#Directorial Vision | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grandline-fics · 4 months ago

Note

Hi!!! I LOVED the unconscious one and I was wondering if you could do a version of that with Law and Sanji?

DESCRIPTION: When you suddenly lose consciousness

WARNINGS: descriptions of fainting/ falling asleep. fluff

CHARACTERS: Law, Sanji, Ace | Luffy, Zoro | Sabo, Killer, Marco

WORDS: 1824

A/N: Thank you for this request! Someone else also requested this prompt so I doubled up the characters. I hope you like what I came up with for this one.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

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LAW

You understood Law’s unstoppable need to further his already extensive and impressive medical skills. Every island was researched thoroughly, including the kinds of herbs and other plants that were native to there to use in future medicines he could make. When he ventured to his own lab after an island visit with the newest additions you knew he’d be shut inside for hours on end until he’d found every possible use and countermeasure for his research in the event that anything turned out to be poisonous or bring about negative side affects.

When night had fallen and there was still no sign of movement or sound of activity from his lab, you volunteered to go and fetch your Captain for dinner. You knew he hadn’t eaten anything since the breakfast you’d all shared together but even then it hadn’t been much given how fast he wanted to dock at the island. Leaning against the cold steel wall of the Tang you lightly knocked on the lab door, listening to the dull echo from inside. Thankfully a more human sound followed, footsteps but he never opened the door. “Captain? It’s time to eat and don’t say you’re not hungry because we both know you haven’t eaten much today.”

“I’ve eaten enough.” Law’s muffled reply came and you scoffed.

“Okay so if I ate what you’d consumed today and then skipped dinner you’d say…?”

“That’s not the point.” You smirked at the grumbled reply, knowing that was the most out of him by means of admitting he wasn’t looking after himself.

“If I bring you a plate of food will you eat it?” You asked, knowing you had to compromise with him on days like these.

“Fine…” For someone so serious and in charge all the time, Law really could become a grumpy child at times. Laughing softly you went to the kitchen to grab a plate of food for him. Your plan had been to hand him the food and then return to the dining hall and eat with the others so Law could continue with his work in solitude. Since he knew you were coming back you knocked once on the door and continued inside, not needing to wait.

However the second you did you were hit with the overwhelming strength of the smell of Law’s different experiments with the plants. One second your vision was clearly on his face, the next it was blurring and you were swaying and toppling over, the plate dropping from your hands. Law saw it happen in slow motion. Immediately he activated his room ability and had you safely in his arms while what would have been his dinner smashed on the ground. Law looked at you and let out a slow sigh. He hadn’t expected that kind of reaction and made a mental note to write down this new outcome from the combination of the plants but that would have to wait. Shifting you so you were held more comfortably in his hold he carried you out of the lab and to his room so you were away from the fumes that caused this in the first place and somewhere you could rest peacefully. You were the priority and he refused to let you out of his sight or hold until you woke up.

SANJI

Another day on the Sunny, another day of typical chaos and noise. By now you were used to it to the point that if things were peaceful for too long you’d be concerned. On today’s schedule of activity Sanji and Zoro were bickering as usual in the build up to lunch time. Franky and Usopp were working on their own separate weapon modifications. When Usopp proudly announced that now his Kabuto was even more improved that practically anyone could use it Luffy loudly demanded to try it out, springing it up from his perch on Sunny’s head. After a lot of back and forth, Usopp gave in to his Captain’s whims and reluctantly handing Kabuto over along with his more harmless ammunition pellets.

Luffy being in charge of the weapon managed to grab everyone’s attention, even halting Sanji and Zoro’s routine brawl. Even with Usopp’s assurances that everything would be safe, you knew better than to doubt Luffy’s ability to cause trouble even with little to no outside influence. To be on the safe side you abandoned your comfy place on the deck to observe from the kitchen, believing that being in an entirely different room was your best option. Watching in amusement you saw Luffy mostly strike poses with Usopp’s weapon before actually trying to use it and the safe ammunition he’d been given to play with. Then Luffy pulled back the pouch, wondering how far it would go with his added stretching ability.

However this was something Usopp had never taken into account and when Luffy pulled beyond the strain the weapon was capable of, one of the elastic cables snapped. Not expecting it, Luffy released the weapon and toppled over as the pellet sailed through the air and directly into the kitchen. You didn’t have time to dodge and the tiny blue pellet connected against your shoulder, bursting into a small cloud of smoke. All it took was a small breath and it overcame your senses completely, sending your already unconscious body to the floor.

Sanji was the first to drop to your side with Chopped quickly behind him. While Chopper checked you over Sanji began yelling at Luffy for being so stupid and at Usopp for being even more idiotic that the Captain by allowing this to even happen. “You better not have harmed a hair on their head or I’m not feeding either of you morons for a week!”

“I promise they’ll wake up!” Usopp insisted while grabbing Luffy to stop him from launching himself at your sleeping form to try and wake you with force at Sanji’s threat of no food. “It’ll just…take a little while.”

“What do you mean a little while!?” Sanji demanded with a glare, his anger faltering when in your sleep you rolled onto your side and relaxed closer beside Sanji, subconsciously seeking the warmth of his hand that was protectively laid on your arm. As reassuring as it was to see you seemed okay and merely sleeping soundly you were still in this situation because of his stupid crewmate and Captain. Quickly he looked to the sniper for his explanation, his anger returning in force.

“W-well I made those sleep stars to ensure whoever we used them against wouldn’t wake up right away and give us all enough time to make our escape if we needed them.”

“How long Usopp?!”

“A few hours at least.” At that revelation and the look of murder in Sanji’s eyes both Usopp and Luffy fled, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Even that didn’t rouse you. Chopper reassured Sanji that you would be okay and also left. With a small sigh, Sanji gathered you into his arms and carried you to the sofa against the wall so you could sleep comfortably while he cooked and could keep a close eye on you at the same time.

ACE

Ace took Whitebeard’s belief that everyone on the ship was a family to heart. As commander of the second division he knew the responsibility on his shoulders to ensure everyone under his command was protected and safe. Did he pay you a little extra attention and ensure you were protected and happy and safe first before the others? Maybe but he couldn’t help it. You were so easy to talk to and work along side. You made his days better and he always had a smile on his face when he was near you. Every morning he woke and would make his way to share breakfast with the crew, his spot at the table almost always either beside or opposite you. So long as you were in range to talk to that was all that mattered.

On this adventure on the winter island, Ace kept a close eye on you. While he could just boost the internal heat of his devil fruit so he couldn’t feel the cold you were left to huddle closer into your thick coat and layers when a surge of bitter wind cut through the air. You suppressed the constant urge to shiver and focused your mind on thinking of other things all the while trying to avoid looking Ace’s way otherwise you would only become increasingly jealous each time you saw how unaffected he was by the snow and cold. He was getting to truly enjoy the beauty of the island and all it had to offer. You wanted to step closer to your division commander but you resisted, not wanting him to think you were only doing so to make use of his body heat. On that principle you held back a little more than you normally would and suffered the cold.

Every step seemed to sap your strength. Even with all of your resilience and training, the walk through the elements like this always took its toll. Ace glanced back when your footing slipped for the third time in twenty minutes and saw the exhaustion clear in your face. The dropping temperature from you both trudging through a shaded area and the day dragging on wasn’t a good combination. “Hey let’s stop for a while, catch our breath?”

“Ace, you don’t need a break.” You protested with a small huff, rubbing your arms as you tried not to get too close to Ace now that he’d stopped. The second you felt his body heat, the second you’d all but give in to his suggestion.

“Sure I do.” Ace grinned at you, offering you his winning smile, the one that could convince you to do anything. “C’mon please? Feel like you’ve been avoiding me. I don’t stink do I?”

“Oh that’s playing dirty.” You lectured with a small pout. “You know I’m not avoiding you.”

“Prove it.” Ace’s smile broadened into a grin and held out his arms to gesture you to finally come closer. Knowing you didn’t have the energy to resist Ace watched you finally close the distance. When you were in touching distance Ace slung an arm around your shoulder in a light embrace. “There we go! Geez you’re freezing!”

You weren’t even listening to Ace’s comment. The second you were in the warmth your body began to relax and your heavy limbs finally felt lighter. Your eyes began to droop and you let out a long yawn, pressing your head against Ace’s body. Before you knew it Ace had stooped down and lifted you to settle onto his back. He let out a soft laugh at the feeling of your body completely relaxing and sound of your breath evening out. You’d already passed out. “You rest up back there. We’ll be at the town soon.”

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rawliverandgoronspice · 1 year ago

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If they're going the Miyazaki direction, then BOY everything is gonna be CGI for that live action movie

Which would be a most spectacular way to indicate how much Miyazaki's philosophy completely went over their head, but.

Maybe not! Who knows!

I am not expecting a single thing from this, and even if it ends up being competently done I'll probably resent the energy behind it anyway. To me, saying "we want to do it Miyazaki-style" without explaining any of the nuances behind what makes this director's work distinct and unique, what they are borrowing and what they are making their own, is *such* a red flag on its own.

