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yawneon · 3 months

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percy will a s/o that’s always sleeping🫶

BLUE - NOISE

a/n : this is so bad 😭😭😭

pairing : in love!percy jackson x hermes kid!reader

summary : in which percy jackson has his best birthday yet.

!!! : praying for more reqs, this one is so cute, i try my best 😞, maybe the plot was the friends we made along the way, unspecified demigod reader, book percy, ooc camp, i wanted it to be rainy in camp so ITS GOINF TO RAIN 🤬, the curse of never being able to write alot returns, THIS IS SO BAD

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

people at camp could’ve sworn there had been a mix up in olympus.

you. an hermes child? what a laugh.

you had to be a kid of hypnos. you slept so much, how couldn’t you? genuinely you couldn’t peel yourself off your bed like ever. everyone in camp knew, you were the person in cabin 11 that won’t get out bed if not needed. alcoholics had alcohol, gamblers had casinos but you… you had something far more worse.

you had the (in your humble opinion) the most comfortable bed in all of camp. sure, it wasn’t a 5 star hotel quality but shit was it good.

and more importantly it was the beds fault that you were oh so tired all the time and you just needed to sleep more than half the day.

everyone else couldn’t care less.. your siblings would just give you a small glance before ignoring you because honestly it was more surprising to see you awake! and trust me when you started dating percy.. did this get worse.

whatever you thought about having the best bed in camp was trampled on and thrown over a cliff edge the moment you laid in percy’s bed.

not only was his bed adorned with comfortable sheets and pillows his cabin was quiet.

percy didn’t understand however.

how on earth could you sleep when you have the most handsome and amazing boyfriend in all of the whole universe??

he has whined and frowned at you multiple times but you’ve slickly avoided his dramatics by lathering him up with sweet and sappy comments like “im dreaming of you~” that make annabeth and grover cringe at when he goes and boasts to them.

but today,

today you couldn’t avoid the dread of getting out of bed.

you stood at the foot of his bed holding a plate of waffles, blue ones. it was far too early for you, (it was 8am) but it was percy’s birthday. you weren’t going to neglect your boyfriend because gods you would never hear the end of it. so you decided to go against your force of nature and got up to whip up a batch of waffles for him.

despite it being the midst of summer rain pelted down against the hard exterior of cabin 3. it didn’t rain usually in camp, the rain would usually just pass right by but maybe the gods were arguing again and the storm was especially hard this day.

sluggishly you drag your feet to stand beside the bed in which percy sleeping.

you wished that was you.

the plate adorning the blue waffles are set down on his bedside table and you place a gentle hand on his shoulder shaking him. despite your (sucky) efforts he doesn’t stir awake.

you grab his arm now with both hands and you shake him harder than before and finally does he grumble awake.

he looks up at you, confused.

“happy birthday, idiot” you pick up and hold the plate of waffles up so he could see them a tired but sweet look on your face. he sits up on his elbows and a dopey smile appears on his face, a very common smile he shines when he looks at you.

“this all for me?” percy sits up fully now taking the plate from you and he smiles bigger now gaining his full conscious. he pats the empty side of the bed next to him and you basically throw yourself into the white sheets.

despite the innate need to sink further in and take ahold of the sleep thats so desperately trying to drag you down you sit up and watch him. “you’re up, today.” percy teases, his shoulder nudging yours.

“just shut up and eat your breakfast.” you laugh softly amused by his jokes.

he begins gobbling the waffles down, scoffing down the cream on top and cleaning the plate of any remains of food. it was actually very impressive how well he ate all of it.

percy’s eyes trail to the window of his cabin his eyes watching as the raindrops pelt down at the glass and the sound of the rain hitting the walls and roof echo loudly.

percy places the plate back onto the bedside and looks out the window. “say aye if your in to stay home all day?” he peeks at you, another dopey smile that you just couldn’t resist is painted on his face.

you didn’t even reply to him, your arm snakes around his collarbone and you basically slump him into bed. you both lay on your back and then percy starts talking.

he always did this. percy would talk and talk and talk while you laid next to him, even if you were asleep he would keep going. just the feeling of having you next to him was comfortable so he would talk about all different kinds of things and today wasn’t any different.

you however wanted to listen to him today but oh geez was it hard.

again it wasn’t your fault that his voice was smooth and calming to listen to even of he was talking about how he fell one time and scraped his knee when he was 7. it was like ypur white noise. you already slept a fuck-ton and having a boyfriend with the most sweetest voice was not helping you.

he held your hand as he laid next to you, his eyes tracing every detail of the ceiling as his fingers dance along your palm. he starts telling you all about how his first quest went. a story you’ve heard over.. and over and over again.

“when i started my quest..” blah blah blah.

your eyes shut and all you could focus on was his voice and the noise of water hitting the window panes. his hand was warm in yours and with his free hand percy pulls the covers over the both of you so only your heads were poking out. he slips his arm under your head and his other hand grabs yours again as he keeps rambling on.

before you could fully drift off you turn into him, you could feel his eyes on you as he watches you shift and his words pause for a moment.

“i love you.” he whispers, hoping that you were asleep. you smile into his skin, a clear sign you were still all there.

“i love you too, happy birthday percy.” you half open your eyes you pull his face down by grabbing his cheeks and you kiss under his eye before moving back down.

percy flashes his signature smile before his story changes from his quest to tell you about how on his 9th birthday his mom baked him a blue cake and how it was awesome. you make a mental note to yourself before drifitng off.

you dreamt of percy that night.

let me rephrase that.

you dream of percy.

you dream of him even though he is yours.

his pretty green eyes, his black hair, his sandy skin on the beach. but more often than not you dream of him like how you are now.

cuddled up beside you, warm under the covers as he tells you about all kinds of things like how he thinks the universe was made.

you dream about him dreaming of you which you know he does (since he tells you).

you dream about the way he wants you despite your sleeping routines, you dream about the way he calls you his sleeping beauty.

yet all those dreams are the reality you live. maybe missing a few hours off of slumber isn’t all that bad when your spending it with the boy you see when you close your eyes.

@yawneon

#percy jackson #pjo #pjo series #pjo tv show #percy jackson x reader #percy is cute #i love him

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eddies-ashtray · 10 months

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Eddie finds out he’s finally graduating. You and Wayne have a surprise for him.

(CW: Eddie’s feelings of inadequacy and low-self worth). |2.1k|

♡*♡*♡

You know that feeling you would get as a kid when you’d do something you shouldn’t have done? When you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar?

As you grow up that feeling intensifies, it grows as your world does, as you do. Your life and the decisions you make become more messy and complex. And so do the feelings you get when you screw up.

As a kid, you might feel embarrassed that you’d been caught stealing cookies before dinner and maybe a bit disappointed in yourself for choosing to do it when you knew it was wrong.

When you get older, whether it's due to failing to make the right decision or failing at something you tried, embarrassment morphs into immense shame and disappointment shifts to profound feelings of worthlessness.

Eddie is quite familiar with these feelings.

At the end of his first senior year, Eddie entered Mr. O’Reilly’s cramped office–that always managed to feel smaller each time he entered it–and was under no illusions that it was about to be a pleasant visit. It typically never was.

In fact, Eddie had suspected what he was about to be told by the guidance counsellor. But this suspicion did nothing to soften the blow.

It surprised him how much it hurt to know he’d failed. He hadn’t really realized how much he wanted to graduate until he was told he wouldn't. Or, rather, couldn’t.

By the time he got up to leave, Mr. O’Reilly’s office felt bigger than it ever had before.

Or maybe he just felt smaller.

His second go-round, he was motivated more than ever to get it right. Eddie had big plans for himself; he wanted to move out of this town one day, move to the city, work on his music.

He felt like he couldn't do any of that until he finished the business he had here. So he worked his ass off. He gave it his all.

And again, he sat in Mr. O’Reilly’s office, the anticipation stirring in his gut. He felt like he could be sick from the hope.

He felt even worse when he was told that all his hard work hadn’t been enough. For a second time he was told he could not graduate. His heart sank so low in his chest he felt like it wasn’t even there anymore.

Eddie almost gave up then and there. In that moment, once again feeling small, he wanted to drop out.

But more than that, he needed to prove to himself that he could stick it through and succeed. If he could do this he could do anything.

This was his final chance, his last chance to get it right. There was no room for failure anymore.

So, marking his sixth (and final) year at Hawkins High, Eddie completed his senior year for the third time.

***

As Eddie makes the trek to Mr. O’Reilly’s office near the end of the school year he feels like a dead man walking. This isn’t an appointment to determine if he will be graduating, it’s an appointment to tell him he will not be. And he’d have to walk out of here for the last time without a diploma in his hands.

Taking a seat in the muted upholstered chair across from O’Reilly’s desk, Eddie braces himself for the familiar words that made his heart sink into the depths of his being two years in a row.

“Here we go,” Mr. O’Reilly drawls, pulling out a plain manila folder marked “Munson, Eddie” from the locked drawer in his desk.

Eddie fidgets in his seat, crossing his legs then uncrossing them, then deciding to sit up straight with his hands folded in his lap. But then that makes him cringe, so he relaxes into the seat, legs spread wide. Still, he can’t get comfortable. His shoulders tense, his jaw is clenched, his lip is chewed raw. There is nothing comfortable about him.

Mr. O’Reilly flips open the folder, licking his finger to aid in turning the pages over as he skims them.

Eddie begins pulling at a loose thread on the corner of the chair. He just keeps pulling and pulling and pulling. If he keeps pulling, maybe the whole chair will come apart. Eddie thinks he might come apart too if he hears those dreaded words.

“Eddie.”

Eddie sits up, stock straight. “Yes, sir?”

He stops pulling the thread, stops moving altogether, even stops breathing. The thread is wound around his index finger, making his hand feel tingly and numb, unlike the rest of him which is thrumming with anxiety and hope and dread.

Eddie leans in almost imperceptibly, like he’s watching the finale of his favourite TV show.

As always, Mr. O’Reilly’s expression is completely unreadable. Mr. O’Reilly is relatively young (at least in comparison to some of the dinosaurs that teach at Hawkins High), maybe in his mid 30s, but his eyes are tired, like he’s lived more lives than just this one.

“You will be a part of the class of 1986.” There’s some pride in his voice as he says it, though he still doesn’t show much emotion in his expression as he does.

Eddie almost can’t make sense of it because he can’t be totally sure that he’s heard him correctly since the words sounded somewhat like the parents in cartoons do. Just an inaudible jumble of sounds that don’t quite make up words. “What?”

Mr. O’Reilly repeats himself, this time with definite, sincere pride in both his voice and his face. “You’re graduating! Congratulations.”

Eddie releases his breath and the thread cutting off the circulation to his finger.

He did it. He’s getting his diploma.

He wants to jump up out of his seat and holler and hug Mr. O’Reilly—one of the few staff at Hawkins High who has always treated him with respect.

Eddie must thank him, must shake his hand and they must exchange goodbyes, but he’s blacked out. He knows he must have done these things, but it’s like his mind simply doesn’t care to remember them. They are not important.

In a blur, he’s walking as calmly as possible out of Mr. O’Reilly’s office, slipping into the hallway from the main office, speed walking out of the school, and then booking it to his van.

More than anything, he cannot wait to share the news with you and with his uncle–the two people in his life who have been, and continue to be, his biggest supporters. He was proud of himself of course, but it meant everything to him getting to share it with the both of you.

Suddenly, he’s parking in the dirt patch they call a driveway, hopping out of his van, and sprinting to the stairs. He takes two at a time, reaching the door in two steps.

Eddie throws open the trailer door, out of breath.

***

You’re in the kitchen when the front door to the trailer whips open. Startled, you nearly hit your head on the thermostat control inside the fridge as you straighten up.

Spinning around to see Eddie standing in the living room, breathing like he’s run all the way from the school, you know immediately the news he has is positive. But you want him to tell you. He deserves to say the words aloud.

The moment your eyes are on him he says, “I fucking did it. I’m graduating!”

A gorgeous smile spreads across his face, his dimples popping in his cheeks. Your expression mirrors his.

You can’t run to him fast enough.

Eddie catches you and grunts with the force of your embrace. Momentarily, your feet lift from the floor as Eddie holds you fast, your face buried in his neck with your arms wrapped tightly around him.

“I knew you could do it,” you whisper into his skin. Eddie squeezes you tight. It says, Thank you. It says, I love you.

When your feet meet the carpet again, you pull back to bring your hands to his face. His honeyed eyes are gleaming. Your cheeks ache from how hard you’re smiling. “You’re amazing!”

A crease forms between his brows like he might cry and you lean up to kiss it away, Eddie’s hands wrapping around your back to pull you against him and your arms wind around his neck.

“What’s all the fuss about?” A gruff voice interrupts from your rear.

You pull away from each other, detangling your hands from Eddie’s hair and look back at him. You’d almost forgotten Wayne was here even though you’d spent the day preparing together.

“Um,” You say, trying to shake yourself from the feeling of Eddie’s lips on yours. Then, you untangle yourself from him and push him toward his uncle. “Eddie’s got some news.”

He takes a big, deep breath, then tells him.

You swear you see tears in Wayne’s eyes, the big ol’ softie. Wayne and Eddie are just alike; tough on the outside, but on the inside they’re both sweethearts.

As if to prove your point, Wayne suddenly pulls Eddie into a fierce hug, his hand cradling the back of his curly head. Eddie just melts into him; this man who’s more than an uncle, who loves him like a father loves his son.

You watch the whole beautiful scene and can’t help but tear up yourself. Eddie deserves this win. He’s gone through so much and kicked and scratched for his survival.

And still he’s come out the other end kind and loving and sweet. It’s a testament to how resilient he is, how brave, how smart.

When they let go of each other, Wayne still doesn’t completely let go. He places a rough hand on Eddie’s face, says, “You should be proud of yourself, son. Lord knows how proud of you I am. And…and your mother, she’d-” Wayne chokes up a bit, then seems to pull himself together to say what he needs to. “Well, she’d be over the moon, that’s for sure.”

Eddie just nods, and you think his eyes look a little glassy now too. Then he comes straight back to you and you hold him again and he breathes in deep. You can feel the relief in the slackness of his body.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Wayne wipe stray tears from just beneath his eye. “Alright, I think that’s enough o’that.”

“Can we do it now?” You ask excitedly. This wasn’t the plan, but you just can’t wait any longer.

Wayne says, “Well, I thought we could wait ‘til later, but…why not?”

Eddie looks between the two of you, confused.

“Yay!” You clap enthusiastically.

“Do what?” Eddie wonders.

Racing around the counter and back towards the fridge, you reach inside as Wayne pulls open drawers. Before pulling it out, you glance over your shoulder to find Eddie’s brows knit together as he approaches the counter. “Close your eyes!”

He obliges without a second thought.

A minute goes by where likely all Eddie hears is some shuffling around, the clunk of a heavy plate being placed on the counter in front of him, and finally the switch of a lighter.

“You get me a new bong or something?” Eddie jokes.

