#He says he'd like some friends to talk to.

[shellshocklove]

snapshot | old man!logan

pairing/AU: old man!logan howlett x female!reader

summary: short on money for rent, your joke about starting an only fans account, to earn some extra cash, goes over logan's head. but when an accident with charles puts your life in danger, logan takes you up on your offer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! friends with benefits vibes who are also idiots in love, implied age gap, swearing, mentions and drinking of alcohol, use of pet names, logan's a bit of a grumpy dick, sex work, logan can't use a phone, logan can carry reader but he's also extremely strong, smut, praise kink, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), dom!logan, logan's got a dirty mouth, a little dacryphilia, sloppy blow job, facial, cum play, no use of y/n

a/n: a little disclaimer. i actually have no idea how OF work i only read the wikipedia page, so i've taken some liberties with it to fit it with the plot lol. the idea for the reader as charles' caretaker is inspired by @joelsgoldrush's fic never is a promise <- incredible fic that everyone should read! and also a big thank you to @guiltyasdave for all the encouragement on this fic!! <333 happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The coffee tasted sour on his tongue as he waited, engine running on empty, but the whiskey kept his throat warm. Behind the apartment complex the sun crawled up the horizon and split the the dark asphalt in pieces with streaks of blinding sunlight. The street lights shut off just as you walked out, the rickety door slamming shut behind you.

Watching you round the front of the limousine Logan pulled his seat forward, his rough hand grabbing the wheel as his left foot tapped impatiently on the footrest. A tickle in his throat had him greet you with a cough, and he brought his fist to his mouth.

"Morning to you too," you said, voice laced with sarcasm.

"Don't fuckin' slam the door like that– I've told you a thousand times," Logan grunted back and put the car in drive.

This was routine at this point. He picked you up in the morning after driving all night, and dropped you off again in the evening before he started his shift. Employing you took a large wad of cash out of his pocket, but at least he didn't have to worry about Charles being taken care of. You weren't a registered nurse or anything, not someone who'd had all the right references and education, but you needed money and didn't ask questions, and that had been perfect for Logan. He'd hired you about a year ago, and everything after had been routine.

When you didn't say anything back, only shifted your weight in the seat and leaned your head against the window, it pulled at something inside Logan. He couldn't deny you were a beautiful woman. He liked the way your nose curved, how soft your skin felt against his cheek every time you'd given him a reluctant hug, and he liked the way you smelled. It was primal, and in another life Logan would've had you in his bed already, but in this life, Logan was done with beautiful women.

Still early enough for the roads to be empty, Logan pushed the speed limit as he waited for you to speak – to finally say something trivial like you did every morning – some song you'd just discovered, or the plot twist in the reality program you watched every night, or how they were out of your favorite yogurt at the grocery store. He'd reply with a grunt, or with nothing at all, just letting you talk.

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan noticed how you picked at the skin around your nails, and when the sharp metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils, he heaved a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong with you?" he grumbled. A lilt of annoyance coated the words, and Logan hated how your silence had affected him. His harsh tone didn't seem to bother you, and the realization cut like a knife; biting down, Logan's jaw clenched.

"It's nothing."

Logan had to hold back the scoff he wanted to let out, "Clearly it's somethin', kid."

Finally, a reaction out of you. Pushing yourself to sit up straight, you let out a sigh as you turned your head to look at him. "My landlord raised my rent again… I'm thinking about how I'm gonna pay rent this month. I'm gonna be a few hundred bucks short," you told him.

Oh.

Gripping the wheel a little tighter, Logan couldn't help himself from asking, "You tellin' me you're quittin'?"

He couldn't blame you, he thought he paid you a fair wage, but it seemed that everything had gotten more and more expensive lately. The rides had been few and far between and the tank of gas didn't take him as far anymore. The weekends kept him afloat, along with bachelor and bachelorette parties, prom nights, and knuckleheaded business men too fancy to drive a regular cab to the airport. Had it not been for Charles' medication he'd give you a raise. Logan wasn't stupid, he knew he couldn't do this without you.

"No," you shook your head, "I wouldn't do that to Charles."

But you'd do it to me, Logan thought and let the words unsaid hang in the air between you as he pulled onto the dirt road leading to the smelting plant.

"I'll figure something out," you said, before a smirk teased over your face, that smile breaking forth the old you hidden behind this morning's melancholia. "Maybe I should start an Only Fans or something," you laughed.

"What's that?" Logan grunted, too focused on keeping his foot soft on the brake and avoiding the potholes to hear your joking lilt.

"Only Fans?" you questioned, one eyebrow raised in surprise before your eyes softened at the corners. "It's a social media platform for porn," you explained, "It's subscription based so you make an account and people pay a monthly subscription to see your content."

Porn?

Slowing down to a stop outside the gate, Logan put the limousine in park, the engine still humming.

"And how's that gonna help you pay rent?" Logan wondered, turning slightly in his seat to finally get a good look at you.

You were quiet for a second, eyes searching his face before the sound of a distant train had you looking away, almost bashful. "It's ridiculous," you muttered, "I don't have anyone to do it with anyway."

Before Logan could cough up an answer your hand found the passenger door, and a gust of sharp desert air seeped in. "I'll figure out the rent somehow… Sleep well, Logan," you told him, a wistful smile coating your features, before you climbed out the limousine and opened the gate. His eyes stayed glued to you as he drove past you, flicking to watch you close the gate after him in the rearview mirror. When you headed for the tank without your usual wave, a frown pulled at his face.

Stepping out of the limousine, Logan watched you leave, watched the way your hips swayed with new interest. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he found his flask – desperate to quench this fresh thirst with the last sip of burning alcohol, smoothing his dry throat. 

The cold coffee left a brown splatter as he discarded it; the coffee seeped into the sand. Inside the steeled walls he now called 'home' reeked of dust, like stepping into an antique shop, and Logan couldn't hold back his cough. Walking deeper into the plant with heavy steps, the old trinkets and equipment told a story of time passed.

So much time had passed.

Hanging his suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs Logan started working the small buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before tossing it gently over the ironing board. Food would have to wait, he already knew the fridge wasn't stocked. Instead, he found the bottle of whiskey he'd left on the table, grabbing it by the neck before he took a large swig.

The whiskey helped, at least that's what he told himself, but his senses never dulled enough and the weight never got any easier. Sitting down heavy on the bed, Logan drank long and hard, but he couldn't keep his thoughts from trailing to you and what you’d muttered. I don't have anyone to do it with anyway.

What was it you'd called it? Just Fans? No, that wasn't right… Only Fans.

Logan remembered the first tape he ever saw; it had been the 70s, a summer in California, at some party he'd been forced to by a beautiful woman. The tape had been projected onto a wall in the living room, like background noise no one paid attention to. It had been lewd and obnoxious, but no one had seemed to mind, high as kites and drunk as skunks. Soon, Logan hadn't minded either, whisking away the woman to make his own private porn in one of the bedrooms.

Behind the woven fabric of his slacks, his cock twitched at the thought, but it wasn't the porn playing at the party, or the memory of the woman he'd fucked that filled his mind, it was you. 

It was innocent at first; the way your front teeth nibbled on your bottom lip as you pondered your next move in a game of chess opposite Charles, how your eyes sparkled under the low streetlights as he drove you home at the end of the day, and how your perfume had filled the limousine and clung to his skin that one time you'd left your jacket in the passenger seat. His hand came down to rub over the growing bulge in his pants, soothing the growing ache with a hard press, pulling a rumbling moan from his chest. 

Soon the innocent memories of you turned to filth. Logan's mind filled with images of you underneath him, his cock buried balls deep in your wet cunt as you withered for him. Then, as quickly as the first image had come, another took its place: of you on your knees with your mouth stuffed with his cock, gagging around him and swallowing him down like a good girl.

With each rubbing press to his cock, Logan couldn't shake the rolling images of you. It was wrong, never had he thought about you like that, never had he wanted to think of you like that, but once he'd started, he couldn't stop.

Working his fingers, it was almost instinctual as they moved to undo the button of his pants. His hand dug into his front, large hand palming himself with hard presses, as his cock hardened. Trailing his fingers upwards, stopping right above the elastic band of his underwear, his hand so close to wrapping around himself, a hint of shame pulled him out of the gutter.

He shouldn’t think about you like that.

Pulling away, like he'd burnt his hand, Logan let out a deep grumbling sigh. Leaning back on both hands, he let his head fall back as he squeezed his eyes shut. In his pants his cock throbbed with need. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman, so long since he'd felt the velvet walls of a tight cunt wrapped around him, too long since he'd felt like he wasn't a monster, if only for a few blissful seconds.

Bringing the neck of the whiskey bottle to his mouth, Logan drowned his need in  temporary numbness, focusing instead on how the warmth filled his chest and dulled every ache. Falling back with a heavy bounce, he nursed the bottle in the crook of his thick arm, letting his eyes fall shut.

Logan couldn't remember the last time he wasn't tired, couldn't remember when his body didn't ache with every move. His veins bled through with rust and alcohol, and he hoped the latter made the corrosion run smoother.

His eyes fluttered shut, and the same flashing images filled the darkness. Years of fighting, years of killing, all the people he'd lost. It was the same show every night, and every night it tore a piece of him away, of his joy.

The bottom of the whiskey bottle clanked sharply as it hit the floor and a cough got stuck in his throat. It ripped and jerked in his chest, and he keeled over himself, fighting against it. When his head hit the pillow again, his eyes didn't fall shut, they trailed the walls, found the holes of blinding daylight seeping in through the holes in the corrugated metal sheets, and his thoughts found you again.

Curiosity got the best of him, and a hand dug into the back pocket of his pants for his phone. The small icons and text blended together as the screen lit up his face. When Logan held the phone a little further away the screen only got blurrier. With an exasperated sigh, he sat up, his body protesting as he grabbed his suit jacket off the dining chair, digging into the inner pocket for his new glasses.

Slumping down in the chair, his glasses resting at the tip of his nose, he tapped at his phone. He rarely used the thing outside of work, but suddenly he tapped at something that made it speak to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't quite get that," his phone said.

"Hello?" Logan spoke back.

Again his phone lit up and the voice answered. "Hello, what can I help you with?"

"What is Only Fans?"

……..

Fitting a brittle leaf between your thumb and pointer finger, you studied Charles' plants. The table always looked a mess after he'd tended to them, dirt spilled onto the table and tools thrown haphazardly about. Cupping your hand, you brushed the dirt into your hand, and discarded it into a pot you thought needed it.

Flicking your wrist, you looked at the time again. It was getting late. Usually by this time, Logan would have you halfway home already. Resorting to cleaning up the tools, you decided to give him half an hour before you'd start looking for him. He never slept in, although you could clearly see he needed it. 

Logan wasn't a man to show weakness, not to anybody, rather, he showed his teeth, barking and fighting against you or anyone who dared speak to him. It had intimidated you at first, and you'd held your tongue, afraid he'd bite your head off, but in time you'd come to realize that his gruff demeanor was just that, a façade. 

Charles on the other hand, senile and more and more forgetful, was the opposite of his son. On good days he beat you at chess while he told you stories about 'the good ol' days'. His imagination was vast, telling stories about the X-Men like he knew them, like he'd been a part of them, and especially by nightfall his stories would become even wilder. He'd tell you about his 'abilities', how he could read minds. He'd tell stories about Logan too, tragic ones, that if it hadn't been for the stack of comics you'd found, you would've almost said they were true.

Finding the chair by Charles' bed, you watched him deep in sleep. A heaviness could be felt in your chest as you thought about how his good and lucid days had seemed to get fewer and fewer lately. You found yourself having the same conversations with him, and once again today, he didn't want to get out of bed, telling you his head hurt. 