#asks #loz movie #hayao miyazaki #thanks for the ask!!#I'm just #I'm just begging for directors with actual directorial vision #and not just going “wouldn't it be cool if [reference A] met [reference B] woow” at us #getting tired at pop culture for this trend

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kkanabel · 3 months ago

Text

co-pilot mischief ✫ curly concerns ✫ chapter uno

captain curly x teasing!reader

curly panics when he realizes he's attracted to his co-pilot. a mixture of professionalism and fear of making you uncomfortable are keeping him from pursuing his feelings. so, when you find out that he has a thing for you, you tease him to see how long it'll take for him to give up.

directory/m.list next chapter ⇨

words: ~3.5k

t/w: sexual references but no actual yucky (yet), reader being lowkey sadistic, cute curly <3, gn!reader/pronouns but reader wears a bra

a/n: hi. been obsessed with this video game recently—well, especially with Curly (go figure. i like fictional men). i needed to make something self-indulgent bc i just like this man way too much. and because i just want to make a world where none of them have to suffer. enjoy~

~jambalaya does not exist in this world~

Planned Shipment Duration: 382 Days Elapsed Transit Time: 292 Days

It had been over nine months aboard this damned ship, and Curly was just short of going mad. Not the kind of madness that came with sleep deprivation—he’d conquered that particular beast long ago, his body numb to the restless nights. No, this madness was quieter, more insidious, burrowing into his mind and refusing to leave. It trailed him through the claustrophobic halls of the Tulpar, slipping into the smallest crevices of his day-to-day. The worst part was, he knew exactly what caused it.

Or rather, who.

His co-pilot. The bane of his existence. The source of his sanity slipping through his fingers like sand.

Curly groaned and scrubbed his face with his hands, his calloused palms dragging over stubble. The cockpit was bathed in the green glow of the ship’s display panels, casting long shadows over his hunched figure. For once, he was alone. His co-pilot was off—God knows where—and he was left to grapple with the gnawing frustration that never seemed to diminish. It wasn’t the kind of irritation that burned; it simmered, steady and unyielding, until it became part of the fabric of his thoughts, melting like wax into his very being.

He could see their handwriting on the little sticky notes scattered around the console, each one an infuriatingly sweet reminder to stretch, drink water, or take a break. He tried to ignore the way those notes made him feel a little lighter, even when he wanted to crumple them up out of spite. Then there were the meals—hot, fresh, and left beside him during the long hours he spent poring over ship diagnostics on days he’d forget to come to the main lobby for food. Like clockwork, they arrived, a silent reminder that someone out there cared. Too much, in fact.

It wasn’t the fact that they’d climbed the ranks with startling efficiency or that they were nipping at his heels for his own position. But the issue wasn’t their competence. Hell, he’d been the one to recommend them to the crew. No, the problem—the real problem—was that he didn’t mind the notes. Or the meals. Or the way their laugh lingered in his head long after the joke had ended.

That was the crux of it: he didn’t mind. He cared too much.

Curly growled under his breath and pushed himself out of his chair, dropping into a push-up position before the thought could take hold again. One. Two. Three. The strain burned through his biceps and shoulders, grounding him in something tangible. In the beginning, this ritual had worked. Twenty push-ups, and he’d feel clear-headed enough to get back to work. But now? He was well into quadrupling that number, and the haze in his mind hadn’t lifted.

“Damn it,” he muttered, shifting to one-armed push-ups. Sweat beaded on his brow, but his thoughts remained stubbornly fixed.

It was their fault. The way they lingered in his peripheral vision during late-night shifts, always a step ahead of him. The way their presence filled the cockpit, electric and steady, as if the entire ship ran on their quiet energy. He hated it. He needed it.

Curly collapsed onto the floor, the cool metal pressing against his flushed skin. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the dull ceiling, and exhaled sharply. But it wasn’t their fault. It was all his.

Because no matter how many push-ups he did or how hard he worked, he couldn’t seem to outrun the one truth he hated most: he was falling for his co-pilot, and there was no way to make it stop.

It all started so innocently.

A couple of months ago, when Curly’s sleep was deteriorating thanks to the unholy cocktail of chronic insomnia and the Pony Express directive of “only indulging in five hours of sleep a night,” the signs of wear were becoming impossible to hide. His dark circles deepened, hollowing out his features, and the number of minor piloting errors he made began creeping upward. He hated slipping up, especially in front of the crew. But you had been there, catching the mistakes before anyone else could notice, your tone warm and forgiving as you covered for him without a single reproach.

“How many hours of sleep did you get last night, Captain?” you asked, glancing at him with a knowing arch of your brow. The question was less accusatory and more concerned, which somehow made it worse.

The third time you caught him in the cockpit, chugging yet another cup of bitter instant coffee, you sighed with exasperation. He barely had time to process what you were doing before you nudged him toward the door with a bottle of melatonin clutched in your hand.

“Rest, Captain,” you said firmly, standing your ground in front of him with a tilt to your chin that tolerated no argument. “Don’t go abusing yourself—and caffeine—like that. Do me a favor and take one of these with some water. I’ve got the ship tied down.”

Before he could retort, you physically pushed him through the doorway and locked the cockpit door behind him. He stared at the bottle of melatonin in his hand, blinking in confusion, his mind too fogged with exhaustion to properly argue. He barely made it to his quarters without bumping into a wall. Still, he heeded your demand.

When he woke up hours later, groggy but undeniably more refreshed than he’d felt in weeks, he returned to the cockpit to find the door unlocked and you sitting in his chair, nursing a steaming cup of water between your hands.

The smile you gave him as he walked in—small, gentle—made something in his chest falter, like the ship had hit a pocket of turbulence. He ignored it, chalking the reaction up to gratitude. “Thanks,” he muttered before reclaiming his chair.

That should have been it. A one-off moment. But it wasn’t.

The next time was when you came bounding into the cockpit, an excited glint in your eyes, holding a bundle of old films scavenged from storage. “Look what I found!” you exclaimed, dropping them onto the console as if they were treasures unearthed from a sunken ship. The crew’s old stash of classic movies. You suggested a movie night, and by the weekend, everyone was gathered in the living area, dressed in mismatched pajamas as per your insistence.

The fake day-and-night screen in the living room had been converted into a movie screen (thanks to a favor from Swansea), and you’d somehow transformed the cramped space into a cozy theater. The crew was laughing, the air thick with the buttery aroma of popcorn—smuggled aboard in direct defiance of Pony Express regulations. Swansea lounged in a corner, throwing popcorn into his mouth with perfect aim, while Daisuke and Anya shared a bag of candy bars, their laughter ringing out during the film’s funniest moments.

And then there was you, looking at the rest of the crew, a relieved smile on your face from seeing them having fun and relaxing.

You’d curled up on the couch with bunny slippers, wearing an oversized t-shirt that reached down to your knees. Curly found himself staring at the way your legs curled up in front of you, the smooth skin catching the flickering light of the screen. He shook his head and willed himself to look back at the film, feeling an odd mix of discomfort and… something else.

It wasn’t just your legs that had caught his attention. He watched your shoulders relax as you looked at the others having a good time. From your shoulders, his eyes slowly trailed up to your neck,

There was the lace halter bralette peeking out from the neckline of your shirt, delicate and intricate, its strap circling your neck like a whisper of fabric. He’d overheard you mention it in passing to Anya once, saying how they were more comfortable than traditional bras. Cute, you’d said. Anya had agreed wholeheartedly, and the two of you had launched into an entire conversation about comfortable alternatives, leaving him both bewildered and hyper-aware of the intricacies of brassiers.

That night, you’d tied your hair up, sweeping it off your face and revealing the curve of your neck. He hated how his eyes kept trailing there, lingering too long on the strap of your bralette before snapping back to the screen.

What was wrong with him?

The laughter of the crew filled the room, but Curly’s focus was elsewhere. He watched the way your shoulders relaxed as you leaned back, your smile warm and unguarded as you looked at the others enjoying themselves. It had been a rough couple of weeks, but in that moment, you looked so at ease, like you were carrying everyone’s joy on your shoulders and doing it gladly.

His gaze drifted again, following the line of your neck up to your jaw and almost to your lips before he froze, his chest tightening with realization. He was staring. Stop it, you creep. His heart thudded in his chest, the weight of his guilt sinking in. The last thing he ever wanted was to make you uncomfortable, to let you see just how hopelessly he was starting to lose control of his own feelings.

And yet, even as he looked away, forcing his attention back to the film, the memory of your smile lingered in his mind, burning as brightly as a star in space.

Later that night, after the crew had dispersed to their quarters, Curly lingered in the living area. The faint smell of popcorn still hung in the air, and empty mugs cluttered the low table, remnants of the impromptu movie night.

He hadn’t planned to stay, but you were still there, stacking empty bowls with practiced efficiency. You hummed softly as you worked, the sound low and content.

“You don’t have to clean up,” he said, his voice startlingly loud in the quiet.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, an easy smile spreading across your face. “Neither do you, Captain. Yet here you are.”

