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doormatty3 · 8 months ago

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Blizzards and Beef Stew - Chapter 6 (Patrick Wilson x FOC)

Masterlist Ao3

Blizzards and Beef Stew Masterlink

Summary

[Patrick Wilson x Original Female Character] [Patrick Wilson x Original Character] Éléanor had always adored winter: its snow, its crisp air. But what she treasured most was retreating to her cosy cabin in the Swedish mountains. There, she could bake, sketch, and enjoy the solitude, far from the noise of the world. At least, that’s how it used to be—until a new neighbour arrived. Patrick Wilson was tall, charming, and with a smile that seemed to melt the coldest days. As they struck up a friendship, Éléanor found herself drawn to him, even though he remained oddly secretive about his last name and evasive about his work. But when a fierce snowstorm trapped them both, it became clear that Patrick might just be the warmth she needed in more ways than one. OR: Patrick uses his body to warm up Éléanor in the snowy mountains.

Wordcount: 5581

Éléanor woke up slowly, the soft light of morning filtering through the windows, casting a gentle glow across the room. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, before remembering where she was—Patrick’s couch, wrapped up in his blankets, the memory of last night still fresh in her mind. A mix of emotions stirred within her: contentment from the quiet intimacy they’d shared, a hint of embarrassment from how things had played out, and something deeper that left her feeling warm and a little vulnerable.

The storm still raged outside, the wind howling softly, but it wasn’t as brutal as the night before. Snow had piled up high around the cabin, turning the world outside into a quiet, white wilderness. Éléanor’s gaze drifted to the couch beside her, where Patrick still slept, his broad chest rising and falling with each breath.

For a moment, she let herself look at him—really look.

His shirtless body was sprawled comfortably under the blanket, and her eyes traced the lines of his muscles, now highlighted by the morning light creeping through the window. His chest was broader than she’d really noticed before, the pale skin dusted with a light covering of chest hair, something she hadn’t noticed in the dark last night. It curled softly, catching the flicker of firelight, giving him a rugged, masculine edge that made her pulse quicken.

His face was relaxed and peaceful, a stark contrast to the tension he’d carried last night. His lips were slightly parted, and his dark lashes cast faint shadows against his skin. Watching him like this, she felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the blankets or the fire.

His stubble had grown more noticeable, the coarse hairs along his jawline now thicker, and a shadow of a moustache was forming, giving him an almost roguish appearance. Flecks of grey dotted his sideburns, and as the light hit his face, it gave him a certain maturity that contrasted with his boyish grin.

She found it hard to tear her eyes away—so she didn’t.

Her eyes trailed down his body, taking in his flat, defined stomach and the curve of his hips. His boxers clung to him, riding low on his waist, leaving little to the imagination. The blanket had slipped just enough to reveal the curve of his muscular thighs, and Éléanor’s face flushed as she caught herself staring.

God, he was so attractive.

With a deep breath, she slipped out from under the covers, careful not to disturb him.

The wooden floor was cold under her feet as she padded towards the small kitchen, grabbing his sweater that lay discarded on the floor and pulling it over her head.

She wanted to keep busy, to distract herself from the tangle of emotions still swirling inside her. Pulling Patrick’s pullover tighter around her, she began to rummage through what little they had left, trying to piece together some kind of breakfast. Eggs, a few slices of bread, some cheese—it wasn’t much, but it would do.

As she stood by the counter, cracking the eggs into a bowl and slicing up the bread, her thoughts drifted back to the events of the night before. The way Patrick had panicked, the way they’d calmed each other down afterwards, cuddling in the firelight. She couldn’t help but feel grateful for the way they’d handled it. It could have been awkward—embarrassing even—but instead, it had made her feel closer to him in a way she hadn’t expected.

As she mixed the eggs in a bowl, trying to figure out how to cook it without a stove, she heard a soft shuffle behind her. Before she could turn around, Patrick’s arms slid around her waist, pulling her gently back against his chest.

She melted into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body pressing against her back. His chest hair brushed against the back of her neck as he leaned down, his chin resting on her head and his breath against her.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, vibrating against her skin. The sound sent a shiver down her spine.

Éléanor smiled, leaning back into him, enjoying the easy warmth between them. “Morning,” she replied softly, turning her head slightly to glance at him. His eyes were still heavy-lidded, his hair tousled from sleep, but there was a soft smile playing at his lips.

He tightened his arms around her just slightly, pulling her closer. “What are you doing?” he asked and stifled a yawn.

“Trying to make breakfast with what little we have,” she said with a soft laugh. “But the stove doesn’t work, and I have no idea how to cook this without it.”

Patrick chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring. “We’ll figure something out.” His gaze dropped to the bowl in her hands and then flicked back up with a crooked smile. “Or, we could just stick to bread and cheese. A low-maintenance breakfast.”

Éléanor laughed, the sound light and easy, and she felt the tension from the previous night fully dissolve. She caught herself blushing slightly, a bit embarrassed she hadn’t thought of that simple solution first. The eggs were wasted now, a casualty of their morning scramble, but she found she didn’t really mind.

“Honestly, that’s probably the best idea I’ve heard all morning,” she admitted, glancing over at the loaf of crusty bread and the wedge of cheese sitting on the counter. The simplicity of it, the way the fire crackled in the background, made her feel at ease. She let out a small sigh, comforted by the idea that life didn’t have to be perfect to be good.

Patrick’s smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth. “See? It’s the small things,” he said, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was so natural, so effortlessly caring, that it sent a tiny flutter through her chest.

She set the bowl down on the counter, the broken eggs an afterthought now, and reached for a knife to slice into the cheese. “Next time, I’m sticking to the basics,” she joked, her voice touched with a playful self-mockery and lingering embarrassment.

Patrick’s deep, warm laugh filled the small kitchen, wrapping around her like a favourite blanket. “No need to overthink it,” he said, his eyes finding hers, their familiar sparkle comforting. “It’s not really about the eggs or anything. It’s about mornings like this.”

A soft pause settled between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional pop of a burning log. His gaze drifted down, a playful smirk forming as he tilted his head. “You’re wearing my sweater,” he remarked, his voice low and teasing. The brush of his lips against the side of her neck caused her skin to erupt in goosebumps.

Éléanor felt the warmth rise in her cheeks, and she couldn’t help but grin as she turned just enough to catch his eyes. “You didn’t exactly leave me much choice,” she shot back, the humour in her voice softening the air between them. “You were hogging all the blankets.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin as he nuzzled closer. “Fair enough,” he admitted, his breath warm and unwavering. The nearness was intoxicating, a blend of comfort and tension that made her pulse quicken.

For a moment, they simply stood there, wrapped in the golden glow of the morning sun filtering through the window. His hands rested gently on her waist, and fingers splayed as if to anchor them both at that moment. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against her back. It was an odd mix of domesticity and heat, standing there in his oversized pullover while he held her, both of them pretending that the night before hadn’t changed everything.

Reluctantly, Patrick let his arms fall, stepping away with a small sigh as he moved towards the table where he stretched, his body unfolding in a way that drew her eyes once more. His boxers clung to him, highlighting the sculpted muscles of his thighs and the curve of his back in a way that had her biting her lip. She couldn’t help but notice the way they fit snugly over his ass—tight, firm, and perfectly shaped.

His back muscles rippled as he reached for the ceiling, the light catching on the ridges of his shoulders and the faint sheen of sweat that lingered from the warmth of the room.

Éléanor’s pulse quickened as she watched him, a smile tugging at her lips before she turned to grab the simple breakfast supplies. Patrick brought the bread and cheese from the counter and placed them on the small, weathered table. She followed, carrying two mismatched mugs of instant coffee—more than enough given the circumstances of the power outage.

Patrick leaned over to stoke the fire, the crackle growing stronger as new flames licked at the logs. The warm glow cast long, shifting shadows that danced across the cabin walls, contrasting with the cold, pearly light outside. Snowflakes continued to drift steadily down, adding to the thick blanket that muted all sound beyond the walls.

They settled into the nook beside the fire, knees touching beneath the table, sharing the kind of comfortable silence that spoke more than words could. The flickering light played on their faces, illuminating the curve of Patrick’s smile as he passed her a piece of bread. Their fingers brushed, and a warm spark passed between them.

“So... the storm’s still going,” Patrick finally said, glancing out the window, his eyes following the swirling snow that danced in chaotic patterns against the glass—a sea of white that refused to calm. “Looks like it’s not letting up anytime soon,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Could be worse,” Éléanor said with a teasing grin, her tone light, though her heart beat just a little faster. “We have food, warmth... and decent company.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, a smirk curving his lips in response. “Decent? That’s all I get?”

“Well,” she said, the blush rising to her cheeks as she held his gaze, her pulse fluttering under his scrutiny. “I didn’t want to inflate your ego too much.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and rich, the kind that made her stomach flip. Leaning back in his chair, he looked relaxed, but there was an unmistakable spark in his eyes, a playful warmth that drew her in. “More than decent,” he corrected, his voice dipping into a tone that was both teasing and sincere.

Éléanor took another sip of coffee, cradling the warm mug in her hands as she glanced out the window at the snow piling higher in an attempt to stop the fluttering in her chest. “You know … This is probably the most basic breakfast I’ve made in years,” Éléanor said, smiling over the rim of her mug as she took a sip of coffee.

Patrick’s eyes didn’t leave her. “Hey, it’s perfect,” he said, the simplicity of the moment not lost on him. “We’ve got everything we need right here.”

The fire’s warmth settled around them, casting a golden glow that made the cabin feel cocooned from the storm. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was heavy with unsaid things, a shared realisation that the world outside had ceased to matter for now.

“I guess we’re lucky we even have this,” Éléanor said softly, her voice trailing as she looked back at him, their faces close enough to feel the heat radiating between them. “It could’ve been much worse.”

Patrick nodded, but his eyes lingered on her, darkening with an emotion that made the room feel warmer still. “Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m glad it’s you I’m stuck here with. You’re... pretty decent company .” The playful curve of his lips softened, revealing a sincerity that wrapped around her like a blanket.

He leaned forward, the movement deliberate, and brushed his fingers across her hand. The touch sent a spark through her, lingering even as he set her empty mug aside with care. When he turned back to her, his expression had shifted, eyes intense, as if he were trying to memorise every detail.

Patrick’s hand lifted, moving slowly until it cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing the curve of her jaw with a tenderness that left her breathless. Éléanor leaned into his touch, her heartbeat thundering in her chest as their eyes met, the distance between them shrinking with every second.

Neither of them spoke.

Patrick moved first, leaning in and closing the small space between them. When their lips met, it was as if a spark had lit a fuse.

Éléanor’s hand slid up to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer with an unspoken plea. He responded in kind, his arm wrapping around her waist with a sure but tender touch.

In a seamless motion, they rose together, the movement natural and instinctive, their lips never breaking contact. Patrick guided her backwards, steps slow and steady but charged with intent as they made their way towards the couch.

Éléanor’s heart pounded in her chest, her body alive with sensation. Every brush of Patrick’s lips, every touch of his hand on her skin, sent sparks of warmth coursing through her, making her pulse race.

Patrick gently eased her down onto the couch, his body hovering over hers as their kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, more desperate.

The space between them seemed to evaporate as his hands moved over her back, tracing her curves with a mix of tenderness and raw need. His touch was everywhere —gentle but commanding, igniting a fire that blazed hotter with each passing second.

Éléanor’s fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, craving more. She felt like she was burning from the inside, her skin tingling with a fierce energy, like that fuse they had lit had finally exploded.

There was nothing else—just him.

They broke the kiss for just a moment, both of them breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together as they tried to catch their breath. Patrick’s hands were still on her waist, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin, the simple touch sending waves of heat through her, stoking the fire that was already burning inside her.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was low, husky, each word a quiet rumble that made her heart race. His breath was warm against her lips, his question lingering between them.

Éléanor smiled, her heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and certainty. She reached up, her hand cupping his cheek, her thumb grazing the stubble along his jaw as she looked into his eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady, filled with the surety she felt at that moment. “I’m sure.”

With that, Patrick’s lips were on hers again, the kiss deeper this time, more confident. His hand slid under her sweater, his fingers brushing against her bare skin. Éléanor gasped into his mouth, arching her back as she pressed herself closer to him, her body responding to his every touch.

Patrick slowly began to lift the fabric, his hands warm and steady. Éléanor shifted beneath him, helping him peel it away, her skin instantly exposed to the cool air of the cabin, leaving her in only her panties.

But before she could feel the cold, Patrick was there, his hands on her bare waist, his mouth covering hers in another slow, deep kiss. Before he lowered himself, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. His lips moved with a deliberate slowness, trailing down the sensitive skin of her neck and over her chest, each kiss drawing a soft gasp from Éléanor.

She let her hands wander across his broad shoulders, feeling the strength in him as he held her close, his body warm against hers. His lips brushed over the swell of her breasts, his breath teasing against her skin before he dipped his head lower, leaving a trail of heated kisses as he moved down her body.

The firelight flickered, casting golden shadows across the room, making the moment feel all the more intimate, as if they were the only two people in the world.

Patrick’s hands traced the curve of her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed just above the waistband of her panties, his breath warm against her skin. Éléanor’s breath hitched as his lips lingered there, his touch sending waves of pleasure through her.

He kissed his way back up, capturing her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that left her breathless, his hands roaming over her sides. Then, with a smooth, almost teasing motion, he tugged at her underwear again before sliding them down and tossing them aside.

She felt the cold air on her overheated, exposed skin, and her nerves thrummed in arousal.

