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penny00dreadful · 11 months

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So does anyone remember that post that was like "Robin and Eddie meet when she does that thing that's like 'hello, please pretend you know me so I can get away from this person' then Steddie happens?" Because I do. I cannot for the life of me find it. If anyone knows the post I'm talking about please let me know so I can link it, this is very much not my idea, it's that persons idea but the brain worms got me so here we are. 🤷‍♀️

We found it! It's this post by @wynnyfryd Thank you Anon! Obviously I went in a different direction with it but this post was 100% my inspiration so thank you for helping me find it!

AO3 link for those asking! 🖤

Robin should be royally pissed off with herself right now. She would be if she wasn’t so damn scared.

That guy was still trailing behind her, no matter the twists and turns she’d taken down different streets trying to lose him and the only thing she’d gained from it was to get totally and completely lost. It could be something completely innocent, the guy might be coincidentally going in the same direction as her but she wasn’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if it meant keeping herself alive.

The distance between the two of them was slowly closing as she was followed through the dark and empty streets of the city, hoping, praying for some kind of shop or restaurant or something to make an appearance so she could hide inside but apparently Robin was able to find the one street in this city where everything was either closed for the night or boarded up.

Her heart was pounding in her ears and the beginnings of tears were starting to sting her eyes and all she could think of was how sick with worry Steve was going to be in the morning when he woke up to no missed calls, no missed texts and no Robin. She’d scoffed at him hours earlier when he’d offered to go to the ‘work thing’ with her but she'd told him she was a big girl and she could look after herself and not to be such a worrywart mom.

And now she had no idea where her phone had gone, if she'd left it behind or dropped it somewhere, no idea where she was and no idea of what she was going to do.

If she’d been a bit more present in her head she probably would have noticed the loud, braying, male laughter coming from just ahead of her and crossed the street to avoid them before it was obvious she was avoiding them. But as it was she could barely see straight through her tears and panicked tunnel vision while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the slowly encroaching guy behind her. She was practically already in the group’s space and one of them had definitely already seen her though he didn’t pay her any attention.

But even through her blurred vision and panic, she finally registered what exactly she was looking at. Four men standing around the entrance to what looked like the diviest of empty dive bars, chain smoking and being as loud as humanly possible, but that’s not what caught her eye.

Long hair, chains, leather, denim, tartan, rings, tattoos, subculture. If Robin had to choose a group of men to approach, any kind of subculture would be the best option. They knew what it was like to be other. There was no guarantee these guys were safe, but they were probably safer than a group of frat boys.

The next thing that caught her eye that nearly made her cry in relief as she got closer were the patches and pins.

A rainbow ‘A’ against a black and white striped background pinned on one guys collar, a yellow-white-purple-black patch on another's arm, a pink-yellow-blue patch over the third guys heart and a progress pride flag pinned to the largest guys pocket.

Her people.

Without a second's hesitation she made a bee-line for them, planting herself firmly next to yellow-white-purple-black patch person who had a mess of thick light brown curls that reminded her of Steve’s hair. They fell painfully silent at her arrival.

The four of them blinked down at her, with her tearfilled eyes and wild aura of panic around her they were probably, understandably freaked out.

“Hi guys!” She called out to them, probably a little too loud, hoping her voice carried back to the fucker following her, tensing as she could actually hear his footsteps approaching now.

The guy with the longest hair and the pink-yellow-blue patch standing directly in front of her glanced quickly over her shoulder before returning his gaze to her. His face split into a wide warm grin, tapping her shoulder lightly.

“Hey girlie. We thought you weren’t coming, we’ve been waiting.”

The footsteps behind her audibly slowed down. Robin laughed, a little maniacally, keeping her frantic gaze on him, not daring to turn around. “Yeah, I uh- g- got sidetracked.”

“Eddie, what-”

Pink-yellow-blue patch guy, Eddie she supposed, slapped ‘A’ patch guy lightly on the stomach with the back of his hand, shutting him up as her pursuer passed them by, giving the group a wide berth.

“Hey, no worries. You’re here now, right?”

Pride patch guy kept his eyes on the guy who’d been following her the whole time, only looking away when he eventually turned the corner, disappearing into the night.

Robin immediately felt her posture slacken now that he was finally gone, the full weight of everything coming down on her. Her tears began to spill over and her whole body shook as hysterical sobs started to pour out of her body.

“I’m sorry. I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I think I left my phone behind and I don’t know where I am. We only moved here a couple of weeks ago and I got lost trying to get away and- and-”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Yellow-white-purple-black patch person squeezed her shoulder lightly, keeping their distance. “You’re okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“We can call someone for you, if you want?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms tight like he was trying not to reach out to her, probably worried it would freak her out more. “Boyfriend or girlfriend-”

“Or romantic partner.” The person with their hand on her shoulder interjected lightly.

“Alright Baron from the Baronies.” Eddie snorted. “But fair point, Gareth. Romantic partner or friend or whatever?”

“Um,” Robin’s voice was still shaking. “I don’t… I’ve never been good at memorising numbers…”

“Me too, terrible at them.” Eddie smiled again, pulling his phone from his pocket. Robin’s fear and panic was almost entirely gone now even though she was still hiccuping and sniffling underneath their concerned gazes. They were all firmly keeping their distance, keeping any touches short and fleeting, not moving too suddenly, trying their best to make sure she knew they weren’t a threat and it was really helping her to start feeling safe again. “But we could try to find them online? Instagram or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah we could try that.” She wiped her eyes roughly against her sleeve as she shuffled over to Eddie’s side. “My best friend, Steve, he uh- he’s probably asleep and I don’t think you can call him if you don’t have him added…”

“You can send him a message.” Eddie replied easily, handing his phone over. “And if he doesn’t wake up, we’ll try something else.”

“Don’t worry we’ll get you home.” ‘A’ patch guy smiled down at her while pride patch guy nodded along.

Robin sniffed again. “Thanks.” She was able to conjure up a small watery smile as she opened the app and found Steve’s profile, shooting off a quick message begging him not to freak out and explaining the situation as concisely as she could.

“Here.” She handed Eddie back his phone who glanced down at it for just a second before his eyes widened slightly as he scrolled through Steve’s profile.

“Oh shit. This is your friend?”

Robin nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“He’s… he’s really pretty.”

That managed to pull a startled laugh from her. “Oh god, don’t tell him that, you’ll give him a big head.”

“Let me see?” Gareth asked, whistling low when Eddie turned his phone around showing a photo of Steve and Robin at their last pride parade cheering with the crowd, Steve with the pink-purple-blue of the bi flag smeared across each cheek and Robin with the pinks, oranges and white of the lesbian flag draped around her shoulders. “He is really pretty.”

Eddie snatched the phone back, cradling it to his chest. “Fuck off, Gare. I saw him first.”

Robin smiled again. “Any response from him?”

“Hm?” Eddie asked distractedly, scrolling through Steve’s photos before pride flag guy punched him in the shoulder. “Ow! Wh- oh, sorry!” Eddie frantically scrolled back up before clicking into his messages again and shaking his head. “Nothing yet.” He held the phone out to show her.

“Okay.”

“What’s your address? If he doesn’t respond, we'll find a way to get you there.”

“Uh…” Robin was drawing a complete blank, only able to remember her parents home address hundreds of miles away.

“Or tell us something nearby.” Eddie added, not missing a beat, clearly picking up on Robin’s lack of an answer. “What’s on your street?”

“Um,” she closed her eyes, trying to picture it in her head, “there’s a couple of Chinese take outs, Asian food store, paint store… there’s… I think it’s a tattoo parlour? There’s designs painted on the window, a tower on either side. I think they’re from Lord of the Rings?”

“Inklings? Is that the place?”

Robin opened her eyes. Eddie was grinning at her conspiratorially. “That’s it. You know it?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I work there?”

“No way.”

“Way.”

Hope was starting to grow feathers inside Robin’s chest. She could go home, she didn’t have to stay out all night waiting for Steve to wake up and never let her out of his sight again, she could hug her best friend and drink coffee out of her favourite mug and curse at their finicky fridge and steal his hair products again. She could go home.

“Is it far?”

“Nah, only a few streets away. Ten minute walk, tops.”

“D’you- I mean… do you think you could-” Could she really ask them to walk her home after they’d already done so much for her? Would she be asking too much? Could she be putting herself in more danger?

“I can take you there if you want? Let you get back to your… Steve.” There was a slight blush dusting over Eddie’s cheeks. Maybe he did have an ulterior motive, but it wasn’t an ulterior motive involving her. If she wasn’t so wrung out and aching to crawl into her own bed she’d be thinking up teasing material to lambaste Steve with. But as it was, she was desperate to get home.

“Would that be okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie replied, bright and easy. “It would just be me and you though,” he held his hands up in surrender, “and you can totally say no, like if you're uncomfortable or whatever. Gareth is Grant and Jeff’s ride home and you’re still on the clock, right?” He turned to Gareth towards the end of his sentence.

“Yeah, but I get off shift in about an hour so could come in if you wanted, wait around in the back room until then if you wanna go as a group?” They answered.

“I think… I think I just want to get home.”

“Okay, cool. No worries I’ll get you there safe and sound. Here,” Eddie pulled his phone out again, “I’m gonna message Steve to let him know we’re on the way in case he wakes up,” he showed her the short message only sending it off when she gave a nod, “and I’ll get you to navigate just so we don’t get lost.”

He handed his phone to her with the maps app open, directing them towards Inklings tattoo parlour. He was playing it off like an easy joke, instead of another way to assure her she was safe. He was making sure she knew exactly where he was taking her at all times, he was making sure she had the ability to call the police or whatever if he turned on her, he was making sure she knew he didn’t need or want her address if she didn’t want to give it.

This fucking guy.

He definitely wouldn’t be the worst choice Steve had ever made if it did go that way.

“I don’t know how to thank all of you, seriously. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t run into you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Grant smiled at her before hesitating. “Uh, I just realised we don’t have your name.”

“Oh!” She laughed at herself, feeling lighter. “I’m Robin.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Robin.” Grant held his hand out, shaking hers once she took it.

“Likewise.”

“And don’t worry about thanking us, just pay it forward, yeah?” Jeff said.

“Plus.” Gareth took on a nonchalant tone even though they had a smirk plastered over their face. “We’ll see you again at Steve and Eddie’s wedding.”

“Shut up!” Eddie scowled but didn’t hold onto it for long in the wake of Robin’s giggles.

She sighed once the giggles subsided, a weight lifted off her shoulders. “I look forward to it.” She raised her hand in salute as the three of them headed back inside, turning to Eddie as he held his elbow out.

“Shall we?”

Robin tried to suppress her smile but took Eddie’s arm anyway. They only made it down one street and around one corner, Robin clutching tight to Eddie’s phone before he finally asked.

"So."

"Best friend Steve." Eddie twirled his rings around his fingers. "Is he…"

“He’s single.” She answered lightly. “But you might be arriving into his life at the wrong time. He’s recently sworn off men.”

“Well we’ve all sworn off men once or twice. Men are terrible.”

“Agreed.”

“Is it because of a bad ex?”

Robin threw her head back with a groan remembering the giant breakdown that had finally finally ended it. “Tommy was the worst. He’s the reason we even moved out here, there’s nowhere to get away from an ex in a small town, you know? They’re everywhere. I’m not going to go into what happened, it’s not my business to say but it was bad.”

Eddie nodded, his eyes down on the ground, running through everything in his head.

Robin could see the tattoo parlour up ahead, the glorious sight of their apartment building just a few buildings away.