Curly looked so charming, sweeping up the crumbs from the ground with a bashful smile. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Force of habit, I guess.”

He stepped forward and started gathering stray candy wrappers. You didn’t protest, and the two of you worked in companionable silence. The only sounds were the soft clink of mugs and the occasional hum from the ship’s systems.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter. He kept his eyes on the mug in his hand, turning it absently. “I think… the crew needed it.”

You paused, a little surprised. “Needed what?”

“A break. A reminder that things aren’t always so…” He trailed off, searching for the word. “Mechanical.”

You laughed softly, and the sound was warm enough to make his chest ache. “Even machines need downtime, Captain. And so do you.”

He glanced at you, his resolve faltering as you met his gaze head-on. Your eyes were steady, soft, and full of something he couldn’t quite name. For a moment, the ship felt too small, the air too thin.

“I guess I’ll work on that,” he said, forcing a crooked smile and dropping his gaze.

As the months passed, his little problem only got worse.

It started as little things.

The way Curly’s voice would soften when he said your name, like he was tasting it before letting it leave his mouth. How he always seemed to position himself between you and anything remotely dangerous during routine checks, even if the “danger” was just a loose panel or a slightly sparking wire. You noticed those things before, but they hadn’t meant much to you at the time.

But lately, you’ve started picking up on more.

Like how he fidgets whenever you lean over his chair to point something out on the cockpit screen. Or how his ears turn red if your hand brushes his when passing tools or data tablets. At first, you think it’s funny—how someone so competent and in control can get so flustered over little things. But then, there’s the moment in the Main Lobby.

You’re digging through one of the upper cabinets, on the hunt for something sweet, when you hear his boots scuff against the floor behind you.

“You’re always after the chocolate in the vending machine,” he says, leaning casually against the counter like he isn’t watching you a little too closely.

“And you’re always after the coffee,” you quip, holding up a ration bar triumphantly.

“Touché.” His lips twitch into a smile, and you can’t help but notice how his eyes linger on you just a moment too long before he turns to grab his mug from the shelf.

It’s not unusual—this kind of back-and-forth—but as you open the bar and break off a piece, you catch him glancing at you again, almost like he’s about to say something. He doesn’t, though, and the moment stretches long enough to feel... significant.

That’s when it starts clicking.

The lingering looks. The slight hesitation in his voice when he talks to you. The way he goes out of his way to make sure you’re comfortable, even when he doesn’t have to. The realization settles in your chest, warm and a little thrilling.

Does Curly like me?

Your mind starts replaying recent moments with a new lens. The way he always pulls you aside first to explain changes to the schedule. How he always offers to carry extra supplies during inspections, even when you insist you’re fine. That time he casually gave you his jacket when the living quarters were colder than usual, like it was no big deal.

“Earth to you,” Curly says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He’s holding out a water pouch, his brow slightly furrowed. “You zoned out there for a second. You okay?”

You take the pouch and give him a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

You tilt your head, studying him, and your smile widens when he shifts under your gaze. “Nothing important.”

It’s a lie, of course. You’re thinking about him—about how he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, about how he tries so hard to act unaffected when you’re around.

And for the first time, you feel a little wicked. If Curly likes you, why not have a little fun with it?

Curly knew something was off the moment you walked into the cockpit.

It wasn’t just the way you greeted him, your voice light and playful as always. It was the way your smile lingered, like you were holding onto a secret you couldn’t wait to let out.

“You’re up early,” you said, dropping into your seat beside him.

“Could say the same for you,” Curly muttered, keeping his eyes on the console. He was grateful for the excuse to look busy, though the screen in front of him was just a diagnostic report he’d already read three times.

“You’re always so serious, Captain.” Your tone was teasing, but there was something else beneath it, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He didn’t respond, didn’t trust himself to.

The silence stretched, and just when he thought you’d moved on, you leaned closer—close enough for him to catch the faint scent of whatever soap you used.

“Hey, Curly?”

His stomach flipped. “Yeah?”

You paused, drawing it out, like you were savoring his anticipation. Then, with a sly grin, you said, “You’re staring.”

“I’m not—” He froze, his heart skipping a beat. “What?”

“You are,” you insisted, your grin widening. “You’ve been staring at that same report for the last ten minutes. What’s so interesting about it?”

Curly’s mouth went dry. He scrambled for an answer, but his mind betrayed him, replaying every fleeting glance he’d stolen of you earlier that morning. How long had you noticed?

When he didn’t respond, you leaned back in your chair, smug satisfaction written all over your face. “Relax, Captain. I’m just messing with you.”

But you weren’t. Not entirely.

Because as you watched the tips of his ears turn pink and saw how his jaw tightened, you realized something. Something that made your pulse quicken and your lips curl into a wicked smile.

He likes me.

And now that you knew, you couldn’t help yourself.

Curly swore the ship’s cockpit had never felt this small before.

You were now hovering just over his shoulder, leaning in to inspect a blinking diagnostic alert on the screen. The proximity was maddening—he could feel the warmth radiating off you, the sleeve of your Pony Express jumpsuit brushing against his arm every time you moved.

“Hmm,” you mused, tilting your head. “Looks like a minor power fluctuation. Nothing to worry about, but we should log it for the next maintenance check.”

He nodded stiffly, trying to focus on your words instead of the fact that your hair was so close it tickled his cheek. “Right. I’ll, uh, take care of it.”

But when he reached for the keyboard, so did you. Your fingers grazed his, and you both froze.

“Sorry,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. A playful smile tugged at your lips, and he didn’t trust it for a second. “Didn’t mean to get in your way, Captain.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered, turning back to the screen. But his fingers trembled slightly as he typed, and he cursed himself for it.

“You know,” you said, leaning against the edge of the console, your voice deceptively casual. “You look good when you’re focused like that.”

He nearly choked. “What?”

“I said you look good when you’re focused.” You shrugged, like it was the most normal, casual thing in the world. “It’s kind of intimidating, actually. In a good way.”

His face burned, and he fought the urge to bury it in his hands. “I—uh—thanks, I guess...”

The smile you gave him was nothing short of devilish. “You’re welcome.”

You stayed there, watching him a little too closely, and he could feel his pulse thudding in his ears. Finally, he risked a glance at you, only to find you tilting your head with mock innocence.

“Everything okay, Captain?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, focusing hard on the screen. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Oh, no reason.” Your voice was light, teasing. “You just seem a little... tense.”

He stiffened, embarrassed and confused as to what you were doing but powerless to stop it.

“You know,” you continued, leaning a little closer again, “you really should loosen up. It’s not good for your health to be so serious all the time.”

“I’m not—” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” You studied him for a moment, and then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you added, “If you ever need help relaxing, Captain, just let me know.”

He froze, his brain short-circuiting at the double meaning behind your words.

Before he could stammer out a response, you straightened up, patting him lightly on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t work too hard, okay?”

And just like that, you were gone, leaving him alone in the cockpit, his heart racing and his mind a chaotic mess.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. He was doomed. Absolutely doomed.

From the moment you saw Curly’s ears turn red, his fate was sealed. You’d never imagined the stoic, dependable captain could be reduced to such an adorable mess, and now that you’d seen it, there was no going back. It was just too cute—the way his bravado would falter, his words stumbling over themselves as he tried and failed to maintain composure.

Normally, Curly was all broad shoulders and easy charm, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. But you’d discovered a crack in that armor, a secret button that turned him from the ever-confident leader into a flustered, helpless schoolboy. And oh, what a delightful button it was to press.

You’d always found him attractive—how could you not? He was responsible, dependable, and unfairly handsome. But for the longest time, you assumed he’d only ever see you as his co-pilot, someone to rely on professionally but never personally. Yet now, the way his gaze lingered a moment too long, the subtle flush on his cheeks whenever you got a little too close, told you a very different story.

It gave you a strange, heady sense of power, and you had absolutely no intention of letting it go to waste.

A small, wicked thrill ran through you whenever you imagined the possibilities. What if you teased him just enough to make that carefully controlled exterior crumble? What if you pushed him to the edge, until he couldn’t hold it in any longer? Your mind wandered to a particularly wonderful thought: Curly, unable to take it anymore, bending you over the console with a heated, desperate confession.

You shivered, the fantasy almost too delicious to bear.

And so, your mission began—not to reject him, but to push him. To tease and torment, to watch his resolve unravel thread by thread. You weren’t cruel, not really. You knew he’d crack eventually, and you planned to reward him handsomely when he did. But until then?

Until then, you’d savor every stolen glance, every stammered reply, every moment he tries and fails to hold himself together.

After all, what was a little mischief between co-pilots?

a/n: let me know what y'all think! biggest thank yous to those who have written curly x reader fics thus far, y'all fueled me lmfao.

oh yeah.. smut.. eventually...

taglist is open! lmk if you want to be on the taglist for just curly/mouthwashing characters or if you want the news on alll my fics... also might be accepting requests hehe! i can't guarantee that i can do em, but i'll accept ideas!

thanks for reading! <3

btw. not beta read, please let me know if there are any typos or inconsistencies stay safe & hydrated as always!

