#it doesn’t come across as anyone mourning

[foli-vora]

without you, part 2

matt murdock x f!reader

A/N: hey the title rhymes. Hi angels! Part 2 is finally here, by heavy demand! And uh... for those who thought I was gonna fix everything with this part?? No, I'm here to make it worse! Woo! (Don't hate me, I did warn you lmao). So, enjoy the angst! Hope it's worth the wait x

Summary: continuing on from Part 1 - You return after the ‘blip’. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time. Where does that leave you now?

Word count: somewhere in the 2.7k zone idk

Warnings: ANGST. Angst squared, if you will. Broken hearts everywhere. Broken hearted reader. Broken hearted Matty. A brief broken hearted Frank coming in for the rescue. Not a happy ending. Mentions of divorce and the religious thoughts surrounding that, the Blip and the devastation it would've caused, break ups, brief jealousy, heavy denial, anxiety, lots of crying and I just want to hold onto him forever & ever. This is unedited coz I'm lazy and like to just throw things out into the void and die like a warrior.

There’s a vicious, relentless pounding behind your temples when you finally begin to feel the darkness pulling at your mind recede. With the constant stab of pain, everything returns—the apparent lost time, the strange new world that had grown during your absence, the relationships that had also changed during those five years.

Five whole years.

It might as well have been an eternity.

Your whole life, everything you knew—gone. It doesn’t seem real, it’s just not possible, and yet here you are. Here you are in a world that still feels so familiar, and sickeningly not. Your thoughts are a vicious storm in your mind, merely intensifying the throb running along your forehead. Your system flutters between confusion, denial, mourning.

It’s enough to make you want to simply fall back into the blissful void of unconsciousness, until—

“Sweetheart?”

Matt. 

Your heart still jumps at his gentle rasp, a part of you longing to just soften into his hold and cling to him like you’d done so many times before, but you can’t. He’s not—he’s not your Matt. Not anymore. 

It’s hard to pull away from the fingers tracing your cheek, and when you open your eyes, they wince from the light shining through the large windows. He’s knelt on the floor beside you, a frown of concern creasing his brows as you slowly shift on weak limbs until you’re sitting upright on the leather.

You study his features through raw, hazy eyes, and it’s only now you notice the subtle changes you had missed upon your return to the apartment—the few more creases lining his face, the extra spatterings of grey strands amongst his dark tresses. His hair… it’s shorter too, now that you’re really looking. How had you not seen that? Not noticed?

Maybe it was the panic. It had to have been. You didn’t notice anything else when you ran in. Your surroundings had changed within a second, everything was all just so confusing and mad—you had just wanted him, you wanted home. Turns out, you had no home to return to. No one to return to. 

There must be so many others. The pain must be immense throughout the world. Lovers returning to mere memories. Parents returning to kids left behind, now years older and practically strangers. Children returning to homes that were no longer there, lost amongst the new world and without anyone familiar around them to find comfort in. God, they must be so scared.

Matt’s hand returns to your face, the backs of his fingers testing the feel of your forehead before ever so slowly trailing away until they rest where your pulse thrums through the skin of your throat. It’s not necessary—he’d hear it across town. Maybe he’s seeking physical reassurance that you’re really here, right in front of him.

“Talk to me,” he pleads quietly, “say something, anything.”

You find nothing worth speaking. You doubt you’d even have the strength to speak with how dry and heavy your tongue feels in your mouth. His hand moves, fingers hot on your skin as he cups the underside of your jaw and this time, you don’t quite have the strength to pull away.

All you want is this.

His touch, his presence—him.

“Sweetheart, I—” he stops, head tilting ever so slightly towards the door.

You watch him stiffen, tension rolling through his shoulders as he rises from his knelt position before turning towards the door to the apartment expectantly. It takes longer for your senses to catch up, but eventually the dull thud of boots hitting the flooring outside of the apartment hits your ears—

Frank.

Where was he through all of this? Had he been left to carry on with life, trying to make sense of a world left in ruin? Or had he been washed away with the breeze, just like half the planet? Universe? You want to ask Matt, but words seem to fade away on your tongue. 

He doesn’t bother knocking—he never has.

While there had been some stirrings of indifference between him and Matt after everything that happened, there was still a solid foundation of respect, which quickly extended to you the more you attempted to coax the beaten and bloodied man into your clutches for some much needed medical treatment. You were more than acquaintances, a little less than friends—just close enough for him to feel comfortable coming and going from the apartment should he have ever needed patching up.

“Apparently it’s been a while,” Frank mutters gruffly as a somewhat greeting once he’s stepped into the apartment, and you feel the same air of confusion and denial radiating from him.

He had been gone then, like you. How is he handling this? Does he feel as lost as you? As scared? You’d always thought him to be someone not exactly immune to the feeling, but at least stronger than others. As much as you feel for him, hurt for him, knowing exactly the type of thoughts and feelings that plague him, you find comfort in the fact that you weren’t alone in this.

Matt doesn’t respond, and Frank sighs tiredly, eyes flashing briefly to the side under his heavily bruised and swollen brow.

“I ain’t here to fight, Red.”

Matt’s tongue flicks over his lips and he gives a humourless huff, still not relaxing from his defensive stance. Maybe he was expecting Frank to be pissed and burst in like a raging bull with red in his vision, seeing as he and Karen had something brewing slowly between them all those years ago, but Frank doesn’t seem to be interested in any violence whatsoever.

You’re not even entirely sure what he’s here for.

“Well, Karen’s not here—”

“I know, she was with me,” Frank rumbles deeply, head tilting as he appraises Matt, “told me the happy news—congrats.”

It’s not insincere, but it’s damn near close. 

His gaze moves to you.

He studies the way you sit, drawn in on yourself and cuddling your chest in an effort to hold yourself together. You can feel how raw and swollen your eyes are, and when you finally manage to tiredly lift them to meet his, Frank seems to soften.

It’s only slight, imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know his mannerisms well, but you see it.

“I was thinkin’ you might need a place, after hearin’ about—” he swallows, jaw rolling ever so slightly. He exhales sharply and shifts on his feet, “You got anywhere to go?” 

He’s here for you?

Matt intervenes immediately. “She’s staying here, Frank—”

Staying here? In the apartment you used to live in? That he now lives in with another woman? Was his idea to leave you sleeping on the couch alone, while they sleep in your bed together? No, it’s not your bed anymore. It’s their bed. Their apartment.

Five years of Daredevil and regular concussions must’ve really killed some of his brain cells. Is he even still Daredevil? Maybe married life changed his perspective on his dangerous nightly habits. Maybe his perspective changed on a lot of things. Is he even the same Matt you had left behind?

Frank’s head tilts, his eyes narrowing into a scowl as they flick back to Matt. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t askin’ you—was I, Red?”

“No,” you finally rasp in reply to his earlier question before Matt could retort, voice rough and weak in your throat, “no, I don’t.”

He nods, expecting your answer. “You got a bag?”

“I don’t know if I have any things left,” you mutter, bitterly wondering where your belongings went. Storage? Donated? The trash? How long did they leave it, did Matt leave it before tossing it all away? Like you’d never even existed, like you’d never even mattered. “Do I have anything here, Matt?”

Matt baulks at the ice coating your tone, and it’s unfair. You know that. Deep down you know you’re being unfair, a part of your mind gently reminding you that you probably would’ve thought and done the same in his position should it have been reversed, but you don’t care.

The familiar bite of anger, pain, still stirs relentlessly in your system and it trumps all reason and logic.

You had a life, and now it’s in complete ruins.

What are you supposed to do with that?

Frank nods sagely, “We’ll get you some things, ain’t gotta worry about that. You comin’?”

As much as you want to reject the idea of leaving, as much as your heart screams at you to stay with Matt because he’s all you know, he’s all you have, and he was telling you how much he loved you only mere hours ago… you give a minimal nod, and shift to stand from the couch.

It wasn’t hours ago—it was five years.

Five years.

Matt instinctively steps in front of you to keep you from moving any further, his tongue darting across his lips in an apparent panic, “You’re going with him?”

“Can you give us a minute? I won’t be long,” you ask Frank quietly, aching at the way Matt’s anxiety seems to heighten at your words.

Frank gives a single nod, and then slips out, the door clicking quietly shut behind him. Matt ignores it, every sense focused in on you and the way your heart beats a broken rhythm in your chest, the way your nails pick at the cotton of your sleeves, the way fresh tears smell building on your lash line—

“I have nowhere else to go,” you mutter, body now numb to feeling and just utterly exhausted from the onslaught of emotions the day had thrust upon you. “I can’t stay here, Matt. I can’t. Seeing you two—God, it’ll kill me. I can’t do it.”

Why you? Why did it have to be you? 

A part of you wishes it would’ve been Karen in your place, uncaringly and unknowingly torn from her life to leave everything she ever loved behind, only to return to a world that had survived, that had moved on without her… and you don’t even have the energy to feel guilty for such a thought yet.

It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even Matt’s.

“Sweetheart,” Matt pleads softly, hands seeking and taking your hands tightly, “just—just tell me what to do. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

The thought is immediate—would he leave her? Could you ask that of him? Could you expect him to just drop and abandon everything he’s built during your absence?

You want to.

You want to tell him to break it off with her as soon as physically possible, to kick her out so you could be at home where you’re comfortable and with him and just act like nothing happened—

—but you can’t.

You can’t bring yourself to say the words.

What would he think of you asking a question like that? Would he even do it? You know how he feels about divorce, what his religion thinks of divorce. His whole belief system, his life, his God… would he abandon it all for you?

Looking at him now, how he physically pleads with you with those soft, lost eyes looking for guidance, you believe that maybe, just maybe, he would. 

But you can’t ask that of him.

You could never, and would never, ask that of him.

Unless—

“Were you happy?” You ask softly, eyes bouncing between his where they rest just left of your face. 

He blinks, a slight frown forming between his eyes in an effort to make sense of your unexpected words, “What?”

“Before I—” you take a breath, tongue rolling along your lips to moisten the sudden dry skin, “—before I just materialised back onto the street… were you happy? With your life? With her?”

Without me?

Say no.

God, please say no.

You begin to wonder why you asked. Maybe you’re a glutton for punishment, maybe you think nothing could possibly hurt any more than it already does, but when his expression falters, when his mouth opens and nothing seems to make it past his lips, you know that’s not possible.

This… this seems to hit the hardest.

He was happy.

He was happy before you came back.

He was happy without you. 

And it’s… good.

It is.

Of course you don’t want him to be anything but that. He had found what he wanted from life—some normality, some peace, and it’s with that understanding that you realise you have no place here anymore. At least not with him. You have no part in his life now, and it shreds that last little untouched piece of your hopeful heart to absolute ruins.

Denial still pulls at your mind, still blatantly refuses to accept that five years had actually passed. You’d been nothing but a distant memory to him, to your friends, to the world, and yet, everything is still so vividly fresh for you. You only got out of bed, held him, kissed him, a few hours ago—a few fucking hours!

Five years.

“It’s okay,” you mutter, as his saddened eyes flutter in a panic, “I want that for you, Matt. I’ve always wanted that for you, even if that means I’m not—that we’re not—”

You ache at the thought of being apart from him, a feeling he had already experienced and endured. 

“Three years,” he says quietly, brokenly, a slow gathering of tears building along his lash line, “three years I searched, I waited, I prayed… if I had known—if I had known you… I wouldn’t have—”

—moved on. 

You envision Matt lost in the organised pews with dozens of other faceless mourners, on his knees and weeping into his closed hands, begging for the strength to finally let you go. He was granted it, after enduring agony for such a stretch of time, and now it’s all fallen to pieces at your return.

“It’s okay,” you repeat softly, the feeling of your heart beating in your throat choking the words, “it’s okay.”

“No,” he shakes his head, face creasing as the tears begin to make their way down his cheeks, “no, it’s not. I’ve only just gotten you back. You’re back, and now—now I—God. I can’t say goodbye. Not again. I can’t.”

“So don’t,” you say simply, a fresh build of your own tears streaking your cheeks, “we won’t say goodbye. Just… just forget. Forget I ever came back, Matt. Everything will be as it was.”

He recoils sharply, as if you physically struck him. “I can’t do that—”

“Yes, you can. You have to, we all have to.”

“No, I won’t—”

“You told me to tell you,” you croak weakly, the feel of his coarse stubble piercing the soft skin of your palm as you cradle his cheek, “you told me to tell you what to do, and that you’ll do it. Well, this is it, Matt. This is what I’m telling you to do—forget I ever came back. It’ll be easier for everyone. You can keep what you had—what you have, and I—”

And you?

What will you do?

Where will you go?

Your hand falls from his face, only for it to be snatched up and returned to its previous spot with his own pressed tightly against it to keep it there. His tears smear against your skin, the evidence of his heartbreak an obvious reminder that he never let go completely.

There’s something still held for you within him, it just wasn’t the same as when you left.

His forehead comes to rest against your own, and you weaken into the familiar comfort of his touch, just for a moment. You don’t want to let go, don’t even know if you can. There's nothing left to be said, nothing left to be worked out. This is just it.

Why does it have to be this way? Your stomach churns at the idea of walking out for good. How can you? Nothing has changed for you—everything you feel for him is right there, right there where it’s always been, and you can’t do anything with it.

You indulge in the moment a little longer, stretching out to softly press your lips to his with the bittersweet taste of a loving goodbye—one last time. You savour the feel of him, his lips, so warm, so soft and sweet and familiar—

—and then pull away, the air filling the space between you lingering with the memory of what could have been.

He lets your hand fall away this time, pained haunted eyes scrunching closed as you further the distance between you until you’re at the door to the apartment. The quiet exhale of a sob reaches your ears as you open the door, and you dare not look back at Matt falling apart as you close it softly behind you.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock imagine #daredevil fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

[tallulah477]

Won't Let Anyone Take You From Me

Kinktober Day 23: Biting

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, P in V, Biting with the intention of leaving marks or bruises, Angst, Possessive language/behavior, Desperate ‘you can’t die, I won’t allow it’ sex, Dom reader, Slightly submissive Neteyam, Neteyam gets shot but he’s okay, Mentions of blood, Mentions of reader going on a killing spree, Mentions of war, Mentions of death (not main characters - a person directly next to the reader gets killed), Creampie

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: Neteyam gets hurt during a raid and you’re having a hard time handling it. You remind him that he’s yours and that nothing, not even death, is allowed to take him from you. 

Neteyam won’t look at you. But you can’t take your eyes off him.

He wades through the water, just a little ways away from you, letting it ripple around him and lap at his skin. You watch as he cups some water in his hands and uses it to scrub at the blood and grime still on his upper body. You hear him grunt quietly in pain as the movement stretches the wound on his arm and your heart hurts to hear it, but you still don’t move.

He continues like this for a few more minutes, trying to clean himself of the battle’s reminders. Reminders of the things he’s had to do, the lives he’s had to take to protect his people, the people he’s lost - the memories and fears he keeps that find their way back to him at night as he sleeps.

You know him too well. You can practically hear his thoughts before he even thinks them. And he knows that, so he doesn’t have to say anything - and neither do you.

But your eyes don’t stray from him. They stay firmly on his back, watching as his muscles move underneath his skin. Watching as his tail hangs low underneath the water, and how his braids fall across his shoulders, still neat and held together just like you braided them this morning despite the rough action of battle. 

You know he can feel your eyes on him, and he gives up on pretending he doesn’t with a deep sigh.

“Just say what you have to say,” he demands, not even turning around.

The silence stretches on, the only sound coming from the small nearby waterfall as it trickles into the bathing spring. With a heavy breath, you move forward, wading through the water until you're right behind him. Your hand finds a place at the area between his neck and shoulder, gripping it carefully but firmly as you press along his back. Your other hand cups the water and uses it to wash away the dust and dried blood on his back. You try to be gentle, to be considerate at the fact that he’s hurt. That he’s your mate and it’s not his fault. But the anger and frustration that flow through you is hard to ignore, and you find yourself having to stop and calm yourself down multiple times when your cleaning and rinsing turns into scrubbing, as if you could scrub away the harsh reality of your lives from his very skin.

“Y/n,” he tries again, but you cut him off.

“Don’t speak,” You say through gritted teeth. Despite him not looking at you, you know he can hear the way your voice trembles. “Please, Neteyam. Just...just don’t say anything,”

The raids are getting harder and harder to come out of with no casualties. 

The RDA is, unfortunately, a formidable enemy and they learn quickly from their mistakes, taking their losses in stride and coming back each time, worse and more of a pain to take out. Like cockroaches, Jake says - whatever that means. 

The Omatikaya take losses now, more and more each battle, and there’s barely time to mourn for the dead before the War Party needs to be sent out again in hopes of preventing the Sky Demons from getting more of their supplies and getting stronger. 

Just this morning, another train was sent to Bridgehead, filled with enough ammunition and explosives to destroy half of Pandora. The War Party was ready, descending on the train with military precision. Jake Sully is nothing if not a Great War leader and battle strategist. 

But the Sky Demons were also ready, metal ikrans guarding the train as it flew through the jungle, and they were quick to attack at the first sight of an Omatikayan warrior dressed in war paint. 

Your ikran’s large heart pounded in time with yours as you soared over the battle ground. Her wings hugged close to her body as you dove down, one of the enemy's metal machines in your sights as you notched and pulled an arrow tight. It cut through the air with precision, bursting through the protective glass shield and hitting the human directly in the chest before he could even register you coming at him. The human’s body slumped in his seat, the machine dropping towards the ground without the Sky Demon to fly it, and smashed against the forest floor in an explosion of fire and debris. 

You drop more humans than you can count. Each raid only increases the number of lives you’ve taken although you’ll never know for sure what that number is anymore. 

But it seems like for every one that you kill, one of your own is plummeting to their death, bodies littered with demon made bullets that shouldn’t even exist on your planet. 

The warrior flying next to you was another victim. The bullets fly at top speed, multiple rounds tearing into both him and his ikran in seconds, and they were both gone and with Eywa before they even start to fall. You were quick to avenge them with a sharp war cry and a well aimed arrow. 

And then, as if that wasn’t scarring enough to witness, you saw it happen with your own eyes. Neteyam, your Neteyam, getting hit with a bullet and you swear, in that moment, you watched it go directly through his chest.

The sob that rips out of your throat is so uncharacteristic for you that Neteyam freezes. You feel him tense under your hold and you know he doesn’t know what to do when you press your face against his back and completely break down. 

In all the years you’ve known each other, you’ve always been his rock. When he was struggling with trying to corral his siblings and taking the blame for their mess ups, you were there to be his ear for his rants. When he felt undeserving of the future Olo’eyktan title, feeling like he would only disappoint his father and the rest of the clan, you were there to knock some sense into him. When he finally confessed his feelings for you, voice shaking and nervous to tell you he wanted to be more than friends but determined to do it anyway, he told you the only thing that gave him the confidence to say the words was you - that you were his safe place and that he would be honored to live out the rest of his life with you by his side.

You weren’t the type to let your emotions take a hold of you. You felt them and processed them but it was always with the knowledge that you knew yourself and would always do what was best for you. You always had a plan, always thought logically. You were a fixer. 

But you don’t know how to fix this. 

Neteyam turns around and cups your cheek with his good hand, mindful to not move his injured arm too much. 

“I’m okay,” he says, catching your eyes and gently brushing away your tears with his thumb. “Do you hear me, y/n? I’m okay,”

He’s staring at you with those gorgeous eyes, eyes that you might have never been able to see again had the bullet actually hit him in the chest instead of his bicep. Just a few more inches to the left and it would have been game over for him, and you both know it. 

You reach up and cradle his face with both of your hands, leaning your forehead against his, needing to be closer, needing to breathe his air. Anything to help remind yourself that he’s still here.

“I’m alive,” he whispers. He knows how badly you need to hear him say it. “I’m here. Here with you. Always.”

“You better be,” You whisper back, and press your lips to his. 

Your lips move together carefully at first, just a slow glide against each other as you both try to calm the nervous energy still running through your veins. He’s here, you try to remind yourself. Here, alive, and with you right now. His mouth against your own is real, the taste of him on your tongue as you run it along his bottom lip isn’t something your brain can replicate this perfect. The feeling of his hand clutching the back of your neck and keeping you close to him is supposed to be grounding - but it’s not. It's not close enough. And it only serves to make you more desperate. 

You press your mouth harder against his, hands leaving his cheeks so your arms can wind around his neck, holding him against you. He grunts appreciatively, hands gripping at your waist and sliding down to cup the curves of your ass. You press your body against his tightly, one of your legs lifting up to curl around his calf. Heat courses through your body the more he touches you, his hardening cock pressing between both of your bodies and you need him inside of you, need him so bad, need to be as close to him as you can possibly be. 

He seems to agree, kissing you passionately as he palms at your ass and thighs. He adjusts his grip on you, panting into your mouth as his hands splay on the backs of your thighs. He tries to lift you up and your legs just barely make it around his waist before he’s dropping you back down with a pained grunt. 

The sound cuts through your desirous haze and you immediately back up to inspect the damage. The thick bandage wrapped around his arm is still white, no signs of blood seeping through which means he didn’t rip open his stitches.

“I’m fine--”

“Damn it, Teyam!” You hiss angrily, smacking his good shoulder. “Why did you have to go and get hurt?”

He knows you're not saying that just for his wound unintentionally cockblocking you. He’s your mate, your person - neither of you ever want to see the other hurt. He knows how stressed you are, how terrified you were today for him. Which is probably why he chooses that moment to make the world's most unhelpful joke.

“I mean, the most important part of me isn’t hurt?”

You scoff and cross your arms across your chest, looking away from him. Then you immediately look back.

...Okay, maybe it helped a little.

“Get on the bank, Neteyam,”

Neteyam grins at you, goofy and smug, like he knows he’s getting something that he shouldn’t. “Yes, ma’am,”

He steps out onto the shore and settles down there, body mostly out of the water with only the gentle ripples lapping at his legs. He lounges there like a cat, stretched out along the bank, good arm raised above his head showing off his toned and muscled body as if he were trying to tempt you into touching him. 