“Do you think… with time… he could open himself up to men again?”

Eddie had such a tentative hope in his eyes, it was adorable really. Looking over him, she thought about the type of people Steve would constantly thirst over, blip in the matrix Tommy Hagan notwithstanding.

Lithe bodies with full lips and giant eyes, hair he could run his fingers through and something unusual about them. Something odd.

He’d never explicitly gone for someone so heavily into a subculture before but he’d never turned them down either. And based on Eddie’s job at the tattoo parlour and the way he was dressed, he almost definitely had some ink on him. That alone would be enough to make Steve swoon.

“I think he might. Will you walk me up?” Robin asked, holding the door to the building open, offering Eddie the same kindness under the guise of doing a favour that he had offered her so many times tonight.

“Yeah, sure.”

They’d managed to make it up to the third floor, walking down her hallway before Eddie’s phone started to ping incessantly.

She turned the phone over in her hand, looking at the screen. “He’s awake.”

Robin, where are you?

Are you okay?

I’m on the way.

Please be okay.

Their apartment door was flung open just as they reached it. Steve was standing there panting and terrified, his hair a mess, his glasses askew, his jacket and shoes thrown haphazardly over his pyjamas.

“Robbie.”

Steve slammed into her, holding her tight before immediately letting go to inspect her face and running his hands over her body, checking to see if anything was wrong.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? What do you need?”

“Steve.” Robin caught his fluttering hands in hers and squeezed, nearly crying out in relief just to have him with her again. “I’m okay. Eddie and his friends helped me.”

“Eddie-” Steve looked to the side, noticing her saviour for the first time. “You’re Eddie.”

“I’m Eddie.” Eddie gave him a short little wave and a dazzling smile that quickly dropped in shock as Steve pulled him into a crushing hug, his blush returning with full force.

“Thank you, thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve-” Steve took a big breath in and loosened his arms from around Eddie’s shoulders. Robin saw his eyes slowly trail over his face before very briefly flicking down to the pink-yellow-blue patch then back up. “Come inside, the two of you. Can I get you anything? Tea? Decaf coffee? A glass of water? Like, literally anything to say thank you.” He asked, ushering the two of them into the apartment.

Steve caught Robin’s eye behind Eddie’s back and mouthed ‘oh my god he’s fucking gorgeous!’

Robin snorted and thought to herself ‘sworn off men, my ass.’

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motherofagony · 5 months

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FIRE WALK - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.

New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.

That’s what the news says.

August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn.

It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.

Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.

You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.

There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.

He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.

You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink.

He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.

And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.

You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.

He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem.

You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.

If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.

You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.

But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.

And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.

“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Yeah fuckin’ right.

He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks.

You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.

Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.

The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.

You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!

A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck.

There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.

“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”

“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.

That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.

“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.

Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.

Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!

You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.

You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.

You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.

But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

So you don’t.

You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that.

The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.

Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.

Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.

You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.

It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.

When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.

“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”

You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.

His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.

The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.

It irritates you, and you can’t say why.

The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.

“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.

He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”

You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.

“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.

—

Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.

Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.

You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.

Your breath hitches on a soft swear.

When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.

It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water.

“Um… thanks?”

“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.

“Listen, uh —”

He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.

Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.

You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.

“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”

This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.

“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.

“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”

You smile. Typically, yes.

“Joel.”

His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash.

And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.

—

You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.

You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.

Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.

Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.

Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.

Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.

You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.

You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no.

Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.

You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.

He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.

You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.

He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.

“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.

You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.

It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.

But you’re so tired.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”

“You got enough time for that?”

And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.

You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.

He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.

When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.

He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.

You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.

Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.

“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.

There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.

He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.

Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you.

Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?

Isn’t there a catch?

He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.

His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.

He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.

Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven.

You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.

“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.

Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.

You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.

You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.

He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.

“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.

You feel that little pull at your navel.

And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.

When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.

It’s fucking filthy.

Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you.

There was always a little gold for contorting your body.

He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.

You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it.

When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control.

It’s new, different.

But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.

“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”

Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.

“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”

Oh.

He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.

He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.

Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.

He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.

“This alright?”

You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.

“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”

You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.

“Yes. Fuck.”

That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.

He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.

It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove.

You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.

It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.

The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.

Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.

He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.

When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.

At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.

It’s all too much, too pure to be real.

Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.

You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see.

He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.

You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.

If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.

And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.

—

The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.

Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.

“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.

More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.

You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.

Fuck.

You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.

But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.

Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.

Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.

There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.

The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”

Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.

He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.

Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.

It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.

“The hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.

He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.

There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.

“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.”

He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.

A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.

Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.

He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.

You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.

You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.

Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.

You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.

But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.

He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

He tells you to never say sorry to him again.

—

Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.

You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.

You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.

Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.

You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.

He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.

He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.

There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.

At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.

Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.

Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.

Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit.

The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust.

Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.

But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you.

They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.

And they’ll stay through every season.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us au #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #fire walk #my writing #joel miller one shot #motherofagony

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softlyspector · 11 months

Text

Picture

Summary: You really want to take Joel's picture. He can't really figure out why.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~2.1k

Warnings: nudity, taking nude pictures, smuttish themes and allusions but no actual smut, Joel being kinda dense/insecure about his looks, mostly unedited

A/N: Happy Sunday! Brought to you by more brain worms that caused this when I was supposed to be working on other things. Something tells me that Joel doesn't exactly know how pretty he is, so this is a result of that thought.

“Just one picture,” you plead.

You're smiling, holding the polaroid camera in your hands at an angle, naked as the day you were born where you straddle his hips.

Your thighs are wet, your release and his smeared between your thighs and his and over his hip and waist. His cock is already half hard again, and the movement of you wriggling back as you aim down at him doesn’t help.

He grunts and digs his fingers into the meat of your thighs. You just laugh at him, readjusting your grip on the camera.

Joel's eyes slide over you, the curve of your waist, the plush fold of your thigh and hip, the dip of your breasts and peaks of your nipples. He wants to reach for you, pull you down into him, but settles for rubbing his palms over your thighs instead, tracing circles there.

You’re still dewy with exertion; your skin glows in the low lamplight of his bedroom. Joel isn’t really sure how he got so lucky, lucky enough to have someone like you focusing all their attention on him.

“And what, darlin’, do you plan on doin’ with such a picture?”

He ain’t big on pictures. He poses for them with Sarah sometimes, just because he wants her to be able to look at them when she's older, mostly for the memories and so she has something of her old man when she’s grown.

Joel figures he isn’t really much to look at, so the why of the picture is miffing him just a little. Why would you want a picture of him? Especially one like the one you're attempting to get him to take now?

He’s fairly sure you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on.

He’s also fairly sure you’re out of his league by miles and miles. So if anyone should have their picture taken, it's you.

You hold the camera up to your eye and aim it at him, but your finger remains decidedly still against the button. “It’d be just for me. You're too handsome to share with anyone else.”

He rolls his eyes and anchors his hands on your hips. “Right.”

“You are,” you reaffirm, lowering the camera. “So pretty." You pause and tilt your head. "I won't take it if you don't want me to. But maybe I could sweeten the deal a little?”

“How's that, honey?” He traces one hand over the curve of your waist, runs the knuckles of his opposite hand delicately up your side, until he can swipe his thumb against the underside of your breast.

You shiver and lean into his grip, your eyes a shade darker than before.

“I’ll let you take one of me. A really scandalous, salacious one,” you promise, carefully setting the camera on the messy bed before you lean over him. You cup his face in your hands, eyes flicking over him like there’s something to see.

Like he's a vault you can't quite figure how to unlock.

He raises a brow. “And mine won’t be?”

“Not as scandalous, not if you don't want it to be. I’m not angling to push my luck with you, Joel Miller.”

He snorts again, sliding one hand against the back of your neck to keep you pressed close to him. You close your eyes and breath out, a delicate little sigh that puffs over his lips.

The room is warm, too warm. The fan running in the corner does little to stir the heat in the room and nothing to dispel the heat between your bodies. He won’t say he minds though. He was plenty hot before, but if it kept you pliant and naked in his bed, he won’t complain about it.

His eyes flick down, over your bare body. Something beautiful and soft. Something really worth taking a picture of.

“Just can’t see why you’d want somethin’ like that.”

“Well,” you murmur, rubbing the tip of your nose against the side of his. “You don’t have to see why. Just know I do.” You blink your eyes open and tilt your head against his.

Joel wants to hear it though, something in him really wants to know. So, against his better judgment, he asks again, “Why?”

You pull back a fraction, even though he keeps a steady pressure on the back of your neck, trying to keep you near. Your eyes are clear and curious, maybe a little confused. “Joel,” you laugh, leaning down to kiss him, thumbs running over his cheeks. You taste sweet, a little like yourself, and bitter, a little like him. “I mean…” you trail off against his mouth. “Do you want one of me?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do.”

He’d keep that picture somewhere safe, somewhere that only his eyes were ever in danger of seeing it. If you trusted him to keep it safe for you.

Joel would look at it, on the nights you couldn’t come over. Fist his hand around himself and daydream of you, think about how nothing and no one else would ever be as good as you, as your pussy wrapped snugly around his cock.

You arch an eyebrow at him, like you can see all the thoughts running through his head. “Right, so why wouldn’t I want one of you?”

He squeezes the back of your neck gently and then releases you, tracing a finger over the shell of your ear and cupping your cheek. “Well, we ain’t exactly twins.”

Joel means it as a joke but you suddenly jerk back, your eyes darting over him. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

You don’t answer, rolling your eyes at him instead. He lets you pull back from him reluctantly, the warmth of your palms on his face disappearing. You shift back until you’re sitting mostly on his thighs, the warmth of your pussy leaking right over his cock. You rock your hips against him just once, smiling and grabbing the camera when he hisses and hooks his hands against you, to still the movement of you over him.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he says, leaving little crescents in your thighs and then divots by your hip bones.

“No I will not,” you disagree. “Now, look here, Miller. One picture. Then we look at it together and if you absolutely hate it and still don’t get it—well, you can watch me rip it up.”

There’s nothing he’d really say no to you about. And this is harmless, with a built in out. “Fine,” he grumbles.

“Fine,” you repeat, pitching your voice to match his, accent and all. “Jesus, you’d think I asked for the moon!”

“The moon would be more understandable, darlin’.”

“Yeah alright, okay, hush.” You lift the camera to your eye and then lower it immediately, frowning at him.

“What? Comin’ to some kid of realization—”

You aren’t, evidently, just rearranging his limbs—tucking one arm above his hand, running a hand through his already messy hair, angling his jaw slightly up. You unfurl his other clenched fist and splay his fingers over the middle of his belly.

“There,” you say with a nod, seeming satisfied with your work.

A long moment passes where you just look at him, tracing your fingers over the vein on the inside of his bicep and over the curve of his shoulder.

Something like embarrassment claws up the inside of his chest. He should be looking at you like that, not the other way around.

“What?” His voice is gritted and sharp.

You just smile at those jagged edges. “Nothing. Just committing this to memory in case you make me tear up my picture.”

“See,” he grouses. “It’s like you don’t need a picture at all.”

You just roll your eyes and lean back. Joel has to resist the urge to move, to reach out and cup his hand against your lower back to steady you. “Stop making that face,” you say, camera pressed to your eye.

He frowns, and you giggle and snap the picture without warning.

The camera whirs and spits out a picture, which you pluck up and unceremoniously roll off of him and into the empty space next to him on the bed, shaking the picture by its edge as you go. A cloud of your scent puffs up around him, like sex and the taste of your skin, that dark perfume you always wear like the black of forests long forgotten. “It’s gonna be a good one,” you say, pillowing your head on his shoulder and tangling one leg over his.

