climb off the bed, but your attention never leaves him. Studying his expression closely to find the real answer. 

“Harry…” you venture cautiously, and again, you catch the way he hesitates. “If I did something—”

“No.” His answer is instantaneous, head shaking once before he looks up. “No. I told you, it’s fine. Really—”

“It can’t be fine if you said it—”

“Well, I didn’t mean to—”

“How can you not have meant to? What were you trying to say? Nothing else really sounds like watermelon��”

“Just…forget it, okay?” he sighs as he stands up and reaches for his boxers. “What’s the opposite of watermelon? I’ll say that.”

“Harry,” you huff for the hundredth time. “You…look, if there’s something we need to talk about—”

“There’s not.” The conviction in his voice is final as he proceeds to slip his shirt back on. 

You’re slow to do the same, shimmying back into your clothes while also trying to maintain his focus. “We agreed that this only worked if we talked to each other. If we trusted each other—”

“This has nothing to do with trust, Bee,” he insists as he glances over at you. “I told you, it’s fine—”

“It’s not fine.” You nearly want to whine at his stubbornness. You’ve known him long enough to understand his little tricks. His tells. The way he avoids confrontation.

The way he avoids how he really feels.

“It is,” he says again, now brushing past you toward the door. “Okay? So…please. Just forget it.”

“I can’t forget it,” you argue as you follow him to the kitchen. “It’s a safe word for a reason. It means that you can say it and feel safe. That you can tell me what’s wrong, and what you’re thinking—”

“I don’t—” he begins before his eyes squeeze together and his jaw clamps shut. “I’m thinking I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. Okay? I just…I wanna drop it. So let’s drop it.”

You watch as he braces himself against the kitchen sink, hands gripping onto the tub as he leans back and aims his glare at the floor.

And it hurts. It hurts to go from happily content in his arms to anxiously dejected a few feet away.

It hurts to know that there’s clearly something wrong that he refuses to share. Hurts to know you can’t help. Even after everything.

You taught him how to touch you.

But not how to talk to you.

You straighten up. “Fine,” you agree. “Fine, we’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.”

The small space falls quiet as you do your best to ignore the ever-present ringing in your ears.

Dropping it doesn’t fix it.

But you don’t know what else to do.

“I think…I think I’m gonna go,” you whisper, already taking a step back.

His head lifts, lips parting as he watches you move away from him. “Oh…okay.”

Despite it all, you wish he’d ask you to stay.

After retrieving your things from his room, you head for the door to his apartment, your heart dragging behind you on the floor.

He doesn’t move from his spot. He doesn’t chase after you or try to explain. He watches you walk away from him as if he always expected you to.

You pause to glance over your shoulder and find him. To offer him one last chance. “Harry?”

“…yeah?”

You take a deep breath. “Do you regret it now?”

You half expected his answer to come as quickly as the others.

But this one doesn’t.

This one seems to catch in his throat as his expression falls. “…I don’t know.”

And that tells you everything.

You don’t hear from Harry for three days.

He doesn’t text you. You don’t text him.

He doesn’t call you. You don’t call him.

You’re not trying to be petty. You’re not even trying to punish him, you’re just…

Confused.

You and Harry don’t fight. Not once in the fifteen years that you’ve known each other.

Sometimes you’ll get into spats. Or heated arguments. But you don’t ice each other out. You don’t resort to games and the silent treatment.

If that’s even what this is.

You knew opening this door in your friendship would make it impossible to close.

And now, it’s letting in a draft.

And after everything you felt with him, after everything you realized…

Having him so far away, so distant…makes you feel empty.

Incomplete.

As if there’s a missing piece to your puzzle.

You allow yourself to wonder if he’s simply learned all that he’s needed to learn from you. If he’s ready to be a good partner for Tina, and ready to resume just a platonic, non-sexual friendship with you.

Which you’d be more than okay with.

Really.

You would.

You’d have to be.

Because you don’t want to know what happens…if you wouldn’t.

So, you shove all thoughts of Harry and his lessons away. You reject each memory of his hands, and his lips, and his body, and his cock.

And you continue on with your life. You revert back to the way it was before, when it was just you and your vibrator.

But nothing is ever that simple, and you should have anticipated that even before there was a frantic knock on your door.

Confused, you toss your throw blanket aside and stand from the couch.

And when you swing the door open, you find Harry. Standing in your hallway. Slightly out of breath and wearing a curious expression on his face.

Kind of like the day he asked to eat you out.

The rush of deja vu almost overwhelms you as you blink at him. “…uh, hi?”

“Hi.” His greeting is as rushed as his gasp for air, as if he ran all the way up the five flights of stairs. 

“What…are you doing here?” you ask hesitantly, letting your eyes trail down his body, cautiously looking for an explanation.

There’s a pause as he seems to study you back before he straightens up and takes a step forward.

“I’m finishing the list,” he exhales before seizing your face between his hands and kissing you.

You don’t have time to grasp onto the concept of his lips as he walks you backward toward the wall, kicking the door shut on his way in.

And he takes. Exactly the way he had before. He takes and he savors, and he owns. He says everything with this one kiss. Everything you know he can never say aloud.

Everything.

You don’t fight him on it. You probably should. Should probably stop him and ask him what he’s doing. Ask him what happened, what changed.

But maybe you don’t wanna know what’s changed. Maybe you’re just grateful it did.

So, you kiss him back. You kiss him, and you whisper his name, and you let your hands scratch down the back of his neck.

And you revel in the way he groans. In the way he drags his teeth down your throat to freshen up the already fading marks from the time before.

Then, his fingers trail down your arm to latch onto your wrist. And he tugs. Tugs you away from the wall he had pressed against so he can drag you toward your room.

“What are you doing?” you murmur as you scramble after him, an excited shiver traveling down your spine.

“You’re gonna sit on my face,” he declares, practically slinging you toward the bed. “Gonna sit on my fucking face and let me taste you.”

Your ass meets the mattress as he towers above. And despite how enthralled the idea has you…you pause. “Harry…I don’t know if that’s—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he interrupts, leaning down to press his palms to the bed, caging you between his arms. “I don’t wanna talk, I don’t want to overthink…I just want you to sit on my face.”

Your lashes flutter. “Harry—”

“No,” he repeats. He offers a single shake of his head. “No. You said this is about trust, right?”

“Right, but—”

“So trust me,” he whispers, dipping closer until the tip of his nose brushes against yours. “Trust me when I say it’s fine. Trust me…when I say the only thing I want…is to have you ride my tongue.”

And right now as you stare at him, and feel him, and inhale him…you have no other choice but to trust him, too.

“Okay,” you breath, already desperate to have him touch you. Hold you. Remind you why it felt so right in the first place.

“Okay?” he checks, the corner of his mouth curling up in a pleased smile.

You nod. “Okay. I trust you.”

And he’s overcome with exhilaration as he grabs onto the back of your neck to bring your mouth to his.

It’s only been two minutes—tops. But you’d missed his kisses. Missed having his lips on yours. Missed the way he completely owned you. 

Missed the way he made you his.

He guides you onto your back, laying you against the mattress comfortably while allowing him the room to crawl on top of you.

And his frantic touches follow you all the way down, his nimble fingers dancing up your shirt until they can find your bare chest.

You gasp into his bottom lip as he takes you into his palm, effortlessly and expertly caressing you until you’re arching into his touch. 

He groans when he feels you. Takes pleasure in having you. Getting to hold you the way he is now. Explore you.

His knee makes a home against your cunt, pressing into you subtly, as if to jumpstart the process. And you squirm against it, lungs aching for air as you tangle your hands in his curls.

And for a moment, you both simply enjoy. Enjoy this rather innocent connection. This innocent sensation of your bodies finding a rhythm together. This harmonious link between your body and his.

Then, he scoops his arm beneath your hips and rolls you both over.

Your knees meet the bed, one on each side of his waist as you brace yourself against his chest.

He grins lazily but he’s far too focused on the task at hand. So, he curls his fingers around your sleep shorts and begins to pull them down. 

There’s a bit of awkward shifting and rearranging that follows as you help him toss them aside.

But once they’re off, his palms wrap around the backs of your thighs, and he brings you closer.

You’ve ridden a face before. Have quite enjoyed it, in fact.

But Harry…Harry isn’t just someone. Harry is…Harry.

And riding Harry’s face is a lot different than riding his thigh.

But he doesn’t give you a moment to think about that. And you’re almost positive he knows you are.

Because he shoots you this look of warning before tugging you closer to him, forcing your knees to scuffle a bit closer until you’re exactly where he wants you.

You take hold of the headboard to brace yourself, already tingling from where his fingertips are pressing into your skin.

And you can feel him breathing against you. Soft, chaste kisses being trailed along your inner thigh as he travels his way up. 

He might be new at this, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. At least when it comes to you, and you could almost smile at his attention to detail.

“Relax for me, Bee,” he instructs, nose bumping your clit as your breath hitches. “Come on, it’s all right. Just relax and let me taste you.”

You try to do as instructed, allowing yourself to sink down a bit closer. 

But the moment he drags his tongue through your arousal, you suck in a sharp breath and straighten up.

“Bee,” he growls, hands already pulling you back down. A bit harder than he had before.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, lids growing heavy as the lust-induced haze begins to wash over you. “M’sorry, just don’t…don’t wanna hurt you—”

“And what did I fucking say about that?” he nearly snaps. “Hurt me. Fucking suffocate me, if you have to. Sit on my goddamn face until I can’t breathe.”

“Harry,” you whisper, eyes screwing shut as he repeats his previous action. “I don’t…I can’t—”

The sharp smack to your ass makes your head drop back. It’s loud, and it’s firm, and it stings more than his previous spanking.

But it’s fucking amazing.

“I’m not gonna tell you again,” he warns. “You’re gonna ride my fucking tongue until I’ve had enough. Is that understood?”

You feel yourself clench around nothing from the dominant tone of voice. Nails already scratching down the wood of your headboard as you try to find the strength to speak.

There’s another zealous slap to your skin, his palm painting your body red with salacious intentions. “Answer me, baby girl.”

“Yes,” you whine. “Yes, I understand.”

“That’s my girl,” he hums, lips ghosting your cunt as he speaks. “You do what I say. Go where I tell you to go. Let me put you exactly where I fucking want you.”

And to prove this point, he tugs on your hips until your pussy meets his mouth.

And suddenly everything makes sense.

It’s fucking magic the way he treats you. The way he tastes you. The way he covers his tongue in your need for him. 

He sucks and he swallows, and he pulls you so far down onto him that you’re surprised you don’t disappear into him.

But it’s…

Everything.

The only concept you truly understand in this moment. Him and his mouth and this endless desire to take. To have.

And you let him. Let him have you. Let him roll you over his tongue as he laps at you like he’s an animal.

“Harry,” you breathe for a second time, legs shaking from beside his head. “Fuck…please—”

Another spank lands firmly against your outer thigh. You can’t tell if this is to please you or to punish you, but either way…you enjoy it.

You swallow another curse as you surrender to his instructions, allowing yourself to be guided even further down.

“That’s it,” he says before nipping at your clit with his teeth. “Knew you liked it. Knew you needed me to take care of you, didn’t you?”

Your whimper comes from deep in the back of your throat as you let one hand travel down to his hair.

And when you scratch at his scalp with bliss, he smiles.

“Oh, you did,” he answers for you. “Needed someone to make it better. Needed someone to do it right.”

And those stories you used to tell him about Eric come rushing back as you’re reminded of all the ways he’d never been able to get you off.

And the way Harry has done nothing but get you off since the moment you started.