Éléanor’s hands slid down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under her palms, her fingers grazing the elastic of his boxers. She felt his hard cock through the thin layer of fabric and was desperate to feel him, to continue what they had started yesterday.

So she pushed his boxers down, leaving them both completely exposed, their bodies pressed together, skin against skin.

Patrick looked down at Éléanor in the soft morning light, his features softened by the glow filtering through the windows. The shadows from the slowly burning fire danced across his sharp jawline, but it was the intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered at that moment, that made Éléanor feel like she was melting beneath him.

His chest, broad and strong, rose and fell with steady breaths, but the tension in his muscles betrayed the restraint he was barely holding onto.

Éléanor’s eyes dropped to his body, taking in the sight of him, her breath catching in her throat. He was perfect—every inch of him strong and toned, his cock hard and thick, standing proudly against his abdomen. She reached out, her hand wrapping around him, her fingers brushing over his length. Patrick let out a low groan, his hips pushing forward slightly into her hand as he closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the sensation.

But he didn’t let her linger there long.

His fingers traced lightly over her skin, starting at her collarbone and slowly moving downward, exploring her curves as if committing every inch of her to memory. Éléanor shivered at the warmth of his touch, her body responding to the slow burn of his attention before her mind could even catch up.

His hands, big and slightly rough, slid over her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples with just enough pressure to make her gasp.

Patrick’s mouth followed, placing soft kisses along her collarbone, then lower, his lips brushing over her chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Éléanor arched into him, her breath coming faster as his lips closed around her nipple, his hand still gently kneading the other breast.

The sensation was overwhelming—his warmth against the cool air of the cabin, the firelight flickering beside them, and the intimacy of his touch sending jolts of pleasure through her.

Éléanor’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her body instinctively moving with his as he kissed and touched her with growing intensity. His hands roamed lower, brushing over her stomach and down to her hips, and then, with a firm but gentle grip, he guided her legs apart. The warmth of his fingers, firm but gentle, made her hips lift involuntarily, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Without a word, he slid his hand between her legs, his fingers finding her cunt wet.

He paused for just a second, letting the sensation sink in for both of them. “Éléanor,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his fingers brushing over her sex with a soft touch, barely parting the netherlips but enough to feel her wetness.

Patrick’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and a low groan rumbled from his chest as he watched Éléanor gasping and her body trembling under his touch.

He slipped two of his thick, strong fingers into her cunt, pressing them in deep and curling them just enough to find that sensitive spot within her, the one that made her back arch and her breath catch in her throat.

Éléanor moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders, her body reacting to every movement he made. The way his fingers curled inside her and the steady pressure he applied sent wave after wave of desire through her.

Patrick watched her closely, his gaze locked on her face as he continued to finger her with that perfect rhythm, his thumb now brushing over her clit in slow, firm circles. The pleasure was instantaneous, sharp, her hips instinctively lifting to meet his hand. Éléanor moaned into his mouth, her body trembling as he played her like an instrument he knew too well.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Patrick groaned, his voice barely a whisper, full of awe and lust. His thumb pressed against her clit again, his fingers moving in rhythm with the growing tension between them. Éléanor’s body responded instantly, tightening around him, her hands gripping his shoulders tighter, nails digging into his skin as she urged him on.

“Patrick…” she gasped, barely able to form words, her hips grinding against his hand as her body moved in sync with his. His fingers pumped inside her, slow but steady, the high building with each thrust. She felt his cock, hard and hot, pressing against her thigh as his thumb continued its relentless work on her clit, sending her closer and closer to the edge.

He could feel it too—the way her body tensed and quivered beneath him, the growing wetness that coated his fingers as he stroked her deeply, curling his fingers inside her just to hear that sweet gasp leave her lips. The sensation of her slick heat gripping him made his cock ache with need, and the way her body responded to his touch only heightened his arousal.

Éléanor’s hips bucked against his hand, her moans growing louder as she felt herself teetering on the brink. Patrick’s fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing firmly against her clit, sending her spiralling into a frenzy of pleasure. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she clung to him, her body trembling under the overwhelming sensation.

Éléanor’s hand shot up, tangling in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that was anything but gentle. Her lips moved urgently against his, her breath hot and uneven as she kissed him deeply, swallowing his groans of pleasure. She was so close, her body strung tight, every nerve on fire as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm.

And then he stopped.

He withdrew his fingers slightly, his thumb easing its pressure, leaving her right at the precipice but holding her there, not letting her fall. Éléanor let out a frustrated gasp, her body aching for release as she looked up at him in confusion.

He cupped her face with his now damp fingers, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he kissed her again, softer this time, more controlled. “Not yet,” he whispered against her lips, his voice thick with desire but laced with restraint. He was holding back, savouring every moment, wanting to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible.

Éléanor’s body throbbed with need, every nerve alight with the desire for more, but as Patrick kissed her again, slower, deeper, she melted into him, letting herself get lost in the heat of the moment.

He started to move his fingers inside her again, slow and teasing.

She needed more, her hips rolling against his hand as she sought relief from the unbearable tension building inside her. But Patrick was in control now, his lips ghosting over her neck, the soft, teasing brush of his mouth making her moan with frustration and desire.

“Patrick, please…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, breathless with need.

He lifted his head, his dark, hungry eyes meeting hers.

A smile played at the corner of his lips, and he kissed her again, this time slower, deeper, letting her feel the heat of him. His free hand traced up her side, his fingers brushing over her bare breast, teasing the sensitive skin. Éléanor gasped into his mouth as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb rolling over her nipple again, making it peak under his touch.

Her body responded to every move he made, a slow, torturous build of pleasure that had her squirming beneath him. Patrick broke the kiss, his lips moving to her jawline, trailing hot kisses down her neck and over her collarbone. He paused at her breast, his tongue flicking over her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking gently.

Éléanor cried out, her back arching, her body pressing closer to him as the sensation of his mouth on her breast and his fingers inside her drove her crazy. The combination of his touch, his lips, and the deliberate, slow pace was overwhelming, every nerve in her body alive and burning for him.

Patrick’s fingers curled inside her again, pressing against that spot deep within her, his thumb rubbing slow circles over her clit. Éléanor’s breath hitched, her entire body tensing as the pleasure surged through her in waves. She could feel the edge approaching again, that delicious tightness in her core building, but Patrick kept her on the brink again .

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back up to her lips, and she kissed him with a fierce intensity, her frustration and desire pouring into the kiss. Patrick groaned into her mouth, his own need evident as he pressed his hips against her, his hard cock rubbing against her thigh, spreading precum on her skin.

“Patrick… I need you,” Éléanor murmured, her voice a breathless plea against his lips, her desperation raw and unguarded.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hand still working her slowly. His eyes darkened at her words, the intensity in them almost too much to bear. He kissed her again, rougher this time, before pulling his hand away, leaving her empty and aching for more.

Patrick’s fingers paused for a moment as he looked into Éléanor’s eyes, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. He pulled back slightly, the desire still strong between them, but his gaze softened, filled with a mix of hunger and care.

“I should grab a condom,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, breaking the tension just enough to pull them both back to reality, and the memory of last night flickered in his eyes.

Éléanor nodded, her chest still rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath. “Yes… please,” she whispered, her body already aching for him to return, the intensity of the moment too much to wait.

Patrick reached for his wallet on the side table, his mouth curving in a small, knowing smile as he pulled out the condom, seemingly having placed it there sometime after last night, perhaps in a mix of preparation and nerves.

Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist as she spoke softly, “Let me…”

Patrick shook his head gently, his thumb grazing her knuckles as he held her gaze, his expression soft yet resolute. His eyes stayed on hers as he shook his head, his voice low and soothing. “No, it’s fine—I’ll do it. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it together if you touch my dick now.”

She watched as his fingers deftly tore open the small packet, the tearing sound loud in the quiet room. His fingers brushed her thigh as he rolled the condom over his hard cock. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sight of him making her thighs clench together in anticipation.

Patrick leaned forward again, his body pressing into hers, the warmth of his skin seeping into her. His lips found hers, slow and deliberate. His hand, rough yet gentle, slid down her side, tracing the curve of her waist before his fingers brushed over the sensitive skin between her legs.

Éléanor gasped into his mouth, her hips instinctively arching towards his touch as his fingers explored her wet sex once more. He teased her, his thumb circling her clit with agonising slowness while his fingers slipped inside her, stretching her just enough to remind her of how much she needed him.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down her spine. Every inch of her body responded to him, the heat between them growing unbearable, her need for him nearly overwhelming.

Patrick could feel it, too, the way her body clenched around his fingers, her slick heat making his head spin. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating between them, as he moved his hand to guide his cock to her entrance.

She moaned into his mouth, her body trembling with need. Patrick’s cock brushed against her again, the condom in place, and this time there was no hesitation—not like last night. His hand gripped her thigh, pulling her leg up to wrap around his waist as he slowly pushed inside her.

Éléanor’s sharp intake of breath echoed in the room as her body responded to the delicious stretch, her nails digging into his back as she pulled him closer. Patrick’s heart raced, his body trembling as he fought to maintain control, the feeling of her slick heat surrounding him inch by inch.

The sensation of him filling her, stretching her slowly, was everything she had been craving and everything she didn’t know she was craving.

“God… you feel incredible,” he breathed, his forehead resting against hers as he pushed deeper, his cock sinking into her with slow, measured thrusts. He could feel every pulse of her body, every tremor as her walls gripped him tighter.

Her body responded instantly, arching up to meet him, desperate for more. But Patrick moved with deliberate care, easing into her slowly. Filling her inch by inch until he was fully inside her. He groaned against her neck, his breath ragged as he held himself still for a moment, letting her adjust to the feeling of him.

Éléanor’s hips rolled instinctively, urging him deeper, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Patrick, move,” she whispered, her voice laced with need as her legs wrapped around his waist. She was losing herself in the feeling of him, the fullness, the weight, the stretch.

He started slow, his thrusts gentle but deep, each one sending ripples of pleasure through them both. Patrick could feel the way her body responded to him, the soft moans escaping her lips driving him wild.

As his pace quickened, he kissed her again, hard and desperate. His hands roamed over her body, one cupping her breast, kneading gently, while the other slipped between them, his fingers finding her clit again.

Éléanor gasped loudly, her body trembling beneath him as he worked her with expert precision, his cock moving in sync with his fingers. Every thrust, every touch, brought her closer to the edge, and Patrick could feel her body tightening around him, her breath coming faster, her moans louder.

He couldn’t hold back anymore, the pressure inside him building as he lost himself in the moment.

His hips moved with a deep, driving rhythm, each thrust intensifying as his fingers circled her clit with relentless precision. Éléanor’s breath hitched, her gasps quickening as her body arched beneath him, her soft cries filling the room.

“Patrick… I—I’m so close,” she whispered, her voice laced with desperate need, her body tightening around him as she felt the pressure mounting, ready to break.

Patrick groaned in response, his own control fraying as his movements became more urgent, his fingers working her with precision. He kissed her again, his lips crashing against hers as the tension in her body snapped with a particularly rough flick of his finger on her clit.

Éléanor’s orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body arching off the couch as her walls clenched around him. She gasped his name, her voice trembling with the intensity of her release, her fingers gripping his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Patrick followed her, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With a final deep thrust, he groaned her name, his body shuddering as he came, the condom filling with his cum. His body collapsed against hers, both of them breathless and spent.

For a few moments, neither of them moved. The only sound in the room was their soft, shared breaths and the crackling of the fire nearby. Patrick slowly pulled out, carefully removing the condom and tossing it aside before settling back down beside her.

They lay in a comfortable silence, their bodies entwined as the room slowly settled around them. The soft, golden morning light spilt in through the windows, warming the space as they stayed close, wrapped in each other’s presence. Patrick’s fingers traced gentle, soothing patterns on her arm, and Éléanor let herself sink into the comfort of his steady heartbeat beneath her hand.

She felt like she could stay here forever, wrapped in this quiet, unhurried happiness.

26 notes · View notes

tawneybel · 1 year ago

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Note: “Imagine how greedy Ross Humboldt gets over your body when he can tell you’re pregnant with multiples.” Contains sex pollen, too.

It was late by less than two weeks. How Mr. Humboldt knew he was a father again was beyond you. Eight days. A week and a day since he’d successfully inseminated you. Which Ross claimed would result in “a whole brood of ______-Humboldts!”

A father again and again and…

The lush grassland wanted to share its fecundity with its guests. Or subjects. Whatever it deemed you two. You weren’t a member of the Church of the Black Rock. Ross was. Initially, you didn’t like calling him by his first name. Who would, in your circumstances? Pretending he was still married to Natalie didn’t help. (You’d tried.) “Till death do we part” and all that. A normal union whose vows might not apply to Ross’s new marriage.

“I haven’t even taken a test.”

“But you are,” Ross insisted with a smile. Ignoring the ridiculousness of your statement. There were no pharmacies out here.

Dodging his caresses wasn’t an option now.

Not that you wanted to. There wasn’t much else to do. A bag of books to fight ennui. Some convenience store fare. Your leash was shorter than ever after the escape. Which had been too easy. Ross slept like the dead after screwing. Maybe the Tall Grass thought it tamed you. Or it liked to tease. A yawning path tempted you out of the maze. The church remained fixed even as you jumped up one, two, three, four times. Heart thumping, you made a break for it. Thankful that with everything/-one lost, your keys remained pocketed.

Find a station. No, not a police station. A gas station. Nobody rational will believe me. Becky, Cal, Tobin, Travis. All gone. Whether from the mortal plane or just the Grass, who knows? And what plane is the Tall Grass the entry for, anyway? Fairyland, limbo, some fresh hellscape? Okay, found a station.