He doesn’t have to work very hard to do it, and you’re on him in a second, straddling his waist and kissing him until you're both breathless. His cock slides between your wet folds and you rock against it, letting the thick mushroom tip of it rub against your clit with each pass. His hands reach up to grip your hips, helping guide your movements. Hands, as in both of them, and you growl against his lips, grabbing the wrist of his injured arm and pressing it into the ground next to you.

“Your arm doesn’t move,” You demand. “Got it?”

Neteyam whines, pupils wide with desire. “Yes. I got it. Y/n, please,”

His cock throbs against you as you lift yourself up, angling your hips so the head nudges against your entrance before lowering yourself onto him roughly. You intended to go slow, but you can’t. Your body and mind are screaming at you to take him, claim him as hard and fast as you can because it’s by the sheer grace of Eywa that he’s even still here right now. The stretch is glorious, the dull pain a perfect reminder that it's him stretching you open. No one else could ever fill you up as good as he can. 

He curses as your tight heat envelopes his length, good hand clenching tightly at your hip to keep himself from moving. You’re both too worked up, minds too filled up with intense want and the horrible feeling of desperation. You both aren’t going to last very long.

So you ride him, hard. 

Your hand grips under his jaw, tilting his head up and nibbling on his neck as he groans underneath you. Your hips set a rough pace, bouncing in his lap relentlessly and feeling as he tries to match you, hips snapping into you with reckless abandon. 

Your lips find the space between his neck and shoulder. You tongue the spot, loving the way his taste explodes on your tastebuds, before biting down, canines bearing down on the skin and leaving twin drops of blood in their wake. If you were going to have to see blood on him, you were going to be the one who put it there.

“F-fuck! Y/n,” he whimpers, but his head falls back to give you more space.

When you're satisfied with your mark, your lips trail over his collarbone and down his chest before your teeth bite down again onto the skin just next to his nipple. 

He groans, arching into your teeth, and this time when you let go, leaving behind a bright purple mark, his eyes are dazed and just a bit teary. 

And the look makes you so desperate.

“You’re fucking mine,” You growl, lips brushing against his. “All mine. No one else gets to lay a hand on you, sexual or not. Got it?” Your fingers gently graze the bandage covering his bullet wound. “No one else gets to leave marks on you but me.”

Your words send a flash of heat through both of you, making your movements even more frantic. The possessiveness is hot, it always has been - you both have always made it clear that you belong to each other and no one else. But this time it’s also so so so real. 

Your desperation at almost seeing him die today is real. 

Your horrified screech at seeing him get hit and then his ikran taking a nosedive immediately after was real. 

Your loud war cry and the renewed need to kill, maime, absolutely fucking obliterate every single enemy from the RDA who set foot on your planet after you watched him get control and level out his flight was real. 

And he’s real. Still right here in front of you, panting and moaning and groaning out your name as you clench around his cock. He’s alive. 

“You’re mine. You’re fucking mine,” You say again, just to make sure he completely understands. “You’re not allowed to die. Ever. You hear me?” 

“Yes,” he grunts, eyes wild. His injured arm shifts as he tries to grip your waist, but you grab it again, holding it against the ground. 

“Yes, what, Neteyam?” 

“Yes, I fucking hear you!” He says through gritted teeth.

Your head drops again, teeth scraping along his chest and down his ribs, biting mark after possessive mark all over his body. Neteyam leans into the pain, pleasure coursing through him at the thought of your marks and how they’re going to adorn his body for weeks. How they’re going to hurt so good when his cummerbund presses into the bruises, reminding him of you and your love for him. He’ll display your work for all to see and wear your marks proudly.

His good arm reaches out, fingers carding through your wet hair before grabbing a fist full of your braids and pulling you off of your most recent mark on his sternum. His hips continue to snap up into you and your clit drags along his pubic bone with each thrust. Your stomach tightens as he pulls you close, the coil in your belly threatening to snap as he rubs his cheek against yours, spreading his scent on you and marking you as his. 

“I fucking love you,” he moans, lips brushing the curve of your ear. “Love you so much.”

The words are what do it for you, and you cum around Neteyam’s cock, hole clenching and spasming around his thick length as you cry out into his neck. You can feel him pulse inside of you a moment before you feel him cum too, burying his face in your hair as he shoots his release inside of you, coating your walls in white. 

You collapse against each other, both physically and emotionally exhausted. He’s still inside you as you lay there, cuddling up against each other and trying to catch your breath. 

“I love you,” You whisper, nudging your nose gently against his.

Your hand spreads out over his heart, the stabilizing heartbeat grounding you and finally allowing you to feel some peace.

The silence stretches on until you’ve both caught your breath and you’re trying to think of something to say, anything that will make things feel like they can go back to before Neteyam got hurt. Neteyam beats you to it. 

“Same goes for you, too, you know,” He says, voice low. “You can’t die either. I can’t live without you. There’d be no point to a life without you in it.” 

You want to tell him not to talk like that. That should anything ever happen to you, he should go on and live a happy life surrounded by the people that care about him. But you can’t, it wouldn’t be fair. Not when you’re in the same exact position as him.

Because what’s the point of doing anything anymore if you can’t come home to Neteyam’s stupid adorable grin every evening. 

You look up at him, amber eyes meeting in the slowly darkening Pandora forest.

“Then we’re both just gonna have to not die then,”

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee

#lunaskinktober2023 #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x female reader #taliewrites

[yutaleks]

alpha!maki x omega!reader, arranged marriage

“I think she hates me, Mai.”

Mai’s sitting across from you, painting your nails a pretty lilac color. She’s got a steady hand, but maybe you shouldn’t be surprised that someone with weapons expertise would have such a solid, precise touch.

“You know as well as I do that my sister would’ve gave the family hell if she didn’t want this,” she smiles, her citrine eyes sparkling. She’s got the same type of mystery about her gaze that Maki does—it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking, especially when she flutters her lashes and turns away from you as quickly as she had looked up at you in the first place. Maybe it’s because you feel so out of place in the Zenin estate, but it feels like you can’t really tell if anyone is truly being honest around here.

“She’s so quiet around me, I don’t know what she’s thinking,” you mourn as Mai finishes painting the lacquer on your pinky finger. She traces the edge of your nail with her thumb, wiping off the excess.

“The fact that she’s quiet is a good thing,” she chuckles. “If she hated you, you’d know it right away. I’d say she’s rather smitten, I’ve never seen my sister look at anyone the way she looked at you after the tea ceremony. Like she wanted to jump your bones.”

Mai’s amusement seems to grow when you look down, flustered. “It seems I don’t know anything about my wife…”

“You’ll learn.” Mai takes your other hand into her hands, and after dipping the paintbrush into the bottle, begins to paint the nails on your other hand. “Maki is someone who requires some patience… I would know, it took so long for her to even get along with me.”

Your brows rise up in surprise. In your handful of visits to the Zenin estate, the sisters seemed glued at the hip. “Really?”

“I love my sister,” Mai says, without looking away from your fingertips. “But she can be so stubborn. She tells me she likes you. She’ll tell it directly to you in time.”

“She does?”

Mai finished off your pinky nail in the same way she had on your previous hand. You hold out both your hands in front of you, and Mai admires her handiwork with a grin.

“She says she likes your hands. How soft they are—you’ve had an easy life, being a prized omega.” You can’t deny that; unlike Maki and Mai, alphas trained in weaponry as part of growing up in their clan, you’ve simply been raised to look pretty and get married off.

Mai lifts your chin up with an index finger, staring into your eyes. She’s done your makeup, just a light dusting of powder, lining around your eyes, and mascara to bring out your natural color. “And how wide your eyes are, how sweet your face is. It was like pulling teeth but, she said you’re cute.”

You smile. Something flutters in your tummy. “Did she?”

“Don’t tell her I told you,” Mai snickers, before patting down some flyaways from the hairstyle she had done for you earlier. “I mean, she said it years ago, when you came around for the first time. Got a good few days of teasing her out of it. But I’m sure she still thinks the same way.”

Has Maki liked you during this entire arrangement? She’d incredibly good at hiding it, you think, never having been able to decipher her impassive face, and discouraged by her lack of physical affection. Whats with that, then?

“Then why doesn’t she ever give me a sign? I never got that impression from her…”

“Maki is very���” she seems to search for the right word, before adding, “possessive about what’s hers,” Mai says, leaning closer to you. “Maybe she was afraid of scaring you off?”

Possessive? You blink inquisitively. “Scaring me off?”

“Have you ever seen an alpha around their mate, when they’re freshly bonded? Or maybe even in a rut?”

You shake your head; of course you’ve been kept away from such things, being without a mate and all.

“Well. Tonight’s your first night together,” Mai smiles, patting at your cheek. “I think you’ll come to find out what Maki’s true feelings are soon.”

Your stomach flips on itself with anticipation at the thought of what’s to come.

#writing tag #alpha!maki #I’ll come back to this maybe #thinking about her bottling up her feelings and going absolutely crazy on you when you let her bite you and bond with you #then there’s no going back she is sooooo feral alpha once you’re *hers* #alsjskdjsjd #cw.omegaverse #maki zenin x reader

[flowerxbunnie]

Star Crossed

Chris x Fem reader

Warnings: angst, cheating/breakup, underage drinking, scene involving cigarettes

“Fuck you Garrett, like actually.” I spat, gripping at the handle of his jeep and threatening to leave.

“What is your problem? You never told me that it wasn’t okay. She’s literally Tristan’s cousin. And your best friend is a guy, I thought you would be okay with this.” he argued, his face plastered with confusion but his voice filled with anger.

“Don’t try to make me feel crazy,” I warned, turning back to face him and pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m okay with you having friends of the opposite gender. But I don’t care if it’s the Queen of England, since when is it okay to text other girls private details about our relationship?”

“I only do it when we’re in arguments and I need someone to vent to. She told me I could come to her when I was upset. It’s not like it’s an everyday thing.” He throws his hands up in frustration.

“Okay,” I let an angry chuckle out. “I’m gonna call up one of my girls’ cousins and tell him about this right quick then. See if he maybe has some advice for me.”

“That’s not the fucking same and you know it. He’d try to fuck you or god knows what else.” He scowled.

I stare into his eyes, blinking slowly, hoping the hypocrisy behind his words catches up to him. But it doesn’t.

“I just don’t get why you treat me like I’m some horrible boyfriend,” he starts, “I meet my best friend’s cousin at a bonfire, get her number and text her casually and you fly off the handle.”

“You text her about OUR RELATIONSHIP. When we’re at our worst. Why do you need advice from a random fucking girl who you barely know?” I snapped, my cheeks burning and my hands shaking. Tears threaten to spill over, something I hate about myself when I get angry. “Let’s not forget that you went through and liked every single one of her instagram pictures. Every single one. Was that a piece of the advice she gave you? To make your girlfriend look like a fucking idiot?” I fumed, his hands moving to grip the steering wheel with white knuckles. “And how do I know that’s all you talk about, hm? All the texts are deleted.”

His face remains blank as he grabs the gear-shifter and throws the jeep into reverse. His eyes flick up to the rear view and he backs out of our spot in the random shopping outlet’s parking lot, roughly shifting into drive a he pulls out and into the road.

“What the fuck are you doing, Garrett?” I grumble, watching the streetlights lining the road zoom past my window as he speeds down the highway.

“I’m taking you home. I’m not gonna stay with a crazy bitch who thinks she can micromanage my every move.” He spoke, his tone calm and his expression unwavering.

I take a deep breath. I’m done with the arguing.

“Okay.”

I close out of her instagram account, still trying to convince myself that my eyes are playing tricks on me as Garrett’s name is plastered under her newest scandalous photos. I toss my phone into the space between my bed and the wall, knowing it’s unhealthy to stalk her and mourn my relationship everyday. It’s been a week.

Somehow I’ve managed to drag myself to class everyday. The lessons don’t click in my brain this week, my notebook is empty and my pen is dry. I’m not even sure I have a voice anymore. I haven’t spoken to anyone unless I had to. None of my friends know what happened, I’m too embarrassed to come across as the crazy ex-girlfriend who got her heart broken because she can’t mind her own business.

Aside from class I’ve been lying down rotting for the past seven days, going back and forth on if I’m in the wrong or if I’m valid in my feelings. Garrett was right, my best friend is a guy, but I’ve known him since middle school. We know everything about each other, he’s like family. Garrett threw everything away for a girl he had just met, deleting text messages and completely failing to ever mention her name in conversation.

My body feels like it’s physically reacting, my muscles aching and my head throbbing. My mind races with questions.

How can someone who I poured so much of my love into take it and wring it down the drain?

How can I even feel angry? He just wanted a new friend.

Why did he like all of her pictures, even the first embarrassing one she ever posted in 2013?

Why are you so controlling?

Why didn’t he tell me?

Why do you care so much? It’s just Tristan’s cousin.

Is it bad for my boyfriend to like pictures of a girl in a hot tub?

I hear my phone vibrating, but I can’t even find the energy to move the comforter off of my body. I put a pillow over my ears and try to wish it away. I’m tired of the questions. I don’t want to explain why I’ve seemed down.

It keeps going off, vibrating against the wall over and over relentlessly. Huffing, I shove my hand down into the gap and dig for it, pulling it up and squinting as the screen beams light into my eyes.

“Party tonight at the same house as last week. Y/n please get off your lazy ass and come!!!”

“yeah y/n i need to see ur pretty face!”

“If Garrett gets mad tell him he can come too”

“its senior year pleaseee we don’t have many parties left :(“

My group chat is flooded with messages from my girl friends. I can’t even reply right now. Maybe getting out would be good for me, but I really want to sit in my two day old clothes and stuff my face with Oreos tonight. How dumb am I gonna look dancing alone?

My mind races for the next hour, contemplating whether going out will make me feel better or become a huge regret. Garrett and I never officially broke things off, we just haven’t talked in a week. What if he’s pining over it like I am? I can’t exactly just dance my feelings away with some random guy when I don’t even know the status of my relationship.

After a phone call from Sophie and a lot of convincing, I decide it would be best for me to get out tonight. I need the interaction, and maybe a couple drinks if someone was able to bum them from their college friends. I need to hear music, I need to speak with other humans. But I can’t go alone.

My phone hovers over Chris’s name, worried I might wake him up since it’s already late. I click it anyway, the dial tone only going off twice before I hear his voice on the other side.

“Y/n/n, what’s up!” he chirps.

I smile to myself, my best friend always cheering me up whether he knows it or not. “You know, the usual. Coming up with a blue print for a new and improved Golden Gate Bridge. You?”

“Fuck off,” he stifles his laughter. “I’m watching some show Nick and Matt told me about. For real though, what’s up?”

“Sophie is begging me to go to a party tonight. You down to be my plus one?” I question as I shuffle through my closet.

“Garrett didn’t wanna go?” he asks puzzled.

I take a moment and debate whether or not I want to tell him. I really don’t want to bring down the mood of the night. I’m supposed to be having fun.

“Nah, not tonight. He’s on some boys trip upstate.” I lie through my teeth.

“Sounds lame. I’ll be there, what time?” He asks and I hear rustling, presumably him getting up off the couch or his bed.

“Uhhhh like two hours….” I trail off, nervous it might be too short of notice.

“Alright, I’ll meet you at your house and we can walk together.”

“Perfect! Thank you Chrissy.” I feel tears well up in my eyes, actual happiness igniting, even if only a small spark, for the first time in a week.

“Don’t thank me, weirdo.” He laughs. “See ya dude.” The line goes silent.

I spend the next couple hours taking everything slow. I eat a meal, my first fulfilling one since that night. I wash my face, do my hair, throw on makeup to look and feel more alive. I decide on a maroon slip dress, silky and comfortable. As I’m saying my goodbyes to my parents and about to walk out the door, my phone vibrates in my hand.

“What color are you wearing?”

“Maroon!”

I smile as I text him back, knowing he’s gonna wear something to coordinate our looks. As cringe as it may be, that’s just Chris.

We meet exactly where we planned, the chill in the air causing us to walk shoulder to shoulder for any sort of warmth. We don’t talk much, but the silence is comfortable. We never felt the need to force something out of nothing. Nothing is everything with him.

We walk in and we’re immediately greeted by Sophie and a bunch of other people she’s been hanging around.

“Y/n!” She pulls me into a hug. “Where’s Garrett? Hey Chris!” She waves in his direction.

“Boys trip.” I shrug, going into as little detail as possible.

“Oh, well I’m SO glad you came. You haven’t been yourself the last few days.” She says while giving me a look of genuine concern.

“Class has been super stressful,” I lie. “But I’m so glad I came too!”

Chris smiles as he listens in on our conversation, waving at various people who greet him in passing.

He looks so handsome. He’s wearing a maroon sweater with a button up peeking out from underneath and some jeans that fall perfectly over his long legs. I’ve always been so jealous of his ability to throw anything together and make it an outfit, a good one at that.

“Chrissy I love your outfit,” I whisper in his ear, the music too loud to try to talk from a distance.

“Had to layer, it’s too cold for a ratty tshirt,” he jokes. “But I could say the same to you. You look gorgeous.” He smiles and bumps his shoulder against mine.

The night goes on and we drink, dance, take goofy photos in front of a prop wall, and talk to so many fucking people. I’ve went over my social meter for the night, but Chris looks like he’s having so much fun and I would never say anything to ruin that. He makes his way back over to me after a round of beer pong that he absolutely crushed everyone else at.

“I wanna get one more picture in front of the prop wall and then I think I’m gonna call it a night. Gonna walk to McDonalds if you wanna comeee..” he sing songs, giving me a pleading look.

“Thank fuck,” I laugh, relief washing over me. “I was done an hour ago. Just didn’t wanna take the experience away from you.”

“That’s crazy because I was also done an hour ago, but I thought you were having a good time.” He laughs, his nose scrunching up.

We walk over to the prop wall and find someone to snap a photo for us. I grab a pair of red heart glasses, he grabs a bow tie on a stick and holds it up to his neck.

“3.. 2.. 1… and cheese!” The girl slurs before the flash blinds us.

She tosses me my phone and we thank her before slipping out the door, thankfully going unnoticed by Sophie. We giggle and walk alongside each other on the sidewalk, the smell of dewy late night air flooding my nose. The streetlights carve out Chris’s cheekbones as he looks down at me, rambling about nothing and everything all at once. I listen intently, glad to have my mind on anything other than what it’s been rampant with recently.

“It’s fucking cold,” I complain as I cross my arms across my chest and rub some friction onto them.

“Here.” Chris quickly stops in his tracks and pulls his sweater off, his button up left behind. He tosses it my way and gives me a small smile.

It smells like him as I slip it over my head and bring the sleeves over my hands.

“Thank you.”

We make it to McDonald’s relatively quickly. Chris holds the door open for me and we order our food and find a booth to wait in. My feet ache and my hair just feels tangled.

“What a fucking night. I can’t wait to crash after this,” I sigh and lay my head on the table.

His hand comes down to rub my hair, a sweet gesture he loves to do. His love language has always been physical touch.

“Aww, I was hoping you’d hang out with me a little longer. I’ve got ideas!” He whines.

I look up at him with a raised eyebrow. You never know what this kid is going to come up with in the spur of the moment.

“Just wanted to walk around that nature park down the road. Seems spooooky at night.” He laughs and turns his head, standing up as the cashier calls out our number.

We laugh and eat, my mind completely free of any thoughts besides how much fun I’m having with Chris. Ever since we met in 6th grade art class he’s known how to keep a smile on my face. He’s the kind of person you can’t help but be drawn to. His laugh alone is infectious, filling up any room he’s in. He’s such an attentive friend, which is why I’m not surprised when his mood shifts and he starts to question me.

“So what’s been going on, Y/n/n?” He looks down at his fries and scoots them around.

Do we really need to do this right now? I’m prepared to sink back into my sadness once I’m alone. I don’t plan on telling anyone until I’m sure of where we stand myself.

“Uh, nothing really,” I mumble, taking a sip of my blue Powerade. “Just stressed from assignments and stuff I guess.”

“Not gonna fool me, kid. What’s up?” He looks me in the eye this time.

His blue eyes hold so much genuine concern. They flicker back and forth between my own and he blinks slowly awaiting my response.

“It’s Garrett.” I admit.

“What about him this time?” He huffs as his eyes harden, sitting back against his side of the booth with his arms across his chest.

“He… I don’t know. He crossed a boundary and I wasn’t comfortable with it,” I start, breaking eye contact and pushing my hair behind my ear. “And then he acted like I was out of line. He dropped me off at my house and I haven’t heard from him since.”

His gaze softens and he puts his elbows on the table, scooting closer to me with a knowing look. “I figured it had something to do with that. You know I can read you like a book. So is it over, or…?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say, and I haven’t even tried to reach out.” I close my box of chicken nuggets as my appetite fizzles away.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. He fucking sucks.” He leaves it at that and gathers all our trash. “Let’s go.”

We walk to a nearby gas station in silence, the mood heavier this time. I wander around the snack aisle as he makes his purchase. I hear the bell on the door ring and look over as he holds it open and nods his head at me. The black bag swings lazily at his side as we walk to the park.

“What did you get?” I ask as we settle on a bench under a lamp post.

“Cigarettes. Oh and a lighter.” He says casually as he pulls them out of the bag.

“What the fuck,” I laugh, my eyes widening as I realize he’s serious. “Why?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, just figured we could try something new. You’re stressed and shit so I kinda just thought it would be nice, I don’t know.” He flicks his thumb across the lighter and the yellow flame illuminates his face before he blows it out.

“I mean.. I guess. I’m probably gonna cough super bad.” I laugh and straighten my legs in front of me, crossing my ankles.

“Eh, fuck it. I probably will too.” He laughs and rips the pack open.