 “Don’t you?” he pushes, clearly wanting to hear your confirmation, and you’re not surprised he has a praise kink. “Fucking needed me—”

“Yes,” you tell him. “Yes, always needed you—”

Another slap. “That’s right. Know you do. Know you need someone to make you feel so fucking good. Make you come the way you deserve. Make you see fucking stars—”

You cry out something resembling his name as his fingers begin to scrape down your legs. Forcing you impossibly closer. Forcing you to give him everything.

And he’s relentless. You truly cannot fathom anything besides the feel of his lips on your pussy or the way he holds you over his face or even the way he speaks to you. The low vibrations dancing right up the back of your spine.

Your mind is blank. Filled with nothing but images and feelings and ideas. Of the pleasure barreling toward you at an alarming rate. At the way he’s been working on you for only a few minutes but already you’re at the mercy of his objective. 

“Please, please, please.” The word drips from your mouth like falling rain. Over, and over, and over. You can’t do anything else but beg. Beg him to keep going, beg him to go harder, beg him to never stop.

“So fucking good,” he murmurs, tongue driving inside before curling. Beckoning your release closer. “Aren’t you, baby girl? So fucking good for me—”

You nod, lip between your teeth as you chew. 

“Make me so happy,” he says, nails clawing at the base of your spine. “Don’t you? Make Daddy so proud—”

“Shit—” Your forehead finds the headboard as you tug on his curls. It’s almost too much. Yet somehow not enough. “Harry—”

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, guiding you up as your chest just about caves in. “No. Try again.”

“Har—”

“Try again.”

Your eyes roll, half from the pleasure but mostly from the pain of his annoyance before you oblige. “Daddy…please.”

He doesn’t answer with words, instead forcing you back down to continue his ministrations. 

He knows you’re close. You know he knows. And his desire to get you there is power in itself. 

Because even after everything, even after fighting, even after years of friendship and dad jokes…he wants to take care of you.

Wants to give you exactly what you deserve.

So…he does.

The sound of his name on your tongue is dissolute and depraved. Needy and pathetic and filled with the kind of yearning you yourself don’t even understand.

But you welcome the relief with open arms. Welcome the way he holds onto you as he swallows the rush that follows.

And he fucking groans. In a similarly desperate way that nearly doubles the length of your orgasm. 

He’s never sounded so content. So satisfied and pleased. And you do feel good. Feel so good to have made him so proud. To have been the reason for this eager agreeance. 

But then…he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop, even after you’ve attempted to squirm up and away from his continued attempts. Even after you’ve whined, “Harry,” and scratched a little harder on his scalp.

He keeps going.

“Har,” you sigh, already too sensitive to form a cohesive thought. “Har…s’okay…I came—”

“I know,” he says simply, palms pressing into your side to keep you exactly where you are. “And you’re gonna come again.”

“Harry,” you gasp, almost as if shocked by the very idea. “Har, I…s’too—”

“What?” His tongue flattens against your cunt before dragging up toward your clit. “Overstimulation was on your list, right?”

Your lashes flutter rapidly as you rest one hand back on the headboard. “I’m…yes…yeah—"

“Then you’re gonna come for me again,” he informs you. “And again. And again, until I’ve decided you’re done.”

And you want to argue. Wanted to tell him that you’re exhausted but you can already feel the next one on its way.

Because he’s speaking to you in that familiarly aggressive way that makes your heart pound. That makes your skin erupt into goosebumps and your brain turn to mush.

God, his voice. His voice alone could do damage. Could tip you over the edge a hundred times. He could be whispering the fucking alphabet and you’d be putty in his hands.

And maybe it shouldn’t be so easy to turn you so submissive, but you’ll happily do as he asks as long as he keeps asking you in that voice.

As long as he keeps telling you that your pleasure is his. That you…are his.

Nobody else exists outside of this room. Not Eric. Not Tina. Not any future lovers or partners.

Not even any consequences.

Right now, in this room…it’s just you.

The second one doesn’t hit as hard as the first, but it still knocks you off-kilter, forcing you to shake within his hold.

But he keeps you steady. In more ways than one. He makes sure you don’t have the room or space to crawl off him, or even think about takingyour pussy away from his greedy search.

“Harry,” you mewl, pulling so hard on his curls that it has to hurt. “Please…please—”

You aren’t sure if you’re asking him to stop or let you come again, but either way, he pursues the third one. 

And this time…he adds his hand.

After repositioning you just so, he easily slips two fingers inside, meeting your g-spot almost instantly. 

You nearly go blind from how good it feels, how hard it hits you. From how happy you are to find relief in his arms.

The third is kinder to you. Shorter but much more intense. Like a burst of pure adrenaline and euphoria. 

It almost hurts when you finally begin to unwind, and his movements start to slow. He must be able to tell you don’t have too much left to offer and you appreciate the way he eases out of you with great care.

He helps shuffle you back until you can collapse onto the bed beside him. But he doesn’t let you go too far, one arm wrapping around your shoulders to help cement you into his side.

Your leg tangles between the two of his while your face buries into his neck. You’re spent. Physically and emotionally. But he allows you a moment to rest, fingers stroking your skin gently to help bring you back to him.

“You okay?” he murmurs, turning his head so his lips can meet your forehead. “S’it too much?”

“No,” you breathe, eyes falling closed as you inhale the comforting scent of his cologne. “No, it was good. A little confusing…but good.”

And you know he knows what you mean.

But still, he chooses not to respond. Chooses not to offer any sort of insight into what happened that day in his room.

Instead, his arm pulls you closer. “Well…did we cover everything? Is there anything left to check off?”

Your head rolls back so you can see him, the idea already taking root in your mind. “I can think of one more thing…if you’re up for it.”

His eyebrow raises.

You smile. “Pegging.”

He leans back, eyes growing wide. “Really?”

“Yeah. But…only if you were actually serious about that,” you correct as you begin to sit up. “Most guys are a little hesitant about it, and I guess I get why. So…if you don’t think that’s something you’d really be—”

“I’d be honored if you’d fuck me.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Really.” His hand comes up to brush a fallen hair behind your ear, touch lingering on your cheek as he studies you. “I know you’d do it right.”

You grin. “I’m flattered you have so much confidence in me.”

“I do,” he agrees softly, thumb sweeping across your jaw. “Of course I do. You should know that.”

But you don’t know that. Not after what he said last time.

And the reminder of your previous argument makes you hesitate. “You need to really think about what you’re agreeing to, Har. Because if you don’t like it, and you want to stop…I need to know that you’ll tell me. I need to know that you trust me enough to tell me what you need.”

His brows pull together, lips quickly falling into a frown as his hand drops to his chest. “You know I trust you—”

“Do I?”

His tongue comes out to run over his bottom lip. “I promise. I trust you. I want to do this. I want to try it. With you.”

“Har—”

“If I don’t like it, I’ll say something. I promise,” he continues. “But I won’t know if I like it or not until I try. And you should always try everything at least once, right?”

You huff. “Yeah, but—”

“Come on…don’t you wanna fuck me?” he teases, gingerly nudging you with his elbow. “I’ll be such a good boy, I swear.”

And you groan at the playful way he speaks, already feeling much better about the proposition. “God. See? This is why I think you’re annoying.”

“You love me,” he declares as you stand from the bed.

And for some reason, your stomach tightens. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You gonna sit there all day or are you gonna strip?”

Instantly, he perks up, watching you closely as you rummage through your nightstand. “What, I have to take my clothes off by myself? You’re not gonna help me?”

“Nope.” You glance over and nod your chin at him. “Go on. Be a good boy.”

This time, he rolls his eyes as he laughs and begins to undo his pants.

As he begins to undress, you begin to gather what you’ll need. You locate the bottle of lube and the dildo, heart in your throat as you allow yourself to imagine what’s about to happen.

You don’t know if he’ll truly like it or not. You want him to. Want to give him as much pleasure as he’s given you. As much pleasure as he deserves. 

But…guys are weird about this. And this kind of intimacy goes far behind missionary.

You know what you’re doing. This isn’t your first time exploring the pleasures of a strap-on with a guy. You know you’ll be able to take care of him for as long as he lets you. 

You just…don’t want it to change anything else. You don’t want him to retreat into himself the way he did last time.

You don’t want to lose him.

You can’t.

Once you’re ready, you return to the bed just as he’s peeling his shirt off his chest and tossing it toward the floor.

And you let yourself admire him. Let yourself drink in each tattoo, each scar, each dip of his muscles. 

He is beautiful.

You notice the way he smiles at your admiration before looking down at the items in your lap. “Where, uh…where do you want me?”

You glance over the mattress. “Hands and knees should be good. Just…anywhere you feel comfortable.”

He nods once, swallowing thickly as he steps forward and begins to crawl back onto the bed.

The room is eerily quiet as you both move into position. You hadn’t expected things to feel so…heavy. But you suppose they are. Suppose neither one of you anticipated your adventure leading you here.

But…you don’t exactly mind.

He stills when he’s gotten into position, head dropping as he stares at your duvet and waits for your next instruction.

You clear your throat and reach out to smooth your palm down his spine. He jolts when he feels you but relaxes quickly, exhaling an anxious sigh.

“You okay?” you call softly, continuing the gentle caress to loosen him up. 

He nods again. “Yeah. Promise. Just…nervous? I guess?”

“I know,” you whisper, settling onto your knees as you dip down to press a kiss to his bare hip. “You still trust me?”

And you can feel the way his entire body goes rigid from your mouth on his skin, his chin meeting his chest. “Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Fucking promise, Bee. Just…”

“Just what?” Your fingers dance toward his ass, ghosting over the curve as you move your kisses toward the middle. “Tell me.”

You’re happy to put him under the same duress he put you earlier, and the way his fists curl around the blanket beneath him makes you smile.

“Bee,” he attempts to warn, but you aren’t having it.

You simply trail your lips down the back of his thigh, and hum, “Come on, Daddy…wanna take care of you. But I can’t until you tell me what you want.”

You can see just how badly he wants to comply, his cock swollen and red. You know that’s mostly thanks to him eating you out and you feel your cheeks warm at the knowledge that it did that to him.

That you did that to him.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you coo, reaching around to slide your palm down the tip as he hisses and lurches forward. “Poor Daddy…bet it’d feel so good to come, wouldn’t it?”

“Bee…please,” he respires. “Please, just…god, please touch me. M’gonna lose my fucking mind.”

You smile again as you straighten back up and reach for the lube. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

Your head shakes. “Mhm. Okay…I’m gonna start with a finger. But I need you to really be—”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you repeat, equally as soft before you squeeze the liquid into your hand. “Take a deep breath for me.”

He does, the muscles in his arms tensing as the tip of the bottle meets his ass. And when he feels the gel begin to drip down, he reels.

“That’s just the lube, Har,” you tell him, biting back a laugh.

“I know, but it’s cold,” he grumbles as you finish and toss the item aside. 

You give him another moment to unwind before you bring your pointer finger closer…and gingerly slide inside.

You’re more than careful, listening closely for his reaction. It sounds like…relief, but you can’t be sure.

“Har?” you call again, other hand smoothing along his hip to give it a squeeze. 

“M’fine,” he mumbles, once again fisting your duvet. “Promise. Go.”

“Are you—”

“Go,” he stresses before sucking in a quiet breath. “Please, baby. Go. Keep going.”

So, you do. You ease in a bit further until you’re about halfway in, pausing to let him adjust.

He seems to be doing pretty well, despite the way his stomach quivers and his cock twitches. 

And after pumping him once or twice with great care, you push in to the knuckle.

He likes this, a particular groan emitting from his throat as he subtly shifts back into your hand. “Shit, Bee.”

