#<- tentatively establishing this tag For The Future

[high-voltage-rat]

man okay so I used to play mechquest and dragonfable back in like, 2008 when I was a kid with very little patience to follow a storyline. coming back as an adult and finishing mechquest has absolutely slapped me silly with how deep and serious the story is in between all the absurdist humour. I have. so many emotions over the whole storyline, and especially so many thoughts about the unique form of tragedy that is The Reset.

You save the world but it's not the world anymore. You and your friends survive but you don't know each other anymore- have nothing left of the lives you fought to keep. You 'save' everything but it's still all gone. Everything you knew and loved, gone, and you don't even know what you've lost. You can't even keep the memory of what you had- and that's almost kinder compared to being one of the 3ish people who DO remember... and have to live around everyone else who doesn't, knowing their closest friends look at them and see a stranger, and that they may as well be because they aren't that person they remember being.

And to top it all off, that terrible sacrifice doesn't even end it. you're still left fighting impossible and devastating wars over and over. It's the tragedy of doomed time loops with extra layers of devastating all over the place. The GEARS University students being forced to become soldiers because they're all that's left to protect their homeworld. The horrors of the Shadowscythe virus taking over friends and loved ones you may be forced to put down to save yourself. The town of Falconreach burning over and over because no matter how hard they fight, it's never enough. The people like Sha'rae who sacrifice themselves to try and prevent tyrrany from seizing power, only for it to be utterly useless.

Anyway the brainrot is severe and especially dangerous since I'm coming into exam season and all my hyperfixated brain wants to do is chew on glass about these games.

[angelltheninth]

Hi I was wondering if you could write about the bllk boys and them getting caught with like back scratches or some hickeys after a break they were granted? I hope you have a good day!

Spicy! And I hope you have a good day/night too Anon!

Pairing: Yoichi Isagi, Bachira Meguru, Sae Itoshi, Rin Itoshi, Hyoma Chigiri, Kunigami Rensuke, Mikage Reo, Nagi Seishiro, Michael Kaiser, Tabito Karasu x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, kissing, teasing, scratches, hickies, showing off, flustered BLLK boys

A/N: Added Kaiser and Karasu to my roster so you can request them solo too!

COVERS THEM UP - Isagi, Chigiri, Kunigami, Reo

Before he comes back he makes sure his jersey is straightened out and that there's not a tent in his pants. When he walks out he's clearly flustered by something and rubbing his neck. The moment his teammates spot the hickies they smirk at him, which makes them even more flustered. It was a good idea to blow off some steam but in the future maybe kiss him in places he can cover up.

"You really made me look like an lovesick puppy out there. I know, I know, my fault too. I liked it too much, that's true but uh, I have my whole body for you to kiss you know. This is me offering it, just maybe not below the belt... too much I still need to be able to run after the ball afterwards."

WEARS THEM PROUDLY - Rin, Nagi, Karasu

Not only does he walk out so everyone can see the hickies on his neck but he also does the thing where he takes off his shirt when he scores a goal, letting them see the deep scratch marks on his back too. The rumors don't bother him. He scores good on the field so you bet he will let everyone know he scores good in bed too, or locker rooms in this case.

"They're already suspecting I was dating someone. This was a sure way of me letting them know I'm taken. Not worried really about the press, more about my team grilling me for the details. I don't kiss and tell so you don't have to worry either. Like I would ever share the details how I make you moan."

RETURNS THE FAVOR AFTER - Bachira, Sae, Kaiser

He might play like there aren't any marks on his back and neck, he might act like its not affecting him in any way but the moment the game is won he goes to find you. His friends are all going out to celebrate, and so is he but his his will be a private affair where he will mirror every kiss, every bite, every scratch mark you made on him before.

"You shouldn't have given me these if you weren't ready for payback. Can't expect me to walk around all marked up and have you still appear like you're not a taken girl. I'm letting everyone know you're mine, even faster then I wanted to if you keep making noises like that."

[cryptidcorners]

Josh Futturman x Reader Headcanons

= Character: Josh Futturman

= Media: Show!Future Man

= Prompt: N/A

= Description: Just !Platonic & !Romantic mixed Headcanons!

= Request: N/A

= Tags: Fluff ! Headcanons, Shy/Awkward Josh, Romantic + Platonic, Established Relationship, Some Comfort + Reader is !GN

= Warnings: None.

= Please Read my INTRO before interacting !

Josh has always struggled to maintain relationships, including ones with friends. Not only because he's incredibly socially awkward, but his escapism within videogames plays a major factor. So, he treasures what he has with you much more seriously than anyone you knew.

Rambles about his games all the time. His interests are something you can never get him to shut up about. Josh is usually into strategies, lore & development, his favorite being "Biowars", which you already knew had quite the reputation for being a challenging videogame.

He's pretty bubbly, especially around you. Josh is an absolute sweetheart and will get flustered at almost anything. His childish personality roots out much more when you're around, mostly because Josh feels more comfortable.

He isn't very open about his feelings, mostly because he's afraid of losing people. Josh desperately wants to be a part of something and refuses to mess it up somehow. Josh, however, is very different when you're opening up. He'll advise, comfort and try to cheer you up. (It's actually crazy how good his advice is sometimes.)

Josh is content with following you anywhere, as long as it doesn't involve his house or hear his parents. If I'm going to be honest, if he's particularly choosing somewhere to lounge, it'd be an arcade. It's a field where he specializes in and he can impress you easily. It's also somewhere he can discard his low self-esteem and indulge in his skills.

Praise is like a drug to Josh. Compliments or any sight of you liking him (or what he's doing), he feels intense dopamine. He really enjoys making people happy.

He's pretty charismatic sometimes, even when he's not trying to be. Josh is usually awkward when directly talking to somebody with a set question or goal in mind, but when he needs to go with the flow, it's much more grounded. With you in mind, Josh is much more relaxed, so he isn't as shy as he is with strangers.

Wouldn't exactly say he's very affectionate, but he wouldn't mind hugging either. Again, Josh is pretty awkward, and I doubt he rarely showcases soft intimacy around anyone (whenever it's platonic or romantic). He would love to do it, but he's very shy. Though, he isn't afraid to try. If you ask, he's perfectly fine with holding your hand or sitting close.

As I mentioned, Josh is very tentative on affection, especially receiving it, but he loves getting his hair and face touched. Dude needs love.

Digs through your trash. He doesn't have any ill intents, but Josh will take time out of his day to scavenge through waste instead of asking you a minor question. I know I mentioned he's very relaxed around you, but Josh definitely overthinks, especially with relationships. He tries his best.

Will cry real tears of joy if you ever give him something. Josh really appreciates gifts, no matter who it's from. Even if it's not game related, he's definitely holding onto it for a while. (Bonus Points If: It's an animal toy, a decoration or handmade.)

Romantically speaking, he enjoys kissing you or indulging in anything sweet. A lot of giggling & sweet talk. Josh isn't very experienced in relationships like this, so he tried to wing it. Needless to say, he probably gets advice from Google images and it's adorable to see him try his best to impress you.

Will always defend you, even if he fails miserably. Absolute trooper.

Josh will one hundred percent get emotional at any piece of film he is watching with you. Especially if it's a game cutscenes and it involves animals.

Huge softie. I don't think Josh can handle saying anything remotely mean to you or reviving it. If he does, expect a flood of apologies.

Can get way into character sometimes, whatever context this is. You know what I'm talking about.

Very clingy. No other words.

Lastly, he'd definitely call you nicknames in the cutest way possible. If he lets you call him "Joshy", you've probably earned the highest pillar of his trust.

[loaksky]

— 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦

the lowdown — the one where you’re breaking and neteyam picks up the pieces. 

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 2.1k

the tags & warnings — like two curse words, another really self-indulgent one because i miss neteyam sm heh, established relationship, neteyam is sweet as always and reader has a lot of thoughts / doubts. 

the notes — based off of this request! here is my word vomit because i have no self control lmaooo.

masterlist

No one in particular could tell, but the pressure was crushing you. 

It had started off small, the most minuscule of tickles behind your navel, a tiny niggling in your brain, the softest tension in your shoulders. 

Your parents were notable figures within the Omatikaya, had spent countless years toiling over action plans, working closely with Jake to ensure the safety of the people. 

And as you grew into yourself, into the role that was carved out and waiting for you, you’d begun to realize that there was a lot more riding on your budding relationship with the olo’eyktan’s son. 

You and Neteyam had grown up as friends, had trained diligently together against the landscape of years and years of conflict beginning to come to a head. And when the time had come for you two to begin focusing in more distinct areas of study, the widening berth couldn’t stop the feelings that were kindling. 

“Your heart is soft for Sully’s son.” Your father had made the observation out of the blue in your fourteenth year. 

You hadn’t denied it, couldn’t when his gaze was knowing and your mother couldn’t contain the smile that was creeping onto her lips. And you wouldn’t, of course you wouldn’t, not when the mere mention of Neteyam made your stomach swirl with butterflies and your cheeks insatiably warm. 

“Good,” your mother hummed. “This is good news.”

The fusion of questioning and embarrassment on your face made your father continue. 

“We think that after your coming of age, a union between you and Neteyam will be ideal for the future of the clan,” he said. 

You didn’t miss the insinuation. For the future of the clan, regardless of if your heart was soft for him or not. 

You had just swallowed around nothing and nodded, found that there was no use in arguing. Not when your parents seemed so pleased and you and Neteyam had a good thing. 

It was the first crack in your facade, when your father had left you and your mother in the tent and she repositioned to sit across from you. 

“Do you know what this means Maite?” she asked you carefully, thumb smoothing over your cheek. 

Your hesitation made her smile at you again. 

“You are excelling in your studies,” she’d said. 

The tension in your shoulders had softened the slightest when you saw the streak of pride, of warmth, in her eyes. You never wanted her to look at you any differently. 

“You have the power to be a very successful tsahik, Maite,” she said decisively. “Every day you make me proud. One day you will make the people proud.” 

You thought that you’d be able to grow into it, that the fears that were beginning to slowly culminate as each orbit arrived and went would be so insignificant. 

In turn, it grows with you, large enough to wrangle, but too large to squash. You don’t let it debilitate you, don’t want the people who are starting to pay closer attention to you, but more specifically Neteyam, to see that there’s an internal struggle. 

What would they think of you? Of your family? Of Neteyam’s and his? Honor was a dicey thing, something that could be disturbed at the drop of a hat. 

