#it lingers in my mind and the thought keeps on getting bigger!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

headkiss · 1 year

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you’ll always know me

part 1, part 2

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: even as the crowds at his shows get bigger and bigger, eddie munson still has you, his very best friend. or, (for my swifties) eddie munson is your dorothea.

word count: 8.6k

warnings: fluff, a little angst, childhood best friends to lovers (sort of), weed and smoking, librarian!reader, first kiss, so many uses of the words “i miss you,” and some idiots in love !!!

a/n: hiiiii!!! this one took so long but i really love rockstar!eddie and i hope you do too!!! this is inspired by tis the damn season and especially dorothea by taylor swift <3 thank you to my love @inkluvs for encouraging me on this one ily!!!

♫♩♪♬

It’s surreal to watch someone close to you grow so much bigger than the town you live in.

To know that the person you see on the news, at award shows on your TV screen, is the same one who used to push you on the swings at the playground, who used to walk with you to and from school, who grew up beside you, closer than anyone else ever could have.

Closer than anyone ever would, still.

To most people, he’s Eddie Munson, lead singer and guitarist of Corroded Coffin. To you, he’s Eddie, the best friend you’ve ever had.

You can go back years and years, and Eddie’s woven into your life for so much of it. So is his music. You can pick out the points: watching Corroded Coffin play for the first time in middle school, watching their first gig at the Hideout, being in the front row for it all wearing the widest smile, having the loudest cheers.

Even the late night phone calls you’d get when he’d be stuck on lyrics, when he wanted someone’s opinion and chose to dial your number instead of his bandmates’.

(“Hello?”

“I can’t get this line to sound right.”

“Let’s hear it, Munson.”)

You’re often in disbelief of where he is now. Not because you ever doubted him, but because even after so long, it’s strange not to see him every day. You’re insanely proud of him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t miss him.

Because you do. You miss him so much.

A box sits on the top shelf of your closet, one filled with newspaper and magazine clippings, articles about the band’s success, positive reviews about their shows and their albums. Things to show that Eddie’s dream came true, and that’s a rare thing.

There’s only one kind of tabloid you choose not to keep: the ones booming with rumors you selfishly hope aren’t true.

‘Lead singer of Corroded Coffin has a new spark? Read more to find out who’s caught famous bad boy Eddie Munson’s eye.’

You see him constantly in pictures, through a screen, but you only really ever see him on holidays, when he’s able to come home. When he comes bursting back into your life in vibrant fireworks with his stupid, pretty smile and stupid, shining brown eyes. When he comes back only to leave all over again.

You only have yourself to blame, really, for letting it tear you up. Because more than anything, you’re happy for him, so happy you could never express it properly, but still, there’s an ache in you when he crosses your mind, when the feelings linger.

Life in Hawkins for you consists of working at the library, reading your days and thoughts away, hanging out with the gang when you’re up to it, and that’s about it.

Eddie always knows where to find you when he does come home, usually barging into the library with his arms open for a hug, one you rush into easily. You always spend the couple days he has in Hawkins together, being the you and him you’ve been since you were kids. But the lingering reminder doesn’t fade, the reminder of him having to leave looming over you like a storm cloud.

Eddie Munson comes home sporadically, unknowingly taking your heart with him wherever he goes. And when his inevitable departure takes place, you’re forced to regrow what’s missing from your chest. Every single time.

Besides his uncle Wayne, who could only ever see him as a troublemaking kid, you’re the only person who’s never treated Eddie any differently.

Not in high school when he was labeled a freak, not even when the fame rose so suddenly it felt like a tidal wave. You kept him afloat. You keep him afloat.

He knows he should call more often, he knows that even if the phone works both ways, you really don’t have a way of keeping track of which hotel he’s in, which state, which country, even. He knows that falls on him.

Your phone number’s burned into Eddie’s memory. He could never forget it, and still, he can’t seem to find the time to dial it. He’ll get called away, or he’ll just be getting back from a show and barely have the energy to shower before getting in bed. Worse, he’ll get the panicked sense that you won’t pick up anymore.

At least he’s never missed your birthday. That, he’ll always make time for, usually phoning you at the same time that a bouquet of flowers arrives at your door. And somehow, even when he’s away, you don’t miss his birthday, either.

Eddie’s sitting on the small couch in his dressing room, waiting to go on stage, thinking of you the way he often does.

He wonders if you think of him, too. If you miss him or if you’re angry that he’s gone so often, that he can barely even manage a fucking phone call. Though, you were never the type to be angry. Never with him, at least.

He wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you tell him ‘good luck’ before going on stage like you used to. He peeks at the table next to the couch. Eddie’s not sure how much time he has before he needs to go, but he figures it’s worth a try.

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone in his dressing room, there’s a knock on the door.

“Munson! You’re on in five!”

He’ll call you later, then.

“Beginning descent to the Indianapolis International Airport.”

The muffled sound through the airplane’s speakers is followed by the ding of the seatbelt signs being turned on. Eddie shifts in his seat to look out the window. He’s got his own little cubicle in first class, and though this is how he always flies now (other than when he finds himself on a private jet, which is even more unbelievable), he’s still not used to it.

He’s itching to get out of this seat, then he remembers that he’s still got the trek through the airport and the drive back to Hawkins. It’ll be worth it to see Wayne, who he doesn’t see nearly as often as he should, and get his classic hug with a slap on his shoulder.

It’ll be worth it to see you, who makes Hawkins feel more like home. You, who reminds him of the person he’s always been, the parts that get lost on the road. You, who hugs him tighter than anyone else ever has.

His hands clench into fits in his lap.

As soon as Eddie steps off the plane, his security team finds him. He’d assured them that he’d be fine, really, but this is how it is for him now. Through baggage claim and all the way to the car that’s waiting for him outside, security takes a step whenever he does.

Shutting the car door as he slides into the backseat, Eddie tips his head back and sighs.

The car ride feels shorter than usual, the city fading into trees and fields until the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign comes into view. The gravel crunches under the car’s tires as it pulls into the trailer park. Wayne’s got enough to get a better place now, Eddie made sure of it, but he never did. He’d never admit it but Wayne’s sentimental, and the trailer houses too many memories to let go of it.

After all, it was home.

Stepping through the front door there’s the smell that he’d never noticed until he’d been gone for weeks at a time. The settled dust, the faint smoke of cigarettes, coffee, and the room spray Wayne inevitably uses to try and cover it all up.

Eddie drags his bags inside, waves to his driver, and shuts the door behind him.

Then, Wayne’s warm rasp, “my boy. Get in okay?”

He’s wrapped in his uncle’s classic hug quickly, the pats on his shoulder and all. Eddie closes his eyes and soaks it in, just for a second, “yeah. It was fine.”

“Good, good,” Wayne says, pulling back and grasping Eddie’s shoulders, getting a good look at him. “Take a shower.”

“Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?”

“Nah, that’s me telling you that you smell like airport, boy.”

“It’s great to see you, too,” Eddie says, smiling.

He and Wayne have the kind of relationship that time doesn’t really affect all that much. Whether Eddie’s away for a week or a month, or two, or three, they fall back into things like he’d never even left.

He knows Wayne’s probably lonely, probably hiding more than he could imagine, but he also knows that he loves him, and that’s always a good thing to know, to feel. Loved.

“Shut up, you know I missed you,” Wayne shakes Eddie’s shoulders and lets go, “now go wash up and you can tell me about your last show over some coffee, sound good?”

“Sounds good. I missed you too, Wayne.”

Eddie carries his bags into his room, leaving them open on the ground rather than unpacking. He’ll just have to pack them all over again, anyways.

Before long, the trailer’s small bathroom is filling with steam as Eddie steps into the shower, dropping his neck back and letting the water run over his shoulders, his back. He stands like that for a bit, simply letting the heat melt away at the tension in his muscles.

By the time he steps out, the mirror is completely fogged with steam, and Eddie wipes away at a section to look at himself. The bags under his eyes, the mess of his hair that he doesn’t bother taming, the small scratch on his chin from one of his rings. He shakes his head and heads into his room with his towel around his waist.

He throws on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a faded band tee, his hair soaking the back of it drop by drop.

In the kitchen, Wayne’s got two mugs of coffee sitting on the small table, a seat already pulled out for Eddie to take.

“Thanks.”

He nods, sipping from his mug as Eddie does the same.

In the silence, he can’t help but think of you, of how close he is to you now. Mere minutes away. He wonders what you’re doing, if you’re reading in bed after your shift, if you’d just showered like him, if you’re thinking of him, too.

“I saw her the other day,” Wayne says.

They both know he means you.

“How’s she doing?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll ask her that when you see her tomorrow, but she seemed good.”

“How'd you know I’m gonna see her tomorrow?”

“Come on, kid. You go to the library the day after you get in every time and think I don’t notice?”

Eddie looks down at the mug in his hands, his face warm. It shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t have him feeling all shy and nervous, like he’d been caught, but it does.

“She misses you,” Wayne adds.

“She tell you that?”

“Doesn’t have to. I’ve known that girl since she was little and running after you on the playground. I can tell.”

Wayne has always said that you’re as good as family, after all. Eddie used to joke that his uncle liked you more than him, and you used to laugh and joke back that he was right.

Eddie’s suddenly very excited to sleep, only to get to tomorrow quicker.

“I miss her, too.”

“Yeah, kid. I know,” Wayne leaves it there, switching things over, “I saw you almost eat shit on TV the other day.”

“Come on!” Eddie groans. He’d tripped over a fucking wire on stage. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was still fuckin’ funny.”

“Of all the shows, you just had to tune in for that one.”

Wayne asks about the tour, about how Eddie’s liking it this time around, about whether or not there’s anything new he’s working on.

In return, Eddie asks about the mechanic’s, about whether or not Wayne’s back has been acting up (which earns him a light slap on the back of the head), about what’s changed in Hawkins since the last time he’d been home.

Even through the smiles he shares with his uncle, Eddie’s wondering how you’ll react when you see him tomorrow, picturing how it’ll feel to be near you again. He gets that feeling in his gut, the butterflies that are nerves and excitement and questions and feelings rolled into one.

He’s pretty sure he dreams about you, too.

Your shifts at the library are always long; full days of scanning and shelving books. You’re lucky to say that you actually like your job. The smell of worn pages, the peacefulness (save for when Dustin comes barging in with his stack of overdue books that you let him off the hook for every time), the interactions that are almost always short and sweet since it’s meant to be a quiet place.

Your eight or nine or however many hour days go by much quicker now than they did during your high school job at the grocery store, that’s for sure.

You’re pushing the put-back cart between shelves, humming a random song quietly as you place the books where they belong, sometimes pausing to straighten things out. It’s the middle of a weekday and you’re the only person in there anyway. That is, until the small bell on the front desk dings.

“Just a second!” You call, squeezing between the cart and the self beside it to walk over to the front desk. You think your heart stops altogether.

You’d recognize that head of hair anywhere, the dark, frizzy curls. Hell, you’d recognize that damn denim vest anywhere, even the stance of the person wearing it. “Eddie?”

He turns around at the sound of your voice, and something lifts from his chest when he sees you. A grin spreads wide on his face, splitting his cheeks and crinkling his eyes in the corners, “there she is.”

Usually, when he comes home, it’s on a holiday and you’re expecting him, watching the door and waiting for him to walk through it. This time, you had no idea he’d be coming home. It’s the best surprise you could get.

You’re practically running into his arms, and he wraps them around your waist easily, yours tossed around his shoulders. Your face is buried in his neck, breathing him in, making sure this is real. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His hands clutch at the fabric over your sides, his head twisting so he can place a kiss over your hair, “had a break from tour. Missed home.”

And sure, Eddie hadn’t really realized just how much he missed it until he came back, it’s crystal clear now, with you hugging him. He really, really missed home.

You want to say something stupid and emotional like it hasn’t felt as much like home until now, or I missed the sound of your voice and the smell of your shampoo, but that would probably reveal a little too much.

“Just home you missed or…” you tease, pulling back to look at his face, his brown eyes that sort of sparkle. Your hands stay on his shoulders, his on your waist.

“I missed Wayne, obviously,” Eddie replies, acting oblivious and smiling at the small furrow in your brow.

“Eddie!”

“Aw, come on.” He tugs you in for another hug, his cheek squished against the side of your head. “‘Course I missed you, trouble.”

Trouble. You never knew you could miss a single word so much.

Eddie started calling you ‘trouble’ when you were kids, sometime in middle school when you’d stolen a bunch of his mixtapes and only returned them weeks later, when he finally noticed. He’d snatched them out of your hands and muttered ‘you’re trouble’ and it just stuck.

“Thank you,” you say, laughing when Eddie pulls back frowning at you. “And I missed you, too. Duh.”

“Duh.” He mocks. He lets go of you fully but doesn’t go far, leaning an elbow against the desk, “you’re doing okay?”

“I’m good. Things don’t change all that much around here, you know that.”

“I’m not asking about around here, I’m asking ‘bout you.”

You tug at the hair tie on your wrist. “I’m fine, Eddie. Promise.”

He nods, and there’s a small lull in the conversation that pinches at your chest for some reason. The sort of silence that never used to be there when it came to you and Eddie, always filling it with conversation or letting it be comfortable. Now, there’s something like awkwardness stretching and it stings.

Because it shouldn’t be there, because he’s Eddie and you’re you and you’re best friends and that’s all there should be to it. But it isn’t. You’re the same people, but so much is different.

“You working late?” He asks.

“Until we close.”

“Care for some company?”

You tilt your head at him, “you really wanna hang around the library for the last four hours of my shift?”

“Sounds like fun to me. I’ll even push the cart for you, and you can tell me what I’ve missed while I was away.”

It’s funny that he thinks he’d ever have to convince you to spend time with him, when you’re practically pulling at any thread of him that you can, when you’re taking anything he has to give you. Two days, a week, a couple of phone calls.

It’s all better than not having him at all.

“Only if you tell me what I’ve missed, too. Like all the cool celebrities you’ve met.”

“Not as cool as you, trouble.” Eddie taps your nose, smiling at the way you scrunch it in response.

“Shut up and start pushing the cart, Munson.”

He stands straight and salutes, “yes ma’am.”

You’re still smiling when you shake your head, “idiot.”

Eddie really does spend the rest of the day with you, pushing the cart while you re-shelf books, sitting in the extra chair behind the counter while you file returns, ducking when someone else walks in.

He asks you about Robin and Steve, Dustin and Lucas, how the kids are finding school, whether Nancy’s been hired at a big paper yet. He asks you about your family, and most of all, about you.

He hangs onto every word you say. And not once do you say anything to make him feel bad for being away, if anything, you can’t stop telling him how proud you are, especially when he talks to you about what’s in the works.

“I always told you you’d make it, Munson.”

“Wouldn’t have done it without you, trouble.”

The next morning, you’re sitting across from him in the corner booth by the window at Benny’s for breakfast. The same way you did every Friday in high school, at the same table.

Whenever you wind up at Benny’s when Eddie’s away, you tend to avoid that booth. It’s pathetic. Like his absence is clearer than ever sitting there when he isn’t. When he’s not putting whipped cream on your nose or stealing food off your plate.

Now, it’s his presence that surrounds you, his smile and his laugh, his foot nudging yours under the table.

The menu is sticky under your fingertips where you hold it, faded from sunlight and discolored from coffee spills that stain the page. You don’t really need to be looking at it—after years of coming here, you’ve probably got the thing memorized—but you need the time to collect yourself. To remember that this is Eddie, and there’s nothing to be nervous about.

You need the time to stuff down that flutter in your gut and in your chest.

On the other side of the booth, Eddie takes your distraction as a chance to really look at you. The details he can’t seem to picture when he’s away like the flecks in your eyes or the exact shade of your lips.

He never realizes just how much he misses you until he’s home. Until he’s sitting across from you and listening to the sound of your voice clearly instead of through a crackling phone’s speaker, until he gets to see the way your eyes light up slightly when you laugh.

It sort of hits him all at once, and he’s thinking, God, I should call more often. I should visit more often.

After a couple of minutes, you look back at Eddie, “you know what you want?”

“I’ve been getting the same thing since high school, trouble. Don’t need the menu.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go order,” you say, placing your menu back in the holder by the window.

When you start sliding your way out of the booth, Eddie places a hand over yours on the table, “I can get it.”

You look down at your hands, his skin on yours, like you’d expected to see something there. A spark, a burn scorching your skin in the best way.

“I know you can,” you say, smiling at him. “But it’s my treat, okay? I want to get it.”

Eddie always feels sort of guilty when he’s not buying, because he has more than enough money to take care of it, more than he knows what to do with. Sometimes (often), people expect him to pay, even. And just like you’d known how he was feeling, you shut it down with a flash of your smile.

You shift to squeeze his hand before getting up and heading over to the counter, leaning on your elbows as you wait your turn.

Still, Eddie’s looking at you, his hand in the same spot on the table.

He knows that, despite it not being a busy morning at Benny’s, people are looking at him, whispering the way they did even in school. Only now, they’re saying they can’t believe it, look at him now, instead of calling him a freak. And just like in school, having you around makes the talk bearable. Hell, it makes it disappear, if only for a little while.

When the waiter finally comes over to take your order, you send him a kind smile, rattling off yours and Eddie’s orders.

Eddie watches the entire interaction. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to make eye contact with anyone else, that it’s because he’s just making sure you’re alright. It’s certainly not because of how pretty he thinks you look today, not because of how hard it is to keep his eyes off of you.

The waiter is a younger guy, probably around your age. Someone Eddie doesn’t know. He seems to tell you a joke because you laugh, bright and sunny, and Eddie suddenly wishes that Benny was the one taking orders.

Because he should be the one to make you laugh like that, to be on the receiving end of your grin and crinkled eyes. Because there’s this weight in his stomach that feels a little too much like jealousy. Because you’re his best friend and he fucking misses you.

Eddie looks down at his hands and twists his rings around and around until you come back, the old booth squeaking as you sit down.

“You okay?” You ask, always noticing his nervous habit of fiddling with his rings.

She’s my friend, he reminds himself. My best friend, that’s all.

“‘Course I am.”

“The guy at the counter, Dan, wanted me to tell you he’s a fan.”

He shakes his head, “I can't believe I have those. Especially in this town.”

“Excuse me? Your biggest fan is sitting right here, in this town, Munson.”

He probably thinks you’re joking with the way he chuckles, chest rumbling. But, you’re not. The shoebox full of clippings says enough, and you don’t think he’d ever let you live it down if he knew about it.

“She want an autograph?” He teases, the heaviness in his stomach melting away. Your biggest fan.

“In your chicken scratch? Yeah right.”

It’s not long before your food arrives, plates of waffles and fruit, sides of bacon and hashbrowns. Of course, you inevitably end up with whipped cream on your nose and food missing from your plate.

It’s your favorite kind of breakfast.

You’re sitting in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van—the same van he’s had since high school, that he refuses to replace—heading towards Steve’s place. It’s not unusual for either of you to be meeting up with the gang, but Eddie’s still nervous.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks you.

They don’t know he’s in town, and as sure as you are that they’ll be thrilled to see him, Eddie isn’t convinced. You place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze lightly as he drives.

“Everyone’s gonna be so happy to see you. Don’t you trust me?”

“‘Course I do,” he says easily, without thinking, “just haven’t seen anyone in a while, you know?”

“We all miss you, Eddie. It’ll be fun!”

Logically, he knows nobody’s gonna kick him out, or treat him any differently, but it doesn’t stop him from getting nervous. You wanted to surprise everyone, and how could he say no to you? So, here he is, gripping the steering wheel too tight and worrying too much.

Pulling into the driveway, he nods, “here we go.”