You wished you knew more of his condition, but Logan wouldn't tell you anything other than that Charles suffered from seizures, and if he didn't get his medication the consequences would be great. The way Logan had said it to you, his voice sharp and strict, it sounded serious, and in the year you'd taken care of Charles, you'd been diligent with his medication. Not once had you experienced a seizure with him.

Reaching over him, your palm found Charles' cheek. Stroking your hand lightly over his face, you felt the prickling stubble against your skin. His comment earlier about his head, had you worried. Logan usually supplied you with Charles' medication – from where you didn't know – there hadn't been any doctor's visits or health checks from what you could recall.

Maybe Logan didn't have insurance? It was your only explanation, a reason for why he'd found a more creative way of caring for his father. 

In a way you respected it, hacked an unknowing crack in Logan’s harsh façade– he cared. Only respect didn’t keep you from wanting Logan to tell you more, to open up, but wringing out more than a grunt from him was difficult. Instead, you made sure to let him know when you were running low on the pills and injections, and usually by the next day he'd hand over a new bottle. 

Stroking over Charles’ cheek, another chill of nervousness ran up your back where a worry tugged at your neck. 

Yesterday, after a week had passed since you'd asked Logan for more medication. He’d told you not to worry, that he’d have the pills soon, but running so low you'd had to resort to rationing Charles' doses.

Pulling back your hand, your eyes found your watch again, but before you could register the time, Charles stirred beside you. Then, an excruciating blinding pain permeated through your body. It rang in your ears and had your body shaking in agony, but at the same time you couldn't move. You wanted to scream, let out the pain that froze you to the chair, but no noise came out. When your vision started to go foggy, you thought that this must be what dying was like, but never would you have thought dying would feel this painful.

Through the ringing in your ears, a heavy creak of the tank door could be heard– or was it a trick your brain played on you in your last moments? Like the broad figure moving closer, slowly, too slowly, like it walked through water. You couldn't see who it was, but you didn't have too. Surely, your brain showing you Logan in your last moments, must've been a trick. The figure hovered over Charles, maybe it feasted on him first, reaped his soul as an appetizer before it would have you.

And just as quickly as the pain had taken you, the pain stopped.

Heaving for breath, your body fell forward, it was like the air couldn't fill your lungs quick enough. Two large palms cupped your cheek, tilting your head to Logan's frowning face. If you didn't know better you thought he looked scared.

"You okay?" he barked, your head rolling in his hands, "Hey! Bub, look at me."

You found the strength to nod your head, but Logan seemed far from convinced. He swiped his thumb over your cupid's bow, a flash of red coating his thumb and his face turned to stone, his frown so deep it looked chiseled.

Then he moved with an uncharacteristic haste, hiking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the tank. Closing your eyes, you tried to put your brain back together the way it used to be, but everything felt scrambled. When your back hit the soft mattress of a bed, you finally opened them.

Over you, Logan's large form hovered. He said something to you, but you only registered his mouth moving, your eyes glued to his pink soft lips, and your vision cleared completely.

"Drink this," he ordered, shoving a glass of water in your hands, and just like that your hearing had snapped back. "'m gonna go check on Charles– don't fucking move."

With no energy left in your body, you wouldn't dream of it. Logan watched you take a careful sip, the water lukewarm, before he left you in what you finally realized was his bed. The first sip nourished your dry throat, like you’d walked for miles in the desert without tasting as much as a drop. Surging forward, you chugged the rest of the water before you fell back against his pillow, clutching the glass in the crook of your elbow.

The smell of him on his sheets overwhelmed your weakened mind; a deep heady smell with a warmth to it, woven through with the heaviness of man. It soothed your mushy muscles, helping release the tension in your body.

The time passed differently now, fast and slow at the same time, and after an eternity and a second Logan was back. The weight of him where he sat down at the edge of the bed, had your whole body tipping towards him. His large palm found your cheek again, the rough pads of his fingers soothing over the skin.

"You doin' okay?" he asked, his deep voice filtering through a hint of worry.

"W-what happened to him– to m-me?" you managed to croak out.

Logan's heavy hand didn't move away when the furrow between his eyebrows deepened, the one that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face.

"He had a seizure," he told you, like it was obvious, taking the glass of water from your hands,

He must've caught the way your face turned, the confusion that flitted across it, one that spelled 'seizures don't affect other people'.

"Listen," he started, drawing back his hand, "There’s no other way of explainin' it to you other than tellin' you that all those stories he's told you about him– about me… they're all true."

The frown that deepened over your face at his words, must've challenged the permanent one over Logan's face. "W-what? The stories about the X-Men?"

"Yes, the X-Men– Is he talkin' a hole through your head about anything else?"

"No, but… there aren't any more mutants."

"Not new ones,” he sighed, “But we're old, sweetheart– the last there is." His voice went quieter and quieter as he spoke, a hint of sadness eating the words, before his palm found your cheek again. "You see… Charles he's a very powerful mutant, and years ago he started a school for mutants–"

"–I know all of that already Logan– he told me," you cut him off, "I never believed him, I thought he was just confused– the stories they–"

"–I know, bub," this time he cut you off, but he let the next words linger on his tongue. Drawing back his hand, his eyes found the wall behind the bed. "I never meant for you to get hurt– it's my fault. If he gets his medication he's fine, but… you ain't the only one who's a few hundred dollars short– it's been a slow month."

Before you had a chance to reply, Logan rose on his feet. "The seizures messes with your brain, so get some rest. I'm gonna get his medication, and I'll wake ya in the mornin'." Logan didn't wait for you to protest before he grabbed the car keys off the table, and left you alone in his bed. 

Outside the moon climbed the sky, and the new darkness, along with your scrambled brain, had your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier.

……..

"Wake up, sweetheart."

Logan's gruff voice pulled you from a dreamless sleep; a sleep like you'd just closed your eyes. Blinking, your heavy eyelids pulled shut just as quickly as you'd opened them, leaving you with a snapshot of Logan's body hovering over you. You hummed, sleep coating your brain, while your body felt like you'd put it through the wringer at the gym.

"It's mornin'."

You tried again, blinking your eyes open with more success. Logan's black suit jacket was nowhere to be seen, instead he adorned a white tank top. Letting your gaze roll over him, you noticed the scars etched into his skin, so many scattered up and down his strong arms, and suddenly the memories of last night filtered back into your brain.

"Logan," you whispered so low even you weren't sure you’d heard it.

"I'm takin' you home, alright? I'll watch him today," he told you.

When Logan told you something, he meant it. Leaving you in his bed, it was like a replay of last night as he grabbed the car keys and black suit jacket off the table. 

Slowly, you sat up and leaned on your elbows, letting the world spin for a minute. Your clothes from yesterday clung to your skin, and you felt both cold and sweaty as you got out of bed.

With each step you took every muscle ached, but somehow you managed to walk out the door. The burning light of the morning sun blinded you, and with one hand raised you shielded your eyes from the harshness while you walked closer to the humming impatient motor of Logan's limousine. Just as you'd sunk into the leather seat and managed to shut the door behind you, Logan stepped on the gas, and the smelting plant vanished in the rearview window. 

When you'd finally left the dirt road behind and hit the highway, you cracked the window ever so slightly – the morning air blowing away the last of your tiredness. The closer you got to the city, the more your stomach growled. You hadn't had a thing to eat since lunch yesterday, the aftermath of Charles’ seizure knocking you out before dinner– you needed something to eat.

"Can we stop here?" you asked and pointed at a sign advertising a diner off the next exit.

"I'm drivin' you home," Logan replied, his eyes glued to the road.

"Logan, please, I'm starving," you begged with a pout.

A beat passed, his fingers tapping over the wheel as he weighed his options, then his eyes found yours where they lingered. Staring back, you didn't know what to do. Logan wasn't a man that said yes, he liked things done his way. You bit down on your bottom lip, showing off your front teeth like a silent 'please' written over your face, and Logan huffed.

The loud buzz of conversation hit you first when you stepped into the packed diner, Logan in tow. Waiters ran back and forth between the booths lining the windows, taking breakfast orders and pouring coffee, and at the sound of the bell as the door swung shut behind you, one of them looked up at you.

"Seat yourselves," she said with a smile as golden as the syrup poured over hotcakes, "I'll be with you in a jiffy."

Walking deeper into the diner, you found an empty booth in a quiet corner. Logan seemed pleased, never too keen on people, and after what you'd come to know after last night, you could understand his hesitation.

Logan. The Wolverine.

You remembered the comics from when you were a kid, remembered this one kid in your class in elementary school that had been obsessed with them, reading every issue and Wolverine had been his favorite. He was a scientist now, last you heard, and here you sat opposite the comic character himself.

"Mornin', what can I get you guys?" the waitress asked, pulling up to your table.

"Um," you grabbed at the laminated menu in front of you, your eyes scanning over the breakfast items. Everything looked good, your stomach growling loud as you took in the pictures, but then again you didn't think you'd ever been this hungry before.

"Just coffee f'me, ma'am," Logan grunted.

"Could I get a stack of the blueberry pancakes… and a coffee for me too, please?" you ordered, watching the waitress with the name tag 'Stacy' write down your order.

"That'll be all for you guys this morning?" she smiled.

"Yes, thank you," you returned her smile.

"Alright, I'll be back in a second with your coffees."

While you waited for your pancakes, Logan wasn't much company. He sipped his coffee, black and piping hot, as he leaned against the corner of the booth, legs spread wide, watching the people coming and going. In the silence between you, you decided to study him while you sipped your own coffee. He must've felt your gaze over him, from the way he clenched his jaw, but he never turned his head to look at you, instead he let you look.

When your pancakes finally arrived, you dug in immediately. Fresh, hot and deliciously pillow-y and soft, it was the best thing you'd had in a while. The blueberries weren't too sweet, cutting through the sweetness of the pancakes with a tangy taste, while the bitter taste of your coffee woke you up and filled you with new energy.

"So," Logan suddenly spoke up, almost making the piece of pancake you were chewing on go down the wrong pipe. "How you feelin'?"

"Like I'm having the worst hangover in human history," you joked, "But better now after some food and caffeine."

Logan only hummed, turning his head back to people watching as you ate your pancakes. His silence had a frown work over your features when you placed your knife and fork down to sip on your coffee. He'd been so quiet all morning, which in truth wasn't new, but there was something about him now, something about the way his scowl dug a little deeper into his skin that had you asking:

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothin'," he answered, curt and to the point.

"Clearly it's something," you pried with a tilt of your head.

Another beat passed, before he leaned forward, a cough getting stuck in his throat. It sounded worse than it was, he'd told you once. So, you sipped your coffee, your eyes flitting away like you needed to give him privacy.

"I've been thinkin' about your proposal," he finally said, and you felt your eyebrows pull together in a frown.

"Wait?" your eyes found his, "What proposal?"

"About that subscription thing– the porn," he waved his hand, and leaned back again.

"Only Fans?" you asked, keeping your voice low, "It was just a joke, Logan."

"Well, maybe it's an idea for the both of us. I need money for Charles' medication, and you need money for rent– it'll just be us earnin' a little extra on the side, a win-win situation."

Letting his words sink in, you mulled over his idea in your brain. It wasn't like you weren't attracted to Logan, in truth, you'd wanted him to fuck you for a while now, but it had only been a fantasy, one to conjure forth late at night when you slipped your hand into your panties. To have it become a reality, served up by Logan himself on a silver platter, you'd never imagined.

How could you say no?

"Okay," you said, your voice breathy as what you'd just agreed to settled in your stomach. Having a little more cash in your account every month wouldn't hurt, and getting dick regularly sounded just as nice, it had been too long. "I'm in."

Logan only replied with a curt nod accompanied by an approving grunt, "Now eat your pancakes so we can get goin'."

………

"Cold feet?"

