#Easy fishing knots

[welty4ng]

TEAR MY WORLD APART!

call transcript; “adapting is never easy. jiaoqiu supposes he only tolerates it because you’re with him”

cw; spoilers for the current quest !!! f!reader, NSFW (mdni) !! hurt/comfort, fingering (soft sex tbh), not proofread, ugh jiaoqiu i love you so much, fic below the cut, 4.7k words

When Jiaoqiu first returns home, there’s a heavy weight in his chest.

It felt horribly uncomfortable, having Moze walk him all the way from the docks to his house. It felt even worse to have his companion fish his keys from his pockets.

In his mind’s eye, he knows where everything is. He knows where you keep your plants and how to avoid running into them; still, he tips one over, the crunch of dirt beneath his feet ringing sickeningly in his ears. He knows where every corner of his house is; yet, he hits his shoulder when he rounds a corner a little too soon.

Shamefully, it takes him longer than he’d like to find someplace to sit. He’d never thought it to be so humiliating, to realize he spent so many years seeing the layout to his own home without memorizing it.

He’s unsure for how long he sits, the silence deafening and the darkness blinding. There’s a gnawing, ever-growing pit in his stomach at the realization that this might very well be the rest of his life. A shiver runs down his spine. He doesn’t think he’ll enjoy having his senses heightened any more than they already were.

Jiaoqiu jolts when he hears the front door open, his ears perking up. The sound of your footsteps reaches his ears before you call out his name, your voice gentler than he’s ever heard it.

“Hey,” you say, hushed. Jiaoqiu shudders when your hand finds his knee, trying to soothe him. His hands ball into fists on his lap.

“Hey,” he echoes, slightly strained. The weight in his chest grows heavier when you thumb at his knee. It’s horrifying, how he can practically picture the pity on your face — he’d never thought he’d be at the receiving end of it.

“General Feixaio told me what happened,” you whisper. Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch when you cup his face and he immediately nestles into your palm. Your thumb is gentle against his skin, caressing his cheek with the utmost of care. “I’m so sorry, love.”

There’s a lump in his throat, a million words on the tip of his tongue — ‘I’m okay. I’ll be fine. It’s nothing serious. I just need to adapt.’

All that he musters is a quiet, shaky, “I want to see you.”

Jiaoqiu wonders if you look as broken as he sounds.

Being molded into a homebody is not unideal, but Jiaoqiu has far too much to do.

He wonders if that’s why Feixiao sent Moze to inform him of the leave of absence he’d been granted.

It should be welcome. It is, to an extent, when guilt doesn’t chip away at his conscience; when he doesn’t feel like he’s a burden—

The clatter of pots makes him jump, his tail puffing up before matting back down. He exhales, low and unsteady as you call out a sheepish, “Sorry.”

Jiaoqiu doesn’t think he can complain. Not when you’ve carved out time from your schedule to look after him — to help him adjust, or whatever bullshit Moze claimed Feixiao had said. So he’ll endure the ringing in his ears when something is just a little too loud, endure the tangy, bitter smell of something burning, and offer a patient smile, followed by a soft, “It’s okay.”

Because he knows you’re trying.

Cooking was never your thing. He’d never let it be, because, why would he ever let you dirty your hands when he could do it instead?

Part of himself feels guilty that you’ve been forced into a myriad of things that fell under his attention. It’s an ever-growing sense of uselessness that weighs on his chest, burrowing deeper with every ‘tap’ of the knife on the cutting board.

He presses his back against the wall, trying to suppress the familiar urge to take over the cooking for you. A knot forms in his throat when he hears you softly hiss, his eyes yearning to open and treat whatever wound you must’ve gotten.

When a soft rush of water reaches his ears, he inches off the wall just enough, taking a step toward the noise. It feels slightly disorienting, trying to guide himself simply through hearing. Still, he tries, awkwardly stumbling in your direction with an outstretched hand.

A shaky exhale leaves his lips when he touches your shoulder, his tail awkwardly flicking to the side when you jolt at the contact.

“Let me help,” he whispers, his fingers instinctively squeezing your shoulder. There’s something so horrid about being able to hear your breaths before you even speak. He loathes how clear he can hear your breath falter as you hesitate.

“Jiaoqiu, you—”

“Please.” He’s tired of feeling useless. He has enough to deal with, now that his eyesight is gone indefinitely. He wants to help — to be of use, even if it’s just a little.

The weight in his stomach sinks deeper when you gingerly clutch his wrist. For a moment, he expects you to drop his hand and lead him back to the spot on the wall he’s claimed as his own. Instead, you bring his hand up to your face, letting his knuckles brush against your skin.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you murmur, gentle as you press a kiss to the back of his hand. Jiaoqiu wonders what expression you’re making; wonders if it’s pity or sympathy.

He takes a step closer, his front bumping against yours before his free hand shoots out to hold onto the edge of the counter for balance. “Let me do something, at least,” he pleads, a vague hint of desperation lacing his words.

Your breaths fan his face, tickling his skin in a way that has his tail swaying.

“Please,” he whispers, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

There’s a brief moment of hesitance before you ask, “What do you want to do?”

Jiaoqiu’s heart hammers in his chest, a ticklish sort of hope flooding his being. His hand trembles against your face, softly squeezing your own when you grasp it.

“Anything,” he breathes out. “It doesn’t have to be cooking or cleaning or — just let me do anything.”

When your grip on his hand falters, he grasps it tighter, resting them on your cheek. The smell of something burnt fills his senses, but he can’t find it in himself to care; not when he can feel the faint warmth of your skin. “I want to be of use to you.”

His ears twitch when you sigh, his hand trembling lightly against your face. He can imagine the expression you’re making — pursed lips and furrowed brows, deep in thought. Still, he yearns to see it.

“You can help me stir the pot,” you offer, a hint of hesitance to your voice.

The weight in his chest lightens just a little, his fingers tightening around your own in a light squeeze. “Alright.”

It’s a shred of normalcy, he supposes; even if he’s just swirling a ladle. For a moment, it reminds him of a simpler time, back when he was younger and still learning to fend for himself. The soft ‘tap’ of the knife against the cutting board fills his ears, accompanied by your faint humming.

Will you let him keep helping you? Jiaoqiu can’t help but wonder. Would you let him stop being a burden? Do you even think of him as a burden? He hopes — prays — you don’t. He hopes you let him stay by your side, even if all he can do is rot.

It’s all he wants.

So, when you lead him to your dining table, trying to distract him from the scent of burnt meat, he’ll entertain you. He’ll keep his complaints to himself, even if the soup is far too salty; the noodles are a little too undercooked; and the cubed beef is a bit too charred.

You’re both trying, he reminds himself. Perhaps that’s why he can’t find it in himself to care much when he can hear the ‘snap’ of a noodle between his molars. There’s a slight tingle in his tongue by the time he’s done eating.

Still, Jiaoqiu doesn’t complain. Instead, he smiles, softening when your hand grasps his own beneath the table, squeezing twice in a comforting gesture.

“Thank you,” he whispers, hushed. When your breath hitches, a lump forms in his chest. Quickly, he adds, “For everything.”

For a moment, he supposes the only good thing about being blind is that he doesn’t have to see you cry. Though, he supposes it’s worse, hearing you hold back from it — hearing you struggle to remain composed.

When he opens his arms, you rush into him, leaving your chair behind and opting to perch in his lap — just like you’d always done. He holds you closer, instinctively; though, he rubs at your back with hesitance, almost trying to map out the length of your back.

He shudders when you wet the side of his neck. It feels more present, now that his world is shrouded in pitch black. Your cries sound louder, even when quiet and muffled by his skin.

“I’m sorry.” Jiaoqiu’s unsure if the apology is his or yours, the weight growing tenfold in his chest and ringing in his ears.

He can’t tell if the sobs are still yours, either.

Jiaoqiu learns to rise when you do. His routine morphs into your own, despite your insistence that he rest longer.

Staying in bed doesn’t feel the same without you, he’d argued. You were quick to relent after that.

His feet drag on the floor behind yours, his grip tight around the back of your nightshirt. There’s a dull ache in his head. He bumps into you when you stop, a quick apology tumbling from his lips before he can stop it.

When the sound of rushing water reaches his ears, they twitch, recognizing the familiarity. His hands perch on the edge of the counter, letting go of your clothes. It never takes long for him to hear the soft rustle of fabric falling onto the floor. It never takes long for him to fumble with his buttons, either, before you come to his aid.

“Will you help me wash my hair again?” he asks, quiet as you ease the fabric off his shoulders.

“If you want me to,” you reply, gentle as you help him out of his pants. When your fingers brush against his lower abdomen, he shivers, his tail puffing up as he sucks in a sharp inhale.

Jiaoqiu’s hand leaves the counter, moving to cup your cheek in a practiced (albeit clumsy) movement. Part of himself still feels like a fumbling fool when you move his hand just a little lower, correcting the placement. Still, you never mention it.

A voice in the back of his head tells him he should reject your offer for help — tells him he’s been more than enough of a burden by making you spend more time ensuring he’s clean than you do yourself. Then, a gentler, kinder voice reminds him you’d expressed your satisfaction at being able to aid him. Pride never stands a chance, when it comes to your delight; he realized this soon after meeting you.

So, he lets his finger brush against the apple of your cheek, his voice softening as he says, “I do.”

It’s become almost instinctive, following you. There’s always a certain gentleness with which you hold his hands, guiding him forward as you step into the shower. He hears the quiet scuff of a stool (your insistence, not his) being dragged across the tiles. Your hands remain gentle as you guide him to sit.

“Tell me if I scrub too hard, okay?” The statement is almost unnecessary, truly. You’ve never once treated him with something other than overwhelming delicateness — like he’s made of porcelain. Jiaoqiu considered himself tough, before losing his eyesight. He thinks that shell was stripped from him alongside his vision. He wonders if you know it, too — wonders if that’s why you touch him like he’s seconds away from breaking beneath your touch.

Still, all he says is, “Okay.” Then, after a moment, “Thank you.”

A lump forms in his throat at the beat of silence, his heart hammering in his chest. Aeons, he wants to see your expression — he needs it so desperately. It’s become hard to tell whether he says the right thing or not. Sometimes, he wonders if he oversteps. There are a million words at the tip of his tongue, all of them longing to spill out.

Something soft presses against his forehead, gentle and so, so soft. Two hands cup his jaw, holding him in place before drawing him in. His arms wrap around your middle almost instinctively, his face burrowing into your chest.

“I want to see you,” he whispers, his words muffled by your skin.

Your lips press against the top of his head, tender. Jiaoqiu melts when you cup the back of his head, holding him in place. He wonders if you realize how soothing your heartbeat is to him, currently. Your fingers weave through peachy strands, washing out the shampoo suds from his hair.

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely audible. “We’ll figure it out, love.”

A soft noise rumbles in the back of his throat, his ears twitching and tickling your skin. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head one last time.

For a moment, something akin to hope blossoms in his chest. It’s the first time he’s felt it, since losing his vision, Jiaoqiu notes.

Normal still feels out of place, though not as much anymore. It’s become a faint, lingering feeling in the back of his mind.

There’s still a vague sense of discomfort at being surrounded by darkness constantly. Jiaoqiu supposes it’s only through the habit of touching that he reminds himself he’s not alone.

He’s only grateful you indulge him, even if it must be a bother to have him hovering and pestering just to stick to you.

The streets of the Yaoqing — have they ever been this noisy? Jiaoqiu can’t tell. It’s uncomfortable, how loudly everything rings in his ears. He thinks he would rather trade the boisterous noise for the bright, vivid colors he used to complain about.

“We’ll head home soon,” you reassure, squeezing his hand as tight as you can. For a moment, he wonders if his distress is palpable (he concludes that, for you, it must be).

“You shouldn’t rush,” he replies, his words trailing off into a quick apology when someone bumps into his shoulder. His hand squeezes yours — the mere thought of separating from you makes his heartbeat spike in anxiety. Jiaoqiu softly clears his throat, quickly adding, “I’m fine, really.”

Neither of you seem to believe it, though you don’t call him out on the lie. Instead, you slow your pace even more to loop your arm with his.

“I was thinking,” you start, pulling him just a little closer to you as you walk, “We could get the ingredients for those noodles you like.”

Jiaoqiu hums, trying to ignore the way the corners of his lips curl up. “That would be nice,” he says, trying to keep his steps matched to yours.

“You could help me make them,” you offer, gently tugging him closer before someone brushes against his arm.

His steps falter for a moment. When he takes a second too long to reply, you rush to add, “Only if you want to.”

A lump forms in his throat, agreement sitting on the tip of his tongue. All he does is exhale. His heart hammers in his chest, thundering loud in his ears. You’re looking at him — he doesn’t need his vision to tell. A hushed, barely audible whisper leaves his lips when you call his name.

“Is it still too soon?” you ask, a hint of worry in your voice. Your hold on him tightens just a little. “I-I figured, maybe it had been long enough to try and ease you back into things you used to do. We can just pretend I didn’t say any—”

“I want to,” Jiaoqiu says, his voice wavering. He isn’t sure when his breath picked up, but he can feel his chest heaving. His tail lightly sways when you place your hand above his own, thumbing at his knuckles.

“Okay.” Your voice feels as soft as your touch. It tickles his nerves, sending a flutter through the pit of his stomach and down to his core.

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours (a jolt of satisfaction in his chest at the lack of clumsiness). His ears twitch when the pad of your thumb lightly presses into his knuckle. 

“Okay,” he echoes, trying to match your tone. Jiaoqiu softens, gently rubbing his forehead against your own.

Warmth blooms in his chest when you whisper. The market’s ruckus feels like white noise as your words ring in his ears. Like instinct, his lips part before replying in earnest. “I love you, too.”

He wonders if it’s your face that’s burning up, or if it’s his.

It pains him a little, just how long it’s taken him to ask this of you.

Jiaoqiu feels you shift beneath him, adjusting your position before wrapping your legs around his waist again. He softly exhales, tracing the slope of your cheek with the utmost of care. His heart hammers away in his chest, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Don’t move,” he whispers, breathless as he pokes at the fat of your cheek. When you sigh, he lets himself cup your face, the pad of his thumb lightly pressing into the hollow beneath your eye.

“How much longer are you going to do this for?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice. Jiaoqiu softens, his tail swaying when you lean into his touch.

“Until I’m sure I’ve memorized everything.”

“I thought you already knew my face by heart?” you reply. The corners of his lips curl up into a smile when he hears yours. He gently pinches your cheek, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips.

“I do,” he says, loud enough so it’s meant for your ears only. “I just want to make sure I know it, deep in my soul.”

A soft hum leaves his lips when you squeeze his waist. His hand moves, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear.

“How smooth,” you mumble, brushing a few peachy strands away from his face.

“I want to make sure it’s all like I remember,” he murmurs, complying when you pull him up with your legs. Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch when his nose bumps against yours, a breathless chuckle slipping past his lips.

His hand trails down, his thumb brushing your lower lip. When you gently kiss the digit, his breath hitches. He cups your jaw, trying to find an angle. You simply follow his lead, letting him lead.

He thumbs at the corner of your lips, your breath fanning against his skin. His mouth presses against yours in the softest — faintest — of kisses. When you sigh, he lets himself mold against you. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, his tail swaying when you grant him access.

There’s a hint of desperation behind his actions. Jiaoqiu wonders if you can tell, by the way his tongue licks at your mouth — almost like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste.

He barely gives you any reprieve, breaking the kiss to catch the slightest of breaths before he’s attached to your lips once more. When his name leaves your lips between kisses, heat pools in his stomach. It’s a feeling he’d thought dormant since he’d lost his sight.

Jiaoqiu doesn’t think he’d mind its resurgence — not after the way you part with a whined gasp, struggling to catch your breath. His lips press against the corner of your mouth, then lower, until he’s kissing a trail down to the spot beneath your jaw.

When you struggle to hold back a moan, heat shoots through his veins. Your hands find the back of his head, your fingers tangling in peachy strands. He complies when you help him up, cupping his face before capturing his lips with your own.

For a moment, Jiaoqiu wonders if you taste sweeter than he remembers.

“Guide me.”

“Hm?”

A soft, huffed chuckle escapes Jiaoqiu’s lips. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb applying a delicate pressure beneath your eye. He feels you shift on the bed, your legs tangling with his own.

“Guide me,” he repeats, his ears twitching when you yawn. A gentle noise rumbles in his chest, his body pressing closer to yours and his hand moving lower to let his thumb press against the corner of your mouth. Then, he leans down, his lips replacing the digit.

Heat pools in his stomach at the sigh you let out. His tail lightly sways, the ends puffing out when he nips at your lower lip. “You’ve been patient for long enough,” he murmurs, gently ghosting a kiss over your lips.

“Jiaoqiu—”

“No excuses,” he says, “Please.”

After a light kiss, he adds, “Let me do this for you.”

For a moment, he wonders if it’s your heartbeat he hears, instead of his own. He lets his hand leave your face to rest on the underside of your breast, relishing how your breaths stutter.

“You’ve done more than enough for me,” Jiaoqiu reasons, his voice tender as he moves his face closer to the crook of your neck. “I ought to express my gratitude,” he whispers, noting how you shudder as his breath tickles your skin. He presses his lips against the underside of your jaw — right at the spot he knows makes your breath hitch and your thighs clench. “Shouldn’t I?”

“I didn’t do anything with the intention of getting something in return,” you say. He catches on to the quiver to your tone when his ears twitch. His teeth graze your jaw, soft and experimental as he thumbs at the lower part of your breast.

“Isn’t that reason enough to accept my gratitude with open arms, then?”

You shudder, your hand moving to perch on his shoulder when he trails kisses down to your collarbone. “We both know what your gratitude entails, Jiaoqiu.”

He softly clicks his tongue, letting his canines graze against your skin. The hand on your chest inches upward, moving until his thumb reaches your pert nipple. “Even more reason for you to accept, hm?”

His touch softens when you sigh.

“Isn’t it a little too soon—?”

“I think I should be the one to decide that,” Jiaoqiu mumbles. He presses a soft kiss to your collarbone. 

There’s a slight hesitance to your actions — how you seem to mull over his words. His tail sways, lightly rubbing against the bedsheets as your fingers run through his locks.

“Still, I—” your breath catches, your words interrupted by a wanton whine when delicately rolls your nipple between his fingers. 

Heat shoots through his nerves, fueling the fire in his stomach as he pictures your expression — your face all scrunched up, but your lips parted as you pant. Jiaoqiu slows the barrage of kisses on your skin, softy exhaling.

He wants to see it, so, so desperately.

He wants to feel and touch and see. His ears twitch when you sigh his name, breathless. A soft growl rumbles in his chest in response before he presses an open-mouthed kiss on your collarbone.

“Let me take care of you,” he quietly pleads. “You shouldn’t have to suppress your own needs for my own.”

“I’m not—”

Jiaoqiu nips at your collarbone to cut off your words, his tongue gently soothing the spot. “Don’t lie to me,” he murmurs, his words slightly muffled by your skin. “Not when I hear clearer than I ever could.”

Your grip on his hair falters, your breath hitching. He wonders what expression you wear — are you flustered or taken aback? Or is it something entirely different? 

“Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I can’t touch you like I used to,” he breathes out, gently rolling your nipple between his fingers. You tug on his hair, your breaths uneven. His lips trail kisses along the expanse of your collarbone. “You just need to guide me.”

His fingers leave your nipple, drawing a soft whine from your lips as he trails them down to your hip.

“It’s about time you replace your fingers with my own, after all,” he rasps, kissing a path back up to your jaw, “Isn’t it?”

His ears twitch when a strained whimper slips past your lips. He nips at your skin before pressing a feather-light kiss on the spot. Heat floods the pit of his stomach when you nod against his head, your hand resting atop the one on your hip.

“You’ve been more than patient, love,” Jiaoqiu whispers, his tail twitching against the sheets as you help his hand down between your thighs. He shudders an exhale, his fingers inquisitive as they search for your clit. His breaths become heavy, fanning against your jaw in a way so ticklish that your thighs instinctively press together.

A choked whine leaves your lips, your fingers curling in his hair. “‘s n-nothing,” you murmur, your voice trembling.

He gently clicks his tongue, his thumb pressing against you once he finds your bud. “It’s not ‘nothing,’” he replies, rubbing his nose along your jaw as he begins to circle your clit. “It’s never easy to care for a patient.”

You mewl, lightly jolting when his index finger prods around in search of your entrance. “W-wait,” you stammer, your hand moving to aid his own. His tail thumps faintly against the bed when his fingertips ghost above your folds.

“Here we go,” he whispers, unable to keep the elation from his voice. For a moment, he wonders if you’ve realized the selfish intentions behind his idea to thank you.

Though, he’s sure that even if you have, you probably don’t mind. Jiaoqiu knows how tired you must be from fingering yourself in his stead. Your fingers were never as good as his at bringing you pleasure, after all.

The corners of his lips curl up into a small smirk, his finger pumping in and out of you with practiced ease. “That’s nice, isn’t it, love?” he asks, his voice a soft coo.

“M-mhm,” you shakily hum, slowly rocking your hips against his digit to match his pace.

“Your sweet cunt just needed my fingers, didn’t it?”

He can’t hold back the purr in the back of his throat when you nod, your fingers fisting his peachy strands when he pushes a second finger into your folds.

“N-needed them s-so bad—!” you cry, your voice cracking. Your free hand grasps at his forearm, your breath quick and uneven pants. “‘s never the same when t-they’re mine…”

Jiaoqiu gently shushes you, peppering kisses against the underside of your jaw. “I know, love,” he coos, his voice full of sympathy. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

You moan, your breath hitching as your walls flutter around his fingers. When they curl, you cry, your hips desperately rocking against his hand. “J-Jiaoqiu—”

“Close already?” he asks, though he fails to hide the smile from his voice. You huff and he chuckles, a sense of satisfaction settling in his gut. How long has it been since he’s felt that — felt anything other than a weight in his chest?

Jiaoqiu can’t be bothered to wonder. Not when your cunt spasms around his fingers, your broken cries and moans rising in volume the more he curls his digits against the spongy spot in your folds.

“That’s it, love,” he breathes out, his voice a heavy rasp. “Let go for me.”

When you cry, he can only picture the expression on your face — can only imagine you look just like you’ve always done when you cum. His chest aches for just a moment, then lightens when you mewl his name.

“T-thank you,” you whisper, your words slightly slurred. Jiaoqiu softens when you kiss the top of his head. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” he replies, hushed. He nuzzles into you, slowly pulling his fingers out of your cunt. His chest rises and falls, weightless for the first time in weeks. “For everything.”

[cadaverousdecay]

I found one of those things you call a mermaid on the pier the other night. All tied up and thrashing its poor body around like a fish caught in a net.

That image repulsed me. You know I've never been one for fishing. Even catch and release puts me off. I don't like to watch the poor thing slowly suffocating as it waits to be thrown back in, its gills heaving and sputtering for water.

That creature tied up on the pier, the gash of gills on its neck was heaving and sputtering just in that way, dark ocean water flowing out with every failed breath, it really made me sick.

I pulled out my pocket dagger and its attention was on me. Its eyes bulged wide and I wondered if, like a fish, it couldn't blink. The sight of my dagger set it off into another thrashing fit and I tried to calm it down. Poor thing didn't seem to understand a word. It kept opening and closing its faded lips, but nothing came out. Must've spoke some kinda fish language.

I held it firmly in place and slowly brought the dagger to the knots binding its wrists. It calmed down after seeing that I wasn't here to cut its flesh. Or maybe it had just lost all energy from being out of the water too long. Either way, it stayed still as I cut the ropes around its legs.