So you force a brave face among a worsening war, waging  nearer and nearer. The victories are small, losses smaller, and for a short while, you think that things could be alright. 

Especially when moments, few and far in between go undisturbed by the outside world. When you and Neteyam are given the freedom to bask in the tail end of your adolescence and start together in your young adulthood. 

He’s your calm in the unrelenting storm, your foundation when you feel like toppling over. 

So when the looming war arrives at your front step, and you feel like the fragile world you’ve built for yourself is on the brink of shambles, Neteyam is there. 

“We have to leave.” 

Your family sits inside of Mo’at’s tent with the Sully’s as Jake breaks the news that it’s ride or die. The future that you’d spent your entire life training for no longer lingers near, but has been blown so far out of reach, you begin to feel like it’s been all for nothing. 

“We move right after eclipse,” he announces. “Only important things, we have to travel light.” 

You’re stunned, frozen in your spot as the words sink their claws into you. 

He notices, Neteyam does, that the news seems to crack your facade even more. He can see it on your face. 

He calls your name softly, situating himself so that he sits in front of you. When you look up, he sees the tears pooling in your eyes and his body immediately softens. 

“Don’t cry,” he whispers, stroking your cheek gently. “It will be alright. We’ll be alright.” 

You wanted to believe him, you really did, and for a while, there was a sliver of hope, but life in Awa’atlu is different, an endless array of glittering blue waters and colorful reefs. Absolutely nothing like the forest that you grew up in. 

It doesn’t help that the villagers are all wary, watching you all like a hawk in every endeavor. You wish you could be more like Neteyam, like Tuk, who embrace their new life in stride, but Awa’atlu isn’t home. 

Home is oceans away and you feel disoriented, unable to wall yourself off with your duties whenever things get overwhelming because the dynamics here are different, too. Your future is treading a thin line and all you can do is try to assimilate as best you can. 

But you don’t know the way of water, can’t seem to grasp it no matter how hard anyone tries to teach you. And it makes the pressure infinitely worse, the tension nearly cracking your bones with how heavy it weighs on your shoulders. 

Tsireya’s lessons in breathwork never seem to stick as you frequently fall behind in your daily swims, messages lost in translation because the sign language is too vast for you to remember. Doesn’t help that your crafting using the reefs’ materials are subpar if Ronal’s narrowed scrutiny and Tsireya’s giggling is anything to go by. 

You’re so used to excelling, to being extraordinary despite the stress, but here, you feel like nothing under the crushing pressure. Feel it exceptionally so when you notice your mother’s concerned gaze and the eclipsing disappointment in your father’s. 

And you think that no one notices, not when Lo’ak is out causing trouble, Kiri is embracing the ocean, and Tuk is growing into the waters. You think you’re suffering in silence, but as always, Neteyam sees you. He always does. 

It’s on a particularly rough morning that you completely crack. 

It’s the smallest of offenses, something that you usually laugh off for the sake of peace, but Ao’nung is good at pushing your buttons and you’re missing the forest a little more than usual. 

“Damn, forest girl, it’s been months,” he teases, snatching the pouch you were in the middle of weaving to turn it over in his webbed fingers. “Still working on this old thing?” 

You swallow, unable to meet his gaze, not wanting to admit that the seaweeds they use to fashion things are too slippery, the salt stinging your fingers so much that they blister every session you sit down with your project. 

You want to tell him that if you were in the forest, you could weave five, ten of them before eclipse, but you’re on his turf and the forest is but a distant memory now. 

“Ao’nung,” his friend’s voice is warning. 

“What?” he guffaws. “Look at it! Babies weave better than this.” 

Your throat is locking up, eyes burning equal parts because the wind is blowing sand in your face and because you just want to go home.

“Ao’nung.” 

He gaze flits back to yours, teasing smile vanishing when he sees your clenched fists and the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Woah, woah,” he laughs uncomfortably. “I was just—“ 

You’re on your feet and scrambling away before the waterworks start, but you know that he’s seen them if the way he calls your name in defeat is any indication. 

You’d always been afraid of failure, but here it’s all you seem to know. 

You brush the tears away in hot pursuit of somewhere else, anywhere else but here in the moment. And you’re so engrossed in making sure you’re not tripping over the sprawling roots of the mangroves that you don’t even notice that Neteyam’s caught sight of you from across the way and abandons his task with Jake to follow after you. 

He doesn’t notice you’re upset until he realizes how tense your gait is and hears the hiccuping breaths that spill from your lips. 

“________?” he calls carefully, a few meters behind you as you climb and weave through the pathways.

You stop, frozen in place at the mere mention of your name, the soft timbre like honey. 

Embarrassment floods your system as you knuckle your eyes and try to compose yourself in the short strides it takes for Neteyam to invade your space. 

“Syulang?” He calls you by that stupid pet name you’d told him you hated and it makes you crumple. 

He’s coming around to face you, eyes wide when he sees how distraught you look, cheeks flushed and streaked with tears. 

“Hey, hey,” he calls softly, arms coming around you to pull you into his broad chest. “What happened?” 

You feel stupid, letting a dumb comment like Ao’nung’s be your final trigger, but you can’t help it. Not when you’ve been trying like hell to make it work, when you can’t seem to catch on like everyone else. 

Neteyam feels you shake your head and he sighs, pulling away from you gently to smear away your tears, forefinger and thumb grasp your chin to tilt your head to make sure that not a hair’s out of place. 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he asks seriously. 

You shake your head again and he seems to unwind a fraction. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he prods. 

“No,” you whisper. 

He kisses your forehead, arms wrapping around you when he feels your breath hitch and your shoulders shake all over again. 

“Wanna lay down?” he offers. 

You nod. 

The marui is empty nearly the entire day, Neteyam settled in the hammock first and your back nestled against his front as he shifts to allow the netting to swing. 

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, other arm caged across your front to hold the opposite. 

“I miss it,” you whisper hoarsely, after an indiscernible lapse of time. 

“Home?” Neteyam deduces. 

You nod. 

“Me too,” he admits. “All the time.” 

Another pregnant pause before he speaks again. 

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” he says, squeezing you tight. 

“I don’t know what for,” you murmur, hand covering his. “I haven’t done anything to be proud of.” 

“I’d argue otherwise,” he says quietly, voice a hairsbreadth from your twitching ear. “I know you’re struggling, ________.”

You take a shaky breath. 

“But you’re trying,” he continues. “No matter how difficult the situation, how hard it may be for you to adapt, you’re always trying.” 

You eye the threadwork of the marui’s hide, afraid that if you turn to face Neteyam you’ll break all over again. 

“Sometimes that is more noble than succeeding.” 

“Easy for you to say,” you argue quietly. “Everything was effortless for you. You just dove right in and took the reins.” 

You feel Neteyam press his cheek to the top of your head, shifting so that he can fully engulf you in his hold. 

“Nothing is easy when you see the person you love fight battles they don’t need to endure alone,” he says simply. “You’re a strong girl, ________. But it’s okay to ask for help. If no one else will be there, let it be me.” 

You want to protest, but Neteyam’s speaking again. 

“Regardless of if we return to the forest or not, it will always be me and you,” he says. “I’ll never leave you hanging.” 

And you know he won’t, know that while you and Neteyam breathe the same air, he will always be there to fill the fissures in your facade. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, feeling weak and hopelessly vulnerable in front of someone who’s only ever seen you on the brink. 

“You don’t need to apologize for feeling,” he tells you, pressing a hand over your heart. “Because this right here is the mightiest thing about you.” 

neng © 2023

taglist; @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn , @fanboyluvr , @neteyamoa , @itssiaaax , @girlpostingsposts , @athenachu

[eyelessfaces]

keys

llewyn davis x reader

tiny short fic for my wet cat boyfriend llewyn<3

summary: you ask llewyn to officially move in with you.

warnings: tiniest bit of angst, mentions of being broke. it's barely there

tags: gn!reader, established relationship, uhh it's just sweet idk what to tell you

word count: 0.8k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog @eyelessupdates

Llewyn is standing, leaning against the kitchen counter, almost sitting on it, his hands gripping the edge of it. He sighs and rolls his eyes as you walk up to him handing him a small box, and he feels a bit guilty that you seem so excited about it when he is not really. 

“What for,” he exhales as he takes the box from your hands and shakes his head. “You didn't have to.” he declares sternly, an almost scolding look over his face. Where some people say this just to be polite, Llewyn means it. You didn't have to.

“Open it!” you urge him, raising your eyebrows, biting down onto your bottom lip in apprehension and excitation. He sighs once again as he looks down at the tiny box in his hand.

“Come on, you know I don't like gifts, now I feel like I owe you something” he frowns, looking back up at you. 

It's your turn to sigh in impatience as you put your hands on either side of his neck, pulling him closer to you so you can press your lips against his and get him to stop complaining; it’s one efficient way to stop him from talking back. He hums against your mouth, his free hand instinctively shifting to rest against your hip. 

“Shut your mouth and open the damn box” you order him in a scolding whisper as you pull away, leaving him chuckling softly.

He licks his lips as he finally lifts the lid of the box, discovering a key inside.

“What is that” he frowns, looking up at you.

“It's a key, dumbass.” you scoff, shrugging. 

“I know what it is.” 

A heavy silence settles in the room, and it makes you confused. Llewyn takes the key out of the box, his expression unreadable as his gaze shifts from the small object to you. “Why”

“I want you to move in with me. Like, officially. No more couchsurfing” you declare. Even though you were a couple and Llewyn was spending most of his time at your place, he sometimes felt like he owed you and needed to give you space, crashing at the Gorfeins or at Jim and Jean’s from time to time. 

“This doesn't change much, you're already basically living here anyways. But now it's official, and you have a key, so you won't have to get in through the fire escape when I'm not home” you add tentatively, trying to read over his face whatever he feels at the moment. 

His silence is starting to make you anxious, starting to make you regret your decision. Maybe he’s not ready, maybe he doesn’t want this yet, maybe he doesn’t want this at all. You have never really talked about this, about anything regarding your future together.

“Yeah I figured but,” he finally starts, staring at the key in his hand. “It’s just… I can’t pay rent, angel.” he sighs, looking back at you with a miserable expression over his face.

“I know,” you huff out, relieved that it seems to be his only issue. “I’m not asking you to. You’ll help whenever you can” you nod. “I just want to lift this weight off your shoulders” you explain, your hand sliding to link with his.