“Am I allowed to move now?” He grumbles.

The acid sarcasm on his tongue makes you laugh. “Sure, baby,” you coo, “whatever you want.” Joel rests his chin on the top of your head, and you keep shaking the photo until it's developed enough that he can see the outlines of his figure.

It’s then that you turn it away so he can’t see it.

He watches your face instead, but you don’t give anything away. You stay silent and still, your eyes flicking over the image curiously. He can’t read the cut of your gaze. “C’mon, honey,” he pleads. “Put me outta my misery and lemme see it.”

“Okay,” you agree softly after another long minute of silent staring.

And then you tilt the picture towards him so he can see it.

Joel gets the sense he’s looking at another person, someone other than him. The man in the photo looks—well, not worn, not tired. He's...well, if he had to say, he'd say he's handsome. Pretty, as you said.

He’s frowning, but it reads as a…maybe a brooding kind of sexy. There are things he doesn’t like—the crinkled lines by his eyes, the softness of his belly, the lock of hair that sticks straight up off his forehead.

But, the rest of it. Golden skin, taut muscle in his arms and chest, dark hair on his belly that leads lower. His jaw is sharp, his eyes dark. Your soft thighs bracket his hips, just barely in frame. He likes that he can see part of you in the picture too. He likes that he can see traces of you on his skin—purpled bruises on his collarbone that the neck of his t-shirt would hide from everyone else's gaze, the sheen of something damp on his stomach just below his veined hand.

Now, maybe he understands a little more. Maybe he can at least understand why you’d want the picture.

“So,” you start after a few minutes of relative silence in the muted hum of the fan working overtime in the corner of the room, the sound of your breathing mixing with his. “Do you see now? Or do I have to rip it up?”

Joel turns his head to meet your bright gaze, the answer already known to you. Instead of answering you, he asks, “When do I get to take your picture, sweetheart?”

You ignore him. “It’s because you’re so handsome.” You trace the picture with your thumb, your eyes locked back on his image. “How is it that you don’t know?” Joel isn’t sure you’re talking to him anymore. “You don't know you're so...pretty,” you say again. “And just how I like you. With those big, dark eyes and—”

“Alright,” he cuts you off, his voice caught in the back of his throat. “That’s enough a’ that. You don’t have to rip it up.”

“Good, I wouldn’t have anyway.”

You would have, if he’d asked you. “My question stands—when do I get to take yours?”

You roll away from him and carefully set the picture on the bedside table. “After you fuck me again.” Something in your gaze darkens, desire pooling in the depths of your eyes.

Joel chuckles, warmth burrowing down in his chest. “Why not now?”

“Well, won’t I be all glowy and loose then? Y’know, like blissed out.”

“Tall order,” he comments as you press yourself into his arm, the weight of you pleasant, your eyes dark and waiting, wanting.

“Not for you.”

Maybe you’re just trying to stroke his ego, but he doesn’t care because it's working and it's probably true. He's good to you, for you.

Your legs lock around his hips when he slots himself over you, pressing his hips to yours and to the needy warmth between your legs. When your eyes flutter back, he thinks that’s something he’d like to have a picture of.

That, and everything else, every other part of you.

“What if I want more than one picture?”

“Picture for a picture,” you sigh as he drags his mouth down the side of your throat, the taste of your skin like the salted sea. “That’s the only way it’s gonna work.”

Maybe he can learn to live with that, if he gets to see you look at him the way you looked at that picture.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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lovebugism · 4 months

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Can u plz do something with Stevie x shy!reader and the reader obsessed with birds? I've never seen it done yet 🥲

i know very very little about birds so i tried my best haha hope u like it! — steve tells you he loves you for the very first time at six in the morning on his back porch swing (shy!r, fluff, 0.7k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Steve didn’t know being your boyfriend meant going on dates that preceded sunrise. He was only ever a morning person when the paycheck called for it, in truth. But he sits with you still, as warm and close as the bundle of fresh laundry he left in the drier, while the sky turns slowly pink.

There’s no one else he’d want to be awake at 6 a.m. with.

He can’t tell if you’re sleeping or not, but you’re leaning heavy on his shoulder like you are. Maybe it’s the porch swing forcing this proximity, or the way you’ve got yourself curled on it. Either way, the weight of you is a comforting one. It makes the twilight between times feel much less bitter.

Then, the late late night gives way to an early early morning. The buzzing of nocturnal nightlife turns into the sudden chirping of faraway birds.

“What’s that one?” Steve asks with his cheek smushed into your hair.

“Mourning Dove,” you answer immediately, though he thought you half-asleep. He hadn’t had to ask you which one it was, either. It’s a deeper coo compared to the high-pitched chirping, slower and more sorrowful.

“How can you tell?”

“‘Cause the three part-call. With the highest in the middle,” you explain distantly, more focused on getting comfortable next to the warm body beside you. You worm both arms around one of Steve’s and bury your nose into his sweatshirt-clad bicep, sinking further into the shared blanket draped over you. “I think it’s a male looking for a mate.”

Steve pushes you back and forth on the swing with one foot. “I hope he knows you’re taken,” he jokes.

Your tired eyes peek open to shoot him a heavy-lidded, monotoned stare.

He licks his lips. “Not my best, huh?”

“You’ve had better,” you tease and settle back into him again.

“Also, I was, like, one hundred percent sure that was an owl, by the way.”

“I think all the owls are asleep now.”

“Ah,” Steve hums with a slow nod, golden hands curled around the warming mug of coffee between them. “That’s why they call ‘em night owls, huh?”

You smile wide to yourself, not bothering to hide it because he can’t see how big you’re beaming from this angle. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Harrington?”

He scoffs. “Alright, smartmouth— tell me which bird that one is?” It’s louder than all the rest of them, probably coming from somewhere close. It’s a prettier sound, too. A lot higher than the one before it — a harsh humming, then rapid little chirps, followed by a high-pitched trilling.

“A Lark. Maybe a Lark Sparrow, ‘cause of the buzzing.”

Steve huffs.

You amaze him, sometimes, with how smart you are. Other times, he’s jealous because he doesn’t have a whole filing cabinet of knowledge in his brain about a very particular topic of interest. Not about birds. Not about anything.

If he had to give an on-the-spot presentation about anything in the whole wide world, he’d only be able to come up with the time he won the basketball championship his sophomore year of high school. Which not only makes him sound like a complete meathead, but also makes him sound totally lame.

“The amount of information in your head is alarming, you know that?”

He feels your cheek squish against his arm when you smile. “I thought you liked that about me?”

“I do like that about you,” he laughs. “I love that about you.”

You lift your head to blink over at him, eyes still glassy with leftover sleep. Your gaze is wide and filled with something glittering — hope, maybe. “You love me?” you murmur after a few moments.

Steve bounces a shoulder and tries to be cool about the sparkling in his chest. “‘Course I do,” he answers like it’s obvious. He flashes you a crooked smile and two eyes more honied than the early morning sunrise. “Why else would I be out here at 6 a.m.?”

“’Cause you really like birds?” you joke in a tiny voice.

The boy nods, meeting your quiet smile with a more obvious grin. “I’m crazy about ‘em, actually,” he confesses, scrunching the bridge of his chiseled nose.

He’s not talking about birds this time.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: bug turns one

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wordstome · 4 months

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symbiote König x reader

I'm not allowed to start any new aus/stories until I finish a few, but I need to expel these worms from my brain. (also remind me to write something about Eddie Brock/Symbiote Ghoap x reader later)

I don't know if you guys know much about Venom lore, but symbiotes don't have a default system of morality: they take on the same traits and moral values as their hosts. They were created as a sort of world-conquering mindless evil force, but when symbiotes bonded to hosts who wanted to do good, they took on those moralities and became ashamed of their purpose. After they imprisoned the dude who made them to be evil (Knull, btw) they just made up a lie that their species was naturally benevolent.

So picture this: symbiote König who's been captured alongside several others of his kind and brought to Earth by the Life Foundation to study their abilities. I like the idea of symbiote König being similar to Eddie Brock's Venom: he's had bad and good hosts, but the bad ones fucked him up really bad, so now he's the König we know: arrogant and confident in his proficiency in violence, but deeply awkward, lonely, and lost. Getting kidnapped and taken to yet another foreign planet to be poked and prodded and experimented on is just his luck.

But then there's you. A pretty little scientist, not much more than a lab assistant, really. Your first encounter with him consists of you touching a finger to the glass of his prison, and him, curious, moving himself to press his inky dark goop where your skin presses against the glass. You giggle before quickly remembering yourself and skittering away. Symbiotes aren't fond of sounds, but he wouldn't mind hearing that one again...

It's little encounters like that that endears you to him. It didn't take him long to decide he hated humans: they're slow and unintelligent and nowhere near as elegant of a killer as he is, and yet they've managed to trap him and torment him. He's quickly noted as being the most unpredictable and violent of the captured symbiotes. But he likes you, who visits him and talks to him. To you, it doesn't mean much: you may as well be talking to a lab rat, finding an outlet to vent your frustrations about your insane work hours, demanding managers, and meagre pay. To him, he's absorbing everything you tell him, longing to touch you without glass in the way. What would it be like to bond with you, he wonders? To merge symbiote with flesh, and become two moving as one?

He'd like to be inside you, in more ways than one perhaps.

He may have fucked that up, though. It wasn't his fault, that day. They were starving him, these idiotic humans, starving all of them. He had no choice but to eviscerate and wholly consume the poor man sent into his glass cage. But you had been watching, eyes wide in terror, as blood and viscera burst everywhere. If he had a heart, it would have ached as he watched you skitter away...

And yet...there may be something deeply wrong with you, just as there is something wrong with him. Because you're back the next day, a new fascination in your eyes. Instead of talking at him, you talk to him now, asking him questions he only wishes he could answer. If he could just reach you, he could communicate...

König gets his wish the day it all goes awry. A whistleblower breaks in and makes off with one of his breathren, and the next person to stumble upon the scene is his little scientist, who doesn't hesitate to start smashing the glass of his prison. "It's not right," you mutter over and over again. "It's not right..."

He can detect your heartbeat speeding up as he drags himself across the floor to reach you. You shy away out of instinct, and he pauses. There are alarms ringing out now, awful terrible loud sounds, and he would prefer to get out of here immediately, but he refuses to do anything that would drive you away for good. He watches as you heave a deep shaky breath, then reach out a hand to him.

He glides up your hand and wrist, working his way into your body, the symbiosis instant and easy. You're a perfect match. He knew you would be. The armed guards burst through the door, but you have nothing to worry about as he envelops your body. You become a six foot ten behemoth, face hidden by what almost looks like a veil—something he picked up from a former host. You're barely aware of what's happening, too overwhelmed and confused to parse what's going on. But he knows what he's doing.

After he gets you to safety, the two of you will have all the time in the world to get to know each other.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig #konig x reader #konig x you #könig cod #konig cod #call of duty #cod #wrote this at 4am forgive me if it's not up to par #2am thoughts #symbiote au

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eilidh-eternal · 4 months

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Ok so like, ngl? Nasty Man™️Johnny when he's jealous got the brain worms goin. Like the worms are WORMIN. Specifically for the Ghost bit.

Ok, so what if, hear me out what if like Ghost gets off to it and sends a video of him getting off to it to reader, right? And it just...spirals into a weird thing of Soap trying to prove something to you like constantly. Like, it's a constant cycle right?

