#twenty-plume

[weirdanimal-tournament]

Round 1 Match 49

Twenty Plume Moth: "Bug so tiny it convergently evolved feathered wings (not actually 20 'feathers' tho). Micro moths are just like this in general tbh, air resistance is weird that small so they gotta have weird wings."

Velvet Worm: "slime cannons w TWO dorsal nerve cords to support precision targetting prey. spews slime at them and gooes them up to eat them. then eats the slime to reuse slime for later."

#weird #weird animal #animal #poll #competition #twenty plume moth #velvet worm

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

Ask and ye shall receive! Double update today because that last part was so short and Vox'less.

He's so melodramatic. Vox and Alastor have their pity party tantrums in common for suuuuure.

More Than Anything Part 2.5 VOX POV [Vox x Reader]

Part 1

Part 2

More Than Anything Part 2.5 VOX POV [Vox x Reader]

To say Vox was furious would be an understatement. Much like you, his emotions ran HIGH. And dear god were they going haywire after he came to.

When Valentino finally came into his room after hearing so much crashing and screaming all the way from the large break room exclusively made for the Vee's, the bedroom was a wreck. Broken screens and miscellaneous things were thrown everywhere. Vox had even tossed a lamp through one of the large wall windows that overlooked the city. Valentino peered curiously down to see a crowd taking pictures of some poor sinner who had been squashed by the offending piece of furniture.

Vox was trembling with anger and heartache as Valentino looked over him with an unreadable expression. A sadistic part of Valentino was actually enjoying Vox's suffering. The moth still wasn't quite over Vox bringing their on-and-off situationship to an official end. Valentino didn't see what the big deal about you was and it annoyed him that Vox was "pursuing something real" as if he wasn't enough. It wasn't his fault Vox was so damn petty!

Valentino still liked to hope that maybe your relationship would end and things could go back to how they were before, but without Vox bitching about Valentino fucking Angel as much. That being said, he also knew he should probably get Vox calm before he caused any more of a scene that could be noticed by the public.

He opened his mouth to say something, only to snap it shut with an unimpressed frown as Vox screamed in rage and tried to flip the bed. He was such a man-child sometimes.

"THAT O̷̡̧̅͆L̷̻̒̇D̸̞̆-̶̲̓Ţ̵̧́̽I̷̝͐̈M̵͉̀̈E̸̩̗̿Y̸̜̪̑͐ NO GOOD SON OF A F̸̄ͅU̵̲͒C̴͓͠Ḵ̷̇I̸̤͉͑̅Ṅ̶͚͊G̸̣̅ ̷͔͋̄B̴͖̍̚Î̵̖T̸͕̆Ċ̴̪Ḧ̷̖́, "He growled. "Why couldn't Alastor just keep his stupid tinny voice s̴̤̿͒h̴̳̔́ͅǔ̷͙̣t̷̩͍́́?̶̰̐!̶̳̟́"

Valentino rolled his eyes, pulling out his lighter and blowing out a plume of smoke. He knew it didn't actually work on Vox, but it helped calm his own nerves. "Oh, come now cabrón. You act like you didn't do this to yourself."

"Oh go choke to double death on a horse cock," Vox spat as his claws ripped into something else. The last thing he needed was Valentino rubbing salt in the wound. Vox knew this was his fault. He knew he'd fucked up and crossed a line. But it was easier to blame Alastor for spilling the secret. It was easier to blame him, rather than look at the cold hard truth that in his attempts to protect you, he may have lost you for good.

He'd called you twenty times and had sent so many texts that the security system he'd installed on your phone flagged him as spam. Needless to say, he hacked into they system and tore the firewalls he'd designed to shreds. The only thing that kept him from rebooting for the fifth time in the past hour was the distant feeling of your soul. He felt where you were and felt that you were safe. But he could also feel your pain. The soul bound by his own could feel the way it tore itself into pieces as you burned through the angst that he'd caused.

"Don't get snippy with me," Valentino scoffed. He crossed the room and used his pipe to lift Vox's face. Vox smacked the damn thing away from him with a snarl, and Valentino simply blew a puff of smoke against his screen. "It's not my fault that your little cunt of a plaything is so sensitive. You're the one who asked for this, baby."

Vox flinched hard as Valentino's hands trailed down his chest. His heart rate picked up for another reason as the pink haze swirled between them. Sometimes the way Valentino manipulated him every which way so easily made Vox wonder if he truly was immune to the aphrodisiac of Valentino's spells.

"Isn't it about time you forget that little bitch and come crawling back?" Valentino purred, his nails scratching down Vox's chest and drawing blood. He lowered his face to the side of Vox's head and smirked. "Come back to me, luciérnaga~"

Vox gasped, his arms shooting out and shoving Valentino away from him. Valentino squawked in outrage as Vox felt an unpleasant hum of anxious energy thrumming through his veins. He felt a panic attack approaching rapidly and retreated into one of the broken cameras that still had an electrical charge. He reappeared in his monitor room and fell to his knees. He lurched as he fought the urge to vomit and grit his teeth as dead pixels filled his screen through the painful glitches.

Everything was too much. It was too damn much.

You. Valentino. Alastor. His own damn hubris. It was too much. He sent out a fresh wave of desperate pleas to your phone's inbox as he spiraled into self-doubt and loathing. He needed you back. You were the one that showed him a brighter life. One that wasn't bound to the poisonous desire of Valentino. A life where he felt seen for who he really was. You didn't see him as a figurehead of evil intent and merciless charisma like everyone else. You didn't see his power, you knew his weakness. And you showed him that he could be loved for it, not just in spite of it.

The week passes by in a blur. Valentino didn't mention the way Vox rejected him and both of the Vee's tried to force Vox to get his shit together. They even held him down and locked him in a room without cameras when he tried to leave the tower to go after you. The image of the trio was too precious for either Vee to let him destroy it in an emotional rampage.

They'd given him a shit old phone to keep obsessively trying to get ahold of you through, but besides that, he was practically a prisoner to his own fuck ups.

"I̵̥͗'̴͇͈̏͗ṃ̵͎̇͠ ̷̘̐͝s̸̖̈̽ȏ̷̼̞r̴̛̯̈ȑ̸̩͘ỹ̷̪," Vox sobbed as he held the phone to his head in a broken prayer. His voice and screen hadn't been clear for the past day. He was at his wit's end and wondered how he ever thought hell was hell before now. This was the suffering all the dumbasses back on earth expected for the forsaken. Hell before now was a piece of cake compared to what he felt now.

He was alone and sinking further into his own despair. And the only thing that'd be able to pull him out was you.

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel #brain rot go brrr #valentino

[weirdlookindog]

"Le poulpe brandissait la victime comme une plume"

Alphonse de Neuville (1835-1885) - Brandishing it's Victim

Illustration from Jules Verne's "Twenty thousand leagues under the sea", 1870

#alphonse de neuville #brandishing it's victims #jules verne #twenty thousand leagues under the sea #underwater world #sea monsters #ocean #sea #horror #fantasy #gothic romanticism #story illustration #art #illustration

[gtsdreamer2]

   You were deep in the Amazon rainforest. A recent graduate with your mycology doctorate, you were researching a special species of mushroom that only was said to grow deep in the jungle and only during the twenty four hours of the full moon during the autumn months. According to ancient texts found in the indigenous people's temples, the mushroom was used in fertility rituals and to signify a bountiful harvest during these months before the cold winter. You were curious about the cultural significance as well as the medicinal properties of this rare shroom. You didn't know what it looked like, only that it wasn't foraged for by the locals anymore and that it should look like a mushroom that you don't know.

   Hours of searching later, you begin to grow tired and wonder if you should give up and wait until the next full moon. The sun is starting to set when you finally spot something different. It's a mushroom you've never seen before, which is remarkable seeing as how you've seen them all. The cap is a pinky flesh color with an even pinker button on top. You giggle to yourself as you remark that it looks like a tit with a firm nipple poking out of it.

   Kneeling down, you take out your notebook and a pencil and begin to sketch it. 'I'm just drawing a boob.' You think to yourself. You stare in awe at this shroom as the sun continues to set. Taking your pencil, you poke the nipple-esque protrusion. Immediately this mushroom expells a giant cloud of spores right in your face. You gasp in surprise, sucking into your lungs an ample amount of the potent plume.

   You hack and cough, but its way too late for that, they're already lodged deep within you and entering your blood stream. Your eyes dialate and your body grows hot. You stand and lean against a tree, trying to catch your breath. You can feel your heatbeat in every nerve. Your cells are responding in a way they never have to the new foreign agent that has begun to take over you. Your heatbeat concentrates in your breasts as you feel your nipples grow almost painfully erect. Then you feel your breasts start to press against your soft white cotton top. You can feel the belts on your corset tighten to try and contain whatever is happening to you. Suddenly you shoot up four inches in height.

   Your sudden growth spurt elicits an a forced maon from your mouth. "Mmmph!" You cry out as a second wave hits you. The belts on your corset snap and suddenly you're six foot five with the seams of your jeans splitting. You feel your feet break free from your hiking boots as your toes sink into the damp rainforest earth.

   'This is starting to feel really good.' You think to yourself as you start to regain a semblance of your normal senses. Doing a body check, you can tell that you've grown. Your breasts have at least doubled in size and are now very hot and sensitive to the touch. You can feel a hunger deep in your womb as if ovulating on steroids.

   You attempt to sit down on the cool jungle floor, your now massive ass shredding the back of your jeans as you squat down. You pick up your pad and pen and continue to make notes about the shroom.

   'It is clear that this is how the Amazon women in the lore of this land gained their stature, and I can clearly feel why this particular fungus was revered for its fertility-inducing properties. I feel so full of life, yet I also feel the need to be bred full of babies.' Looking back at your notes, you are in shock that you actually wrote that down.

   You wonder to yourself how potent the flesh of the shroom might be, considering what just inhaling some of the spores had done to you. As the sun began to set, you walk back over to the shroom and delicately pluck it out of the ground before greedily shoving the whole thing into your mouth, quickly swallowing it without so much as trying to find out what it tastes like. Again the euphoria strikes your body. You feel its effects ten fold as you quickly gain four feet in height and explode out of your inadequate top. Sitting back down on the remainder of your ruined clothes, you bask in the feeling of your massive body and heightened strength and senses. You close your eyes and listen to the jungle around you, lamenting that you ate the only specimen that you had found on your journey, and now the only evidence was what it had done to you. When you open your eyes, the realize that the moon has peaked through the canopy. Your dialated eyes can see the jungle floor quite clearly now, and shimmering all across the damp dense expanse before you, you can see dozens more of the mushroom glowing against the moon, as if drinking in its power. 'It would have been so much easier to find at night.' You chastise yourself as you stand up again. You leave your ruined clothes behind as you pick up your foraging Satchel and start to delicately pick as many of the shrooms as you can carry, trying your best to put them in containers without them expelling more spores. 'This will be so great for my research.' You think to yourself. 'And it'll make a great snack for the walk back'. You giggle to yourself as you pop another three into your mouth.

#gts #giantess #size kink #sizetumblr #growth #gts story

[christinesficrecs]

It's the time of the year where I sneak holiday fics into all my recs. 🤶🏻

Scent Left Unsaid by bleep0bleep | 2.5K | Mature

In a society where werewolves are second class, Deucslist is an alternative werewolf network (similar to Craigslist) where humans and werewolves offer (mostly sexual) services. Derek is a long-term client of an anonymous human omega whose scent is just perfect. He never expects to meet him, until it happens.

Derek has slept with that faded red hooded sweatshirt every night since he got it in the mail. It’s calming, that scent; it’s everything to him. So it’s strange now that Derek is smelling it wafting from the end of the subway car as it careens towards the L line, lights flickering on the passing platforms.

My World Is Filled With Cheer And You by bleep0bleep | 10.8K

In which Derek and his daughter are displaced just in time for the holidays, matched up with Stiles and his young son in a government protection program.

Sidequest  by bleep0bleep | 11.4K

Agent Derek Hale has been working up the courage to ask his partner Stiles out on a date (finally!) when he heads out on a solo mission—without Derek. Eager to provide support, Derek arrives in Beacon Hills, only there is no mission, and Stiles’ dad thinks Derek is Stiles’ boyfriend.

Well. It could be worse.

The Kiss Doctor by bleep0bleep | 3.5K

“That’s me,” Derek says. “Are you, um— the Kiss Doctor?” “Stiles,” is the reply, and the guy grins. It’s charming.

i wait for you like a lonely house by bleep0bleep | 4.5K

Derek isn’t sure why he buys the house. He doesn’t need the space, that much is certain. While it’s not as big as the one Derek grew up in, something about the cheerful yellow paint and the wide staircase (with banisters wide enough for children to slide down) draws him in.

affettuoso  by bleep0bleep | 13K

Derek mentally kicks himself for just standing there like a lovestruck fool, but it’s been exactly forty-six days since he saw Stiles, and he still remembers the taste of his skin, how Stiles feels underneath him.

The Gentleman And The Fox by  bleep0bleep, Inkforwords | 15.7K

Derek doesn’t expect much from his arranged marriage. When his inattentive husband, Lord Stiles Stilinski, tells him he’s free to look for a lover, he doesn’t know where to start, until a dashing bandit named the Red Fox catches his eye.

All's Fair in Orgasms and War by bleep0bleep | 63.2K | Explicit

The one in which (almost) everyone is a porn star, and Derek just wants to curl up with his fluffy blanket and watch the Hallmark channel, but work and falling in love gets in the way.

nom de plume by  bleep0bleep | 3.9K

There are no more chapters. 22 is the last one. Derek groans in despair. He has to know what happens.

Five Times Detective Stilinski and Fire Captain Hale Had Sex In Public, and One Time They Did It In A Bed by bleep0bleep | 32.8K

“Did you say–” Stiles starts.

“What?” Derek growls.

“We’re not a couple!” they both retort in unison.

“We’re not together,” Stiles insists.

Lydia coughs pointedly. “An incident report filed by 87th Precinct Captain Erica Reyes. March twenty-fifth, eight p.m. Came back to the precinct to grab my coat, only to hear Stilinski banging his new boyfriend in the holding cell.”

i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) by bleep0bleep | 10.5K

Derek gets in an accident and loses a few years of his memory; suddenly everything is different— he’s not a freshman loser anymore, but a popular senior, captain of the basketball team, a shoo-in for prom king, too, and he should have everything he’s ever wanted— except he doesn’t seem to be friends with Stiles anymore.

Mauve by bleep0bleep | 7.3K

It’s been ten years since he’s seen Derek Hale, but Stiles would recognize that ass anywhere.

remember my love by bleep0bleep | 23.3K

Stiles wakes up and suddenly the war is over, he's no longer a penniless mage, and living in an exquisite manor married to the man he's been in love with for far too long.

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles says gallantly. “I am certain I will just fall in love with my husband all over again, and I will find plenty of joy doing that.” He winks at Derek for good measure. Derek blinks.

of course, of course by bleep0bleep | 12.9K | Explicit

Derek swallows, watching Stiles mull over the paperwork. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” Stiles says, licking his lips. He signs with a flourish and pushes the contract back at Derek.

Derek knows every word of the contract by heart, but his heart stutters anyways when a sentence jumps out at him. The client acknowledges that any bond created during the heat session is temporary.

#sterek fics #sterek #ficrecs #fanfic writers #sterek fandom #author spotlight #bleepobleep #author appreciation

[devildomwriter]

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough | Mammon x Reader

3.4K Words | GN! Reader | CW: mentions of sickness, some suggestiveness | Romance/Humor

When your common cold turns out to be something much more dangerous Mammon rushes into lava-flooded land to find what he believes is your only chance at making it out alive.

Another cough echoed through the house and Mammon flinched. He clicked his tongue in annoyance but Lucifer knew he was only worried.

“They’re still sick?” He asked for the millionth time that day. Lucifer sighed, tired of hearing the same question every few minutes, and nodded.

“Mammon, for the last time—“ he began but his office door swinging open cut him short.

“Lucifer,” Diavolo exclaimed making the two brothers jump.

“Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer asked, unprepared for his sudden entrance.

“I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news—“ his words were cut short by another gaggle of hacks and coughs from the other side of the house.

“That’s, ___, isn’t it?” He asked, brows furrowed in distress.

“Yes. Their cold hasn’t gone away,” Lucifer confirmed and Diavolo shook his head as Barbatos entered the room, equally concerned.

“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Diavolo frowned and Barbatos stepped up to explain in his place, seeing how upset Diavolo was.

“It’s not a cold.” He stated and Mammon jumped to his feet.

“Huh? What is it then?”

“If you’d let me explain,” Barbatos scowled but in his panic, Mammon wasn’t phased.

Lucifer clenched his jaw anxiously and Barbatos continued. “It’s the Hell-Magma Virus.”

“The what?” Mammon interrupted again and this time Lucifer glared at him too and yelled at him to quiet down.

“The recent volcanic eruptions in the third layer have released a slew of ancient viruses. This one is akin to the common cold and relatively easy for a demon to recover from, however—“

Another cacophony erupted from your room as you coughed and cleared your throat continuously. You struggled just to clear your airways from the drainage so you could breathe.

Leviathan cautiously walked into the office while Satan strode in as if he belonged there. He walked up to Diavolo and demanded answers as he’d been eavesdropping.

“You’re not even gonna hide the fact you were listenin’ in?” Mammon scoffed and Satan rolled his eyes.

“As if you wouldn’t do the same.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s different—“

“Mammon shut up!” Lucifer scolded.

“Why only me?” Mammon yelped.

“Quiet!” Satan, Lucifer, and Leviathan yelled simultaneously.

Barbatos shook his head at their quarrel and continued. “The medication we’ve acquired was made from flowers at the bottom of the volcano before the lava burned what was left. We don’t have a strong enough variation of this medication to cure ___.”

“So, we’ll call for Simeon,” Lucifer suggested but Diavolo shook his head.

“This virus…it’s more of a curse, there’s only so much Simeon can do. This curse which acts as a contagious virus will continue for at least twenty days. The medication for demons should clear up their symptoms in three days but for ___ that will be too late. The effects they are experiencing now will worsen until their saliva bubbles and the accumulating mucus in their throat becomes hot enough to burn through their lungs—“

“Aaaah! I don’t wanna hear it!” Mammon cut him off. “Just tell us how to fix it!” Rather than scold him, his brothers agreed and they looked pointedly at Diavolo and Barbatos.