(and go to sleep if you're reading this super late. don't be a curly. take care of yourself! (i say, writing this at midnight))

crossposted on ao3

directory/m.list next chapter ⇨

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing smut #mouthwashing game #Captain curly #curly x reader #curly mouthwashing #curly x reader smut #captain curly smut #curly fluff #mouthwashing fluff #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #grant curly #curly smut

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blindmagdalena · 1 year ago

Text

Guilty Pleasures

18+ 3.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 1/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander is on top of the world. He can say or do whatever the fuck he wants, and the sycophants around him will bend over backwards to make his word law, with few notable exceptions.

He never expected you to be one of them. When you put him in his place after a workplace incident, he becomes fixated on the promise of a firm hand alongside a soft body.

It’s Thursday, which means Homelander is currently bored to tears less than ten minutes into Vought’s weekly digital marketing meeting. These monotonous discussions of percentages and trending graphics gradually begin to feel like a drill pushing slowly into each of his ears, but they’re a necessary evil if he wants to have input when it comes to his image.

He taps his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair. The tapping pauses, however, at the appearance of a new presenter.

You.

You’re a far cry from the dime a dozen jackass in a suit that had been presenting before you. He’s sure he hasn’t seen you before, which means you’re new. His gaze drifts from your round face to the sensible cut of your blouse, the garment buttoned nearly to your throat. Anything less would be considered lewd given the size of your breasts. He wets his lips absently, adjusting himself to sit a little straighter.

He’s completely lost track of what you’re talking about in favor of watching the way your hips sway each time you walk from one end of the board to the other, tactfully engaging each observer. You have a resonant voice, commanding attention without sounding harsh. With a rack like that, you must have to fight to have a word you say heard by anyone with even a passing interest in a good pair of tits.

Not that the cheap fabric of your bra is doing them any favors. Silk would be better. He’s always liked the shine of it. Softer, too. It wouldn’t scrape against your shirt the way he can hear that cotton blend you’re wearing is doing.

Curious, he focuses his vision to peer through your blouse. Your undergarments are plain and sensible. Boring. Still, it elicits a distinct pang between his legs. His mouth waters slightly. Even from where he is, he can smell you, fresh and clean, slightly sweet smelling–like vanilla. Your clothes may be pedestrian but at least your perfume is nice.

Letting his gaze slide lower, he admires how the curves of your body flow into one another. He can tell just by looking at you how soft you would feel against him, under him. How good you would feel to grip and hold in place, sink into and lose himself in. Your voice has a soothing quality to it that lets him easily imagine you’re breathlessly singing his praises instead of rattling off bullet points in a presentation.

Fuck, he’s getting hard, his cock throbbing lightly against the cup of his suit. It’s the only thing that allows him to fantasize as freely as he does. The best part of it is that he’s fairly certain he can sense something warm and wet throbbing between your thick thighs.

He suspects he’s not the only one fantasizing.

The room is quiet for a second too long, and Homelander abruptly tunes back in to realize you’re staring directly at him, expectancy in your gaze. He pulls a blank, realizing he hasn’t processed anything you’ve said. “Say again?”

There’s a flicker of irritation in your eyes before you tightly school your expression back into polite professionalism. His lips slowly split into a devious smile that he consciously fine-tunes to be more neutral. How close you came to some sort of heated response was kind of… cute. It makes him want to give your proverbial pigtails another tug just to see what else he can evoke.

The thought of pulling your hair is good. The thought of you pulling his hair is better, though.

“I asked if you have any feedback for our campaign leading up to the premiere,” you say, though Homelander finds himself more interested in the flash of your tongue he gets as you run it along your teeth afterwards. Your temperature is up a notch, too. You must not be used to such direct attention from someone like him.

“Nope,” he says glibly, turning on one of his patented knock-out smiles. “Looks good to me.” At that, he pointedly looks you up and down, meeting your gaze with a quick wink.

Judging by the slight tic at the corner of your mouth, you aren’t charmed by his response. Still, he waits in preemptive satisfaction for you to appease him by returning his smile.

You don’t.

Instead, you say nothing more than a terse “Wonderful,” the singular word barely passing for civil, let alone professional. You move on, and Homelander finds himself taken aback. You don’t meet his eye for the remainder of the presentation, and while that gives him plenty of opportunity to ogle you, it bothers him.

Towards the end of your time, he clears his throat. Everyone looks at him.

Everyone but you.

“Thanks so much for your time,” you say to the committee, smiling, finishing your piece with a small incline of your head. You go sit, and there’s a slightly awkward pause before the next presenter takes center stage.

Homelander sits in stunned silence. The idea that you, some fresh faced nobody, think you’re in any position to blow him off is laughable at best. Who cares if he didn’t pay attention to your little presentation? That’s not his job. You’re lucky he’s even here, lucky that someone like him would think to give you time out of his day.

By the time the meeting concludes, you haven’t spared him so much as a glance. Indignation builds hotly in his chest. He’s had more than enough of being snubbed lately. He’s not going to tolerate it from the likes of you.

You should be on your hands and knees begging for his attention.

He watches a handful of your peers congratulate you on your first presentation, though plenty of others cast him wary glances and decide not to approach you. They know better. They know who’s really in charge around here. Naturally, they all skitter away like roaches when he strides towards you.

“Not bad for your first presentation,” he tells you, his smile toned down into a thin, lopsided smirk.

You look around yourself, no doubt taking note of how the other little insects around you have scattered. Maybe now you’ll realize your mistake.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, your body angled slightly away from him, as if you’re ready to bolt at any second.

“Got a lot on my mind, though, so I don’t think I absorbed as much as I could have,” he says, laying on that boyish charm a little thicker than usual. “Would really appreciate it if you could stick around and run that by me one more time.”

Your gaze flickers away from him–he wishes you would stop doing that–to the others who’re filtering out of the room, slowly leaving the two of you behind. “As I said during the presentation, all the documents will be available online,” you say, finally looking back at him. You actually have the audacity to look annoyed that he’s talking to you.

“I don’t have a computer,” he replies, his own voice beginning to flatten.

“I’m sure someone in IT can help you with that,” you say, undeterred by his attempts to corner you.

His smile tightens minutely. “Do you have some kind of problem with me?”

Your heart jumps. He finds satisfaction in that, at least.

“No, sir,” you say sharply, a barely discernible hitch in your voice. “What I have are deadlines. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to meet them.” With that, you manage to squeeze by him. Despite the steady confident tap of your shoes against the floor, your heart races rabbit-like in his ears.

He contemplates you as you go, momentarily stupefied by your flagrant disregard for him. You weren’t entirely unaffected by his presence, though. If you’d had less of an avenue for escape, would you have been so flippant? He continues to focus on the beat of your heart as your steps carry you further from him. It doesn’t slow. You’re still full of adrenaline, the scent of it lingering alongside your perfume. He inhales a slow, deep breath, the leather of his gloves creaking as he curls and uncurls his fist.

Homelander finds himself wondering what your agenda is, what makes you so desperate to break from the norm and catch his attention. It’s clear to him that’s what you want. Why else would you be so stubborn where anyone else would yield? He scoffs to himself.

God, it’s so obvious in hindsight.

He has no doubt that your brazen attitude would shatter if he pressed in closer, if you felt the heat of his breath on your lips. He could part your soft thighs and paint the face of God on the ceiling above you with his tongue inside you. You couldn’t dismiss him so easily then, could you?

You’re so determined to be noticed that it’s almost pathetic. He shouldn’t reward this kind of behavior, and yet he feels strangely inclined to commend it. What you’ve done is brave in a way. Insolence and sycophants he can’t abide, but a touch of bravery? Well… That can be rewarded.

Your heart thunders in your ears as you make a beeline for your office. You can feel a terrible burn crawling up your chest and into your cheeks, the reality of what just happened finally allowed to sink in. You had spent all morning preparing yourself for presenting your work in front of not only your new peers at Vought, but in front of the world’s most prolific superhero. You were solid, you were ready.

Until you felt the gravity of his gaze on you. The weight of it made you stutter where you shouldn’t have, lose your train of thought mid-sentence. Every time you dared to look at him, he was looking at you like he was going to swallow you whole. Never have you felt more acutely aware of yourself than you did beneath his stare, feeling the way he was picking you apart as keenly as you would feel his hands undressing you.

It left you as furious as you are flustered.

That arrogant bastard!

You close the door behind you with a rough breath, closing your eyes. You can’t even sit, you have to pace your office instead, shaking your hands out as you walk. You know you weren’t imagining it. He confirmed as much for you when it took a solid eight seconds of silence for him to tear his gaze up from your chest, smiling as wickedly as any devil and caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.

You couldn’t look him in the eye after that. It was humiliating to be reduced so thoroughly and obviously in front of your peers. Worst of all, he seemed damn pleased by it.