When it was freed, it just lay there on the pier. So still it might've been dead, other than the weak flapping of the gill at its throat. I needed to get it into the water, and fast.

I lifted it up, one arm under its neck, the other under its knees. Its skin was slightly warm, unlike any fish I'd ever briefly held. But the same clamminess. Warmer than its skin was the water spurting from its gills.

I stepped closer to the edge of the pier and the thrashing returned. It must've known it was going back home, and was getting excited. I took a step back to gather momentum, and pushed forward with all my might, throwing the creature in kicking and flailing.

It hit the water with a splash, and stayed at the surface for a moment. Almost like it was treading water. Must've wanted to say thanks. After a few seconds it slowly sunk down. Back to its home.

I imagined the slit in its neck filling up with ocean water and I could finally breathe easy again. I couldn't get that sick taste out of my mouth for awhile, though. Same sick taste of my first fishing trip.

"Who cut its neck?" I remember asking my mama as the fish struggled in my hand, tail thrashing, scales cold. She told me those were its gills, that's how it breathed. Through the slits in its throat.

"So it's breathing through its neck?"

"No, sweetie. Not now."

I took one last look over the pier into the dark water below, getting darker. That fish is breathing now. It's gotta be.

[honnelander]

tart

HERE WE GO EVERYONE. the long awaited jealous!Sanji fic!! AKA a prequel to the main go fish! storyline!! this fic takes place before the main events in go fish! but after they met at the Baratie. and don't worry, part 3 for the main series will be on the way. enjoy!! request: i was wondering if you’d consider making a lil imagine/blurb about sanji being jealous of someone flirting with the reader? like imagine zoro and the reader just talking and then zoro suddenly leans closer and whispers to her “it seems we’ve got an audience” or smth like that

WARNINGS: none

word count: 3.7k

pairing: jealous opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: Sanji watches Zoro and reader talk and gets jealous. Nami tries to calm him down but fails.

go fish! series: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @mischiefmanaged71 @smolracoon25 @smol-book-nerd @shuujin @amanda08319 @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @whiskeypowder @jovialcat123 @nimtano @xtigerlily @shadowwolf1864 @quixscentsposts @guidingstarsstuff @ateliefloresdaprimavera

“Reading that garbage again?” a voice called out. 

At hearing the question, you glanced up from your well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice, your favorite book, only to see a calm Zoro casually stroll over to you with a hint of amusement on his face.  

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Don’t knock it till you try it, oh great sword master,” you playfully jabbed as you shook out the book to him as he leaned his back against the ship’s front railing, resting his elbows on top of it. “The almighty Zoro isn’t allergic to reading, is he?” 

Zoro snorted, glancing down at your cross-legged position on top of a crate before returning his sights to the Going Merry’s deck and the open ocean. “Yeah, I am allergic,” he agreed. “Allergic to reading that monstrosity you call a book.” 

“Ooo, ‘monstrosity’. That’s a mighty big word for a non-reader like yourself, Zoro. Good job,” you teased as you marked your page before closing the book and joining your friend in looking across the deck and out towards the ocean. 

The green-haired swordsman crossed his arms. “I read.” 

“Mmhm,” you hummed, not convinced. “Sure you do.” 

“I do,” he defended in a gruff voice. 

“Oh yeah? Here, I’ll make it easy for you: tell me about one book you’ve read.” 

Zoro scoffed. “I can tell you about way more than one.” 

You couldn’t help the surprised noise that came out of you. “Oh, yeah? ’More than one’?” you asked with a raised brow and glanced up at your fellow straw hat, trying to wipe off the grin on your face.  

You were certainly surprised that Zoro has read more than one book in his lifetime, but you weren’t surprised that he took your earlier question as a challenge. Classic Zoro, you thought in amusement. The guy could never pass up a challenge, no matter what it was about. 

So, you repositioned yourself on your crate, making yourself comfortable for the discussion ahead. “Alright, come on,” you said and sat up straighter, urging Zoro on, “let’s hear it. Tell me all about them.” 

From the back of the ship, on the upper deck above the kitchen, a certain chef took a long drag on his cigarette as he watched you and his least favorite swordsman be engrossed in conversation. Sanji removed the butt of his cigarette from his mouth with his thumb and index finger, keeping the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could, before slowly exhaling the smoke from his nostrils, his eyes never leaving the two of you. 

“Daaamn, Sanji,” Usopp drawled as he messed with the sails on the ship’s mast nearby, glancing at the chef for a second before returning to his knots. “You look like a smoking dragon. All ferocious and mean. And....extra smokey.” 

Sanji’s gaze didn’t budge, Usopp’s words not fazing the cook in the slightest. “Oh yeah? And what of it knot-boy?” he asked with a slight edge to his words, taking another drag on his cigarette and exhaling through his lips. 

At Sanji’s snarky question, Usopp recoiled and looked back at Sanji more closely with a confused expression. It was rare for Sanji to lose his cool or be in a bad mood for no reason, unless he was going back and forth in an argument with Zoro but even then, the blonde chef usually took those in stride with a smile, much to Zoro’s annoyance, so this was new. 

“Aren’t those things supossed to calm you down?” Usopp asked as he nodded to the cigarette in the cook’s hand. 

“I am calm,” Sanji rebuked a little too quickly to be true.  

Usopp then noticed how intent Sanji’s stare was towards something at the front of the ship and raised an eyebrow. Whatever he was staring at must be pissing him off because the chef’s gaze looked absolutely lethal. What the hell could be making him so mad? Usopp followed Sanji’s gaze, looked towards the front of the ship, and saw....y/n and Zoro talking? 

To Usopp, it looked like they were just having a normal conversation, but when he saw y/n laugh at something Zoro said, hitting his arm with a grin and Zoro having a slight smile, he heard Sanji scoff loudly in disgust and mutter something under his breath. 

And in that moment, it dawned on Usopp what was up, and it was hard for him to contain his shit eating grin: Sanji was jealous. Sanji was jealous of y/n and Zoro. To Usopp, it looked like a completely normal conversation between friends since he knew of y/n’s affections for the blonde cook. But to Sanji? It probably seemed like a complete flirt fest, and he was jealous. 

Up until this point Usopp had thought y/n’s crush was only one sided. Sure, he’s had his suspicions ever since Sanji seemed to stare at y/n more often than not, but Usopp was still just a guy at the end of the day, so he never considered if Sanji might actually have feelings for y/n too.  

But now? Oh boy- Usopp was all caught up to speed and he couldn’t wait to meddle in their budding relationship and tease the heck out of them both for it (when the time was right, of course).  

Usopp looked back over at Sanji and wiped off his grin as best he could. “You say somethin’ Sanji?” he asked innocently, knowing damn well the chef said absolutely nothing. “I thought I heard you mutter something.” 

Sanji flicked the ashes off his cigarette. “No.” 

“Oh. Must just be the wind then...” 

Suddenly, y/n’s laughter could be heard from the ship’s front and Sanji nearly snarled in disgust and shook his head. “What the-” Sanji started but let out an exasperated sigh. “He’s not even funny,” Sanji complained before taking another hit on his cigarette. 

Usopp couldn’t help himself, he had to poke the bear. “Who, Zoro? I think he’s funny.” 

The blonde chef let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, funny looking.” 

He also had to twist the knife. “Well, y/n seems to think he’s funny.”  

Sanji chuckled to himself and stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating Usopp’s words. “You know what? It doesn’t matter,” he muttered and took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out and immediately lighting up a fresh one. 

Unbeknown to the cook and slingshot fighter, standing underneath them and near the tangerine trees was the Going Merry’s orange-haired navigator, who had heard their whole conversation. 

------------- ----- 

“Zoro!” You laughed loudly and hit your crewmate on his bicep. “Reading books on how to dismember your opponents doesn’t count as real reading!” 

A ghost of a smile appeared on Zoro’s face as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Says you. Can you tell me fifty different ways on how to cut up a body? No? I didn’t think so.” 

“Fair enough,” you relented good naturedly with a small laugh as you shook your head. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.” 

A comfortable silence fell over you both as you let out a small sigh, watching the waves crash. 

After a few quiet beats, however, you felt Zoro lean into your personal space as he lowly murmured, “Don’t look now, but it seems like we have an audience.” 

You blinked in confusion as your eyebrows pulled together. “What? An audience? Where?” Completely disregarding Zoro’s instructions, you immediately started looking around the ship. “Watching what?” 

“Us,” Zoro said simply and returned to his full height. 

You shook your head in disbelief. “What? Us? Now who would be watching-” you started to say but the rest of your sentence died in your throat when you saw piercing blue eyes staring right you both. “...us?” you finished slowly.  

Sanji? Sanji was your audience? But- why? What? You were so confused. Even from this far away, you could tell something was off with him. His posture was stiff and the usual smile that adorned his features whenever he saw you was nowhere to be seen.  

“When did he get here? I didn’t know he was on deck...” you trailed off, about to move to hop off the crate and make your way over to Sanji to see what the matter with him was when something stopped you.  

Before you could hop off the crate, you saw Sanji put out his cigarette and make his way off the deck and head down into the kitchen, not sparing you another glance. As you made your way across the deck, about to follow him into the kitchen, Usopp quickly called out to you from up on the ship’s mast, asking for your help with knot tying since ‘yours were so much better than his’. You agreed with a small sigh, not wanting Usopp to struggle by himself, so you made your way to the mast and started climbing, but not before sparing the entryway to the kitchen one last glance. 

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Sanji flittered around, grabbing random ingredients he saw at first glance. Mushrooms? Grabbed. A block of cheese? Sure. Corn? Ok. Tomatoes? Sure, whatever. 

As he looked down at the growing pile of ingredients on the counter, he stopped for a second to examine the pile, putting his hands in his pockets. What the hell was he supposed to make out of this? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think straight, and it was bothering the absolute hell out of him. The kitchen had always been his sanctuary, a place where he could always rely on to decompress and escape from his thoughts as he got swept away in the act of cooking that came so naturally to him. Usually. 

But today? His natural instincts weren’t there. He felt his chef’s mind drawing up a blank on how to mix all of these items together and the longer he stood there, the more ticked off he became. On a normal day, he’d have thought up of 15 different dishes he could make and already have been busy at work making one of those ideas come to life. But now? There was nothing. No ideas swirling around in his head, nothing.  

He could feel his face twist up in irritation the longer he was standing there until finally, he let out a short, brusque sigh, muttering, “Now what the fuck am I supposed to do with all this?” 

“You’re the chef, aren’t you supposed to figure that out or something?” 

The blonde chef glanced up from the pile and saw Nami casually strolling in from the deck and up to the counter opposite of him, hands clasped behind her back, with a curious eyebrow raised.  

Instantly, to cover up his sour mood, the cook plastered on a fake smile. “Well, it seems my mind is a little blank at the moment, Darling. Why don’t you come over here and help me come up with an idea or two?” he offered with a wink, taking his hands out to lean against the counter. 

But Nami saw right through him. “I’m good, thanks,” she declined bluntly. Nami wasn’t sure when she had become the Going Merry’s pseudo-therapist, especially since this crew hadn't been together for more than 3 months at this point, but someone had to be, and she figured the only way to get Sanji to talk right now would be if he was doing something he loved: cooking. “Actually,” she started offhandedly, “I have a request for you.” 

Now that immediately got the cook’s attention. “Oh?” he asked with a raised brow, straightening up as he dropped the fake flirty persona. 

“Yeah,” she said aloud, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself that she actually had a request for the cook. From behind her back, she pulled out a couple of tangerines. With a slight smile and raised brow, she said matter-of-factly, “If I remember correctly, I believe I was told I could ask for a tangerine tart anytime I’d like?” 

A genuine smile came across Sanji’s face at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he laughed with a nod. “The Madam is correct.” He took the fruits from Nami’s hands and placed them on the counter, pushing away his bizarre pile of ingredients to make room. “One tangerine tart coming right up,” he said and started bustling around the kitchen with purpose this time, pulling out the necessary ingredients, a far cry from his movements a couple of minutes ago. 

Seeing Sanji occupied, Nami took a seat at the table, sitting where she had left her charting journal and reading glasses from breakfast that morning. She opened her journal back up and put her glasses on, flipping through the pages and resuming her sketch of her latest map.  

Both of them worked in silence for a few minutes, both engrossed in their respective activities until Nami broke it. Before speaking, she snuck a glance at the chef, making sure he was preoccupied before she started prodding and sure enough, he was. Perfect. 

“You know, I never told anyone this before,” Nami started, laying the groundwork for Sanji to open up, creating a tit for tat sort of thing, “but I actually love tangerine tarts.” 

Sanji huffed slightly with a slight smile, not looking up from his work. “Oh yeah? Well, be prepared to fall in love with them all over again.” He started pouring heavy cream into a separate bowl, adding sugar before whisking it all together. “Even Zeff used to say I made a mean tangerine tart.” 

Nami hummed. “Maybe you can make Zoro fall in love with them too,” she said casually, sneaking a quick look at Sanji, only to see him press his lips together in a firm line and start to whisk the cream harder at the mention of the swordsman. “Or y/n,” she added quickly. “I don’t think she’s ever had one either.” 

At the mention of you, Sanji’s face and motions relaxed slightly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I...think you’re right about that.” 

The orange-haired girl rotated her journal ninety degrees. She decided to prod a little harder. “I think I saw them talking earlier.” 

Sanji simply hummed in agreement, cracking eggs into a bowl, staying silent. With the third egg, however, he cracked it a little too hard on the counter, causing the raw egg contents to splatter everywhere and onto his black blazer.  

“Ah- fucking hell,” he muttered in disgust, throwing the broken eggshell into the trash before cleaning his hands off in the sink. 

Nami looked up from her work and quirked an eyebrow at her crewmate. “You good?” 

The blonde cook shook his head once with a sardonic smile. “Never better,” he quipped. 

Ok, she couldn’t do this dance anymore. Nami closed her journal and took off her glasses, looking straight at him. “Alright, you want to tell me what the hell is going on? You’re acting weird, even for you.” Sanji opened his mouth to protest but Nami spoke before he could. “And don’t lie to me.” 

Mouth still open, Sanji exhaled slowly and deflated. “I- I’m fine.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Sanji-” 

Upon hearing his name, Sanji blinked and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Nami rarely called him by his name.  

“Cut the bullshit,” she continued. “I heard your conversation with Usopp and you certainly didn’t sound ‘fine’.” 

Sanji was caught red-handed. With what exactly? He didn’t really know but he did know he was caught in a lie because he definitely did not feel fine. He shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for words. “I...” he sighed and took off his ruined blazer, draping it over the back of an empty chair, rolling up his sleeves as he avoided Nami’s expectant stare. He grabbed a dirty rag and started cleaning the egg off the counter. “I don’t know...” 

“Sanji, you can barely crack an egg.” 

That brought out a short bark of laughter from the chef. “Yeah,” he relented. “Obviously.” 

“Is this because of your jealously over y/n and Zoro?” 

“My- my what? My jealously?” he sputtered and scoffed, still not looking Nami in the eye. “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why on earth would I be jealous over that stick in the mud?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nami played along, tapping her temple, pretending she was deep in thought. “Maybe because you saw and heard them laughing from all the way across the ship?” she pointed out. When Sanji tried to wave off her accusations with an unconvincing smile, Nami decided to just go in for the kill. If Sanji wasn’t going to admit his obvious liking towards her female crewmate and friend himself, then she’d have to do it for him. “Maybe....maybe because you might have a little crush on y/n?” she offered with a raised brow, staring right at him. 

“Wh-what?? A crush?” Sanji quickly rebuked, jerking his head back. “What are we? Little kids?” 

From her spot at the table, Nami could swear she saw a faint dusting of pink appear on his cheeks. She smirked to herself. She got him. “Well,” she shrugged, “it doesn’t matter how old we get, we all get crushes from time to time.” 

You? A crush? Sanji shook his head as he resumed making the tangerine tart. Labeling whatever feelings he had for you as simply a ‘juvenile crush’ didn’t feel right to him. You were more than that, and you didn’t deserve to be labeled as such. “No, she’s not a crush.” 

“Oh, so you like-like her?” Nami said like it was obvious. “You like her as more than just a friend.” 

“I-” Sanji started but stopped himself and sighed, feeling his irritation grow the longer this conversation went on. Now even the kitchen wasn’t bringing him peace? First, smoking and now this? What was next? “Why does it matter? All of a sudden, my love life is interesting to you and up for debate? I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” 

Nami watched his jaw tense and his body become stiff as he started zesting the tangerines. Clearly whatever feelings Sanji was dealing with, he wasn’t ready to openly talk about them, so she decided to back off.

She put her hands up in surrender, slumping back in her chair as she said, “Hey, I’m...I’m sorry. You’re right.” Deciding to give the chef his space, she gathered her belongings and stood up, making her way to the counter. “If you ever need to...talk or anything, I’m here,” she offered quietly. In a normal tone, she added, “Let me know when the tarts are ready. I really do want y/n and Zoro to try one.” 

Speaking of the devil, you came into the kitchen from the deck, eyes lighting up at the sight of Sanji cooking. Seeing Sanji cook was one of your favorite things and you always loved to guess what he was making. “Sanji! Ooo, what are you making?” 

Nami watched as Sanji’s whole demeanor change at the sight of you, like a switch being flipped on. She couldn’t help but smile knowingly between you both. “I’ll be in my room,” she announced before making her way out of the kitchen, leaving you both alone. 

Sanji had a wide smile, shoulders relaxing as his eyes lit up. “Why don’t you guess? Give it your best shot.” 

“Oh! I love this game. Ok, let’s see,” you said as you surveyed the ingredients laid out before you. “I see flour, sugar, butter and tangerines...are you making a tangerine cake or something?” 

Whatever jealousy or anger he had been feeling all day just instantly disappeared once he was with you. He felt like himself again, all carefree and lighthearted as he chuckled at your guess. “Not quite, Missus. But nice try,” he said as he looked into your eyes with a crooked smile. 

Missus. You felt your heart skip a beat at the nickname and you felt your insides became all warm. You hoped your face didn’t give away your swooning. He's never called you that before and you hoped to God that he would never stop. 

“Ah, my bad,” you laughed embarrassedly. “What are you making then?” 

“I, am making a tangerine tart,” he proudly stated as he grabbed another egg, perfectly cracking it this time. “At the request of the ship’s navigator.” 

A wide grin broke out across your face. “No way!!” you squealed eagerly, causing Sanji to laugh. “I’ve always wanted to try one!”  

The blonde chef nodded. “Yes, she did mention that actually.” After a beat, he added, “I hope you like it.” 

“Of course I will,” you said without hesitation. “I know I haven’t known you for that long, but it seems like everything you make is phenomenal. You’re the best cook I know.” 

Normally, nearly everyone compliments his cooking (except for Zoro) and he never really thought anything of it. He knew was the best cook in the East Blue and someday, the whole world when he found the All Blue. But hearing that compliment from you? How you said it so easily and with such certainty? He felt a funny, warm feeling deep within his chest and when he looked at you, just like how you knew for certain that he was the best chef around, he knew right then that you really were the most beautiful woman he’s ever known. 

So, yeah. Nami was right. He guessed he did have a little crush on you, or ‘like-liked’ you- whatever she was saying.  

“Do you mind if I watch?” 

Your question broke the little staring trance he was in, blinking and tearing his gaze away from you as he tried to refocus on the task before him. He truly had to make sure this was the best tart he’s ever made. 

He nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. God, he was probably acting like an excited puppy, but he couldn’t help himself. “Of course you can,” he agreed with a small smile. 

As you pulled up a stool to sit on the opposite side of the counter, Sanji realized something: him cooking in the kitchen with you sitting nearby? That’s something he could get used to and get used to very quickly. 

[cloudcountry]

I just discovered your writing and I love how you write Idia! If requests are open, could you write Idia with an S/O that cooks for him? It's heavily implied that Idia has depression and is very thin do to his lack of self care and malnutrition, but since he started dating he gains some weight and gets a bit insecure about it but reader comforts him because they're just happy that's he's eating healthy

SUMMARY: idia is starting to eat healthier and put on weight, which spawns new insecurities. you help him through it.

COMMENTS: i'm so unhinged about this request please. PLEASE. do not look at me right now im in SHAMBLES. you've saved my life with his request. IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT FOREVER I WROTE THIS IN LIKE 45 MINUTES IM LOSING IT. THIS BAD BOY CAN FIT SO MUCH NON SEXUAL INTIMACY IN IT. CRYING.

In the beginning of your relationship, getting Idia to eat and drink was like pulling teeth. You didn’t want to force it—Idia knew how he felt far better than you, and making him do something he didn’t want to was just cruel. You knew from the start that if he didn’t want to eat, he wouldn’t, and even after consulting Ortho you didn’t notice any changes in his attitude towards eating. You reminded him to drink water constantly and brought him little snacks, but the water bottles remained mostly full and the snacks were unopened. While you managed to coax another few sips of water out of Idia, the snacks were still a no-go and his vitamin drinks won the day once again.

It took until the two of you were second years for him to consider eating more, and you were so delighted that you began to cook for him. Although he still gained most of his nutrients from those vitamin drinks he’d always drink in place of meals, you were so proud of him when he started eating the small portions you’d set out for him. Each container had four sections, one full of dried fruits, one with nuts, one with vegetables, and the last with meat. You always wrote him a note telling him how proud of him you were, encouraging him to eat the whole thing but letting him know he could stop eating whenever. It was more of a snack than anything, but he’d eaten it, the whole thing, and you felt so moved you’d almost cried.

Idia never thought it was that much a deal, even when you started gradually increasing his portion sizes into your third year at NRC, always replying to your praise with bashful mumbles and scoffs, twisting his beautiful hair into knots as a nervous habit. He would finish his snacks and bashfully ask for more, turning his pink cheeks away from you when you’d beam and tell him you’d be on it right away. Noodle dishes were popular, along with sweet chicken recipes, and anything with rice or pasta. You avoided using meats like pork or beef or anything that wasn’t light like poultry. Idia always favored things that went down easy, not hearty meals that left you feeling stuffed (and, of course, you never fed him sushi due to his dislike of raw fish.)

He was drinking more water as the years went on, too—by the time you came to collect his dishes and figure out if he wanted more food or not, you’d catch a glance of a half empty water bottle and feel your heart fluttering in your chest. It made you so happy to see him eating and drinking healthier. Even if he complained about needing to go pee more often (which took out of his gaming time, oh the dramatics) you could tell he felt better. It had been a journey of three years but you and him were making some serious progress together, and you couldn’t be more proud.

To celebrate just how proud of him you were, you’d gotten Idia a small chocolate cake to go with his lunch, and you were delivering it a bit early to surprise him.

Balancing all of the food on one hand, you bounce on the balls of your feet as you punch in the security code to his room (it changed every day and he always texted you the new one, reassuring you that your messages had been encrypted ten times over so nobody could even chip at the defenses, not that you were worried about someone hacking your phone in the first place.) The door opens with its usual mechanical woosh and shuts behind you the second you step inside, immediately locking again.

“Idia, I bought you a gift today!” you cheer, setting the containers down on his bed.

You turn around to face the rest of his room before stopping dead in your tracks, coming face to face with very wide eyed, shirtless Idia. He’s clutching his shirt to his chest, trying to hide as much of him as he possibly can, but the way the fat of his stomach pinches and rolls at his side could still be seen past the fabric. Your mouth forms a small o shape as you stare, taking him in.

“Stop staring!” he yells, and it's only then that you notice the tears in his eyes and the pink borderline red flickers in his flames, “Get out!”