You hop out of the van before he has it shut off, but he catches up quickly. He follows you to the side gate of the house, watches you unlatch it and stroll into the yard. The sound of voices mingling hits his ears as you walk around the house and find your group of friends sitting around in lounge chairs.

“Look who I brought,” You announce.

Your shout is followed by eyes flicking towards you, then Eddie who stands beside you. Then, a chorus of his name, plus Argyle’s “rockstar!”

“Hey guys,” he says, waving shyly.

It’s odd to feel this way around these people that he’s known for years. Robin and Steve who’ve rented him way too many movies for free, Nancy and Johnathan who are probably why he graduated high school, and Argyle who was always his most loyal customer.

All of these memories and he feels a little too much like a stranger. At least he’s got you, who feels like one of the only sure things in his life. No matter how long goes by, you’re there, and he hopes you always will be.

“You want a drink?” Steve asks, leaning to reach into the cooler beside him.

“I’ll take one, thanks,” you say, catching the can Steve throws to you.

“I’m driving,” Eddie says, jingling his keys.

“Eddie Munson being responsible,” Robin teases, “they grow up so fast.”

And just like that, he feels a little better. These are his friends, and even though he’s not around all of the time, and even though he may not be as close to everyone anymore, they’ll still be his friends.

You sit down on the empty lounge chair and pat the space beside you for Eddie, sending him a smile that says both ‘told you so,’ in your snark he can practically hear, and ‘everything’s okay,’ in your kind way.

He plops down beside you.

“How’s everything going?” Johnathan asks him.

Not wanting all of the attention on him, Eddie keeps his answer short, “busy, but it’s a ton of fun.”

“Everything you ever dreamed of?” Robin adds.

“You could definitely say that.”

Though, Eddie has this strange feeling that he’s missing something whenever he’s gone. It’ll go away, but somehow, it always finds him again, when he’s debating on calling or not, when he’s hit with a memory of you in the front row at the Hideout when he’s on stage.

He looks over at you and finds you smiling softly at him, eyes fond. He can’t believe he’s the one you’re looking at like that.

Eddie blinks and turns back to the group, “how about you guys? How’re the jobs?”

The chatter picks up and surrounds him, but Eddie can’t stop thinking about the way you were looking at him just then. He’s never had someone look at him like that, like there’s nothing but affection there.

It’s platonic, he tells himself. She’s my best friend.

You feel happier now than you have in a while. Things feel more complete when Eddie’s around. Things feel right. It’s all of your favorite people with no empty chair, it’s falling back into a friendship that’s existed for years.

When conversations split off into smaller ones, you lean your head on his shoulder, and the words sort of slip out of you, “it’s really nice to have you here.”

His heart beats louder, he leans his head on top of yours, “it’s nice to be home.”

And it is. Eddie loves touring, he loves playing his music, and he loves his job, but at the end of the day, he’ll always be this boy from Hawkins, and he’ll always be happy to be home, to be with you.

Catching the moment, Argyle—always sharing his thoughts—says, “sick, you guys are finally together.”

You and Eddie both sit up, like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even when you’ve sat like that countless times before.

Everyone’s eyes seem to be on the both of you now, and you have a tiny panic inside. Have you really been that obvious with how you feel? Does Eddie know and he hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t want to hurt you?

You laugh awkwardly, “what?”

“Like, dating,” Argyle explains.

“Me and Eddie?”

He’d been frozen for a second there, surprised that Argyle thought that. Was he seeing something Eddie couldn’t? No, no way.

“Just friends, guys,” Eddie says. “Come on.”

You swallow, forcing out a word, “exactly.”

“They’ve always been like this,” Nancy says, which explains enough but also sort of nothing at all.

Just friends. It’s something you know, you remind yourself constantly. It’s all it’ll ever be, and still, hearing Eddie say it out loud has your stomach feeling heavy. Just friends, get over it.

Even as conversation picks up again, as you laugh with everyone, the two words play in your head over and over. Then, after saying your goodbyes, once you’re in the van with Eddie again, it fades, because if you can’t be in love with him, you can be his best friend, and you’d much rather have that than nothing at all.

Once he drops you off, Eddie thinks and thinks about what Argyle had said. He goes over memories, over how he feels around you, and it hits him like a huge punch to the gut.

He thinks he has feelings for you. Big, huge feelings.

It’s the same day, a different sky, the sun sunk behind the horizon to give way to a sky full of stars and a bright moon.

Eddie’s van is parked by Lover’s Lake, the back full of blankets where you both sit, the doors open to look at the sky and the way the moonlight reflects on the water.

There’s practically an indent in the ground in the spot he’s parked, the one that’s been your go-to for ages. From day picnics to nighttime smoke sessions, it’s another place on the list of the ones that are filled with memories of Eddie.

Beside you, he’s got a joint in hand, the flick of his lighter catching your ears over the crickets and the breeze. You watch him inhale, his chest expanding, the smoke slipping from his lips. You turn back to the water.

“Your turn,” he says, handing you the joint.

You grab it between your fingertips and bring it to your mouth, feeling the smoke trail down your throat, further, then you’re breathing it out, clearing your throat at the tickle.

“Out of practice?” Eddie teases at your small cough.

“My favorite weed dealer went out of business,” you say, nudging his shoulder with yours, “so, yeah.”

He takes the joint back from you, “you don’t smoke when I’m not around? You know Argyle’s gotta have some stock.”

“Oh, he definitely does. A little too exotic for my taste. Besides, he won’t give it to me for free.”

“Getting cheap, trouble?”

You shrug, shoulder to your cheek, and give him an innocent smile.

It feels easy, the joint being passed back and forth between sentences until it’s done and stubbed out, the flow of conversation, the comfort that’s there. It’s always been easy with him, even when it hurts a little.

Eddie’s got on his worn denim vest, still full of pins, and you tug at it, “think this thing has a permanent weed smell by now.”

“I think that’s just part of my natural scent,” he replies, playfully flipping his hair over his shoulder.

His curls graze your cheek—that’s how close you’re sitting, thighs touching—and you giggle. You’ve had so many nights just like this one with Eddie, and it feels like some kind of reward that you get to have them still, even when they’re far less regular now.

“Doesn’t this make you think of high school?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Eddie’s hand is on his knee, his pinky twitches, reaching for your leg, “hell, I’m even wearing the same clothes as in high school.”

“How does it feel like yesterday and also a lifetime ago?”

Eddie looks over at you, the warm glow of moonlight and stars on your skin, the way your sweater hangs off your shoulder, the shine in your eyes that’s part weed and part nostalgia.

“A lot’s changed since then,” he says. “I’m not a loser anymore.”

“You’re still my loser.”

How is it that even when you’re calling him a loser, the idea of being yours in any sense of the word is enough to have Eddie’s heart swell in his chest, a balloon floating up and up and he has to swallow to push it back down.

“Stop being cheesy,” he plays it off, ruffling your hair.

You shove his arm away, “I just miss you!”

Eddie looks at his arm, your hand still holding onto it, he follows your arm with his gaze until it lands on your face. He thinks you’re beautiful, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and no groupie could change that.

“I miss you, too, trouble.”

Something shifts, the air growing thicker, a sort of understanding between the two of you. There’s something here, something that could be a disaster but could also be so, so good. Could be everything.

“No way you think about me when you’ve got crowds and fans and-“

“I think about you a lot, honey.”

Honey. He’s probably called you that before, but never like this. Never dripping sweet and sincere, never looking at you like he wants to do something you can’t even let yourself imagine in fear of being let down, of hoping too much.

Eddie’s hand shifts from his own leg to yours, thumb running back and forth, burning you even through the fabric of your pants.

“You do?”

“All the time. You’re my best friend.”

Right. Friend.

“You’re mine, too, Eddie.”

And suddenly you can feel his breath fan across your cheek, your lips. His face is close to yours and the hair that falls over his forehead tickles yours. Just a second ago he’d been saying the word ‘friend,’ and now it feels like he’s going to do something to contradict that.

Against all odds, he does.

Eddie couldn’t help himself. Maybe he’ll blame the weed, or maybe he won’t, but before he knows it he’s reaching up with the hand that isn’t on his leg to cup your cheek and tilt your head. And he’s kissing you.

He’s kissing you.

It’s so delicate, so much you’re afraid to even breathe, like it’ll break in an instant. Eddie’s fingers squeeze your leg, urge you to kiss him back and there’s no way that you wouldn’t. Not when his lips are actually on yours, not when he tastes like weed and mint gum and something perfect.

It could be seconds or minutes that you’re kissing, tilting your head even more to feel him, clutching his sleeve tightly. It never deepens, but it doesn’t have to, it says enough.

When you pull away, it’s not one or the other who does it, it’s natural, like it’s been rehearsed time and time again. Eddie leans his forehead against yours, his hand still on your cheek.

“Was that a bad idea?” He asks you, voice low and quiet.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” And you don’t, because there’s no way of knowing what’s gonna happen next, if things will be ruined, if this will fade away like it never happened, or, maybe, just maybe, if it’ll start something.

“Was it okay?”

“More than okay.”

You don’t talk about it that night, and you don’t want to just yet. You’re fine with enjoying the pink-tinted haze at least until tomorrow.

Eddie’s barely been gone for two days and you’re not sure what to do with yourself. After that night, neither of you brought it up, and as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. You were scared. And anyway, it was probably just the weed for him.

You’d never kissed before. Sure, you’ve come close, faces inches apart when you’d share a bed, whispers away, but nothing ever happened. Until now.

Now, sitting on your bed, chin resting on your knees, you’re reeling from knowing what Eddie’s lips feel like and missing him all over again. Rebuilding that piece in your chest.

Somewhere else in the country, in the world, Eddie’s position isn’t so different from yours. He’s sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, forearms on his knees, head bent. He wants to call you, and he’s figuring out what he’ll say when he does.

He misses you every time he isn’t home, but it’s never felt like this. There’s never been this ache in his stomach that won’t go away because of it. Fuck, he misses you more than ever.

The last trip back to Hawkins was different than anything else, because he brought back these feelings with him and he keeps reaching up to press his fingertips to his lips, like the memory of your own lingers there.

Sure, he’s had silly, sticky thoughts like waking up with his arms around you after a nap and thinking he could wake up that way forever, but he’s always pushed them down. Now, it seems, he can’t, the images too buoyant to ignore, floating back up every time.

Sucking in a deep breath, he sits up and reaches for the phone, dialing your number that’s stored in his memory. His leg bounces as the phone rings.

You’re startled by the screech of your phone on your bedside table, head lifting to look at it shake on the receiver. You reach over and pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, trouble. It’s not a bad time, is it?”

Eddie. His voice crackling through the phone sends a spike down your spine. You clutch the phone a little tighter.

You’d expected Robin, or Nancy, even Steve. Because there’d been a time, earlier in Corroded Coffin’s career, when Eddie would call you at least three times a week, and then the calls grew less frequent until they sort of died out to holidays and birthdays.

So, maybe a couple of years ago, you’d have expected Eddie’s voice, but not today.

“Eddie, hi. Not at all.”

“I- um, I just wanted to call,” a small pause, he clears his throat, “how are you?”

“It’s only been two days, you know how I am.”

“I mean right now.”

You twist to lay on your side, legs curling in towards your chest. You smile to yourself like an idiot. “Right now, I’m good. It’s lame, I already miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

The reply comes easily to him. There’s no thought to it, because in the past 48 hours, he hasn’t been able to stop missing you for a second. The warmth of your hand in his, the sunshine sound of your laughter.

He’s not sure why everything’s so big now, his feelings amplified, only quieted now, by the sound of your voice.

“Did you have a show today?”

You have a way of asking that makes it sound like you really care, Eddie thinks. He loves his music and he knows you know that. It means the world to him to do what he does, confusing feelings or not.

“Not today. We spent the day on the bus. Show’s tomorrow.”

“Nervous or excited?”

It’s something that you used to ask him before every small show in Hawkins, and the memory has a grin spreading on Eddie’s face. “It’s always both. More excited, though.”

“You should be,” you say. “You guys are really great.”

“Yeah? Who’s your favorite band member?”

He’s fishing, and you tease him rather than bite, “hmmm. Gareth.”

“Fuckin’ trouble. You liar.”

“You asked!”

“You answered the question wrong, honey.”

There it is again. Honey. You’re sort of glad he can’t see you right now because you probably look way too happy, burying your face in your pillow for a second before replying.

“You know you’re my favorite, Munson.”

“Yeah I am,” he sounds far too proud. And then, he’s softer, “I’m not keeping you up, am I? Time zones fuck me up.”

“No, no.” Even if he was, you wouldn’t tell him. This is better than trying and failing to sleep the way you so often do. “It’s not that late. What time is it for you?”

“Not that late,” he says, even though the clock on the nightstand reads 1:14AM. “So, what’s happening in Hawkins right now?”

“Mmm, it’s getting warmer. My window’s open and the crickets are loud as fuck.” You twist the phone cord around your fingers, “it’s donation week at the library, so I’ve been shelving new books for a change.”

Eddie listens to every word you say, asks you questions like if you’d kept any books for yourself (you had, but swore you’d give them to the library when you were done) and hums between your sentences.

Somewhere along the way, he’d laid down while listening to you, eyes shut as he tried to picture what you might look like right at this second. If you’re in your pajamas or not, whether your hair would be a little messy, baby hairs a halo around your face.

Then his eyes grew heavier, your voice putting him at ease even with the sounds of his bandmates laughing from somewhere in the hotel.

“Eddie?” You ask after he’d been silent for a bit.

“Hm?” He hums sleepily.

“I lost you for a second there.”

If he wasn’t half asleep, he’d feel worse. “Sorry, getting sleepy.”

“You wanna hang up?”

“No, uh- keep talking to me? You have a nice voice.”

You smile, cheeks pinching with the size of it.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep talking.”

And you do, you keep talking and talking until you can hear the sound of Eddie’s tiny snores on the other side of the line. You’re smiling again at that.

Even after you’re sure he’s asleep, you don’t hang up right away, not until your own eyes are growing heavy. You put the phone back quietly, like you’ll wake him if you’re not careful. You whisper a soft ‘goodnight, Eddie,’ as you do.

There’s a small stiffness in your fingers from how tightly you’d been holding the phone, and still, you’d let your hand cramp for hours to talk to him.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with the pattern of the phone pressed to his cheek where he’d left it last night.

The TV sends flashes of color flickering across your living room and over your face. Usually, you’d be in bed by now, but it’s the night of the MTV awards and Corroded Coffin is nominated. You couldn’t miss it.

You’re not really paying attention to most of it, the sounds of performances and hosts and thank-you speeches filling your ears as you read your latest book. At least, you’re not paying attention until Eddie’s category is announced.

That has you shutting your book and sitting up, grabbing the remote to turn the volume higher.

They show the nominees, give far too long of an introduction before tearing open the envelope holding the winner’s names. You don’t know it, but you’re practically white knuckling the blanket on your lap.

“And the MTV award goes to… Corroded Coffin!”

You stand and place a hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating—racing—for the band, for Eddie. This is huge, it’s a dream, and it’s his. If you could, you’d give him a suffocating hug right now.

Eddie’s voice taking over, thanking his fans and Wayne, the boys and their team, then, thanking Hawkins and the people there, even when they gave him hell.

If you knew the right number to call to talk to him, you’d dial it in an instant.

Lucky for you, your phone rings the next night, late enough that you can only assume it’s Eddie given you don’t know anyone else who’s probably in a different time zone right now. You pick up quickly, fumbling with the phone a little before bringing it up to your ear.

“Eddie?”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Ummm, my amazing intuition? Telepathy?”

“Telepathy, she says.” There’s a soft chuckle on his end, you close your eyes and lean your head back to thump against the wall behind you. “How’re things, trouble?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that, mister MTV winner.”

Eddie’s been calling more often again, whenever he gets the chance, really. Even so, he never thought you’d be keeping up with him that way, that you’d care enough to watch an award show and remember what he’d achieved.

“You were watching?” He asks, heart thudding.

“Of course I was. I’m your biggest fan, remember?” You’re sitting with your back against your headboard, knees bent, hand absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread in your pajama pants. “I’ve got cheerleader pom-poms and everything.”

“You do not.”

“Do too. They’re super metal, all black.”

“Yeah, cause pom-poms are super metal, babe.”

Another pet name in the rotation, uttered like it’s easy, natural. You bite back a smile.

“Whatever. Mine would be,” you say. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me, too.”

“I wanted to call you yesterday,” you admit, twisting that loose thread in your fingers, “after I saw you won. I’m really proud of you, Eddie.”

They’re words he hadn’t been expecting, but ones he’ll be thinking about over and over. He wants to keep making you proud, he thinks, and he’ll pour that into everything he does whether he means to or not.

“Thank you,” his voice is quieter, almost shy. “I wouldn’t be here without you, you know?”

“You would. You’re talented, and there’s no way that could stay hidden in this town, you’re bigger than it.”

Somehow, it’s easier to be so open with him on the phone. You don’t have to look at him, get distracted by his tongue running over his lips or the way his bangs get caught in his eyelashes sometimes. This way, all you have to do is speak, nothing more.

“Trouble-” he can’t even find the words to say, because there’s affection laced in your tone, seeping through the phone and into his head and, fuck, he wants to kiss you for it and he can’t. “I really miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” There’s some silence, and the overthinker in you worries that you’ve said too much even though you meant it with every part of you, that you’ve given yourself away. “Anyways, I should go, let you celebrate your win.”

It’s what he would be doing if Eddie’s thoughts hadn’t been so full of you and your mouth and your voice. It’s what his bandmates and friends are surely doing in some club around here.

“You don’t need to. I’m not doing anything.”

“No?” You try to lighten your tone, to joke the way you usually do, “don’t have groupies knocking on your hotel room door right now?”

Instead of playing along, Eddie’s voice is serious, still soft in the way he speaks to you, but serious nonetheless, “I don’t entertain them, honey.”

“You don’t?”

He’s tried. But ever since you kissed him, probably since before that, too, Eddie can’t seem to look at anyone else, let alone have someone else kiss him and tarnish the memory of your lips on his. He’s only ever thinking of you, it seems. So no, he hasn’t fooled around lately.

“Not in a while. I’m trying to write for the next album. No distractions.”

No distractions. He says it like that’s true, even though he can’t seem to fully focus, like there’s a piece he’s missing. Like every lyric he’s written since he’s been back isn’t somehow about you.

He’s so, so fucked.

“Look at you, Munson. Squeaky clean.”

You hope he can’t tell that you’re sort of a mess, a stupid blossom of hope planting itself where it shouldn’t. He’s your friend, he’s always been just your friend. But you kissed and it felt like something changed, and you can’t seem to let go of that.

“You sound surprised,” he teases, gathering his wits the best he can.

“Can you blame me? You used to have multiple lunchboxes reserved for your weed.”

“You loved those lunchboxes and you know it.”

“Yeah, I did.”

And then, like that moment was simply a blip, easily brushed over, your conversation turns back to your normal. Jokes with underlying affections, teasing while picturing what kind of smile the other wears when you laugh lightly into the phone.

Time runs away from you, and by the time you hang up it’s well into the early hours of the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

After hanging up, Eddie’s got this sinking, aching pull in his stomach. He knows what it is, has had bouts of it before where he misses Wayne’s hand patting his back or the way his mattress is worn-in just the right amount back at the trailer, when he thinks about what his friends might be doing or what science project Dustin’s got going on.

But it’s never felt this heavy. Eddie’s the most homesick he’s ever been.

He’d listen to your voice forever, but in that moment, he’d give anything to see your face, to see the shake of your shoulders when you laugh, the curve of your smile.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Eddie wipes his palms on his thighs before standing and walking out into the living room of his band’s suite hotel room. The guys are still up, and they’re all staring at him like weirdos.

“What?” He pauses in the doorway.