Gaz and Price are just standing there like 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️ and having a conversation of their own about the thing and Gaz just drops the "Soap and Ghost really should just fuck each other at this point." bomb.

but it's nothing like that. at least to reader, but then Gaz explains his view point and reader is just like "huh maybe a quick fuck would help."

and then Gaz & reader plot to get Ghost and Soap to just get the tension between them done and over with and it happens, but the videos? They continue to get sent back n forth bc hey, Ghost has a nice dick and its kinda hot to record videos. 🤣

I put too much thought into this at 6:45 AM. Blame the worms.

From here on out, may I be 🪱 anon?

- 🪱

Hi 🪱!

YOU’RE LIKE IN MY HEAD?!?!?!? This is exactly the dynamic I saw for all of them when I was thinking about that Nasty, Jealous Man.

Nasty Pup Johnny ft. Handler Ghost????

As overly territorial as Nasty Man™️ Johnny MacTavish is about you, Ghost is like that with him—in a way. Johnny is just too in love clinically obsessed with you to notice how Ghost pays attention to him.

Ghost 1000% did not balk at the first video. Definitely got off to it. He maybe also probably without a doubt got off to Johnny stroking himself in the barracks while he watched you on the cameras 🫣 And when the videos keep coming? Oh, this is going to be a fun little game for him, his Sergeant and the pretty little thing keeping him in line at home for him.

The next time you’re on base is to pick up Johnny, fresh off the tarmac from whatever undisclosed location they were mucking about in this time, and you notice when they deplane how Ghost sort of… herds him. Stands at his back and trails him down the ramp. Pushes him in your direction because Ghost immediately has you in his sights while Johnny is busy fussing with a strap on his pack.

“Fuck’s sake Johnny… stop fuckin’ with the bag and get your girl.” He shoves him forward, big gloved hand on his lower back making him stumble. He doesn’t have much time to ponder it, and all the other touching Ghost had suddenly taken to with him, because you’re already on him, arms wrapped around him in a vice and your face buried in his chest, and all he wants is to be wrapped your warmth.

Johnny doesn’t see the way Ghost lingers at the edge of the hangar, watching you look him over and fuss over the cut on his brow, the stitches. Is too blinded by his infatuation with you to see the hunger in his eyes as you lead him away to the car.

Their next op is a tedious thing. They can’t brute force their way into the target compound the way they usually would, armed to the teeth and scaling walls and buildings under the cover of darkness. No, because this is a bunker, and blasting through the only door, their only exit, isn’t an option.

It takes days for Laswell's Cyber Operations Officers to comb through each and every checkpoint in their systems, to comb through the code and brute force the data needed to create a key card that they can use to bypass the locks. And all that waiting makes Johnny antsy. Restless. A grenade with a pulled pin waiting for the strike lever to fall.

He's done his best to occupy himself. Spent hours in the gym, running until his legs shake and lifting until he's red in the face. Methodically oils and cleans every rifle, every pistol he can get his hands on. Checks and rechecks his calculations for the cocktail of explosives they'll need for this op.

And still, he paces. Bounces his leg at meals and meetings. Taps his fingers erratically on the table tops.

Ghost knows that at home when he feels like this, he goes to you. Focuses all that pent up energy on you to keep himself level-headed and in check. But you're not here, and Ghost can't have his Sergeant dancing around tripwires on this op. He's going to have to redirect that energy himself.

Later that evening, sitting on the couch, sipping wine and watching a movie, one of Johnny's favorites, you get a text from an unknown number.

Had to teach the pup a lesson. Needs more patience. 📎 IMG_449.MOV

You hesitate.

Johnny never told you much about what he does, but he told you enough to prepare you for the possibilities of things like this. Messages from strangers. Videos and pictures of him. That no matter what you see, what they tell you, you shouldn't believe them. Don't give them what they want.

But this... this doesn't feel quite like the things he told you about. So you open it.

It's a video of Johnny on his knees, hands tied--belted--behind his back, eyes watery when they look up into the camera, and his mouth stuffed with a thick cock. There's a gloved hand in his hair, fisting loose strands of mohawk and holding him in place while the length of their cock pushes down his throat, familiar skeletal pattern printed on the back.

"Good pup, just gotta sit nice and still for me," Ghost's roughened voice purrs through the speakers, and Johnny moans, low and sweet for him.

And God if that isn't the prettiest you've ever seen him, taking a cock down his throat and blinking tear filled eyes up at his superior, panting and choking, drool dribbling down his chin. His eyes go a bit wide when Ghost fucks his throat in earnest, and it sends warmth flooding straight to your core, wetness gathering embarrassingly fast in your panties.

Ghost's moan is a broken sounding thing when he comes, hips stuttering and yanking Johnny down to the base of him, grunting praises as he swallows around him. When he finally loosens his grip on Johnny's hair and pulls away from him, his lips make a little 'pop' sound, cum and drool a mess on his face. The camera moves closer and Ghost tilts his chin up between surprisingly gentle fingers.

"You'll get yours when we're back. Copy?"

Johnny nods, and when Ghosts grip tightens on his jaw he says, "Copy, sir." And that's where it ends.

You save Ghosts number in your phone and drain your glass of wine.

Think he'll still be well behaved when you're home?

Doubt it.

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cambion-companion · 4 days

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Echoes of Orpheus

I wanted to write. It's been a while! Exploring the idea that after Tav dies, Raphael isn't okay with just letting their immortal soul slip away.

Raphael x Tav!reader (gn)

The Hero of Baldur's Gate they had named you, dragging you time and again back into the spotlight of a fame you never wanted.

Survival.

That was all you had wanted. The will to escape the worm inside your head had evolved and taken on life of its own until you were teaming up with angels, devils, druids and warlocks to take down an Elder Brain.

With glory and infamy alike you had lived.

Just like every mortal, your body grew weak around the soul it harbored and eventually passed on.

Like a gossamer thread, your soul was freed from its mortal coil, slipping into the next world gratefully. You felt light and young, strong again.

Echoes and shadows surrounded you, an inexorable pull drawing you down into unknown space and time.

Stars whirled around your vision, hues of azure and lilac danced and merged to create a midnight sky. Up ahead, you saw a white light and knew that was your destination.

But something was wrong.

The gravitational pull guiding you to safe harbor lessened, another sensation arose. You heard your name whispered behind your ear, turning your head to see only a vast abyss that drew fear into your heart.

A familiar smell, a purple light replacing the white-golden rays up ahead. You willed yourself toward it, apprehension and excitement roiling through your being.

So close now. You reached out and a large hand wrapped around your wrist, dragging you forward with a great heave.

"Raphael." Your first words uttered since your death. In his ironclad grip you felt almost alive again, awakening the tethers to your mortal life. To him.

He wore the crown of Karsus, the source of that purple glow. The silver metal twisted perfectly amongst his sharp horns, his eyes familiar and blazing hellfire-gold.

"Not even a word of farewell?" Raphael did not relinquish his grasp on you. "I taught you better manners than that."

You did not know what to say, shock holding your tongue as you fought to understand how he could interrupt the natural course of your spirit. "The crown." You whispered.

Raphael nodded. "I understand death has not dulled your wit." He intoned dryly, then tugged you a bit further into his plane. "Nor will it succeed in taking you from me. We still have work to do, you and I."

"You have no right to my soul, I made no deal with you."

"Therein you are most grievously in error." Raphael smiles, dangerous and sharp, the touch of his hand becoming more heavy and real with each passing moment you stayed in his presence. "I am your past. I am your present. And I am your future, little mouse. No mortal frailty will alter that law."

Another tug, the draw to him inescapable as it had been in your previous life. Your palm found the front of his chest, pressing until you could feel the fabric of his velvet tunic.

Raphael tucked a finger beneath your chin and raised your gaze to his once more, his tone softening to that familiar sultry purr. "I will give you life anew, more than any god could offer. You were mine since the moment I laid eyes on you, little mouse."

The old nickname sparked a flame within you, defiance and desire. "I will not be trapped in one of your gilded cages, or placed on a pedestal to be drooled over by your incubus."

"There you are." Raphael squeezed your chin before releasing you, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Already coming back to yourself, it seems. And no, dear...you will be put to use, not shelved with my other prizes." He held out a hand. "Now come. Worlds anew wait for us to conquer."

#raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #raphael fanfic #raphael baldur's gate 3 #it's been a whiiiile #raphael #raphael the cambion #bg3 fan #bg3 fanfiction

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leaflessfae · 25 days

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The Harper brain worms are taking over

Pairing: M!Harper x F!pc

Content. MDNI. Noncon, kidnapping, jealous Harper, a sprinkle of yandere Harper, p in v, unprotected, sedated pc who's half-conscious, some hallucinations (I wanted to write more hypnotic stuff but that would've made this way longer so I'm holding back. For now.), tentacles but only for a liddol, fingering, (pc's cum) tasting, and hopefully that's it.

A/N. Snickering to myself as I write and lie 'Harper is a good doctor' kdkxksk

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"It's looking..." There's a sharp intake of air, then a click of a tongue before Harper is finally turning to you, what you assume to be your documents in his hands, "pretty bad."

A grave silence prevails over every corner of the room that seems to only tighten and suffocate you in its white walls. Harper stays silent for a few seconds, only running his eyes over your bewildered, yet concerned, countenance. "Wh... what's looking bad, doctor?" Eventually, you inquire, a brow raising skeptically, "I'm feeling okay?"

He breathes out, turning to set the documents on his desk and taking a moment to force his features to soften, to demolish every attempt of a smile coming out before he turns to you again, a frown drawing his brows together slightly. "Have you been taking any medications without my supervision lately?"

You have. "No, I haven't."

"Well, your tests say you have. You wouldn't lie to your doctor now, would you?" He shakes his head, "because that would be pretty disappointing."

His tone makes you visibly reel back in your seat, a grimace fighting its way to your face. "It's just painkillers." You lie through your teeth, keeping your head held high and alert. You've never taken a liking to the doctor standing before you; always has he given you unpleasant vibes that screamed at you to bolt out of his confined room of an office. You've trusted your guts at that time and changed your doctor, only to notice that something is very wrong with the way your body feels lately. Doctor Harper, very unfortunately, was actually good at his job (or so he appears), and so you reluctantly made your way back to him, only to remember why you changed doctors in the first place.

"Don't underestimate medicine, sweetheart. What have you been taking?"

You've fallen silent once again. All plans of actually fixing whatever the hell was up with your body thrown out the window; you just wanted to get out of here. And so you lie again. "Maybe the tests are wrong. I'm feeling totally fine, and I haven't been taking anything."

"You haven't been attending your weekly checkups." His hands are already dressing up in medical gloves, eyes aren't even on you as he scolds.

"I'm just busy."

"Busy changing doctors?" A final snap announces the gloves are in place as he glances up at you, gaze fixing you in place.

Your lips thin into a line, hands gripping the edge of the bed you're sat on. Harper sighs before you can retort back, shaking his head. "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed. Look at where you've gotten yourself." He shrugs his hand at you, gesturing to your body, "Now we gotta fix you up, don't we? You wouldn't have gotten into this in the first place were you to listen to me."

"I-I'm late for my shift, actually. Let's discuss this later?" You scramble to get off the bed once he starts approaching. "Next week–"

"No, you don't know how dire your situation is. We have to take action immediately."

You don't even think as you bolt for the door upon noticing a syringe filled and ready in his hand, your hands gripping the handle and harshly tugging. The door rattles in protest and refuses to budge, so you tug it again in case you didn't force it enough the first time, but it only meets your efforts with macabre immutability. When the hell did he lock–

"Trust me, darling, I'm not very happy about doing this either." You would've believed him if it weren't for his breath picking up, a foul grin stretching his lips. "I would've been able to detoxify your body with you conscious, but your test results are extremely alarming. I'm going to have to sedate you for this."