He throws himself into the gamer chair, spinning it enough so that the back of it faces you. You can see him curling up into a little ball, struggling to get his shirt on in the state he’s in.

“Idia, wait!” you call out, stopping him in his tracks.

Soft sniffles fill the room, and it breaks your heart.

“Why are you here early?” he snaps, still not coming out from his hiding place.

“I bought you a miniature cake. You’ve been eating more lately and I’m proud of you for that.” you say softly, sitting down on his bed, “I’m not going to come over there, darling. Don’t worry. This is a safe space, you know? I would never judge you.”

Idia is silent for a few beats before he speaks again.

“Maybe...maybe I should stop eating.” he murmurs, and the pain that shoots through your heart makes you gasp.

“Idia, no.” you plead, gentle even though you’re panicking, “What’s making you feel this way? You’ve been doing so well, you’ve told me how good you’ve been feeling this past year because you’re eating healthier, what changed?”

“I look like this!” he spits out, and there’s so much self loathing in his tone it brings tears to your eyes as well.

“You look beautiful, darling, you always have. What about yourself do you not like?” you plead, hoping and praying he’ll open himself up to you.

“I’ve gained weight. I’m not as skinny anymore. I look gross.” he peeks out from behind his chair and your heart breaks at how bloodshot his eyes are, “I don’t...want you to see me like this and leave me.”

“My love...” you keep his gaze, leaning as close as you can to him without leaving the bed, “I love you no matter what you look like, you know that right? I love you as a person. You will always, always look lovely to me. I love you. I don’t love a perfect version of you I made up in my head. Every single insecurity you have, I love, because they aren’t flaws. They’re just you.”

You let him take your words in, listening to his heavy breaths before you stand up.

“Darling...can I see you?” you ask carefully, “I want to see you.”

He hesitates.

“Promise me you won’t be disappointed.” Idia’s voice cracks mournfully, like he’s already accepted a fate that will never befall him.

“Never.” you answer immediately.

Your breath catches in your throat when he shamefully moves away from his gaming chair, staring at the ground to avoid looking at you. Your heart hits the ceiling with how light it feels, your lungs contracting and your body growing warm. Oh, he’s ethereal.

You take in the parts that he hates—the creases of his neck and his soft pecs (his nipples are blue, you note, and honestly that doesn’t surprise you), the rolls of his stomach and the fiery trial of hair that leads to his pelvis. You take in the blue glow under his arms and the way the fat of his upper arm folds into his shoulder, and his way his stomach hangs a little over the waistband of his pants. You take it how his arms are bigger now, whether that be from growth or the added weight you don’t know, but what you do know is that all of this beauty was hiding under his hoodie for the past three years. Probably even longer.

“You’re beautiful.”

And your voice breaks as a single hand covers your mouth, hearts in your eyes as you finally, finally make eye contact with Idia, his hair sparking and popping like solar flares as the flames turn pink.

You love that pink.

“B...Beautiful!?” Idia jerks back, looking so scared and ashamed and confused, “What are you talking about!? Beautiful is for men in otomes with eight pack abs, I’m no ikemen but I’m not stupid and how could you ever call me something like that—!?”

“Idia Shroud, you’re beautiful!” you shout, your voice far louder than you intended and it cracks again because oh, you’re so emotional, how could this man think he’s anything but beautiful?

“...what?” he whispers, shirt still clenched in his hands like a lifeline, “You...you don’t want to leave me?”

What you want to do is ask why you ever thought he’d leave you in the first place.

What you do instead, is tell him no.

And you stay.

You don’t make an excuse to leave or try to let him down slowly. You stay in his room and you ask to hug him, you stay in his room and you embrace him so tenderly when he says yes, you stay in his room with him and you kiss his temple, holding all of the extra fat he didn’t come with when you fell in love with him in your arms, loving him all the same even though he’s changed.

He doubts you’ve ever called someone beautiful as many times as you’re calling him that right now.

So Idia shuts his eyes and buries his face in your shoulder, hiding his face and his body and his sobs from the rest of the world in the safety of your arms.

You really will love him no matter what.

He doesn’t know what to do.

[archive-doll]

𝐼𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒹, 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 - 𝒦ö𝓃𝒾𝑔!𝒦𝓇𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃

Author Note: second story of kinktober for me! This one is focused on König, as a Kraken of course, and I tried to give myself some challenge with today's theme. As always, please be sure to read the warnings. Have fun!

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Day 4 of Kinktober : chasing kink / hunting kink

Trigger Warning: chasing prey/hunting kink is not consensual. Mention of sacrifice during medieval times, age gap he's ancient. Sexual penetration with his tentacles. ANGST, but he is very nice to you. König uses his venom on you, by accident → dubious consent. Mention of impregnation, breeding kink. size kink.

It's very long... there is plot, I suppose.

Have mercy on my grammar, english is not my first language, and as always minors do not interact.

You come often, by the river. It often comes from a place of longing, the yearning for freedom making your flesh tingle. Your fingers shake when you take the first step out of your cabin, a heavy scarf wrapped around your throat while the door falls close.

It hasn't been long since you moved into the dainty cabin, at the edge of the mountains. The exuberance of the city, the weight in the air when you slither around the streets, one day after another, became too much. Like a knot around your throat. The decision to leave has not been easy to make. You left all of your life behind, every connection you had - your friends, your works, your favorite coffee shop, the artistic museums.

But, as the cold air slides around the crevice of your fingers, there is no regret in that decision. Your garden still needs some readjustment, and your cabin a few renovations but the constriction fades away as soon as your eyes find the lines of the trees. Your legs shift without you needing to think of it, carrying you deeper into the wilderness.

It had rained for a few days, making the ground sloppy, but your feet easily make way after weeks of wandering in the mountains. You never cross anyone during your little escapades, only noticing traces of animals. Sometimes, hearing an owl, or the scurrying motions of a rodent.

You never feel safer than in the woods. Everywhere you look, there is only the undying beauty of nature. From the branches of the trees that dance beneath the wind to the smell that only comes with the rain.

There is freedom, with being the only human in the surroundings. It makes you feel small but in a good way. In a way that cradles your heart and makes your soul feel comforted because the world is so much bigger than you.

A little cloud emerges when you exhale, your body muffled into your coat. It's not long before you find yourself by the bed of the river, the gentle current like a lullaby as you approach. The oppressing weight that appears with your anxiety, lessens around your shoulders when you breathe into the quietness.

The path you take changes with the day, and the reason for your anguish. Tonight, you take the short travel, staying by the bed of the river uncaring of the mud that is starting to smudge along your boots. Watching the river flow along the mountains, making its way - ever so slowly taking a place for itself through the earth is relaxing enough.

Your nose is cold as you finally see the sea there, careful in your steps as you descend the little hill. With a sniffle, you push your hands deeper into your pockets, not sensing the eyes that follow your movement.

There are little movements that break the peace, creating little waves along the surface of the water, and you innocently think it's fish there or the slight breeze. It's dark here, which gives the landscape an eerie feeling that you relish in. A slight branch cracks beneath the sole of your feet before you step over the rock, finding one stable and large enough to accommodate your body.

A sigh escapes your lips; curling your legs against your chest, you nestle your chin into the creak of your knees. Here, in the meadows, the skyline is visible and you can see numerous stars that shine, their light finding you. It's reassuring, a gentle reminder that the world is bigger than you - bigger than the reasons that made you flee the city.

A splash in the water echoes around, water licking up at the rocks under you. You miss it, the tentacles that emerge for a second from the deepness, and you don't see either the red pupils that catch the light of the moon. Innocent little thing that you are, when the sea comes to great the ground, you simply think it is the tide.

The monster, him, creeps closer. Your smell and the sudden noises are known to him, after your multiple visits. Before, humans used to come to their domain in search of penitence. An old village even offered sacrifices in the hope of a good harvest. It has been years since a human appeared, and even longer since one looking so delectable.

Your cheeks are full. There is a softness in the line of your jaw and a plushness in your mouth. You seem ripe for the taking, with a sway in your thighs when you walked to him - an offering, just for him to have. They wonder, how you will look, with their tentacles slithering along the curves of your flesh, how hard he can tighten around you. How deep they could reach, how many of them they could sink into your body.

You are not aware, when the first tip of its flexible limb finds suction on the rock. There is a little distance between you and them, half a meter, beneath you, so close to its prey. And the sea is profound there, easily swallowing his stature. His breath hitch, watching ravenously how your eyes flutter up at the sky. You look so precious, there. A treasure for him to keep.

You hum in the safety of your perch, the humid wind prickling at your nose. The sea is moving beneath you, its own entity, and each wave is like a breath - it's hypnotizing. A little squeak comes then, breaking the gentle trance you put yourself into, and as your gaze was to flickers down if only by instinct, a burning rope tightens around one of your ankles.

A scream breaks your throat, the sudden constriction making you wail as you flap your arms around in terror. You're too scared to touch it, and your fingers find solace on the sharp edges of the rock when you cry out, heartbeat resonating in your ears. With one kick, the bottom of your foot collapses against a mass, and the rope twitches before lessening, but you can't stop shaking.

"Oh, god!" You whine, stumbling backward with a pump of adrenaline falling from your previously safe place.

The darkness of the night suddenly appears threatening. Your eyes catch forms, and you think you see something there but, there is no certainty in the madness that rises in your mind. The mystery coming along with the sea now is threatening, raising a dangerous need to flee.

The patch of flesh that has been clutch burns, even through the material of your jeans. Your palms fumble back until they dig into the ground, the slime of the earth making you slip.

"Fuck!" You gasp, skittering when your shoulders hit the ground, splatters of mud find your profile, and the air is suddenly taken away from you. Hair pressing into the ground, the rocks are hard beneath your leg, and you groan, immobilized for a moment by the lack of oxygen and the pain in your upper back.

A hissing sound crawls into the whistling of your ears, and you whine, hands trembling. The crawling of the sea is not what you notice first, as you come back to your senses. It should be, really, with how the surface appears to rise, and the water defiling gravity. The tide growing stronger, but no. Your mind, still dizzy from the shock and mixed signals, settles on the shadow creeping toward you.

You hear little sounds, peculiar noises like a clicking of teeth, and see slithering silhouettes writhing closer. A squeak leaves you as you try to escape, nails scraping against a hard surface, the fat of your hips jiggling when you roll to your front. The sight of you, and the softness that they can see as your coat and garment ride create and rumble across their chest.

"Little one..."

You were moving to get on your feet, wide eyes filled with fear flickering across the line of the tree when the thunderous voice erupts through the air. Maybe it's instinct, maybe it's the pain in your joints but you cease - bursts of air passing through your clenched teeth.

Everything in you is telling you to run, from your shaking hands to the prickling at your nape but, for some reason, it might be the need to know, to have a face at what makes you so scared. You're not certain, but you still for an instant, a matter of seconds, and tilt your head back. Your eyes move around, unable to focus after the hit against the ground, until you see slithering strands.

Your brows quirk in a curl of anguish and you think it is your imagination, might even be a hallucination from that previous fall. But, the more you concentrate, the less it appears to be a vision. The slithers are all connected, on top of the mountainly creature facing you. The clicking sound is still there, stronger, and there is a hiss as your hands reach further when you understand what it is.

Tentacles.

"Where are you going? Mäuschen, you cannot leave me."

The shiver is like a knife, skinning you alive, from head to toe when their voice arises. No, you can't stay, you need to run, you have to move.

In a blur, your knees shift and you are running. You are not fast enough or barely, with how your ankle burns and your head still spinning. Still, you try and don't look behind, too scared of what you will discover next time. Because behind you is an enormous creature, bigger than the whole sky, with a head filled with tentacles. A monster in the flesh.

Danger, your brain says, and you believe it.

Everyone knows, that running from a predator is not a good idea - actually, it's not recommended at all. When you first started to live out there, all alone in the woods, you took a few courses and learned how to behave if you ever found yourself in proximity to a predator. But, the instructor only told you what to do around a bear, hell, even a wolf.

What are you supposed to do, around a being that emerges from the sea, with a head filled with flimsy appendages coming from their head? You're pretty certain that simply standing there, trying to make yourself bigger, is not going to cut it.

What is the next best thing, then? Running, your adrenaline brain tells you. Your ankle burns with every shift, and you think it might even be swollen with how heavy your feet appear to be, but you don't stop. Not even when the clicking sound worsens, almost angrily, and you race across the salty swamp.

Your feet slide and barely find refuge on the ground, the heavy rain that had fallen early this week making you stumble with every step you take. The wind is harsher now, crashing through your body and making you deviate your course without your knowledge - until you're rushing along the edge of the cliff.

They are close behind, you can feel it. With every stride you try to take, every inhale engulfing your lungs, you can feel them right behind you. Two steps closer, a breath of distance. The tide had risen, and the waves crashed along the shore as you ran away, avoiding the bushes and the fallen branches.

Danger, danger, danger.

"Maüschen!"

The curls in your brow deepen when the voice growls in your ears, hair now sticking along the lines of your jaw, jeans heavy with the dampness of the air, and the splatters of the sea that reached you.

"No, no! Please!" It's useless to cry, it does not stop the burning at the back of your eyes when you see the tentacles from the corner of your eyes, your body bending forward as if to reach out for safety, in the last moment of hope.

The moment you feel one of them slither at your nape, you yelp, hand flailing in the air in front of you but they find your wrist too, the slimy appendages. All at once, they curl around you, sticky things pushing beneath the cover of your clothes, crawling along the plane of your body - you're caught.

They caught you.

"Sh, no need to cry, little one." The grumble is soft when they press themselves at your back, and you sob in fear, your exhaustion taking its toll on your mind, too.

Before you can process any of it, two very large arms surround your waist, cold and wet hands smoothing up your belly to grasp at your waist - and then your feet are dangling in the air. The tentacles do not hurt, you realize, when they flush you into their chest, a few feet up in the air.

They coddle you with every rubbing motion of their hands; even the tentacles seem to try to comfort you in their own way. They're tight around you, keeping you from fleeing again, but they slimmer along like a caress when you plead again. The ones around your jaw paddle along your flesh, circling it softly, and with a gentle push, it forces your head back, into what you think is a very broad shoulder.

"Shush, no tears."

Pearly tears fall into your cheeks when your hands are being pressed into your sides, preventing any movements. Hiccups make your breasts heave and the fear tremble in your knees. It coos at you again, their grumbling voice so close you can almost taste the words in your mouth until two red orbs find themselves in your line of sight.

"It is okay, Maüschen, you are okay."

It makes you uneasy, to have this creature binding you to them so easily, their appendages breaching your intimacy with how they swirl and push beneath your clothes - even now, passing the band of your jeans to knead at your thighs. But they are trying to comfort you; you can hear it. Their voice is softer now, and their head cocks to the side in a very animalistic way, their nose pushing into the softness of your cheek.

You wail at the proximity, fat droplets aching your skin as they fall from your eyes - they coo at you again, a thin mouth grazing your skin when they talk.

"No hurt, promise."

Your nose scrunches at the pain in their voice, and you sniffle loudly, snot passing your nostrils with your frantic state. The motions along your body leave a trail of what you think is saliva behind, kneading each inch of your flesh they find. Almost in a patting motion.

"No - no hurt?" You repeat dumbly, hands curling and twitching into the binding they have forced you into.

"No. Safe, Maüschen," they indulge you of course, and a cold mouth trails along your cheek in clumsy kisses unit they find the corner of your eyes. The temple of your soul, where they lick at your anguish.

"What are you?" You ask between cries, the little jolts in your shoulders becoming sparse as their hand rubs circles into your belly, pressing gentle pets at your hips.

The snap of the button of your jeans is unheard as they hiss again, and you make sense of the sound when you see the gills by their temples opening with the light of the moon. From so close, their face almost sinking into your own, you see the bloom of their tentacles across their chin and jaw, pink and white suction cups twitching in the air as if tasting your scent.

"You people named me Krake. I am König."

The flimsy libs that spread around your body almost have a mind of their own, as you watch them - him, blinks at you almost innocently. You don't see any sadism in his eyes, no hunger for pain, or anger. Mostly curiosity in how he nudges your hair with his nose to breathe beneath your ear. Slight arousal too, in the glint that settles in him.

You squirm, feeling the tentacles pushing deeper into your pants, some reaching to your knees, others circling your thighs, the suckering becoming slightly harder as they pass by your sensitive skin. The ones along your torso do not relent either; the gestures are more determined when they cradle the swell of your breasts.

"Oh, oh, no, not - !" You gasp, arms tensing into the restraints and he hums into you, their massive frame shifting closer as one circles your nipple. It's wet, and warmer than in the beginning, the sensation strangely addicting when one suckles at the hardening bud with no intention to leave. It makes your eyes roll back at the sudden contact, the eager suckles coating your flesh with heat.

"You are very warm, Schatz." He mumbles, lips caressing the slope of your throat as they bend their neck, your thighs clenching close when the tentacles ramp at the seams of your legs.

"Yes, warm - you, fire, I can, fire!" You gasp, trying to get his attention elsewhere, but you're not making any sense. Your eyes roll back when one presses against the gusset of your underwear, drifting right along the lips of your sex. It's wet, and it's thick as it caresses you, strong enough to make your hole weep and wink at the tentacles battling for the first taste of you.

"Fire?" König repeats, opening their mouth as he licks a patch of your skin, tasting the fear and the tears of your skin, a slightly sugary thing that makes him crave more. It's stronger the more he slinks himself along your soft cotton panties, starving for the solace of your pussy. "Flame."

"Yes, yes, flames - oh god." You squirm in his hold with a whimper, but now, it's not with the desire for distance, or to leave and disappear. Your hips grind down, and the previous burn at your ankle is more like a gentle warmth now, flooding along your legs, which shake and part when the probing at your entrance lulls your mind into a gentle pleasure.

"Little one, cold? Venom makes mortal weak."

A rumbling noise passes your lips, drooling tongue finding the corner of your mouth before König licks straight into it, groaning into you as he suckles your saliva with eagerness. You taste sweeter than he had imagined, the redness in his eyes darkening as he feels the sticky wetness dripping between your legs. Pure ambrosia, for him to delight in.

You barely understand his words, until you do, hooded eyes blinking down at him with confusion, finding König sniffling at your collarbone. His body curls around you as he continues fondling your tits, coat almost half raised to your shoulders, and your mouth part when his thumb pushes beneath one tentacle to pinch your harden teat.

It's a luscious sight, a naughty vision, some half-male half-creature thing, nipping and suckling at your skin into it blooms pink. The bottom of your clothing rustles up to reveal the blossom of your breasts, where his hands roam to accompany the tentacles lavishing your flesh.

It distracts you, the difference in size, your body levitating in the air while being groped so tenderly, his hands swallowing the heaviness of your tits with no hesitation. But, it breaks through the half-conscious state you are in, if only just slightly, and your lips graze humid skin when you turn to look at him better.

"Venom - you said?"

"Yes. In your blood. You're a feast, Maüschen." He groans, tongue slithering up, finding the little swell of the Adam's apple in your throat, before sucking on it. It hurts, but it's so nice, a distraction that makes your toes curl as he finally breaches into your cunt ever so gently. "Was not on purpose, you startled me then."

You gargle at the mixed sensation, the tentacles sucking and gushing into your wetness, twitching and thrusting their way in - one suckling, brazen, your clit. Your hips shatter, knees jolting upward once as he sinks deeper. Your jeans are slowly pushed apart beneath the strength of the appendages, too weak to keep you hidden under the assault of his desire.

"Where is your home, little one? Into the forest?" He murmurs, nipping now at the shell of your ears, watching how your skin shines under the stars, damp with his saliva. Soon, his little one will be flooding enough for him to feast.

König watches you, nodding with parted lips, a hazy sparkle in your eyes as your body jolt with the intrusion, your cunt parting to accommodate the heavy girth of his tentacles. Slowly clenching around each implacable limbs that undulate, in search of your womb. You keen again, hips stuttering upward in the air when one curls into you, bulging out with gentle thrusting, making you ooze onto the ground beneath.

"Good little mouse, let us then, you'll need the warmth for when I impregnate you, Schatz." He groans into your ear, his chubby cock thrusting into the plush of your bottom in rhythm with the starving suckle along your clit. His saliva is already making an effect. Soon, you'll be all mushy and sweet, just how he likes it.

And, he doesn't mind making you run, on the way there. The sight of you, all curves and fat, trying to abscond will help him relieve himself from his heavy seed, which he needs to do if he does not want to burst at the first sheath into your sweet pussy.

© archive-doll - all rights reserved. reposting or modifying, including translating or use on AI, is not permitted. original characters are not my own, but the stories and the writing are.

[erens-heart]

aki hayakawa ft. toji fushiguro

word count: 5.5k

synopsis: you’re aki’s subordinate and partner. feelings are misconstrued on a drunken night out. you reconcile with aki after more drinks, and indulge the feelings you’re so ashamed of.

content: angst, hurt/comfort, slight smut with fem!bodied reader, makeout session w/ sloppy kissing, sooo much alcohol, reader is slightly insecure, miscommunication and…toji.

playlist: i like the way you kiss me by artemas, bathroom by montell fish, i was never there by the weeknd.

there were often times at work, where aki would lament the choices that had landed him there. everyone at work was an idiot, and if they weren’t a complete idiot, they weren’t far off. apart from you.

you weren’t at all an idiot and, crucially, didn’t get on aki’s every last nerve. you clicked with aki as soon as you started in public safety. you were cut from the same fabric.

you were all the things he admired in a colleague: impeccable, smart, dedicated. you already had a repertoire of devil kills on your application before starting, and for that reason he could trust you to get the job done. you were both capable and strong.

soon enough you were conciously deciding to take the same smoke breaks and grab each other coffee. after your first quarter, you had successfully committed aki’s coffee order to memory: black, with no sugar.

technically, he was your superior, and you were his subordinate, he was also older than you. you were always mindful of not crossing the line, even though his unruly top knot was fucking gorgeous and you’d already fallen in love with his half-assed smirks. you respected the position you were in, and ultimately, put your job before any of your trivial feelings.

you’d learned to survive thus far by compartmentalizing your feelings, you weren’t about to let a man ruin that, or get in the way of your goal.

that being said, it was comforting to know that you and aki were on the same page.

—

20:00pm.

aki took one last drag of his dying cigarette, and put it out. it had just turned 8pm, and you would surely be waiting for him. it was the night of your division’s bi-monthly gathering - this time at a local bar.

aki normally never bothered showing up, but a few months ago, you had successfully convinced him it was good for team morale. you would generally rendevous there, but this time aki had offered to walk there with you and agreed to meet with you outside his apartment at 8pm.

aki opened his front door to find you waiting outside for him. you looked freezing, just as he’d suspected. you were clutching a tiny purse infront of a thin dress that was completely impractical. your dress was small and black, embedded with gems. you looked nothing less than ethereal. aki cared deeply about his appearance and, like you, always kept himself tidy. he had changed out of his work suit into an identical suit for the evening, excluding the tie. you were unintentionally matching and the heat of this revelation made it’s way into aki’s pale cheeks.

“aren’t you cold?” he interrograted, already lighting up another cigarette in his mouth as he locked up. he always spoke with his cigarette in his mouth, he was always so nonchalant. that’s what you liked about aki, his indifference, it meant that he was easy to talk to, and share your secrets with. he rarely expressed any bias towards the things you said.

you shook your head, smiling at him. “just a bit, but it’s fine. the bar’s only a block away isn’t it?”

you snorted, “you know, if you’re worried about my hands freezing you can always hold them, aki.”

he rolled his eyes, skillfully feigning annoyance. aki was truly a liar. he loved it when you teased him and made jokes like that - they played into his fantasies. he would happily hold your hand, hell, he would carry you if you asked him nicely.