“Did you tell her you’re in love with her yet, or what?” Jeff, the electric guitarist, asks him.

“What?” Eddie says again because there’s no way he heard that right. He’d only just come to terms that he had feelings. This is much bigger.

“You’re joking,” Gareth pipes in, “you don’t even know it? Dude, you’re all ‘I miss you, trouble, you’re my favorite person ever.’” He does a knowingly terrible impression of Eddie.

“I do not sound like that.”

“You kinda do,” Jeff says.

“Why else would you be spending hours in that room on the phone, man? Come on,” Gareth sing songs the next bit: “you’re in loooove.”

Then Eddie thinks and thinks and thinks. The warmth that blooms when he hugs you, the jealousy he felt when he thought that server at Benny’s was flirting with you, the difficulty to say goodbye, the way your kiss haunts him in his sleep.

These idiots aren’t usually right about things, but just this once, maybe they are. Eddie Munson is probably, very likely, definitely in love with you.

Yeah, he’s so fucked.

♫♩♪♬

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you enjoyed please please please consider reblogging and letting me know what you think! it helps and means so much <333 i have plans for a part two, and if you’d like to see it, some support would help a bunch! ily!

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evilminji · 1 month

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I think I figured it out?

My favorite thing to do with Danny? And the Zone in General?

Is to just... zoom out a bit, maybe move stage left, leave the trouble and (most of the) dramatics of his teen years behind and just? Discover that not all of Death is War. Not every Obsession is violence.

Sometimes it's owning a fancy little soaps shop. Or that PERFECT garden of their dreams, where they can share with EVERYBODY, that they could never manage in life. Maybe it's the universe biggest Comics library.

Yeah, when you can't die and pain is kinda subjective, a good ol fashioned brawl IS the best way to communicate. Fist to Fist, ecto to ecto, come out the otherside understanding each other a bit better. But like?

.....you could ALSO just use your damn words, you know? Maybe some of us don't WANT to fight.

The freedom to Do Anything? Means a good chunk of us will say "Nah, we good". And move on to do other, non-violent things! Not every Area of the Zone is the SAME you know. It's like countries. Or, well, Galaxies? Since it IS far more spread out then any country will ever be.

It's why Danny probably didn't notice. Thought his area was all there is. It's the standard "my neighborhood is the default. Normal for everywhere" mindset that people unknowingly tend to have before they travel much. It's not like he had any chance to learn otherwise.

He had school in the morning. Had to stick close in case a fight broke out. How FAR could he truely travel? The end of the metaphorical street? The next block over? The Far Frozen alone was pushing it!

But then! He defeats the Tyrant of his Area of the Zone. And it's like a map filling in, in the back of his head. Perfect outline of what's "his" and "not his". And??? Wait, wut?

Why is he not surprised the Observants fuckin Lied? Pariah wasn't King Of Everything! He was king of... *head starts to violently hurt as he tries to grasp the scale of things* ow, Ow, OW! Bad idea! BAD IDEA!!! A chunk? Yeah, big chunk! Let's go with that!

It was APPARENTLY like saying "ruler of the known world". Other countries very much still existed, just APPARENTLY didn't count. Good to know! AFTER THE FACT.

At least HIS territory likes the "Wooooo! Anarchyyyyyy!" Goverment model. Frees him up to do other shit. He can come back to it LATER. But FIRST? :) Get? :) The FUCK :) Off his lawn! :) *kicks everyone back through the portal* *closes it* AND STAY INSIDE THE ZONE!

Abuse of power? Sorry, he can't hear you over his magically recovering sleep schedule and GPA. The fact he might ACTUALLY graduate. His new favorite past time of watch the GIW slowly losing both their funding AND minds. Mmmmmm~ relaxing!

He graduates.

He is the son of crazy people with a shit GPA. His parents may have finally come around on ghosts, started over on their research... with a frankly ALARMING enthusiasm, but? You can't undo decades of damage. The Fenton name is untouchable.

He applies anyway.

Goes ghost for the first time in over a year.

Is... bigger. Starlight and ice. Royal. It feels right, settled in a way. More HIM then his skin could ever hope to be. He notes it, but doesn't linger. Decides to find out what's OUTSIDE "his" territory.

And...

Huh.

The answer depends?

In one direction? An endless battle. From horizen to horizon, like shooting stars. Crashing and smashing, weapons clanging and ringing. Mad blood stained grins. Worthy opponents. A challenge that goes on forevermore.

He...backs away slowly.

Going sorta, up-ish? Leads to a weirdly muted stillness. Muffled. He can't find anybody. But the doors here are pretty... worn. He doesn't want to keep pushing.

Finally, he tries at an angle to the right. And? Spots a patrol? They look nervous to see him, but hold their ground. He asks what's in this direction. Is polite. They look incredibly relieved.

Which is how Danny? Learns about the SINGLE BEST thing ever. The thing I actively fantasize about. Long for. And gift to him because I can.

Floating island cities FULL of highly specific little shops and passion pursuits. All for damn near free, because they are mostly doing it for THEM and you just happen to be there. The islands go one for days in every direction. Overflow with color and sound and the flash of ghosts flying too and frow.

Stunned, Danny, jaw on the floor. Wanders the streets.

Finds a space themed shop and feels his eyes dilate like a cat. Mine ™. He gets a book on "First Astronaut's of their Species" and some BESPOKE space meme socks. Looks around. Decides that this? This is where his doing ALL his shopping from now on.

He's pretty sure he sees a shop dedicated solely to canned food from across the Multiverse.

There is a sale on corn(non radioactive), apparently.

He tells EVERYBODY. Well, Fenton and friends "everybody". But you get the idea! The shopping trip they organize? Is legendary. His Father finds a Fudge shop and probably scares the local ghost population with his mad Fudge Glee cackling. Mom found a weapon smith. And an old fashion lace maker. Jazz? Lost to the world of intergalactic boy bands and psychology textbooks.

Tucker made a running slide straight for the nearest tech shop. Then the butcher. And Sam?

........m....maybe if he doesn't ask? He can claim plausible deniability?

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @hypewinter @lolottes @nerdpoe

#dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #minji's writing #Zone Shops Au #Shops of Wonder Au

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schwarzkatje · 5 months

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'50s!au with butch!ellie and married!fem!reader

part 2

you, who had been forced to get married to a man you don't even know (let alone love), being torn between feelings of acceptance, because what else could life have given you, and the lingering thought that you're missing out on the many experiences and possibilities hidden god knows where.

confusion that only expands its roots in your mind and heart when one of your husband's most close friends, joel miller, gets invited for dinner and brings his daughter along with him.

ellie. of course you already knew her, she is just a few years younger than you and, again, the daughter of a very close person to your husband. but never had the two of you had the chance to talk and lock eyes for more than two seconds.

it's not just the more intimate scenario that makes your throat dry and your heartbeat falter, but ellie herself. her beauty – round green eyes, so clear and delicate – and the way she dresses – a grey suit, slightly on the bigger side in size, both because this kind of clothing isn't meant for women and also because ellie is quite skinny.

it's the contrast that does it for you and if your train of thought wasn't already all over the place before, it certainly is now.

you forget how to act properly and your husband doesn't waste a second to reprimand you for not smiling enough or for taking too long to bring him his cigar. how can you function when your skin reacts to ellie's stare as if it was a touch your senses could physically perceive? how can you when you feel drawn to her and have to remind yourself not to let your eyes linger too long on her in fear everyone at the table notices something odd going on with you?

ellie's body language contributes to the flowing heat in your face and shivering sensation inhabiting your body: it's an habit of hers to sit with spread legs, right elbow planted on the table and the thumb and pointer finger of her right hand fiddling with her lower lip. all of this while keeping those sinful emeralds locked on your figure. it isn't fair.

when dinner's over, you gather all the dishes, the cutlery and the glasses, heading to the kitchen to wash them. it's when ellie gets up her seat and sees it as an opportunity she has to take to help you, but most importantly to spend some time alone together.

you only hear the rattling of her chair being dragged and don't see her coming in your direction. you realise her intentions when you turn around and bump into her, face first, against her chest. now you even have her scent to haunt you. just your luck.

you quickly make out an apology, gaze going anywhere but towards her direction. ellie taking your chin with the fingers that had been playing with her lip this whole time, guides you and stops your wandering.

"it's actually my fault, i scared you". again, it can't be fair. "can i still help you with the dishes?"

you try your best to sound as polite as possible and not dismissive as if ellie was a burden or stepped the line. "no no, you're a guest here, i can't have you do any of that".

ellie doesn't insist and you almost picture this behaviour as uncharacteristic of her. until you realise that although you declined her offer she isn't budging. instead she leans against the counter and follows your every move, this time with her arms crossed.

your nervousness reaches its peak now that there's only you two – your husband and joel are in the living room in front of the tv. and when you get to this point, you abandon any shy constraints and start talking, hoping to ease the awkward air.

"i really like how you dress. i mean, it really suits you," and you think ellie would laugh because when exactly did you manage to take a proper look at her attire when all you did was avert your eyes? turns out that ellie simply smiles and inches closer to accept the compliment.

"it has a whole different flavour when it comes from a pretty woman like you," this kid is too sly for her own good. your breath gets temporarily stuck on your throat and takes a little longer than usual to get out. and when it does, its higher in volume. goddamnit.

you scoff because what exactly is life doing with you right now? "it's the corniest thing i've ever heard, i hope you know that," comes out... natural? your own chest feels lighter and even though shivers don't cease to awaken your body, you start walking on an path where you are at ease.

now it's ellie's turn to laugh, maybe not expecting you to be so bold as to come up with such an answer. she's not a saint and she would be lying if you had asked if she wasn't enjoying just a little too much taunting you.

"doesn't mister hubby call you names like 'sweet pie' or 'honey bear' or whatever shit you straight couples seem so fond of?" ellie isn't afraid to give voice to what she thinks and you find yourself admiring that.

this encourages you to keep talking and laughing without keeping an eye on how hard and loud you do. "i think these nicknames only appear in nursery rhymes".

you go back and forth for quite some time, keeping it not serious and just enjoyable. maybe the first time since your marriage where your speech isn't as controlled and your own persona tastes the aroma of existing while being free.

but the excitement – for lack of better words, because you know it's not just that, but something more serious and filthy, something you aren't ready to admit even to your own thoughts – that caught you in a net previously comes back the instant ellie goes quiet and pushes a lock of hair behind your shoulder.

you are so beautiful and nice and easy to talk to. not only that, you clearly don't have anything against ellie and the way she is and lives. she wants to keep this.

and so she decides to risk it all, running her mouth and being shameless.

"listen, would you mind if sometimes i steal you and take you with me? i know a place or two you would like"

#ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie williams #ellie tlou

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emeritusemeritus · 4 months

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I didn’t want to be alone [Eddie Munson X Reader]

Title: I didn’t want to be alone.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader {Established friendship but deliberately vague, can be romantic or not}. Platonic!Wayne Munson&Reader.

Timeline: Non-specified. There’s a brief mention of ‘trauma’ that I’d originally written as events from ST 1-3 but it could be anything. Insert your troubles here.

Summary: When things in your mind get bad, you know you always have a place to go.

Warnings: Brief mentions of trauma, illusions of mental illness. Sadness/ depression. This is a comfort fic. Wayne looks after us. Wayne Munson being the father figure we all need.

Word count: 3.4k

This is a complete comfort fic that I wrote to try and make myself feel better, a concept I came up with to try and get to sleep one night. My toddler isn’t sleeping, I haven’t slept properly for days and I’m losing my mind- keep me in your thoughts as I drown in coffee.

The last thing Wayne Munson expected to see when he pulled up to his trailer at 4am after his monthly half shift was your car; he especially didn't expect to see you sat stationary within the car, staring blankly up towards the dark trailer home. He frowns as he cuts the engine to his beat up truck, grabs his trusty brown thermos and metal lunchbox before he climbs out of the truck. When his eyes fix on you again, he sees that you haven't moved even an inch, not even acknowledging his approach. Your chin rests on your arm slung over the wheel, body slumped down in your seat with a vacant expression on your face, eyes heavy and pained. He can tell immediately that something isn't right with you, your body language completely thrown off as you stare into the void, unaware of everything around you.

He'd seen you look like this only once before, but Eddie had mentioned in passing that you'd had 'episodes' one or two times before, something about trauma, something that had haunted you from a few years back. Wayne was a simple man and didn't pretend to know what any of that meant, nor would he intrude and ask you about it when you so clearly didn't want to open up about what was plaguing you. He figured better people with bigger brains than he would be the only people that could understand what you were going through, but he'd try his best to help you where he could.

Wayne knows better than to make you jump in your impaired state and so he tried to delicately walk over to your car, putting himself directly in your eye line so that you wouldn't be alarmed once you realised he was there. It takes a minute or so for your eyes to focus on him, flicking over at the slow movement in your peripheral vision. Your shock at seeing him makes his eyes pull tight together in a squint, fighting the urge to frown at your unusual behaviour.

He walks over to your car door and finally takes in your appearance, the crease lines in his face getting deeper as he frowns once again, seeing that you are in no way dressed appropriately for the bitter cold, wearing only a pair of lounge shorts and an oversized band shirt that he instantly recognises as his nephew's.

You wind the window down as Wayne leans in, careful to be gentle with you as he sees the glassy, pained look still overwhelming your face, even after you'd broken out of your trance.

"What're you doing here girl? Got your key don't ya?" He says, trying his hardest to keep his tone balanced and his voice gentle; not an easy feat for a self proclaimed gruff, southern born hick like Wayne.

Wayne cringes as he feels the low temperature inside your car, the cold drifting out from your rolled down window. Somehow the inside of your car was even colder than the crisp, early morning air outside. Only then did Wayne remember you complaining that the heat and the ac in your car had busted a couple of weeks ago, but you couldn't afford to get it fixed right away on account of your 'full time student and part time waitress' salary.

You stare at him for a lingering moment, not even making a single attempt to reply as you usually would, the only sign that you had heard him at all was a subtle twitch of your eye. You eventually turn to look away, averting your gaze from his concerned eyes to stare back towards the trailer which was pitch black inside with no sign of life.

"I didn't know what to do," you said quietly, your voice timid and weak as you fought to push out your thoughts. "I remembered what you said about coming over anytime I needed to not be alone, but then I remembered the date and that Eddie was away at his gig. Then I remembered you said that Eddie didn't even have to be here, when you gave me the spare key. I got in my car and drove here but then I got stuck, not able to go inside because I'd be a burden but I couldn't leave either."

Wayne was quiet at he listened intently to you, giving you the time you needed to explain, knowing how hard it must be for you to speak your thoughts out loud. He silently nods gently, knowing at least partially what you were feeling as he acknowledges your troubles. He thinks it strange how often you said 'remembered' in the sentence, knowing that your words sounded uncharacteristic but he assumes that it is just you voicing your thoughts as they appeared in your head. His heart breaks a little at hearing your sad words, knowing that you must have felt real bad to have jumped in your car and drove all the way out here without thought of a jacket.

"Let's get you inside, 'fore ya catch a damn cold," he says gently, wanting to get you into the warmth as he sees goose flesh spreading across your skin and the unmistakable bounce of your leg from your body fighting the cold. He expects to be met with more resistance than you offer as you simply nod and reach for the keys that are still in the ignition. He opens the door for you, juggling his belongings in his arms as he leads you up the concrete steps to the trailer and unlocks the door, offering a tiny smile of empathy at you as he steps aside, allowing you to enter first.

As you step in, you're immediately met with stagnant warm air from the trailer being shut up all day, retaining the last slithers of heat emitted by the old space heater Wayne must have had on before he went to work. The trailer smells like home to you and immediately offers a level of comfort that you could never get anywhere else. There's a lingering smell of cigarette smoke which hangs thick in the air, mixed with a hint of Eddie's cheap cologne and old spice, old coffee and the overwhelming scent of both Eddie and Wayne, their warm natural scents mixing to create the personalised blend of the Munson trailer.

You tentatively take a seat on the couch once offered by Wayne, who immediately sets to turning on a few lamps before boiling some water for a warm drink for you both, throwing down his lunchbox and thermos on the counter in the process. He grabs two mugs from the cabinet, but immediately changes his mind as he thinks of way to cheer you up. He walks past you to reach for one of his many display mugs, grabbing your favourite of the bunch and rinses it in the sink before setting the two mugs aside to make a drink. He begins to pull out the coffee but stops himself, knowing that the last thing you need is a blast of caffeine in your system and so he reached for the small box of tea that he kept in just for you, pulling out your preferred flavour as he makes the drinks.

He takes a look at you as he waits for the water to boil, finally seeing you in the light that he'd turned on as you entered. Your eyes look dark and sunken, dark purple circles formed underneath your once sparkly eyes, telling him that you hadn't slept a wink. Your hair was haphazardly thrown up into a messy bun, faint smudges of mascara were present under your eyes and overall you looked thoroughly exhausted.

When he walks over to you, he's delicate with his approach, offering the tea out to you with a gentle smile. He notices your eyes widening slightly once you spot the special mug and a small smile tugs at your lips which he's thankful for as it means your coming out of your dark place. You mumble a thank you as you cradle the warm Star Wars mug in your hands, the heat rolling through your cold and shivering body.

"You wanna talk about it?" He says quietly, taking a seat and bringing his own mug to his lips. He sees a frown form on your eyebrows before your eyes close and you shake your head no at his suggestion. He simply nods, respecting your decision and giving you the grace of not asking any follow up questions.

"I'm sorry," your little voice says after a few silent moments.

"Don't ever be sorry, you did the right thing by coming here darlin," Wayne replies sweetly, to which you reply with a kind and grateful smile. "You're welcome here night or day."

Neither of you speaks for a moment, though it's a comfortable shared silence rather than an awkward interlude.

"So how come you ain't with Eddie at his gig?" Wayne asks a few moments later, taking another sip of his coffee. Your eyes flash with angst again and he suddenly regrets asking as your face drops slightly, not realising that his question could trigger you.

"I had an exam, couldn't get out of it," you shrugged gently, not managing to lift your eyes up from their fixed point upon your mug, watching the steam rise from the hot tea inside.

"You do okay?" Wayne asks, feeling a little awkward at asking. Eddie had always been a handful, especially when it came to doing his homework and anything academic, and Wayne's questioning of how projects went or finals or whatever else had fallen on deaf ears many years ago.

You nodded gently in reply, a little apprehensive maybe, "yeah I think so, it was only after when things started to go bad."

Wayne knew immediately that you were referring to your episode earlier, and his heart ached more for the girl in front of him who seemed so broken down, the girl he had grown to care for like a daughter. You fell quiet again, staring into space looking so exhausted you could drop down where you sat.

"Tell ya what, why don't ya go lay down in Eddie's room for a while, take your tea with yer," Wayne suggests, leaning forward slightly as he talked, not quiet reaching out to you but feeling a little closer to do so. "I'll make us some grub once you wake up."

You immediately begin to weakly protest, already feeling like a burden but Wayne shuts it down quickly. "Ain't no different then having Eddie here, 'cept you got a better sense of hygiene and noise control," he joked, earning a chuckle from you. "I'll be right through here if you need anything, ain't sleeping yet and I ain't going anywhere." His voice was still gentle but his words held a level of insistence which meant you couldn't question him, knowing he was being entirely honest.

"Uncle Wayne, thank you," you smiled gently, standing up off the couch and making your way through to the familiar back room, carrying your mug, before closing the door.

Stepping into Eddie's room without him here felt a little odd, but the sight of the room alone was enough to comfort you even more. Cigarette smell lingered here too, mixed with the faint whiff of marijuana, Eddie's cheap cologne and a general boy smell which wasn't entirely unpleasant. His guitar, sweetheart, was missing off the wall, along with two of the three amps that were usually littered around on the limited floor space.