He brings a cigarette between his lips and holds it there, cupping a hand around it to block the wind. His other hand comes up with the lighter and sparks it a couple times before he gets it to light. He holds the flame against the end and draws in a breath, the tip glowing red as it catches fire. He immediately pulls it away from his mouth and coughs loudly, standing up and holding his chest.

“What… the FUCK.” He says between heaving coughs, small puffs of smoke escaping his mouth each time.

I can’t help but laugh, throwing my hands over my mouth and taking in the sight in front of me. He shakes his head back and forth with his eyes closed, his brown waves flopping around. He extends his arm to me and squats down trying to take control over his breath again.

“Good fuckin’ luck.” He coughs out.

I lean forward and grab it between my fingers, his warm ones brushing mine in the process. He looks up and smiles before shaking his head in disgust again.

“So fucking dizzy.” He says as he sits down fully on the asphalt.

“Baby’s first nicotine buzz!” I joke, stopping my laughter quickly as he squints his eyes at me.

I bring the cigarette between my lips and drag on it, my lungs immediately filling with thick, rancid smelling smoke. I cough one big time and try to hold it in, puffing my cheeks out and attempting to hold my breath. My chest starts burning and my eyes are watering, and my body instinctively coughs over and over to try to clear my airway. I see Chris laughing through my blurry vision, smacking his knees and stomping a foot on the ground.

“Oh… my.. god.” I choke out, my head spinning and my fingers erupting with a static feeling.

“Yeah, shit’s no joke. How do people enjoy this?” He stands up and drags himself back over to the bench, reclaiming his spot beside me and grabbing the cigarette from me.

I cough on and off, still trying to rid my lungs of the contaminants. I throw my head back and my hair dangles off the backrest of the bench. Chris’s hand finds its way to me and strokes my hair softly and slowly. I bring my head back up and look at him, shaking my head with disappointment.

“Can’t believe you would do that to me.” I tease through a stifled smile.

“Just wanted to see what it was like..” he giggles and brings it back to his lips, the end glowing again as he takes a smaller puff.

He coughs once or twice as the smoke billows out of his mouth and dissipates into the foggy air around us. He looks at me with wide eyes. “Hey, that one wasn’t so bad!” He holds it back out to me, gesturing me to try again.

“Uhh.. I think I’m good. My lungs feel like they’re collapsing.” I push his hand back.

“You should try one more time..” he looks away in thought before snapping his head back. “What if we shotgun? I’ll take the brunt of the smoke and you can have whatever’s leftover. It’ll be less harsh that way.”

I’m sorry, but shotgunning a cigarette? First of all, that’s nasty. Does not sound appealing in the slightest. Secondly, I can’t fathom bringing my lips that close to Chris.

“Uhhh..” I trail off and shake my head slightly.

“Come onnnn Y/n/n!” He pouts, scooting closer to me on the bench. “I’m not gonna peer pressure you into it if you really don’t want to..” he says seriously.

“Fine. ONE more time.” I say and narrow my eyes at him.

He nods furiously and scoots even closer, our thighs touching and his cologne strong in the breeze. I can see every detail of his face under the light of the lamp post. His bushy but clean brows, his smile lines, his pink lips wet from obsessively licking them. His hair falls over his eyes as he brings the cigarette back into his mouth and takes a big drag. His eyes widen and he grabs my face in a rush, his warm hand against my cold cheek.

He pulls me close and our noses brush against each other. Time feels like it slows down to a crawl. I open my mouth and he does the same, our lips micrometers apart. His hot breath mixed with the smoke fan over my face as his eyes close, his long eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. I can feel heat in my cheeks that I’ve never felt around him.

He exhales as I inhale, the smoke that was once in his lungs filling my own. I take all that I can and he stays for what feels like a moment too long, his icy blue eyes opening to lock onto mine. I feel a weird pit in my stomach and the blood stills in my veins. Why am I feeling like this?

He pulls back and scans over my face, watching as I exhale and a comically small puff of smoke blows out.

“Well, that was lame.” He laughs and brushes his hair back.

“Yeah, little bit.” I agree flatly.

We sit in silence and finish the cigarette together, our lungs adjusting and my mind racing. I try to take my mind off the feeling of his thigh still brushing against mine, but the nicotine doesn’t have any effect at all. I thought these things are supposed to relieve stress.

Once we’ve burnt it to the end, he rubs the bud against the asphalt and flicks it away. It rolls until it hits the curb and we both sigh at the same time. We look at eachother and laugh at our ‘jinx’ moment, not knowing just how different we were feeling internally but thankful that we feel no pressure to be perfect when we were together.

“I’m so thankful to have a friend like you, Chrissy.” I smile and blow some warm air into my frozen hands.

He smiles lazily at me for a second, an almost sad look flashing across his eyes as his hand comes to lay on top of mine and stroke the back of it with his thumb. “Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

•••

The morning sun comes out from hiding, her rays illuminating his brown hair on his pillow beside me. I watch his chest rising and falling steadily, a calming rhythm that could lull me back to sleep any day. Nothing makes me happier than waking up and feeling warmth on his side of the bed. I feel whole in his presence.

I look around at our bedroom and realize just how far we’ve come. We’ve both left the comfort of our parents homes and have made these four walls our own. Piece by piece we made a sanctuary like a bird collecting sticks and paper straw wrappers for its nest. I could go anywhere with him and build a nest. He makes everything okay.

I take my phone off the charger and scroll around aimlessly, hoping not to disturb his sleep, his pink lips hanging open and his eyes moving under his lids. I go through instagram and flip through recipes, gym videos, and dog compilations before I’m bored and close it out. I try Facebook and my distant older relatives have flooded my timeline with political garbage, so I close it out too. I open Snapchat and see a memory, smiling as I start to click through the photos and videos taken on this day from the previous years.

The first video plays, a snippet from last year of us in his car, lip syncing to one of our favorite songs. The next one is from the same night, a photo of him with his arm around me in front of the door to our then-new apartment. His eyes shimmered with happiness, mine mirroring his own with a huge smile plastered on my face.

I click again and watch as our past plays out on the screen in front of me. I can’t help but feel so thankful for the way everything worked out. So much would be different if the world hadn’t knitted us in the exact pattern it planned, one frayed thread and I wouldn’t be sitting in this room with the love of my life.

Click

My smile fades as I scan over the photo. I reminisce on the night, remembering everything as if it were a movie playing in my brain. They used to be some of the best times of my life. He made me so happy.

It’s strange how well you can know the inner workings of someone, sometimes more than your own. You know the temperature they like to drink their water, their favorite salad dressing, the commercials that make them cry. And you sit together and watch the commercials from time to time, because you know the end makes them smile again.

It’s strange how quickly it can all fizzle out, both of you existing in the world without a clue of who the person could be today. Here one minute and gone the next. I know he’s out there. He knows I’m out here. But who is he?

How different would my life had been if I did end up with him? Would I have had the same opportunities, the same zeal for life, would I be happier? Would it be my single biggest regret?

I wonder if he thinks about me and everything we went through together. I wonder if he remembers the angsty songs we played in his car late at night, or the scent of the air freshener I always bought for him when he ran out. Does he wonder what his life would be like with me, or has he moved on and found his own paper straw wrappers?

I know he was in love with me. I knew I loved him. But sometimes things are star-crossed and confusing and they hurt and there’s nothing we can do about it. Sometimes the right people come into your life at the wrong time. Do we pine about it forever, or do we let the world continue knitting while hoping the strings don’t fray?

I look over the photo once more, our shadows on the ground innocent and unaware of the future.

I look over and the boy beside me stretches his arms above him and takes in a deep breath before turning over to me, his brown waves a mess. He smiles from ear to ear and I can’t help but return it.

“Morning, baby.”

“Good morning, Garrett.”

a/n: i sobbed many times writing this im sorry if you like happy endings

taglist: @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @lxvlysworld @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo edit #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader

[tsunami-of-tears]

Iris

Azriel x Rhys’s Sister Reader

Summary: Reader has been struggling with her inner demons ever since her brother went Under The Mountain.

A/N: This is really dark. Please, please read the warnings before clicking read more.

To preface: I’m okay, just tired and was pre-menstrual when I started this. I haven’t been in this dark of a place in a very long time, but I wanted to write this for 15-year-old Shelby who thought no one saw her. I haven’t talked about my history of self-harm much and it’s hard to reopen those wounds, but it’s therapeutic. 

If anyone is struggling, my inbox is always open. I’ve also included a few resources at the end of this fic.

Wordcount: 1.2K

Warnings: ANGST!!; major depression; disordered eating (binging); graphic self-harm; Rhys UTM

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧

Reader

Things were bad. 

Really bad.

You had completely withdrawn from your family in the months since Rhys had gone Under The Mountain. 

Rhys - your idiot older brother - had sacrificed himself to protect you and your people; leaving you in charge of his court. 

Ruling had always come easy to him, he was born to do it whereas you struggled to switch between the required masks.

These days, the only mask you wore was one of cold indifference. 

As the shield fell into place around Velaris, trapping you inside, a wall of adamant rose around you, keeping everyone around from seeing the war raging inside your mind. 

Most of your time was spent in your bedroom with the curtains drawn, unable to look at the sleeping city below your window. 

Velaris, the city of Starlight, had lost its sparkle. 

The first week after Rhys left, not a single light could be seen. The once lustrous city had gone into mourning. The Sidra, usually glimmering like liquid night, now reflected only the deepest black. 

You only dared to leave your room during the night when you were less likely to be spotted, not wanting anyone to see the ghost you’d become.

You float down the stone hallway, robes billowing as you walk to the kitchen. 

You’d taken to eating late at night. Food, usually sweets, was the only comfort you could find.

You’re rummaging in the larder when you feel a familiar sensation around your bare ankles, the cold shadow wisping over your skin.

“Y/N,” you hear a deep voice say behind you. 

You turn, blocks of chocolate in hand, to face the one person you love more than your brother. 

“Azriel,” you reply, taking in his appearance. 

He looked terrible.

His hair was dishevelled, his jet-black curls in dire need of a comb, and his once warm hazel eyes were dull and bloodshot. Beneath them were deep violet bruises, clearly he wasn’t sleeping much. 

You can feel his gaze on you, and wonder what he thought of the shadow of life you’d become. 

You watch his nostrils flare. “Y/N, are you hurt? I can smell blood.”

You feign a laugh, “I’m on my cycle.” You hold up the chocolate as evidence. “Cravings.” 

Azriel narrows his eyes but doesn’t push you. “I… We miss you,” he says.

You turn away from him, unable to voice how broken you feel. 

“Please, I can’t lose you too,” he pleads. 

“Goodnight Azriel,” you whisper, slipping out the door into the dark hallway. 

Neither Azriel nor his shadows follow you. 

————

You step out of the shower and stand in front of the bathroom mirror, scrutinising your reflection. 

You pinch at the skin on your hips and stomach, scowling at the growing curves, before turning to the side to inspect your full breasts and butt. 

Facing forward again, your eyes fall upon the ladders of scars across your thighs and forearms. 

Angry red and purple lines jutting between faint silver. 

You started again after losing Rhys. You hadn’t done it since losing your mother. It was the only way you knew to reflect your inner turmoil. 

The day your mother was killed, you were meant to be with her. You should’ve been taken too. 

Rhys had helped you out of the pit of despair that time, but he was no longer here. Once again, you were saved while your loved ones were not. 

You towel off your skin before sitting down at your vanity. You pull out an ornate jewellery box and retrieve the ash dagger stashed inside. 

You weren’t sure why you harmed yourself. There was a part of you that felt you deserved it, that thought you were a wretch for allowing your brother to endure all that torment for you. Then there was a part that just wanted to feel something other than the numbness that ached to your core. 

You press the dagger against your skin. Not even the sting of the blade made you cry anymore. Your tears had long since dried up. 

With each slice, your self-hatred rings in your ears. 

Stupid – cut. 

Useless – cut. 

Waste of space – cut. 

You set the bloodied dagger down on the counter, feeling nothing but apathy. 

Morning starts to creep in when you finally make it to bed. As you lay there, staring at the ceiling, the little voice inside your head sneers at you. 

This was the life your brother sacrificed his for? Pathetic. 

————

Azriel

If Velaris has become a ghost town, the House of Wind was its crypt – haunted by devastation and grief.

Azriel leaned against the balcony railing, looking out on the once-shining city. 

How did it all go so wrong?

Not a day had gone by where he didn’t blame himself for everything. For Rhys. For Y/N.

Y/N. He could see the pain in her eyes. She tried to hide it, but Azriel knew better. He’d always been the one who could see through her masks. 

Azriel is pulled from his thoughts by his shadows, swarming around him in distress. 

“Y/N. Kitchen. Now.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Azriel tells them. 

“She’s hurt.”

Azriel winnows into the hallway, allowing his footsteps to be heard outside the door. He turns into the room and spots Y/N searching through the freezer. 

She slams it shut, jumping as she turns towards Azriel. 

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here,” she says. “We’re out of ice cream.” Y/N tries to step around Azriel but he blocks her path with his wing. He looks her over, not able to see anything visibly wrong. 

“I’ll get you some more, just please come to dinner,” Azriel pleads. “Or we can go flying together, anything you want. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Y/N shakes her head, looking at the floor.  

“He wouldn’t want you hiding away like this,” Azriel says.

“I don’t care what he would want. He obviously can’t think clearly or else he wouldn’t have left,” she seethes, pushing past Azriel. 

Azriel grabs her by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “Please Y/N, you’ve…” he trails off, feeling something lumpy under her sleeve. “What is that?” 

Y/N tries to yank her arm back but Azriel’s grip is firm. 

“Let me see,” Azriel says quietly. Tears start to fall from her eyes as he gently lifts her sleeve, revealing the bloodied bandages. “Oh darling, what happened?” 

Y/N just shakes her head.

“Can I have a look?” he asks.

She bites down on her trembling lip, tears flowing freely

Azriel carefully unwinds the bandages revealing the stark, straight lines. His chest aches for her; as if the scars were etched into his heart.

Azriel always cared deeply for Y/N, offering her a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on whenever she needed it. A small part of him felt hurt that she hadn’t confided in him. 

He swallowed his pain, it didn’t matter. He was here now.

“Come here,” Azriel wraps his arms around her, stroking Y/N’s hair softly as she sobs in his arms. 

Azriel knew she was struggling, everyone could see it. But no one realised just how much losing Rhys broke her.

Azriel curses himself. 

He should’ve known. After her parents, Rhys was all she had. 

No that’s not true - she had Cassian. And Mor. And Amren… 

And him. 

And he wasn’t letting her go.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

Mental Health Resources*:  If you’re in immediate danger please call your country’s emergency number. Australia: Beyond Blue: https://www.beyondblue.org.au/ Mental Health Hotline: [phone] Lifeline: 13 11 14 USA:  Crisis Line (call or text): 988 UK:  Lifeline: 0808 808 8000 *If I have gotten anything wrong or if you have other resources to add, please let me know ❤️

#azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar angst

[heyclickadee]

Guys, I’m gonna need the fandom to stop being weird about Phee.

Okay, so, first off, I’m not back. I’m still on break; I just logged in to check on the DMs? Made the mistake of checking the tags, and happened to see some real hot takes about Phee’s line about Tech and wrote this out before my better judgment kicked in. Two things:

1. From a narrative perspective, a NARRATIVE perspective, not a character perspective, a narrative perspective, Phee’s line has the exact same function as every other mention of Tech by the characters and visual reference to him through the season so far. We haven’t seen any single character process Tech’s “death.” And by processing Tech’s death, I mean that we haven’t seen a single character come to terms with it the way we, for example, saw Omega and Tech come to terms with Echo’s departure, or the entire ghost crew come to terms with Kanan’s death in Rebels.

In refusing to show us this, the show refuses to allow the audience to internalize Tech’s death as an actual event that has consequences and is expected to stick. In addition to this, the show pokes at us at least once an episode, whether by a single line or by visual cues, to remind us of Tech’s absence. In so doing, the show refuses to allow the audience to fully let Tech go; this only makes sense from a writing perspective if the absence is temporary and the much needed catharsis after an event like the first five minutes of “Plan 99” is going to come from something other than processing the character’s death—something like letting him come back. Phee’s line is just another one of those jabs reminding us that Tech is absent.

(Before anyone comes in here saying that they’re probably mourning Tech off-screen: They probably are. That’s not the point. The point is that there is purpose in what writers choose to emphasize. They have had plenty of opportunity to show us Omega or someone coming to terms with what happened, and plenty of time to do even more than that, because not only are they willing to stop for emotional moments—half the season so far has been Crosshair’s extended emotional moment and catharsis from two seasons of buildup. I’m actually not willing to argue about this at this point.)

2. The way Phee talks here is the way that every character has been talking about Tech the whole season. She’s not unique. The Tech mentions have largely been informative and impersonal—just enough to hurt, not enough to derail a conversation. The emphasis has not been on the loss of him as a person, but instead on his absence and how that makes life difficult. Once again, from a narrative perspective, this is because getting personal with the Tech mentions leads directly into the characters actually processing their loss; and since the show is not allowing that processing to happen since it’s almost definitely bringing him back, the little, slightly impersonal mention once an episode is as far as it can go in bringing Tech up. And since it doesn’t want us to forget about him either, that’s what we end up with. It’s not bad just because Phee did it too now.

3. From a character perspective generally speaking (of the whole cast), the way the mentions work reads to me as ambiguous grief. Remember that Hunter and co. never recovered a body, never really saw any evidence, and don’t really know what happened to Tech in the end. And, speaking from personal experience, not knowing can be emotionally paralyzing and can leave you incapable of processing your loss, because you don’t know if it’s a loss or not. They come across to me as stuck and unable to to anything that we see besides noting that he’s not there. He’s gone, they don’t know where he is; he might be dead, and he might not.

4. And, speaking of Phee specifically: Phee’s mention of Tech wasn’t overtly sad, but neither was Omega’s mention of Tech back in “Shadow’s of Tantiss.” Not everyone cries every time they bring up someone they lost. I don’t. Don’t expect everyone to outwardly react the way you want them too, please.

And, frankly (this IS a hill I will die on) Phee brought Tech up out of nowhere. They weren’t talking about him. She brought him up completely unprompted in an unrelated conversation, meaning he’s on her mind, meaning that, no, she’s not over it.

PS: Do not come into my notes and bring up Fives and the lack of Fives discussion in TBB. I love Fives, I love the domino twins, but Fives was a secondary character on a completely different show with a completely different kind of narrative structure. Not bringing him up in this show is not the same as not allowing the characters or audience to process the happened to Tech.

PPS: I’m sorry if I sound salty in this. I am. This isn’t really directed at anyone I follow or interact with on her, or really anyone who follows me; this is directed at certain parts of the larger fandom that are kind of exhausting.

PPPS: If anyone comes into this post to call me delusional for still thinking Tech is coming back because that’s literally what they’ve set up on screen, they’re getting instablocked.

PPPPS: Don’t @ the cast and crew on Twitter, guys. Just don’t. Think about what they’re doing and what you’re doing, and don’t.

#fandom salt #not tagging this under the main tag #because this is REALLY salty

[san-sebastienne]

I don’t care that it’s been months; I’m still thinking of how to tighten up s2 and make it have literally any narrative impact/emotional growth. So here’s my chopped and screwed s2 rewrite that nobody fucking asked for, PART ONE:

The big, overarching change is that Ned Lowe is the BBEG of s2. We’re saving Zheng and, more pertinently, Prince Ricky for s3 (that’s definitely happening in my world, shhh). This gives weightier narrative stakes to the Kraken era, since the looming problem is predicated on Ed’s actions – much like the Badmintons as BBEGs in s1 were based in Stede’s actions/past.

The season begins the same: the trauma crew are raiding every day, never making port. The Kraken is making everyone’s lives difficult. They break Ned Lowe’s record, but it doesn’t seem to matter (also Lucius is hiding in the walls of the revenge, causing even more stress and probably trying to haunt Ed. Let’s add a little levity.)

Stede and co in the ROP. Stede’s bartending at Jackie’z and hears someone talking about blackbeard… but they’re being very complimentary. Calling him “fascinating,” “a dedicated man” – not the kind of language that Stede’s gotten used to arguing about. Who’s this gent who seems to actually GET Ed? His name is Ned Lowe, and he’s looking for his old pal blackbeard.

Stede and the crew hitch a ride out of the ROP with Ned, since they all have the same goal – finding Blackbeard. Besides, Ned is genteel. He seems to have the same sort of appreciation for finer things that Stede has, and it’s nice to see after spending so much time cleaning up vomit at Jackie’z. Maybe Stede and Ned have a dinner in the captain’s cabin a la Barbarossa and Elizabeth Swann in the first PotC… everything is grand and well laid out, but something is very wrong. Stede tries to ignore this, but his “this guy is bad news” senses from being a gentleman are tingling.

Meanwhile, back on the trauma ship, Jim is trying not to mourn Oluwande. They’re very “everyone I’ve ever loved is dead; why would he be any different?” They’ve thrown themselves into pirating as a way to double down on their hardened I Am Vengeance persona, and this growing thing with Archie as a rebound.

Leg thing/Frenchie is first mate now/crazy storm thing/let’s kill Blackbeard are all the same. Except Lucius is there, probably spending a lot of time hiding with drunk/sick Izzy (there’s some hurt/comfort in both directions, as much as izzy can be lucid for it). He also shows up for that final shot of the crew looking down at Ed while Jim hefts the cannonball. Ed’s not worried about hallucinating anymore; he’s finally about to die!

It’s Ned’s ship (plus Stede et al) that comes across the storm wreck of the Revenge. Our crew still has to escape over to their old ship, not because anyone found Ed’s corpse but because Izzy, in a moment of clarity, is like oh shit, Ned Lowe is super bad news, we have to get the fuck out of here right now. This way we get the beginning of a basis of trust between Izzy and Stede, since Stede listens to the insistence of the Trauma Crew and takes Izzy’s advice on when to get out of a bad situation.

Gravy Basket happens.