After that, you were on autopilot. Waking up in the passenger seat to Ross racing back down the way you came. “Racing” was a bit strong. Just going a bit above the speed limit. Nothing a typical suburban dad wouldn’t do on the way to a beguiling destination.

“Picked up some groceries while you were out.”

It wasn’t stated like a question. You had one or a dozen, but swallowed your queries. The Tall Grass wasn’t so isolated. Not like Ross and me and babies makes one, two, three… It shouldn’t have been able to reach out that far. Pollen, maybe. Your new family was rooted here. The idea of rhizomes reaching out miles upon miles, seeking your footfalls… Because you had been barefoot. Shoes long lost to the Grass during Ross’s wooing. You hoped the convenience store clerk didn’t notice. She either hadn’t or was too polite to say anything. Too bad there hadn’t been a drive-through.

“Good,” Ross continued, “you’re going to need all the nutrients you can get. Need to keep your strength up. For all the fucking.”

A giggle bolted from your mouth. The sky was darkening but you spotted a Plymouth Fury. So you were entering the Tall Grass where you’d exited. For the last time, probably.

“And the birthing, of course. I’ll help with that.”

“Like you did with Becky?”

It just slipped out. Ross smoothly parked your vehicle. For a wild second, you imagined plowing through the vegetation. Mowing it down. Ripping open packs of snacks, scattering, and stomping on them. Their saltiness ensuring nothing green grew there ever again as you smooshed them into the ground.

“Now, ______,” Ross chastised, rolling down your window. Like you needed fresh air. “I’m not a certified midwife, but we’re going to have help. I want our babies to be safe and healthy just as much as you do.”

His tone made you feel childish. Throwing a temper tantrum wasn’t going to help. Your face flushed further as he poked at your panties.

“Look, all those hormones aren’t just making you wet. They’re also giving you nesting instincts.”

“They are?” you asked, snapping your eyes away from the Grass. The blades of which sought you out like sunlight. If it wasn’t dusk, you might have noticed the large clumps of pollen wafting through the air. If it wasn’t dusk, and Ross hadn’t been massaging you through your underwear.

You shut your eyes and inhaled.

“Let me do the errands in the future, okay?”

“Ross, someone might see usssss.” Your plea quickly turned into a hiss of pleasure. He’d pulled aside the soaked cotton to reveal your warm cunt. His thumb teased your slit, making you try to push yourself onto it. Mr. Humboldt’s current favorite hole of yours leaked onto his hands.

“We got a gusher!”

Your thighs tried to rub together, but your spouse quickly withdrew his thumb before prying apart both soft limbs.

“Uh uh. Take your skirt off.”

You nodded, obediently unbuttoning. However, the skirt was actually part of a dress with a differently patterned top and bottom. As soon as Ross caught sight of your soon-to-be swollen breasts, the last thread of his restraint unraveled.

“Fuck, I’m so greedy for your body.”

His face burrowed into your tits, supported by a front-fastening bra. Once unlocked, they sprang free, ready to get sucked by Ross for nine months straight. And afterwards. His hands stayed on your legs. Squeezing them tighter and tighter, till you cried out. Wanting to suckle each nipple, but unsure which to start on, he nuzzled the cleft of your breasts.

“Twins mean double the milk. And quads-!”

He groaned, unable to resist your now yielding thighs. Or your puffy nips or the fact you had an unfilled gap hot and dripping. You hadn’t been penetrated for almost half a day, which was a problem. Unless asleep, Ross knew you needed at least a couple fingers inside your warm hole. Preferably a cock, though. He needed to be stretching you out for childbirth. Make it feel almost weird not to have something inside you.��

(The fact that’s not how vaginae worked wouldn’t occur until post-nut clarity. Ross was just that psyched for you to deliver quadruplets.)

If your nethers got too sore, he’d love to sandwich himself between plump tits. Plumpening tits.

“Ross, take me inside the grass.”

Your husband complied, leading you by the waist. The tips of your nips hardened, reaching out for the Grass’s blades. Ross matched your smile as the greenery encased you both. Looking forward to ______’s birth canal getting plugged, overflowing with cum, bearing brood after brood after brood. You were spot on about the Tall Grass’s desire to share its fecundity. About making Mr. Humboldt’s length swell only at the thought of worshiping your arable body.

Letting you go had been a fun experiment. Ross would be in charge of grocery shopping from now on, though. It didn’t need you to touch the Rock. Not yet. Not with its pollen keeping you compliant and, more importantly, aroused.

The newlyweds were enjoying their stroll to the center of the contiguous United States. You absentmindedly fingered your coochie, prepping it for more breeding, while one of Ross’s hands slid up to work a nipple.

Yeah, you were going to enjoy maternity.

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yasminlover02 · 20 days ago

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What a beautiful little ass 😍😍

PATRICK WILSON Passengers (2008)

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inejqhafa · 1 year ago

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three tickets to challengers

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sthefanywilson7305 · 24 days ago

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WHAT A HOT MAN... 😍🛐🍷🫦✨

WHAT A HOT MAN!! Patrick definitely made my days when he showed up yesterday like this... OMG, look at those strong arms, look at those thighs... How delicious, how tasty 🫦🍷✨

I'm completely in love with this video 😍😍 I've always wanted to see Patrick training like this, he is so amazing and strong💪✨ By the way, if anyone has more videos of him training and can send them to me, I would love it🥰🥰☺️☺️✨✨

👁️🫦👁️

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doormatty3 · 2 months ago

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Blizzards and Beef Stew - Chapter 11 (Patrick Wilson x FOC)

Masterlist Ao3

Blizzards and Beef Stew Masterlink

Summary

Wordcount: 5601

A/N: So I've finished writing the fanfic! So if you've got requests for the next one lemme know.

The air was thick with the crisp bite of winter, and each breath Éléanor took felt sharp and refreshing. The snow underfoot crunched with a satisfying sound as she moved, leaving a path of shallow footprints that led to the half-finished snowman. The clearing, surrounded by tall evergreens that seemed to bow under the weight of the snow, felt like their own private world, untouched and serene.

Éléanor glanced at Patrick as he rolled the final ball of snow, muscles flexing beneath his thick jacket with each movement. Stray flakes clung to his stubbled jawline, and his breath came in quick puffs, visible against the pale backdrop. His eyes found hers, and a playful smirk spread across his face as he caught her watching.

“Caught you staring,” he teased, his voice warm with mischief. His eyes sparkled with mischief beneath the knitted beanie that sat slightly askew on his head, a lock of hair falling across his forehead.

“Maybe I was admiring your snowball-rolling technique,” Éléanor shot back, unable to suppress a grin. She tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach as Patrick’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” he said, stepping closer with the snowball balanced between his hands. The light in his eyes danced, a teasing glimmer that made her want to both laugh and shiver.

“Just put the snowball on top,” Éléanor retorted, rolling her eyes but stepping aside to give him room.

Patrick chuckled, the deep, warm sound filling the quiet clearing. “This is starting to look more like a snow titan than a snowman,” he replied, rolling his snowball a bit closer. It was already nearly half his height, and the effort had painted a slight flush on his cheeks.

Éléanor burst into laughter again and reached out to give his snowball a playful nudge. “Hey, it’s winter. If we’re going to make a snowman, we might as well make one the gods would envy.”

Patrick’s lips twitched as he fought back a wider smile. “Well, I guess if anyone could create a snowman to rival the gods, it’d be you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Éléanor said, raising her eyebrows at him, though her smile softened the words.

She watched as he positioned it carefully, the top of their snowman now towering over them. For a moment, it wobbled, and both of them reached out instinctively to steady it. Their hands brushed, lingering just a second longer than necessary, and Éléanor felt a tingle travel up her arm.

“Close one,” he said, eyes twinkling as he glanced at her. “We almost lost the snow-monster before it even came to life.”

Éléanor’s eyes met his, their faces just inches apart. For a moment, she was acutely aware of the cold biting at her cheeks and the warmth that radiated from him. She smirked, trying to shake off the butterflies in her stomach. “Teamwork makes the dream work,” she quipped, giving him a nudge with her elbow.

Patrick shook his head, the smile never leaving his face. “You and your sayings,” he said, stepping back to take in their progress. “All right, what’s next? Arms, eyes, nose?”

Éléanor laughed, tilting her head thoughtfully as she scanned the area. “Well, I didn’t exactly pack snowman accessories, but I think we can improvise. Do you have any ideas, or are you just here for moral support?”

Patrick scoffed, feigning offence. “Excuse me, I am the snowman master,” he said, reaching down to pick up two sturdy twigs for arms. He poked them into the middle snowball, positioning them so they jutted out at awkward angles. “See? Artistic genius.”

Éléanor giggled, looking at the lopsided limbs. “Oh, it’s a masterpiece, all right. Picasso would be jealous.”

Patrick pointed to his eyes in an exaggerated gesture, then to Éléanor. “I saw that smirk,” he teased. “But wait, it’s missing something.” He glanced around and spotted a small cluster of smooth stones near the porch, half-buried in the snow. He grabbed them and arranged them in a crooked smile on the snowman’s face, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Now it’s perfect.”

Éléanor stepped back, too, hands on her hips as she surveyed their creation. It was tall, slightly uneven, with a scarf that she’d sacrificed from her own neck wrapped snugly around it. Patrick took off his beanie and placed it on the snowman’s head with a flourish, revealing his tousled hair to the cold air.

“There,” he said, brushing his hands together and giving Éléanor a sidelong glance. “What do you think?”

“I think we’ve created something legendary,” she replied, meeting his gaze with a grin. “But now you’re going to freeze without your hat.”

Patrick shrugged the corners of his mouth lifting. “It’s a fair trade. Besides, I’ve got you to warm me up.”

Éléanor felt her cheeks heat up, and not from the cold. She gave him a light shove. “Smooth, Patrick. Very smooth.”

Before she could step back, Patrick caught her hand, pulling her close as he took a playful step forward. “Is it working?” he whispered, his eyes holding hers.

A shiver ran through Éléanor, but it wasn’t from the chill. “Maybe,” she whispered back, a smile curving her lips.

Patrick chuckled, lowering his forehead until it rested gently against hers. The snow fell around them in quiet, soft flakes, settling in their hair and on their shoulders. “Good enough for me,” he said softly.

He glanced down at her, his face only a few inches from hers now. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Éléanor’s breath caught, and she nodded. “Go on.”

“I’m not really worried about how good our snowman is,” he said, stepping close enough that she could see the tiny flecks of green in his otherwise blue eyes. “I’m more interested in moments like this.”

A smile broke across her face despite the rapid thud of her heart as she felt herself blush.

His arms circled her waist, the chill of his gloves a stark contrast to the warmth of his embrace. He pulled her close, and she rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the layers of his jacket.

When Patrick finally spoke again, his voice was low, vibrating through his chest and into her cheek. “We should go inside before we freeze,” he murmured, though he made no move to let her go.

“Yeah,” she agreed, closing her eyes briefly, committing the feel of his embrace to memory. “We should.”

Patrick’s arm remained wrapped around Éléanor’s waist as they made their way back towards the cabin. Just as they reached the porch, Patrick paused and turned to look at Éléanor, his eyes lighting up with an idea.

“Hold on,” he said, fishing his phone out of his pocket with his free hand. He held it up, eyes flicking between the screen and her. “We need to capture this moment.”

Éléanor laughed softly, brushing snowflakes from her hair. “A picture? Are you sure? I’m probably covered in snow…” she teased, but a smile tugged at her lips.

“That’s exactly why it’s perfect,” Patrick said, nudging her playfully with his shoulder. He lifted his phone, holding it out at arm’s length. “Come here.”

She stepped closer, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, so the heat from him could seep into her. Éléanor tilted her face up to the camera, feeling a mix of shyness and giddy warmth that made her cheeks flush deeper.

Patrick glanced at her and grinned, the expression so natural and unguarded that it made her heart flutter. “Ready?” he asked, his voice low, the word coloured by the cold.

“Ready,” she whispered.

They both smiled at the lens, and Patrick pressed the button. The click of the camera was followed by a slight pause before he turned the screen towards her. The photo showed them with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, hair dusted with snow, and a slightly lopsided snowman in the background.

Éléanor let out a laugh as she looked at the picture. “I love it,” she admitted, the honesty slipping out before she could think to stop it.

Patrick’s eyes softened as he looked at her, then back at the photo. “Me too,” he said. His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than the picture. “It’s one for the memory books.”

He saved the photo and slipped the phone back into his pocket, but not before taking one more glance at it. Then, with a playful smirk, he took her hand and led her into the cabin. The warmth from the fire enveloped them as they stepped inside, shutting out the crisp edge of the winter air.

As they shed their layers and hung up their coats, Patrick’s hand found its way back to hers. He squeezed it gently, his blue eyes twinkling with the unspoken understanding they shared. “Hot chocolate?” he suggested.

Éléanor’s smile widened. “Only if we add marshmallows.”

“Deal,” Patrick agreed, pulling her towards the kitchen as they laughed.

He pulled out a pot and began to heat milk on the stove while Éléanor rummaged through the cabinets for the jar of marshmallows. The cosy glow from the fire crackled behind them, casting golden hues across the room as it melted away any lingering chill from outside.

“Found them!” Éléanor said triumphantly, lifting the jar like a prize. She turned to see Patrick watching her, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“Excellent. Can’t have hot chocolate without marshmallows.” He moved to the cupboard and brought out two mismatched mugs, setting them on the counter. The scent of warming milk filled the air, rich and inviting. Patrick grabbed a tin of cocoa and spooned generous amounts into each mug.