You placed your mug on the nightstand, beside the ashtray, and didn't hesitate to throw yourself down onto the bed, pulling the sheets up high so that you were essentially cocooned in them. The sheets smelt perfectly like Eddie. Bringing them up to your nose to scent him, you felt instantly calmer by the second.

You could hear the faint murmur of the tv in the lounge, knowing that Wayne would probably be watching the 5am news or a repeat of his favourite western, the Comancheros. The knowledge of him being right outside was enough to comfort you even more, knowing that you weren't alone anymore.

For the first time since your episode began, you felt like you could actually finally fall asleep; the comfy bed, the lingering scent of Eddie all around you and the soft comforter all equated to your relaxed, happy state. Your tired eyes closed on their own accord, suddenly overwhelmed by the heaviness that pulled at them and without any hesitation or conscious effort, you slipped into a deep sleep, putting the bad day behind you.

Only a few hours later, early in the morning when Eddie's van roared up the dirt road towards the trailer, music turned down only slightly from its usual blaring volume, until it came to a sharp stop right outside his trailer. He frowned when he saw not only your car but his uncles truck parked outside, not expecting either of you to be there when he got back.

He stepped into the trailer and immediately spotted his uncle lounging in his armchair, a western playing on the old tv, without any sign of you.

Eddie nods to his uncle in greeting, before opening his mouth to question your whereabouts until Wayne instantly brings his finger to his lips, attempting to silence the boy from speaking too loudly. He didn't say anything in the moment, merely pointing towards the closed door leading to Eddie's room, hoping that he'd catch what he was trying to say.

Eddie nods his head, frowning a moment later as he realised what must have happened and that he wasn't here to help.

"You're back early boy," Wayne states, reaching for the tv remote to mute it, reaching out to grab a cigarette from the pack before lighting it, watching his nephew do the same thing only moments behind him after placing down the guitar in it's carrier by the small table.

"Gig was cancelled, burst pipe, never even made it on stage," Eddie mumbled, clearly annoyed at the facts he was relaying.

"There's always next time son," Wayne replies, taking a drag of his cigarette, earning a gentle nod from his nephew. "She's asleep, told her to get down in your room."

At the mention of you, Eddie's eyes flicker to the closed door of his bedroom, a warmth filling his gut at the thought of you sleeping in his room, especially without him there. Though he hated the thought of you suffering alone, disliking the thought of it happening when he wasn't here to help a little too much, the fact that you sought out him and his home gave him a little possessive buzz.

"Thanks Wayne, for, yanno," he couldn't quite get the words out that he wanted to say, feeling a little uncomfortable at the emotional weight in the conversation. Wayne understands, he always does and gives Eddie a nod that tells him everything, the look in his eyes conveying his affection for you, especially the way that it silently says 'I'd do it for you too'.

Eddie puts out his cigarette and with one last thankful look towards his uncle, creeps down the hall to his bedroom and slides open the door, trying desperately not to spook you.

It's dark in the room, the only light peeking through the window is from the street light a few meters away that shines rays of light over you thanks to his broken blinds.

He feels a little creepy watching you sleep but he can't resist, seeing you cocooned in his own sheets looking blissfully peaceful, the demons you carried not haunting your dreams. Your hair is spread across the pillow and there's a brief moment where he is genuinely excited that his sheets will smell like you the next night.

He doesn't fully undress, only throws off his shoes and the jeans that were still heavy and filled with ticket stubs and random change that he'd accumulated on the journey to the venue and then straight back. He's delicate as he climbs into bed beside you, praying he doesn't disturb you or worse, frighten you.

He sucks in a breath when he feels you move, no doubt sensing the presence behind you and for a moment he holds his breath, trying to stay completely still.

"Eddie?" You murmur sleepily, the hopefulness in your voice making his heart beat just a little harder at the sound.

"M'here princess," he says gently, pressing his hand delicately to your shoulder. He lets out a little noise of content when you turn over in bed and snuggle down into his chest, bringing your warmth with you. The pair of you cuddling wasn't entirely unheard of, but Eddie was certain it had never been this intimate before, not that he was complaining.

"Wanna talk?" He offers after a few moments of silence, sensing that your breathing hadn't returned to your peaceful sleep pattern. You shake your head on his chest and try to snuggle further down, secretly inhaling more of his scent as you sought comfort that only he could provide.

"How was your gig?" You mumbled, sleepiness still making you slur your words just a little, feeling as if speaking in full was too much effort.

"Got cancelled princess, s'why I'm back," he explains gently. His ringed hand has started to absently rub back and forth across your back and you wish he'd never stop doing it.

"What time is it?" You ask, sitting up just enough to look at him, though you could only really make out his outline in the darkness. You frown, suddenly realising that Eddie was back much, much earlier than you'd anticipated and his words of explanation slowly sunk in. "It got cancelled, why?"

Once again, Eddie feels like the grinch with his heart expanding in significant increments, feeling it grow and swell at your distraught tone. You actually cared that the gig was cancelled.

"Pipe burst," he says with a shrug, a much calmer reaction to the news than he'd had only a few hours ago when he'd gone ballistic and kicked the tyres of his van.

"I'm sorry Eddie, you were really excited." He smiles down at you, even if you can't see it. Suddenly feeling overwhelming affection for you. He shrugs again and pulls you closer, holding on to you just a little tighter.

"So, do you come here often without me? Think I might be developing a complex here princess." Even in the dark you can hear the smirk in his voice and you use your head to jab him just a little in the ribs at his insinuation.

"Better when you're here," you mumble, resting your head again against his soft body. "Just needed you."

Eddie bites back a smile, knowing that you would never dare say that in the light of day but somehow between the darkness and the late, or early, hour, everything said between you both seems like a secret, your own little world created where nothing is out of bounds.

"How did your exam go?" He asks, still slowly running his ringer fingers across your back.

"Sssh, too much talking," you say with a smile, not wanting to think about the day before. He understands, it was a Munson's best quality after all to know when talking wasn't beneficial; when being arrested, in an argument with your woman and just occasionally when the moment was so perfect no words would be good enough.

"Coffees on me in the morning," he says, his eyes closing as he feels your breathing even out again, your body sinking further into him as sleep begins to take over.

"Mmmm, sounds nice," you say lightly, the tiredness and proximity to sleep so clear in your voice that it makes Eddie smile out into the dark room.

"Donuts too," he adds, kissing the top of your head as it rests on his chest, feeling prouder than he'd ever felt before. You'd found comfort in him and in turn he'd found comfort in you too, both of you slowly sailing off to sleep surrounded by each other, the pains of the day before disappearing entirely.

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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #eddie munson comfort fic #eddie munson taglist #eddie munson masterlist #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie Munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #wayne munson

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upsidedownwithsteve · 5 months

Note

hi! im so glad ur doing well, my dash did feel a lil empty without your blurbs and random posts c:

if you're still in the writing mood, steve and unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping or not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out got me all soft and i think you'd write something cute w it :(((

🧡

Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was that animal part of your brains, the one Murray always spoke about, the part that quietly told you all there was safety in numbers.

Maybe it was because you’d all gone through enough to realise there were indeed very real reasons to be scared of the dark.

Movie nights turned into sleepovers, never really planned, but always wholly accepted. Bodies on couches, on the floor, sleeping bags pulled from attic spaces and kids crushed together top to toe on the pullout in the Wheeler’s basement. Someone on an old recliner, a blanket pulled from a picnic basket to use to keep warm, heaps of pillows making a patchwork on the floor, socked feet pressed to thighs because even in sleep it was nice to know your friends were close.

Maybe that’s why it happened.

A night of watching Jaws, everyone chewing on popcorn and pretending that there wasn’t something evil outside, something lingering in the dark that was so much worse than a big fish called Bruce. Before the credits could roll, before the spilled candy could be cleaned up, people would nod off one by one, soft snores becoming a well heard lullaby.

It was only you and Steve left, squished in the corner of the floor, sandwiched against the couch that Max and Eleven had claimed, your backs only just saved by a mismatch of sleeping bags and cushions reserved for the patio furniture in the summer. The TV buzzed with static, an indigo glow barely lighting the room and Steve had long lay down, cheek pressed to his pillow as he whispered back to you.

The conversation was never light hearted, not anymore, not even in the midst of a sleepover. Worried words always exchanged, knots between brows and an unsettled feeling in stomachs because everyone was past believing it might actually be okay this time.

Something had to give. Right? Right?

So sleep didn’t come easy, not when your last words, last thoughts were about survival and risk taking, about your friends getting hurt or worse. The chocolate coating your tongue turned to dust and everything tasted sour, so you stared into the dark until you felt it staring back, and only then did you close your eyes.

Sleep still didn’t come. It taunted you, teased at you from behind your eyelids, pulling you downdowndown until the sharp prod of the beginnings of a nightmare jerked you back awake.

At some point, when you lingered between sleeping and not, something touched your wrist. Something warm and heavy and comforting. You barely registered the feeling of it sweeping over your pulse, fingers bigger than yours curling over your palm, catching at the spaces between your own until you were holding on for dear life.

Something in the back of your mind told you it was safe, it was better now. You could sleep, it was okay, someone was looking after you.

A body, nudging a little closer, careful not to touch, but a solid wall of warmth beside you, a familiar scent, a thumb running circles over the back of your hand.

You didn’t wake until morning, after Nancy had stepped over your sleeping frame to start making coffee. You would’ve followed too, offered to help by pulling out mugs and cups, but something kept you tethered to the floor.

A hand in yours, fingers intertwined a little looser than before, but there all the same.

Steve.

The boy was still beside you, closer than when he’d fallen asleep, his nose dangerously near your own, his soft breaths huffing out warm air over your joined hands, clasped between your faces. He looked the most peaceful you’d seen him in months.

The lilac bruises under his eyes were still there, but his pink lips were parted lazily, lashes kissing his cheeks, his hair softer than you’d seen and falling into his eyes. He had a crease along his jaw from the sleeping bag zip, an indent of each stitch, pushed into his skin beside each freckle.

Someone stretched and groaned and the boy shifted, only just, nose wrinkling, lips pouting, his hand grasping yours a little tighter - as if even in sleep, he didn’t dare lose you.

You heard Nancy crack some eggs into a bowl, the coffee machine gurgling.

You stayed, holding onto Steve as tightly as he held onto you - if only until it was time to wake up.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve baby blurb

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nichuuu · 7 months

Text

Polyamorous - 1: Own

Word count: 4k+ Thank you to @gangplanksorenji for proofreading & editing and @capslocked for the wonderful tips. Luv you guys < 3

Fuck.

The expletive leaves your mouth right as Hanni’s tongue makes contact against the base of your shaft. She slides up, licking you up from base to tip. It was inane of you to think that the first thing a global icon like Pham Hanni would want to do after a long week was to take a shower, and you only realised this a second after Hanni dropped down to her knees and undid the string of your sweatpants, the former happening a meagre few seconds after she’d entered. Now here she is, her skin still glistening with sweat from her dance practice earlier as she lathers your shaft in spit.

“Hello.” A simple greeting contrasts the intricate movements of her tongue, the one that swirled and curled around your shaft, slathering every inch of it in glossy, gooey spit. Her voice, her tone—every vowel, every consonant, every word (down to the last syllable), drips with lust. Well she’s needy today, you muse internally. As soon as she stepped through your apartment door, her hands were already on your waistband and chest, forcing the door shut with your body. The wantonness was ever so apparent in those eyes—the ones that looked up at you as she took her time to tease you. Through the jolts of pleasure that shoot up your spine, you manage a strained hey.

A playful hand snakes up, grabs you by the balls. Her eyes gleam.

“You’re full,” she comments. The hand begins a gentle massage of your low hanging fruits. “Been holding it in? To unload inside of you, is what you really want to say. Instead, what comes out is just a simple, raspy yep. The electricity in your veins overrides your brain’s functions, rendering you unable to translate your thoughts into words. The source of this problem is, of course, Hanni, but it's not as if she already knew the effect she had on you; the give away was the look of mischief on her face as her small hand wraps itself around your shaft, pumping with slow, teasing strokes as she let her breath linger around the head of your dick. The next question comes after she delivers a small kiss to your member: How long?

As her lips wrap themselves around you, your hands balled into fists against the door. She expects an answer out of you, but there isn’t much room for thinking when there’s a tight seal around your twitching shaft. For a moment, you think about just grabbing on tight to her skull and fucking her face right there and there. Why couldn’t you? Your shaft was already halfway into her mouth, your hands just centimetres away from her head, a simple motion—Reach forward, grip, thrust—was all you needed. But the control that Hanni has over you liquifies that desire, melting it into nothing but a puddle of a notion in your mind.

“A-A week,” you miraculously manage to reply. Her eyebrows raise, your shaft sliding right back out of her mouth. The twitching meat rests against her cheek as she stares up at you.

“A week?” Her lips pout as she speaks. You want those pouty, plump lips to shower your cock with kisses so badly. “You must have,” she slaps your head against the soft flesh on her face, “quite the load for me then.”

If she keeps this up, you have a feeling that the load she’ll get will be a lot bigger than what she expected. Of course, you keep this to yourself. You find it congenial to watch as she pumps your cock with your head resting against her cheek.

“You know what I really want?” It’s a rhetorical question from her really. You knew exactly what she expected from the moment your dick came out of your underwear; I wanna bounce on your dick, I wanna take you in my ass, I want you to fuck me—All variations of the simple message: Fucking ravish me with your cock.

You know what she wanted, down to the last minute detail. Yet you shake your head. This is more than a simple test of your knowledge on her—it’s a game, a game to see who will follow who’s lead. Right now, it is Hanni who is in charge, this unspoken agreement made between the both of you from the moment she took your cock in her mouth.

She rises from her knees, takes a step closer. Whispers, “I want you to fucking fill me.”

That’s a new one.

In your opinion, the cussing in the sentence was a bit excessive, but it doesn’t take away from the sheer intensity of the lust that bleeds through her words. Then she drags you by the cock, callous in her mannerism as she pulls you towards the couch. Barely ten minutes after she entered your apartment and she’s already getting right to it, and you are genuinely surprised that she didn’t begin her attempts to draw a thick load out of you at the door.

She tosses you onto the couch, then quickly takes her position between your legs. You have to remind yourself to breathe when those lips take you back into her hot, wet mouth; you force yourself to not break right there and then as she draws upwards with her lips and lets them slide over the head of your shaft. She was playing with you, toying with the rock hard meat between your legs to let the blood flow to all the right parts of your body. All you can do is let out a soft drawl—Fuck Hanni—as she slowly kisses up your shaft, doing what you wished she would do while you were still standing at the door. Her lips make contact with your dick more times than you can count. Her eyes sparkle, the corners of her lips upturned into an innocent smile. She’s intentionally breathing a little harder than usual, letting her breath tingle the head of your cock,

The wink she gives you tells you that she’s about to take you for a ride. She doesn’t disappoint, the groan that rips through your throat being the sordid tell that she’s off to a great start. She lets her lips travel down your length—further and further till she realises that she can’t go down anymore, retraces her steps, goes down again. All of this is rinsed and repeated (and it isn’t done slowly, mind you) as drool accumulates on your cock, the fervent gurgling that emulates from the depths of Hanni’s throat telling you that she’s perfectly fine the way she is.

Then she adds her hand, fingers twisting around your slick dick in a corkscrew motion: pumping, stroking, fucking milking you to the best of her ability. She’s pushing you past your limits, overwhelming you with all the sensations she would wreak upon you with what she had available. Your first thought was to grab her by the wrist, pump your shaft even faster with those slender fingers, but then she reads your mind, doing it for you better and faster than you could ever imagine. It slides up and down, up and down together with her lips, spit smiling out between the gaps between her fingers.

Hanni had given you head before (not that it did anything to blunt the utter pleasure that she was able to impart on your body) and it was always done in earnest. She makes it seem so effortless, smooth in her movements and consistent in speed. Many nights you’d receive head from her just like this, but the sight of that jet-black lock of hair bobbing between your legs, the sound of the lewd gurgling and slurping, the feel of that tight seal around your cock that was her lips… None of it ever got old.

She kept it so fresh, so… Well, not exactly clean.

Your hand finds itself on the top of her head, the familiar motion of pushing down on it each time she bottoms out executed as you always did. Now, it should be noted that Hanni’s a very thorough person. When she cleans, she cleans thoroughly. When she examines, she examines thoroughly. And now, when she sucks dick, she sucks it thoroughly. Her mouth was warm, tight and so very wet. It slicked your shaft with spit, leaving a glistening trail that was repainted and retraced with even more of her saliva, plump pink lips cramming in every bit of cock that she could fit into that hot little mouth, and by god could take you in.

Like you said—She was so very thorough.

Her eyes—those dark brown orbs that reflected nothing but lust—stay trained on you, beseeching you to keep your attention on her as she slobbered on your shaft. Her tongue cushions your base, the top of her mouth directing your cock into her throat. She moves deftly, taking you in and out of that mouth with measure, fervent and pace. Hungry is your initial word to describe her, but then it quickly changes to needy, then to fervour. Finally, you settle on Impatient, because that was the best way to describe her style.

She was always impatient. Her style was never a gradual ramp up in pace, but rather “fast and stay fast”. The word “”slow” didn’t exist in Hanni’s books, nor did the word “patience” (though you personally wished that they would sometimes). Every motion had to be done quickly and swiftly. There was no room for child’s play. Yes, she could tease. Yes, she could take her time if she really wanted to. But there really was no need for all of that at the moment, not when she’s bobbing her head between your legs with such gusto.

The black locks bob rhythmically between your spread thighs (there’s no cessation to this allegro) as she takes your shaft in and out of the wet, warm cavern of her mouth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh in random patterns, each entry and exit into her lips sending spikes of pleasure from your crotch to the rest of your body. Every so often, a moan would emit from the depths of her throat, sending pleasant vibrations down your shaft and up your spine. You grunted, groaned and sighed; she gurgled, gagged (every now and then) and hummed. The electricity that courses throughout your body is breathtaking. Now you start to think of a word to describe this feeling.

Heaven. Yeah, that was the word to describe it.

You never realise that your eyes closed themselves, but they snap open when your shaft leaves her mouth with a slick, wet pop. For a second, you thought that it was over. Then you realise that you’re far from callow when it comes to dealing with Hanni, and that she’s probably about to escalate things to another level. You’re only proven right when she wipes the spit from the corners of her mouth and rises to her feet.

As she strips, you start to take back what you said about Hanni being impatient. To be clear, she was impatient a good majority of the time. Now however, she seemed to be in the mood for a little bit of slow play. Her baggy shirt slowly rises, the hem going past her waist, then her belly button—continues painfully slowly till you see the elastic band of the sports bra that she has on. Then with a grin, she slings it off her body. Her pants are next, displacing in the opposite direction as her shirt at the same, painfully slow rate. Bit by bit, layer by layer, her garments slowly come undone. It drove you to the brink of delarity. If it were up to you, you’d have stripped her, got her on her back with her knees against her shoulders and railed her till you both came in a sweaty heap–and she would’ve let you do just that, but you didn’t.

With a very slight sashay in her hips, she saunters over. She straddles you, thighs on either side of you as she settles down. Your cock nestled snugly in the space between those plump asscheeks, the ones that you lightly spank, then lightly squeeze. Now the formalities come back into play; her lips hover over yours for a brief second before they gently drop to meet yours. She kisses you, softly, gently. For a moment (and just that moment), you forget that she was creating a sloppy mess between your legs just mere minutes ago.

Her hand—It snakes through your hair, slides down to your face, cups if for a second. Then the other slithers up your chest, stopping right at the collar before it gently tugs at your shirt—Take it off, she’s telling you.