In response, Wayne smacks him lightly upside the head.

“Hey!” Eddie squawks, though his eyes remain shut.

You stifle a giggle, pressing your lips together.

“Are you boys done?” You question teasingly.

“Yes, ma’am,” they both reply at the same time. “Okay. Open your eyes!”

In front of Eddie is a thickly frosted cake with red and white piping. There are messy swirls along the sides, some drooping onto the plate it sits on. In scraggly and thin crushed up letters like you’d run out of room, the top of the cake reads: “Congratulations Eddie!!!”

“Wayne and I made it today!”

Eddie looks up in shock, staring at Wayne like he’s gone insane. “You giving up trucking to become a baker, uncle Wayne?”

“Oh hush up and eat your cake, boy,” Wayne grumbles back, but reaches over the counter to tousle Eddie’s hair playfully, causing his fringe to stick up a bit. You smile at the sight of them.

Then you get to work cutting the cake, three hefty pieces for each of you. Nearly half the cake is gone once you plate up the slices.

The rest of the evening is spent eating take out pizza and even more cake.

That night, sometime after midnight, you and Eddie fall asleep together on the couch, but you’re half awake when a blanket gets placed over the both of you.

♡*♡*♡

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please reblog!

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 4 months

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Imagine garrick tavis×reader where the reader gets hurt during a training and garrik is so worried about it and they have a little fight

Right... this is not exactly as the ask but... blood and deaths. That's all.

My terror

He trusted you. Trusted you with parts of his mind that he only granted to Xaden at times. You had been a loyal ally from day one. Sticking around the small group of marked ones even if you weren't a part of them. But you had fought on their side more than once and when Garrick picked you to be his second in command no one dared to question it. It was an obvious pick for the most part even if Bodhi and Xaden hadn't missed a beat at teasing Garrick for it.

"Give it to me", his voice was low and smooth as he stopped right by your side, glancing over the packed training room. You didn't even flinch, used to his quiet presence, a skill to move without a trace. "Pathetic, absolutely pathetic", you sighed with frustration, "I think they will die over their clumsiness". The hand-in-hand combat training had started and Garrick had tasked you with handling it this year.

"Two of them were sent to healers and they haven't even stepped onto the mats", you turned to him, flashing him one of your fake smiles but Garricl saw right through it. "Maybe put off the test for next week", you muttered, "Cause, I can't promise...", "What I see here today doesn't have a direct impact on how I see you", Garrick replied sharply. He knew that you were never one to fish for compliments. You had earned his respect with action not pretty words. "I'm the one...", you started again, "Who's on my right side", Garrick finished and your eyes softened instantly. "And will be taking a leave for the rest of the week. I'll smooth it over. You have nothing to worry about". you frowned at his words, "I don't need a break", "The permanent frown lines between your eyebrows say otherwise", Garrick smirked when your fingers reached up to run over your forehead. Once your eyes met him you nudged him with an arm, shaking your head, "Go back to scowling, Tavis, before Bodhi has another breakdown over you having feelings". Just the funny thing was that he had feelings. All are neatly secluded for you. "That looks like his problem, not mine", he muttered. Letting his eyes linger on you for one more moment before his angry gaze fell back on the room.

It was pathetic that you hadn't been wrong about it. Garrick had questioned how at least half of the group had even made it here. Messy punches. Hunched backs. Knife clattering to the ground. Whimpers. And the maker above kill him even tears. But Garrick hadn't intervened. Standing still in his corner. Arms folded over his chest. If he was being honest he had given up on monitoring the cadets after the second fight. Since then his eyes have been on you.

You were his little terror for a reason. There was always something about the way you handled yourself. How your eyes would flicker. To others, it was nothing but coldness. But Garrick was more than aware of the deterioration and passion that lay behind it all. You both were similar in more than one way. Had learned to read one another. To the point were you didn't even need to say a word. It was clear as it was. And now it was clear that you were loosing your composure. You were tired and suddenly Garrick felt a ting of guilt running through his chest because he had been particularly busy with the revolution and had left most of the wing duties to you. And, yes, you handled them perfectly but you were also a human and one that had reached its limits.

"Again", your voice ripped the silence making Garrick blink. "Pick it up and go again", you pointed to the dagger on the floor. The cadet glared back at you. The guy was bigger than you but nothing you couldn't handle. You handled worse. You knew how to look after yourself. Yet Garrick felt his senses perking up. His demons stirring inside him. Careful, he thought, pick your next move carefully, bud.

"You've gone deaf or something? Pick. It. Up", you kicked the cadet's dagger towards him. The guy's face twisted with anger. You were making a spectacle out of him. Laying out his weaknesses for everyone to see. He thought that you were no doubt playing on your rank. While in reality, it was his fragile pride that shined bright. You were offering others an advantage. If only they had enough brains to realize that.

"You huff and puff but you are worthless. With skills like yours...", you cut off shaking your head as your eyes fell on the rest of the group. "You'll be dead in no time. Cause no one will wait for you to get up on the battlefield. You're down. You're dead". While the rest stood there with their heads bowed or at least with some form of realization in their eyes. The piss poor chap thought he was going to prove his point.

Garrick failed to see it quick enough too. Too enamored by you. Only when the knife was flying towards you did his mind catch up as to what was happening. Right to your left shoulder. For the first time, the aim was perfect. Garrick's insides shrunk, bile raising. He knew he wasn't going to cross the room quick enough. A warning shout was painting his lips when you finally turned back.

Your hand wraps around the blade stopping it in its track. You didn't even flinch. The victory died in the cadet's eyes, replaced by an ashy paleness. "You made a poor choice", you said through gritted teeth as the first drops of red blood ran down your palm. "Do you know what happens to people who make poor choices?", you asked with a smile. Garrick could see the flames that ran though you heating up your skin. The cadet swallowed thickly. "Say hi to Malek from me", Garrick knew the outcome before your words even got the chance to flow through the room. He doubted the cadet even had a chance to hear your last words. Shouts erupted. Screams. A loud thud as a body fell to the floor with a knife planted right in the middle of his neck.

"Dismissed", Garrick's voice cut through the chaos, "All of you out". And where everyone was rushing away from you, Garrick stepped forward. "By any chance forgot about the rule of not killing your squad?", his tone was venomous as he gripped your elbow, turning you away. Your hand was drenched in your blood, the slashes were screaming to be sowed. "I didn't...", you muttered, eyes darting back to the body laying limp. He should have stepped in sooner. He could tell that you were loosing the battle in your head. Garrick caught your chin quickly, "Self-defense, darling. I'm more pissed that you didn't leave him to me. wouldn't have been so merciful". Ripping a piece of his shirt, Garrick wrapped it over your palm in hopes of stopping the bleeding at least somewhat.

"You can't defend me. This may get you killed too", you pushed back, shaking your head. "He struck first. I would have had him in bits by the morning regardless", Garrick breathed out. "You can't...", you started, but he cut in quick, "Can and will. He had an intention to harm what's mine. And you're my terror", A gasp slipped past your lips at his words, "I hate when others think that they can mess with something that's mine". Your fiery eyes looked up at him. You knew what his words entailed. You knew the power of them. Feeling the flames easing at the side of your only source of peace.

"You're with me?", Garrick's tone had become more soft, his eyes truly to gaze through the shields with you. "I've always been with you", you muttered. You saw a flash of something you haven't seen before skimming through his eyes before Garrick nodded. "Clench your palm into a fist for me. Up against your chest and press", it was an order and you knew it. "Can you walk yourself to the healer?", you knew he was referring more to you loosing control then the bleeding even if you could see his jaw tensing at the sight of it. You nodded. Garrick followed suit. "Good", his lips pressed against your temple, "I'll meet you there".

#garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x oc #garrick tavis x you #garrick tavis fourth grade wing #garrick tavis iron flame #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #iron flame imagine #iron flame x reader

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nerdytyrantphantom · 1 year

Text

the contractor | part one (pre-breakout!joel x f!reader)

summary: a summer of house-sitting for your parents turns into a scorching affair as you find yourself irresistibly drawn to the charismatic contractor, joel miller, amidst the chaos of home renovations. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader word count: 3k rating: 18+ explicit a/n: i’ll continue this story based on how well part one does! i have a LOT of ideas for things contractor!joel and reader get into >:)

When your parents asked you to house-sit for them over the summer, they warned you of one caveat: the home would be undergoing renovations. However, that seemingly small detail slipped your mind at the time of their request. The only thing you were thinking about when you heard the word “house-sit” was the Texas sunshine baking your skin while you laid out poolside, and the freedom of having an empty two-story house all to yourself for two months.

It wasn’t until you were lying on your childhood bed, feet kicking in the air as you idly scrolled your phone, that you remembered the refurbishment that would be going on in the master bedroom and bathroom. A text bubble from your mother appeared at the top of your screen: “Contractor’s on the way.” You groaned to yourself, dreading that you’d inevitably have to talk to strangers. Then, just seconds after replying with a thumbs up emoji, the doorbell rang.

You quietly padded down the stairs in your socked feet. Making your way through the foyer, you stole a quick glance in the mirror. Could be worse, you thought, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear and lazily tightening the knot of your thin linen shorts.

“Hey, I gotta go. At a client’s,” you overheard the man saying as the door swung open. He turned around to face you as he tucked his phone into his back pocket. While his expression was at first dull – hardened and irritable, eyebrows furrowed in exhaustion – his grimace immediately melted into a smile upon seeing you.

“Hi, I’m Joel,” he introduced himself, his voice tinged with that southern twang you loved coming home to. His brown eyes sparkled with warmth as he extended his hand towards you.

You shook his hand and introduced yourself, feeling a pleasant tingle run through your fingers. “Nice to meet you,” you said, offering a shy smile.

Joel's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than expected, and a faint blush crept up your cheeks. "Likewise," he said, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. "Your parents mentioned you'd be house-sitting. I'll do my best to keep the disruption to a minimum."

As you led Joel through the house, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him from the corner of your eye. His presence filled the air with a captivating energy that stirred something new inside of you. With most strangers, you would’ve remained nonchalant, going through the necessary motions of conversation until you could retire to your bedroom in peace. But with Joel, you found yourself not wanting to leave him.

He glanced around the living room, his eyes taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the backyard. Outside, the pool’s aquamarine surface sparkled invitingly, while a vibrant red cardinal fluttered next to the birdfeeder. His eyes met yours again. “Your folks have a beautiful home,” he complimented sincerely, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You smiled bashfully. “Thank you,” you replied, a touch of pride in your voice. “Well, I mean – it’s my parents’ house. But they’d appreciate you saying that,” you clarified. Joel appeared to be suppressing a bigger smile than the one he was showing and nodded.

“So, what about you then?” he asked, turning his attention towards you. “You live here as well or visiting from out of town?” His tone was gentle and curious, something you weren’t used to hearing in the voices of most men your age.

You giggled nervously from the attention. “Sorta,” you said, scratching the back of your neck. “I just finished my spring semester of school,” you explained. You finally let yourself resume eye contact with him and tried not to squirm under his penetrating gaze. “So, I’m just house-sitting for the summer. Then it’s back off to the dorms.”

Joel chuckled. “Ah, a smart college girl, huh?” he said, like he’d uncovered a secret about you. Your stomach fluttered and for a moment you felt like you were floating. Shy yet appreciative of his comment, you mumbled: “Something like that.”

Once you showed Joel the rooms he’d be remodeling, you tried your best to listen as he explained the scope of the renovations and the timeline for completion. As he spoke, you couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting to his lips or drinking in the sight of his biceps rippling underneath his t-shirt.

Maybe it was all in your head, but part of you wanted to believe that there was a subtle tension between you. It was as if the air itself crackled with unspoken words and wants for something more. You ached to believe that the attraction between you was undeniable and intensifying with each passing moment, but that bubble burst quickly when Joel’s cell phone interrupted your conversation – and spiraling fantasies.

He apologized and scanned the caller ID. Holding a finger up to indicate that he’d only be a minute, the two of you exited the bedroom. You watched him idly wander into the foyer and stop in front of the mirror. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, adjusting his appearance with a casual confidence, before tossing his head back in annoyance.

“Yes, Tommy, I’ll take care of it,” you heard him say exasperated, before he was sliding his phone back into his pocket and returning to the living room.

He quickly shook his head, as though he were shooing away the conversation he just had. "So, where were we?" he asked, his voice carrying a subtle undertone of playfulness.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. "We were discussing the renovations," you replied, feeling a mixture of relief and anticipation that the interruption was over. "You were explaining the timeline and what needs to be done."

Joel nodded, his gaze locked with yours. "Right, right," he said, his voice filled with a touch of enthusiasm. "Well, it's going to be a bit of work, but I'll make sure to keep things as smooth as possible. I want you to enjoy your time here without too much disruption."

“Oh, please,” you assured him, quickly brushing away his concerns. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. I’ll be set.” You nervously placed your hands on your hips, and then at your sides, before putting them on your hips again.

Joel began to head towards the door. “Well, I got just one more question for you and then I’ll be out of your hair,” he said over his shoulder. You walked closely behind him, hanging on to his every word. “Besides house-sitting, any other plans for the college girl this summer?” he asked.

You felt your face warm. “Oh, you know,” you said, bouncing on your heels. “Just hanging out here at home, laying out by the pool…” as your voice trailed, your gaze absentmindedly wandered over his arms one last time, committing the sight to memory.

Joel smiled. “Sounds like we’ll be seeing each other a lot then,” he said, opening the door.

You stood behind him, watching him walk towards his truck. “Looking forward to it,” you blurted, immediately cursing yourself.

But Joel just laughed and threw a wave over his shoulder. “Me too.”

So, that’s how your summer began. Joel and his crew would arrive in the mornings, retiring to their trucks for their lunch break, and then continue to work late into the afternoon. You’d be sprawled out on your bed, texting a boy you were only half-interested in, when you’d hear knuckles rapping against your door just before five. “Just letting you know we’re heading out for the night,” Joel would say. “Be back around the same time tomorrow.”

He was considerate like that – always communicating, always setting your expectations, always making sure you were comfortable and at ease despite sharing a roof with a bunch of men you didn’t know for the majority of the day. Part of you wanted to be annoyed and have something to complain about, like the house full of strangers or the noise from the drills. But then you’d be sitting at the kitchen table, eyes concentrated on your bowl of cereal, and you’d look up to catch Joel using the bottom of his shirt to wipe away sweat from his forehead. You’d ache at the sight of his tanned stomach and black happy trail snaking into his pants, and everything would be okay. You wouldn’t’ve changed a thing.

Over time, though, Joel’s presence under your roof began to feel natural. You slowly became more relaxed around him, finally able to maintain your composure most of the time without being a babbling, blushing, giggling mess. You gave up on trying to look picture-perfect everyday, and with that, started prioritizing getting attention from boys your own age. You and Joel even developed a repertoire, him frequently teasing you about the stupid smile you had while staring at your phone. But your giddiness with men who weren’t Joel was short-lived.