Someone (Lucius?) tells Stede that Ed’s body is still onboard. MerStede happens.

Jim is extremely overwhelmed that Olu is alive. The two of them have a very sweet romantic reunion. They confess to Olu about Archie, but insist that she was just a rebound. Archie tries to laugh the whole thing off – it’s fine! This didn’t matter! Shit things are bound to happen to everyone! Jim feels mega guilty and starts to realize that maybe it wasn’t just a rebound – they might actually care for Archie.

The uicorn leg half of “fun and games” is pretty much the same, the big division between the crews being that The Trauma Crew wants to banish or straight up kill Ed, but they’re still very much being chased by Ned Lowe. Stede’s crew insists that getting distance here is more important than adjudicating that mess.

We do all still come together to give Izzy his new leg.

Ed is locked in some kind of makeshift brig, making everyone tetchy and uncomfortable. Except for Stede, of course, who sees this as his chance to explain himself to LITERALLY captive audience Ed. Stede has the “I love everything about you” scene with him there, and explicitly tells Ed that he didn’t go to the dock bc of Chauncey (holy shit, how does he never fucking bring that up in the actual s2). Ed is moved but not convinced to forgive Stede… yet. They do the hand holding thing here, but don’t have the conversation about taking it slow. Instead, offering his hand thru the bars of the brig is the only thing Ed does to show that he’s heard Stede and is considering forgiving him.

The other half of this episode is the crews re-integrating emotionally. Jim/Olu/Archie explicitly discuss their relationship structure. Jim can be with both of them. Lucius and Pete get to have a moment about how Pete thought Lu was dead; Lucius admits that he kind of thought he was too, since all he did was hide and hang out with a guy who was too delirious to even really recognize him.

Somehow we still get Ed in that catboy collar. Nonnegotiable.

Part two incoming…

#I don’t have enough mental energy for a full fic rewrite but I feel strongly about this #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #stede bonnet #edward teach #izzy hands #ofmd s2 #ofmd fanfic #fanfic meta

[obsessedwithtoomanythings]

The Terrifying Ordeal of Falling in Love with Leon Kennedy

CHAPTER 14 - ENDING

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader (female reader)

Series Warnings: Minor injuries, Leon teases reader a lot, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Drinking, Drinking followed by driving, DO NOT DO THAT THIS IS FICTION, Anxiety, Leon S. Kennedy has PTSD, Leon has an anxiety attack, Anxiety Attacks, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nightmares, Leon S. Kennedy has Nightmares, Cuddling & Snuggling, Probably incorrect medical talk, Strangulation in one tiny little scene, Reader's brother was a cop who was KIA, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Grief/Mourning, Christmas Fluff, Mistletoe, Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Arguing, Love Confessions, Looking for Alaska is mentioned, Inconvenient Love Confessions, Penis In Vagina Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Leon loves eating Pussy change my mind, Shower Makeout, romantic smut, Desperate Leon S. Kennedy, They are both desperate for each other tbh, They say I love you as they come, Scar Kissing, Enthusiastic Consent, Always pee after sex, UTI PREVENTION, POV First Person, No use of Y/N

Words: 10K

Author's Note: Well! This is it! I'll be honest, I may write some epilogues, detailing the wedding and possibly kids and stuff like that cause I am legit obsessed with the dynamic Leon and the reader have and I'm not sure I'm ready for it to be over.

Thanks to anyone who read, commented, like, ANYTHING on this! It means the world to me! Also anyone from AO3 who came over to comment or anything like that! I love you!

THIS CHAPTER HAS SMUT

Masterlist

January 2005

Nuh-uh, uh-uh, don’t wanna do this now

There’s just inches in between us

I want you to give in, I want you to give in

There is tension in between us

I just wanna give in

And I don’t care if I’m forgiven

-Shameless, Camila Cabello

He’s late. This isn’t the ‘traffic was bad’ late. It’s ‘someone is going to show up at your door with a KIA notice’ late. The anxiety has been eating me alive for the past 3 days.

The first day was fine. He’s been that late before. The second day is when it began. The twisting in my gut as I checked my phone to see nothing. The gnawing sensation that crawled up my spine every time someone walked into the infirmary that wasn’t him. The squeeze of my heart at footsteps in the hallway that walked right past.

Then the fourth day rolled around. I felt sick, physically. Barely able to eat anything other than a mandatory protein shake that Dr. Dalton practically poured down my throat himself, soft reassurances of ‘I’m sure he’s fine, sweetheart.’ Sweetheart. The term of endearment that Leon had called me so many times made my ears twitch in confusion at hearing it in a tone that wasn’t Leon’s. Shaking hands. This is how it feels to love someon- No. This is how it feels to love Leon. I’m sure Lilian doesn’t feel this way when Jasper is late coming home. He was supposed to be home 4 days ago. He sounded exhausted when he called, saying everything was okay - that he was okay - and that he would be home the next day. That was 5 days ago.

“You alright?” Thomas, the new medical intern asks, his dark brown eyes shining with affection. He had asked me on a date a week and a half ago, the day before Leon left. I agreed, feeling guilty saying no to the first man who had asked me on a date in years. I can’t wait on Leon forever, right? Deep down, I knew it was wrong to agree to a date when I was so deeply infatuated with someone else, but he looked so excited. So proud of himself for working up the courage to ask. Maybe there was a part of me that liked the idea of someone wanting me. Wishing for me the same way I wish for a man who views me as nothing more than his best friend.

I have done plenty of dumb shit in my life. Who hasn’t? But this? This is a new level of stupid.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I mumble into my wine glass, red lipstick smudging slightly across the rim. The restaurant was lively around us, with waiters and patrons flitting around through tables of deep mahogany. The food was delicious, or at least it smelt that way as it passed by our table.

Thomas is being overly patient. He hasn’t asked why we’re our on third glasses of wine, yet still have yet to move past the toasted bread that arrived when we sat down. My tight black cocktail dress feels too scratchy on my skin despite the reason that I bought it being that it was made of soft velvet. My shoes dig into my ankles uncomfortably, forcing me to shift my feet continuously to relieve the irritating bite.

“Dr. Dalton told me about your friend.” I jerk my head to him like he slapped me, guilt and shame beginning to practically leak from my eyes in the form of tears. You’ll ruin your makeup, stop. “I get why you’re worried. Maybe we should reschedule? For when he’s home?” 

‘Sweetheart, you're making the air around you vibrate with the sheer force of your anxiety. You need to calm the fuck down.’ I can practically hear Leon’s voice in my ears. Thomas is nice. Leon would never allow me to be this anxious, he’d make fun of me until I couldn’t remember why I can feel the sweat pooling against the pits of my dress. I nod, noting how rude it is that I’m comparing a date to my best friend.

“Yeah, that’d be good.” He gets the bill, and while I offer to help, he refuses. A gentleman.

‘No way, sweetheart, I do have some manners.’

Get out of my head. Please, Leon.

The drive is short, and while I assure him that I’m alright, Thomas insists on walking me all the way to my door. I unlock it easily, turning the key and flipping on the light, muscles tense and tight with poorly contained anxiety.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” He asks, almost like he doesn’t know how else to end the evening as I turn to say goodnight.

“I’m off tomorrow, but the day after, absolutely.”

“Oh okay, well then I’ll-” He stops, glancing behind me, confusion etched on his features. I whirl around, fight or flight ready to force a reaction from me. Holy fuck.

“Leon?” I practically cry, rushing into his arms and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I barely notice the sound of the door closing, my date for the evening clearly getting the memo of ‘time to go.’ Leon’s arms come around my waist, a soft touch that isn’t like him. Preparing to be lifted like usual, but nothing like usual happens. He pulls away instead. He backs up, quickly taking notice of my clothing choice before crossing his arms across his chest. “Are you okay? You were supposed to be home 4 days ago.”

“I’m fine,” he practically huffs, turning to walk back toward his room. I reach forward, fingers landing in the crook of his elbow to catch his attention but he pulls away.

“Leon, what the hell?” I demand, frustration rising. Maybe he’s just tired?

“Don’t worry about it,” he states, pulling himself from my grip with a sigh of my name. Not Nurse Nosy. Not Sweetheart. My name. I feel anger bubble up in my chest. I spent days worrying about him, and he can’t even let me at least check him for injuries? He won’t even let me touch him. I’m aggressively reminded of a time when he shut himself off at the slightest push in a direction he didn’t like. It builds with every step he takes down the hallway, into his room.

“I was worried sick about you.” Leon stops. He’s still wearing his boots, his black cargo pants, and a tight compression shirt that is torn in multiple places. Those black fingerless gloves. His watch. His blonde hair is greasy, stringy. He hasn’t even showered yet. I hear him scoff before he turns, hands tucked into his pockets as if his face wasn’t burning with irritation as he looks at me.

“Yeah, I’m sure. You seemed so concerned.” He gestures in the direction of the front door with his eyes. Oh no. Abso-fucking-lutely not.

“I had him bring me home early because I didn’t feel right being on a date when I was practically sick with worry.” I’m gesturing wildly with my hands now, my internal temperature rising at least a few degrees with how wound up I am. Another scoff.

“Yeah, sure.” He turns away again.

“You know what, no.” Another pause was followed by a halting in his tracks. The tension in his shoulders could shatter his bones if he tried hard enough.

“No?” He hasn’t turned to look at me, but I suppose part of me is grateful for that, knowing I may lose my nerve if he looks at me like a kicked puppy.

“No. Since when do you care? I haven’t been on a date in years. Why do you suddenly care now?” I’m yelling by this point. If everyone had a threshold like a cup, mine would be overflowing with bubbling red heat. He does not get to take this shit out on me.

“I have always cared!” His tone matches mine and his eyes burn with a fury I have never seen as he whips around to face me. Nails press into his gloves, digging into the leather, presumably leaving tiny crescents in their wake.

“No, you haven’t! It was easy to not be pissed when I was always home. Always here when you got back to greet you with a hug and a smile. But now that I have things to do, suddenly now you care.” We’re gonna get a noise complaint.

“Yes I fucking have, I have always cared. You just weren’t paying enough attention to see it!” Leon points an accusatory finger at me, and it feels like a literal jab in the chest despite him being almost 6 feet away. I laugh as if this situation is amusing. As if my heart isn’t breaking.

“Please, enlighten me then Agent Kennedy, as to what exactly I’ve missed, since clearly, not everyone is as perceptive as you are.” It’s a low blow, calling him by his title, but I’m fuming so much I’m surprised steam isn’t blowing out of my ears. His slight recoil is almost enough to make me apologize. Almost.

“Don’t do that.” He sounds small. Fuck. I want to hug him, apologize for screaming at him before he has even had a chance to change his clothes and shower. But I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.

“Don’t what?” I’m riding on this wave of red, fists twisting in the soft velvet of my dress.

“Don’t Agent Kennedy me,” he utters before he brushes it off, like flipping a switch. “You know what, I’m not doing this tonight, I’m exhausted. Go makeout with whats-his-face.” That’s it.

“Excuse me? What kind of person do you think I am, dickhead?”

“Oh, you didn’t wanna shove your tongue down his throat?” He feigns surprise, a hand pressed against his chest. I have never wanted to hit someone. Ever. But right now? I want to deck him.

“I wanted to be around you! I missed you!” I’m screaming again, and I feel tears brimming in my eyes. Fuck my makeup. He clicks his tongue, and it feels more like a taunt.

“Well, you should have been home earlier then.”

“Why the hell are you punishing me? I was worried sick the entire time you were gone, especially these past few days of radio silence!” His tone is condescending as if he’s riding some high horse.

“I’m sure it was so difficult for you. Next time, I’ll send a postcard.” He has no clue how it feels. So tell him.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” My tone is calmer, fury burning just below the surface of my skin like some virus, ready to raise the fever. Leon’s lips part to respond, but I don’t let him. “Every knock on that door when you’re gone scares the shit outta me because I’m expecting it to be some suit, telling me that you’re dead or worse. I get that what you do isn’t easy, but don’t try to make me feel guilty when all I ever did was worry about you.” My words have an effect on him, his demeanor shifting from one of defense and attack to… almost regret, it seems.

“I never meant to worry you, but you knew what you signed up for when you asked me to move in.” Leon’s tone has shifted. We’re no longer screaming at each other but with the barely-held-together emotions running rampant in the room, I can’t tell if this is better or worse than when we were screaming.

“You’re right. I did,” I concede, and for a second, his blues show a flash of confusion. “But I didn’t sign up to be punished for trying to live my life.”

“I’m not punishing you-” His tone is rising again as he rotates his body to face away from me, not entirely turned. He’s facing my bedroom door.

“Yes, you fucking are, Leon! Why are you so mad about me going on a date? Is it cause you don’t have time to go on one of your own?” It’s the only logical reason I can think of as to why he’s so angry. We’re screaming again.

“Because I don’t want you going on dates!” The words slam into me, turning the tidal wave of rage into a puddle. Not a big one either. The kind that you can step in with sneakers on and your socks won’t even get wet. It leaves a dark pit of bewilderment in its wake. Complete and utter confusion.

“Why?” He’s silent. Leather-covered palms press into his eyes as he huffs in frustration. He wants me to leave it alone. Wants me to back off, letting him close back into himself, where he thinks no one can find him. Where no one can hurt him. “Leon. Why don’t you want me going on dates?” His hands drop to his waist as he spins on his heel once again, and I’m floored by the intensity in his eyes. There’s almost no blue left, or at least it seems that way from where I’m standing.

“Don’t make me say it.” There’s that smallness. The look of begging. Pleading.

“Leon…” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish.

“I’m asking you to drop it.” JUST FUCKING TALK TO ME. LET ME IN.

“No! I’m not dropping it! What the fuck do you mean?” He laughs, a full-blown sound that rings out almost maliciously as his whole body practically moves with it.

“Wow! The return of Nurse Nosy.” Fucking. Dickhead. “Never saw that one coming.”

“Fine,” I deadpan, moving toward him and turning into my room, attempting to close the door. His hand presses against the wood, forcing it to remain open, fuming bodies only a couple of feet apart now.

“What the hell are you doing?” Oh, so when he walks away, I’m the bitch. But when it’s me, I’m still the bitch.

“I’m going to bed, asshole.” I put every ounce of strength into shoving the door, but his arm holds steady. Easily.

“We’re not done.”

“Yes, we fucking are. You made that crystal clear.” Another attempt. Another failed attempt. The tears are blurring my vision, finally seeing an opportunity to pour in the privacy of my room. Away from his terrifyingly focused blue gaze.

“Would you just come back out here and talk to me?” He has no right to ask me that.

“Why?” My voice breaks on the word, and for the first time, it’s like he finally sees how I feel as his hardened features soften. How my heart is breaking and it’s spilling out from my eyes into his waiting palms. “So you can be pissed at me some more?” With his other hand, he runs his hands through his hair, touseling it even more in frustration, and while he’s not looking at me, it’s clear he’s at war with himself. “So you can make me feel like shit even more?”

“Because I love you, damn it!” He shouts again, and the tone causes me to flinch before it sluggishly catches up. He…

“What?”

“You heard me,” he admits, cheeks stained bright crimson at the admission. “So would you please just-” The words he was saying are long forgotten as I rush forward, cold hands on either side of his face and tugging him in. I love you, the words bounce around in my skull as my lips collide with his, and for a moment, he seems surprised. It only takes that long for him to catch up. Palms find my hips, pulling me flush against his warm chest, against his hammering heart. He tastes like spearmint, his lips refusing to relent until we pull back for air, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing as labored breaths pass between our now-red lips and my cheeks are wet with tears. Those ocean eyes look at me like the light spills from them, lighting his way home. A small giggle breaks the silent air, the heavy breaths.

“I pour my heart out to you and you laugh?” He mumbles, but I can practically hear the smile in his voice as I giggle again. “What’s so funny?”

“You stink.” He laughs. The sweet kind, like cold lemonade on a hot day. The kind that makes butterflies swirl inside your stomach to the point of painting your face with an unmovable grin.

“Well, someone interrupted me as I was on my way to my post-mission shower,” he teases, planting another tender kiss across my lips like he can’t get enough of them. My hands slide over his shoulders, cupping the back of his neck as I nose along the line of his jaw.

“I’m so sorry. How can I make it up to you, Agent Kennedy?” The question is much more sultry than intended, my racing heart making me feel practically breathless. Leon’s eyes narrow at the nickname in mock irritation - especially because he specifically told me not to use it months ago - smile still evident as his arm drapes over the small of my back to hold my other hip, if only to add more points of contact. I’m expecting a ‘make me something to eat please?’ or maybe even a ‘kiss me more’. I am not, however, expecting his next words.

“Take it with me?”

“What?” I giggle through the question, wondering how the hell he manages to exude confidence even in situations like this, his finger pressing my chin up until our eyes lock.

“You heard me.” He repeats his earlier phrase like this single sentence holds all the power between us, and maybe it does. “Take my post-mission shower with me.” My face heats up again, and I finally understand the look he’d give me when he’d get a reaction out of me. The amusement. The pride. He wasn’t proud because he got a reaction. He was proud because it gave him hope. Hope that one day, he could kiss me like this. I can’t stop the way my eyes drop to the floor, only for him to clear his throat, drawing my attention back to him. To his lips. To those damn ocean eyes.

“Lead the way, Superman.”

“Oh, I will.” Chapped lips smushing back onto mine, muffling the squeal that rips from my chest. The leather of his fingerless gloves glide over my exposed thighs, gripping them before mumbling ‘jump’ right into my mouth, and who am I to argue with a government agent? My thighs wrap tightly around his trim waist, fingers pressing into the flesh there as Leon begins to walk, presumably carrying us to the bathroom, but for all I know, he could be walking us out into the snow. My mind is far too preoccupied with running my tongue along the seam of his lips, tasting the bitter tang of the nightcap he had, which now lies unfinished on the living room coffee table.

My back hits the wall, sandwiched between his warm chest and the chill of the painted sheetrock. A hand - I couldn’t tell you whose - reaches to flip on the bathroom light before he carries us in, closing the door before I feel the chilly countertop beneath my ass. Leaving one last kiss on my swollen lips, he pulls away - taking his warmth with him - chuckling at the small sound of disapproval leaves my lips.

“What are you-”

“Relax, I’m just turning on the shower, sunshine.” It’s hard not to stare, taking notice of the smattering of scratches that litter his arms as he reaches in to flip the water on.

“Sunshine?” I question teasingly, pressing my palms to the granite surface and leaning forward, head tilting to the side in curiosity.

“Yeah,” he smirks, removing his gloves and tossing them onto the tile flooring so he can check the temperature of the falling water. “You’ve always been this… Light in the dark for me. So ‘Sunshine’ seems fitting.” Leon’s not looking at me, but his cheeks are pink again. He must be satisfied with the temperature because he pulls back to finally meet my eyes again, stepping back up to where I’m perched. “Have I mentioned how sexy you look in this dress?” He mumbles, his lips skimming the skin of my throat in soft bites and kisses.

“You haven’t.” My words come out in a breathless gasp, his hands sliding up my thighs - barely grazing the bottom hem of the black velvet fabric - massaging the flesh in his grip.

“Well, I should have,” he growls. Holy fucking shit. That’s a sound I never thought I’d hear. “Maybe you wouldn’t have gone on that date if I had.”

“I definitely wouldn’t have,” I tease, fingertips moving to climb under the fabric of his compression shirt, desperate to explore his form in ways I have never been allowed to until this moment.

“Eager, are we, sunshine?” Fucker is smirking into the kiss as if he’s faring better than I am at this moment.

“Says the one who asked me to shower with him.”

“Touché.” I grip the hem of the fabric between my digits, pushing it up his chest in an effort to rid him of it. His arms come up to aid me in my own personal mission, revealing his chest to my wandering eyes before toned arms come down on the counter on either side of my hips.

“You don’t need to be this attractive, asshole,” I murmur, almost more to myself than anything before he responds with a passionate kiss, his warm hands slipping beneath my dress to shove it above my hips, revealing a pair of lacy blue panties. A light groan spills into my mouth from him as he presses himself between my legs, hands finding the backs of my knees and yanking me forward with a yelp.

“Speak for yourself,” he argues, refusing to part from my lips for more than a second. “Fuck, can I take this fucking dress off of you?” My only reply is a nod, our foreheads tapping together because of the movement. Leon doesn’t waste another second, gripping the soft fabric and pulling it over my head without hesitation, and his eyes widen at the sight of the bra, lacy and matching perfectly with the panties. “You’re trying to kill me,” he whispers, eyes raking down my figure before I begin squirming anxiously. The room is full of steam by now, the mirror behind me completely covered and his creamy skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Maybe we should actually shower instead of you just staring at me?” I suggest with a nervous giggle. He finally looks back up at me, and I notice the blues in his eyes are slowly slimming, his pupils dilating.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Hands skim across my back to easily unclip my bra, tugging it down my arms until it joins his shirt in a pile on the floor, my panties soon following, leaving me completely exposed before him. This adonis of a man is looking at me like I’m the most precious piece of art he’s ever laid his eyes on.

“Feels a little unfair, don’t you think?” My arms come up to cover my chest. No one has looked at me in this state in a long time.

“Don’t,” he coaxes, grabbing my hands to rest them against his shoulders, leaning in to nuzzle into my neck and jaw again. “Please don’t hide from me. You’re gorgeous.” I hear a clinking before feeling his shoulders shift beneath my palms, undoing his belt - I assume - and then I hear his pants hit the floor, although it’s barely audible over the pattering of the water against the shower curtain. Leon takes a slow step back, holding my hands to help me down from the countertop before practically dragging me into the warm stream of water. I can’t help as my gaze drifts down, taking in the wet ridges of his abs, to the v of his hips, and down until his voice forces my eyes back up in embarrassment. 

“My eyes are up here, baby.” He closes the shower curtain with a teasing smile.

“Sorry.” My voice is shaking.