Your hand—Lingers on the firm flesh of her asscheeks for just a moment more, then slides over to the hem of your shirt. The other one slips in, hoisting the thin fabric up and over your head. Then they skate up her sweat-slicked, tight body. They travel up in the same direction and slow fashion of her shirt just moments ago: slowly rising, going past her waist, then her belly button–Continues painfully slowly till you reach those soft, ample mounds that sit proudly atop of her chest.

Then they squeeze.

Her body—It jolts as her breasts are given the attention they long for, a soft sigh leaving her lips. It leans forward ever so slightly, receives kisses from you on the jaw, then the neck. As it flushes against you, she whispers into your ear, “I’ve been waiting for this…”

Your thumb finds the sensitive nub on her opening. “Oh yea?”

“In the dorm…” she trails off for a moment when your thumb begins to rub her clit in small, circular motions, but then she gets back on track, “I always think about riding you till my legs give out.”

You could picture it clearly in your head: Hanni, curled up under her covers in the dorm, her hand between her flushed thighs and another over her mouth as she fingers herself. She moans your name silently, careful not to disturb the others with her raunchy fantasies.

“What else do you think about?” You’re curious to know more.

She falls silent for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your thumb entertaining her clit for just a second, then she says, you.

There it is: the shameless confession. For the record, you knew that she’d get naughty with herself while she was away from you, she sent you videos—that you could only view once—of her playing with herself in the bathtub of her dorm before. Sometimes, an exclusive video comes in; her leg would be on the bathroom counter, her phone in her right hand while the left works itself between her legs. Quietly and just for the camera, she’d moan your name, and it turns you the fuck on.

“And what exactly do you think of when you think of me?” you press.

Another moment of silence. The admissions spew forth: I think about you folding me in half and fucking me. I think about you bending me over the kitchen counter. I think about you pinning me against the wall. I think about—

She would’ve gone on forever if it didn’t shut her up with a kiss. You consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she imagines all of this while dancing on stage in front of millions of fans, or when she’s in the practice studio learning the steps to the next big hit that they’re about to comeback with. The endless possibilities deluge your mind as you start bringing your kisses down to her jaw, then to her neck.

It's when your lips reach her collar bone that Hanni finally decides to let those hands snake down and grasp on to your cock. It’s when your sigh washes up against her skin that she raises herself up on her knees. She lines you up with her slit, letting you feel the heat of her womanhood as she gently grinds her pussy against the head.

When she sinks down, you feel like blacking out. The tightness, the heat… Fuck, you couldn’t even get started on how wet she is. Your fingers dig into the soft flesh of her small waist, a sharp exhale forced out of your lungs like a bullet; a guttural moan for Hanni. You’re in perdition barely a second after you get inside of her, and she’s sure as hell not giving you time to adjust.

Then she’s riding you, fast and hard. Her hands grip your shoulders, her head tilted back. She barely gave you time to adjust to the tightness of the flesh around your cock before she’s moaning like her life depends on it. Your name—amongst the expletives and exclamations that tumble out of her mouth—rings clear in your ears, her arms wrapping around the back of your neck, holding you in place like her frenzied movements would make you start moving away.

Then for the next few minutes, it’s just fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck that punctuates each entrance, the same lips that delivered the sloppiest of blowjobs just minutes prior parting to let such filth fly forth without much of a filter. She crushes those same lips with yours, kissing you vehemently, hungrily. You think for a second about involving some tongue, but that plan quickly goes to waste when her lips tear away from yours to let out another stream of gasps.

She was so hot, so utterly tight and wet around your cock, her hips and thighs moving with such perfect rhythm that it was quite literally breath stealing. In the sheer intensity of it all, your hands stayed on her hips, but she grasps your left hand and brings it to a needy, bouncing breast, her fingers pulling yours around her tight nipple, closing around it and squeezing it, clutching the needy, wanton flesh and eliciting a sigh from her lips. She brings your other hand to her face, making you cup it in a tender, ginger fashion that heavily juxtaposes the raw sex that was happening in the midst of it. In a way, it was cute, but only a little.

In the midst of the overwhelming intensity, you find her right breast, catch it mid bounce and send it straight into your mouth. What left Hanni’s mouth was not exactly a moan, but rather a mewl, one that was high-pitched and so erotic that you wished that you were recording this. Moan louder for me, Hanni is what you wish you could tell her while your mouth sucks on her tit, but alas, one mouth can only handle one thing at a time. You settle with the sighs and cries that make her sweaty chest vibrate ever so slightly, content with the way her voice was getting more and more hoarse from moaning by the second.

She grips you–roughly–on the back of your head, fingernails digging into your skull as she forces your face deeper into her cute little chest. She’s trying desperately, licentiously, to push her mound deeper into your mouth. Then the other hand slinked to your neck, pushing it towards her while she let an even louder cry rip through the air. You ponder on being playful–deliver a small nibble to the flesh that had been impelled into your jaws, or maybe suck on it hard enough to mark it. But when the oh fuck I want to touch myself leaves her mouth, you decide to divert your attention to back to her clit. Your thumb takes its original position, the pad of your finger swirling it in just the right way to make the flesh around you tighten.

When your jaw gets tired, you let the glistening tit pop out of your mouth. “Fuck Hanni,” you decide to quip, “you’re taking this cock so well.”

Her eyes tear away from the ceiling—which she’d been staring at for the past minute or so—to lock on you. Then in a raspy, airy drawl, she replies—This pussy was made to take your cock.

She could be quippy when she wanted to, and she could definitely be overtly lecherous when she desired to. In this case, she’s a combination of both. The slight tinge of haughtiness in her voice tells you: This cock is mine and mine alone, and I’m gonna ride it till I cum. Then there was the generous dash of want in that honey-like voice that says: I love this cock, I love the way it fills me up and stretches me out. It’s gonna make me cum so fucking hard.

A woman of multitudes is what she is, and sex only brings out a few of her many layers. As she bounces atop of you, taking your cock in and out of her hot, slick pussy while she moans and gasps and sighs, you realise how content you are with seeing this wanton, needy and dominant side of her. And as she starts going down on you harder and faster, you come to realise how hot this whole situation is.

Cause picture it this way: A cute, bubbly and pretty Hanni, bouncing relentlessly on your rock hard length that’s slicked with her spit and juices, moaning fervently as she rides you like you’re one of her sex toys, her tits bouncing atop her chest and her thighs quivering around you. It was one of those nights that she felt like being in control, one of those nights where she really just wanted to ride out all of her pent up stress and frustration as she cries, I own this fucking cock. You were more than happy to be her outlet.

“Oh fuck… Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” That’s all she Hanni can manage as she starts going even faster, crashing down on you even harder. Her hands slip off your body, reaching behind her back and grabbing on to her ankles. She’s relying on her knees to hoist herself up now, and counting on your hands to hold her steady while she fucks herself on your cock. You’re relying on your self control to hold you back from cumming at the titillating sight.

Her body—curves deliciously in this new position, her flat, toned tummy arching towards you and her head tipping back just slightly past her feet. She feels tighter, hotter, (and somehow) wetter around your cock, soft ‘ah’s floating out from that pretty little mouth. She’s playing with you once more, testing the waters to see what it’ll take to drive you feral. “You like my body don’t you? You’re… You’re so fucking turned on by this fucking body, right?”

“God yes.”

“You wanna fucking ruin it so bad, huh?” She’s looking you dead in the eye. “Wanna get me on my back,” she bends back further, “and shove this thick fucking cock into this tight fuckdoll don’t you?”

You contemplate just hoisting her up into the air and making her ride you while you are standing, picturing the sight of her face dropping and rising in front of your face as the full length of your shaft spears deep into her tight and wet walls. But when…

“But when” what?

Up till this point, there was always something stopping you from doing as you pleased. Now however, you couldn’t find anything to stop you from succumbing to your desires–and so you do, scooping your hands beneath that plump ass and rising to your feet.

“H-Hey!” she yelps in surprise as she’s hoisted into the air. She was a lot heavier than she looked

“What’s wrong?” you challenged, adjusting your grip on her small frame to offer her better support. “Can’t own this cock while you’re standing up?”

She recognises the challenge, straightens her back before you.

“I can own this cock in any position.” Her tone is unwavering, her ass shifting slightly in your grasp as her legs wrap themselves around you. A dark look crosses her face in the form of a bright grin. With the assistance of gravity, she lets herself fall slightly, rock hard meat driving straight up her hot, wet cunt. The wide-eyed, mouth agape complexion of surprise takes her face as she’s filled to the brim. A shrill, breathy cry shoots out from her chest; it’s music to your ears as you start thrusting upwards and into her waiting walls, the same ones that squeeze down harder around you as the head of your cock starts to knock against her cervix.

Fuck, is all she can manage to get out before she’s throwing herself down onto your cock. She takes you in—down to the hilt, balls deep—hard and fast, not sparing a single second to catch her breath. Her moans are fragmented, split into different tones as she rises and falls on your dick—sometimes passionate and shrill, other times deep and guttural. She’s maximising her output energy for more pleasure, converting that pleasure into energy that powers the sinful rock of her hips each time she takes you in. Then she’s screaming: Oh god, Oh my fucking god, crying: You’re so deep. I can’t fucking take it!, gasping: You’re gonna–I’m gonna–Oh fuck I’m…

But it’s the declaration that really gets you, the one where she screams into your ear: Oh fuck, I’m cumming!

Just like that, Pham Hanni comes undone as she cums. The orgasm that cuts through her body is terrifyingly violent, but oh-so-wonderful to watch as tight, hot flesh spasms around your cock and that pretty little body convulses in your arms. For beautiful seconds, she is utterly overwhelmed by the sensations, until finally she slumps forward in your arms, breathing heavily. You take that moment of vulnerability to get her on her back, spreading her flushed, trembling thighs and pumping into her body once again. She lets you do that—not that she could fight it in her current state—as she wraps her arms back around your neck and whispers, “Be good… Fill me.”

Then nothing else matters for the next few minutes. Only Hanni’s body exists in the long minutes where you fervently pump your shaft between her legs. She looks so good beneath you, her pussy swallowing your cock whole and her tits spilling out through the gaps of your fingers because of how hard you’re holding on to them. Through her soft, horse moans, she eggs you on: Come on baby, give me that nice big load… Cum in me then fuck it deep inside of me. You know you want to.

Then she pulls you close, breathing on your ear, imploring you, “Please, please, please cum inside your little fuckdoll… I want it so bad.”

And so you do—burying yourself as deep inside her as you can before finally letting the pleasure overwhelm you. Your cock pulsates as it fills with semen before spurting thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside Hanni’s tight, grasping pussy. She lets a soft moan escape her lips with each spurt, as though welcoming it, as though each one were something she long wanted and needed.

After you empty yourself inside her you withdraw your still stiff, cum-slick cock halfway out of her body before thrusting back in, letting your cock stir the load inside her, saturating her walls, making her already drenched and dripping pussy even more of a sloppy mess. She lets little sighs of pleasure and contentment leave her lips as you take your liberties with her hole, relishing the warm wetness of your cum inside her as you take your last few thrusts into her body, pushing the thick load that she’d been waiting for deep into her.

You only ever stop moving after your arms give out. You crash atop of her, your ragged breaths hardly in sync with hers as you feel the soreness begin to creep up from your feet to your thighs. Softly, gently, she nuzzles herself into the crook of your neck and breathes, thank you.

You raise your head just enough so that your mouth is next to her ear. “Welcome back.”

#smut #newjeans #kpop #writing #fanfic #hanni pham #newjeans hanni #hanni x reader #hanni smut

1K notes · View notes

lymtw · 6 months

Text

NSFW

Gojo x f!reader

Description:

Satoru and his tendencies of always keeping his hands on you. Even in public, he can't hold back from touching you, so you insist on getting the furthest table at restaurants.

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On a date with Gojo, you always choose to sit at the furthest booth with the dimmest lighting because you know him too well.

“How was your day, baby? I missed you.” He’s right next to you, his hand is already settled on your knee. You know this time won’t be any different than the other times he has taken you out for dinner. Gojo just finds it so pretty the way you jump at the initial contact every time.

“It was fine. You weren’t around so it kind of minimized things that needed to get taken care of.”

He gasps, dramatically. “Wow, that was really something, babe. Did you sharpen your tongue even more for that one?”

You smirk, trying to hold back a laugh.

“I missed you too, though. How was your day?”

His fingers started out massaging your knee, but eventually his hand traveled higher up your leg as his mind began wandering to more sensual thoughts.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you. All I wanted was to come home to my pretty girl and take care of her for the rest of the day.”

You turn to him and smile, leaning in to peck his lips.

“Uh-uh. Come here,” he says when you pull away.

You were irresistible to Gojo. The only fault to you in his mind was that he never got enough of you. Every part of you could be touching him, and he still would feel like he needs more of you. He wants to breathe you in like oxygen, but never let out the breath so that you could stay within him.

“God, I can’t handle you, Satoru.” You say as you’re being suffocated by his lips. He’s kissing your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, but every time he nears your lips the kisses linger in that area.

“I need more of you. Please.”

You giggle at his darkened gaze. You know that look all too well, and it’s not anything to worry about when you’re in public. “You’re obsessed,” you joke.

“And what about it?” He whispers into your ear. His hand smoothly moves to the inside of your thigh, his thumb drawing short lines on your skin. “It’s too easy to love you like a normal person.”

“You love me~” You laugh. You’re making light of this because your heart is beating so fast you fear it might explode.

He scoffs. “Acting like you don’t know this.”

“Sometimes I think you just tolerate me. I don’t want to argue but, you could have anyone, right?”

“It’s not tolerance if i’m choosing to be with you, ma. Trust me,” he leans towards you, his nose brushing yours, “I could stay with you for an eternity. Talking, watching, touching, giving into every one of your pleasures.”

After all this time with Gojo, he still manages to make your heart race. You don’t know what’s gotten into him, but fuck…

“Tell me what you want.” His hand goes up one last time, reaching below your dress to touch the front of your panties. He knew the effect of his words, and yet he still challenged your ability to remain unfazed. You couldn’t, and now he knew by the wetness his fingers made contact with.

“Satoru… we shouldn’t.” You reach down, but not for his hand. You hold the bottom of your dress, your knuckles protruding with the grip.

“There’s no one else here,” he mumbles to you despite there being four full tables in sight. There’s a reason for why you always choose the furthest table, and this is that very reason.

You let out a shuddered breath, your toes curling in your heels.

His middle and ring fingers rub you through the thin material of your panties, gradually making the damp spot bigger.

“Who else is gonna do this for you? Hm?” He tilts his gaze towards you, watching the sweet expression on your face through lidded eyes.

“Satoru, please,” you moan, letting your dress fall over his hand again in favor of holding his bicep.

“I’m not gonna stop until you cum.”

“Okay, fine, fine. But we’re leaving after this.”

Gojo relishes on the breathiness of your voice when you talk.

“I might take my time, then. Just really want to build you up, pretty.”

“Fuck, Satoru. Come on.” You shut your thighs around his hand and start grinding against his fingers.

“I know, I know. You’ll just have to wait for it, baby, right?”

Your breathing quickens and your moans are more frequent. This is Gojo’s favorite part about making you feel good, but what happens when it all gets stripped away from you like this…

“I-I was gonna cum. Satoru, I-“

“And you looked so pretty, so I want you to do it all over again.”

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crguang · 1 month

Text

ocean eyes

You’ve never seen the ocean. Kafka introduces you to it.

fluffy as fawk, recycled the idea from that fic but it’d be like a prequel technically, 2.3k words

A/N: couldn’t stop thinking about kafka loving the sea she’s made for me atp. title only makes sense because of the other fic lol

The sea breeze washes over your being, it caresses each strand of hair and softly touches your skin like gentle hands cupping your cheeks. You feel it in your ears, a sound you’re hearing for the first time; its warmth seems to enter your lungs and clear it of past impurities with every inhale, and you wish to take a deep breath to keep it inside your chest forever.

The sensation leaves you immobile. In front of you, the ocean. A myth come true, its beauty rivaling Idrila’s. It’s vast, bigger than your mind can comprehend even after so many years spent traveling the cosmos, and a deeper blue than the sky it’s reflecting. Water has never been so alive, with waves crashing on the shore and currents on the horizon, you are facing an entity larger than life. Its depths create and harbor life that you won’t ever get to see. Your mortal eyes can only perceive a fraction of it, so small and significant. You didn’t think it was possible for water to kiss the sky, having the proof before you fills you with wonderment. Among it, some strange feeling nestles in your throat. You stand as it curls around your vocal cords and leaves you mute. Words are useless in front of something so grand, you realize, they fade away as if they've never existed at all. You lose yourself in cold blues and the occasional whites of flying seagulls, in salty air that quickly becomes your favorite scent, and you can’t speak for a long moment.

Lithe fingers, laced with your calloused ones, tighten their hold on your hand. It takes a couple blinks to tear your eyes away from the boundless sea, and you turn to Kafka’s fond smile. She’s watching you, drinking you in like you’re the precious sight and not the limitless expanse of water on the coast. A thumb swipes over the crease of your eye, lingering at the corner for a second too long, and you realize she’s wiping a tear away.

“Oh,” you exhale softly, bringing your free hand to your face. Your cheeks are wet with silent tears and you sniffle as you wipe them from your skin. “I didn’t even notice.”

“What were you thinking about so intently just now?”

You look back at the sea, an ache in your throat. The sun hides behind thin clouds and paints the world in soft colors.

“I was wondering if my planet was ever this pretty. I wish my mother could have seen it.”

Your home world fell victim to a Stellaron, like plenty throughout the galaxy. It dried most of your rivers and evaporated many of your lakes, transforming seas into lands full of sand. Water was a limited resource and a tedious thing to acquire. You remember stumbling on a picture book with various shades of blue filling some of the pages and asking your mother about it. That evening, she explained the ocean to you; never-ending, deeper than mortals can comprehend and filled with creatures your childish mind could merely compare to alien life. You thought she was making stuff up, maybe embellishing a mundane truth, but she spoke of the sea with the same tenderness she used to tuck you into bed. As you grew, you understood that it was longing in her words, a deep desire for something she would never experience in this lifetime. To you, it felt pointless to yearn for something she didn’t know; your mother was born long after the Stellaron infected your planet and spread its cancer to the roots of your world. You didn’t understand how this desire was born, where it came from. Yet, in her eyes resided a wistfulness that was only extinguished the day she died. She left the waking world longing for the sea, and memories of her constrict your chest as you stand at the edge of it.

Kafka hums, pivoting to face the water. A gentle silence settles between you as you watch the waves rise and fall on the shore. Her bare palm is warm against yours, it grounds you to the sand beneath your feet. Seagulls make a grating sound, you discover, but even their squawking can’t ruin the view before you. You feel a sudden restlessness to touch the water, to have it envelop you entirely until you feel yourself disappear in it as if absorbed.

“Can we go in the water?”

Kafka smiles. “Sure.”

Your hand slips from hers and you step out of your slides, sinking your toes into the hot sand of the beach. Sand is something you’re familiar with, it reminds you of your mom and your broken world. Comfort fills you with every step towards the waves. Kafka follows beside you, used to the sights and the sensations. She comes here every summer, but this is the first time she’s brought you along. You understand why she’d want a place like this all to herself, it brings forth a sense of serenity best enjoyed in solitude. Or, at least it did, before. Before experience brought you closer.

You hesitate somewhat once you reach the water. Your feet are submerged in it and suddenly its vastness becomes a little terrifying. Kafka walks in further until she’s standing waist deep in the water, circling hands creating ripples around her. She turns to face you with a silent question on her stretched lips.

“…I don’t know how to swim,” you confess uselessly, prompting a chuckle out of her. She knows that, obviously, since you’re unfamiliar with large bodies of water.