After one particularly bad day when you decided fuck all men, you changed into your swimsuit and aggressively lathered yourself in coconut oil. After greasing your skin, you dried your hands enough to pour a steep cocktail – aka vodka with a splash of orange juice – and marched outside on a mission to do nothing but work on your tan and ruminate on your hatred for the opposite sex.

Sure, in the back of your head, you knew Joel was an exception – but Joel was also out of your league. There was no way you were going to have a chance with the contractor your parents hired to renovate their bedroom, the same way there was no chance you were ever going to find a guy your age in Texas who was worth a damn.

After chugging your drink on the comfort of your lounge chair, you rolled over to tan your back. The afternoon sun rays mingled with the booze in your blood, and before you knew it, you had dozed off into a tipsy slumber. It wasn’t until you heard your name being called from somewhere in the distance that you began to stir from your stupor. Suddenly, a shadow cast over you; you squinted up at the silhouette beside you.

“Joel?” you blinked, your voice groggy and thick. Everything felt disoriented. As the haze of sleep lifted, a sharp stinging sensation spread across your skin, accompanied by the realization that you had fallen asleep under the scorching Texas sun without any sunscreen.

“Hey,” Joel cooed, crouching on the ground beside you. His deep, dark eyes swam with gentle concern. “You need to get inside, darlin’,” he said softly, and for a moment you wondered if you were dreaming. “Sun’s done burnt you to a crisp.”

You winced, feeling the heat radiating from your reddened skin. "Oh, shit," you muttered, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. The pain intensified, making you wince again. "I didn't realize how long I was out here."

Joel picked up your empty cup and waited for you to stand beside him. As you got to your feet, the world immediately felt lopsided. You were woozy, disoriented, and utterly confused. Without enough time to realize what was happening, you began to lose your balance before clinging to Joel’s arm for stability.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, smoothly wrapping his arm around you to prevent you from falling. Through the perplexed state you were in, you managed to make out an amused smile on Joel’s face. “Jesus, girl,” he said, gradually guiding you back towards the house. “Sunburnt, drunk, and dehydrated. What am I gonna do with you?”

Before you could think, you heard yourself blurt out: “Whatever you want.” As soon as the words slipped from your lips, you felt a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and a strange thrill coursing through your body. The air around you seemed to hold its breath for a moment, as if waiting for Joel's response. You tried to steal a quick glance at him, but the movement just made you feel dizzier.

Joel's steps momentarily faltered, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. Uncertainty crept in, and you worried that your impulsive confession had crossed a line, jeopardizing the comfortable dynamic you had developed over the past weeks. But then, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, diffusing the tension and bringing relief to your body.

"Well, darlin', I appreciate the offer," he replied, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and a hint of something more. "But I think our first priority is getting you inside and taking care of that sunburn. We can talk about the 'whatever I want' part later."

Blushing with the realization of what you had said, you nodded gratefully, relieved that Joel had taken it in stride. Supported by him, you made your way back to the house, a whirlwind of embarrassment and excitement swirling within you.

Once inside, Joel gently guided you to the kitchen and motioned you to the table. "Sit," he instructed before heading to his truck. Upon his return, he carried a jar of aloe vera and a small packet that resembled powdered flavoring for a drink.

Curiosity piqued, you watched as Joel rummaged through the cabinets for glasses, finally locating them and proceeding to fill one with water from the refrigerator dispenser. As he approached, he placed the glass on the table before biting the tip off the packet, pouring its contents into the glass. With a swirl, he set the concoction in front of you. "Drink up," he urged.

Feeling a hint of childlike reprimand, you took a sip of the orange-infused mixture, finding it surprisingly palatable. Tilting your head back, you finished the glass, momentarily forgetting your discomfort. Meanwhile, Joel stood behind you, bottle of aloe in hand.

"Why do you have all this stuff?" you asked, feeling a sudden chill as Joel gently collected your hair over your shoulder to better expose your back. You listened to him open the tub and dip his fingers into the ointment. "I keep it in my truck for the days we’re outside," he explained. "Can't afford to take any chances with the heat."

Nodding your head, the pieces fell into place—Joel's preparedness as a contractor, contrasting with your impulsive decisions as a college student. A sense of defeat began to weigh upon you, your head hanging low, as the consequences of your actions caught up with you. Then, a sudden icy glide across your shoulders made you gasp, intensifying the burn.

"F-uck!" you exclaimed, jumping in your seat as the pain flared.

Joel paused, his touch retreating. "I know it hurts," he said gently, his hand no longer on your skin. "But it's going to hurt a lot more if you don't do this. Do you want me to stop?"

Shaking your head, you squeezed the chair underneath you. "No, keep going," you meekly replied, hoping for relief from the discomfort.

Joel resumed applying the aloe vera to your sunburned shoulders, his touch remaining gentle yet purposeful. As his cool fingertips glided over your heated skin, a soothing sensation gradually replaced the intense stinging. You couldn't help but relax under his ministrations, feeling a growing sense of trust and safety in his presence.

The room fell into a momentary silence, the only sound filling the air being the rhythm of your breath. You took the last sip from the liquid IV, feeling its replenishing effects coursing through your body. With an embarrassed sigh, you mustered the courage to address the weight of your current state.

"Sorry, I'm such a mess," you confessed, feeling shame flood your body, now exposed in both physical and emotional ways.

Joel's touch paused momentarily, his warm hand stilling on your shoulder. His voice held a genuine reassurance as he spoke, "Hey, we all have our moments, darlin'. Don't be too hard on yourself.” You heard a smile in his voice. “And hell, if this is the worst thing you’re doing at your age, you’re doing pretty good in my book.”

“That’s true,” you agreed, a faint, crooked smile gracing your lips as you contemplated the choices you hadn't made, the ones that had spared you from further disappointment. But amidst that reflection, the memory of your recent mistake pierced through, reminding you of the sting of being let down by yet another guy. A bitter sigh escaped your lips, and you couldn't help but voice your frustration to Joel.

"Boys just suck, Joel," you declared, your words tinged with a mix of resignation and exasperation.

Joel's laughter resonated behind you, a sound that held both amusement and understanding. "Well, I won't argue with you there," he replied, his voice a blend of sympathy and camaraderie. "Can't say I have any immediate consolation for you on that front." His hands descended lower, settling on the backs of your arms, a gesture that surprised you but also felt strangely comforting. You allowed yourself to lean into his touch, savoring the soothing strokes of his fingers as they skillfully massaged the aloe vera into your skin. It was more than a mere application of ointment; it was a gesture of care and tenderness.

As Joel's fingers worked their magic, a wave of sensations washed over you, and you found yourself sinking into the moment. His voice, low and intimate, drifted close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. The warmth of his breath caressed your skin, and his words reverberated with an intense sincerity.

"There's someone out there for you, darlin'," he murmured, his voice filled with a deep conviction. "You just gotta give it some time."

The blissful overload of Joel's proximity, his voice, and his touch engulfed you, and your eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the sheer sensory experience. But just as you were fully surrendering to the moment, he withdrew, sealing the lid on the jar of aloe vera, as if closing a chapter.

"There," Joel said, breaking the spell and placing the jar of aloe vera on the table. He took your glass and walked to the sink, his movements carrying a sense of completion. "All set."

Your eyes reluctantly opened, adjusting to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The intensity of the moment slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a lingering warmth and a tinge of longing. You sat there, momentarily lost in your thoughts, grateful for Joel's presence and the temporary respite he had provided.

"Thank you," you expressed, your voice carrying a mix of appreciation and longing. You observed Joel as he unclipped his keys from his belt loop, a subtle indication that his departure was imminent. Part of you yearned for him to stay, to continue soothing your aching body and reassuring your troubled heart. You wished for his presence to fill the void and offer solace.

However, all you could do was watch as he flashed a warm smile and playfully winked at you. "Anytime," he replied, before making his way toward the door. Just before stepping out, his voice reached your ears once more, a final parting remark. "Be good."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fic #tlou fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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Carpe Noctem 21

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

As you come home, the house is seemingly empty. You sneak up to the guest room and tuck your bag beside the bed, your apron buried inside. After a long day of steaming milk and trying to perfect your latte art, you don’t have the energy to reveal the truth. It’s better he doesn’t know. He’d agree, he probably doesn’t even care.

That’s your real problem. You just need to accept that other people don’t care as much as you. That’s not a flaw in you, it just means you need to adjust your expectations. Or maybe just see things for what they are. Honesty would save you a lot of disappointment.

You go downstairs and lazily pluck out ingredients from the pantry and fridge. You always found cooking relaxing. A clear goal with small steps. Not to mention, the kitchen is much bigger than your boxy apartment. You’ll enjoy the luxury while you can.

You fill the pot and the aromas mingle fragrantly, tugging at your stomach. Even after tasting nearly every dessert in the cafe, you’re starving. You stir the mixture and open the bag of tortilla chips nestled away in the cupboard.

“Don’t eat those all,” Lloyd startles you.

You look at him over your shoulder, “won’t. They’re just to go with the soup.”

“Soup?” He glances at the stove and you pull down two bowls.

“Tortilla soup. My specialty.”

“Really? I was just going to order from The Duke.”

“That’s expensive,” you say, “there’ll be lots of leftovers so–”

“Leftovers?”

“Save some money–”

“Not really something I’m worried about, baby cakes,” he crosses the kitchen and sniffs emphatically at the stove, “tomato-ey.”

“Well, if you don’t like it, I can freeze it. I’ll take it for lunch–”

“Why are you doing this?” He asks abruptly.

“Why am I… cooking?”

“Yes.”

“Well, because we need to eat,” you say as if it’s obvious.

“We? You’re… not my mother. Or wife.”

“Clearly,” you agree. “I’ll replace the ingredients. Sorry, I just thought… maybe a nice gesture since I’m staying here.”

“Nice gesture. I got a few of those in mind but they don’t include a hot stove.”

You glance over at him. Right, yeah, you’re a body to him, not anything else. You realise now, it was the same with Johnny. You were just a thing to him. You cleaned up, you cooked, but he never really looked after you.

“The soup won’t take long,” you assure him.

He takes a breath and sighs, drawing close, looming over you as you take out the cheese shredder. He watches as you unwrap the cheese and grate it. You don’t know what else to do but keep going. You feel like you’ve crossed some line you can’t see.

“I just want us to be clear,” he taps his fingers on the counter, “this isn’t… serious. Us, I mean. There’s no us. Not outside the bedroom. Got it?”

You frown, “I know that. I’m not stupid. And I certainly am not interested in that.”

He’s quiet as he drags his hand off the counter. He exhales, “good to know. We understand each other.”

“We do,” you nod.

You wrap up the unused cheese. As you do, he reaches to steal a pinch of the shredded cheese. You instinctively swat his hand away and he recoils.

“Eh,” he shoves the cheese in his mouth.

“You didn’t wash your hands,” you accuse him.

“You’ve had worse than my hands near your mouth–”

“Jeez,” you huff, “you’re going to make a mess.”

You move the plate of cheese across the counter and tidy up the few stray pieces across the counter. You toss them in the pin and take a cloth to wipe down the marble. He lurks, pacing around the kitchen.

“I’ll have extra chips with mine,” he nears the door, pausing as you sense him watching you but don’t look. “I’ll figure out dessert, baby face.”

🍷

The next day you don’t bother making yourself coffee. You’ll have more than your share at the cafe. You dress and leave at the usual time, parking a block away from the shop and walking the rest of the way.

As you approach, you see Cole ahead of you. He unlocks the front door and glances over with a smile. He waves as he tugs with his other hand. He turns his attention back to the door and struggles to dislodge the keys.

You come close and watch him wiggle and jiggle the key ring.

“Dang thing gets stuck every day,” he shakes his head.

“Can I try?” You offer.

“Sure,” he steps back,throwing his hands up in exasperation, “not as strong as I look, I guess.”

You don’t comment. He’s tall and even under his corduroy jacket, you can tell he’s in good shape. You grab the end of the key and give it a small wiggle, sliding it out easily. Not much force, just a bit of finesse.

“You don’t have to be strong,” you offer him the keys, “just have to coax it a little.”

“Thanks,” he takes the keys, his fingers brushing yours, “you’re a godsend. I swear. I think… call me crazy, but last night I was telling my ma that you were sent to us for a reason.”

“You did?” You ask as he reaches around you to open the door, waving you in ahead of him.

You enter and he follows, pulling the door shut to lock from the inside.

“Oh, yeah, I mean, I’ve been interviewing like crazy. Most of the staff lasts a day and gives up but I can tell… you’re committed,” his sleeve touches yours as he passes, putting his passenger bag on the countertop as he stretches and looks around, “well, you want a coffee before we go through opening?”

“I’d love that but I can wait if–”

“Nah, we got plenty of time,” he interjects, “besides, that’s one of the steps. We do a batch medium and dark roast before opening so we’re ready to serve when doors open.”

“Oh, makes sense,” you peer around and set to taking the chairs down of the tables and set them right.

“I’ll get those,” he insists, “please. Lady’s shouldn’t be doing all that.”

You hesitate as you place another chair on its legs. You glance over at him as moves behind the counter. The comment isn’t exactly HR friendly but you don’t think he means anything. He’s just the type who likes to wear shining armor.

“I don’t mind.”

“I do,” he insists as he approaches the till, “come on. Let’s make the coffee.”

You step away from the tables. He is your boss. You go around the counter into the narrow space behind it. You forgot how cramped it is here.

“You wanna put your stuff in my office?” He asks as he prods the bag slung from your shoulder, “I’ll get this warmed up.”

“Oh, I guess…”

Here, the brass key,” he hands over the keyring, “you can leave those on the desk.”

“Right.”

You take the keys and go through the kitchen and turn into the small hallway between that and the storage room. You go to the office door with the peeling paint and the worn side that reads management. This place needs a lot of work.

You let yourself into the office and set the keys on the corner of the desk. You put your coat and bag in the chair against the wall, eyeing the picture of a younger Cole and who you assume are his parents. The backdrop is grassy and bright. He’s smiling that same sunshiny smile. You wonder how he’s held onto that.

You close the door behind you as you head back. You can hear him humming as you come down the hallway. Is that Frankie Valli?

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #cole turner #the club #au #drabble #series #carpe noctem #the gray man #ghosted

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neverinadream · 6 months

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What's Your Favourite Scary Movie?

Summary: What's a better way to watch horror movies than placing a bet on who will jump first?

Pairing: Christian Pulisic x Fem!Reader

Requested: for @thoseboysinblue

Song Inspo: Black Butterflies and Déjà Vu - The Maine

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, smut, moments of fluff, best friends to lovers, mentions of the reader needing to wear glasses, soft dom!christian but also hints of sub!christian, sub!reader, dirty talk, pet names (baby, princess, good girl...), praise kink, body appreciation, nipple play, grinding, oral (female & male receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, spoilers for paranormal activity and talk to me, not edited

Notes: happy halloween whores 🫶🏻 this is a very long one that has taken way too long to write and i apologise that it is being posted later than i normally would post a fic. this idea has changed so much since it was first shared by my lovely mutual/friend. i hope you like it. feedback is always appreciated, especially for a fic as long as this

"Gossip Girl? Again?"