“Well, we’re working on a medication now with aid from our magic but it would be beneficial for us to have more of the magma-glories to work with.”

“Right, got it! Where are they!?” Mammon exclaimed, ready to run.

“Hold on, Mammon,” Lucifer warned.

“There should be more in the fourth layer. However, it’s too dangerous to teleport there as we can’t be sure the lava hasn’t spread anywhere we attempt to land.” Barbatos explained.

“Flying isn’t an option either. The plume of smoke and ash will make it impossible to see or breathe,” Diavolo continued.

Lucifer clenched his fist, “Then I’ll figure something out,” he growled and Diavolo nodded.

“Right, why don’t we call Solomon,” Satan advised and they agreed. All except for Mammon who was already out the door.

“Where did Mammon go?” Lucifer asked, already knowing the answer.

“That idiot…” Leviathan mumbled.

Leviathan left to tell his brothers what was happening and they rushed to your bedside as their older brothers and wiser friends discussed what to do.

You continued coughing and groaned in agony. You felt like you were choking and not even Simeon’s and Luke’s angelic powers could cure it; they could only keep it at bay enough to let you lay down again without suffocating.

You saw their worried expressions and knew something was different, it wasn’t just a cold.

“So—“ you croaked. “Wh-ats, hap-ppen–ing?” You struggled to speak as your throat scratched with every word.

“Well…” Asmodeus bit his lip and looked away and Levi looked at the ground while Beelzebub stayed silent.

You could only wonder what was threatening your life this time around. Tuesday was the last time you nearly died, it was Saturday, and you’d gotten sick Wednesday. That didn’t take long at all, did it…

“Well…” Belphegor tried to explain when Solomon burst through the door to your room.

“Eek! Solomon, give us some warning!” Asmodeus cried out. Solomon ignored him and instead rushed to your side.

“My poor apprentice,” Solomon cooed sadly, but then he grinned and held up a glowing purple vial.

“N-o!” You choked.

“It’s not food,” Satan explained walking in with Diavolo, Lucifer, and Barbatos. You sighed in relief and Solomon frowned.

“I could make you some soup though—“

“There’s no time for that nonsense,” Lucifer hissed and the sorcerer sighed and fed you the potion.

“What is that?” Leviathan asked and Lucifer sighed, more relaxed than he had been.

“It’s the cure. Solomon made it the last time it went around in the Devildom, just in case he could catch it. He didn’t…so he still has it and now it’s very potent due to the amount of time.”

“Wow, really?” Asmodeus gasped. “How long has that been?”

“Hey, there! There’s no need to go explaining my age to them,” Solomon waved, silencing him in an instant. Solomon turned back to you in bed and ignored the question.

Your sickly pale, pasty skin, ten shades lighter than usual began regaining its normal color. Almost immediately you felt the strength to sit up, but as soon as you did, the nausea came in full force. You bent over the trash can, vomiting what seemed like an eternal river of mucus that burnt through the trash can.

“Eek!” Asmodeus screamed in fear and disgust and the brothers looked away uneasy.

Solomon was shocked, “it’s already gotten so bad?”

Barbatos shook his head amazed, “I see. Thankfully ___ is significantly stronger with their pacts and the help of Luke, Simeon, and Raphael.”

“Yes. Thirteen was keeping an eye on their candle too,” Solomon informed.

“That’s cause she wants ___’s soul.” Belphegor chided.

“That’s true, but she doesn’t want it right now,” Solomon argued for Thirteen’s sake. Thirteen wanted your soul as much as anyone but more than that she wanted to enjoy your presence and life much longer.

You rubbed the crust from your eyes and Beelzebub gave you a wet rag to wipe your mouth as Belphegor pulled your hair back.

“Hey…where’s Mammon?” You inquired and everyone looked at each other.

“Oh…somewhere in the fourth layer surrounded by active volcanoes,” Satan said nonchalantly.

You spit out the water Asmodeus had just handed you and he shrieked and wiped his face off.

“What do you mean!?” You demanded.

“Well you see, before we got in contact with Solomon, our options were to experiment with lesser medications we had or to create more potent ones.” Barbatos explained, “We needed a special flower for that, so Mammon ran off to get it.”

“Active volcanoes? He slips down the stairs at least once a week why in the three worlds did you let him go alone!?” You panicked and Lucifer looked guilty.

“He’ll be back when it gets too hard,” Leviathan clucked and you shook your head.

“No, he won’t! It’s Mammon we’re talking about!”

“Exactly,” Belphegor sneered.

You shook your head and glared, “Right! So you should know that when it comes to me Mammon will do literally anything.”

They all fell silent as they thought it over and realized you were right.

“Oh…so he’s probably,” Leviathan muttered.

“At the volcanoes…” Beelzebub worried, frowning.

“Ugh…” Belphegor sighed but was the first to speak up, “Let’s go get our idiot brother.”

Everyone nodded, “Right.”

They began to shuffle out the door but you stopped them before they could leave.

“Wait! One thing!”

“Yeah?” Leviathan asked, worriedly.

“All of you need to promise me—no—you must obey me when I tell you—do not let Mammon know you cured me.”

The six brothers immediately nodded, subjected to your power, but Solomon looked puzzled. “Oh, and why not?”

You frowned, “because…I want Mammon to think he saved me. He tries really hard and…”

“Falls flat?” Satan huffed.

“Fails?” Leviathan stated.

“Disappoints us every time,” Lucifer grimaced.

“He tries?” Asmodeus questioned.

“Enough!” You barked. “Mammon tries really hard and I want him to think he saved my life. Especially because if you didn’t conveniently have this vial, Solomon, Mammon was the first one out that door ready to brave flowing lava and poisonous smoke for me!”

“Poisonous?” Belphegor asked.

“How poisonous…” Beelzebub gulped.

“Uh…well I’m not a volcanologist, as cool as that would be, but…” You looked at Barbatos for help.

“Human world volcanoes release ash that can be detrimental to health when inhaled, even having long-term effects,” he began. “The volcanoes also release carbon dioxide which is deadly when exposed to for too long. Here in the Devildom, it’s the same but at more lethal levels. A high-level demon like Mammon should be fine if he inhaled some but…”

“But he’s probably panicking and running around like a moron looking for the flowers,” Lucifer sighed.

“Well, hurry and get him, he might be passed out on a rock somewhere!?” You ordered and they immediately left.

Simeon, Raphael, and Luke stayed behind to monitor you. Thirteen showed up an hour later when she was sure your life candle was stable.

“Which button do I press if there’s an emergency…?” Simeon asked and angled his phone for Luke to look at it.

“The green one! It’s always the green one!” Luke barked, upset he still had to explain these things to Simeon.

“At this point, he’s got to be messing with you,” Thirteen remarked and walked to your bedside, sitting next to you.

You could tell she had been stressed and you squeezed her hand. She blushed and took it away, “huh? What was that for?” She asked and you laughed at her cute response.

“Thank you,” you said and she turned a deeper shade of pink.

“You mean for looking after your candle? Obviously, I’m not just gonna let you die, you’re way too entertaining.”

You chuckled, “Okay. Sure.”

“What do you mean, sure?” She demanded but Simeon’s phone began ringing.

“The green one?” He asked.

“Yes!” Luke threw his hands up in the air, exasperated.

“Calm down Luke, it’s okay,” Raphael patted his shoulder and Luke crossed his arms and huffed as Simeon held the phone out for everyone to hear.

“The speaker, Simeon,” Thirteen reminded.

Simeon instantly looked confused so Raphael hit the button for him.

“Can you repeat that,” Luke asked.

“We found him,” Satan’s voice sounded over the speaker.

Your shoulders relaxed and you let out a deep sigh, relieved your precious but often stupid demon hadn’t gotten himself killed while running around.

“He didn’t even know what the flower looked like!” Leviathan shouted into the phone and Satan scolded him for being so loud.

“And?” Raphael prodded.

“He found it anyway…” Satan mumbled, seemingly not wanting to admit it.

“Wow, really!?” Luke exclaimed and Raphael looked similarly surprised.

“You were right, ___.” Simeon smiled at you knowingly and you blushed.

“How is he doing?” You asked loudly until Luke finally handed you the phone.

“He’s unconscious. As soon as he saw us he passed out.”

“From fear?” Raphael questioned disgruntled.

“IDK, probably relief. Looks like he was trying to call us.” Leviathan responded and you frowned.

“There’s no fucking signal out here what’d he expect?” Belphegor complained.

“Then how are you calling?”

“Solomon has a spell for everything,” Leviathan responded. “Anyway, we’re teleporting back home now, clear the area in your room.”

“My room—“

“Hurry,” Raphael warned and picked up Luke, jumping away to the edge of your room as Simeon and Thirteen scrambled to jump on your bed.

With a puff of smoke the brothers, Barbatos, Diavolo, and Mephistopheles appeared in the room covered in ash.

Mephistopheles started coughing and wiping the ash off himself as much as he could.

“Oh, hey, Mephisto,” you commented, unaware he’d been part of the crew.

“Likewise,” he grumbled, unhappy with his present state.

“Yeah, we found him too,” Belphegor chuckled and Mephistopheles blushed.

“I would’ve been just fine for your information,” he insisted.

“You didn’t even realize you were surrounded by lava you were so busy taking pictures of it,” Satan argued and the purple-haired demon stiffened up and blushed.

“Mephistopheles, please take better care of yourself. It may be a historically large eruption, but still,” Diavolo worried and Mephistopheles straightened up and bowed, offering a strew of apologies as Diavolo awkwardly accepted them.

Lucifer had Mammon slung over his shoulder and you got up from your bed. Your legs were shaky from all the time you’d spent there and Simeon caught your arm and helped you stand up properly.

“Lie back down, he’s fine,” Lucifer ordered but you ignored him and pointed to your vacated bed.

“Lay him down,” you demanded and Lucifer rolled his eyes and unloaded Mammon.

“Great, now your clean bed has ash everywhere,” Asmodeus pouted. He’d been the one trying to keep the room clean for you during your sick days.

You snapped your fingers and whispered under your breath and the ashes shone brightly and vanished into the air. Luke gasped and Asmodeus’s eyes shone as he watched its brief glow.

“Wow, it’s all gone,” Luke exclaimed.

Mephistopheles nodded and thanked you, as he wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more dirt on himself.

Mephistopheles left, still embarrassed, and Diavolo waved Barbatos and the others from the room. Lucifer ordered his brothers to follow and left you with Mammon passed out on your bed face-down.

Before Satan shut the door behind him you made a zipping motion across your lips, “Remember.” You said and he nodded and repeated the motion before closing the door.

You sighed and smiled.

You looked at the demon snoring in bed and rolled him onto his back.

“That can’t be very comfortable…” you said to yourself and with a bit of magical assistance you removed his coat and took off his sunglasses and shoes.

You drew the comforter over him and crawled onto the other side against the wall, waiting for him to wake up.

Mammon was sound asleep for a long time. Asmodeus brought you food and you played on your phone as you waited. Finally, as the sky reached its darkest hour, Mammon’s nose twitched and he began to softly mumble.

Your name poured softly from his lips and you watched him in adoration. Mammon has always been your favorite even when he wasn’t on his best behavior but today you both proved to everyone else that Mammon could be serious and trustworthy. When it came to you, there was no mountain Mammon wouldn’t climb, no sea he wouldn’t swim across, no hell he wouldn’t face…all for you.

You gently planted a kiss on his lips and his mouth twitched. Slowly Mammon’s eyes opened and his vision cleared up. He sat upright and began coughing, “Oh shit! ___! ___’s flower— I-!”

You threw your arms around him, bringing him back to the present, and as Mammon’s heart slowed he realized where he was. He felt your arms around him and immediately held you close to his chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and you felt your shirt dampen as he silently cried in relief.

“Y-you’re okay?” He asked.

You nodded, “Thank you Mammon.”

“Thanks? Did—did I do it?”

You nodded and he hugged you tighter, “Thank goodness… thank goodness!” He exclaimed and began laughing as a weight lifted from his chest.

“Don’t worry! What’d I tell ya, Mammon’s got your back!”

You nodded and laughed still hugging him tightly.

“Forever, right?” You asked and he pulled back looking surprised.

“Of course, forever. Did ya ever doubt me?”

“Not even for a second,” you beamed and his eyes sparkled as you leaned in and kissed his lips.

Grinning, Mammon grabbed your hips and moved you closer to him, positioning you on his waist. He moaned softly as he deepened the kiss between you both. He flicked his tongue across your bottom lip asking for permission. You smirked playfully and parted your lips for him. He growled in excitement and began exploring. He grabbed the back of your head with one hand to pull you in as close as he could and when that wasn’t enough he flipped you onto your back and leaned over you.

Mammon explored your mouth with his tongue excitedly until you patted his back, signaling you needed to breathe. Mammon parted unwillingly, a string of saliva still connecting your lips as you panted heavily. You both laughed excitedly to yourselves and Mammon adjusted himself over you, slinking one hand beneath your shirt.

You moaned into his kiss when suddenly the door burst open, nearly flying off the hinges.

“Oh good, I thought you might be awake,” Satan said in a painfully fake cheerful voice.

“Shit! What the hell man, give us a minute will ya?” Mammon shouted annoyed and angry.

“Really, a minute? That’s all?” Asmodeus strode into the room and shook his head. “Poor ___.”

“Wh-hey! Y’know that’s not what I meant!” Mammon protested.

“Enough shouting,” Lucifer hissed as he joined his brothers in your room.

Your face turned red and Mammon finally swung his leg over the bed and got off of you. His hand still lingered on your slightly exposed stomach. He didn’t intend to leave without seeing more of you that night.

His brothers knew this and they had every intention to stop it.

“You guys—“ Mammon tried to protest.

“Is he awake?” Luke asked nearing the room.

“Ah, shit,” Mammon mumbled and you both straightened out your clothes and sat up straight as Luke walked in holding a small cake.

“I made an Angel Cloud cake! For your recovery!” Luke smiled excitedly and handed it to you.

“Ah sweet, looks good,” Mammon commented and from behind Lucifer, Beelzebub nodded slowly, drool running down his chin.

“Let’s split it,” you said turning to Mammon.

His eyes lit up. “Really?” You nodded and fed him a piece from your fork.

“Wh-huh?” Luke blurted in surprise at the affectionate display.

“Okay Luke, they liked your cake, see? Let’s go back home now shall we?” Simeon suggested and pulled Luke out of the room.

“Hey—wait!” Luke protested, but it was too late.

Raphael glared at Mammon and Mammon hid behind you in fear but disguised this as hugging you from behind.

Volcanoes were nothing but a glare from Raphael had him using you as a shield. He was incorrigible. But he was yours and that would never change.

After an hour of banter and talking between you and the brothers they finally left. Each gave Mammon a steely look before leaving and when Satan left last, he slammed the door shut, well aware of Mammon’s intentions.

Mammon ran to the door to lock it and sighed in relief that you were finally alone again.

He turned around to look back at you and grinned playfully, “So…still up for some fun?” He suggested and you laughed and nodded.

“With you? Always.”

Mammon did not separate from you until the early hours of the following morning, and after his actions that day you spent most of your nights this way.

Mammon would eventually find out that Solomon’s vial had saved you but he successfully “redeemed” himself when the vial turned out to be deadly too and another cure was needed. Solomon was kicked to the doghouse again, and Mammon, without too much complaint from his brothers, deservedly got you to himself once again.

#obey me drabble #obey me nsfwish #obey me mammon #omswd mammon #obey me mammom x reader #omswd mammon x reader #obey me gn!reader #obey me fic #obey me short story #obey me valentines #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me raphael #obey me thirteen #obey me mephistopheles #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

[bettyfrommars]

Heyy, I have a little optional request for the nightmare factory. Eddie could be located in an abandoned theme park or an abandoned place half submerged in water & loves how much this location freaks you out in the best way…

nightmareGuide!eddie x reader

another installment of The Nightmare Factory

masterlist

This is a collection of blurbs and short fics about Eddie falling for you, but only being able to communicate through your nightmares. 2.3k

This suggestion really inspired me, and I don't think it's exactly what you had in mind, but I will be using more abandoned themes throughout this series. This is a comfort write for me that I post as soon as I'm finished, so I'm sure there are plenty of errors.

18+ONLY, nightmares, terror, abandoned places

------

When you showed up to the theme park, you were the only one there. Strange also because you didn’t remember how you got to that location, and as you looked around you wondered if maybe you were at the wrong place.

Perhaps you were supposed to go to a different fairgrounds or theme park because this one looked like it was abandoned.  It was dark out, and there didn’t seem to be a single star in the sky.  The moon was bright, though, and it loomed comically big, as if it were somehow much closer to earth.  You were standing in the empty parking lot in front of the ticket booth and rolling metal arm entrances, which were all covered in graffiti; the pavement littered in shattered glass from the broken windows.  Ahead you could see the looming rides spread out over the vast park, each of them overgrown with moss and vines, rusted and frozen in time like a place where laughter goes to die.

Questions echoed somewhere in the back of your head as to why you were there, but all the same—your feet kept moving  

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a black mass with multiple spider legs crawling up the ferris wheel—but when you turned with a gasp, it was gone.

“You lost?” A deep voice called to you from between the fence and the ticket booth. You saw the plume of smoke first, and then someone stepped out.

It was a man, possibly in his twenties, with long, curly dark hair past his shoulders and bangs that covered his eyebrows.  He was wearing dark jeans with holes in the knees, white shoes, and some type of denim vest covered in patches over a leather jacket.  When he took a drag of his smoke, you noticed the chunky silver rings on his fingers.

Eddie wanted to contain his excitement, but it was hard to be normal about this.

He finally found a way for you to see him—-to really see him.  To talk to him.  You could even touch him, if you wanted to.

In dreams, there are people we travel with once in a while that are simply known as Guides.  Sometimes they pass knowledge on, sometimes they are there as a reflection of your needs, and sometimes—they are just there to hang out with you.

Usually, to be a Guide you had to be employed with the Nightmare Factory for a long time; it was the equivalent of slacking off for a few years before retirement.  But, Eddie had wormed his way into the Abandoned Spaces Simulation wing of the factory by flirting ruthlessly with Jean, the older woman who worked the front desk.  

And now, there you were—looking right at him.