“How’s it feel?”

He takes a moment to think. To find the right words. “Good. Full…I guess.”

“Yeah, and that’s only my finger.”

You hear him make a noise that resembles a laugh before he groans again. “God…please don’t stop. Please…I promise, I’m fine. I just…I…”

“Need more, don’t you?” you answer for him, working the lube in and out as he nods quickly. 

“Yes. Yes…more.”

And who are you to say no?

You pump him a few more times before bringing a second finger into play. Again, you go slow. Making sure to gauge each sound and movement he makes so as to not hurt him. Or catch him off guard. 

But he’s growing desperate. Mindlessly following your thrusts as he grows accustomed to the feeling. As he becomes familiar with the pleasure it brings him.

His jaw drops, hand coming up to his cock to stroke it lazily, needing some sort of friction.

But you reach around and slap it away, tsking as you warn, “Not yet. Not until I’m ready—”

“Bee,” he whines, and the desperate waver in his voice almost guts you.

“Shh. Just one more minute, okay?”

“Please…"

“I know. M’almost ready. Promise.”

He does his best to comply, nodding weakly as he lets his hand drop back down to the bed.

And you feel bad for him, you do. But seeing him so unhinged just about ruins you, and you can feel the way your cunt aches. The way it practically yearns for him, dripping all down your thighs as you continue to work your fingers into him.

And once you’re sure he’s ready…you reach for the dildo.

You’re more than generous with the lube, making sure to keep the experience pleasurable and easy.

And the dildo itself isn’t all that intimidating. Not nearly as big as he is. Average, at best. Perfect for a beginner.

The lack of stimulation makes him restless, and your heart clenches for him as you secure the strap-on around your hips and finally bring the tip back to his glistening hole.

The faint brush of it makes him whimper, and the sound of this confident man coming undone by your hand is what changes everything.

Everything.

It’s music. A goddamn symphony, and you chase the sound by slowly easing the dildo in.

An easy enough task, exactly like you’d hoped.

But he loses it.

The moan is deep and vulgar, echoing off the walls of your bedroom as you squeeze your legs together and press your fingers further into his hip.

“Good,” you hum, dipping down to kiss the base of his spine. “So good, Har. Promise. You okay?”

“Fucking shit,” is his reply. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You smile. “Give me your hand.”

He sluggishly reaches back for you, fingers intertwining with yours when you find him. And it makes your stomach flip but it’s not what you had in mind.

You bring your hands over to his cock, guiding him along the swollen shaft as he instantly ruts into your palm.

“Bee,” he gasps, squeezing both your knuckles and his tip. “Please—”

“I know,” you say again, continuing to work the dildo into him. Slowly at first before you find a steadier rhythm. “I know, doing so good—”

“Shit—”

“That’s it. Just like that. Like when I play with you, don’t you?”

He nods as you both begin to pump him, now matching the pace you've set with your thrusts and the dildo. "Yes...yes. Please don't stop—"

"Won't. Promise," you whisper, kissing down his hip. 

His squirming increases, the one arm holding him up now shaking as he does his best to remain upright. 

But it feels too good. You can see the pleasure written all over the side of his face, and it does fucking wonders for you.

You've never felt more proud to be responsible for his pleasure. To be responsible for making him fall apart the way he is. For showing him exactly what he deserves.

And he takes it. Takes it so fucking well, clutching onto you as you continue to work him closer. 

And he feels so good. So good in your hand. So heavy, and needy, and ready for the release you've promised him.

You want to give him that release more than anything. Want to show him how good it can be. Want to show him the fucking stars.

He yells when he finds it. Your name and about a string of curses, all falling from his tongue one after the other.

He covers your hand, and your bed, and his stomach. And when he collapses, he takes you with him, pulling you down until your chest meets his back.

You imagine this can't be all that comfortable for him, especially with the dildo now halfway out, but he doesn't complain.

He continues to hold onto your wrist as he works to catch his breath.

And you don't fight it.

A minute or two passes before you gently ease the object out, unclip it from your body, and toss it aside.

He hisses at the loss of contact before settling once more, fingers still cemented to your hand.

You know you’ll need to clean up, but he doesn’t seem to have any future plans to do so.

It makes you smile, your cheek pressing into the space between his shoulder blades. His skin hot and slightly sweaty. 

For some reason…it feels good.

“Bee?” he calls quietly, as if not to disrupt the tender moment.

You hum.

“Thank you.”

You let your eyes flutter shut. “Hey, what are friends for?”

A beat.

He tenses. “Yeah…”

Then, the silence returns.

But this time, it’s different.

This time…it’s heavy.

And when he lets go of your hand, you realize it’s not just in your head. 

Things happen quickly. You barely get the chance to roll off of him before he’s sitting up and climbing off the bed. You don’t even have time to ask what changed as he begins reaching for his clothes to re-dress, your heart instantly dropping to your stomach.

“Har…?” you stammer as you awkwardly reach for your underwear. And this rush of deja vu is much more unpleasant than the last. “What…what’s—”

“I gotta go,” he mumbles under his breath, his back to you as he slips his hoodie on. “I forgot. I’ve got…something I’ve gotta do.”

“Oh…” Your chest deflates as you watch him step into his shoes. “What…um, what do you have to do?”

Once he straightens back up, he stills, and you wish you could see his face. “S’not important.”

With that, he heads for your living room, leaving you behind.

And you watch him go, a dumb founded look on your face as he makes his way for the front door.

A hundred and one things instantly run through your mind, from explanations to unpleasant realizations.

But the moment you watch him disappear into the hallway without so much as a glance back, you realize none of it fucking matters.

Just him.

You chase after him, scrambling toward the lobby in hot pursuit as he pushes through the double doors and disappears into the parking lot.

And you’re right behind, slipping out as well as he strides away from you, when you’re suddenly forced to a screeching halt the moment you’re met with a downpour of rain.

The sky is dark, the only smattering of light coming from the few street lamps placed along the sidewalk.

You hadn’t realized it was so late, or so rainy, but you don’t let it stop you.

Instead, you plant your feet onto the steps of the building, and shout, “Watermelon!”

It echoes across the parking lot until you see him freeze, his drenched back still to you.

Then…he turns.

Only about halfway, the hood on his head allowing just enough light to catch the side of his face.

But it’s enough.

“Watermelon,” you repeat as you take a step closer, water trickling down your hair, your body, your clothes. But you don’t care. “I call watermelon.”

He frowns. “The hell are you doing? Go back inside—”

“No.” Your teeth grit, fingers squeezing into fists by your side as a rumble of thunder rolls across the sky. “No. I want you to talk to me.”

His hands disappear into his pockets as he tosses a glare your way. “I told you, I don’t wanna talk—”

“Tough shit.” You take another step. “’Cause I do. And you owe me that.”

The frown deepens. “Bee…don’t.”

 “No, you don’t.” Another step. “After everything we’ve been through…you really think you can’t talk to me? You really think I’m not trustworthy enough to hear what’s going on?”

He scoffs and glances away. “God, you never fucking listen. I told you, it’s not—”

“No, you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me anything,” you remind him, volume raising ever-so-slightly as you continue closer. “Something is wrong, Harry. I know you. And I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me—”

“I don’t want you to fix it,” he seethes. “I want you to drop it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t do that. We work it out.”

“We can’t work this out.”

You hesitate as the first clue slips free. “So there is something to work out?”

He sighs, eyes falling shut. “Bee…please go back inside—”

“No.” Yet another step. “No. What is it? What happened? What did I do—”

“Nothing,” he nearly growls, whirling around to face you as if to really nail in his point. “I fucking told you. Nothing—”

“Then what?”

“Bee—”

“What? Is this about Tina—"

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Seriously, did she say something—"

“Bee—”

“Is she mad about this—”

“Can you just—”

“What? Do you feel guilty—”

“No, I just—”

“If you wanted to stop, all you had to do was say something—”

“I didn’t—that’s not—”

“Then what, Har? What happened? Why won’t you fucking—”

“I can’t do this.”

You stop.

He stops.

But nothing else stops. Not the rain. Not the lightning. Not the thunder. Not the racing in your chest as your heart beats against your ribcage like a goddamn drum.

I can’t do this.

You don’t think you heard him right. “…what?”

He scrapes his teeth together. “I can’t…I don’t wanna be friends with you. I don’t wanna be just friends with you, I don’t…fuck.”

He looks down at the wet cement as your lashes flutter and you work overtime to figure out what he’s saying.

“I—for fuck’s sake,” he hisses, almost more to himself before his eyes snap back to yours. “Look, I know that all of this was just…you helping me out. Okay? I know that. I know it meant nothing.”

A crack of lightning strikes the sky and somehow, it’s still not as intimidating as what he’s about to stay.

“But then…it did mean something,” he continues, a bit softer. “It meant everything.”

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what he wants you to say.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” he grumbles, frowning once more. “I know, okay? I know. And that’s not…we agreed that it would just be…this. Just this. Nothing else. ’Cause we don’t do anything else. We don’t do…whatever, okay? I know.”

He looks back out into the dark city, leaving you to stare blankly at the side of his face. 

“But it’s you,” he says, hands nestling further into the hoodie. “It’s you, and it’s always been you. Fucking always, Bee. Ever since we were kids. And I didn’t…I didn’t know why. Didn’t even know what it was, but it’s never felt like this with anyone else. Only you.”

Only you.

“And I don’t wanna…fuck, I don’t wanna lose you,” he just about sighs. “I can’t fucking lose you, Bee. But it just…I don’t think I can do this and not fall in love with you.”

You suck in sharp breath, and he looks back.

“Because I will,” he whispers, despite the rain. But you hear it, clear as day. “I will fall in love with you, and I don’t know what I’ll do if you won’t have me.”

He stops now. Allowing the words to sink in. Allowing the truth to make a home in your mind.

And you work to understand. Work to find a response…but the only thing you manage is:

“What about Tina?”

After all, this started with her. It’s only fair that she play her part now.

His expression twists. You don’t know which way. “I like Tina. She’s nice. And she’d probably be really good for me.”

A pause.

“But she’s not you,” he finishes, and for some reason…you’re filled with relief. “It doesn’t feel like this with her. I don’t think it ever will.”

“You don’t mean that,” you blurt out, head shaking quickly. “No, it was just the sex. It’s throwing you off, it...it screws everything up and makes people think they feel one way…when they don’t.”

“Bee…” he begins, almost as if tired, but you barrel on.

“No, you said it yourself. Remember? Endorphins and shit?” You brush some wet hair from your face. “You just…it’s not me. It’s just the sex.”

“No.” He sounds so sure. So confident in his decision. “No, it’s not. It’s you. Always you, Bee—”

“Har—”

“You don’t have to like it. But that’s how it is—”

“Harry…you just…you don’t—”

“But I do.”

“Harry.” You want to stomp your foot. “You can’t…you don’t mean it. You’re confused.”

His eyes soften. “I’m not. I mean…I am, but not about why. Not about this—not about you.”

A pause settles between you as more thunder echoes across the dark sky.

And you look at him. Really look at him. Look for the truth, or the deception, or for anything that will help you make sense of all this.

“You said watermelon,” you remind him, blinking the droplets of rain from your eyes. “Why did you say watermelon?”

Another sigh as he glances back down at his sneakers. “’Cause…I knew. I knew I was starting to…need you. More than I should. And it fucking…it fucking scared me. It scared me how fucking…real it felt.”

Truthfully, you’re a little surprised that the man who has never once before admitted defeat would now confess his fear to you.

 But it makes your head spin.