"Stop judging my watch list," Christian huffs, resting his arm on the back of his sofa.

There's a pattern of rom-coms and TV series he had already watched in their entirety, with a sprinkle of recommendations from yourself in there. You fought back a smile knowing he took your recommendations seriously. "Give me your right hand," you request, setting the remote on your lap. He raises his eyebrow but doesn't question it. "Just as I thought," you mumble, nodding your head as you gaze down at his hand, inspecting his palm and scanning the long length of his fingers, "you need to stop abusing this hand and get yourself a girlfriend."

"Oh-" He rips his hand back with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "My dry spell isn't as bad as yours," he makes a good point, welcoming the vanilla and sweet citrus scent that hangs around you as you shuffle closer. Your leg brushes against his and a small smile pinches on the corners of his lips, little butterflies fluttering their wings in the deepest part of his stomach. "When was the last you got laid?"

"Hopefully, this week." You go back to scanning his Netflix account, missing the bridge of his nose turning pink. "Italy is full of gorgeous men," you hum, wrapping your arm around your tummy, caging it underneath as you lean forward.

"Just put your glasses on," he sighs, watching you squint your eyes, "you're making your eyes worse doing that."

You glance over your shoulder. "When did you suddenly change your career?"

He doesn't appreciate your smart mouth, getting up off the sofa in search of them. "It's called being a caring friend," he mumbles, taking one last look at you bent over and leaning forward, before slipping out of his living room.

He hears you call out to him, something about them being in his guest room, but he's already one step ahead of you, opening the bedroom door and taking a step inside. "Don't you mean your room?" He calls back, treading over a pair of heels you had complained about wearing.

Another smile, an even bigger smile, appears as he thinks about last night. Blood stirred and heated his cheeks as he thought about the simple yet beautiful way your dress hugged your body. His skin tingled remember the smell of vanilla and how it clung to every inch of your skin, so much that it made him dizzy. And he swallows a hard breath as he recalls being at the foot of the bed, his thumbs stroking over your soft skin, before unfastening the straps and helping you out of your heels.

"Ha! Nice one!" Your voice cuts him out of the memory.

"It can still be yours!"

You were a freelance animator, recently coming off the success of a short film for some company in London that Christian couldn't remember the name of. It was a dark piece, playing heavily on the tropes of loneliness and trying to find a sense of belonging, told through the POV of a colourless character in a world full of bright colours. Definitely not for children, Christian realised the first time he watched it, wiping away a tear as the credits rolled, a beaming smile on his face as your name flashed on the screen.

It won the company an award, and added a little more attention to your name, making it easier to do the whole "freelance" part of your job description.

It was that part of your job description that Christian used in favour of you moving in with him. Back in London, you were living four streets away from him, and there wasn't a day he didn't go without seeing you. He missed that. Italy was lonely without you.

Everywhere was lonely without you.

Your glasses are sitting on top of your open sketchbook, partially lost under covers, and Christian clears away a cushion, neatly placing it against the pillows. A hedgehog wearing a mask of sorts has been sketched onto the page, with an owl wearing clown makeup sketched on another area of the page, a knife dripping with blood held in its beak. Cute little woodland animals made to look like something from a horror movie. He didn't know if he should be impressed by your talent or shudder from his own dislike of horror movies.

Both, he had decided, grabbing your glasses and leaving the room.

"No."

"What?" Your arm hovers in the air, your hand wrapped around the TV remote, with the 'Horror' section of his Netflix up on the screen. "What's the matter?" You ask, with a coy smile, knowing exactly what his grievance was. If there was one rule for any impromptu movie night, it was no horror movies allowed.

Christian's rule, of course.

You, on the other hand, loved horror movies. The blood. The gore. The old classic slashers. Movies with a budget so low they either become cult classics or a painful ninety minutes. You loved it all. You loved the suspense and the anticipation of waiting for the next jumpscare. The adrenaline that pumped through your veins every time that it happened. It left you feeling more alive than ever.

"We are not, and I can't stress this enough, watching a horror movie."

"I'm not wearing them," you distract him enough to keep flicking through the catalogue. Saw. Don't Breathe. Last Night In Soho. Halloween. You flicked over each one of them, hoping at least one of them would spike your interest. "I hate them," you mumble, ducking and turning your head away from him. He grumbles something about you being stubborn under his breath, his body partially leaning over you as he places his knee on the edge of his sofa. "I don't- Ow!" You gasp, mouth hanging open and head turned up to look at him. "You just poked me in the eye-"

"Because you wouldn't stop moving!"

You readjust your glasses, your head still turned upwards, eyes squinting up at him. "God, is that what you really look like?" He doesn't appreciate your joke, rolling his eyes as you lower your glasses. "Seriously? I should've worn these things the night we met," you continue, adding a second act, "might have thought twice about falling into bed with you."

A deep blush sets on his cheeks, reaching his ears as partial moments of that night come to the forefront of his mind. Hands tracing soft skin. Mouths coming together in feverish exchanges. Him stumbling over his words the next morning, unable to bring himself to ask you if you wanted to get breakfast, settling on remaining as "just friends."

His teammates had even joked that he had fucked his way into the friend zone.

"Give me the remote," he stretches out his hand. You pull your hand into your body, restricting his access to the remote. "You know we have one rule for a movie night: no horror movies."

"Oh, come on," you tease, biting the tip of your tongue, the corners of your mouth turning upwards into a smile, "it's not my fault you're a big scaredy cat."

He rolls his eyes, despite liking the mischievous glint you got in your eyes every time you saw an opportunity to tease him.

"I think I might have to start telling people your tiger tattoo is just a botched job of a sweet, little Tabby, because a real tiger definitely wouldn't shit themselves at the likes of Scary Movie." You point the remote back at the TV, flicking through a subsection of the horror genre until one of them seemed the right fit for tonight's festivities. "It's not even a horror movie. It's a parody!"

"First of all," he reaches back, grabbing a few pieces of popcorn, "I didn't shit myself." He tosses the pieces of popcorn in your direction, the sweet pieces of confection bouncing off your shoulder and your cheek. You pick it up, the tips of your fingers feeling sticky from just one touch, and throw it back at him. He bats it away from him, and you stick your tongue out at him. "It was you who kept purposely making me jump by jabbing your finger into my side."

"I always find it funny how you and I recall events so differently," you mumble, clicking the down button and flicking onto the paranormal section.

"Okay," he talks over you, reaching forward for one of the two beers sitting on his coffee table, "just stick a movie on." He pops the cap off the bottle with a low grunt, flipping it onto the coffee table. It bounces twice, hits the edge of the centrepiece, a decorative glass bowl his parents gave him as a moving away/house warming present, and flips onto the floor. "And just don't pick a super scary one," he mumbles, taking a sip, "I actually want to sleep tonight."

"Scared you're gonna get nightmares?"

"I don't get nightmares."

"No, of course you don't," you shake your head, "you're Mr Captain America! How could you let yourself get scared over something that's not even real?" He rolls his eyes, giving you a soft shove to the side with his elbow. You pluck the brown stained bottle from his hand, noticing the not so subtle way he was watching your lips as you take a sip. "Do I have something on my face?" You ask, the bridge of his nose blushing red. He turns his head away from you, mumbling something under his breath but you didn't catch it. "Sorry?" It was like poking a sleeping bear. "What did you say?"

"Come on," he mumbles, motioning his hand in the direction of his TV.

"Don't rush me," you hiss, catching your tongue between your teeth, the tip poking out from between your lips. It amused him greatly how serious you took picking the movies for movie night, but it was just one of those 'little things' that he loved about you. "You wouldn't want to be rushed whilst taking a penalty, or something."

He pulls a face. "I don't see how those two equate to being the same thing."

"I-Shut up."

You settle on an old favourite: Paranormal Activity.

It was scary enough that you knew Christian would jump a few times, but not scary enough to have him crawling into your bed in the middle of the night. A single creak could be a footstep. Pipes cooling down could be a ghost groaning. Silly tricks of his mind and all enough to scare him into your bed, with his tail tucked between his legs like a scared puppy. If you wanted that, maybe you would've picked something like The Ring or The Blair Witch Project.

"Shouldn't be too scary for you," you tease him, grinning over your shoulder.

———————

"You don't use-" Christian lifts his head from the cushion, his mouth turned down into a frown, his focus turned away from his television and now on you. You had moved to the end of his sofa, moving to give him space to stretch out, with your knees pulled up to your chest, toes wiggling as they sat over the edge. "Are you going to sit there the whole time?" He quizzes, meeting your eyes as you turned to look at him.

"Yes?" You pan down to his body stretched out on the sofa. One knee was pointed to the ceiling, his other leg stretching the length, with his foot tapping against you. It wasn't deliberate, almost like he was still checking to see if you were still there. "Where else am I meant to sit?" You fire back your own question. "For a little guy, you sure know how to take up a lot of room."

"We both know I'm not little," he replies nonchalantly.

"I don't know," you shrug, biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from smiling, "it didn't really leave a lasting impression." You giggle, his foot tapping against you deliberately this time. "But, seriously, where else am I meant to sit? On the floor?" You motion in front of you. "On you?"

He grins, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hold back his thoughts, but you roll your eyes like you had read his mind. "Just lie with me," he mumbles, patting his hand against his chest.

"What, and crush you?"

It was now his turn to roll his eyes. "You're not going to crush me."

"I might."

"Do you see me?" He pans his hand down his body. "Do you see this? I can take my shirt off so you can better look-"

"Please don't."

He taps your leg again. "We both know you like me better when I have my shirt off," you avoid his eyes as he teases you like your eyes might deceive you and tell him he was right, "But, c'mon, I'm getting cold over here." He pouts, eyes looking rounder as he tries his best at 'puppy dog eyes.' He grabs at the air. "Please?!"

"You're actually the worst," you mumble, giving in to him, "the worst of the worst." Your bodies become a tangled mess, legs wedged between each other, his thigh half-straddled as you rest your head on his chest. His hand travels down your back, his fingers skimming along the band of skin exposed above your jeans. "Also, I call total bullshit on 'getting cold'," you add, unconsciously tucking your hand under his shirt. Your touch makes his skin tingle.

"Yeah?" He raises his eyebrows, looking down his nose. "Why's that?"

"Because you're perpetually warm."

Christian's attention flickers back and forth between you and the movie, pressing his fingers harder into your skin whenever Katie screams Micah's name, which you didn't mind, even though it would happen a lot. When he wasn't subtly trying to hide the jumping, he was glancing down at you, focusing on the steady and relaxed movement of your breathing. He would half-smile at the way you mumble your reactions under your breath, humming a simple "yes" or "okay" to acknowledge them.

He takes in a deep pull of your scent, closing his eyes as he lets the smell of honey and vanilla wash over him. Everything about you could make him dizzy. From your laugh to your smile. To the way you would always cut your sandwiches into four small squares because it made you think of the nostalgia of the school lunches your mum would make you. But nothing was like that honey and vanilla aroma that managed to stick to you like a second layer of skin.

"You better not be falling asleep, mister!" He grunts as you pinch his hip, his eyes snapping open at the sound of your voice. "I didn't lie down with you just so you could take a nap," you prop your chin against his chest.

"Then why did you?"

"Like I already said, you're always warm, and your apartment is freezing!"

Our apartment, he thinks to himself, knowing he'll bring the question up once more before you have to leave. "It's not cold," he says instead, tucking his free arm underneath his head, "and I wasn't falling asleep."

You raise your brows. "Yeah? Then what just happened?"

"He's just shown her the quija board and you just commented on them being stupid for using one." Your eyesbrows drop and the corners of his mouth twitch. "See," he gloats, giving the small of your back a soft pinch, "I wasn't falling asleep."

You chew your bottom lip. "I am right though, you should never use a quija board."

"No?"

"No!" You shake your head. "You don't know who you could be communicating with, or what you could be inviting in!" He smiles, making you squint your eyes and frown up at him. "What's that smile for?"

"You've thought about this before, haven't you?"

You turn your head down, mumbling your answer into his chest, using it to hide the embarrassment in your voice. Yes, you had thought about it. You had thought about it multiple times and every time you watched a movie where one would be used to contact the vengeful spirit haunting the unsuspecting couple, but it's the last thing you would admit it to Christian. It would just be another thing for him to tease you with.

"Sorry," he laughs, his whole chest shaking, "what was that?"

"I said I'm putting another movie on," you lie. He bites his tongue to stop the soft groan that nearly slips out when you straddle his waist, silently praying that his body can stay calm for all of two seconds. "This is getting boring," you stretch across and grab the remote, "I want something proper on."

He lets his hands travel down from your hips and onto your thighs, drumming his fingers against the dark denim. "This is something proper."

"Babe, this is two tropes away from being a parody!"

Babe. It makes his heart beat twice as fast. He clears his throat, doing his best attempt at dislodging the feeling from his chest. "There's not much left," he mumbles, lifting one hand away and following yours until it's out of his reach. He chuckles, the soft sound growing a little louder as you beam down at him with a triumphant smile. "Just leave this one on."

"Or," you press pause, silencing the screams, "we could have some fun."

"Fun?" His throat bops. "You and I have very definitions of what fun is." Your lips twitch. "And I don't like that smile."

"You shouldn't," you giggle, letting your weight sink further onto him, your core pressed firmly against his crotch. The not-so-subtle way his mouth parts on a slight groan makes your stomach flutter. For a second, you slip back into the memory of his hands grabbing at your hips and guiding them, as he threw his head back into his pillow, groaning your name which back then was foreign to his tongue. "Let's make a bet," you snap back to reality, "the first person to jump has to go down on the other person."

He mules it over for a second, a deep blush forming on his cheeks and spreading to his ears. "But what if neither of us jumps?" He asks, keeping his focus on something that isn't the movement of your hips as you shift above him.

"Then no gets to come today."

"You mean: you don't get to come today," he fires back, "you don't know what I was doing this morning."

"So, that's why I heard my name coming from your bathroom?" You throw him a wink. "Don't worry, I've basically nicknamed my vibrator CP." He rolls his eyes and mumbles a soft 'ha, ha' under his breath. If your current position wasn't already bad enough for him, then hearing about you using a vibrator on yourself was nearly tipping him over the edge. "So, do we have a deal?" You raise your eyesbrows.

He shrugs his shoulders. "Why not?" His tongue darts across his bottom lip, looking at you like you might be his last meal. "I've been looking for an excuse to eat your pussy again."

———————

Christian frowns. "I don't get it." You lift your head from the comfort of his shoulder, unable to hide a half-smile when you catch sight of the crease in his brow and the slight way his bottom lip would pout. Flashes of confusion fill his eyes. "She was the one sucking on his toes?"

"Yep."

"But she thought it was that...other thing?"

"Yep."