“I think I came to the wrong place,” you said.  It never occurred to you to ask him who he was or where he came from—there was an instant familiarity.  You even wondered if he was the reason you came to the amusement park to begin with.

“Come with me,” he inclined his head, extending the crook of his elbow for you to take.  “I have something I want to show you.”

In a blink, you were deep inside the park, surrounded by the long-forgotten rides and a place along the fence where there were once games to win prizes like pop the balloon and bullseye.  A roller coaster loomed menacingly in the distance like a big, green, sleeping monster while a vendor that advertised cotton candy had what looked like mold growing all over bags of the sweet treat and bullet holes through the sign.  

Eddie guided you to the ferris wheel, and for some reason, now it looked brand new—as shiny as the day it was first erected.  

“Take a ride with me?” Eddie asked, enjoying the expression of awe on your face.

A gust of wind blew his hair back and you wrapped your arms around yourself, horrified to realize you were still wearing your pajamas.

“Oh shit,” you whispered, meeting his amused gaze with terror.  “I forgot to change my clothes before I came here.”

“It happens,” he shrugged.  

He took your hand to help you up into the metal bucket, and then he settled in next to you and pulled the safety bar down.  Your hips were touching and he opened his knees a bit wider so that your legs were touching too.  He arched forward to adjust his jacket, and when he sat back, he turned his head to ask if you were comfortable, and you had this overwhelming urge to kiss him.

Eddie felt it too.  He noticed the way your gaze fell to his lips, the way you swallowed hard and then sought his eyes with a childlike curiosity.

“Do I know you?” You asked. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?”

“Not here,” Eddie rocket the squeaky bucket as the ride started at a crawl. “But yeah, we’ve met before.”

Who was operating the machine? How was it suddenly in working condition?  You didn’t even think to wonder. When their seat finally made it to the top, it stopped and swayed there. Eddie lifted his arms up for a mock yawn and a stretch, and then one of his arms came down around your shoulders.

You heard the music first, and then the playful screaming and the buzz of conversation.

“Look down,” Eddie told you.

Below, the park was completely functional again.  There were no more weeds or mold growing on everything, and a sea of people made their way around to the various rides and games, enjoying the festivities.  There were bright carnival lights and people cheering and the smell of buttered popcorn.

Eddie was watching your face; basking in the way your eyes lit up.

“We should get a funnel cake after this,” you told him, forgetting that the place was ever abandoned. “With powdered sugar and strawberries.”  You put your hand on his leg so that you could lean further over to see the rest of the scene.  There were stars in the dark blue sky again, and they twinkled like jewels.

“Hey,” he brought his arm down from around your shoulders and took your hand to interlace his fingers with yours and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.  You were warm and soft and he didn’t want this to end; he could feel desperation tightening in the back of his throat.  “Can I ask you something?”

You met his gaze, searching for your answer.  “Sure?”

He looked down, rubbing his thumb along yours.  “Do you think you could try to…remember me? After you wake up, I mean.”

Your face offered the genuine confusion that you felt.  “Wake up? You mean, this is a dream?” Your attention returned to the swarm of people down below.  “Why does it feel so real?”

“I’m real,” he whispered. 

You turned to face him, to return the affection in his rich, umber eyes, and he squeezed your hand.

“Fuck it,” he breathed, deciding to shoot his shot.  “Listen, this is going to sound crazy, okay? But I work for a place called the Nightmare Factory and I was dispatched to scare you a few months ago, but I just…I don’t know…I really like you.”

As his mouth moved, his face began to distort; his eyes and nose vanished, and then they came back misplaced like a deranged Mr. Potatohead.  You watched it in awe, having trouble registering what he was saying.

“I mean, I’m not sure how this could work,” Eddie continued.  “Because we exist in different realms, but there are dreams that last for days, and I’m going to find one for us, so we can get to know each other better. If you want that?”

You nodded, even though his voice was garbled and there was an eyeball where his mouth should be.  You blinked a few times, and then his face finally went back to normal.

“I’d like to spend a few days with you,” you heard the words come out of your mouth and felt the response come from your heart, even though you didn’t think you had heard a word he’d said.  As you slept there was another very important part of you that stayed awake—and it yearned for this boy you were with.

Eddie coughed out a laugh, relieved, and then tightened his lips around a long exhale.  “Damn, that’s a relief.”

The lights all around the park began to dim, but you didn’t notice or mind, because Eddie brought his hand up to cup your jaw and ran his thumb a few times over your cheek.  The screams you heard coming from down below were different now—more blood curdling—but Eddie was pulling you close to press his forehead against yours.  

“I want to be your favorite nightmare,” he said with a chuckle.

“Are you supposed to be scary?” You asked, innocently, rubbing the tip of your nose on his. “Because you’re not very good at it.”

The bucket you were in began to swing aggressively as something made the ride jostle.  

“Shit,” Eddie hissed.  “There’s always something. But wait—don’t look!”

Before his words could register, you did, indeed, look down to find that what had once been a sea of regular people, had morphed into a horde of zombies.

Snarling, hungry, ragged zombies with bulging eyes and skin hanging off their bones.  

They were crawling their way up the ferris wheel to get to you.

You screamed and crushed in closer to Eddie. He wrapped his arms around you and put his lips against your ear so you could feel the sensation of his hot breath.  “They won’t hurt you, I promise. You trust me?”

A few of them were half way up, screeching and moaning as others joined the ascent.  You were thinking maybe you should crawl down the other side and run into the woods.  The last thing you wanted was to be mauled to death by the walking dead.

“Do you have a knife, or something we can stab them in the head with?”

Eddie chuckled at your exuberance to kill his co-workers.  “Baby, it’s okay, I promise. They’re just trying to scare you, they won’t hurt you.  Hey—” he took your face in his hands as the metal basket made a cracking sound at the hinges like it was about to break.

“Oh god oh god oh god—”

And then he pressed his lips to yours, softly, but with enough pressure that your eyes fluttered and you forgot to be worried.

The big wheel you were on started to move forward, chugging and jerking along at a labored pace.

Eddie pulled back to see you.  “Remember me? Please? Remember my face.”

All you could do was nod a few times.

The zombies were sliding off and falling to the ground as the contraption rotated on its axis, but the next problem was that you were about to be deposited right into the arms of the waiting horde; jagged teeth snapping at the air, eager to tear you limb from limb.  

“I promise I’ll try,” you told him, bracing yourself as you were lowered into the outstretched hands of your demise.

When the bucket was about to ground level, two of the zombies lunged at you from the side, and just as their fingernails clawed at your clothing and you screamed bloody murder, a wide, black hole with blue edges opened up in the atmosphere and you fell through, screaming.

You fell back to your bed.

Your eyes flew open as you gasped, feeling your arm and neck for bite marks.

“What the hell was that?” You said aloud to the dark room.

It was so vivid, so real.

There was a boy in the dream that you desperately did not want to forget, and a voice inside told you to write down what you remembered of him.  Even as you searched around in the drawer of your nightstand, the details of the boy you kissed were slipping away and turning to mist.  

Writing frantically in the dark, you recalled that he had brown eyes and he said he wanted to be your favorite nightmare.

But what did that even mean?

The abandoned theme park and the zombies—-those details were very clear.  But him…him…HIM.  Why couldn’t you keep him in your mind?

Why couldn’t you keep him?

When the ferris wheel came to a stop, Eddie pushed the metal bar up with a grunt.

“Thanks for nothing, you guys,” he told the group of flesh-eating zombies that were all gathered casually around him, mingling with clueless expressions on their faces.

“Sorry Munson,” Val—the one with a broken neck that made her head sit sideways and a missing eyeball—said with a helpless shrug.  “Kevin said we had to.”

“Fuck Kevin,” Eddie jumped from the platform to the ground, his wallet chain clapping against his thigh. “I suppose he wants to talk to me?”

They all nodded in unison.

“Are you coming to the potlatch this weekend?” Norman—the one with a skeletal face that looked like his skin had been burned off with acid and a bloody hole in his stomach—-asked with his wide, lipless mouth.  

“Maybe,” Eddie answered, shouldering his way through the rest as they mumbled their greetings. “If I have time before band practice.”

Marv, the Zombie with maggots in his rotten cheek, clapped Eddie on the back a few times.  “Kevin is on the warpath today, but don’t let him get you down, kid.  You do good work.”  

Eddie walked a bit and then stopped and turned around when he realized none of them were beside him.  “You guys coming?”

“Nah,” Val said.  “We’ve gotta wait around here for the next one. Our shift isn’t over for another hour.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson series #nightmare!eddie #nightmareGuide!eddie #abandoned #zombies #eddie munson fluff #scary fluff #nightmare #satire #Eddie munson fanfic #the nightmare factory

[vintagerpg]

Return to White Plume Mountain (1999) is the fourth of TSR’s modules that return to classic adventure locations, and the third in in silver anniversary trade dress. Also the last of the both those things. Of the silver modules, it is my favorite (Return to the Tomb of Horrors is still my pick for the best of the lot though, probably).

Like Keep, this doesn’t include the original module, but reminagines the original space with twenty years of changes. It also takes pains to make a little more sense of the original module, which was a silly funhouse kind of dungeon that, while classic, is sort of a sore thumb in terms of Greyhawk lore. In fixing that, the designer actually strikes upon a surprisingly satisfying frame for the adventure.

Basically, the mountain was home to a mage named Keraptis, who left for parts unknown. Another mage took his name and home and, through a magical accident, an imprint of the original’s personality — this is the one who was heard but never seen in the original module. He’s dead now, but four others have been imprinted by artifacts the original mage left laying around. There are now four false kerapti — an efreet, an ogre mage, a mold wyrm (?) and a gnome — all with their own turf and control of one of the now four weapon artifacts housed in the volcano (Blackrazor, Whelm and Wave are joined by Frostrazor, an ice sword). Basically, four gangs loosed in a bizarro dungeon. What more can you really ask for? This dynamic really pushes White Plume Mountain into territory staked out in Jennell Jaquays’ Dark Tower, and I like it a LOT. And there is something far worse than the gangs under it all, to boot.

Cover by Arnie Swekel, redoing Erol Otus’ fairly iconic overland map. Interiors by Wayne Reynolds, settling into what will be the prime art seat for the imminent 3E.

#roleplaying game #tabletop rpg #dungeons & dragons #rpg #d&d #ttrpg #Return #White Plume Mountain

[okkotsuus]

break my heart again pt.2 (rin i.) !

features: rin i.

contents: angst. hurt and comfort. fluff. pro!rin. proposal. fanon bc the manga don’t go this far. this is my apology. 1.8k words.

pt.1

itoshi rin rediscovers you at the age of twenty one. by now, he and his brother have made up and he has become a professional football player.

he sees you for the first time in five years in his hometown, which he had returned to for the holidays.

you stand on the opposite side of the street, scarf covering the lower half of your face while your breath plumes in front of you. at first, he didn't believe it’s you, he had figured you would have been long out of this town; reaching the dreams you and he used to talk of under the starry sky.

but, when he walks past you, that familiar scent reaches his nose. he can’t help but freeze in place for just a second. it was really you. he spins around to try to catch you, but you’re already long gone. the honking of a car draws him back to reality as he runs to the other side.

when you see rin again for the first time across the street, you can’t help the stinging happiness that runs through your veins. a part of you hopes that it wasn’t him, the other part hopes he doesn’t recognize you. you weren’t ready. but when you walk past him and see those turquoise eyes, alive again, your steps hasten. you still aren’t ready.

despite keeping track of the news on him, watching all of his games, you weren’t ready to face him after he broke your heart five years ago. you tried to love someone else, but there was always an emptiness. your heart was gone, still in the hands of the boy you had loved for fourteen years now.

the nipping cold feels much more intense now, maybe it was your wet cheeks that made it feel as such. or maybe it was the heat that had creeped under your collar. no matter how many years or how many heartbreaks, rin itoshi would always be the man you love.

when you return home, you go to your room and slide down the door, head in your hands. it was pathetic. the man you had loved for most of your conscious life had slipped just between your fingers yet again.

rin returns home and the first thing he does is look for sae, desperate for some advice. rin trusted his beloved big brother more than anyone else.

“big brother, i… i need help.”

not even two hours later, rin is knocking on your childhood home’s door. your parents answer, surprised by the sight of him. they were angry at first, but they knew too that you had never gotten over him.

“hello, mr and mrs l/n, is y/n home?” rin’s meek under the scrutinizing gaze of your parents, but they soften and tell him that you no longer live with him.

rin isn’t ready to let go of this chance, it’s now or never to him. he cannot bear the thought of letting you slip through his fingers again. truth is, he never wanted to leave you in his heart. but he did a lot of things he didn’t truly want to do back then, not that it’s an excuse. 

all rin can do is desperately hope that you’d give him just one more chance, that you’d fall in love with him again. he wouldn’t need to fall for you again, because he had never stopped loving your for a single day within those five years.

as you sit in your apartment, your phone begins to buzz. you pick it up and it’s your parents. they ask if you want to have dinner at theirs. you think it’s a little strange, as you had seen them less than three hours ago, but you agree nonetheless.

while you ride the subway, you can’t help but think of the inevitability of your feelings for rin. you couldn’t go on like this. even if it meant rejection, you just had to let him know that you had never stopped loving him, not once since you were just seven years old.

you knock on the door and your eyes widen when rin itoshi answers. part of you wants to just turn around now. you aren’t ready. after five years you still aren’t ready. but, for once, you allow your mind to override your heart and enter the house.

dinner is awkward, rin sits across from you, you can’t help but keep your eyes glued to your plate. if you look up you know you’ll end up falling right into those turquoise eyes you loved so, you’d let him break your heart again if you saw him.

your parents try to make some semblance of small talk, but you just don’t talk. rin answers, he’s a lot more like the boy you fell in love with now. your eyes flicker up and they meet his. they were alive once again, sparkling like gemstones: as they did all those years ago.

immediately the warmth in your chest returns and you feel just as lovesick as you did the day he left you. despite your best attempts to suppress it, the undeniable and inevitable truth was that you were still head over heels for rin itoshi; and you always will be.

when rin sees you standing outside the door, he watches as the hurt flashes in your starry eyes. his heart aches, knowing that he’s the reason behind it. he watches as you hesitate, beginning to step back, he feels his heart begin to crumble. but when you walk in, he’s more than surprised. rin itoshi loved you, no, he loves you.

he watches as you pick at your food, very clearly ignoring him. he didn’t care, he was just happy he got to see you again. he didn’t care if you hated him by now, he deserved it. he just wanted to be able to be near you once again, even if it was the last time.

while he was taking you in, your eyes flicker up for just the briefest moment, but it was just enough for him to catch them. when he sees that look of nothing but the purest love begin to gleam in them, he regains hope. rin begins to believe that maybe there’s a chance that you had never stopped loving him either.

after dinner, rin offers to walk you home. you don’t tell him that you took a short subway ride, so you could be by his side for just a bit longer. it’s silent for a long while, the only sound being footfalls and soft breaths. 

you can’t help but to break it first. “so, how’s your team in france?” it slipped out so easily, falling into that familiar, nostalgic habit like butter. you don’t even realize that you had just let the fact that you kept up with him slip.

“it’s good. how’s university?” rin contains the giddiness he feels when he learns that you kept up with him for so long, suppressing the flush that tries to rise to his cheeks. you mumble out a response and it goes quiet again.

the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t what either of you wanted, and you both knew that. so desperately you both yearned to break the ice that had formed under this snowy night, just like the night that had ruined it all.

rin had grown a lot, coming back out of the shell that he had built so rigidly around his shattered heart. so he offers his vulnerability first this time.

“i’m sorry.”

you stop walking, just staring at his back. you feel those crystalline drops begin to fall over your lower lashes. that familiar pitter-patter of your heart rings so heavily in your ears as this time, unlike the last, rin turns around. you’re allowed to the the tears welling in his eyes as well.

rin keeps away from you at first when the apology spills out of his mouth, he can’t bear to look at you. lest you gaze at him with anything but love his heart will break for the second time in his life. but, he was putting everything on the line now. so he turned.

when he first sees the tears running down your cheeks he panics, thinking the worst. but the wobbly smile that rests on your lips has his heart skipping beats, the dumbstruck love clouding all rational judgment.

“rinnie, you jerk… i never once stopped loving you.” your words are broken up by snotty sniffles that you try your best to contain, but ultimately fail. when you see that shimmer in his beautiful turquoise eyes, you are back to that seven year old who blushed at the little boy next to them.

rin hears you say that and all his worries disappear, for a moment he’s that little boy who’s watching the chubby cheeks of the kid next to him split in a bright grin.

“really?” his question is breathy, escaping in a plume into the cold night air.

that same smile he fell in love with parted your lips before you spoke. “i promised, remember? not for the world.”

rin swears he falls even deeper in love with you at this moment. he bounds to you as he embraces you, taking you completely in his form. rin destroyed your world at sixteen years old, but here at twenty one he was rebuilding it even better.

they say broken bones heal stronger, maybe that’s why your broken heart healed with an even more intense love for the boy with those turquoise eyes.

he walks you home with your hand in his, keeping it warm from the cool breeze on this chilly december night.

rin itoshi proposes to you at twenty one, not even an hour after reuniting with you. he doesn’t have a ring, nor has he told anyone or even asked your parents. but he knows that this is right. somewhere in the deepest reaches of his soul, it says this is the right decision.

you had always had rin itoshi’s heart, even when he pretended you did not. truth is, he left his heart with you at sixteen when he broke yours. but now, he held your heart so gently in his hands, only able to hope you would treat his as such.

even if you didn’t he wouldn’t care.

and you too didn’t care, because for those turquoise eyes, you would let him break your heart again.

okkotsuus 23

#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi angst #itoshi rin angst #blue lock rin #bllk rin #blue lock angst #bllk angst #rin itoshi fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff

[morallyinept]

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter Word Count: 3.9k

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☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: You're getting this a day early this week. For reasons. Mentions and descriptions of panic attacks. Mentions of self-harm/attempted suicide. Heavy angst - I promise, it will pep up soon! 😅

☝🏻Some of the tags aren't working, so please ensure you're following me and turn on notifs so you don't miss an update on this story.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

The sun is on the other side of the sky when you eventually arrive at outpost three.

The pink edges of an early dusk will soon make their way in, dip-dyeing the clouds rolling in puffy plumes above.

Summer evenings have always been beautiful, even before the world turned to shit.