With the limousine parked outside your apartment building, a week's worth of anticipation came to a head. You and Logan hadn't really talked much in the days passed since the diner; Logan's main interest more in you feeling better after experiencing Charles' powers for the first time. He'd let you have a few days off, to heal up, to which you'd taken the opportunity to do some research and set up an Only Fans profile. Currently it was blank, but tonight that would change.

"No," you shook your head, telling true. "You?" you asked, turning in your seat to face Logan.

Logan eyes darted across your face. He never looked at you like that, and for a moment the oddity of the situation, of what you were about to do, settled in your stomach.

"No," Logan finally decided, and reached for the door handle, “Let’s get it over with before it gets too late.”

At his movement, you reached forward and grabbed his forearm, "Wait!"

With a grunt, Logan turned. "What?" he asked, his eyes settling on you with an eyebrow raised.

"I-I have an idea," you told him, and you didn't know why you stumbled over your words. With your hand still wrapped around his arm, his eyes fell to your touch, lingering before they found yours again.

"I was thinking–" you started, retracing your hand, "Well actually… I just restarted taking birth control and I wanted to settle into it before we have sex, so I thought maybe– if you want to of course," you rambled.

"Spit it out, bub, I ain't got all night," Logan cut you off.

"I thought maybe I could suck you off– here in the limo," you 'spat' out your suggestion, your front teeth immediately coming down to bully your bottom lip.

"You want to suck my cock… here?" he repeated. Leaning back in his seat, you didn't know if he spread his legs on purpose, or if he unconsciously drew your eyes to the bulge hidden behind his slacks.

"Yeah, I mean…" you shrugged, "I thought it could be hot? Like something that people would want to see?"

"Right," Logan hummed, reminded of the invisible audience, and reached for the key in the ignition.

Leaving your apartment building in the rearview mirror, Logan searched for a more secluded place to park. The windows in the back of the limousine were tinted, impossible to look into, but you didn't want to take the risk of getting caught. After finding an empty parking lot, backing up and occupying a more private space in the back corner, Logan guided you around the limousine with a hand resting gently over the small of your back. Climbing into the back with you, his broad form filled the space.

Inside, he'd turned on the lights, the colors slowly fading in and out and casting soft shadows across his features. The leather creaked as he sat down, his spread legs already inviting you to slot between. A fleeting feeling of nervousness tickled in your tummy, the reality of what you were about to do washing over you like a wave on a stormy ocean.

Logan watched you from his seat, a picture of sin in his suit, as he slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and fished out his glasses. His jacket fit snugly over his wide shoulders and he'd undone the top buttons where you could glimpse curling chest hair. The way he looked at you through the glasses, eyes dark and curious, had a warmth of arousal starting to pool in the core of yourself.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up, "I was thinking I could set my phone up here–" you pointed to the space between the leather seats and the window. "And then you could use your phone and film me?"

After a little bit of fiddling to get your phone to stay upright, you turned to Logan, your phone capturing your slow walk towards him. He sat with his legs spread wide, his large palms resting on either side of his thighs. When you reached for the hem of your shirt, his finger twitched, digging into the leather, and a toothy smile spread over your features.

Tossing your shirt you sunk to your knees and slotted between his legs. Looking up at him through your lashes, you held his gaze as you sat pretty for him, fanning out the skirt you'd worn specifically for today. He reached for his phone and pressed record when you curled your hands behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra, capturing your bare chest.

The air nipped at your exposed skin, making goosebumps ripple over your skin. Looking up at Logan, his eyes burned against your skin where he took in your breasts, his eyes glided over your bare skin for the first time and soothed out the bubbling nerves that had been brewing. When your eyes caught on the tent growing in his pants, you had to restrain yourself from surging forward, your mouth already watering at the thought of tasting him for the first time – of your wet dreams becoming a reality.

"S'pretty," he murmured, voice deep and guttural, soaked in arousal.

He cupped your cheek gently, the rough pad of his thumb skating over your skin bringing with it a calming safety. Your eyelashes fluttered as you tilted your head into his hand, desperate to feel more of the weathered skin of his hand against your body.

"Y'sure you want this, sweetheart?" he asked.

Opening your eyes, you held his gaze. "Yes, please," you nodded in his large palm, "It's the only thing I've thought about all day." And it was the truth.

"Shit, baby," he groaned in response, dragging his hand down your neck to rest heavy over the top of your breasts. "S'that so?"

Gathering your hands in your lap, you nodded slowly, your teeth caught on your bottom lip as his hand brushed over your right breast. "Thought of how you'd taste," you confessed, the phone in his hand forgotten as you focused entirely on Logan.

"Yeah?" he prompted. One knuckle brushed over your hardened nipples, pulling a quiet whimper from you– pleased he leaned back, "Take off my belt, then."

Bouncing on your knees, you leaned forward on his command, and pulled the leather belt from its loops. You did it slowly, tilting your head upwards to catch his eyes through the glasses. He helped you with the zipper, making you watch as he dragged it down.

With your eyes fixed on his hand you noticed three barely healed scars between every knuckle, and you remembered who Logan really was. The Wolverine. He caught you looking, and his hand tightened into a fist, tightening it for a beat before he relaxed it over his thigh. Leaning forward, you placed a soft kiss over his knuckles, and his hand dug into his thigh.

"Sweetheart," he breathed out, his voice strained.

In the depths of your chest you felt a pinch, a tiny stab in your heart that felt too real, too personal for what you were about to do. Willing it away, you leaned back on your ankles instead, your hands dipping into the waistband of his pants to pull down his slacks. Lifting his hips to help you ease them down, a quiet grunt escaped him, a deep sound that traveled down your spine and pooled in your core.

Behind the soft cotton of his underwear the firm hard line of his cock strained against the fabric. The sight of him, large and heavy, and hidden, had your eyes widening with lust, and a slickness soiling the gusset of your panties.

"You want my cock, don't you sweetheart?" he coaxed, his free hand finding your jaw where he cupped it, squeezing your cheeks together.

"Y-yes," you breathed out, your smile straining against his grip before you dropped your mouth open, showing him your tongue.

"There you go, baby– good girl," he praised, pressing his thumb down on your tongue and rubbing the saliva around. A soft moan caught in your throat at the praise, and behind the camera Logan's eyes darkened at his new discovery.

Wrapping both your hands around his wrist, you held his hand in place as you closed your lips around him. Slowly, you moved your head, up and down, up and down, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on his thumb like you would his cock. Logan's eyes were intense behind his glasses, his jaw clenching tight while he stared into your own.

"Such a filthy little thing f'me– so desperate for my cock down your throat you'll suck anything, ain't that right?"

A choked moan escaped you; they way he talked to you adding fuel to the fire in your core. Between the seam of your cunt you ached, wet arousal dripping into your soiled panties. He must've watched the way you melted for him, your brain turning to mush in front of him, because when he pulled his hand away, he laughed. A deep guttural thing from the depth of his chest.

"C'mon little angel," he tapped at your cheek, "Let's put you out of your misery."

Clouded in arousal, your brain stalled at the nickname, and you felt a new gush of arousal spill between the seam of your cunt. Logan's nostrils flared and a wild darkness settled over his face.

Shifting on your knees, you leaned forward to palm him through his underwear. Making sure to flick your eyes up at him (and the camera), you dragged your finger up and down gently, seductively, before you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his clothed length. Above you, Logan sucked in a breath, his free hand coming down to pet your head and press your face firmly against his bulge.

You couldn't help but breathe him in. Breathe in the heady deep scent of man, cheap whiskey and cigars – the unique scent of Logan. When you let out the softest little sigh, you felt him twitch against you, and quickly his hand on your head traveled down to the back of your neck where he pulled you back with a harsh yank.

You yelped.

"No more teasin'–" he reprimanded and let go of you, "Be a good little angel and make me come."

Logan leaned back into the leather, his body relaxed and inviting with one hand still occupied with filming you. Watching the deep furrow forming between his brows, and the way his eyes burned your face through his glasses, you could tell he wanted to take control, make you do what he wanted.

With a curling smile, knowing full and well you had the upper hand with one of his hands occupied, you slipped your eager hands into the elastic waistband of his underwear and tugged.

A wild and wiry patch of graying hair met you first, and you felt a flock of eagerness flutter in your stomach. Tugging the fabric down slowly, you made a show of revealing just an inch at a time. When you finally reached the end of him, you felt the wet head of him graze your cheek, leaving a streak of precum, as it sprung free.

His hard cock bopped heavily in front your face, and you felt your eyes widen at his size. He was big. The hefty length of him cushioned against his balls hanging heavy over the band of his underwear. Reaching a shaky hand forward you took him in your hand for the first time and familiarized yourself with the thick weight of him. With your other hand you traced the thick veins that lined the girth of him, memorizing every ridge and freckle before coming up to thumb at the fat tip where a pearl of wetness beaded.

A mix of awe and uncertainty pooled in your chest. How in the hell were you gonna fit all of him down your throat?

"'s okay, angel," he cooed, his heavy hand back to stroke over your head. His touch soothed you, a rhythmic warmth that shed all your insecurities.

With a content sigh you leaned forward and parted your lips to press a soft kiss to the leaking tip, pulling a "There you go, good girl, open your mouth f'me," from Logan. Urged on by his praise, you got a little braver. Flattening your tongue against him you started with a few gentle, teasing licks to the tip, your tongue dipping into the slit to taste him in earnest.

Above you, a groan rumbled in Logan's chest, a sound that had you eagerly taking more of him in your mouth. Suckling carefully on the fat tip, you let your tongue tease the underside of him, humming in content when you felt him harden even more in your hands.

Letting the excess spit run down the length of him, it pooled over your hands where they struggled to wrap around the thick girth. Slick sounds came from your hands when you started to move them over the soft skin, coating him fully in your saliva with every tug.

"Shit, bub, y'look so fuckin' good around my cock," Logan's voice vibrated from his chest, "But y'can take it deeper, can't you? Take that big cock down your throat?"

Well, you would certainly try.

Your knees dug into the carpeted floor of the limousine, pressing a deep pattern into your skin. Popping off his cock, you sat up a little more and shifted your weight. Looking up at him through your lashes, you were reminded of the camera pointed at you. Looking straight down the barrel of his phone you sunk down further on his cock.

Dropping your jaw, you felt your lips stretch as his hefty cock filled your throat. All too quickly the head of him kissed the back of your throat and you had to fight your gag reflex. Pulling off with a gasp, your eyes widened as you looked up at him.

"It's so big," you told him, both of your slicked hands jerking him in a slow rhythm.

"I know, angel," he cooed, his thumb running over your cheek. Leaning forward again, you placed a soft kiss to the fat head, and he hissed, "Too big f'you?"

"No," you shook your head, smearing the head from one corner of your mouth to the other, spreading the precum leaking onto your lips, and humming at the taste of him. "It's perfect– taste so perfect," you said through a pillowy kiss to the head.

With a buck of his hips, he pushed back into your eager mouth, slipping the fat head through your swollen lips and into your flexed throat, "That's it– right where it belongs, huh?"

Fitting him as deep as you could down your throat you felt dizzy with desire, an almost overwhelming feeling; the smell of him so close, how he filled your mouth and made your jaw ache. When your nose pressed into the grayed patch of wiry hair at the base of his cock, you spluttered with need, spit soaking the length of him as you came off him with a cough.

In an instance, Logan was on you, his free hand petting your cheek as he searched your eyes, "You okay?" I wouldn't be until after, when you edited the video that you'd realize he'd dropped the phone, focusing only on you in that moment.

"Yes," you replied, looking into his eyes with a toothy smile, "I want more– I want your cum."

"Fuck," he hissed, letting go of your cheek and leaning back into the leather seat, pointing his phone at you, "Go on."

