#instead of using those stones to build anything

[stylesispunk]

"A lot to live without"

outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader

summary: what are you supposed to do if there is no him.

wc: 2k>

warning: angst, grief. (yes)

a/n: I have more fix it fics to work in, but I also wrote this short one yesterday because i was feeling like shit. Besides, angst is part of my package so why not?

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

You still couldn't wrap your head around the idea your fingers were caressing a name craved on stone.

"beloved father"

"beloved brother"

But what about the beloved lover? that one who had torn apart his walls just to let you in. The one who had kept you safe from your nightmares when he still had his torturing his own mind like demons chasing him constantly.

Oh god, you sobbed, in between short breaths, while leaning your head towards the stone. As if you could feel the warmth of his breath mingling yours, as if his hands would wipe you tears with those callused fingers you loved wrapped yours with. As if you could open your eyes and meet those brown eyes that had softened after the life he had made with, the one he had built with you in here. In peace and quiet.

You almost felt his fingertips caressing your cheeks with tenderness, fingertips caressing with the warmth it comes with life, a life that now has been ended in the cruelest way.

Your heart hurt in a strangely different way. A kind of pain you haven't had felt before. Not even a broken bone or a knife throbbing in your middle could compare to this revolting feeling.

It wasn't physical. It was the kind of pain that seemed to have crushed your soul. That kind of pain that would never pass, would never heal. The one that could eat you little by little because it has sucked the life out of you.

A week had passed.

Seven full days without seeing his face, without waking up with an arm around your middle and a head resting on your chest.

Seven.

Without warm. Without sunshine caressing your skin. Instead, in its place a monstrous cold that had soaked into your bones, like the touch of his hand after his death.

God.  Joel Miller and death couldn’t go in the same sentence. It felt almost ridiculous for a man who has survived all these times just for his life ending in a weak act of revenge.

The world stopped. Yours had stopped.

It stopped the moment Ellie, Dina and Jesse’s horses came through those gates with blood-stained saddlebags and a rolled-up blanket that could’ve been anything. Should’ve been anything. But you knew.

Just it wasn’t supposed to be Joel’s lifeless frame.

Your legs had moved before your brain could stop them, a scream building in your chest, clawing at your throat, spilling out in broken, incomprehensible sound the second you saw it. Tommy’s face — like a man carved from stone, grief hardened in every line, his hand on your shoulder grounding the truth you didn’t want to face.

It was a day of blood under your fingernails, gravel cutting into your knees, and Ellie’s face crumpling in a way you wouldn’t wish on the cruelest soul. The weight in your chest so heavy it pressed your ribs inward until you swore, they’d snap. You begged the earth to swallow you.

It didn’t.

You didn’t know how you were able to get there, how your legs moved beneath you, how your hands pushed the door open past Tommy, but you fell to your knees beside him, the blanket peeled back like some horrible.

There he was.

Joel.

Your Joel.

His face bloodied, bruised, lips split, but still him. Those lashes you used to kiss at dawn. That jaw you traced when you thought he was asleep. Skin pale, lips bluer than they should’ve been.

You reached out, fingers trembling so badly you barely made contact, brushing over his cheek.

Cold.

Not the kind of cold that came with this winter, with long patrol nights or chilled hands warming beneath blankets. The kind of cold that didn’t leave. The kind that sank into skin because there was no warmth left inside.

You sobbed.

“Oh god, Joel,” your voice cracked, a sound you didn’t recognize, “Joel, please—”

And then Tommy was there, kneeling beside you, face wrecked and wet and older than it had ever looked.

“He’s gone,” Tommy choked, like it physically hurt to say.

You cradled Joel’s cheek, tried to find anything, anything warm in him.

“He’s cold, Tommy,” you whispered, your throat raw, “We should—we should wrap a blanket around him. He’ll get sick—”

Your fingers tangled in the blood-matted hair you’d brushed from his face just that morning. Just hours ago, when the sun barely came up and he mumbled about five more minutes, pulling you against his chest, breath warm on your skin.

“He’s cold,” you repeated, voice cracking completely, “He’ll be cold like this—”

Tommy’s hand was on your shoulder, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises you wouldn’t notice for days. His face was twisted, voice breaking as he spoke.

“I know,” he said, ragged and useless, “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

But you didn’t stop.

You curled yourself over him, forehead pressed to his, as if you could will the life back into him. As if the warmth you gave could fill him again. As if the world could undo itself.

But the cold stayed because he wouldn’t come back.

During the second day, you didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Didn’t move, unless someone made you.

Your body became foreign. Limbs you didn’t recognize. Hands that trembled even when you told them not to. You sat on the front porch where he’d spent a thousand mornings watching sunrises he pretended not to care about. The chair beside you empties. You didn’t cry this time. You just stared.

People spoke to you. Said words. Food. Rest. Breathe. All pointless.

He wasn’t in any of them.

Just flowers around your house. One you couldn’t face to step inside the door now.

The third day, the dreams started. Not of him alive, that would’ve been a mercy.

You saw his body. Over and over. In the barn. On the road. On the place where he taught you to shoot. Every time you closed your eyes, it was there. And waking up was worse. Because for a second you forgot. For a single, brutal second you reached across a bed for him. And then the cold came in.

You broke the mirror in Maria’s and Tommy bathroom.

Didn’t even feel the glass slicing skin.

During the fourth day, you face yourself and your pain. You stepped inside the house for the first time since his death and the house smelled like him.

It was the soap. The old jacket draped on the back of the chair. The coffee mug you still unwashed. And it was a cruelty, because every breath you took was a lie. The scent fading. You could almost pretend if you kept the door closed, didn’t let the world in, he might still be here.

You found one of his shirts in the laundry.

Sat on the floor with it, knees to your chest.

Cried until your throat burned.

At day five, anger came. That was new.

It came in sharp and bright. Rage at everything. At the world. At the sky for daring to be so blue. At Jackson’s walls for being too damn high to matter. At yourself for surviving. At Joel himself for leaving you behind.

You screamed until your voice went hoarse.

And then it was empty again.

During day six, you counted every hour. Every minute. The clock in the living room ticked so loudly it became a torment. Time moved in jagged, unnatural ways. Minutes stretched into eternities. You watched the light shift through the window like you were watching for him. As if maybe — maybe, he’d step through the door with that crooked, half-guilty smile, calling you by that nickname only he was allowed to use.

He didn’t.

And you hated yourself for hoping.

You wanted to die.

And now, at the seventh day, with you still kneeling on his grave. You told him you didn’t know how to keep going. It was true, you meant it.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” you whispered. Your voice sounded foreign in the still air. “I mean it, Joel. I don’t. I don’t know what the fuck to do now.”

The words clung to the silence.

And then you felt it — not a sound, not a voice, but a presence near you. You knew it without looking. Ellie.

She’d been avoiding you all week. Wouldn’t meet your eyes. Wouldn’t come near you. And God, you understood. You understood that guilt, that heavy, ugly thing gnawing at her broken, now healing ribs. The way it twisted her mouth when she tried to speak and couldn’t.

But it hurt. It hurt more than you could stand because you needed her. And she was too far away.

You lifted your head, your face blotched and raw, and there she was. A few yards away. Standing like a ghost, her arms crossed over her stomach, her face as pale as the clouded sky above.

You could see it in her. That look. Like she wanted to come to you but thought she didn’t deserve it. Like the grief belonged to her alone.

So, you did the only thing you could. You lifted your arm.

In a quite small, weak gesture, but it was everything you had left to give.

Her chin quivered. You saw the shine in her eyes, the battle in her chest. “C’mere,” your voice cracked, half a sob, half a plea. “Baby girl… c’mere.”

And slowly, like she was afraid you’d take it back, she moved.

Step by step.

Until she was close enough for you to wrap your arm around her.

Until her knees hit the dirt beside yours.

Until her head was buried in your shoulder and your fingers tangled in her hair.

And for the first time in seven days, the ache inside you shifted. Not gone. Not healed. But a little less lonely.

Her shoulders shook against you, ragged sobs breaking loose the way neither of you had let yourselves fall apart in front of each other all week. The air was sharp with cold, damp earth clinging to your knees, but neither of you moved. Neither of you could.

You kept your hand in her hair, fingers trembling as you combed them through the tangled strands like you’d seen him do a hundred times when she was upset. And maybe you were doing it for yourself too. Maybe it was the last piece of him you had left.

“I miss him so much,” Ellie whispered, her voice so small it made your heart physically ache.

“I know, baby girl. I know.”

The words cracked apart in your throat. Joel used to call her that. Since when things were still simple in their own complicated way.

She pulled back, just enough to look at you, her face blotchy and red, eyes rimmed with swollen skin. “I… I should’ve—”

“No,” you cut in, your voice firm despite the tears choking you. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to carry a guilt it doesn’t belong to you.”

“But I—”

“No.” You grabbed her shoulders, made sure she was really looking at you. “He loved you. You hear me? Nothing about what happened changes that.”

Her mouth wobbled, fresh tears welling up, and you knew there was more she wanted to say, but something inside you splintered then. The weight you’d been carrying, this secret pressing against your ribs, rising in your throat every night, it was too much.

And now, with her here, with the grave between you and the cold earth around you, you just… couldn’t hold it anymore.

You looked at Joel’s name craved on that stone, then shifted your gaze back to Ellie.

“Ellie,” your voice broke, rough and soft all at once. You took her hand, pressing it to your stomach, though there wasn’t anything to feel yet. Not yet.

“I’m pregnant.”

She stared. Like the words didn’t make sense at first. Like her brain had to piece them together.

And then the breath left her in a hitched, broken sound. “What?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t get to tell him,” You managed, the sob catching on your lips before you could stop it. “I was gonna—“you sobbed again, “But you know he was getting older and I was scared-“

Ellie’s hand trembled against you.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confessed, shaking your head, pressing your palm over hers. “I don’t know how to do this without him.”

Her face crumpled again, tears spilling over, and this time it wasn’t just grief. It was something softer. Something terrified and protective and bone-deep yours.

“I’ll help you,” she whispered. “I’ll—I’ll be here, okay? I’m not gonna leave you. I swear.”

You pulled her back against you, burying your face in her hair as the wind blew through the trees, rattling branches like brittle bones. And in that hollow, ruined space inside you, something fragile sparked. Not hope, not yet — but the thin, flickering thread of not being alone.

And for now, it was enough.

Ellie stayed there, curled into your side, the two of you pressed together against the cold earth like it might anchor you to the world before it slipped away entirely.

You didn’t say anything for a while. Just breathed. Just existed.

The wind whistled low through the trees, carrying with it the faintest hint of pine and cold earth, and somewhere nearby, a crow croaked out a single, harsh note. The world was still turning. It felt cruel.

Ellie shifted then, her hand still resting on your stomach, and tilted her head to look past you — at the headstone. At the name carved in stone like it could contain a man so big, so stubborn, so him.

Joel Miller.

Beloved Father.

Beloved Brother.

And to you — beloved everything.

You felt Ellie’s breath stutter against your shoulder, the faintest catch of her throat before she spoke. Her voice was rough, but there was a thread of something else in it now. Not light. Not humor, not quite. But a kind of aching tenderness you’d only ever seen her give him.

“Did you hear that, old man?” she whispered hoarsely, her fingers brushing against the grave marker like she might get a reaction. “You’re gonna be a dad again.”

The words hit the air and settled between you like a living thing.

And your chest cracked open all over again, but this time it wasn’t just pain. It was longing. It was grief. It was love so enormous it hurt to hold.

Because you will have to this alone, without him.

You let out a ragged breath, your lips trembling into a small, wrecked smile, and you leaned your head against Ellie’s.

“Yeah,” you whispered to the dirt, to the wind, to the man you’d lost. “You better stick around somehow, Miller. ‘Cause I can’t do this shit without you.”

Ellie let out a wet, broken laugh.

The two of you sat there, together, the grave in front of you and the cold world beyond it. And for the first time in seven days, the unbearable weight in your chest felt a little less sharp.

Still heavy.

Still raw.

But you weren’t alone.

And neither was he.

[samerpal]

Gaza: The City of the Flour Zombies

My brother and I went out after midnight, like the rest of the starving souls in Gaza. Our first stop was at the General Security intersection, trying to figure out where the flour trucks might pass. Then we moved north, toward Al-Helou Station and Badri & Hania Company, only to find hungry people sleeping in the streets — unconscious, or so it seemed. We had to step over them, stumble among them. There was no light but that of the full moon, which occasionally vanished behind drifting clouds.

We found a somewhat safe spot near Al-Andalus Tower and sat down briefly. Then we decided to move closer to a metal shack known as “Ma’rouf’s Bricks,” across from a bombed-out building with a canopy. We stayed there for a while, talking quietly about how far we’ve fallen and the state we’re living in. We hadn’t even noticed there was someone sleeping right beside us until he stirred, mumbled a few words, and drifted back into sleep.

With no signal and barely a working phone call, someone on the other end said, “Move to the Al-Tawam intersection.” We knew this place well — or so we thought. When we reached it, we didn’t recognize it anymore. We looked east and were stunned to see lights on the border — something once impossible to see.

A sudden explosion in the eastern area, behind a thick smoke cloud, shook us. We tried to see the people around us, but their faces were covered. They were sleeping on the ground, on the ruins of demolished buildings. People were lying everywhere.

We sat on a small hill, trying to map out the path: would the aid trucks come from the west or the north? Would we even be able to get anything? Should we split or stay together? After some discussion, we made a pact — to stick together. If one of us could get something, he would go directly home. We picked a few backup meeting spots, but in the end, we agreed: head home after securing something.

Around 2 AM, we saw people suddenly moving west toward the sea, hoping the aid would enter from there. We didn’t move — nothing seemed certain yet. But five minutes later, thousands started rushing back from the west shouting, “They’ve arrived! They’ve arrived!” We realized the trucks had come from the north instead.

The once-sleeping masses rose in chaos — sprinting like zombies, possessed, desperate. It felt like a scene from an end-of-times movie. But it wasn’t a movie. We were in it.

We moved quickly — half-running, half-stumbling over the rubble, iron rods, and sharp stones left by the bombardment. You couldn’t even walk safely, let alone run. At the far end of the street, lights appeared. People raced toward them. Then, we heard someone yell, “Tank! A tank is coming!” Panic spread — those who thought it was aid now feared it was death.

We froze in place, not knowing what to believe. Then we saw two trucks from the World Food Programme… and behind them, more trucks! They were real — the aid had arrived. We sprinted faster than ever before. My brother and I got separated in the chaos. My heart whispered a prayer: “God, please protect him. Let him get his share.”

The trucks advanced toward us. People surged like a flood. And there, for a brief moment, I was lucky. I managed to grab a sack of flour, threw it on my shoulder, and ran as far as I could from the moving trucks — they didn’t stop for anyone. It wasn’t courage that drove me. It wasn’t recklessness. It was hunger, fear, humiliation, and a desperate unknown that pushed me forward.

Thousands were still arriving, begging, “Is there anything left for us?” But the trucks were emptied in seconds. People searched for scraps. I held onto the flour like it was my own child, refusing to let anything happen to it, dodging looters and thieves, desperate to get to a safe place.

By the grace of God, I made it back to my tent. We had agreed: if one of us gets something, go home — don’t wait.

Another night ended, another nightmare survived. We keep waking up, hoping this nightmare will end… but we don’t know how.

From Gaza — the city of the flour zombies

@dirhwangdaseul @b0nkcreat @tamamita @chokulit @3000s @apas-95 @pitbolshevik @ot3 @punkitt-is-here @vampiricvenus @turtletoria @paper-mario-wiki @valtsv @omegaversereloaded @i-am-a-fish-stinks @catsgifsarefun @spongebobssquarepants @postanagramgenerator @feluka @nyancrimew @90-ghost @beserkerjewel @neechees @memingursa @certifiedsexed @afro-elf @11thsense @sawasawako @spacebeyonce @skipppppy @beetledrink @fools-and-perverts @dailyquests @evillesbianvillain @wolfertinger666 @taffybuns @ankle-beez @sabertoothwalrus @meshugenist @isuggestforcefem @hotvampireadjacent @marxism-transgenderism @90-ghost @a-shade-of-blue @nublicious @zagreus @el-shabazzgifted @tamamita @rhubarbspring @heritageposts @dirhwangdaseul @neechees @butchniqabi @socalgal @finalgirlabigailhobbs @newporters @pikslasrce @vampiricvenus @danlous @loumandivorce @jackiedaytona @deepspaceboytoy @autisticmudkip @nashvillethotchicken @femmefitz @pitbolshevik @innerchildabortionclinic @omegaversereloaded @hotvampireadjacent @boobieteriat @mens-rights-activia @ot3

[nerdygirlramblings]

Ren's adventures continue

a/n: the family pack is back!

previous

"How's training going, honey? They're not pushing you too hard?" Mum asks.

Before you can answer, Mama cuts in. "Of course they're training her hard. This is an elite group of soldiers. Only the best of the best to serve Queen and country." She looks at you with a gleam in her eyes. "Isn't that right, baby?"