"No. I'm good!" With the door being completely out of the escaping picture, you resort to using what you always use in the streets. You swing your fist at his face once he's close enough, placing a great amount of strength in it; half of it induced by fear, and it works. Harper doesn't seem to expect your sudden attack as he stumbles back, clutching a hand to his bleeding nose. It buys you enough time to run to the windows, not caring if the jump would break your fucking legs.

But a surprisingly strong hand yanks you back by your shirt, sending you tumbling back and hitting his desk in the process. Harper lunges at you before you can lunge at him and wrestles you to the floor, seizing your wrists in a firm grip and sitting over your body, rendering you immobile. He was stronger than he looked, and it terrified you to think what he might also be in hidden sight.

"Stay put. You wouldn't want to hurt yourself further now, would you?" Harper's grin only widens as you struggle and writhe underneath him, blood smeared across his face and dripping on your skin. "I'm only trying to help you out."

"I would rather fucking die!" You spit, fiery eyes glaring and legs kicking– trying to kick.

Harper clicks his tongue several times in disappointment as if you were a child who needs to be disciplined. "Such foul words. You shouldn't say that to a doctor. It wounds them." He produces the syringe again, punctures your skin before you can scream in terror in hopes for someone to come running for your aid. "Shh...sh...I've got you." He's got his hand glued to your lower jaw to drown out every screech for help you could utter until your eyes grow impossibly heavy, body falling limp beneath him.

When you awaken, it's not at the hospital.

None of the bleak white walls and glaring lights greet you when you flutter your eyes open, head feeling heavy as ever as you struggle to make sense of what could've possibly happened. It's dim in the room, the only light being the street lamps filtering in through the window. It's– wait. Street lamps.

You would've jolted up in the realization that it's nighttime were your body functioning, but all you can feel is– nothing. You can't feel your legs. You can't feel your arms, your hands, your fingers. Panic settles in your veins, your heart palpitating faster with each passing second. You're quick to feel lightheaded with anxiety, heart drumming loudly in your ears. Where the fuck were you–

"You can't move, doll. Don't bother." A soft voice that could only belong to Harper rings out from beside you. Terror-stricken yet unable to move, your eyes flit to your side, and there he is. A gentle smile adorns his rather gentle features as he lays beside you. "Don't worry, it's going to wear off eventually. You're safe with me."

You're anything but safe with him. Your eyes can only follow his hand as he moves to toy with a strand of your hair, idly twirling it around his fingers before bringing it to his face, breathing in deeply then kissing it. He sits up, twisting around to grab a glass of water and a pill from the nightstand. "This will make you feel better."

You press your lips together at once, jaw clenching and refusing to open your mouth as he presses the pill to your lips. He frowns, pushes it further until it clashes against your teeth. "Yeah?" He says, before forcing your jaw open with a hand clenching the sides of your face. "Should I really teach you a lesson to listen to your doctor?" He forces the pill into your mouth before hurriedly holding the glass to his lips. Soon are his lips on yours, passing the water through his mouth and tipping your head in a way that would force you to swallow.

"There we go." He pulls away then immediately yanks at your skirt, pulling it all the way down your legs. Your panties are pushed to the side and, despite how dry you are, your pussy welcomes his finger. He only glides it along your folds, but you feel yourself getting weirdly wet way too quickly.

"Did you really think you could fool me?" He huffs, out of breath already even though he's barely touched you, a manic grin spreading his lips. He isn't even trying to hide it the way he usually does at your appointments. No. There's no need. Not when he has you all for himself, all docile and vulnerable for all his fantasies and wicked intentions. "Did you think I wouldn't notice when my favorite patient starts frequenting other doctors? You're so cute. So dumb."

Then he pushes his finger into you, and he moans at the sight, at the sensation of your warm cunt, and at how your pussy makes those adorable squelching sounds when he starts fucking his finger into you. An exhilarated laugh leaves him when you start making small whimpery noises, which only leads him to push another finger into you.

Whatever he made you swallow was taking a toll on your mind. Harper was starting to look blurry, hazy, and even a bit disoriented. You blink rapidly, trying to clear your vision but only starting to see something taking shape around him. "Mmh.." You blabber as if to alert him, but he only chuckles in that frightening tone of his.

"What's that, darling? I can't understand you."

"Mnngh..." another trial that only proves your tongue to be too heavy to form actual words. Harper suddenly fingers you faster, forcing moans out of you, and then you feel it. Slimy and wet and sticky, sliding across your legs and all the way to your thighs, slipping under your shirt and caressing your tummy. Your breath shakes, both from Harper's assault and fear. Blobs, thick and thin, taking multiple shapes and sizes, vaguely resembling tentacles, surround you.

You feel them getting closer to where Harper is coaxing fluids out of you. You feel them circle your nipples and latch onto them. You feel them snake around your thighs and spread them further, or that might be you gaining some control in the sense that you can slightly move your body, just not upon your conscious command.

With a strained voice, you whimper, both scared and on the very edge of climaxing. You don't know if you want to push him away - if you had the strength - or to hold onto him in fear of the tentacles. "H-Ha..pa.."

"That's my name."

Then you're gushing around his fingers, pussy squeezing them so delightedly and covering them in your sweet sweet slick. "Oh yes– fuck, fuck yes. Squeeze my fingers like that!" Harper might be hyperventilating with the way he pants, his usual self-control nowhere to be found as he hastens to pull his hard cock out of his pants, his hand wrapping around it and pumping in time with the clenching of your walls.

"Sweet doll." He withdraws his fingers at last, laughing as he presses them together only to spread them apart, watching your slick form sticky threads between them. He brings his fingers close to his mouth, lolling out his tongue and moaning loudly as he twirls it around them before sucking them completely into his mouth.

He takes his time tasting you, savoring every drop with a moan, not bothering to hide how hard he's getting and how his flushed tip leaks precum on your thigh. Meanwhile, you're fighting the urge to cry, to wail as something else plays with your slit. Slimy and thin and you feel it fluttering around your twitching hole. Harper doesn't react to it, as if it's not even there, but you can very clearly feel it. It must be there!

"Mm, so..." Harper says, finally letting his fingers out and giving them a last lick, "so sweet. Here. Taste yourself." His fingers dip into your cunt so suddenly it makes you jolt a bit, and he gathers your cum and slick before it's pushed into your mouth. "See? You taste good."

He doesn't stop there. Toys with your tongue like it's his right, feeling the warm muscle beneath his fingertips, not taking his fingers out until he's sure you've cleaned them of your cum, and covered them instead with your saliva. Harper is entranced as he watches you as if he's the one under the influence; his eyes are half-lidded as they drink you in, and his lips are slightly open, face so flushed and tinted deep red.

His hands grip your hips and he drags you closer to him, his cock nudges at your entrance and suddenly the tentacles that were invading your vision disappear. You gasp, blinking up at the ceiling then at him in confusion, and he smiles so wide when he sees your gaze on him, his ears flushing redder than they already were.

"I'm gonna make you feel good," whispers as he holds your panties to the side and slides in, feeding his cock into your tight slippery hole, his jaw falling slack and eyes rolling back, throat rumbling with a long "fuuuuck..."

He pulls you up, cradling your body against his as he bottoms out. "So– shit, so much better than I imagined."

Harper is up in a second, lifting you with him by his hands that dig into the plush of your ass. "I've always wanted to try this," he whispers before you're lifted until only his tip is snug inside you, then brought down until he's fully enveloped again, cock hitting so deep in your cunt. "Fuck– ah, h-hold onto m– right, you can't." He laughs out of breath, then you're slammed against a wall, weight distributed between him and the cold wall against your back.

He lets one hand move up to shrug your arms around his neck, telling you to be good and try to keep them there. "You can do that, no? Some of that strength must be back by now." He whispers in your ear before he's drilling into you, moaning loudly directly in your ears, even drowning out your own moans with his. "You– have no idea how much I waited for this."

He kisses you, tongue first, licking into your open mouth and groaning with wild abundance. Harper never falters in his thrusts and never makes you feel as if you're about to fall, his grip firm and stronger than you thought him to be. He bites your lower lip as he pulls away then smiles at you. "Do you know how hard it was to hold back? To stop at a few invasive touches but never go far enough to satisfy?"

He angles his hips, hitting spots you didn't know would send you squealing. "To see your cute little ass trot into my office, to sit so fucking prettily, and to talk my ear off about worthless scums trying to get a piece of you when all I can think about is how pretty you'd be split on my dick?"

He slithers his hands from your ass and to the back of your thighs, holding you by them and spreading you open, his gaze falling down to where his cock disappears again and again, getting sucked so hungrily by your greedy cunt. "F-fucking hell. Look at you taking me so well! I knew you could take it."

But then his tone changes, and his thrusts turn harsher, rougher without the usual care he carries. "But then you go off and think you can avoid me by seeing another doctor." He hisses, eyes blown with infatuation yet frustration, "It's okay. Hah, it's okay. You'll always come back to me. I'll make sure of it."

It's only then that you notice. That your eyes focus a bit and zero in on the stains on his shirt. Some of them are brown and dry, but the fresher ones– the fresher ones are tinted crimson, spread about chaotically as if something was squirted messily and splattered his shirt. Harper notices your gaze and laughs, loud and breathless.

"I did it for you. " He stutters and plunges deep within you, pressing into your body as close as possible while his seed splutters your insides, pumping you full of his cum as you moan and follow very close behind, clenching around him and milking him of every drop he's worth. Harper holds you against the wall for a while, until both of you almost catch your breaths.

Your eyes barely stay open as your head lays on his shoulder, more exhausted than you originally were. This time, you notice a small card on the nightstand. Your heart suddenly picks up again when you focus on it, recognizing the bloodied ID as the doctor's you frequented a few times, confirming your suspicions.

Harper seems to know that you're looking directly at it, and he smiles. "I told you I'll make sure of it."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A/N. Once my writing skills evolve and I can write mind break (and be satisfied with it) it's over for yall

#i wanted to add more but that wouldve made this so longnngg #the agony #also incouldnt decide whether he lets you go or not #if he does then he would definitely gaslight you that nothing has ever happened and youre imagining things #before deeming you unhealthy and that as your doctor his duty is to take care of you #fucking takes you to the asylum #or or #he would keep you and break your mind bit by bit until youre nothing but a blabbering mess who cant function on their own #uwu #degrees of lewdity #dol #harper the doctor #dol harper #cw noncon #tw noncon #dol pc

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leohamatoblog · 29 days

Text

What They Text You: Applies to any...cause they're all a bunch of dorky teens and i dont care what anyone says.

Leo:

• look at my new plant

• would you like to have tea tomorrow?

• you look so pretty 😍 leo you cant see me and? i bet you do

• am i really an old man???? 😭😭😭

• be honest, do you think raph can beat me in an arm wrestle? if you dont answer in 5 minutes, i will assume it's yes and i will prove you wrong.

• good morning honey. have a wonderful day today! ❤️

• are you still mad at me...? LEO YOU SET MY MICROWAVE ON FIRE. so is that a yes?

• have you eaten yet? you need to eat...and drink something other than (your favorite drink)

• i got benched because i can't stop throwing up. i'm fine! leo...you threw up blood literally 10 minutes ago. it was only a little 🙄

• i'm in desperate need of a kiss right now.