Éléanor stepped beside him, adding a handful of marshmallows to each cup. “One for me, one for you, and... two for me,” she said with a giggle, popping one into her mouth. The soft, sweet texture melted on her tongue, and she playfully offered one to Patrick.

He leaned in, taking it from her fingers, his eyes locked on hers as he chewed, a playful gleam in his expression. “Fair trade,” he murmured.

They stood close, shoulders touching as the milk steamed. Patrick poured it carefully, the chocolate swirling and blending, creating a deep, velvety brown. He stirred each mug, handed one to Éléanor, and lifted his in a mock toast. “To snowmen, selfies, and unfairly distributed marshmallows,” he said with a wink.

Éléanor laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “And to mornings like this,” she added, meeting his gaze as they clinked their mugs together.

They carried their drinks over to the couch, sitting close enough that their legs brushed. Éléanor curled her feet up beneath her and sipped her hot chocolate, the warmth seeping through her, spreading outward from her chest.

Patrick took a sip of his own drink, then turned to her, studying her face for a moment. “I didn’t think a day in the snow could be this perfect,” he said softly.

Éléanor’s cheeks warmed at the sincerity in his voice. She glanced out the window where the snow still fell, the world outside muted and peaceful. “Me neither,” she admitted. There was a comfort in the quiet between them, the shared warmth of the fire and the simplicity of being together without needing to fill the space with words.

After a moment, Patrick set his mug down and reached for his phone. “That picture... I’m sending it to you,” he said, a boyish grin breaking across his face. “So you can remember this day.”

Éléanor’s heart skipped a beat as her phone vibrated with the new message. She opened it and smiled at the image—his arm around her, both of them laughing, the snowman crookedly standing guard in the background. It was imperfect and wonderful.

Patrick’s gaze lingered on her, and he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Next time we’re out there, we’ll have to give him a name,” he said, breaking the quiet spell with a soft chuckle.

Éléanor turned to him, her smile matching his. “Next time? Does that mean we’re making this a tradition?”

Patrick’s eyes softened, a mixture of warmth and intent. “Yeah,” he said, leaning in closer until his face was just a breath away from hers. “I think we should.”

Patrick’s gaze held hers for a moment, his eyes reflecting the flickering light from the fire. The world seemed to pause as he closed the distance between them. His lips were soft and warm, tasting faintly of cocoa. The kiss deepened slowly, savouring the moment, as if they had all the time in the world.

Eléanor’s heart thudded in her chest, and she let herself get lost in the feel of him—the way his hands cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, and how he angled his head slightly to fit against her perfectly.

Her fingers found their way to the collar of his flannel shirt, tugging him closer, feeling the solidness of his chest against hers.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingled in the small space between them. Patrick’s blue eyes held a hint of mischief as he traced a thumb across her bottom lip. “You had a little cocoa... right here,” he whispered, a playful smile quirking his lips.

Éléanor laughed, the sound breathless and light. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” she teased, leaning back but keeping their faces close.

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Maybe.” His voice dropped to a murmur as he leaned in, pressing another quick kiss to her lips. “Can’t help it. You’re irresistible.”

A soft blush spread across her cheeks, but she grinned and sat back, reaching for her mug again. Outside, the snow continued its steady descent, and a faint glow hinted at the sun attempting to break through the dense clouds.

They sipped their drinks in comfortable silence, the kind where words were unnecessary. Éléanor glanced at Patrick over the rim of her mug, noting how relaxed he seemed, how the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled to himself. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing—that this was the kind of morning they’d remember long after the snow melted and the days grew warmer.

Patrick set down his mug and shifted on the couch, reaching out to tuck her closer against him. “I’m serious about making this a tradition,” he said, his voice low and sincere. He brushed his thumb absentmindedly over her shoulder. “Mornings like this, snowmen with crooked hats...”

Éléanor laughed softly, nestling into his side. “I’m holding you to that. And next time, we’re building the snowman with a carrot as a nose,” she joked, tilting her head to look up at him.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her. “Deal.” His eyes softened as he traced the curve of her jaw with his gaze, and he bent down to press a kiss to her temple. “And I’ll make sure we stock up on more marshmallows.”

She smiled, contentment filling her like the warmth from the fire. “I’d like that.”

Patrick reached for his phone again, turning it into selfie mode. “One more photo, for good measure,” He slid an arm around Éléanor’s shoulders, fingers grazing her upper arm as he pulled her closer. She didn’t hesitate, laughing softly as she leaned into him, their bodies pressing together with the easy closeness that only came from shared comfort.

Their cheeks touched, skin warm against skin, and she tilted her head just enough to rest against his. Her hair, tousled and slightly frizzy from the heat, mingled with his still-damp curls, the strands catching tiny sparks of light from the fire.

They smiled—not the stiff, posed kind, but real, radiant grins that made their eyes crinkle at the corners. Their cheeks were flushed, partly from the fire, partly from the hot chocolate, but mostly from the lingering glow of each other.

The camera clicked.

A quiet moment captured forever once again—Patrick’s thumb still brushing the edge of her arm, the firelight dancing in the background, their laughter barely faded from the air.

“Perfect,” he murmured as he lowered the phone, looking down at the screen with a reverence usually reserved for priceless paintings or shooting stars. His voice had that soft, gravelly texture it took on when he wasn’t trying to charm, when it was just them .

Éléanor turned her head slightly, her gaze drifting towards the screen. The photo showed exactly what it felt like: the slow warmth of crackling logs, their windblown hair slightly tangled, the rosy glow in their cheeks and the serenity that came from shared silence. It looked like home.

She reached over and laced her fingers through his, thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “Yeah,” she said quietly, her voice wrapped in something tender. She rested her head more fully on his shoulder, letting her eyes flutter closed for just a second. “It really is.”

For a while, they just sat there, wrapped in a cocoon of firelight and quiet, sipping their hot chocolate. The mugs were still warm in their hands, the rich, velvety scent of cocoa lingering in the air, edged with cinnamon and a hint of the peppermint he’d insisted on adding.

When the mugs were finally empty, and the warmth of the fire had begun to dwindle, Patrick leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of Éléanor’s head. It was unhurried and soft, almost reverent, his lips lingering for a breath before he stood.

“I’m gonna stoke the fire,” he said quietly, giving her hand one last squeeze before letting go.

Éléanor watched him as he knelt by the hearth, his silhouette haloed by firelight. He moved with practised ease, feeding the flames with a few new logs, coaxing the embers back to life. Sparks jumped, swirling upward like fireflies, and a deep orange glow bloomed across the room once more.

She hesitated for a moment, then picked up her phone from where she’d set it on the coffee table. Her thumb hovered over the screen as she stared at the photo— that photo. Her and Patrick, flushed and happy, firelit and genuine. It was intimate without being posed, unguarded and full of something she couldn’t quite name but felt all the way down to her ribs.

She tapped the share icon and sent it to Virginie.

A few seconds passed before the typing bubble appeared. Éléanor leaned against the couch, fingers nervously drumming on the cushion as she waited. Virginie’s response popped up on the screen, and Éléanor’s heart skipped as she read it.

**Virginie:** “OMG, look at you two! That is beyond adorable. Seriously, I can’t even.”

Éléanor let out a surprised laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. A warm, fizzy sense of relief bloomed in her chest. She’d known Virginie would react—but this? This was joy.

Before she could reply, another message popped up.

**Virginie:** “Okay, I have to say it. I was a little worried at first…you know, with the age thing and all. I thought maybe he was a bit too old for you, but... wow. That photo? El, you look so happy. Like, deep in your bones happy. And he looks at you like you’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him. So yeah. I’m sold.”

Éléanor’s cheeks flushed, a small smile tugging at her lips as she reread Virginie’s words. Virginie had never been one to hold back her opinions, and knowing that she genuinely approved made something inside Éléanor unwind. She quickly typed back.

**Éléanor:** “You were worried? Since when do you worry about that kind of thing?”

The reply was almost instantaneous, punctuated by a winking emoji.

**Virginie:** “I worry when it’s about you! But seeing this… ugh, I’m melting. He’s a keeper, isn’t he?”

She looked up, letting her gaze drift to where Patrick knelt, carefully nudging logs into place with the fire poker. His shoulders moved with quiet strength, the firelight outlining the shape of his back beneath his t-shirt. His hair was still damp from earlier, the curls falling in uneven waves across his forehead. He paused for a moment, sensing her gaze, and turned to glance back at her over his shoulder. The smile he gave her—lopsided, boyish, effortless—made something in her chest flip over.

She smiled back, heart aching in the sweetest way, and turned back to her phone.

**Éléanor:** “Yeah, he really is.”

Virginie sent back a string of heart emojis, followed by another message that read: “You deserve this, El. All of it. Don’t get in your head about it, okay? Don’t pick it apart. Just let yourself have this. You’ve earned it. Every messy, beautiful second.”

Éléanor felt tears prickle suddenly behind her eyes, unexpected and sharp. She blinked them away, swallowing past the tightness in her throat. Virginie always knew exactly what to say—to ground her, to lift her, to remind her she didn’t have to apologise for wanting love that felt like more.

She tucked the phone into her pocket gently, like it held something sacred, and stood.

Patrick had just set the poker aside, stretching his arms as he turned to face her. His expression softened when he saw her, eyes sparkling with something curious and warm.

“Everything alright?” he asked, voice low and rumbling with the same gentle cadence that always made her stomach flutter.

Éléanor walked towards him slowly, the fire casting dancing shadows around them. She stopped in front of him and smiled, her voice quiet but steady.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek lightly against his chest. “Everything’s perfect.”

Patrick’s expression softened, and he reached out, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead. They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in the quiet comfort of their cabin, surrounded by the gentle crackle of the fire and the soft patter of snow against the window.

Then, from the depths of the comfortable silence, came a sound.

A low, unmistakable grumble echoed from Patrick’s midsection—a small, comical roar that seemed to vibrate right through him.

Éléanor froze for a beat, then snorted into his shirt, her laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. She pulled back just enough to clap her hands over her mouth, her eyes sparkling with mirth. Patrick’s eyes, a vivid blue with hints of stormy grey, widened in mock surprise as he looked down at his midsection.

“Really, man?” he muttered, patting his abdomen, which only made Éléanor laugh harder.

“Well,” she managed between giggles, “it seems someone’s overdue for lunch. Good thing we’re stocked up.”

Patrick grinned, his smile crinkling the edges of his eyes and softening the rugged angles of his face. The light from the window caught on the flecks of silver in his stubble, casting a warm glow over his jawline.

“Well then,” he said, cocking a brow, his voice laced with playful challenge. “How about that bread-making lesson you promised? I’m ready to learn from the best.”

Éléanor arched an eyebrow and tilted her head with a teasing smile. “Confident, are we? Bread-making isn’t as straightforward as chopping wood, you know.”

“Oh, I can handle it,” Patrick said, the corners of his mouth lifting into a cocky grin that revealed the dimples that she pretended not to notice.

“Alright, then.” She shook her head, smiling as she moved across the room. “Let’s put that confidence to the test, lumberjack.”

She pulled open a tall cupboard door and reached up to grab a sack of flour, the weight of it solid in her arms. Setting it down on the counter with a satisfying thud, she followed it with a small, weathered jar of coarse sea salt.

Patrick stepped closer, watching her with a mix of curiosity and admiration as she rolled up her sleeves. She dusted her hands with flour, her movements instinctive and graceful.

“This,” she said, lifting a wooden mixing bowl with both hands and turning to face him, “isn’t just about feeding your growling stomach.”

Patrick stepped in beside her, his voice teasing and warm. “Is it also about impressing you?”

Éléanor laughed again, softer this time. “That part’s optional,” she said, sliding the bowl into his hands. “But it couldn’t hurt.”

“First step,” she said, looking up at him with a glint in her eye, “is mixing the flour and salt. Go ahead and do the honours.”

Patrick pushed off the counter, his movements lazy but deliberate. As he approached, he rolled his sleeves to the elbows, revealing his muscular forearms that were dusted with fine dark hair. The firelight caught the shift of muscle beneath his skin as he reached for the measuring spoon. Their fingers brushed as she handed it over—just a glancing touch, but enough to slow time for a breath.

“Like this?” he asked, brow raised with mock innocence as he tipped the salt over the flour and gave it a few exaggerated stirs.

“Perfect,” Éléanor replied, a smile dancing on her lips as she observed his expression change from playful to serious. “Now, we’ll add the water and yeast.” She offered him a small bowl filled with warm water, where the yeast had already begun to bloom in gentle brown swirls.

Patrick raised an eyebrow and looked at her. “Is this the magic potion?” he teased, pouring the bowl into the flour mixture.

“Be careful, wizard,” Éléanor laughed, stepping in to assist him in pouring it properly. Patrick’s gaze locked onto hers, and a shared understanding lingered as he started stirring on his own.

Once the dough formed a uniform mass, he started kneading it with his hands.

The dough began to take shape—sticky, rough, uncooperative. It clung to his fingers like wet clay, and he looked up with a sheepish grin, holding out his mess-covered hand. “Alright, I’m officially humbled.”

Éléanor laughed, stepping beside him. “Give me your hand,” she said, her voice soft but sure.

She took his hand in hers and guided it into the bowl, pressing his palm into the dough. “Kneading’s all about rhythm,” she explained, her hands moving with his—folding, pressing, turning. The warmth of his skin through the flour-dusted dough made her pulse skip a beat.