Dad rolls his eyes at their antics. It's clear they're all crammed into the nest where Dad's been since the doctor seconded your moms' idea for him to be on bed rest. Seeing them together, knowing Dad's due in a few weeks, it makes you miss them all so much more. Just as Mum and Mama start debating the merits of your service, again, Dad says, "You look good, sweetheart. Happy."

They see your unconscious smile. You haven't spoken to them much since you joined the task force, too tired most nights for anything more than a few texts, but you had a light day and wanted to check on how Dad was doing with the litter. Now you have a captive audience and weeks of stories to share.

You mention how well you fight hand-to-hand, joking how an old schoolyard bully "wouldn't be able to lay a finger on me now." To prove it, you send them a quick video Gaz took of you getting Ghost on his back a few days ago. "That's my Leftenant. He's an 18 stone alpha!" They watch the video, and you track their reactions: Mum's saucer-wide eyes, hand over her mouth; Dad wincing at the thwump of Ghost's back hitting the mat; Mama's nearly-manic grin.

You leave out how quickly he flipped you and got the upper hand.

The video is followed by pictures Soap took on the shooting range, several weapons artfully arrayed around targets with groupings so tight there are fist-sized holes in some. "They're training me on some of the sniper rifles, Mum, so I'd be watching their backs instead of breeching the building." You see the slightest drop of her shoulders as she exhales and know she'll hold tight to that kernel of hope for your safety.

You're most excited to tell them about the records you've set. "And Captain Price was the one who put my name forward. Kept me an' my secondary gender out of it entirely, jus' my call sign-"

"Your call sign?" Mum says. "What's that?"

"It's like a nickname. 'S what th' other soldiers call ya. Mostly based on the dumb shit-"

"Language, young lady," Mum says sharply.

"Sorry, Mum," you mumble, heat flaring along your neck at being scolded.

"Leave the girl be," Mama says. "She's an adult and can use whatever language she wants. Let her finish her story."

You smile gratefully and mouth thank you when Mum glances away towards some sound in the house. "So call signs are usually something you have to learn to deal with because it's a constant reminder of how you screwed up. But not always. An' the guys call me Ren because I'm good at lots of things."

"A modern Renaissance Man, er Woman, huh," Dad comments.

"That's what Captain Price said." You look at your dad and blurt out, "I think you'd like the Captain, Dad. He reminds me a lot of you and Mama."

"So about those records?" Mama asks, redirecting your focus again.

You glance at your parents then dart your gaze briefly down, bashful about bragging. "It seems I set a few base records on the shooting range and with my speed. An', like I said, they're up with my call sign, so no one really knows their mine, but that's not the point."

Dad takes the bait you don't realize you left. "Then what is the point, sweetheart?" he asks quietly.

There's no mistaking the pride in your voice and the joy in your eyes when you tell him, "They make me feel like I belong."

He smiles indulgently, and a loaded glance passes between your moms. The conversation continues a few more minutes, and you get the feeling your parents want to tell you something but don't. As you say your goodnights, you tell them you'll speak to Price about getting a few days of leave when the new litter comes. The call leaves you feeling both lighter and sadder, though you can't articulate the reasons for the second.

After the call to your parents, you start spending more time in the 141 barracks. The call home made you miss being part of something, and when you spend your down time with your team, the ache inside feels less raw, the hurt less sharp.

The easy camaraderie of the gym and mess becomes an uncomplicated cohabitation of video games and movies and parallel quiet time. One night you find yourself reading on one end of the couch in the barracks' rec room while Soap sketches. A tremor runs through you; the team keeps these rooms far colder than you're comfortable with, and you don't have an extra jumper today. Soap catches you rubbing your hands together and gets off the couch, heading to a small footlocker in the corner. You track his movements as he lifts the lid and pulls out a standard issue olive green jersey. He doesn't pull it on as you expect but drops it in your lap as he returns to his seat. "Nae point in bein' cold, Ren," he says with a smile.

You return the smile gratefully. "Thank you," you reply, pulling the jersey overhead. As you sink into its warmth, you take a deep inhale, breathing in the scent of sunshine and fresh cotton. You appreciate the smell of clean laundry. It's far more pleasant than the mothballs you were expecting.

You glance at Soap, surprised to see unbridled joy on his face. "Everything okay?"

He nods quickly. "Yeah, Ren. I'm aces."

You continue sitting in shared silence until the others come in from whatever they were doing. All three men pull up short at the sight of you and Soap on the couch. Looking between them, you worry you did something wrong despite having spent the last few nights with them until heading to bed in your barracks. "Er, what's wrong?"

Price quickly shakes his head as if clearing out cobwebs. "Nothin's wrong, Ren. Just a little surprised is all. Didn't think you-"

"The lass was cold, Cap'n," Soap blurted suddenly. "Figured if the jersey wasnae 'nuf tae warm 'er, Ah'd show 'er where the blankets are."

Price nods absently. "Right. The blankets." He takes one more long look at you, gaze assessing. "Well, glad you aren't cold, then."

The solitude you and Soap shared sits uneasily now with the others around. Something's shifted. You can smell it, like a bite of cold air preceding a storm. You try brushing off the unease, but you can't ignore it. It becomes nearly oppressive by the time you head to your barracks, waving goodnight to the team.

Once the door shuts behind you, Price gapes at Soap. "What were you thinking, giving her Gaz's jersey without telling her?" His tone is angry, but it's betrayed by the concern in his eyes as he looks at the beta.

"She was cold," Soap says simply.

"Yeah, but, one of my jerseys when you could have grabbed the blanket?" Gaz wasn't angry about you walking out with the jersey. He seemed nervous.

Price points at Gaz. "Yes, that!" He runs a hand down his face. "Giving Ren Gaz's jersey when we haven't broached courting 'er could backfire spectacularly."

"Ye were nae here, Cap. Took a big 'ole lungful a' 'is scent and held it. Wouldn't be surprised if she wears it tomorrow night." He looked from Price to Gaz and finally to Ghost, who met his pleading look with a hard reproach.

"It was a bold move, pup. Don't do it again without us all talking first." He voices everyone's shared desire. "We want 'er as pack, as ours. But she's smart, and she's wary, even of us when it comes to being our omega."

Price picks up the thought and says, "If we want this, and want to do it right, we need a plan."

next

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taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevale @boogeysmoth

[cherrys-muses]

sniffsniffsniffsniffsniff. ohhg, hiiiiiii :3 💝🦋✨

(if they’re open), Can I request Emperor Geta angst ?? Like, he said the wrong thing; he really, deeply hurt Reader; and then he finds her crying in the royal gardens + he feels bad :( 🥰 (royal garden ?? idk how the roman empire works)

maybe a lighter ending? :3 but i would eat up anything u give us, queen 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

ohhh, love!!!! they are absolutely opened! & you’re my first request eeee - WITH geta too??? i hope this delivers for you! ᢉ𐭩 warnings; no spoilers! geta is … geta (sarcastic and mean), slightly ooc, happy-ish ending!

“You are anything but what I truly need.”

The words had bounced around in your head - the voice of the man was smooth as velvet, yet, rough around the edges just as the cobblestone your sandaled feet walks across.

Your head is held high, though your lips threaten to quiver, pulling at the corners. Inhaling roughly, gripping the silk of your dress, you will the burning behind your eyes to go away.

Entering the garden that Geta had allowed you to build, the warmth has sweat beading up a tad more along the hollow of your neck. Placing yourself onto the bench that had some cracks and edges breaking off, your hands fold in your lap.

Eyes lingering on the stone, your fingers fiddle with the golden band. You are not sure if this is what you want - yet, you have to deal with it anyway so Geta doesn’t look as if he were a fool.

If someone killing you was the only way out, you believe you would just lie there and accept the fate of a sword rather than cruel words coming from someone you truly loved, yet didn’t feel an ounce back.

“You are crying.”

Startled, you flinch at the sound of his voice, eyes lifting from your lap as you stare at him. His face is clean - a luxury to stare at, really.

The pale skin that seemed to shine - that didn’t seem as if he was dead. There’s a bit of faded black eyeliner, but his eyes are still wide as they stare at you.

“I…wasn’t aware that I was,” You are quick to look away, realizing that you have openly stared at him for a long time. Bringing a hand up, you brush away the tear. “I apologize.”

He hums as he looks away, eyes traveling up the vines that curl around a tree. “I didn’t mean what I said,” You quickly look over at him. “I have been under a lot of pressure as of late - I took it out on you,”

Geta apologizing is unheard of - a strange feeling settles in your stomach as you continue to stare at him this time.

“It should have been my brother eating those words instead of you,” He looks at you as he nods. “I am sorry.”

A small smile pulls at your lips, and though your eyes are still burning with tears and Geta’s pretty face is slightly blurry from them, you let out an airy laugh.

His brows pinch in confusion. “What are you laughing at?”

“I’m sorry,” Your fingers press over your lips now, looking away from him quickly as your heart pounds and the tips of your ears grow hot. “I am not laughing at you, Geta, my love,”

Your eyes peek over at him once again before you clear your throat. “That is one of the first times I have ever heard you apologize. To anyone.”

He stands. “Yes, well,” He clears his throat. “First and last times for everything,”

You smile and nod, dropping your hand to your lap once more as you stare up with him.

He feels sick at the look of your face - not at all in a bad way. This whole thing - you - were new to him. He doesn’t feel as if he deserves you, or even the notion of any type of love - whether that be platonic or romantic.

Holding out a slightly trembling hand to you, he clears his throat once more, hoping that would sooth any voice cracks.

“Well? Are you coming?”

Slipping your hand into his, you stand from the bench and place your hand against his cheek. He jerks his head to the side slightly before slowly allowing himself to lean into the feeling of your smooth palm.

Nudging the tip of his nose with yours and pressing a kiss to his mouth, you stare at him.

“I love you.”

The words makes his heart skip a beat and breath catch in his throat slightly as his lips part. You smile, though it doesn’t meet your eyes.

“It’s okay not to say it now,” You whisper to him in reassurance as your eyes flicker down to his lips once again before quickly looking back into his brown eyes. “I just thought you should know.”

He only nods, pulling his forehead away from yours slightly. “Well then,” He cleaned his throat. “Let’s go finished getting ready.”

Smiling sadly, you follow behind him as you always will.

[bloodibambiidoll]

What would happen if weird!girl was there during the scene with Hollis instead of Sophia?

(This is based off two asks I got. One about weird!girl finally clapping back & one about her being there during this scene. Also thank you for being so patient with me ik it’s been a while since I posted about them !!) Jealously/possessiveness, choking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, mentions of weird!girl & another man in the past, breeding kink 18+

You know it’s absolutely irrational to be as pissed off as you are right now. But watching Hollis bat her spider leg eyelashes and pucker her years full of filler smudged red lips at your fiancé while she leans over the table with her tits pushed out is making you want to rip her head off. At the beginning of you and Rafe’s relationship you probably would’ve ran in the bathroom and cried because you didn’t feel like you were right for him. You’re not that girl anymore. Rafe has given you so much confidence and security that now you’re walking toward them with a smug smile painted on your face. Everyone on the island knows you and Rafe are engaged and if she thinks you’re going to let her walk all over you like some scared little girl she can think the fuck again.

Your platform boots click against the stone floor as you march across the outdoor seating area with a purpose. Rafe’s scotch is clutched tightly in your ringed hand and the cold condensation on the glass is a welcome cool in comparison to the fire in your veins. Your tiny black dress whooshes as you walk, the slight breeze kicking it up just enough to almost show your ass that’s covered in Gucci fishnets. You’re sick and tired of everyone walking all over you. Men scoff at you and look down on Rafe for being with you. Women constantly flirt with him in front of you like you’re not even there and you’re at your limit. You slide your way under your fiancé’s arm and tuck yourself into his side before holding his drink to him.

“Here’s your drink, baby.” You look up at him with a devilish little smirk and he sends you one of those signature Rafe Cameron smirks right back. His eyes flash from your own to your lips to your tits before he grabs the glass from your hand and places a kiss on your temple.

“Aww, who’s this?” Hollis breaks you and Rafe out of your bubble, making you snap your head toward her with a look that could kill.

“You’re joking, right?” You scoff, and push past Rafe so you can get right up in her face. You paint a condescendingly sweet smile on your lips as your eyes roam over her form. It’s obvious her days as resident cougar are numbered, the build up of Botox is starting to make her face look puffy and that lipstick looks awful with her skin tone. She even has a little bit smeared on her teeth and you can tell she’s slightly tipsy.

“Not only have I lived on this island my entire fucking life, I used to fucking take care of your dogs when you and your husband - oops I mean, ex husband used to go on your little vacations.” You cup your hand onto the side of your cheek and lean in even closer to her so you can whisper-yell in her ear. “You know, before you cheated on him so much he couldn’t take it anymore. Such a waste really, he’s such a sweet, handsome man…”

“Excuse me?” Hollis quickly leans back and scoffs, her hand flying to her chest as if you hit her. Her eyes show a flash of hurt before hardening. “You really ought to learn some respect, young lady. I don’t think you realize what kind of pull I have around here. I could ruin you.” Her lips wear a sinister smile that you assume she thinks is threatening but it just makes you laugh.

“No, I think you need to learn some respect, actually.” You return her smile, but yours is far more sinister than anything she could ever muster up because the minute that Stanley Kubrick esc grin stretches across your lips the one on her own drops and she takes a step back. But you just take a step forward, staying inches away from her face while you tilt your head to the side. “Everyone on this goddamn island already can’t stand me. And they all know Rafe Cameron is mine. But only you and I know that Mr. Robison sought comfort in a young, tight, pussy when you first started stepping out on him.”

“You really are and always have been such a vile little girl.” She sneers down at you and you know you hit the exact nerve you were aiming for. “Jealousy really isn’t a cute look, by the way, dear.”

“It’s not jealousy. It’s possession.” Hollis has gradually been taking steps back from you as the conversation has gone on but you close the distance between the two of you so you can lean up and whisper directly in your ear. “Now get the fuck away from my man before I choke you so hard your eyes pop out of your skull.”

“Ugh! You are a psychotic little bitch!” Hollis stomps her red bottom heeled foot onto the ground with a low growl before turning and stomping off.

“Whose acting like a little girl now!” You yell after her with a laugh and it earns you a glare over her shoulder that you return with laughter. You’re still practically cracking up when you turn to face Rafe who is staring down at you like a deer caught in the headlights. “You good baby? Thought you’d be proud of me.” You pout and your boyfriend's expression hardens as he grabs your wrist and pulls your body flush against his own.

“Oh, bats. I’m proud of you for standing on business, but…” Rafe's large hand grabs onto the back of your neck as leans down so he can practically growl into your ear. “You have some serious fuckin’ explaining to do. Mr. Robinson, huh? You fuck him?”

“And if I did? That was literally years ago before you ever thought twice about me, I think you’ll live.” Your voice holds a hint of defiance that you know for a fact is going to get your ass handed to you very shortly but if you’re being honest, that’s exactly what you want. It’s been a minute since you got Rafe riled up enough to fuck you until you can’t walk.

“You are so fucked. Car. Now. Start walking.”

-

“Tell me whose fuckin’ pussy this is.” Rafe has you bent over the arm of your expensive leather couch while his cock pounds deep into your dripping walls and his large palm shoves your face into the cushion below you. He ripped your dress over your head and tore your brand new gucci tights open at the crotch the minute he got you through the door. Your ass is beat red and decorated with welts the shape of his designer belt, your drool is dripping down your chin and your vision is blurry from your mascara running down your eyes. He fucking loves you like this.

“It’s yours! My whole body belongs to you, daddy!” The attitude you had earlier on in the night is starting to slip and you’re getting to the point that all you want is to come on Rafe’s cock as many times as he will allow you to. And so far? He’s been edging you for the last forty minutes.

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ right. You’re my little whore.” Rafe’s fingers lace through your hair, his nails scratching your scalp as he gathers the strands between his digits and pulls them tight so he can yank your head back. He uses his grip for leverage as he continues to pound into you relentlessly. “Don’t wanna think about any other man touching you. Especially not some old fuck. As far as I’m fuckin’ concerned you were a virgin when we met.”

“Well, I wasn’t even close… Does that make you mad, daddy?” You let out a borderline evil chuckle as you let your tongue lull from your mouth while you look over your shoulder at him. His blue eyes are practically black from how dilated his pupils are, his nostrils are flared, and his lips are set into a snarl. You can��t help it that you love him like this. “Does it just drive you crazy that you’re not the only dick that’s been in this tight little pussy?”

“Shut your bratty little mouth, did I not beat that ass hard enough yet, huh? Do I need to pull out and make you watch me jerk off while I nut all over your dumb little face and leave you with nothing but a mess to clean up?” Rafe’s nails dig deeper into your scalp when his grip on your hair tightens. He pulls your back flush against his chest while his hips plow into yours, his thick cock stretching you out over and over with each thrust.