• check out my new katanas

• remember that i love you 🥰🥰❤️

• for the last time, i wont download tik tok. you know how bad i hyperfixate 😠

• stop playing candy crush and pay attention to me

• keep it up and you won't get the knots worked out of your shoulders.

• mikey just called me a boomer...i feel like i should be offended. you are a boomer. I DONT KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.

• y/n, i love you, but for the love of god, PLEASE PICK UP YOUR SOCKS.

• *drunk* im in a relationship why do i have your name as my love cause my girl/boyfriend/partner will definitely not like that and i dont know who you are but they will kick your ass and i dont even feel sorry cause you arent love leo...you're drunk. NO IM TAKEN

• call me cause i would like to hear about your day and i miss you

• i love you my love ❤️

Raph:

• come watch me bench im bored

• can you please come get mikey before i hit him?

• wear that giant sweatshirt to our date. ya look adorable in it

• why did you ask donnie to help you with your homework?? um...cause it's about neurons and receptors in the brain. i could've helped with google! 😒

• YOU NEED TO COME KILL THIS COCKROACH RIGHT NOW.

• hey babe. how was your day? ❤️

• have i ever told you how beautiful you are? what did you do. nothing...? i just think you're beautiful. raphael. fine..i broke casey's nose. AGAIN!?!

• i'm so tired...wanna come nap with me?

• facetime me so i can show you this cool trick spike can do

• remember how i said i was going to be more level headed? well donnie's new robot almost broke my arm and it's no more. you lasted 1 day more than the last time.

• *you sent a selfie* yeahhhh that's my baby 😍😍

• eat or im fighting you.

• jokes on you ive always been completely unhinged and it's bold of you to think i cant be worse.

• im sick. can you bring me some soup? 😣

• i miss you like a lot and i hate when you're gone

• i love you a whole lot 😘

• im just gonna start carrying you everywhere if you dont stop tripping over NOTHING. im just gonna trip harder. Y/N NO.

• mikey said we're his parents just an fyi. he's always been my son

• i made waffles. you better come eat some

• damn babe you're fine 🤤

Donnie:

• no i wont do your homework for you

• tell shelldon to stop talking back to me before i ground him for eternity

• im in a house of IDIOTS. technically it's a lair. not now y/n.

• you look like a pile of swans in that sweater 🥰

• i can't sleep. wanna play online scrabble?

• sweetie you need to eat more than a bag of gummy worms and a bag of doritos

• you need to come sit with me while i work because i need an extra set of eyes. you just miss me 😏 don't start.

• don't call a plumber! i know how to fix the sink. i got this 😎 donnie the pipe exploded the last time you "had" this.

• *you sent a selfie* you look nice

• im gonna blow up. a person, a thing, a place, all of the above? yes.

• you need to drink straight broth, it'll help soothe your stomach ache

• im dying. you have a cold.

• i love you but please stop trying to assemble ikea furniture on your own.

• good luck on your exams/work project! 😘

• TELL RAPH TO STOP PICKING ME UP TO MOVE ME.

• leo just called me an asparagus. i didn't know how to respond so his phone will self destuct in 5 minutes. DONNIE.

• you're so pretty 🥺

• i made you something and you have to come get it right now. im literally about to have my wisdom teeth out. reschedule it

• listen to the playlist i made you or else im disabling your pirated tv show service

• thanks for listening to me 💜

Mikey:

• babe come snuggle with me

• i made you brownies so come eat them with me while we watch crognard

• i haven't seen you in so long 😭 you saw me this morning. BUT THAT WAS HOURS AGO

• angelcakessssss i love you

• look at this cat video i found

• FACETIME ME THERES A PUPPY

• are you awake? mikey it's 3 am. good, so would you still love me if i was a worm? go to sleep.

• i bet you look like a cuddly bear today 🥰

• im so hungry. can you bring me ice cream?

• raph wont stop being mean to me. can you beat him up? cause a (your height) tall human can beat a 6ft turtle's ass 😑 i believe in you.

• im coming over with my new call of duty game and we're having a game a thon!

• i found a cat. mikey no. his name is gerald. MIKEY WE ALREADY HAVE 10 OF THEM. HALF ARE NAMED GERALD.

• i made you a mixtape i cant wait for you to hear it

• how mad would you be if i crashed the shell razor in a derby and broke my arm? very. then i did not do that.

• im sick. come help me feel better 😭

• call me cause april just told me something about casey that's wild

• i found this cool rock that i think you'll like

• it's so cool i can date you. you're for real the coolest. you broke my coffee table again didn't you? no...maybe.

• im bringing you lunch cause my baby needs to eat!

• this song reminds me of you 💕

#rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt ask blog #tmnt bayverse #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #ask blog #tmnt 2003 #tmnt headcanons

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thegnomelord · 2 months

Note

I had a dream of this and when I woke up I came right here, sorry if it doesn’t make any sense:

Ok so, more hound-reader angst because, why not. Again, hound just got taken by 141 or whoever will give him to 141 and Price sees him (hound) and tries to reason with him, thinking the person he knew is still in there.

But all hound see’s is public enemy number 1 (Price) and he yells “murderer” at him over and over again. We all know that Makarov showed hound C.I.A documents that said he was K.I.A so hound’s number 1 goal right now is to rip Price’s throat out.

But deep, DEEP down, somewhere in hounds sub-conscious a tiny fragment of hound’s old life is still there and all that it wants to do is run over to Price and hug him. But that tiny piece isn’t strong enough to fight against hound and surface to let Price know that he’s still there.

Okay your dreams are baller and making the worms in my brain multiply, but also consider:

A small part of you always wondered what you'd say if you ever met Price again, if you would even say anything to him. But as you sit in a makeshift interrogation room, Price on the other side of the table talking to you like he knows you, like nothing's changed in the last 6 years, you find yourself silent. Thick tar clogs your mouth, your chest aching with every shallow breath you draw.

Price's hands slam on the metal table, drawing your eyes on him, as best you can with one eye swollen shut. "Talk to me damn it!" You can taste his anger on your tongue, though the years have passed he hasn't gotten better at hiding the heart on his sleeve, and the hurt you pick up in his voice gives you satisfaction (you don't pay attention to how your heart twinges at his voice)

"Hound, Lieutenant, Konni group." Is all you say, all you're trained to say under interrogation.

You see his lips twitch, his features mostly blank. It's how you know he's really angry, the type of cold anger he reserves for terrorists. You suppose it's what you are. "I cared about you for fuck's sake." He says, half a plea and half a confirmation of the past.

"Yeah, you cared." You meet his gaze, doing your best to put on a smirk, god, smiling even in this fashion feels abnormal to you. "Just not enough to save me."

#gnome's tea break #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #male reader #x reader #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #good dog fic #Hound-reader

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faerunnn · 7 months

Text

Memories

(GIF found Here! :D )

Hello, so i am back. With something a lil angsty, a lil fluffy. You guys should know the drill by now. Please let me know your thoughts :D

Astarion x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2464

It has been quite some time since the battle of Baldur's Gate. You all went your separate ways, occasionally catching up with one another but as time and lives went on, slowly drifting more apart. Everyone was slowly finding the lives they wanted to live. Some moved away from the city, wanting to forget it all. Some stayed around. Including you. Baldur's gate was the only place you ever truly was able to call home. And while your wanderlust had taken you to many places, you always found your way back to the city.

You sometimes wondered how the others were doing. Wandering what could have been, wondering what was never meant to be. You miss your old companions sometimes. But their happiness was what kept you smiling when thinking back on your adventures. There was barely any room for heartache when everyone got what they wanted. Everyone but you.

After the battle against the Elder brain you and Astarion never fully established what it was that the two of you had. The connection that was shared. There was something there, for sure. But the both of you being too stubborn to talk about it, acknowledge it. That same stubbornness led to the both of you drifting apart. Slowly but surely, until you stopped hoping that he might show up at your doorstep. Stopped visiting his place, stopped meeting at the usual spots. Your pride got in the way of your happiness, once again. The one time you felt like you truly had met your equal. A ‘’soulmate’’, if those were even real. You beat yourself up about for a while, until time got in the way.

It has been over a year since you last saw each other. And it wasn't until tonight that you went back to one of the taverns you and your companions would occasionally meet to catch up. You rather not go there but some of your co-workers insisted you’d tag along for a drink after a very long work day. And it had been a long day indeed. You wanted to just go home, take a bath and curl up in your sheets and sleep for days. But one drink couldn't hurt, right?

The party all gathered outside of the office and you all walked toward the familiar pub. A whiff of alcohol and sweat already hit your nose as you got closer. It must be a busy night. Maybe a famous bard was playing tonight. The music did sound quite lovely opposed to other nights of horrible out of tune lutes being played inside the tavern walls. You all gathered a small table in the corner of the main hall, scooting closer together and just catching up on life while enjoying a somewhat decent drink. The drinks have never been great here, but that somehow made you feel even more nostalgic of the many tears, laughs and memories shared in this space. You wondered if there was a way to get everyone back here sometime soon.

‘’So,’’ one of your male co-workers turned to you. ‘’What is it truly like being the hero of Baldur's gate?” A small smirk present on his lips and a playful look swirling in his eyes. All of your co-workers knew this was a topic you’d rather not talk about. Not because you're ashamed, but there was no need to brag about all the lives it had cost to save the city, guilty or innocent. You swallowed and gave him a tight smile before taking a rather large gulp of your drink. The alcohol is now slowly starting to kick in.

‘’Well, I suppose it is.. Flattering. I wouldn't consider myself a hero. But i am glad the city is somewhat safe again.’’ you said. Not really wanting to dig deep into the topic at all, even if you were slowly starting to feel more tipsy.

‘’Oh, come on! There must be something to tell. What about the tadpole? You were supposed to be dead, respectfully.’’ he carefully said.

‘’Yes, I was. But I am glad I am not. Though I wouldn't recommend anyone carrying a worm inside their head, it did save my life in a way. The experience itself was rather unusual, I suppose. I don't think there's anything I can compare it to.’’ as you start talking you hear a bit more commotion on the other side of the room. But from your angle you can't tell what's going on. Probably another tavern fight between two drunk sailors. Wouldn't be the first time. After a quick glance that way you quickly return to your conversation.

‘’What about your companions? Do you still see them?’’ A female co-worker asked you nervously.

‘’Uhm, we uhm. We occasionally see each other yes.’’ Not a complete lie. But these people didn't need to know the whole truth. ‘’Does anyone want another drink?’’ you quickly ask before any more questions on the topic could arise. You get up from the table and walk up to the bar to order another round for the whole table. Your last, you decided. It has been a long day and sleep was going to creep up on you soon. You look back at your colleagues while you wait and reminisce about the times that table was filled with your companions instead.

After a short while you take the drinks back to the table and join in on the conversation that had been started while you were gone when all of a sudden the commotion rose again. But this time it was loud, and people started getting out of the way. It was then that you noticed it was indeed a fight. While you were about to roll your eyes and take a big gulp of your drink you recognized a certain mop of white hair and pointy ears. Oh god. Your eyes widened. Your body froze. It was him. Fighting an orc almost twice his size.. In the middle of a tavern. He was wearing an all black outfit, which looked almost too good on his body. A dagger held to the neck of the orc as he held him in place. Reminding you of the time the two of you had met. He really hasn't changed much.

You got up from where you were sitting and got a little closer to the situation, trying to blend in with the crowd whilst figuring out what the hell had happened. You saw coins scattered on the table, drinks that once had been in tankards spilled over the floor and chairs.