“don’t be ridiculous.” he said.

and that was that.

the sky overhead began to clear, revealling the universe. you watched the sky, walking aimlessly beside aki as you made your way to the bar with him, paying no attention to the racing cars, and even less attention to the pedestrains bustling around you. you wobbled on the kerb, nearly falling off.

aki opened the door for you once you’d arrived at the bar. it wasn’t out of character for him to treat you like that, like nothing below royalty, he even pulled a chair out for you as you went to sit down before naturally claiming the seat beside you. you wouldn’t have it any other way.

the bar was warm and dimly lit with candles. as you shrugged your coat off, aki couldn’t help but notice the different things you’d done with your makeup that night. your face looked dewy and shimmery, your lipgloss was glittery.

“what are you drinking?” he mumbled next to your ear, already sick of everybody else.

you hadn’t given it much thought yet. “um. maybe a lychee martini? i don’t know.”

the rest of the division were already engrossed in their own conversations. despite the numb chatter, it felt like the two of you were alone. you wouldn’t mind drinking alone with him, you thought, watching his thoughtful eyes.

“okay.” he nodded, and raised his hand to call a waiter over.

“i don’t know. i just want something sweet i think. decide for me?” you suggested, drawing circles on the menu infront of you with your painted nails.

to be honest, you hadn’t come along to drink, you had come to spend time with aki. he sat beside you, blasé, with his arm slung over the back of your chair, cool as ever. the air around him was confident, and heavy with the scent of his cologne, making it difficult for you to focus on anything else.

“you really think that’s a good idea? me deciding for you?” aki chuckled, “i’ll get you a lychee martini. that sounds sweet enough.”

you’d forgotten how quickly one drink could turn into five, soon enough you were slurring your words.

aki was always careful not to drink too much, incase you needed his help, and paced himself. also, he didn’t want to forget the time you’d spent together.

you laughed inbetween hiccups at a joke he’d made. he chuckled at you endearlingly, and steadied your hand as your 6th lychee martini sloshed around and threatened to spill over his lap.

“guys! guys!” you shouted, commanding the attention of your division. “did you know…that mister hayakawa here…” hiccup. “has never…ever…had a girlfriend!” hiccup.

the table errupted with giggles and aki scowled at you. “hillarious. now shut up.” he scolded, and teasingly confiscated your glass, dragging it over to his side of the table. he held the neck of the glass between his two fingers.

aki only bothered telling you that because you’d been prying. earlier that night, you’d asked him why he never brought any dates along, which is when he revealled that he’d never dated before - ever. he never had enough time, he lied, knowing all too well that he was simply holding out for the right person. aki would never admit it, but he believed in soulmates.

it wasn’t completely untrue that he struggled for time, his days would begin at 5am and finish at 10pm, sometimes later, 7 days a week.

he wouldn’t have time for a girlfriend, let alone dates and sex, these would always be things of little consequence to aki, unless it was you. he might’ve been able to find the time to spoil you, and take you to fancy restaurants. he’d move mountains for you, if you asked.

“hmph fuck you.” you whined, licking your lips and coating them with saliva.

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, not quite recalling your superior’s name, you were too tipsy for that. you reached for your glass and he dragged it away from grasp again, smirking at your deplorable attempt at a rebuttal.

“fuck me?” he lowered his voice and narrowed his darkening eyes at you. you narrowed your eyes back at him, and leaned forward, resting your chin in your palm. you watched him for a while and he watched you in return, pulse rising.

your eyes were drunk, pupils blown, mascara starting to smudge. aki thought about your dishevelled beauty, and how much he would’ve liked to taste your lips in that moment. his eyes feasted on you whilst, in his head, he mapped out routes to your soul.

truthfully, for as long as he could remember, aki saw you as his.

“aki?” you whispered softly, interrupting his racing train of thought.

“yeah?” aki’s heart started thumping. you watched his adam’s apple rise nervously in throat, albeit your eyesight was blurry.

“you’re staring at me.”

“am i?” he asked, bluntly.

aki cleared his throat.

—

12:09am.

through thick cigarette smoke, you blurted out “can i stay at yours tonight?” followed by, “shit…sorry, i shouldn’t that said that.”

why were you asking him that all of a sudden? were you tired? did you want something? did you mean platonically, or in the same bed? you were drunk, clearly, and didn’t know what you were saying, but he could hardly say no.

after it had taken aki more than 30 seconds to culminate a response, you slumped back against the railings with a defeated sigh. it was worth a shot, right?

“you don’t even need to bother asking to be honest, y/n.” he stated simply, staring up the sky.

you quickly perked up, leaning in for a smoke. aki’s pulse started racing again, he could smell the alcohol on your breath as you parted your lips for a tug on his cigarette.

“gimmie.”

your legs were wobbly and he instinctively opened his arms to catch you, but you managed to stay upright without them. his pale hands continued to hover over your waist as you hung onto the collar of his shirt. you were too cold and tired to give a damn, meanwhile the proximity of aki’s body kept you warm. you’d been close, even accidentally brushed hands before, but never this close. your heart fluttered, you could feel his muscly legs become entangled with your own.

“but you hate it when i smoke.” he mumbled, glancing down his nose at you.

“well i’ve changed my mind.” you retorted. you were being a brat.

with the little energy aki had left, he rolled his eyes at you, exhaling a cloud of smoke in your face. “no. let’s go home, get you some water.” he summarised, putting his cigarette out on the railings behind you. “if you smoke, you’ll regret it when you’re sober.”

you nodded and took aki’s arm without a second thought, trying not to stumble and disgrace yourself.

the walk home was giddy. you should have felt cold because you weren’t wearing a coat, but the alcohol kept you comfortably numb. you recognised aki’s subdued apartment, scarcely lit by street lamps, and groaned in utter relief as you approached the entrance. he supported you up the stairs, through the hallway, stopping patiently with you every time you needed to collect yourself.

“you okay?” he whispered, your noses practically touching. you could only manage a nod as the world outside aki’s apartment door spun crazily.

once you were inside, aki got down on one knee to relieve you from the tight heels you’d been wearing all night. once he’d losenend the straps, you kicked them off and they landed halfway across his kitchen. thud.

your concious thoughts began to drunkenly blur into one and you were fighting the urge to throw up.

aki needed to process what was happening so he let his hair down and dragged a hand through it to get rid of any knots. you were in his apartment, and you were going to be there when he woke up as well. he was stressed, you could tell, despite not being able to form a coherent stream of thought otherwise. you could see the tension in his brow and tight jaw.

he got up and flicked the kettle on to boil, his footsteps padding against the cold floor as he shuffled around in the dark, already making up the couch for you. making you comfortable was his priority, his hot drink would come second.

the only light in the apartment came from his bathroom door that was ajar, you realised he must’ve forgotten to turn the light out before leaving, which you found strange because he was usually meticulous. little did you know, he’d been too busy preening himself earlier in the evening.

you were still stood in the doorway, using the walls either side of you to stop yourself from falling face-first into the rug, growing increasingly impatient.

“aki. water…” you groaned, swallowing a burp that might’ve turned into something else.

“just be patient. maybe don’t get yourself so drunk next time.” he snapped.

“couldn’t help it.” you groaned again, ever louder this time, the left strap of your dress beginning to slip off your shoulder, revealling even more of your delicate skin.

aki stormed over with a glass of water and held it against your mouth. “you definitely could.” then pulled the strap of your dress back over your shoulder. he stared at you exhaustedly, compelling you to take a sip of the water infront of you.

“no…would’ve been too nervous otherwise...” you admitted, taking small sips.

you felt suddenly small, cowering between aki’s chest and the closed door behind you. you were almost half the size of him. this wasn’t supposed to feel so intimate, but it did. a blush crept up your chest, colouring in your cleavage, and your cheeks. with the little reserve aki had left, he fought the urge to stare down at your pretty tits.

you were so pretty. all night you’d been so silly and clumsy, it made his heart swell. aki gulped, the way your eyes glowed up at him from beneath your fluffy lashes made him feel hot and throb between his legs.

aki’d had sexual thoughts about you before, in fact, he often thought about you in the middle of the night, with his hard, dribbling dick in his hand, but the thoughts he had were purely the work of his lucid imagination. he could really see you now.

“nervous?” he breathed.

yes, nervous. you nearly shit yourself when you received aki’s text that morning, inviting you to meet at his apartment. it was a bold move, even for him. you were used to spending all of your time together at work, lunch was no exception, but this? it felt different, maybe even slightly unprofessional.

you quickly broke the heavy gaze between you and your superior, brushing past him and making a beeline for the couch.

aki was suddenly able to breathe again and he followed you, placing the glass of water on a coaster next to you.

“i’m going to get changed. please try not to puke anywhere.”

as he turned to leave for his room, you grabbed his wrist. aki’s heavy breathing resumed. he paused and thought seriously about his choices, and what he wanted, about how pretty you looked sat on the couch beneath him, and how badly he wanted to ruin you.

every fibre of his tortured being wanted to tear that sheer dress off your body and make you wet, but you were drunk, and that would be questionable.

“y/n. you’re drunk. stop it.” he shut you down, shrugging your hand off, and left you sat on his couch in a pool of shame.

this was for your own good, aki convinced himself, ignoring all of the horrible feelings that started to bubble within him. it physically pained him to shut the door on you and leave you alone in his dingy kitchen.

that night, you lay a healthy distance from aki’s bedroom, tucked beneath a spare duvet of his. the duvet, and his pillows, smelled familiar, a scent you had learned to recognise with your eyes closed. you had learned to detect him at work, using only your nose. a blue light, you assumed from his lamp, glowed from underneath his bedroom door. all night it gnawed on your mind how inviting that light seemed, and how nauseating it felt that aki didn’t fucking want you.

everything felt hopeless. all that hard work, all those months of winning his trust, and thinking you might have had him wrapped around your finger, had amounted to nothing. you knew aki was complicated, but you thought it would’ve been easier than that.

aki frowned on the other side of the door, pulling his pillow frustratedly over his ears. you cried quietly, muffling staggered breaths with his spare duvet.

“i’m a terrible person.” he thought aloud. it wasn’t a revelation, he already knew that he was a jerk and, despite having your best interests at heart, had managed to ruin you. he could have laughed at how ironic it sounded.

this would go down in history as, potentially, one of the worst days in aki’s adult life.

—

10:34am.

aki opened his bedroom door, doubtful that you would still be there, and scanned the room for signs of your presence. just as he’d expected, you’d already left, and his apartment was empty, not even the scent of you remained.

he squinted, the morning light crept in from the balcony and stung his eyes. you had folded up the spare duvet on his couch imperfectly before leaving, and the glass of water was still half empty.

aki didn’t regret the choices he made last night, he was protecting you if anything. he checked his phone for a shitty message from you, but there was nothing, and that was somehow worse. he chewed the inside of his cheek uncertainly, remembering how sweet you’d been, tugging him in between your legs, and inviting him into your heart with an alluring smile.

he felt the sudden urge to vomit and ran to the toilet, slamming his hand into the wall for support as he let it all out. he hadn’t had that much to drink the night before, so it must have been something else upsetting his stomach. maybe guilt was symptomatic, he thought. he’d never felt like this before.

aki continued to check his phone all morning, the anxiety beginning to cannibalise him. he guessed you’d deleted his number already, and that work was going to be extremely awkward on monday.

you’d gathered your belongings at 7am, and left in a futile attempt to get some sleep in your own bed, but it hadn’t worked. you eventually gave up, and decided to ride the day out with coffee.

you were so busy feeling sorry for yourself, that you hadn’t stopped to consider aki’s reasons for turning you down.

nevermind that, things wouldn’t have worked out anyway. this is what you told yourself. firstly, aki was a busy man, he never would’ve been able to make time for you outside of work. secondly, aki had never dated before, and his inexperience was a slight deterrent. thirdly, aki was complicated, he had a plethora of unresolved traumas, you figured it would be healthier not to bare the weight of those on top of your own.

despite telling yourself this, it didn’t make things any easier, save for potentially fucking someone else.

—

monday.

aki actively avoided you on the way into work on monday morning and, for the first time, showed up late. you felt his cold presence as he walked into the office. aki sunk his feelings that morning with a coffee and a cigarette before work, and you were determined to continue compartmentalizing yours, just as you’d always done.

you’d hoped to be subtle but everyone at work could feel the change and the increasing tension, especially on thursday when aki allowed his seamless character to break after denji kept goading him with insensitive questions.

“just shut the fuck up.” aki spurned, almost spat, scrunching up the ends of his papers, before storming out of the room. your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach and fell into irretrievable pieces.

after watching aki disappear for a smoke, your eyes settled on the paper infront of you. you held next week’s schedule in your trembling hands.

“what the hell was that about.” denji snorted.

“not sure.” you dismissed quietly, noticing that aki would no longer be your patrol partner. you had been pencilled in to patrol with denji instead. you looked down so that no one would notice the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

you were no longer in the picture, you realised. you lied to yourself every day after that, persuading your heart that it was possible to co-exist as strangers.

denji’s eyes softened when he noticed your unsteady hands.

“y/n, don’t stress it. you know i won’t let us get killed.” denji leaned forward, in an attempt to intercept your thoughts, as if that was your only concern - you wished that was your only concern.

“i’ll bare that in mind.” you laughed, without smiling, and stood up to take your break.

you would have died for a coffee, if it came to it, because you hadn’t slept all week. you missed your friend and you were sad, although it was favourable that your favourite café was so busy that morning. your lonely thoughts would become distrupted by the crowd’s chatter and for a brief amount of time, you would find yourself distracted by the smell of coffee and cake.

you wondered lifelessly through the door, recalling all the times aki had stopped you from falling off the kerb along the way, offered to take your heavy bag or stomped his cigarettes out on the pavement outside.

you wouldn’t normally give the barista your order, because she’d conveniently memorized it, but that morning you could have cried.

you’d unconciously paid for two coffees instead of one, and realised when it was too late, as she handed you an iced vanilla latté and an americano: black, with no sugar.

“thank you.” you croaked weakly and carried the drinks back to the office, hoping that you and aki wouldn’t cross paths - indefinitely.

—

saturday.

the best way to alleviate your pain would be by drinking, you thought. in hindsight, it wasn’t the worst idea. you made yourself look effortlessly sexy, it genuinely didn’t take much.

you glanced one final time in the mirror before leaving your apartment. tonight you would let yourself become unravelled and forget the past week. you would saturate your feelings with alcohol and find a stranger to spend the night with. you hoped to project all of your anger onto that stranger, so the week that ensued wouldn’t hurt so much.

everything was alright to begin with; the club you’d chosen was the perfect combination of cosy and tireless. the dj played songs behind a tacky smoke machine, silencing the hum of adolescent voices, underaged teenagers and over-aged mothers.

you threw back a shot of sour apple vodka, hissing. you felt ridiculous drinking alone, hopefully one of the dilfs in the bar would find you mysterious and agree to take you home, fuck you, if you were lucky.

you circled the rim of another shotglass, fingers glistening with diamond rings, when you felt a hand on your arm.

“what are you doin’ drinking here alone, sweetness?” a hot voice rasped against your neck, “need some company?”

“sure.” you welcomed the stranger’s company, patting the bar stool beside you without looking at him first.

you inferred that he was much older than you, and probably came from a difficult line of work. based on the calloused pair of hands that lay on the bar beside you, it was probably something physical, and demanding, which is why he sounded so tired and in desperate need of a drink. the arm in your peripheral was thick and muscular, not something you were used to, particularly the force of it curling around your delicate waist. you gasped softly.

“the name’s toji, by the way. fushiguro.” you didn’t care for introductions, and nodded, skulling another shot before ordering two more: one for you and one for your new friend.

he could sense that you weren’t willing to co-operate, not easily at least, and smirked. toji didn’t mind, he was used to girls that played hard-to-get, they were all just as sad and easy in the end.

“i reckon that it’ll only take two more of those things,” he gestured to your shot glass, “to get you talking.”

“bet.” you sighed, your head already beginning to feel fuzzy.

you didn’t trust your new friend, you didn’t trust anyone, but especially not him. no one felt like home apart from aki.

aki.

your heart did ‘the sinking thing’ again, and left a sour taste behind in your mouth, causing you to inadvertently frown at your drink.

“somethin’ bothering you?” toji questioned, downing a shot of his own, before ordering something stronger. he struck you as the type to drink heavily and wake up with no regrets because he was certainly big enough to handle it.

“yeah. a friend. ex-friend actually.” you replied. toji’s eyes raked down your body whilst you spoke to the tumbler in your hand.

“ah, there we go. so she does have a tongue in her head.” he teased in a ragged voice, which lead you to face him. you confirmed your suspicions by inspecting his face; he was indeed older, with a scar on the corner of his smirking mouth. he was the type you would happily fuck, but not trust.

to say that you had low expectations was an understatement, you didn’t have any at all. men like this were unpredictable, you would need to switch your emotions off if things were going to work according to plan.

“did he toy with your heart or somethin’?” he asked.

“not even. i was just - nevermind.” you shrugged.

“what did you do?” toji continued intuitively, swirling the drink around in his glass.

“stupidly thought my feelings were reciprocated.” you laughed bitterly. you had intended to forget about him, to dance the night away, but your feelings for aki were inescapable.

“god, all you females are the same.”

you were under the impression that your plan was failing already. every time you looked at toji, you were expecting to see aki smiling back at you, haunted by the nostalgia of drinking together last weekend. you sighed angrily, slamming your glass down on the bar next to you. “excuse me.”

you stumbled quickly to the bathroom, not realising how drunk you were until you stood up and tried walking. you pushed impatiently through the crowd, muttering expletives to yourself.

you locked yourself in a bathroom stall and sat on the toilet. you didn’t need to use the bathroom, you just needed space to breathe.

normally you’d be sending aki memes at this hour, or complaining about having to go into work on monday via text, too shy to ever call him. it was routine that aki would deprive himself of sleep just to talk to you, and hear about your day, now he had to wait for any sign of life from his phone.

you pulled your phone out of pocket and stared longingly at it, at the wallpaper of you and aki. he wasn’t smiling because you’d unexpectedly shoved the camera in his face for a selfie on your first day as partners. you leaned against the wall beside you. you wouldn’t need to dial his number…you had him saved in your phone…

fuck it.

aki rolled over with wide eyes as his phone buzzed on the table. he already knew it was you calling because he didn’t have a social life. he’d never answered the phone so quickly before in his life, he hadn’t even had time to rehearse an apology.

“i-“ he started.

“shurrup.” you slurred in a small voice. hearing him breathe was enough, you’d still be satisfied if he hung up after that.

“y/n. what the fuck. are you drunk?” he snapped down the phone. he wasn’t mad at you, he was just concerned, and had a terrible way of showing it.

“maybe…” you nearly giggled, your phone sticking to the makeup on your face.

“i’m coming to pick you up.” aki stated, already reaching for his trench coat. “fun’s over.”

“no you’re not.” you testified, shouting so that you could nearly be heard over the music in the bar.

aki bit his cheek. you were being difficult on purpose, but to his relief he could tell you weren’t nearly as drunk as last weekend. “tell me where you are.”

“rudi’s.” you blurted, hanging up the phone immediately. “shit.”

“stupid girl.” he laughed shortly, getting into his car.

rudi’s was a bar in the heart of the city. aki tapped his foot impatiently at every set of traffic lights, clicking his tongue. he dared to think what you might be up to, or what you’d already done in the 20 minutes it took him to get to you. he sought you desperately in the crowd, swearing under his breath at every person that stood in his way.

it relieved him to eventually find you at the bar intact. he grabbed you by the wrist, spinning you into his chest.

“home time.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no?”

“shut up.”

aki’s hand cupped the back of your nape and brought you in close. you searched his eyes for answers, to try and understand why things had happened this way, but you couldn’t find them, you couldn’t bypass the guilt in them.

you gulped, feeling toji’s eyes on you, boring a hole into the back of your head, as your hands rested upon aki’s collarbone. he looked dog-tired.

all you could come up with was, “don’t tell me to shut up.”

aki could have cracked a smile, but decided against it and leaned down into your neck, whispering, “care to explain why the guy behind you is staring at us?”

“just get us out of here, will you.” you mumbled, fiddling nervously with the buttons on his long jacket.

aki didn’t waste any time escorting you outside; dragging you away from your new friend and your abandonned drink. he threw you into the passenger seat of his car, and slammed the door shut behind him as he slid in next to you.

“you have some serious explaining to do, y/n.”

“likewise.” you replied. aki observed your broken eyes.

“i can’t explain it.” he started, squeezing the steering wheel infront of him. “i guess i didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

“think badly of you?” you asked, suddenly confused.

“for taking advantage of you.”

“oh.”

you watched the man infront of you, mesmerised, your mouth forming the shape of a surprised ‘o’. he chuckled at your reaction. you’d missed that warm sound, it made you feel so giddy. you tried pulling your eyes away from him, but you weren’t able to resist his jaded looks.

“aki?”

“hm?” he hummed, and met your gaze with a matched intensity.

you licked your lips, wetting them, preparing for a kiss. aki glanced down at them.

in a voice that was barely above a whisper, he asked, “want me to kiss you, y/n?” and held you gently by the chin. he coaxed you in, contemplating your lips with his cold eyes.

he knew exactly what you wanted and the way you wanted it. he’d listened to you when you told him what you were looking for in a lover, during a work night out. you wanted a dominant man, a boyfriend like a dad, someone to make you weak.

“i’d do anything for you to forigve me.”

aki caved and sighed before kissing your open mouth. your heart erupted, and you let him blindly guide your hands around his neck. this would remain a well-kept secret between colleagues.

he slowly kissed you, swallowing your pretty moans, and licked your tongue each time before pulling back, only to lean back in and repeatedly do the same. he consoled you with his warm tongue, simultaneously exploring your waist with his hands and brazenly reaching up to squeeze your tits.

you kissed him back sloppily, noisily, moaning underneath big hands. the butterflies he gave you were so intense that you felt sick. you felt his hungry eyes all over your body, scalding you - you were on fire.

“is this what you wanted?” he purred against your ear, before dragging his mouth over your neck and smothering it some more with hot kisses. you whined.

“well?” aki teased in a soft voice, kneading your big tits, watching them bounce around in your dress. he wanted nothing more than to rip it open, and get on top of you, in all the animalistic ways he’d imagined, meanwhile he watched your nipples harden underneath your dress.

he repeatedly silenced you by pecking your mouth, muffling your voice each time you tried to answer his question.

you whined, squeezing your thighs together. it was overwhelming - he was overwhelming.

“aki…” you began, pushing him back using the little strength you had left, so that he was at arm’s length.

“i’m sorry about last weekend.” he admitted quickly, tucking a lose strand of hair back behind your ear. his lips were red and swollen.

“it’s okay. i’m just confused. i thought i’d misread things, but now you’re saying you wanted this after all?”

he removed his hands from your chest, and studied your changing expression, predicting that you would soon start blushing. he loved it when you blushed in front of him, proudly showcasing your vulnerability.

“yes.” he said plainly, panting, still catching his breath.

“i’ve always wanted this.”

@erens-heart 2024, reblogs welcome !!

[upsidedownwithsteve]

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

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

🧡

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

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

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

Maybe that’s why it happened.

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

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

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

Something had to give. Right? Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve.