“What about you, huh?” You lace your arm around Rafe’s neck so you can drag your pointed nails down his skin. “Resident man slut? This all started because you were letting that dumb old bag fawn all over you with her tits in your face.”

Rafe pulls out of you and uses your hips to flip you onto your back. Your legs are dangling over the arm of the couch and your top half is bent flat against the cushion, propping your hips up so your pussy is on display to him. He lands a smack on your sopping wet cunt that verberates through the room and you barely have time to process before he’s dealing you with another one. His broad frame looms over you when he leans down to grip onto your throat and pin you to the plush leather.

“I was just appeasing her cause’ she was offering me a way I could make us more money.” He hits your pussy again before landing harsh smacks on your clit in succession. Rafe’s palm cups your cunt and he uses the heel of it to rub your clit roughly while he squeezes your throat so tight you see stars. He toys with your entrance with his thick fingers and then spreads your juices on his shaft. He pumps himself a few times before slamming back inside of you in one thrust. “You really think I’d ever trade this perfect fuckin’ cunt for anything in the world? You think you can go around talking about fucking men old enough to be your dad in front of me and not expect me to mark my territory? I’m gonna cover you in my fuckin’ cum.”

“Sounds like somebody is jealous.” You lick your lips and smile widely up at him while the hand on your throat makes your vision go fuzzy. The sound that leaves Rafe is near animalistic, he grips onto your thigh with his free hand and pins it to the arm of the couch. It spreads you wide and gives him the perfect view of his thick cock covered in your creamy juices as it slams inside you over and over again.

“It’s not jealousy, it’s possession.” Rafe mocks your words from earlier, his hand nearly cutting off your air supply before letting go and grabbing onto the back of your hair. He uses his grip to yank you up off the cushion and force your head down until you can see where you’re connected. His thrusts never falter as he manhandles you like a ragdoll.

“You see that shit? See your greedy little pussy swallowing my dick like it was made for her? Tell daddy again who owns that shit. Drop the attitude and tell me you’re my fuckin’ whore if you wanna come.”

“I’m your whore! Please let me come!” You whine as you writhe beneath him, your final resolve leaving you when he grabs onto both your wrists, suspending your back off the couch as he uses his grip on you to pull you back to meet his rapid thrusts.

“Yeah, that’s right, you’re my perfect little fuck doll. Mine to use, as I please, when I please.” You wrap your legs around his hips to pull him impossibly deeper and it has him growling and twitching inside you. “You gonna be a good girl and take my fuckin’ cum? Let me put a baby in you so all these bitches really know who you belong to?”

“Yes, fuck! Please give me your cum, wanna make you a daddy!” Rafe lets your body fall back down onto the couch so he can lean over you with his hands on either side of your head as he pumps his hips deep and hard into you. The angle has him hitting deeper than ever and each glide of his hips has his skin rubbing against your throbbing clit.

“Come on my cock, milk that shit, baby.” It’s like your body is programmed to listen to his words because that’s all it takes to have your walls pulsing around him as you gush around his thick shaft. You lean up and bite his chest before sucking hard on his skin, marking your territory. A few more rough thrusts of his hips and Rafe is coming right along with you. “Such a good girl, such a perfect, tight, pussy. Gonna give you a fuckin’ baby.” He babbles as his cock twitches inside of you and fills you with ropes of his cum. When he comes down from his high his body slumps against yours, his huge frame pining you awkwardly to the couch.

“Fuck.” You giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck and run your nails along his buzzed head. “That was so hot. But, you’re crushing me with your giant fucking body.”

“Yeah? I think you deserve it. I don’t think that was punishment enough for fucking Mr. Robinson before we ever got together.” Rafe groans dramatically as he lets more of his weight crush you.

“Well. I think you’ll be delighted to know that I never fucked him.” You say it in a sing-song tone that has Rafe’s head shooting up and his blue eyes locking with yours. “We just sexted. She found the pics on his phone and lost her shit.”

“Oh! You are such a little shit!” He pushes himself up off the couch and points down at you in mock accusation. “You let me think you fucked him so I would beat your lil’ ass, didn’t you?” Rafe chuckles and your hand flies to your chest while you look up at him with your mouth agape.

“What?!” You gasp. “I would never push your buttons for sexual gain. That would be insane.”

“You are such a fuckin’ brat, ya know that?” Rafe smiles as he pulls you off the couch and against his chest. “I ought to bend you over again, over my knee this time.”

“What was all that about giving me a baby?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he glares down at you. “Was that just horny talk or does somebody have baby fever?”

“You know what?” He grabs you and tosses you over his shoulder despite your protests. “I’m gonna spank you till you cry and then fuck you full of my cum until you’re begging me to put a baby in you.”

Tagging mooties & weird!girl lovers: @babygorewhore @cxrrodedcoffin @starkeysprincess @nemesyaaa @oceandriveab @munson-mjstan @cameronsprincess @rafeinterlude @sturnioloshacker @traceymbcm

Divider by @anitalenia

All things Rafe & his weird!girl here

[jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw]

daydreaming about starting a life out in the woods with domestic abby ᡣ𐭩

land. somewhere to put roots down. no watch shifts. no patrols. nothing we need to survive but each other. somewhere we can be soft and free, with room to breathe. trading one purpose for another. living off the land, still giving abby some sense of purpose and routine.

mountains, with trees so tall you can hear the wind move through them before it reaches you. private, surrounded by nature and wildlife, a view that stretches for miles. the worst part of our day is deciding what trail to hike.

a cabin nestled in pine trees, smoke curling from the chimney, under a starry sky. we’d build it ourselves. she’d do the heavy lifting, shouldering logs with practiced ease, tying beams into place while i hold the ladder steady. laser focused, sweating through her shirt, dirt on her arms, and look in her eye that says ‘i’m doing this for us.’

i’d chalk little heart shaped markings on the beams when abby isn’t looking. we’ll mark the wall with both our initials once it’s up. just scratched into the wood, tiny and permanent. i’d paint the front door. something warm. like amber. or rust. we’d have wide front steps, for when someone gets distracted looking at birds and trips like a golden retriever in combat boots.

she would insist on building us a porch, one that wraps around the house and has a swing. she’d build a greenhouse too, like her dad used to have so we could garden. herbs and vegetables, maybe strawberries. abby’d get really into composting.

there’d be big windows to let the light in, potted plants in the windowsill and small, smooth river stones abby had started collecting. books stacked on both sides of the bed. dog eared copies and little flowers pressed between the pages.

a clawfoot tub big enough for two, that we found at some salvage yard— partially collapsed, half swallowed by ivy. terrified it’d fall through the floor, but after we fix it up i’d take baths in it anyway. abby would sit on the floor and read to me while i soak.

we’d have cats, and a dog so big it looks like it could be part bear, probably named moose or something. drools on everything. we say we hate it but still sneak him food under the table.

a cozy reading corner with mismatched pillows. wind chimes in the doorway. a fire pit for stargazing nights, cool air and distant owl calls. hammocks tied between the trees, our favorite for afternoon naps. sun in our hair, the breeze rocking us to sleep. honey bees and butterflies fluttering through the wildflowers out back.

the kitchen would be the warmest place in the house, second only to our arms around each other. beautiful in the way worn pages of a favorite book are. open shelves lining the walls, uneven and mismatched, but sanded smooth by abby’s hands. a worn notebook full of meal notes, garden plans, and things we wanna try cooking next spring. a big wooden table we carved our initials into.

tons of small, weather worn ceramic mugs with hand painted designs for our coffee in the quiet mornings. lazy kisses as we listen to the forest come alive. the fireplace always flickering. our boots sit beside it in the evenings. sometimes we curl up with a book. sometimes abby sharpens her tools or sits behind me and brushes my hair.

maybe we’d find an old radio one day, that only gets static most of the time, but every now and then it catches a melody. old jazz, a scratchy folk song, and we’d dance barefoot on the wooden floor, laughing at how clumsy we are.

she’s the foundation; solid, protective, built to withstand anything. i’d be the warmth inside those walls, the glow that seeps into every crack, making even the coldest night feel safe.

abby’s always been willing to suffer, what she doesn’t always let herself imagine is joy. she deserves someone who shows her it’s okay to live a slower, intentional life and meets her in the middle. waking up and only needing to keep one person safe. choosing peace, instead of waiting for it to be stolen.

[suksatoru]

𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝑒𝓂𝓅𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈.

╰┈➤ sukuna! x reader! ೃ⁀➷

synopsis; you'd gone to bed the previous night with yuji, and unknowingly found yourself cuddling the king of curses when you wake up.

ೄྀ ࿐ this is the long awaited part three! thank you all so much for the love i recivied on part one and two!! thats like - 5k notes combined?! i love u all 🥹 <3

part one | part two.

Ryomen Sukuna liked to think of himself as a patient man.

The things in life he'd acquired had taken time, years of pining and blood spilled always ended one way - with him on top.

That is what you finally understand as you struggle to stand, the air foggy with debris and the crumpled remains of what was once buildings that scaled the skies. Yuji was gone - somewhere far away, and all that remained was the hardened monster known as Sukuna.

He was looking for you - you could feel it. His presence was known before you could even open your eyes, quiet sobs racking your chest as you plead for him to let go - but he cradles your scalp against his palm roughly and twists you so you're looking him right in the eyes

He doesn't look anything like your Yuji - that's all you can think as his scarlet eyes bore into yours with a menacing grin widening on his face

Those same hands were used to destroy hundreds of lives just a few minutes before - and now he used them to swipe the dust and tears that lined your eyes as his hand wraps around your throat - not enough to hurt you, but enough to have you whimpering under his grasp.

"Asshole - just kill me." You choke out - voice hoarse as your wet lashes lift with the little strength you have left to glare at him. But it looks more like a pout to him, and something primal inside him stirs at the sight.

You were so soft - so feminine and tender and sweet. He's never wanted anything in his life so badly.

"You will make a vow to me, Y/n L/n. And I promise you, I will return Itadori back to you." He spoke lowly, letting his sharp teeth graze the shell of your ear as a quiet gasp leaves your mouth from the sensation of having him so close

There was no way his vow meant something good for you - it was set in stone, you were doomed if you agreed. And every alarm in your mind was ringing to say no, even if it meant he'd kill you right where you stood

You doubt he'd switch with Yuji - you didn't put it pass the King of Curses to lie.

"Please - please stop it." You whisper, pressing your eyes closed so you wouldn't have to look him in the eye - he gently squeezed your throat in an almost mocking way, it had your eyes squeezing in pure fear as you waited for him to snap your neck.

"Look at me."

And you do. Maybe it was the authority in his voice - there was no questioning it, your body reacted right when your heart jumped at the sound of him instead of letting your mind try and think for itself-

"Soon enough I will rule over this world - you must bind yourself to me. Swear you will be by my side when I succeed."

You're blinking back at him, mind dizzy and hurting as you let out a huff- Sukuna almost wants to laugh in your face. You just watched him slaughter and destroy Shibuya right in front of your very own eyes, yet here you were - stubborn as ever and talking back to him.

You thought you were dancing the line between life and death- but Sukuna wasn't going to kill you. Not now, not ever. Yuji was a distraction, something blocking the King of Curses from the real portrait he yearned to see. You.

Sukuna will teach you a lesson about manners later - but now, right now - his only focus is getting you to agree to this vow. He cannot rest knowing you're not his.

"If you don't agree, he dies."

He watches the color drain from your face, and he almost wants to kill the pink haired boy known as Yuji Itadori for having you wrapped around his stupid little finger. He watches your lip tremble - and something inside Sukuna entices him to press his mouth onto yours.

He's seen Yuji do it a hundred times before - has seen the way you tilt your head to meet your boyfriend's affections. You're too weak to fight back right now - so Sukuna tilts your head for you so you can meet his lips.

His mouth is warm - that's all you can think as his heat envelops you entirely, and Sukuna cannot think of a feeling quite as wonderful as the way you mumble his name against his lips

Ryomen.

"Swear." He rasps breathlessly, and he watches your resolve crumble as a broken sob leaves your lips

"I swear."

A deal with the devil is made. There was no way out for you now- not for Sukuna's sweetest temptation.

taglist! ⋆｡°✩ @kirsoup @elliebelliegi @csolya @emoedgylord @dynakats @chrissythisisforyousworld @smolbeanzzz @nxcxllxsevens @hyeon-yi heheheh this took a while woooo. sorry for all the people who had to wait so long :)) ❤️‍🩹

[fanaticsnail]

Beautiful

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,400+

Synopsis: Big Mom has found her son, Charlotte Katakuri, a partner she deemed worthy enough for him to court for matrimony. While he is smitten immediately with you, he is determined to make a good impression on you by not revealing his face. Your curiosity gets the better of you.

Warnings: Katakuri x f!reader, talks of husband and wife, use of bride, massaging face, fluff, so fluffy.

Notes: wrote this half-dazed at 6:30am this morning because @gingernut1314 decided she needed the big man in her life and the brain-worm got me. Here he is, the big guy all for you, sweetheart. Art link

Tag List: @feral-artistry @i-am-vita @indydonuts @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Being courted by the Minister of Flour was not something you had ever pictured to be highlighted on your impressive resume. When you first received an invitation from the Charlotte family to venture to Komugi island, this was not an outcome you predicted for yourself. 

Charlotte Katakuri, the second son and third child of Big Mom, was told to find a bride. His orders were received, the date of his nuptials set, and his suit picked out for such an excitable occasion. The only thing that had not been set in stone was the partner joining him at his side after their soft march down the aisle. 

Your family was titled, strong, and one of the only families Big Mom had deemed worthy enough to usher in a new generation of pirates to join in taking the Charlotte name. Katakuri had no choice but to obey his mother, apprehensively accepting the terms of an arranged marriage against his own desires to simply live to protect his siblings, nieces, and nephews. While this was out of his control, what he could control was how his intended bride depicted him. 

He could continue to shield his face from you. His rationale was as such, “If they never view my face, they would never have reason to fear me.” And so he did as such, hiding his face beneath the fur shroud from the moment he met you, and every courtship session soon thereafter. As he laid his eyes on you for the first time, he was immediately smitten. Taken by your appearance alone, and your willingness to sign your name beside his on the registry to set your intentions to wed in stone, he could never be more proud to have a partner such as you. 

As his trust in you began to build, he slowly allowed you into his heart, and shared his burdens with you as Minister of Flour. He confided in you, relishing in your company as he openly courted you under the watchful chaperone of his younger sister, Charlotte Brûlée. 

One such occasion, he laid out a blanket for you and drew out a large wicker basket from behind his back. He presented you with an assortment of baked sweets and pastries with a soft blush dusting his cheeks beneath the fur shroud. While you accepted the treats with gratitude, you instead placed it beside you and knelt on the blanket, tapping your lap and asking him to lay on his back. 

“Tell me about your day, intended. I want to know every detail,” you smiled mischievously up at him. He cautiously stole a look at Brûlée, who emphatically ushered him to do as he was told with flailing hands. 

Lowering himself onto the mat beside you, he awkwardly shifted himself to attempt to do as you asked. Rolling your eyes, you reach your hands up to his shoulder and gently guide his larger form to lay his head in your lap. His entire head was the size of both of your thighs together, but you had no qualms or complaints about it. 

“Come on, I don't bite,” you reassured him with a soft laugh, “Let me hear about your journeys abroad. Tell me anything that you want, you have my complete attention.” He was a giant, but so incredibly gentle and sweet to those he deemed as family. 

Coaxing his head onto your lap, he immediately drew his hand up to his mask and secured it over his lips to keep his mouth and teeth hidden from your sight. You chose to ignore this, drawing your fingers up and settled him atop your thighs as he slowly, quietly spoke about his life to you. 

While Charlotte Katakuri was immediately taken by you in the registry office with your family and his, you were horrified by the sight that was met with you. You had heard stories about some of the Charlotte's being of unusual size and stature, but you had no idea exactly how tall your intended was. His form was almost three times your size, his intimidating appearance did nothing to stifle your nerves. 

Believing to have masked your concerns at the nuptuals well enough to be believable, your nerves all but melted away the moment his soft, soothing voice checked in with you afterwards. Charlotte Katakuri was a sweetheart, a 504cm tall sweetheart with such softness within his hardened exterior. 

Reclining his head on your lap, you rubbed at his plum-colored hair as he spoke about adventures away from Komugi. His hand gestures out in a flurry in front of his chest, pointing to the sky as he speaks so eloquently to you. Although he does not yet trust you enough for you to reveal his face, your curiosity begins to gnaw at the seams. 

You start to lower his inhibitions by massaging his scalp, scruff of his neck and forehead. His hair pricks your skin as your skillful touch chips away at his woes and worries. His voice quietens further as he closes his eyes as your hands firmly press against his forehead. You needed to see your soon to be husband’s face, you desperately craved to know what was going on beneath the furs. 

As he leans into your touch, he seemingly forgets about the shroud over his mouth hiding his sharpened teeth from you. He is in bliss beneath your hands, and he slips away into a world carved by your palms and fingertips. Your hands dip deeper, lower into his cheeks, your digits feeling his muscles relax their tension beneath your fingers. 