Though that isn’t the only reason your heart is still racing. You’re not quite ready to address that yet. You’re fairly certain if you’d been forced to speak to him any more than you had, you would have said something that would cause you to lose your job. You just need space to breathe, to collect yourself, to–

There’s a brisk knock at your door. Great. What now?

“Just a m–” You’re stopped dead in your tracks by a familiar flash of red, white and blue as Homelander lets himself into your office, closing the door securely behind him.

“Howdy,” he greets. He looks cartoonishly wide and brightly colored against the neutral colors of your office, even more larger than life than he’d seemed in the conference room. He has a smile that looks like it belongs in the mouth of a shark about to take a bite of you. It sets you off kilter completely–not that you’d been much on it to begin with.

You gawk a moment before managing to close your mouth. “Homelander,” you say, your voice curt in your own ears. You have no idea how to address him, still frazzled from not only the presentation, but your interaction that followed it. You should ask him what he needs.

“What’re you doing here?” That came out ruder than you meant it to. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Still, you’re trying to keep this job.

“Are you always this pleasant?” He asks, cocking his head slightly as he comes to a stop in front of you, his arms held behind his back beneath his swaying cape. “Or did I catch you on a bad day?”

Is he serious?

“Your conduct today was inappropriate,” you say flatly, settling your hands on your hips.

Homelander scoffs lightly. “Oh, relax. You gonna ‘#Metoo’ me over a wink? Christ, you’re done up tighter than that blouse of yours,” he says, his gaze dipping. A chill rolls up your spine as you watch his tongue roll along his teeth. He’s like an animal anticipating a meal.

Your jaw drops, cold shock settling in your gut alongside that blistering heat. Of all the things you had prepared yourself for before coming to Vought, Homelander being a misogynistic sex-pest hadn’t been on your list.

Well. Not the sex-pest part, anyways.

You point to your office door. “Get out.”

He blinks, zero comprehension in those deceptively charming baby blues. His smile turns incredulous. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what’s happening here,” he says, his tone taking on a precarious edge. He lets out a breathy, mirthless laugh. “You know, most people in your position would be begging for my attention.”

There it is.

You suck a noise through your teeth, nodding slowly. "Oh, I understand exactly what’s happening here,” you say, shifting your weight like you’re winding up for a pitch. “I know you think you're special because you're famous, or a supe, or both. I know you think I should be grateful that you’d even look at someone like me, but you’re not special, and I’m not grateful. The reality of the matter is I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick–and I can get it without being humiliated at my job.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Homelander looks stupefied, but you decide that you’re not done.

“You're not blessing me by making entitled passes and crude remarks while I'm trying to work. You’re being a nuisance,” you say, your heart beating in your throat. “So please, would you kindly leave?” You ask, voice firm despite the friendlier nature of your phrasing.

Finally, Homelander is the one left gawking. He looks like a fish with the way his mouth keeps opening and closing, but it’s the dismissive, aborted little scoffs he makes in between that really sell his wounded bewilderment. You can see tension lurking just beneath the surface, an anger that skulks in the creak of his leather gloves.

Fear begins to creep up the back of your throat, burning like bile, but you hold steady as he seems to be deciding what he’s going to do with you. The longer the quiet stretches on, your focus entirely on the subtle spasms in his expression, the more sweat begins to prickle at the back of your neck. You refuse to fill the space, you refuse to back down.

For all his power, he’s still just a man.

Eventually, he swallows. “Okie-dokie,” he says, his tone unlike anything you expected. He sounds confused–a little dazed, even. He walks to the door, and after one hesitant look back at you, he leaves.

The door closes with a soft click that still makes you flinch, the sound of it loud in the silence of the room. You blink several times, the abruptness of his departure making the whole encounter feel like some sort of fever dream.

What the fuck just happened?

You’re not special.

The impact of those words struck Homelander’s ears like a loud, painful ringing that follows him as he walks out of your office. He feels off balance, each step leaning slightly to the right.

It’s a ludicrous statement. Objectively wrong. Who in the fucking world could be more special than him? He’s a literal god, and you’re no one. A faceless, nameless cog in Vought’s mechanism that hoists him to the top of it all. That’s your job. To elevate him. Worship him.

Instead you spoke to him as if he were nothing. He could have cut you down where you stood for that. He could have put your head through your office window, snapped your neck, held your skull and burned your eyes out of–

He shakes his head sharply, swaying. He all but stumbles into the bathroom, surprising one of the worker drones washing their hands. “Get out,” Homelander says gruffly.

“Uh, sir–”

“Get the fuck out!” He snaps, startling the man so badly he immediately rushes off, fumbling with the door on his way out. Homelander slams it shut and lets out a ragged breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, then his temples as he paces the bathroom. His reflection taunts him from his peripheral vision.

He hasn’t been able to look himself in the eye since he snapped his Doppelganger’s neck while he knelt before him.

That’s what he wants from you, isn’t it? Mindless desperate praise and worship. Why, then, does the thought od it make his stomach churn so violently he can taste the burn of bile? He tugs compulsively at his suit collar, the press of it against his skin uncharacteristically hot and itchy.

“I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick.”

He shamefully palms himself through his suit, confusingly hard amidst a swirling turbulence of contradicting thoughts and feelings. He could be good for you, too, if you’d fucking let him. He knows he could make you crumble, take apart that carefully constructed demeanor of professionalism and make you see him for what he is. He can prove himself to you. He will prove that you’re wrong about him, and then you’ll show him the love respect he deserves.

Hurriedly, he unzips his pants. His eyelashes flutter as he shoves his hand into them, roughly grabbing hold of his cock. He braces his forearm against the bathroom door and lets his head drop forward, watching his crimson glove pump the leaking head of his dick. His mind bounces between scenarios. He imagines himself in your place, fully on display for you to ogle. He imagines you’re watching him even now, staring him down with that unaffected look of indifference, of irritation, of disgust.

He bites back a whine, gritting his teeth. He wants so badly to imagine his face buried in your soft tits while he fucks the plush space between your thighs, but he knows you won’t let him. Not right away. You’d make him earn it, wouldn’t you? You’d make him watch you please yourself before he ever got so much as a taste.

The glassiness in his eyes begins to sizzle, the moisture burning away as crimson light flares up in them. Would you laugh if you could see him now, or would you scold him for touching himself without your permission?

Homelander comes hard, tipping his head back with a loud moan as he paints the bathroom door with ribbon after ribbon of come. He barely manages not to blow a hole through the ceiling, the light of his eyes flaring and softening in time with each euphoric wave of release. He pants through it, head falling forward and thunking lightly against the door, resting there while he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he exhales eventually, sighing. He wipes his hand on the wall and then carefully tucks himself back into his pants, his mind swirling hazily on the best high he’s had since…

Clearing his throat, he puts himself back together before leaving the bathroom. Clearly, the thing that he’s been missing is a challenge.

Luckily for him, you’ve kindly volunteered yourself.

( chapter two )

#part two of this fic is mostly finished. i'll probably post it next week!#homelander x reader #homelander #homelander x you #my writing #homelander fanfiction #plus size reader #i've had this in my wips since early december and i just really wanted to get something posted

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whoopsyeahokay · 22 days ago

Text

October Moon

summary: you and Wally had had an incredible night at the homecoming dance, and he'd managed to surprise you with something you'd never expected.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

🌶️🌶️🌶️ for over 99,000 words, you've been patient. today, i stand and deliver, fam. here is what you've all been waiting for.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.4

Wally stood by the punch bowl, goofing around with Rhonda and Charley as he waited for you to arrive. The gym had been transformed; dim lighting and disco balls, satellite radio to fill the air until the DJ started his set. People trickled in at a leisurely pace, most sticking to the walls or high tables while they waited for the night to start. That awkward period at every party when too few guests had arrived to feel the vibes yet.

Simon entering with an easel and a large framed picture of Maddie interrupted Wally's impression of Rhonda as Mr. Peanut. He perked up, metaphorical tail wagging, as his gaze slid back to the door. If Simon had arrived, that meant—

Charley whistled appreciatively beside Wally, pulling the sentiment right out of Wally's bones. The world moved in slow motion as soon as you crossed the balloon arch. Wally's gaze traveled from your feet, along the shape of your legs, up and up in a worshipful sweep, until he reached your eyes which were already on Wally. His heart thumped behind his ribs and a shaky breath blew out of him; for a moment his brain sputtered like an overheated engine, so much so that he was sure there was smoke spouting from his ears.

Rhonda's finger pushed into the underside of Wally's jaw, "You're gonna catch flies that way," she teased of his open mouth. "You going to say hello, Romeo?"

"Can't." Wally slurred. Realizing he was acting like an idiot, he shook himself out of his stupor and recomposed himself, fixed his suit jacket and his stance. "Not yet. We agreed to wait until after Mr. Hartman does opening remarks." He looked around, "There aren't enough people yet, anyway."

Wally's eyes tracked you as you proceeded to the small stage where the DJ set up on stage left, a couple of your friends already there. Hana and Lucas, Wally recognized. He wasn't sure what you were talking about, but it didn't seem relaxed and giggly. It was more directorial, you and Hana nodding when Lucas pointed behind him at a drum set that had been installed on the stage. Eli joined you, bobbed his head, proposed something you and Hana seemed to agree with, and then he marched away on a mission.