They worked together like that, side by side, their laughter quiet and breathy, their shoulders brushing now and then as the dough began to smooth under their touch. Patrick leaned into the motion, his shirt pulling taut across his back and chest. The scent of him, woodsmoke, pine, and something unmistakably his, mingled with the yeasty aroma rising from the bowl.

At one point, he scratched at his jaw, smearing a streak of flour across his cheek. Éléanor caught the sight and laughed under her breath.

“You’ve got a little…” she said, gesturing to his face.

Patrick shrugged. “Occupational hazard, apparently.”

Éléanor’s fingers were already tucked behind her ear, leaving behind a streak of flour on her own cheek without her noticing.

He spotted it instantly.

“Now, who’s messy?” he murmured, stepping close. His thumb brushed gently along her cheek, wiping away the flour with a touch so careful it made her breath hitch. His gaze stayed on hers, steady and searching.

“That’s enough kneading,” she said softly, taking a small step back—half a breath of space, no more. “Now we let it rest. Let it rise.”

“Just like that?” Patrick’s voice was quiet, but his presence was full. He didn’t step away.

“Yeah,” Éléanor murmured, eyes not leaving his. “Just like that.”

Patrick’s eyes softened, the teasing spark in them replaced by something deeper, quieter—a warmth that curled behind his expression like a secret waiting to be told. He leaned in slightly, his eyes flicking from hers to her lips, the moment hanging on a string. But before it could unfold, his stomach let out a loud, unmistakable growl again.

The spell shattered. Éléanor burst into laughter, the sound light and effortless, slipping out before she could stop it. Patrick groaned dramatically, covering his face with one flour-dusted hand. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Sabotaged by my own body again .”

“Alright, alright,” she said between giggles, patting his chest. “Let’s feed the beast before he causes any more interruptions.”

Patrick chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “The bread might take a while to rise, right? What else can I learn while my metabolism is punishing me?”

Éléanor gave him a sideways glance as she turned to the counter, where a small bundle of carrots and a sack of potatoes sat waiting. “How do you feel about soup-making?”

“Lead the way,” Patrick said, stepping close enough that their arms brushed. “I’m ready for round two.”

Patrick stepped beside her again, close enough that their arms brushed as they worked. She handed him a peeler and a carrot, watching with amusement as he examined the tool like it was some kind of weapon. His first few attempts were clumsy, uneven strips falling to the floor, but he didn’t complain. Instead, he glanced at her with exaggerated seriousness.

“Are you sure this thing isn't broken?”

She laughed, brushing her shoulder against his. “Operator error, I’m afraid.”

His grin widened. “That bad, huh?”

“Not hopeless,” she replied, flicking a carrot peel in his direction. “Just… mildly concerning. Part of me honestly wonders how you survive out there in the wild on your own.”

He clutched his chest in mock offence. “Hey! I can cook,” he said, eyes dancing. “Just not peel. Totally different skill sets.”

She raised a sceptical brow. “Oh really?”

“Absolutely. One day, I’ll make you a steak. Medium rare. With homemade barbecue sauce that’ll ruin you for anything store-bought. But you’ll have to peel your own carrots. That’s where I draw the line.”

She laughed again, shaking her head as she handed him another carrot. “Deal. But I’m watching you. No more casualties, okay?”

He gave her a playful salute, still wielding the peeler like a sword. “For you, I’ll try to keep the kitchen injuries to a minimum.”

They fell into an easy rhythm—peeling, chopping, stealing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. The kitchen was filled with the soft percussion of knives against wood and the low hum of shared conversation.

Soon, the cutting board was a mosaic of colours—orange, cream, green. Éléanor swept the vegetables into a large pot, added water, and reached for the seasoning jars, her movements graceful and practised. Patrick leaned against the counter, watching her with open admiration.

The fire behind them crackled softly, casting golden light across the kitchen and catching in Éléanor’s hair. Patrick noticed the way it shimmered at the ends, how the strands curled slightly from the cabin’s dry warmth. When she leaned forward to add a sprig of thyme to the pot, he caught himself staring—not just at her, but at the way she moved through the space like it already belonged to her. Like she belonged there, with him.

“See something interesting?” she asked, her tone teasing but her cheeks flushing with warmth.

Patrick shrugged, trying to play it off, but his eyes betrayed him, holding a tender amusement. “Just trying to memorise the steps,” he said, his voice low and rich, laced with something that made her heart skip a beat.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder, her smile teasing and knowing.

As the soup began to simmer, the scent of herbs and root vegetables filled the cabin, blending with the faint woodsmoke in the air. Éléanor wiped her hands on a dish towel and leaned next to him, their shoulders bumping gently.

“Well, Chef,” she said, eyes dancing with amusement, “now we wait again.”

Patrick slung an arm casually around her waist, pulling her into his side. The touch was easy, familiar—but there was an intimacy in the way his thumb began to draw slow, unconscious circles against the small of her back. She rested her head lightly against his shoulder, her heartbeat syncing with the slow, steady rhythm of his.

“Soup on the stove, bread rising…” he said with a sigh. “This sounds like the perfect excuse for a break.”

“You’re suggesting we just stand here?” Éléanor asked, trying to sound casual, though her voice betrayed the flutter in her chest.

Patrick tilted his head, catching her gaze with eyes that had softened into something that hovered between desire and something deeper, harder to name. “Not just stand here,” he said quietly.

His hand tightened on her waist. And then, without warning, he kissed her.

It wasn’t hesitant—it was hungry, almost desperate as if the silence between their breaths had grown too thick to bear. She melted into it, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself to this— to him .

The kiss deepened, his hands exploring the curve of her back, her hips as if he were trying to memorise her shape. Her knees weakened, her heart beating so fiercely she could feel it echoing in her fingertips.

When they finally pulled apart, her lips were bruised and tingling, her breath coming in short, disbelieving bursts. Éléanor looked up at him, dazed, mouth parted. “Perfect,” she breathed, unsure if she meant the kiss, the warmth, the quiet snow spinning outside—or all of it.

Patrick’s gaze was already on her, unreadable for a second. Then he nodded, his voice husky and low. “Yeah. It really is.”

The snow outside continued to fall in lazy spirals, but inside the cabin, everything was warm—safe, golden, and utterly still.

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missingdadneto · 1 year ago

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Surfing Session gone wrong

Dad! Orm Marius x Fem Reader x Daughter

[ A/N: I am dying because of the limited Orm fanfics there are, so I decided I wanted to write onee, This is all for fun so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes.]

-wordcount: 1196

After Orm was erased from Atlantis, he no longer lived in the waters, he is now one with the land. The home of the Surface Dwellers, and soon enough it became a land weather he fell in love with Arthurs's best friend, Y/N, a Meta-Human who could adapt to any living circumstances, making her able to breathe in the Waters. She was a part of the Justice League but she rather lives her day-to-day life in her cottage beside the sea, close to Arthur’s house. Orm would spend time with Y/N as much as he could, they would talk for hours, about how Y/N’s interest in the sea rises, as well as how Orm’s interest towards the surface land also rises.

Soon enough Orm and Y/N were together, and a year later they got married and had their daughter Pearl. She inherits her Dad’s blonde hair, with her vision colors resemble her mother's green hue. Junior on the other hand was Mera and Arthur’s son, he had curly red hair and tan skin.

Pearl and Junior were as close as ever, their cousin relationship felt as if they were siblings because of the 2 year difference. As soon as they reached their teenage years they would meet up every Saturday morning to go surfing in their Ocean backyard.

Orm was cooking breakfast as Y/N was reading on the sofa, Pearl came down the stairs and ran to grab her surfing board. She makes a quick stop to hug her Mother as well as to her Father. Orm hugged her back as he kissed his daughter’s head.

“Be safe, and don’t forget to always watch out for whoever's in the Waters,” Orm warned his daughter every time, every week, and every second she was going in the Ocean. Despite her being half Atlantean. “There are people always hunting for us and if they do-”

“I Know Dad! Besides I’ll always be with Junior so I won’t be alone” Pearl laughed as she went away from the hug. She smiled at her Mother as she opened the back door. “See you guys!”

“Bye Pearl�� Both Orm and Y/N smiled as their daughter went to the Waters.

Pearl ran to Junior as he was already setting up in their usual meet-up spot, they lived quite near to each other as the beach they lived in connects, resulting in them meeting right in the middle. “Hey, Pearl! I bought this new surfboard and it’s rad I would say” Junior showed off his board to Pearl as she looked somewhat amused.

“That’s cool Alright, now come on! Let’s go!” She motioned her board towards the bog waves hitting the fine Morning, the sun rises higher and higher as their skins are getting tanner each weekend.

They surfed as usual, with Junior always making it a competition on who gets the higher waves. Strangely enough, Pearl stopped as she sat on her board to see the corals beneath them. “Junior come look! The corals are more colorful than before…” Pearl spoke as Junior sat on his surfing board as well while looking below. “Hm, that’s weird, yesterday none of them had any colors” Junior confessed as Pearl looked back to him with her eyes rising out of her betrayal state.

“YOU WENT SURFING YESTERDAY? AND I DIDN’T KNOW!?” She exclaimed with Junior laughing and defending himself, “See in my defense you were not home, YOU WERE OUT!”. Pearl stopped what she was about to say as she looked at the waters once more “Wait look Junior, the water is turning purple”. The color scattered slowly as Arthur and Orm were just about to greet their kids. “HEY PEARL!” Arthur shouted to the two teenagers as Orm followed, “Hi Junior, you guys okay?”

“Hi, Uncle Arthur!” Pearl shouted with Junior following “Hey Uncle Orm!”. “The corals are more colorful but the water is getting purple and it just looks-” Pearl stopped her sentence as he dad shouted to Junior and her.

“GET OUT NOW!” Orm commanded as he looked at Arthur with a stunned face, Junior and Pearl were confused but they paddled as fast as they could before the purple waters reached their touches. Orm and Arthur swam as fast as they could to grab the surfboards of their child as they pulled them to the shore.

As soon as they reached the shore Arthur and Orm reached for their child full of worry, Orm hugged Pearl quickly as he looked at her hands and feet that touched the waters. The two Fathers checked for any signs of infection in Junior and Pearl’s skin as Junior cut off the awkward state that they were in. “Uh guys, is everything alright?”

Arthur hugged Junior as tightly as he could and Orm’s arm half hugged Pearl, a relief stance of a Father for their child. “Chemicals have been reaching close to our waters, but we didn’t know that it would be this fast, and thank the Gods it didn’t reach any of you, Atlanteans touching such waters could leave a more damaging stance than humans. Orm sighed as he looked at his daughter as well as Junior beside her.

“What, who would drop these chemicals?” Junior looked at his Father, Arthur breathed as he shook his head. “We’re going to find out…but let's just go home first and we’ll meet together at lunch okay?” The family agreed as they went back home.

Orm helped Pearl with her surfboard as he looked at her when they reached home, “Those chemicals….” Orm stopped as Pearl waited for her father's confession “Those chemicals were the same consistency that killed Atlantean children years ago, I just can’t lose you two, I can’t lose you” Y/N opened the door as she heard Orm’s sentence, she looked at Pearl as she also checked any signs of infection in a quick pace.

“Mom, please! Dad already checked me” Y/N is afraid to lose her only daughter as she looks at Orm. “Oh God, I know you’re fine but I’m just double checking…it’s so close to us we need to be alert sweetie.”

Pearl shook her head as she washed her foot that was full of sand, “I’ll get ready for lunch, It’s just still a shock” Orm nodded as he smiled slightly, after Pearl went up to her room, Orm and Y/N looked at each other in the backyard, looking at the sea.

“Have Arthur called for help from Atlantean soldiers to clean the chemical corals?” She looked towards the sea as small waves were being created, somewhat like a small tornado in the waters being summoned by Atlanteans. “I seem like it hun, I was just-” Orm stopped as Y/N’s hand reached Orm’s cheek, “It was this closer to Pearl and Junior, if they have touched the waters they-”

“Shh I know, but Thank God they’re safe now” She smiled as she looked at the waves once more. Orm then leaned to kiss Y/N’s cheek as he went inside to get ready for lunch at Arthur’s house as well. This is going to be a heavy topic for lunch.

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the-marshals-wife · 1 year ago

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Strangers Like Me (Orm Marius x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: I love Orm so, so much, and I've wanted to write for him since my major obsession with the first movie back in 2019. The sequel was everything I could have wanted for his character, and now that he's had the perfect open ending to his cinematic story, I finally let the inspiration run wild. This is the longest fic I've ever posted, and I'm proud to say he was the muse that inspired it.

Description: Orm Marius/Ocean Master x Fem!Reader (human), friends to lovers | Warnings: suggestive themes, steaminess at the end, cataclysmic levels of fluff throughout | Setting: after The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 5.8k

Gif credit: user acecroft

Imagine Orm opening up to you about who he truly is, and wanting to be part of your world

If someone had asked you a few months ago where you liked to be most, you wouldn't have said the boardwalk. Now, it'd become your favorite place in the world. Not for the noisy crowds, overpriced deep-fried foods, or vendors overflowing with cheap beachwear and souvenirs for the tourists. Those things you could have done without. That is, until you met Orm. Ever since that fateful day, everything around you had transformed into something new and exciting. Today was no different.

"I can't believe you've never had a corn dog before," you say.

Orm walks alongside you, well into his second serving. "And I can't believe something this abysmal in appearance can taste so good," he replies before taking another bite.

"Seriously, what have you been eating all this time?" you ask, wiping the mustard from the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

He swallows before answering, "Fish, mostly."

He was completely serious, as usual.

"You really love seafood, don't you?"

"Where I'm from, it's just called food," he counters.