“Sunshine,” he soothes, hands finding my hips to pull me against his body in what was supposed to be a comforting hug. It quickly dissipates into anything but as I feel his hard length against my stomach, slick practically dripping from my center by this point. “You’re fine. I’m teasing you.”

“Well, you did always say I was easy to tease,” I mumble into his chest, using his embrace as an excuse to hide my blush.

“That you are, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my now-wet hair. “Although I do actually need to shower.” Reaching for his shampoo while still keeping an arm locked around me, I take a deep breath before taking it from him.

“Can I wash your hair?” I question, looking up at him through my lashes.

“How could I say no to that?” Leaning down so it’s easier for me to reach him, I pour the pine-scented shampoo into my palm, rubbing them together before lathering the soap into his scalp. The agent releases a string of curses and groans as I massage his head, knowing from experience that he really enjoys it. Shifting around so that his head is under the water, I rinse the suds from his blonde locks, a soft smile pulling at my lips.

“Maybe this should be the new tradition.” The words are said without thought, falling from my lips.

“What?”

“Me taking your post-mission shower with you.” Fingers tighten around my waist as a small grunt departs from his throat, sounding more like it came from his chest.

“That sounds perfect.” He’s breathless. “Fuck, I can’t wait anymore.” Wet lips pressing to mine, hands gripping my thighs and lifting, not even prompting me to jump as I’m brought against his body, trapping his cock between us. A jolt runs through my spine like lightning at the sensation and my back hits the cold shower wall, thighs tightening around Leon’s waist.

“Impatient, are we Superman?” It’s mumbled into his mouth and I can feel his smile in response.

“Take one look at you, and tell me I shouldn’t be impatient.”

“Maybe not in the shower though?” I giggle, and the chill sets in as the water begins to run cold.

“Maybe not,” he says with his own chuckle, dropping my feet to the floor before steadying me, the floor slick as he moves to switch off the brisk water from falling on my bare shoulders. His arm comes around them to tug me close to his chest, the heat radiating off of him creating a heat wave in the middle of January. With a goofy smile, I lean out and grab a towel from where it hangs before throwing it over his head.

“I think pink is a good color for you, Superman.” Damp blonde locks emerge from the pink fabric with a cacophony of light chuckles and shy smiles filling the room.

“Yeah? I think it looks much better on you, sweetheart.” The cockiness has returned to his tone, and I roll my eyes at his shifted behavior.

“Oh really? And what makes you say that?” I sass, ready to take him on. In more ways than one.

“Cause it’s the prettiest color I could turn your cheeks.” His tone sends heat straight to my core as he steps forward, the pink towel wrapped around his neck, inches between our noses.

“We both know you can easily make me blush. This isn’t new info, Leon.” Don’t back down from this.

“You’re right. It’s really easy.” Leon brings the towel over his head to wrap it around my back. The gesture seems sweet. For a minute. Tugging on the towel, it forces my chest against his, wet skin sliding against wet skin. “I fully intend to make you turn every shade of pink tonight.” And then he’s picking me up again. Holding me is easy for him, with years of strength training proving to be useful for pleasurable purposes as well as he carries me into my - Our bedroom? - I’ll need to ask him about that, I suppose. As my mind wanders, the agent doesn’t hesitate to throw me unceremoniously onto my - our bed, a small yelp leaving my throat at the sudden drop.

“Leon you can’t just throw me around!”

“See, I think you like it.” He mutters, voice dropping into a lower octave, gravely and rough as he rests his weight onto his hands - which are on either side of my head. “I think you like how much stronger I am. I think it gets you going, baby.”

“Is that so?” I say, voice shaking with barely contained arousal, and Leon being, well Leon, knows this. With a nod, he presses his lips to the column of my throat, sucking a smattering of red marks onto the skin. My teeth clamp over my bottom lip, muffling the sounds that threaten to leave my voicebox, but clearly, Leon has other ideas. His hand presses to my jaw before his thumb caresses my chin, applying light pressure until my lip slips from between my teeth.

“Don’t hide any of those sounds from me, gorgeous,” he commands, and I’m reminded of his position in his career. The power he holds at the young age of 27. I nod in his hold, goosebumps prickling across my skin as he nips at my tender skin. His name leaves my lips in a muffled whimper; hands tracing soft patterns into my arms before his lips dance across my collarbone, his teeth pressing into the bone as a quick gasp breaks from my mouth. “Good girl.”

“Leon,” I whimper as his mouth drags lower, pressing soft kisses to my sternum, between my boobs as I lace my fingers through his blonde locks. “You can’t just say that.”

“Aww, why not, sunshine?” He teases, his hot breath teasing across my pebbled nipple, his warm hand coming down to cover the neglected breast. He looks up, as if he’s waiting for something. “Can I?” I nod, his blue eyes practically swallowed up by the dark pupil that swells in his arousal.

“Yeah.” The word is a breath released into the quickly cooling air. It’s all he needs before his warm lips close around the nub, suckling gently before his tongue swirls over it. I gasp, back arching slightly as my eyes squeeze shut, fingers tightening in his hair as he releases a small groan against my flesh.

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive,” he mumbles against my skin, almost to himself before his lips seal again, tonguing it before switching to the other nipple. “Can I taste you?” His tone is almost desperate. It takes my mind a moment to catch up to what he means before I nod with a mumbled ‘please’.

He doesn’t waste another second, planting wet kisses down my stomach, licking and suckling as he goes solely to illicit reactions from me, which leave him chuckling against my flesh.

“Leon-”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he hushes, pulling my thighs apart easily as he settles between them, lips and teeth grazing across my inner thigh before giving the other the same treatment until I can practically feel myself dripping onto the mattress below me. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this…”

“Really?” I find myself asking as my heart thumps against my chest. He’s thought about this?

“God, you have no idea what you do to me, do you, baby girl?” He sighs, nosing along the length of my thigh. I can’t stop my fingers from involuntarily twitching, giving his locks an accidental tug.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, baby. I like knowing how good I’m making you feel.” His blue eyes focus on mine, and I almost pass out at the sight of his damp blonde hair sticking to his forehead, naked shoulders that have my thighs thrown over them haphazardly as he licks his chapped lips. “Tell me this is okay.”

“Please, Leon…” The words come out as a whimper (I didn’t even realize I could whimper), and for a split second, I doubt I have ever been this desperate for anything.

“Good girl,” he whispers, breath tickling against my core and I can barely contain my groan before a squeak rips from my throat, his tongue running a hot stripe across my sex. Well, that’s a new feeling.

“God-” I yelp, squeezing my eyes shut as shivers run up my spine. Leon chuckles against me, tongue plunging into my opening to drink straight from the source before he pulls back to speak.

“Just me, sunshine.” I roll my eyes, laughing just a bit before the agent’s lips seal around my clit, sucking enough to tug the chord in my spine taunt, my back bending as my fingers tighten. Leon groans at the gentle tightening of his damp hair, the vibration traveling straight into my core. “Fuck, you taste amazing.”

“Leon, please just… Please kiss me…” I whimper as I attempt to bring him back up, but he holds firm before dropping wet kisses to my clit, ending each kiss with a light suckle. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You didn’t clarify. I’m giving you kisses, just like you asked.” His smirk is practically audible as he plants more smooches, despite my protests and groans. Fingers gently prod at my entrance, and I can’t help but tense. “Do you wanna stop, sweetheart?”

“No!” I answer, almost too quickly, and the feeling of his smile presses against my thigh before he covers it with licks and bites.

“Then relax,” he assures, hand running soothing circles over any skin he can reach. It takes another moment of his tongue twirling around my nub before I loosen my muscles enough for a thick digit to slowly press inside my heat. “Good girl.” Fuck that should not be a turn on. “Oh you do like that,” he whispers, almost to himself as I tighten around his finger. He picks a leisurely pace to thrust his finger in, basking in each sound he pulls from my lungs before he adds a second, following the same treatment, stretching me to accommodate his length.

“Leon, fuck I can’t…”

“Don’t challenge me, sweetheart. I’m not moving from this spot until you come around my fingers,” he mumbles into my core, fingers moving faster as his mouth works double time on my clit until the white-hot heat rips through me and I come with a high-pitched squeak. My muscles relax one by one, both of his hands rubbing soothing patterns over my skin as I come down from my high with breathless pants, and I realize I barely felt him remove his fingers.

“It should be illegal for you to be that good at that,” I mumble with a breathless giggle, and he chuckles as he leans up, wiping his lips and chin with his arm before pressing his lips back to mine. I can taste myself as his tongue prods against mine for a brief second.

“I’m gonna be spending a lot of time down there, sunshine,” he whispers into my ear as he grips my thighs, pulling them tight around his waist and I gasp at the feeling of him pressing against my pubic bone. “If you want to stop, we can,” he mumbles against my mouth. I shake my head aggressively.

“No, I’m fine.” The offer warms my heart though. “I’ve waited too long for you already.”

“Me too.” He doesn’t hesitate to move toward me, rutting himself against my heat with a groan of his own. He reaches down, leaning all his weight down on one arm, pressing himself against my slick opening before stopping, looking at me with a look that screams ‘Are you sure?’ My answer comes in the form of kissing him again, and he chuckles against my mouth. I’ll never get tired of this.

With the reassurances out of the way, his hips shift, pressing himself forward and my fingers tighten in his hair at the slight intrusion. “Are you okay, sunshine?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I whisper, breath tickling his lips.

“Are you sure you want to keep going?” He practically breathes the words, trying to halt the involuntary actions of his hips that send my brain into a spiral before I have to contain the breathy laugh that threatens to ring out.

“I swear to god, Lee, if you ask me that one more time, I’m gonna…” I say with a smile, trailing off, hoping he’ll get my point, but why would I be so lucky?

“You’re gonna what, sunshine?” He whispers into my ear with a chuckle of his own and I move my arms to press against his shoulder blades as he continues his ruthless teasing. “Tell me what you’ll do, baby.”

“Fuck you, Kennedy,” I groan, throwing my head back against the pillow in frustration.

“If you insist.” It takes a moment for my brain to catch up, but it catches up fast when Leon shifts his hips, pressing himself into my tight channel with a rumbling shudder until his hips are flush against mine. He’s trembling almost as much as I am. For a moment, neither of us moves, content in our tight embrace, as close as two people can possibly be. Breathing the same breaths, hearts practically beating in sync as his arms rest on either side of my head, surrounding me in the sweet scent of him. His name falls from my lips as a shaky breath, both of our hands roaming over the others skin without barrier. I can practically feel my walls molding around the shape of his cock, content to keep him there until the sun explodes. “You’re so soft…” He whispers, almost an afterthought. “I’m gonna move, is that okay?”

“Please.” And then he shifts his hips, pulling out before plunging back in with enough momentum to force the air from my lungs, followed by a high pitched keen from the back of my throat. The pleasure radiates from my center the same way his skin radiates heat, and the sweat slicked flesh feels almost like an anchor, grounding me to him. The only thing keeping me afloat. His name falls from my mouth in a cacophony of squeals and moans, and with each sound, Leon grows more and more bold, and after a few minutes of mingling moans and increasingly wet sounds of skin on skin, his pace slows.

“I have a confession to make.” He whispers, an almost guilty look on his face as he leans up just enough for me to see the blues of his eyes.

“Oh god,” I say, palms resting on his damp pecs, anxiety flashing through my mind. “What?”

“You know that um…” He says, pausing as his cheeks flush. He’s embarrassed. “That day I came into the infirmary? With back issues?”

“Tell me you didn’t like, actually break something and I’m hurting you,” I plead, nervous jitters spreading from the tips of my toes to my fingers.

“No, god no, you’re fine,” he exclaims, leaning up until he’s resting on his hunches, cock still pressed tightly inside my body, and I inhale at the sensation of him shifting around, pressing against spots inside me that I didn’t even know I had. “I um…”

“Oh my god, spit it out please, Superman.” He chuckles at the desperation in my tone, eyebrows raising before he continues, but not before canting forward slightly to force a moan from my lips.

“Okay okay. I lied that day. I didn’t actually have any back issues,” he admits, face flushed again.

“What?” I place my hands over his as they rest on my hips, confusion painting my features. “But then why did you…”

“I wanted to see you. I… I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that first visit.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “You were the first one to ask about my mental state, and while I wasn’t ready to deal with it at the time, I appreciated the concern.” I reach up, my hand cupping his jaw as I break out into a fit of giggles.

“You are so cute,” I coo, and he rolls his eyes before pressing his finger down on my clit and I jerk upward as if I’m trying to escape his touch. We both know that’s not the case.

“I’ll show you just how cute I am.” The words send a wave of heat down my spine that pool around him, practically leaking out around his cock as he begins his movements back up, blue eyes looking down on me with affection and lust. I relish in his attention with a small smile.

“Please do, Agent Kennedy.” Oh how the tables have turned. He chuckles, leaning back down to cage me in between his arms again.

“You’re in for it now, sunshine.” The tender moment has faded, lips and tongues pressed together in hot kisses as sweaty bodies move in tandem. The knot in my core tightens as my fingers squeeze around the firm muscles of his shoulders, and the sounds leaving my mouth are downright pornographic. I can barely focus on anything besides the feeling of his skin against mine, the wet sounds between us, and every word he whispers directly into my ear. “Good girl.” “Taking me so well, sunshine.” “You’re fucking perfect.” “Come with me like a good girl.”  Each phrase sends a tingle across my skin, my orgasm pulled taunt until it snaps like a rubber band, and I come around him with a muffled ‘I love you’ as he follows, spilling himself inside of me with the same groaned ‘I love you’s. His weight drops for a moment before his arms tighten around me to flip us so that he doesn’t press down on me as we both try to take in much oxygen as we can with labored breaths, my cheek pressed to his rapidly rising and falling chest. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm.” I nod, eyes already drifting with the need for a rest. 

“No no no, you gotta pee, sunshine.” His hand pats gently against my ass and I sleepily laugh before getting up and rushing into the bathroom to pee, pulling on my panties on my way back. I stop in the doorway, looking at him resting in bed, having flipped over onto his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow.

The chill of the air forces me back into bed quickly though, hopping over Leon to get to my side. My side. His face pressed into the soft fabric of his pillow, and I lay down on his back - practically laying on him - before running my fingers across the raised skin on his right shoulder. This was from when I patched him up for the first time.

“Will I ever get to hear the stories behind your scars?” I find myself asking in a hushed tone as if I’ll wake up from a dream if I speak too loud. I trace what was once that gash the size of my forearm with a delicate touch. Light, soft. He shifts around, moving his face out of the pillow to speak.

“Which ones do you wanna know about?” He mumbles. He’s clearly tired, but he’s humoring me, which is just like him.

“All of them,” I admit. He shivers beneath me, my digits still tracing over marred skin. I feel him huff out a laugh from his back against my cheek.

“Nurse Nosy. That’s never gonna change is it?” He teases. I gasp in mock offense, ready to retort with someone that most definitely would have been witty and clever. “That one was from an axe.” I tilt my head, confused for a moment before I realize he’s talking about the scar.

“It was an axe?” I ask skeptically, sitting up so that I’m sitting on his lower back, legs on either side of his torso bent at the knee. He nods against the pillow.

“Guy grabbed the axe from the fire emergency kit.” I look at the skin, and suddenly it feels different. It feels raw, and intimate, and scary. Before I can think twice, I lean forward, pressing my lips to the marred flesh. Leon tenses, every muscle in his body going rigid and I begin to sit up before his arm comes out from under the pillow, catching my attention.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t hav-”

“It’s okay. It’s okay for you to do that.” He whispers, and I can faintly see the tint of a blush on his cheeks and nose. Leaning back down again, palms resting on the warm skin of his back, I press kisses along the length of the gash before I sit back up, hands not leaving his skin as I move them to the long thin scar that runs from his left shoulder diagonally over his spine, ending at the bottom of his ribs on the right side. The one I patched here, in our apartment. On our couch.

“What about this one?”

“That is from when I was dealing with one guy, another snuck up behind me with a knife. I was really lucky I moved when I did.” The idea of him almost dying isn’t a pleasant thought in the slightest, so I opt to lean down, giving this scar the same treatment as the last one, kisses tenderly placed across it. My eyes move to the small circular wound on his left shoulder. I trace the edges of it, noting how his breath catches. This was caused by a bullet.

“And this one?” I ask, hesitant. He’s never mentioned this one before, and it certainly wasn’t one myself or any of the DSOs doctors did. He takes a deep breath, my body rising slightly as his chest expands before he releases it.

“I was shot. I was trying to protect this girl, her name is Ada. I took the bullet for her. I don’t know if it was some stupid crush or a general sense of duty, but I jumped in front of her.” He tries to keep his tone impassive, but I can tell. I can always tell with him.

“Ada? You’ve never mentioned anyone named Ada before,” I question. He takes a long pause, so long that for a moment I wonder if he’s going to ignore the question altogether.

“She was a mercenary that I met in Raccoon City. Granted, I didn’t know she was a mercenary at the time. She claimed she was FBI, and young and naive as I was, I believed her. She used me to do her dirty work.” He explains, and it’s impossible to miss the sadness in his voice. The betrayal. It’s as fresh as it was the day in Raccoon City.

“What happened to her?” I ask. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Well up until last August, I thought she was dead. She fell in Umbrella’s lab when it started coming down. I couldn’t pull her up. But then she was in Spain, tried to convince me to leave Ashley behind and go with her.”

“But you said no?”

“I did.”

“Why?” He shifts his head, looking back at me before chuckling.

“I promised Ashley I’d get her home.” He says before quietly adding, “And I promised myself that I’d come home to you.” Another light kiss pressed right on the old wound. The old memory. Sitting up, I scan his back, trailing my fingers across scarred flesh before I speak up.

“Can I do the ones on your front?” It’s practically a whisper. Surprisingly, he nods, flipping beneath me so that I’m now resting on his abdomen. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” It’s a fair question, given the shining of tears I can see forming in his eyes from the moonlight shining. He nods.

“Yeah. I’m just not used to anyone being so… gentle. Not with me anyways. But I trust you.”

It’s hard not to shiver at the feeling of hard muscle under my covered core, but I ignore it in favor of poking a small cut on his bicep. He chuckles, cheeks dusted pink.

“Uh oh. What was this one?” His laugh is contagious, my own chuckle coming out at the notice of his laughter.

“It was so stupid. One of the guys I was training with decided he wanted to spar, and in the middle, one of the higher-ups walked in.” He starts, his hands resting on my thighs, the warmth just enough to keep me from needing pants. “Well being the 21-year-old that I was, I wanted to try and show off. I ended up fucking up something and caught myself with the blade.” It’s cute to see him embarrassed.

“Well, at least it’s a good story.” I giggle, before pressing a kiss on the old wound. I grip his hand, the one that had the burn, the skin completely healed, almost appearing like nothing had happened at all. A soft kiss pressed there too.

“Guy had a torch. It caught my glove.” I look up at his explanation, smiling before placing a series of kisses there, one on each knuckle before I set his hand back on my thigh. The scar in the center of his chest. I place my palm on it, the length of it longer than my hand from wrist to the tip of my middle finger.

“What about this one?” A deep breath, steadying. Calming. He’ll tell me if he’s not comfortable talking about it. I need to trust that he will.

“It happened in Spain. There were these… Parasites. It’s what they were using to control the people. They infected me. I know I should have told you soon-”

“Ashley told me. Back at the white house, at that party where you tricked me into coming with you.”

“She told you?” He questions, confusion in his voice as his eyebrows raise. “She told you what they were or…”

“She told me they were parasites. And that both of you were infected, but were cured. I didn’t wanna push you into talking about it, so I never brought up that I knew,” I admit, suddenly feeling as if I’ve hidden some vital detail from him. That feeling is washed away as his chest begins to move with his laugh.

“She would be the one to blab about that.” He chuckles again to himself lightly. “But this is the scar left from the removal.” I kiss it, right in the center before kissing my way up his chest, stopping at a scar on the left side of his jaw. It’s small, almost unnoticeable. “Before you ask, I was shaving with a razor that was dull as hell. It left this as a reminder to change my razors more often.” I giggle into his neck, nose tracing across the line of his jawbone before I place a soft kiss on it. My lips continue to press wet kisses at any exposed skin I can reach without sitting up.

“I’ll ask about more another time. We’ve got lots of time.” His arms come up to wrap around my shoulders, my naked chest pressed against his, able to feel his heartbeat under me. The silence stretches on, and I almost wonder if he has dozed off before he speaks.

“Marry me.” I press on his chest until I’m hovering over him, shock widening my eyes.

“What?” He’s not serious.

“You heard me,” he comments, eyes still shining with tears. Because no one has ever been so soft with him. No one has ever treated him like a person, they’ve only seen Leon S. Kennedy, STRATCOM’s golden boy. “Marry me.”

“You did good.” I turn quickly toward the door at hearing his voice again.

“Sorry?” My voice is quieter than intended, almost making it sound like I’m afraid. Agent Kennedy’s head tilts, looking over his shoulder, no smile, just looking.

“You did a good job. You took good care of your first victim.” For a moment, and only a moment, I see a glimmer of a smirk flit across his mouth before he’s gone, the echo of his boots practically filling my ears as he makes his way down the hallway.

“Really? You? A cop?” The revelation takes me by surprise, although it probably shouldn’t have. My eyebrows rise in shock.

“Yeah, believe it or not. Ended up here through sheer dumb luck.” The way he says ‘dumb luck’, it sounds like there’s more he wishes he could say but can’t.

“Well, then it sounds like you’re pretty brave yourself, Agent Kennedy.” The clipboard handed to him. Him signing it with a scratching across the paper. His hands, bruised knuckles and all, returning it to me.

“Nurse Nosy!” I turn, irritation growing on my face as he quickly makes his way over to me.

“Can you pick a different nickname, please?” I ask, and he ignores the question in favor of his own request.

“A couple of friends and I are grabbing drinks tonight. Come with.” It takes me by surprise, him inviting me out with his friends.

“Look, if this is a pity thing, it’s fine. I’m content in my loneliness.”