“And I just…it was a lot,” he continues. “Seeing you. Seeing what I’d done. I mean…the marks. On your neck. I did that. I’ve never done that to someone before. But then I did. And I liked it. I liked getting to be that way with you, and it fucking terrified me. Because what if I hurt you? Actually hurt you somewhere down the line? I’d never fucking forgive myself.”

Your lips press into a quivering line. “…why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter,” he huffs, stepping back. “It doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters because you don’t feel that way, and we’re finished with the list anyhow.”

You instantly follow after him, bridging the gap he made. “Don’t. It always matters with us, Har. Always. I mean…do you really think I haven’t wondered the same thing? Do you think it’s been fucking easy to do this with you and then just go back to watching Schitt’s Creek? It’s killed me. Fucking ruined me from the inside out to watch you walk away from me.”

His teeth grit once again, as if steeling himself from the truth.

“You mean everything to me, you goddamn twat,” you just about shout. “Sex or no sex, it doesn’t change that. I agreed to do this with you because I knew it was us. I knew we would be okay. Because we had to be okay. I can’t lose you either, Har. So stop trying to make me—”

“Then, what do you want me to do, huh?” he bellows. “Just wait around for you to believe me?”

“I…I do believe you, I just…I—”

“You just don’t feel the same way—”

“No, I didn’t say that—”

“Then what—”

“I…I—”

“What? I have to tell you, but you don’t have to tell me—”

“That’s not…that’s—”

“What do you want, Bee? What do you want me to do, what do you expect me to—”

“I love you.”

He stops.

Suddenly, and all at once, his eyes going wide.

But you don’t stop. “I love you,” you repeat loudly. “And I’m fucking terrified, too. Because I don’t want it to be just about sex. I don’t want it to be just the endorphins and shit. I want it to be real. I want us to be real.”

The silence seems to span an eternity as the rain continues to beat down around you.

Then…he surges forward.

He grabs hold of your wet cheeks with his drenched hands and yanks you closer.

And he kisses you.

He kisses you until you’re more him than you. He kisses you until you no longer have the strength to stand or the power to fight him.

He kisses you until it makes sense.

After a moment, he pauses to allow you a minute to breathe. But he doesn’t go very far. He presses his forehead to yours and he keeps you.

And it’s fucking…everything.

“What if we’re not?” he whispers. “What if we’re not real? What if we aren’t…us?”

You shake your head. "We'll always be us."

He exhales a gentle laugh before brushing his thumbs across your skin. "What if it changes everything?"

You wish you could assure him that it won't. Or even that it will, but in the best way.

But you can’t.

So, instead, you squeeze your fingers around his wrists and smile. 

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Thank you so much to everyone for reading, following along, and offering me so much support on this series 😭 I will never be able to thank you enough for all the kind comments and wonderful feedback, but please know I appreciate you all endlessly 🥹💞💞💞💞

Also, I suppose I did kind of lie. This will probably be the last part of the “main” series but I’ve actually got a few more ideas for extra blurbs and parts about other kinks and situations they might get into. So, if you’d like to follow along, I would be so honored to have you back!

And if you’d rather leave their story here, that is absolutely okay, too! Thank you so much for being here!

Now…I’m gonna go cry HAHAHA ♥️

Next Part:

~ Find Me* (A Teach Me Extra)

Previous Part:

~ Feel Me* (Pt. 4)

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Tags: (I have no idea if you all wanted to be tagged in each additional part, and if not, please let me know and I am so sorry for dragging you here! And if you did...then welcome back!!)

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[joelsgreys]

not a thing l part ii

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

part i

summary: You fess up and tell Joel about how Ellie overheard the two of you during the private moment you two had in the woods; Ellie confronts Joel about you while you’re asleep in the truck.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. IMPLIED AGED GAP (no specific age mentioned for reader, Joel is canon age) Joel is kind of an asshole, Ellie is a wiseass, mentions of Tess.

word count: 4.7k

a/n: decided to write a second part to the first Joel fic that i ever wrote! i am so, so stunned that one fic turned into more and that people actually want to read my stuff for Joel/TLOU. thank you all sm for everything and for interacting with me and my content. it means a ton!

“Think this might be a good time to stop?” Joel asked you, quietly.

You hummed, glancing back over at Ellie through the rearview mirror.

Even through the darkness inside the small cab of the pickup truck, it was almost too painfully obvious as to how fucking exhausted the girl was and how much this journey had already taken out of her after only just a few days on the road. Although she was on the smaller side and had an ample amount of space to stretch out her limbs, lay down, and get a decent night’s sleep in the backseat of the truck while you and Joel both took turns driving through the night, Ellie had expressed to you on more than one occasion that she’d rather stop to make temporary camp somewhere for a few hours and continue the drive in the morning once everyone had the chance to take a break. You honestly couldn’t blame her, not even if you tried—it was taking its toll on you too, a lot more than you let on to both Joel and especially to Ellie.

Being the adult, you kept your complaints to yourself, but the truth of the matter was that at the end of each day, you were also getting sick and tired, so damn sick and tired, of the ungodly amount of time that you were spending cooped up in the pickup, just sitting on your ass.

Sure, it may have been a little bit of extra work and it was keeping the three of you from reaching Wyoming as fast as Joel would have liked given the nature of the smartass, teenaged cargo you two had on your hands—but you also preferred to stop and make camp for the night.

After realizing that Joel was still waiting for a response, you nodded.

“Yeah, we should probably call it for the night,” You told him, glancing down at the map of the country in your hands. The three of you made it to the state of Indiana; Missouri was your next planned stop to find gas to siphon and refuel, and even though it was just a little less than six hours away, you figured an early morning wakeup call could have you all there by tomorrow afternoon. “Only problem about a state like Indiana is that it’s flat as fuck. There’s nothing but wide, open grassy fields around here.” You peered out of the window, then turned back to Joel, frowning. “Think we’ll find a safe enough spot?”

“We’re just gonna have to make do with what we got,” Joel stated as he carefully veered the vehicle off of the highway and to the left, onto the aforementioned grassy field. “You think about a mile out from the highway is decent enough? Mile and a half, maybe?”

“Let’s make it two,” You suggested. You neatly folded up the map and stuck it into the glove compartment in front of you. “I doubt we’ll run into anyone or anything out here in the middle of nowhere, but might be best not to risk being too close to the highway, just in case.”

He looked over at you, nodding his head in agreement. “Two it is.”

“Aww, teamwork,” Ellie teased from the backseat. “How fucking cute.”

“It’d be real cute if you’d shut up,” Joel quipped. Once he pulled the truck about a couple of miles out onto the field, he came to a stop and then cut the engine. “We’re gonna take a breather for a few hours,” he said to Ellie over his shoulder. “But only for a few hours, and not a minute more. Come sunrise, we need to get movin’ again, understood?”

She saluted him. “Aye aye, Captain. Whatever you say.”

The second that you hopped out of the pickup, you started shivering. The chilly evening breeze nipped at any patch of exposed skin it could find. The days had been pretty decent, but at night, the temperatures would drop drastically—it couldn’t have been warmer than forty or so degrees. Instinctively, you reached into the top of your pack, pulling a second jacket you carried for yourself out of it. You handed it over to Ellie and instructed her, “Put this on. Cordyceps infection might not have taken you out, but hypothermia will.”

She took it from you, shooting you a tiny, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Joel eyed the interaction, his lips pursed together in displeasure.

He didn’t want you and Ellie getting attached to one another, but he feared it was too late. The girl had taken an instant liking to you and you seemed to have taken a liking to her too. “Here.” He tossed Ellie her blue sleeping bag. “Go lay down on the other side of the truck.”

“I’m already so fucking itchy just thinking we have to sleep here.” Ellie wrinkled her nose down at the grass under her shoes. Lifting her head, she took a glance around before turning her attention to you. It was written all over her face, evident in the way she started to shuffle nervously from foot to foot; she was afraid. “I feel so exposed. Are we really going to be safe? There’s fucking nothing out here, not even a single tree. What if someone finds us while we’re all sleeping?”

Before you could reassure her, Joel stepped in.

“No one is goin’ to find us out here,” he grouched. “We’ll be safe. Now quit your complainin’ and go get settled for the night. And don’t even think of askin’ me for a fire in the middle of a goddamn field. Got it?”

Ellie rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, it’s fine. You know, I’m actually kinda starting to get used to freezing my fucking ass off anyway.”

You lifted a hand to your mouth, trying to hide your snort of laughter.

She was too fucking quick for her own good.

Joel glared at you. “What? You think she’s funny?”

“Actually, I think she’s fucking hilarious,” You shrugged, causing him to let out an exasperated sigh. “What? It’s true! She’s made me laugh more in the last week than I have in the last two fucking decades.”

Ellie beamed at you. “At least someone still has a sense of humor.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” he snapped, irritably. “Both of you.”

She leaned over towards you, muttering the question right under her breath, “Jesus, has he always been this fucking crabby?” She nudged your shoulder with hers. “You must have the patience of a fucking saint to be able to deal with this on the daily. I would have killed him by now and then offed myself too with that fucking attitude.”

He stepped towards her. “What’d you just say—”

“Ellie.” Although you tried your hardest to reprimand her, instead, you found yourself fighting back another laugh. “Come on, let’s go before he strangles us both.” Taking her arm, you started leading her around to the other side of the truck. Dropping her arm, you reached for your own sleeping bag from the bed of it and started rolling it out. Though you were still fighting back a fit of giggles, you found it in you to offer her some words of advice. “Ellie, I know Joel is not the easiest person to deal with, but you really have to stop giving him so much shit, kid. The man has enough gray hair as it is. Take it easy on him, will you?”

“But I need to keep myself entertained somehow,” she replied with a small, innocent shrug of her shoulders. She unrolled her own sleeping bag, laying it out right beside where you had laid out yours; you saw a pensive look cross her face and after a second, she moved it closer to yours, leaving about a one inch gap of space between the two. For as scared shitless as you had been to take someone like her under yours and Joel’s care, the mere fact that Ellie seemed to feel safer being so close to you must have meant you were doing something right.

“Jacket,” You reminded her.

“I know, I know.” Ellie tugged on the spare jacket that you’d given her just minutes ago, zipping it up to her chin. She yawned, crawling into her sleeping bag. Before rolling over onto her side, she stopped and a tiny, tired smirk tugged at her lips as she looked up at you. “Wait. You and Joel aren’t going to bone each other tonight, are you? Because I might actually have to suffocate myself in this thing if you do.”

You sighed heavily. “And here I thought you were actually going to do me the favor of never bringing it up ever again.”

“What can I say? Giving you shit is almost as fun as giving it to Joel.”

You nudged her lightly with the toe of you worn, brown leather boot, chuckling as you told her, “Go to sleep, you little jerk.”

“Remember. Protection.” Ellie yawned again, rolling over. “G’night.”

“Goodnight, Ellie.”

The minute that you heard her soft snores coming from inside of the bag and you were certain she was asleep, you made your way back to the other side of the truck where you found Joel busy loading up and checking his rifle. Thankfully, hadn’t seemed to have heard what Ellie had just said to you. “I’ll take watch tonight,” You offered, holding out your hands and beckoning for the weapon. You instantly noticed the all too familiar look of protest on his face. “Joel, you were the last one to drive today and you’re fucking exhausted. Just let me take watch.”

“The whole damn point of me drivin’ all the way out here was so we can all get some rest without worryin’ about anyone findin’ us,” Joel reminded you. “And besides, I wasn’t plannin’ on standin’ watch. I was just makin’ sure this was ready to go, in case of an emergency.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Joel, please. I know you like I know the back of my own goddamn hand and I already know that I’m going to wake up in the middle of the night and I’m going to find you standing watch, regardless of how safe you say we are in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.” You continued holding your hands out for the rifle. “Look, my arms are getting tired here. Can you just give me the fucking gun please?”