Once again, you found yourself wanting to ask where exactly that place was. The last time you inquired yielded little insight. He gave a vague reply to the tune of "somewhere far away" and quickly changed the subject. For a while, you'd assumed he was originally European or something like that. Yet the more time went on, the more difficult it became to believe in that explanation. There must be a reason he did not want to talk about it, and you knew when he was ready, he would probably tell you. Still, you couldn't help but wonder where he had come from, and why he had not showed up sooner.

"So, what did you think of your first corn dog?" you ask instead.

"It was excellent. And I imagine it will not be my last," he says, tossing the stick into a trashcan as you walk by, "I still don't understand the name though, if it's not made of dog."

"Me either, honestly," you laugh as you toss your trash as well, "I'll have to look it up sometime."

"Speaking of, I listened to the singer you told me about."

"You did? What did you think?!" you exclaim, almost bumping into a passerby in your excitement.

"She is quite good, vocally. But I do think Ms. Parton would have more success exposing her rival publicly," he suggests.

"I know you're not talking about Jolene right now," you burst out laughing, covering your mouth.

"Indeed. This Jolene is a siren. She lures men with her wiles, and then goes unpunished because of her beauty," he explains wholeheartedly, holding his arms behind his back.

"Well that's the point of the song. Dolly is calling her out," you remind, "Plus what about her man? Shouldn't he get some of the blame? Falling for Jolene when he's already in a relationship? I mean come on, he's talking about her in his sleep. That's pretty low."

"Indeed, he misses the treasure that is right in front of him because he too has no honor," he expounds, his expression turning thoughtful, "You're right. Ultimately, they're deserving of each other."

"See! I told you," you chuckle victoriously.

Orm shakes his head, "I could not be tempted by such a woman."

"Oh, I don't know. You heard Dolly. Her beauty is 'beyond compare'."

"That is merely a facade," he dismisses, waving his hand, "Besides, I have seen far more beautiful than her."

You're about to inquire about his remark, but then you realize he's looking over at you. You can only hold his attentive gaze a moment before averting your eyes toward your feet, heart fluttering.

The previous moment still hanging heavy in the air, you walk together quietly for a minute before Orm stops in front of a beachwear vendor.

"Now that is amusing," he declares.

You backup a couple of steps to stand alongside him, "What is?"

He points to a pink tee shirt, the image of a mermaid riding on the back of a smiling dolphin printed on the front. "Dolphins are actually quite aggressive. They do not enjoy having riders on their backs. Sharks are much better mounts."

You stare at him, brow furrowed. "And how do you know that exactly?"

"I, uh, saw it on a television program," he stutters, "about taming sea life."

That was a lie if you'd ever heard one, and a strange one no less.

"Uh-huh," you reply unconvinced, walking away.

In silence, you resume your short walk to the end of the dock, Orm trailing close behind you. Once you reach the end, you lean over and rest your arms on the weathered wood railing, and he stands beside you. A few moments pass as you watch the waves crash upon the shore below and breathe in the salt air. It's not long before you feel his gaze on you once again.

He finally speaks, hesitation thick in his voice, "Something...on your mind?"

You smirk to yourself before looking over at him, "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"What do you mean?" he asks, concern visible in his bright eyes.

"I've never met anyone like you before. So much of what you say is a mystery," you remark.

"That is a fair point," he concedes, "I don't wish to vex you. There's just...so much that I don't know how to say."

You stand up straighter, smiling at him softly.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing. Everyone has parts of themselves that they hide. Parts they don't want anyone else to see. There's nothing wrong with that," you reply, turning towards the ocean, "You don't like talking about your past, and I respect that. I just don't want you to think you have to hide. It's awful feeling like you don't belong, just for being yourself. I wouldn't want that for you."

"That is kind of you to say. Truly." He mirrors your posture on the railing, moving closer to you as a result. "You don't make me want to hide, Y/N. Quite the opposite, actually. I've learned so many things from you these past few weeks, and I have greatly enjoyed your company."

You look back to him, your heart skipping, "So have I."

His gaze softens. "I've also never met anyone like you before. You find joy and purpose in even the smallest of things. It inspires me how gracefully you view the world. And I've known no one whom I've wanted to share it with more."

Everything else around you melted away as you find yourself becoming just as lost in his eyes as you've been in his words.

Before either of you can move an inch closer, the chime of your cellphone cuts through the thick air between you.

Cursing inwardly, you shoot upright, embarrassed, and retrieve it from your pocket. It's an all-caps text from your sister with many exclamation marks, quickly followed by another. The sister you just now realized you forgot needed picked up.

"Oh no. I have to go," you say, frenzied, "My sister's waiting for me. I have to drive her home from her class, I completely forgot!"

"I understand," he nods, touching your arm assuringly, "Do you want me to accompany you back to the lot?"

"I really appreciate it, but I literally have to run. I'm so sorry, Orm," you say, turning to leave.

You make it only a few steps before you hear him call out.

"Y/N!"

Despite the urgency of your escape, you can't help but turn on your heel expectantly.

"Would you meet me tomorrow? Down on the beach, beneath the pier around sunset?"

A grin spreads across your face. "I'll be there!"

♆

It took everything in you not to grin like an idiot the entire drive to pick up your less-than-amused sister. You weren't ready for the brutal interrogation that would surely come if she saw the look you knew was on your face. After apologizing to her profusely and letting her chew you out, as was her sisterly right, her suspicions were already raised.

"You've never looked this happy for me to yell at you," she said, glaring at you.

"I'm just really enjoying my book! I started the sequel I told you about," you defended, flashing a smile even you knew was pretty fake.

"Enough to forget all about me," she rolled her eyes and punched your arm, "You're not telling me something, I know it."

"I'm dying to know if she's really the lost heir to the throne, I heard the reveal is like halfway through," you add, ignoring her last words.

"Mhm," she grumbled, "Fine don't tell me. I'll figure it out, just wait. You can't hide from me."

"The only thing I need to hide from you is my chocolate bars," you argue in a desperate attempt to throw her off the subject.

"I'll find those too," she snickered confidently.

You laughed it off and went back to biting down hard on your lip. It was the only thing you could do not to spill everything to her as she continued to give you the side-eye. Your body was at the steering wheel, but your mind, and your heart, were back on that boardwalk. The final glare she gave you in her driveway was unmissable, but for now, you'd evaded being found out as you made a getaway back to your own apartment.

That night you'd hardly slept, the moment at the end of the dock replaying in your mind over and over well into the morning. Work only made it worse, the monotony making the perfect backdrop to picture what the coming evening would bring. When your shift ended, you couldn't get out of there fast enough to go home and change.

Now, with sunset fast approaching, you were circling the parking lot trying to find a space, and close to bribing someone to move, when a spot finally opened up.

"Someone loves me," you exhale, hurriedly locking your car as you throw your bag over your shoulder.

The words linger in your thoughts. You can't help but blush at the notion, given your current destination, and who was waiting there.

In some ways it seemed like a lifetime since you met Orm, and in others it felt like only yesterday. The memory of that fateful day comes to the front of your thoughts as you start the long trek to the path that cuts through the dunes.

Unlike your fib from last night, you'd actually been desperate to finish the book your coworker had been pestering you about all summer. With only four chapters left, you'd escaped to the boardwalk one sunny Tuesday afternoon, hoping to find a bench, a fresh lemonade, and far less crowds than the weekend so that you could finally finish in peace.

Just as you'd sucked up the last drop of your drink and reached the last handful of pages, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. On a bench across the way from you, you saw a man trying to untangle the most knotted pair of earbuds you'd ever seen in your life. You watched him from behind the top of your book, and suppressed a giggle as he became more animated in frustration. He ran a hand through his blond hair and seemed near to giving up on the whole endeavor. Unable to watch him struggle any longer, you tucked your book beneath your arm, tossed your empty cup in the trash, and started to walk over.

"He did this on purpose," he muttered as you approached.

"I can take a crack at them, if you'd like."

In his fierce concentration, he hadn't noticed you approach. He jumped a bit at your greeting, and squinted up at you, confused.

"Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Would you like some help with those?" you smiled hesitantly, "I just, I couldn't help but notice you were having a hard time with them."

"Well, you are welcome to try," he invited with a sigh, extending them to you, "Although I have seen seaweed less entangled than this."

You took them and sat down beside him, analyzing the knots.

"Earbuds are pretty notorious for getting tangled," you began, pausing to focus a moment, "These, however, look like a sailor used them to practice tying his knots."

"Courtesy of my brother," he said with no small amount of exasperation, "He delights in making things difficult for me."

"As brothers are wont to do."

"Indeed," he conceded.

Untying your own numerous pairs of earbuds over the years had more than prepared you for this moment. You'd made quick work of separating the right and left buds, down to the last few kinks in each.

"You're quite skilled at this," he observed.

"I should probably put it on my resume, huh?" you chuckled as you conquered the final knot.

"I think you might consider it," he laughed as well.

At last, all the tangles were gone.

"There you go," you declared, handing them back, "Good as new."

"Impressive," he remarked, marveling at your handiwork before looking back at you, "Thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome," you smiled and pointed to the iPod in his lap, "What do you like to listen to, if you don't mind me asking?"

He hesitated, picking it up, "I'm...not actually sure how this device works. Are you familiar with the technology?"

"An iPod?" you laugh, "Yeah, I had one in high school. It's been a while and it wasn't this exact model, but they're all pretty much the same. MP3 players, that is. I had so many songs on mine, I couldn't add any more. Never went anywhere without it. I had to tape it together in senior year because I used it so much."

"Perhaps you could show me how to properly operate it?" he posed, turning towards you more, "My brother sent it to me. He said it contains music inside that I must hear, but I'm at a loss on knowing how to make it play."

You gazed at him bewildered a moment, caught off guard. Never had you met anyone who didn't know how to work an iPod before. But then again, you reminded yourself, not everyone had a chance to own one.

"Sure," you grinned, "I can show you. There's not too much to it, really, once you know the basics."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely, "It's not often that I've met a lady with such kindness, and lightness of fingers."

Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks at his gracious works, and suddenly it was difficult to hold the gaze of his rich blue eyes.

"It's no problem at all," you replied, offering your hand, "I'm Y/N, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Orm Marius, and the pleasure is mine."

Before you could blink, he'd taken your hand, and instead of shaking it, he kissed your knuckles. If he had lingered, perhaps it would have alarmed you. But he did it so quickly, it was like it was second-nature to him. Practiced or not, your head spun nonetheless, and launching into an urgent, flustered spiel about how to power on the iPod was all you could do to keep yourself held together.

You spent the next half an hour showing him everything from the buttons to the way to change the background image on the menus. Before long, you were talking about all of your favorite songs and artists, simultaneously making lists for each that he would have to listen to. Orm listened eagerly to your recommendations, and soon the conversation turned to any and every subject, from foods to places to dreams. You still remember the feeling of the rest of the world fading away as you talked to him, afternoon turning to evening. And the thrill you felt when he asked if he could see you again.

In the almost four months since, every meeting followed much in the same manner as that first day, with introducing Orm to the many things he'd never experienced before, and hours of conversation on the pier or walking along the beach. You'd stolen away to this area as many times as possible to see him, well over a dozen now. Of course your sister was more suspicious than ever after yesterday, but you still weren't ready to reveal where you'd been spending so many evenings, and who you'd spent them with. There was something exhilarating about you and Orm meeting secretly, and you wanted that feeling to last as long as possible.

He had such wonder about the world, like someone who'd not been in it very long. It was one of his oddest qualities, but his curiosity was endearing to you. Despite knowing so little about his past, you'd come to trust him like few others in your life. Whoever he'd been before, and wherever he was from, it seemed he had no intention on going back. If you were honest with yourself, you didn't want him to. There were so many places you wanted to take him further inland, yet he was still hesitant to go far from from the ocean. You'd never gone beyond a couple of blocks from the boardwalk together, but tonight, with the energy of yesterday's encounter fresh in your mind, you'd planned to breech the topic with him.

Now, the sun is sinking lower in the pale orange sky and your pulse quickens with the threat of being late. With all your reminiscing and daydreaming, you'd lost track of the time. You nearly run across the wooden walkway over the dunes and down the broad stairs. As soon as your feet hit the sand, you remove your sandals. Grasping them in one hand and the strap of your bookbag in the other, you take off into the best sprint you can manage. The pier is still a good distance up the beach, and you want to curse out whoever built the access so far away. You run at an angle towards the water, the wetter ground giving you better traction than the loose sand.

Just within the shadow of the great structure, you finally see Orm up ahead, his back turned. Out of breath, you slow your pace and try to catch some of it back before you reach him. Once he's within ear shot you call out to him.

"I'm sorry I left in such a hurry yesterday," you pant.

He spins on his heel. Relief is written all over his face.

"You came. I was afraid you might not," he sighs, walking up to meet you.

"Of course," you exhale, dropping your shoes and brushing away the hair clinging to your forehead, "Why wouldn't I?"

His expression indicates he had not thought of an answer to that question.

"I don't know," he hesitates, "I didn't mean anything by that. I mean, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't. I did ask you at the last minute."

You can't help but chuckle as he stumbles regretfully all over his words.

"I brought you something," you declare to change the subject, much to his gratitude.

"A gift? For me?"

You can tell by his tone that he is actually baffled. Reaching into your satchel, you retrieve the item. In your outstretched palm, you hold a small snow globe, a miniature skyline of New York City contained inside.

His confused expression leads you to elaborate. "It's called a snow globe," you say, turning it upside down so that the little flakes inside swirl around, "You told me once that you never get to see snow where you're from. Now you can see it whenever you want."