“It’s not. I’m just trying t-”

“To help?” His sentence is finished by me, and for a brief second, I see a flash of embarrassment on his cheeks due to the nature of my line of questioning the first time we met.

“I’m just trying to invite you out for a drink. That’s all.”

Looking up, I see Leon slide his arms into his own jacket, the leather practically molding to his stature, and I have to contain a groan at the sight as he zips it. I completely lose focus for a moment, only brought out of it as his fingers knock against my forehead teasingly. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Sorry, but my thoughts cost a dollar,” I sass, taking the helmet as he hands it to me and pulling it onto my head.

“Well, remind me to start saving up.” Another godforsaken wink. Fuck. Don’t. Leon, I’m begging you. Don’t make me fall in love with you. I can’t.

“Well apparently, it does, in fact, matter. Which sucks. I would need to find someone who could put up with not knowing when I’ll be here and when I won’t.” He glares at the ceiling as if it’s personally offended him, furrowed brows and lips curled downward. Don’t. Don’t fucking say it. Don’t.

“I could.” Had to open my fucking mouth. Leon’s eyes immediately snap to me, his frown replaced with a surprised expression.

“What?” He asks, almost in disbelief.

“I have an extra room. And I don’t mind the chaotic schedule,” I mumble, suddenly very embarrassed by my outburst. “Plus, I could keep your plant alive.” He finally cracks a smile as he laughs.

“You’re serious?”

“I mean, you’ll have to help with rent. And groceries when you’re here, but, yeah. If you want, the spare’s yours.”

“Will you do that for a little longer?”

“What?” He gestures to his head.

“Your fingers in my hair.” Don’t.

“Of course. Come here.” I scoot back, grabbing the pillow from the floor and placing it behind me so I can rest against it, flipping the lamp off before laying down completely. Leon finds the blanket draped over the back of the couch, tugging it over his back and my legs before resting his head on the middle of my chest, and while I knew this was coming, it still took me by surprise. I settle with his head there, his face turned toward the TV I know he’s not actually watching.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” he slurs, already on the brink of sleep as I thread my fingers through his blonde locks once more, finger combing the strands until I feel him start to snore again, a light sound that could almost be mistaken for breathing if you weren’t listening. But of course, I was listening. I’m always listening when it comes to him.

I fall asleep like this as well, his head on my chest, the smell of his citrusy shampoo in my nose, his breath warming the fabric of my thin sleep shirt, and my fingers in his hair.

5. “What are 5 things you can see right now?”

“You.” His voice is trembling. I can practically feel my heart splintering inside my chest.

“Good. What else?”

“Yellow of your shirt.” I nod encouragingly. “Your radio has green numbers.” Good. “The red straw of the cup in your cupholder.” One more. “Your keychain has a picture of you and your sister on it.”

4. “What are 4 things you can feel right now? Physically.”

“Your hands on my jaw.” One. “The seat under me.” Two. “My hands on your legs.” Three. “The sweat on my forehead.” Four. Good.

3. “What are 3 things you can hear?”

“Your voice.”

“Mhm. Good.”

“Birds outside of the car.” One more, Leon. “The blood pounding in my ears.”

2. “What are 2 things you can smell?”

“The car’s air freshener. It’s lavender.”

“Good nose.” I whisper, trying to bring a smile to my own face in reassurance.

“Your perfume. It’s vanilla.”

“You’re doing really well, Leon.”

1. “What is 1 thing you can taste?”

“I don’t know, I can’t-” My hands find the gum in my center console, unwrapping it and offering it to him. He opens his mouth without question, refusing to break eye contact as I pop the spearmint strip into his mouth. He chews it, the familiar flavor and texture seemingly bringing him a sense of calm. 

“What is one thing you can taste, Leon?”

“My gum.”

“You were there.” I’m not tired anymore.

“Sorry?”

“In Raccoon City. You were there in my nightmare.” He pauses, taking in a breath, his heart stuttering inside his chest. “You were hurt, and I tried so hard to fix it, but…” I run my hand in comforting circles across his shoulder blade as he pauses, taking a breath. “You turned. And I had to…” Oh.

He came in here to make sure I was still alive.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, Superman.”

“Superman?” He questions the nickname, and I can hear the smile that adorns his lips.

“Yeah. You’re basically Superman.” Words mumbled into his chest, his arm underneath my head bending to run fingers through the strands that have fallen free from the messy bun at the top of my head.

“She really cares about you, you know that?” Silence. I wish I knew if it was because of some unspoken conversation or if Leon truly just doesn’t know what to say. “She loves hard. Friendships, romance, family. Doesn’t seem to matter to her. If she loves you, she really loves you.”

“I know.” What? “God, don’t I know it. She’s one of the few things in this fucked up world that actually makes me think it’s worth it.”

“I saw you, man. I saw the way you looked at her.”

There he is. He’s dirty, face covered in smudges of mud and what I assume is blood, and there is a bandage on his jaw. His arms are littered with cuts and his right hand is encircled in white sterile wrapping, and beneath the thigh of his black cargo pants - which have a very large hole - there is more wrapping. His eyes practically droop under the weight of the dark circles resting below the multitude of blue swirls, blonde hair stringy and clearly in need of a wash hanging down to graze his cheek.

“I sure hope you didn’t give them too hard of a time, Nurse Nosy.” Tears swell in my eyes at his tone, the final nail in the coffin that it’s him.

“Leon?” He opens his arms just like he always does, and despite the nightmare looming in my brain, I bolt toward him, uncaring of the mud seeping into my socks until my arms are around his shoulders and his are squeezing my middle, lifting my feet off the muddy ground.

“Keeping my hoodie warm for me, sweetheart?” He teases in my ear and I let myself cry, tears streaming from my closed eyelids as I sniffle, refusing to let go of him for the first time since I met him. “Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart, you’re not wearing shoes.” Given my lack of coherency, my muscles move unconsciously, winding around his waist. His nose in my hair, lips against my scalp, arms tight around my ribs. “Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

“I never thought I’d be able to care about someone again, not after everything that happened, but then…” He pauses, just long enough for me to wonder if he had fallen asleep right here and now.

“Then what?”

“Then I found you.” We’re silent for a long moment, him because I presume he’s finished speaking, and me because I am attempting to process his words as they circle around my mind, bumping into the sides violently.

“I care about you too, Leon,” I mumble, forearms wrapping around his head in some kind of strange hug. He shakes his head, his temples pressing against my biceps in disagreement.

“It’s not the same.”

“Well, he told me that you are a nurse and that you guys are best friends.” I visibly relax, thinking it’s nothing to make my mind short-circuit. Then she keeps going. “He said that he doesn’t feel like he’s home after a mission until he’s gotten one of your hugs. That you always smell like warm vanilla, despite your hands always being cold. Said you’re the only one who has ever made him feel safe. Like really, truly safe. He told me that you can’t choose between pink and yellow as your favorite color, and that it changes based on the day. You love lavender, but orchids hold a special place in your heart.”

“I don’t know how he remembers all that…” It’s all I can think to say, having finished off the glass of wine, my fingers tangle together, trying to resist the urge to pick at my cuticles.

“Do you remember those things about him?”

“Of course I do. But it’s different, I-” Stop. Don’t do this. Don’t say it out loud.

“I mean, he told me that he lo-”

“There you girls are.” Leon’s there. Standing in the doorway, suit jacket unbuttoned and tie loosened, and I want to beg Ashley to ‘please, just finish the sentence.’ But I don’t.

“We don’t have to actually-” his hand slides under my chin, tilting my head up and before I can even process it, his lips press to mine. It’s short-lived, but it’s impossible to miss the subtle taste of eggnog and rum. The warmth. Spearmint. His lips are chapped, although that hardly matters at the moment, heart fluttering against my chest as he pulls back, just enough for our noses to brush again. I am never going to be able to forget this.

“Thank you.” Neither of us have opened our eyes, almost afraid to break these precious seconds.

“For what?” I whisper back.

“For everything.”

“Leon Scott Kennedy, you are an impossible man,” I mumble breathily, dropping my head to rest against his clavicle. “You changed the one thing I thought I knew about myself.”

“And what’s that?” I feel his words roll from his chest beneath my cheek.

“I’m not content in my loneliness anymore.” The words are practically whispered by this point.

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask a question. You definitely phrased it as more of a statement.” I can practically hear his eye roll, followed by a deep sigh of exasperation. “You always were my first victim.”

“And I’m gonna be your last, right?” He’s nervous now, the inquiry coming out much quieter. Anxious.

“Yeah,” I agree, and his muscles relax under me. I didn’t even feel them tense up.

“So?” Leon’s hands rub softly across the skin of my back, soothing despite the rough calluses I know he has. It reminds me of the tenderness he is capable of, never mind the hell that he has been through. I sit up again, just enough so that our noses brush, breaths mingling in the space between our kiss-swollen lips.

“Do I get to pick the flowers?” I tease, a small smile growing across my lips. Leon’s blue eyes roll as his own smile appears, a huff of a laugh puffing against my face.

“Yes or no, Nurse Nosy?”

“Yes.”

Leon: @house-of-kolchek @bonnibuckets @athanasia-day @muffimtv Everything: @chaosandbubbles @kassiekolchek22 @akiramoon8088

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy smut

[lionlena]

We don't love each other (PedroPascalxreader) angst! Part II

A/N: I can't believe I wrote ANGST. It breaks my heart. All because of this one gif. In my imagination, Tyler looks like Tyler Hoechlin.

Summary:  You and Pedro are: friends with benefits, for many years. Your layout is simple and clear. You don't love each other. You're friends on a daily basis, you take care of each other... Sometimes you sleep together. You go on dates with other men and Pedro doesn't mind. Everything is simple until you accidentally hear Oscar say that Pedro loves you. Then you decide to tell him the truth and you ruin everything.

Warnings: angst!!! smut, mentions of sex, friends with benefits, sad, broken hearts, age difference (reader is 15 years younger than Pedro)

A/N: This part is shorter and please... Don't be angry. I know some of you want a happy ending and I promise you will get it, but not yet.

*

Part II

It is said that mourning has 5 stages. Of course you knew Pedro was alive, but you felt you had lost him forever. So you started going through each stage one by one.

1. Denial

That's what you felt right after the fight with Pedro, when you cried alone. You didn't believe what he said. He was just drunk and didn't mean it at all. It was the alcohol fault.

You knew it was a lie. You've seen him drunk many times. He was the type to just get sleepy and cuddle more. He was never aggressive and was always aware of what he was saying.

2. Anger

You felt it as soon as you entered the house. You threw your suitcase furiously against the wall and started screaming.

How the fuck was he dare acting like this?! Fucking selfish. His age argument was ridiculous. The difference between the two of you wasn't that large. You were an adult. Damn, you were a mature woman! Leave that point for Leonardo!

And his fucking fame! There have been times in the past that your photos have appeared on gossip sites. You didn't care too much about it. But maybe it was him, he didn't want to ruin his image with someone like you.

3. Bargaining

Once you had calmed down, you sat down on the couch and while you drank another glass of wine, you began to analyze everything. It didn't have to be the end. You don't have to love him and he doesn't have to love you. You can still be friends without sex... Or with sex. Sometimes. Once a year. For so many years your system has been running like a well-oiled machine. You can still undo everything, right? If only you'd stayed at the door a few minutes more. If you had heard Pedro's whole conversation with Oscar.

4. Depression

You decided to spend all your holiday crying. For three days you lay on the couch and hardly moved. A pile of used tissues has gathered around you. There were two empty wine bottles and an ice cream wrapper under the table. There was a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. But you really didn't care. You wanted to disappear. Just turn to dust like the people in "Avengers: Infinity War" after Thanos snapped his fingers.

You remembered how you made Pedro watch all the Marvel movies with you. He was teasing you so much about your crush on Captain America.

"You'll see, one day, I'll deliberately star in some movie with Chris Evans  to make you die of envy!"

Another loud sob escaped your lips. You were about to hide under the blanket when the doorbell rang. You were surprised. You didn't order food, you didn't wait for anyone... Your heart jumped like crazy.

It's Pedro! Of course "your" Pedro would come to you eventually. You quickly ran to open the door and your heart dropped to your feet.

"Ty?"

"Hey, Y/N." Your ex-boyfriend looked worried at you. "Can I go in?"

You were so shocked that you just shrugged and let him in. You sat on the couch and watched Tyler. The man scanned your living room and finally sat down on the coffee table, across from you.

"Y/N are you okay?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You just didn't believe it was Tyler. And of course he had to be nice and worry about you. What did you expect? You've been together for seven fucking months.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologize to you."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. You were even more surprised when Tyler grabbed your hands.

"I understand that my proposal might have overwhelmed you. I shouldn't have done it like this. You had the right to feel pressured. I'm so sorry Y/N. I would have come earlier if I had known you were suffering so much."

One sec! Tyler thought your current state was the result of breaking off an engagement. Oh shit! Did he really have to pick the worst moment of your life? You felt like someone hit you on the head, with a hammer.

"Yes?" you asked with weak voice.

"Yes, baby. I'm not angry anymore. I missed you so much."

"Yes?"

Your brain has really stopped working. Tyler unfortunately found it cute and chuckled slightly.

"Yes! We've had so many wonderful moments. How about starting over? Slower this time. Maybe instead of getting engaged, you'd agree to move in together. But I'm not pushing. No pressure this time."

You nodded your head and just like that you were pushed into stage 5: acceptance.

You've lost Pedro. He will never come back to you. You couldn't turn Tyler down again. You had to come to terms with the idea that you would end up with someone you couldn't love. For the rest of your life. At least you won't be alone.

With Tyler's help, you cleaned the apartment and agreed to go for a walk with him because he said the fresh air would do you good. As you walked down the street with him and holding his hand, you still felt a huge emptiness in your chest. That's when you realized you'd never make it to Stage 5. You'd stay "depressed" forever.

*

(Pedro pov )

1. Denial

As Pedro stood on the beach and watched your taxi vanish into the horizon, he just couldn't believe it. All night he denied everything. It didn't happen. He misunderstood you. You didn't mean it. You were drunk. Only he knew you and knew you were serious. Both about loving him and about to leave you alone.

2. Anger

He wiped his tears furiously. Why did he have to be so stupid?! Why did he have to screw everything up? He didn't want to yell at you, he didn't want to break your heart, and most of all, he didn't want you to leave. And at the same time, he had enough. He hated every guy he had to share your lips with. He hated it when you came back to him for another dose of love. For years he told himself he could handle it. That it's better in this way. You didn't love him and you deserved someone better.

He was so consumed with anger that he didn't notice Oscar standing beside him. Well, his friend really had no timing.

"Hey man, what happened?"

Pedro glared at him angrily.

"It just fucking happened that you had to pick the worst possible day to talk about morality!"

"Whoa, slow down!"

Oscar held his hands up, but Pedro continued to press against him.

"Y/N overheard us! She came to me at night and confessed that she loved me, and I..." His voice broke. "I yelled at her... I told her I didn't want to love her..."

"Then why the fuck are you mad at me?! Remember what I told you when I  discovered you have agreement with her?"

"That it's sick and we're both going to suffer."

"Exactly! And now you're standing here taking your anger out on me. I didn't come up with this! You guys got yourself into this. It's not my fault you don't know what you want. How I was supposed to know she loved you... Ok, sometimes I suspected it, but..." Oscar sighed heavily as he saw his friend crying. He pulled Pedro into a hug. "I'm sorry. I know you're hurting, but maybe it's better this way."

Pedro clenched his hands on Oscar's shirt.

"I want her back," he mumbled.

3. Bargaining

Pedro couldn't just stay with the others and keep playing. He apologized to everyone, explaining the sudden need to shoot some scenes for The Mandalorian. Only Oscar and Sarah knew the truth.

When he got to his apartment, he was still analyzing everything. After all, he could still fix everything. You two will go back to your old layout. Eventually you'll realize that you don't love him. He will be able to have a part of you again. He will suffer and he will listen to Oscar's lectures again, but at least his heart will not be so empty.

After three days, he made a decision. He grabbed his car keys and cell phone and decided to go to your place. He parked near your apartment and was about to leave when he saw Tyler come out. You were right behind him. Your ex reached out to you. You smiled slightly and grabbed his hand. He realized that apparently you two are together again. And he hated him. Hated Tyler's square jaw, chiseled stomach, biceps... And he hated himself for being such a pathetic pup who lay down at your feet.

4. Depression

He spent the rest of the day sitting on the couch drinking beer and looking at pictures of you together. He felt as if someone had ripped his heart out of his chest. He had years to tell you the truth and he wasted it. So many times he could have tried to change something, but he was too late. He lost you and he was never going to accept that.

* Amor fugado,

( Run away love,)

Me tomas, me dejas, me exprimes, y me tiras a un lado

(You take me, you leave me, you squeeze me and throw me aside)

Te vas a otro cielo y regresas como los colibrís

(You go to another heaven and come back like the hummingbirds)

Me tienes como un perro a tus pies.

(You have me like a dog at your feet)

Labios compartidos, labios divididos

(Shared lips, divided lips,)

(mi amor)

Yo no puedo compartir tus labios

(I can’t share your lips)

Y comparto el engaño y comparto mis días y el dolor

(That I share the deceive and I share my days and the pain)

Ya no puedo compartir tus labios

(I can’t share your lips)

Oh amor, oh amor, compartido

(Oh love, oh shared love)

Mana - Labios Compartidos

@creedslove​ I probably listened this song a hundred times while writing Pedro pov <3

Part I

Part III

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #the manadalorian #angst #sadness

[odetodilfs]

I was wondering if you could do a fan fic where joel and tommy are traveling but it takes place 20 years before they meet Ellie and they meet someone along the way. they don’t trust him at first but joel starts catching feelings. you could make it smut or fluff it doesn’t really matter based on your previous pieces of work you seem to be a good writer

Please and thank you

Let myself loose

I loved this request so much!! It was super cute to write and overall just amazing, far better than my usual smut. Lots of fluff too!!

Pairing: bottom Joel Miller x top m!reader Warnings: Breeding, mentions of crying, implied homophobia, soft Joel deserves his own warning.

Joel had always lived with his attraction to men, he knew it, he acknowledged it, he just never told anyone, Texas wasn’t a good place to be queer, so he just pushed down his attraction to men and tried to focus on raising his daughter Sarah instead. It worked out alright for him, he was happy with her. That all changed one day though. After Sarah’s death which he mourned greatly, he and Tommy traveled across the US. Their travels made them closer as brothers and it helped Joel not be as stuck on Sarah’s death. They traveled the country and eventually got used to living in a world where rations were the norm and where vines growing on buildings was nothing out of the ordinary.

You on the other hand had no family and lived in New York, when the pandemic hit, you embraced your identity as a queer man and eventually when New York became deserted, you realized surviving winter there was not going to be easy, so you went further south towards milder climates. You had walked for days and you were exhausted, a clicker had messed up your car engine while you slept so you couldn’t use your car, there, you met Joel and Tommy, “Hey- guys-” you said tiredly, Joel instantly held up a weapon, “Hey, hey, calm down” Tommy said, grabbing the knife in his hand, “Let him talk” “Well, I’ve walked for days, and I’m super hungry…” you said, “and I’m alone” you said, trying to convince them to take them with you, “Do we trust him?” Joel asked, still worried that you might mean harm,” “He’s limping, Joel” Tommy replied almost sassily, “let’s help him” he said, helping you walk.

Joel had eyed you more now and something in him started to tell him, “Help that man walk, don’t let your brother do it” the voices in his head got louder as Tommy got closer to you, “No worries, Tommy, I’ll do this” he said, grabbing your arms and holding you up, “This good?” he asked, he couldn’t help but smile a tiny bit, “Yes, thank you, you have no idea..” you thanked them.

One thing you noticed about these two men was how incredibly good looking they were, but the Joel guy… he was incredible, that mustache, the brown eyes and the way he probably just wanted someone to hold him, he also smelt good, which was another plus for him, you learned the two men were brothers and also learnt Joel had recently suffered from his daughter Sarah’s death. 

“Oh- oh shit man I’m so sorry” you said, patting him on the shoulder, Joel was trying hard to not sob, “Hey, it’s alright to cry” you reassured him, but he just blamed it on the ashes in the fire in front of you, “He’s like that” Tommy stepped in, but he’s a nice fella, anyway, where are you from? We come from Texas,” “New York” you said, “Nice, nice” Tommy kept talking, you could tell Joel was zoned out, probably still mourning Sarah. Joel was also paying attention to every word you were saying, you had caught him and he didn’t know why, but he was just so interested in everything you had to say.

However, the two brothers still distrusted you and it was clear enough, you sometimes caught them talking to each other and acting like they weren’t as soon as they saw you. But Joel started to like you more, eventually fully trusting you more. He noticed himself looking at you for longer than he should have, Tommy sometimes telling him what was the matter with him and why he was zoning out so often, Joel was starting to have to face the reality that he had caught feelings for you.

Your feelings for Joel also continued to grow, you had managed to see another side of him, you went to sleep every night, imagining what those sweet, full looking lips tasted like, holding Joel as physically close as possible, things like those were what made you smile, you had tried to be extra flirty with him, but he just didn’t catch onto your flirting. Tommy decided to part ways and started to live in a city, it was clearly hard for Joel who wanted to keep traveling, but Tommy was tired of walking around, he wanted to settle down, have his own kids. Luckily, you were there for Joel, and he realized he had no choice but to trust you blindly, you and him became like best friends to each other, you were the only thing you both had, which just strengthened your feelings for each other even more. The tension between you two could be cut with a knife, if someone had been with you they definitely would’ve just asked you to kiss already. One night, it was super cold, like your bones start aching kind of cold, and when you were sleeping in a house with no windows, the cold had no trouble getting in, you got to thinking and realized the only way for you to sleep would be to cuddle with Joel, and upon further notice, it was a chance to cuddle him as well, “Joel, I’m fucking cold” you complained, following your plan, you looked at him, he started removing his jacket, he was always so selfless, just one element of the endless list of things you liked about him, “No, you fucking silly, we should… sleep close to each other” you cut yourself off right before saying cuddling, “No, take my jacket” Joel protested, he loved the idea of cuddling you, but he was too nervous, he didn’t have enough confidence, “For fuck’s sake Joel, I said no” you complained, going closer to him, Joel felt himself getting weak as you approached.