“You need sleep—”

“We can swap places in a couple hours,” You compromised. “Deal?”

Knowing that you could be just as stubborn as he was, Joel grumbled something incoherently under his breath before finally shoving it into your waiting hands.

“Thank you. Now, was that really so hard?”

Joel scoffed, shoving past you. He reached into the bed of the truck and grabbed his own sleeping bag. “You really need to stop talkin’ to the kid so much. She’s startin’ to rub off on you and I don’t like it.”

“Sweet dreams, Joel,” You replied, watching as he stalked around to the other side of the Chevy where Ellie was fast asleep.

An hour later, you found yourself leaning against the cab of the truck, the sound of chirping crickets your only companion. You held the rifle gently, but still firmly in your grasp, your index finger gingerly resting on the trigger. You tilted your head backwards, gazing up at the stars in the velvet night sky—you tried not to let your mind wander off very far, but you couldn’t help thinking of what Ellie had said to you earlier that morning back in the woods.

He’s a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about too many things or too many people. But I know he does give a shit about you. He cares about you.

She was wrong. She had to be wrong. She was fourteen, she was just a kid, after all. Besides, what the fuck could she possibly know about you and Joel, especially after only having been with the two of you for about a week?

Ellie was sorely mistaken.

Joel only kept you around for his benefit.

And the meaningless sex wasn’t the benefit you were referring to.

Joel had always been the brawn, but both you and Tess had been the brains of the operation. That’s how it had always been, at least for the better part of the last few years. You might have been on the younger side in comparison to your smuggling partners, but for some reason, Tess had seen something in you—what it had been, you never had the opportunity to find out, but it made her take a chance on you.

Against Joel’s wishes, she decided that she would take you under her wing; at eighteen years old, you’d been closer to being a child than an adult, but that only meant your mind was still pliable, and she could work with it. By the time you reached your twenties, it was apparent that Tess had all but molded you into a miniature clone of herself—she’d shown you how to think outside the box, taught you how to be persuasive, how to keep trades or deals from going south, and most importantly, what to do if they somehow did go south.

Now that she was gone, you were all that Joel had left. You were what he was stuck with. After Tess died, there was a part of you that had to wonder if Joel felt the wrong person had been infected and killed. It’s not that you thought that Joel would rather it was you who were dead but the reality was that if he’d been given the choice between having you or Tess at his side for this, you were certain it wouldn’t be you.

But he hadn’t gotten a choice. 

It was you he ended up with, and you were his only shot at getting to Tommy and getting Ellie to where she needed to be. He needed help, and now that Tess was no longer here, you were the next best thing.

That was it.

A rustling sound nearby pulled you out of your train of thought. You immediately lifted your head and pushed yourself away from the cab, readying your weapon. You took quiet, careful steps and then sharply turned the corner around the bed of the truck, aiming the rifle at the figure in front of you with your finger still on the trigger.

“Fuckin’ relax!” Joel hissed at you, holding his hands up. “It’s me!”

“Jesus Christ!” You exhaled a sharp breath, lowering the gun. You narrowed your eyes at him. “You scared the fucking shit out of me, Joel! I just about shot your head off of your shoulders!”

“Your aim ain’t all that good, darlin’,” Joel stated as he walked up to you, a slight hint of amusement in his Southern drawl. “You keepin’ watch or zonin’ out over here?”

You ignored his teasing remarks. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest as Joel fell into step in front of you, an all too familiar lustful glimmer in his eyes.

“Couldn’t really sleep,” he stated with a shrug of his is shoulder. “Had somethin’ on my mind. But from the looks if it, I ain’t the only one lost in thought.” He peered down at you. “What were you thinkin’ about, anyhow?”

“Nothing,” You fibbed. “Just, uh, just how fucking cold it is.”

Joel reached for the rifle, taking it out of your hands. He leaned over and placed it in the bed of the truck behind you. “And you tell me that I’m a shitty liar?” he asked with a small scoff. “Let’s pretend that for a minute that I actually believe that’s what you were really thinkin’ about.” With every word that he spoke, his voice became lower, huskier. “If the cold is what’s on your mind, I know a couple different ways I can help get your mind off of it.”

“Joel—”

“C’mere.” He hooked his index fingers through two of the front belt loops of your blue jeans, yanking you forward until you came crashing against his chest. He dipped his head, his lips eagerly meeting an exposed patch of skin on your neck. As he kissed and nipped at the delicate flesh, he started to move his hands from the belt loops of your jeans over to the buttons instead.

“Joel, wait,” You mumbled weakly, cursing how your body just always seemed to melt right in his fucking hands. “Joel, stop.” You’d said it so softly into his failing right ear that he hadn’t heard you.

Joel’s mouth left your neck, finding your own mouth instead in a way that made every single nerve in your body light on fire. He started to walk you backwards until your back hit the bed of the pickup, a soft thud noise filling the air around you. He pinned you tightly between it and himself as he kissed you fiercely, hungrily. The physically intimate moments that you two shared over the years had always been relatively short due to never having the time nor the place, but maybe that’s why he kissed you the way that he did—with such urgency, with such desperation, as if his fucking life depended on it. Because it never lasted as long as he would have liked and he never knew when he would be able to get his hands on you again.

Breaking away from you slightly, Joel placed his hand on your hip, his index finger grazing the soft skin right above the waist of your jeans as he murmured breathlessly against your lips, “I want you. I gotta have you. Right fuckin’ now.”

It took just about every last ounce of strength that you had inside you to place both of your hands on his chest and gently push him back. “I don’t think we should do this, Joel. Not with Ellie being so close by.”

“She’s asleep.” He frowned, taking your hands off of his chest as he took several steps back from you looking dejected. “Unless you just don’t want—”

You were quick to stop him. “Of course I want you.” You swallowed, your throat having gone dry. “It’s just that—see, the thing is that—”

“Fuckin’ spit it out.”

So you do.

“Ellie knows, Joel.”

“What?” Even in the darkness, you could see the color draining from his face. “How?”

“Look, I really didn’t want to tell you about this. But last night in the woods when we were—” You trailed off, shifting your weight from one foot to the other almost anxiously.

“She saw us?”

“She heard us,” You corrected him. “She confronted me about it this morning before we left. I pretty much made her promise to keep her mouth shut because I didn’t want her saying anything to you about it. I didn’t want her giving you grief like she did to me.”

Joel ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “That little fucking shit—”

“It’s not her fault, Joel. And you know that. We shouldn’t have done it with her being so close by.”

You watched as he dropped his hand from his head, his jaw clenched.

“Joel, come on. Please don’t be mad about this.”

Joel fixed his eyes on the ground and tightly shook his head. “Go get some sleep. I’ll take over watch.”

“But Joel—”

“Just drop it,” he said, rigidly, his gaze refusing to meet yours. “Go.”

Knowing better than to push it, you simply nodded. “Okay.”

The moment you crawled into your sleeping bag next to Ellie, you’d tried your absolute hardest to get some shut eye, but what happened with Joel had you much too worried, and rightly so. Still, you prayed for sleep to come, but it never did and the rest of the night dragged on for what felt like a fucking eternity.

Hours later, when sunrise finally came around, you got up to find Joel had already been packing up the pickup truck, getting it ready for the long drive ahead. The second he saw you approaching him, he simply told you to wake Ellie because the three of you needed to get a move on sooner rather than later. After that, he’d hardly said another word to you.

He couldn’t even fucking look at you.

Halfway to Missouri, during a quick pitstop, Ellie had noticed the odd tension in the air between you and Joel. She’d also noticed how tired you looked. She offered to trade places and sit in as Joel’s copilot for the rest of the day, at least until you reached Kansas City.

“I think he’d actually prefer you as his copilot,” You’d muttered to her in reply, hopping into the backseat. Between the motion of the truck, the soft country music playing from another tape Ellie found, and the open windows bringing in fresh, crisp air, you’d curled up into a little ball in the backseat and passed out within minutes.

Ellie glanced over her shoulder at you, making sure you were actually asleep before turning to Joel. “She told you, didn’t she?”

“Zip it,” Joel ordered. “Ain’t none of your business.”

Ellie hummed. “Well, seeing as I had the absolute delightful pleasure of having to hear the two of you go at it like a couple of cats the other night, I think it actually is kind of my business now.” She paused. She could physically feel the way he was wincing beside her, though what was causing him to be so uncomfortable was left to be determined. Ellie would imagine that it was getting caught in the act itself, but for some reason, she sensed there was a lot more to this mess than met the eye and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. “She told me that you guys aren’t a thing—”

“We’re not a thing. We’re nothin’ at all, alright?”

Ellie blew a raspberry. “Yeah, alright. I see you’re both sticking to that story. That you’re not a thing.” She raised her fingers in quotations.

“It ain’t a story, it’s the truth. We’re nothin’ more than just a couple of smuggling partners tryin’ to get you to where the you need to be.” He glanced at her briefly, then turned back towards the road. “And if you want to make it there unscathed, I suggest you shut your mouth and focus on that map in your hands instead stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I think I at least deserve an explanation after you two put me and my innocent little virgin ears through the wringer.”

“Ellie,” he warned.

It was almost kind of scary how she was already used him saying her name in that tone already. “You’ve been treating her shitty as fuck today, you know.”

Joel frowned. Even though he knew he didn’t need to defend himself to a fucking teenager, he found himself doing it anyway. “The hell are you talkin’ about? I haven’t said a single fuckin’ word to her today.”

“Exactly.” Ellie pointed her index finger at him. “It’s bothering her.”

“She’s a big girl, Ellie. If somethin’ is botherin’ her, then she can come and talk to me about it. She doesn’t need some kid helpin’ her out.”

“That’s the thing. She can’t talk to you about it.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Well, you’re not exactly the most approachable guy, dude.”

Joel gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Why the fuck do you care so much, anyway? You have other things to worry about. Like findin’ the fuckin’ Fireflies and helpin’ them create a vaccine that’s supposed to save the goddamn world.”

“Because,” Ellie said, refusing to allow him to change the subject, not when she felt like she was finally getting somewhere. “I like her. She’s a good person.”

Joel glanced up at the rearview mirror and looked at you as you slept soundly. He couldn’t deny that. Even in this shit world, even after the things you’d seen and all the people you’ve lost, you really were still a good person. You still hadn’t lost touch with your sense of humanity—that was one thing Tess never managed to change about you, the one thing that kept you from being identical to her, identical to Joel. You somehow hadn’t let this world turn you into stone, and maybe that is why you meshed well with them from the start. You brought this odd kind of balance that they hadn’t even known they needed.

That Joel didn’t know he needed.

“She likes you.” Ellie’s voice caused him to snap back to reality. “Lord fucking knows why.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, did I offend?” Ellie quirked an eyebrow, feeling a teeny smirk tug at the corners of her mouth. “Listen. All I’m saying is that she’s really young. And she’s really pretty. She’s nice, and smart as fuck, too. I bet she could probably have any guy that she fucking wants.” Her smirk only grew noticing how her words had gotten a rise out of Joel. Ellie could tell by the way his fingers had the steering wheel in a death grip, his knuckles ghost white. “And yet for some reason, she chooses to stick with you, you old fucker.”

“Listen here you little shit—”

She quickly held her hands up. “I’m just saying. She’s a good one, Joel.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “I know she is.”

Bingo! Ellie thought to herself. Now we’re making progress.

“So, then why not treat her the way she deserves? Why just—what’s that saying? Hit it and quit it?”