He sighs, running his hand down his face. "This is so confusing."

You prop your hand under your chin, using your free hand to poke his cheek. He bats your finger away, but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "You're very pretty," you mumble, bringing your finger back against his cheek, touching the constellation of freckles that reside on his face. They were his prettiest features, after his eyes of course. "How are you single?"

"Me?" He slides his hand down your back, bunching up the fabric as he reaches the small of your back. His touch is warm and it makes you shiver. "What about you?" He counters, tucking his head down. His nose brushed against your temple, and you could smell the faint smell of beer and toothpaste on his breath. "You're a lot prettier than me."

"I go on dates," you shrug, finger drifting down to his bottom lip. It was soft and light shade of pink. And very, very kissable.

"You do?" His body tenses and the jealousy he feels churns in the pit of his stomach. "Oh..."

You wish you could say that your dating life was a story of success and one that involved you finding true love but, unfortunately, that just wasn't the case. The apps were full of guys looking for a night of easy sex or carrying bouquets of red flags. And the dates you were set up with either talked only about themselves, were hung up on their exes, or talked about their mothers at an alarming rate.

Oh, and none of them were Christian.

"But clearly none of them have worked out for me," you sigh, removing your hand and settling your head back down on his shoulder. His body relaxes, pulling you firmly against him. "It doesn't matter though, I don't need them," you mumble, breathing in the smell of the cologne that stuck to his skin. After being apart from him, you had come to realise that it smelt like home. "I've got you."

"For now and always."

For now and always.

It was your thing, you could say, a promise that neither would be alone.

You first said after Christian suffered one of his first injuries whilst at Chelsea. His stubborn ass had ignored your messages after the injury occurred, a part of him, he supposed, didn't want you to see him like that, but your ass was just as equally stubborn as his and you didn't take his silence as a final answer. You were there for his recovery every step of the way, and for every disruption that came afterwards, repeating the words: 'for now and always.'

You sit up on your elbow. "Christian?" He hums but doesn't look at you. "Chris..."

"What's u-" You silence him, pressing your lips against his, moaning softly into his mouth when you feel him kiss back. "Uh," he pulls back, touching his hand to your face, his fingers softly stroking your jaw, "hi-uh, what?" He nervously laughs, the tips of his ears turning red. "W-W-What was that for?"

"I don't know." You shrug, touching your hand to your mouth. "I'm sorry."

His eyes widen. "What? No! Don't apologise for kissing me. I liked it."

"You did?"

"Should that even be a question?" He scoffs, smiling at you. His thumb brushes gently across your cheek, the softness of your skin shooting goosebumps up his arm. "Of course, I liked it. Why wouldn't I have liked it?" His gaze lingers on your mouth. "Come closer and kiss me again, please?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely..."

It's with a smile on both of your lips that you lean in and press your mouth to his. His lips are soft and willing, parting to welcome you as you run your tongue against his bottom lip. At every groan he made, you would whimper, and Christian would swallow each of the sweet little sounds. They were his to keep. They were his to remember when you left at the end of the week.

His hand grabs your thigh and pulls you to straddle him, rutting his hips up as you settle on him. "Feel that?" He grabs your ass, squeezing firmly as he pushes you down onto his bulge. You grind your hips against him, your movements slow and torturous. "That's it, baby," he bites his bottom lip, groaning your praise and grabbing your ass in both hands, "keep grinding like that for me - make us both feel good."

Your lips roam his jaw and neck, imprinting your whimpers into his skin. "I guess the bets off then?" Your laugh is sultry and yet still sweet.

"Bet or no bet, I would still love to eat your pussy," he purrs, flipping you onto your back, "can I take this off?" He fingers toy with the hem of your shirt.

"Only if you're taking yours off."

You prop yourself up onto your elbows, watching him sit back on his knees. He grabs the back of his collar and removes his T-shirt with one sharp tug. "Beautiful," you whisper, letting your hands roam freely over his chest. They start at the waistband of his jeans, your fingers stroking over the soft trail of hair, before travelling over his naval and feeling every muscle.

Christian was right; you did like him better with no shirt on.

Your eyes pan back down to the bulge in his jeans. "Can I taste you?" You ask, looking back up at him as his hand nestles firmly on the base of your skull.

"Go ahead," he nods, with excitement in his voice, "take it out."

Your eyes shimmer with anticipation as you take a better look at the tent in his boxers, his jeans pulled low enough down. Peeling back the waistband, his cock springs free, slapping hard and heavy against his stomach. He was big, bigger than you had remembered, and your face grows hotter as you try to think of a way to fit him all into your mouth.

"It'll fit," Christian says like he could read your mind, "trust me." He wraps his hand around the base, pushing the tip gently against your mouth. "Give it a kiss." You pucker your lips and lay a soft one against the crown of his cock, tasting the pre-cum as you pull away and lick your lips. "Now open your mouth," he instructs, gliding it against your wet tongue, "already being such a good girl for me."

You swirl your tongue over the head, smacking your lips as you pull off him. "Definitely the prettiest dick I've ever had the pleasure of sucking," you tell him, replacing his hand around the base.

"Sucked many dicks?" His face quickly drops. "Don't answer that."

You run your tongue against the underside of his shaft. "Not in a long time," you answer anyway, giggling as he scowls.

You wrap your lips once more around his cock, focusing on the tip, sucking it lazily in and out of your mouth, as your hand worked the base. "Fuck, that feels good," he pants, hanging his head back, exposing the column of his neck and the beard that scattered the underside of his jaw to you. "But I'm gonna have to make you stop."

"What?" You pull off him, a string of spit still connecting you. "Why?"

"Because it's been way too long, longer than I would like to admit since I was last with someone, and if you keep sucking me off like that, this is going to end quicker than it started."

You wipe your mouth. "Oh."

"Yeah," he blushes, tucking himself back into his boxers. He tugs his jeans up but leaves them unbuttoned. "Now," he clears his throat, "wanna help me take your clothes off?"

———————

"Fucking gorgeous!" Christian touch sears your skin, burning his prints into you as he grips your thighs. You pinned to his mattress, with nowhere to go, looking down at a pair of hungry eyes. His tongue splits your folds and draws a line between your entrance and your clit. "This pussy has been a part of my dreams for years," he confesses, turning his head, kissing the inside of your thigh, "god, I think about it-think about you when I'm touching myself."

Your lips part on a silent breath. "You do?"

"Every time, baby." He blows hot hair against your clit, grinning as your squirm. "Every. Single. Damn. Time."

"Good," you giggle, cupping your breast and tweaking your nipple, "because I wasn't lying about nicknaming my vibrator CP."

His cock strains in his jeans at your words. "Don't say that," he growls, rutting his hips into the mattress, "not unless you want to be cleaning the cum off my cock."

You prop yourself up, looking down at him between your thighs. "Sounds tasty," you throw back, licking your lips.

His lips twitch. "Speaking of tasty..." He drags his tongue back and forth along your slit, groaning as your wetness pools in his mouth. You were intoxicating. A drug for him to get high off. "Tastiest thing I've ever eaten, baby," his praise has you throwing your head back into the pillow, "and the prettiest, too."

"Oh, my..."

He pushes the air out of your lungs, stretching you out as he slowly works two fingers into your pussy. They twist and curl up to stroke your g-spot, and you feel him grin against your clit when he wrangles out a pornographic moan. No one had made you feel this good. Not in a very long time.

"Christian," you pant his name, pushing your hips up. He groans, flicking his tongue faster over your clit.

He was playing like an instrument and eating you like were his last meal.

"So fucking tight," he licks his lips, tasting you on him. He twists and scissors his fingers, stretching you some more. "And wet, baby," he purrs, rotating his thumb in circles over your clit. His honey-dipped eyes look up at you, roaming every part of your naked figured. "If you could see the mess you're making - just dripping everywhere."

"I want you to look at me like that all the time," you stare down at him.

"I do." He kneels between your legs, dipping to kiss over the tops of your breasts, the dip at the base of your neck and then your lips. "I look at you like this all the time, baby," he presses his thumb harder to your clit, making you squirm, "I've just gotten good at hiding it." He crashes his mouth against yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste your arousal off his tongue. "I'm gonna grab a condom."

You stop him as he reaches into his bedside cabinet. "I'm on the pill."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you answer, kissing over his stubbled jaw, nipping playfully at his ear, "now lose those jeans, pretty boy." He raises his eyebrows, the corners of his lips curving up with amusement. You give a sharp tug on his belt loop. "I said lose the jeans."

He chuckles, pushing to stand up. "What is this?" He pulls his jeans down, kicking them off as they reach his feet. You bite your lip, eyes zoning in on his cock bulging in his underwear. They were removed next, a smirk gracing his lips. He wraps his hand around his shaft, jerking his wrist a few times, wincing a little when he squeezes the tip. "Think you're in charge here?"

"Maybe."

He shakes his head, brushing his lips against your temple. "That's very cute." He kneels between your legs, tapping his tip against your clit, chuckling as you whimper. There was nothing worse than being teased. "But that's not happening, baby."

He slips the first few inches inside, watching your pussy swallow and clench around him. He waits, giving himself a second to adjust. "Just remember it's been a while, okay?" His cheeks blush, spreading down his neck onto his chest. "Don't be teasing me if I end up coming too quickly."

"Hey, look at me." You reach out to touch his face, your fingers brushing over his jaw. He leans into your touch. "We're in the same boat, remember?"

"But what about all those dates you've been on?"

You shake your head. "The last guy I had sex with was Kal." Sliding your hand between your bodies, you sink the last few inches inside. The feeling of fullness has you losing your breath, but you find it again when Christian leans over to kiss you. "Forget about the timestamp on your last time, and stop worrying about blowing your load too quickly," you talk against his mouth, soothing your hands over his chest, "just be here with me, okay?"

He nods, biting his bottom lip. "I can do that." His head dips and kisses the centre of your chest, hands exploring your thighs and the globes of your ass as he ruts into you. "Fuck," his voice is strained, "you feel...you feel perfect, like you just for me."

"Yes," you whimper, your heart aching as the words hit your ears, "just for you."

He nuzzles his stubble into your cheek. "Say it again."

"Just for you," you repeat, now grinding your hips up to meet each thrust, "just for you." You pull his head up and crash your lips together, exchanging a kiss like it could been your last. Never had you imagined this is where you would be when you got on the plane four days ago. "You," you managed to make out through a moan, breaking apart, nuzzling your face against his cheek.

He chokes your name on a sob, "I'm not gonna last must longer."

"Let go, Christian," you wrap your legs around his waist, and run your nails down his back, scratching lightly at the muscles that strained, "come for me, baby."

"Inside you?" His rhythm is sloppy and you have to keep grinding against him. "Can I come inside you?" He grabs your hips and clamps them against him, moaning into your shoulder as his whole body shakes above you. "Oh, god," he whines, his cock twitching and pulsing, "I'm coming-I'm..."

Silence.

For the next few seconds, Christian is silently mouthing your name against his skin.

You soothe your hands through his hair as he finishes inside you, letting your hands roam over his shoulders and down his back. "You okay?" You whisper, tucking your head to brush a kiss to the side of his head. "Christian?"

"I think I just had an out-of-body experience," he answers, audibly groaning as he pulls out. You giggle, tiredly rolling onto your front, moving with him as he collapses next to you. His arm comes up over his face, hiding his eyes, before ripping away to look at you. He looked worried like he was realising he had done something wrong. "You didn't come?"

You shrug, giving him a reassuring smile. "It's fine." Which it was.

"No, it's not." He tries to sit up but crashes back onto the mattress. "When I have recovered, you are coming," he declares, pulling the pillow over his face. His voice is muffled as he adds, "we are not leaving this bed until I've made you come."

———————

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joojeans · 9 months

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euijoo + size kink

this is more about euijoo’s thoughts than it is a scene! just wanted to write a lil something since i seem to have awoken many beasts with my euijoo size kink comment lmao i hope this is enough to hold you over for now but worry not! euijoo size kink agenda is here to stay on joojeans dot tumblr dot com ♡

it’s been a long fucking day for euijoo.

the day itself has been mostly normal—running errands with you, having lunch together, a little shopping. now you’re home, cuddled up on the couch while you watch a movie. this day has been textbook for the two of you except for one thing.

euijoo can’t stop thinking about how much bigger he is than you and as much as he’s been trying to keep from getting noticeably aroused by it all day, it’s getting increasingly more difficult. he feels like such a perv but fuck, it’s driving him crazy.

it all started when he woke up this morning, feeling a little shy when he realized you were already awake and watching him sleep. he had reached out to hold your face in his hand, but then your hand came up to rest on top of his. he couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his and then he couldn’t help but notice how small your head looked with his hand holding it.

the size difference in combination with your innocent, adoring eyes was already making him stir in his boxers. he took your hand in his and playfully rolled himself over you, but that was a mistake because then he was painfully aware of how easy it was for him to cage you in under him. you look so small and vulnerable beneath him and it makes him want to fuck you like a ragdoll.

not wanting to ruin the sweet atmosphere, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips before excusing himself for a much-needed cold shower.

he wasn’t safe running errands either. you’d want a kiss at red lights and the way you had to reach up so much just to meet his lips had him white knuckling the steering wheel. he wanted to pull you the rest of the way into his lap. he wanted to fold you up and fill the car with your pretty moans.

lunch was mostly safe, but when you finished eating you had a crumb on your lip and he, being the doting boyfriend that he is, had wiped it away for you with his thumb. he had caught you off guard, your mouth opening slightly to speak and his thumb hooked itself between your lips. even his thumb splitting your lips open looked sinful. he couldn’t let himself follow that line of thinking all the way down to his cock.

he knew shopping wasn’t going to fair well for him, but he thought watching you try on clothes would be the hard part. he was wrong. when you started leafing through the racks of clothes to find clothes that suit his style, that’s when the problems arose. you’d grab a t-shirt and excitedly hold it up to show him, but all he could think about is how the shirt was long enough to be a dress on you. he would picture you walking around the house in nothing but the shirt each time you showed him one and he ended up buying all of them because they’d all look good on you.

by the time you got back home, you were both still too full for dinner, so you settled onto the couch to watch a movie instead. you’d insisted on cuddling—spooning, to make it worse. you had reached back for his arm, wrapping it around your waist, and he had to stop himself from audibly groaning at how much surface area of your torso just his hand could cover.

so now here he is, massive hand itching to cover every part of you, silently hoping you can’t feel how hard his large cock is against your small figure, swearing to himself that he won’t let his animal brain take over if he can help it.

cr. cafekitsune for mdni banners ♡

#ej #ej solo #&team smut #andteam smut #&team ej smut #andteam ej smut

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footballffbarbiex · 4 months

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Like A Lamb To Slaughter

player: Dominik Szoboszlai words: 1089 warnings: male competitiveness, swearing, threat of public sex, omegaverse concept (mentions of being in heat, mating, knotting).