You snuggled in close to him, Joel immediately tensed up at the feel of your body warming him up, you turned around so you could see his face, your lips were mere centimeters from each other, “Joel-” you started saying, “Thanks for doing this to keep us warm” he said, still tense, trying to change the topic

“Joel, I know you want to kiss me” you continued, Joel hadn’t done a very good job at keeping his feelings for you hidden… he didn’t reply, he started to panic, you realized you had to make the first move, so you grabbed his head and kissed his lips firmly but sweetly. His lips were amazing, the way your tongues were against each other, the way he tasted, the soft, faint whimpers he let out as he finally gave into the pleasure he’d wanted to feel for so many months. When you pulled apart, Joel still had his eyes closed, he gradually opened them, “I-” he started 

“Joel, it’s alright, I’ve wanted it for months too, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve seen” you confessed as you ran your hand along his cheek, there was a tear rolling down his face, “And I mean it, you could say I love you, the way you get dimples everytime you smile, the way you laugh, the way your face looks so cute when you zone out,” you said, then, he said what you’d dreamed that he’d say one day, “I love you too,” he confessed as he held you, “I’m just so damn afraid of losing you, or maybe I wanted to give this  Sarah business some time, but I’ve loved you ever since I helped you walk when we met” he confessed, his eyes glowing with happy tears, “Now… cuddling sounds good, but don’t you think we can warm ourselves up doing something more… active?” he said, flirting as he stroked your inner thigh, you hadn’t pictured him as the type to flirt, but your dick was getting hard at his words…

“Joel-” you moaned, “I’ve wanted to do this for so, so, fucking long,” he breathed out, “Then do it” he didn’t quite know what to do, it was his first time with a man, but his legs naturally spread for you, you looked at him, you didn’t really mind who was a top and who bottomed, but the way Joel’s legs spread out for you gave you a view of his ass, you wanted to fuck him, be inside him, “It’s my first time with a man-” he moaned, “It’s alright Joel, but we don’t have lube, you’re gonna have to suck me first so I’m lubed enough for you to take me” “Sure, darling” he said, moving down your body and taking out your cock, the cold air hit it but immediately went into Joel’s warm, waiting mouth. Joel sucked your dick and it was the first time he’d sucked a cock, but he was surprisingly good at it and kept trying to swallow your cock, you were shaking in pleasure, his mouth felt amazing, your dick was twitching in his throat. He was extremely eager, you could tell he was trying to lube you up as fast as possible, he was taking your cock so well down his throat, but you felt your orgasm getting close, “F-fuck- Joel, if you don’t stop I’m gonna-” you whimpered, he immediately took your cock out of his mouth, “Are you lubed up now?” he asked so prettily, your dick glistening with his spit, “We could try” you said, taking some of the slick on your dick and putting it on your fingers, then pulled Joel’s pants down, his hole was exposed to you. You started putting your fingers inside him to loosen up, he just moaned and begged for more, being as loud as he wanted to, he was confident no one was around, when you had two fingers buried in his ass, you finally found his prostate, he yelped in pleasure and threw his head back, “Is that good, Joel?” you asked sweetly, “Y-yes- m-more- again-” he whimpered, “As you say, my love” you went back to fingering him, then pushing a third finger in, there was a lack of lube, so you had to be extra gentle with him, but you managed.

As you started to go inside him, he whimpered, you held his hand, “Shh my love, I’m right here” you reassured him,

“This isn’t a one time thing, tell me it’s not a one time thing please” he begged, totally seriously, “it won’t be” you kissed him, “I love you, Joel” you whispered, your dick kept going further inside him, “Oh fuck-” Joel moaned as tears came out of his eyes from happiness and pleasure, “Shhh, it’s alright, you’re taking me well my dear, so well…” you reassured him, your cock brushed past his prostate and he breathed in sharply. His ass felt so warm around your dick, and the way he clenched slightly was giving just the right amount of pressure on your dick.

You moaned as you started thrusting into him, Joel’s eyes shut tight in pleasure, your dick getting closer to orgasm with each thrust, “Please-” he begged, having no idea what he was begging for, all he knew, was that he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life, “What do you want, my sweet Joel?” you asked him, “Ngh-” Joel moaned, he started looking you in the eye, his eyes were wide open just like his mouth, he started breathing hard and Joel came a lot, he was having the best orgasm of his life as you continued fucking into him, the way he clenched around your cock so tightly made you scream in pleasure as well and cum inside him, making him yours. 

You pulled out, “Did you like that?” you asked, smiling

“I loved it” he said, cuddling you and putting his clothes back on, “Better now? Not cold?” he chuckled “No” you said as you laid your head on his chest, “Were you serious?” he asked, “When you said you loved me?” “I was, I’ve loved you for long enough, I couldn’t repress it anymore” you confessed, “But… what if I’m not enough for you?” Joel started, “You are enough for me, Joel,” you said as you brought him in for a soft, sweet kiss on the lips, “you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, a man to love, as we cuddle after sex, but maybe not in a post apocalyptic world, but I’m happy for once, and it’s because of you” you said, “I love you” he simply said and held you to him as he sobbed into your shoulder, “I don’t want to lose you” he said, worried for you, “You won’t, we’ll travel the country together, proudly holding hands, cause no one will be there to call us names, we’ll be free” you held his hand, “We will be” Joel said as he started to fall asleep, “Goodnight, babe” he said, “Goodnight my love, sleep well” you said, now both of you warm.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x male reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal characters #tlou #gay #x male reader #gay love

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

Seven(ish) Sentences Sunday

tagged by @wildlife4life @devirnis @cowboy-buck @wikiangela @rewritetheending @loserdiaz @thekristen999 @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck

thank you my loves! 💖

paint sex fic is really out of hand and oops some angst has been introduced, idk wtf is going on but it's not paint sex (yet, i promise it will be there and it's gonna be so filthy stg)

Hot, blue fire blazes in Buck’s eyes and it should probably be sickening how much that fills Eddie with relief. “Do you really want to do this now?” Buck asks, his entire sentence sounding like it is riding out of his mouth along a mournful sigh.

Eddie groans and reaches up to drag a hand down his face, as if that could wipe away the sudden tension and exhaustion that is blooming to life within his skull. “What even is this?”

Deep lines carve into the edges of Buck’s mouth, making him look weary and almost sinister as he pockets his phone and just shakes his head like he can’t answer Eddie.

Something entirely too rough and ragged starts boiling in the pit of Eddie’s stomach, but he breathes through it, because he doesn’t want to give in to that feeling, because he’s pretty sure Buck isn’t trying to be obstinate on purpose, because he has painstakingly learned the best ways to get Buck to open up and while sometimes his first instinct still isn’t to be patient and careful he can now recognize that he feels frustrated and uncertain and a little bit hurt and he is capable of controlling how he reacts to that in a way that doesn’t make the situation worse.

Turns out therapy kind of works, who knew?

He takes a deep breath, lets the cold air of the bunkroom that is filled with the plain, clean smelling detergent they use on the sheets nip away at what is burning in his belly, and makes his voice as gentle and open as possible without coming across as cajoling or patronizing. “I don’t–I don’t understand, Buck. What happened? Everything was okay and then it wasn’t and I’m–I’m lost.”

The sigh that Buck lets out is shaky and torn and drags across Eddie’s skin with phantom claws. Goosebumps follow in their wake and Eddie shivers, cold and a little hollow just like the space between them.

tagging: @elvensorceress @spaceprincessem @shortsighted-owl @transbuck @anxieteandbiscuits @try-set-me-on-fire @jeeyuns @bucks118 @lover-of-mine @shitouttabuck @diazblunt @diazass @transboybuckley @cowboy-buddie @bvckandeddie @forthewolves @eddiediaztho @king-buckley @thewolvesof1998 @monsterrae1 @buddierights @prettyboybuckley @heartshapedvows @housewifebuck @theotherluciferr @watchyourbuck @ladydorian05 @spotsandsocks @messyhairdiaz @911onabc @rogerzsteven @eowon and anyone else who wants to share!

#buddie #buddie wip #paint sex fic #god can i really call it that anymore asdfgjkll #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 #buddie fic #ryan writes #seven sentence sunday

[sku11kidz]

Come, my child.

Fandom: Biohazard: Village, Resident Evil 8, Resident Evil: Village

Prev chapter ~⭐️

Character Tags: Ethan Winters, Reader, Rosemary Winters (mention), Mother Miranda, Alicia Dimitrescu, Salvador Moreau, Karl Heisenberg,

Tags: Lord Ethan winters AU, Haha Ethan is an old 1950s dad, soft, Alternate canon, father is fathering, Child!Reader, children, horror tags, Ethan isn’t a good person, no matter how he wants to convince himself he is :(, reader is no older than 12, ???, writer is a teenager/slow updates

PROSHIP DNI 🍖🌈 DNI

Then he remembered you upstairs. Ethan sighs and puts his book down. He stands up and knocks on your room door. “Sweetheart,” he calls out “are you okay?” He knew that you were still mourning the loss of your village and loved ones. When you don’t answer, he slowly opens the door and sees you nuzzled into the blankets. Sighing in relief, he lightly closes the room door to let you rest.

He crept back downstairs and began to work on dinner. Ethan couldn’t help but wonder why exactly you stumbled across his home those days ago. Of course he was relieved that you weren’t super interested in Castle Dimitrescu and it’s looming energy over the village or the salty air of the reservoir.

He knew a child such as yourself wouldn’t survive the village as it was now. He kept telling himself that keeping you here was a safe idea but deep down he knew that you would want to leave and that he can’t protect you forever. He sighed and began to wash the potatoes and carrots. He turns on the stove and puts the vegetables in a broth. Just then, the phone rings.

Ethan mutters something to himself and picks up the phone, knowing exactly who it is. “Hello, Heisenberg.” He mutters. Heiseberg doesn’t even say ‘hello’ before speaking into the phone. “Ethan Winters! I know what exactly you're hiding.” Ethan’s eyes widen in shock. “Heisenberg, you can’t tell anyone–” He’s quickly cut off. “I’m kidding, Winters! It’s not like you’re housing another child that you’ll eventually kill again…” The room gets quiet. Ethan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know I didn’t kill them.” Heisenberg laughs at Ethan’s insistence.

“Oh right. Like the Lycans always go for your little toys!” Ethan was irritated and honestly tempted to just hang up.

He knew Heisenberg enjoyed getting under his skin, but right now he needed to keep the conversation civil. He couldn’t afford having his new child upstairs to hear him go off. He took a deep breath and responded calmly, "Look, enough with the games. Just tell me what you want.” Heisenberg's laughter trailed off, replaced by a cold and calculating tone. "What I want, Ethan, is a partnership.”

Ethan’s eyes widen. “A partnership? What do you mean by—“ He had a realization. Heisenberg interrupts, "I need your help with something big, Ethan. You know how I feel about Miranda. She can’t hear this call.” Ethan leans against the wall, unamused but interested In Heisenberg’s words. "Alright," Ethan says, "I'm listening, but if this is some kind of setup...” Ethan sighs and looks off.

Heisenberg smirks and leans back into his chair. “We kill the bitch where she stands. Then, after that, we can live a free life without her control.” Ethan thinks for a while. He didn’t know how to feel about this deal. “Listen to me, papa. I can already tell you’re super protective of this child. If you don’t take my deal, I’ll have to make a report on what you have stored into your—“ Ethan cuts him off. “Fine. Just don’t hurt them.” He mutters.

He hands up the phone and sighs, leaning against the doorframe of his kitchen. As he’s in the middle of thinking, you walk in. You look up at Ethan with your pleading eyes, clearly hungry. He brushed off his feelings and chuckled. “Hm? What is it, honey? You hungry?” He kneels down to your level and ruffled your hair. “Don’t worry, I’m cooking dinner right now.” You nod and rub to the living room to explore the house more. In the kitchen, you can smell Ethan cooking some roast beef.

The smell of roasted beef and potatoes pervaded the air, filling your nostrils with the savory aroma of a hearty feast. The sweet smell of potatoes being roasted mingled with the intense scent of beef, the two creating a delicious aroma that was sure to make your mouth water. The fragrance was mouth-watering and inviting, and the thought of digging into the delicious dinner made your stomach growl with anticipation. A warm, comforting feeling washes over you as you eagerly await the meal.

Your comfort and trust in Ethan ease your worries about the recent events. He hums a small tune that invites you in the kitchen. You happily skip into the kitchen and Ethan greets you with a warm smile as he continues to prepare the meal. “Sweetheart, come here.” He grabs a small spoon and scoops up some of the broth. “Say aaah.” He puts the spoonful of soup in your mouth. “How does it taste? Too salty? Not salty enough?” You think but shake your head. The savory broth fills your senses, bringing a sense of warmth and comfort. Ethan's eyes sparkle with anticipation as he waits for your reaction, and you can't help but smile back at him, grateful for his attentive nature.

Ethan sighs and ruffled your hair. “Good. Now go play someplace. I don’t want you near the stove, okay?” In reality, he didn’t want to be stressed about Heisenberg while you were in the room. You, being a kid, run off as you’re told. You decide to investigate the house a bit. You had never really been to Ethan’s room or the living room.

Well, the living room was first you supposed. Rushing over, you feel the warmth of the fireplace and see Ethan’s favorite reading chair. There was a small table next to it with some coffee and stale cookies. Whoever was eating them hadn’t been home for a while. That, or Ethan had better things to be doing. More proof of this was the coffee being frozen cold. Being curious, you take a sip of coffee. It was bitter and black without a touch of sugar.

You swallow it, feeling worse than ever but sucking it up for your own sake. As you set down the cup, a creaking noise startles you. The noise came from the window and being the curious child you are, you look through. There’s silence. A long silence.

A Lycan beats on the window and growls. It barks and screams in an attempt to get you. You fall over after being startled so hard. You quickly get on your feet and scramble back over to Ethan. He tilts his head and looks over at the window to see the creature biting the glass. Ethan sighs and walks over to the window, telling off the Lycan and making it go away. “There’s no one here, shoo. You’re just seeing things.” The Lycan groans and whimpers in confusion. It tries to look past him but Ethan closes the window and blinds.

Your heart pounds as you watch Ethan close the window and the blinds, blocking out the unnerving sight of the Lycan. Ethan bends down to your level and cups your cheek to see if you’re hurt or bruised. “Did it touch you? I heard a thud and didn’t know if it got inside.” You shake your head reassuringly, giving Ethan a small sigh in relief. “That’s my kid.” He kisses your forehead, causing you to giggle a small bit. “Luckily, lunch should be ready soon.”

After an hour, you start to come to terms with Ethan being your new dad. You’ve just learned that you’ll have to stay behind and grow up with him. It’ll be a long time before you’re an adult and maybe Miranda will stop trying to find you. All you know was that Ethan would protect and love you as his own child no matter what.

#ethan winters #ethan winters x reader #re8 ethan winters #re8 village #rebhfun #platonic #father-child relationship #ethan resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil #biohazard

[002yb]

do you have any thoughts about priest jason todd? haha i want to see your take on it, esp if in this au dickjay was a thing or happened. i was thinking about priest jason todd and mirrorverse batfam so he’s like the only “good” one and he has a code not to kill while everyone else here doesn’t care ab killing, also the thought of dick tempting jay ^^ or honestly just the entire batfam just mourning and being basically mob bosses until jason gets resurrected and eventually comes to gotham and is oike “so i know i’m back but now i’m a god lover and a priest and hey oh also i don’t kill” and everyone is just “now hold on a second-“

Demons have followed Jason all his life - metaphorically and literally. At least in the literal sense, it's always the same fuckers, too. They're relentless.

Maybe it's because Jason was one of them, but by some twist of fate he was given absolution and reborn with a 'clean slate' to do right. Or maybe it's a plea bargain - help as many souls as he hurt while Jason was a demon and that will be his retribution, his mercy from hellfire. Or he's part of some twisted game. Stolen from his home and influenced to reject it.

For the sake of this ask: he died. He came back wrong. No memories, no corruption - just a penchant for attracting the wicked. Everything else is open to interpretation.

The family wants him back though. And Jason might not realize, but he's darkness welcomed past the church's threshold; he brings damnation by association.

Not necessarily by the family, but by others. Because Jason's soul is tortured. Tormented. It's known suffering from a life he can't remember and one he does - caused by men created in his God's image and by monsters that were cast from his kingdom.

Basically Father Hot Toddies is prime real estate (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Anyway, background. Jason attracts abusive people. He influences people to abuse him. Try as he might to help, there's a darkness at his fingertips and devastation in his wake.

Instant distraction -- Jason self-flagellating whenever he feels he failed to help someone or thinks he led anyone astray. It's supposed to be a penace, but sometimes Jason is weak and it's just punishment

Okay, we're back. Jason recognizing that something's wrong with him. Because too many bad things happen for him not to pick up the pattern.

Another distraction and it's kinky, I apologize -- Jason being assaulted in the church proper. In the confessional booths or in the pews ahhhhhh blasphemous okay okay

Protective of the people in his community and is well loved, in turn, but is conscious to keep a distance for their safety. He has compassion in spades and shows that in the ways that he can (putting the fear of God into cruel people, going out and sneaking food and blankets to the homeless, nagging at punks across the street to get their asses to school or the orphans at the church to mind the nuns).

Not as lonely a life as it seems because choice demons harass him on the regular.

They look after Jason in their own way, but it's wicked

Every person that hurts Jason turns up dead. It's part of Jason's motivation to keep withdrawn. There's forgiveness for everyone, even those who lose their senses around him.

Would Jason have the same forgiveness if the man who tried to assault him turned on a child? And Jason pauses, because his answer is no - burn him ---- and he burns.

Oh. For a time Jason thinking himself mad. Or figuring he's invited a demon into him because there are voices in his head and in those moments of weakness when he can't be temperate -- people get hurt.

Which leads to a lot of torment and praying because what's wrong with him? Tell him. Let him be better.

Jumping over to Dick's perspective on things for a moment because okay. The family loses it when they realize Jason has been lost to them. They bring apocalypse and travesty in their rage and it's a bad time.

But then - the familiar flicker of a damaged soul. Jason.

Dick going to Jason first. Following the sound of his cries and the smell of his suffering. And where some in the family might like that - Dick isn't one of them. Pain that Jason endures is Dick's to inflict, after all. Possessive!demon!Dick Grayson yes please.

Anyway, Dick shows up and suddenly Willis is shot dead on the doorstep. The cigarettes he would use to burn Jason with stamped into his forehead.

And Jason sees Dick there, stooped over Willis's body. Dick flicks the cigarette away. Looks at this small, scrawny boy and marvels at how Jason is still perfect - even like this. A soft smile, still all teeth and bite and menace. It's vicious in a way that even demons cringe away from, but Jason smiles. Tentative, innocent.

Because he thinks Dick is his guardian angel.

The rest of the family piles on if only because Jason really does attract all sorts of terrible things. They can't fathom what it is. Jason has always had that way about him, but it's amplified now and it puts him in danger. Jason's soul is theirs though; no one else can have it.

It's Gotham that wants it. Cursed land that outdates even the first of their kind.

Jason thinking he has angels looking out for him until he recognizes them for the demons they are. He tries to escape them, seeking asylum in a church and it deters them for a time, but only until Jason's own evil taints hallowed grounds.

This is so convoluted ahhhhh sorry

But basically overprotective!bats trying to save Jason's soul to sate their own desires

Jason rebuffing all their efforts and being a stubborn ass

He only relents when Gotham sends its worst after him and desecrates the church that housed him and the children under his care that he loses it and strikes a contract with some of hell's finest

It's a zero sum game though

Because Dick and the others - they can have Jason's soul. But only once the evil in Gotham is purged. Only the evil.

Just an endless war but it's fine because all the losses and suffering only makes Jason's soul that much more sweet

They're content to starve until then

Only they're not. They taste and nibble when allowed. And Father Hot Toddy? He's a generous man. //u////

Can an AU like this not get a little kinky? It feels like a crime that it wouldn't. Father Todd gets down  (*°∀°)=3

Extra Dickjay details:

Jason seeking out his 'guardian angel' because there's nowhere safer than with Dick. They sit in a grimy alley and Jason falls asleep with his head pillowed on Dick's thigh, or curled up against Dick's chest. And Dick humors it. He's soft about it, content if only because he can wrap himself around Jason and possess him for even a short time

Jason calling for Dick when he finds Catherine, not realizing Dick was the devil whispering in her ear. Jason loved her; Dick didn’t. He tested her love of Jason and she fell short

Dick being the demon Jason calls to in order to make that contract. Because he remembers the times Dick was kind (because for as jaded as Jason has become, he wants to believe that was genuine - not another manipulation). He'll sell Dick his soul, but only if Dick gives Jason hope.

Reverence. Shoulder and spine kisses. Worship. It’s overwhelming, tempting, addictive.

Dick knows how to play Jason. He never considers Jason knows Dick just as well. <3

Something something Dick won’t pray to anyone, but he’ll dirty talk marvel Jason like he’s something holy

Something something Jason anticipating a kiss. To tease him, Dick raises the cross of Jason’s rosary between them - a barrier because ‘what would your god say, little wing?’ And Jason is already succumbed, but he’d bite back a challenge, ‘you would let him stop you?’ And Dick would smile and snap the rosary from Jason’s neck, beads clattering on the stone floors beneath them as he defiles not an innocent lamb, but a wolf in sheep’s clothing. //u///

‘Never,’ he’d breathe against Jason’s lips, his skin. A promise and an oath and the devotion in it would tear Jason apart. 💖

#dickjay #dark!dick grayson #demon!dick grayson #father hot toddy #a blasphemous response to a beautiful ask #what is brevity?