Joel tossed a glare at her. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“I’m not wrong though. That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Ellie prompted.

“No!”

“But just a minute ago you said you two were nothing. So if you two are boning, but you’re nothing, that’s like a hit it and quit it, isn’t it? Or is it a fuck it and chuck it? Hump it and dump it?” She scratched her head, wracking her brain as she tried to figure it out. Beside her, Joel was about ready to implode. “Wait a minute, that can’t be right because you guys do it all the time. You’re not actually quitting it. So, it’s hooking up, right?”

“I swear to Christ I’m gonna make you fuckin’ walk to Wyoming if you don’t shut—how the fuck do you know all that? That what they teach you kids in FEDRA school?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Ellie grinned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Level with me, old man. Do you like her or not?”

Joel’s teeth were gritted together, his sights fixed on the road ahead.

“Or do you love her?” She practically sang.

“Ellie.” He said her name warningly once again, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror. The last thing he needed was for you to wake up and hear this conversation; thankfully you were still out cold.

Ellie waved a hand at him. “Oh relax, the woman’s sleeping like a bear in hibernation. Now, answer the fucking question.”

Joel didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond.

He willed himself to open his mouth and say something—anything.

But he just couldn’t. He’d been stumped by a fucking fourteen year old who was too damn smart for her own good.

“Interesting,” Ellie mused after a minute of silence, curiously rubbing her chin. “How you can’t even deny it. Very, very, interesting.”

Before Joel could even think, the sound of you moving around in the backseat caused him to jump, the internal panic flooding him in one single wave. As soon as he was certain you were still fast asleep, he let out a breath of relief and turned to Ellie. “Now, you listen here—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” She held up her finger to her lips. “Let’s not wake Sleeping Beauty back there.” She dropped her hand down into her lap and glanced out the window, grinning to herself. “Besides, I have the answer I was looking for anyway.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller hbo #tlou imagine #tlou fanfiction #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n

[reverieblondie]

Romanced BG3 companions of your choice each reacting to Tav crossing paths with an ex - the ex had cheated on Tav and didn't take kindly to them breaking off the relationship immediately after discovering this. This ex also takes umbrage with the fact that Tav has moved on to a different relationship and starts accosting them.

This was a super fun prompt, and I hope you enjoyed what I did with it. It was just going to be headcanons, but I thought little drabbles would be better! Let me know what you think! 

Warnings- slight violence but mostly fluff!

Astarion:

 It was a usual date for Tav and Astarion, a pleasant late-night stroll through the city. Astarions hand on the small of Tav’s back as they walk together, taking in the candle-lit streets. It had been a recent hobby as of late for the couple to partake in people-watching; Tav had to admit Astarions snide remarks about the lost drunks stumbling out of the bars did tend to be quite funny. Though Tav would always remind him,

“We are heroes of the city star; we shouldn’t be so judgy.” 

Astarion playfully tsk his lips before leaning in to whisper in Tav’s ear, playing softly with their hair, sending a playful shiver down their spine. 

“Don’t pretend to be all high and mighty, darling. You laughed at that one fool the other day…that was very naughty of you.” 

Tav’s heart starts to race; Astarions teasing always does this. Astarion sees a particularly sloppy drunk stumbling from a tavern as they continue to tease and walk back home. 

“Oh, get a look at this one…” Astarion whispers. As Tav turns to take a look, Astarion watches as their smile quickly falls to something of a panic. Tav quickly grabs Astarion’s hand. Something is wrong, and Astarion is now on high alert. The drunk looks up, squinting their eyes at them, and finally, through their drunken haze, it clicks who they are seeing. 

“Well, lookie what we have here…Tav, with some pretty boy nonetheless. Some advice: They’re a real stiff. You could probably find a better lay somewhere else…I know I did…” Tav clenches Astarion’s hand tighter; the words cut deep. 

“Star…can we please go home…”

 Astarion holds Tav’s hand tightly. “Of course, darling…” 

Astarion and Tav quickly head home as the drunk yells at them, bellowing their nasty hate on Tav. Once home in a safe space, Tav opens up to Astarion about their ex, and Astarion just calmly listens, holding them closely, telling them that they won’t hurt Tav anymore; no one will ever hurt them with him around. With Tav resting peacefully, Astarion decides to go out one last time…A particular drunk needs to be taught that nobody ever upsets his darling with him around…Tav need not worry about running into that Ex again… 

Rolan:

Only sometimes did Rolan get distracted at work, but since Tav had started working with him in Sundries wanting to ‘Help out’ and ‘Spend more time with their Rolan,’ he can’t help but get distracted more often. Rolan finds his glowing eyes raking over Tav as they work so diligently. Tav would frequently catch Rolan in these states of distraction, usually opting to smile and wave at him or even sometimes kiss Rolan. Rolan loves having Tav so close and getting to work with them so closely; it makes the stress of being an archmage fade away. 

Rolan is working behind Tav as they operate the counter, trying so hard not to fall into a mess of giggles as Rolan runs his tail up and down Tav’s legs in a teasing gesture. The shop is slow, and in a moment of weakness, Rolan wraps his arms around Tav’s middle and starts playfully kissing along their neck, making Tav giggle and fidget around, protesting about upsetting customers and Rolan insisting that he doesn’t care. 

Amid their joy, they didn’t notice the new customer who had walked up to the happy couple. “Tav, tsk tsk, this is very unsightly customer service…” 

Tav’s smile drops as they open their eyes to face their ex face-to-face. Letting his instincts take over, Rolan immediately gets defensive and gets in front of Tav and this rude person. 

“Can I help you with something?” Rolan’s voice dripped in disdain. 

“I’m just coming to check if the rumors are true: Tav shacking up with the new archmage…. It seems they are true.” 

Tav quickly argues, “It’s one, not like that, and two, none of your business!”

“I think it is my business when my ex is going about acting like a damn slu-”

Before they can even finish the insult, Tav watches as their ex suddenly goes flying out of the shop. A surprisingly calm Rolan walks after them, his hand still sparking with magic. 

Rolan looks down at the pathetic lump of a person lying out in front of the shop. “I suggest you don’t return to this establishment again…and if I hear you speak ill of Tav, I will make it where you never speak again… Now get away from my shop.” 

With a snap, Rolan slams the doors shut and quickly goes to Tav, grabbing their hand and leading them upstairs. Tav asks what he is doing and who will watch the shop, but they see that Rolan’s hologram is now at the desk. Rolan smiles back to Tav, taking a moment to kiss their hand, 

“Let’s take the day, just for ourselves…” 

Rolan knows how to shower Tav with care and love…His hands didn’t leave Tav for the rest of the night…

Wyll:

The tavern was an uproar of cheering and laughter, but Tav didn’t notice the noises or anyone else as they swayed in Wyll’s arms. Of course, Wyll dragged Tav to the dance floor as soon as they entered the bar. The dances had started quickly, with jumps and claps, and people turned about in blind merriment. 

But now the music is slower, allowing them to hold each other tightly and ignore the rest of the tavern. Wyll often had this effect on Tav; when in his embrace, things would instantly be more peaceful. However, the sudden drying in Tav’s throat makes them painstakingly separate from Wyll. 

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?” 

Wyll spins Tav and places a quick kiss on Tav’s hand, “Just for you to hurry back, love.” 

Tav boops Wylls nose. “Flirt.” they tease, wholly lost in their affection for him. 

Tav quickly makes their way to the bar, chugging their drink down to return to their dance partner. But as Tav pushes through the crowd, they freeze at the sight. 

Tav’s terrible ex is talking to Wyll, and from the look on Wyll’s face, he is not happy. Tav tries to get there quickly to save Wyll. Then they see their ex push Wyll—oh hells No! 

Tav is ready to bounce when they suddenly watch Wyll punch their ex, laying him out instantly. Tav’s jaw is on the floor as they stand over the pathetic person. 

Tav looks at Wyll’s unapologetic face, “What..” 

“They were saying rude things about you. Honestly, you dated this trash? I am so sorry you went through that, darling.” 

Tav’s smile is vast as they hug Wyll tightly, “My hero, how could I ever repay you?” 

Wylls smile widens, “I have a few ideas…If you are willing…” 

“Oh, I am…” 

Wyll leads Tav over their knocked cold ex out of the tavern and back home, where Tav spends the whole night thanking their hero…

Gale:

Morning Markets is not exactly Tav’s favorite way to spend time with Gale, but anytime they get to be with him is a plus, and watching that wizard try and fumble his way through haggling was funny. After Gale had failed to haggle a deal for some fresh fish, Tav just grabbed him and kissed his cheek tenderly. 

“Yeah, not everyone haggles for magical items, but maybe you will get a good deal one day.” Gale huffs as he holds Tav closer, slowly lowering his hands to grip Tav’s hips. A look of mischief fills his eyes as he buries his head into Tav’s neck, stealing a quick smell before whispering in their ear, 

“One more stop, and then we are heading home. I’m getting impatient…” 

How he whispered the last part excitedly made Tav’s skin shiver in anticipation. 

Entering the shop, Gale leaves Tav to wait for him by the door. “I will be there for just a quick moment,” he promises. 

As Tav stands there as patiently as possible, someone calls their name, turning Tav’s previous smile, which is furrowing into a scowl, looking at their ex. Tav raises their arms to fold over their chest, quickly scanning the room for Gale, but he is busy now. They will have to face this annoyance on their own. 

“I heard you were back in the city; we should get a drink for old time’s sake. Hm, what do you say?” 

“Not interested…” Tav spits out. 

“Oh, come on, it’s the least you could do for dumping me like that.” 

Tav’s eyes go wild, “Excuse me? You cheated, remember! And I want nothing to do with you!” 

“One little slip you can’t let go. Always so dramatic…” 

Tav is about to lose it until a familiar warmth on their shoulder calms them. Turning, Tav’s eyes met Gales’s smiling face. 

“Ready to go?” 

Tavs ex tsk, “Hey, we were talking here.” 

Gale’s face goes stren when looking at the stranger, “Well, now the conversation is over.” 

Without hesitation, Gale gently leads Tav out of the shop and back home. “Sorry I didn’t get to your side sooner, my dear. Are you okay? Did they upset you?” 

Tav leans into Gale as they walk together, saying, “I am much better with you by my side. Thank you.” 

Lae’zel:

Tav and Lae’zel were taking a pleasant stroll in the park. Lae’zel didn’t exactly care for the atmosphere, but they knew Tav enjoyed it, so they followed, letting Tav talk to her endlessly about their time in the city and teaching Lae’zel about new things. Lae’zel couldn’t help but smile at Tav as they rambled on. 

Usually, so much talking bothers her, but with Tav, their sounds were pleasant, soothing…

As Tav is walking, they are unaware of the person quietly approaching them from behind until suddenly they feel a push to their shoulder, breaking them from their conversion with Lae’zel. 

“Tav! I-” -SMACK!-

In the blink of an eye, Tav watches their ex receive a swift nose-breaking punch to the face. 

“Do not address my mate so casually!” I shall have your hand!” Tav slings Lae’zel over their shoulder, running away from the crime scene. 

Lae’zel isn’t exactly sure why she is receiving so much affection from Tav, but she isn’t complaining about it…Maybe she should punch people more often…

After Lae’zel punches a random man trying to sell Tav fish, they explain what happened to Lae’zel. Tav has to spend the rest of the day keeping Lae’zel’s sword away from her so she doesn’t behead their ex… Lae’zel cares for Tav very, very profoundly…

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 headcanons #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #astarion x tav #rolan x tav #halsin x tav #gale x tav #wyll x tav #lae'zel x tav #bg3 gale #bg3 wyll #bg3 astarion #bg3 rolan #bg3 halsin #bg3 lae'zel #rolan #halsin #lae'zel #astarion #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfic #baludr's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

[buckttommy]

I need buck to be in danger and tommy running into the danger to get buck out safely. I need tommy to hold bucks face in his hands and tell him that he needs to look at him and tell him what hurts. I need tommy to be a worried boyfriend

whoops

"I'm okay."