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

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

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

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

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

[sirenologyyy]

RIGHT SIDE OF MY NECK!

neteyam x fem!metkayina reader

✧ summary : a certain sully boy can't admit he's smitten by one of the daughters of the olo'eyktan, but why would he? he's calculated and discerning and she's everything he wished he was.

✧ warnings : swearing (that's pretty much it LMAO)

✧ author's note : neteyam's 15, reader is older than tsireya by a year or so, some much needed lo'ak and neteyam brotherly bonding (after the trauma inducing hellscape that was atwow), lo'ak talking like a regular teenage boy, and in honor of it being December again, may i present to you, a neteyam fic that has been rotting in my drafts since April 🤩

A gravelly groan escapes your lips as your hands managed to shield your face, almost to hide yourself from the undisputable truth that you, along with your sister Tsireya, and your older brother Ao'nung had been roped into the evident mess that was to teach the children of Toruk Makto the ways of the Metkayina.

You weren't as prejudiced as Ao'nung, sneering at the Sully children whenever he'd run into them, so meticulously influenced by your mother's dislike towards Skypeople, let alone the Omaticaya.

You weren't as welcoming as your younger sister, who had greeted them with big grins that only further accentuated her dimples and her devout willingness to help Toruk Makto's family in any way she could. While you had resorted to mirthless smiles and polite nods whenever you'd come across one of them, it was unnatural, yes, Ao'nung was quite unfair with his treatment towards them, yes, but Tsireya's overall cheer and joviality was something you could not for the life of you reciprocate.

You were fine with them being here, although you couldn't say the same for most of your people.

The only real thorn in your side was the oldest.

Neteyam.

Oh how your blood boiled whenever you'd spot him in the crowd. Always so eager to help, so eager to please, so perfect, so good, it made you want to punch the living daylights out of him... Well, only slightly, that may be an exaggeration. Your hate for him might be particularly irrational but valid in all the worst ways.

"Can't you tell them I've been bitten by something?"

"No." Tsireya snorts.

"I've slipped collecting coconuts and dislocated my ankle."

"Stop moving so much sister, or I will mess up your hair." Tsireya says. "You are lucky I am doing you this favor."

It was like he was so anxious about keeping up the golden boy facade, what a show off, you thought. Going out of his way to help any way he could, helping carry baskets of dried fish across the village, pushing heavy boats off to sea, weaving baskets, seeing to the ilus, even the tsuraks at one point. It infuriated you. What did he had to gain?

If there was one thing you despised, it was try-hards.

And Neteyam Sully was the bane of your existence.

"Oh!" You had exclaimed, snapping your fingers. "You can tell them I have fallen off my ilu and got ripped apart by an akula!"

Tsireya laughed. "Yes, like they would believe me."

With another scoff, you stare st your sister through the mirror, so engrossed in the braiding technique you'd requested for her to do on your hair. "I don't see why you're bringing me into your affairs sister, it is clear as day you only want to help out the Forest People because you like the way that boy kept looking at you yesterday."

Tsireya tugs at your half-finished braid, making you swear and rub at your head, bringing Tsireya some amusement out of this. "Now, be quiet, be still, let me do my job."

With a sour mood, you allow Tsireya to thread the shells you requested she put in, sitting up straighter. "Your job in being an absolute nag?"

Tsireya sighs again, feeling her slump in frustration behind you. "Do you think it is so easy a job for me to constantly deal with your attitude? You're older than me, it is exhausting!"

A smirk comes to your face as Tsireya knots your braid off. "Don't worry, all your efforts will be seen by Eywa, she might even make the boy tell you your hair looks nice today."

"Enough, Y/N." Tsireya says, standing up from her seat.

You stood as well, hooking your arm around Tsireya's as you left your pod. "Oh let me have my fun."

A dozen morbid thoughts suddenly flood Tsireya's mind. "If we do that I am afraid there will be nothing left of Awa'atlu when you are finished."

When you arrive, you immediately spot both the brothers sitting on the edge of the woven platform, their long legs dangling just above the water. They looked to be so immersed in a conversation that neither of them noticed you or Tsireya approach them, only when they were about 4 feet apart was when you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

"Oh great mother, is it just the two of you?" Says you, making both the boys stand up like springs.

"No, our sisters are coming, they aren't exactly good at being early to things." says the younger one, his eyes flicking to Tsireya every now and then, making you dizzy trying to hold eye contact with the boy.

"Hey, Tsireya." He finally says, nodding at her sister who laughs again. It took everything in you not to start dry-heaving in front of them.

"Why do you sound so disappointed?" Neteyam wonders, another smirk playing at his thin lips as he looks at you.

Your forehead creases. "I am nothing of the sort, what about you? What has gotten you so chipper?"

"Nothing all that special, really." He replied, not even convincing himself.

You heftily exhaled through your nose, moving away from the group and walking up on the platform, taking one of the seaweed bands on your arm to bunch your hair up just to get it out of your face. Once you'd pull your hair through the band the final time, you turned around just to see Neteyam's head turn away, almost like it was a chain reaction.

You placed your hands over the dip of your hips, facing the odd group. "Now, where has our dear brother wandered off to? It's almost noon and he is nowhere in sight."

This makes the rest of them look around for Ao'nung, even the two brothers who you'd assumed wanted nothing to do with him after your brother had showed his blatant contempt towards them after he'd ridiculed them during their arrival.

"He must still be with Rotxo and the others, we must be patient." says Tsireya.

Your mind remained closed, throwing your hands up in the air only for them to land on her hips with a thwack. "We both know Ao'nung does not move like the tide, he is too stubborn, too hard in the head ." you found yourself saying, prodding a finger at your forehead.

"Patience, sister." Tsireya admonishes calmly, making her way towards you as you placed your hands on the identation of your woven skirt. "We must not rush things, we allow things to come to us at their own pace."

"Alright, alright." you tell her half-heartedly.

"Hey! Sorry, are we late?"

You turn her head to spot the two Sully sisters jogging up to the beach, the youngest out of all of them went straight for Neteyam, watching as he scooped her up with no hesitation. "Where in Eywa's name were you two?" Neteyam wonders, eyeing his sisters curiously.

The older girl rolled her eyes, pointing her chin at the youngest. "Couldn't decide on which skirt she wanted to wear."

The little girl pouts. "I didn't know which one I wanted!" She protested, her ears drooping down.

"She had two to choose from." the older sister groaned. Eyes finding yours as her grin widens, you chuckle to yourselves, having sisters was never a dull moment.

You two had bonded over that when you first helped her with her chores, although she seemed reluctant at first she accepted. Neither of you got anything done as you both found that snacking on dried seaweed and exchanging stories about your lives proved to be more fun.

"Maybe he isn't coming." says Neteyam's younger brother, subtly inching towards Tsireya while keeping everyone under the impression that he was trying to find Ao'nung just like she was, but in truth, all he wanted was to stand beside her. Tsireya didn't pick up on it at all, being the oblivious person she was, but Neteyam did, quietly chuckling to himself as he puts Tuk down, watching as she sprints towards the sand at full speed.

You shook your head at the sound of Tsireya's giggles and walks off the diving platform as well, making your way towards the beach to stretch your legs, walking along the coastline trying to kill time. That is until something tugs at your skirt, you turned around to see who it was but then looks down to see Neteyam's youngest sister, proudly holding a small conch shell in her hands, beaming up at you.

"They look just like the ones in your hair!" She exclaimed, a gigantic grin spreading across her face as you crouched to her level, taking the shell from her hands to study it. "It's a light purple, you don't have any purple shells yet."

"You're right, I don't have any purple shells in my hair yet do I?" You say in genuine amazement, holding it up against the sun, feeling the little girl scoot closer to you, but the shell had suddenly started to sprout 6 legs and you dropped it, startled by the animal and by the little girl's scream, you watch as it scurries back into the water, gone forever.

You turned back to the little girl who was visibly upset, another frown slowly forming on her face before you placed your hands on the little girl's shoulders. "Hey, we'll find another one around here somewhere, don't be upset."

She huffed, her shoulders rising and falling. "I didn't know there was something inside it, I really didn't."

You shook your head. "Neither did I, we both didn't know." you assured the younger girl, cupping her round face as her frown slowly started to shift into a smile. "Look, if we need to do this properly and find shells for my hair, I'm gunna need to know your name."

"Tuk!" She says. "My name's Tuk!"

"It's very nice to meet you Tuk."

"Really?" She giggled as you nodded. "What about you? What's your name?"

You beckoned her closer with a simple gesture of your fingers as you whispered your name into her ear.

"You've got a very pretty name." Tuk whispers as well, hiding her face behind her hands as she giggled.

"So do you." You had whispered all the same.

Tuk then looks back at the diving platform, and then back at you. "Y'know I think my brother is staring at you."

"Oh yeah? Why do you think that is so?"

The little girl scratches her head. "I don't know, he only stares at things he thinks looks nice or looks weird."

You grinned. "Does your brother think I look nice or weird?"

Tuk blinks. "I don't think you look weird"

"Would he think that?" Ka'leia emphasized.

"Probably" Tuk replies honestly, looking back at the diving platform again. "Why else does he keep staring at you?"

It made you think, it made your mind spiral into the bottomless void of memories in which you had caught a pair of warm amber eyes catch yours, and every time you did it made your heart stutter, however unfortunate it may be. "I'm not so sure either."

"Neteyam's weird." Tuk deduced.

You snort. "Yeah, he's weird"

Silence settles between you, but not for long as Tuk takes your hand and pulls you up. "Can we go and find shells now? Then we can put them in your hair! Then you'll look pretty!"

"Am I not pretty now?"

"No, not really." says Tuk, swinging your interlocked arms back and forth as her wide eyes scanned the sand.

"No?" You wonder almost scandalised, "alright. " you nod.

You and Tuk spent a good couple of minutes digging holes on the beach to fish out the shells that had been buried underneath the sand, conch shells, shards of shells, fossils, rocks, bits and pieces of coral, if it was pretty enough for Tuk's standards she's adding it to her pile.

5 minutes later you're following her around with an armful of tiny shells, half the beach full of holes from Tuk and her makeshift shovel that had originally been a branch, with her screaming in delight when she's spotted another one, hurriedly running to you to add it in with the rest.

Lo'ak abruptly places his hands on Neteyam's shoulders, purposefully trying to scare him but Neteyam does not flinch at all. "Yo bro, you got a staring problem or something?" He wonders in English, stepping beside Neteyam to look out into the beach too.

"You done flirting with Tsireya?" Neteyam shot back.

Lo'ak huffed. "Pfft, me? Tsireya?"

"I know your tell, your tail's a dead giveaway."

Lo'ak laughs, punching Neteyam's shoulder, finally making the older boy turn to face him. "Yo! Shut your ass up!"

Neteyam chuckles. "No one else here understands English bro, we're fine!"

Lo'ak shook his head. "I'm not worried about the Metkayina, I'm worried about that devil right there." He says, pointing at the beach.

Neteyam looks at the direction where Lo'ak was pointing. "Who? Tuk?

"She's got spot on hearing, incredible memory," Lo'ak listed. "If I'd have known how much of a tattletail she'd be I'd have abandoned her in the forest when she was a baby."

Neteyam frowns, laughing. "Yes, and when I'd get home I'd find your extra finger in my stew."

Lo'ak grimaces, almost gagging as Neteyam wiggles one of his fingers at him. "Disgusting!"

Neteyam cackles loudly, watching as Lo'ak covered his mouth. "You're overreacting!" He tells him.

"Nah bro, you don't get to fill my mind with those kinda thoughts." Lo'ak says.

Neteyam places a hand on his back. "Face it baby bro, i'm in your head."

Lo'ak pushes it away, chuckling. "Lay off!"

"Will you two ever go a day without fighting eachother?" Kiri asks, giving them a look.

"Not sure," says Lo'ak. "But I wouldn't hold my breath."

Kiri rolled her eyes and Lo'ak turns to Neteyam again. "If Ao'nung isn't coming then we might as well fetch him, if you catch my drift."

Neteyam shakes his head, his braids swishing from side to side. "No, we will do no such thing."

Lo'ak half shrugs, already moving away. "Fine, if you won't then I will."

Neteyam grabs his arm, stopping his brother in his tracks. "Hey, what did dad say?"

He pretends to think. "Not sure, something about you being the next poster boy of the clan?"

Neteyam flicks a finger on Lo'ak's forehead, making the younger boy hiss. "No, you skxawng, he wants us to be on our best behavior, and I don't want to be stopping you from pulling another shitty stunt that'll get you in trouble."

"Fine," Lo'ak says. "I'll go check up on Tuk." He tells Neteyam unconvincingly, scratching the side of his head. "What's up with you and wanting to stay on the beach?"

Neteyam's jaw tightens. "There's nothing that's keeping me here except my promise to dad."

"Uh-huh" Lo'ak nods, eyes flicking to you and Tuk. "Nothing or no one?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Lo'ak frowns, pretending he understood. "She's pretty hot."

Neteyam pays him no mind, only scoffing.

"She still avoiding you?" Lo'ak asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, and I can't seem to find the reason why." Neteyam huffed.

Lo'ak snickers. "Maybe it's cuz you're coming off a little too strong."

"I don't know how else I can get her to talk to me without her insulting every fibre of my being or making up some excuse to leave, I've tried everything." He replies desperately, causing Lo'ak's eyes to go wide, a whistle leaving his mouth. "Damn that bad??? What the hell did you do to her to make you hate her this much?"

Neteyam rakes his face with dread. "I don't know baby bro, but you have no idea what I would do to find out the reason why."

His brother was too down-bad to be saved, Lo'ak knew that much, looking across the beach as he studies you with his little sister. Neteyam looks at his brother, his eyes seemingly trained on you as it flicks up and down, he slaps his brother's arm. "It's rude to stare."

"Yeah, go tell that to them." Says Lo'ak, pointing at a handful of Metkayin boys passing by, giving you stolen glances as they talked amongst themselves, chuckling and hooting.

Neteyam's eyes narrow into slits. "They're irrelevant, we must not let ourselves become like them."

Lo'ak glances at him, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah, okay, so stop looking."

"Fine, I won't." Neteyam replies quickly, watching Lo'ak turn around and walk to the edge of the platform. But he dosen't stop looking, he hated himself for it for it and the way that it was practically eating himself alive.

Wasn't it such a simple task? To turn his head around and look somewhere else? Well it should be, but Neteyam couldn't bring himself to pry his eyes away from you, you, oh Eywa. Your eyes were the colour of the sea, your hair shiny and black, your smile making his stomach twist itself into knots, your laugh making shivers run up his back, the way you dressed alone would make people turn heads, but your attitude was what drew Neteyam in.

You didn't feel the need to keep up this respectful facade, treat him like a guest because it was expected of you as the daughter of the Olo'eyktan, no, you treated him the way you thought of him.

You were rude, you were impolite, and you were blunt, because you didn't like him. You didn't feel inclined to tolerate him just like what was expected of you. He wished he was that brave.

"'Teyam! 'Teyam look what I got!" Tuk squealed as the pair of you walked up the diving platform carrying mountains of shells on your palms. "Y/N told me she and 'Reya could put these in my hair after diving lessons! Isn't that cool?!?"

"Oh Tuk, you didn't force her into braiding your hair did you?"

Tuk looks back at you for moral support. "But she said she would-"

"-Neteyam let her be, if she wants me to braid her hair then I'd be happy to" you had jumped in, siding with Tuk whose ears flicked upwards at her statement. "I hope it isn't too infuriating that I favour your sisters over you."

Neteyam wanted to scoff, but instead stifles it with a tight smile. "Nonsense, my sisters have that effect on everyone" He tells her, looking at Tuk. "Don't you?"

Tuk simply gives him a giggle, a swift nod, and then runs to Kiri, shouting her name over and over again before the older girl groans in acknowledgement. "Here," you say, handing him a conch shell with yellow and brown patterns ruminating on its surface.

"What's this for?" He wonders.

"Your sister practically dug up the entire beach, you deserve at least one." you chuckled.

Oh. He stares at the shell in your hands, then looks back at your face. "If I take this does this mean we'll be friends?" He asks, a sly smile breaking on his face.

"Oh you wish," You reply, smirking as you narrow your eyss at the boy. "Taking this won't change anything."

"Yes it does," He replies as a matter of factly. "this is the longest conversation we've ever had without you leaving or insulting me."

"No it dosen't," You shook your head, insistent. "I'll still hate you after this."

He hums. "I think I can live with that," He smiled. "I did get a gift from the daughter of the Olo'eyktan after all." He laughs when he hears you scoff.

You leave right after he takes it and right before he could say thank you. Walking off to find a basket to store more of Tuk's shells in.

Neteyam looks at the shell in his hands, about 2 and a half inches long, smooth, shiny, perfect, it was perfect. He loves it. He closes his fist, a smile breaking on his face before he could even relent it, a light purple tinting his cheeks as he places the shell in one of his pockets.

[honeysmoonn]

finnick being protective?

warnings: set in catching fire b4 quarter quell, tiny signs of panic attacks if you squint, mean peacekeeper (nothing new), very short but don’t fear at least one more part will be posted soon!

a/n: thanks for the request anon!! i hope i did this justice, if not lmk and id be happy to rewrite something similar: )

when you were crowned victor of the 67th annual hunger games, the last thing you expected was to be thrown into the quarter quell.

it was like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from, constantly stuck in a never ending state of fear and anxiety. it was slowly killing you from the inside out.

one thing, one person kept you grounded, though. finnick odair. finnick had been your mentor for your games. he taught you everything you knew about surviving. he taught you how to tie intricate fishing knots, which led you to survive off fishing during your games. every time a fish swam into the fishing net, you smiled up to the sky. and in the other side, finnick smiled back.

though survival wasn’t the only thing finnick taught you.

he taught you how to control your emotions, he taught you how to be strong, and most importantly, how to love.

love was a tough thing in your eyes. you never had any childhood crushes after river, a boy a year older than you, got pulled into the hunger games and died. to you, it felt like the universe was against you, so the idea of love never came easy. though, after finnick was in the picture, he took note of your hesitancy to his flirting and made it his mission to make you feel loved. he ultimately came up with the conclusion that you yourself hadn’t been loved on enough; and no one should live without love.

after you won your games, nightmares and panic attacks came often. but it wasn’t your mother or father you comforted you; it was finnick. he was the one you sat with you on endless nights, cradling you in the protection of his arms.

even now, as the two of you stood on the stage facing your district, you looked to finnick with tears in your eyes. even as ocean formed in your eyes and the crisp air began hard to breathe, finnick remained calm. once the two of you were directed backstage, your first instinct was to go to finnick. luckily, his was too.

“finn,” you sobbed into his shirt. he was quick to wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace, holding you close to him, but not too tight; like you were a porcelain doll. it felt like you were, that a single wrong word would shatter you into a million shards of glass. “i don’t wanna go back.” you let out a long and shaky sigh, tightly shutting your eyes as if the world around you would melt away, leaving just you and finnick.

one of his big hands fell on your back, gently stroking the soft material of your light blue dress your mother made especially for reaping days. the other one cradled your head, holding you close to his chest. every so often he would press his soft lips to the top of your head, murmuring softly. “don’t worry, don’t worry about a thing. i’ll protect you. i won’t let anything happen to you.”

his words paired with his gentle touch almost calmed your nerves. but the immediate though of him flooded your brain. “oh, oh no finnick,” you pulled back, only slightly. finnick arms were still latched onto yours, grounding you to him. “what about you? what about us?” the quiver in your voice made finnick heart sink into his stomach.

while it wasn’t true, he continued to soothe you by whispering “it’ll be okay” and “we’ll be alright” into your ear while rocking your gently. he knew, when it came down to it, it wouldn’t be him walking out of that arena.

the quiet moment shared between you was cut off by a peacekeeper. the man dressed in white didn’t waste anytime, nor give any warnings before he ripped you out of finnick warm grasp. it was only to get you ready for the train, but finnick jaw ticked as your brow furrowed at the man’s tight grip. somehow, you were back in the area. just a teenager again as another tribute tried to pull you to your certain death.

“hey, hey, hey!” the blond boy rushed forward, taking hold on the peacekeepers white jacket and trying his best to keep you away from the government troop. he could see the fear in your eyes, he knew those eyes. the same eyes that he looked into countless nights when either of you had nightmares. “no need for all this, let her go.” it was so sincere, his tone. it was kind of how he talked to you, calm and gentle. but behind the sweetness there was a tang of venom, a underlying sense of tension hung over finnick head as the peacekeeper didn’t move a muscle.

and older woman (you couldn’t remember her name. diamond? sapphire? something stupid like that), another previous victor (and now your mentor) stepped forward. her hand fell of finnicks shoulder, she meant it in a motherly way but the boy in front of you frowned. “oh finnick, darling, don’t worry. he’s just trying to help.”

“she doesn’t need any help.” this time his words came out as rough and full of intention. and yet the peacekeeper didn’t budge. finnick was fed up. he lurched forward to harshly shove the man shoulder, causing him to stumble back and let go of you. “i got her from here.” he grumbled to the man now on the floor before turning to you. “you okay? anything hurt?” you shook your head and he smiled.

“thank you.” you smiled back at him. his efforts to make you feel better certainly went a long way considering the circumstances. “you didn’t have to do that.” you hated to admit, but you could feel a certain pink blush creeping across your cheeks. finnick must have also noticed, seeing he smirked and placed his hand on the small of your back, leading you away from the peacekeeper and mentor.

“i know,” he replied softly. “but they shouldn’t be doing all that to you. you’ve been through enough.” he gently nudged your shoulder. how he could go from being rough with the capitol people do being so very delicate with you was an odd thing, but beautiful nonetheless. “now cmon, let’s get you to bed.” he smiled with a kiss to your head.

[moonstruckme]

hi! could i get james potter fluff where they’re both just taking a stroll or they’re ice skating and reader suddenly slips and lands on their knee and gets a huge scab on their knee. reader plays it off saying she’s fine but she doesn’t notice that her knee is slowly bleeding and james freaks out? 😭

aka me, I SLIPPED ON ICE AND MY KNEE STARTED BLEEDING TODAY

Ahh sorry babe! Here's some Jamie to heal you <3 (I have no idea how this got so long sorry)

cw: mentions of blood

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

“Whoa, you okay?” James skids to a stop beside you, ice shavings flying. 

You grin at him, embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m good.” You ignore the burning in your knee, wobbling back to your feet. James sets a tentative hand under your forearm to steady you. “Sorry.” 

He makes a face. You know him well enough by now to know it means he doesn’t want you to apologize, but he knows you well enough to know that saying it is pointless. The two of you set off again. You’ve got one arm in James’ hold and the other extended cautiously to the side for balance, but James Good-At-Everything Potter doesn’t even need to look in front of him as he skates. He glides along smoothly, maneuvering you both around kids with little plastic helpers and other inexperienced skaters like yourself with little effort. If he weren’t so himself, it’d be pretty irksome. 

“What were we talking about?” you ask, laughing awkwardly. 

“You were telling me about the cat outside your work,” James reminds you. 

“Oh, yeah.” You shake your head at yourself a little, looking down at your skates just like James had warned you not to. They start to slip out from under you, but he holds you up until your right yourself. “Sorry, I’ve been going on about that forever.” 

“No, it’s cute,” he says. “Don’t hold out on me, what happened to her? Did she get a name?” 

“She did.” You glance at him, and he’s smiling encouragingly. James is always smiling at you. It’s incentive to keep talking. 