Fitting him back down your throat again, you got lost in it as you found a rhythm. With a hand stationed at the base, you bobbed your head, letting your tongue dance over the length. More saliva dripped down and pooled over your hand, slicking up his pubes. It was messy, and hot, sticky and wet. Above you, Logan muttered praises between grunts and moans, encouraging you to take him deeper and deeper.

Feeling your throat loosen with every bob of your head, you pushed down and swallowed around him. Your eyelashes fluttered as you gagged and coughed, tears starting to prickle from your eyes, but you were determined to please him– to make him feel good.

When his hand came down to wrap around your throat, his thumb skating over your neck to feel himself, your eyes rolled back in your head in pleasure – the sight of you making Logan let out a deep growl. He kept the hand clasped around your throat as he started to buck his hips, feeding you his cock in small lazy thrusts.

"Right there, angel, so fuckin' good f'me… my good girl– choke on it," he mumbled.

You hummed around him at the praise, the vibrations pulling another deep moan from him. Fucking your face, bubbling spit trickled out the corner of your lips, soaking him and the coarse hair on his balls where they slapped heavy against your chin. Slipping a hand between your thighs, you couldn't help but touch yourself through your underwear – the white cotton translucent and drenched with your arousal.

Chasing his high, Logan's thrusts started to come quicker. More and more saliva overflowed, dripping down your bare chest and slicking you up in depravity. The grip Logan had around his phone was lazy, but he made sure to capture the way the shifting colors of the low limousine light gleamed over your slicked up chest.

"Such a good fuckin' throat–" he growled, squeezing around your throat as he pushed himself as deep as he could. Your nose brushed the wiry patch of his pubic hair, and you felt yourself start to gag around him as your lungs squeezed and throat tightened. He kept you down as you spluttered and swallowed around the length of him, and when the edges of the world started to blur he pulled you off with a jerk.

Gasping for air and filling your lungs with lost breaths, the hand Logan had wrapped around your neck was now pushing your own hand away to wrap around himself. The tears on your cheek mixed with the strings of saliva on your chin, as you looked up at him through fluttering lashes. Watching him stroke his cock, your eyes widened with interest as you shifted on your knees to sit up straighter.

His hard cock pulsated and throbbed with need as he stroked. Up and down you watched his hand; watched how beads of precum drooled over his fingers, mixing with your saliva before it dripped down onto your chest. A primal feeling came over you – an urge so strong to taste him come undone and claim you as his.

"Please," you begged, the fat head ghosting against your lips with every jerk, "come for me, please– wanna taste you so badly."

Logan's grunts and growls grew deeper and wilder as he stroked himself faster. "Look at me, angel," he ordered, and when your eyes locked with his, combined with a final hard stroke, he aimed the wet tip towards your face and came hard.

The first pump of his sticky warm seed, made you flinch before a smile widened and you leaned closer. Dropping your mouth open, he came all over your face, coating your cheeks, your nose, and forehead. Thumbing at the tip, he aimed at your waiting mouth to squeeze out the last few drops, and he finally let you taste him.

Wrapping your lips around the head, you suckled around him through content hums. You were covered in his cum, claimed, feeling the sticky seed drip down the bridge of your nose. You loved the way he tasted, salty and bitter, like Logan.

When the feeling of your tongue dancing over his sensitive head became too much, he pulled away with a hiss. His phone was still aimed at your face, and a little more clear-headed he filmed the aftermath of his orgasm closer.

"Even prettier with my cum on your face, angel," he said, letting his finger drag over your skin to collect his cum.

Pretty.

"Thank you," you whispered, your throat hoarse as he fed you his cum.

You hummed around his finger as he cleaned you up, making sure not a single drop would go to waste, and when he was pleased with his work after you'd shown him your empty tongue, he cupped your cheek.

"Good little angel," he told you with a pad, and pressed the stop button on his phone.

Back at your apartment the buzz of the excitement of the night lingered as you replayed the scene on your computer. You thought about Logan, about where he was and who might sit in the seat where you'd sucked him off only hours earlier. You thought about how filthy his mouth had been, and how much it had turned you on. And lastly, you thought about how you couldn't wait to see him again, and for him to finally fuck you.

Editing the video together, the last thing you did before you fell asleep was upload. Logan had taken a photo of your hand over his clothed cock before he'd left you, a picture that was now set as your profile picture. All tuckered out, you closed your computer and fell back against your pillows, dreaming of the smell of leather and cheap whiskey.

James & Angel ✨👼 📍 Texas subscribers: 15,478

1 post: "cute girl gives older limousine driver a sloppy blowjob"

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hopefully this was okay? i have concepts of a part 2 lol so please don't ask for it. instead, a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and/or tell me what you'd comment under james' & angel's first video! my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[holdmytesseract]

Safe Haven

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When Daryl threatens to lose his grip and gets swallowed by the trauma he experienced in the Sanctuary, you try your best to catch him and being his safe haven he desperately needs.

Warnings: quite some angst, fluff, insecurity? mentions of scars, injuries and torture, nudity, FEELS, FEELS, FEELS

Set in Season 7!

Word Count: 3k

a/n: This story is based on an idea from @erebus-et-eigengrau . I hope you like how this turned out, lovely friend! 🤗

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Daryl?" You spoke his name in a quiet voice as you took the archer's hand slowly and carefully in yours. His fingers twitched, but didn't pull away from your gentle hold. "Do you trust me?" Your voice was just above a whisper; so afraid to scare him off or make him feel even more comfortable than he probably already felt.

Tainted, yet still incredibly beautiful blue eyes met yours, as Daryl lifted his gaze; peeking through long strands of sweaty, greasy chestnut brown hair which hung in his face. You patiently waited for an answer while your thumb had absent-mindedly started to caress the rough skin on the back of his hand - an attempt to provide him some comfort and reassurance.

The archer started to nod; merely noticeable, but he did. "'M trustin' ya," he added quietly; voice even more raspy than usually. Hearing those words leaving his lips caused your heart to skip a beat. Sure, you and Daryl had been a thing for quite a few months now and deep down you knew that he had been always trusting you. Unless he'd have never opened his heart for you. But nevertheless was it wonderful to hear.

You nodded, "Okay." gently squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile. "Come with me?" Daryl nodded once more; wordlessly and let you guide him wherever it was you wanted to take him.

Your destination was the small trailer you - and now Daryl, shared in Hilltop. Crickets and some distant chatter from the other residents was all that could be heard alongside yours and the archer's steps through the grass.

You led Daryl inside your home and closed the door behind the both of you - never letting go of his hand. Not even for a second. Cautiously stepping closer, you lifted your free hand to cup his cheek; feeling the greyish hairs of his beard tickle your palm. Daryl's eyes fluttered shut at your touch; a soft gasp leaving his lips.

Your eyes widened. "Fuck..." You cursed under your breath; knowing that you just did what you swore you wouldn't do. Unintentional or not. "Daryl, no, I-" You inhaled a shaky breath; afraid to hurt him. "I put that wrong. I don't ask you to tell me what... What happened there. I would never force you to do so. Never. It's entirely up to you. Your decision." You gave his hand another reassuring squeeze. "A-All I wanted to say is... We need to give you a shower and fresh clothes... Your wounds... They... I don't want them to get infected. L-Let me take care of you, please?" Your gaze never left Daryl's; always checking in on him - on how he felt.

"My love... I won't ever force you to this..." you started; gently tracing the last remains of a bruise underneath the archer's eye. "Never, b-but-" Before you could even finish your sentence, you felt Daryl flinch slightly; a literal storm of emotions starting to rage inside his eyes - and you immediately realised that you had chosen the wrong words.

Daryl had escaped Negan and the Sanctuary not even a day ago and whatever they had done to him... Whatever he had experienced... You knew it was something traumatic. Something horrible. He hadn't told you. Not even a word - and you would never force him to do so. If he ever wanted to talk, you were going to welcome him with open arms and a sympathetic ear. You were his partner after all. You'd wait until he was ready to open up to you - whenever it might be. One day, one week, one month, one year - or hence, even never. All you cared about was his well-being and safety.

The archer swallowed at your words; seemingly giving your words a thought, before he bobbed his head in a small nod. "Y-Yeah, a'right," he whispered and turned his head only a few inches; just enough that he was able to press a feather-light kiss against your palm.

Another soft smile darted over your face and you retreated your hand from his cheek. Then you gave the hand which was still neatly tucked in yours a small tug; urging him on to follow you again - what he did.

The bathroom wasn't really spacious. Barely big enough to fit two people inside, but you had less and definitely worse. You wouldn't complain. Never. This was the end of the world after all. You'd take what you get and make it work.

Once again you closed the door behind the two of you, before returning to face the man you loved. "You trust me?" You repeated your question from earlier, now that he knew what you were up to - just to make sure. Your thumb worked gentle circles in the skin on the back of his hand.

It wasn't like you had never seen him shirtless or well, naked before, no. You did. That wasn't the point. But this right now... This was different. So much more... intimate. Perhaps the most intimate moment in your relationship so far, since you and the archer had yet to take the step of being physically joined. You, neither Daryl didn't want to just rush into things. You both agreed to take your time - which definitely proved to be the right decision, because you and the archer weren't exactly experts in romantic relationships.

Like before was Daryl's answer a clear 'Yes'. Giving his hand a last squeeze, you let go - much to the archer's dismay. His hand twitched - unbeknownst to you, as he held back the urge to chase after your hand - your reassuring touch, which kept him grounded.

Instead were hovering your hands now above his shoulders; fingertips grazing the plaid shirt he wore over the white t-shirt. "M-May I?" You asked hesitatingly; again afraid to make him feel uncomfortable, despite his promise of trust.

Nevertheless did it happen from time to time, that one would walk in on the other after a shower or while getting dressed to which you and Daryl got used to and normally were comfortable with. It had taken him quite a while longer than you, though, given the fact of how insecure he was. Not exactly about his body itself, but the scars which were covering it - a steady reminder of his abusive father and the traumatic past he had experienced. You felt absolutely honoured; heart aching with love, as he started to feel comfortable enough around you to be shirtless and even naked.

A higher declaration of love didn't exist. Not when your name was Daryl Dixon.

You squatted down and made quick work to untie the laces of his shoes. "Can you take off your shoes for me, love?"

"Y-Yeah," Daryl's deep voice managed to snap you out of your thoughts; giving you permission to help him. You smiled gently and shrugged the plaid shirt over his shoulders, down his arms; throwing it carelessly aside on the floor. Next was the sweaty, stained t-shirt he wore.

"Can you...?" You asked; gently tapping his elbows. "O-Or does it hurt?" Wordlessly, Daryl lifted his arms and let you pull the dirty t-shirt slowly and carefully over his head; leaving him shirtless - and the sight you were greeted with caused a gasp to leave your lips. His upper body was littered with bruises and cuts. Your heart ached seeing all his injuries; violently inflicted to the man you loved. You swallowed hard, "Daryl..." quietly calling out his name; voice filled with hurt. The archer lowered his head. "'S okay... H-Had worse," he muttered and definitely tried to downplay the extent of his pain - physically and probably even mentally.

You instantly shook your head. "N-No, it... It's not. They hurt you..." Tears gathered in your eyes, as your fingertips hovered over a particularly dark bruise on his rips. You didn't receive an answer. Daryl's eyes were still directed at the ground, but you could see that he was chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. You couldn't quite tell what was going on in that pretty head of his. Was it insecurity? Shame? Guilt? Fear? All of it? Whatever it was that had captured the archer's mind, you knew it wasn't good and therefore immediately tried to pull him out of this again.

Your hand found his again; fingers intertwining as you guided him towards the trailer's shower. You slid the creme-white curtain aside and opened the tap; hand underneath the water jet to feel the temperature. Once the water was pleasantly warm, you turned to face Daryl. "Water is ready. I, uh, I'm going to give you some space now, okay? Call me whenever you need me, yeah? I'll be just outside the door." You squeezed his hand and gave him another soft smile, before letting go and stepping aside.