Smiling to yourself softly as he gasps at such sweetness befalling from you to him, he parts his lips gently. He arches his head further into your lap, the shroud finally lowering and revealing his sharp teeth and unnaturally widened mouth. His jaw falls slack as his brow becomes relaxed. 

You crave to coo at his vulnerability, truly enjoying empathetically how much he allowed himself to relax into your soft touch. This hardened general, this pirate minister, this older brother to so many siblings in the Charlotte family, was as malleable as rice flour mochi beneath your skilled digits. You took in his appearance, almost relieved at feeling the twin slits up his lips as you looked down at him with nothing but pure adoration. 

You were immediately in love with what you saw, your heart beating heavily against your ribcage as a warm flush rose to your cheeks. You loved him, all of him.

Brushing your hands over his cheeks, you silently and slowly commit his face to memory like reading a marble carving with a simple touch. He is gorgeous, and you remember to tell him so when he snaps out of his tranquility and looks at you with accusing eyes the moment he realized you slipped the shroud over his chin. 

“What are you doing?” he growls quietly, “Why did you do that? I don't want you to fear me-...” A soft gasp flees from your lips as you take him completely in. His lips split up his cheeks in an unnatural slit through symmetrical scars, his sharp fangs extend up on his lower jaw and over his lips. 

Although he feels slightly betrayed at the way you managed to easily reveal his face, his betrayal is eclipsed by shock and awe when he meets your eyes. 

“I-I just…” you trail off, your body cowering away in response to his anger, but your eyes still depict the emotion you so desperately desired to show him, “...-I just wanted to know. I wanted to see.” Charlotte Brûlée watched the interaction with interest, her own shock evident on her face. 

She witnessed the entire interaction with your hands on his face, almost calling out to warn her brother his face was going to be revealed, but quietly hoping you would fall in love with him further. She knew you loved him, knew you wanted to see him, and trusted you enough with her older brother that she knew you would love him more the moment his fangs and scars were brought into the light.

He was expecting fear, disgust, anguish and anger to be met in your curious gaze. But all you held in those calm and half-lidded orbs was pure trust, love, and pure adoration. His shock was adamant as he nervously floated his eyes between your gaze. His thumb and index finger circled around your much smaller hand, hovering it over his cheek as you felt your heart soar at the vulnerability.

“And now that you have?” his whisper came out more like a gasp, his voice breathy and craved to hear you say you weren’t afraid. He needed to know you did not fear his appearance, his wordless prayers spoken within his mind’s eye the longer your gaze soaked in his sight. 

You placed your unoccupied hand on his cheek, leaning in closer to his face and your lips curling into a soft, innocent and intimate smile. Caressing his cheek, you cocked your head to the side and finally uttered a single word he truly did not ever think he would hear. 

“Beautiful.”

[tsireyasluvr]

Sweetness

Lo’ak x Metkayina!reader

Authors note: I meant to make this short and sweet but got way carried away😭 hope you guys enjoy this tho! <3 word count: 4k+

Summary: Neteyams death inevitably changed Lo’ak, making him colder and harsher around you than ever before. He shut everyone around him out, but you being the sweet and soft girl of the village made you want to help him get out of his slump. And you did help, just not in the way you might’ve expected.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, porn with plot, angst, comfort, mentions of death, mentions of blood, substance use, alcohol, aged up Lo’ak, dom Lo’ak, mean Lo’ak, innocent reader, praises, brief oral, fingering, drunk sex, grinding, whining, virgin reader, first time (p in v)

Lo’ak struggled with Neteyams death, that couldn’t be more clear to anyone. The entire Sully family had faced their struggles surrounding the older boy’s death, but they had slowly made peace with it. Lo’ak however, wasn’t even close.

He never got over the feeling of it being his fault. He’s the one who pushed Neteyam to save Spider, the one who couldn’t just let things sit and chase after his own family instead. He wanted to save his friend, and in return, he got his brother killed. Lo’ak felt like even more of a failure than before, like he deserved to be treated like an outcast after having his beloved older brother killed.

He’s chosen to ignore his family and friends, ditching his siblings to get drunk and wallow in his sorrows at whatever private place he could find. Really he wasn’t picky, just as long as people would stop bothering him already. He was sick of the looks he’d get from his own family, the bits of pity accompanied by disgust from the rest of the Metkayina clan. 

Never you though. You cared for him, and truth be told you had a bit of a reputation around the clan for being the soft and kind, almost “innocent” cousin of Tsireya and Ao’nung. You were opposite to Lo’ak, never really one to step out of line or do anything that might anger the elders. you didn’t see much of a reason to. You’ve always had a soft spot for the younger Sully boy, mesmerized by how quick he adapted to the way of water, how much effort he put in despite his body not being built for it. He was passionate, rebellious by nature sure, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t found it charming. And as his learning went on, you enjoyed occasionally helping to teach him and his siblings, especially when you got to have a few private sessions with him. You were building a friendship, maybe even a small crush arising within you. All right before the tragic death on those rocks. 

You’d see Lo’ak wandering around the village at times, but only really to get his hands on food and whatever alcohol he could get, before he’d disappear again. Into the palm trees, to a separated beach, maybe a clearing near a cave. Those were just a few of your guesses. 

It bothered you. He was once a fiery, determined ball of energy, never taking anyone’s shit and trusting himself to do what felt right. Yet now, he was always alone and hiding. You couldn’t help but frown and worry. So one night, you see him again, walking through the sand in the general direction of what you assumed was the cove, a bottle clearly in hand. Feeling a little brave, you decided to follow him. 

Lo’ak had sat down on a smooth stone ledge overlooking the water. The sun had already set, making your tanhi glow along your soft skin while the moon lit up the scene around you. You timidly walked over to him, sitting down beside him but a little further from the edge with your legs crossed. Neteyam and Lo’ak were the only ones you’ve ever told about your fear of heights. It was something you always thought was a little embarrassing, and they forced the confession out of you when you refused to join them on a ride on Neteyams ikran. You can’t help but feel a little guilty passing that up now. 

Lo’aks gaze was cold, his face showing little emotion while he started out into the water. His eyes had been bloodshot, from the alcohol or lack of sleep you didn’t know, but it was a sight that made your stomach churn either way. You glanced down to his lap, seeing the now half-empty bottle sat between his legs. 

His thoughts were looming over his head, the alcohol doing little to settle the pit in his stomach. That night was all he could ever think about. The pained scream of his mother, the hurtful “you’ve done enough” his father had muttered, feeling Neteyams heart stop beating underneath his palms, his hands wet with his brothers blood-

“Lo’ak?” Your quiet, velvety soft voice broke the silence. You looked up at him with your big green eyes, your lip permanently a little pouty as the cold breeze blew through your curly hair. “Hm?” He grunted, not really looking in your directed as he took another swig from the bottle. You swallowed thickly, before asking your question. 

“Can I stay for a little?” Your voice sounds almost nervous, like he’d snap or bite at you if you pissed him off. He couldn’t help but feel frustrated at this, taking a deep breath to settle his emotions. He turned to look at you, his vivid amber eyes faded into something more dull. “Actually, y/n, I kind of came here to be alone.” 

You huffed out a breath, trying not to let the rejection get to you once he turns away again. Instead, you sit a little closer, letting your feet dangle off the edge as your heart starts racing in your chest. He cocked a brow at this, surprised that the village good girl didn’t listen for once. That, and the fact that he knew how scared you were of heights. Wether he’d want to admit it or not, Lo’ak had always noticed you tried to make everything better, even when it seemed impossible.

“People are worried, you know” You say quietly, your voice less shaky now that you managed to calm your heartbeat, trying to focus on him and the sound of the waves rather than how high you were up on these cliffs. “I don’t care, y/n” He scoffed, sipping on the bottle again, hardly feeling the liquid burn his throat anymore. 

You furrowed your brows at that, looking at the side of his face again as you spoke. “I know that’s not true, Lo’ak. You’ve never been careless. I understand you’re hurting, you have every right to, but-“ 

He cut you off with a scowl, turning his head towards you “Oh, do i? Because according to my father, I’m the one who got us all into this mess. You say everyone is worried, but who exactly is everyone, y/n? Because it sure as hell isn’t my family, and your clan has hated me from the fucking start.” He practically snarled, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at you.

You looked at him helplessly, feeling yet another tinge of anxiety from his yelling, but knowing deep down it wasn’t meant to be directed at you. Lo’ak stood from his spot, rubbing his face with his hand, and that’s when you smell the wave of alcohol coming from his form. 

“Just.. just go away, y/n. I really don’t need this right now” He leaned against the cliff wall, his arms crossing in front of his chest as he waited for you to get up and go. 

You stood, trying to fight back the tears welling in your eyes. Truth be told, you weren’t really used to having anyone yell at you. You’ve never stepped out of line or disobeyed orders, no one’s ever had a reason to try and punish or intimidate you. You wondered if it may have you come across as weak, or fragile. Two things that you very much were not, regardless of how soft you may be. 

“Lo’ak, please” You say, trying to stand your ground. “Please just let me stay. I won’t- I won’t try to force you to talk about it anymore, I promise. I’m just worried about you” You pleaded, the breeze becoming more harsh as you felt shivers go up your arms.

He clenched his jaw, something inside him stopping himself from believing that you had good intentions. “why?” He uncrossed his arms, scoffing as he stood up straight in front of you. “Why are you so fucking worried, y/n?” His voice sounded almost taunting, and you couldn’t figure out why.

“Because you’re never around the village anymore. You’re grieving, and I think-“ He cut you off once again.

“What? That you can fix me? Take me on a special project for your healer training maybe? You realize some herbs and spices can’t make this all go away, right? Sorry I can’t help you crawl further up Ronals ass with your little strive for perfection, y/n, but it just so looks like I’m a problem this clan can’t shake” He growls, every word feeling almost like a dagger to your heart. 

“You’re not a problem, Lo’ak” You say gently, trying to keep the calm attitude for him. “I don’t see you as one, I never have. I see so much greatness in you-“ 

“Save the fucking speech, y/n-“

“Will you just let me talk!” 

“…”

You had snapped, tears freely falling down your cheeks now. “Stop treating me like I don’t have feelings! Or like- like you don’t know me! We were friends before all this, you know how much I cared for you, how much i still care for you. It doesn’t matter if every single person in this clan hated you, I care and I worry! And it sucks to see you like this, constant bottle in your hand and the energy and joy completely sucked out of you. It sucks that you walk by me like I don’t matter, that you never talk to me anymore and that you’re always on something. I can’t handle it, and it breaks my heart, so excuse me if I come here to check on you because Im worried!”  

He swallowed hard, taking aback by your outburst but trying not to show it. He felt the guilt slowly creep up his skin, watching your shoulders shake with sobs as you let out a much quieter “I worry”, repeating yourself so helplessly. Lo’aks eyes flicked away for a moment before returning to yours. “You shouldn’t” He muttered out, his voice rough as he reached out a hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“I can’t help it” You whisper, sniffling as your lip quivered, your eyes now glossy as you looked up at him. His hand on your cheek made you feel the tiniest spark of comfort. He smiled a little at that, the first almost warm expression you’ve seen on his face in weeks if not months. “Hm, I guess you can’t.”

Lo’ak cupped your face with his free hand, the other still holding the bottle you so desperately wanted to grab and throw over the cliff. He brushed his thumb softly against your cheek, looking into your teary eyes as his heart beat faster. “If you keep getting involved with me like this, you’re going to get hurt, y/n. I think I might have a bit of curse on me” He tried to joke, but you saw past the slight smile.

“Then we’ll let that be my lesson” you say sternly, reaching a delicate hand to hold onto his wrist as you stayed close to him. “Alright, fine. You win, princess” He sighed, before letting go of you and moving back down to where he was sitting, looking back at you as an unspoken invitation to join him. 

you padded over to where he was, shivering slightly as the night wore on, the stone cold against your skin. His eyes were on you, seeing the shiver on your skin from the cold as you tugged a little on the sheer sleeves from the woven top you wore. 

“You cold?” He asked, observing your shivering form. You looked at him, shrugging a little, trying not to seem needy or like you were disturbing the newfound peace. He smirked a little, offering you the nearly empty bottle. 

You made a face at that. “No thanks. I’m not much for drinking” you look back down at your lap, fiddling with the little pearls hanging from your loincloth. 

“Have you ever tried it?” He asked, not necessarily pushing, but definitely holding a teasing tone over you. You shook your head no.

He leaned back, snickering a little bit as he closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze on his flushed skin. “Fuck..” He muttered under his breath, opening his eyes to quickly look at you before focusing back on the water beneath them.

“what?” you ask, furrowing your brows in slight confusion. “you’re just so fucking innocent. Like, shielded or something” He smirked, shaking his head slightly. You scoffed a little at that, your lips pouty again. “what, so now i’m not interesting because I haven’t had any messed up traumatic stories?” you crossed your arms as you looked at him. 

“Never said that” He replied, still not looking at you. “Then what are you trying to imply with that?” He licked his teeth before looking at you with another smirk, his fangs momentarily on display. “You’re too trusting. Always looking out for everyone else’s well-being before your own. You walk around like some sort of Angel, y/n.” He used a human term, something he did often. You knew one of the few things he bonded over with his dad was studying the language. 

“You say that like it’s an insult” You quip back, rubbing your arms for warmth. “Because it is.” He replied, eyes scanning over you. “You’re so naive sometimes that it hurts just looking at. Letting people walk all over you. You deserve better than everything that’s been surrounding us.” 

You tried not to let his words bother you, but he really could be so mean sometimes, wether it was intentional or not. Your eyes drift down to the bottle in his lap, feeling a sudden impulse within you as you reach out your hand for it. “give me that” 

“what?” he raised a brow, looking at you with a mix of surprise and amusement. “you want a drink?” 

“Yes, I do. Now are you gonna share or am I too innocent for even a sip?” you say, your look unwavering. 

“Well then” He chuckled, passing the bottle over to you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Go on then. Take a sip.”

You continued holding eye contact with him as you bring the cold bottle to your plump, pink lips, taking a swig before grimacing at the taste, a drop trickling down your chin. “Eywa” you muttered under your breath, the liquid leaving a terrible burn down your throat.

“Fuck, you’re cute” He said, reaching out to wipe off the droplet and licking it off his thumb. A small smile played on his lips. “don’t ever get used to that shit”

“What? It’s totally fine! I hardly even tasted it” You try to assure, taking another sip before practically gagging as the liquid hit your tongue

“yeah, you’re a fucking liar” He laughed softly, reaching out to take the bottle back from you. “we should’ve gotten you something nicer as a first taste. I would’ve mixed it up with that coconut water shit you like” He screwed the lid back on after finishing off the last bit of the bottle. 

“you know, you swear a lot” you say, your voice a little more wavered now with the alcohol. He turned away from you, trying not to break into a grin at the slight slurring of your voice. “And alcohol is gross. I stand by what I said earlier” you say, crossing your arms as if to prove a point.

“Good” He replied, smiling at you as he turned his body more to face you, sitting a little closer as he felt the alcohol in his system too, allowing him to feel more comfortable and less of the constant dread and anxiety in his stomach. “Means you’re not used to it.”

“Course I’m not used to it! You said it yourself I’m all naive and innocent” you say in a mocking tone, rolling your eyes at that. He broke into another snicker at that. “you’re so fucking cute when you’re drunk” He whispered, chuckling softly as he leaned in closer to you, his breath fanning across your cheek. “You know, Ive always kinda wanted to see you like this”

You giggle a little, your cheeks flushing from both the alcohol and his comment. “what? drunk?” You ask, lazily tilting your head to look straight at him, your curls becoming messier from the breeze, a few stray pieces falling over your eyes. “Yeah” He laughed, brushing a lock of hair away from your blushing cheek. “mm sounds like you might have a bit of a corruption kink, Lo” you teased, surprising both of you with your unusually bold words.

“Maybe you’re not so wrong about that” He confessed, half joking before continuing “I guess I have a bit of a thing for girls like you. All sweet and gentle. Or more like.. just you” his face has gone a little more serious, looking over your features with an almost predatory gaze.

“and here I thought you were asking me to stay away” you lightly tease, acting like his words from earlier didn’t have an effect on you. “I did, and I meant it. You’re too good for me” He leaned down, his lips almost hovering above yours. “But it’s hard to stay true to that, when you’re sat all cute and flustered ‘cause of me”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sudden close proximity, leaning in closer to him as you look up at him with that same wide-eyed look that drove him crazy, your lips plump and slightly wet from the alcohol still. “i’m tired of you pushing me away because you think it’s the right thing to do, Lo’ak. S’annoying” you drunkenly mumble, trying to keep yourself from getting too dizzy.

“Well, fuck.” He cursed under his breath, his eyes trailing down to your lips as he gave into the temptation. “maybe it’s time I stop pushing you away then” he whispered, before leaning down to capture your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. You smile against his lips, feeling your chest bubble with excitement as your dainty fingertips come to rest on his chest. 