A/N: I had previously noted that this would be an A/B/O fic but having looked into this (as everyone's version of this universe is different with only the traits of the alpha/beta/omega being the same), I found out that using that terminology could be also used as a slur. So I will no longer be referring to it as the above and now refer to this as omegaverse instead. Apologies to anyone who may have been offended by this usage, I'm hoping context is key in the way it was used.

Dom is everywhere you look, no matter where you are in the room.

You know why he’s following you like a predator stalking its prey, and in many ways, this is exactly what he’s doing and it was a matter of time before you fell victim to him. It feels as though every time you look up or glance around, he’s there, eyes fully fixated on you, burning into you with as much heat as what is pooling in your belly.

Coming here tonight was a mistake and you know it but you needed to get out because staring at the same four walls of your home was making you feel stir crazy. Getting dressed up and looking as good as you felt as the night went on gave you a mood booster but this changed when you stepped into the room. You’d had sneaking suspicions of certain men because of their attitudes, some could only be matched with Alphas. But watching their eyes rake over you as you passed by, seeing that change in them both terrified and aroused you - something which you knew would be oozing off you in thick scent waves.

You stand with someone from the physio department, and you’re trying to immerse yourself in the conversation but your senses are heightened by everything tonight. You thought you were over your rut. You’d managed to call in sick because of it, thankful that this is now a protected status within the workplace, which is more than could be said for another trait which is beyond a female’s control. Going into heat is an experience like no other. Having a period or simply being aroused is nothing compared to this and while most of the fellow Omegas in the offices are on blockers, you haven’t been so lucky this time thanks to being unable to obtain your prescription and having only worked at Liverpool FC for the past three months, this wasn’t a great start.

“Haven’t seen you for a while,” comes Joe’s voice in your ear. It’s a welcome relief from thinking about where Domi is but in a way, it’s only made it worse because you know he has the nose of a bloodhound.

“Oh, so you’ve been looking for me?” You ask, mouthing an apology to Chelsea before turning to look at the Liverpool defender. Joe was beautiful. His body was incredible, his flirting skills were off the charts and had your secret not been in place, you would have happily considered Joe.

“Can you blame me?” he reeks of Alpha so this little conversation isn’t surprising. He’s one of many who have stepped up to the plate and it’s a matter of time before he ends up walking away with his tail between his legs like the others.

“She might not, but I can.” Joe’s frame tenses up as the sound of his Hungarian teammate's voice reaches your ears.

“I was just -” Joe begins to explain himself but if you can smell the difference on Dominik, then Joe should be able. It’s a warning.

“You were just leaving.”

“Actually, I wasn’t.” Joe digs his heels in and straightens up. You hated this about Alphas, hated the need to prove themselves for a potential mate. Though there’s not much of a difference between them, Joe gets bragging points for being that much bigger. And as of recently, you knew just how much bigger Joe was in comparison.

“You don’t want to play this game Gomez,” Dominik clenches his jaw, the muscle in his jaw popping and even though you didn’t want to be in the middle of this pissing contest - though you wouldn’t have minded being between the two of them under very different circumstances - you couldn’t deny your arousal to watching the way your mate begins to put Joe in his place. “You won’t win. I do not lose.”

You know they can smell it before you feel the wetness pools at your slit and Dom’s eyes snapping to yours, finally breaking contact with the Englishman, confirms your suspicions.

“I will fucking claim her again, right here if I have to.” He growls, and again, your pussy clenches at the thought of him laying you out in front of everyone, making them all watch as he claims you in ways that only your mate can. Your heat may have passed, but the aftermath of it lingers. You’re still fertile and you’d get on your knees and beg to feel his knot if it meant abandoning this that’s going on now. “I will make you watch as I fuck her, just to make a point.”

Your arousal is only increasing, your underwear sticks to you now as you move from foot to foot, mostly to feel the way your thighs rub together at the top and in turn, rub against your clit to give some form of friction. Images continue to flood your mind because you know that Dom will do as he’s threatened. He’s not against public sex - you learnt that the hard way when Marco came sniffing. And while he never made Marco watch, you’re certain he could hear every lewd sound of his cock thrusting into your sopping wet cunt, every moan that escaped your lips and every plea to feel him cum within you.

You wonder in this moment how he would react to knowing that you would only be more turned on watching the reactions of every man who couldn’t take his eyes from you. You could imagine the way Trent would no doubt struggle to not palm his cock through his trousers at the sound of your moans. You wonder if Virgil would be able to control himself as he hardens or if he’d losing himself in his thoughts about taking at least one of your holes. Dom, when in this mood, would ensure that he marks you to make sure that no one, not his own team, not any other player who comes into contact with you, would consider this again.

The one thing you’re confident in, is the knowledge that he loves this tame game of cat and mouse. He loves watching you think you can get away with leaving your scent in places where others can come looking. When Dom fucks you in the way that makes you forget everything, makes you feel as though you would positively die if he wasn’t close to you like that again.

You may not be doing it yourself, but you’re certainly leading the lamb to the slaughter.

#dominik szoboszlai one shot #dominik szoboszlai imagine #dominik szoboszlai smut #dominik szoboszlai x reader #dominik szoboszlai drabble #dominik szoboszlai blurb #dominik szoboszlai fanfic

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therottenkingsreckoning · 23 days

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Ough, this one got a lil sad and a little long, be prepared for that. Really two chapters combined into one, but I just couldn't stand to leave y'all on a cliffhanger like I had planned. I prommy it'll be much lighter from here, but for now, have this.

~Little Flame, Chapter 3~

Back home, Frank crept carefully through the door and up the stairs, even though there was clearly no sign of his husband's return. Maybe guilt is what drove it. More likely though, it was the lingering tension, heartstrings pulled tight enough to snap at any second. Slipping into the same little bathroom that started this mess, he quietly shut and locked the door behind them, drawing the test from their waistband slowly as he prepared to do the deed.

Once done, they sat nervously on the edge of the toilet, eyes glued to the tiny oval of screen that was his lifeline and his judgement. All the previous worries (and a couple fresh new ones) were thrashing around the inside of their head right now, threatening to pull him down drowning into oceans of despair. What if they couldn't handle parenting, or if somehow this pushed Eddie to leave them? H-he wouldn't do that, right? Eddie is a good man, he wouldn't leave you over that. But...what if he did?

Please be negative, Frank begged from within the tangled web of his thoughts. I can't handle it otherwise.

Line one appeared, and a heavy silence fell over the room, the only sound his heavy, nervous breathing.

slowly, hesitantly...a second line emerged.

His hand was tangling their hair now, his shaking so bad that it was clattering against the toilet bowl. No. Nononononono. This was bad. This was very, very bad. They wanted to scream, to explode, to go back to a time before any of this had happened. Tears were welling up now in Frank's eyes, and all he could do was murmur a single, frightened sentence. "I have to tell Eddie."

"Tell me what?"

A startled squeak flew out of Frank's mouth at the unexpected sound of their husband's voice. Since when had he come home? He couldn't tell Eddie right *now*, they weren't ready for all of that! In a flurry of nerves and guilt and all, they quickly shoved the test into a box in the under-sink cupboard, doing his best to put on a calm face as they opened the door.

"Eddie, when did you get back home? I didn't hear you come in."

Eddie narrowed his eyes. "Been here longer than you have."

Shit. "Eddie, I-" Frank started, but was cut off by the raising of his husband's hand, the man turning and heading towards the stairs. "Meet me down in the kitchen. We need to talk."

Oh God. They'd really done it now. He should've waited, or talked, or done something, but like the impatient idiot they were he'd stirred the pot, and now Eddie was mad. Now he'd surely hate them, just like every fear Frank's mind had conjured up. Feet like lead and heart sinking, they descended the steps and walked into the kitchen.

Eddie didn't look up when his partner walked in, simply gesturing towards a carelessly abandoned brown paper bag. "Mind explaining this?"

"I'm sorry, " Frank mumbled, throat feeling tight. "I had uhh...wanted to get some medicine."

"And I couldn't have done that for you? I was literally there!" Eddie said, a rising tone of voice as he finally turned to face his love. "Weren't you the one who'd said ya need to stay home today? That I should go on off to work, and not stay here worryin' all day like you know I do? Don't ya trust me?"

"I do!" Frank's voice was rising now as well, and cracking with the start of tears. "I can't just stay in here all day though, I know I said it but I had to...h-had to get outside."

Eddie pinched his noise and let out a growl. "Honey, you're sick right now! What if you got Howdy sick as well? What if you'd made yourself worse?"

"Love, I..."

"Don't try to act all sweet right now. You were just tryna get me outta your hair and you know it."

A part of Frank wanted to scream how wrong he was, how mean he was being, but a bigger part of them knew that he was right. He was hurt, and Frank had hurt him. It wasn't fair at all to treat him this way, sweet, loving Eddie who'd done nothing but care for his partner and worry about their wellbeing. A knife-twist of guilt hit the scientist's heart, and he reached out a hand towards his love. "Eddie, I'm sorry. I am."

Eddie pulled back from the touch, pain & fear in his eyes which refused to meet theirs. "Frankie...darlin'... there's something you're not telling me, isn't there? Some reason you'd wanted me gone for the day."

Frank's stomach flipped at the realization of what he'd implied. "No, nonono that's not...sweetheart I'm-"

He cut them off, shaking his head hard enough to send teardrops flying. "Don't...don't tell me...I'm not sure I can hear it right now." He sighed, and once again headed towards the stairs. "I'm going to bed. Don't follow me."

Then Eddie was gone, and Frank broke down completely, sobbing and crumpling onto the tiles. This was it. They were over. One simple, stupid act and he'd shattered his husband's trust, had made him hate them and surely he'd never earn it back. Frank's fists were pounding against his gut, cursing the thing that ruined his life, this...

baby. His baby. He couldn't bring himself to hate them, this little life that hadn't even begun and had done him no wrong. The life he'd wanted so much for so long, but it wouldn't the same without Eddie there beside him, wasn't something Frank could stand to do alone.

Curling up on the floor, too weak to even move from his spot, Frank whispered through sobs, "I'm so sorry. I love you, just please. Come back."

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

Eddie stared into his reflection in the upstairs bathroom's mirror, darkened streaks below his eyes where tears and water had let the makeup run. What was going on right now? It had been such a normal-feeling morning, apart from the sickness of his spouse, and now? He wouldn't cheat on me, right? Eddie thought, He would never. He'd rather die. Wait, what if- no, no, surely he ain't dying either. That's something I refuse to believe. So what...

His evidence was scant in either case, he had to admit. His lover shooing him off on one day only to come home with groceries, and feeling sick in a way only slightly more intense than any other time. And yet, above it all there hung a darkened cloud of something left unsaid, some hidden truth that Frank had judged Eddie unworthy to know.

He pressed his head against the glass, its cool solidity grounding him for but a moment. "Frank, please tell me what I've done wrong."

When he opened his eyes again, all that he saw was the empty sink counter. "Tch," he hissed, his mind now grasping for distraction. "We're out of soap."

The little box containing more was shoved far back beneath the sink, behind the other household items that they hardly ever used. A dark, cramped little space...but not quite dark enough to obscure a white line that he'd not seen before. What's this? he thought, all other worries aside for an instant as delicate orange fingers grasped around the plastic stick and pulled it out into the light, out to where he could see-

Back in the kitchen, Frank's crying had quieted down into hiccups, though he felt no less awful. Their whole body ached with exhaustion, bruise-tenderness layered on wrenching gut-ache in his belly. His mind was just static and numb, feeble sorrow by now, only able to muster a single "I'm sorry."

"Frank?"

Startled, Frank looked to the doorway where his husband now stood once again...holding the test.

"Eddie..." Frank started, feeling the sour note of fear begin to churn inside his guts. And yet...the mood felt shifted now. The tears on Eddie's face had dried, his voice was soft and kind as he murmured "Is this what you'd wanted to tell me?"

"Yes." Could it be so? Could they hope?

For a moment, fear flashed in the man's eyes again. "It is mine...right?" he said.

Frank stared up at him, and for once in this whole wretched cycle he knew what to say.

"Yes," they breathed. "It is you. Eddie, my love, it's always...will always be you. No one else." He swallowed hard, gripping the fabric of their pants in each hand. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I... I'm scared. How will we handle this? Do you...even want them? Wh-"

Their words cut short as Eddie's arms suddenly embraced him, shaking gently as they pulled his lover close. "We'll figure it out together," he sobbed, his voice flooded with emotion. "D-don't worry darlin', we will."

All Frank could do right now was cry. He felt so dizzy with relief. They'd been a fool, of course Eddie would understand and accept! "You're not mad?" they squeaked, and he knew what the answer would be.

"No," Eddie replied, kissing his partner's forehead gently. "No, not anymore. I...Frank, I love you. So, so much."

Frank laughed through tears and kissed him back. It would be ok. He had a big home, and a loving husband who would be so very good to their children. There was no need to fear.

"You'll be a good father, I know it," they sighed. "I love you too."

#welcome home #welcome home fanfic #Little Flame #eddie x frank #frank x eddie #frankly dear #franklydear #welcome home eddie #eddie welcome home #eddie dear #welcome home frank #frank welcome home #frank frankly #fanfic #fluff #angst with a happy ending #stuff I said #Ember's art

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eryiss · 3 months

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[Fraxus] Multifaceted - Part 1

Or: The 5 Times Laxus Learned of a New Skill Freed Possessed, & The 1 Time He Fell Victim To Them

Summary: For the rest of the world, it had been seven years. For the members of Fairy Tail it had all been in the blink of an eye. But, for Laxus, that was more than enough time for his closest friend to seem like an entirely new person. This self assured, competent Freed was something new to Laxus, and he found himself enjoying it. Perhaps a little too much… Note: I’m back, probably only for this and then I’ll slink away again. It should have a new chapter every other day. Hope you enjoy. Links: Ao3, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

1: Cooking

Laxus was practically a dead man walking as he approached his apartment building, and wanted nothing more than to collapse onto a bed and sleep for the rest of the week. He couldn't, of course. When he and Freed had been forced to move into an apartment with only enough space for one bed, they'd decided they'd alternate each night on who got to use it, and who had to make do with the armchair. Freed was generous, but he wasn't so generous to give up the bed for a whole week.

God, Laxus missed having a bedroom to himself.

But when you're wiped off the face of the planet for seven years, and your bank decides your dead and absorbs your assets, you don't get to be picky. The jobs coming into the new, barely surviving Fairy Tail were not good. Whereas previously its members had been comfortable financially, they now all had to scrimp and save. Hence, sharing a tiny apartment with Freed.

It could have been worse; a lot worse. He and Freed had always gotten along well, and after a long talk on the boat back to Magnolia's shores, they had an understanding. Things had changed a little between them; Laxus had been humbled after the harvest festival, and Freed had come into his own. He seemed comfortable in his skin in a way Laxus hadn't seen before. He'd always been in control and able to dominate the room the moment he walked in, but now he made it look effortless. Like he was walking with his head held high not because he felt the need to, but because he felt no need not to.