What was going on?

Thankfully, Wally found his chance to ask you, if impersonal and discrete, when you broke away from your friends and meandered to the refreshments table. Wally leaned against it, hands in his pockets, hoping he looked more debonair than blushing and bashful.

As you ladled some punch into a cup, "I have a surprise for you," you said under your breath, certain Wally would hear you.

Wally couldn't help himself, slanting into your space, so close to touching you, nose almost grazing your cheek as he inhaled your perfume. "Another one?"

You'd already skipped your last class to present him with the tuxedo he was currently wearing. Not a real one, it was a costume, but from Hana's boyfriend's school since none of the fancy dress options on the Split River costume rack had fit him well. You'd also DoorDashed another meal from Max's for Wally and Ajay. Never mind that you'd shown up as a vision in emerald green which Wally considered a breathtaking surprise just for him. What more could there be?

Flicking his gaze across the gym, he saw no one was looking and took the chance to smooth the backs of two fingers from your hip to your thigh. He smirked when he felt you shiver. "Is it a kiss? Because I could really use one of those," his lips at your ear. "Been thinking about it all day..."

"You got kisses all day." You pointed out, still quiet, daintily sipping your punch.

He let his fingers slip under the skirt of your dress, hand skimming your inner thigh. "You look beautiful," He said rather than address how—yeah, okay—you'd indulged him with kisses (and a lot more) all day. What could he say? He had an insatiable appetite when it came to you.

He heard your sweet, little gasp as he teased the tip of his thumb along the edge of what felt like a thin scrap of lace at your groin. His heart rate spiked, eyes went heavy, a twitch in his pants. Fuuuck. Naughty girl.

You turned your head, glancing around him to your friends who'd been joined by Xavier. "I'll find you after your surprise," you told him.

He let his hand drop, gave you a cocky smile, and watched you swan away, returning to your friends. Xavier, laden with two guitar cases, handed you one, said something, and then reached out to rest his hand lightly on your back. The glower that Wally sent him must've activated Xavier's Spidey Senses because Xavier quickly thought better of it, pale as he removed his hand like he'd been burned. Rather than direct you physically, Xavier simply instructed you to follow him to the side of the stage, sending Wally a tight smile of acknowledgment when he passed.

Over the span of the next few minutes, you and your friends climbed onto the stage and started connecting instruments to cables that hooked into amps. Adjusted microphones, tuned strings, shared a brief exchange with Principal Hartman. At 9:30PM on the dot, the lights above the stage went out. A spotlight shone on the ground in front of the stage and Principal Hartman stepped into it.

He welcomed everyone to 2023 Homecoming, excited to celebrate another school year. When Wally cast about, he noticed the gym was filling up quickly, the empty dancefloor flooding with students jazzed up in their best eveningwear. No one could compete with you, in Wally's opinion, but it was fun to see the sparkly dresses and pressed suits.

Wally's attention snapped back to the stage when Principal Hartman announced a live performance to kick the night off. The gym lights were turned off. People crammed closer to the stage. And then the stage lit up. Xavier was behind the middle microphone, you to his right, Lucas to his left. Behind you, Hana stood at a keyboard, and at the drums, Eli tapped his sticks.

Xavier began to sing as he strummed the first chords of a song Wally had loved since it was released. Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money. A cassette Wally had stashed to this day in his little box of ghostly treasures.

"Isn't that your favorite song?" Rhonda called over the intro.

Speechless, Wally nodded, too smitten with how your fingers moved over the strings of your guitar, the sound of your voice as you sang with Xavier who, Wally begrudgingly admitted, sounded incredible. The audience began to dance, clapping along, and Wally didn't want to be left out. He squirmed his way through the packed bodies, Rhonda and Charley in tow, and let the music vibrate from the soles of his feet to his teeth. The cover was punky, heavy guitar and drums, a subtle growl under your vocals, and Wally desperately needed to hear that up close, in his ear, on his skin.

He let loose. Rocked out. Jumped and shimmied and belted the lyrics along with you and Xavier. Even Rhonda loosened up and moved to the rhythm. Charley was in the midst of an interpretive dance when Wally checked on him and, farther back, he saw Ajay and Katelynn air guitaring with passion.

You were born to be up there, a star, and Wally couldn't tear his eyes away from you. He'd never seen this side of you. Wild and engaged and alive. The connection between you and him swelled in his belly, a blunt pulse that drew him closer to the stage as he danced, sang, blinked up at you like you were Debbie Gibson herself.

The song ended and the crowd whooped and cheered as you and your friends exited the stage. The DJ took over and began his set with another upbeat '80s classic for a smooth transition. Wally immediately searched you out, but he couldn't find you. Xavier and Lucas were packing their instruments in the corner, the case Xavier had handed you already closed and tucked away.

He did a tour of the gym, saw Simon and Maddie and Nicole. Hana, Mathilda, Eli. Claire and her minion squad. Where had you gone? Many unsuccessful minutes later, Wally stood in the center of the dance floor, eyes peeled, examining every cluster of people for you. And then, just as he was about to give up, he felt a tap on his shoulder blade.

When he turned to see who it was, his jaw dropped. There you were, still flushed and bright eyed, an affectionate smile on your face. He marveled when he felt the difference in your presence, how the air moved through you rather than around you. You were here, on his side of the veil, body cloistered somewhere he assumed was safe because you'd planned this. You'd intended to be with him, really with him for the whole night.

"Hey," You said, tender, shifting into Wally's space.

Not wanting you to slip away, Wally pulled you close, hand to your cheek, arm around your waist, "Hey, baby girl." He chuckled, overjoyed, "You really meant it when you asked me to be your date, huh?"

"It would be kinda shitty of me to ask and then spend the night ignoring you, wouldn't it?" You said, flattening your hands on his chest. "Did you like your surprise?" At first, he thought you meant this; you as a ghost so he could be all over you without earning you off-put glances of concern. "The song," you clarified through a grin.

"How'd you know?"

You hummed, tilted your head from side to side, pretending to recall, "Sophomore year. You rambled through my whole Geography class, remember?"

Laughing, Wally nodded, "Yeah. I mean, I don't remember what I talked about, but I remember doing that." He sobered, "You remember that?"

A shy one-shouldered shrug, "You're kind of the only thing I always pay attention to in school. Always have."

Wally's heart melted. His mind melted. His soul melted. The music shifted from country pop to fast-paced electro house that encouraged more people to the dance floor, you and he surrounded yet the moment still felt intimate. He held you, swayed gently as if it was a slow dance, leaning down as you craned up.

"I really wanna kiss you." He murmured.

"I'm not stopping you."

He didn't wait, capturing your lips in a soft, slow kiss; the kind that coaxed those noises out of you that he craved. The hand around your waist traveled to your hip and brought you closer, as close as he could get you without absorbing you into his skin. Wally never wanted to let you go.

The realization struck him like a lightning bolt to the brain. Yeah, he loved you, but this was bigger than that. Heavier. He wanted you hold you while you slept, eat every meal with you, explore the world with you, have adventures. Accumulate a lifetime of memories, wild and mundane alike. He wanted to...to grow old with you.

His heart twinged, however, that didn't deter him. He'd make the most of whatever time you and he had together, regardless of how long that might be. You'd figure out the symbols, you'd lift the barrier, he'd haunt you like a dedicated boyfriend should haunt the love of his life. He didn't care if you grew old, aged into wrinkles and white hair. He was never—never—going to let you go.

The night was spectacular and Wally wished it could go on forever. He had your full attention. You'd even brushed off Simon and Xavier when they'd asked for your input on Operation Claire—what appeared to Wally to be a cringeworthy experience for all involved. The DJ played an awesome selection of songs that Wally taught you, Ajay, and Charley the lyrics to.

Maddie came and went, as did Rhonda since she'd agreed to keep Bernadette and Katelynn distracted so they wouldn't look too closely at Wally's date. Though, how could they not? You were stunning. And goofy, and silly. And talented, as proven when you performed some of the choreography you'd learned in your 10 & Under dance class.

When the mass on the dancefloor began to dwindle due to the DJs choice in oldies music, Wally figured it was as good a time as any to reveal that he'd assembled a surprise of his own for you. Another '80s pop ballad and the dancefloor would be deserted entirely, and Wally didn't want to risk outing you to Katelynn and Bernadette.

He seized the opportunity to whisper in your ear as you were fetching another cup of punch, still breathless and flushed from the line dance you'd tried and failed to execute. Wally brushed a strand of hair over your shoulder, slanted close so his lips hovered by your ear.

"It's my turn to surprise you, baby." He felt you shiver, his lips grazing down your neck, arm curling around your waist. "Come on."

Several feet away, loitering beside a patently bored Claire, Xavier watched you and Wally leave the gym hand in hand. Xavier cast a glance to Simon, who shot Wally a thumbs up when Wally glanced at Simon over his shoulder.