He tentatively takes it, entranced by the miniature flurry.

"That's where I'm from. Well, I grew up there. We moved here when I was sixteen," you add, chuckling, "It's a little bit nicer in person."

Orm looks up at you, visibly touched by the gesture, "It's wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you smile, "I, hope that I can show you the real thing some day."

"I would like that," he replies with the smallest hint of sadness, pausing to behold it again, "I will treasure this always."

You'd never met anyone who talked like he did. Everything word he spoke was with full conviction. Others might sound pompous or conceited speaking the way he does, but when he said something, you believed he truly meant it.

"I'm glad you like it," you say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I do, very much," he says, frowning a bit, "I'm only sorry that I have nothing to give you in return."

"That's alright," you dismiss.

"Will you keep it safe for me while we are by the water? I regret that I have no pockets large enough to carry it."

"Absolutely," you say, putting it securely back inside your bag, "I know that feeling all too well."

When you finish with the zipper and lift your head up, you see Orm offering his arm to you. Surprised, and twice as excited, you take it.

As you cross beneath the pier and set off down the beach together, you suppress the urge to glance up at him. You agonize over what to say next, hoping he would speak first. When he did, it only made your heart beat faster.

"Actually, when I said I had nothing to give you, that was not entirely true," he said, clearing his throat before going on, "As much as I enjoy your educating me in foods and traditions I've never tried, I was hoping this evening we might enjoy a treat of a different kind."

Just up ahead, something on the shore comes into view. Your mind races in anticipation, and moments later, you come upon a blue blanket spread out neatly across the sand. A single white rose lies in the middle.

"Oh Orm," you breathe.

"It's not much, but I thought you would like to watch the sunset with at least some level of comfort," he says, a veil of nervousness in his voice.

"It's perfect," you exclaim.

He releases your arm and picks up the rose, presenting it to you.

"For you."

You feel nearly breathless once more as you take the flower and inhale its sweet fragrance.

"It's beautiful," you sigh, "Thank you."

He smiles timidly at your approval. "Shall we?"

"This is amazing," you say, removing your bag and carefully sitting down on the soft blanket.

He follows suit, and you gently place the rose in your lap as he comes to rest close beside you. The glow of the setting sun warms your skin, but it's nothing compared to the warmth in your chest.

You'd never seen him act like this before. He was normally so calm and collected, but now he was almost pure nerves. You work up the courage to glance over at him. He's staring hard ahead, clenching his jaw and rolling a seashell between his fingers. It's slowly becoming clear that you're not the only one who wanted to say something this evening. Normally, you found the rolling of the waves to be one of most soothing sounds in the world. But at this moment, they were far too loud.

You decide you have to break the excruciating silence.

"I've only watched a true beach sunset alone before."

Your voice brings him out from his trance. "I've also been by myself. I'm glad I have someone to share the splendor with."

"Me too."

He smiles weakly, and fixes his stare back on the horizon.

To your disappointment, the silence returns. Before long, everything is bathed in golden light. The sky transforms into rich oranges and reds before your eyes. The beach is surprisingly deserted apart from the seagulls and sand pipers, making it seem all the more that this moment was tailor-made just for the two of you.

Just when you're about to speak again, Orm at last turns towards you.

"I wish I could show you my world, Y/N. It is a realm of beauty, and strength, and light. You belong in such a place."

You feel your cheeks flush as he continues.

"Where I'm from, you can't see the stars at night. But there is a place with magnificent, glowing lights. A cave, filled with luminescence of every color you can imagine. You would absolutely love it."

"That sounds magical." You hang on his every word as you try to picture it.

"My mother used to take me there when I was a boy. I remember my whole hand disappearing inside hers." He smiled at the memory, but it faded as he spoke once more, "We used to go there seeking solace from my father."

Frowning, he throws the seashell towards the water. The sun begins to dissolve into the ocean, but neither of you take notice.

"Did you not get along?" you ask, hoping it was not too personal to do so.

His gaze falls downward again. "That's one way of putting it. Growing up in his shadow was- challenging. He was severe about many things, and against all of the rest. He expected me to become just like him. Demanded it, more like. Yet he was never up to the task of teaching me how. I wanted nothing more than to please him, but as I look back on it now, I'm not sure that I ever did. I was never worthy enough to be his son."

His words make your chest ache. You reach to gently touch his hand on the blanket.

"You are not an unworthy son," you assert, your feelings coming to the surface, "He was an unworthy father. I don't need to have met him to know that. Because I know you, and you are a good man. The most thoughtful, polite, decent man I've ever met."

He stares at you, emotion all over his face. A wistful look shines in his eyes.

"If only I had known you then," he reflects, "Perhaps I would not have gotten so lost in the tides of his storm."

"I wish I had known you too," you agree, more shyly than you'd expected, "But wouldn't have needed me. You already survived it, all on your own. You're stronger than he ever was."

His expression steels.

"Y/N, there is something I must tell you," he says, his tone turning grave, "It will not be easy for you to hear it, but I can't go on without you knowing what I am. I cannot hide it any longer. You deserve to know the truth."

Your heart starts to race quicker than your thoughts at his startling declaration. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, he casts off his jacket and stands up.

"Orm, what are you talking about?"

"Perhaps, it would be better if I showed you," he says, reaching out his hand to you, "I want you to understand. No more secrets."

For just a moment, you look up into his pleading eyes. Then, as if it had even been a choice, you carefully set the rose aside and take his hand. He helps you to your feet and leads you down past the water's edge. The cool water on your feet sends a shiver up your spine. The foam is lapping at your ankles when he stops just in front of you.

"You see that marker?" he points ahead.

The breeze whips your hair into your sight as you fight to push it away. You have to squint to see the outline of the buoy, the red light on top twinkling faintly in the twilight.

"Yes," you hesitate.

"Keep your eye on it," he directs calmly.

With that one instruction, he retreats further into the water, stopping until it is well above his waist. You cross your arms against the chill of sea spray and wait worriedly. He looks up and down the beach, as if to make sure no one is watching. You are still alone. Before you can call out to him, he dives headlong into the waves.

What follows you can only describe as a thunder beneath the water. It looks as if a missile has been launched from where Orm stood, careening toward the marker. Mere seconds later, a blast like a whale spout shoots above the horizon, and the buoy rocks violently as it is landed upon by the figure that flew up out of the sea.

A gasp escapes from your agape mouth as you witness the silhouette wave at you, and proceed to dive back into the blue.

Three pounding heartbeats later, Orm immerges from the surf and walks toward you, slicking back his dripping hair. His tee shirt clings to his muscular form, and his soaked jeans don't seem to encumber him at all. You're frozen in the sand, staring at him with only one word on your parted lips.

"How..."

"There's no simple way to say it, but you must know. I am from the Kingdom of Atlantis," he confesses, struggling to hold your stare, "I am Prince Orm Marius, son of Queen Atlanna. Although I was once ruler, I made many mistakes during my time on the throne for which I was banished. My penance is served by my exile here on the surface. I deserve my fate, and I gladly uphold it, but it is not something I wanted to keep from you any longer. I'm sorry that I was not honest with you sooner, but I didn't think that I could trust any surface-dweller with my secret. I was...proven wrong."

"You're a real Atlantean?" you manage to get out.

"I am," he nods, apprehension still in his voice, "I was raised to hate the surface and its inhabitants, but much has changed. You, Y/N, have had no small part in that."

Despite your reeling head, it's slowly becoming clear what Orm is saying by this grand unveiling of his true identity. As you struggle to process it, however, your silence compels him to go on.

"If all of this is too much, I understand. It is my burden to bear, and you did not ask to be part of it."

"I-It's not that," you stammer as the shock starts to wear off. You step closer to him. "Not at all. It's just a lot to take in. I need a minute, that's all. I promise."

Hope lights up his eyes.

"Absolutely," he agrees eagerly, "I apologize, I know this reveal was sudden. Please ask any questions that you have. I will withhold nothing from you."

As you finally begin look at him instead of through him, only one question lodged in your throat.

"Why?" you ask through threatening tears, "Why did you tell me all this?"

You knew why, because it was the same reason you wanted to tell him all of your own secrets. The same reason you came back to this beach over and over. The same reason your heart skipped every time you saw his handsome face, and heard him speak your name. You just wanted to hear him say it. For any of this to work, you needed to hear it.

His anxious gaze softens as he weighs his answer.

"I meant every word of what I told you yesterday. When I'm with you, I see a future that I never thought I would deserve. You make me feel like I can be more than I've ever been. And for the first time in my life, I have felt true happiness," he says, finding the words along with his conviction, "I never thought I would belong anywhere but Atlantis, but now, I want to know more about this world and its many gifts. And most of all, I want you to be by my side to show it to me."

"I want that too," you respond, tears threatening.

He gently takes your hand in his. "Even after all that I've done, part of me hoped that I might find some kind of redemption here on the surface. I wasn't sure how, and then I met you," he says tearfully, searching your eyes, "Y/N, you gave me that hope. Your goodness, your charity, your beauty. This realm has much to offer, more than I ever dreamed, but you are what I love most about the surface. From that very first day we spoke, I knew that you were what I was meant to find here."

Your vision blurs as he reaches to gently stroke your cheek.

"All of that to say...I've fallen in love with you, Y/N."

A sob escapes your throat as you look into his eyes and see it.

"I fell for you too. From the first day," you nod, finding your own confidence, "Being Atlantean doesn't change that. I don't care about who you've been or what you've done. I want to be with you. I love you too, Orm."

His composure crumbles along with yours as you embrace. The distance between you vanishes as your lips meet in a desperate kiss. You rest your hands on his chest and melt into his touch. He sighs and deepens the kiss, pulling you close against him. You feel the coolness of this still-dripping clothes soak through to your skin as you become lost in the taste of salt and longing. When you're forced to come up for air, you're both beaming.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he smiles, caressing your face.

"Me too," you giggle, lacing your arms around his neck, "What did you think of your first surface-dweller kiss?"

"Not too bad. I think I'll have to try it again before I decide if I really like it," he smirks.

"Well, if you get me out of this frigid water, I'll see what I can do about that," you tease back.

"Now that I can do," he announces.

You shriek in surprise as he swiftly lifts you from the water and into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. He chuckles in amusement and carries you bridal style back toward the shore.

"Orm!" you protest, in an obviously half-hearted fashion.

"I have to admit, concealing my Atlantean strength has been considerably more difficult than I anticipated," he reveals, wincing a bit, "I intended to bring a bottle of wine tonight as well, but- the glass here is far weaker than what I'm accustomed to."

You laugh. "Well, it's the thought that counts."

"I'm glad you think so. Because I thought since I'm responsible for us missing the best part of the sunset, that perhaps we could lie under the stars instead?" he suggests, setting you down gently on your feet upon the blanket.

"I would love to," you say, looking up at him, "But aren't you freezing in those clothes?"

"I'm used to it," he shrugs, "I don't think I feel the cold the same as you."

"In that case," you say, pulling him closer into a tender kiss, "What do you think about that?"

He grins.

"It was perfect, and I'm certain it will not be my last."

You no longer feel the chill as you cling to him, and he rests his forehead to yours. It didn't matter where the tides of life would take you next. As long as Orm was there to hold you in the waves, you would always be in your favorite place.

#orm marius x reader #orm x reader #ocean master x reader #orm marius #orm imagine #aquaman and the lost kingdom #patrick wilson #aquaman imagine #orm fanfic #aquaman fanfic #my writing #strangers like me from tarzan is 100% orm-coded and i couldn't resist using it for the title #aquaman

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frost-queen · 2 years ago

Text

Below the surface (Reader x Ed Warren)

Requested by: @hwangrimi ,Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

Ding dong.

Lifting your head up, you turned to look at the door. – “Hang… hang on I think someone is at the door.” – you spoke through the telephone cutting through your friends rambling. – “I’ll leave you on hanging. Wait a second.” – you told her before putting the horn upwards down. Faintly you could hear her voice call out your name. Hesitantly you went towards the door, wondering who it could be. Grabbing the doorknob you opened the door expecting to see anyone. To your surprise there was no one.

Furrowing your brows you wondered if you had imagined the doorbell. Needless you looked around, yet no one was around. Wanting to head back inside your eyes fell down on a stack of letters and a package on your doorstep. Bending down you picked it up. Moving the letters to the back to get to the package. Wrapped in brown paper packages. – “I didn’t order anything.” – you mumbled to yourself.

Returning into the house you placed the items on the counter near where you had left the horn. Still hearing your friends voice call out to you. – “I’m here.” – you said speaking into the horn. – “Goodness you took your time. Who was at the door? A handsome man?” – you heard your friend say in your ear. – “No…” – you answered looking down at the package. – “Just some letters and a package.”

“A package oh what did you buy. You have to tell me. Did you buy the hairdryer? I heard it’s great. Saves you a trip to the hairdresser.” – she replied excitingly. – “I… I didn’t order anything.” – you told her staring strangely at the package. – “Well open it up then. Maybe it is from an admirer. Maybe that guy Ed that used to live in your parent’s neighborhood?” – the mention of Ed’s name made you snap out of your stare. – “Oh hush!” – you told her playfully. – “I haven’t seen him in years. I doubt he would gift me something out of nowhere.” – you explained to her.

“Who knows?” – was her answer. – “Now open it up and tell me what it is.” – your friend encouraging you more to open it. You pressed the horn between your cheek and shoulder to use both hands to open it. Neatly you unwrapped it not wanting to damage the paper. – “What is it?” – you heard your friend say frantically in your ear. Eyes glued onto the package as it revealed to have been hiding a doll. An old raggedy doll with one eye missing that used to be a black button. – “It’s… It’s…” – you started slowly bringing the doll up to eyes-height.