You pulled back a little, a smile on your face as you leaned your forehead against his. “Am i making you feel better?” you ask, prompting him to let out a laugh. “that’s what you’re thinking about?” He teased, leaning in to give you another quick peck. “yeah, sweetness, you’re making me feel better” He murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him, his other hand burying itself in your curls as he deepened the kiss.

“you taste so god damn sweet, y/n” he groaned, his tongue licking its way into your mouth, practically moaning at the flavour of your lips. You whimpered at his words, desperately trying to keep up with him, shifting til you’re practically in his lap. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away and breaks the kiss, gazing down at you with pure lust and adoration in his golden eyes. “You ever let anyone touch you?” he breathed out, his hand holding you close by the back of your neck, your palms still resting on his chest for stability as you shook your head no. “Good” He grinned, his fangs on display as he reached up your back to untie the strings holding your top together.

As he revealed more of your skin, his touch became more possessive and hungry. “i’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” he growled against your skin, dipping his head down to lick and suck at your neck, tilting your jaw back with his hand to have better access. “you believe me?” 

“yes, Lo’ak” you breathed out, your skin feeling hot as you trailed a hand to fist his braided hair. “That’s my girl” he mumbled, his hand moving up to cup your breast, squeezing roughly at the flesh as you let out a whimper. “So fuckin perfect for me” 

You moaned softly at the praises, enjoying the feel of his hands on your body as you cup his face and bring his lips back up to yours, desperate to taste him again. He shoved his tongue in your mouth, his hand creeping down your back before untying the strings holding your loincloth together. “lift your hips for me, mama” he murmured against your lips, instantly taking it off and flinging it away once you did. He slowly slid his hand up your thigh, teasingly running his fingers through your folds before letting out a groan. “Eywa, you’re so wet for me”

you gasp softly at the feel of his fingers, leaning your forehead against his as he probed at your opening, before shoving two fingers in, drawing out a yelp from you. “Lo’ak!” you squeal, closing your eyes in pleasure. “fuck, do that again, sweet girl” he groaned, plunging his fingers in and out of you, desperate to hear more of your pretty noises.

you whined and clawed at his shoulders, not used to the feeling of someone else touching you there, soaking it all in as your walls fluttered against his digits. he curled his fingers inside you, watching you nearly unravel in front of him before adding his thumb to rub quick circles into your clit. “oh! Lo’ak! L-Lo! f-fuck!” he smirked as you cursed, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. He thrusted his fingers deeper, pushing faster, seeking out your sweet spot before massaging it with every thrust. You whimpered when you felt his fingertips grazing the spongy spot inside you. 

 “that’s it mama. gonna cum for me?” He sucked a bruise in your neck, his fangs grazing the skin as he resisted the urge to properly mark you here and now. 

“y-yes! mhm!” You moaned, your pussy tightening around his fingers before you let go, crying out his name as you hide your face in his neck.

He slowly pulled his fingers out, shushing your whimpers before flipping you over, your bodies still dangerously close to the ledge, which suddenly just added to thrill of it for you. His breath was heavy as he leaned back down to kiss you, his arm resting on the ground beside your face, almost shielding you in while his other makes quick work to untie his cloth and throw is aside. You looked at him with a dazed expression, taking the time to admire his face and features, feeling your heart skip a beat when his eyes met yours again. 

He smiled down at you, brushing his thumb over your lip sweetly, but it seemed like you had other ideas. Your pink tongue darted out to lick the digit and take it in your mouth, making his dick instantly harder, if that was even possible. He groaned at the feeling, beginning to grind his hips against yours, his cock freely gliding through your folds. “Fuck, mama, you’re making it hard to think straight” he cursed, looking down at your wet pussy dripping slick all over him. 

“Then don’t” You whined, squirming slightly beneath him from the teasing, feeling your arousal grow as you looked up at him with a pleading expression. “Lo’ak, please.” You whispered, bringing your hands up to wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you as you pressed sweet kisses along his face, a contrast to the sinful acts you were doing. 

Taking your pleas as a sign of consent, he lined himself up with your entrance, pushing in slowly as he let out a growl at your tightness. “Oh, fuck!” He groaned, his head dropping to rest on your shoulder. “fuck mama, you’re so tight. This pussy was made f’me” He pushed himself all the way in, lifting his head back up to look at your face, a hand reaching up to cup your cheek. you had a look of pure bliss on your face, your eyes screwed shut as you adjust to his size, unintentionally holding your breath.

“breathe for me, baby. breathe” He whispered, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek before he began to slowly rock his hips into yours. “Lo’ak” you whimpered, clawing at his shoulders. “I know. S’okay, i’ve got you.” he groaned, his voice low, making you feel more butterflies in your stomach as you listened to every word he spoke. “feels so good” you whine out, panting against his lips. He smiled at you, kissing you hotly before pulling away again, looking down to where you were connected.

He couldn’t help but moan at the sight, speeding up his thrusts as he rutted against you, watching your pussy clamp down on him. “Eywa, you’re such a sight” he grunted, looking up at your face as he pushed his cock deeper inside of you, watching your jaw drop out of pleasure. “gonna keep the mental image of you like this forever, princess. all fucked out like this, all ‘cause of me” He dipped his head back down to your neck, trailing kisses down your collarbones and lower, squeezing your breast with his hand while beginning to lap at it with his tongue.

you couldn’t respond, hardly thinking as he fucked every thought out of you, your back arching off the ground as you whined and moaned, clinging to him as he pounded into your pussy. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements as he took clear control. “Taking it so well for me, sweet girl” 

He angled his hips in a way to hit your sweet spot again, letting go of your nipple with a pop as he moved to the other one, leaving light bite marks along it.

“L-Lo’ak, m’close” you whimper, your eyes still screwed shut as you feel his tongue licking and tracing at your breasts, your chest covered in bite marks. “yeah? let me feel it. cum f’me, cum all over me. be a good girl” he muttered the filth against your skin, trailing his tongue back up to your neck, his fangs grazing over it again as he planned out the spot to mark you. “wanna feel you shake against me, y/n. all around my dick. you won’t let me down, yeah?” He whispered in your ear, thrusting faster as he felt his abdomen tighten, knowing he was close but holding back til he got you there first.

“mm y-yes, yes Lo” you breathed out, whining and gasping as you felt your thighs shake, your pussy tightening around him before you reached your high, tightening your legs around his waist “ohhh fuuuuck!” you cry out, not caring about how loud you were being as he fucked you through it.

“shit! fuck, mama, where do you want it?” he strained, biting his bottom lip to try and hold back as his hips sputtered. you looked up at him, your lips swollen from his kisses and face slightly dewy as you open your mouth, indicating it for him. “Eywa, help me” he muttered, groaning at the implication as he traced your perfect lips with his finger before pressing a rough kiss to them. 

Once he was on the verge of climax, he quickly pulled out, cupping your face with a shaky hand as you sat up on your knees for him. He aligned his dick to rest on your lips as he pumped his cock, before throwing his head back and cumming in your mouth with a groan. His hand brushed through your hair, looking down at you before pulling his hips away from you and kneeling down with you, his free hand still cupping your cheek. He wiped the little dribble of his cum off your lip, smiling at you adoringly, whispering “so fucking pretty” before leaning in to kiss you again. 

you hum contently, smiling once he pulls away. you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, making him let out a laugh at your sweetness even after doing something so filthy. “c’mere” he murmurs, leaning back against the cliff wall as he raises his arm for you. you crawl over, laying down on his chest and nuzzling into him with your face in his neck, closing your eyes as you listen to the sound of the waves below you. 

[socksual-innuendos]

What are ghouls?

we just don't know....

Some ghoul biology headcanons and some review of the two different ghoulification methods (as supported and not by canon)

This was initially sparked by how I hate the implication of all ghouls being obligate addicts to prevent going feral (as seen from the show). However, given what we know of the themes of Fallout and some confirmations in both FO: Prime and FO4, I've decided there might be some interesting implications here, along with further looks into what makes ghoul go ghoul.

Please let me know what you think, I love this sort of meta talk.

Edit Log:

Edit 1 (4/25) - Spelling, phrasing, and additional Glowing One information made to "Biological Quirks" section in Radiation

So what are ghouls?

Well, a short description from what we see from the wiki/games/canon is that ghouls are those exposed to radiation that don't die of radiation poisoning and instead mutate. Exposure means vary from accidental exposure from the bombs/irradiated areas to outright deliberate exposures via experimentation, hopes for immortality, or simply listed as....."serum/drug".

The games have shown us that the process of ghouling isn't just novel to humans, nor is it just novel to humanoid shapes (see; Harold). However I am going to specifically cover humans and how they ghoulify.

There isn't a set reason on what exactly predisposes someone to ghouling vs dying, nor is there parameters on what makes them go feral. Risk factors, yes, but nothing set in absolute stone (aside from that inhalant withdrawal) This leaves room for the fun, and boy did I have fun writing this.

So lets start with the obvious;

There are two subsets of ghouls,

This is actually implied by canon and outright stated in the meta material. One set is directly radiation induced. These are the ones we are most familiar with.

The other is biochemically created, induced by drugs. These we have a few examples of, however with little to no explanation of....why is there a ghoul drug. More specifically, no direct reason is given for "Drug that turns you ghoul". I however have some ideas on how this came about.

In this post I will cover a few topics relating to ghoul qualities and how they vary between the two sub-types. These will be;

I. Modes of Creation: How We Go Ghoul and What This Implies II. Biological Quirks III. Ferals. What Are They, What Causes Them, And Why Aren't They Attacking Each Other IV. The Rotting vs Chem-Heads: Interpersonal Politics Within Non-Feral Ghoul Populations

I. Modes of Creation: How We Go Ghoul and What This Implies

Ghouls Created by Radiation Exposure:

So you've just survived the nuclear holocaust. What's next? Well, if the onset of radiation sickness is anything to go by, then not much....

Unless you're one of the lucky few who ghoulify.

But what causes one to ghoulify and another to succumb to the radiation? What exactly in the genes make one turn while another simply dies. The exact answer does not seem to exist, however we are shown in several cases that Pre-War was not afraid to experiment with radiation.

While in some instances these experimentation involved medications or chemicals (see: next section), there is mention of controlled exposures to radiation being something studied.

This experimentation can be seen through Vault-Tec Vaults (Vault 12) and implied in a few pre-war medical buildings/holotapes (Robco Buildings, the accounts of Control Subject Peters) and with outright accounts, such as Eddie Winters and Desmond Lockhart.

In short, while we don't precisely know if Pre-War knew that ghouls from radiation exposure were truly and properly immortal, or even considered them as a "successful" rabbit hole to pursue for immortality, we know that experiments to study the effects of radiation sickness were performed. In some cases, the exposure was to test for serums and medications that would hopefully prevent/reverse radiation sickness (And likely how we got Rad-X/RadAway. See: FO4s Control Patient Peter's Logs).

We do however see that irradiation is likely the most common mode for many of the ghouls of the wastelands. Pre-War ghouls that were not part of radiation exposure experiments were often times implied to be those not from areas directly in blast range and rather came into radiation exposure after they crawled out through the falled-out, baby (kill me). However, those directly in the blast that weren't vaporized are often implied to immediately be turned feral (Camp Searchlight, and other similarly directly hit areas), though sections such as Lonesome Road and certain in-game ghouls prove that some do not immediately turn feral.

These ghouls are described as experiencing radiation sickness that never got around to killing them before...it almost seeming to get better. They experience the GI upset, hemorrhaging, "illness" (fever), confusion, sloughing of necrotic tissues, and so on, before stabilizing into what we call ghouls. It is assumed that they eventually hit the "regenerative" stage of ghoulification after their bodies succumb to these symptoms. This may be evident due to radiation exposed ghouls having the intense healing potentials as ghouls, but never "gaining back" normal, non rotting appearance.

Ghouls Created by Biochemical Means:

We know through Hancock that there is an "experimental radiation drug" that can ghoulify people. We see something similar in FO:Prime, with Thaddeus taking a "healing serum" from the Chicken Fucker and how it looks (both in color and method of using) similar to that of the chem that The Ghoul uses/depends on. We are given both The Ghoul and one of his acquaintances (Ass Jerky) as direct examples of being dependent on this chem to prevent going feral.

According to the wiki, there are implications of two different types of chems that can cause a person to ghoul, directly quoted with "This does depend on the type of the drug"

While I am not too certain that these drugs differ all that much in how they cause ghouification, I have a theory about why the wiki needed to state multiple types of chems that ghoulify an individual.

Firstly that there is mention of experiments for immortality. I believe that this may be an "all roads", a converging of methods to one end, type scenario. Multiple drug types, one outcome. One or more of the major corporations was trying to unlock the secrets to immortality, however in this world that usually comes to the end of "ghoulifying" in some manner. I believe this is the drug-type that those like Hancock had found and used. This is the rarest of these types of drugs (as supported by canon) and also does not cause dependency of its users.

Secondly, I believe there are other handful of instances where some tried to create failed (or even prototype) Rad-X like medications (or even some kind of advanced form of Stimpaks) prior to the war as a "Keep this in your prep-kit" first-aid. This would be the direct medication (and in long post-war scenarios "Copy Cat" medication) that those like The Ghoul and ghouls in Fallout: Prime are dependent on. This would easily explain how some people, pre-war (such as Cooper Howard, as we know his personality pre-war) who may seem resistant to the idea of experimental or even promised immortality, would accidentally become a ghoul who is obligatorily stuck taking this medication. This being an assumed Rad-X/Immediate big wound healing-like drug would also allow for easy accidental (or deliberate) manufacturing post-war selling of it. Home brewed variations of a radiation resistant/Stimpak-like medication can sometimes have opposite effects, and this may be how some people "accidentally" become biochemically created ghouls.

We can however see that there is a market created for biochemical ghouls and their stabilizing medications as both F76 and FO: Prime show that these drugs are manufactured post-war and specifically for ghouls.

The wiki mentions that biochemically created ghouls retain their appearances longer than radiation created ghouls, however ultimately they begin their own process of becoming what we know more traditionally as ghouls. We can see this illustrated with Thaddeus from the show.

Now let's move on to how they differ as ghouls;

II. Biological Quirks

Ghouls are defined by a few qualities;

Extended lifespan (functionally immortal), enhanced healing factors, immunity to disease, radiation perks, nourishment requirements, and issues with sterility/reproduction.

We will dive into each of these topics and discuss that while both ghouls may share these qualities, there may be some variance into the extent or modes of how these qualities present.

Extended Lifespan:

We have come to understand and observe that ghouls will live, functionally, forever, unless killed. This point is fairly straight forward, however going feral is an ever present fear amongst both irradiated ghouls and biochemical ghouls. While we will explore ferals later on in this post, we will note that this can be seen as its own form of "death" within certain ghoul communities.

Enhanced Healing Factors:

We are both shown and told that ghouls have incredible healing abilities. While they cannot regrow limbs, it is shown that they can reattach missing body parts so long as one is available to graft.

We will get into nourishment needs in its own section, however I believe that the healing factors also extend here. Ghouls can sustain themselves longer without food or water due to some work of their healing factors, however this creates a strain on the body that makes injury recuperation dampen slightly.

However, while ghouls tend to be able to regenerate from bodily injury with ease, we can see some examples of preexisting conditions not being healed (a directly given example is Hugo Stolz in F76, who remains blind even after ghoulification). This may be explained with the same reason as to why ghoul skin is necrotic and does not seem to heal itself. My personal justification is that anything that happens prior to a ghoul "stabilizing" is almost always permanent.

Another thing to note is how this regeneration is an imperfect process. This may be best illustrated with how biochemical ghouls have a slower "ghouling" of their appearance. It is mentioned that "accumulating damage will change the ghoul's appearance over time". This implies that sometimes healing from an injury is not done perfectly or appropriately. This could also explain why some ghouls have different disfigurements or gain degenerative conditions such as arthritis, loss of vision, or hearing.

Immunity To Disease:

We know that ghouls have an amazing ability to regenerate, however it is not gone into detail about how they are "unaffected by most common diseases". I personally believe there is some nuance to this between irradiated ghouls and biochemical ghouls.

Irradiated ghouls no longer have an immune system. This was something destroyed and not gotten back (much like how areas of skin will slough off and not regen). However, due to their body's base radiation retention there are very few ailments that can actually infect an irradiated ghoul to being symptomatic. Their bodies are generally inhospitable to outside invading organisms.

Biochemical ghouls on the other hand retain some of their immune system and have a lesser resistance to disease than an irradiated ghoul. However they have a better resistance than an unmutated human to diseases.

Both ghoul types rely on their bolstered resistance to disease and their healing factors to protect against diseases as most medications do not work on them, or at least have a lessened overall efficacy. Again this goes off the logic from the wikia that a ghoul's healing factors provide some dampening effects to chems. Also through this logic, poisons tend to also need to be administered in much higher doses for a ghoul to even feel the effects of it.