“Like I said, it’s barely changing anything” you mutter under your breath.

He nods back at you, looking back at the key in his hand before putting it on the counter. 

“Okay.”

Your eyebrows raise slightly. “Okay what? Okay you’ll live with me?”

“Yeah.” he smiles, his hands setting at your waist. “I’ll live with you.” he nods, pulling you closer as his arm wraps around your shoulders, peppering small kisses over your temple and forehead. 

“Good” you say, leaning into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad you’re okay with it”

He scoffs, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been couchsurfing for years. It’s just a damn key but it means a lot.” he huffs out. “Don’t go thinking I’m sad about the thought of not sneaking in through the fire escape anymore.”

You laugh, “Your back will thank me” you smile looking up at him. 

“Jean will thank you.” he corrects, earning a scoff from you before you cup his face and press a kiss against his cheek.

He grins sweetly as his lips brush against yours, before full on pressing them against your mouth. 

“I'm glad you haven't grown tired of me yet. I love you” he says as he pulls away, his lips curling in a small, grateful smile.

“I don't think I could ever grow tired of you, Davis. I love you too.”

“It’s only a matter of time I’m afraid” he scoffs.

“Mh, we’ll see, then you’ll have to give back your key and beg me to even sleep on the couch” you declare, looking at him with pity.

“You’ll give me the couch treatment?” he gasps, falsely appalled.

“Oh that'll be if I'm kind enough to let you in,” you tease.

“Alright I think I liked you better when you said you couldn't ever grow tired of me”

—

SUPPORT YOUR FANFICS WRITERS, REBLOG, LEAVE A COMMENT, IT IS WHAT KEEPS US GOING<3

inside llewyn davis taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift @campingwiththecharmings @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @spxctorsslxt @dowbastan

[steviewashere]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Rating: General CW: Canon Typical Gore and Violence (Very Brief but There) Tags: Established Relationship, Eddie Munson has Nightmares, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Furnace, Cuddling, Huddling for Warmth, Future Fic, (But it's Just Early 1987), Hot Chocolate, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is letting him put his cold hands under your shirt and only complaining a little bit."

💕—————💕

He was blissfully asleep in bed when a sudden cold shock to his back awoke him.

Steve yelped, “Jesus!” And turned around to see who had snuck into his house this early in the morning (it’s only nine) and came face to face with his boyfriend, Eddie. “Eds, what the fuck? Hello? Hi? What happened to those? Christ.”

Eddie didn’t even look sheepish when Steve met his eyes. He was ready to chew him out, but one look told him that Eddie wasn’t doing too well. His whole body was trembling, teeth chattering, breath leaving him in short puffs. He couldn’t even get any words out, he was that cold.

Immediately, Steve’s hackles rose. He tentatively scooted across the mattress to get closer to Eddie. But, it’s as if Eddie didn’t even notice him. His eyes were glazed over. There were tear tracks wobbling down his face. Eddie’s lips were bitten raw, chapped, and slightly purple. He was fighting with himself to try and stay focused with the moment, if the subtle jerks told Steve anything, but he quickly fell back into himself.

“Baby?” Steve ventured. “Did something happen?” He had a feeling he knew what. But his stomach turns at the idea of how Eddie even got over here safely. It’s January, for Christ’s sake. It’s freezing.

A small and sharp exhale left Eddie. He whispered, his voice a terribly awful rasp, “Nightmare.” And as the word left his mouth, his eyes began to tear up all over again. “You. Bats. Scared,” he relayed.

Steve nodded minutely in understanding.

There was one reoccurring nightmare that seemed to follow Eddie no matter what. He’d talked about it in full length before, but that seems to have made it linger in his psyche. Eddie swims down into Lover’s Lake right after Robin jumps in. Except, somehow, he makes it through the portal first. He always knows where to find Steve to try and save him from the demobat attack, even though his true self wouldn’t have (at least, not when this nightmare takes place). But the space between him and Steve’s body stretches longer than it’s supposed to. In turn, by the time he actually reaches Steve, he’s already dead. A demobat wrapped around his neck, more chunks than real flesh on his torso, his arms a mottled bleeding mess, pants chewed to bits and pieces, and his mouth filled with blood. Eddie recalls Steve’s face. Blood vessel broken, eyes glazed and far away yet still hazel brown, hair tacky to his skin, lips parted and bloodied, and pale. Already dead. He always claims the second worst part of the nightmare to be when Robin and Nancy finally reach the two of them. Nancy gasping under her breath, then turning around to puke. Robin screeching like she’s been stabbed, her words only sobs. And Eddie never knows how to comfort them, even if that’s not true in reality.

Which, if Steve takes in how Eddie came in now. To touch him, to sense. He can tell that Eddie came to see if…Well, if Steve was here and alive. What may have freaked him out again, though, was the fact that Steve was sleeping. And that’s why he had to touch him. Steve can deduce that pretty easily.

“Oh, baby,” Steve sighs. He opens his arms in silent invitation. But when Eddie doesn’t move, he voices softly, “Come here, honey. It’s okay. I’m alive. I’ve got you.”

Though it takes some thirty seconds of silent hope and prayer, Eddie eventually scoots in close enough to be scooped up. Steve takes him between his arms, squeezing him in as compact as he’ll go, wraps his comforter around the two of them, and lets Eddie stick his hands back under his shirt. He hisses slightly at the contact again, but they’re less cold than when he first arrived.

With the warmth and embrace, Eddie is brought to tears. In the silence of his bedroom, Steve picks up on only two sounds. His own breathing. And Eddie softly weeping and whimpering into his shoulder. He smooths one hand down his spine and the other over Eddie’s cold-to-the-touch curls. Shushing as quiet and soothing as possible in his ear. Kissing over his temple and his cheek, the skin freezing there, too. Using all his might, Steve manages to swallow back his own emotion.

The one thing he hates more than nightmares is the after effects that reduce his boyfriend to tears. Hates the aftermath with every fiber of his being, even if they do get to cuddle. He enjoys cuddling in nicer circumstances, though. This sucks. It hurts his heart to hear how Eddie cries.

When Eddie goes pliant, Steve wrangles them around so that he’s laying on his back and Eddie’s halfway on top of him. He lets Eddie tuck himself in close, nose pressed to the base of Steve’s neck, eyelashes fluttering against his skin when he blinks. His arms are loose, one tucked under his torso, the other splayed over Steve’s own, fingers underneath the t-shirt to trace the evidence left behind—that show that Steve actually survived. Steve leaves one arm wrapped around Eddie’s middle, the other cupping the back of his head, keeping him pressed.

Though, his stomach turns again at how Eddie even got here. “Eds?” He breathes into the silence.

“Yeah?” Eddie whispers, his breath tickling over Steve. Somehow also cold. He’s just chilled all around. Steve is able to hold back the shudder that teases his bones.

“How’d you get here?”

Eddie huffs. “I walked,” he states simply. “My van’s still in the shop, wasn’t an option.” He barely lifts his head, but Steve shoves him back down immediately. Get him warm, his brain supplies. “Why?” Eddie asks when he nuzzles back in.

“You’re so cold,” Steve murmurs. “You didn’t take a jacket.”

“Forgot,” Eddie drones, his voice flat. Tired. Still raspy. He had probably screamed when the nightmare finished playing. Steve aches.

“I told you, Eds. Call me first. I’ll come get you, baby.” He squeezes at Eddie’s middle. Bunches his fingers, tangling them loosely in Eddie’s hair. “Scared me.”

He feels Eddie swallow against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. His next breath stutters, as if he’s gearing up to cry again.

“No, Eds, it’s okay,” he lies. “Don’t cry. It just worries me when you’re out there, vulnerable like this, practically freezing to death.” He soothes his hand up and down Eddie’s spine. “Promise that you’ll call me next time?”

Eddie only nods. He shuffles in closer.

Steve tilts his head sideways, cushioning his cheek atop Eddie’s hair. “Are you still cold?” He asks. Eddie’s nod against his shoulder is minute, a little hesitant. “Okay,” he mutters, “let’s go get hot chocolate and put you in front of the fireplace, alright?”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes. “Hold my hand?”

So, Steve does. Squeezing Eddie’s palm with every step down the stairs. He wonders how Eddie even managed a staircase in his post-nightmare dazed state, but realizes it would be futile to ask. At least he made it here, Steve has to remind himself, and he’s alive and he sought you out.

He plops Eddie down in front of the fireplace, quickly chucks a few logs in, and lights them up to let out a small, yet pleasantly warm flame. He maneuvers a blanket over Eddie’s shoulders, soothes his hands—which are warm and heavy—down the sides of Eddie’s neck. And excuses himself to the kitchen to make a couple mugs of hot chocolate. Steve makes sure that he’s loud when preparing them. Clattering the dishes. Slamming some of the cupboards. Noisily twisting and untwisting the cap on the milk jug. And reenters the living room, a steaming cup handed off to Eddie.

They sit in front of the flames for a few silent moments. Sans their slurps. This time, when Steve takes noisy sips—like he would do with his morning coffee—it doesn’t earn him a small Eddie snort. It doesn’t really get him anything at all. He sets their mugs on the mantle when they’re finished and tucks himself under the blanket with Eddie, wrapping his arm around his middle once again. He forces Eddie’s head into his shoulder junction. Rests his own cheek atop Eddie’s hair. And sighs.

Kissing his scalp, he murmurs, “I love you.” Seals it with another soft peck.

“I love you, too,” Eddie whispers in return. “Thank you for—“

“I’d let you put your hands under my shirt anytime, baby. No need for that.”

Eddie only sighs in contentment. And Steve relishes in the exact moment when he goes boneless against his side, making their sides conjoin in a single tight line, snoring softly into his neck. He’d do anything for Eddie, no matter what he asked.

💕—————💕

[cheesewedge]

A Stranger's Keepsake (18+)

Summary: Arthur runs into a strange man on the way back to camp. A strange man with photos of a woman in his tent...a very familiar woman.

Word Count: 4,387

Tags: blood and gore, graphic depictions of violence, stalking, arthur x original female character, established relationship

A/N: This was inspired by the encounter you have with that giant creep who stalks poor Charlotte.