You tell him more about the cat, and then he tells you about the puppy his parents adopted when he moved out, which he felt rather cheated about because he’d always wanted one when he lived at home. You tell him about the slew of fish you’d had as a child, which sparks a conversation about odd pets, which is how you learn about his friend’s pet toad. James seems to have a lot of friends. You’re starting to keep track of a few names, but sometimes they swirl together and you can’t remember who’s who. He doesn’t hold it against you. 

You’ve only been on a few dates with James, but this is typically how they go. You show up all self-conscious and tense, and then he gives you one of his easy smiles and suddenly it’s like you’ve no reason to be nervous at all. James loves to talk, and you, oddly, seem to love talking with him as well. You enjoy the talking a lot more than the skating, and when your time slot on the rink is up you have to feign a bit more disappointment than you feel. As far as you’re concerned, the main event is going to be the hot chocolate you plan to have after this. 

“Let me get that,” James says when he’s undone the laces to both his skates and you’re still struggling with your first one. He kneels in front of you, deft fingers easing apart the knot and then whipping the laces skillfully out of each of their little hooks. He starts to pull the skate off your foot, but pauses when his eyes flit up, catching on your knee. 

He hisses through his teeth. “Sweetheart, what happened here?” 

“Hm?” You bend over so your head is closer to his, trying to see what he’s talking about. Your leggings are wet through with blood, a giant ugly splotch around your knee. “Oh,” you say quietly. 

“Oh,” James agrees, teasing tone at odds with the uncharacteristic frown pinching his features. “That looks rough. Do you think it happened when you fell?” 

“Which time?” you joke.

His laugh is half-hearted. A diligent effort. He starts pulling up the one side of your leggings, working them up your calf. He hisses again, sympathy mingled with concern, when the bloody mess of your knee is unveiled. It’s almost impossible to tell where the cut is with the skin around it stained so thoroughly. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound as James peels the fabric of your legging away carefully, but when his thumb presses on the skin next to the wound you wince. 

He inhales softly, seemingly as startled as you are, and gives you an remorseful look. “Sorry, lovely. How badly does it hurt?” 

“Not bad,” you fib, though exposed to the cold air, the burning is starting to get to you. 

James looks like he knows, mouth pulling to the side compassionately. His eyebrows come down behind his glasses as he tries to get a look at the wound. You try to ignore the tingling that results from him gripping the back of your knee the way he is. Tenderly, with more care than you’re used to. 

“Alright.” He gives the side of your calf a little pat, rising to his feet. “I’m going to go find someone who works here.” 

“Oh, James,” you protest as he walks away, “it’s really not that bad. I’ll take care of it at home!” 

“Stay put!” he calls over his shoulder. 

As if you’d ever leave without him. 

You try not to fidget while he’s gone, feeling awkward and pathetic sitting all bloody and alone while other groups taking off their skates chat around you. James returns a short time later with a sullen-looking employee in tow. You give them a tight smile, and James returns it with twice the gusto, talking up the teen worker who looks like they’d rather be anywhere else. He’ll come around. You doubt anyone can resist the James Potter charm. 

“Such excellent service they have here,” James says lightly, sitting beside you on the metal bench. He sets a casual hand on your knee, putting a stop to the bouncing you didn’t realize you’d started. “I asked for a first aid kit and they gave me a whole Martin.” 

Martin declines to comment. He unpackages a tiny antiseptic wipe, going after your bloody knee with unfeeling determination. 

You bite down on your lip, and James’ dark brows lower, his eyes flickering between you and Martin indecisively. You give him a small smile that you hope says Please don’t say anything to this poor kid on my behalf, even if I potentially start crying. James seems to get the general idea, returning your smile and intertwining his fingers with yours consolingly. 

One benefit of Martin’s vicious treatment is that it’s over quickly. Before long, he’s slapping a plaster on your cut and telling you both to let someone (not him, presumably) know if you need anything else. A man of few words to the last. 

James takes his place before you can move, kneeling in front of you again. 

“Is that really it?” he asks disbelievingly, delicately stroking the edge of the small plaster with his thumb. 

“I told you it wasn’t bad,” you tease softly. 

He blows out a big breath, blinking up at you. “I thought for sure it was going to need stitches. How do you bleed so much? You scared the shit out of me, sweetheart.” 

“Sorry.” 

The look he shoots you is about as stern as he ever gets, disapproval buried beneath a heap of fondness. “Don’t,” he says. 

You fail to hide a smile, and he fails to hide his reciprocation, dropping his chin back towards your knee. It really looks now like you’ve both been quite dramatic, the blood all cleaned up and a tiny plaster covering what turned out to be only a small scrape. From the feel of it you know it’ll be horribly bruised in the morning, but it really was never anything too dire.

“Do you think you can straighten it?” 

“No,” you deadpan. “I think I’ll probably need crutches, actually.” 

James looks up, startled and delighted by your joking. “Yeah?” There’s a breathless sort of laughter in his tone. “What do you think, ten days’ bed rest?” 

“Oh, at least.” 

“Mm, and I suppose someone will have to bring you all your meals as well. Feed you chocolates and pastries and all that, keep you company, serenade you from time to time.” 

Your lips twitch. You can feel your face warming faintly. “Seems best.” 

James nods, aiming for serious but missing by a mile with that ever-present curve in his lips. “Well, I guess we’d better get you home, then,” he says, worming his arm under your knees. 

You don’t realize what he’s up to until the other one wraps securely around your back, and by then it’s too late. 

“James!” you gasp as he hoists you up, grabbing onto his shoulders. “Put me down.” 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll still stop for hot chocolate. I’d never deprive you of that.”

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ⸻ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

⌜HOW MR. MILLER STOLE CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST⌟

genre: enemies to lovers, romance, fake dating, minors dni

word count: 5.2k

chapter summary: unlike what you thought, the rumor hasn't been dying out and with a new game plan in mind, you go to seek out Joel.

warnings: age gap, fake dating, mostly fluff, drinking, small town gossip, people talking about the age difference, another heated kiss

**dividers by @saradika

You’re a fucking idiot. 

A moron. 

A fool. 

Fucking small towns. Of course, rumors would spread. Of course, everyone would start talking about seasoned survivor Joel Miller and his new young lover. You shudder at the thought, unable to identify if it’s a bad shudder or the kind that makes your stomach flutter. You hate the idea of Joel being right. He’d said people would talk. And newsflash, unlike what you had thought, the gossip hasn’t died out. 

There are two fundamental reasons why neither you nor Joel can just shrug it off, saying it’s not true. The first reason is that both Steven and Marc saw you being shoved up against a wall, passionately locking lips with Joel. The second reason is the fact that no one would think the twins were lying.

Again, this wouldn’t be an issue if you didn’t have a past to hide. People would start digging if you told them the rumors were only that. Rumors. They would start asking questions like where the two knew each other from. And you knew for a fact that Joel doesn’t want people digging either. People knew what kind of man he was, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they will turn a blind eye to him killing the last hope of human survival. 

Snow crunches under your boots, your body sweating despite the cold. Tommy’s place finally comes into view. You pray he hadn’t heard any of the rumors, as impossible as that might be. 

Some part of you believes that if a time ever comes when everyone finds out what Joel had done, you'll stick up for him. You’re the only person who knows the way of the firefly. How easy it was for them to kill when they thought they were the heroes. In the end, he spared you, it was hard to hate a person who allowed you to live. No matter how much he regrets it now. 

On the porch, you stare at the door. It’s weathered for the most part, some parts fixed and polished but not the whole thing. 

You knock loudly two times, it doesn’t take long for Tommy to open the door, his lips curling instantly when he lays his eyes on you. 

“Well well well, look who it is,” he says too cheerfully, you’re already rolling your eyes. “The good old sister-in-law! Can you tell me why I had to hear about you and my brother tying the knot from Wellington?” 

Jesus fucking Christ, Wellington knows? No wonder this bullshit isn’t dying out. 

“We’re not married Tommy.” 

“Yet.”

“Just tell me where he is, matchmaker.” 

He raises an eyebrow, his smile melting, “You don’t know?” 

It takes you everything for you not to take deep heavy breaths. He’s making this exceptionally hard. You had a plan. And that plan meant you and Joel wouldn’t be an item in the near future. For said plan to work, however, no one needs to know it was fake to begin with. 

“I don’t have his schedule, Tommy, and I wanted to surprise him with,” You press your molars together and lift your bag, forcing a smile. “Baked goods.”  

Tommy is full of glee again, “Awwww how fuckin’ sweet. Didn’t know you had it in ya Pecan.” Before you can answer, he points to the bag. “I’ll give you the information for one cinnamon roll.” 

You give him a deadpan look, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You’d only gotten two and you were looking forward to it. Instinctively you pull the bag back, hiding it behind you. “No.”  

“Come on, pay up, or else I ain’t tellin’ you.” 

“Fuck, fine. You’re a mean one.” 

“If you say Mr Grinch I’m taking two.” 

“No!” 

He grins widely, perfect straight teeth coming into view. As he leans forward to snatch the bag away, you get a whiff of his scent and witness how perfectly his dark locks fall forward. Fuck, what kind of super genes did the Millers possess? How are they both so effortlessly attractive? It’s sometimes easy to forget that Tommy can be classified as good-looking since the two of you tend to give each other hell most of the time. But during those short moments where you get a good look at him? It’s devastating. 

Tommy holds out the bag and stuffs the cinnamon roll into his mouth, his jaw moving. 

“You really not gonna share it with Maria? It’s a miracle your spine isn’t broken from sleeping on the couch.”

He takes the roll out of his mouth and takes a proper bite, “I’m a fuckin’ delight to be around and she’s not home.” You take the bag and as you do, stick out your tongue. “Brat. Your loverboy is at the tree farm cuttin’ up trees. Tell him I say hi and he should find me later.” 

“I’m not his secretary.” 

“It’s almost like you want me to take all your treats.” 

The smell of pine fills your lungs and you’re grateful. You adore the smell. The freshness and sweetness of it mixing with the crispness of snow. You’re honestly amazed at how organized the tree farm is. Tall, lush pine trees in perfect order as you walk between them. Lights have been strung up temporarily, the wires that tie them together so thin that it almost looks like they’re hanging from the sky. They must look beautiful during the night. 

It takes you a while to find Joel. He’s in the back and you approach him silently. That wasn’t your initial intention, being snuck up on is never fun. But the way he’s chopping wood makes your insides feel all runny and warm. You didn’t know he additionally chopped firewood as well. He lifts the axe and throws it down, sweat beading on his forehead. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, exposing the sinewy muscle of his forearms to your gaze. He cuts down another log, it becomes two in one swift motion. Your mouth dries and tongue rushes out to wet your lips. Your mind cruelly reminds you of the night you kissed him, how good it had felt to have him pressed against you, claiming you—

“Why don’t you bring a damn camera next time, it’ll add to the whole stalker pervert thing you have goin’ on right now.” 

Okay. He’s joking. Joking is good, right? Joking means that he doesn’t think about covering your face with a pillow while you sleep. Your body tenses, the soft hairs scattered across your body rising with attention. 

“Sorry,” you blurt out, the two of you standing only inches apart. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you but we need to talk.” 

“I was wonderin’ when you’d come by. Sucks to be wrong doesn’t it?” 

“How was I supposed to know people had nothing else better to do than talk about our non-existent relationship.” 

Joel suddenly throws the axe down, impaling the sharp end into the wood, you jump, adrenaline humming in your ears. He ignores your very fair reaction and peels off his gloves, turning towards the bench, “Gee, only if someone had told you that people would talk.” 

“Yeah, okay I deserve that.” 

He sighs, “What do you want?” 

“Like I’ve been saying since the day I realized who you are: to talk.” 

“Fine. I was about to take a damn break anyway. Come on, now.” 

You both sit on the ice-cold bench, he leans over and picks up a thermos. You’re surprised when he also pulls out two mugs, placing them on top of a clearly handmade bite-sized picnic table. Without a word, you quickly place your offerings as well, at least the ones Tommy had let you get away with, two cheese-stuffed bagels and one cinnamon roll. You frown when you look at it. You really wanted that roll. 

“What’s this?” Joel asks, filling the mugs. 

“I thought you’d be in better spirits with a full stomach.” 

You almost earn a hint of laughter but the sound is quickly swallowed down. The traces of his smile still linger on the corner of his lips, “Well, at least you’re not dumb enough to come empty-handed.” 

Ignoring him, you place your cold palms around the mug and take a sip. The fresh taste of lavender and honey coats your tongue. Your favorite. “Huh, weird,” you mutter. 

“What? Does it taste funny?” 

“No no. It’s just. . . Lavender tea is my favorite.” 

“Go figure,” he takes a sip and scowls. “I’d rather have coffee.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think you were a tea-loving man.” He grunts and picks up one of the bagels, taking a bite. “About the whole dating situation, I have a plan.” 

He doesn’t acknowledge what you’ve said so you continue, “The plan is we fake it for a while, act like a couple, make everyone gush over us, then we break up, saying we wanted different things. That way no one digs into our pasts.” 

“This is the weirdest way anyone has ever asked me out.” 

You snort, “I’m not asking you out. The key word here is fake. Because if we just say we weren’t dating at all, people are going to wonder why you had me up against a wall. And unless you want to tell people you were threatening me. . .” you give him a look but he’s staring at the horizon, chewing thoughtfully on his bagel. You think he’s scowling but you’re not sure. “I think this is the best way.” 

He swallows the last bite and glares at his mug before taking another sip of his tea, he wrinkles his nose. “How would we have to be around each other? I haven’t exactly been datin’ around that much.” 

“I was six when the outbreak happened. I’m pretty sure your guess is better than mine.” 

That finally catches his attention, his eyes widen, the furrow between his brows deep, “Six?” he repeats. 

“Yeah.” 

You’re used to people being surprised. Most like you haven’t survived. And your references to the past always made you seem older than you were, you preferred it that way. The less people could guess about you the better. Your mom and dad always paid extra attention to tell you about the world before the cordyceps, reminding you that a life like that could still be your reality once again. 

“Was. . .” Joel swallows, pulling you away from your parents. You reach for the other bagel and start eating, giving him time so he can just spit it out. “Was that your first kiss?” 

There is something in his voice, an emotion very similar to guilt. You swallow your bite. 

“No. It wasn’t.” And that’s all you have to say about that. It seems to be enough because he visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping. You change the subject. Quickly. “I’m thinking we hold hands a bit, kiss each other on the cheek, and stuff like that. We can come up with rules if you want but I think it’s pretty straightforward.” 

He nods. An oddly comfortable silence stretches out. You finish your bagel and drain the rest of your tea. 

“We should probably split this,” he says and pulls out a knife from his belt. 

“Oh. . . you can have it.” 

Joel chuckles, it isn’t quite a laugh but you still take it as a win. “I saw how you were oglin’ it. I ain’t gonna risk you biting my head off,” he cuts it into two and offers you the bigger half. A smile brushes against your lips. “Why didn’t you just get two?” 

“I did!” you gasp, forgetting that the two of you aren’t lovers, not even friends. “Tommy took one as compensation for telling me where you were. By the way, he wanted me to tell you hi and that the two of you should meet up later.” 

“Why ain’t he lettin’ me know his damn self. I know he ain’t doin’ shit today. You’re not my secretary.” 

“That’s what I said!” 

Another chuckle. You’re acing this. 

“I’ll get him to pay you back, don’t worry.” 

“You don’t have to,” you laugh. “It’s just a roll.” 

“Well, you’re my girl now, aren’t you? It would be unboyfriend-like of me not to avenge my girl. If we’re gonna fake it, might as well do it right.” 

My girl. Your cheeks grow warm. You know it’s not real, and that deep down he most likely despises your existence that threatens his peace but still, it’s good to belong. Even if it’s not real. Even if it’s a lie. Your brain tricks your body into feeling whole for a brief moment, that internal coldness you’ve been feeling since the day your parents died melting ever so lightly, the warm water that drips over the icy exterior, warming your stomach. 

“Tell him he owes me two then,” you say, barely above a whisper. “The bakery rarely makes them you know, cinnamon is hard to make.” 

He nods but doesn’t add anything else. The crinkles soften at the corner of his eyes, lips looking soft and pliant. You might’ve even dared enough to say that he looks at peace. 

You stand and leave, taking a mental note to bring him more treats from now on. 

You successfully fool yourself into believing it’s for his sake and not yours. 

Joel enjoys the cold. He always knew he would but was never allowed to say it since he never lived in the cold. He hated that argument. Sure he lived in Austin his entire life but that didn’t mean he didn’t ache for a bit of chill. Even at the end of the world, when he barely had enough to cover his back, he found himself enjoying the little things. The fresh, crisp air, the snow crunching under his boots. 

The silence. 

Sometimes he wonders if he likes it so much because it reminds him of death and considering all the seasons, winter is the one where he is closest to it. Closest to Sarah. He does hope she’s someplace warmer now. He’s not a man of faith, but for her, he’ll believe there’s an afterlife where nothing but good and butterflies exist. 

Joel also feels closest to her when he’s with Tommy. His brother is the only one who knew her, the good in her. He was the one who was there when the world was stripped away from such a kind being, and he was there when she was buried under the world she could always see the best of. 

As Joel walks up to the porch the brothers' eyes meet, it’s true that uncles resemble the kids. Sometimes if the light hits him just right, Joel could see a bit of her in him. 

“You owe her two rolls,” Joel huffs, sitting on the empty chair beside Tommy. 

“I don’t know what she told you but we had a very fair exchange, I don’t owe your little girlfriend shit,” he grins, not noticing the way Joel frowns at the label. “Nice to see the guard dog in you hasn’t died out.” 

“I ain’t a guard dog.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“Just bring her two tomorrow and I’ll owe you one favor.” 

Tommy’s grin only widens, “You must really want to impress her.” 

Joel fights the urge to roll his eyes. This whole arrangement is going to be a pain in the ass, he can sense it. 

“Fine, tell pecan I’ll have her goods Friday. I doubt I’ll be able to wake up early enough to get it tomorrow but you owe me one Joel.” 

“Why the hell do you call her Pecan anyway? That ain’t her name, you dumbass.” 

“It’s because she has a hard shell but nice and soft on the inside.” Joel’s shoulders raise and he swallows thickly around the knot forming in his throat. He remembers the way you tasted on his tongue. How soft you were against him, no hard shell in sight. Tommy has no idea just how soft you are and can be. His cock twitches under the denim. He hates himself for it. “You should bring her to the party tonight.” 

“Huh?” 

“That party, Joel,” Tommy playfully smacks his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you forgot already. You promised to come.” 

Oh yeah. Fuck. He really doesn’t want to go and deal with all the eyes he already knows will be on him. And you. 

“Yeah, ‘course I remember. I’ll be there.” 

“Just you?” 

Joel sighs, “And her. We’ll be there.” 

“You know, I’m truly happy for you brother. You deserve to be happy with someone who appreciates you.” 

The words sting but he can’t do anything about it. He looks away, eyes staring at the snow-covered trees. “I don’t like being at the center of attention.” 

“It’ll die out. The lonely bachelors are just jealous. Don’t mind them.” 

Joel doesn’t need to ask to know what he’s talking about. You’re nearly half his age, six when the damn world came to an end. He knows people are wondering how the hell an old man like him got a girl like you, as if your age is the only reason to be with you. Not that he would know. None of this is real after all. You don’t appreciate him like Tommy suggested, maybe grateful for not putting a bullet between your eyes but that’s pretty much it. The same goes for him. He doesn’t know you—other than that you enjoy lavender tea with heaping amounts of honey and cinnamon rolls. 

“I won’t, Tommy. No need to worry.” 

When you hear a loud knock at the door, you’re staring at your reflection in the mirror. Ever since the kissing mishap with Joel, you’ve been a bit more conscious of what you look like. You’ve never had a reason to care much about it before and you’re not sure you like being this aware of every little flaw now. 

Walking to the door, you’re not sure who to expect. You don’t have many friends other than Tommy and Maria, you’re already on alert, grabbing a small knife from the kitchen. Old habits die hard. 

What you weren’t expecting is to see a distressed Joel Miller. 

“Didn’t figure you knew where I lived.” 

“I’m the brother-in-law of the woman in charge, of course I know where you live. I know where everyone lives.” 

You lift an eyebrow and lean against the door frame, his eyes drop to the knife but fear is the furthest thing in his features, “Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” 

“There’s a party at Tommy’s and he wanted me to invite you.” 

An involuntary groan escapes your lips, Tommy knew you didn’t want to go. The fucker. 

“And let me guess, I have to go because we’re a couple.” 

“Don’t give me attitude it was your idea, not mine.” 

He’s right, “Fine. Come in and I’ll change so we can leave.” 

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearin’ right now?” 

You try not to hide yourself behind the door as his eyes sweep you from top to bottom. Inherently, there isn’t anything wrong with what you’re wearing. It's just your typical jeans, sweater, and a dark green flannel thrown on top. You’re warm and cozy. 

“Isn’t this a party?” 

“What do you think they’ll be wearin’? Suits and fancy dresses?” 

“I guess you’re right, I’ll get my jacket.” 

Feeling warmer than normal, you lock the door and the two of you head to Tommy’s. “So, should we. . . talk about what we’re gonna do or say?” 

“Say?” 

Joel shrugs, “You know, if they ask us how we met or somethin’.” 

“I think half the town knows how we met, Joel.” 

“A’right, so our story is that I helped you down, had a couple of drinks, and decided we like each other?” 

“Sounds iron proof to me.” 

“This is fuckin’ stupid.” 

“I don’t see you coming up with any plans.” 

“Wouldn’t even be in this mess if not for you.” 

The harsh bite in his tone makes you take a step back without thinking. You’ve seen this man kill with ease. He’d admitted to regret leaving you alive. Fear is an irrational thing. It’s something that lingers and stays even when the initial threat has been evaded. You’re still afraid despite knowing you don’t have to be. You’ve been enjoying your little talks, you’ve been enjoying spending time with him. Internally you’re conflicted and confused. 

Joel slows down along with you, turning and checking just how far you’ve fallen behind. He stops and turns, eyes taking in the furrow of your brows, the running of your nose. You don’t flinch when he touches your cheek, his gloved hand soft against your skin. He’s so gentle. So gentle that it almost hurts. 

“I ain’t gonna hurt you. Promise,” he lets out a steady breath, fixing you with a leveled gaze. “I might not trust you or even like you, but I won’t hurt you.” 

Your eyes widen, heart thudding loud enough that you’re positive he can hear it. Without a word you nod, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Joel nods back. His hand deserts your cheek and he locks your arms together, tugging you along the snow. 

You believe him when he says he won’t hurt you. As foolish as that might be.

Two hours into the party and still all everyone can talk about is Joel and his new girlfriend. Even goddamn Maria had asked about it. Joel is still recovering from his sister-in-law’s interest in the matter. You were a definite natural in faking it. Unlike him, who was already exhausted from it all. It’d been a long couple of hours of holding hands, standing close, and kissing cheeks. 

He’s holding a glass of the finest whiskey he’s ever had since the world ended, surrounded by familiar faces and his brother. You had scurried off somewhere. To the bathroom, he thinks. Or helping Maria with organizing. He probably should’ve asked, but he’s not used to questioning people unless it’s Ellie. But since the two of you are “dating” he suppose he should’ve. 

“Yo Miller.” Joel fights the urge to groan as Wellington approaches with a raised hand. He slaps him on the shoulder, his cheeks and nose red and warm thanks to the alcohol. “You gotta tell me your secret.” 

Joel sends Tommy a questioning gaze, his bother only shrugs. “‘Bout what Wellington?” he sighs. 

“About catchin’ such a fine piece of ass.” 