Behind Claire's back, Xavier bobbed his head at Simon, silently asking what was up. Simon returned the gesture with a slight and slow shake of his head, the sentiment plain, "Please do not ask me to spell it out for you."

Xavier frowned, returned his gaze to the now empty doorway, then back at Simon, suspicious.

‗‗‗‗🌶️‗‗‗‗

His fingers laced with yours, Wally led you through the school, out the back, and across the courtyard to the greenhouses. While most of the row was dark, gold light spilled out of the greenhouse at the end. You had no clue what Wally's surprise could be, but you didn't think it involved potting plants given how nervous he seemed to get the closer you got to the last greenhouse.

He stopped in front of the door, turned, drew you against him and held your jaw in his large palm as he said, "Baby, I—I don't want you to think I'm expecting anything, okay?" His gaze was imploring and he waited for you to nod your understanding before he continued, "You've been amazing, getting me—us—things from the outside even though you've been busy trying to get to the bottom of everything. And, I just... I wanted to do something special for you. To say thank you."

Wally reached behind him to grab and turn the doorknob. He opened the door and then stepped aside for you to enter first.

You couldn't believe your eyes. The long tables had been pushed against the glass walls, plants across their surfaces and beneath curtaining the space from the outside and giving it a sense of privacy. Above, strings of fairy lights had been threaded across the ceiling and trickled down the walls like a tent made of fireflies. In the center, to your utter astonishment, was a sheeted and covered air mattress laid upon a pallet to keep it off the floor. Candles flickered from various spots around the greenhouse and soft music filtered from an old stereo in the corner. Wally had even wheeled in and set up the outdated school TV, your favorite silver screen classic muted on the fishbowl screen.

"Wally..." You didn't know what to say. The atmosphere was romantic and magical, and no one had ever done anything like this for you before. "...how did...?"

Wally planted himself behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed his front to your back, mouth finding that sweet spot on your neck that made you keen when he bit it.

"You like it?" He asked nervously as the tip of his nose trailed up your cheek. He kissed your temple, "I didn't know you were gonna do your out-of-body thing and I wanted to spend tonight with you, any way I could."

You turned in his arms and gazed up at him like he'd hung the moon, "It's perfect." The connection between you and him simmered, a low, intoxicating heat that preened at Wally's thoughtfulness. You added in a whisper, "You're perfect," your hand finding Wally's jaw. "But how did you get all this stuff?" You panned around, referring in particular to the air mattress.

Proud, boyish grin, Wally confessed, "Simon."

"Simon." You repeated, dubious. "Simon, Simon."

Wally's grin widened, "Simon."

Simon. Huh. You let that sit for a second, let it sink in, imaging how Wally had approached Simon without your knowledge to enlist his help to do all this. For you. Wally had asked Simon to get candles and fairy lights and—and sheets. Pillows. Duvet. A bed. That meant that Simon had an inkling as to what you and Wally got up to when you were alone. Not that things had gone that far (yet), but still.

You blushed crimson, face hot, lips pressed together in an embarrassed line. "Simon..."

Apparently, Wally found your reaction amusing, shaking with barely contained laughter, "I promise, it's not that big a deal." You pouted. He smiled. "So cute..." and he brought his face closer to yours, staring softly into your eyes, "Like I said, nothing has to happen, baby. I don't care. I just... I want to be with you tonight. And I want you to be comfortable."

The way Wally looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in his world, completely dissolved whatever hang ups you had. He brushed the backs of his fingers down your cheek, humid breath fanning your lips and chin. His other hand rested on your hip and he used his firm grip to drag you flush against him, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I love you," He said, so quietly you almost didn't hear it.

Everything stopped. Time itself felt drained from existence as you absorbed what he'd said. The sincerity and depth, the tiny shake beneath the sentiment as if he was afraid you wouldn't reciprocate. You gasped a weak breath, your blood pumping faster, pulse racing in your ears. The moment felt too much like a fairytale to be real.

Just as quiet, not wanting to ruin the honey-dense atmosphere, you returned, "I love you, Wally."

His eyes closed and you watched him take it in, treasure it, hold it for a peaceful lull before he opened his eyes again. His thumb rubbed across your lower lip, tugged it slightly, and the hand on your hip glided lower until he cupped a handful of your ass through your dress.

The air thickened and warmed as you and he stood like that, the connection between you and him steadily swelling, bursts of liquid fire in your belly that made you mewl without realizing.

"My beautiful girl," Wally whispered and grazed his lips against yours as the hand on your jaw slid back into your hair. His lips connected with yours, the kiss slow and deep and filled with desire. He took his time, drew it out, made you savor the feeling as he poured every ounce of his love for you into the kiss.

When he pulled away, "Come on, baby, I wanna hold you," he took your hand and led you to the bed. Stood in front of you as he slid his jacket off and tugged his bowtie loose, both carelessly crumpled on the floor.

You followed his lead and undid the straps of your heels. You didn't have as many layers as he did, only your dress and one piece under it, so while he toed off his glossy shoes and removed his button-up, you lowered yourself onto the bed. His gaze stayed on you, affectionate if somewhat heated around the edges.

He met you on the mattress in just his pants and tucked in close, pleased when you tangled your legs with his and burrowed into his chest, feeling safe and cared for in his arms.

"I swear, baby, nothing has to happen. I just wanna be here with you," He soothingly reminded you. You let the tension bleed from your muscles, believing his intentions were honest, and felt his mouth curve into a smile against your forehead. "There you go," He murmured, leaning back slightly to look down at you as his hand found the join of your neck and shoulder. "Can I kiss you?"

It was silly, you thought, that he felt the need to ask since you and he had spent hours making out and touching each other in more hungry, heated ways. Hell, earlier you'd practically made him come in his sweatpants, dry humping him in the Home Ec room. Yet, you understood why he was being so careful with you. Although he said there was no expectation, the privacy and romantic setting stirred up the idea that there was. No matter how much you trusted him, knew he was being completely honest, you couldn't control how it made you feel.

Quiet minutes passed and he simply held you, foreheads pressed together, his hand remaining where he'd placed it on your neck. Reassured by his patience, you finally answered, "Yes, Wally," nuzzled a bit closer, angled your head, your gaze snared on his lips, "Kiss me."

An inhale, two, and he obliged, closing the narrow space between you to kiss you softly. It was unhurried, deep, his tongue flicking against your bottom lip before taking it between his teeth then releasing it. You keened, pressed closer, shifted onto your back and pulled him with you so he hovered above you, his thigh between yours.

He broke the kiss to look into your eyes, large hand caressing your side through your dress, breath heavy. His hand moved up and up and over, gently fondling your breast over the satin. You sucked in a breath when he nudged his thigh against you, inadvertently pressing himself on your hip with a weak moan. He claimed your lips in a feverish kiss as he shifted to fit between your legs, hand traveling from your breast to your thigh, under your dress to your ass, his firm grip pulling your hips against his.

You whimpered mildly, desire swirling inside you and making your skin flushed and sensitive. Every touch felt a thousand times more acute, his fingers digging into your flesh, hard cock humping against you through his pants and your panties. Still, his movements were slow, controlled, like he was holding himself back so he didn't spook you.

A deep exhale and he said, "Can I see you, baby?" He shoved his hand between your back and the bed, and his fingers found the puller of your zipper.

You and he hadn't done this yet. The part where he'd seen you bare and on display. Everything up to this point had been strictly with clothes on due to the risk of possible interruption. He'd groped you under your shirt before, had slid his hands into your jeans to massage your ass while you rubbed yourself against him. Why did this feel so different? Vulnerable almost.

"It's okay if you don—"

"Yes." You blurted, cheeks pink and heart pounding and, god dammit, you wanted this. You wanted it more than you'd ever wanted anything. The connection between you and him curled tighter in your belly, washed outward through your limbs. "Yeah, Wally, I want you to."

You heard him swallow, heard the long exhale as you arched your back to make it easier for him to unzip your dress. The sound of the elements splitting down your back was loud in the quiet space and your breath quickened. His fingers were so gentle, tickled over every notch in your spine as he opened your dress. Wally's gaze was heavy as it held yours. He licked his lips and removed his hand once he finished, and waited for you to slide the spaghetti straps low enough for you to slip your arms through.

With the patience of God, Wally held himself back from ripping the dress off you completely. You could tell, felt it in the way his muscles bunched and released, but he remained still, allowing you to set the pace. Slowly, you dragged the bodice down your body so it scrunched at your waist, your chest fully on display for him to see. He inhaled sharply, gaze blown dark with want.

"Please, baby," He said, voice tight like he was fighting for self-control, "Can I touch you?"

Again, such a silly question in light of all the places he'd already touched you, including your chest. Only now, there was nothing hiding it. He ground his hips against yours. You wrapped your legs around him, pinning him to your body, meeting his movements with your own.

"Yes~." You keened, head falling back as you pushed your chest forward.