“A doll.” – you finished confused. – “A doll?” – your friend called out. You hummed loud holding the doll in many angles to get a good look at it. – “Why would I have this?” – you wondered setting the doll down to sit. – “Maybe it was wrongly delivered?” – she questioned over the phone. You examined the brown paper package trying to look for a street address. – “It has nothing on it.” – you told her.

You heard her hum loud. – “Is it cute?” – she asked. You took a second to admire the doll once more. – “It’s old.” – you told her. – “Dirty and rather ugly.” – you told her pulling your nose up at the doll. You picked it up once more holding it by the arm as it dangled in the air. The doll’s dress yellowed out from over the years. The dress’s edges ruffled. The stray like red hair tied together in two ponytails. Dust stains on the doll’s face. Then there was that one black button eye.

You stared at it for a moment seeing how shimmering it was. A shudder rushed up your spine making you toss the doll on the counter. You hung up on your friend, saying your goodbye’s over the telephone. Placing the horn back you looked back at the doll. – “I’m not keeping you.” – you said out loud, grabbing the doll by her arm. The doll bounced in your hand as you made your way outside. Going behind your house to open the garbage can.

You opened the lit looking down in it. – “In you go.” – you said tossing the doll down in it. The lit closed leaving the doll in utter darkness. Wiping your hands you headed back inside. Inside you came to a stop hearing water drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Slow and at a constant pace. Following the sound you went into the kitchen seeing the faucet drip. You turned on the handle to block it out. The dripping stopped. Sighing loud you calmed yourself. Somehow you felt lighter with that doll out of your house.

The next morning you woke up, startled to find the doll at your bed’s end. – “I threw you out!” – you said frantically knowing you did… or did you? Moving your fingers through your hair you weren’t sure anymore. Getting out of bed you grabbed the doll with you. – “You’re going in the trash.” – you told it going down the stairs. You froze hearing the radio turn itself on. Static filling the room. The channel constantly changing as a distorted voice came through the static. – “Are… you feeling… nervous?” – the words came through distorted and robotic with a deep growl.

Blinking confused you weren’t sure if you had heard it correctly. The radio only blasting static. Rushing over to it you turned it off. Shaking your head you rushed outside, tossing the doll once more with the trash. Heading back inside you suddenly stopped looking down at your hand. Gasping loud you saw you were still holding the doll. Had you not thrown it out? Something felt odd. As if you couldn’t remember your last actions. You jumped out of your skin when a music box started to play music.

The melody sweet and melancholic. Panicking you dropped the doll on the ground. You snatched the music box from the shelve, throwing it on the ground. The box clattered open, pieces scattering around. Breathing loud, you felt like losing your mind. Heart thumping loudly in your chest. Your eyes fell upon the doll laying down on the ground. Tilting your head to the side, you stared right at the doll. Somehow you felt like it was laughing at you.

Shouting loud you rushed up to the doll, throwing it outside through the door. Exhaling deep you felt a bit at peace. Moving into the living room you hoped to be rid of it forever. The tv flashed on without a warning. Static drizzling the screen. You slowly moved closer to it. How was it possible for it to turn on by itself? Kneeling you came face to face with the tv. – “Mommy please.” – a child’s voice echoed out sounding both haunting as desperate. It made you gasp loud, falling back. The tv shutting out, turning into a black screen.

You screamed seeing a reflection in the blackness of the screen behind you. Turning around your eyes widened seeing the doll sit in the armchair with the remote near it. – “What is going on?” – you frantically called out getting up. Holding your hands over your ears you were panicking. Panting loud as the lights around you started to flicker on and off. A distorted voice laughing as it sounded like all around you. The voice glitching from sweet to deep. A deep tremor you didn’t know anyone possible could bellow.

You took a run for it to the front door. Grabbing the handle you started pulling at it. The door not opening. – “No! No! let me out!” – you called out thumping loudly on the door. From behind you, you felt like someone was approaching. – “Let me out! Let me out! Help!” – you screamed out panicking while jamming frantically on the doorknob. A deep growl rumbled down the hallway. Looking back you saw how blacked out it was. Barely able to see further into your house. – “Help! Help!” – you kept calling out feeling powerless. The door wouldn’t budge as the feeling grew closer.

Creeping up on you like a shadow’s blanket. You heard the radio turn back on. As before only static coming through. – “No! Let me out! Please! Help me!” – you cried out pulling as hard as you could on the handle. – “You’re going to serve…” – the disrupted voice came through. – “No…no please!” – you cried louder, eyes suddenly widening. – “Us.” – a clear voice spoke in your ear. Before you knew it you were grabbed pulled back into the shadow. Your eyes shot awake, slowly lifting your head as you found yourself in bed.

The doll you had thrown out numerous times sitting on the other end of your room. Rubbing your eyes you weren’t sure what hour or day it was. A hazy feeling lingering in your mind. Touching your forehead you felt out of place. Looking up to the doll, it appeared to be staring back at you. The forever attached smile to her face smiling creepily back at you. Gasping startled the light on your nightstand started to flicker. As a response you jumped out of bed, taking the doll with you.

From that day on, you never went anywhere without the doll. Thinking it might have resented you for calling it old and ugly, specially for tossing it away. No matter how many times you threw it away, it always ended back with you. Best not to anger it further you thought. Some days you felt like yourself as other days you couldn’t remember how or when you got to a certain place around your house. Suddenly standing somewhere with an object in your hand, haven forgotten what happened before.

It had been a while since you left the house, but here you were. Outside in town meeting up with your friend. You greeted her from afar, crossing the street. She waved back at her, her brows furrowing at you. From inside your purse she could see the head of a doll pop up. – “Is… is that the doll you had been given?” – she asked confused. You hummed loud. – “Why… why in God’s name are you carrying it with you?” – she asked further finding you very strange. – “Because it doesn’t like to be alone.” – you answered. – “It’s a doll Y/n. A f*cking doll it has no feelings!” – your friend called out finding you a lunatic for even thinking such a thought.

“Shut it!” – you snapped at her with a louder voice than you anticipated. It made your friend flinch. – “Sorry…” – you sighed out rubbing your forehead. – “I don’t know what is happening to me.” – you told her. – “Weird that is what is happening to you!” – she called out with a deep sigh. – “Jeez Y/n when was the last time you went out, or even had a man?” – she questioned looking at you. – “I don’t know.” – you replied exhausted.

Your friend looked behind you, eyes blinking surprised at the sight of someone familiar. – “We’ll change that.” – she hooker her arm with yours, waving excitedly at someone. – “Ed!” – she called out. – “Ed Warren! Ed!” – she kept calling out till she got his attention. You shot her glare wanting to break free from her grip. – “Oh no you aren’t going anywhere.” – she mumbled to you, keeping her smile up.

Ed came over, smiling. – “Y/n is that you?” – he asked. Your friend hummed loud scooting you closer to him. – “It has been a while, perhaps you two should meet up to catch up on lost time.” – she proposed with a cheeky grin. – “I… uhm.. of course… if you don’t mind of course Y/n.” – he felt a bit nervous. – “She doesn’t mind.” – your friend answered pushing you closer to him. You bumped against Ed, smiling sheepishly at him. – “Hi.” – you breathed out. – “Hi.” – he responded smiling shyly down at you. – “Good you kids have fun then.” – your friend wished you the best of luck with him.

Knowing how crazy you two were for each other when growing up. If only you hadn’t moved into another neighborhood, things might have played out sooner. Ed gestured for you to lead the way. The two of you settled in a nice coffee shop down the road. You sat down taking your bag off, setting it beside you on a chair. Ed quirked his brow up at the sight of the raggedy doll’s head sticking out of it. – “Is that yours?” – he asked pointed at the doll. You looked down at it as if forgotten you had it. – “It was gifted to me.” – you replied.

“By who?” – Ed asked further curious about the doll. You pulled your shoulders up. – “I found it at my doorstep, and it won’t leave me.” – you told him, not sure why you said that last part. It felt as if the desperate part in you wanted to share it with anyone. Ed quirked his eyebrow up once more. – “May I see it?” – he held his hand out. You reached for the doll taking it out gently. – “Be careful with it.”

Ed accepted the doll from you, taking a close look at it. He stared into the black button eye. Staring intensely till an apparition in the button made him flinch back. – “What is it?” – you asked concerned. Ed looked from the doll to you with shock. – “Y/n… this doll…” – he started not sure how to put this into words. – “It’s haunted.” – he whispered making you laugh loud. – “Now give it back.” – you extended your hand to him.

Ed stared baffled at you. – “I can’t give this back to you Y/n. You need to get rid of it.” – he explained, feeling yourself grow angrier. – “Give it back!” – you called out louder snatching at the doll. Ed kept it out of reach from you. – “Y/n I don’t think you understand the situation. Let me help you. You see I am a demonologist. I can…” – he went on as you grew impatient. – “Give it to me!” – you shouted getting up. The light in the coffee shop flickering around you.

Ed looked shocked around then to the doll he was holding. You snatched the doll from him. Staring down at it you felt yourself slip in a frozen position. Unable to move while staring into the black buttoned eye. – “Y/n!” – Ed called out grabbing you by the elbow. – “No!” – your mouth said although it wasn’t your voice coming through. A voice much deeper and distorted then yours.

Ed grabbed you firmly by the shoulders, staring at your eyes. He saw how dull your eyes appeared. No sign of light in them. – “Y/n.” – he said cupping your cheeks. He was searching for any signs of yourself. – “Looking for something?” – you replied with a sly smile. Ed clenched his jaw, hardening his gaze on you. – “You’ll burn in hell.” – he whispered threateningly. You could only chuckle devious. – “I already am.” – you answered. Ed grabbed you firm by the arm, pulling you with him.

Outside you seemed to have snapped out of it. – “Are we leaving yet?” – you asked. Ed sat you in his car, shutting the door. – “Ed? Ed where are we going?” – you questioned watching him go around the car. He glanced your way once sitting down. – “I’m going to save you.” – he answered starting the car. Your eyes widened when he stopped the car at his house. – “Why are we here?” – you asked when Ed pulled you out of the car. He pushed you inside his house, locking the door behind him.

“Give me the doll Y/n.” – he said as soon as he had entered his house. – “No…” – you answered shaking your head. – “Y/n give it to me!” – Ed repeated in a more demanding matter. – “No…” – repeating your words louder. – “Y/n give me the doll and all will be well. I want to help you. Y/n you need help.” – Ed called out desperately. You kept shaking your head, pressing the doll against your chest. – “Y/n! That thing!” – Ed shouted nearly losing his patience. – “That thing is haunted by a demon!”

You looked down at the doll. A whisper filling your ears. – “His words mean to deceive you.” – the whisper said. – “My voice just wants to lead you.” – the whisper continued with a deep grumble. – “Liar!” – you shouted at Ed. Ed tensed his jaw, snatching the doll out of your hands. – “No!” – you called out as he tossed it into the fire. You wanted to run towards it to save it, but Ed grabbed you by your waist. – “Y/n no!” – he called out keeping you close by him. Falling to your knees you watched as the doll burned away.

The black button falling off and dropping into the fires. A loud breath emerged from the fireplace like a breath. – “Who are you?” – Ed asked loud knowing it was released now. He heard a bellowing deep chuckle. Looking down in shock, he heard you chuckle devious in his arms. Ed inhaled sharp pressing his hand up against your cheek. – “Y/n wake up.” – he begged. You kept chuckling as Ed knew it wasn’t you. – “Who are you?” – he asked loudly.

“Don’t you want a kiss?” – you spoke with a voice deeper then yours. Ed moved his head back when you leaned in closer with your lips. – “I command you to tell me your name!” – Ed called out shaking you a bit in his arms. Your eyes closed as your body suddenly started to spasm in his arms. – “No.” – Ed breathed out. – “You will not have her!” – he demanded holding you close to his chest. Closing his eyes he started to recite verses of the bible. Your spasm increased as Ed had to press you hard against him to deafen it out.

“Speak your name!” – he ordered looking up. – “I order you to speak your name!” – Ed continued. Your cheeks became purple having lost any control over your body. It kept spasming, feeling as if you couldn’t breathe. – “Your name!” – Ed screamed out pulling the cross from around his neck off. He pressed it against your chest to protect you. – “Baphomet!” – the demon roared out. Ed tensed his expression, finally knowing it’s name.

Ed started shouted verses of the bible to cast out the demon itself. Your breath shocked, grasping for air as you weren’t getting any. Ed looked down at you, tears in his eyes as he slowly lowered his forehead against yours. He kept on speaking the verses closing his eyes on you. Around him whirled a wind as strong as a storm. The demon was fighting back. His house filled with hundreds of whispers gibberish. Ed wouldn’t listen to it, lifting his head up to shout the verses louder. Repeating them each time with more power.

In his arms were you wheezing for air. – “You will never have her!” – Ed called out between his verses. You gasped one time loud before your chest fell still. In front of Ed appeared a sigil. It burned up till the light died out. Along with the storm that was swirling around him. Ed gasped for air, panting at the effort he just put himself through. – “Y/n?” – he said looking down at you. For a moment your chest didn’t move. Still. – “No… please… Y/n stay with me…”

Then. Your chest started to rise and fall again. Ed exhaled relieved to see you were still breathing and alive. He pulled you a bit up in his embrace to kiss your forehead. – “I’m sorry for not being sooner in your life Y/n. I have found you now and I am not letting you go.” – he whispered. – “You are save now and I’ll keep you save for as long as I live.” – he left a kiss right above your lips.

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