-----------------

The crisp Heartlands night nips at Arthur’s fingers on his way back to camp, crickets his only company among silver fields laid out in every direction. A buck’s head slaps against his horse’s rear. Two turkeys dangle from either side of his saddlebag. He picked raspberry bushes clean for Maria, dozens of them wrapped in his bandana and tucked in his satchel with the fresh herbs she asked for.

He yawns. Horseshoe Overlook isn’t much farther but he isn’t in any hurry to return. The simple hunting trip was as good an excuse as any to free himself from camp, and while his mare gently trots down the dirt road, the solitude nearly coaxes his eyes shut.

“Evenin’, friend!” 

Arthur’s hooded eyelids flutter open. He frowns, looks around. Atop a nearby hill, a man stands alone with campfire smoke billowing to the stars. 

“Er, hey there.”

“You look like you could use a break. Y’ came at a good time, fire’s nice and warm.”

“Nah, ‘m alright, partner.”

“Aw, come on now, friend. Saw you was real tired. I got some coffee brewin’ here.”

A sigh. He looks around again. “Sure, why not?” He steers his horse up to the man’s tent.

A smile blooms on the stranger’s face when Arthur dismounts. “Have a seat. Plenty of room by the fire in case you need ta rest those weary legs. I know how hard it is for a travellin’ man.”

“Okay, thanks.” 

Arthur pours coffee black as the night around them. He sits on a crate by the fireside and observes the stranger. He stands tall even though he isn’t. There’s a button popped open over his stomach. Suspenders work to keep his trousers level with the doughy folds of his hips. A bowler hat doesn’t disguise where the hair stops. 

The man smiles again. “Coffee’s nice and fresh. Just made that pot but lord knows I’ll need more to see this night through.”

“Is that right?”

“Yessir.” He pops open a lock box to retrieve a pair of binoculars.

Arthur’s eyes flick to the man’s tent. It isn’t the tattered canvas he notes, or its impressive size. It’s not the empty cans and bottles littered all over the grass, the man’s filthy bedroll — it’s the photos. String after string dangle from the canvas, each pinched between the teeth of a clothespin. The lantern below them illuminates the figure of a woman in every one.

“Norman, by the way,” the man says and reaches out his arm.

“Arthur.” He swallows Norman’s hand when he shakes it. “What’s all that there?”

“Oh. I just… I like to see her. Makes me feel like she’s here with me.”

“That your wife?”

“One day, friend.”

Arthur quirks a brow and rises from his seat. Cans clatter at his feet, every step bringing the lavender fields of Big Valley, the mountain range of the Heartlands, further into focus. His vision blurs. The strand bobs up and down in an aggressive ripple when he plucks a photo off the line. 

“Whoa, careful there. Took me a while to get all these. Ain’t she a beauty?”

Arthur’s lungs burn from the breath he holds. On the bank of the Dakota River Maria sits with her face tilted towards the clouds. 

“Spotted her a few weeks back. No idea where an angel like that came from, but that there’s my future wife. Mark my words.” 

Arthur doesn’t speak. All he can do is stare at the photo. At Maria’s long curls that tumble down her back while she rests by the fire, a gingham blanket sprawled out beneath her. Norman continues to leer at the picture and Arthur’s gaze flits to the rest of them. Maria braids Ophelia’s mane in one. Cooks a slab of meat in another. He gawks at picture after picture of her wringing out her clothes, riding down the road, asleep in her bedroll. 

“Always see her in and around here. Tried to talk to her once in Valentine. Saw her comin’ outta the saloon with a feller’d had a big scar on his face. Told her she was just about the prettiest thing I ever seen.” Norman stops to rub the back of his neck with a faraway smile. “...She smiled at me. Thanked me. Felt real good to know she liked me too. I tried to get her back into the saloon with me but the feller she was with pulled them along. Nasty piece a’ work. Real controllin’ type.”

Arthur spots a photograph above Norman’s bedroll. Hidden in a cluster of trees Maria sits with her journal in her lap, boots kicked off to the side of her blanket. She rests with her knees tucked to her chest, her slender calves on display and her sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He bends a knee to yank the photo off the line. 

“That there’s one of my favourites. She usually gets all undressed just before bed but I seen her a few times like that. It’s like she knew I was watchin’. Almost grabbed her right there.”

Arthur rises like a long dormant god. He doesn’t know what change in him Norman notices first but Norman notices something because his smile cracks. 

In the light of the fire he notices Arthur clutching the photo so hard that his fingernail is white. He clears his throat. “T-tell you what, friend. Can see ya like that one. W-why don’t you have it? H-had the shop print up a few of those anyhow. So, uh, you keep it, friend. I should really get goin’.”

For a moment neither move. 

The wilderness is filled with song, crickets and turkeys in chorus for miles, yet Arthur still hears the man swallow as he raises his hands to his waist and takes a step back, his eyes filled with a sort of confused betrayal that almost makes him childlike when he packs away his utensils, bends over the fire to retrieve his mug and dump the remaining coffee into the grass. He looks up. 

“T-there anythin’ else I can do for you, friend?” 

Blood splatters onto half the photographs, remnants of brain and skull sprayed out like shrapnel. Arthur stands with his finger on the trigger, the barrel of a volcanic pistol pointed at Norman’s face. He snarls and holsters his gun.

He snatches the corpse by the collar, no mind paid to the slop that seeps out of his head, and rifles through his coat. Forty cents and a tin of cover lotion is all there is until Arthur reaches into his breast pocket. Another photograph. Maria rinses her face with water from the river, her shirt hung over Ophelia’s rear, in nothing but a camisole and black trousers with a rip on the knee. Arthur flips the picture. Scribbled text indicates when and where Norman saw her, the dates tracing back a week. The film sticks to his fingers. He shoves Norman to the dirt.

He kicks through the discarded bottles and rips down every photo to throw into the fire. Only after the paper curls and disintegrates does he loot through the rest of Norman’s camp, bread chunks and mangled pelts not worth the hassle. He mounts his horse and snaps the reins all the way back to Horseshoe Overlook.

His legs throb by the time he reaches camp and gallops through the trees up to the horses, tossing the reins over the post next to Ophelia. He brings his leg over the saddle and drops to the grass with dinner bubbling up his throat. 

Arthur hangs his head and grabs a wild carrot from his satchel, a slight tremble in his hand while his mare nibbles the snack. He closes his eyes. The stem disappears into his horse’s mouth just as Maria’s telltale laugh rings out across camp and he whips his head toward the noise. 

She’s one of the only stragglers left with Mr. Pearson, John, and Uncle by the fire, the four of them bundled under pelts with bottles of beer in their hands. She’s stripped down to her chemise, a sign she’s headed to bed soon. Curls twist and spill from her hair bun onto that red wool coat she refuses to replace. Firelight glimmers on her face. He watches her. 

John cracks a joke that sends the four of them into a fit of laughter. Maria weakly swats at him. He fends her off with one arm and a wide smile and Arthur swears she calls John disgusting. John says something again and Maria breaks out in laughter brighter than the fire.

They need to go somewhere. He doesn’t know where they need to go but as her laugh chimes out again all he knows is that they need to go somewhere.

Arthur gathers the spoils of his trip and crosses camp, dropping the carcasses beside Pearson’s tent. 

“Good job, Mr. Morgan,” Pearson says from the campfire. 

“You’re comin’ in late,” John adds. 

Maria smiles when she sees him and takes a sip from her bottle. “You get into any trouble, cowboy? There’s blood on you.”

“Oh, I-I jus’ ran into some folk.”

“And now they’re dead?” she asks with a smirk.

“Ol’ Arthur Morgan!” Uncle bellows from his chair. “Where does all that anger come from?”

He ignores the question. “Ran into an interestin’ lead,” he tells Maria. “Might be worth lookin’ at. A stage ‘sposed to be runnin’ through here.”

“Jesus, another one?” she asks. “We’ve robbed just about half of ‘em at this point. You think someone would catch on.”

“Let’s hope not,” John says and Maria grins, clinking her bottle against his.

“S’ comin’ through Strawberry in the mornin’. Should get movin’ now if we wanna catch it.” 

Maria throws her head back. “Ugh. But then I have to get dressed and it’s so late and now I have to—” she places a hand on John’s shoulder to lift herself up, “—spend time with you.” 

The men chuckle, Arthur included, and she smiles at him before disappearing into her tent. “Gimme a minute,” she calls from behind the canvas. 

Arthur isn’t far behind when he walks into his own, just beside hers. He twists the lantern on his night table to life, a dull glow illuminating the blood on his fingers and something wet and red on the toe of his boot.

His clothes stink of rusted iron and when he sheds his shirt and coat he sees just how much of Norman he brought back with him. He kicks them to the side of his clothing trunk. Changes into a fresh pair of everything. He reaches into his satchel and by the time Maria pokes her head in, Arthur has his canteen tilted, water spilling all over his hands and into a dirty puddle at his feet.

“Hey, you.”

He scrubs his hands over his face and wipes them dry on his pants. “Hey there.”

Maria waits in a white button up shirt over a camisole. Black trousers with a rip on the knee. Arthur looks at her.

“What?”

“N-no. ‘S nothin’. 

She looks down at her outfit. “Do I look okay?”

“Y’ look beautiful. Come on. Let’s go ‘fore it gets any later.”

Arthur makes his way to the horses without a word of goodbye to the men, though Maria wishes them all goodnight before catching up to him. 

“So, where are we going?”

“Ain’t far. Can stay in Strawberry for the night.”

There’s a smile in her voice. “Yeah, I bet…”

“Ain’t nothin’ like that,” he says with a smirk. “Just wanna get chu outta here.”

“And here I thought there was a stage coming.”

“There is.”

“Mm-hm.” Maria hoists herself onto Ophelia. “Well, whatever your plans are, I do need to be back by tomorrow. It’s my turn to help in camp so I’m afraid I’ll be stuck here all day.” 

He mounts his horse, scans the area. “Okay,” he says. “Good.”

They pass through the swell of trees and onto the road embossed with hoof prints and wagon tracks, camp not even out of sight before he narrows his eyes at any shadow in the forest, jerks his head to any animal in his periphery. 

Maria’s stirrup clinks against his and she looks over with a grin. “Hey,” she says with a playful shove to his arm. “Move over.”

Arthur glances down. “‘M-’m sorry.”

“You wanna hop in my saddle too?”

He chuckles. “Said I was sorry.”