You enjoy the colours; the golds fading into pinks, and then purples as the night would settle in. A pastel kaleidiscope, and you're thankful the sky has remained free of the horrors that taint the ground below it.

It's the only reprieve you have left these days, when you take a moment to gaze up at the stars, enthralled by the infinite beauty of space.

A renegade memory cuts in; Joel's body warming you on the air mattress he'd dragged out into the garden so you could both watch the meteor shower you'd been haranguing him about for weeks.

I don't want to miss it! You'd said, endlessly. There were only a few glimpses of the white, glittery streaks across the sky that night. Mostly because you and Joel were too busy looking at one another instead and talking excitely about the future. Your future, together.

Even though you never actually had one.

You smile with a deep sigh, throwing your head up to the sky as you trot on and Joel catches your wistful eyes.

"What's that look for? " He queries, curiously.

You shake your head smiling. "Nothing."

The day feels like it's dragged on deliberately to torment you, and tiredness weighs heavy on your back and under your eyes.

You follow Joel on his stud up the grassy knolls towards a small looking shack, tucked and nestled out the way that's not so obvious it's there, but gives a good view down into the valley which you’ve spent the last couple of hours riding up languidly. 

Once off your horse, you guide the mare into a side stable hidden by the trees and are surprised to find ample hay bales stacked in there.

Joel shuts the paddock fence, “grab that bucket there,” he instructs and you do, following him as he takes the heavy knapsacks from off your horse. You offer to take them, but he shakes his head as he loads himself up and it makes you smile that he's never lost his gentlemanly chilvary.

Even if he's lost everything else.

Joel reaches behind a piece of wood and pulls out a key, unlocking the door and you instantly marvel at the inside. 

“This is not what I expected from an outpost,” you say as you look about the place in bewilderment. 

There’s a small, ashy stove in the corner with a basket of chopped logs next to it. A singular camper’s cot is along the far wall, with sheets folded on top of it and a threadbare pillow.

A couple of beaten wicker chairs face a large window; most of it is boarded up, save for a small square cut out where the light pools in softly and illuminates the floor by your feet. Dust motes dance in the white beams and you wander over to the view of the valley that’s squashed inside the tiny frame like a grainy Polaroid.

You traipse over to the side room, which is an alcove cut into the wood, to find a hose pipe attached to a slow rusting tap. A crude shower with a curtain hanging up. There's a couple of rough feeling towels on a hook, and a large bowl on the floor, presumably the toilet.

"S'no hot water." He says with a thin line for a mouth.

You turn to Joel shrugging, surprised. “Are all your outposts this fancy?” You quip with a wry grin.

You were expecting a hole in the dirt to squat in for the next five days and not much else. This is a palace in comparison.

A rickety shelving unit houses a few dogeared books, a few battered boxes that you see are old board games on closer inspection. There’s also an array of metal tins, some in various states of peeling and rusting. 

“We work in rotations when on the lookout. The guys who were here last would’ve left yesterday, maybe the day before. Gotta leave the place smart n’ tidy for the next shift. Those are the rules.”

“Noted,” you say as Joel takes the metal bucket from you. He's careful not to touch you, you notice. “You’ve been on the lookout before?” Your fingers run over the sniper stand set up by the window. 

The floorboards beneath you creak and jostle as you move, and you look down to see one board is loose as you step on it with your boot. You can hear running water from the tap in the alcove as the bucket starts to fill.

“A few times. I mostly get picked for scoutin’ runs.” Joel explains, his head peering out from the alcove at you. “S’what I used to do in the QZ, so guess m’good for it.” 

"Are you good at finding things?"

He doesn't answer that.

You bend down and pull the floorboard up and find boxes of bullets and shotgun cartridges in there and baulk. There’s a small radio walkie-talkie too.

“Get ‘em all out,” Joel instructs you, resting the full bucket by the door. “We might be needin’ ‘em. Best have ‘em ready.” 

You do and Joel attaches his rifle on the stand, peering through the periscope and places the boxes, you hand up to him, on the small table in between the wicker chairs.

“We switch the radio on once, just before midday, each day. If nothin’ comes through by quarter-past, then all is well.” Joel explains.

He throws his thumb over his shoulder to three small clocks on a wonky wooden shelf that tick quietly out of sync. They all read at the same time, differing by a minute or two. A stack of batteries are beside them. “In case one stops,” Joel remarks as he sees you inspecting. 

“Industrious.” You nod understanding, and place the radio on the table next to the bullets. “Are all the outposts equipped like this?”

“Pretty much. Each time ya have a shift, ya bring supplies with ya from the commune to top up.” 

You nod again as he points at the knapsacks realising that you’ll have less to go back with.

“You want me to take the first watch?” You offer. 

Joel shakes his head. “No. I will. But we’ll eat first. Once it’s dark, we can’t use any light. Don’t want no-one or no infected knowin’ we’re here, okay? We keep quiet, keep our heads down. We just wait n’ watch.”

“Yes, sir.” You remark with a salute and Joel grits his teeth. 

“You wanna get the stove goin’?” He frowns. 

“You’re not gonna cook for me?” You remark with your tongue in your teeth, and he rolls his eyes. “I remember you being a great cook.” 

“I ‘member you bein' full of shit.” Joel remarks as he steps over and rifles through the knapsacks, pulling out several cans and handing them to you. 

You chuckle, recalling the time when Joel burnt the only dinner he’d ever attempted to cook for you on Valentine’s Day once. Instead, he’d ordered in pizza and then fucked you on his parent’s sofa whilst they were out on a romantic date night of their own.

It was a close call, barely getting your damp panties back on before they came home to two red faces with messy hair trying to look innocent. It was the same night he told you he loved you.

The thought warms your belly momentarily before the snakes strike with their venom again. 

You look down at the cans, some dented, some without labels, one is blown and you tell Joel you can't eat it and he nods. You get to preparing some food. It’s a lucky dip as to what it’ll be, but you remain optimistic. 

Joel pulls out a tupperware box with some baked bread in it and you groan in surprise.

“Courtesy of Jake.” He says with a little pride blooming in his cheeks.

“Jake?”

“He runs The Tispy Bison. He sees me right.” He tries not to smirk smugly.

“Is that because you’re his dealer or something?” You titter.

Joel baulks. “I might do him some favours when I’m on a run.”

“Mmhm. Is this focaccia?” You gasp, taking the tupperware box, opening it and inhaling the freshly baked scent of flour, rosemary and oils.

“Dunno, s’different each time.”

“Well. Jake might just be my new favourite person.” You say, grinning as the scent of the bread makes your mouth salivate. 

“Hm. Next time you can spend five days gettin’ cosy with Jake then.” Joel gruffs, the frown returning, but his mirth still remains.

You watch Joel take the bucket and open the shack door. “Gonna give the horses a drink.”

He closes the door, but not before you catch his dark, chocolate eyes glancing back at you. 

Out in the stable, Joel strokes down the mare gently whilst she drinks from the bucket hanging on a tough metal peg. 

He loses himself in the feel of her coat for a while, focusing in on that silky smoothness over his rough fingertips and he runs them up and down.

The stallion eats from the corner, chewing as he tugs hay from the bale with big, glassy black eyes. 

Joel’s mind wanders from the stable to inside the shack where you are. If he listens real carefully, and presses himself up against the far wall closest to the shack, he could probably hear you clanking about with the pans. 

He could probably hear you mutter obscenities at the stove as you struggle to get the wood to catch light. He’d probably rest his large palm against the coarse wood, reaching out as though he was touching you.

God, he wants to touch you so badly. Convince himself that you're real.

He wonders if you would feel it; sense him here, listening to the music of you as it pollutes his head and stuffs up his senses, only but a mere few steps away.

So close, yet so fucking far from his reach.

Joel takes his hand off the wood and steps back; shaking his head and muttering curses of his own to himself for being so damn foolish.

He steps back to the mare who snuffles at him and he gets back to stroking her down. Her large head knocks against his arm and Joel wonders for a moment if it’s her way of telling him to grow a pair and get back in there.

Get back to you.

He calms her with a soothing shush and strokes over her ears, winding the velvet of them gently through his thick fingers as she snuffles again. 

“You’re just as sweet as May, aren’t ya, darlin’?” He coos to her and the horse puts her mouth back in the bucket leaving Joel to contemplate and to just think some more. 

Thinking has always been his worst enemy, deducing that he probably does it far too much for his own good. Often, the thinking is what talks him out of things, calms the recklessness that used to run in his blood during his wily youth.

Thinking is what stops him from unleashing the ire on a daily basis now. And he’s not sure anymore if that’s a good or bad thing. 

He scratches at his temple and his fingers run the familiar pattern of the scar there. It stops all thinking for a moment as his tips notch over the puckered skin.

Just leaves him that stabbing feeling that starts at the bottom of his heart until it eventually takes over his beating muscle and renders him frozen, incapacitated for a few short moments as he remembers raising the gun to his temple in his darkest moment.

Joel wonders why it is that he never died; why it is that he flinched when he pulled the trigger. He should have died a long time ago, should be with Sarah now holding her close and smelling the coconut shampoo in her hair that he misses more than anything in this fucking cruel world.

Joel deduces that thinking probably talked him out of that too. That, somewhere, in the back of his foggy brain that could often chatter insidiously at him for hours - so much so that he had to resort to numbing out the noise with booze and pills just to get some simple shut eye sometimes - a small voice talked him down off that ledge.

But he wonders why it has, every day since. What was the point if not to taunt him with his losses? 

He’d said to Ellie that he was glad he hadn’t. And he’d meant it. But Ellie was gone, her time between visits getting longer and he knows it’s because he tried to do right by her, even if it backfired in his face later when she discovered his dishonesty. 

That voice that told him to fight for her as he gunned everyone down in that hospital selfishly. Point, shoot. Point, shoot.

The thinking had quelled then, a calm just leaving him to go stoically postal as he pointed and shot at targets; a quiet white noise filling his ears until Ellie was back in his arms and he could hear again. 

And now she’s not.

Joel Miller is a loser; he's continually losing the people that matter the most to him. That has to be it, he thinks.

He looks down at his hands; two large paws that are weathered and worn, calloused and rough. Index fingers with split skin and a liver spot here or there that never used to be. Prominent veins that ridge and thumbs that always annoy him with their stubbiness, getting in the way of practicality at times. 

Working hands that were once strong and built things, but now tremble and shake uncontrollably at times. Strong hands that fail to be able to hold onto anyone that he cares for anymore. He’d let go of Sarah, he’d let go of Tess. He’d let go of Ellie. 

And he had let go of you.

Joel squeezes his fists shut, breathing in through a choke that rasps out at the back of his throat. That shit makes his chest burn and he can’t breathe anymore. It takes his breath from him as he tries to suck in oxygen that he can’t quite catch in the air. 

He can feel his blood beginning to boil rapidly with the heat rising within him. Clarity is being lost to him and emotion - savage, raw emotion - is beginning to take hold as it creeps up his spine.

Please, stop.

He puffs in deeply a few times, sinking to his knees and breathing his way through it. Refusing to relent, refusing to let it take him. 

But it always does. It’s stronger than him. 

He feels it then, as it mutates from anger into sheer blinding panic crippling him in seconds; that all too familiar freezing grip tightening around his ventricles and muscles as he tries to regain his composure that’s stripped from him. He’s reduced to naked, quivering flesh in a matter of seconds.

He tries to remember to breathe as it ices his teeth shut. But all rational thought is swallowed up like it always is. All he can hear is his blood pumping -thump-thump-thump-thump- and then that tiny little voice -thump-thump-thump-thump- that slithers out from the dark again.

You’re dying, the voice says. This is what death feels like, and you’re going to die alone, Joel.

-Thump-thump-thump-thump-

He grabs at his chest, closing his eyes; hearing nothing but steam rolling through his ears. And for a few moments, he relives his personal Hell over and over.

He’s dizzy, falling forward on all fours as he rides it out; the horses are the only witnesses to his sinking, to his drowning right before them. They can’t save him, no-one can. 

The mare brays, calling out to him to come back, but it's swallowed up in the panic as he sinks and flows away.

Once he does come back, when the ice eventually melts and his heart relaxes, he realises he’s still in it. Trapped in a living Hell that relents on and on. 

He didn’t die, no - he’s still fucking here. 

Joel breathes tightly, feeling the raw scrape in the back of his throat as he sits back on his ankles.

His hands run through his hair that feels matted with sweat, dripping damp around the back of his collar, and he's past the stage where he wants to yank it all out in agony. 

It takes him two attempts to stand, cursing at his fucking knee that still pulls tight just to spite him, and once he's upright, he pats the mare on the side assuringly. Her silk anchors him back to reality as he convinces himself that he’s here.

As he turns, Joel sees your shadow moving forward in the doorway; your voice echoing in, and he stops dead, wide eyed. 

“...I came to see where you’d got to. Food’s almost ready, or what we're passing off for food anyway these days…” you say, and you eye him carefully noting how paler he looks. “You alright?” 

Joel stares at you, wondering if you just witnessed him falling apart, wonders what you’d make of it and searching your eyes frantically for any pity.

He can take you hating him - he wonders if you do, and wouldn't hold it against you, because he hates himself - but he can’t take your pity. That would be the final death of him.

“M’fine.” Joel replies through a swallowed wheeze, and passes you, heading back into the shack.

Nine Years Ago...

It feels soft and it’s a sensation that pulls your attention for a moment. Diverts you out and away from the suffocating void.

It shouldn’t feel like that, surely? Not after all this time. Coarse, hardened, maybe. But not soft. 

You watch as he winds the long, soft layers of the clean bandage around your wrist. It hurts less now, the sting. But you’ve been numb for a while. 

He tucks it in place, his hands applying light pressure around it as he fires off gentle commands around you. Your mouth is lead, your head is empty. A couple of pairs of eyes hover behind him, their silence deafening.

He instructs them to fetch some more water and he instructs you to drink it, but you don’t. Or at least you can't remember if you do. You look down at your wrist. It feels so soft.

He doesn’t question you. He doesn't look at you to make you feel even more shitty than you already do. He doesn’t feel sorry for you. 

He’s just... patient.

He stays with you, night and day. Doesn’t leave your side, which is equal parts infuriating as well as terrifyingly comforting. You loathe him, with every fibre of your being for what he did. For what he does.

For how he keeps you alive and fighting. 

He assists you, when you need it most. When you need it intimately, without disgust, without hesitation. Taking a shit is difficult with only one working hand.

You fucked up, cut too deep.

Your wrist aches from the damage to the tendons. Years later you’ll still feel that ache, when it gets cold. When you overexert yourself. A constant reminder of your epic failure. A single finger blessed permanently numb and tingly forever. You envy it.

It'll get better. Give it time, he says. Give it patience. But you have none of those things anymore. Not even pain.

It's all numbed out, washed away.

He holds you whilst you cry, when you try to push him away, when you let out all of that anger, all of that fury onto him in short bursts.

He takes it. He absorbs it. He’ll bruise under his eye, but he takes it from you. 

Until you have nothing more to give. 

And then you sleep. For days. You wake up in his arms, it’s hot. Stifling. You haven’t showered, maybe in weeks. But he still holds you close, unperturbed by your foul smells.

You’re not even sure when the last time it was that you ate. You’re not even sure where you are anymore. Who you are anymore.

There's more of you, new faces you haven't met yet. Names you can't remember. He tells you them, introduces you as something you're not. You think you smile, agree with him. Reassure them like he does that they're safe now. That you'll protect them.

Days turn into weeks at an incomprehensible blur. Weeks into months, and it’s not until you’re both out with a small group hunting, laying snares for wild rabbits, that you finally talk about it. 

“I didn't want to be here, just for this.” You murmur. Anything but this.

Kelper stops and looks at you. “Too late. This is all we have now.”

You walk on, your gun lowered as you trample over dead branches, leaves. Everything is dead now. It's been a harsh winter. Freezing. And you're just so fucking tired of not feeling any of it.

“I can't sanction your inherent stupidity. I can empathise with it.” He says, following behind. “But you don’t get to do that. Not on my watch.”

“You had no right.” You scoff. "It was my choice, not yours."

“Fuck you.”

You stop and turn to him. His eyes are focused, a frown crushes them. Kelper's face is unrecognisable. You've not met this Kelper before.

“Fuck you.” he says again, a growl to his voice. “Don’t be so selfish.”

 You shake your head. 

“You don’t get to check out. Not when…” He wipes at his face with his palm quickly. “You owe it to yourself to fight. To keep fucking going.”

“There’s nothing left to keep going for. Your delusion is misplaced, Kelper. It always has been.” You murmur. 

He steps closer to you. His voice is a soft, muted sigh, expressing a gentle annoyance now for this new found situation. He never gets fully angry and you wonder what it would take to see him implode like a sun. His devastation would be glorious.

“You know that’s not true. That’s the fear talking.” Kelper says and shakes his head. “We endure and we fucking survive. For each other. This world isn’t done with us. It’s chaotic. It fucking hurts, I know it does. It's rotten, right down to the core. But it has more to offer. It's has to..." He sighs.

His eyes water, but he blinks it away quickly. "They need you."

"No they don't." You say.

"I need you, Goose. I can't do this without you. I don't want to do this without you.” Kelper says.

You gulp. Then your lips crash into his. He kisses you back, if but for a weak, selfish moment as a sob escapes you and into his mouth.

It's been so long since you've felt anything warm. And his lips are warm, his tongue. And like a moth to a flame, you want him to burn you alive. Immolate your entire being to ash and dust.

Kelper pushes you back gently as you gasp.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, clutching back onto him. Feeling foolish, feeling relieved that you finally feel something again, even if it is embarrassment. 

He smiles and shakes his head. “It’s a shame you don’t have a cock, otherwise I’d be all over that.”

Kelper sighs, pulling you into his chest. He wears a ring around his neck. The most delicate, fragile thing about him, with a tiny, blue sapphire embedded into the metal. A symbol of his own fragility and losses.

It pushes against your clavicle and leaves an indent in your skin, long after he pulls away. 

You smile, and then a snuffle of laughter escapes your mouth. He laughs too. 

“I’m never leaving you. And you’re not ever leaving me, okay?” His eyes bore into yours, hollowing you out from the inside. "I fucking love you, you got that?" He jabs his finger gently onto the side of your skull.