‘’You better watch your damn mouth around here, elf.’’ The orc said. Trying to push himself back to his feet. ‘’Others might not show you the same mercy.’’ as he pushed Astarion from his frame, he got up. Gathered some of his coins and turned around to leave. Whilst Astarion did the same. You looked back at your colleagues and they were too caught up in their own conversations to notice you left the table again. You made a split decision, not even really thinking while your legs just carried you out of the tavern the same way he left.

He was already well out in the street again while the darkness of the night was about to lure him back into the shadows. You almost panicked, you didn't even know what you were going to say to him once you confronted him with your presence. You just let your feet carry you.

The weather had changed from a somewhat chilly afternoon to a rainy evening. Making your vision even worse. You kept on walking until you reached a crossroads. He has slipped from your vision, unknown which turn he had made, you looked around once more. Hoping to catch a glimpse of his frame. Alas, he was gone. You sighed in defeat as you wanted to turn back around, making your way back to the tavern. Coming up with an excuse as to why your clothes and hair are drenched. A small tear slipped from your eye, blending in perfectly with the raindrops that had been collecting on your cheeks. You looked down at your clothes, now completely soaked. But you didn't care anymore. Something in you stirred. A feeling you had buried deep within the depths of your heart. A flame reigniting slowly. Love. a feeling you had not felt in a while. Even only seeing him, so briefly, it brought everything back up. You looked up into the sky, closed your eyes and took a deep breath before finally turning around, walking back. Maybe you needed this. A very cruel way of the universe telling you to let him go. Fully letting him go. No more small hopes, no more wishing he would magically be on your doorstep. He slipped from your grasp tonight. Maybe rekindling was never an option to begin with.

You took a few steps back toward the tavern, hands wrapped around your own body to somewhat comfort yourself in a way. No more tears were going to be shed on the topic. It had been too long. You deserved happiness, peace. You had fought your battles. And now it was time to find your place in this life.

‘’What's a lady like yourself doing alone on the streets at this hour?’’ a creepy voice behind you said all of a sudden. You quickly froze, and looked around. Trying to find the body that matched the voice. You found none. You quickly tried to make your way back to the tavern but realized it would still be quite the distance. And with the rain clouding your vision, you didn't really know if you were walking in the right direction. Panic rushed through your body as you tried to make out which way to go, not wanting to get lost. Suddenly a hand made its way around your waist. Roughly pulling your body into a much larger frame. You tried to get yourself out of the grasp of the stranger but you were unable to, he was too strong. You looked over your shoulder and recognised him. It was the orc from the tavern fight.

‘’This is a dangerous place for someone like you, you know. I should bring you somewhere safe.’’ he said, getting awfully close to your neck. He held you in a tight embrace, there was no way to get out of his grasp. ‘’I know just the place to treat a nice lady like yourself exactly the way she deserves to be treated. All the things i am going to do to yo–’’ He couldn't finish his sentence, as he started sputtering and coughing up blood. Covering your clothes and hair in drops of his bodily liquids as his body went limp behind you, you quickly got out of his grasp and stumbled forward when your foot got caught on a piece of cobblestone. You stumbled forward and cried out when your body hit the ground, hard. You took a quick peek over your shoulder whilst crawling away and saw the orcs body lay there, lifeless and cold. A tall frame looming over his body. The figure then bent down and retrieved a dagger from the orcs neck. He wiped it clean on his clothes and slit it back into the sheath on his belt. You were terrified. You see the frame walking closer toward you as you try to get up and run away again. There were times where murder didn't bother you. But that life was in your past now. This was not the reality you wanted to live out anymore. Too much blood had been shed by your hands.

As you were trying to regain your balance you noticed that your wrist had taken too much of your weight when you fell. You didn't know if it was broken or just badly sprained, but it hurt like hell either way. The frame got closer to you and that's when you noticed.

The white hair, pale skin. Red eyes that had never been more aflame than they were in this moment. It was Astarion. He saved your life. You gasped when he was close enough to fully be in your vision. The very dim street lights are not doing him justice. He had never looked more beautiful than he did in this moment. His curly hair now sticking to his face from the rain, concern in his eyes. You both stared at each other in silence for a moment before you took a step toward him and pulled him into your frame. A soft sob leaving your lips as you felt him slowly wrap his arms around you, pulling you so close, like he was never going to let you go again.

‘’I’m sorry.’’ he said softly after staying in the moment for a while. You look up at him in confusion. ‘’I am sorry that I didn't try hard enough. I am sorry that I never really told you how I felt. I am sorry that–’’ before he could even continue his unnecessary apologies you kissed him. Softly, so tenderly. Hands cupping his cheeks. He was taken aback by your action but quickly melted into the kiss. A hand going up to the back of your neck, one lingering on your lower back. You pull back from him for a second and look into his eyes, trying to see if there's any form of hesitation in his stare. But there isn't.

‘’You don't have to say sorry. If anyone has to apologize it is me. I should've told you how I felt. I should've made the effort too. I guess this is on both of us. But I want you to know there has not been a day where I haven't thought about you.’’ you say. ‘’There are many things that have stopped me in the past. Many things I feared. But I am done being scared.’’

You look into his eyes. A small smile crept on his lips while you were talking. One you have missed so much, one you had been hoping to see every day for the past year. But fear has gotten the best of you. Your ego being too fragile, too weak. A small young girl, frightened of abandonment, had been making decisions in your life to make the risk as small as possible. But you were done with being afraid. You would rather risk the fear than live the rest of your days alone.

Astarion pulled you close again and placed a small kiss on your forehead.

‘’This is where our future begins.’’

And it was then that you fully realized, he is more of yourself than you are. Whatever our souls are made of, his and yours were the same.

#astarion x mc #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 angst #bg3 oc #astarion romance #astarion baldurs gate #astarion angst #bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #bg3 x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x you #tav x astarion #bg3 astarion

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lxm-memories · 2 years

Note

ahh I saw requests were open so I was wondering if you could write HCs for luxiem boys turned into their respective animals somehow by accident (like Mysta=fox, shu=penguin LOL) and the reader finding them, realizing it's them and proceeding to take care of them until finding a way to turn them back? it's oddly specific ':) so if not that totally okay!!

the boys turned into an animal w/ luxiem

✧ luxiem x gn!reader [separately]

✧ content: fluffy headcanons, shu being in every headcanon because he's the catalyst to this disaster, some boys being jealous over the affection they get as animals but not as humans lmao - overall softness

✧ rule of thumb: please read my works as fiction related to the streamers, they are in no way real or connected to what the actual streamer is as a person - i write for the personas of luxiem, not for the person behind them.

✧ a/n: omg anon your brain. i do not know when the headcanons became 9 points each, but i hope you guys don't mind. everything was nice and cute until vox part came up, i don't know what the hell happened there so be a witness to my brain coming to a halt as i wrote his part.

✧ Did not expect to turn into a penguin when he first started to toy around with his newly developed magical formulas and spells.

✧ Is what he's trying to explain to you, but when all you can hear and see is just the desperate flapping of flippers and quacks coming from what you presume is your boyfriend you can only blink down at him with a whisper of his name, "Shu... Please don't tell me that the penguin I'm looking at right now is you."

✧ When said penguin goes stiff as a board before trying to shake its head, you let out another sigh before crouching down to his level, "So, please do tell me there's a time limit to this spell? Assuming you haven't accidentally managed to curse yourself to forever be a penguin until you get a true love's kiss? I'm not particulary fond of kissing a penguin, ya know."

✧ He lets out quite the loud squeak in what you can only assume is an offensive hoot, "Oh you cannot be offended at me right now, first of all, how can I even kiss you with that beak of yours? Second of all, when I asked if you would love me if I was a worm you only stared at me and told me that I would just be a worm at that point!" you huff with a pout, bringing a hand up to stroke his soft head. "So? Will I be able to wake up to your naked, but human body next to me tomorrow if time passes or are you going to make me call a certain witch to ask for help?" you ask softly.

✧ And perhaps it's because of how worried you genuinely sound now, but the penguin (which is also your boyfriend, but at the moment you can't see anything but a penguin) tilts its head before ducking beneath your arm to rub its cheek against your side. Ah, even as a penguin your boyfriend will still try to comfort you.

✧ Smiling, you heave the penguin onto your lap before wrapping your arms around it's oval stature, continuing to pet the soft matted fur. "Mmm, thanks Shu. But also, please quack once if the spell will eventually pass on its own or quack twice if I need to call Millie." and like the good boyfriend turned penguin he is, Shu obeys your request and quacks once.

✧ And with that confirmed you try to get back to your daily life, but while recording Shu who has taken every advantage of being a penguin to do things that he wouldn't do as a human. Like gliding on the floor instead of walking, to which you have numerous videos of because even you could tell your sorcerer had the time of his life with the friction. And instead of sitting on the kitchen stools, he would instead just stand in all his penguin glory on the counter, quacking back at you when you told him to still hold some sort of decency.

✧ When you open your eyes the next morning to see Shu's bare back and a very much human hand rub the back of his neck however? You almost cry tears of relief. And when Shu feels your fingertips graze his lower back, he turns around to give you a smile, a smile that dies down quickly when he sees the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, "Hey, hey, hey," he murmurs, dipping back down to the bed to cradle your face, "Why are you already tearing up? I thought you enjoyed seeing me as a penguin and being silly?"

✧ You only reply by wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face into the crook of his neck, sighing upon feeling the warmth of his body against yours, "It was enjoyable and fun yeah, because I also knew you would turn back so I didn't need to worry. But I wouldn't be able to hug you and feel you like this if you stayed like a penguin," you say, pressing yourself closer to Shu who just ran his fingers back and down the spine of your back, "Let alone kiss you," you murmur quickly, Shu letting out a laugh at that, "You're so needy, I was only in that form for a day," he remarks, pulling away to instead lean his face closer to yours, breath fanning across your lips. "But want me to help you remember how my actual body feels like against yours then?"

✧ ".... I don't remember owning a cat," you say after a few minutes of silence, still staring at the cat who was very much staring back at you with wide eyes. Shu fiddling his thumbs at the side while looking everywhere, but at you. "Unless that cat is someone I know very well," you drawl out, eyeing the sorcerer.

✧ "Please don't tell me that's Ike," you speak with a smile, gathering the cat up who was very pliant in your arms and rubbing your noise against theirs. "That is Ike," Shu confirms and you let out a laugh, "I'm not even going to ask how or why it came to this, so just answer me this one question, Shu," cradling Ike in your arms before turning to his friend, "How long can I keep him in this form?" and with that you hear a surprised meow and a quick scratch to your arm.

✧ "Ikey ~ Ike, my goodest, sweetest novelist boyfriend, why don't you crawl out from the couch and into your lovers arms? We haven't vaccumed there in weeks so it must be dusty, hmm?" bending down to peek at the gap, you stifle a laugh at the glare your boyfriend turned cat gives you.

✧ To which your only response is a hiss. Well, it was a very valid reaction being that you had gushed over how cute he is in that cat form to Shu after the sorcerer had told you how long it would take before the spell would be undone. Cuddling and kissing Ike all over his small cat frame for what he felt like was hours on end. He did not know you were such a cat person.

✧ Or maybe it was because it was him? Just as a cat? He assumes that's the reason, but your affection is starting to wear him out, "Ikey, please come out?" his ears perk up when he hears the sad tone to your voice, turning his head around to be come face to face with your downturned lips formed into a pout.

✧ Oh dear god this must be some sort of cat sense inside him, because he knows he would usually be able to brush off your fake attempts to get something out of him - but right now it feels like doom is upon him and the world will end if he doesn't come to your side right this instant.