“I know, sweetheart, I’m only teasing you.” Arthur cranes his head back to glare at something she doesn’t see. “You sure you’re okay? You seem…I don’t know.” 

He turns back to the road. “Naw, ‘m fine. What chu get up to today?”

Maria frowns. “...Nothing too exciting. I went shopping for supplies with Lenny and then made a stop in the general store. Though, I will have you know that I almost bought a new coat to replace my beautiful red one you hate so much. And then I didn’t.”

“Ha. Aw, come on, never said I hated it. It looks good on y’. S’ just seen better days.”

“Haven’t we all, Mister Morgan.”

‘So…y-y’ain’t run into any trouble when you was out?”

“Like what?” 

“I don’ know. Anythin’. Jus’ wanna make sure you didn’t see anyone or run into any problems.”

“No, my love. I was perfectly safe.” She reaches across the space between them, squeezes his hand, and pulls back. “Did you run into trouble when you were out?”

There’s a grin on her face when he looks at her. He rubs the back of his neck. “I-well, to be honest, I ran into a feller comin’ home. He was just outside a’ camp. Too close outside a’ camp. Ain’t got no idea how long he was sittin’ there. Bastard’s been here ‘least a week from what I saw. But he—” 

Arthur stops cold in the road.

“W-what’s wrong?” 

A figure looms in the distance and he squints to get a better look. They’re unmoving, a quick appraisal proof of their slender legs and broad shoulders. They stand stiff and defiant, like they’re ready for something. He nods towards them. “There.”

She bends forward. “Arthur, I don't think there’s anything there.”

“Wait here.” 

“Arth—”

“Shh. Jus’ wait here.”

The shadow waits, unperturbed. Arthur doesn’t see a gun belt or bandolier as he nears closer, no barrel poking out from behind their back. Stars dust the sky like salt from a shaker but their light can only hint at what’s in front of him. He draws his repeater. 

“‘Y got a problem, buddy?”

They remain still. 

Arthur cocks the hammer. “I said, y’ got a problem?”

He trots towards the figure until it’s in full view, a cold wavelet of relief and shame trickling through him. He blinks. Two splintered planks of wood point in either direction, nails bent and rusted in their foreheads. Valentine this way. Emerald Ranch that way. He lowers his gun.

Ophelia snorts as Maria trots up next to him. She watches him gawk at the street sign and runs the back of her finger down his cheek. “Hey. What’s going on with you?”

His ears burn when he slings the repeater behind him. “‘M sorry. Jus’...thought I saw somethin’.”

“No, that’s okay. I just want to make sure you’re okay. Y-you’re starting to scare me a bit.”

He reaches over and places a hand on her thigh. “‘M sorry, sweetheart. I ain’t mean to scare y’. Let’s just keep goin’, okay? Please.”

“Arthur, are we in danger?”

“No. No, y’ain’t in danger no more.”

He tries to move his hand off her leg but Maria grabs his wrist. “What does that mean?”

“N-nothin’. S’over now. Come on, let’s go. I don’t want chu campin’ out here.”

“No. You tell me what that means.”

Arthur sighs and hangs his head. “Please, jus’ come wit’ me. I promise to y’ I’ll tell y’ everythin’ once we get to Strawberry, okay? But let’s get goin’.”

Maria hasn’t loosened her vice grip on his wrist, her eyes wide with a kind of fear Arthur hates being responsible for. She watches him, waiting for an explanation, her gaze darting over him like maybe the answer is in the scars on his face. He places his hand over hers until the sting of nails in his skin at long last subsides. 

“‘M sorry.” 

She doesn’t say anything. 

“Will y’...? R-ride with me.”

“I am riding with you.”

“Naw. With me. Feel a whole lot better with you behind me.”

The confession brings out a sad, bemused smile. “...You promise to tell me what the hell’s going on when we get there?”

Arthur smirks and crosses his finger over his heart, and she rolls her eyes though her smile gets a little bigger. “Move over then.”

The remainder of their journey is blessedly filled with her voice, Maria answering every one of Arthur’s prompts. Tell me more ‘bout your day. Naw, all of it. I like listenin’ to you talk. That’s good. Charles and I went huntin’ too once a little while ago. Bison. Micah ain’t givin’ you any more grief is he? Y’ sure y’ain’t run into any trouble? Y’ comfortable back there? Sweet girl, you fallin’ asleep? 

She’s halfway there by the time they make it into Strawberry, a quiet, drowsy mumble her only response when Arthur announces their arrival. “Come on, darlin.’ Let’s get chu inside.”

He helps Maria down and she leans against the hitching posts to watch him tether their mares, a tired smile gifted to him when he takes her hand to guide them inside. He holds on as they speak to the hotel clerk, clutches her fingers tighter on their way up the stairs, and when they make it into their room the first thing he does is bolt the door shut. 

Maria hums on her way to the dresser, her head craned to every new detail of a room they’ve stayed in before. Arthur notices too. The fresh leaves that sprout from a vase on the bedside table. The change in sheets, lily white with an intricate black pattern that makes them look fancier than they are. A stain in the carpet is gone.

She drops onto the bed. “So, are you finally gonna tell me what’s—”

He crosses the room to the closet beside their bed and yanks open the door. Hangers clatter against each other, rushed to one side of the rod, then the other, before he shuts the door. A sheer curtain of lace hangs down to the floorboards over their window, burgundy drapes pinned back in front of it. He tugs the ropes and the thick cloth tumbles down like the end of a stage show. 

“What are you—?”

He roots through his satchel and she can hear the clink of metal. He pulls out his little tin mug, a spoon, cursing under his breath until he locates a fork. 

“Arthur?”

He walks over to the vanity and opens one of its slender drawers. He sticks the head of the fork inside and closes the drawer over the tines, his hand pressed firmly against the wood to keep it shut. Maria watches him, listens to him grunt and push down on the handle as if pumping water, and when he pulls it out of the drawer again the fork’s head is a capital C, the tines hooked like claws.

“Arthur?”

Back and forth back and forth he bends the metal until the head snaps off. He unlocks the door to their room and sticks the crooked fork head in the latch and closes the door again. She’s off the bed when he slides the broken handle through the tines. He tries to open the door. Jiggles the knob. Every time, the fork quivers but doesn’t break. He sighs and twists the lock below the doorknob too. 

“Arthur, look at me.”

She’s behind him when he turns around, arms crossed over her chest and a look of worry he hardly sees anymore. Her boot tap tap taps on the floorboard. “You promised.”

“I know.”

“And you’re scaring the shit out of me.”

“Yeah, I know that too. ‘M sorry, sweetheart, I really am. Here, come with me.” 

He takes her by the hand and leads her back to the bed, his eyes on the carpet throughout the entire story.  How he was comin’ home and how he found the man and how naw, he seemed fine at first until he saw all the goddamn photos, some of  ‘em taken in broad daylight and some of ‘em taken when she was sleepin’ and how he tore down every one of ‘em before comin’ to get her. He tells her all about how short he was and how he kinda reminded him of them things outside a church or big buildin’, yeah, a gargoyle, tha’s it, and how he was fat and bald and probably ain’t never fired a gun in his life. 

Maria’s hand is limp by the time he finishes, her eyes lost to the wallpaper. She swallows. “A-and…” She tries to find the words but all she does is take a long and laboured inhale. Arthur shimmies out of his coat to wrap her in, his large hand running up and down her arm. 

“How many were there? Photos. H-how many did he take?”

Arthur sighs. “‘Bout a dozen I reckon.”

“Jesus Christ. I…I am so goddamn stupid.”

“Hey, now—”

“How in the hell did I not notice something like that? He was following me around for a week, a week, Arthur, and he took all those goddamn photos and I didn’t—”

Arthur cups the side of her face and draws her head to his lips. “This ain’t your fault,” he says into her hair. “Y’ didn’t do anythin’ wrong. There’s a lotta sick folk out there and there ain’t no sense tryin’ to make heads or tails of it. And it ain’t your fault when they set their sights on y’.” He kisses her head again. “‘M sorry I didn’t see the bastard sooner. ‘S my job to keep y’ safe and I…I didn’t.”

She faces him. “How could you have known?”

“I don’t know.”

“Arthur, if I can’t blame me, you can’t blame you.”

He exhales. “Alright.”

They sit there, tangled in each other’s arms without a word. Maria wraps her fist around his fingers and kisses his knuckles, reaching into his lap to rest her other hand on his. He smiles.

“Thank you, Arthur. For bringing me here and for just…I love you.” Another kiss to his knuckles. “I love you so much.”

“I know, sweetheart. Me too. More than anythin’, I do.”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure. Ain’t about me.”

“Arthur.”

He looks at her. With those big brown doe eyes and those long dark curls and that glorious golden skin of hers. “I’m jus’...I’m jus’ so goddamn afraid of somethin’ terrible happenin’ to y’.”

“Might be an occupational hazard I’m afraid,” she whispers.

He presses his forehead to hers. “That ain’t funny.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Arthur, I—whenever you go out on a job, whenever you head into town, whenever someone so much as looks at you funny I’m always so goddamn scared that something bad’s going to happen.” She runs her thumb across the scar on his chin. “It’s been a long time since I’ve loved someone as much as I love you…” Her voice trails off, a fine glaze over her eyes when she drops them to her lap. “A long time since I’ve lost someone I love as much as you, too. And I…I don’t have it in me to survive that again.”

“Sweet girl. Yer talkin’s if y’ already lost me.”

“Some days I’m terrified I will,” she whispers.

His calloused finger rests under her chin and lifts her face to his. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. And I ain’t lettin’ you go anywhere neither.”

“We keep each other safe.”

“We keep each other safe.”

“I love you.”

“I know. Me too.”

He tilts her lips to his. The kiss is short, timid, and when she pulls away with a blush on her cheeks it reminds him of their first. He smiles.

“Well, cowboy. Guess we better get to sleep so we can catch that stage.”

“You know damn well there ain’t a stage.”

She laughs. “I do.”

“Still. That don’t mean we gotta head back right away. Maybe it came late,” he says, a second kiss pressed to her lips. “Maybe it didn’t come at all.”

“Mm. And what do you reckon we do with all our free time?”

“Got a few ideas.”

“Nap?”

“Ha. Well, there’ll be plenty a’ time for that too.”

“Not with you there won’t be,” she says with a smirk, and rises off the bed. 