You know its futile to fight it anymore. To resist. His belief is a parasite worming its way in to your gullet and feeding, getting fatter. He's right, this world isn't done. It can't be. Every day that you're alive is a day to make it better. A day to find a purpose, to find hope.

You know these words, the mantras, as you try to pick through and unjumble them again. To see the clarity in them that you know is there. You felt it once before, you can again, right?

To endure and survive, long after this world has changed.

He saved you. Three years later you'd return the favour. And you'd have this conversation again. Only then, you'll believe the conviction behind these words, these ideals, as you tell him, yell at him, what he's just told you, as you keep his lifeforce inside of his skin to fight another day with you.

They need you! I need you, Maverick!

This is how you'll save him. This is how he saves you. This is why you endure and survive.

You nod at Kelper and you both clutch on to one another. “Okay." You breathe.

You run your finger up and down the raised, smooth track of the scar; your sleeve rolled up as you stop stirring the pot of the savoury, and somewhat overbearingly salty, smelling canned meat that’s simmering slowly on the stove. 

The skin feels different, it’s healed over, physically. Thicker. Thicker skin. Impenetrable.

It pulls you out of your reverie back to the present day. He’ll be alright. You chant internally. He’ll be fine. It’s five days, get a grip. 

Your attention is diverted by the sound of one of the horses braying gently outside, and you stir the contents again, pulling down your sleeve.

You serve up the bread on some chipped plates, breaking some off the loaf between you. You inhale the scents and it takes you back to another life; a life that was simplistic in its mundane joy.

A time when a broken heart was the only thing to fear in the dark.

You realise Joel has been gone for a little while as the stew bubbles sticky in the pan.

“Joel?” You call out gently.

You wander out towards the stable when you get no response, and he hasn’t returned.

You call out to him again en route. “...I came to see where you’d got to. Food’s almost ready, or what we're passing off for food these days…” you say, with a slight mirth clacking around your teeth.

The scents of the stew can be smelt in your hair, your clothes. That and the firewood. Your stomach rumbles, but you’re not sure if it’s from hunger or the fact that it’s been tossed around on an emotional rollercoaster all day.

You stop as you round into the stable and see Joel staring at you, a little wide-eyed and sweaty in his hairline.

“You alright?” You query, eyeing him carefully.

He stares back at you with a peculiar look; some furtive panic swelling around his eyeballs. He seems heavier somehow, like he’s being crushed.

He snaps out of it; the frown returning in its rightful place and then his eyes drop away from yours. He wipes his hands down on the back of his jeans listlessly and steps forward, past you, leaving a cold prickle blooming on your skin.

“M’fine.” Joel replies. 

To be continued...

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[upsidedownwithsteve]

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [2.9k] prompt: "Eddie fixing your car." I don't know what happened but this ran away with it's own idea. It was supposed to be a baby blurb, Eddie said no. Car problems, the pretty metalhead you have a crush on, borrowed sweaters and the promise of hot chocolate.

PART TWO - CHOCOLATE

It was almost comical, how quickly Eddie had arrived in comparison to how long it had taken you to call him. 

The only upside to your car breaking down on you was that it had done so by a phone booth. It was a long time coming, you knew that. The old thing had been protesting for a while, the engine groaning every time you turned the key over and something underneath was clanking considerably loud. 

The car had finally coughed one last plume of smoke and gas into the air before it died, rolling to a slow stop on a road just outside of Hawkins. You groaned, already too tired from a long day helping your aunt a few towns over, your legs aching from walking her farmland with her. 

Your parents weren’t home, the only town's garage was closed on Sundays and you had no money on you for a cab. You squinted out of your window, unsure if one of the few buses even came this route. It was late afternoon and dull, and you just wanted to go home.

But a hissing sound was coming from the hood and you squeaked, eyes wide, because if movies had taught you anything, it was that boys don’t stand outside your window with boom boxes and that sound meant a car is going to explode. 

You braved yourself against the chill, summer leaving town along with blue skies and warmer days, fall leaking through its gaps with colder winds and fallen leaves. The road was scattered with leftover puddles, wheat fields on your left, a scattering of sleepy looking cows on your right. 

You kicked a stone and swore at your bad luck. 

Of the few people you knew with cars, you were sure all of them were busy. Steve worked on Sundays, at least until eight o’clock and it was only just turning five now. Besides, you were almost positive he had a date afterwards. 

That would’ve left Nancy but she’d flown to California the week before, jumping at the chance to spend a few weeks with Jonathan, the boy promising to show her the coast, the ocean, the beaches. 

You could’ve asked Hopper, but you didn’t have his home phone number memorised and there was something about calling 911 for such a scenario that seemed entirely too dramatic. 

It took you another half an hour to finally pluck up the courage to call Eddie. You wasted time sitting on the sidewalk, pulling at the hood of the car as it argued noisily with you, before you gave up and fed some grass to the cows instead. 

Then the rain came, slow, fat drops that made you gasp with each hit, lazy in the way they fell from the now navy sky. They soaked through your shirt and flattened your hair, stray strands sticking to your forehead no matter how many times you swiped them away. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to call Eddie. Truthfully, he was the first person you’d thought of. You just weren’t sure how to handle yourself alone with him. He wasn’t the scary, dark character that everyone had thought he was going to be - no, he was quite the opposite. 

Warm, soft - a little dramatic, sure - but ever so gentle in the way he spoke to you. Light touches and friendly smiles that turned to achingly familiar hugs and wide grins that lit up the dreariest of days. 

Nevertheless, the boy made you nervous. 

Big, brown eyes that you were so sure could see straight into your soul, picking out your darkest secrets and everything you hoped he wouldn’t find out. Like, how you had an agonising crush on him. You felt like a clumsy, too shy teenager around him, not a twenty something adult. Your point was proven when you called and answered, voice rough on the other end and you were mortified to realise you’d woken him up. 

Despite this, Eddie arrived in mere minutes and you had never been so happy to see a dodgy looking van come careening towards you on a long, empty road. 

“Hey trouble,” the boy greeted, grinning wide and looking sleep soft, hair mussed from his nap and a giant sweater swapping his frame. 

He looked like a teddy bear. 

“You got here far too fast,” you chided, but you accepted the hand he offered, letting him pull you up from where you sat on the curb. “But thank you.”

Eddie didn’t respond to your scolding, his expression crestfallen as he took in your soaked shirt and damp hair. There was a leftover raindrop clinging to a bottom lash and you held your breath when he moved closer, a gentle fingertip brushing it away.

“You’re soaked,” he noted and you wrinkled your nose, embarrassment taking over because you knew what he was going to ask you next. “Sweetheart, how long have you been sitting out here?”

“Not that long!” You tried to convince him but he was frowning at you, lips almost pouting and if you weren’t so cold, you would’ve laughed. 

“It stopped raining twenty minutes ago,” Eddie pointed out, brows raised as he called you out on your lie. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“I-”

“Christ, why didn’t you at least wait in the car?” The boy interrupted, not rudely, just suddenly confused at why you’d chosen to sit in the horrible weather, wet and miserable in the clothes that were now sticking to you.

“It was hissing at me,” you grimaced, sending the old car a withering stare.

“The car?” Eddie asked and if you’d looked at him, you would’ve seen the way he pressed his lips together to hide his laughter, you would’ve caught the fond way he was watching you.

“Mhmm,” you replied, kicking petulantly at one of the back wheels. “Surely that’s a sign of impending doom, right?”

“You spend too much time around Dustin,” Eddie murmured, a smile in his voice despite the way his words sounded like an insult. “It’s just the radiator, sweetheart, you must have a leak.”

Eddie walked to the front of the vehicle and you tried not to stare when he pushed the sleeves of his dark sweater up his forearms, exposing strong muscles and the bracelets he wore. You watched the way he popped the hood, letting out a low whistle at the smoke and steam that billowed out from underneath it.

“Is it dead?” You asked mournfully. You hated the thing but you really didn’t have the extra cash lying around for a replacement.

Eddie gave you a smile that twisted your tummy, all soft and a little dopey. 

“She’s definitely not in her prime, that’s for sure,” he winced when he patted the engine and something squeaked in response. “But I can see if my uncle can tow her, have a little look for you?”

You perked up at the idea, hoping that Eddie’s uncle would take some compensation in the way of a nice bottle of whiskey and some home baking. The mechanic on main didn’t strike you as the fudge brownie type of guy.

“Really? That wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

Eddie let the hood drop back down with a thunk, wiping some of the grease onto his black jeans. He shook his head at you, still smiling, full of so much affection for you that even you were beginning to see it.

“For you? No trouble at all,” Eddie murmured, and if you’d looked carefully enough, you would’ve seen the way he flushed, cheeks adorably pink. “It wouldn’t be until tomorrow though, that alright? She’ll have to stay here overnight.”

You both looked around the deserted road and a cow snuffled at you both, vying for more of the longer grass you’d been feeding it.

“I don’t think I’m in any danger of carjackers in Hawkins,” you squinted at Eddie, lips pulled up into another shy smile as you shoved your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. You felt a little giddy, like this was somehow flirting, like this was the start of something else. 

“Yeah, I think you’re safe,” the boy agreed, shoulder nudging yours. “I mean, I have it on good authority that there’s cat eating lizard creatures around here… personally, I’ve yet to meet them,” Eddie looked at you and winked, “but I don’t think they know how to drive.”

You snorted, a sound that had your eyes wide with embarrassment but Eddie thought it was fucking adorable and he grinned. 

“Stranger things have happened,” you mused, looking up at the boy and he let out a breath, making a noise of agreement.

Maybe it was summer creeping back in for a second, maybe it was stress or maybe it was the way you were both looking at each other but god, you were warm.

“You must be freezing,” Eddie suddenly said, that pretty frown back on his face and before you had a chance to protest, he was grabbing his sweater, hands pulling it off of his frame from the scruff of the neck, leaving him in a t-shirt with an unfamiliar band logo on the front. 

It was soft and warm when he pushed it into your hands and you stared at it, eyes wide. 

“Oh, Eddie, it’s fine, I’m-”

“Behave yourself,” he tutted, but that fond sound was still there, the one that was keeping you warm inside. “Why don’t you jump in the back for a minute, get yourself dry and I can take you home?”

You stared.

Eddie panicked.

“Shit, I mean, if you want? You don’t have to-”

But you were already smiling, bringing the sweater closer to your chest and you walked towards the van, head tilted in a silent ask. 

“Right, yeah, lemme just…” Eddie pulled at the handle, sliding open the side door with a heave, tongue pressed to the top of his lip in concentration and he held out a hand so you could hop in. “I’ll uh, I’ll wait up front.”

And then the door clicked back into place, shutting softly behind him. The little light that made it into the back was soft and warm, the floor covered with an old shag rug that had definitely seen better days but between the old bean bags and cushions, it didn’t smell like the hotbox on wheels you thought it would’ve. 

Sure, it was a little smoky, a herbal hint to the air but you could smell that pine air freshener that hung from the front mirror, Eddie’s cologne and some coffee that was still sitting in a takeaway cup by the dash. 

You waited until the driver's door opened and Eddie slid in, throat clearing awkwardly as he kept his gaze very much ahead. Your eyes met fleetingly in the rear view mirror, cheeks a matching pink before he coughed, looking back to the steering wheel and murmuring a soft apology. 

Despite your embarrassment - you’d gotten to the point of realising it was your new permanent state around Eddie - you slipped off your soaked t-shirt, letting it fall to the van floor with a wet smack. Your bra wasn’t really faring much better but kept it on, shrugging Eddie’s sweater over your head with a pleased sigh. 

It was kinda fleecy on the inside, warm and soft, the sleeves too long and there was a little hole on the cuff. It smelled like Eddie, a familiar mix that you’d come to learn was smoke, weed and his cologne, woody and a little spicy. 

“You’re not getting this back,” you declared bravely, a rather self satisfied smile pulling at your lips as you hid your hands inside the sleeves, tugging it over your fingers to trap in as much heat as possible. 

Eddie sounded awestruck when he answered, grinning at his lap, unsure if he was allowed to look up. “I’m not?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p and sounding far too pleased with yourself. “These jeans are sticking to me, god.”

Eddie looked up when he heard you shuffle closer, brushing against him as you decided to clamber over the seat and into the front of the van. You were right, he noticed, unable to help himself stare at the way the denim was tight against your legs, your curves.

On a normal day, Eddie would’ve been bold enough to make a comment about it, something flirty and a little dirty, a low whisper about how he could help you out of them. But this wasn’t a normal day and you weren’t a normal girl. Not to Eddie.

So he wrinkled his nose instead at your discomfort, a soft hum of sympathy coming from the back of his throat as you got yourself settled beside him. The front bench of the van was long enough to fit three people - four if two of them were small like Max and El - but the boy was delighted when you decided to stay close to him, shoulders brushing, his sweater draped around your knees.

You were right again, he was happy to see, he definitely wasn’t getting that back.

“Okay trouble, where to?” Eddie looked at you patiently, waiting for further instructions as he turned the key in the ignition, making sure the heaters were on max and the vents were all pointed to you. “Home?”

He started driving back into town as he waited for your answer, eyes flicking between you and the road. He watched you chew at your bottom lip, hands twisting the cuffs of his sweater and he knew you well enough by now to know you wanted to ask something, that you were just too shy. 

Eddie thought it was horribly endearing, hating the way he loved it, how it made his chest ache from the softness of it all. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie had already decided that he’d give you anything you’d ask for. 

“Or, you know,” he hedged, voice overly casual. He snuck another glance at you, smiled when you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, waiting. “You could come to mine?”

You paused, waiting, feeling like the boy had more to say but you felt your breath hitch, heard it too and god, you wondered if that meant Eddie had as well. You watched him grin, a slow wide smile that showed the dimples you liked so much, and yes, you thought, fuck, he’d heard.

“Wayne’s out,” he continued, “somethin’ ‘bout a car auction or whatever but… Steve got me the last copy of Day of the Dead.”

It was an invitation, one that made your heart jump and your insides fizz. There it was again, that school girl crush feeling, wholly innocent in the way it made you nervous, entirely sinful in the way you wondered if Eddie would kiss you, press you into the cushions on his couch.

You scrunched your nose instead, a smile and a wrinkle at the mention of the movie everyone had been waiting to be released. “A horror? That’s the one with the zombies, right?”

Eddie laughed, not unkindly, not at you and he nodded. “That’s the one, yeah. It’s a George A. Romero film.” He looked at you, all warm honey and fond eyes. “Not a fan, sweetheart?”

You didn’t say no, because you wanted to spend time with the boy. But you didn’t say yes either, the lie refusing to slip from your lips and you shrugged instead, shy smile pulling at you as Eddie chuckled again.

“Y’know, I heard hot chocolate helps,” his voice was all faux conspiracy, a husky whisper as he took the chance to lean into you a little more, both hands still on the wheel but his hair brushing against your temple. 

You flushed. “Helps what?”

“Pretty girls who’ve been stuck out in the rain and are scared of zombies.”

You felt positively scorching. The smile couldn’t be helped, that agonising pull that showed off your embarrassment just as much as how pleased you were, eyes rolling so you didn’t have to look at the boy but you knew he was grinning, you could feel it.

“Oh yeah?” You managed, sliding another look at Eddie, all soft longing and what if?

“Oh yeah,” he grinned and you huffed out a laugh when he took the turn away from your street, confidently heading to the trailer park instead. You didn’t tell him no. “I make a fucking fantastic hot chocolate.”

“You got marshmallows?” You were beaming now, eyes shining, wrapped up in the attention he was giving you. 

“Do I have marshma- sweetheart, behave yourself, do I look like a man who’s got marshmallows in his cupboards?”

You laughed, a bright burst that made Eddie’s chest swell, like sunshine on the first day of fall and he cackled when you nodded.

“Yeah actually, you do.”

“You’re right,” Eddie huffed out between throaty chuckles, “I do, I have marshmallows.” Another laugh, from both of you. “I have like five kinds.”

Eddie had pulled the van into park by the time you’d both stopped laughing, cheeks sore from smiling, tears brimming at your lash line at the ridiculousness of it all, ‘cause your stupid car was abandonded on the side of the road and Eddie Munson was promising you marshmallows in your hot chocolate. 

It felt almost redundant when he turned to you, suddenly looking as shy as you felt, hand on the door and his head inclined to the warm looking trailer, soft light coming from the windows.

“You wanna come in?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #strangers things #stranger things fic #eddie munson fluff

[twola]

if you're still open to requests, HH!Arthur forced to endure the classic "only one bed" trope with a petite, bookish F!reader? still an outlaw but much more suited for infiltration than shootouts and analyzing difficult paperwork. maybe spectacles even, go wild with the idea!! love your other works ❤️

Accounting and Other Arts

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You're not one for gunshots or drunken brawling, as Arthur learns one night in Saint Denis.

Saint Denis reeks. The whole damned city. It either smells of horse shit and rotting garbage or of obnoxiously over-perfumed rich men and women traipsing about thinking that they are above the common folk.

The mare beneath him grunts as the dirt road turns to cobblestone, a high whinny as her hooves clack on the road. Arthur clicks his tongue to calm her down. Upon reaching an alleyway to the west of the market, he slides down from the saddle, grabbing his horse’s reins and tying them to a wrought-iron hitching post. He pats her mane gently as he eyes the alleyway. Stepping toward it, he strides past men and women heading to market, finding a quiet, shadowed spot and leaning against the brick wall of the alley.

“You’re late.”

Arthur snorts, pulling a cigarette from his satchel, and strikes a match against the arched brickwork in the alley. Lighting it, he eyes you from under the rim of his black hat.

Your arms are crossed over your chest, and you glare from the golden rims of your spectacles at him. Clad in a dark velvet vest over a maroon blouse, your matching skirt swishes as you stalk angrily in his direction.

“My apologies, ma’am.”

You scowl as you approach, looking up the alley past where Arthur leans against the wall.

“Y’get what you need?” He rumbles as he takes the cigarette from his lips, letting a plume of smoke float into the air.

You nod, pulling off your spectacles and tucking them into the breast pocket of your vest. “Tomorrow morning - the money’s going to be moved from the poker room back to one of Bronte’s safehouses. Be there a half hour before a half hour before six. Only supposed to be two men there.”

Arthur takes the cigarette from his lips and blows smoke to the side. “How much is the take?”

“If my calculations are correct, twenty-three hundred dollars.” You reply, straightening your skirts as you lean back against the brick wall in the alleyway. 