“We can stay on the shallow end. Don’t want you drowning on my watch, I’d get in a lot of trouble with the others.”

Kafka holds out her hand. You take it with some reticence. She brings you close enough for wet fingers to squeeze your waist affectionately. Her easy expression makes you at ease, she seems different on this planet, more carefree. She’s not wearing her contacts and her ponytail is lower than usual, its tie looser around her long locks of hair. You’re privy to a side of her you had no idea existed and you’re honored by the trust she puts in you.

“Nice, right?”

“It’s cold,” you reply, looking down at your wobbly reflections.

“Mm, I like it.”

You dip your hands beneath the water and turn your palms to the sky. Algae brushes against your calves as you move around. Kafka lets you explore, head tilting back to face the sun. You venture a bit further until your neck is the only thing sticking out of the water. Impulsively, you squeeze your eyes shut, pinch your nose with two fingers and sink into the water. Every sound is muffled in your ears, and in the darkness everything is pointless. This is different from a shower or being caught in the pouring rain, you feel light. weightless, insignificant. You wonder if that’s what your mother longed for, this freedom to be anything and anyone, drifting through the boundless sea. You emerge with a little gasp, rubbing the water out of your eyes before blinking them open.

You’re careful not to stray too far from where Kafka is drinking in the faint sunlight. Her eyes are closed when you glance back at her, chin tilted to the heavens. Her shoulders have turned a rosier color from the sun and her dark, backless bathing suit contrasts beautifully with the clear ocean blue. You walk towards her, flicking your wrist to send water flying her way. Her brows twist for a second before she looks at you with a small smile. Kafka always smiles a lot, more often than not to unsettle her opponent or prey, but there’s a softer edge to the ones she’s had since you arrived on this planet.

“What do you usually do here?” You ask, moving closer to her.

“Float. Wanna try?” Kafka holds onto your waist when you’re close enough to reach, pulling you towards her. “I can show you.”

“I don’t want to drown.”

“You’re not going to drown.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Kafka playfully rolls her eyes and takes hold of your chin with a few fingers. Her gaze follows the movement of her thumb across your jaw, then flicks up to meet yours.

“I wouldn’t let you,” she says, leaning in to press her lips on yours in a soft kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as her mouth slowly moves against yours. She pulls away after a moment and looks at you. “Do you trust me?”

“At times.”

“Well, trust me now.”

One of her hands is placed on the small of your back to support you, the other gently guides you onto your back by applying pressure on your chest.

“What if I float away,” you say, a tinge of panic enveloping you, and you grab her wrist to stay upright.

Kafka can’t help the amusement on her face. “To where?”

“Far, I don’t know.”

“Would you miss me?”

You pout. “It’s a valid fear to have.”

“It’s really not.”

“What if I float to the deep end, then it’s too late to come back and I drown because I can’t swim?”

Kafka looks at you for a moment, eyelids lowering and an amused smile on her lips. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like she’s thinking of something funny.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowing.

“You killed three flying beasts twice your size at once, last week. You're scared of a little water?”

“Fuck you,” you try pushing her away, but she only presses you further into her with her arms around your waist, a laugh escaping her. “There’s nothing little about the fucking ocean.”

“Relax,” she drawls, “it won’t work if you’re tense.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Kafka curls a hand around the back of your neck and suddenly brings you closer to capture your lips with hers. Her head tilts to kiss you better, and you can’t focus on anything but the sweet kisses she presses against your mouth. Your wet hand trails up her spine, causing droplets of water to slide down her back. Your lips part to deepen the kiss when her tongue swipes over your bottom lip. You forget the argument, your muscles relax as her chest touches yours, and by the time she pulls away with a soft exhale through her nose, you almost forget your surroundings. You chase her lips as she leans back, planting a few more chaste kisses on her mouth. She indulges you for a minute, the fingers on your nape tightening their grip for an instant. You’re breathing heavier when she separates from you for good and smiles.

“Now, let’s try it again, mmh?”

Kafka teaches you how to float in the water with firm hands and occasional teasing jabs to which you would respond if she wasn’t the one standing between you and drowning. In the end, you spend most of the day at sea, learning how to keep water from going up your nose without using your fingers and the basics of swimming. Your fingertips are pruned hours later as you emerge from the water. Kafka’s still under— you bet on who could hold their breath the longest— so you dive back beneath the surface as quietly as you can. She calls you a cheater afterwards, but you distract her with wet, slippery kisses.

You’re drying yourselves on the beach as the sun sets below the horizon. You sit on your towel next to Kafka, who’s reclined on her elbows. Her eyes are closed, not a crease between her brows, and her head is tilted upwards. Before, you thought she was sunbathing, but now the temperature is slightly lower than this afternoon and the sun is no longer visible in the sky. You think perhaps she’s simply enjoying the sound of the waves and the salty air like you did earlier. It’s funny, she hasn’t told you what this place means to her; it clearly holds some sort of significance if she returns to it annually. Her way of revealing herself is unconventional at best and a little clumsy, like a fawn taking its first steps. She presents you the sea, this part of her she keeps hidden from everyone, and says nothing else. You watch the lines of her nose, the curves of her lips and their pretty pink color. Her face is bare from any makeup, her hair loose and her expression so relaxed she might’ve been asleep. She’s beautiful. You’re no longer gazing at the ocean, though you feel a familiar sense of wonder as you observe her. Your heart is light in your chest and you suddenly understand how your mother could yearn for something she’s never experienced before.

Kafka’s eyes slowly blink open. She tilts her head to meet your stare with a smile, and you long to love her like your mother longed for the sea.

“Let’s stay a little longer.”

You nod. Your limbs move before you can stop yourself; you straddle her waist, sitting on her lap and snaking your arms around her back. Kafka lets you bury your nose in the crook of her neck, using a hand in the sand to support the both of you.

“What’s that for?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice as you breathe in the smell of the sea on her skin.

“Nothing,” you lie, pressing a kiss to her skin.

Your mouth trails up her neck to her jaw, tasting salt, and Kafka hums when you kiss her lips. It feels different to kiss her after getting acquainted with the ocean because you finally have something to compare the weightlessness that overwhelms you with each of her fervish kisses. A hand tangles itself in your hair, pulling you closer until she reclines on the ground and your body follows without missing a beat, lips locked.

You pull away to breathe in, only slightly, reveling in the sensation of her hand up your back.

“You’ll get sand in my hair,” Kafka mutters into your mouth.

“I’ll wash it for you.”

On a deserted beach and with the sea as your witness, you kiss her until the moon ascends in the sky and the waves grow stronger behind you.

#honkai star rail #hsr kafka #hsr x reader #hsr #kafka x reader #hsr fluff #hsr x you #kafka x you #kafka fluff #hsr fanfic

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itsvaleriesucka · 5 months

Text

forbidden love

pairing: demon!joel miller x angel!fem reader

rating: explicit 18+ (minors dni)

word count: 3.1k

summary: you and joel lovingly spend the rest of the afternoon together in your room. things began to get steamy.

warnings: sex, kissing, smoking, unprotected p in v, cock riding, oral sex (m!receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, light choking, age gap (50s/20s), no use of y/n, no outbreak

a/n: my love for demons and angels will always have a special place in my heart. i seriously need demon joel in my life. this is the only way to fulfill this fantasy of mine. i hope you like it! i have other stories in mind that i would like to write soon so stay tuned. please do not read if you’re sensitive to any of these topics. you have been warned.

The dark ambience of sounds coming from your Crosley record player touches a comfortable feeling deep inside your aching heart. The sound escaping lingered throughout the atmosphere of your own room. The aroma of expensive perfume and cigarettes fills the air and into your nostrils on this peaceful afternoon.

Your cherry red almond nails did their little dance across Joel’s tousled salt and pepper hair, feeling every soft strand there is. You both layed in bed beside each other heavenly. Your right leg wrapped and pressed against his lower body, skin bear and visible from your mini white lace slip gown you decided to wear. Your eyes lingered all across his handsome facial features. He’s perfect and he is everything to you.

His strong arm wraps around you, his hand and fingers soothing your soft skin on that bare thigh of yours. He draws you in closer, a feeling he did not want to let you go. With such a feeling, you pulled yourself away and positioned yourself above him, both legs locked and pressed against the sides of his hips. You sat gently upon his lap. You felt Joel’s large hands grip your hips to keep you in place. His thumb softly rubs against your hip bones in a circular motion.

Both of your hands press themselves against his bare broad chest. Your eyes wandered each of his scars he’s had over the past years. Joel reached beside your nightstand to grab his cigarette that’s placed on a red heart shaped ashtray that was handmade by you. Staring at the piece of work, you already remembered you took him to a ceramics studio on one of your dates with him when you both were starting out.

You and Joel are the total opposites. You take him to cute and fun places while he takes you to places that are, well, questionable and odd. He’s mature and you’re young. He wears black and you wear white. He’s a demon and you’re an angel.

Just the thought of a holy and unholy being together made the corner of your lips to curl downward into a frown. You felt your own stomach turn. You were so calm and content seconds ago and now you’re suddenly feeling sad. You tried not to reveal your emotions by forcing yourself to smile and looking away to distract yourself. You felt a tear drop escape from the outer corner of your eyes. You felt the liquid stream down against your cheek. You quickly wiped it away with the back of your hand but it was no use, Joel can already sense there was something wrong, even before you managed a frown.

“What’s the matter, angel?” Aside from being an actual angel, it’s indeed a lovely nickname for you. You always adored the way it draws out from him with that southern accent that sounded as pure as honey can taste.

“Nothing.” You watched the excess smoke from his Lucky Strike cigarette he inhaled, exhale through his nostrils, filling the air in your room. Joel quirked a brow. He kept his expression as stoic as usual. He wasn’t buying that pity answer from you.

“Bullshit.” His eyes analyzed every single expression you gave off.

Fine. He wins.

“For a moment I thought about the opposites of you and I. Our kind being together…It’s forbidden…” you softly remarked. Already reminding yourself of the bigger books and the higher Gods. You completely detest yourself for ruining a precious moment between you two. You wanted to vanish in thin air right now. All you could try to concentrate on was the music that played in the background to numb your thoughts.

Joel rubbed the tip of his cigarette against the ashtray to put it out. He sat himself up while still holding you in place against his lap. You felt his fingers gently pinch the sides of your jawline. He wanted you to look at him and you did.

“I don’t care about that,” Joel pulls you in closer, his gaze never leaving your precious face, “I care about you.” You felt his other hand rubbing small circles against your lower vertebrae to calm you down.

You knew he did. Despite who he truly is, you knew he wasn’t lying. Your mind was anxious and filled with fear of what can happen but your heart says otherwise. You cupped both his cheeks and felt his lips press against the palm of your delicate hand. You lean forward to press your lips against his, never pulling away. His mustache tickled your upper lip which made you smile from the sensation.

Your rushed thoughts were silenced when you felt his tongue slide across your bottom lip. You part your lips, allowing his tongue to explore inside your mouth. You brushed your tongue against his tongue and it felt delicious. It felt delicious to be kissed by the devil. To Joel, it felt amazing to caress and taste an innocent angel such as yourself.

You managed to pull away from his kiss and released a low sigh trying to catch your breath. Both foreheads pressed together. The smell of coffee and cigarette lingers from him. You felt his hot breath against your cheeks when he decided to plant kisses along your jawline down to your neck. You whined at the feeling of his teeth nibbling your sensitive spot against the soft flesh of your neck and your collarbone. You pushed your hips forward against his lap as your reaction to ease a certain tension that began to stir in between your inner thighs. The sudden friction caused his cock to twitch underneath his black boxers.

As much as you needed him, he needed you. You did not hesitate to remove yourself from Joel’s lap and positioned yourself on your knees. Joel knew exactly the kind of move you were about to make so he sat himself up. He watched the hesitancy of your movements. How those soft hands gently rubbed the fabric that covered his growing erection. He lightly hummed at the gentle movement.

Joel did not hesitate to assist you by guiding your hand into the fly of his boxers, allowing you to touch him as you please. You gripped his thick cock and slowly worked your wrist to start a burning sensation in his core as you stroked his cock willingly. His throat vibrated from a satisfactory groan he released. You removed his large cock from his fly and watched as his precum dripped down, from his pink tip that swelled, against his length landing upon your hand.

You brought your hand and licked the precum off your thumb and index finger. Joel grins at your insatiable desire. That naughty glint within his eyes began to shine. You lowered yourself close to his erection.

“Open that pretty mouth of yours.” He commands and you obliged instantly. You part your mouth and shivered at the feeling of his cock brushing precum all over your plump lips. You kissed his tip, allowing a string of his precum stretch in between. You languidly licked your bottom lip to obtain the salty taste. You lean yourself further more to shove his cock inside your mouth. You felt your mouth slowly becoming full. Cheeks hollow. Your taste buds swell to form excess saliva from the taste of his skin.

It was a natural instinct to breathe through your nostrils from the absurd gesture. You tried not to choke but yet you always do for how large and thick he is. You should know better. You felt your cunt lightly clench at the sensation. Your core was starting a fire on its own.

“You look so beautiful like this f’me.” Words that almost sounded like whispers slipped past his mouth as he brushed your hair with his fingers, petting you. You hummed in return to his compliment that his cock, again, twitched at the sudden vibration. With his hand still pressed upon your head, Joel wasted no time and lowered his boxers down, along with your head further down. He wanted the tip to touch the back of your throat. He wanted your mouth full of his entire length.

“Good girl…” he praised and you released a broken groan, almost choking. Your tongue danced along his shaft. He tastes just so damn good that your saliva mixed with his precum is already dripping down past your chin. You managed to follow his rhythm by bobbing your head at a steady pace. You’ve done this so many times and every single time it just keeps getting better and better. Your eyes fluttered shut in order to concentrate. Your hums mixed with soft melodies from your record player tune perfectly together.

Your right hand squeezed his shaft, stroking him firmly while your other hand worked their magic by massaging his balls. If Joel always makes you feel good, he deserves the attention of feeling good as well.

“Fuck,” the demon cursed and thrust his hips forward. He pushes your head further down to the point your nose rubbed against his happy trail and saliva that splattered across. You gagged at the sudden reflex of his cock shoved deep down into your throat. Your eyes watered and trailed down each side of your cheeks. Your cunt kept clenching, begging for more. “You filthy slut…”

The way he called you a filthy slut made you giggle. You felt butterflies form inside the pit of your stomach. Don’t get yourself wrong, you are indeed a good holy being. You always do the nicest things for mankind and try to help out in the darkest of times. But when you’re alone with Joel, it seems like you’re nothing but his devil woman.

You brought yourself to pull away from his cock, trying to catch your own breath. You opened your mouth to release all that excess saliva that mixed with his own juices right upon his cock, lubricating him like the good angel you are. Your small hand now glides easily against him. Wet and sloppy. “I love being your filthy slut.”

The way Joel’s pupils are nothing but wide and filled with lust with such an obscene gesture and words leaving past your lips was a sight to witness. He knows you don’t curse, but in bed, you miraculously do. And he fucking loves it too.

“C’mere,” Joel shoves you towards himself, he wanted you to sit on his lap and so you did. Your breasts pressed against his chest. You felt fingertips tickling on each side of your thighs as he lifts the end of your white mini slip gown to remove the garment completely off of you. You were left in nothing but your white lace undergarment. How cute, it even has a tiny cross pendant that adorned underneath a tiny silk bow. He chuckled darkly at the sight. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ride me.”

You nodded your head so fast that you probably should be ashamed of yourself. You bite your bottom lip to refrain your contentment. You can feel your blood circulating towards your cheeks becoming warm and hot, flustered even.

Using his index and middle finger, he hooked your damp panties that covered your sensitive cunt and pulled them aside. You can feel your own cunt coming in contact with the skin of his fingers. A shiver ran up and down your spine at his touch. His low humming was a pleasant melody to your ears. You lightly gasped at the sudden touch of his thumb pressing your swollen clit. Joel began to rub circular motions and watched how your body reacts. He knows you all too well, he just loves how your body twitches by the devil’s touch.

“There we go…” he murmurs while focusing on that sweet spot of yours that is beginning to cause his mouth to water. Joel can feel his own erection twitch again with anticipation. His eyes fixated upon yours the entire time. He was prepping you for his cock that ached to be sucked inside of you.

“That feels so g-good.” You softly moaned and placed your index knuckle in between your teeth to refrain from moaning out loud. The walls surrounding your room were rather dense that you can sometimes hear certain conversations from other neighbors. Eyes fluttered shut in order to concentrate on the way his calloused thumb skillfully flicks and rubs your clit.

“Yeah?” He purrs and pressed your clit harder. His thumb wandered towards your folds to then wet your sweet clit with your own juices to make rubbing easier. Joel smacks your hand away from your mouth which caught you by surprise. “I want to hear you, angel. Don’t be shy and let it all out f’me. Besides…” He brushes his thumb upon your wet swollen lips and you amorously suck your own taste off, releasing his thumb with a pop. A low hum vibrating from your throat, “…I want the neighbors to hear how good you’re ridin’ me.”

You felt his angry tip poke your entrance that glistened with your own natural lubricant. You are forced to lift yourself up to allow more room for his cock to comfortably slip inside of you. His fingers still hooking the fabric aside. You gasped as your jaw became slack at the way his thick length slowly stretched your inner walls. You watch as his cock slowly sinks and disappears into your aching entrance. As mentioned, you have done this plenty of times but his cock never fails to make you gasp every time at the sudden stinging sensation of the stretch. It’s bizarre.

Joel chuckled darkly and began to thrust himself into you. He needed you to adjust to his length comfortably before anything else. The moment you feel comfortable, you sway your hips forward and backwards, soon bouncing freely against him. You felt every inch of his cock rubbing your warm stretched walls. The way the tip of his cock hits your cervix has your head spinning. Sweet moans and squeals escape past your lips. The lewd sounds of both your precum secreting together echoes.

Your arms wrap around his neck for support while his arms wrap around your waist, holding, guiding, and encouraging you to milk his cock deep. The sight of your own breasts bouncing to the rhythm and movement intoxicates Joel’s arousal. He did not hesitate to pinch and tease your hardened nipples. The pain enticing your mood.

“Oh fuck right there, yes!” You cried as you continued to ride his cock. The way you grind against his lap got you both drowning in arousal. Skin tacky from the sudden heat mixed with sweat forming within you both. With each harsh thrust, oxygen hitches away from your lungs. It honestly felt like he was punching a hole inside of you. But the way his cock feels doing so was absolutely divine.

“You’re doin’ so well baby girl.” You earned yourself a tight squeeze from both his hands that managed to slide down toward your ass. You smiled at his encouragement. He took the opportunity to plant another kiss upon your lips. His teeth nipping against your bottom lip, pulling the flesh teasingly.

“It feels so good, mmm, I need you…” You moaned into Joel’s mouth. You were too carried away pecking his lips a dozen times to finish your sentence. He slows his pace, wanting to hear the right words come out.

“You need…?” He breathes and groans all against your pretty mouth. The way you paused from bouncing and focused on grinding against his lap ferociously while his cock stuck deep inside was driving him mad. In a matter of seconds he was going to spill his sticky seed.

“Cum inside me…p-please.” You begged and bat your eyes towards him, your doe eyes that were filled with nothing but inevitable lust told him everything he needed to know. The perfect green light but yet he still managed to tease the shit out of you, as per usual.

“Mmm, don’t know about that.” He murmured as he paints a wicked grin across his face. The way your brows furrowed with a frustrated expression actually amused him. “C’mon…please…”

A cry that seriously turned him on even more. To your sudden surprise, Joel switched positions where your back instantly touches your mattress. He grips your ankles and brings your legs up to hold you good. He removed your precious panty and tossed it somewhere behind him. You were too flooded with mixtures of sin and lust that all you were able to do was toggle a lazy wiggle from your hips, encouraging him to stick his cock back inside of you as quickly as possible. And so he did.