He moaned, deep and hungry, his hand trailing up your side and then over your breast, the touch reverent and soft. His hips never stopped, no pause, no stutter, his back curving and arching. Wally's large, hot hand caressed your breast, thumb rubbing your nipple, and his mouth broke away from yours to blaze a line of fire down your neck.

"You're so beautiful, baby," He murmured into your skin, "So fucking beautiful."

The sensation of being skin to skin was heady. It made your brain syrupy as you held him close, one hand in his hair, the other roaming down his back to his ass that you clenched your fingers into to drive his movements how you wanted them. He started to get more desperate, wanting as much contact with you as possible, his hands running over your skin and caressing every curve they encountered. You could feel his arousal between your thighs, pressing against you through your panties over and over again, the friction making your head spin.

"I want to make you feel good," He said, breathing deeply against your collar, lips and tongue and teeth leaving little red marks in their wake as he kissed lower and lower before sucking your nipple into his mouth. Wally groaned in satisfaction when you keened, chest pushing into the sensation. His hand continued to message your breast as he doled attention to your nipple, his hips moving a little faster, grinding his hard cock against you.

"Fuck, Wally..." You moaned. Your eyes rolled back, trying to keep up, the heat building and building inside you as the thick imprint of his cock rubbed against your clit through the fabric of his pants and your panties. "How—how far do you wanna go?"

"As far as you want, baby," He whispered as he nipped the delicate skin below your ear. "I'm yours, no matter what."

His words struck like a match. You shuddered a breath and then, "Everything," you panted, drawing him into another deep, searing kiss, "I want everything, Wally."

Again, Wally groaned, face pinched in desire, his hands everywhere. He nodded, "Want you so bad," and rose just enough to help you out of your dress. It was quick, as if he couldn't bare to be anywhere else but on you, even for the briefest moment. He tossed the dress off the bed, surging into you once more, kissing you harder and hotter and with more desperation. "Fuck, baby, you're so soft," He murmured as his hands explored every inch he could reach.

"Wally," You whimpered and tugged at his pants, frantic now, the heat of the connection soaring higher and higher, "I need to feel you, please."

Wally choked, "God," and swiftly divested his pants and boxers in one go, shoving them off and throwing them to join the pile of clothes on the floor. "Fuck," he moaned when he began to grind against you again, "Feels so good, baby, I—fuck." One of his hands skimmed across your hip and snuck between your body and his, fingers dancing over your thin, lace panties, down, down, to press into the wet stain over your pussy. With a rich, needy moan, he rubbed his fingers over you, finding your clit with expert precision, sharp little circles of pleasure that made stars explode behind your eyes and the ache of heat between your legs beat faster.

"You're so wet for me, baby," He rasped as he snuck his fingers into your panties and smeared them between your folds, eyes fluttering as he felt how wet you were. "I need to feel you," He panted, cock throbbing, practically begging, "let me feel you."

By then, you couldn't deny him anything, nodding in a state of pure, blissful need. He sat up to peel your panties off you, flung them over his shoulder as his gaze wandered over you. Wally took himself in hand, stroking over the tip once, twice; licked his lips and said in a voice thick with lust, "You're all mine, baby. I'm gonna make you feel so good."

Laying himself over you, hot, heavy cock pressed against you, he took your wrists and pinned them above your head, shifting to trap them in one hand. He leaned in to whisper, "Tell me, baby girl, I need to hear it," his breath tickling your ear, "Tell me your mine."

Keening, "Always," you arched your back and humped his cock, the sound lewd as you coated him in your wetness. "I'm yours, Wally, always."

That seemed to spur him on, hand tightening around your wrists, "Fuck," and you felt him adjust to take himself in hand and line himself up. He paused, staring down at you with dark, wanting eyes, "You want me, baby?" And he dragged the fat tip of his cock through your folds, punching another needy noise out of you.

"Yes!" You answered, rocking your hips forward, mouth falling open when you felt the head nudge inside you, just a fraction, just enough to send frissons of burning, liquid need shooting through you. "Fuck, Wally, please!"

Wicked and smug, Wally leaned over you again to whisper, "You're so pretty when you beg, baby," as he snapped his hips forward, not enough to push himself in more than another few shallow degrees. He wanted to prolong the anticipation, let it build until you were ready to split apart. He wanted you to beg. You dug your heels into his ass and forced him in another fraction.

"Wally, please, I need to feel you, please!" And that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

"So good for me, baby," He praised and rocked his hips forward, draping himself over you, pressed against you, skin to skin, sinking deeper inside of you with a deep moan. "God, baby, you feel so—ughn—so fucking good." His free hand held your thigh, holding you open for him. "Say it again, say you're mine. I wanna hear you."

You said it like a mantra, "Yours, Wally, I'm yours," and keened when he thrust himself as deep as he could get, his hips flush with yours. He was big, thick, and you felt stuffed full and ready to split in two. It was the most euphoric thing you'd ever experienced, the sensation unmatched, and you wanted more. "Please, Wally, move, I need to feel it. I need to feel you."

Wally cursed and captured your lips in a hungry, needy kiss, tongue licking against yours like he wanted to taste you. And then he started to move, slow at first to let you adjust, and then harder, faster, building the rhythm. When you began to move with him, body writhing beneath his, Wally groaned against your throat, teeth sinking into your flesh as he worried a mark into your skin. His mark. His claim.

"You're mine, baby," He panted, moving faster, blunt head pounding your sweet spot with every stroke. You cried out, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, clenching around him as he brought you to the edge. "That's it, baby...so good...fuck, you feel so good."

"Wally, I—" You choked, whimpered, tugged on your wrists, but he didn't release you, "I'm close!"

He loosed a feral, greedy moan, "Yeah, baby, God, that's it, I wanna feel you come on my cock." Jesus Christ, his words alone should've been enough to propel you over the edge, dark and dirty and sandpaper rough. He continued to bite and suck bruises into your neck and collar between filthy utterances, "So fucking wet, so tight, God, baby you're gonna make me come so fast... I'm so close."

Whimpering, gasping, you felt that insidious pressure build inside you, deep within you, right in your core, a rubber band about to snap. "Wally, I'm gonna—"

Wally moaned, moved his hips faster, in and out, rubbing every nerve ending inside you as he thrust into you with abandon, "That's it baby, let go, let me feel you."

Two, three, four more quick, hard strokes and you launched over the edge, coming so hard your vision whited out and your body spasmed. You heard him cry out when you convulsed around him, squeezing tighter, gripping him inside you.

"Fuck, yes, baby, I'm gonna come," He panted, sweat on his brow, lips crashing into yours as he stiffened and then, "Oh God," his cock twitched and pulsed, groaning as he peaked and spilled inside you. In the same moment, he bit your neck, right over your pulse point, wrenching a pain-pleasured moan from your chest.

He collapsed on top of you, breathing labored, hand finally releasing your wrists while the other one slid down your body, the touch featherlight. And that's when it happened, in the caramel-soft afterglow, with Wally's brow against yours.

Images crowded your mind, visions, a thousand lives, a hundred-thousand, one after the other and all at once. Past. Present. Future. Some lived, some yet to unfold. His soulful eyes, his cheeky grin, his hands on your body, over and over and over across time. Birth and death and rebirth. Always drawn together, always finding each other no matter the circumstances. Older, younger, countless shapes and names and roots.

When the visions faded, you opened your eyes—when had you closed them?—and you saw Wally staring at you in awe. He'd seen the same thing, only most likely from his point of view. The connection between you and him expanded until it burst outward and then settled as if sated. The job was done. It could rest now.

"W-Wally?" You breathed, heart racing. Because you'd known him by so many other names, would know him by many more. "What...?"

He was trembling in your arms, eyes wide in wonderment, "I don't—" Know, don't understand, don't believe it. But both you and he did. You knew and understood and believed. Like the universe had peeled back it's mysteries and gave you an answer you'd been seeking since you'd arrived in this existence.

Soul-tie. The word echoed in your mind. And you'd had a vague knowledge of what that meant, though you'd never fully empathized with the concept. However, now, it was undeniable. You and Wally had always been, would always be. You belonged to him and he belonged to you.

The feeling soothed you as you allowed yourself to open your heart to it. Warm and gentle and perfect.

"I was gonna find you," Wally whispered, sweet brown eyes gazing into yours, "I was always gonna find you, no matter what."

There were no words you could speak that would encompass how good that felt to hear, but you tried anyway. "Always," you murmured, your hand cradling his jaw, "no matter what."

He kissed you, slow and soft, the love he put into it moving you so completely you felt you could cry. It was as if you'd missed him, like he'd been gone too long and you'd been yearning for him forever, waiting for him to return to you.

"I'm here, baby," He said like a promise. Like he could hear what you were thinking. "I've got you. I'm never letting you go."

You believed it with every fiber of your being because he never had. Time and time again, he'd never let you go.

💀___________________________

PART THREE - PART FIVE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Kristian Ventura #Simon Elroy #Spencer MacPhearson #Xavier Baxter #Maddie Nears #Peyton List #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #zed necrodopolis #Disney Zombies #October Moon

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