Arthur chuckles and works himself out of his clothes while Maria undresses beside him. She finishes first and snuggles under the bedspread in only a camisole and bloomers, her hair freed down the curve of her back while he strips down to his union suit. 

She wolf whistles before he slips in next to her. Dons a southern accent. “My, my, Mister Morgan.”

“Shut up,” he says with a grin. 

“My stars. I ain’t seen you this indecent in a long time.”

“Sorry I don’t go gallivatin’ around in my bloomers all the time.”

She laughs. “Oh, I’m sorry. Sorry for not wanting to fall asleep in my clothes like a barbarian. Who goes to bed with their boots on?”

“I do.”

“Well I think you’ll find this much more comfortable.”

“Y’ may have to lose a few more layers ‘fore I’m really comfortable.”

“I will if you will.” She inches closer to wrap an arm around his torso. “I love you.”

He yawns wide and long and silent. Kisses the top of her head. Sleep is already heavy in his bones when he closes his eyes. “Mm, me too.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve said that a lot tonight, haven’t I?”

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’. I ain’t ever gonna tire of hearin’ you say it.”

“Okay, good. Cause I've got a lifetime more of ‘em.”

“Tha’s a real long time to spend on an outlaw.”

She smiles and closes her eyes. “Looking forward to it.”

[inchidentally]

'what if the competition between Lando and Oscar turns bad?' between my landoscar post and comments on other SM content it made me want to get weird in notepad again

I'm tagging @481boxboxbaby and @twinkodium who've asked but I'm sorry if someone's asked to be tagged and I missed it! also tagging @huntscunt who's tags put this idea in my little head

(caveat that I'm a casual fan who happens to have been around F1 fans all my life so this is just my not remotely official perspective lol)

just to state I think it's a given that we're all so excited for McLaren's future with these two is that Lando and Oscar feel like generational talents. and they're also very different as drivers and every race is exciting to watch even just for them. also the fact that Oscar was the jolt of competition that Lando needed.

and honestly I'd be more worried about their future harmony if they hadn't already had so many highly competitive and charged moments in their first season together:

Oscar came in at a surprisingly even level with Lando apart from the obvious difference in experience. he's taken risks that have on balance landed decently on the side of ballsy/respectable vs total failure and the time spent as reserve driver hadn't deteriorated any of his ability. so it was fair to worry for a while if Lando would take the competition as motivation or frustration esp after the disparity between him and DR in 2022.

I really liked the sort of respectful if tentative camaraderie Oscar and Lando showed each other when the car was an absolute tractor. but I liked it even more the fact that the turnaround at McLaren by Silverstone saw them both still in such a good place while being very competitive. that was I think the start of us seeing that Oscar wanted to prove himself a real team player and good teammate by starting the habit of showing up consistently for Lando's podiums/qualis.

the pit lane ding-dong in Monza was definitely the biggest test they've had - and that a lot of teammates will ever have - and the whole thing was handled really well all around. Andrea did the right thing of being big bad boss and Lando was quick to say that it was prob down to misjudgement (which is what I always thought) and that they still respect each other the same. I wasn't as active then so I can't remember if Oscar was asked for a response but I do remember my friends/family telling me that it was impressive how that didn't cause any major damage between the drivers since that's a pretty major incident to happen so early in a new partnership.

side note here to say that the ppl around me who've been watching F1 since the 90s overall feel like the hothead in-fighting with teammates seems to be fading/getting less intense with the younger generations. maybe it's because alpha male mentality seems cringe to gen z or because awareness of mental health is way more prevalent. Gasly and Ocon are relatively young drivers but even there the situation is pretty rare and because of hanging onto childhood grudges. I don't get the impression that any of the people around me feel like the Norris/Piastri partnership is likely to blow up or generate bitterness just because they're competing so closely ??

it's fair to say that Oscar has seemed genuinely happy to acknowledge that Lando is the McLaren brand representative and the established fan favorite within the sport as well as the team's fanbase. he's extremely mature for his years and incredibly well-balanced in terms of ambition. he's almost tailor made as a perfect compliment to Lando. EDITED TO ADD: see Oscar's almost lifelong friendship with Logan Sargeant as an example of Oscar having duked it out on track with someone for years while remaining close friends the whole time. and this was Oscar interrupting his own victory radio message to say how awfully he felt for Logan crashing out early. and that this is what Oscar felt about his and Lando's partnership toward the end of the season.

EDITED TO ADD:

Silverstone is a perfect encapsulation of how Lando has felt about Oscar from the very start and this was so beautiful to say.

Lando has measured himself by Lewis Hamilton-level goals since karting. Oscar wants to qualify well and win races. Lando was brought into F1 extremely young coming off of huge expectations and has placed enormous pressure on himself since as early as his second year in F1. Oscar has taken a business-like approach to his career since he was 14 and his calm sense of focus and determination comes from focusing on the race ahead and not letting much else in.

Lando's emotions being driven by his superstar destiny/status and Oscar's ability to have calm perspective even during a race is as solid a foundation as you can get in an F1 partnership honestly. they'll absolutely have the same conflicts that all teammates do and the media and DTS will explode those out of all proportion (both of which I ignore anyway). but I really can't see Oscar suddenly flying off the handle or holding grudges and I can't see Lando becoming a driver who suddenly wants to sustain a bad relationship with his teammate after all these years. Oscar is very clearly not the type to develop a crazy ego and Lando genuinely has more of an insane high self-expectation complex than that big of an ego.

even setting aside the parasocial widely felt agreement that they seem to genuinely like and respect each other, neither of them are alpha types and they're not both superstars jostling for publicity and they didn't come up together with a ton of existing history. idk it's just not on the F1 cards that they become icy or resentful.

so while I know no one can see the future and they're both relatively young and could change I don't really feel apprehensive?? and it's way too early to know if either of them will split from McLaren or when. especially if the car stays competitive with RB and Merc then it's the best place for both of them for the foreseeable (and prob most likely since competitive openings elsewhere look to be scant for the next 5ish? years but pls correct me if that's wrong!).

.

.

side side side note: I personally would not want to see Lando at RB. I know he's itching to try that car but unless RB and Max change drastically before then, Lando would positively shrivel up there. he's a superstar and he needs to be someplace he can be a superstar. it's also why I'm glad Carlos and Daniel moved along bc that's why those friendships are still so strong. we saw what had begun to happen when Lando was eclipsing Daniel and I don't even want to think about Carlos and his family if Carlos was teammates with a dominant Lando.

[evanesdust]

i'll be your hope

written for @sterekfests week four prompt: camping anywhere, @sterekweekly word prompt: clothes, and @sterekbingo square: cuddling

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Additional Tags: POV Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Established Relationship, Summer Vacation, Alpha Derek Hale, Camping, Cuddling & Snuggling Summary:

Camping and raining and talking. Oh my!

The fire warmed Stiles's face, and he smiled. With the trees surrounding them, the stars up above, and their friends talking and laughing, it was almost reminiscent of four weeks ago when he met Derek.

Well…officially met. Stiles had known who Derek was for years before Derek walked up to him the night of the bonfire and introduced himself. What he hadn't known was that Derek had noticed him at school and was interested in him.

Four weeks later, Stiles was happier than he thought possible. Derek was an amazing boyfriend. So attentive and kind. Loving and thoughtful. And hot. As much as Stiles hated putting emphasis on Derek's looks, Derek was seriously the most beautiful person he'd ever laid eyes on.

From his perfectly coiffed dark brown hair to his chiseled jawline. From the way his shirts stretched over his chest and arms to the way his jeans fit so snugly that they were just shy of indecent. From the way his smile could light up a room to his expressive eyes that always told so much.

Stiles smiled and sighed in contentment. Derek was the guy most people could only dream of dating.

Memories of the past few weeks competed for his attention. The sweet words Derek whispered in his ear during their dates, the lingering touches on his arm while they'd just sit together, the hugs that seemed to last for days, the way Derek's lips and body felt against his own...

It was all too much.

It wasn't enough.

But as happy as Stiles was, he couldn't help but worry about what the future held for them. He wondered if this blissful feeling would last past the summer and into their return to school or if it would just be a brief summer fling.

He hated the idea of returning to school and never seeing Derek again. Or worse, seeing him and having to pretend he wasn't dying inside. He glanced around, eyes immediately landing on Derek, who was talking to Boyd a few feet away. And it was as if they were magnets drawn together. Derek's gaze snapped to his, giving Stiles that smile that seemed reserved just for him.

All of Stiles's worries about their future vanished in an instant.

Erica and Lydia tried to get Stiles's attention, but he was lost in Derek's eyes. Lost in the way his lips quirked and the way he mouthed, 'Hi.'

Lydia laughed and poked at him, calling him ridiculous, but before he could retort, a drop of something wet hit his face. Stiles looked up just as more spatters rained down on him.

"Ah, shit," someone called out. It sounded like Isaac, another of Derek's friends that had been invited on this camping trip.

Lydia exclaimed, "It wasn't supposed to rain this weekend!" as she rushed to her tent.

And it wasn't. Stiles had checked the weather as soon as Derek asked if he wanted to go camping. It wasn't usually the type of activity he was drawn to in the summer. Or anytime, really. He would have much rather stayed at home, playing video games. Of course, that was before Derek.

Now Stiles would have to say he'd prefer staying home and hanging out with Derek. Preferably making out. But Derek was pretty active, unsurprising since he was a werewolf. They'd already gone to the beach, rock climbing—well...Derek went rock climbing while Stiles cheered him on from the ground—on a hike, and to Six Flags.

So, needless to say, Stiles had a habit of saying yes. Of going wherever Derek wanted just to spend time with him. Not that they only did what Derek wanted. They still spent plenty of time in Stiles's room. Or Derek's. They cuddled on the bed and watched movies. Or made out. They played video games or talked.

They even sat in silence on occasion, each reading a different book. Or Derek would read while Stiles got lost on YouTube. Or Stiles would read while Derek sketched designs of apartments or office buildings.

It was always a good time with Derek, regardless of what they were doing. Honestly, Stiles just liked being in his presence.

The rain started coming down hard, pulling Stiles from his thoughts. He looked around, expecting to see everyone running for their tents like Lydia had, but no one moved. Instead, they looked up at the sky and laughed while the fire died out from the onslaught of rain.

"Your clothes are getting soaked," Derek said, coming up behind him.

Stiles leaned back against him when Derek slipped an arm around his waist. "It's okay."