Joel’s shoulders raise, nostrils flaring as anger boils in his gut, but before he can get out a word Tommy intervenes, “Wellington.” 

“What?” he slurs, turning to the younger Miller. “We’re all thinkin’ it. How old is she huh? Like half your age?” 

Joel feels sick when the man grins. Wellington ain’t lying, you are half his age. Realistically, someone like you would never go for him. An old man who’s lost so much in his lifetime. But of course, he can’t say that, he can’t say anything that might out them as liars. 

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Joel grunts, pushing Wellington’s hand off his shoulder. “Or I’ll shut it for you.” 

“I’d say money but that don’t exist anymore,” Wellington continues. “So what is it?” 

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up—

“Joel?” 

Your voice cuts through the tension like a knife. Everyone who’s in-ear shot of the conversation stills, an icy cold wind enveloping all of them, including Tommy. Joel recognizes the look of worry in his brother’s eyes. The older Miller swallows thickly as he rips his glare away from Wellington—he’s surprised that despite the amount of alcohol in his veins he looks ashamed.

“Yeah, darlin’?” 

You shudder in a way only he notices. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Your body subtly going straight and then relaxing. He wonders how much you’ve heard, or rather if you heard. 

“I need some help in the kitchen, could you?” 

“Uh, yeah sure. Of course.” 

He ignores Tommy’s snicker and follows you through the crowd, away from the sight of Wellington and others. You stop at the threshold of the kitchen, not going in. You lean against the door frame and look away. “Sorry, I don’t actually need help. It just looked like you needed saving.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“If looks could kill, Wellington would be dead thrice.” You say it so nonchalantly that he smiles, Joel mimics your stance and leans against the other side of the doorframe, leaving only little distance between you two. “What did he say?” 

So you didn’t hear. Good. 

“Nothin’ that you need to concern yourself with. He’s just buggin’ me, that’s all.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Didn’t really look like it was just buggin’.” 

The subtle accent change at the end of your sentence makes him laugh, you shake your head but he sees the way your lips quirk into a smile. 

“You makin’ fun of me sweetheart?” 

“. . . Maybe.” 

“That’s the type of talk that’ll get you in trouble you know.” 

Your smile widens into a grin, “With whom?” 

“Keep it up and you’ll find out.” 

It’s been a long time since he felt like this. The enjoyment of the tug and pull. Heat spreads from the small of his back and reaches all the way to his groin. You must’ve had a couple of drinks before asking for him. You lean closer, your lips deliciously curled as mischief glimmers in your eyes. He wonders if you thought about the kiss. How close your bodies were that night. 

“Be careful Miller,” you say, rolling your tongue over each syllable. “Almost sounds like you want me to keep it up.” 

God, that he does. He’s starting to get hard. Without even thinking he leans a bit closer as well, tilting his head as if he’s about to kiss you. Your eyes flash with something expectant—

“KISS!” 

The delicate moment shatters with reality. You’re not flirting, you can’t, because technically you’re already dating. Joel hates the way you flinch at the sudden crowd shouting. His head whips towards them, only to see Tommy taking charge, he points to something above and both of your heads snap up like a cartoon. 

“Mistletoe,” he says. Lowering his gaze, he gives you a quick smile. “You know what that means, right sweetheart?” 

You roll your eyes, “I do, jerk.” 

“Brat.” 

He almost laughs at the way your lips quickly wound shut. The crowd is getting restless. 

“Don’t y’all have anythin’ better to do?” Joel quips. 

“Nope!” 

The echoes of kiss kiss kiss only get louder from there. Joel sighs, “I don’t think we can escape them.” 

“If I had a penny every time we had to kiss to appease a crowd. . .” you whisper. He expects you to continue but you don’t, instead you place your hands on his cheeks, holding him gently. You come closer and as does he, his hands slide to your hips, tugging you flush against him. 

You’re so soft. Softer than he deserves. 

Unlike the first time, he takes the lead. He pushes you until your back is pressed against the doorframe, he claims your lips with a need he fearfully admits he doesn’t have to fake. He squeezes your hips, the sound of the crowd awing them fading into the background. It’s just his lips that move, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to feel your tongue against his. To feel the quiver of your naked body as he fills you to the brim, kissing you and telling you just how much he enjoys being inside you. 

He swallows your tiny moans and whimpers, and as he breaks away, he pulls at your bottom lip with his teeth. You’re breathless when you meet his gaze, sharp eyes glazed over with a fog of arousal. 

Then, as the crowd claps, he presses the side of his face against your ear, “Just a taste,” he whispers and feels your tremble underneath his palms. “Of what’ll happen if you keep it up.” 

“That was one hell of a party,” you muse. You’re staring at the dark horizon, snow gently falling from the sky. Joel pushes a warm mug of tea between your hands. 

“It’s still goin’ on,” he says. 

“You’d die if you just let me live in my blissful bubble wouldn’t you?” 

“Sure would.” 

You let out a snort as he settles near you, your shoulders brushing against one another. You have to admit, it’s been a fun night—and not only because of the kiss. That was just a bonus. A very hot and steamy bonus. 

It felt too real to be fake. Too real to be nothing. Years you had been alone and now you were sampling what it meant to have someone care for you, to tease you. He doesn’t even know you yet you two fit together like a glove and a hand. Makes you wonder how different this could all have been if he hadn’t been Ellie’s father, and you hadn’t been a part of the Fireflies. 

“Oh good you’re still here.” The two of you turn to see Tommy, his cheeks a little flushed and his breath a little uneven. “I need to ask you two somethin’.” 

“What now?” Joel groans, prompting a smile from you. 

“You heard of the new family in town? The one with two kids?” You have no idea but Joel seems to know who they are. He nods. “We don’t have a house ready for them yet so I was thinkin’. . .” his eyes flicker between yours and Joel’s, your stomach going tight with worry. “You two can live together till we’re finished with the construction.” 

“What?” 

The question leaves your mouth before you can properly register. You turn to Joel but much to your surprise, he seems unfazed. 

“Just for a while,” Tommy says. “I just figured since you two are already datin’. . .” 

Joel ignores his brother completely to fave you, “Your call sweetheart.” 

Seeing him so calm makes you ashamed of your initial reaction. You’re not even sure why you reacted so brashly. It was a simple request. A logical one. 

“Yeah sure, that’s okay,” forcing a smile, you turn to Tommy. Joel’s touch is soothing behind you, hand rubbing small circles at the base of your spine. A welcome comfort. “Just let me grab my things and you can set them up tomorrow.” 

“You’re the best, pecan,” Tommy glows, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll give Maria the good news.” 

Joel’s hand deserts you almost immediately when his brother is out of sight. It makes your heartstrings tug. “You sure about this?” he asks. “It would be fine if I lived alone but Ellie is a curious one and she’ll figure it out if we ain’t convincin’ enough.” 

“In all honesty, I had completely forgotten about Ellie,” you let out a deep exhale. “But I guess that’s fine. I’m sure we can pull it off. It’s not like I could say no.” 

His gaze softens, “You could’ve asked to stay somewhere else.” 

“No. . . It’s fine, Joel. Really,” you crack a smile. “I feel like I should be asking if you’re alright with it. You’re the one with the problem with me being around Ellie.” 

“I’ll have my eye on you two,” he says a bit too quickly for comfort. 

Your tongue sours, “I’m not going to tell her anything.” 

Joel doesn’t say anything. Or even acknowledges that he’s heard you. He leaves you on the porch, following his brother’s footsteps, you’re left with nothing but a lukewarm mug of tea. 

Then you notice it’s lavender. 

[vivwritesfics]

Bleeding From The Storm

Chapter Six - Monaco

After the death of his son, the head of the Dupont family wants his daughter protected. He moved her to Monaco, the safe zone, and has her protected by Charles Leclerc. Max Verstappen was never supposed to meet her. He didn't even know who she was. But he knew she was beautiful, and he knew he wanted to know more, much to the horror of Charles Leclerc.

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Warnings: hints of smut

Series Masterlist

If Bunny Dupont lived a normal life, she would have been so excited to return home and tell everybody in her life about Max.

She'd missed Charles so much, had a little fantasy playing out in her head of introducing him to Max. The fantasy started lovely, the two of them shaking hands, but one of them always ended up dead at her feet.

Her reunion with Charles wasn't what he had been expecting. She didn't run into his arms the moment he picked her up from the Dupont house. "Bunny," he'd say as his fingers brushed through her hair, brushing out any potential knots. "Let's get you home."

But it didn't happen like that. Bunny trudged over to him, expression dejected as a member of staff passed Charles her bags. "Bunny," he called as he followed her out of the doors. "Is something wrong?"

She pulled open the door of his car and climbed in. A sigh left Charles' lips as he pulled open the trunk and threw her bags inside. He couldn't act like he didn't know where she'd been for the last week. Charles didn't know Jos well. But he knew the rumours and he knew Mad Max.

Charles was silent as they pulled out of the Dupont estate. He waited until they were on the roads, heading back to Monaco, back to the safe zone. "You'd tell me if something happened in the Netherlands, right?" He asked carefully, watching in the mirror for her reactions.

She looked at him, turned in her chair to face him. "Of course, Cha. Nothing happened," she said and leaned her head against the window.

"So, Jos Verstappen and Mad Max didn't lay their hands on you?"

Now, this caught her attention. "Mad Max?" She couldn't stop herself from asking.

Charles gave a quick nod. "So, you met him, then?" He asked, and she didn't answer. "He's dangerous, Bun. He's the whole reason that I didn't want you going over there."

He didn't see the way her nails were digging into her knee as he spoke. "What... has he done?" She asked slowly, almost as if she was cautious.

"He's Jos's gun," Charles replied. He switched the radio station. "He's killed more people than I can count. A few years ago there was rumours that he'd taken to torturing people, but I don't think it ever got investigated. Not that Jos would make him stop, anyway." That last part he mumbled under his breath.

She sucked in a breath. But she couldn't say that Max killing people came as a surprise, not in his line of work. She'd seen the blood stains on his shirt, faded from the wash, as she pushed said shirt from his shoulders.

"There's something you're not telling me," said Charles as they drove through the Monaco check point.

The two climbed out of the car, letting it be checked for weapons. They themselves were checked, metal detectors moved over their body. "Nothing, Cha," she said, but the way she was looking at the ground, he knew something was wrong.

It was easy for Bunny to forget that Charles knew her better than anybody in the world. He'd been living with her in Monaco since she was fourteen, and had been friends longer than that. He knew everything there was to know about her, knew her mannerisms, probably knew what she was thinking.

He climbed back into the car, never taking his eyes off of her. Something happened in the Netherlands, that much was clear. Charles just didn't know what.

And it was scaring him.

Charles carried her bags for her. She didn't offer to take them off of him as they rode the elevator up to her floor. As they walked down the hall, she dug through the bag hanging from Charles's shoulder, fishing from her keys.

She hadn't missed her apartment for the week that she'd been at the Verstappen stronghold. How could she, when she had Max sneaking into her bed each night? It wasn't for sex, that wasn't why Max was pushing open her door and crawling into bed beside her.

No, he'd wanted to keep her safe. That was why he'd crawled into the bed and pulled her close. The fact that it led to her beneath him was just a bonus.

"Do you wanna get dinner?" Charles asked as he dropped her bags into her room.

Bunny shook her head as she opened the balcony and stepped out. Her view was so pretty, one she'd never get bored of. The bustling streets below, the yachts and the ocean. It was so gorgeous, even if the thought of stepping foot on a yacht made her a little sick.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" He asked from the balcony door.

Bunny nodded. She'd never nodded before, never wanted Charles to leave her alone. But she was a grown woman, she could be alone if she wanted to be. Still, Charles stood in the balcony doorway for just a moment longer, giving her a chance to change her mind.

She didn't change her mind.

"Okay, Bun," he said and turned around. He pulled his keys from his pocket as he left, locking her in her apartment. (Well, I say locking her in, but she had a key of her own. She could get out if she wanted to).

Things weren't right between Charles and Bunny. It had been a week since she'd last laughed at him. All she wanted to do was be alone now, texting on that damn phone.

Part of Charles wanted to take the phone off of her. But she was a grown woman. He couldn't baby her like that.

Max was coming to Monaco. He was actually coming back to Monaco!

Bunny didn't mean to let it affect her relationship with Max, of course she didn't. But being aloof with him was easier than having to sneak out of the apartment. Charles was leaving her alone more and more, not quite realising how much he was releasing the reins.

She didn't have to sneak out when she went to meet Max. No, she simply strolled out of her apartment and made her way to where she had arranged to meet Max.

She didn't know that Charles and Arthur had installed a motion camera outside of her door. It pinged, alerting both of their phones. But that wasn't unusual. There were so many different people walking past the apartment that Charles had stopped bothering to check. She knew better than to leave the apartment without one of them.

Arthur didn't trust her quite as much. Not recently, at least. That was what had him reaching for his phone and checking the motion camera.

Fuck, where the hell was she going?

Pulling on his nearest pair of shoes, Arthur chased after her.

She waited under the cover of the trees, across the road from the café where she and Max first met. Her heart was thumping in her chest, excitement coursing her veins. Everybody that walked past the trees, she was looking at them all, looking for Max.

She hadn't even seen him approach, too busy looking in the order direction for him.

"Hi, Angel," he whispered.

She couldn't stop herself from throwing her arms around him. "Maxie," she whispered, face buried against his neck, leaving kisses on his skin as he squeezed her hips.

"Fuck, I missed you," he mumbled as his hands travelled up from her hips, settling on her back.

Max kissed her. Pushed her back against the tree as his lips slotted against her own. He didn't push it any further than that, not out here in the open. It didn't matter if his Angel wanted her to, he was going to get her somewhere safe and comfortable first.

He pushed away and slotted his hand into her own. "C'mon, let me show you my place," he said and took one step.

But then he spotted shoes, one of her laces untied. Immediately Max was on his knee, tying her lace for her. Her fingers moved through his hair, making it hard to concentrate on such a simple task.

"Thank you, Maxie," she whispered and his looked up.

From his angle on his knees, he could see everything. He hadn't meant to look up her skirt, but her lack of underwear had him failing to meet her eyes for just a moment. "Fuck, Angel," he hissed as he stood up straight. "You're so fucking dirty." He took her hand and pulled her away, as quickly as he could. Desperate to get her home.

And Arthur Leclerc saw the entire thing.

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[millerscoffee]

heat lightning

6.5k | sub!joel miller x f!reader

gif credit: @jdmorganz

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: NO OUTBREAK. established relationship, no age gap – up to you for joel's age but he has creaky knees so..., sub!joel, bratty!joel??, mommy kink, rope kink, dom/sub dirty talk, joel whimperin' n whinin', gagging, choking, slapping, spitting, edging (m receiving), oral (f receiving - face riding), piv (unprotected), praise kink (good boy, etc.), pet names (pet, baby boy, honey, etc.), a touch of humiliation/degradation kink (spoiler: a moment of cock shaming – every body is a lovely body!), size kink (he still got that thang tho), we walk by breeding ave., sickly sweet aftercare, lingerie. dude if i missed it - it's probably in here! no use of y/n

A/N: thank u to the sweet anon (u know who u are) who requested this almost a month ago. i hope it was worth the wait! love youuuuu!!! ♡

Joel liked having his way.  Shocking.

This concept drew you to him, not only because you enjoyed being told what to do (every now and then), but even more that you wanted to challenge why he needed things to be his way in the first place.

You’ve been with Joel long enough now to know the mix of events that made him who he was.  Nights and days where he felt insecure for exposing all there was to him, but he was willing to fish it out of him to you.

Only to you.

Tonight wasn’t unlike a handful of nights the two of you shared since being together and unraveling Joel’s vulnerability.  It was beautiful, and in moments of softness, it was easy to reflect on how far he’d come.  But, right now?  You’re a little preoccupied.

---

It started earlier tonight.  Joel refused to wear contacts for the fourth time in a week, and forgot his glasses just as much.

And guess who had to remind him?  You!  Of course!  Every. Single. Time.

To wear his glasses, or put his contacts in.  But the week was busy at work – Tommy gone off again.  Or at least, this was his excuse.  More and more excuses poured throughout the week until it was a mere grunt at your suggestion.

Your knuckles blanching until you just gave up entirely. “Ah, fuck,” you hear from the kitchen, the view of Joel rubbing his eyes not long after the sound.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel,” words are sharp and you clench your teeth.  It catches Joel off guard at first, his head shooting up to meet your cold stare.  And before he can make an attempt to straighten you out, you stand up – rushing to the kitchen.  “I tell you this at least twice a fucking week.  ‘Joel, wear your glasses.  Joel, have you put your contacts in today?’  you know why your eyes hurt so fucking much?  Because you don’t listen to me, and I’m sick of it.”

“You know it’s been a rough week,” Joel’s tyrannical now, his jaw setting – ticking forward.

“Oh, I’m sorry – did I give you permission to speak?” you raise an eyebrow waiting for a reaction, but instead you witness the shift of his hips and the drop of his gaze.

He feels the energetic shift as much as you do, and seems into it.  The hitch in his breath gave him away.

“No, ma’am.”

“Bedroom.  Now.  Swear to god, if you make me repeat myself.”

So he goes and you follow.  And you bring a dining chair with you.

Placing it down, you go to the closet to grab some clothes before turning your heel to face a man whose cock shouldn’t be so fucking hard from getting your last nerve.

“I’m going to change, and you are going to sit on this chair.  Naked.  Do I need to repeat myself?”

Joel beseeches you silently with his dark stare and a steadfast shake of his head, “No, ma’am.”

You don’t respond because you don’t have to and usher yourself to the bathroom – door shuts behind you and you slip into something more dominating.

---

“Darlin’, it’s a little tight,”  Joel rattles now, his strength to hold back waning.  The rope that curled around the strong arches of his wrists tug harshly as it found tautness from behind the chair.

His wrists and ankles tied with knots that Joel taught you how to tie long ago.

The chair at the foot of the bed.

Feet planted firmly on the ground, you peer over him, changed into laced lingerie with leather accents. Red.  Cinched at the waist, your tits bloom out from the cups — daring to spill but never do.  You feel sexy, and you feel in control.  And fuck, you look so good.  Joel knows it, the way he sops you up just by his eyes.

He’s shorter than you like this, but his body still takes up so much space, and it’s intoxicating to observe Joel in such a submissive position in his sturdy frame.

“Is Darlin’ my name?” voice flat, you prop yourself up on the edge of the chair – tilting your head to scan over his body.  You take your time with each part of him.  Because his wrists are tied, yes, but you look down at the rest of him, completely stripped for you.  His hips jolt involuntarily, pathetically really, all from your words and you really watch between his legs.  The head of his cock pulsing with blush, weeping against his stomach and thigh as it arches.  And he twitches at your gaze.

“Oh, he likes that,” you remark condescendingly, and on any other day you’d be eager to wrap your lips around him.  To suck him until his toes curled and your name slipped through the air from his rough, but blissed out voice.  But tonight was about taking the lead, teaching a lesson.  Taking him how you wanted because you could.  And maybe because you loved him and wanted him to experience – to just experience without the expectation of being in command.

“Now, tell me,” you start, teasing the tops of your fingernails grazing the length of his thigh slowly – humming in approval, his body shuddering, his grunts fill the air, “what’s my name, Joel?”

“M-mommy,” the word scorches his cheeks, causing him to bite into his bottom lip and his eyes squeeze shut, precum beading to the tip.  His head hangs in unbearable arousal, chin lifting to catch your eyes.  The soft brown of his eyes, full of desire and willingness to do anything for you.  Anything… except doing what he’s told when he’s stubborn.  Your core aches when you squeeze your thighs together for relief, but you don’t falter.

“Mommy!” a fake gasp, you lean over to pat him on the cheek before smacking the skin ten percent harder, “That’s right!  Good boy!”

And that wrecks him, sends his hips flying off the seat as much as he can, but you’re quick to shove them down.  “Ah, ah, ah.  Not so fast, Mommy’s not done with you yet,” your fingers curl under his chin, coaxing him to look at you.

“How can you make me feel good, pet?  Let’s use our words,” you lean down enough for him to see your tits pushed together like this and the look on his face– god, you’d bottle it.  His brows wilted upwards, lips parting, and they’re so wet, so inviting, you want to kiss them for hours.  The right toy for you to use in pursuit of getting yourself off.

“I—I c’n use my mouth.  I wanna.  Wanna be good t’ya, mama,” and he’s almost begging.  He’s so close, you can tell he’s trying.  It’s just that, he’s distracted–  wants to devour you whole without having to ask, not like this.  He’s still not used to saying the things you so easily offer him on any other day.

“You wanna be good to me,” you repeat mockingly, tongue darting to one side of your cheek, “That’s too bad.  We’re not doing that yet, you still need to learn your lesson.  Gotta make sure you know who’s in charge, don’t we, darlin’?”

You don’t let him answer before you sit back at the edge of the bed, your legs spread as they relax against the mattress.  You watch Joel, how his head won’t look at you directly – not even if he wants to.  He feels too shy, too ashamed for not listening to you, and honestly you’re sick of it because you look fucking hot.

So you clap your hand at his chin lightly, “Miller.  Right here.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and those deep eyes take their precious time to rake their gaze over you.

“Is that how you act when a gorgeous lady’s in front of you?”

Joel lifts his brows first, then his eyes, “No, baby– I’m sorr–”

“Not my name.”

You see Joel’s mandible flutter again in frustration now because yes, you’re grinding his gears, but the vulnerability makes him uncomfortable, and he grits out, “No, mommy.  I’m. Sorry.”

“You’re on thin fucking ice Joel,” your arms cross over your chest, leaning forward to make eye contact, and though it makes your tits raise, your body language says it all: last chance.

That seems to make him reroute his stubbornnesses because he’s back to open expressions and spread thighs – thick as his cock that weeps pitifully against his abdomen and thigh.

“Yes, ma’am.”

If you were to admit it to yourself, you’re distracted.  His cock looks so good, throbbing like that – bobbing with each twitch as his balls tighten along with it and he’s so perfectly thick your mouth waters, but it is not about making his ego feel good tonight.  Not yet, anyway.  He must understand this behaviour is unacceptable.  Just when you think about caving, you’re reminded of how fucking obstinate he’s been and you get annoyed – dominant, all over again.

“Here’s how tonight's gonna go.  I’m gonna touch myself, use your mouth, and if you’re good, I’ll ride your pathetic excuse of a cock.  Sound good?”  you flash a sardonic grin cutting him off when his mouth opens, “Good!  Now shut the fuck up.”

It shouldn’t make him hard and it shouldn’t make slick gather between your legs, but of course it does because you’re both insatiable when it comes to each other.  Fueling a fire that can’t be tamed anyway, you unfurl in front of him – one palm against the lush duvet while the other trails in front of you, through the lace of your panties.  You squeeze your thighs together again, spreading your mess and there’s a wicked grin on your face because you know he knows just how it feels to have those thighs squeezing around his head.  To make that messy pussy of yours glide over his features.  And the damp fabric emits subtle sloshes from just how turned on you are by this.  You love the opportunity to have the upperhand.

Joel, he looks rabid, eyes unable to move from your core while the sweetest sounds fall out of your mouth.  Like a hypnotising trick from the circling of your clothed folds – a magician’s secret.  His stare is so animalistic you almost want to egg him on like a dog: this what you want, boy?  But you’ve got him right where you want him, and you don’t want to take him anywhere else.

“It feels good, Joel,” you confirm with no pornographic moans.  Rather a solid melody to your tone.  Grounded in your power.  You want Joel to know you can make yourself feel good without him, despite it being very much because of him.  “Better than you can make me feel.”