Joel buries his cock deep inside of you and begins to roughly pound his hips against the back of your thighs, obtaining that tantalizing pace. You huff with each rhythm of his smack trying to fight back a moan but to no avail. It is certain that your neighbors can already hear your glorious cries. You’re too horny to even be embarrassed at this point. They were so sweet, so angelic which always drives Joel insane. He enjoyed stripping away your innocence. Always.

“Look at you angel, takin’ this cock so well. Such a fuckin’ good girl. ” You felt nothing but a tight hand wrapped around your neck. His hand. All you could see were only stars, you began to feel dizzy. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

You began to feel your climax almost pooling in. “Yes! Oh fuck…Joel! Baby, I’m gonna cum!” To help with that, you arched your back so that his cock can rub against that aching g-spot of yours.

Just by his cock hitting your favorite spot had caused you to overstimulate. You frantically released your final loud moan that ringed against his ears. You felt like the earth had stopped spinning once that orgasm came crashing over your entire body that exploded into a blissful sensation. Your cunt clenching around his thick cock caused Joel to collapse right above you, spilling his load right inside of you coaxing a heavy groan against your ear. The warming sensation of his cum seeping inside eased your body. You thrust your hips forward to obtain that final aftershock.

You felt Joel’s cock pulling right out of you along with some of his cum spilling out from your sore entrance. He laid right beside you to try and catch his breath. Rolling yourself, you stopped right on top, embracing him with a hug, never wanting to let him go.

“Like I said, I don’t care what anyone thinks.” Joel kisses the side of your head, pulling you closer to him.

“I’m yours and you’re mine.” You lovingly whispered.

You earned yourself a warm smile from the devil. A smile only you’re able to witness alone. “Let’s get you cleaned up, angel.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut

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godisshook · 1 year

Note

there was this total average looking guy in my freshman orientation group, but now it’s finals in spring term and he’s somehow bigger than even the seniors on campus? I started hearing some people saying he’s now a total alpha, but he just asked/told me to come to this end of year party he’ll be at!

You were nervous about freshman year in college, being away from family, and having to go at it alone would be a big change of pace, but you were up for the challenge. A sense of nervousness overcame you as you became more and more aware, but you were brought back to reality as the orientation leader in the front said, “You all will now be placed in groups, check the number on the back of your name tag for your group number!” When you turn the tag around, you see a number 9, and walk over to the advisor waving a sign with the same number. You were placed in a group with nine others, who all looked either confused as to everything, or wanting to leave already. Then along came Leo.

He was unassuming and barely talked throughout orientation, but you initiated a conversation with him, hoping to make at least a new friend before the year started. He smiled at you the whole time, clearly appreciating that someone walked up to him. Orientation seemed to pass by much faster, and you two talked throughout.

Before orientation ended, he put his number in your phone, telling you to keep in touch, and you obliged. As the semester began, the stress of school made it hard to keep your promise, and you two started talking less and less.

As the semester came to a close, you started preparing to go back home for spring break. You wished your friends goodbye for the semester, but the thought of Leo still lingered on your mind. Those thoughts began to subside as you pack your last bag into your car. Not wanting to stop talking to him completely, you texted Leo occasionally, checking on him from time to time, but he seemed to always be busy.

Spring break was coming to a close, and as you prepared to return, you were excited for a new semester and the experiences it would hold. One of your friends walks up to you and urgently says, "OMG, look at this."

The guy was hot, but ultimately he didn't look too familiar. Your friend smiles at your confusion, and finally reveals, "It's Leo." You could only stand there stunned. While Leo definitely wasn't scrawny, he wasn't the biggest guy in the freshman class, but now he was bigger than most seniors! As if they knew what you were thinking, your friend says, "I know, everyone was surprised too, he walked on campus and his shirt would barely fit!" You hoped to see him just once, and you spent the whole day looking through his Instagram, seeing as his body began changing, becoming bigger and bigger. After you got hard in Biology class, you decided that your exploration through his feed would have to be put on pause until you were in a more decent area.

When you finally got home, you could only think about him. He was always cute to you, but he was now among the hottest guys on campus. you could only think one thing, "Were those springtime chats enough?" You thought you had missed your shot, had you just talked to him more, had you reached out more, maybe, just maybe...

Breaking you away from your spiral was a notification. Your phone pinged, and it was a new snap from Leo.

As you opened the photos, your jaw dropped. The photos were as close to explicit as he could get, and you stayed on each picture, absorbing his form. Your eyes wandered down each photo, taking in each element of it, including his not-so-hidden bulge. Before you could even respond to what was maybe the hottest thing you've ever seen, Leo starts typing. "There's gonna be this end-of-year party at the lake this Saturday." Looking at the text, you try to formulate a response, was it an invitation, if it was, why didn't he tell you to be there?

Leo says, "I want you to come with me." There was the ticket, the reply you needed. You wouldn't dream of saying no, so you agreed. "Good, and just know that you would be coming as my boyfriend." You pinched yourself, certain you were simply having the best dream of your life. No pinch could remove that text from your gaze, and you replied, "I wouldn't have it any other way." Each day felt like years as anticipation for the party was building. Classes felt like simple distractions against what could happen on Saturday. Your imagination soon went wild, and With Saturday finally here, you got into your best pool fit, and waited for him to pick you up.

The two of you would catch up in the car, with you thinking that he didn't like you, and him reassuring you that he was truly just busy, and you could clearly see the results. He would stop his car on a back road near the lake and would lead you towards the party. Your friend was already there, and you went with them, splitting from Leo. Things went well as you mingled with the other party goers, and reveled in the time-out. After a while, you began looking for Leo, wanting to at least get a dance in with him. It didn't take long to find him, as he seemed to be searching for you as well. With you two back together, he asked, "Do you wanna go to the other side?" As you were pondering the question, you noticed the boats on the lake, and one, with his friends on it, looking over at you. When you eye them, they look away, clearly caught in the act. Thinking a little fun couldn't hurt, you obliged, waved bye to your friend (who was actively kissing someone), and got on the boat.

The boat sped on the water, with you getting splashed occasionally, as the driver began doing tricks in the water to impress his friends. Soon it was explained that one of Leo's friends owns all the properties near the lake, and just rents out some of them. You couldn't imagine any place better to party, and you continued to enjoy the ride, as Leo began flexing in the back, you laughed and said, "I didn't know I was at a gun show." He replied, "Just for you, of course."

As you all approached the other side of the island, one of Leo's friends slides him a key, and Leo leads you off the boat, following behind you. With you two firmly on the land, the driver yells "Have fun!!!" and sped away, leaving you dumbfounded.

As you got to the other side of the lake, Leo thought it was necessary to continue "The gun show." You didn't mind it at all, whistling and clapping after each flex. As you took in his massive form, he would ask, "Are you gonna come to the show and not try it out?" You closed the distance between you two and started feeling up his body. He looked down at you, his gaze intensifying the moment. You began to truly grasp the situation, as desire flared in his eyes.

It was just you and him, and you appreciated this moment of intimacy. He planted a kiss on your cheek, and you blushed. With you two now being so close, you felt the tension rising between you two. You wanted more than a kiss, and you glanced back at the cabin behind you. Looking at him with sultry eyes, you asked, "How about we take this inside?"

Sharing your sense of urgency, he rushed over to the bathroom to change out of his trunks, and each moment felt like hours. As he came out of the bathroom, you couldn't wait for another second, you pulled him close and began kissing him, with him returning the favor with a fiery passion, taking your body fully into his as he held on to your head, supporting the weight of each intense kiss he shared. You two only split to catch your breaths, and a flurry of tongues and lips moved with what seemed to be desperate urgency.

Knowing you wanted him at the moment, he laid down on the floor, saying, "It'd take too long to get to the bed." You laughed and got to work. First, you planted light kisses on his muscular body, his breath hitching with each kiss. Each hand sought to only make the experience more pleasurable for him, with you feeling him up and down as kisses created a path. Your kisses trailed all the way down to his shorts, where you noticed his cock bulging in his shorts, as if it was waiting for you as well. With his dick pressed against his underwear, you knew it was time, and slowly pulled down his shorts.

He groaned in pleasure as you began sucking him off. His massive cock wouldn't fit in your throat completely, but you managed regardless. Soon, Leo asked the all-important question, "Do you want me?" Your response was quick, "Of course!" Leo, taking advantage of your impatience, would ask, "How do you want me?" Exasperated, you replied, "I want you in me, Leo." "Good answer," he said with a grin on his face. In a flash, Leo had his strong hands on your waist and lifted you in the air, as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. As he approached the bed, he laid you down gently and began laying kisses on your body, just as you did his. As anticipation and desire swirled around in you, Leo gave you the release you needed. He would grab your waist once more, this time to get you on top of him, setting your ass on his cock.

Slowly, he would put his dick in you, and as every inch started to fill you, you wondered just how big he was. After filling, you completely, he would start slowly lifting you off of him, and then going back down. With the desire in your body reaching a fever pitch, you took drastic action. You placed a hand on the headboard of the bed and started moving your ass up and down, moaning each time as his cock entered you again. He kept your pace, speeding up and grunting as you kept going. He took control again, once again turning you over, with his cock still in you. With you now under him, he would place his hands on the bed near your head, and start thrusting. You could only respond in moans as he fucked you with ferocity. The moment felt like a rush of passion, with your two bodies seeming to merge at the moment. The whole world seemed to disappear around you, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

After what seemed like forever, you two re-emerged from the cabin, with your legs still weak, Leo was essentially holding you upright. As you reunited with the other party goers, it was obvious they knew exactly what happened, and you blushed as your friend gave you a light punch on the arm, beaming at you and Leo.

The next days were a blur, and as things settled, you wanted explanations, of all the people he could have, why you? He put it simply, "Everyone else only talked to me after I got big, you were the only one who cared before that." As realization dawned over you, you were transported back to spring break. While you had thought your check-ups as unproductive, to him, it was the only interaction he had with someone from school the whole time. You smiled at him and hugged him, as he wrapped you in a massive bear hug. You two had become inseparable. The party marked the start of your relationship, and what seemed like a missed opportunity, turned into the situation of your dreams.

#college guys #muscle #muscle domination #jock #college jock #alpha jock #alpha men #alpha muscle #logan foote #muscle tf

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seeingivy · 1 year

Text

how to fight

roommate eren x f!reader

battleships sink beneath the waste (of you and eren)

**read the mini series masterlist here

content warning: baby (LOL), porco + pieck softness, porco x y/n family feud, someone calls hitch a snitch, fight between u and eren :(

an: sorry for da holdup. I was trying to map out how I want the rest of the things to go before I write the rest of the chapters but I think i’ve got most of it down. fun things in store :D and for the anons who are requesting scenes and dialogue for this story in the ask box....all in good time you guys. im taking very detailed notes keep it coming.

previous part linked here

You lean over, pressing your fingers against the side of Ethan’s cheek, his breath ghosting against your hand. You swear he gets bigger every time you see him, his tiny hands huge compared to when you saw him last. Therapy is expensive, your best friend's newborn baby is free.

Porco’s big eyes, Pieck’s soft nose - the perfect mix of the two people you love the most. Something about him - his life being confined to Porco, Pieck, and occasionally you and Gabi- was soothing. He doesn’t have to worry about these things - about your friends ditching you, having a crush on your roommate, who is dating a girl you can’t help but hate.

You hear Ethan’s breathing hitch in his sleep, the thought leaving your mind, as he turns over on his side to face you. His fingers are clutched around yours, his hold soft. You silently wonder what else he’ll inherit from them. Pieck’s smile, Porco’s ashy blonde hair, the distinct Galliard dimples.

“Why are you staring at my kid like that?”

You turn to find Porco glaring at you, his permanent ever annoyed look pressed on his face. He’s going to get wrinkles by the time he’s thirty.

“Praying he doesn’t get your receding hairline, Galliard.” you whisper, your hand moving back to Ethan’s little tuft of hair.

“I get you’re having some whole crisis thing but do you have to take it out on me? You’re freeloading in my house right now.”

At the sound of Porco’s voice, significantly louder than your quiet whispers, Ethan eyes immediately flutter open, his tiny little cries filling up the space of the room.

“Good job, Pock. Now he’s crying.”

“Shut up.”

Porco rolls his eyes at you, reaching to take Ethan from the crib. He’s lifted him up, whispering soft coos into his ears as Pieck rushes in the room, her fingers swiping the tears off of Ethan’s cheeks. Sparkling black hair, soft smile - the same as when you met her.

After a few minutes, Ethan calms down, his tiny little eyes fluttering back to sleep. You take him from Porco, who begrudgingly hands him over, and set him back down in his crib. You linger for a few seconds, your face pressed against his crib as you watch his listen to his breaths, his tiny chest moving up and down with each one. You only move when you’re forced to - by Pieck linking her arm with yours, leading you downstairs.

“Who woke him up?”

“Twerp.”

“Pock.”

You both turn to glare at each other, as Pieck hands you the plates to set at the table. You and Porco move around each other, shoving each other each time you pass by.

“He’s trying to kick me out. After I so graciously dropped everything to come spend time with you guys. Babysat your kid for free.”

“He’s your godson. You should have come sooner. And stop using my kid to run away from your problems, Y/N.”

Three days ago, Eren told you that he thought the two of you were a mistake. That he was dating the girl who in all senses of the word was everything you weren’t and he had been. Off and on, for a while. Screw you for wanting to get away from that, be surrounded by two people who actually wanted you around.

You couldn’t face Eren. You couldn’t handle him making you breakfast in the morning, listening to the music you liked, brushing his hand against yours when he walked past you. So you decided you weren’t going to. Not until you had to.

So you picked up your keys and drove two hours to Marley, to visit Porco and Pieck. And their five month old son, Ethan. Your godson.

“Leave her alone, Porco.”

Pieck squeezes your shoulder as the three of you settle into the table to eat. You can feel the tears rising to your eyes, the thought of returning and leaving the little bubble you were in for the past few days, to find Hitch and Eren in your apartment.

“I just wanted to see you guys. You always made me feel better. Ethan too.”

You look up to find Porco looking at you, his expression uncharacteristically soft. Somehow his annoyed face is better than this.

“Hey. Want me to beat him up, twerp?”

“You can’t hit a girl, Porco.”

“Clean out your earwax. I meant your roommate, but I can get Snitch if you want too. Pieck’s got real bony knuckles, I’m sure it would hurt.”

“It’s Hitch, honey.”

“Same thing. Who names their kid a verb?”

“Pock, a lot of names are verbs. Like Bob or Sue.”

“Being a smartass isn’t a good look on you babe.”

You press the back of your hands against your cheek, wiping your tears off, as you laugh at Pieck and Porco’s bantering. You don’t miss the way Porco tangles his hand into hers, Porco raising Pieck’s hand to press a kiss to it to shut her up. You remember the first time he did it, on that stupid bench you met them on years ago.

Pieck moved into the house across from you, when you were in the third grade. She was four years your senior, a very cool seventh grader. You distinctly remember her marching over to your yard, big black combat boots, right to where you were playing with Gabi.

You saw her the next day at school, her ankles tangled over each other as she sat alone on the bench outside your classroom. Alone. You walked over, pushing yourself into the seat next to hers.

“Hi Pieck.”

“Hey kid. Enjoying recess?”

You nodded, playing with the ends of your hair as she looked down at you. Some part of her was always intimidating. Like she was ice cold. But the way she smiled was soft, the lines by her eyes spreading when she did. Contradicting, in every sense of the matter.

“Yeah. Did you make any friends yet?”

“Just one. His name’s Porco.”

“Don’t you want more?”

“Not really. He’s all I need. Him and you, of course.”

You remember your heart swelling in your chest - the thought of a seventh grader, big and mighty, wanting to be friends with you. The two of you sat in silence, swinging the ends of your legs on the bench.

You had always appreciated that about Pieck, even at eight years old - that the two of you could sit in the quiet, without having to say anything. Porco idled by a few minutes later, taking the seat directly next to Pieck.

“Who’s the twerp?”

“My friend, Porco. This is Y/N.”

He nods, wordlessly splitting the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he had in half and handing one piece of it to Pieck. You never understood it, the gesture. Or when they started dating. You just remember one day, their hands were pressed together on the bench. They never let go after that.

You’ve tried to make sense of it. At their wedding, right before Pieck walked down the aisle, you turned to Porco and asked him why he gave her half of his sandwich, sat with her on the bench, pressed his hand against hers. You figured he’d say something cheesy you can tell his ugly kids.

“I just felt like I knew her forever. I saw her on the field, staring at the sky, and just wanted to be near her.”

You still didn’t understand, but you nodded, turning your head back down the aisle that Pieck was going to walk down in a few seconds.

“Don’t settle till you find that guy.”

“Which one, Pock?”

“The one who knows the second he meets you.”

“You’re corny. I hope your vows are better than this.”

And they were. You feel Pieck reach over the table, crushing your knuckles in her hand. You look up at the two of them, at the soft little life they live. Sweet tea in the summer, hands pressed together, no other people involved. Except for you, of course.

“I’ll leave after dinner, guys. I should go back anyway. But I might come back the second I see him.”

“I’ll leave the door open, kid.”

“Thanks Pock.”

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes, again, this time falling down your cheeks. The two of them get up from their chairs, their arms around yours. You squeeze their arms, focusing on this sensation as you brace yourself for your return home.

Therapy’s expensive, but violent threats and your best friends are free.

You jam your door into the key, making it back to Shiganshina a little close to midnight. You thank your stars for Eren’s soccer practices being early in the morning, which virtually guarantees he’ll already be fast asleep in his room.

You swing the door open, flicking on the hallway light as you silently move around. You find that the apartment is slightly messier than usual, Eren’s things strewn all across the room. You leave for three days and he thinks he owns the place.

As you move to put the dirty dishes in the sink, you hear Eren’s door swing open immediately, cursing yourself for choosing the loudest chore to complete. You should have just put his hoodies in the laundry or something.

“Y/N?”

His voice is hoarse, like he’s struggling to get the words out. You look up and find him inches away from you, his arms pressed into the chair. His green eyes are marked by a rim of pink, his shoulders slumped over.

“Hey Eren.”

He leans over, pressing his forehead against your shoulder and squeezing. His eyes are still half closed, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. You can smell his minty soap wafting off of him and lean back against the counter to distance yourself from it.

“Am I imagining you or are you really here?”

“Really here, Eren.”

You feel his hands tense on your shoulders, his fingers lightly pushing into your skin.

“I haven’t seen you in three days.”

“I went to see Porco and Pieck for the weekend.”

“It’s Tuesday. You could have at least let me know before you left.”

You hum in acknowledgement, still rinsing the dishes in the sink. You try to focus on the sensation, the warm water splashing against your wrists and the cold plates against your hands. You try to ignore his words, each one leaving stinging, burning, agony in your chest. You’d run back to Porco and Pieck’s now if he wasn’t standing right there. Even the smell of him is petrifying.

You feel him forehead get heavier on your shoulder, pushing farther into you.

“I was worried about you.”

Screw him. Screw him, his stupid words, his sweet smell, and his sad little face for making you feel this way. For wanting to reach forward and press yourself against him till he felt better. For him to wrap his arms around you, press featherlike kisses to your cheeks until you felt better too. You shrug him off, the movement making him stand up straight.

“Sorry Eren.”

“It’s okay. You wake up Porco and Pieck with your morning concert while you were there?”

You clench the plate pressed in your hands so hard it shatters, the glass spreading across the length sink.

“Screw you, Eren.”

“What?”

“I’m so sick of you making fun of me all the time. If something I do annoys you, you should just tell me instead of making passive aggressive comments.”