While most medications do not tend to effect ghouls or only work at higher dosages, there is a special interaction they have with Rad-X and RadAway. We will explore this in the next section.

Radiation; Resistance To And Effects Of:

Ghouls are especially known for their resistance to radiation. This is a quality that is as associated with them as the potential of going feral is. However, I believer there are some key differences between the ghoul types and their interactions with radiation.

Irradiated ghouls stand to gain the most from radiation, for obvious reasons. While traveling through the warm glowing fields of areas still emitting high levels of radiation is a perk in and of itself, they also stand to gain some physical benefits from this as well.

With the example of the Marked Men, it is shown that ghouls can subsist off radiation alone. I also believe this bolsters their base healing factors. Toss a bag of meat pulped ghoul into a nuclear waste spill and he'll join you for dinner in a few hours. They may also experience boosts in mood and endurance.

Irradiated ghouls are canonically mentioned to also hold onto their radiation exposure, where some even become glowing ones. I do think that a ghoul must have moments of "recharge" to remain glowing ones, as over time radiation decays off the body. While the short term doesn't seem to be effected by this, for beings who can live hundreds of years, some can see fluctuations of internal radiation retention.

There is also mentioned for glowing ones being somewhat eccentric. With this idea I say continued radiation exposure and retention can produce almost a high or destortive effect to cognitive function if left unchecked.

Almost comically, while ghouls have no direct use for RadAway, they can use it to drop this retained radiation. This however is dangerous for Irradiated ghouls...

There is however mentions that radiation exposure can be a risk factor of feralization. We will go into further detail later on, however I will slightly touch on this now.

Concentrated blasts of radiation can be dangerous for both ghoul types, however high radiation exposure over time is more a risk factor for biochemical ghouls going feral than irradiated ghouls. On the other hand, irradiated ghouls using RadAway would put them at a higher risk for going feral. Thankfully this later issue is not something most irradiated ghouls need to consider. Most documented RadAway use in ghouls is for retained radiation regulation for those choosing to stay within human colonies.

Nourishment Requirements:

The wiki seems to be pretty inconsistent with this, so I take this as an invite to shoehorn my theories in. The wiki says that ghouls do need to feed and water themselves to stay alive, however we are given a few instances where this is heavily not the case.

Outright, we are given exceptions to the rule with Coffin Willy, Woody, Billy Peabody (fridge kid), and The Ghoul, all of whom had scenarios of being deprived of food and water and survived for extended periods (and most egregiously is Billy, who was trapped in a fridge starving and thirsty for over 200 years).

This is justified however by them being in "a hibernation like state", however other examples are also the Marked Men, who are said to be sustained off radiation alone. These ghouls are shown to be in an active and alert state. Raul Tejada himself mentions baking in the sun for several days, and while unmoving, had to trek three days back to civilization afterwards. We may see other examples of this through dialogue implications where ghouls may be deprived of food and water needs for durations that would kill a regular human.

I believe however that this can be dangerous for ghouls, especially given our next discussion of feralization.

It is worth noting that the wikia says ghouls have lost their sense of taste. While this may be a common phenomenon, we see it may not necessarily hold true for all ghouls due to comments from ghoul companions regarding flavor preferences. (See: Raul's sweet tooth)

Sterility/Reproduction:

While it is broadly understood that ghouls cannot reproduce, the wiki does not dive into much more detail here. I, however, propose that while radiation as a whole is detrimental to the reproductive system, coupled with the regenerative effects of ghouls, there are some...unfortunate outliers within this topic.

In regards to spermatogenesis, sperm count is at a constant low. Assuming there is anything produced, it is almost always malformed in someway.

In regards to ovum, almost all remaining eggs within the ovaries are considered mutated and non-viable. While menstruation is not unheard of in ghouls, it is more likely to occur in biochemical ghouls. However, all cycles are highly abnormal with next to no regularity. Ghouls will eventually hit a 'menopause' and 'post menopausal' state, however this is not conventional in timeline as with humans.

While viability of either gamete is near non-existent, this doesn't prove absence of fertilization. Most common cases of fertilization is that between human egg cells and ghoul sperm cells. While this often ends with miscarriage in the blastocyst stage, implantation has happened in even rarer cases. Intervention is usually needed as this often is ectopic or produces continual hemorrhage. In even rarer cases, these can produce teratoma type "pregnancies".

Very rarely does a ghoul egg cell get fertilized. It is almost undocumented and it is believed this is due to every instance of fertilization is miscarried before or soon after implantation.

Within the realm of sexual disease, there is few directly infectious agents to worry about between ghouls. However, for ghouls with human partners it is encouraged to use barrier-type protection or other means to limit radiation exposure. Necrotic tissue is also a concern, especially when exposed to mucosa membranes. Exposure of irradiated semen to these membranes is also another large concern for human partners. Condoms are highly encouraged, with rad-checks and use of RadAway being another measure to facilitate healthy measures for these relations.

III. Ferals. What Are They, What Causes Them, And Why Aren't They Attacking Each Other

So let's talk ferals. Aside from the rotting flesh smell and appearance, the threat of going feral is among one of the biggest factors that non mutants use for ostracizing ghouls, and one of the biggest internal threats that ghouls face.

While we understand what causes feralization and know risk factors, what precisely triggers one to turn feral while another doesn't is about as well understood as what makes some go ghoul in the first place.

Feralization is described as a degenerative process of the mind and, in late stages, the body.

In this section we will cover a few things;

1.) Risk factors and how they fluctuate between ghoul sub-types. 2.) Behaviors of ferals 3.) Inter-community treatment of ferals

Risk Factors: What Are They And How They Differ Between Ghoul Subtypes:

We are of the understanding that ghouls can turn feral when experiencing certain physical or mental stressors. These stressors are reported as follows;

Social Isolation Poor Mental State/Intense Emotional Stressors Exposure to Intense Radiation Genetic Factors

While the above are wiki provided risk factors, I have included some of my own accepted risk factors below;

Intense Physical Stressors Extended Periods of Fasting/Dehydration Sudden Decrease in Retained Radiation Substance Withdrawal

First we will address the risk factors that effect both sub-types and discuss how these can pose higher or lower threats based upon the specific biology of said ghouls.

Social isolation, poor mental state/intense emotional stressors, genetic factors, substance withdrawal, intense physical stressors, and extended periods of dehydration/starvation are all things that can trigger feralization in ghouls, however the threshold for such will vary among the individuals.

For irradiated ghouls, exposure to intense radiation is unlikely to be a trigger for feralization unless it is a direct, concentrated blast of radiation. However if there is a sudden decrease in their retained radiation, such as if RadAway is used in high enough doses, then feralization is a much higher concern.

Irradiated ghouls have somewhat of an advantage against starvation/dehydration, as being in areas with a higher ambient radiation can mitigate the ill effects of not eating/drinking.

Biochemical ghouls, however, struggle more with going longer periods of time without sustenance. They are also more vulnerable to continued exposure to high doses of radiation. While it is unfair to include their serum under substance withdrawal, it is also their main means to prevent feralization. However both ghoul types are vulnerable to withdrawal causing them to turn.

Behaviors of Ferals:

It is well known that feral ghouls are a dangerous type, however it is also well known that they do not seem to attack each other nor other ghouls.

If feralization is a degradation of higher cognitive function, how is it then that most feral ghouls know when they are in like company? This is not so well understood, however it has been observed that appearance does play a role but is not a sure fire way to pass through a horde of feral ghouls. One theory I have is that ferals are drawn to radiation and by extension can feel it off other ghoulified beings. This keeps them in a calmer, more contented state. Surprisingly, super mutants seem to also bypass the ire of feral ghouls. The precise reason for this is less understood, however FEV may have some play here. It is known that ferals have heightened senses, perhaps even FEV created mutants have a specific smell that does not trigger a hunt response in feral populations.

In regards to their dangerous behaviors, ferals seem to be driven by hyper aggression and hunger. I will take liberties and a page from the lobotomite handbook, as well as reference how some extensive cognitive degeneration causes hyper sexuality/aggression in some.

However, the less observed side to ferals is one more human. While they never truly seem to know what they are doing, some ghoul colonies that tend their feral population note domestic-like behaviors such as; attempting to clean, cook, perform yard work, tend dolls, or perform duties and adhere to schedules relating to those they had prior to turning feral. Some have even reported that certain ferals "remember" actions such as smoking and will perform this in rudimentary fashion.

Inter-Community Treatment of Ferals:

So now that we know more about feral ghouls, how do they fit into the world? While most of us know them as residing in city ruins, content to stay hidden away from the harshness of the burning sun and light, some have found home amongst ghoul societies.

While non-feral ghouls within mixed colonies may hold less compassionate views of their feral brethren, certain ghoul societies dedicate care and inclusion of ferals into their society. Their exclusion may even be seen as betrayal, and they are as valued and protected as much as any non-feral member.

IV. The Rotting vs Chem-Heads: Interpersonal Politics Within Non-Feral Ghoul Populations

While most people view ghouls as ghouls, and acceptance of them can vary from being seen as equals, to indifference, to outright hostility, the nuance between irradiated ghouls and biochemical ghouls is almost entirely understood exclusively within ghoul populations (or with those that study them).

Unsurprisingly, this has caused some conflicts. While feralization is something that is an assumed inevitable end for all ghouls, the more immediate threat of turning plagues most biochemical ghouls near constantly. This has given some irradiated ghouls a complex that biochemical ghouls are the poster child for why most non-mutant societies fear unprompted feralization.

On the other end, biochemical ghouls will often criticize their irradiated brethren for their appearance and smell being a determining factor for why most people do not welcome ghouls into most spaces.

There is also the discussion of who has suffered more, with irradiated ghouls often citing their endurance of radiation sickness and often continued effects while biochemical ghouls often quote their substance dependency as a constant struggle.

V. In Conclusion:

So surely with all that we have learned so far we understand that there is much more complexity to ghouls than initially thought. I hope you enjoyed my compilation of ideas and stuff I got off the wiki/from gameplay as much as I enjoyed writing it.

If you have any ideas or compilations for ghouls, feel free to drop them in the replies! I look forward to reading them and perhaps even working on another post regarding ghoul social and cultural structures!

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

okay sebastian reacting to mc learing gaelic for him. we know that he probably speaks it due to his parents and being Scottish i just imagine him reacting like that guy when his girlfriend

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DAZlsjsy2mG/?igsh=MWp5NXo5OGJ6Z255cg==

Mo Chridhe | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Ancestry says I'm 0% Scottish but I did my best BAHAH

Words: ~1,700

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Established Relationship, Fluff, Very Fluffy

The soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of bees buzzing around the early blooms filled the courtyard, mingling with the distant chatter of students enjoying the newfound spring weather. You sat cross-legged on the cool stone bench, your Charms textbook open in your lap and a half-finished essay balancing precariously on your knee. The warm sunlight felt good against your skin, a welcome change after the long, dreary winter.

Sebastian, on the other hand, wasn’t paying any attention to his homework.

He lounged beside you, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, one arm draped lazily over the back of the bench as if the very idea of studying offended him. His open Transfiguration book sat abandoned on the ground, pages fluttering slightly in the breeze. Instead of working, he was leaning in close, prodding at your quill with his finger like a bored cat trying to get a reaction.

“Come on,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar, teasing lilt. “How many hours are you planning to spend on that essay? You’ve written enough to fill three scrolls already.”

“Two scrolls,” you corrected without looking up, deftly shifting your quill out of his reach. “And unlike you, I actually plan to finish my assignments before midnight.”

Sebastian let out a dramatic sigh and tilted his head back to squint at the sun, the soft curls of his hair catching the light. “The best ideas come to me under pressure.” He grinned, his gaze shifting to you. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “The only thing I’ve noticed is that you’re terrible at staying on task.”

“I’m excellent at staying on task,” he shot back, straightening up slightly. “And my current task is making sure you don’t spend the whole afternoon scribbling away when you could be enjoying this beautiful weather.”

You glanced up at him then, raising a skeptical brow. "Enjoying the beautiful weather, or entertaining you?"

“Both, obviously,” he said, flashing you that signature smirk—the one he knew was impossible to ignore.

You groaned and went back to your essay, refusing to let him distract you any further. But he didn’t seem to take the hint. Instead, he shifted closer, resting his chin on your shoulder with absolutely no regard for personal space, his woodsy scent wrapping around you like a blanket.

“What’s this one about, then?” he asked, his breath warm against your ear. “Another thrilling analysis of wand movements?"

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “It’s on advanced offensive charms,” you said. “And if you don’t let me focus, I will hex you with one.”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound vibrating softly against your shoulder. “Advanced offensive charms? Why bother writing essays about them when I could just give you a live demonstration.” He lifted his wand and gave it a dramatic twirl, the tip sparking faintly.

You reached out, swiftly catching his wrist before he could attempt anything. "I've had enough detention his month because of your antics, thank you very much."

Sebastian made a show of pouting, his wand still poised in his hand. "Detention builds character, love. Besides, you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our last one—scrubbing those cauldrons gave us plenty of quality time together.”

You raised a brow at him, your lips quirking into a sly smile. "Oh, yes, nothing screams 'quality time' like scrubbing years of potion residue out of the bottom of old cauldrons. Truly romantic."

Sebastian grinned, his chin still resting comfortably on your shoulder. "You’re saying that now, but I distinctly remember you cornering me in the—"

"Alright, alright!" You cut him off, heat rising to your cheeks as you waved your quill at him in warning. "No need to revisit that memory in public, thank you!"

Sebastian’s grin only widened, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “What’s the matter? Embarrassed?” he teased, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’m pretty sure you were the one who—”

“Sebastian,” you interrupted again, trying to keep your voice steady as you pointedly avoided his gaze.

Sebastian's grin turned wolfish as he tugged on your tie, pulling your face closer to his. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his voice dropping into that low, teasing tone that always made your stomach flip. "You know, you’re adorable when you’re flustered," he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin.

You swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your chest. Usually, when he got like this—bold, unrelenting, and utterly incorrigible—you'd be left scrambling for a retort, something, anything, to wipe that smirk off his face. But not today.

Today, you were prepared.

Ever since you'd overheard Sebastian mention, offhandedly, how his parents used to speak Gaelic when he was young, you’d been secretly learning the language. He’d spoken of it with an odd mix of nostalgia and melancholy, lamenting how rare it was to hear it anymore. That wistfulness had stayed with you, and you’d spent countless late nights practicing phrases in secret, waiting for the perfect moment to surprise him.

And now, with him leaning so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him, you seized your opportunity.

You smiled sweetly, letting your fingers curl around the hand still gripping your tie. Then, in a voice as calm and steady as you could manage, you said, “Sguir dheth.”

Sebastian froze, his grip on your tie going slack as his eyes went wide. For a moment, he just blinked at you, completely thrown off. It was rare to see him so utterly speechless, and you relished every second of it.

“What did you just say?” he finally asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You tilted your head innocently, your lips curving into a sly smile. “What’s the matter? Don’t recognize your own roots?”

He gawked at you, his expression cycling rapidly between shock, amazement, and something that looked like pride. “You—you’re speaking Gaelic?” he sputtered, his voice rising. Then, before you could respond, he sprang up from the bench, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’re speaking Gaelic! You learned Gaelic!”

You leaned back, raising a brow at his sudden burst of energy. “A little bit.”

“For me?” he demanded, his grin splitting so wide it could’ve rivaled the Cheshire Cat’s. He dragged a hand through his hair, looking equal parts stunned and giddy. “I don’t believe it. You—you actually learned Gaelic. Do you have any idea how bloody amazing that is?”

You laughed, caught off guard by his sheer enthusiasm. “It’s not that big of a deal, Sebastian—”

“Not that big of a deal?” he interrupted, throwing his hands in the air as if you’d just said the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Are you mad? No one speaks it anymore! I don’t even speak it anymore! And you—Merlin, you—you just casually drop it on me like it’s nothing?!”

He sat back down beside you with a thud, his excitement undiminished. He leaned in close, his hands gripping your shoulders now as if to steady himself. “Say something else,” he demanded, his eyes alight with curiosity and joy. “Come on, anything!”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, his boyish excitement infectious. “Tha thu nad amadán mòr,” you said, your tone teasing.

Sebastian’s jaw dropped, and then he burst into a loud, delighted laugh, throwing his head back as he practically doubled over. “You just called me an idiot!” he said, between wheezing laughs. “Unbelievable. You go through all the trouble of learning my ancestral language, and the first thing you do is insult me.”

“Seemed appropriate,” you said with a shrug, biting back a grin. “You make it so easy.”

Sebastian shook his head, still laughing as he pulled you into his chest. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended,” he said, still grinning.

“Just be flattered,” you said, your voice softer now. “You seemed so nostalgic when you mentioned it, and I thought… I don’t know. Maybe it would make you happy.”

He pulled back then, his teasing demeanor softening as his gaze searched yours. “Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You—you didn’t have to do this. Gaelic, Merlin. I’m never going to shut up about this.”