And Joel can’t take it anymore – he can’t stand it when you lie to him.  He’s seen you with him.  How you blossom under his touch until your thighs are shaking all on their own.  Seen drool spill from the corners of your mouth as you take and take and take from him, slurred praises floating from your needy throat.

“That ain’t fuckin’ true,” he growls like a caged animal, hips squirming into the chair, and you stop pleasing yourself – wrist frozen as the pressure on your clit becomes lighter, eyes narrow.

“Did I let you fucking speak?”  Question rhetorical, you slip your scanty panties off and wad them up before prying his mouth open and shoving them, crotch-side first, inside to mute any more rebukes.  The taste of your sex coats his tongue and his moans are muffled, eyes roll back for a fleeting moment – as if he forgot what he was even saying to begin with.  His wrists slightly turning colour from the resistance against the rope.  Hog heaven, you can hear the southern phrase drawl from his lips without the words.

“And what?  You think you can make me feel better than I can?  You really think that?” Joel finally smartens up when he realises you’re naked from the waist down and can see the slick against the seams of your thighs while your legs are apart – how turned on you are by keeping him on a line, and god the air is thick.  His eyelids droop to the sound of your voice, the scent and taste of you overcoming him as a piteous nod is given to you.  Poor baby.

It should irk you, the fact that he believes he knows your body better than you do, but it rakes the coals instead.  It’s in that he’s so eager to show you how he can get you there – makes you curious, your pussy tingles in anticipation, pulse rises.

“If I let you go, are you going to be compliant?  Because if you think you’re in control, you’re wrong and I need to know you’ll be a good boy for me.  Will you be a good boy for mommy if I tell you what to do?”

The strained pleas from the fabric and emphatic nods give you reason to follow through with your promise.  And he looks like he means it, like you’ve worn him down to submit to you fully without restraint.  You can tell he’s in pain from how hard he is.  Like he’s being edged without even touching him.  His hands must be numb, his body could tremble at the slightest touch.

It’s enough for you to waltz behind him.  You loosen the rope, ghosting your hands over the other typically warm set and despite them being tingly – he can still feel you.  His breath hitches, the slopes of his shoulders are so gorgeous from behind.  The muscles of his back taut as they flex, their silent entreat for relief.  “It’s okay,” you whisper, now that you can’t see him, you feel more inclined to be forgiving.

The arousal is a constant build between the two of you.  When you let his wrists loose, he doesn’t move.  Just rolls his knuckles into fists, bringing blood and oxygen back to the extremities.  He’s good on his word, and makes that known when you untie his ankles.  He’s giving it up to you – totally conceding, and moreover adores this side of you.  He knows he’s the only one you could ever be this assertive with because the relationship you have creates room for it.  Both of you feel safe.  His teeth tighten around your panties when you come back around to him, and you cup your small hand, comparatively, to the side of Joel’s neck.

“You good little thing.  Got mama so proud,” pushing his curls back, you pull the spit-soaked garment from between his teeth and he’s beaming, nudging his cheek against your touch hungrily.  “Go lie on the bed, honey.”

His joints creak from age when he does, having sat there for what felt like an eternity but he does exactly as you say: nothing more, nothing less.  Hums softly to himself at the feeling of being able to lie flat on his back because it feels so good, and in the brief moment it’s there without a role – your adoration for him, the gentle quirks that make him so delectable.  He deserves to sit back like this, to let his brain just take rather than supply.

However impatient he may be in the process of submission.

“You are doing so well, Joel.  I know you have a pristine mouth too, don’t you?  Are you gonna show me your tongue?”  Getting onto the bed, you walk on your knees as this newly obedient Joel sticks out his tongue flat for you to float over.  Your throat dries at that, how perfect he can be for you like this.  A smirk comes over your features, “Much better with your tongue out than running it all the time,” and you swear you see Joel’s teeth creep up in a similar smile, but you’re busy straddling his waist with your ass facing his chest to notice.

His strong nose bumps against your clit when you bracket his head.  Sipping the air abrasively, your body seizes at the sensation.  Clearly more sensitive than your confident words let on, but that’s just the thing – you are confident and extremely horny and you can admit it.  So you give in, purring deliciously when you lower over his mouth until you’re sitting completely on his face.

“Love using this mouth for my cunt,” fingers tangle through the strands of his hair and you use it to roll your hips frantically, yet methodically, against the heat of his wet mouth.  His tongue hits your folds succinctly, on purpose, and even though you haven’t allowed him to touch you, his movements are so precise it’s as if he’s rolling your hips for you.

“Fuck, you’re swimming in it now,” you groan, neck thrown back before leaning your neck over to the side to watch his eyes flutter shut – the slight shake of his achy jaw, the sweat at the top of his hairline.  He’s putting in the work to take it, even when he feels like giving up.

The squelching of your juices has you in your own trance, and though you would wait for his cock to give into the prickling at the pit of your belly, you decide to go give in to what you want in the moment – to orgasm right here, right now.  All over Joel’s face.

Pulling the top of your pubic bone, your clit exposes to the plush of lips beneath you.  “Suck.”  The instruction is simple compared to the stir of fireworks that he sets off inside you.  Because he does what you say, and how you say it, instantly.  Joel’s eyes roll back alongside his muffled, but satisfied moans that vibrate against the bundle of nerves he’s taking his time to satisfy.  Wet suction sounds fill the room when the air breaks off, his tongue swirling right underneath the hood of you and you break out in a sweat from how impossibly good he is at this.

“Y-you’re so good for mommy,” you sound wrecked, Joel looks up at you when he catches just how gone you are.  Loving to see you take what you want from him, using his mouth to pleasure yourself.  You rock deeply, your hands knead over your lace-covered tits and when you look down at him again, he can’t keep his eyes off of you.  Eating you like he worships you, and you’re certain he does.

But using him meant not warning him when you were close.

So it comes as no surprise, the influx of low, masculine, ached groans from beneath you when your body responds to its pleasure.  Your fingernails dig into your fists as you shudder and moan above him, the lightning rising from your core to your limbs in a matter of seconds – and in waves.  You lean forward, catching yourself at the headboard and let out a slight chuckle at the comedown.  The two of you surfacing in between this power dynamic.  “Shit.”

That’s short lived under your ruling, however, and you slide off of him – getting your bearings.  Joel stays still, his mouth vivid pink to match his cheeks, beard and lips sheened with your slick.  The look in his eye shows his constraint, his need for something and when you pluck your gaze down his body.  His beautiful cock straining against his abdomen, a pool of precum greets you.

“This?”  You raise both eyebrows, pointing between his legs, “This needs touchin’?”

“Please,” fuck, he sounds ruined – consumed with lust and need for anything you can give him.  He’s really begging now, not the bullshit he tried to deliver you in the beginning.

“Okay, baby,” you coo, “You’re so good for me, gonna make you feel so good.”  When you finally, finally acknowledge his cock, his abdomen jolts though you barely touch his sides.  You laugh through your nose briefly, “That bad, darlin’?”  His head sways ‘yes’ against the pillow before saying it, and you waste no more time in your pursuit to obliterate him now.

So you straddle him.  Right at his waist, angling above where his twitching cock lies.  You can feel the heat radiate off the both of you.  Your core pulsing from your orgasm, wet from slick and spit.  You have some wits about you now that you came, and it aids you in authorising the next step – the step that has every nerve at the edge of its seat for Joel.

Joel’s body.  The taut skin, the hair down his arms and across the landscape of his chest down his middle.  Your own body fills with anticipation when you anchor your hips further down until your folds are greeted by the underside of his length and it’s unhurried when you both shudder in response.

“Sh-shit, shit, darlin’–mama,” he inhales sharply, those words transitioning to whimpers when you glide your hips over his cock back and forth with intention – applying more pressure with each pass.

“Yeah, you like that?”

Joel’s tongue skates over his bottom lip as he nods frantically, and you still yourself.

“Nuh uh.  Words, tell me.  Need to hear you say it, Joel.”

“F-feels so good, honey.  Feels like my kinda paradise.”

Or at least that’s what you are pretty sure you hear.  It’s rushed from his feverish breaths, but he’s doing his best.  Wants to make an impression that he is committed to giving in.  It’s when his eyes slip shut do you lean your body over him, tilting his chin, you wrap one hand around his throat though it doesn’t quite reach around to completion.

“You beautiful man. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?”

Joel blinks them open to see your hooded eyes above him, unable to hide just how in awe he is.

“Y’look gorgeous, mama,” and shit– you feel your cunt clench around the absence of him at that.  At how candid and altruistic his words are in the moment.

“You’re one to talk,” you run the tops of your fingers against his beard, hips languid.  “Stay right here.  My good boy.  M’gonna take this big fucking cock.  That’s right, isn’t it?  Make you know for certain who it belongs to.”

And he loves hearing you talk about him like this.  Looks so serene as you sit upright, peeling the rest of your layers off until you’re both naked and he looks like he desperately wants to touch you, but you give him a stern look – not yet.  Not until I take you myself.

Reaching behind, you press the head of his cock at your entrance and hiss at the instant stretch.  Not working yourself up with his fingers shows when you envelop him like this, and you can feel him digging his heels into the bed from just how you feel around the head of him.

“M-Mommy!”

The sound of him whining is symphonic to your ears.

“Shhhh, you can take it.”  The role reversal makes you shiver, your wet sex moving down a little more before you pull up, popping off of him completely and his hips stammer trying to follow you, but he soon realises the edge you’re bringing him to.

He’s greeted with your sinister smile.

“What, honey?”  You lean over him, forcing his chin up, you deliver a slap to his cheek before sliding down his cock again – working him up and down, then off again.

His bottom lip trembles and puffs.  He’s losing his cool, hands ghosting your hips because he knows better than to touch you like this.  Not when he’s so close to getting what he wants.  The heat, the fucking heat from them – you shake.

“P-p, mama, mmngh,” his whimpers put you in a daze.  How he feels so good he can’t even form a proper sentence.  Your free hand claws at his chest while the other at your front edges him – rocking against the underside of him again.  Minutes feel like hours when you rile him up like this, and you know you look a mess too.  Fucked out, nipples peaked and you catch his gaze on them – his hunger for you extends through the room leaving heat on your skin as it radiates, the energy bouncing off from this tantric experience.  The eye contact is insane: Joel’s pupils dilated, eager against the constant spasm of his cock against your messy folds.

All humidity, sweat, and sex make their presence irrevocably known.

You’re slipping.

But you muster one last discipline, leaning down so your tits graze against his chest.  You brush your nose against his, insisting his precum spreads against your entrance.  He grunts, teeth together, hips grinding as best as he can without breeding you into your submission.  And fuck, you’d almost allow it.

Almost.

 “Should’ve worn your fucking glasses.”  You whisper against his lips, your clit brushing against the coarse hairs of his lower abdomen, and it’s exactly then does he spill over his breaking point.

“I’ll wear them, I’ll wear them!” And, fuck, Joel sounds pained – he sounds sorry, and he sounds desperate.  “Please!  Please just let me come, mama.  I wanna paint ya up so good, honey.  P-please, mama!  I’ll get fuckin’ lasik – please, just lemme in that perfect pussy!”

That’s the green light.

Placing him back inside, your hips grind on him shallowly.  Both hands tighten around his throat, albeit a bit looser than the one fist he’d have around your neck – but it seems to do the trick and you buzz in satisfaction before a choked moan fills your lungs: the sound he’s been craving.  Your body giving in, doing what it does.  It’s nature, after all, giving into these feelings.  “Fucking take this cunt.  Fill mommy up, yeah?  You wanna make me a real mama, baby?  C’mon, let go for me.  You can let go, you can move.”

It’s a lightswitch.  It’s flipping a breaker, giving Joel such permission.

You yelp when he tosses you off of him.  Onto your back, he’s on his knees within a blink – gripping your thighs, he pries you apart before his cock spears inside you with little remorse, and “Oh-my god – your cock!” you scream.  It’s exactly what you need now.  You nod through knitted brows, praises fill the space between you.  You take his chin between your thumb and pointer, one arm around his shoulders you pry his lips apart to transfer spit right inside his mouth.  Your tongue glides over his and he drinks straight from the source.  You can feel his Adam's apple wobble as it swallows what you’re giving him underneath the pad of your thumb.  “That’s it, that’s a good boy,” you mutter sloppily from the rutting of his deviant hips.

Gravity’s against you when you spit in his mouth again, getting some of it on your chin and nose, but fuck, you don’t care.  You want it filthy like this with your head half off the bed, his fingers plucking your nipples as it ripples pleasure down your center.  “I’m doin’ okay, mama?  This whatcha need?”  This sly fucker.  “S-s’perfect!”  The requirement of reassurance fastens you in the leadership role you assumed in the beginning, and you’re so fucking thrilled Joel’s your partner.  How he can deliver you mindblowing thrusts, yet still look at you through his lashes like he’s the softest motherfucker on the planet.  A gleam of pride in his eyes and at the corner of his lips when he hears your juices be tapped in a fast tempo by his heavy balls.  Like giving you pleasure is the pearl he longs to hold for dear life itself in his capable hands.

Of course, he circles your clit for good measure.  Of course he would.  Little shit.  It works like a charm.

He knows your body, said it himself.  How it operates, how to take you there.  And you’re panting, hips lift to be greeted by his thrusts all the way to the base of your stomach – achieving the spongy spot only Joel can reach.

You feel it happen like a coiling, a buildup of thin air and then all at once: immense pleasure.  It snaps, your body convulsing around his cock, core fluttering as your moans get higher, and you think he’d slow down, but it makes him work harder.  You try to keep your eyes on him, but it’s just no use, he’s too good at his job.  “F-fuckin’, mmngh,” you can’t get out much else, but you’re soaking his cock – what else could possibly be said?  Your tits bounce to his thrusts and you can tell this is it for him.  He’s been so proficient at keeping it together all this time.  Your eyes pop open then, lips wet, you tug for him to come closer.  You don’t fucking care that his sweat sticks to your shoulder when he buries his forehead against your neck.

Joel keeps his whimpers close to your ear.  His moans of your name, his passion for this feeling – all of it, right against you.  Like a secret, like a prayer and you’re the divine goddess in every moment of reverence.

“Can’t last,” he drawls, a coherent sentence flows through him for a moment and you nod, mouth brushing against the red of his neck.  “Give it to me, Joel.”  Lips dance at his pulsepoint as the contact bounces from his thrusts, and you can hear his heart thud from outside his body.  It floods you, the sawing of his cock inside, the swelling sensation against your walls.  Tugging his hair, you pull him back just enough to see his faded eyes, “Give me every drop, baby boy.  Come for mommy.”

His lips attempt to make contact with yours, but really all he can do is breathe heavily into your mouth and it’s dizzying, being each other’s oxygen.  “S-s… so p-perf–,” he tries, he really tries in making the words connect, but even his core feels shaky from his forearms on either side of your head.  You snake your hands around his throat once more, and that’s fucking it.

Joel’s sounds are a mix of the low grunts you know, tailending with particular whimpers that leave you moaning back to him like a call to each other.  Holy fuck, you’ve never heard him make that sound before.  And he’s good on his promise – coating your inside sticky with his substance, your own vibrational tone is low in your throat as you hum in approval.  Until he rides it out.  Until his pleasure turns sensitive and his hips come to an end.

“Oh, baby,” you praise, delicate hands leaving his throat, you pet his back – warm and masculine and rippled with muscles that he attained from his work.  He’s out of breath, and you both laugh at it, pressing tender kisses to his nose and lips.

“Might fuckin’ die at this rate.”

“Well, at least we had a good run.”

It feels empty when Joel pulls out of you, his lanky body shakes the bed when he gracefully thwacks onto the mattress beside you.

“Mmmng.”

A flawless response.  Mmmng, indeed.

You stretch your arms overhead, facilitating a yawn in the process.

And you don’t ignore the way it feels to have his cum spill out of you.  Hot and sticky and where it’s meant to be.

“Stay there,” you whisper, rolling onto your side, “You did so good.  I’m so proud of you, baby.”  You even speak differently now – tender and light, peppering kisses all over his tired face in satisfaction.  Slipping up to your feet, you go to the adjoined bathroom and run the bath.  Putting a couple of drops of your favourite essential oil to make the sensual experience last in the afterglow.  You peek your head out from the bathroom door when it’s ready and give him a gentle look of compassion.  “It’s ready.”

Joel grunts when he propels all of his upper body strength to sit up in one go.  You can’t get enough of him.  The way he looks – sleepy and fucked, arms thick and shoulders broad.  You have both earned this bath, even if it’s crowded.  He sinks in, and you get in front of him, and honestly you both close your eyes for a long while.  Exhausted, used.  He wraps his arms around the front of your shoulders, and it’s regulatory to your nervous system.

“I really am sorry,” he finally gruffs, wide palms cater to your shoulders as you melt and sink into the bathwater with him.  “This week’s been… it don’t matter.  You tell me ‘bout my eyes all the time, and I never listen.  I will, I promise.  I didn’t mean t’make your life harder.”

You frown at the last bit, turning in the water so your chest is against his.  Drops spill out the tub when you do.

“You never make my life harder, Joel.”

“Seems like it,” and you can tell he’s not saying it to play the victim.  He’s vulnerable and feels safe enough to share this shame with you.  “Seems like I end up fuckin’ somethin’ up.”

No.  You won’t be having any of that.

Taking his cheeks between your hands, you shake your head in tandem with your words.  “Not even close, do you understand?”  Sternly, you keep his eyes poured into yours.  “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.  I mean it.  You make everyday brighter.  Even when you’re a royal pain in my ass.”

You both join in with laughter before you rest your warmed cheek to the hairs on his chest.  “I swear.”

Joel’s throat vibrates to the tune of your last words, and fingers comb through your hair, leaving you both to flutter your eyes shut in the all-too-small bathtub.

“Okay, I believe you.  But only ‘cuz I’m a pain in your ass.” 

You take in his warmth, so much as sniffing at his words, and it feels good to be connected like this after those moments of taking matters into your own hands.  It feels good for both of you to be unarmed to each other without consequence.

When it's time for you to get out, you dry off before holding out a towel to wrap around him and you lean up, pressing your lips to his – both naked and comfortable.  Basking in the aftermath – the scene you two created in the bedroom you transition into.  Your eyes scan over the bed: the unkept version of sheets, pillows haphazardly thrown together and you individually slip your clothes on.  It feels nice to have a soft fabric cloak over your skin, his t-shirt fitting easily from the worn material.  Joel takes your hand in one of his, the dining chair in the other.  You look back at the room before flipping the light off.  At least for a moment, you’re both pretty tired and will work around the mess soon.

Then there's the kitchen.  Where it started.  But you don’t feel the same aggravation creep up as it did before.  Instead, Joel wraps his arms protectively around you when you rise to your tiptoes to grab a couple of mugs from the cupboard.  It feels like slipping into a warm pool, and you never want to leave.  He is more enchanting than the tub could ever be.

“Hot liquid for my man?”

“Y’could just say tea, I ain’t gonna gag, you know?”

You snicker, turning the kettle on and closing your eyes as his chin tucks at the crease of your neck, not so sure he means it.  Coffee?  Yes.  A blend of chamomile and lavender?  You weren’t so sure.  But he doesn't turn his nose up when you press the teabag to him, so you sneak a kiss and you plop one bag in each cup.

“I dunno, you might gag,” a knowing smirk grows at the side of your cheek that Joel’s at and you mercifully knock temples, as if your brain waves could send each other the memories you have from tonight.  Everything primal and raw, all for the both of you.

“No more gaggin’ tonight,” there’s a laugh in Joel’s words and you scratch his beard idly as you pour your hot drinks when it’s time.  “That’s alright, baby boy.  Mama can handle a little bit of gagging if it means you’re taking.”

“You better watch it,” smile behind his voice, his nose nudges the edge of your jaw and a shudder draws out a small purr from deep in your chest – especially because you know there’s not an ounce of a menacing tone behind the threat.

“I’m not doing anything,” the grin transfers to your face and you turn to face him, arms wrapping around his shoulders because you can and he pulls you up until your feet leave the ground.  It’s a stretch that feels good, your heart’s content.

“Yeah, you’re just so good.  You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be bad unlike us common folk.”

And that makes your cheeks rush with blood because you know it’s only a matter of time before the tables turn.  Before you’re caught doing something Joel has told you thousands of times to do or don’t, and he has you in some precarious position to drive you back to the version of your best self.

Still, it’s funny, and you nose against the column of his neck – all sweat still mixed with the bathwater and something so innately, masculinely, Joel Miller.  “Not too good, just clever.  I get away with a lot more than you think, old man.”

“Easy.”  His tone shifts all too easily into a warning, his hips pinning you to the edge of the countertop.  Your eyes widen before you press your index finger to his lips, shushing him.

“Relax,” you pet his shoulders, before leaning up to kiss his eyelids, “I like that you’re an old, senile man I can swindle.”

“Goddamn, you’re at record time in attempting to prove just how misbehaved y’really are.”

Finishing the tea, you hand his mug off with a nonchalant shrug.

“I learn from the best, I guess.”

You wait a beat.

“So… lasik, huh?”

Joel practically chokes on his beverage.  “Uhhh…,”

“Great!  I’ll book the appointment tomorrow!”

You won’t (probably), but the look on his face is priceless.

“Yeah, yeah.”  That makes Joel smile eventually, his rough hand cupping the side of your face before planting a dichotomously tender kiss to your forehead, and you are steadfast to reciprocate the affection.

The only thing that matters, anyway.

No matter all the hardships, the restless nights.  It’s this.  It’s delivering Joel to his knees as he worships you, then securing him with a warm cup of liquids in the form of tea, bath, the undulating nature of your arms in their energetic vibrations when they find his frame.

You would take care of him.  You would catch him.

Like how rivers bend and rush to oceans:

Everything leads back to him.

taglist: @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @sinfulrock @jasminedragoon @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @scarletthefierce @pedritoferg - comment to be added, and please let me know if i missed you!

[starshideurfics]

steddie, omegaverse, Blue Lagoon AU, cw: underage

Steve and Eddie as children, shipwrecked and alone on an island. Eddie read enough adventure stories to have *plans* for how to survive, while Steve knows how to fish and build a fire, and there’s flotsam from the ship on the beach that they use to the best of their ability.

It’s hard, but the boys look out for each other and survive. They don’t have much by way of clothes, but it doesn’t matter much, at least for the first couple years. At least until they present.

Steve gets moody and achy, and Eddie is by turns snappish and over-protective. They fight and Eddie storms off to clear his head.

He comes back to Steve in the throes of his first heat, crying and panicked with his hand over his newly-developed pussy, dripping with slick. Steve didn’t know what to do, doesn’t know why he feels so hot, but now his packmate is back, and Eddie smells good. He keeps rubbing against him, scenting at his neck, slick running down his thighs.

It triggers Eddie’s first rut, and he pins Steve down. Needs to cover him with his body. Needs to touch every part of him, including the new one. Needs to feel inside.

At first it’s just his fingers, but Steve’s little whimpers drive him on and suddenly Eddie’s holding him by the hips, turning him so he’s on all fours. From there it’s easy for Eddie to thrust into Steve’s wet pussy, to pound into him until he comes and with a primal grunt, one that says, MATE. His knot ties them together and Eddie knows what Steve needs. He bites him, and Steve whimpers, his cunt pulsing as the bond begins to form.

And Steve can’t move much, but his teeth ache. He needs to complete the bond, feel his alpha every way and he twists and scratches and snaps until his incisors scratch in just the right way.

They’ve been pack for years. Now they are everything.