Arthur drops the cigarette and grinds it under his boot.

A strand of hair escapes from your tightly pulled bun, and you huff as you tuck it behind your ear. You’ve been told the hairstyle makes you look severe, you’d take it. In this world of guns and robbery and stealing you live in, you feel the need to do anything to make yourself look serious. 

Guns weren’t your weapons. Numbers were. You ran scams and cheated men out of money. You assisted Strauss in his loansharking. 

“Where y’been stayin' here in town?” Arthur asks, his hands gravitating to his gun belt.

“Shitty little place off the docks. Not much, but at least we can rest there until you have to go out in the morning.”

He nods, holding out his arm down the alley, “Lead the way.”

-

A hot, heavy, night has fallen in South Lemoyne - stifling in its haziness and the heaviness in the air. You’ve stripped down to a chemise and your bloomers as you climb into the old bed, the darkness outside staved off by a solitary oil lamp on the bed. 

Arthur’s boots scuff the dingy floor of the room you’ve been renting, the sound of him dragging the rickety old chair next to the small fireplace grates in your ears as you try to get comfortable in the lumpy bed.

Instead, you reach for the book that you’ve been reading from the bedside table, cracking it open as Arthur mercifully quiets down, pulling his hat from his head and placing it on the mantle as he sits down.

“Whatchu' readin’?” Arthur asks from across the room, pulling his boots off and tossing them near the door.

You look up at him over the rims of your spectacles, “I’m sure nothing you’d be interested in.”

He snorts, pulling his hat off his head and placing it on the table next to the fireplace.

“The Wealth of Nations.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raise, “That certainly ain’t one of Mary Beth’s pillow books.”

You shut the book and frown. “No. It ain’t.”

Arthur stares into the unused fireplace, rolling his shoulders.

“Get into the bed, Arthur. You’re the one who's gotta get up in the morning.” You eye him over those gold rims again, scolding in your tone.

“Ain’t terribly proper,” Arthur mutters under his breath.

“We’re both adults. And it ain’t like I take up much room. Just shut up and lay down.” You pull the spectacles off of the bridge of your nose and fold them up, leaning over to place them on the bedside table.

You unwind the tight bun you have your hair pulled into - your tresses falling in curls down your back, and completely miss the dumbfounded look he gives. As you shake out your hair, you shake out the severe look about you, your spectacles gone for the night.

It’s then, under the dim oil lamps of the saloon’s room, that he discovers that you’re beautiful. 

The moment passes quickly as you begin to look up at him, and his eyes dart away as not to be caught staring.

“Get in bed.” You command, looking at him for a second longer before turning over in bed and reaching for the lamp. You don't wait for him to make up his mind, plunging the room into darkness when you turn off the light.

After what seems like an eternity, the mattress sinks down on the other side of the bed.

-

You awaken far before dawn, a shout from outside jolting you from your sleep. Thinking it’s a fluke, you close your eyes again only for them to snap open as shouting continues again.

A crash fully awakens you, and you begin to lean up on your elbow, looking toward the window a few steps away. A large hand finds purchase on your belly as your entire frame is pulled backward in the bed. 

“Shh,” Arthur whispers, curling himself over you as he listens to the shouting outside. Glass breaks. Threats made. The sounds of a fight echo through the street, but now all you can think about is the fact that you’re tucked into Arthur’s body as he listens to the fight, ready to jump up and grab his revolver at a moment's notice.

Glass crashes again against the brick wall of the building you’re in, not terribly far from your window, and you turn inward from the noise. You may be a criminal, a fraudster, but you certainly aren’t one for violence. You don’t shoot and you don’t kill.

“ ‘S okay. I’ve got you.” Arthur mumbles, leaning over you to listen more intently to the scuffle outside. You bury yourself into his embrace, your face tucked into his neck as his hand pats your hair gently, ready to whip around and grab his revolver from the table if needed.

The fight in the alleyway dies down, fortunately, and as the agitated voices fade into the night, Arthur gently unwinds his arm from across your shoulders, his hand finding its way to settle atop your hip. Your fingers clutch at the worn fabric of his union suit atop his broad chest.

“Jus’ a drunken fight.” He whispers, patting your hip in a calming manner.

The men outside are the farthest thing from your mind at the moment. No, Arthur’s hand upon your hip and yours against his chest - that's all you think about. The rapid beating of your heart is all you can hear. This isn’t rational. It isn’t logical. But deep in your core, you burn. You’re driven by something completely different, animalistic, emotional, needy.

“Y’oka-” Arthur murmurs before you shove your mouth against his. It's only half a heartbeat before he’s kissing you back.

You throw your leg over his hip, and he takes a large hand full of your rear, pulling your hips against his. You are unable to hold back the moan from your throat as you feel his cock thickening against your lower belly.

For several moments, your bodies tessellate against each other until he yanks the hem of your chemise up to your belly.

“Christ,” he groans, and it’s just another moment before he rolls you underneath him.

“Y’ever done this?” He pants as he peels your bloomers down your legs, tossing them somewhere on the floor before his hand trails up between your thighs.

“No… but I have an idea-ah-!” Your sentence is cut off when you uncontrollably moan, a thick finger having immediately parted your folds and pressed against you.

Well, this feeling wasn’t something you had read about. You mewl into Arthur’s shoulder as his pointer finger moves back and forth between the seam of your body, pausing to circle the hooded nub that makes your toes curl.

Arthur sucks gently at your earlobe, his panting growing louder as his finger travels along your body, pausing for a moment once he’s reached the rim of your cunt, weeping slick as you want to die from the stimulation.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and he growls in your ear as he quickly draws back and sits up on his knees, unbuttoning his union suit with the ferocity of a caged beast. You’re barely able to catch your breath before watching him tear his arms out of the sleeves, bunching the fabric at his waist, and pushing it down, baring himself completely.

Certainly, sketches in anatomy books had nothing on the real thing. Sketches weren’t hewn from decades of labor and violence. Sketches weren't tapered waists and the outline of solid muscles under pale, scarred skin that told stories of robberies past. And sketches assuredly were not so well endowed.

He’s back on you in an instant before you can even react - slotting himself between your legs as his mouth attacks your neck, sure to leave a mark that will show in the morning.

Arthur’s large hand moves to once more cup your core, and your breath hitches.

He presses himself against your thigh and you shudder as you feel how hard he is, how big is - Christ, how the hell was that supposed to fit inside you?

His finger pushes inside and your mind goes blank. You cry out wantonly as Arthur’s finger curls within your core, and he quickly begins to pump within you. Your back arches uncontrollably as he adds a second finger, and thrusts his hips against your body.

“Fuck, fuck. Y’sure you want this?” Arthur pants against your ear, unable to stop his hips from rutting against you. His cock settles in the crease of your thigh and god, he’s so close to where you need him.

Christ, maybe you should have taken Mary Beth up on one of her dirty romance novels.

“Y-yes, Arthur please-”

He presses inside you and there aren’t words for the feeling. No vocabulary to adequately describe the stretch, the filling, the connection one has when that last bridge is crossed. Though sex is simply an action, a physical coming together of body parts - the emotions that want to burst forth from your chest - you want to envelop him the same way he envelops you.

“Y’okay there? C’n I move?” He whispers into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple.

Are you okay, are you okay? All you can respond back with is a needy gasp as you turn your head to the side to find his mouth, desperately shoving your tongue inside as if to mimic the fact that he’s buried inside of you.

As your tongue delves into his mouth, you wish the thoughts flying through your head could possibly come out, but with him between your legs, his weight pressing you down into the mattress, his flesh parting you deep, all you can do is moan.

So much more than okay. How do people stand being apart? How can they not bury themselves in each other all day, every day? I want… oh god, Arthur, please, please move.

Somehow, he understands. His elbows brace himself on either side of your head as his hips retract, in a glorious swell of movement, he presses back in.

You whine needily into the column of his throat as he grunts, finding a rhythm as your legs wrap around his waist. Arthur grinds your hips into the bed, your small frame engulfed by his large one, and each thrust seems to take you further and further away. Gasping, tensing, shuddering. 

A desperate noise leaves your throat, and if you weren't so preoccupied with how the tip of his cock keeps hitting a spot inside you that makes you want to scream, you’d be mortified.

“Come for me.” He orders, voice sex-hoarse and demanding, and your body immediately complies. 

Every muscle, every tendon, and fiber of your body clenches at once, and your cry is loud and needy into his shoulder. Tears burst forth from your eyes. He groans into your hair in response, his rhythm faltering, and it’s only a moment more before he wrenches himself from you, his cock smacking against your belly as he jets his hot spend across your pale skin and hiked up chemise.

Arthur pants, nearly out of breath, for a moment, before leaning his forehead against yours and taking your lips in a slow, languorous kiss.

Your fingers card through his hair and one of his hands finds its way to your face, palm warm against your cheek before he finally pulls back.

Arthur immediately frowns when he sees the tracks of drying tears. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, smiling, “When can we do that again?”

He snorts in amusement, rolling off of you and onto his side, “Let me go get our money,” he kisses your forehead, “Then I’ll get us another day here.”

“Sounds amenable.”

“You and them fancy words.”

Your smartass retort is drowned out by his kiss.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #red dead fandom #red dead fanfic #twolafic #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic

[girl-next-door-writes]

Darling, You're The One I Want

Characters: Remus Lupin x reader

Summary: Remus adores his best friend, but that’s totally normal, right?

Word Count: 1999 words

Prompt:  Fluff. Best friends. A fierce kiss. Falling asleep on them. Holding hands when stressed.

A/N: @the-abyss-gazed-back requested this little bit of Remus for my follower milestone celebration, and I am DEEP in a Hogwarts hole right now, and this one got away from me a little. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and if you do then please reblog!

“Remus, come on!”

Turning his head, a smile pulled at his lips as he spotted you sprinting down the hall towards him, Sirius and James right behind. It took him a moment to register that you were being pursued by at least six fifth year Slytherin students and his smile dropped as his eyes widened. It wasn’t until he felt your hand grabbing his as you passed by, that his body caught up to the situation and he found himself running by your side as your friends laughed behind him.

“Why are we running?” He asked in confusion, unsure quite how he was now part of this situation.

“Sirius.” That was all the explanation you offered, and it was all that he needed to know. Probably had something to do with Snape, but details could wait.

As you rounded a corner, he tugged you into an alcove hidden behind an intricate tapestry. Watching as you leaned back against the wall, trying to catch your breath, he couldn’t help admire the way your lips parted, a smile playing on them as you desperately attempted to stay quiet. It was moments like this he thought about how the two of you had become such close friends in the first place.

“I don’t think this stuff is working.” Peter frowned as he blew out a plume of smoke thoughtfully.

“I think it’s working just fine.” Sirius grinned, reaching over and plucking the joint from Peter’s fingers and taking another long drag. “This, my man, is the good shit.”

“You do know we will be in trouble if we’re caught here.” Peter frowned, glancing over to the side of the bridge, hoping a gargoyle wasn’t about to alert the prefects or staff to their presence.

“Yeah, it will be the location we get in trouble for, not the smoking pot.” James chuckled, taking the joint from Sirius as he leaned against the wooden frame.

“It is rather a long way down.” Remus hummed thoughtfully as he peered over the edge and immediately wished he hadn’t. Scrambling a little further back, he gave his friends a sheepish smile.

“You’re not supposed to be out here.” An unfamiliar voice stated, a hint of amusement clear in their tone, followed by a giggle as the four boys frantically looked around for the speaker.

“You gonna grass on us?” Peter asked indignantly, trying to hide his panic.

“Well, if I did that, then I’d have to admit I was out here too. Mutually assured destruction. Not sure I’m up for that tonight.” You appeared floating by the bridge having been out for a sneaky late-night flight.

“Ah, then we can be confident in your silence.” Sirius shot you a dashing smile, leaning a little further out on the side of the bridge.

“I won’t tell, if you don’t.” You returned his smile. “Goodnight, gentlemen. Don’t stay out here too long, they are due to walk the grounds in twenty minutes.” And with that you were gone.

The boys all leaned out over the side to try and catch a glimpse of where you’d disappeared to with varying degrees of curiosity.

“Who was that?” Remus asked in awe, his eyes squinting as he fought to spot you in the shadows.

“Not a clue, mate, but they’re cool. Come on, let’s finish this and get inside before we get in real trouble.”

After that encounter, Remus had spent weeks trying to track you down, catching glimpses of you in the corridors or across the gardens, but never catching up with you. He had started to feel a little like he was stalking you, but he was just so intrigued. This game of cat and mouse went on for a month, and then he literally bumped into you in the library and that had been it, you’d been best friends ever since. It was rare for one of you to be seen without the other, joined at the hip, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Well, part of him would like it another way, but he would never acknowledge that because then everything would be ruined. Like right now, you had both been reading in the common room, in front of the fire, and he had slowly felt you leaning against him more. The weight of your head against his shoulder made his heart race, and he stole glances when he was certain you had fallen asleep. Remus would happily forego sleep if it meant he could just sit and watch you breathing with that peaceful look on your face.

Carefully, he shifted position on the sofa, laying down with your head resting on his chest. He reasoned that this was a more comfortable position for you, it definitely had nothing to do with wanting to hold you close at all. As the fire crackled, Remus brushed the hair from your face, allowing his fingertips to ghost lightly over your cheek. You were the most beautiful person he had ever met, and it was such a privilege to have you this close, especially knowing what he was. You never judged, never looked at him with pity. He adored you, that was why you were his best friend.

“You can not be serious.” Remus looked at his friends with a weariness that failed to hide his amusement.

“Come on, Mooney. Or are you scared?” James grinned, knowing that you would all end up joining in on this stupidity.

“It’s going to be bloody freezing.”

“There could be rocks.” Peter’s brow furrowed slightly as he gazed down into the water.   

“Only one way to find out.” Sirius took off towards the top of the ledge, letting out a whoop as he leapt. The four of you rushed to the edge and heard the ‘splash’ when he hit the water. Holding your breath, you waited for him to emerge, laughing when he finally did.

“COME ON THEN!” He yelled up as he tread water, trying not to let on how cold the lake was.

Before anyone could say anything, James sprinted past and leapt.

“Bloody hell.” Peter grumbled, knowing he would never live it down if he didn’t do it now. Taking a few steps back, he began to run before launching himself off into the air, screaming all the way down to the water.

You took up position for a run up and Remus shook his head.

“You too?” He had hoped, rather vainly, that you would be the perfect excuse for him not to jump into the Black Lake in the middle of February, but now you were going to be the only reason he would do this.

“See you down there.” You grinned before heading to the ledge.

“Shit.” He sighed, chuckling to himself when he heard the chorus of ‘Remus! Remus! Remus!’ coming from the water below. “I am going to regret this.” He mumbled before taking the leap to join his friends.

As much as Remus felt you pushed him to be braver, you also prevented him from dying of stupidity. He knew this lesson would be tense, hated knowing that the whole class was about to learn how much of a monster he truly was, even if they didn’t realise it. His body was a ball of anxiety as soon as he opened his book to the page indicated. Werewolves. He was aware of glances from Sirius and James, very aware of Peter looking anywhere but at him. Heat began to creep up his neck and he stared at the page in front of him, wondering if anyone had stared words off a page before.

The lesson seemed to last an eternity, going into detail about how monstrous these creatures were, how sly and duplicitous. The idea that such a demon could hide in plain sight until the full moon sent a ripple of murmurs through the class and Remus ground his teeth, his jaw set as he forced himself to remain calm. Nothing good would come from him losing it right now. Gripping his thigh tightly, he dug his nails in to feel something other than the total humiliation and shame of knowing this lesson was about him.

It took him a moment to realise there was a warm pressure against the back of his hand. Glancing down, a little surprised, he saw your hand resting on his own. Turning his head a little, he looked at you from the corner of his eye and frowned slightly as you seemed to be watching the Professor rather passively. Twisting his hand, he felt your palm rest in his as your fingers interlaced with his own, giving it a light squeeze, and it felt like he could breathe. That simple contact made him feel less alone, like he was redeemable in some way because if someone like you was unafraid to hold his hand then he couldn’t be all that bad, right?

Your hand remained resolutely in his throughout the rest of the lesson, and he didn’t care that Sirius spotted it and smirked while raising his eyebrow suggestively. This had been a hard lesson, and knowing you were there for him made it lighter somehow. That was when he knew he was done for. He wanted more of these moments with you, more reassurance, more feeling safe. Remus wanted all the complicated moments and all the mundane moments to be shared with you, as more than just his best friend.

The lesson finished, but Remus kept hold of your hand.

“I need to talk to you about something.” He said earnestly, knowing he had to tell you while he still had the courage to.

“Okay. We can talk.” You gave him a reassuring smile and he quickly turned and shoved everything in his bag before taking your hand again and dragging you through the castle, looking for a quiet corner where nobody would bother you.

He didn’t stop until he got to a fourth floor corridor and pulled you into a small storage room, and then all his courage seemed to dissipate, leaving him running his hands through his hair and pacing.

“Remus? Come on, you can talk to me about anything. What’s going on?” You moved a little closer, tentatively reaching out for his hand once more.

This contact made him still as he looked at your hand in his. Suddenly it was all so simple. He didn’t have the vocabulary to even begin to tell you how he felt, but perhaps he could show you.

Without a word, he cupped your cheek and moved into your personal space so quickly you didn’t have time to register what was happening until your back was pressed firmly against a wall and Remus’ lips were devouring yours in such a heated, passionate kiss it stole your breath. As you gasped, he took full advantage and deepened the kiss, leaving your head spinning. This kiss was claiming and hopeful and desperate all at once. You weren’t entirely sure how long the two of you were kissing but when he did eventually pull back, he looked wrecked, his hair disheveled, his lips swollen as he panted for breath.

“Bloody hell, Remmy.” You puffed, breathy giggles falling from you.

“I-I’m sorry.” He began to back away, but you pulled him close again.

“For what? For kissing me so thoroughly that you’ve ruined me for all other men for the rest of my life?”

“I was going to apologise for over stepping, but your reason sounds so much better.” He gave you a shy smile, not entirely sure he was reading the situation right.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to be the only person who kisses me from now on, just to prevent me being disappointed.” A smile grew on your face as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Darling, I would hate for you to be disappointed.” He hummed as he nuzzled your nose, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he leaned in for another kiss.