Evan doesn't actually know if he's okay. His head throbs, for one, his vision blurring around the edges. He's not entirely convinced he doesn't have a concussion, and his ribs spit fire whenever he so much as tries to inhale. His arm—the one that's not currently attached to the hand that's gripping Tommy's wrist like he's scared he'll float away—is broken, or at least he thinks it is, and he's got a bunch of other scrapes and bruises that'll give him hell in the morning.

So maybe he's not okay (and judging by the way that Hen glares at him in his peripheral vision, maybe is starting to look like definitely), but he's not dying.

That's all that matters.

Tommy swallows tightly. His right hand clenches and unclenches at his side like he's trying to keep himself from reaching out to touch, and it seems like he's losing the battle. Evan appreciates the respect, appreciates the acknowledgement that he's not out even in a situation as dire and terrifying as this one, but it's a particular sort of agony to watch Tommy fight his instinct. Evan just doesn't know which one of them it's hurting more.

Tommy clears his throat. "When Chimney called and said that—that you were hurt..."

"I know." Evan has been on the receiving end of a call like that more than once. The corner of his mouth lifts into a small, fragile smile that sends more blood spilling down his face. "I'm sorry I freaked you out. I didn't mean to do that to you."

He doesn't mention that he, too, was also freaked out. Not because he thinks Tommy can't take it or doesn't want to hear it, but because he doesn't know how to say it without having the whole situation feel abruptly, horrifyingly real.

When the building came down, all he saw was rebar and ash and cement, and if he's honest, he's still not sure how he made it out of there. Still not sure whether it was pure survival instinct that had him clawing out of that air pocket or whether some benevolent god reached down and gave him a helping hand. Either way, he's not complaining. He knows what it's like to be the one waiting for information, to think you're about to live the worst day of your life.

He's glad he didn't do that to Tommy.

This time.

Tommy's eyes rove over his face, his body, like he's trying to catalogue for himself all the places in which Evan is broken. He loses the fight against his hand and gently grabs Evan's jaw, tilting his face toward the flashing lights of the ambulance. He clucks his tongue and drags his thumb along the edge of a gash scored across his cheekbone.

"You're going to need stitches on that."

"I know, I know. Just—" Evan sways on his feet. He's tired, suddenly, the adrenaline passing and fear taking roots in it's place. "I thought I was going to die today."

Tommy makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat. "Evan."

"No. I know. It's just that—if I hadn't somehow ended up in that little pocket of space, I-I would have been dead. And I know that's the job. You know? It's—it's what we both signed up for." He rocks forward on his feet, partially fueled by fatigue, partially fueled by this desperate fucking need to be back in the comfort of his boyfriend's orbit. "But I'm just really—I'm really glad I get to come home to you again."

Tommy's face softens. "Oh, sweetheart."

Evan's boyfriend is massive. It's one of the things he loves most about him. Tommy can (and has) manhandled him with ease countless times before. But the way he touches him now, careful of all his broken parts, is so gentle that Evan almost feels like crying. He melts into the warmth of his embrace as he feels Tommy's nose press into the soft hairs at his temple, followed by a quick brush of his lips.

"I'm glad you get to come home at all. I—god. You have no idea, Evan. You just don't know." He huffs a laugh that's not really a laugh at all and holds him slightly tighter. "I know it's the job, like you said, and I never really minded when it was me running into burning buildings. But now it's you, and—" he pauses. Swallows. "Well. It's not really as fun from this side of things."

"Says the guy who flies helicopters into hurricanes for a living."

Tommy's laugh is actually more of a laugh that time. Something eases in Evan's chest. He tips his chin to look at him.

They're standing far too closely, far too intimately to be considered casual. He's not out to anyone at the station except his family, and he can feel curious eyes roving over them every now and again.

But Tommy is shaking.

It's a small tremble wracking his body, clearly suppressed (or at least trying to be), but it's there and it's breaking Evan's heart to pieces.

Maybe it's that that gives him the courage. Or maybe it's the fact that he almost died. Or maybe it's the fact that Tommy smells like his laundry detergent and, this close Evan can see the edge of the hickey he left beneath his collarbone, or maybe (most likely) it's all of those things. But before he can think about it, before he can stop himself, Evan is murmuring,

"Can I kiss you?"

Tommy's eyebrows raise to his hairline. His gaze darts around, but they're tucked away from the largest portion of the crowd of first responders that arrived at the structure fire. The only person that's even sort of nearby is Hen, and she's so obviously giving them privacy that Evan wants to hug her a little bit.

Later.

Right now, he just wants to kiss.

Tommy frowns. "Are you sure? I mean. Yes. You can. I always want to kiss you but you're not out."

This is true. Evan considers this for a moment and decides that, right now, he doesn't care. Everyone he cares about already knows he's bisexual and they love him regardless, have loved him all this time.

He doesn't give a shit about anyone else.

"We don't have to," he says after a moment. "But I'm tired. And everything hurts. And when I was under there, all I could think about was—was you and getting back to you and kissing you, and so I—"

He's cut off by the feel of Tommy's mouth on his, tension gliding from his shoulders as their lips slot together.

Finally.

This is what he's been needing ever since he emerged from the rubble. Ever since Hen dragged him to the ambulance and sat him down to tend to his wounds. Ever since Chimney told him he called Tommy to let him know what happened.

This is what he's been missing.

Tommy's heartbeat jackrabbits against his chest.

It's an odd thing to be able to feel someone's heartbeat, to be pressed so close together that you can literally feel the thing that's keeping them alive. Evan has never felt anything more sacred, he thinks, and the fact that this heart—this beautiful fucking heart—beats a litany of fear for him through Tommy's veins is overwhelming.

Humbling.

He adores this man.

He lets go of Tommy's wrist and slides his hand up until it rests over Tommy's heart, and then he waits and waits and waits until the beat starts to slow down. Until Tommy exhales a sigh against the side of his face.

There it is, that's what he was waiting for.

Tommy pulls back first, far enough to press their foreheads together.

"You need to go to a hospital," he murmurs.

"Later."

"No, now." His laughter is soft. "Hen is glaring daggers at me. I can't be sure, but I'm fairly certain she's about to pry you out of my arms and strap you to the gurney herself."

Evan snorts. Yeah, that sounds like Hen.

He takes a step back out of the warm circle of Tommy's arms. A bout of vertigo nearly knocks him off his feet, but then Tommy is there once again, holding him up.

Evan's own heart beats just a little bit faster.

Together, they walk over to the back of the ambulance, Tommy helping him get settled on the gurney once they get there.

Evan meets his eyes. "Come visit me in the hospital?"

"Visit you? I'll be right behind."

Tommy presses a kiss to the back of his hand, and this time when the vertigo hits again, he's not entirely sure it's just because of his injuries.

He's never felt so adored, so treasured before. It's intoxicating.

Tommy looks over his shoulder, his face earnest. "I know I don't have to ask, but please take care of him."

Hen's voice is immensely fond. "Relax, Kinard. He's in good hands."

Tommy nods. He meets his gaze again and then holds it until the ambulance doors close. It's only when Evan leans back that he remembers, oh, right. Everything does kind of hurt after all.

Definitely not okay, then.

"Ow."

"Yeah, I know." Hen's voice is still soft. She fusses about the back of the ambulance, plying him with bandages and medicine and whatever the hell else she's doing. He's not entirely sure. Reality is starting to slip away. Her face appears in his field of vision. "We'll be at the hospital soon. Close your eyes."

"Tommy?"

"Buck, I'm pretty sure not even a natural disaster could keep that man from being at your side." Her tone is teasing, but she's sincere. Something warm settles in his chest even as his eyelids drift closed. "Rest. The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you can see him."

Evan's not sure about that logic but he's too weary to question it. He closes his eyes anyway, lets the rock of the ambulance lull him into a relative sense of peace, and he falls asleep imagining the warmth of Tommy's body beside him.

#ngl I giggled to myself SO MANY TIMES WHILE WRITING THIS OH MY GOD #*screams and kicks my feet* #anyways #bucktommy #jack answers mail #tv: 911

[eddies-ashtray]

“baby, baby, baby, baby,” eddie repeats over and over, his breath ghosting your neck with his chin on your shoulder. 

if sober eddie hardly had any concept of personal space, drunk eddie couldn’t even imagine a world in which he was more than a foot away from you or not touching you. he got very needy when he was drunk. tonight at jeff’s house was no different. 

turning your head to him as much as you could with his big head on your shoulder, you side eye him for a moment, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

“hi, sweetheart,” eddie greets, a dopey smile slicing across his face. 

“hi, eddie. need somethin’, baby?” 

you note the rosiness of his cheeks immediately. 

“wanta kiss,” he pouts.

“okay. well. can’t exactly do that with your head on my shoulder now, can i?” you reason. immediately, eddie removes his head from your shoulder and manhandles you until you’re sitting with your legs draped over his lap on the couch. 

“there,” eddie says triumphantly, his big hands groping the dough of your thighs, squeezing and releasing every few seconds. 

you don’t comment on how he could have done without pulling you over his lap to get a kiss because that just wouldn’t make sense to drunk eddie. 

fulfilling his request, you peck him on the mouth once, then brush the hair out of his face when you pull away.

eddie’s still pouting though.

“that sucked. need a reallll one,” he drawls. 

“a real one?” you question, though you know exactly what he’s asking. 

“here,” eddie says, releasing your thighs and instead holding your face in his hands so he can pull you into a “real” kiss where he slips his tongue into your mouth rather sloppily, his nose smushed against your face. 

you can taste the alcohol on his tongue instantly as he kisses you and you don’t pull away until gareth wolf whistles at your PDA.

when you look to him, he jests, “don’t stop on my account.”

“shut up,” you retort half heartedly. gareth just sticks his tongue out at you immaturely and turns back to jeff, snickering. 

but eddie doesn’t seem to hear any of this, his lips moving to your neck, kissing and licking at the skin there. 

and then, “can we go? wanna be alone with you,” he requests, probably a little too loudly. 

pulling his face away from your neck and holding him in your hands seems to ground him for a moment, his dark eyes shining as he stares into yours. 

“you’re drunk, eds. i’m not gonna do anything with you when you’re drunk.” his pale skin is warm beneath your palms. 

eddie deflates, shoulders sagging as he says, “jesus, you’re so respectful...but pleaseee?” 

eddie flashes you his best puppy dog eyes, but still, you don’t relent. 

“mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head.

when he tries to protest, “but!-” you interrupt:

“would you wanna fuck me if i was totally smashed and barely coherent?” 

eddie’s eyes widen at that, a soft gasp slipping past his lips as if he was horrified by the thought.

“would never take advantage of you, why would you even say that? that’s terrible,” he moans, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. 

“too tight,” you squeak.

“sorry, sorry, m’sorry, didn’t meant to,” eddie apologizes, loosening his grip around your shoulders and rubbing your arm softly.

eddie rests his forehead against your shoulder.

“s’okay. think it’s time to go, hm?” you whisper and eddie nods softly against you.

eddie lifts his head up as you plant your feet on the carpeted floor and stand, hauling eddie up off the couch as well. he stumbles slightly, but you steady him with an arm wrapped around his waist.

as you walk towards the basement stairs, eddie slings an arm around your shoulder. 