You watch the confusion spread across his face, as he leans over to take your hands out of your sink, where the shards were still lying against the drain. You pull your hands back, pressing them into your sides as you can feel your searing growing in your chest - in anger, irritation, hurt.

“Hey, what happened? You could never annoy me, peaches. I was just teasing you.”

You shake your head, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. No. You were not going to cry in front of him.

“Hey, hey. Talk to me. What happened?”

“You happened. I’m not something for you to laugh at Eren. I have feelings too, you know?”

You push past him, swiping your things off the counter, and slamming your door shut behind you. You feel bad about it, leaving him there when he was just trying to comfort you. But that’s just the thing. The hand that burned you can’t make it better, can it?

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nerdytyrantphantom · 1 year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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copperbadge · 1 year

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I am now home, fed, rested, and festooned in cats.

I had a lot of opinions about the case I was jury on, but I don’t know how much of it I’ll write up; I kept a kind of disjointed journal, but it’s not super coherent. Turns out if I don’t document my thoughts in real time I get bored of my own mind very quickly.

We were jury for a complicated medical civil case; we heard testimony from six doctors and two nurses and saw so much imaging. I’m sure the plaintiff suing the medical center had bigger concerns, and it’s not like you get detail with the internal imaging we had to examine, but it must have been rough on him that in the course of learning about his injuries, which were on his lower body, we also had to look at multiple images of his dick. It certainly startled me when I realized what we were seeing for the first time.

Most of the trial I was kind of okay with just keeping things to myself, writing and thinking about it privately, but I was dying inside that I couldn’t talk to you guys until now about the asshole juror I mentioned earlier. I had intended to use writing about him as a safety valve -- a sort of “Hey I can’t talk about the trial but wait till you hear what That Guy did today” -- but uh.

So I didn’t actually bully anyone off a jury, but for the rest of my life I am definitely going to claim I did.

The second day of trial, the bailiff grabbed me before trial and said the judge wanted to talk to me; I thought I was in trouble but it turns out that he wanted to know about my interactions with the other juror. Apparently the bailiff had seen me step in when he was pestering a fellow (female) juror the previous day. Later he got super aggressive with the bailiff herself, and I guess she saw me watching and gauging whether to step in then, too. (I didn’t end up getting involved because she handled him just fine and also she has a gun.)

The judge questioned me about what I’d seen and done and why I’d done it, and then informed me he was removing the juror from the case based on what I’d told him about the man’s behavior. I’m given to understand there may be a charge of contempt of court and a fine, but I’m not clear on the details and it appears I won’t have to get involved further.

But yeah, that’s why you didn’t hear any more about him. Realistically he was removed for harassment, but I like to think a small part of it is that I fucked with him so visibly and thoroughly that they knew “this jury box isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

Anyway, I’m glad it’s over. I would have liked to have spoken to the plaintiff and his wife after the verdict and expressed my sympathy for what they’d gone through, but I think perhaps understandably they didn’t want to linger. Besides, we found in his favor; he seemed pleased with the outcome and his wife was happy-crying as we left, so I expect the message was understood.

My job is not exactly mindless, but it also doesn’t usually involve paying hardcore attention to complex medical testimony for six hours a day. I am exhausted. Fortunately this weekend is relatively laid back -- my only commitment is to a Pride beach party tomorrow, and I’ve used some of my jury pay to purchase one of those pop-up shade tents, so the plan is to sit in the shade with snacks and beverages and be the Beach Dad.

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lavenderfluorite14 · 5 days

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A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Chapter 11: Fun

Summary: Astarion is surprised, in more ways than one, by the morning after. Rating/Warnings: PG, casual murder, poisoning, degradation/humiliation. Full tag list on AO3. Read on AO3. Chapter 10❤️‍🔥

Astarion wakes from his trance surprisingly refreshed. He stretches his nude body languidly, enjoying the brief flash of soreness in his muscles. Beside him, Tav still rests peacefully. He openly admires her, his eyes lingering on the bite marks he gave her last night. The mottled petals of the bruises lay so beautifully against her skin.

The morning sunlight streams through the canopy in golden ribbons as Astarion quietly rises, moving to bask in a nearby sunbeam. His mind goes blank as he lets the pleasure of it all wash over him. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time.

His plan is working. He’s safe and full. The morning sun feels so warm on his skin.

“Good morning,” Tav interrupts his musings, her voice gravelly with sleep.

“Good morning,” he replies. He’s loath to turn around, wanting to keep sunning himself, so he shifts slightly so he can watch her out of the corner of his eye. “You’re up early! I thought you’d be exhausted after last night.”

“Oh, I am,” Tav yawns. She arches her back in a deep stretch, her nipples pebbling in the morning chill. Light purple hickeys dot her breasts, each one a small reminder of their night together. They will take days to fade. “I quite enjoyed myself,” she admits, smiling at him. Astarion preens. Of course she did. All according to plan. Behind him, he can hear Tav get to her feet. “Did you have fun?” she asks, suddenly tentative.

“Of course, my darling,” Astarion answers, surprised by the question. “You’re a veritable feast.” “Good, I’m glad,” Tav says, relieved. “Towards the end, I was worried that something may have been wrong?” Astarion stiffens imperceptibly. “But I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to ruin the moment.” Astarion isn’t quite sure how to explain this.

“I was holding back a little, it’s true,” he reveals. “I didn’t want to lose control. Delicious as you were, I didn’t want to go too far.”

It’s the truth, it’s just not the whole truth. For the sake of the plan it was imperative that he perform correctly, and that meant remaining in control. But even though their tryst may have been tailored to Tav’s pleasure and tastes, he still enjoyed himself. Even holding back, he experienced more pleasure last night than he has in decades. But there is no need to talk about all that.

“Oh,” Tav says, obviously chewing on his words. It occurs to Astarion that he has never had to navigate a “morning after” before. Not like this. Is it always so awkward? So vulnerable?

“Now let’s go, we have a long day ahead of us,” he prompts. He turns towards the oak tree, where he had left his clothes, but stops when he sees the pensive expression on Tav’s face. “May I ask about your back first?” Tav asks.

Of course she had noticed it. Most of the time Astarion tries to forget it is even there. He considers brushing her off, burying his shame even deeper down. But a bigger, louder part inside of him howls for comfort.

“It’s a poem,” he explains, crossing over to the oak tree to gather up his shirt. He had left it carefully folded at the base of the trunk. “A gift from Cazador.” He pulls his shirt over his body, fussing with its fit. “He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas. He composed that one over the course of a night.” Tav just listens, letting him speak. “He made a lot of revisions as he went,” Astarion finishes, his voice soft and deep. He can’t quite keep the pain from those last few words.

“That’s awful,” Tav says quietly.

“Yes, well. ‘Awful’ does aptly describe Cazador,” he replies.

“Are you sure it’s a poem?” Tav asks.

“Of course I’m sure,” Astarion insists, not sure at all now. “That’s what Cazador said, as he was carving it into my back with his knife.” Cazador, who of course was a completely trustworthy source of information.

“It just doesn’t look like any poem I’ve ever seen before,” Tav presses. “Well, I didn’t say he was a good poet!” Astarion cries. “What do you mean, ‘it doesn’t look like any poem you’ve ever seen before?’”

“Well for starters, why did he write it in Infernal?” Tav asks.

“Infernal?“ Surprise jolts through him, settling in the pit of his stomach where it quickly curdles into fear. He has no idea what this means, but it can’t be anything good. Nothing with Cazador is.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change what happened.

“I-Who knows. The bastard was insane,” he says dismissively. “Now let’s go, before I regret my restraint last night,” he purrs, trying to pivot this conversation back into comfortable territory.

Tav looks at him thoughtfully before silently dressing and gathering up her things. His flirtation falls flat, ringing falsely even to his own ears. Its hollow echo follows them all the way back to camp, where they both quietly slip into their separate tents.

They smell the goblin camp before they see it. A miasma of filth blankets the base of the western mountains in a bouquet of smoke, sweat, death, and dung. And, of course, that one singular, arresting note: blood. Old and new, stale and fresh, rotten and delicious. It stinks to high heaven.

There’s a group of goblin warriors guarding a narrow entrance that passes for a gate. Tav pulls them all aside before they engage.

“Listen, you three,” she levels a serious glare at Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae’Zel. “I know the past few days have been….” She pauses, trying to choose her words carefully.

“Thoroughly frustrating?” Shadowheart remarks.

“The time of your life?,” Astarion offers, suggestively.

“Bad,” Lae’Zel declares.

“Bad,” Tav agrees. “And I know this group has had its challenges. But I don’t know what we’re going to find in there, and I don’t know what we are going have to do to make it out alive. Hopefully with Halsin, but we need to anticipate the worst. We can only make it through this together. I need the most vicious and ruthless fighters of our group to have each other’s backs today. So, can you put aside your differences to make this work?”

“Of course, darling. I’m a consummate professional,” Astarion vows.

“Affirmative,” Lae’Zel confirms.

“So long as nothing is said to me, I’ll be fine,” Shadowheart says, turning up her nose. Tav sighs.

“I’ll take it. Let’s go.”Tav is all business now, already forging ahead with the business of the day. Which is perfect, because Astarion has absolutely no desire to address the morning’s awkwardness. He’s trying to enjoy his victory, but something still feels off to him. Last night was a success, but there’s a nagging voice inside of him that says it was not enough. That he will need to do more to truly secure his place.

Lae’Zel, Shadowheart, and Astarion all watch as Tav bluffs her way past the goblin guard at the entrance. Just as they are about to pass, the guard stops her and points to a gelatinous turd at his feet. He gestures to it with his hand and pantomimes applying it to his face. Tav takes his suggestion, bending down to scoop up the excrement.

“Oh no,” Astarion whispers to their cohort.

“She wouldn’t,” Shadowheart whispers back, incredulous.

“She had better not,” Lae’Zel growls. Tav looks back at them over her shoulder. Their disgust for this is palpable, magnified in triplicate. Her eyes find Astarion’s.

And she winks.

Tav flings the poop directly in the goblin’s face, immediately souring any hope of peaceful entry. Astarion laughs a high, whooping laugh as he rushes to high ground. He easily snipes the goblins who try to call for help while Lae’Zel, Shadowheart, and Tav clear the remaining guard with relish and ease. So much for goblin security.

“Did you really think that I would do that?” Tav asks them as she leads the way inside. “Did you really think I would smear shit on my face?”

“I’m never quite sure what you are going to do next,” Astarion teases. Tav glares at him, playing at being insulted. Well, maybe she is a little insulted. “I just meant that you are full of surprises, darling.”

Tav hums a low, sarcastic note. “Good surprises, I hope?” she replies. There’s a hopeful glimmer in her eye that makes his stomach flutter.

“Naturally. Only the very best,” he promises, his tone low and provocative. Tav disguises her smile with a playful eye roll.

“If you debase yourself like that for a puny goblin I truly will leave,” Lae’Zel warns. Astarion and Shadowheart hesitate at her words, but Tav giggles as if it is a joke and not a serious threat.

“Noted, Lae’Zel. I will not smear poop on my face.”

Once through the gate, no one questions their presence. The goblin camp is utter chaos, and probably more surprisingly, filled with more than goblins. As they cross a crumbling bridge, they spot a familiar face on a makeshift dias across the way.

“Is that? Volo!?” Tav gasps. Volothamp Geddarm, noted writer, adventurer, and overall smarmy fuck, fumbles his way through a monologue of nonsense as a crowd of goblins jeers and pelts him with trash.

“With fragulous crown and sceptre abrade, Dror Ragzlin short work of the innkeeper made!”

“Bravo!!!” Tav cries, clapping loudly to drown out any booing. The goblins scowl, side-eyeing Tav with annoyance.

“Come on darling, that’s not the kind of show they want,” Astarion whispers. “They want to mock him.”

“Z’ose friends o’ yours?” A female goblin asks, her voice laden with suspicion.

“Of course not! No funny business here!” A flustered Volo laughs nervously. He shoots a quick glare at Tav.

“What are you doing? I’m busy here!” He says, shooing them away. He begins his screed again.

“Dror Ragzlin….Dror Ragzlin….” Volo tries his best, but he eventually trails off pathetically. A goblin chucks a cup at him, splashing Volo with the dregs of stale ale.

“If you aren’t gonna perform, you’re goin’ back in tha cage!” The goblin yells. Volo withers before her.

“Of course, ma’am,” he grovels. She shoves him harshly off the stage, much to the delight of the crowd.

“We have to help him!” Tav whispers to their group. Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae’Zel all share a look.

“We are not here for the annoying wizard. We are here for the druid, as you said,” Lae’Zel reminds her firmly.

“It’s true, I did say that. But, we will almost certainly have to fight to free him! Won’t that be fun?” Tav says. Lae’Zel considers this.

“I do not fight for ‘fun.’ I fight to win. I fight for the honor and glory of Vlaakith,” she announces.

“Tav, this is Volo you are talking about,” Shadowheart complains.

“The Volo. Maybe if we save him he will put us in his next book!”

“That’s precisely what I am afraid of,” Astarion says.

“But then we’ll be famous!” Tav smiles sweetly up at him.

“Make us rich and famous and then you have a deal,” Astarion counters.

“Lady of Sorrows, will you two stop flirting with each other? I don’t know if any of you have noticed, but this hellhole is a temple to Selûne,” Shadowheart spits out the name with vitriol. “Even if it’s appropriately defiled, l don’t want to be in a temple of the Moon Witch for longer than I have to be,” Shadowheart whines. Tav looks away shyly, chastened. But when the cleric turns away, Tav looks at him and pulls a face behind Shadowheart’s back. Astarion stifles a smirk.

Something between them is changing, which is perhaps why it feels off to him. They have always shared banter, but it seems as though she’s actively trying to make him laugh now. And if he makes a joke, he can depend on Tav to laugh, even in a wry sort of way. It’s flirtatious, but it’s fun.

Fun. Perhaps he should chase that feeling. After the revelation that there may be more to his scars than he knows, a little fun with his lover at the expense of some goblins sounds like just what he needs. Lover. The word sounds so serious. And yet it isn’t. Not really. It could mean a lot of things.

As they walk, Astarion takes in more of their surroundings. They seem to be in a courtyard, which has been hastily transformed into a feast hall. Meat of some kind roasts on an open spit while goblins fill their tankards from a nearby cauldron of liquor. Merchants haggle with customers while other goblins eat, sing, fight, and make merry in a haze of hedonism.

One voice emerges above the din of the camp, bragging about recent conquests. “Weaker than pixies, humans!” A goblin squawks. A gaggle of his comrades laugh at his harsh words. Even surrounded by admirers, the squat, scarred goblin still catches their group staring. “Wot are you lot doin’ ‘ere? ‘More pests?” he eyes them up and down. “You prolly think you rule the world,” he sneers.

“That’s not true. We don’t think we’re better than anyone,” Tav pipes up. Astarion catches Shadowheart’s eye, then Lae’Zel’s. He doesn’t need the tadpole to know they all firmly disagree with Tav’s assessment.

“Everyone says that, then they spit in our faces,” the goblin snarls. “But no more. Things’re changin’. We got the Absolute on our side.” He gives them an evil look, sizing Tav up. “Ya better learn yer place.” The hairs on the back of Astarion’s neck stand on end as the goblin advances towards them, a look of pure hatred and disdain on his face.

Cazador has given him that look many times, right before he made Astarion do something particularly ghastly.

“Go on. Kiss my foot,” He points to the ground, wiggling his toes. “Or I’ll wipe that nasty look right off yer pretty face.”

“End him or leave him. But do not grovel to this slug,” Lae’Zel says firmly.

“Just kiss the damn foot. Worse things have been shoved in your face lately.” Shadowheart is speaking to Tav, but she is looking pointedly at Astarion. Predictably, it seems the others noticed their rendezvous. He gives Shadowheart a quick, saucy wink. She scoffs but fails to completely conceal her smirk of amusement.

Astarion can see that the goblin is growing impatient. “Well, go on. Give him a nibble,” Astarion urges. It’s horrid work, but it’s one kiss and then she’ll be done. It will be easy and then they can be on their way. Tav looks at him with surprise. He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m waiting, princess” the goblin jeers. Tav rounds on him with a withering glare.“How about you kiss my foot, before I knock that smug look off your face,” Tav says. At the first hint of pushback, the goblin quickly changes his tune. “Look mate, piss off! Yer not welcome ‘ere,” the cretin says, puffing up his chest.” Tav plants her foot in front of him. “Kiss my foot. Now,” she orders, in a tone that demands obedience. Fear flickers across the goblin’s face as the crowd falls completely silent. Tav points down to her foot and a little thrill passes through Astarion as he watches the goblin sink to his knees. He places a surprisingly delicate kiss across the worn leather of Tav’s boot. “There, I done it,” he says, rising back to his feet.

Tav gives him a final once over as she turns away.

“Good,” Lae’Zel says approvingly. The crowd parts for them as they leave.

“Arrogant swine,” the goblin mutters after her, but Tav pays him no mind.

“Aren’t you the domineering tyrant,” Shadowheart teases.

“Only when I’m pushed,” Tav laughs. “I’m not wearing poop and I’m not kissing goblin feet,” she promises.

Astarion will do what he has to do to survive and he doesn’t begrudge others who do the same, but there’s just something about a person who refuses to be pushed around. Who wields power unapologetically. Astarion snakes his hand around her waist, pulling her close. “You continue to delight and surprise me, darling,” he whispers in her ear. Tav shudders against him and he gives her hip a quick squeeze, releasing her as he playfully retreats out of reach. Shadowheart coughs loudly.

“Lady of Sorrow guide us,” she prays pointedly. Her prayer is interrupted by a hoot of terror as a small, bedraggled clump of feathers darts past them and into a crowd of goblins, which parts for it as it scampers away. “What are they doing to that poor creature?” Shadowheart cries.

Astarion leans against a stone wall as Tav barges over, inserting herself into whatever that business is. He watches as she crouches down to speak softly to the frightened owlbear cub. Something has definitely shifted between them.

Funny. Clever. Cunning. Ambitious. Fierce. “It’s no use,” Tav says, returning. “I gave the cub my scent, but it can’t escape so long as the goblins have it trapped.”

“Well, then it sounds like we have some killing to do,” Astarion says. Lae’Zel grunts approvingly.

“I certainly wouldn’t mind killing some goblins to help that sweet cub,” Shadowheart agrees.

“Same here. But let’s try to find Halsin first. Once we’ve freed him, we can grab the owlbear on the way out.”

“We can still have some fun in the meantime though,” Astartion suggests. “What did you have in mind?” Tav asks. He opens his pack and flashes a bottle of Wyvern toxin at them. “We can cull some of the horde as we go. Watch this,” he grins toothily before swaggering away towards the vat of suspicious booze he had noticed earlier. He thumbs the cap of poison, concealing the flask in his sleeve. He loiters for a bit, watching as goblins meander past. He grabs a nearby discarded cup off of a table, covertly pouring the poison inside. He walks over to the punch bowl, pantomiming filling his cup as he slips the poison into the dubious punch. He takes a few fake sips from his glass as he walks back to the group.

“Battle is more honorable. But I suppose this is efficient,” Lae’Zel remarks. “That’s absolutely terrible” Tav admonishes. Astarion frowns in surprise, but Tav quickly drops the act. “I love it,” she says, smiling. “Now, let’s go, before they catch wise,” Astarion snickers, smiling back. The group beelines for the heavy doors to the temple, putting as much space between themselves and their crime as possible. “What will your evil little mind think of next?” Shadowheart says as they disappear deeper into danger.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion longfic #a taste of plums #astarion is bad at feelings #astarion x reader #the night shift #the goblin camp bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fic #astarion fluff #in a dark messed up kinda way

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