#Remus Lupin #Remus Lupin x reader #gndw fic

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Bloody, Dead, and Sexy (DabiHawks/reader)

Explicit sexual content, MDNI

CW: threesome, knifeplay, choking, biting, spit, double penetration, rough sex, overstimulation, murder (not reader), blood

WC: 2.8k

Gender neutral AFAB reader

Title is the name of a band btw

The door squeaked as I pulled it open, rusty springs being nudged to life and quickly shooting back to a resting position. A rush of warmth from the space heaters wafted over my frigid skin. My eyes scanned the room before settling on a partially covered head of blonde hair.

“You got a light?” I asked, stepping toward the disheveled couch. The man reached for a pink lighter that sat on the fold-out table. He handed the lighter over to me. I grasped it in my frigid hand as my other fumbled through my pockets. I pulled out a single cigarette, perched it between my lips, and sparked the light. I held the flame up to the end of my cigarette and watched as small plumes of smoke began to rise. Pulling the light away, I held it out for the blonde and sat beside him. 

“Kinda dead tonight, huh?” I mumbled as I took a drag. 

“Maybe twenty, twenty-five. I forget how many I invited.” He spoke with a self-assured tone and a crooked smile. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I guess I didn’t realize you were the host,” I mumbled, looking across the room for an ashtray. “Let me put this out-”

“You’re fine, man, It’s all good.” He chuckled, putting his arm over the back of the couch. “It was mainly my…friend's idea to have this whole thing. I just wanted to get high and kick back.” He flashed a toothy grin and ran his fingers through his messy blonde locks. I quickly looked away as my cheeks began to heat up.

“I think I was gonna head out, but that sounds like a nice evening,” I smiled as smoke poured from my nostrils. 

“Come on, you’re here now. Why don’t you join me,” he leaned in, eyes flicking across my face. “Take some pills and play games with me.” He plucked the cigarette from between my lips and took a drag. His golden eyes were locked onto mine. His painted fingers tapped against the cigarette as he awaited my answer. 

“Okay,” I said with a small smile. He inhaled, hands reaching into his hoodie pocket. He pulled out a clattering bottle of pills and twisted the lid open. 

“Open your mouth,” He mumbled as he took a pill between his fingers. My eyes darted across the room as an intense heat sparked in my face. I opened my mouth and watched as he placed the pill onto my tongue. I closed my lips around his fingers and swallowed. His fingers nudged my mouth open, aureate eyes looked at my tongue. His lips curled up into a smile. He removed his saliva-soaked fingers from my mouth, only to grab another pill, this time one for himself. After swallowing he took a drag from the cigarette. The embers had consumed most of it. He snuffed the ashes out in an ashtray. He quickly leaned forward, hands coming to push at my puffer jacket. 

“It’s a bit too warm for this,” he spoke, eyes scanning up and down my body. “The pills make you feel warm too,” he pulled the jacket away from my arms and let it drop to the floor. I impulsively reached out and tugged at his hoodie. He chuckled as I pulled the fabric from his body. I couldn’t help but stare at his muscular frame. 

“I thought you’d have something on under that…” I mumbled as I handed the hoodie back to him. 

“It’s laundry day,” He shrugged, leaning in. He gripped onto the arm of the couch, caging me against the plush fabric. “You feelin’ anything?” He asked, chapped lips just barely brushing against my neck. A rush of euphoria flooded my senses, whether it was his touch or the pill, I didn’t know. I nodded. He pressed his lips against my neck. His hand moved from the couch to my thigh, tugging my body further down the couch. 

“What was that?” I asked, hooking my legs around his hips.

“Oxy.” He smirked as he rolled his hips against mine. I could feel his stiffening cock through the layers of denim that separated us. I whimpered and gripped his arm. Just over the sound of our voices and the faint pounding music ringing from the house arose a scream. My body stiffened, eyes jutting toward the door. 

“Baby, I’ve got you. Probably just pushed someone into the pool,” he slid his hand up my shirt. His frigid hands made goosebumps rise on my skin.

“It’s cold out though,” I mumbled. His other hand quickly yanked my jeans down my legs. I unhooked my legs from around his waist. “What if someone comes in?” I asked, gripping his wrist tight.

“It’s my fuckin house, I’ll do whatever I want,” he pushed my shoes off of my feet and continued tugging my jeans down my legs. Once they were off, he sat back on his shins, looking over my partially unclothed body. 

“What’s your name?” I asked, grabbing his hand and guiding his fingers to the waistband of my underwear.

“Keigo,” he smirked as he began tugging my underwear down. The seams creaked as he roughly pulled the fabric from my body. 

The door suddenly pushed open, I quickly grabbed my jeans and pulled the denim over my bare legs. My gaze darted to the door. A man with jet-black hair stood in the door frame. I quickly sat up off of the couch and pushed my body toward Keigo as my eyes met the splatters of blood that decorated his white shirt. The man dropped the stained knife in his hand. The metal clattered as it hit the concrete floor. 

“Bitch wouldn’t stop running,” the man groaned as he stepped toward us. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Keigo's lips as if he’d done it a million times before. Then his cerulean eyes dropped to me. My body was still pressed against Keigo. “Well you’re cute, ain’t ya?” He grinned, reaching out to grab my chin. “Forgive me for barging in so suddenly, but I think you were about to fuck my boyfriend,” his tongue darted out and licked across his lips. Despite my previous shock, I melted into his touch. My shoulders dropped, fingers losing their grip as I let my body loosen up. He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. I gripped his shirt with one of my hands and tugged the bloodstained cotton over his head. He broke from my lips just to pull the tainted shirt off. Keigo pushed me back onto the couch. I waited as the two men sat on either side of me. 

“Dabi, go get the lube,” Keigo pointed to a table in the corner of the room. The brunette got up off of the couch, cushions dipping as he moved. Keigo's hands pulled at my top. I let him slip the shirt over my head, leaving me completely bare. 

“This doesn’t seem fair,” I mumbled as I undid the button on his jeans. He bit down on his bottom lip and watched as I pulled his cock out. Spitting into the palm of my hand, I guided my slick fingers over his length and began stroking him. 

“Fuck-“ he groaned, hips bucking into my hand. He grabbed my face, pulling me close and smashing his lips against mine. The couch dipped as dabi sat next to me. His warm lips trailed across my shoulder. His fingers kneaded the flesh of my thigh. He tugged my leg so it sat on top of his lap, leaving me spread open. He spit onto his fingers and brought the soaked digits to my cunt. The tips of his fingers started moving in slow circles around my clit. My lips broke from Keigo. 

“Dabi,'' I whimpered as I palmed his hard cock through his blood-stained jeans. 

“You like that?” He chuckled as he slid his fingers down to my entrance. He slowly slipped inside of me and started a rough, slow pace. I nodded and leaned in to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. He pulled back. A glimpse of silver caught my eye. He flicked open a switchblade and pointed the tip at me. 

“Use your words.” He grunted. 

“I like it,” my words came out as a jumbled mess. “Mm, faster please,” I whimpered. He smirked and brushed the edge of the blade across my shoulder. He put pressure on the steel with his hands. A sharp sting pricked my skin. My breath hitched as his fingers sped up with every centimeter of skin he sliced. A flood of endorphins made my body quake. I clenched around his fingers as I came, gripping his wrist tight. My other hand stalled its movements as a haze washed over my brain. 

“Keigo, I think we got a real whore on our hands,” Dabi chuckled, bringing his soaked fingers to his lips. He moaned and stuck out his fingers for the blonde. Keigo opened his mouth and brought the fingers over his tongue, closing his lips and sucking roughly. Keigo moaned and pulled off of the fingers with a pop. He stood up off of the couch and moved between my legs. I watched as he tugged me toward the edge of the couch. His hot breath tickled my skin. His tongue darted out and quickly flicked over my clit. My hips jerked forward, my fingers locking onto his hair. A burning sharp sensation on my stomach jerked my attention away from the blonde. 

“Stay still,” a set of half-lidded cerulean eyes stared me down. He pulled the blade away and gripped the handle between his teeth. He began to ease his jeans over his hips. His flushed cock sprang free and hit his abdomen. I glanced down, noticing the array of silver that adorned his length. He gripped my chin tightly. The cool metal of his rings pricked my skin.

“Look at me, baby,” he smirked as he began stroking himself. I quickly glanced down at his cock. Another prick of sharp pain sprung up from my thigh. “Up here,” he spoke sternly. 

“Mm fuck- sorry,” my voice was broken, my words came out as high-pitched sighs between breathy moans. 

“You better be,” He said, pressing his lips to mine. Keigo slipped two fingers into my cunt. My thighs began to quake, muscles aching as I forced myself to stay still. Keigo moaned against my core, sending vibrations straight to my overstimulated nerves. Dabi pulled back, blue eyes scanning over my face. 

“He’s good with his tongue, ain’t he?” He said with a sigh as he stroked his cock faster. I could merely muster up an “mhm” as my body lit up. “You gonna cum, baby?” He said, pinching one of my nipples. Again, I could only speak in broken, incoherent mumbles. My hips jolted, toes curling as I came. A desperate cry slipped from my tongue. I leaned against Dabi, my body falling onto the cushions as he stood up.

“You okay, baby?” Hawks asked, peppering gentle kisses over my cheeks. He slipped his hands underneath my hips and turned me so my body was parallel to the couch. He quickly stepped out of his pants and moved to kneel between my legs. I hooked my legs around his hips, pulling him closer to my aching core. Dabi handed him the bottle of lube and a condom before removing his pants. Keigo popped the cap open and drizzled some over the length of his now-wrapped cock. I reached forwards, wrapping my hand around his cock and smearing the cool liquid over his heated skin. 

“You want me to fuck You?” He asked as he brushed the tip of his cock against my cunt. I nodded, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. His hand wrapped around my throat, fingers squeezing my carotids. I gasped, tongue lolling out of my mouth. “Want me to fill this pretty cunt?” He grunted as he slowly pushed the head of his cock into my entrance. “Fuck,” Keigo grunted. My blurred vision focused on the man behind him. His painted nails sunk into Keigos as he slowly sunk inside the blonde. Keigo pushed further in. His golden eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he started rough thrusts. His hands moved onto the armrest as he used the leverage to fuck me hard. My body bounced with the force of the two men.

“You’re sucking me in, baby” Keigos voice came out as a high-pitched whine of sorts. 

“I’m fucking that cunt next,” dabi mumbled as he kissed Keigos neck. 

“Mmf fuck-sogood,” Keigo moaned. Sweat began to drip down his forehead, rolling off his chin and down his toned chest. He brought one of his hands to my clit, index, and middle finger circling the overstimulated skin. My back arched off the bed. A suffocating heat wrapped itself around my body as I drew close to another orgasm. 

“Harder,” I squeaked. The couch cushions began to creak as I dug my nails into the fabric. My head began to smack against the armrest with the force of his hips. My breath left my chest, mouth agape as I panted. 

“I’m close, gonna cum in you,” he groaned, circling his fingers faster.

“Fuck!” The word fell off of my tongue, “cum for me, cum!” I panted. I gripped his biceps. Red streaks sprang up from his flushed skin as I scratched at his arms. His eyes squeezed shut, nose scrunching as he came. Static washed over me as my body was flung into another orgasm. My sore muscles and aching nerves cried for relief. The couch quickly shifted. 

“Hey,” dabi tapped my face. The white taking over my vision began to dim, revealing the flushed face of the brunette. He was smirking, canines showing as his eyes flicked over my fucked out form. “You on the pill?” He asked as he pulled the condom from his cock. I nodded and leaned forward to kiss him. He bit down on my bottom lip before pulling back to look at me again. “Good ‘cause I haven’t cum yet and I wanna fuck you raw,” he said, lining himself up with my cunt, “you want that?” He asked as he toyed with my chest. 

“Fuck me,” I mumbled. He stuck two fingers in my mouth, pulling my jaw down. He spat into my mouth, laughing as I quickly swallowed.

“Fuckin’ slut.” He groaned as he slipped inside me. He grabbed my calves and swiftly brought my knees to my chest, folding my body in half. He started a relentless pace, earning squeaks and creaks from the couch below us. “Oh fuck yeah, you like that?” He grunted as he leaned down to kiss me. His lips trailed down my jaw to my neck. I moaned as his teeth sunk into my skin. Something close to a growl emitted from his throat as he clamped down on my skin. He pulled back, just to mash his crimson-stained lips against mine. 

“Babe, you want in on this? ‘Cause I’m about to cum soon,” Dabi spoke between grunts. Blonde locks soon appeared by my side. The two men flipped me onto my front, laying on top of dabi. The brunette pressed a kiss against my cheek as he slid inside me once more. Cold, wet fingers prodded at my ass. Keigo pressed kisses along my bloodied shoulder. He slid his fingers inside, whispering praises with every inch. I moaned and leaned forward to press my chest against dabi. 

“They’re clenching hard,” Dabi said with a laugh as he wrapped his arms around me. “Put it in,”

I was met with a burning, stretching feeling. My eyes watered, clit throbbing as the pain blended with the pleasure of feeling utterly filled to the brim. The two started a slow pace as I adjusted to Keigo's cock. My voice was splintered, instead of moaning, I let out strained pants and clawed at Dabi’s shoulders. The slapping of flesh against flesh filled the room along with groans and grunts coming from the two. Their pace accelerated, and the movement of both of their cocks inside me was enough to flood my brain and scramble my thoughts. Drool spilled from my swollen lips as I approached another burning climax. 

“Mmmf want me to flood your cunt?” Dabi babbled as his thrusts became erratic. Keigo's grip on my hips tightened as he began to lose his tempo. My body began to quake in one final release. A scream crawled its way out of my chest, accompanying the flood of sensation that swept across my spent body. Trickling warmth spread through my insides as the two stalled their motions. 

“Shit…” Keigo muttered as He pulled out. A thud sounded throughout the room as he flung himself onto the other couch. Dabi held me tight, pressing kisses to my temples.

“Hey babe? Can we keep them?” He asked

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #read on ao3 #dabi smut #dabi x reader #touya smut #touya x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha smut #dabi x y/n #hawks x y/n #hawks smut #hawks x reader #keigo takami smut #keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader

[juletheghoul]

Let Me Follow (Part 6)

AN: Phew! So this was fucking torture. I don't even know how to explain how hard it's been for me lately. Interaction on this site has been abysmal-and while I know we do this for fun, it sort of feels like I'm talking to myself sometimes. It's so hard to not take other people's success personally but I am trying! I have such a clear vision of where this story will go, and I have so much planned that I don't want to give up. I figured the best way to build up my self-esteem, build up my confidence was to go back to how I did it in the beginning, just write, and post. I've done my best to edit this myself, but it hasn't been beta'd. Hopefully, it pays off, enjoy! xo (enjoy the softness before the storm😅)

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) angst, language, age-gap (about 10-11 years, legal, reader is of age), Yearning, post-apocalyptic world, piv sex (wrap it up!), the softest version of this Joel that I've written to date, Grief, panic attack / ptsd / nightmare

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist Series Masterlist

It felt wrong to smile, almost silly. How could anyone smile with how things were in the world? With Johnny gone, with the pounding pain in the back of your head, with the effort and the hunger shredding a hole through your insides—you’d wipe it off your face. Had managed to keep it off for a long time, but then an animal had jumped onto the road and Joel’s arm had shot out in a protective gesture and it had creeped back in. 

“Looks like the rest of the way is on foot.” What had started out as a grinding noise, had quickly turned into dark plumes of smoke from the engine, filling the car with an acrid smell. “Shouldn’t be too far now, few hours.” His scowl was in place, but you saw it differently now–saw it for what it was. A mask, a representation of what this world did to you.

“We can manage that.” Ellie was grabbing her pack, helping Luke with the door before making her way towards the direction Joel pointed you all in. 

“Yes, we can definitely manage that.” You smiled at her, wincing slightly at the way your head pounded. 

“You okay, Sunny?” His hand lands gently on the side of your neck, turning your face towards his. “You can walk, right?” His hand sweeps up, prodding gently at the throbbing goose egg on the back of your head.

“Yeah, I’m okay, my head hurts like a bitch though. Need water soon.” His scowl seems so different now, it’s worry you see there now, instead of anger. He nods once, lingering for a moment before turning and leading the way. Luke doesn’t comment on the exchange, just gives you a small smile and follows Joel, but Ellie; she gives you a toothy grin and a thumbs up. 

Hours pass, thick trees give way to open space. A vast, beautiful landscape stretching out before all of you, seemingly untouched. Everyone is quiet, but alert as you all move closer to your destination. 

“How much longer do you think we have left, Joel?” Ellie is lagging a little bit, the hunger and thirst evident in her voice. 

“Shouldn’t be too much longer.” He turns to look at her, slowing down to let her catch up but he tenses at the sounds of horses just over the ridge in front of you. His gun flies up, but there are too many. Instantly you’re all surrounded by armed people on horseback, twenty people at least. “Get behind me.” He raises his hands in supplication, letting the gun fall onto his shoulder. “We ain’t lookin’ for any trouble, we’re just passin’ through.” 

“Drop the gun.” The person in front of Joel has a rifle pointed at him, a lot of them have guns pointed at the four of you. They have coverings on the lower halves of their faces, the one closest to Joel is yelling, and Joel drops his gun. “You-” He gestures to you, Luke and Ellie. “Take five steps back, separately.” 

“How about we just talk this through-” Joel starts to speak before anyone moves. 

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up.” The man cuts him off, and gestures to the rest of you. 

“It’s okay, do what he says, we’ll be okay.” You nod at Ellie, moving away from Joel, your own hands up. 

“You been near infected?” The man asks no one in particular. 

“There’s no infected out here.” Joel responds.

“The hell there ain’t!” The man answers before whistling, from somewhere behind them another man emerges with a dog. “Last chance for a bullet, if you’ve been infected, he will smell it, and he will rip you up.” The dog barks, and your heart sinks. Ellie looks to you, big eyes pleading and you take a tentative step towards her, stopping when another of the riders points his gun at you. The dog makes his way over to Joel, sniffing at his feet for a moment before rising up, friendly. 

“Like I said,” Joel calls out. “We’ll just move on.” 

“Now the rest of you.” The man calls out, and the dog sniffs Luke, and then you, moving on lastly to Ellie. Your stomach drops and your hand inches towards the knife in your pocket but after a tense breath, the dog licks Ellie’s hands. You can’t help but take a deep breath in relief. 