You searched his face, your breath hitching as your eyes caught the faint shimmer of unshed tears pooling in his. It was barely there—so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t been looking—but it struck you like a bolt. Sebastian’s usually self-assured confidence had softened, leaving behind something raw, unguarded, and achingly sincere.

Gently, you reached up, letting your fingers graze his cheek in a tender, grounding touch. “Of course I’d do this for you,” you murmured. “I’d do anything for you, mo chridhe.”

At that, a tear slipped free, trailing down Sebastian's cheek, though he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Merlin's beard,” he murmured, his voice muffled but filled with warmth. “How am I ever supposed to top this?”

You laughed softly, your arms winding around him in return as you rested your chin on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. You always do.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his grin returning through the lingering emotion. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his tone lighter now but no less genuine. “But first, I’m going to spend the rest of the day telling everyone who’ll listen that you learned Gaelic for me. Everyone.”

“Sebastian, no—”

“Oh, absolutely yes,” he said, his grin turning wicked. “And you’ll just have to live with it, mo chridhe.”

You groaned, but the fondness in your expression betrayed you. “Fine. But don’t expect me to bail you out when Ominis gets annoyed.”

“Worth it,” he said, pulling you close again and pressing his forehead against yours. “Completely worth it.”

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Who Started It? Who Cares?

(Or, basically, if both Bucky and Steve are asleep when the shenanigans start, is it still considered somnophilia, or are they just too horny to function?)

Dim, cool morning light swims through the tangled dark kelp of Bucky's fluttering, almost-caught-together eyelashes as the delicate muscles in his face twitch and quiver. Slowly waking, his eyes open once, twice, and then a third time. Blinking, blinking, blinking. Blurry as the world is, so early this morning, Bucky knows by the pools of light spreading on their mused, rucked-up sheets that it is morning. The sun, beyond the cocoon of their calm bedroom oasis, sits just barely half on the horizon, curled up and purring like a well-fed cat. Friendly. Welcoming Bucky home.

Bucky's awake, teased out of sleep by seemingly nothing at all. Except, soon, the moment breaks and Bucky's lounging mind becomes roused enough from its slumber to know that, well, maybe one thing woke him up after all.

It's not so much that the mattress squeaks, silence pads his ears, and so that isn't what pulled him to consciousness. But, the way the mattress dips softly and shudders excitedly beneath Bucky's limp, heavy body says enough to compensate for the lack of sound. The way the bed quakes underneath him is loud enough, running its mouth to a rhythm almost musical. It's singing and Bucky's body is starting to hum a melody alongside it. Pulled out of sleep by the howl.

Steve's body is moving.

Rocking.

Grinding.

Thrusting.

Steve's big, impressive body is lying in front of Bucky's with his back flush to Bucky's chest while his lower half squirms and wriggles. 'Wriggles' might not even be a good enough word for it, though, 'cause, Jesus, his hips roll so smoothly that before Bucky even registers the encircled, warm fingers trapping his wrist, his body flushes hot.

Hot as hell.

Heat, sticky and pink washes through Bucky, sweeping him out to sea. Oh. Bucky doesn't flounder or struggle but lets the current lap at him instead. Every wave is a thousand tongues against his naked body. All his warming, fever-mounting skin is half-caught in the fisherman's net of their bedsheets.

Steve is grinding against him. Moving. His hips. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. His, his--

Oh.

It only just hits him. On a delay, after the tsunami of heat, he realizes that Steve has his hand--more accurately, his wrist.

Those lovely, entrancing artist's fingers are curled around Bucky's sleep-limp wrist, barely holding on. Steve's almost limp himself, but he's grasping just enough to keep Bucky's arm in place. And he's got ahold of his hand to hold it just so in front of his hard fucking dick, making Bucky give him a fast-asleep hand job.

That tsunami builds higher. The wave building. Crashing onto shore. He's so down for this, giving his hand away to Steve for his filthy desires. Any time Steve gets worked up enough to get a little selfish is so fucking sexy. The way he gets growly and rough with his teeth grazing his skin, unashamed as he leaves sizzling marks behind, taking chunks of him, biting him down to size to put him in his mouth or use however he likes. Fucking him. Sucking him. Torturing him. Anything he wants.

Anything.

Steve ruts sloppily into his captive hand, keeping his hand at dick-level for all these selfish, dirty proposes despite how Bucky's woken up. Normally, he would have some level of shame. He wouldn't just keep it up.

Jesus.

How worked up must he be then? How long has this been going on? Has he spent hours agonizing over every sleep-twitch, waiting for Bucky to wake up, throbbing harder and harder, anticipating every minute that that will be the minute Bucky wakes and teases him for getting so hard, you dirty fucking dog. What a pervert, fucking my hand even when I didn't give you permission. Bastard.

Bucky's whole body ripples like the surface of a pond, a stone thrown into the middle of it. Suddenly, he can't resist sneaking a little grope, just for himself, squeezing his just-woken hand around Steve's cock.

Steve lazily, shamelessly moans to himself, grinding looser, rough around the edges at the pleasure gets to him.

Steve's heavy and hot in his hand, dripping into his palm, leaving him so slick and wet it can't be contained. Steve's pre-cum rolls down his wrist and spills over the sides of his palm, getting stickily onto the sheet.

Fuck, he loves this dick.

Bucky squeezes a little harder, so unspeakably turned on to have a handful of cock. He could purr. Damn, he's so fucking tempted to drag his hand down and get a feel for those full, taut balls, but, clearly, Steve's got a craving this morning. He needs attention to his dick. Bucky will take a detour a little later... much later. After he gets this fat dick in him.

Unable to stand the thick silence for another second, Bucky groans, his voice rough with sleep, "Christ, Rogers, can't you jus' get in me, already? We're too old for this kinda teasin', darlin'," Bucky can't stifle his deep, vibrating chuckle, "jus' gimmie that dick."

He's expecting to hear an answering laugh, getting some quick snark back that turns into kissing and kissing that turns into licking into each other's mouths and filthy licking that turns into moaning, mouths wet and open, lips-to-lips, useless and too hot to properly lock-lips any longer. Bucky isn't expecting--

"Huhh?"

--the big, dumb oaf to jolt sluggishly under his arm, the weight of it draped around his waist, hand cupping his way too fucking hot cock, but not restraining him. Leaving him free to push his hips forward boldly while his empty head lulls back, a sexy, sleepy little grin on his lush mouth, slurred words groggy as ever, "ohhhfuh-fuck," his throat clicks as he swallows, throat thick, tongue too big for his big mouth, "g'mornin' to you, too, Buck."

It takes a minute to register in Bucky's head, he's a little preoccupied with the cock in his hand, okay?

But the pause is long enough to give Steve's big mouth room to run farther, "have your way with me, why don't ya," he murmurs through a jaw-cracking yawn.

Wait.

He was fucking asleep?

This whole time?

"You dog," Bucky growls, overcome with a cruel kind of arousal, venomous and coiling. He's ready to pounce, his claws are out. He's hissing, groping cruelly at Steve's fat, twitching dick and pushing his own erect cock straight into that fat ass. "You, you--" he pants, losing his train of thought to honey-thick arousal "--you don't get to blame me for this. You fuckin', you took my hand and were humping me! Don't turn this around on me."

"Dunno, don't you want me to turn it around or is it one of them times--two times a year--you wanna do me?" Steve, the son of a bitch, snarks back, twisting the curved length of his pale, gorgeous throat around to narrow his eyes at him.

Staring, hot for it, he flickers a look down to his mouth.

Bucky snarls and then they're just fucking devouring each other.

Teeth and lips and tongue.

They're helpless. They can't even keep their hands off each other when both of them are fast asleep. They're gonna be here, twisted up in bed, until the sun is hanging high over the horizon.

Jesus.

[pascaloverx]

BABYBOY

PREVIEW: NICHOLAS CHAVEZ x READER

Author's Note: As a test to see if this fanfic might resonate with others besides myself, I’ve decided to share a preview with you all. If you enjoy it, please leave a comment! I haven’t yet decided whether I’ll continue writing it. This fanfic is for those who’d love to imagine themselves in a romance with Nicholas Chavez. I should warn you that there’s a possibility the reader might get involved with Nicholas while he’s still in a relationship with someone else, though nothing is set in stone yet.

AO3 link one

PREVIEW

You are utterly doomed—there is simply no other way to describe your situation. As most of your groceries tumble to the floor, you realize you've locked your boss's dog inside his luxurious apartment. What a splendid mess.

"Baby! Baby, don't get upset. I'll rescue you as soon as..." You shove your hands into your pants pockets but fail to find the cursed key. You now remember leaving the keys on the counter right after ushering Baby inside the apartment to fetch the groceries you'd left in the hallway.

"Damn it! I'm screwed, absolutely screwed," you exclaim loudly. Normally, in a posh building full of important people like this, you would temper your voice. But your boss is the sole tenant on this floor—or so you thought until you see a half-dressed man emerge from the apartment across the hall, visibly alarmed.

"My goodness, is everything all right?" he asks, stepping closer with genuine concern etched across his face.

"Not exactly. My boss's dog is locked inside the apartment," you reply, doing your best not to focus on the fact that he is nearly naked, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, and instead on the sound of the puppy barking. "Baby, I'll rescue you soon. No need to stress. Just listen to my voice and stay calm," you say to the dog, who seems to settle down.

"Excuse me, but did you leave a dog or an actual baby inside the apartment?" The man—who, you must admit, is very attractive—asks in a deep voice.

"There’s no time to clarify that. Baby has anxiety. He’ll get overly stressed, start chewing on himself, and lose his fur. When that happens, my job will be out the window. And poor thing, he’s so cute. Could you please help me?" you plead, trying to keep your nerves under control. Your boss devastatingly handsome neighbor flashes you a roguish smile, as if considering his options.

"Wouldn't it be better to call a locksmith?" he suggests, stepping closer to the door, testing how securely it’s locked.

"That would be ideal, but by the time a locksmith gets here, Baby will either be in a stress-induced coma or have eaten the few groceries left on the floor within reach. So, I’m begging you, emotional support hot guy, help me out here," you implore, your voice edging toward desperation. Your hand clings to his arm in a bid to either earn his sympathy—or steal a moment to enjoy the feel of him.

"That leaves us with only one option. Breaking down the door would certainly solve one problem, but it would undoubtedly create another, wouldn't it?" he asks, as though he already knows the answer—which, of course, he does. Yes, it would create a problem, but you're confident you can have the door fixed quickly, thanks to the connections you've gained as your boss's employee. However, your boss would never forgive you if anything happened to the dog.

"No offense, but I'm willing to take the risk. Please, break down the door and save my day," you reply, gazing into his bright, beautiful brown eyes. He hesitates, but as Baby's barking grows more insistent, he relents. Adjusting his stance to attempt the feat, you suddenly realize the absurdity of him doing this while nearly naked.

"Perhaps you might want to put on some clothes—" you begin, but before you can finish, he’s already forced the door open with the strength of Hercules. Baby bolts out of the apartment, tail wagging joyfully, heading straight into the arms of your boss's attractive neighbor.

"I think he’s grateful for the rescue," the neighbor says, remarkably still holding onto the towel around his waist.

"He's probably upset that I left him alone and is punishing me," you reply, pouting slightly to appeal to the dog’s sympathy. For a moment, Baby whimpers as you pet him, but he soon relents and accepts your affection. When the neighbor, now standing upright, lifts the dog to hand him back to you, his towel slips to the floor. Your eyes catch the sight of his completely bare physique before you instinctively cover them with your hands.

"I believe it’s best if you take the dog while I go put on some clothes," he says, his tone tinged with embarrassment. You stifle a laugh, the memory of the divine sight you just witnessed lingering in your mind.

"I mean, I’d love to, but I’d have to open my eyes, and that would mean seeing your body—practically carved by Greek sculptors—and I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable," you reply, keeping your eyes tightly shut. He chuckles softly, the sound deep and surprisingly pleasant. "Is that your way of saying I look like a Greek god?" he asks, clearly entertained.

You flush with embarrassment, realizing how disastrous your attempt at flirting must have sounded. "Horrible pickup line, right? I get flustered in situations like this," you confess, desperately trying to figure out how to grab the dog without accidentally disrespecting his modesty—or making things even more awkward.

"Here’s the plan," you suggest, "you pass Baby to me while I raise my arms, and I promise to keep my eyes closed the entire time." Determined to maintain your composure, you steel yourself, mentally repeating your goal: focus on the dog, nothing else.

He carefully places Baby into your hands, and you hold the little dog close. When you finally open your eyes, the neighbor is no longer there. With a sigh of relief, you decide to gather the scattered groceries and put everything in order. Once done, you prepare Baby’s special food and, to make up for the ordeal, give him a soothing massage.

When Baby finally drifts off to sleep, you remember the chocolate cake you had baked earlier. Grabbing a slice, you head to the handsome neighbor’s apartment.

"I know you might be feeling embarrassed, but I brought you a piece of chocolate cake as a thank-you," you say, holding out the dish between the two of you.

The man looks at you with a warm smile, taking the dish from your hands. His hands are surprisingly soft.

"I wasn’t embarrassed, just busy," he replies with an intriguing charm. "But I’ll enjoy your cake and let you know—you owe me a coffee."

"Am I interrupting you?" you ask, curious about what—or who—has been keeping him occupied. "Wait, how exactly do I owe you a coffee?"

Your curiosity seems to amuse the man before you, who leans casually against his open door, holding the dish with the chocolate cake in hand.

"The cake covers the rescue," he says with a teasing smirk. "But the coffee? That’s for the striptease I unintentionally performed for you earlier. Seems fair to me." His mischievous gaze lingers on you, playful yet bold.

You stifle a chuckle, tilting your head as you meet his eyes. "I suppose we’ll save the coffee for another time since you’re clearly occupied. But I’ll consider your case, emotional support hot guy," you quip, your tone light as you attempt to sneak a peek inside his apartment.

His home is as stylish as you might have imagined, the kind of space that exudes effortless charm. The soft strains of music playing in the background suggest he’s not alone, perhaps entertaining someone he hopes to impress. His lips curl into a knowing smile, as if catching your subtle glance inside. "You’ve got a sharp eye, don’t you? Careful, or I might think you’re more interested in my life than the coffee."

"Who wouldn’t be curious?" you reply, flashing a playful grin before stepping back toward your own door. "Enjoy the cake."

"Hey, I feel like we’ve skipped a few steps. If we’re going to keep running into each other, it’s probably important that we know more than the fact that you’re terrible with locks and I ended up naked in front of you," he says, stepping closer with a hint of interest in his eyes.

"My name is Nicholas," he continues, extending his hand toward you. You reach out to shake it, but instead, he lifts your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on its back.

"Y/N," you reply, feeling a little flustered by the gesture. "But I doubt we’ll see each other that much. I’ll probably be fired soon after all of this."

"I hope you keep your job—and your spot across from my apartment. I think I’ve grown attached to Baby," Nicholas says with a grin, his voice laced with an undeniable charm. "And don’t forget, you still owe me that coffee."

You can’t ignore the spark of chemistry between you, though you tell yourself it’s probably just your imagination. "Wish me luck, nudist neighbor," you reply with a small smirk. "And if you ever need career advice, you might have a future as a professional striptease artist." The words escape your lips before you can fully process them, leaving you both embarrassed and bold. Without waiting to see his reaction, you step back into your boss’s apartment, closing the door behind you. As you wait for the locksmith to fix the damaged door, you can’t help but replay the encounter in your mind, a smile tugging at your lips.

[coquettebratzdoll]

LOOPHOLE METHOD

This idea came to me randomly, but it makes soooo much sense when you think about it. To preface, while there is no such thing as limiting beliefs, they can be created and, therefore, hinder your progress. To be clear, I believe that "limiting beliefs" limit your perception rather than your abilities. You will always be able to do anything and everything you desire, but limiting beliefs warp your perception, building an imaginary glass wall between you and that desire.

Most people advise to work through them: reprogram your mind, ignore these beliefs, instill new ones, et cetera. However, for those of you who feel stuck, hopeless, and/or frustrated, don't give up hope. If you haven't found any success with the above recommendations (which is also just an assumption but moving on), why don't you work with what you have? Instead of strongarming a whole new belief system or self concept into your life, make use of the tools you have in a creative way.

Do you think that you "can't manifest"? Okay, maybe you can't but what about the universe or another higher power? What about a magical notebook which you can write any desires and know that they will come to you? "Can't shift"? Same deal. Every time you sleep, something else shifts you.

This is such a good loophole because you aren't really changing your old beliefs, only reframing them to be useful to you. It is a good way to reduce resistance to the belief since it is framed in a way that you recognise while also carrying a beneficial belief. (Kinda roundabout - I'm aware - but if you insist on holding beliefs that only hinder you, at least you can use them as stepping stones for better beliefs. Conditional? Yes. Useful? Also yes.)