Living together was going well, that was all. Laxus did wish they could afford a better place, and as he trundled up the stairs, he wished they'd found a place on a lower floor.

He forced the door open - it was stiff on its hinges - and it took a second for the scent to hit him. Rich and indulgent meat, thick and butter ladened potatoes, a cluster of vegetables all with the char of a grill, and the slightest whiff of red wine filled the room. After a month of eating bread and the occasional piece of fruit on his mission, the hit of flavour could have made Laxus weep.

"Ah, you're here," said Freed, looking over his shoulder from where he stood at the kitchenette, stirring a pot of something. "I was hoping you'd be back soon. I was a little preemptive with the vegetables."

"You cooked?" Laxus asked, dumping his duffel bag on the floor.

"It seems so, yes," Freed nodded, raising a ladle of cabbage to prove it. "How did it go? Did you get paid this time?"

"I did," Laxus shoved the door closed, half tempted to collapse into the armchair. He stank, though, and if he remembered correctly it was Freed's turn to sleep in the chair. It'd be a dick move to make it reek before Freed had to deal with it. "The guy tried to negotiate the price down after it was over, but I think I scared him."

"Wonderful," Freed hummed slightly. "I can see why no other guild will take them."

The only worthwhile jobs that Fairy Tail had gotten recently were S-Class and A-Class jobs that the bigger guilds would not post. They saw Fairy Tail as desperate and willing to overlook certain issues, some of which consisted of underpayments from the job poster. They clearly had forgotten how Fairy Tail functioned; the guild had always been paid in full, even if they needed to throw a few punches to get it.

"Yeah, it's ridiculous," Laxus agreed, deciding to take a seat at the tiny, rickety dining room table that had come with the apartment. The chair was uncomfortable on a good day, but not being on his feet was too heavenly for him to care. He took a moment to sink into his chair, and watched as Freed opened the oven, taking a steaming dish out. God, the smell! "You seriously cooked?"

"Yes," Freed said as he placed the dish onto the counter. He looked at Laxus with amusement in his eyes. He was so much more open with his emotions now, it was nice. "Why does that shock you?"

"I never knew you could. You used to make Bix do all the cooking on missions."

"Yes, well," he reached for a spatula and broke the surface of whatever was in the dish. "I had always wanted to cook, but for some time I didn't allow myself to learn. I saw it as a frivolity, or something… indulgent. I had other things to deal with."

Other things being Laxus' stupid ego trip, no doubt. "You mean the harvest festival?"

"Among other things," Freed waved off. "When you were gone, I had time to spare, and eventually picked up a cookbook. I got rather good at it, I must say. Though admittedly I had a more generous budget then. But, I've quite enjoyed the challenge of stretching myself. Hence: cottage pie."

He scooped a large pile of meat, veg and potatoes onto a plate. The rich scent that filled the room was drool inducing. "It smells amazing. Don't know what exactly it is though."

"Minced beef, onion, carrots, peas, a few herbs, salt, pepper, a sauce which for the life of me I cannot pronounce the name of - don't you dare tell Bix or Ever, they'll be insufferable - and a dash of red wine. And mashed potatoes on top, obviously," Freed filled two plates with the food, bringing them both to the table. A bowl of mixed vegetables quickly followed, and the already opened bottle of red wine - the cheapest Laxus has ever seen Freed purchase - was placed between them before Freed sat down. "Enjoy."

"I will," Laxus promised, and it wouldn't be a difficult one to keep.

He forked a generous amount of the food and bit into it, a groan of pleasure slipping out before he could halt it. It was simple food, and would have been easy to turn your nose up at if you were a pretentious dick, but it was amazing. The flavours felt exaggerated and brought to life, thick and heavy and so rich.

Freed's eyes were clearly on him, waiting for a verbal confirmation as to the quality. Laxus felt like his partial moan should have told him, and as such didn't rush to swallow. It had been months since he'd had a good meal, and he intended to savour it.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Freed huffed when Laxus immediately went to take another bite. Laxus grinned.

"What?"

"You very well know what," Freed snapped, watching the forkful of food, daring Laxus to try and bite into it. Laxus didn't say anything, but cocked up a brow to prompt Freed. Freed complied. "Validate my ego, you tedious man."

"Hm," Laxus hummed. "I don't know if I've had enough of it yet to come to a fair judgement. Hold on."

As Laxus took a very performative mouthful of food, Freed watched him with a decidedly unimpressed expression. He took a bite of his own food, which he finished significantly quicker than Laxus had. He watched silently as Laxus finally swallowed his second forkful of food.

"Maybe one more bite."

"I think I might actually stab you."

Laxus laughed, slowly placed his fork down and leant back in his chair. Freed faux glared at him, waiting for him to speak.

"Honestly, it's amazing," Laxus said, dropping the joking tone. "I genuinely don't think I've eaten anything this good since I was kicked out of the guild."

"There's no need to exaggerate."

"I'm not, this is amazing," Laxus assured him, watching as Freed started to eat his own food properly. "I'm not gonna pretend that I ate well for any of that time, but this is still so much better. Honestly, after the last couple weeks, this feels like the best meal I've ever had."

"Well then," Freed sniffed slightly. "Don't let it go cold."

Laxus complied, and the two ate their dinner in silence. The food really was amazing, and as cheap as the wine was, it felt like a luxury. All thoughts of collapsing into bed when he got home had been forgotten; this food was a much greater indulgence. That was why Laxus had no qualms about running his finger over the plate, licking it clean.

Freed must have seen that, because he wordlessly took the plate off Laxus and walked back to the counter. As he piled another serving on, Laxus complained that he could have done that.

"As if I'm letting you near my cookware," Freed huffed. "It's the only thing worth a damn in this place."

"What about our friendship?" Laxus teased, leaning on his hand with a smirk.

"Oh don't be tedious," Freed rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

In that moment, with Freed standing at the counter, serving the fruits of his labour, with a small smile on his face, with his sleeves rolled up and his hair tied back, Laxus realised something. Something he'd never considered before, but in that moment felt entirely obvious. Freed was a very handsome man.

Huh. That was something to think about.

But not at that moment. He had a second helping to devour, and he wasn't going to waste it on the weird fluttery feeling in his chest.

#fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #fanfiction #Writing #Multichapter #canon compliant #Word Count: 1.6k

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itoshi-s · 1 year

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Bachira….with a tongue piercing

It just makes sense

And the good use he would put it at😔

bachira who comes home from practice one day and catches your attention by his unusual behavior and looks.

any other day, he’d enthusiastically kick off his shoes, drop his bag at the door, and smother you in kisses so sweet and urgent, it’d knock your breath away. he’d cup your face in his hands, lap at your mouth with vigor for a few passionate moments — ‘ve just missed ya so much, baby, s’that so wrong? — then start to babble about on his day as you plate up his lunch.

this time around, when he comes home, it’s surprisingly quiet.

and, worst of all, there’s not even one kiss. a proper one, that is — cause all meguru gives you is a few quick pecks and a mumbled “hi, cutie”, before heading over to the fridge.

your brows furrow a bit as you take note of his hair — perfectly dry and wispy, looking just like when he first left the house hours ago — and weirdly pale face. usually, meguru takes a quick shower right after practice wraps up, not bothering to properly dry his hair off before he hops into his beloved yellow huracan and drives home — cheeks still flushed from exhaustion, eyes wide with endorphins.

today, bachira looks perfectly in tact, and it makes you stir.

“where were you, megs?” your voice startles him so much, the icy cold water bottle nearly tumbles out of his hand. “cause it definitely wasn’t practice.”

he turns around and sees you leaning against the island, arms crossed — and an amused kind of look on your mouth. (he’s in trouble and he knows it, but not because you’re accusing him. you’d never — cause he’d never, ever hurt you. he’s in trouble because he’s just done something silly.)

“huuh? i dunno what’re y’talking about, baby.” bachira tries, but the swollen muscle sits heavy in his mouth and renders his speech muffled, a thick lisp to his words.

your brows knit together, “wha- why’d you speak like that?” you sound suspicious when you close the gap between you two with a few long strides. “oh, my god. did you get hurt? you knocked a tooth out, didn’t you, meguru?”

bachira feels his mouth twitch into a grin, one that he kinda feels bad for, considering you sound more concerned than playful by this point. he puts the bottle down, cool hands resting on your waist as he breathes out a laugh.

“nope, no, sweets. i didn’t wanna tell you like this, wanted t’ make this a little surprise for ya—“

a loud gasp rips from your throat, cutting his sentence short and he cannot help but giggle upon your shocked expression — hand covering your mouth, eyes bigger than he’s ever seen them as they zone in on the silver barbell pierced right through his tongue.

“m— meguru!” you pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger, forcing his mouth open. he obediently hangs his tongue out, proudly showcasing the new jewelry, sparkling against his swollen flesh. “you- are you crazy?!” you laugh, “how did you even think of that?”

he shrugs a bit, fingers digging into the doughy flesh of your hips as he tugs you closer to himself. meguru licks his lips, carefully so not to tug at the piercing, and gives a bit of a pout. “just felt like it,” he murmurs and leans in to nose at your neck. “can’t give my girl any kisses just yet, though.”

you slap his bicep playfully at the whine to his voice, then wrap your arms around his neck with a grin. “you got yourself into this, baby.”

bachira is an impatient man and acts on impulse instead of plan more often than not — and it so, it takes all of his self restraint not to push his tongue in your mouth for the next few days. what’s worse, he almost feels physically sick with withdrawal from the taste of you — from the feeling of your thighs trembling around his head, fingers tugging at the blonde hair at the nape of his neck as you moan oh, so sweetly.

luckily, he finds out patience has it’s perks weeks later — when you come within barely two minutes of the pretty silver jewelry making contact with your throbbing, soaking cunt <3

#✧.* ✉ zari’s mail #this turned out more sfw than not lol im sorry!!!!! but he’s so cute it popped into my mind immediately #but ohhhh he definitely puts it to good use 😵‍💫 sucks on some ice before goin down on u just to make the metal as cold as possible #uHHHSHSHSJ he’s so crazy i love him🤕🤕🤕🤕 nonnie you’re brilliant #bachira meguru smut #bachira meguru x reader #bachira smut #blue lock smut #bllk smut #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #★ ‧ ₊ after hours #bachira <3 #✧˚ · . bllk

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pedropascalsx · 1 year

Text

cargo {joel miller x ofc}

rating: t

warnings: strong language, mentions of child loss

word count: 1.1k

a/n: first attempt at joel miller, idk what this is really. it’s not particularly well written, but i’ve been in a writing rut and i’m just happy to have completed something.

She’s grating on his last nerve today and she’s doing it on purpose, working it until he gives her the reaction that’s inevitably going to end in her sulking and him sulking even harder.

It’s almost funny to her. It’s like her very own source of entertainment and the more she stirs the very melting pot that is Joel Miller, the bigger the explosion will be.

She keeps mentioning family, asking him questions that makes him dig his fingernails deeper into the already worn leather of the steering wheel, and now the sound of his teeth grinding keeps growing louder than the steady purr of the energy. She asked if she’s family, and he told her no. She’s just cargo. He didn’t miss a beat, didn’t waste a breath and then didn’t leave a second for her to wonder if he meant it or not.

But you knew the second he said it, the way he said; perfectly rehearsed. Completely devoid of emotion. Something he’d practised a million times over in his head, “No. You’re cargo.” There was no real weight behind the way he said it, but she’s just a girl, a child who’s known nothing but disappointment… and somehow she still laughs in the face of misery. But the way her face fell spoke far louder than any words ever could and you knew she wouldn’t be quipping back with a pithy retort this time. She’s too busy hurting.

And boy, she makes her hurt known, she sighs loudly, curses under her breath and kicks at the dashboard in front of her. He yells at her for being careless and damaging shit she can’t replace, she tells him to go fuck himself and he says words you can’t bring yourself to repeat.

Some days you think they both simply forget you’re there and today is one of those days. You learned pretty early on that silence is your best tool in these situations and just not to get involved, so you don’t remind them of your presence. You wait it out, you wait until Joel spots something he’ll point out to the both of you and she’ll ask little questions about it and it’ll soon be almost forgotten. Almost.

You know later that day, when he’s taking a few moments to himself that she’ll come to you for something she won’t ask for. She’ll stand in front of you and make stupid jokes or even worse she’ll say something that’ll break your heart and attempt to laugh it off. And then you’ll give her what she’s searching for, you’ll pull her into your arms and wrap your love around her for a few seconds before she pulls back.

And then you’ll repeat it all again tomorrow.

You didn’t hear him come back, and the sound of his voice ringing through your ears makes you almost jump to your feet.

“Where she go?” he mumbles out as he sits down a few feet away from you.

“Sleeping on the backseat,” you say with a shrug, “She made a comment about just being cargo.”

“That’s what she is.”

“So, you keep saying,” you say with a raised eyebrow, “Yet the second she’s out of your line of sight, your chest starts to heave up and down.”

He scoffs and you don’t need to turn to look at him to know the exact look that etched across his face.

“I'm not going to get into this with you, but…”

“Then don’t.” He warns.

You feel your breath hitch as you ignore his warning, “But… it wouldn’t kill you to choose your words more carefully. Rehearse something a little less cruel.”

And this time you do turn to face him, just as he screws his face up at you with something almost like disgust, before rolling his jaw and sitting up straight, getting ready to unleash his hell on you.

More of his signature cruelty that’s clearly his favourite tool for keeping everyone at arm's length, and you take a not so subtle breath as he starts to spit his venom.

‘You’re a child. Defenceless. Your head is in the clouds. You have no clue how this world works.’ The usual stuff before the inevitable rant about how you could make his life easier and just leave.

And this is usually the part where you apologise, you tell him how grateful you are that he’s giving you a ride across state and he’d respond with a couple of grunts before telling you to go to bed.

But something inside of you breaks and instead of taking his ranting and raving you’re throwing some of your own back in his direction.

“I have no idea? I have no clue?” you yell back, “My life is a cakewalk, right? I found a big strong man to keep me safe and I should keep my mouth shut and just endure. We are all living the same shitty life, Joel, we all know this pain and we all know loss.”

“You know nothing about loss!” he grits back, every word drowning in venom and laced with an undisguised hatred.

“I know nothing about the kind of loss you went through,” you say back as calmly as you can, “And I won’t ever deny the loss of a child is the worst kind of a loss a human can endure, but you can’t spend the rest of your life discrediting other people’s loss unless it matches yours.”

“Don’t you fuck—” he begins to yell.

“I know loss, Joel, and she knows loss. I know pain and she knows pain. And it’s not the same as yours but it’s valid, and when you tell a child that she’s nothing but cargo, you are contributing to her pain.”

The silence feels thick, the air feels thick and threatens to choke you from the inside out but despite the overwhelming urge to start coughing and freeing your throat of the imagined substance blocking your oesophagus; you don’t. You clear your throat and you continue.