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓃮 Even the Sun Influences the Tide: Chapter Ninteen

Even the Sun Influences the Tide: After the death of your foster brother, King T’Challa, you had spent much of your year of mourning in isolation. When your mother gathers you and your sister to end your mourning period, you encounter the newest threat to Wakanda: Namor. You don’t know what to think of Namor, but you do know one thing: he probably shouldn’t be making trips to see you at your beach hut.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Namor/K’uk’ulkan x Fem!Reader, I Tried To Make The Yucatec Maya & Xhosa Translations/Traditions As Accurate As I Can Get.

Word Count: ~2.0k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

“How did you manage to keep that a secret for so long? Especially from mother and Okoye?” Shuri questioned, very impressed with the fact that Namor had been able to sneak into Wakanda to visit you repeatedly over the course of two months, without anyone knowing. You were in the process of returning your jade necklace to its place upon your neck when you glanced at her.

“Believe me, I was tempted to tattle more than once, certainly when he kept coming back…” You murmured, thinking back to your perception of K’uk’ulkan when he had first started dropping by. “But he never once threatened me nor did he come across as scheming or intentionally trying to get government secrets out of me. Eventually he started telling me stories of his people.”

“Really?” Shuri asked, eyebrow arched. “He really must have liked you then.”

“Yeah, well, his company as I found out, was not that bad.” You said with a shrug. “Probably why it wasn’t that hard to agree to an alliance with him. Granted I didn’t exactly realize that by making an alliance meant that I was marrying him.” You sighed in memory of the event. “Probably why he told me several times not to be hasty in that decision.”

“Only you would end up marrying to make an alliance, but have no idea that you were getting married in the first place.” You both snorted because it was true. Shuri tilted her head to the side. “It makes me feel better that he didn’t let you go charging into that decision without a second thought.” She then eyed you. “But I do have to say, sister, you know how to pick voracious men. The number of marks I saw…”

Your face flooded with heat as you covered your eyes, nearly drowning in embarrassment at Shuri seeing the evidence of your… activities. Chuckling, Shuri nudged your shoulder with hers.

“I’m guessing that Namor has great stamina, surprising considering his age.” Your face couldn’t burn any hotter at this point. “I wonder how his refractory period is effected by the blue herb?”

“You are assuming he has one, Shuri,” You whispered meekly. It was almost comical the way Shuri’s eyebrows rose and her eyes widened. For the first time since you had met her so long ago, Shuri was speechless.

“You don’t mean…” You nodded.

“Pretty sure he doesn’t have one, and let me tell you, I have had sore muscles in places I didn’t even know you could be sore in.” Shuri snickered at you, which you punched her in the arm for, before sobering up. “But really, Shuri, you and mama have nothing to worry about.”

“Mother is not going to see it that way.” That you knew. You got your stubbornness from her.

“Naturally,” You sighed before looking to Attuma who had been lurking in the shadows. “Attuma?” The massive warrior stepped forward once more.

“Je’el, in reina,” He spoke, glad to see the color returned to your face and the fire within your eyes once more.

“You are not going to be happy with my decision but I need to go back.” As Griot was translating your words in Yucatec Maya, Shuri was already rejecting you idea.

“Are you out of your mind, Y/N!” Shuri thundered, echoing Attuma’s rapid bursts of words you didn’t understand. “You almost died because you went there and now you want to go back!?” You let them both bluster and explode on you, clearly against your statement of wanting to go back. Arms crossing your chest, you leaned back against a work table and waited for them to stop. You were used to Shuri’s anger and disagreement, and Attuma, while large, intimidating and deadly, did not scare you. You took in a deep breath and gave them both a frank look.

“May I remind you both who the queen is in this room?” You questioned. Shuri’s jaw nearly dropped open and you were fairly sure Attuma’s eye twitched. “Don’t argue with me, I won’t entertain it.”

“I think you’ve fallen into that roll a little too well for my liking, Y/N.” Shuri griped, her eyes still narrowed at you.

“I’m not going to apologize.” You returned, not backing down from her gaze. “Now, you can either come with me and have the knowledge that I am alright. Or you can stay here and be left to wonder.”

“That is quite a cruel decision, even for you.” Shuri responded, both unhappy with your words but impressed by you standing firm with your decision.

“Alls fair in love and war, Shuri,” You reminded her. “And is it not the queen’s duty to make difficult decisions?”

“Ma' ken a kuxtal táan amenazada,” (Not when your life is threatened) Attuma cut in. “K’uk’ulkan ma' yéetel ki'imak.” (K’uk’ulkan will not be happy)

Listening to Griot translate his words, you mulled them over, knowing full well that K’uk’ulkan would indeed be not happy that you had come right back to the place where you had almost died. But you were firm with your decision.

“This is not a request,” You said firmly. “It’s an order.”

Shuri and Attuma exchanged a look, clearly not expecting that from you. But going off technicality, you held the highest rank in the room and therefore, were within your rights to make such a decision and order.

“Fine, but you do not leave our sides, nor do you think about going near any rubble or wreckage.” Shuri stated firmly, pointing a finger at you. “Just because you are queen does not mean that you can wander wherever you want.”

“Duly noted,” You replied, standing up from your lean. “Now I’d like to leave before mother and Ch'ah Toh Almehen rip each others throats out because at this rate? It’s likely to happen.” You said while moving towards the exit. Shuri chased after you with Attuma on her heels.

“Y/N, wait!” You sighed and paused in step, looking back at her.

“What is it you wish to argue about now Shuri?” Shuri reached you and stared into your eyes.

“It’s about the results of some tests I had my team run while you were in the tank.” Shuri began, not knowing how to break the news. What she did know was that she didn’t want Griot to translate what she was about to say. At the very least the Talokanil was lingering several feet away. “Griot don’t translate what I’m about to say.”

“Yes, princess,” The AI replied. You frowned at Shuri’s words, worried about what she had to say that she didn’t want Attuma hearing. Shuri took a deep breath.

“You have trace levels of hCG in your blood, Y/N.” You blinked at her and raised your eyebrow.

“Shuri I have no idea what hGC is, you’re going to have to explain that one to me.”

“The only time hGC can be found within the human body, is during pregnancy.” Shuri explained, watching in your face and attempting to gauge your reaction to that news. You were silent, your mind reeling at the information. Surely it took longer than just ten days, to get pregnant. Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N, all it takes is one time. Your mind pushed aside the knowledge of you being pregnant and focused on another terrifying thought.

“Shuri,” You whispered, your voice deathly quiet. “Shuri I almost died and then proceeded to have an untested medical treatment. I— There’s no way—“

“Look, we’re talking about a pregnancy that isn’t even two weeks along.” Shuri said, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze. “Now, the chances that your recent medical trauma causing a miscarriage are certainly a potential outcome… but it is not a certainty.”

“That’s not helping Shuri, you know how sensitive babies are to medications and such. I just had something that wasn’t designed for even me to have!”

“That does not mean it will affect the fetus, K’uk’ulkan turned out fine.”

“He wasn’t exposed to the heart shaped herb!” You almost shouted, waving an arm. Attuma stepped forwards.

“In reina?” You glanced at him, and collected yourself. Now was not the time to be worrying about this. Let alone thinking about it. You had bigger issues.

“We should just go,” You said, putting that news in the back of your mind. “The fetus probably didn’t survive the trauma of my injuries and isn’t even two weeks along. There’s no point in worrying about something that will probably never come to light. Let’s go.”

You strode away, your fingers picking at the flesh around your wrists as you walked.

It was tense on the ship as you flew back to the beach where your mother and K’uk’ulkan still were. You took to drumming your fingertips on your knee, fidgeting about the idea that even after you had been injured in front of them… your mother and K’uk’ulkan would still go back to fighting. You were up and out of your seat before the ship even touched down on the sand, and the moment it did you were opening the hatch and striding across the sand towards the masses of warriors.

No one was fighting, you were relieved to see, but that didn’t mean your mother and K’uk’ulkan were being cordial with one another. You ignored the looks of relief of those around you, your mind focused on only one thing. The moment you spotted K’uk’ulkan and your mother, all else failed to exist and you got tunnel vision. You were blind to Shuri and Attuma’s efforts to guide you around the carnage, and even waved off Okoye when she approached you. K’uk’ulkan was the first to spot you, feeling your gaze upon his body. To say he was shocked was as understatement. Then your mother noticed that he was staring at something and caught sight of marching towards her.

“Y/N!” She breathed out, feeling a rush of weakness at the sight of you alive and well. They both headed towards you, but K’uk’ulkan was the fastest, zipping in front of you and spouting out words of Yucatec Maya a mile a minute while cradling your face in hand and running his other over your body in search of injury. 

“I have no idea what you just said but I am fine.” You told him, allowing his rapid and desperate search for injury upon your body. K’uk’ulkan’s brown eyes narrowed in disbelief, and he held your face in a firmer grasp.

“What are you doing back here!?” He growled at you, his voice rasping and betraying his true state. “In k'iino’ you should not have come back! Your lungs—“

“Are pretty much toast but I don’t need them anymore.” You said, cutting him off as he was about to go on a rant about how foolish it was for you to be up and walking after having taken a piece of metal to the abdomen.

“Y/N, you should not have come, you almost died here in our arms.” Ramonda chastised, more than happy to see you but very displeased that you had come back to the place that nearly killed you. Her eyes shot to Shuri while K’uk’ulkan turned to Attuma, clearly displeased that his general had allowed his queen to return to such danger. Were they not supposed to keep you safe and out of harms way?

“I told you this would haome back to the place that nearly killed you. Her eyes shot to Shuri while K’uk’ulkan turned to Attuma, clearly displeased that his general had allowed his not have come back! Yppen.” Shuri quipped giving you a look. You sglance oa her.

“And do you know how much I care at the moment?” You replied breezily with a scary smile.

“Le Reina k ordenó k’a’,” (The queen ordered us to return) Attuma spoke to his king, bowing his head solemnly. “Ma' in habría arriesgado.” (I wouldn’t have risked it) K’uk’ulkan’s eyebrow went up as he stared at you in disbelief and you could have sworn that your mother would have face palmed herself if she hadn’t been in such company. You lifted your gaze to K’uk’ulkan’s intense brown one and you pressed your fingers against the jade necklace overlaying his traditional one.

“May I remind you,” You enunciated, ensuring that your words were loud and clear to both of them. “That I am a queen who is capable of making her own decisions? I am not for show.”

“Je’el, in reina,” K’uk’ulkan obediently replied, entranced with your spark of fire yet again.

“Now,” You sighed out. “Can you please tell me that you two have come to an agreement?”

Date Published: 7/9/23

Last Edit: 4/5/23

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#namor x reader #namor of talokan #namor x y/n #namor #namor fanfiction #k'ul'kulkan

[afewproblems]

Here is a Ballet Dancer!Steve/Fruity Four Dancer AU - courtesy of @magpiemuseum and this post! Thank you for sending this! I adore this idea!!

I’ll diverge from it slightly and suggest that Steve and Nancy met through ballet.

They dance together, are often partnered with one another in productions, they work well with one another and start dating fairly quickly, it works. Steve loves Nancy, and she seems to care about him deeply as well. But after Will and Barb go missing and only Will comes home, well…

Nancy just doesn’t have the heart to stick with it after that.

So she moves into jazz to express some of that anger and grief. Karen is disappointed in her daughter, that she didn't stick with it the way Karen did but she isn't going to be like her own mother, not again, so she agrees. Nancy has a knack for it, picking up the movements and techniques quickly, just like everything she does, it's with fiery, furious determination.

Steve keeps going with ballet, he's only allowed to because his teachers insist he's good enough to get a free ride to any school once he graduates. His father begrudgingly agrees but never attends another production after Steve turns 15. They don't talk about it.

The multiple concussions over the years eventually begin to affect his performance, the fight with Jonathan, the plate with Billy, the one lift another dancer in their company attempted as a joke during break that ended with Steve having to go to urgent care for stitches. Just his luck.

Now, he can't even handle one rotation in a pirouette without having to sit down until the spots in his vision go away.

He keeps at it, practicing, avoiding spins as much as possible, but since this won't enable him to get into college and his grades are slipping with the absenses and lack of interest, his father finally has the opportunity to tell him its over.

Steve starts at Scoops the day after graduation.

He meets Robin, it's not an immediate spark which is fine by Steve, he's still mourning the loss of his company and all the friends he had made along the way, the wonderful instructors he met over the years. Robin ignores him for the most part until she catches him in the back room one day, humming along to a Madonna song on the mall speaker system as he easily jumps through a pas de chat across the small space.

She interrogates him about this, but it's not as though he ever hid his ability, it's just not something he ever did through school. He had swimming for that.

She studies him for a moment before launching into a quick tap solo as Tiffany's, I Think We're Alone Now, plays softly in the background.

Steve claps with the biggest grin on his face as Robin shyly explains how she's been taking tap for years, in between band practice and the drama club, she hopes it will help her get to Julliard eventually.

It's better after that.

And after the Russians and the awful truth-serum makes its way out of their system, they sit in the bathroom stalls of Star Court. Steve tells her he's never felt like this with almost anyone else, and Robin closes her eyes.

She tells him about Tammy Thompson, and about Nancy Wheeler who she's seen in passing after tap, aggressively dancing in the small studio in Indianapolis her mother takes her to. She tells him that she'd always been jealous of how they'd look at him, how they would never look at her that way, and how it crushed her.

And Steve gets it. He slides under the stall to sit with her, and his heart hurts as he sees her tense up in front of him, he can't have that.

Steve bites his lip as he softly tells her about the guy in their company, the one who had tried the lift with him, you know, as a joke. The one Steve had tried to kiss the day before, not as a joke.

Danny had insisted it was fine, he wasn't interested in Steve like that, but they could still be friends and it didn't have to be weird.

And then he dropped him the next day. You know, accidentally, as a joke.

Robin grabs his hand at this and squeezes it tightly.

He tells her Tammy Thompson sounds like a Muppet so maybe they both have terrible taste.

They don't talk about Nancy. Not quite yet.

After Star Court burns down they are inseparable, two halves of the same heart, platonic soulmates Robin will say in the same breath as she calls him dingus.

He loves it.

They start at Family Video together, complain about Keith and his aggressive annoyance with Steve, but the job is easy enough and actually pays a dollar above minimum wage so Steve tries not to complain too too much. They dance in the break-room, Robin tries to show him some simple tap sequences while Steve corrects her positions. It's harder for Steve to nail down the foot rhythm, but the movements are easy enough. Robin is a little stiff, but she manages to eventually mimic the positions enough to satisfy Steve.

But if course it couldn't last.

Vecna nearly tears apart the world, he succeeds with tearing apart Hawkins and the Upside Down monstes rear their ugly flower faces once again. They meet Eddie, Hopper comes back from the dead, they close the gates, and Steve carries Eddie out of the depths of hell without bleeding out.

Max dies, or nearly dies, the explanation goes over his head as they sit in the waiting room of the hospital after Steve is finally stitched and bandaged up.

They all make it.

It's a long road to recovery, especially for Max with the extensive damage to her eyes and legs, but eventually she walks again, now with a cane which she uses to catch Mike in the ankles every chance she gets, so it helps.

Mike has no idea how she always knows it's him, it's baffling.

It's harder for Steve to move now with the build-up of scar tissue on his sides, it isn't until he cries out in pain after trying a simple jete that he grieves yet another loss.

He stops dancing after that.

Steve tries to be happy for Robin and Nancy, who finally, finally, start dating. Jonathan seems to understand, but his grief has always been quiet. Argyle helps, the two of them are seen together more often than not in the wake of Jon and Nancy's breakup. Steve knows exactly how it feels not to have someone to lean on in the aftermath of Nancy Wheeler. He's happy for them, or he tries to be.

He wishes he had that.

Steve still see's Robin, they are soulmates after all, but it isnt quite the same anymore. Nancy seems to have taken up the mantel of the other half of Robin's heart, and Steve?

It's fine. He's fine.

He starts spending a lot of time with Eddie. They commiserate about the kids and their attitude, Steve tells Eddie more about the Upside Down and how he  got roped into it all.

The topic of dance comes up as an accident.

Eddie makes a comment about college and the future which prompts Steve to snort. It isn't as though he has any options anymore, he can't continue with ballet, he barely had the grades to graduate, he's going nowhere fast.

Eddie looks at him, his face surprised at first, whether by the information or by the dejected tone of Steve's voice.

He tells him about his own experience with dance, how after his uncle took him in that he found channeling his frenetic and nervous energy into contemporary dance.

Pouring his breath and emotions into the movements, it's always helped to slow his brain down from the constant mile-a-minute thoughts that used to over take him.

He tells Steve that despite the new scars that littler his torso, he's managed to keep up with the movements, that the practice seems to even help with the pain.

Steve is enraptured by the description, a small flicker of hope burns in his chest as he asks to see in a small voice.

Steve is immediately blinded by the 1000 watt smile Eddie gives him.

And oh.

Oh he's in trouble.

Eddie is beautiful when he dances, it's a fascinating departure from the precision of ballet and even the fast pace of tap that Robin has shown him. Eddie left his hair down so the curls sweep around him as he moves.

This is all storytelling and emotion, it's deliberate but free, and Steve can hardly breathe as Eddie finishes.

"So what's the verdict big boy?" Eddie pants as he pushes his wild curls out of his flushed face.

Fuck, and that image alone has Steve blushing as well.

Steve swallows roughly, "Think you could show me a thing or two Eds," he murmurs softly as Eddie laughs.

They spend the rest of the afternoon with Eddie correcting Steve's posture and positions, slowly directly his movement, and letting his hands linger on Steve.

He's still physically sore by the end of it, and he wants nothing more that a couple of tylenol and a long warm bath once he heads home for the night, but Eddie's smile and the memory of his hands and gentle patience leave Steve feeling warm and hopeful for the first time in a long time.

He doesn't have to give up something that had been such a large part of himself for so long.

He can still dance.

It feels like he can breath again.

Steve goes to sleep that night and dreams of dancing with Eddie.

And in this one, he doesn't drop him, not once.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things season 4 #afewproblems writes #fanfic #head canon #steve harrington is a dancer #the fruity four #platonic stobin #robin buckley x nancy wheeler #the fruity four are dancers au #eddie munson is a dancers #another stranger things dance au? its more likely than you think #may as well give the people what they want! #@magpiemuseum

[pfhwrittes]

riffing off the poll i reblogged re: your blorbos doing top surgery. so these are some vague headcannons on how the members of tf141 would look after a reader post top surgery.

pairings: gaz x reader, soap x reader, simon x reader (romantic), john price & reader (platonic).

warnings: gaz refers to reader as babe and calls the reader handsome.

note: i’ve written this reader to be a trans man but can be read as anyone who wants top surgery. also i am firmly in the camp that you DON’T have to have surgery to be considered transgender or to have your gender respected. fuck knows it’s a hard enough process here in the UK, i can’t imagine my healthcare being stuck behind what is essentially a paywall.

gaz would be a sweetheart. he’d get you drinks and painkillers. he’d move your cushions/pillows around as much as you wanted. he’d pretend not to see when you burst into tears over pain/relief/a weird sense of mourning and fear. he’d even help you to the bathroom and linger outside the door (unlocked, he’d insist on it being unlocked) in case you need help with anything. the man gets your favourite takeaway and doesn’t make a fuss when you only eat a little bit of it because you’re feeling a bit nauseous from the meds you’re on. checks on your drains and dressings and soothes you when you catch sight of the swelling. he reassures you with forehead and cheek kisses when you’re upset and reassures you with a gentle babe you’re so handsome and brave, i can’t wait for you to show off your chest when you’re feeling better.

price would handle it from a more professional perspective (i am not saying reader would be in the military but i am saying that the man deals with paperwork most of the time anyway so he’d handle it for your work). he’s already sent off copies of your medical note from the surgeon, he’s filled in the paperwork to get sick pay. less hands on than gaz (but that’s only because i can’t see price with a trans man in a romantic or sexual way) so he doesn’t overstep but as your friend he’ll bring you food if you ask and painkillers too. checks in with you and sends you book recommendations, music recommendations and the occasional meme (don’t try to tell me he wouldn’t send you memes. that man is a millennial he knows what a fucking meme is) when you’re well enough to complain about being bored.

simon would be kind of a dick about it. listen i don’t make the rules but he would. he’s supportive enough. he’d give you a ride back from the hospital and get you to wherever is the most comfortable but he’s a bit shit at looking after you (the man has no practice outside of emergency medical care). you’d have to text him to get you a drink or painkillers. healthy nutritious food? no. what flavour pot noodle do you want? never mind you’re getting a bombay bad boy because that’s all he’s got in the cupboard. emotionally he’s not great at expressing how he’s feeling about your recovery so he comes across as gruff but that’s mostly because he’s repressing a whole bunch of trauma and fear that things won’t go well. he won’t touch you apart from holding your hand when you ask because he’s worried he’ll mess up your stitches but still it comes across as a bit cold.

soap the darling man is just so fucking excited for you. it’s a bit much actually while you’re still recovering and yeah you end up snapping and it hurts his feelings a little but he’ll try to play it off as not a big deal. he’s just so happy for you (and for himself because he cannot wait to get his hands on you now that you’ll let him because your chest is the way you want it)! super affectionate, peppers you with kisses all over your face. he’s similar to gaz in that he’s all about making you as comfortable as possible and tries to preempt any requests you have (gets you bottles of water and can of irn-bru because that’s what he always wants when he’s feeling under the weather, grabs you as many snacks as you want). unlike gaz he’s enough of a freak to insist on being in the bathroom with you when you need to go, he says it’s to make sure you’re safe but he’s definitely using it as an excuse to touch you as much as possible until you’re fully healed up.

#cod fic #ftm!reader #binders and boyfriends #kyle garrick x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #john price and reader #kg #jp #jm #sr