Your tender voice urging to Daryl's ears seemed to do the trick. Slowly, he lifted his gaze; even more troubled blue eyes meeting yours, as he started to kick off his shoes, together with the socks.

Now there was only his jeans and underwear left. Hesitatingly, you reached for the button and zipper of his pants. Locking eyes with the archer once more, you silently asked for his permission again. When there was no objection, you continued and helped him step out of his jeans first and lastly out of the grey, absolutely uncomfortable looking briefs. A few small grunts left his lips; clearly indicating that his body was definitely aching and hurting - which gave your heart another jolt. And Daryl? Daryl didn't even do as much as flinch. His gaze was still directed on the floor; his mind most likely returning to wander down that dark path like minutes before.

You cursed yourself internally.

Space. The word echoed through Daryl's head like the ring of a gunshot. Well, it certainly felt like a bullet had pierced his heart to leave him aching and bleeding. Space... It was the last thing he wanted from you. Watching you walk away only caused to double the pain. He needed you as close as possible. You had been already too far away from him for the last weeks. He couldn't bear to lose you again - even if it was just for a few minutes.

"N-No, please... Stay. D-Dun'- Dun' wantcha to go," he whispered; voice strained and raspy. It caused you to stop dead in your tracks. Stay? He wanted you to stay? Your heart skipped yet another beat. You swiftly turned to face him once again. The expression on Daryl's face broke you. He looked so... lost. Desperate. Afraid. And once again, you immediately noticed that you had just committed another mistake.

How could you leave him alone after all he's been through; thinking he needed the space, when it was clearly written all over his face that he needed everything but space?

"Of course, I'll stay. If that's what you want..." You spoke in a compassionate voice; the gears in your brain turning.

"Do you feel comfortable enough for me to join you? T-That okay for you, o-or...?" You asked Daryl cautiously; not wanting to take this too far. But to your slight surprise nodded the man opposite you immediately. "Please..." That one word was enough.

You made quick work to shed your own clothes; leaving you entirely bare as well. Daryl didn't make a sound. Except for shy eyes travelling your now exposed body - and his cheeks flushed. You took his hand in yours again; unbeknownst anchoring him to you - to the here and now and not letting him wander off to the Sanctuary again.

With a soft smile, you gently tucked at the archer's hand; pulling him into the shower and underneath the pleasantly warm water jet after you.

He was visibly comfortable - and that was all that mattered.

The water was quick to get the both of you soaking wet; Daryl's chestnut brown bangs sticking to his face. You brought your hands up and gently peeled the loose strands away and out of his face; not missing the opportunity to caress his beardy cheeks. The archer just stared at you in silence and didn't even move an inch. He relied completely on you, as if he had lost the control over his own body. His heart in the palm of your hands.

"C'mere, sweets," your voice grabbed his attention - and the lack of warm water cascading down his beaten and bruised body. He blinked and took a step closer to you. "I'm going to wash your hair now, is that okay?" Daryl gave a confirming nod and within seconds had you squirted some shampoo on your hands and buried them in his curls; massaging gently. The man's eyes slipped shut with a cute grunt and groan of relaxation and satisfaction. You couldn't help but smile.

While you washed the archer's hair, he was fighting the urge to bury his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder; hands twitching to cup your hips - but he didn't dare to do so; too afraid to cross a line. He didn't want to do something wrong and push you away. It was a nightmare he wasn't strong enough to fight right now. Never - if he was being honest.

Once you had rinsed the brown mop of hair on his head, you moved on to his body - but not without asking for his consent again. You were even more hesitant and cautious in that regard, since touching his head and touching his whole body were two very different things...

"Dar... Will you allow me to..." You questioned him almost nervously; trailing off and kinda awkwardly gesturing between the bottle of shower gel and him. "I-I don't have to. Y-You can-" "I trust ya." And once again were - this time three - words enough from the man in front of you to jump into action; feeling a rush of love flooding your veins. He was trusting you enough to let you touch his body. Even in the vulnerable state he was currently in. It meant the world to you and you were determined to show him. You gave him yet another sweet smile and went to work; always making sure to capture his eyes now and then to make sure he was still okay with what your hands were doing.

Rinsing off the remaining soap, you got the first real close look of the tattoo on his shoulder blade and his scars, of course. You felt a pang of compassion and sorrow deep in your heart. Life had certainly left its marks on him. That much was clear. He didn't deserve this... All the pain. All the hurt. All the losses he had to endure. It wasn't fair.

You started with his soaping his upper body; feeling the bumps of his scars underneath your palm - what you didn't mind at all, of course. You had told him a hundred of times by now that he was beautiful to you no matter what.

Your touch was soft and delicate; making sure to not hurt him and being cautious about his cuts and bruises. Unfortunately, you couldn't prevent the shower gel from getting into the deeper cuts, which caused Daryl to hiss and you to repeatedly mutter the words 'I'm so sorry.'. Then you moved on to his legs and gave them a gentle scrub as well, before you went to rinse the soap off of his body again; starting with the front and lightly tapping his shoulder to signal him to turn around for you - what the archer did. Wordlessly - but words weren't needed anyway. Not between the both of you.

Returning the shower head back into its holder, you felt the overwhelming urge to give him all the love he deserved and slowly snuck your arms around his waist; pressing your smaller body against his back. Daryl flinched slightly at the sudden contact, but his muscles relaxed instantly again; knowing it was you and not just anybody. And yet he couldn't stop the gasp to leave his mouth when your lips started to trail a path of kisses over ever single scar and bruise; mapping out his broad back.

Until now.

Daryl's eyes slipped shut; a feel of love and comfort rushing through his veins - so much, it was overwhelming. It was like the connection he shared with you had reached a new kind of depth - in the most positive way. He hadn't felt this loved and accepted in years, decades even. Not before you stumbled into his life.

Daryl had felt like falling deeper and deeper; a dark hole sucking him in. It was like his body was present, but his mind still stuck in the hellhole Negan had caged him in.

Emotions exploded within Daryl; his heart threatening to burst from his ribcage with all the love it was feeling. He couldn't help himself but to turn in your embrace and press his forehead against the crook of your neck; not hesitating this time.

Now all he could feel and see was you. Even when he closed his eyes.

Sure, the archer's mind would still need some more time to heal, but you had caught him; kept him from losing his grip.

His sudden movement caught you by surprise at first, but then you just smiled and buried your hands in his wet curls, while Daryl's calloused, gentle hands skimmed over your bare back, sides and hips. But not in a sexual way. All the archer wanted was to feel you; needing to convince his brain that you were truly real - and his. Yes, it was the most intimate moment you and Daryl shared - and it was perfect.

Sure, sex was great, but that... That was a whole other level of intimacy. It was so much more.

You were so lost in the moment, that you didn't notice how your archer's tears mixed with the warm water still cascading down over your intertwined bodies, as he almost frantically held onto you.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @lou12346789 @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @mischief-dream @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @stiveroon @cakesandtom @mayday2007

If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know! 🤗

[ashwhowrites]

Hello! Can I request Eddie Munson and reader with miscommunication trope and halloween theme?

I thought about how they would spend their first halloween together as a couple. Every year as friends she and Eddie used to go to some party but these year they planned date at the trailer.

Reader heard one of Eddie's band friend saying that they're disappointed about Eddie ditching them and the party on halloween because now he has a girlfriend.

She feels guilty about it and thinks that Eddie would rather go to the party.

But in reality, Eddie is super excited about their halloween date at home. He has a lot of decorations, snacks and a few movies. He also planned to cook for her.

He adores the idea of cozy evening with his loved one and not at loud party where he went to not be alone during halloween night as a single and ends watching some guys talk to her while he wasn't brave enough to confess.

With a happy end pretty please ❤️

A bit late, my bad. But I think it's cute! So I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Halloween night

Y/N was excited to spend Halloween with Eddie for the first time as a couple. They usually go to Halloween parties with Eddie's friends but this year they wanted to be alone. They agreed on a movie night at the trailer, something cozy and warm.

Y/N didn't think anyone would have an issue with it, but she was wrong. As she waited for Eddie to finish collecting his things after his gig, she overheard a few of the band members talking.

"I can't believe Eddie isn't going. Like why do boys get so lame once they have a girlfriend."

"I know. I don't understand why they both can't join us, it's only been the tradition for years."

"Probably Y/N. No way Eddie would ditch the party if he had the choice."

Y/N felt her stomach turn sour. She was friends with these guys and they were talking behind her back. It seemed like Eddie loved the idea of being alone, but maybe he'd rather be at the party?

"Ready to go?" Eddie asked, throwing his arm over her shoulder.