“you guys leavin’?” jeff asks from a beanbag chair facing the television.

“yeah, gotta get this one home,” you inform as eddie hiccups and boops your nose. 

“drive safe!” jeff hollers as you help eddie up the stairs.

once in the passenger seat of his van, eddie lolls his head to the side to watch you buckle in and start the vehicle.

“thanks for takin’ care o’me,” eddie slurs with a lazy smile.

you turn to face him for a moment.

“always.”

-

pt.2

pt. 3

#eddie munson #reader is eddie’s sober dd!! #eddie munson x gn reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcanons

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY ONE

in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.3k+

→ a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post 😏

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

21:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM

STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously

You’ve been staring at Steve’s text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. You’d reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.

Eddie wasn’t speaking to you.

Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When you’d said those words to him, when you’d admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. You’d watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesn’t believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that can’t be changed — whatever it is, you hate it.

The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but you’d already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldn’t. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasn’t a new version to your friends, they’ve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasn’t all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you. 

No, you couldn’t send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen. 

Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone — he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing you’d ever laid eyes on. 

Croissant dissection — see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.

You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You don’t give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.

YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddie’s been in the bathroom. happy, mom?

STEVE-O: he’s been in the bathroom for an entire hour? 

YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time. 

Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if it’s doing more damage than good?

You’re about to stand from the stool you’ve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that you’re still here, when Steve’s next text comes through. 

STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened? 

You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You can’t even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddie’s painful vulnerability – you can’t find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you can’t find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Betty’s. 

YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?

He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means you’re in the clear, for now. 

When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. It’s a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you – the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks. 

Eddie’s phone number. 

You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You don’t understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup you’d started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You don’t feel like anything special in this photo.

But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that he’d have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone. 

Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it. 

EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You don’t even have to ponder on it – in a flash, you’ve selected the picture of him with the croissant. 

You’re back on the thread of messages – or, at least, the singular message – and don’t stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out? 

To be fair, you didn’t even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer. 

EDDIE: Excuse me? 

He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone. 

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them. 

You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. You’ll take whatever he offers. 

It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh. 

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke? 

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that. 

EDDIE: Debatable. 

You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two. 

He doesn’t, so you send another bad joke. 

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant? 

This time, he plays along. 

EDDIE: I don't know, what? 

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight. 

This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom. 

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny. 

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD. 

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face. 

Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. It’s entirely possible – but you pray to every star in the sky that that isn’t what he’s going to do. 

Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me. 

Your prayers are answered.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though – the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.

But you didn’t. You gave him space, gave him patience, and it’s clear he knows this as he comes out. 

His eyes are red. As if he’s been crying. 

“Hi,” you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if he’s been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are. 

“Hi,” his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He won’t look you in the eye once he’s within reach – his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings. 

You hadn’t considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, you’d assumed he’d shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him. 

His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. He’s about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you don’t give him a chance. You’re quick to snatch up one of the pieces you’d been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering – a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you. 

He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. It’s nothing compared to the bite he had taken when you’d snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful. 

“Did you just… massacre our croissants?” he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene. 

You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, “Absolutely not. I have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

He almost cracks a grin, “Right. Of course. I must be imagining things.” 

“Wanna hear another pun?” you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him. 

“I feel like you’ll tell me one even if I say no,” he raises an eyebrow at you, “So, sure.” 

“Why did the croissant go to the doctor?”

He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, “Let me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?” 

“No,” you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, “It was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.” 

A crack of a smile. It’s miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you. 

You’d certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you can’t imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than you’d care to admit, but it’s true. You’ve crossed a line, you’ve changed everything, but the past still remains. 

You aren’t perfect. Neither is Eddie.

Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You don’t need to worry about the next time you’ll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent. 

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way,” you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, “You deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just… you deserve those things in your life.” 

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.

You don’t let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if he’s finished with the conversation. You’re not.

“You’re a good person, Eddie,” you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, “Don’t walk away from me.”

He spins easily in your grip. “Just because you say something, doesn’t make it true, sweetheart.”

He’s back to saying it like a curse. Like it’s a harmful title. As if it’s not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips. 

Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, he’s slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.

“Stop doing that,” you say quietly, carefully, firmly.

“Stop doing what?”

“That. Pushing me away. Locking me out,”  you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, “I fucking hate it.”

“Despite what you believe,” he takes a step closer to you, “Not everything I do is meant to piss you off.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying, and we both know it,” you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.

This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears — pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor can’t hurt you when you see it for what it is.

“Clearly we both don’t know it,” he chastised you, “We are very rarely on the same page. This isn’t a damn exception. You don’t have to prove your point, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s a wounded animal, striking out. He’s letting Chrissy’s words get to him.

“You’re worth i-“

“Don’t,” One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, “Don’t fucking say that. Please. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” 

He didn’t believe you. 

“I meant it,” you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words can’t break through to him, “I mean it. You’re worth it, to me, to St-“

“This isn’t about Steve,” he cuts you off, “It’s not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.” 

It’s about you.

You both know it. For once, contradictory to what he’d just claimed, you’re both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb. 

“You’re worth it to me,” you say it with more confidence this time, “You’re a good person to me.” 

“How can you say that?” he laughs out, void of amusement, “How can you say shit like that after everything we’ve been through?”

How can you not?

You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. “Because I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.” 

For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves. 

“You shouldn’t,” his voice should waver, “You shouldn’t believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.” 

“But I don’t,” And I never did.

“But you don’t,” he echoes.

You’ve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You don’t hate him — you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.

“Make me hate you.” 

His eyes widen briefly, “Excuse me?”

“Make me hate you,” you practically beg of him, “Show me why you’re such a bad person and I’ll let this go. I’ll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and I’ll stop reminding you that I don’t.” 

His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. He’s considering what you’ve just said — more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” his voice is low and calculated. 

You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, “Not my problem. Just make me.” 

The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.

Make me.

When his lips meet yours, they’re rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him — they’re both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because it’s clear that’s what he needs. 

You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now.

“You want me to make you hate me, baby?” he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, “Is that really what you want?”

It’s what you want. “Yes.” 

And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.

“Not the couch,” you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, “Anywhere but the couch.” 

And oh, the way he’s looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.

“Anywhere?” he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.

You nod, grinning right back at him.

“I think I have an idea.” 

If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would have….

Well, you don’t really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. You’re making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You don’t care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldn’t do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddie’s hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.

You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.

Loved. You certainly didn’t love him — you couldn’t possibly, could you? He wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists. 

“You wanna know what makes me such a bad person?” he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, “This. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.”

“Hm,” you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him. 

And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught. 

You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.

Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.

“Eyes on me,” he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, “You know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.”

“Yeah?” you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name. “How many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.”

You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you. 

“What are you-”

“Take off your shirt,” you calmly command.

“Excuse me?” 

“Your shirt. I want it off.”

His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. “And who said you were calling the shots?” 

“I did,” you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, “Take off the shirt, or I’ll leave you out here with blue balls.” 

You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move. 

A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isn’t in control are blurred. 

“Have you always been so mean, baby?” he taunts, trailing what spit you’d left behind on his thumb along your lip. 

His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, “I learned from the best, didn’t I?” 

The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. He’d slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. He’d push you away, and you’d have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him. 

No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to. 

“Better?” he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why it’s raining obscure band t-shirts. 

You’re just a bit too distracted to consider that right now. 

With Eddie’s torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way he’s flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises – you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy. 

You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You don’t nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadn’t paid much mind to before. Every time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d been a bit distracted.

Not now. Now, you’re focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them. 

You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.

Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, “You know, you’re not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.”

A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking. 

With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if you’ve done this part a million times, as if you’d spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re impatient. You still haven’t left him speechless, meaning you still hadn’t made your point, clearly. 

His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong – they don’t need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in. 

You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down. 

With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks. 

“Fuck,” he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers. 

“What was it that you said earlier?” your finger traces over where you know a vein is – you know it because you’ve felt it, been driven insane by it – before circling around the wet patch now forming. He’s desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think he’s bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, “You said I’m not calling the shots, right?” 

“You’re not,” he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it they’ll find their way home to you. 

You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, “I’m not?” 

You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance. 

He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply. 

“Say I am,” you barter, “Say I’m in control right now, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is.” 

You don’t expect him to break so easily. You’ve underestimated just how tightly you’ve caught him beneath your thumb.

“You’re in control,” he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, “You’re in complete and utter fucking control of me. You’re calling all the shots, baby. You always are.” 

He didn’t have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on. 

You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.

You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein you’d traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack. 

He can’t hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on. 

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?” you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing — all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, “Just falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.” 

He whimpers your name. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin. 

“Let me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,” you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair — a warning. 

You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory. 

You want to make him forget while making yourself remember. 

You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control. 

Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesn’t need more than that.

Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until there’s no part of you left untouched by him. 

You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, you’re worth it to me. I want this. I want you. 

The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it. 

You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as you’d done his cock. He’s no longer containing his moans – they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds you’d love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days. 

“Oh my God,” he groans out particularly loudly, “Fuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.” 

Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, “Only for you.” 

“Yeah? Only for me?” 

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s true: you’re only ever that mean for him, you’re only ever this eager for him, you’re only ever this desperate for him. 

You don’t answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned. 

“Is it just like you imagined?” you question as you break your lips off him. He’s close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, “Was it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?” 

He almost can’t answer you, but somehow manages between pants, “It was. It is. You’re- fuck, you’re worth it.” 

“Good,” you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control – the perfect image of submission, for him. “Then you get it. When I say you’re worth it, you get it.” 

He’s clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down. 

His chest heaves as he questions, “What was it you wanted me to do earlier?” A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, “Make you?”

You know that if you hadn’t been so eager to follow his touch, you’d still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots – just like he had said. 

“You really think you can make me hate you?” you whisper once you’re standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“I shouldn’t have to make you hate me,” he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, “You should already hate me.” 

“Why?” 

He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, “Because of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.”

With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release. 

“Because you’re fucking right,” he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, “All it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? I’ll never get enough of you, I’ll never get clean of you,” he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You can’t stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, “Everything changes. And that includes me.” 

His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, it’s only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year — you let it disintegrate and focus on him.

It never mattered if everything changed. 

It only matters that he’s changed, irreversibly, and so are you.

“How can I hate you for those things?” you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, “Do it.” 

“Do what?”

“All of it,” you trail a hand up his chest, “Every single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,” your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need. 

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. You’re hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. It’s all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed. 

You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.

Changing you. He has no idea that he’s already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain. 

Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.

“Eddie,” you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers. 

His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all you’d assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.

“Say it again,” his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, “Say it louder.” 

“Fu-“ you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, “Eddie!” 

He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat. 

“Scream for me, baby,” an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, “Tell them who’s making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.”

Even when he claims to have control, it’s your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.

It’s the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. It’s the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. It’s the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high he’s been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him. 

It’s you. You’ve changed him, as he’s changed you.

He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.

“You know the real reason why you should hate me?” he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, “It’s not just because I don’t deserve you. It’s because I’ve wanted you for so long,” you’re right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. “I- fuck, fuck. It’s- God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.” 

You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You can’t make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm. 

I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.

When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what he’d just said. 

Loved you. 

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done. 

I’ve loved you for so long.

He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands don’t even try to stop him.

I’ll never be fucking worthy.

You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.

You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.

Loved you. He loved you.

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #if it's bad do not tell me #stranger things