“You just bought yourself more seconds.” The man doesn’t lower his gun. “What are you doin’ out here?”

“We’re just lookin’ for my brother, that’s all, nothin’ more.” A woman rides forward at his words, her dark eyes focused intently on Joel’s face. 

“What’s your name?” She asks him. 

“Joel.” He answers, and it’s the magic word. She gestures for them to lower their guns. “Joel Miller, right?” She lowers the covering. 

“Yeah, do I know you?” His voice is thick with confusion. 

“I know Tommy, come on, we’ll lead you to him. Give them a few horses.” She calls out the command to no one in particular, but they rush to obey her nonetheless. 

-

You ride with them, nervously clutching Joel where you sit behind him on the horse they gave him. 

“You’re okay Sunny, just hold on. Don’t squeeze your thighs.” He speaks low and you take a deep breath.

“Sorry, I’m afraid of falling off.” You tighten your grip on him, squeezing tightly around his middle. 

“I won’t let you.” He presses his hand to yours, reassuring you. 

It isn’t long before you arrive at a high wall, with people walking along the top of it. A giant gate is closed to all, until Maria–the woman on the horse gives a signal, and the giant gate opens up for your party. The scene that greets you just inside the gates shocks you into silence. It’s a town, a lively, inhabited, working town. People mill about a central high street, kids play and watch your party move through the street with curiosity instead of fear. 

It’s a lot to take in, working lights and shops seemingly open and in good condition, scaffolding and people repairing things–working together. 

“Tommy!” Joel yells out, startling you and you see one of the men on the scaffolding turn and look, rapidly making his way down while Joel dismounts the horse you’re sharing and runs towards him. It makes you smile to see and hear Joel so happy, to see him find his own brother and it makes you think of Johnny. 

I wish you could have seen this place, Johnny.

–

The food tastes too good to keep any semblance of decorum, instead you shove it into your mouth faster than you can chew it, breathing deeply through your nose in order to fill your belly. Maria and Tommy sit across from the three of you in what was essentially a town cafeteria–Luke had been taken straight to the town doctor and you’d all been assured he’d be fed. 

Joel speaks, Ellie argues, and you keep quiet. Tommy and Maria are an item, and if you had to hazard a guess, Tommy has been less than kind in his description of his older brother. There’s something in the air between them, Maria and Tommy, the two of them versus Joel. A look of judgement in her gaze and it raises your hackles. 

“The house across the street from us is empty, the one next to it too if you wanted your own place–” She looks at you but Joel cuts her off. 

“We stay together. The three of us.” He reaches over, taking your hand in his. Tommy isn’t the only one who’s found someone and it makes your heart soar to have him claim you openly like this. 

“That works.” She smiles politely, Tommy too. “How ‘bout a tour?” Joel nods, and you make your way out, with a full belly and a full heart.

-

The town is well and truly a marvel, the culmination of hard work, strategic location and the well oiled machine that is their patrol. They’ve managed to rebuild a functioning, safe town; full of most of the comforts the world had had before, only on a much smaller scale. You keep quiet as she guides the three of you through their little corner of normalcy, unable to stop yourself from noting where all of the supplies are kept, where the food stores are, how many horses are in the stable. 

There’s a tense energy flowing between Joel and Tommy, something unspoken in the air, an anger, a resentment and you can’t exactly blame Joel for his share of it. His brother has been here, safe and happy, with a purpose–content to leave his brother in the dark in order to protect what they have here. You can almost understand why, there’s something else though, something in the way Maria watches Joel that plants a seed of suspicion in your brain. Your suspicion deepens and if you had to hazard a guess, he’s told her some unsavoury things about the man you’d come to–what, love? The thought is sobering, you push it away. 

Maria suggests showing you where you’ll be staying, mentions getting cleaned up while she moves away from them, gesturing for the two of you to follow, and with a nod from Joel, you do.

-

The house was furnished from before, everything old and a bit dusty, but otherwise in good condition. Relatively clean, working lights, a hot shower. Heaven. You stay in there a little longer than necessary, too content in the warmth of the water to make it as quick as you’d planned. Your little trailer–although having served as an oasis by today’s standards–didn’t hold a fucking candle to this. 

You smile to yourself, picturing Joel melting in the warmth, his handsome face tipped back in unadulterated joy. It almost made you regret not waiting for him, almost. That first time Johnny had rigged up the trailer to catch rainwater and figured out a way to somehow connect the whole thing to a powersource and heat it, that same feeling coursed through you now as the steam filled the ensuite, only now it was painted with a bittersweet brush. You’d gotten good at pushing away thoughts of Johnny and what could have possibly–probably–happened to him, and you did it again now. You forced his breezy smile, his dumb jokes, the comforting piece of home that he’d been out of your mind and focused on getting clean. 

Maria had left some clothing for the three of you in the house, doing a remarkably accurate job at guessing what would fit and once dressed, Ellie had run out of the house, itching to explore. It served you well enough. It gave you time to rest and to regroup. It gave you a chance to think about exactly what it was you wanted to do now that something like this was an option. 

—

The house looks normal, really normal. Not just the normal he’s had to adjust the definition of the word to over the last twenty years, either. It’s just a house. It’s just a suburb, just a neighbourhood relatively untouched, by the ravages of the last two decades. A two-story home with good bones, a home he imagined could be stable for him, for Sarah. 

The thought of her forces the air out of his chest, punches it out of him with the force of a gunshot. He hadn’t let himself think about her in so long that it shakes him, freezes him where he stands on the porch like some sort of statue. It had been twenty years since he’d lost her, and yet he can still smell her hair in his nose, can still feel the weight of her in his arms, can still hear the sound of her voice and it breaks his heart all over again. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and lets the anger, and the hurt, the rage of his monumental loss pass engulf him.

His heart pounds in his chest, the blood it beats booming like a drum in his ears. His vision blurs as he stands there, terrified and bewildered, swaying as though caught in a massive wave and struggling to breathe. His hand shoots out and he braces himself against the wall of the house. He focuses on the brick under his hand, the grit of it digging into his palm. 

Breathe Joel, breathe. 

His lungs fill with air. 

In. Out. Repeat.

His vision eventually clears as he catches his breath, the pounding in his ears lessens and he finally feels like he can move his legs and after a few more steadying breaths, he leaves whatever the episode was, and the memory of his daughter on the porch. 

—

He groans as he makes his way up the stairs and you can’t help but smile, anticipation and excitement and a whole bunch of feelings you can’t, or maybe won’t name swirling in your gut as you wait for him to find you. The scowl is there when he finally opens the right door, his eyes burning into yours but there’s something else there too. 

“Everything okay?” You sit up at the sight of him, pale and no doubt clammy by the looks of him, “Did something happen?” The fear doesn’t creep, it slams into you. 

“No no, everythin’s okay. Just tired.” His eyes soften, but only a little. “You look…cozy.” He raises an eyebrow at finding you in bed, quite obviously cleaned up and relaxing. “Shower working?” 

“Yes, I am very comfortable. It’s a real bed, Joel—real blankets and a real house… lights and hot water.” You can’t help but gush, and smile and kneel up to speak to him, “go, go shower and get clean. Maria brought us some clothes, here—“ you all but crawl out of the bed and rush over to the dresser, grab him a towel and soft sleep things, hurrying to shove them into his hands. 

“Hold your horses, girl—where’s Ellie?” He quirks his head, listening for her.

“She’s fine, in the bedroom down the hall, she was passed out when I checked in on her about an hour ago. Now go! Get clean, mister.”

“Okay okay, Sunny, I’m goin’.” Both his tone and his smile are soft, “be right back.” He grumbles halfheartedly, but does what you ask all the same. 

He takes just as long as you thought he might, the hot water and steam casting its spell on him, just as it had on you. 

“Jesus Christ,” He looks so much softer than you’ve ever seen him, standing at the door in a loose shirt and some boxer shorts, holding his dirty pile of rags, “that was the best shower I’ve taken in years.” He sets down the pile before making his way over to the bed. 

“Life Changing, truly.” You smile up at him, giddy at the thought of having him here, safe and protected, in a real bed. “I had almost forgotten what it was like.” You move in a little closer as you speak, itching to snuggle up to him, but keeping your distance all the same. Despite his kiss, his open declaration in the dining hall, it wasn’t easy to forget being pushed away.

“The little setup you had was pretty good.” He must see the doubt, must see the way your fingers twitch with want and he makes the first move, pulling the blanket up and opening his arms. You crawl into his embrace with a toothy grin.

“Nowhere near as good as this.” You bury your face into the skin of his neck and inhale, eyes rolling into the back of your head when his clean scent hits you, “God, I love soap.” You all but moan it into his neck and he laughs, a genuine, deep rumble that fills your heart with something.

“Yeah I bet you do, I’m sorry about the state of me before. You smell pretty great yourself.” He wraps himself closer too, skimming his nose along any inch of skin he can reach and it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t exist. This is the only thing that matters. Him, you, this bed—Ellie, safe in her room. 

“I scrubbed a lot, l probably took off a few layers of skin.” You run your fingers through his hair, basking in the feeling of his touch, basking in his voice and the soft caress of his breath against your skin. Ignoring the tiny little voice that warns he might change his mind later.

Stop that, just enjoy a good fucking thing here.

You scold yourself, bringing your focus back to him.

“Me too, reckon I needed it, bad.” His hands move from your back, up to your skull and you wince when he touches the goose egg. “Still hurts? I should go find Tommy, see if he’s got any painkillers for you.” He almost goes to move away and while your heart sings at his readiness to leave the comfort of this to take away your pain, your fingers dig into his back and hold.  

“Don’t you dare.” He laughs, and gets back into place.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll do it in the morning.” He takes another look at where you’d been hurt before tucking you close, and pulling the blanket up over you both. “It feels so strange to lay here, almost normal.” 

“I know, it’s almost too weird.” Your leg lifts of its own accord and hooks over his middle, “I have my knife on the nightstand beside me, but I almost feel like I should have it under my pillow.”

“I know what you mean, been livin’ in fear a long time. That doesn’t just go away after a hot shower and a good meal.” His hand comes down and holds onto your thigh, as though you’d both done this a million times, you smile into his neck. 

“Can we stay here?” The question has been there all day, burning a hole in the back of your brain and into the tip of your tongue, “Do you want to stay here?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t even know what I’d do with myself here.” You bite your lip at his admission, “If you wanted to, I would. I’d go wherever you go.” His tone is soft again, his eyes averted and you can see it’s hard for him to admit that out loud. “I know I’m hard to be around sometimes, but I’m tryin’.” His hand sweeps up your thigh as he speaks, giving himself something to focus on, ground himself with.

“I know, Joely. I can see it.” You lean in and kiss his cheek, pressing yourself closer to him, pushing past the lump in your throat to speak. “Once Ellie does what she needs to do, we can all live here.”

“We’ll have to see how that goes, her and the fireflies.” He says nothing more, and you leave it there.

A yawn slips out and before you’ve even finished, he’s reaching over and turning off the light on his side. His arms, the soft sweep of his hands on your skin, his voice in your ear and his lips at your temple all work their magic and lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

His whole body twitches, and that’s what wakes you up, bleary eyed and half terrified. You barely have time to rub at your eye with the heel of your hand before he’s moving again, his head jerking side to side and you call to him, but he doesn’t hear you.

“Joel, wake up,” you put your hand on his shoulder, softly, “Joel!” 

He lurches forward violently, his arms flailing in the darkness and you know he’s still in the nightmare, the terror bleeding through into reality for a moment before he realizes where he is. 

“It was just a bad dream,” you reassure him, keeping your voice soft and calm, “you’re okay, come.” You open your arms to him and even though he’s awake, he still takes a few deep breaths before moving. Whatever he’d dreamt, it had been bad. He breathes hard as he settles beside you, the sheen of terror shining on the parts of his face illuminated by the moon filtering into the room. “Do you want to talk about it?” You run your fingers through his hair, doing your best to soothe him. 

“I–” He frowns, opening his mouth, then closing it, and repeating the action a couple of times before answering again, “It’s just, everythin’.” He lets go of a big breath, and melts into the bed, melts into you. “I just, I dreamt somethin’ bad happened–I think. I don’t even know anymore.” his breath fans across your skin as he speaks, raising goosebumps in its wake.

“I get it,” You press your lips to his neck, “Happens to me too, sometimes.” 

The novelty of this moment isn’t lost on you, the stark contrast between when you first met and now would have been unbelievable to you back then.  

“First night in a real bed, and this is what happens.” He scoffs in the dark. The words are meant to be light, but he can’t hide the annoyance threaded in the tone.  

“Well, we could take advantage,” your thumb brushes against the plump of his lower lip, but you don’t push it further, “what do you think?” He almost doesn’t let you finish your sentence, instead his mouth presses against yours, forestalling any further conversation, and filling your stomach with butterflies. 

It’s almost embarrassing how fast your body responds to him, the trail his hands leave across your skin like an electric current. His palm skates up under the loose shirt and finds the weight of your breast, his thumb brushing over the stiff peak in sync with the groan he feeds directly into your mouth. You scramble to get closer, feeling the frantic energy in his hands and matching it.

It feels so fast, feels like just a moment before you’d been sleeping and not clamouring to eat each other alive. But it also feels so slow, like no matter how hard you both breathe one another in, no matter how quickly you rip off each other's layers, you cannot get close enough, fast enough.

It’s then that the realization hits you. There, on the edge of this bed that isn’t yours, but could be. It’s there when the layers are finally fucking gone, when your mouths are fused together but barely moving, when you’re finally fully seated and your aching pussy is stretched around the thickness of him. 

I love you.

His forehead rests against yours while you sit on him, snug, and tight, and wet. The two of you sharing each other's breath, the nightmare forgotten, or most likely repressed. You try to shoo the thought away and focus on the way he feels, on the way he fills you so perfectly. You focus on the hands that hold onto your ass, on the broken moans he breathes onto your skin.

God, I love you.

It pops up again, unbidden and you frown to yourself, trying again to focus on him. 

“What’s wrong baby?” His eyes are on you now, his frown a mixture of pleasure and worry. “Am I hurtin’ you?” He holds your chin so tenderly, it makes your heart ache.

“No, Joely, it feels so good.” You kiss him, relishing in the fact that you can, but it isn’t enough because he pulls away for a moment.

“You sure?” He cradles your face in his big hands and it’s a double edged sword. It’s everything you never thought you’d have, it’s comfort and belonging, but it’s also a void. A black hole you could fall into, and never crawl out of. It’s a weakness, a stupid, wreckless risk that this world no longer seems to have any space for. You can see it, the black pit of despair in his eyes, the trust and gamble it is to love another person and it shifts like the colours of an oil slick stain on concrete when it rains. From terrifying, to beautiful. 

“I’m okay, I promise.” You press a soft kiss to his mouth again, and lie to both him, and yourself.

---

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #tlou fic #joel tlou #tlou #pedro pascal characters #pedropascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #joel the last of us

[whirlybirbs]

Ghost x reader for da people (the people is me)

; — controlled burn | simon "ghost" riley

summary: he isn't used to communing with ghosts. pairing: simon "ghost" riley / gender neutral!reader tags: no warnings, but may i offer spiteful ex-lovers anyone? a/n: 1.) lee i am sorry this is bad. 2.) everyone it's been a moment since i have written so i owe you all the biggest sowwies. anyways, who knew in 2022 everything would come full circle with me writing for the first man i ever really wrote fanfiction for, i love this ghost daddy hype moment

Laswell isn't expecting you to say yes, but favors owed are thicker than blood when it comes to this line of work. 

I don't do contract work anymore, Kate, you'd told her adamantly in the quiet of your office, I never liked living in the grey.

And yet, you're here; you're sat beside her in the heli as the bird dips low on the horizon line and begins to kick up plumes of dust in the night air. Sand whips around the spotlights illuminating the landing strip, and as the shroud parts, Kate can see there are gathered men ready to welcome the two of them. 

Your eyes flick across the tarmac. Even here — in the chopper, as you yank your headset free and gather your bag — you can feel eyes pinning you in place. Like a lone rabbit spotted by a waiting wolf. Eyes are watching in the darkness. Something stalks in your peripherals. 

And as eerie as it is, it's familiar. Like coming home.

A dust devil passes as touch down settles, and in the calm stillness of that single moment, you see him:

Ghost.  

You never did like living in the grey — and Simon knew damn well his whole life was bleeding out in shades of it. He's no longer sharply forged in the fires of morality; maybe one day he was, one day when he was younger. When there was less gilded, war-dazzled weight to his dress uniform's breast. When there was less grey in the unruly blonde buzz beneath his balaclava, when he had fewer starlight scars commemorating brutality etched into his skin. 

His righteousness is dulled now; but still efficient, still violent, still lethal. Simon sacrificed morality long ago when he fled that forge in favor of getting the fucking job done. Sacrifices had to be made. Every action had an equal and opposite reaction. 

He knows he isn't a good man.

You always did deserve good. 

Honest. 

Those owlish, dark eyes watch you greet Price. Gaz is excitable, Soap is impressed. He unwavers, hand on his holstered pistol and the other picking the skin of his thumb. 

Behind the balaclava, there's tension. But, when you turn and slip your eyes along the chipped skull face-plate, the hardness slips away. He catches it. Like a moment where Simon is back and he isn't the man in the mask. 

"Good to see you," he says in a voice quieter than a whisper.

You only nod.

In the debrief room, he continues his quiet watching. Ghost watches you listen, and he watches you pick at your bottom lip like you always do when you concentrate. 

Across the room, Soap slides him a subtle, questioning look. Ghost doesn't even flinch. The hardness stays. 

Pay attention, says his volleyed glare. 

Simon tries to forget the way you always did favor peppermint lip balm. 

When you finally speak, in that dimly lit room, the sound of your voice reminds Simon of the sting of a bullet graze. It's like the ricochet of a searing hot caliber biting soft flesh. 

Suddenly, Simon is twenty-seven again and in love. 

He fucking hates himself for it.

He's trying to kick his smoke habit — bad on the lungs. 

But, tonight he doesn't give a damn because the nicotine isn’t the only thing making his hands shake and letting the flame lick his fingers feels fine. A controlled burn. 

He isn't used to communing with old ghosts.

But, you're back in the grey.

#controlled burn #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 fic #mw2 oneshot #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #mw2 imagine