"Yeah, let's go," Y/N said, putting on a fake smile as they walked out of the bar.

~~~

Y/N wanted to forget what her friends said, but she couldn't. She didn't want Eddie to ruin his relationship with his friends because of her. With everything weighing on her shoulders, it was easy to tell she was in distress.

Y/N showed up to his trailer, nervously knocking. Eddie opened the door with a huge smile and let her through. She stepped in and her negative mood vanished. She took in the orange and purple lights, the Halloween blankets on the couch, and the coffee table covered in snacks.

"What's all this?" she gasped in awe, turning around to see him. She smiled at the proud look on his face.

"Date night!" he smiled, "dinner is in the oven. Take off your jacket, and anything else you want," he said with a small wink, "and get comfortable on the couch. I'll bring your plate right over."

Y/N took off her jacket, throwing it over the couch. She took a seat, cuddling under the warm blanket. Eddie walked over with a plate of food and took the seat next to her.

"What? Does it look gross?" Eddie asked nervously, watching her face as she scrunched her eyebrows.

"No! It looks great, Eddie," she said, but he didn't look convinced.

"Is something else wrong?"

Y/N sighed, this was the time to talk about it. She set down her plate and bunched the blanket in her hands.

"You know how we usually go to parties with the boys?"

Eddie nodded, setting down his plate. His full attention was on her as he listened.

"Are you disappointed we didn't go?" she asked, nervously looking at his face.

"Not really. I never had much fun at those parties anyway," Eddie shrugged, "Do you want to go?"

"No! I love being alone with you," she said, moving closer to his warm body. She slipped on his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her. "I love the decorations and all the work you put into it."

"I love being alone with you too," he smiled. Kissing her cheek before he pulled away to look at her again. "So why do you ask?"

Y/N let out a deep sigh, making Eddie rub her back for comfort. "It's just I overheard our friends talking about how they were disappointed you weren't going. And I worried you might have wanted to be with them."

"You want to know a secret?" he whispered, she smiled and nodded.

"I dreaded those parties, hated every second of it, but you were there so I knew I wanted to be."

"Why did you hate it? You always seemed to be having fun with the guys."

"Yeah with the guys once I got drunk. But I spent the first few hours sitting alone and watching everyone flirt with you. Watching guys make their moves when I was too scared to say anything."

Y/N's heart warmed. She never knew Eddie watched her all those years. She was never interested in any of the guys that came up to her, her heart was set on Eddie.

"I didn't know you did that," she blushed.

"So fuck the guys. I want to be with my girl, without fighting for her attention," Eddie laughed at the end, a cheeky smile on his face.

"Never have to fight for attention," she said, pecking his lips softly.

Eddie kissed her back, her lips never failed to make his stomach flutter. He waited until she pulled away, letting her lips move off of his.

"Feel better?" he asked

"Yes, let's eat dinner and watch our movies," she smiled, sliding off his lap. She picked up her plate, smiling to herself as he turned on the movie.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[iilmunchkiin]

Just saw an absolutely amazing post that convinced me that Ceroba would be the one who confesses first.

(op turned turned off reblogs unfortunately so I'm making this post (┬┬﹏┬┬)) ("Just put the link to the post here-" No, you absolute buffoon, they turned it off for a reason and I'm going to respect that) (also potential rambling?? again??) (future LM here, yep there is alot of rambling. this was supposed to be a character analysis but I accidentally made a fic halfway LMAOAOAOAOAOA )

god I'm a sucker for slow burn and angst (duh, you all know that) I used to think that Starlo wouldn't be able to take it anymore and finally get the balls to confess to her, he goes up to her and it'll be the usual cheesy but wholesome moment with him nervously laughing, Ceroba getting surprised so she turns away while brushing off some hair that got on her face, Starlo sheepishly rubbing the back of his head and stuttering to get the words out. It'll all be planned of course he's a gentleman, he's just so stupidly nice and understanding that if Ceroba just flat out tells him "I don't wanna be in a romantic relationship with you" I just know he's going to smile and tell her it's okay and he'd still be there for her and it won't affect their friendship at all and he's going to stay by her side de jashdkahsd sorry the brainworms are doing the thing again.

Of course the idea of Ceroba confessing first also came into my mind, her realizing she's in love with Starlo but now has to fight the guilt thinking that she's "betraying/cheating on Chujin" made the little angsty gremlin in me giggle but I just preferred it would be Starlo who breaks the ice just for shittles and giggles (I like seeing him get all blushy and shy HIHIHIHIH). Also adding the fact that Ceroba DID consider getting together with him but she brushes it off cuz she thinks he's still too immature. (Yes I am aware Ceroba acknowledges Starlo growing up in True Pacifist but I didn't give it that much thought I was in delulu land)

But then I saw the post and ho h my god oh my goddddddd.....

I was a fool

Starlo is aware of what Ceroba has gone through and as her childhood best friend he would respect her and not risk overwhelming her with a confession cuz OF COURSE HE WOULDNT, and if he DID consider confessing it would be YEARS after the whole "Clover-sacrificing-themselves-for-the-futue-of-monsterkind" ordeal but he would have probably fallen out of love at this point and it would go

⭐: "OH YEAH btw I had a crush on you when we were kids" 🦊: "HUH"

(not dismissing the chance he could still be in love with her despite that I mean he's dedicated and loyal and so damn devoted to her it makes sense, it was just had a funny thought giggles)

But then after reading the post, it reopened the idea of Ceroba confessing first and... oh my god it was glorious. It would start small, thinking he looked nice one day, subconsciously gazing at him and adoring him at the distance as he talks his usual nonsense at the saloon with the feisty 5, wanting to hang out with him a little more than usual, until it slowly builds up over time. She starts noticing the little things about him, his wide smile, the sound of his voice and the laughter he makes when he does his usual shenanigans with her in post-pacifist where things are starting to get brighter as they heal together, she would call him an idiot but god he would just smile at her again and the little dimples on the sides of his face would make her melt without knowing and she swears she felt her face get warm but brushes it off, thinking it's nothing. But that's where the snowball keeps getting bigger, she would see him talking to the folk again at the saloon and wish it was her he was laughing with, she'll quickly snap out of it, shake her head a little and think about how weird it was for her to have thought about that. She'd find herself beaming when he calls her name and feel so stupid for doing so, "Why am I so happy all of a sudden? He says my name all the time..."

And the snowball finally crashes when they have one of those talks, y'know the ones where you usually have at 3 am with your friends? Just talking about life in general, talking about the future, what are each of them scared of, what they feel and what they think about things, just being so vulnerable and open with each other. They've had their fair share of these talks but today was different. He looked absolutely stunning, despite being mentally exhausted he still looked divine, the way his eyes droop when his expression softens, the slow rise and fall of his chest when he sighs, his wide glistening smile turning into a small and soft curl on his lips. She can't help herself but make subtle touches and discreetly brush her shoulder against his as they lean towards the railings of the balcony, fighting the urge to just reach out and figure out small ways to make contact with him. She gazes at him the entire time, analyzing him, noticing all the little changes he makes, why can't she look away? She can't, she tried, so many times but it still ends up with her looking at him again trying to burn the image of him in her mind, wanting to leave it there forever. When the talk comes to a close, he turns to her and offers a hug, she accepts it and the moment he melts into her arms, she feels a sudden warmth on her chest and it instantly scatters around her entire body, enveloping her. They share each other's warmth, she slowly buries her face onto his shoulder, cherishing this small moment with him as they hold each other tight in each other's embrace. She's closing her eyes, inhaling his scent, it feels like she's in a dream, she doesn't want this moment to end, she doesn't wanna wake up just yet but.... They break a part, he gives her his goodbyes. As she goes home she lays in bed, face up, staring at the ceiling as she recalls everything that happened to her, putting pieces of the puzzle together as she finally comes to terms with herself and gets hit with the realization. It all comes crashing down to her, her eyes widen and she lets out an audible groan. She lays in silence for a moment, feeling absolute agony for being so stupid, she peaks through her fingers and looks back up the ceiling again, "Fuck..."

I haven't even dabbled with what goes on in her head after she accepts this fact, the sudden guilt consuming her, feeling like she betrayed Chujin, the person she loved with her entire soul only to fall for another. She hates it. And if she confesses she's going to be a wreck and Starlo just instantly goes to comfort her, telling her it's okay, she doesn't have to force herself to confess to h- No. She wants this, she's absolutely in love, he may have fallen first but she fell even harder, but with so much conflict in her mind, wanting to hold his hand without the weight on her shoulders pulling her back. The entire time they're together, Starlo finds the time to console her, comfort her, feeling horrible for making him stay up late just for her but he says he doesn't mind and he himself wants this, feeling absolutely honored to have her in her arms and that she trusts him so much that she's just so open and vulnerable and he's being so kind and patient to her I hate them I HATE THEM I FFUCKING HATE THUEJN R F FUCK FUCKF FFIFUUCJCC N I HATE THEMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

thE SLOW BURN IS SO SLOW BUT KEEP UP AND SET THE KITCHEN IN FLAMES PLEASE RAUGHHH

SAVE ME STAROBA W AS SAV VE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TL;DR: uhhhh read a post and it convinced me that Ceroba slowly falls in love with Starlo over time without realizing it and when she finally does she feels really guilty cuz it feels like she's betraying Chujin, the slow burning is burning and the angst is scrumptious. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. /j

[bippot]

Hi hun 💜

I have a request for a smut fic with Bob Floyd

(This isn’t compliant with top gun maverick btw x)

ok so, Bob and the reader are in college together and the reader is a huge bookworm

Bob just like admires her from afar until he finally plucks up the courage to talk to her about a book she’s reading after class

She flirts with him and his lil brain can’t compute so he just stands there like 😳

anyway long story short they go back to her place and she seduces him

thought I’d leave it up to you bc you’re so talented 🩵🩵

Ducky's

Story Summary -> After leaving the Navy, Bob enrols in college to experience what he missed. At a café, he meets Y/N, a fellow bookworm who quickly becomes more than just a friend in more ways than one.

Tags -> Fluff and Smut, College, Teacher-Student Relationship, Strangers to Lovers, cafe setting, First Kiss, First Meetings, Study Date

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

The small bell above the door chimed as Bob Floyd walked into Ducky’s Café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. He scanned the cosy, dimly lit space, noting the clusters of students, artists, and locals deep in conversation or study. It was a sight that felt new and foreign.

Just days ago, he’d been stepping off his last Navy deployment, wrapping up a career that had spanned more than a decade. Now, here he was: a thirty-four-year-old freshman, feeling both out of place and oddly hopeful.

It was weird. He'd spent years in the Navy, living through it's strict rules and structure until they became second nature. He'd always wanted to fly planes and be an aviator adjacent, but he failed to realise how much it frayed his nerves. His mind had to be constantly alert, constantly be whirring, constantly be worrying, and it was a lot of mental strain.

As soon as his contract was up, he declined to renew it. He wanted a slower life, one where he could focus solely on bettering himself without having to constantly deal with the pressures that came with a government job. And now, here he was at the cafe directly opposite the university he was enrolled at, living it up.

And living it up meant that he was audited every class he possibly could. He had the drive to be a Renaissance man, full of knowledge and talent and passion for the world that he’d never had before. Officially he was a creative writing major, but the psychology that he was carrying under his arm pointed to a different subject.

Sitting at an empty table, Bob spread out his materials, trying to arrange the chaos of notebooks, pencils, and highlighters so he didn't seem so unorganised in front of all of the other students around him. He wanted to make a good impression, after all. These eighteen-year-olds were his peers in academia, and if he made any mistakes, they would surely laugh at him behind his back for being so old and inept.

He'd been working for around half an hour when the lady behind the counter very loudly greeted, "Ah, she finally makes an appearance," and his head lifted to see the most beautiful woman he'd ever had the pleasure of looking at walk into the cafe.

The beautiful woman replied, "Mama, my class ran late, okay?" She flashed a smile as her mother handed her a large coffee and looked around the packed cafe. "Didn't save me a seat? You must not love me any more."

"You're spoilt, and you know it," her mother laughed. "I'm sure that handsome man over there will let you sit with him."

As if by magic, Y/N's mother pointed directly at Bob's table, and he smiled shyly and pretended that he hadn't heard their whole conversation. He hoped to God he hadn't blushed too obviously. Yes, he wanted her to sit somewhere near him, but, no, he would have no idea what to say to start a conversation. To his benefit, she started the conversation for him with a simple, "Hi, do you mind if I sit here? You look kind of busy, so it's okay if not."

"Uh...sure. Go ahead," Bob said awkwardly. "I can tidy up if you need some space; just say the word."

Quickly, she shook her head with a smirk and sat down next to him, crossing one leg over another as she settled herself into her chair and brought out a book from her bag. Glancing over the top of his glasses, he read the cover of her book, Room, and realised that he had a way in. He'd kept a reading list for the past few years, and for some reason, despite the fact that Room had always been on the list, he'd never actually gotten around to reading it.

"I've been meaning to read Room; how are you finding it so far? Would you recommend?"