“I mourn a life I never got to have,” you admit with a sad chuckle, “I read in books these stories about a man and a woman living a life that seems almost benign, because it’s so dull. And it’s sad because I crave it so much that I dig my fingernails into the meat of my thighs unconsciously just to bring myself out of the pathetic fucking fairytale that i’m creating in my own sickened mind. I dream of a husband, and I dream of working a boring job that barely covers the monthly bills and most of all I dream of the warm breath of a babe I birthed sleeping soundly on my chest and keeping them safe with a downpour of never ending love…. And that girl… that sweet and funny girl simply dreams of being more than just cargo. More than being just a potential cure. And whilst she may never be your blood and will never ever begin to replace what you’ve lost, she deserves for you to be honest with her. She deserves to think she’s more than just cargo to you.”

Nothing more is said. He clicks his tongue a few times and shakes his head before looking away, you give him a slight nod of your own as you scramble to your feet and make your way to the car. You won’t sleep that night, nor will he, but you’ll both feel comforted by the sound of her soft snores from the backseat.

#joel miller #the last of us #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x oc #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #my fanfic #my fanfiction #this is shite

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out-of-users · 3 months

Text

KNY Hashira God! AU!

Chapter 1: The start

Shit, shit, shit. Those were the thoughts racing through Tanjiro’s head as he carried his sister, Nezuko, on his back through the snow-filled hills.

After the slaughter of his family, and finding Nezuko as the sole survivor, almost fatally wounded and unconscious, Tanjiro’s heart swelled as he felt the younger sibling stir on his back.

“Just stay still, Nezuko.” Big brother’s going to get you to safety.” Tanjiro’s voice whispered to her. “Just stay still.”

Aggressive yelling and growling came from Nezuko as she wrestled off Tanjiro’s back, and pounced onto him.

“NEZUKO! WHAT’S GOTTEN INTO YOU!” Tanjiro yelled as he put a hatchet in her mouth to lodge it and buy him time.

Though it didn’t work, and all the wrestling made them fall off a ledge. When his vision cleared, he could see Nezuko on top of him, tears coming out of her eyes. He also saw a deep pond, one wrong move and they’d fall in and drown. Oh god. This situation couldn’t get worse, could it?

Yes, yes it could, and somehow it did. The lake started shifting abnormally.

The waves got bigger, and bigger, and one of them pulled Nezuko into the water. The younger sibling was trapped in a bubble of air, under the water. Before Tanjiro could say anything, though, something else came out of the water.

The ‘‘something’’ was apparently a someone, and he looked godly. With pale skin, ocean blue eyes, and a half red, half green and yellow checkered kimono, so light and dry it looked like he never came out of the water, Tanjiro’s mind was racing. How? Since when? He’s heard of gods, and paid his respects, but never met them.

“Pathetic. Look at you, trying to save a demon.”, The man spoke. His voice was dull, devoid of emotion.

“Please, you must understand! She’s good inside! I know it! Please, Spare her! I’ll find a cure, and fix her, just spare her, I beg of you!”, Tanjiro exclaimed, on his hands and knees, only talking faster as the air bubble that entrapped his sister got smaller.

“QUIT YOUR PATHETIC GROVELING! DEMONS ARE DEMONS, NO MATTER THE CIRCUMSTANCES! EVEN IF YOU BELIEVE SHE’S A GOOD PERSON, HOW IS YOUR DEAD BODY GOING TO FIND ANYTHING!” The once null god’s voice was now full of expression.

“Don’t beg, don’t give in to sorrow. You’re too young, enjoy your years. I know what it’s like. Your soul is far too pure.” Thought the god, as he stared at the speechless and now crying red-haired boy.

The air bubble got smaller, and Tanjiro had to think. Fast.

The axe, still in shape, was lying right beside him. With newfound strength, he pushed himself up, and started throwing rocks at the deity.

“That won’t work. You can’t kill a god. Worst you can do is hurt us, a small amount-” His voice was dead now. Back to what it was before.

But this time, he didn’t get to finish his sentence. An axe came straight for his head. It all became clear now to the shocked god. While he was throwing rocks, he got behind a tree, and secretly threw the axe. If he was a human, that could’ve killed him.

And while he was distracted, that means the demon girl could have-

Too late.

“GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” Nezuko broke free from the air bubble, just as the mysterious god knocked Tanjiro unconscious. The now furious girl lunged for Tanjiro, and despite the god’s best attempts, he failed to stop her from getting there.

But instead of killing him, she stood there, and protected him.

Nothing could compare to the shocked look on the god’s face, as he saw the scene unfold.

Maybe, just maybe, these kids could be good.

Maybe they had a shot.

They were different, to say the least.

They were special. They sacrificed themselves for the other person, and had trust in each-other.

Reminded the god of the people he used to know. Remembrance flooded through his veins, but he didn’t have time for that.

“Go see a man named Sakonji Urokodaki when you wake up.” He said, to a dazed and confused Tanjiro, and a very angry and protective nezuko, who was too busy protecting to hear or understand.

“Tell him Tomioka Giyuu, the water god, sent you.”

All he got in response was a growl from Nezuko, and a nod from Tanjiro, but that was enough. He knocked both kids unconscious, and gave them one last glance.

“Rest well.” He said, as he slowly and quietly walked to to the middle of the pond, embracing the water as it swallowed him back up into the depths of the pond, and after he dissapeared, The sibling duo slept peacefully in eachother’s arms, holding eachother for heat, as the bitter winter air and snow surrounded them.

They were both alone, yet not forgotten.

Author’s note: HIIII! TOOK ME AGES TO WRITE THIS, YET IT’S STILL SO SHORT! (-_-) anywho, @zofi-persson You asked to be notified when it came, and here it is! (Again, I’m so sorry if this is bad.) anywho, see y’all later! Plz enjoy!

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befuddled-calico-whump · 5 months

Note

are Lex and Sarah actually going to have The Talk she mentioned in this (https://www.tumblr.com/befuddled-calico-whump/734559110463389696/feel-totally-free-to-ignore-this-butive-been)? and if yes, how would it go?

previous part

cw: alcoholism (discussed), past trauma/implied noncon (discussed), adult language

•°•°•

Lex was silent as Sarah made breakfast, eyes firmly locked on the table. It was almost noon when she'd finally made it downstairs; staying awake until who-knew-when to wait up for the assassin had really taken a toll on her sleep schedule. Not that she'd be able to fall asleep anyway without the confirmation he was back safe and sound.

Akeela and Hugo had already eaten and were working on scouring some new leads---well, Hugo was scouring leads while Akeela antagonized him---and Rosie, nocturnal as ever, would probably be in bed until mid afternoon. Which meant it was just her an Lex for the morning meal.

Now that she thought about it, this might've been the first time she'd seen him sitting at the table at all.

Was it because of last night? Did he even remember last night? Her promise to talk in the morning? If that's what he was hanging around for, she didn't know how to proceed. It was good, good he wanted to talk, to address the drinking problem no one wanted to acknowledge, but she wasn't qualified for this kind of thing. She didn't want to screw up; give him some kind of fucked-up advice that would only make everything worse for him.

At the same time, it felt like he was finally relaxing around her. He'd let her touch him last night. Hug him. Hell if she hadn't wanted to do that a hundred times in the past.

From you, it's okay.

His heart had beat so fast when she wrapped her arms around him, and even as attuned as she was to listening, Sarah still couldn't tell if it was anxiety at being touched, or... Or something else.

She sighed, turning off the stove and scraping scrambled eggs from frying pan to paper plate. It wasn't allowed to be something else. They didn't have time for something else, not now, and she couldn't waste energy on hopeful nothings when she had a team to keep alive.

Besides, there was a bigger elephant in the room that needed to be addressed.

"So," she began as she set a plate in front of Lex. "You still wanna talk?"

He didn't make a move on the eggs. She didn't even know if he liked scrambled eggs, but they were cheap, and quick, and easy, and he needed to eat something.

"I..." he swallowed, picking up a fork, poking at the food, not taking a bite. "Yeah. Think I do."

"Okay." Shit. Should she sit down? Stay standing? What was the best way to make this feel less awkward, less like an accusation or a lecture? She settled for leaning against the back of a chair, right across from him.

"So." She bit her lip. "Drinking."

Fuck, she was already blowing it. What would happen if she said something wrong enough? Would he run away? Would he ever come back?

"It's funny," Lex said, stirring the eggs, not looking up. "I keep thinking this conversation would be easier if I was drunk."

Sarah nodded. "I guess they usually are. Or, I mean, they seem easier. But all it really does is create distance, y'know? Everything is still just as hard when that distance fades away."

"I know."

He fidgeted with the fork, she fidgeted with her glasses. Neither of them seemed to know what to say next.

"I know it's stupid," Lex said at last. "And dangerous."

"Yeah. It is."

"And... And it's selfish. Risking your team like that."

"That's not..." Sarah sighed, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "You're on my team, Lex. Okay? I know it can be a risk to the rest of us if you're careless on your way home, but right now I'm just worried about you."

"Why?"

"I just said---"

"I've been watching my own back for years, Spyglass. I don't need someone to worry about me."

Spyglass. Ouch. Maybe she'd been wrong about him getting more comfortable around her. Maybe last night had been a fluke.

"Okay," Sarah said. "You don't need it. But don't you want it? Don't you want to be able to rest easy, knowing we'll watch out for you?"

"I can still rest easy---"

"Without drinking yourself stupid," she muttered, and instantly regretted it. This was it, this was the fuckup that would send him running. "Lex..."

"No." The fork was clenched in his fist now. "You're right. I can't."

"Why not?" It wasn't an accusation or a demand, just a simple question, soft words.

He was silent, but she didn't push. Last night, he seemed like he needed to get this out. If that need was still in there, if she was the person he wanted to tell, he'd speak in his own time.

His posture seemed casual enough, hunched over the eggs that were probably cold by now, but even without her sight abilities, she could tell his body was rigid.

"The Tower fucks you up," he said at last, and it was almost a whisper. Sarah sharpened her hearing, just enough that she wouldn't miss a word.

"It's... I was always alone. Unless, uh, unless they were hurting me." He swallowed, and she watched his throat bob up and down, her hands tight around the back of the chair.

"It was the same fucking room for months. Always dark. And whenever they did bring me out, they'd usually blindfold me. So every time I close my eyes, I... It's like I might be back there. Like my body's too stupid to tell the difference if my eyes can't prove it wrong. Doesn't matter where I am. Bed. Floor. Some fucking alley. The only nights I don't wake up in a panic are the nights I'm too drunk to."

Okay, she wanted to say, we'll find a solution. We'll play music for you all night or give you a nightlight. But she could tell he wasn't done talking. It was good he was talking, but she was afraid of what he might say next. Which was dumb. Just because she didn't know about it, just because he'd never told her, didn't make what he'd gone through any less real.

"So that's why," Lex continued. "I couldn't even fucking do anything about it. When they hurt me, I mean. I tried once. Got so mad I started a fire, even with the null cuffs on, but the guards, they... Um, they made me regret it." His voice broke, but he didn't stop talking. Sarah didn't know if he could, now that the dam had been opened.

"I'd never know what was going to happen. Uriah was bad, but it was worse just being in the dark, waiting to see if someone would come hurt you that day. They'd beat me more than anything else, but there were worse things. Visitors. Rentals."

Sarah didn't know what rentals meant, but the way he said it implied enough. She was too aware of her breathing, every inhale small and silent to make room for his words.

"Some people got more creative with how they'd cause pain. Most weren't, but it didn't matter. Still hurt. One time, more than one time, a-a bunch of the guards, they just held me down and... and you know. Used me."

She'd already suspected as much, but his words still hit her like a ton of ice. A tremor went through Lex's shoulders as his chest hitched, and the little gasp he let out twisted in her stomach. His hand went to his face, thumb and forefinger rubbing at his eyes. Sarah waited for the hand to come down---for him to be able to see---before she finally moved, circling the table to stand beside him.

She half-extended a hand towards him, movement slow and cautious. "Is it okay if I..?"

"N-not right now," he said, his voice thick, and Sarah nodded. She couldn't say she didn't get it, especially right now. Instead of moving closer, she dropped to her knees next to him, resting her arms and chin on the table.

"Fuck," he choked out. "I'm sorry. Shouldn't just drop this bullshit on you."

"It's okay," she assured him. "I want to listen. If this makes you feel better... Does it?"

"I don't know. Doesn't make me feel worse." He tipped his head back, staring blankly at the ceiling. Sarah pretended not to notice that his cheeks were wet.

"That's why."

She laced her fingers together, staring at her nails. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Doubt it. Drinking is the only thing that works."

She sighed. "Lex, that's not... It's not good for you." Lamest response ever, but what else could she say? How could she possibly find an answer that was good enough for this moment? "There has to be another way."

"What happens if there isn't? Do..." His voice softened, dropping to a whisper again. "Do you want me to leave?"

It took a lot of effort to keep her hands on the table, to stop herself for reaching out to him. "No. No, not at all." Could she ever sleep again if he did? If he disappeared, if she had no idea he was safe? If he was even alive?

"I need you to stay," she said.

"To fight for the team." He nodded.

"No---yes, but that's not why." It would rip her heart out. "I kinda like having you around, you know," she said, trying to lighten her tone.

"Then..." Lex sighed, dropping his head again. "What ideas do you have? To help? I'll... I'll give them a try."

Sarah nodded. "Have you ever tried using your other senses? Smell? Hearing?"

"Listening to you right now, aren't I?" he said, but it almost sounded like a joke. She cracked a smile.

"You know what I mean."

"I haven't."

"We can try lighting a scented candle in your room. Or playing soft music through the night. Do you think that might help?"

"Worth a shot." He lifted his head, finally looking her direction, his violet eyes apologetic. She'd always been fascinated with his eyes. Their vivid shade of purple almost exactly matched the little wildflowers painted all over her childhood bedroom; a color she used to associate with a soft bed. Nostalgia.

"Sarah... Thanks. For putting up with me."

She rested her cheek on her hands, looking up at him with a soft smile. "Aw, come on, it's not nearly as awful as you make it sound. Maybe I like putting up with you."

Lex cracked a small smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She pushed to her feet, careful to move slow and smooth, even though her legs were half asleep from crouching. "And if you ever want to talk... About anything, really. Spaceships, fine dining, dinosaurs, how much Uriah sucks... I'll be here. I want to listen."

Lex nodded, taking a forkful of cold eggs. "I could probably make time for spaceships."

Sarah gave him a smile, then moved back to the kitchen counter, busying her hands with washing the frying pan. His time spent in the Tower was nothing short of horrifying, but if he wanted to talk about it, if he needed to talk about it, she wouldn't stop him. She just hoped she could find the right words when the time came.

And she hoped her idea worked, that he wouldn't need the alcohol, that he could sleep and not wake up in terror. Not for the team's sake, or her own, but because she'd spoken the truth the night before.

She really did care about him.

•°•°•

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow , @honeycollectswhump

#I swear the hardest part about these is deciding on whose pov im using lol #wildefire #anon #thank youu #cinderglass #alcohol whump #past trauma

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