"I don't want you to get sick."

Which was understandable since he was the lone human in their group.

Derek walked backward, but even though it was dark now without the fire, there was enough moonlight that Stiles could make out Boyd and Scott talking while Isaac chased Erica. Their laughter rang through the trees, and he could imagine them beta-shifted and play-fighting.

When they got to the tent, Derek spun them around, and Stiles fumbled with the zipper for a moment before finally getting it open. He stepped inside the tent, which was far larger than it should be for just two people, but Derek was ridiculous like that. Which was why they also had a king-size air mattress with actual sheets and blankets, even though Stiles would have been fine with a sleeping bag.

"Here, let me help," Derek said after zipping the tent back up, and all Stiles could do was stand there, rain dripping from his hair as Derek undressed him. His breath came out in harsh pants as Derek's warm hands laid a searing path everywhere he touched. Up his sides as Derek tugged Stiles's shirt over his head. Down his legs as Derek shoved Stiles's jeans off, leaving him in his boxers.

And then Derek handed him a pair of sweats and a hoodie. Both were emblazoned with Beacon Hills High School.

Stiles could feel his face flush as he put on Derek's clothes. Or maybe it was because Derek was undressing down to his tight boxer briefs that really left nothing to the imagination. But then Derek tugged on a pair of sweatpants, which was sad.

Thankfully, he didn't put on a shirt, and as soon as they were both on the air mattress, Stiles slid his hands up that gloriously naked chest.

"You're so warm," he whispered, fingers threading through Derek's chest hair. He wanted to rub his face over it, so he did.

Derek's body shook as he chuckled.

"What are you doing?" he asked, pulling a thick blanket over them.

Stiles bit his bottom lip as he glanced up.

"I don't know." He probably should have been embarrassed, but this was Derek. His person. His safe space and happy place. If he couldn't be himself and do weird shit around Derek without judgment, then chances are their relationship wouldn't last. "I don't know. Just wanted to do that."

Derek smiled at him, his eyes soft as he cupped Stiles's face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. "Okay." There was that easy acceptance that made Stiles's heart flip. "Are you cold at all? I brought more blankets."

"No. I'm good. You're warm." Stiles laid his head back on Derek's chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Stiles said easily. There wasn't anything Stiles wouldn't answer.

Derek kissed the top of Stiles's head. "What were you thinking about earlier?"

Except that.

Shit. Stiles had been hoping Derek wouldn't have noticed his moment of apprehension, but of course, he had. Derek noticed everything when it came to him.

"Nothing," Stiles whispered, trailing his fingers across Derek's stomach.

His muscles contracted under Stiles's touch, and Stiles wanted to bite every ridge. Wanted to lick across his abs. Wanted to let the tip of his tongue trail up to that mouth he wanted to kiss so badly.

But Derek was quiet, clearly waiting for Stiles to tell him the truth.

Stiles sighed.

"I was thinking about us," he admitted. "And our future. About what happens when get back to school…"

Derek's breath hitched for a second before he leaned down and kissed Stiles softly. It felt like it lasted forever, but at the same time, he pulled away far too soon, tipping Stiles's chin up until their eyes met.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Derek's expression was guarded, not something Stiles was used to.

"I don't know. I mean," Stiles sucked in a breath, releasing it slowly before continuing, "what is this to you?"

Derek's brows pulled down into a frown. "This is everything to me. You are everything to me. Don't you know that? Nothing's going to change between us just because we're back at school in the fall."

Stiles leaned into the kiss Derek planted on his forehead. "Okay. I don't know why I was worried."

He shouldn't have been. Derek had made his feelings more than clear with every touch and kiss and hug. With every smile and soft glance.

"Good," Derek murmured against Stiles's lips as they kissed again.

Outside, the rain had stopped. Everyone must have gone into their tents because the only sound was the wind rustling the trees above them and water dripping off the tent.

But Stiles didn't care. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

Derek pulled out of the kiss but stayed close, his forehead resting against Stiles's.

"You ready to sleep?" he asked, and Stiles nodded, laying his head on Derek's chest.

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and kissed his temple, murmuring something that sounded like, "Goodnight."

Stiles snuggled closer, relishing in the warmth of Derek holding him tight. It wasn't long before he fell asleep, dreaming about the possibilities of tomorrow.

[sterekbros]

backyard camping by Winchesterek

Additional Tags: Derek Hale is Stiles Stilinski's Alpha, Derek Hale's Alpha Form, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski are Eli Hale's Parents, Alpha Derek Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Family Fluff, Fluff, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is a Softie, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing, Kid Fic, For @sterekweekly clothes and @sterekfests camping anywhere

Stiles did his best not to laugh as he watched Derek struggle with the tent, trying to set it up in the backyard while Elijah ran around in his wolf form with Ava, playing.

“Need any help?” Stiles rested his hands on his hips as he stood behind Derek, who was grumbling and growling at the poles. 

“No.” Derek sounded frustrated, but Stiles knew he was too stubborn to fail. 

“Maybe…” Derek looked back at Stiles with a pleading look and Stiles shook his head, moving to kneel next to Derek in the grass.

“So what’s the problem?” Stiles asked, looking at the poles in Derek’s hands and the sad tent laying in front of them.

“I can't get the poles to stay while I try to put them through the tent.” Derek gave Stiles an unamused look and Stiles barely managed to hold back his smile.

“Well, you have to lock the poles together before you put them in…” Stiles took the poles from Derek’s hands and slid them together, twisting. “See.”

Derek looked even more irritated. “It can't be that simple.”

Stiles chuckled. “No werewolf abilities needed to make this work wolf-man.”

“Don't call me that,” Derek grumbled, watching as Stiles put all the poles together and handed them to Derek.

He showed Derek how to slide the locked poles into the slots and then Derek easily put together the rest of the tent. It was a medium-sized tent and would for sure be a tight squeeze for a wolf, two pups, and Stiles to squeeze into that night.

“There, perfect.” Stiles stood and wiped his hands on his jeans as Derek glared at the tent while standing next to him. “Now go play with your pups and give me your clothes. I’m gonna throw them into the wash with the rest while you guys roughhouse out here. Then I’ll bring out dinner.”

“Thank you,” Derek said softly, stripping off his shirt and handing it to Stiles as he leaned in to give him a kiss. “What would we do without you?”

“Sleep outside in the cold without a tent,” Stiles chuckled and kissed Derek again, taking the rest of his clothes as his mate undressed. 

Of course, Stiles ogled him and that sent a heat spreading through him before Derek shifted and ran off to chase their kids. God, Derek was so damn hot. If Stiles couldn't control himself, he’d end up pregnant during his next heat which was still a few months away.

He didn't think Derek would mind that much, though. It would just fill their house with more love.

And that was always a good thing. It was something special that no one could ever take away from them. Their love and the promise of their future. 

Stiles knew they’d do anything to keep it. He rested his hand on his stomach as he went into the house and tossed all the clothes in the washer before getting started on dinner, thinking of the three wolves outside that were his world and always would be.

[boppinbabe]

❰ #BOPPINBABE ❱ —— An independent, non-selective GIRLFRIEND from FRIDAY NIGHT FUNKIN', written with love by BEE. At  this  point  in  time,  blog  is  dash  only,  uses  minimal  but  neat  formatting  and  90x90  cartoon  icons  exclusively.  Crossover, duplicate,  multiverse  and  original  character  friendly.  Uses  the  Beta  Editor  and XKit  Rewritten to trim posts.  18+  only,  but  not  strictly  NSFW.  Multi-ship,  ships  with  Boyfriend  or  chemistry.  All  ships  exist  in  alternate  universes  unless  stated  otherwise  to  avoid  conflict.  Established  in  November  of  2023.  Please  do  not  reblog.

      MINORS AND PERSONAL BLOGS, DO NOT INTERACT. As stated above, this blog is an 18+ space. The admin is an adult and not comfortable roleplaying with minors. Please respect that.

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[our-flag-means-death-ao3feed]

podfic of Parallel Placement by ClaireGregory

by Kninjaknitter

Ed Teach, the most successful Olympic diver in the world, expected to come home to Aotearoa from the Paris 2024 Olympics with four gold medals. He didn't anticipate bringing back one more golden thing: Stede Bonnet, his competitor-turned-lover-turned-teammate. And now Stede's by Ed's side for knee surgery, a year-long recovery, and the realisation of a childhood dream- opening his own diving school and aquatic centre.

Stede's finding his own place in the world after divorcing, coming out, and becoming a central figure in the wildest Olympic diving drama in history. He'll have to face up to his past to carve a new path forward, but he'll have Ed and a whole new found family by his side throughout.

Together they're facing a year of change, working on themselves in parallel, toward a shared future. Along the way they'll keep building the intense physical and emotional bond that burst into life in Paris, and shifted everything for both of them.

Words: 6, Chapters: 1/6, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Love Beyond Borders

Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Stede Bonnet, Jim Jimenez, Oluwande Boodhari, Lucius Spriggs, Israel Hands, Mother Teach (Our Flag Means Death), Jim Jimenez's Grandmother, Fang (Our Flag Means Death), Ivan (Our Flag Means Death), Crew of the Revenge (Our Flag Means Death), Mary Allamby Bonnet, Doug (Our Flag Means Death), Alma Bonnet, Louis Bonnet, Edward Bonnet | Stede Bonnet's Father

Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet, Black Pete/Fang/Lucius Spriggs, Oluwande Boodhari/Jim Jimenez, Mother Teach/Jim Jimenez's Grandmother, Israel Hands/The Swede (Our Flag Means Death)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Diving, Olympics, Sequel, happy ever after in progress, Happy Ending, minimal angst, Established Relationship, Surgery, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, New Beginnings, stepdad blackbeard, Mary Allamby Bonnet & Stede Bonnet Friendship, Blackbeard | Edward Teach Has ADHD, Autistic Stede Bonnet, Demisexual Stede Bonnet, Māori Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Engagement, Weddings, Crochet, Semi-Public Sex, Public Sex, Hand Jobs, airport sex, Mile High Club, Virtual Reality sex, Sexting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Nipple Play, Coming Untouched, Pool Sex, Outdoor Sex, Tent Sex, Boat Sex, Food Sex, Consensual Somnophilia, Cock Warming, Light Bondage, Bathroom Sex, Mirror Sex, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/46744783

[eyelessfaces]

the price to pay

llewyn davis x reader

summary: furtive touches at a dinner with the Gorfeins quickly turn into a more dangerous game, but it's a game you're more than willing to play.

warnings: smut (minors dni), language

tags: gn!reader, established relationship, sub!llewyn, both llewyn and reader being absolute menaces

word count: 1.5k

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!!