She tilted her head as she came up with a response, and Bob couldn't help the way he let his head rest on his hand as he admired the profile of her face. She had an air of thoughtfulness about her, and her hair was pulled back loosely into a ponytail, framing her face and neck and giving her a very studious look. But then she opened her mouth to respond, and Bob found that he loved the way those lips curved as she spoke about what she was passionate about: books.

The detail she went into was insane; Bob was impressed and intrigued. It was fascinating to watch. There was passion, yes, but also humour and immense empathy. Her eyes were expressive as she told him all about the case the story was based on. It was a harrowing tale - they both knew that - and a little light-hearted comment every now and then helped to ease the discomfort that came along with discussing such a topic.

"... so, yeah, it's an intense read," she finished, her final words rushing into one. She'd gone on a full rant and, while Bob had added the occasional sentence or two, had taken the reins of the conversation without realising it.

Suddenly self-conscious, she mumbled, "Sorry for rambling like that; I didn't even ask your name." She gave him a sheepish smile. "And I'm keeping you from your work."

"No, no, please, keep talking," Bob said quickly, hoping that she wouldn't notice how he was staring at her lips. He held out a hand for a handshake, which she returned, unable to take his eyes from hers as he did so. "I'm Bob, Bob Floyd."

"I'm Y/N. If you hear my mother call me Ducky, please pretend you didn't hear it."

"You're the eponymous Ducky?!" he teased, his blue eyes flashing playfully. "You didn't tell me I was in the presence of cafe royalty!"

She lightly smacked him on the bicep. "Shut up," she chided softly. "It's a childhood nickname; my mom loves to embarrass me with it."

They laughed together, their voices soft in the chatter around them, and a gentle warmth washed over them as they gazed at one another. It was so comfortable and easy to talk to Y/N; a sense of familiarity overcame him, and he began to feel that this was exactly where he belonged. It was weird. They just met; they hardly knew anything about each other. Yet they felt so connected already. A bond seemed to develop between them that was almost instinctual, as if they were drawn towards one another in some mystical way.

They talked and talked and talked. Their shared fascination for literature led to discussions about various genres of fiction and poetry, and, before they knew it, time flew away. He mentioned being in the Navy briefly, just as a bit of flavour in a story, and he watched as Y/N's eyes roamed over his frame. 

She interrupted him midsentence by mumbling to herself, "Oh, that's why you're so hot."

Bob stopped. His voice abruptly cut out.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"...yeah," he replied, his cheeks burning at her compliment. In his life, he'd never really considered himself as hot. He was in shape - that's essential in the Navy - but he'd always been around other pilots like Hangman and Rooster, who were 'hunkier' by society's standards. 

That insecure nerd he was as a kid was still inside of him, and it was times like this that made his insecurity resurface. He wasn't vain - his ego was never big enough to allow him to consider himself that - but he knew for a fact that he was definitely a catch. He was kind and polite (his mama made sure of that), yet he didn't consider himself as 'hot'.

"You're incredibly pretty," Bob blurted out after a moment's hesitation. "I didn't expect to meet anyone as beautiful, inside and out, when I woke up this morning."

Y/N giggled, covering her lips. "Flatterer," she teased, though there was no bite to her words, just fondness.

"I'm just saying it like it is, Ducky."

The nickname slipped out so easily. For some reason, it felt right. So naturally, it felt like something that should fit perfectly on his tongue. And maybe it did. Maybe it did indeed belong. 

The conversation continued to flow between them, yet this time there was a hint of flirtation that neither had felt before. There were touches and looks exchanged across the table. The air became heavier and more intimate, and it became obvious that this wasn't just casual flirting that passed between strangers. 

"Hey Duck, I'm going to close in 5 mins. Get your butt moving," Y/N's mother suddenly called from behind the counter. "I love you, but I'm not extending my shift any further today."

"Okay mom!"

"Take your new 'friend' with you."

With that, Y/N rolled her eyes good naturedly and turned to look at Bob, who was slightly red in the cheeks and trying to suppress a huge grin as Y/N stood up. "You heard the woman; get a move on."

Bob hurried to pack his stuff away and follow Y/N to the door until they were outside. "Did you walk?" Bob asked as the door was locked behind them and Y/N's mother turned the hanging sign to CLOSED.

"I don't live that far away, so, yeah, I walked." 

"Would... uh, is it okay if I walk you home?"

"I'd like that, Bob."

They made it to her front door in no time. They lingered for a second once they reached her doorstep, staring at each other for what felt like ages, feeling the energy build and grow between them. Then, Y/N gave up on the whole tip-toeing around the issue thing. "You should come inside. Someone might’ve broken in while I was out. I might need a strong Navy man to help me out," she stated plainly, looking him straight in the eye, daring him to refuse.

He didn't want to refuse. He simply couldn't, so instead, he nodded slowly and followed her inside the house with a blush high on his cheeks. "Strange, it doesn't look like a break-in has happened here. Maybe I should just -"

She silenced his joke by tugging his hand and, consequently, bringing him closer towards her. Bob looked down and smiled shyly at the sudden proximity between them. 

"I mean, I'm gonna stay. I want to stay. It's just... I don't usually do, uh, this," he explained, his hand coming up to cup her cheek and his thumb stroking the skin beneath her lower lip. "So..."

His words hung in the air, a little awkward and a lot nervous, but she understood nonetheless. She leaned into his touch, her eyes half-lidded and lips curling upwards in a small smirk. 

"Me neither," she whispered teasingly, leaning forward slightly and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. Her fingers brushed his jaw, and for the briefest of moments they were suspended in silence, their breath mingling as they looked into each other's eyes. 

Bob swallowed hard, his mind buzzing with questions. Was this wise? Was this a smart idea? He'd never moved this quickly before, but with Y/N, it was different. She was different. He liked the way she made his stomach flip flop, the butterflies in his stomach, her lips on his cheek, and the way she looked at him as if she wanted nothing else but to kiss him again.

"Are you sure? We can go slower if you want?" He asked quietly, breaking the spell they'd fallen under. She shook her head and placed her hand gently on the back of his neck, caressing him ever so gently, sending a pleasant tingle down his spine.

In a blink of an eye, her lips were on his. They were soft, pliant, and warm against his, and, within seconds, everything else faded away, leaving only her, the feeling of her soft lips against his, and the feeling of her hands running through his hair.

As they smooched, Y/N walked their connected bodies into her room. If they happened to be more than an inch apart at any point, one of them was closing the distance as soon as possible. Even when Y/N pushed Bob down on the bed, she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist, and pressed herself against him within 5 seconds. 

She could feel the smile spreading onto her face as he groaned softly into her mouth as she began to trail kisses across his cheek and down along his jawline to his neck. Bob grabbed hold of her shoulders tightly, his breathing growing uneven as his desire rose. As he let his hands wander underneath her shirt, tracing soft circles around her back, he pulled away and looked up into her eyes. 

"Do you have a condom? I'd usually be prepared, but I didn't leave the house this morning thinking I'd be, uh, needing one, to be completely honest," he said nervously, biting his lip slightly, his eyes darting from hers down to her lips, and back up again.

"Yeah, of course," Y/N replied, sitting upright and reaching into her dresser drawer and rummaging through a bunch of items, eventually finding what she was searching for and pulling out an unopened box of condoms. "Bought these when I moved here, still haven't had the occasional to take the Saran off."

"Been a while?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Same here."

Their clothes were thrown off and fell into a heap on the floor somewhere in the midst of things. As soon as she felt his hands exploring the expanse of her back, Y/N gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. He took the opportunity to trail light kisses down her chest and neck, pausing whenever a gasp escaped her mouth to revel in the sound. Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, arching her back slightly as she felt him nip at her hip. "Bob, please…" She pleaded quietly, barely able to keep quiet, the heat building between them rising higher with every passing second.

He grinned against her skin as he bit down harder on her hip bone than before, eliciting a moan from her throat. "I know, I know," he murmured. "Let me savour you properly, darlin'. Then, you better believe I will make you scream my name like nobody's business."

"Oh god..."

It sounded more like a whimper than anything, and he chuckled against her and kissed his way along her stomach and down her thighs. The feeling of being touched so deliciously and tenderly was almost too much to bear. His hands travelled all over her, tracing patterns, caresses, even kisses, and then, finally, he found her sweet spot. One gentle swipe of his tongue, and she was clutching at his hair and arching upward, moaning loudly, begging him to give it a little more attention. 

"Yes, baby," he whispered against her skin. "I'll give it to you. But we're going to take it slow, darlin'. I promise," he reassured, and then, after getting comfy on his stomach, he dipped a single finger into her.

After all, Bob was a patient man. He waited for her to adjust to him first; to get used to how he touched her before he dared to move another centimetre, and, even if she was aching now, he would wait. He would try and ease her body back into the rhythm, slowly increasing his pace until it felt right, until she was screaming his name, till he got the reaction that he needed. 

Foreplay had always been his favourite part of intimacy, and this was no exception either. He was careful and gentle, giving her the chance to adjust to him and teasing her just enough for her toes to curl, until her brain was fuzzy and her heart was pounding, until she was falling deeper and deeper into the haze of passion, her fingers digging desperately into his scalp and her breaths shallow and rapid.

It was all in order to prolong the pleasure and, hopefully, cause her to come back another day for more. And, oh, did he intend to make that happen.

Who knows how long Bob spent with his head between Y/N's thighs, kissing and licking his way along the insides of her legs until the sensation became too much to bear? Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her moans turning into cries as she begged, "Bob, Bob, Bobby, please! Please! Fuck me! Need you, need your cock in me, fuck -"

And, oh boy, was she about to find out just how much he needed her too. The desperation in her voice spurred him on, making him lose control and finally give in. With a heavy, panting sigh, he slid deep into her, filling her perfectly with all he was, all she was, and all he could be. All they were together. 

The moment he started to move, she threw her head back and cried out his name in a hoarse voice, grasping his biceps with both hands as if they were life preservers. "That's it, baby, that's it," he breathed, pulling himself out once again and repeating the process over and over again. 

"You're doing such a good job, darlin', so very, very good..." he praised huskily and kissed the side of her neck repeatedly as he continued moving in her. "So, so good..."

Her nails dug painfully into his flesh, drawing small beads of blood from his body, and he gritted his teeth, pushing his weight down on her so she couldn't possibly move. She couldn't squirm away from him though; he was holding her too tightly. It was driving her crazy. 

With each thrust, Y/N's intelligence dropped until she was left as a sweaty, dumb mess beneath him, gasping and sobbing and pleading and cursing. "Oh, pretty girl," he smirked, burying his nose in her cheek. "You look so beautifully stupid right now. Am I fucking your brains out?"

It was a rhetorical question, but if it needed an answer, the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she came was the answer Y/N gave. She let out a silent scream of his name one final time as her walls clenched around Bob, squeezing tight, and tipped him over the edge too.

They lay there, in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, listening to the sounds of their breathing fill the space around them.

"...Holy shit," Y/N breathed.

At the same time, their heads turned to make eye contact, and a laugh erupted from their lungs. Neither was able to stop giggling as they tried to calm themselves down and make sense of what had just happened. Slowly, Bob lifted himself and hopped out of bed.

"Where's your bathroom and kitchen?"

"Door opposite the bathroom; the kitchen is left of the living room." 

Within 2 minutes, he came back with a warm flannel and a bottle of water. He helped Y/N sit up, wiped the sweat from her forehead before cleaning up the mess down below, and then wrapped her in his arms as she rehydrated. 

"Can you pass me your phone?" she asked him, looking up towards him through half-closed eyes. Bob was quick to rifle through the pockets of his discarded jeans and hand her his phone. Y/N added her number to his phone and took a selfie of their post bliss faces to use as her contact picture. "You better not ghost me or you're dead meat, capiche?"

"I wouldn't dare to, darlin'," he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. Well, it was supposed to be quick, but when he felt Y/N's hand come into contact with his jaw, stroking softly across his stubble, he lost any intention of stopping. He pressed his lips against hers hungrily, his other arm coming around her waist to pull her closer, and they kissed slowly, tenderly. 

When the morning came, their parting was bittersweet. Both of them were reluctant to leave, but Y/N had a job to go to, and Bob had already missed one of the lectures he was planning to go to. Plus, he had his first creative writing lecture - y'know, the one for the major he'd chosen - at lunch, and, as much as he wanted to be around Y/N, he didn't want to miss that lesson.

He knew it was silly to feel this way after one night, but he couldn’t help it. Y/N had a warmth about her that made him feel like he’d known her forever. He thought about texting her but decided against it, not wanting to come off as too eager.

Bob stepped into the classroom with a spring in his step, the remnants of a whirlwind night with Y/N still buzzing in his veins. The morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over the rows of desks, and for a brief moment, he felt invincible. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him. As he slid into an empty seat, the door creaked open once more, and his heart nearly stilled in his chest. There she was — Y/N L/N. She strode in with an air of authority, her demeanour polished and professional, a stark contrast to the intimate whirlwind of the previous night. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes as they locked, a spark of shared secrets that sent a rush of heat through him.