Next time you get frustrated, listen to what you're telling yourself. Maybe even write them down somewhere. Then, use those beliefs as a base to make your loophole belief. Use the LRL formula to do so:

"Ugh, I'm so bad at this! I'll never get better" (limiting belief: L)

"If I can never get better, maybe something else can?" (reflection: R)

"I can't get better, but my technique gets better every time I try" (loophole: L)

007 | prev post | next post  | master list

[jayden-killer]

Aftermath.

Eddie's death took a huge toll on you and his uncle.

warnings: mentions of death, hints of depression, bad language.

A/N: jeez. I didn't want to, but I had to.👀 It's gonna be long, so grab the tissues. Also, my taglist is now open! If you want to be tagged in my next upcoming stories, comment below!

The feeling of emptiness that I was experiencing at that moment was not comparable to anything else in the world. Without emotion, my eyes did not move from the coffin placed around the attendees, arranged in a circle. Not many people showed up to Eddie’s funeral: his uncle, Dustin, Steve, Robin, Nancy, the friends from the Hellfire, a long-time friend of his, Ronnie, moved to New York to study. I was there too.

I didn’t mind getting dressed up well for the occasion. Why would I? On one hand, I know Eddie would have wished for the opposite, but on the other hand it was impossible for me to make the slightest effort. It had become impossible for me to try to carry on a healthy routine. Fiddling with my cold fingers, my gaze shifted to his uncle. Wayne Munson was wearing a black suit. I read on him the anger, sadness, pain, despondency and regret that characterized his gaze. A real sea of emotions. The bags under his eyes had become more prominent; he hadn’t even thought of shaving. I noticed that the silver beard had become much thicker since the accident. Dustin instead cried in silence, sometimes trying to contain himself, in vain. A few days after Eddie died he told me that he would have taken his place. That he should have thought of a plan B, that he should have gone with him to fight those monsters. "I made an appointment with a good tattoo artist. I will replicate his bat tattoo," he said with a forced smile. But of course. He didn’t want to show how hard he hit him.

Fuck. My fingers were tingling again. They felt the desire to hold something. Someone. I promised myself not to cry. I promised not to be so vulnerable, not to give in. However, how can I not give in when I know that my beloved is now about to be buried underground and I will no longer have the chance of having him here next to me?

Me too. I would have taken his place too, Dustin.

It seems like an eternity since Eddie was buried. The funeral had been held in a secluded area of the cemetery to prevent citizens of Hawkins breaking in with torches and forks. As a result, Eddie’s own grave lay far away from the heights, in a small hill. Just for safety and to avoid imminent vandalism. Unfortunately, this solution did not last long. There are those who had discovered where it was. So, when I happened to visit it, there was no lack of decorated inscriptions on the stone, in capital letters, like "satanist" or "burn in hell". Can’t even a dead man have some peace? I cleaned it from top to bottom, changed the faded flowers, tried to keep it in place each single time. The stupid people of this shitty town didn’t seem to want to give up. Even today it didn’t seem to be any different.

I inhaled and exhaled, kneeling on the ground and gently passing a hand over the red paint-soiled stone. This time they used a can. Even worse. I don’t think it will come off so easily. They had even left him some weeds that emanated a nauseating smell. Probably piss. "You are shits" It came out with disgust, not too low. I wanted to be heard.

At that moment I listened carefully. The steps became closer and closer until the mysterious figure turned around me. I recognized him from his build.

"Sooner or later they’ll stop." That’s all his uncle Wayne said, placing a bouquet of mixed flowers on his tombstone. He seemed… changed. I don’t know if to say in positive or negative; surely he had thinned his beard and fixed his hair. He also seemed to have lost a few pounds. I looked away, shook my head in sign of surrender. "For me it is absurd. Persecuted even by death". Wayne pulled out of a small bag he had with him a damp sponge. He scraped the stone and I noticed that the colour was coming off. Maybe it wasn’t as I thought. There was a tense silence; the only noise was the occasional passing of cars from afar, the chirping of birds. I feared that I had made a mistake in uttering that phrase, not until his eyes were on me. However, I saw him soften.

"Sooner or later they will tire themselves," he began, breaking into two the silence that enveloped us until a few moments ago, "and realize that it was not worth pouring all this hatred on an innocent boy."

Innocent.

Eddie was just that. Throughout his life he had always been mistaken for the criminal on duty, the one who performed sacrifices in the most remote classroom of the school and enjoyed doing so, but Eddie had never been anything like that. He was the boy who wanted to indulge in warm caresses and hugs after a busy day at school. He was the boy I admired because he could get in on the ball when it was necessary. He was the boy who showed love in the most unconventional way ever. He was just a boy mistaken for a sheep disguised as a wolf. The scapegoat of a city built on ignorance and skepticism towards others.

I swallowed with difficulty, taking a seat closer to his uncle, contemplating the stone now washed. Wayne then turned his eyes to me, and it was that look that caused a heartbreak. I could see through the dark irises of the mature man my dearest boyfriend, as if he had never left. This made me burst into tears and I did not try to stop myself as my body trembled from the sobs. I was so caught up in crying that I didn’t notice even Wayne did the same. With a hand pressed to the face, he sobbed, letting the tears flow on his cheeks and then fall on the ground below us, squeezing with force the sponge still moist. Immediately my thoughts went to him and the relationship he had with Eddie. Eddie himself confessed to me one summer evening that he was very close to his uncle, to consider him as a father. "Even if I never say it openly, I love my uncle very much" I remember that he said it to me with a mixture of sweetness, calm and affection, still feeling his ringed fingers massaging the base of my head.

He continued by telling me how his father, a very selfish guy called Al Munson, had abandoned him more than once, returning when the need arose. Wayne disapproves of his behavior, considering his brother a real thorn in the side and a bad example of father. When Al was arrested, Wayne had decided despite Eddie’s eighteen-year-old age that he should still go live with him. He did not lack anything: a modest roof, food, clothes. "Wayne will like you, you’ll see. Initially it is very on his own, but when you start to know him, he becomes unstoppable. He has a great repertoire of jokes". "Ah, so now I understand who you got it from!" I reply immediately, laughing heartly.

Eddie threw his head back, bursting into a genuine laugh that made my heart beat faster. How I would have liked to hear that melodious sound again.

It was too late by now.

Eddie was dead and the only consolation left was to share an excruciating pain with his uncle. Wayne Munson held me close to him; I let him do it. I was not the type of person who would be easily embraced, let alone by a man three times my age, but at that moment he felt the need. In the graveyard resounded our cries, our emotion, our sorrow for a person who would never return. A draft of wind ran through my bare arms. At the center of the stone laid an animal, a bat. A bat with dark fur, scratching his head with the back claw. With my eyes clouded by tears, I looked at the beast in confusion. Impossible. If reincarnation existed, then it meant that Eddie…

Eddie never left. Perhaps it was now his task to watch over us, to make sure that we did not indulge too much in the sea of despair that had accompanied us during that seemingly endless time. I didn’t call Wayne in time that the animal spread its wings, flying away elsewhere. A bat… with the sun so high. It had to be a sign. It was him. It might have been difficult to surface so fast. Eddie was here, though. Spiritually, he was there. And we would return to the shore successfully. Not today, not tomorrow, but we would reach it. I will never forget the true love of my life. And Wayne will never forget the son he loves.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @cowboylikemunson @zanate-in-the-stars @jeangeniex

[mikkomacko]

stopp that was so cute. now i’m thinking of reader helping luke get ready for a first date and she’s like nico’s pretty romantic why don’t you ask him for advice too

“Guys?”

Nico looks up from the mixing bowl of cream cheese frosting, pausing his whisking when he notices the way Luke is anxiously holding onto the edges of his shirt.

Perched on the counter where you were previously watching over his baking, you now share a concerned look before looking to Luke, forcing an airy smile.

“What’s up Lukey?” You ask, and the boy makes a weird twitchy motion with his arms, tentatively stepping further into the kitchen.

“Can I ask you guys something?”

“You just did,” Nico says, wincing when you smack at his shoulder. You give a look, Nico placing his mixing spoon against the edge of the bowl and standing up straight.

“Of course you can,” you amend, waving him into the kitchen. Luke takes a nervous breath, treading lightly as he leans his elbows onto the bar stools across from you too.

“I think I have a date.” He says, eyebrows pinching together and Nico almost laughs. If the energy in here weren’t so serious he might. How does he not know if he has a date or not?

“That’s great Luke!” You gasp, slipping off the edge of the counter and leaning onto it instead, eager to hear all the details.

“I just…” Luke cringes, “haven’t really been on a date. What do I like wear or take her to do?”

For the umpteenth time in his life, Nico thanks the universe you’re here because he’s gone his fair of dates, but they’ve all been with you. And by the time he actually took you on a date, he’d been sleeping with you for months.

“Well do you have any ideas of what you’d want to do?” You ask gently and Luke, helpless, shakes his head.

“What did you guys do?”

Two pairs of eyes fall on him, Luke’s begging and yours overly fond. Like just the question of a first date has you giggling and blushing remembering the one he shared with you.

“I mean, it was different for us,” Nico explains carefully, and out of the corner of his eyes he sees your form rise, arms crossing over your chest as you await his next words.

“We’d been seeing each other for a bit before we went on a date,” he continues, “so she knew a lot about me and my life.”

“You still had to plan a date though, right?” Luke prods and Nico nods. “So what was it?”

“A boat ride.” He says and at the same time you respond, “Lego building.”

The kitchen goes silent, you and Nico both turning to each other with confused gazes. Almost offended, you jab a finger into his apron covered chest. “That’s our first date to you?!”

He scoffs, “You accept Legos as a date?”

“Yes,” you frown, “you went all out for it. There were candles and you made a little pallet on the floor with pillows and we had wine. That’s romantic!”

“A sunset boat ride with dinner is romantic.” He counters.

“You did a lot of romantic things!” You defend, “Maybe you don’t know it because Mr. Stone cold Mafia Boss couldn’t admit he had a heart, but we were dating long before that boat ride.”

Nico pauses because you’re right technically. He did have those Lego nights with you, the ones with cheesy movies and takeout and wine as his way of dating you without admitting to himself he was dating you. And while they were so fun and some of his favorite moments with you, he never saw them as dates. Never saw them as anything good enough to be labeled a date, especially not for you.

“I mean, it was just legos. That’s not special enough to be a date right?”

Your features soften, eyes going all moony.

“You thought I was building Lego’s with a fuck buddy Hisch? Some of those legos are still in this house.”

He can feel his neck getting warm, embarrassed that this conversation is happening in front of Luke of all people.

“I-I don’t know. Sometimes we fucked afterwards.”

Luke makes a gagging noise. “Alright stop. Obviously we’ve got a mix up here which is what I’m trying to avoid-“ he pointedly looks at Nico. “How did you know it was a date?”

It’s directed at you this time, and you turn to Luke with a cute little shrug. “I mean it’s Nico. It’s obvious when something means something to him and that night he just…was different. It felt different, it felt like a date.”

Luke blinks, staring at you in disbelief. “I think you’re the only person that can describe a Nico emotion as obvious.”

You laugh a little, bumping your hip against Nico’s and he can’t help but grab at your waist, pulling you into his side. He had no idea you knew, that you saw him that wholly even back then. When he was still playing denial games with his heart, you knew it all.

“I can’t believe you accepted a first date that was that lame.” He teases, his heart fluttering in his chest. “If it were with anyone else but me, I’d say you should’ve ran.”

You pinch at his side, shaking your head in amusement. “I had fun with you,” you say earnestly, “and it was intimate. You and me. I remember thinking that night that there was no way you were actually a mob boss, that the person in front of me building floral Lego’s could kill someone.”

Nico blushes, shrugging bashfully. He never thought of it that way. That was one of the first times you saw him as just him, off guard in the privacy of his secure home, without the haze of lust or sex.

It was intimate, raw feeling. Hell he had picked Lego’s in the first place because he was so nervous he didn’t know what to do with his hands, needing something to keep them busy.

“Well why’d you say the boat ride?”

A little startled, Nico looks to Luke, having completely forgotten he was there in the first place.

“Well when I told her I was picking her up that night, it was the first big thing I had ever planned. I mean, I had to do reservations and plan food and what to wear and if it would be a day that worked with her schooling. It was just a big deal and I thought you deserved a first date that was a big deal. Special ya know?”

Luke’s mouth is open. “Wait you rented a whole boat with dinner for a first date?”

“Umm yeah?”

His voice is a pitch higher when he rushes out, “well I can’t do that! I can’t pull off the mafioso, rich first date!”

You laugh, holding out two hands in a calming motion. “You don’t have to go big Luke,” you ease him. “You can find a good middle. To Nico, Legos were too small for a first date. To me, a private boat ride was too big for a first date. But it worked because it was meant to be.”

Luke lets out a whiny huff. “I think I’m even more confused. I mean Nico pulled you doing both of those and he didn’t even realize it. So what do I do?”

“Ok,” you say thoughtfully, “just pick something that’ll make you comfortable, something familiar. And just fine tune the details, make them romantic or personal. That’s what makes it’s a date.”

“Intentional,” Nico adds, “you gotta show her that you put some effort in without having to say it. Because if you say it-“

“Well then you’re just cocky.” You finish for him. “For example, the Lego date, I loved it because it was different. It was something I hadn’t done with Nico before and it was just light and sweet. But I loved the boat ride too because it was when I knew things had changed for him.”

Curiously, Nico nudges you. “You knew I was serious then?”

You bite your lip a bit, nodding. “Yeah. I mean you had trimmed your beard and you were wearing actual nice clothes. And no hat. I remember almost tripping over my feet when I saw you because you just looked so…romantic.”

Nico had trimmed his beard for that. And he’d agonized over what to wear, what looked casual enough to not freak you out but nice enough for you to know it was a date. And he’d even gotten a hair cut, though it seems like you hadn’t noticed.

“You looked nice too,” he reminisces, “your sundress and the way you had your hair. I thought you looked like a Bond girl or something, all pretty on a yacht with me.”

You don’t say anything to him, but you lean into his side, cheeks tinging pink. Letting out an airy breath, you look to Luke again.

“What was your idea for the date?”

He shrugs. “Ice skating maybe? I know I’m at least good at it and then if I get nervous I don’t have to actually be looking right at her ya know?”

“Oh that’s perfect!” You compliment, lacing your hands together with excitement. “It’s the perfect balance of sweet but innocent.”

“Casual,” Nico adds thinking of the Lego date, “but romantic too.” Like the boat date.

“Really?” Luke asks incredulously. “You think it’s ok?”

“She’ll love it,” you assure. “Just do the classic love story, clichés ok? That’s where the magic is.”

Nico bites back a laugh when Luke’s expression turns helpless again. “What do you mean? Clichés?”

And oh god Nico can’t take this anymore.

“Look Luke,” he says, that bit of mob authority dripping into his tone. “It’s a date, one you planned and are taking the lead on. So show her that. You gotta be…a man. And not in a douchey, toxic way. You just need to make sure she feels seen, paid attention to.”

“Safe,” you say softly, “hold her hand when you’re skating so she won’t fall. And make sure she’s wearing her seatbelt in the car. That her jacket or gloves or whatever are warm enough. Stuff like that.”

Luke nods. “Like tying her skates for her?”

Nico smiles. “Yeah that’s perfect. And speaking from experience, make sure she’s not hungry or thirsty or whatever. You don’t have to be overbearing, but as long as she knows you care and you’re paying attention, it’ll work out.”

He seems more relaxed when he looks between you two, no longer fidgeting and nervously twitching. “Feed her too? That’s not like too much? Dinner and skating?”

Nico groans in disbelief. “No it’s not too much. Just take my card and you can borrow one of the nice cars, and make sure she’s comfortable, ok?”

Luke nods, then turns to you. “Can I get ready here? Like you’ll help me with my hair and stuff?”

“Of course,” you smile warmly, “I’d love to.”

You both give him a minute, his gaze on the counter top as he takes everything in but then he’s standing up straight, nodding his head with a new found confidence. “Ok, yeah. Thanks guys.”

“No problem bud,” Nico says and you both silently watch as he makes his way back to the living room where the other boys are.

“He’s going to throw up isn’t he?” You ask

“Oh yeah,” Nico agrees, propping his hip against the counter so he can look at you. “Maybe I shouldn’t have offered one of our cars.”

You laugh, smile all beautiful and eyes bright and soft. Even with him covered in powdered sugar residue and smears of dried cake batter, and you press into his chest.

“The Legos,” Nico murmurs, “they were a date. I just didn’t want you to know that. Thinking that I gave you a cheap first date or something. But it was a date to me too.”

“I was in college Nico,” you say, “Lego’s were not a cheap date to me.”

Chuckling to himself, Nico leans down to press his lips to yours.

“The boat ride,” you murmur against his mouth and he hums in acknowledgment, palming at your hips. “You did look so good. So good I wanted to fuck you on the deck of the boat.”

Smirking, he pecks your lips again. “Yeah baby I know.”

But you didn’t and he didn’t either. Because it was romantic and sweet and everything a perfect date should be.