It wasn’t unusual for you and Llewyn to dine at the Gorfeins. It happened at least once every month, and the Gorfeins loved you. They were delighted when Llewyn introduced you to them, and they were so proud and happy for Llewyn as if he were their own son and as if they had just been introduced to their future kid in law. 

What was unusual was the both of you having to stay in their living room for the night, in their sofa bed, Lillian having insisted that you stayed here as you had drunk quite a good amount of wine throughout the evening. You insisted that you were fine and that you would be able to go home, but your politeness took over and you eventually accepted to stay over.

Another thing you hadn’t planned was that you would, one day, be giving Llewyn a handjob at the Gorfeins. 

It wasn’t the alcohol taking over your actions; it was the reminiscence of all of Llewyn’s tentative and teasing brushes against your thigh under the table while you were asking informative questions about Mitch’s lectures. Llewyn probably thought it would be funny to play that game and to disrupt you while you were so innocently bonding with his longtime friend.

Your boyfriend was sneaky and cocky about it; his hand slowly easing along your clothed thigh, going up and down, but growing bolder and going higher and higher at each move, while still looking at the couple in front of him, nodding and smiling at them with the most natural behavior you had ever seen from him.

The bastard enjoyed it. You knew he did. Because you knew him like no one else and because of his widening, smug smirk when you squeezed his fingers under the table.

And as the tease Llewyn is, he never fully acted on his deeds, just purposefully leaving you feeling aroused and unsatisfied.

So of course, after you helped Lillian clear the table and do the dishes and settled to go to bed, you knew you had to take your revenge. There was no way he could get away with this that easily.

Llewyn slid under the stuffed plaid after tossing his trousers on the floor, and you joined him but sat on your knees before straddling him. 

Llewyn frowns as you do so, a bit surprised, but smiles and puts his hands over your hips.

You chuckle and put a hand to his hip. “You thought you could tease me all evening long and not pay for it?” you ask rhetorically while your hand slips inside of his boxers. “I’m gonna be so fucking worse.” you whisper in the shell of his ear, wrapping your fingers around his cock. He’s to your delight already hard, a soft gasp escaping his mouth, and his head falls back into the cushion as your hand starts moving.

“Fuck— If this is the price I have to pay” he chuckles. “That’s a nice revenge I gotta admit” he smirks, looking back at you again.

You huff out a small laugh. “Don’t be too cocky about it you could regret it” you affirm as you sweep your thumb over the tip of his cock, spreading the leaking precum over it before going back to pumping him again. 

“Hah fuck–” he breathes out, breaking eye contact as his head is drawn back once again and a moan falls from his lips.

You tut and brush back the few curls falling over his forehead with your free hand.

“You’re gonna need to be extra quiet or we’re never stepping inside this apartment ever again, I highly doubt Lillian will love us as much if she hears you and comes to check on us just to discover what we’re doing on their couch” you coo at him, your hand fervently going up and down his length, contrasting with your soft and careful gestures with his curls.

He shakes his head and his teeth are anchored to his bottom lip, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Can you— not mention Lillian while you’re jerking me off? Ruins the vibe” he huffs out.

You giggle silently and nuzzle his neck, planting a sloppy kiss there while twisting your wrist to stroke him just the way he likes.

“Shit— baby” he wails softly. He squeezes harder on your hip, his other hand meeting his forehead as he’s trying his best not to let any loud noise out.

You keep on stroking him like that, soft and quiet sounds escaping his mouth, curse words mumbled under his breath.

He was doing surprisingly good considering how vocal he could get sometimes.

“You’re doing so fucking good Llewyn” you mumble against his neck, and your praise makes a sweet, almost high-pitched sigh escape his lips.

His hand slides under your shirt, meeting your cold flesh as his fingers anchor down on your hip. It’s a way for him to steady himself but you’re pretty sure it is going to leave a bruise considering the pressure he puts on grabbing you there.

“Fuck that feels so good” he mumbles against your hair, and you set to a more steady, calm pace, taking your time to fully take him in your hand.

“Yeah?” you ask, hand shifting on his cock so your finger is tracing every vein, the movement pulling out a low grunt from him.

He nods vividly, his mouth too busy biting on his bottom lip so no obscene sound escapes. He’s biting so hard he’s pretty sure it’s going to bleed as winter hasn’t been so kind on his chapped lips.

Your thumb hovers over the head again, tracing circles there, and he lets out a repressed exhale before his hips jolt forward, his body trembling under you. You know damn well what that means and if he thinks he can do that that easily; he’s wrong.

“Don’t cum yet.” you order looking up at him, stopping every movement on his throbbing length.

The moonlight allows you to see the disgruntled expression on his face as his feeling of pleasure slowly progressively washes away. “Really?” he whimpers, the back of his head buried deeper behind him as a disappointed sigh falls from his mouth.

You smile smugly, cupping his cheek with your free hand before kissing it.

“That’s just-”

“The consequences of my own actions, yeah” he completes your sentence with a sigh.

“Exactly” you mumble against his skin, tracing a trail of soft kisses from his jawline down to his neck, fully exposed thanks to his thrown back head. “Told you I wouldn’t go easy on you” you whisper before your hand suddenly goes back to stroking him intensely, your fingers tracing from base to tip faster than ever.

You’re glad your free hand is fast enough to cover his mouth, blocking what would have probably gotten you kicked out of this apartment. Llewyn’s eyes go wide, and you can’t help biting your own lip at the intensity of the moment. 

Your hand leaves Llewyn’s mouth once he gets adjusted to the pace, and you just know he desperately wants to insult you, but he’s having way too much pleasure to do so.

“Hah baby—” he chokes out, his eyes squeezing shut as his face contorts in pleasure.

His cock is pulsing into your hand, and his teeth sink into his bottom lip as his fingers grip on your hip harder than ever when he cums into your fist.

A broken moan escapes his lips, and you help him ride his high as you pump into him a few last times, hot ropes of cum dripping along your fisted hand. 

His head falls back one last time, and his chest rises up and down as he slowly tries to catch his breath. 

He’s silent and doesn’t move, waiting for the wave of pleasure to crash, then he finally moves to prop himself on his elbows. He lets out a sigh of relief before shaking his head.

“I don’t know if I should insult you or thank you” he whispers, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand.

You laugh silently, and he grabs the back of your head to pull you into a kiss.

It’s not revengeful; it’s not even remotely rough. It’s soft but also kinda firm, it’s the thank you he wants to tell you without actually saying it out loud.

“Fuck you though” he whispers as he pulls away, shifting to kiss your cheek.

“You wish, but you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet” you tease, and he smiles against his will before putting his hand over your mouth and shoving you away, making you fall besides him.

“Shut up” he laughs as he snuggles to your side. “You’re gonna pay for this and I won’t be kind, but we’ll do it at home so I can get to hear just how bad I make you suffer” he whispers into your ear, his words forming goosebumps over your skin.

“Deal” you nod, brushing off your feeling of arousal growing even more.

“Deal.” he repeats, closing his eyes as his head rests against your shoulder.

And hell, does he make you pay for it, and luckily Lillian and Mitch seem to have heard nothing about your shenanigans as you’re invited again the next month.

—

inside llewyn davis taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @Leerose42779 @mystinky-butt

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!!

[borup65chappell]

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·:*¨༺ ❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ❞

@yanbub​  gorou picking you flowers a small gift bc he got busy with the resistance and he had to cancel in on your date, you know that he’s busy so you were okay with it but you felt bad that he had to go through the efforts of picking you flowers just to make it up for you. bonus i imagine a relationship with gorou would be those awkward anime couples HAHA. he'd also nervously scratch his head while thinking of a way to apologize to you but you just pull him for a small kiss on the cheek wwwdhsjdjxjxjdkskdkdk he’s so cute i love it.

@fadedjae​ gorou teaching you how to use a bow bc you wanted to help in the resistance 🥺.

@pastelsicheng​ gorou and his fox ears hmmm what if he likes getting ear scratches? fluff where ur just chilling and u scratch behind his ear and he loves it.

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. gorou x gn!reader

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. drabble ; 0.4k

✧ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. established relationship au ; fluff

Gorou tries to compensate for the cancelation of the date with flowers, but they become wilted by the time he arrives at your tent.

Being the second-in-command of a movement bears the responsibility to take charge of the military front and rebel against the opposing side. As Her Excellency is rarely present around her soldiers due to her duties at another island, Gorou spends most of his time training new recruits and defending the fort. A medic such as yourself understands that the future of Inazuma is at stake, so you don’t mind when the both of you are unable to make time for leisure.

“Dendrobriums?” you chuckle at his choice of flowers and not at their current state, which makes sense given that they are mostly grown near the front lines. “Thank you, though. I can place them on the graves if I come across one.”

“Oh, of course…” Gorou becomes embarrassed at the fact that his gift is meant for the dead. You feel bad that he has to go through the efforts of picking them just to make it up to you.

“Come here, honey.” You coax your boyfriend to come closer so you can pull him for a kiss on the cheek and scratch behind his ears. Off the battlefield, he tries to maintain his persona as the general of the Resistance but ultimately fails since his tail wags every time he sees you and when you are being affectionate towards him. “Good work out there. Are you hurt anywhere?”

Gorou takes your hand and puts it on the left side of his chest. “My heart hurts because your touches aren’t enough to make it beat as fast as it should.”

“You’re so cheesy.” You burst into laughter. Hopefully Teppei and the others didn’t hear you, or else the situation would be very awkward. “I know a way for you to compensate me.”

“Oh? What is it?”

You stare at his weapon lying beside him. “I want you to teach me how to use the bow.”

Both his ears and tail straighten in surprise. “You want to fight in the front lines? I’m not against it, but—”

“Just for self-defense,” you clarify. “I’m aware that I’m needed here to tend to the wounded. In case the Shogunate invades the fort, I’ll be here to shoot them down.”

You note that Gorou cannot contain his happiness because his tail is wagging as fast as the wings of Cincins. “I’m honored to be your teacher.”

✧ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. if your url is in bold, it means i can’t tag you!

@help-wtf-am-i-even-doing​