✧ So he lets out a small purr, crawling over to you from underneath the couch and shaking his body from any dust that has accumulated upon his grey fur before pawing at your knee. His need to scratch you however comes back at full force when you tackle him into another hug, Ike hissing at the sheer force you pulled him in with.

✧ You're greeted by the sight of Ike's bare arms the next morning, blinking a few times before your gaze redirects themselves to stare into your lovers green hues. A soft smile grazes your lips, "Welcome back, Ike! How was your day of being a cat? Oh, are you hungry? If I remember I'm supposed to make breakfast today, so how about I-" as you get ready to head out of bed, you're interrupted mid sentence by a hand yanking you back down and you soon find yourself underneath the novelist, confusedly blinking up at his pouting expression, "... Get breakfast ready while you put on some clothes."

✧ "How come you give me so many cuddles and hugs when I'm a cat, but the moment I'm actually back to being a human and can recopirate all those gestures, you're so quick to leave?" he mutters, and you stare at him in disbelief before a loud laugh slips away from your mouth, your lovers cheeks growing red, but pout still there, "I'm sorry, are you jealous over yourself right now?" you say with a giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, "Naaw, my little Ike is jealous, however can I make up for this gruesome feeling you're feeling, love?" you wonder, the novelist rolling his eyes at your teasing, "Oh be quiet already," he mutters, leaning down to finally connect your lips.

✧ "Shu? I'm sorry I'm late! I got your message, why did you want me to meet up at Luca's base out of all places, you know the narrow street is hard to navigate- What the hell is a lion doing here?!" you squeak, throwing yourself back to the door you just closed.

✧ Said sorcerer only stands to the side, rubbing his temples with one hand while keeping the lions mouth shut with his other, "And how has that lion not bitten your hand off? When did Luca get a lion? How did he even get it all the way, speaking of which where is that idiot?" you panic, and Shu just hums in defeat, "You're staring at him."

✧ And at that you stop, your panic momentarily ceased as you stare at the lion who is wagging it's tail cutely, "I'm what?" you ask once again, and Shu lets the lions mouth go and the moment his hands are off the lion, said creature is already running towards you, not at all caring about your terrified shriek. "That lion is Luca." Shu says once more, waving his hand in the air, "It's a long story, but if we want to get him back I'll have to get a few ingredients ready, shouldn't take me more than a day, but in that time please just keep him company?"

✧ "I- easier said than done?! I can take care of Luca in his human form, but not as a lion?!" you squeak, Shu just clasping his hands in apology, "It's the same principle! Just, hold out for a few hours," and he's gone in a burst of flames before you can grab a hold of him, and you're left with a lion that resembles too much of a golden retriever nuzzling your neck.

✧ You didn't expect that your meeting with Luca after 3 weeks apart because of his work would end up with a lion attatched to your whole body. But here you are, in his headquarters, trying to pry off Luca the lion away from your body while he just growls at his closest henchmen who is honestly just doing their job, "Luca, please I cannot drag you through the streets when you're a damn lion at the moment, I'll only be out for maximum half an hour, I promise!" you try to reason, but maybe it's because he's a lion now, but Luca has become way more territorial, and in the end you find yourself underneath him once again while he growls at his henchmen - to which you only give them an apologetic look for.

✧ "I think I'll be fine, I think it would be safer for you two as well to stay right outside the door, but would you mind grabbing the food I had ordered in my stead?" you ask with an apologetic smile, the two guards just nodding in understanding.

✧ And it's like a switch turns in Luca's brain upon knowing the only people in the room are the two of you because he's back to acting much more like a dog than the ferocious lion you witnessed a few minutes prior, "God, what do I do with you, hmm?" you murmur, stroking his mane and ruffling it, Luca letting out a purr at the affection he's getting.

✧ Luckily for you, Luca only seems to want to be as close to you as possible instead of walking around the headquarters and scaring his other employees, baring his fangs and growling at whoever enters the door. Even at poor Shu who came back half a day later with whatever a small vial, eyebrows raising in curiosity at the animalistic behaviour, "Ohh, so the traits of a lion manifests faster than any other animal, that's nice to know," he murmurs, throwing you the vial before Luca can pounce at him, "Try to force every drop in it to him and he should be back by the time you wake up again."

✧ And true to his words, you're abruptly woken up by Luca shaking you awake the next morning, "Babe?! Oh my god I'm so sorry for how I acted yesterday, are you hurt?" Luca rambles on, shaking your half-awake body while you're still trying to wake up. Still groggy and tired from trying to restrain a grown up lion all day yesterday, you only glare at your lover who halts in his movements at your sour mood, "Luca, sweetie." you warn with a smile, pulling him down on the bed before climbing on top of him lay your head on his chest, "I'm fine, but right now I would rather want to sleep knowing you're back in your muscular glory instead of answering your questions." If you had to haul around a big lion half the day, Luca can survive staying still for a few more hours as you sleep.

✧ "Oh my god, Mysta?" you squeal, picking up the fox with excitement, but the only response you get from the orange colored animal is a snarl of annoyance, to which you only smile wider at, "Shu I don't know what you did, but please let me have this version of Mysta for at least a day," and the fox in your arm thrashes around at that, trying to break free from your iron grip.

✧ Shu laughs nervously, already sensing the panic in his friends movements and as much as he want to help Mysta, he has other things on the agenda for today, "I'm sorry Mysta... The curse will last for at most a day given how little magic I put into it. He can still eat the things he eats, but he may display a few more traits that's more noticeable in a fox," and before Mysta can jump away from your grip and run to Shu, the sorcerer had already teleported away, leaving the detective in your grasp.

✧ And as Mysta is jokingly squealing from Shu's betrayal, his more elevated hearing senses tunes into your small sniffle. Head snapping to your expression which has turned somber, "Is being around me that bad in that form, Mysta?" you ask in a whisper, and that's when the gears in Mysta's head turn at what Shu had mentioned before he left.

✧ Shu mentioning the more prominent fox traits wasn't meant for you, it was meant as a warning to Mysta himself. Because as much as Mysta knows you're joking, he can even see that devilish little smile painting your lips as you somehow manage to squeeze some tears out. But Mystas poor heart is still torn at the small sniffle that sounded all too convincing and his heart and soul literally hurts thinking that he caused you that "pain".

✧ So the little fox cradled in your arms furiously shakes it's head, pawing at your shirt to nuzzle his whole face against your neck. Even going the length to wipe your tears away with his tongue, and all you can do is laugh at Mysta's desperate attempts to quell whatever "sadness" you were feeling.

✧ And all you can do is just stare down at the panicking fox in your arms with a smile, "God, even as an actual fox you still act like normal, I don't know if that's endearing or fascinating," you tell him with a laugh. And Mysta the fox only glares at you before swiping at your cheek, you yelping in pain and the fox taking the chance to jump away from your hold. Mysta trots a bit ahead of you, orange tail swishing slightly before he stops to stare at you. And a few minutes passes before you can see a wide smile grazing his lower face and another squeak emanating from him before he runs off, "... Nevermind what I said, you looked like a hyena there."

✧ So a day you thought would turn out to be quite humorous and sweet, ended up being a battle for your life as Mysta had somehow become even more mischevious as a fox with the knowledge that it would be way harder for you to grab him and give him a scolding. Knocking over bowls, splashing you with water as you were doing the dishes, laying on your face when you were taking a nap even, the list goes on.

✧ By the time night rolls around, you're already exhausted, slumping down on the bed with Mysta jumping to his side with a smirk, "God, how can you look more insufferable as a fox, but just as adorable?" you huff, cuddling into the blanket, "Anyway, if the curse isn't broken by the time I wake up I'm cursing Shu himself," you murmurs, stretching out a hand to pat Mysta on the head, "G'night, love ya."

✧ Sure enough, when you blink your eyes open the next morning, you feel a familiar pair of arms around your waist and a familiar weight on your chest. Looking down you see Mysta happily snoring away while nuzzling into your chest. And the sight would've been cute, and you would've probably woken him up like you usually did. But yesterday events flash through your mind and before you know it you're pulling your lovers cheeks harshly from both sides, jolting Mysta awake as he screeches, "Wha was that fo-" he tries to murmur, but you only give him a close eyed smile as you stare him down, "Oh you thought you were safe? I have a bit of payback to give you from yesterday's torture." you say, grin spreading wider as Mysta gulps.

✧ "... I'll be completely honest, I think you could just let him stay like this and he would be content," you say after a minute of silence of you and Shu staring at the very big gorilla in the living room. The couches turned over and the table flipped upside down.

✧ "Why do I believe you?" Shu says with a defeated laugh, voice a tad bit higher than usual with how Vox hasn't stopped hollering and making noises ever since he had a chance to take a good look at himself in the mirror, "... Do we just leave him here?"

✧ "... As much as I want to, I'm also afraid he's going to run down the streets and suddenly I have animal control knocking on my door," you sigh, turning to look at the sorcerer who only chuckles nervously, "Is there anything I should look out for?"

✧ Shu shakes his head, and you admire his ability to stay calm when Vox is literally picking him up and putting him on his shoulders with what you assume is a laugh before walking around, "Nah, the spell shouldn't last for more than half a day with how his demonic energy can probably repel it, and he still has his consciousness and very functioning brain, so he is able to understand us, ain't that right Vox?" the gorilla in question hollers in response.

✧ "If anything I feel like this would just spur on his DnD obsession," you sigh, flipping the table back over before shoving it to a corner, "Thanks, Shu. I think I can take care of it from here. Half a day doesn't sound so bad, it's just 12 hours. I'm sure I can wrangle with a gorilla and not break all my bones by then," you joke with dry laugh, waving goodbye as Shu poofs away, leaving you alone with your demon turned into a gorilla, "Well then, how do I entertain a demon inside a gorilla body?"

✧ 6 hours into the 12 hours, you're wondering if you're handling a dog more than a gorilla. Somehow, you've kept Vox entertained by just throwing a ball into the hallway and making him fetch it back to you, your lover somehow managing to make the whole session interesting by doing something different each time. First it was running, then it was trying to walk like a gentleman... As a gorilla? And then he tried to roll all the way, and everytime he bumped into a wall he would would walk back to you, before rolling again.

✧ You have it on tape, it's interesting to say the least, and the rest of your friends think so as well with how Luca hasn't stopped laughing every since he had asked you to facetime him so he could see it firsthand. It's only when you bid Luca goodbye that you realize that Vox is in your face, which makes you screech in sheer surprise at seeing him so close, "Jesus christ, Vox?!" you yelp.

✧ And Vox only laughs, wait laughs? Blinking, you tilt your head once you see his long locks again, golden eyes staring into your own and that's when you realize your demon boyriend is back in his human form. Very much not gorilla, but naked as a gorilla in the middle of the day, "Put on some clothes, you're naked as the day you were born."

✧ "Oh, come on you've seen me naked plenty of times before, no use being embarassed about this now love," Vox jokes, grabbing the pile of clothes you left to the side to give when he turned back, "Wait, it hasn't even been half a day, how come you turned back quicker?" you question, Vox staring at you before a smirk grazes his lips, "My love you forget that I'm a demon, I could've turned back whenever I wanted after the first hour where Shu's magic had the strongest effect. I just didn't want to," he says with a chuckle, "I just wanted to see how flustered you would be, but when you stopped paying attention to me in favor of talking to Luca, I figured it would be nigh time to turn back," he finishes, making you blink a couple of times to process the situation, "... So, you turned back into a human because you were jealous?" Vox only stops in his tracks, before he leans back up and goes to the kitchen, "Anyway, what do you want for dinner?"

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