Her confidence radiated as she introduced herself to the class, her voice smooth like silk, but Bob caught that fleeting glint in her eyes whenever she looked in his direction. His mind raced, processing the surreal scenario: he had done what most frat boys only fantasise about—he had crossed that line and succeeded in banging his professor, all before the semester had even begun.

Bob tried to focus as she outlined the syllabus, yet every time she turned to face him or glanced away, his thoughts derailed. The air in the room felt charged with unspoken tension, a delicate dance of professionalism clashing against the wild intimacy they had shared. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders today, soft and inviting, and Bob's gaze inadvertently drifted toward her collarbones, and he caught a glimpse of faint marks that still lingered—a testament to their passionate night together. His heart thumped wildly as he fought to maintain his composure, a mix of pride and sheer disbelief bubbling within him. Could it really be that he was sitting in a class, learning from the very woman who had wrapped around him so tightly just hours before? 

As the class finally emptied, a rush of relief washed over him. He lingered, letting the last stragglers filter out, the echo of chairs scraping against the floor fading into the background. Bob stepped forward and approached her desk, the thrill of their secret coursing through his veins. “Well, this is a surprise,” he said, a grin spreading across his face, unable to contain the playful lightness of the moment.

Y/N chuckled, a delightful sound that danced in the air between them. She seemed to gather herself, a hint of embarrassment flickering across her features. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Small world.”

“Look, if this is going to be an issue, I can—”

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted, her voice steady and assured. “We’re both adults. I see that you're actually enrolled in this class and not just auditing, and if this is the course you want and as long as we keep things professional, I don’t see a problem."

“Right. Totally professional,” he replied, the teasing lilt in his tone betraying the gravity of the situation. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips, the memory of her beneath him fresh in his mind. "I guess I should wait until the end of the semester to ask you on a date."

“Probably for the best, yes,” she laughed, the sound rich and warm, her laughter drawing him closer despite the tension. Her eyes sparkled with playful defiance. Then she stood up straighter, a subtle shift that reminded him of the professional façade she wore so effortlessly. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you during class, by the way.”

“Good,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing. “Because I’m not exactly the type to settle for less than perfection.” 

The air thickened with unspoken promise, an electric connection that pulsated between them, holding the weight of their shared experiences. Bob felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years, invigorated by the thrill of the unexpected and the rush of possibilities. As he left the classroom, a smile plastered on his face, he felt the eyes of fate watching him. What had started as a night of reckless passion was transforming into a tangled web of feelings he was only beginning to understand. The world outside bustled with the chaos of students and faculty, but for Bob, the universe had narrowed down to one singular thought: he couldn’t wait for the semester to end.

She was an exceptional teacher, guiding discussions with a skill and insight that made literature come alive. He watched her command the room and admired the way she could turn a simple line of poetry into a profound discussion on life, love, and human nature. And every so often, he’d catch her looking at him with a hint of a smile, a glint in her eye that reminded him of their night at Ducky’s.

They developed an unspoken understanding, exchanging glances that held layers of meaning. He often stayed after class to ask questions, sometimes just to hear her talk. And though they kept their conversations professional, there was always a tension lingering beneath the surface, a shared recognition that they both wanted more. Sure, they’d agreed to boundaries, and Bob respected that, but he was counting down the days till he could hold and touch her again. Their amorous exchange had been a blip in the grand scheme of his life, and he was determined to expand it with no more delay than was necessary.

Fortunately for Bob, time went by in a flash. Thanks to his extensive study schedule, he was always busy. It was necessary. Whenever he slowed down, his brain would flash back to that night—her soft gasps, her sweet taste, their intertwined bodies, entangled in passion. Being busy ensured that he could wait it out, that he wouldn't interrupt his lecturer half way through her lesson to snog her face off, that he wouldn't get distracted, because he knew if he did, the day would take so long to come.

He had done a good job at suppressing his desires until one fateful library session. With only a few days left until all her students had to submit their writing portfolios, Y/N held a study session in the library to help them refine their work. This session wasn't anything unusual; it was simply a teacher helping her students prepare for the upcoming exam, and by the time they got to Bob's work, he'd completely forgotten that the subject of all of his poems and prose was her.

Obviously, some part of his brain understood that, yeah, she was his lecturer, so, duh, she'd have to read and analyse his work. Each student got a private 1-1 with Mrs. L/N (as the younglings knew her as) in one of the quiet rooms, and Bob was dreading his session. Whenever they had academic meetings, Y/N always saved Bob for last. He knew it was so he couldn't distract her halfway through her shift, but it always left him sat twiddling his thumbs in anticipation as he watched everyone else go before him.

Once it was his turn, he walked briskly toward the table, pulling out his chair and setting his folder down next to her. "Hi Y/N," he said breathlessly, his palms becoming clammy as he gripped the edge of the table. He forced himself to calm down as she peered at him curiously, her brow wrinkling slightly as she noticed the beads of perspiration forming along his forehead. 

"Hi." She reached out to wipe a bead away, a tender gesture that caused his insides to stir. "What's up?"

"Ah, nothing really, just… uh…" The words came out awkwardly, his mouth moving faster than his brain. He sighed heavily, attempting to push through his nerves. He leaned over the table towards Y/N, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can you pretend to not know that all of these poems are about you?" Bob asked shyly, gesturing to the papers. A slight flush coloured Y/N's cheeks, a coy smile curling onto her lips, and she tilted the folder so she could read what was inside.

Beneath cold waves and navy blues,  

He holds secrets in tight-lipped views.  

In cockpits, sky-bound, firm and sure,  

A warrior, honed, clean, and pure.  

But here, she breathes with ink-stained hands,  

Weaving worlds like soft, dark sands.  

Her voice, a rhythm, raw and deep,  

Stirs dreams he'd hidden, locked to keep.  

His uniform, his life’s firm chain,  

Feels lighter now with her in frame.  

Her words unfurl like silken thread,  

Untangling thoughts he'd left unsaid.  

In every story that she spins,  

He finds a place his heart begins.  

Though bound by orders, flight, and tide,  

For once, he feels alive inside.  

And as she speaks in gentle prose,  

A warmth inside him blooms and grows.  

The warrior leans close to learn,  

While letters smolder, pulse, and burn.

She flipped to the next page.

In shadows deep, where pages softly turn,  

A quiet soul with ink-stained hands does seek,  

The whispered call of words, where passions burn,  

A bookworm’s grace, her thoughts both pure and sleek.  

Her gaze is lost in realms of untold dreams,  

Each line a kiss upon her trembling lips,  

While I, entranced, watch every quiet gleam  

Of knowledge wrapped in the softest fingertips.  

Yet though her mind is bound to tomes she’s known,  

Her heart, like mine, still seeks what words can't say,  

For in her eyes, a warmth I’ve never grown,  

A yearning deep that pulls me in each day.  

Oh, let me trace the secrets she may keep,  

And in her world of words, my soul to steep.  

And the next.

In shadows deep where passion clings,  

I wait, as silent longing sings,  

For her whose touch once set aflame  

A heart now bound to her sweet name.  

She taught me words, but not the art  

Of keeping still my wild, torn heart,  

A glance, a breath, a fleeting kiss,  

And now the night is void of bliss.  

The fragrant pages know the tale,  

Of stolen hours where senses sail—  

Her lips, a promise, soft, divine,  

And every sin that calls her mine.  

But cursed be this love so frail,  

Where tender fingers weave a veil,  

For though the flame within me burns,  

Her absence leaves the world to churn.  

I ache to feel her near once more,  

To know the taste of that sweet lore,  

But now, I am but shadows cast,  

Forever bound to the lessons past.

And the next and next.

Then, when she raised her head to meet his gaze, she found his seat empty, the only sign of him being his jacket draped over the wooden back. With a sigh, she set the folder back on the desk with a small frown marring her features and went in search of him. It didn't take long before she made her way outside, as some of the younger ones had swore they saw Bob dart to get some fresh air. He hadn't made it far. 

In the purple of the evening, Bob sat on the bench right at the side of the building, staring blankly ahead. The sound of her approaching footsteps drew him away from his reverie, turning towards her with wide eyes, his face pale with shock and worry. Luckily, most students had already left campus or were cramming in the library, so despite the fact that they were out in the open, they had some semblance of privacy.

"Do you want comfort or space?"

"... I don't know." His voice trembled. “Both, maybe?” 

Y/N nodded in understanding and sat down beside him, not too close or too far apart, giving him the space to breathe and compose himself. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet, taking a moment before raising his eyes to hers.

"I'm not used to putting everything out there like that," he admitted quietly, running a hand through his hair anxiously. "I know that you know that I'm infatuated with you, but... well, now you know that I'm totally in love with you. Like, writing bad sonnets about you kind of love." 

"I quite liked your sonnet," she said with a reassuring smile, placing her hand atop his own gently as she offered him an encouraging squeeze. "Your poems were beautiful and heartfelt and full of so much emotion and passion that I was moved beyond words, and though it's currently irresponsible for me to say, the feeling is mutual."

He smiled bashfully in response, then turned his attention to her hand, studying the smooth skin, her graceful fingers, her delicate nails trimmed short and neat, and the silver ring on her finger shining brightly. Without thinking, his index finger ran across the surface of her hand, brushing the top of the ring with his thumb."Bobby," she murmured softly, turning her palm upward and allowing him to caress her skin. He did so slowly, reverently, as if it were something sacred and fragile, something which he may never have the pleasure to touch again if he weren't careful. 

Once he made contact, he began tracing circles around her wrist, following the lines of her veins and mapping the contours of her skin with featherlight touches, drawing shapes and words into her flesh wherever possible. She remained still and patient and silent, letting him draw as many hearts and roses as he wanted to let him calm himself down enough to speak again.

When his breathing eventually evened out somewhat, he lifted his hand from her arm and looked up at her again, smiling shyly. He brushed his knuckles against her cheekbone in greeting, and she giggled, her eyes crinkling and filling with mirth, before they both realised that maybe this wasn't the place for this amount of affection. "Sorry," he muttered, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson as he stood up hastily. "Um, let's go back inside?"

"Yeah, good idea."

Y/N had only taken two steps before Bob caught her wrist and tugged her back towards him. Before she had time to react, he yanked her body closer to him until their lips met and all thought flew out of her mind. Their lips collided in a hungry rush, tongues tangling together as if their lives depended upon it. Her hand clutched onto the front of his jacket while Bob's hand went to the back of her head, cushioning it so she wasn't concussed when he pushed her up against the cool brick wall of the library. Their kisses grew heavier and more frantic with each passing second, desperate and needy. 

Their chests pressed against each other tightly, leaving no room between them; their bodies moulding against each other with ease and familiarity like two halves of a whole. He gripped at her hips tighter than ever, pulling her impossibly closer and deeper into the kiss. Their mouths moved together feverishly, their tongues tangling with the taste of mint and salt and everything nice in the universe. They kissed and kissed until her back was flush against the wall, and her legs felt like jelly beneath her. 

The only thing that broke them apart was the signature chatter of her class quoting brainrot memes as they began to get closer and closer to the library exit. They stepped away from the wall reluctantly, trying hard to hide their flushed faces as they tried their best to calm themselves and gather their wits in the minute before they were found out. But it was hard when you could barely think straight.

As they walked, Y/N kept glancing towards him, her eyes full of questions, her lips curled into an amused grin. He knew exactly what she was asking: Are we really okay? He answered with a nod as he took a deep, cleansing breath.

“Hey everyone, I'm sure you're all going to do brilliantly. Please don't overwork yourself. Sleep. Stay hydrated. Eat. And, pretty please, don't worry too much! You've done the work, you got feedback to think about, and a whole semester of notes to fall back on," she instructed, giving a little wave as they passed by her class. "Good luck. Let me know if anything goes awry before next Friday and I will do my best to help you! 

With a last smile and a wave, they returned to the study room with the knowledge that they were truly alone in there. Only the librarian was there, reading a book behind the counter, her face devoid of its usual stern countenance as she snoozed in her chair. They had no plans to do anything salacious, not today anyway, but they didn't have to have that student/teacher pretence anymore. Today was just theirs, theirs to enjoy, and they could have an open and honest discussion about his poetry without having to ignore the context behind them.

Bob, his heart racing with a blend of joy and mischief, slid his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer as they strolled side by side. The world around them blurred into a backdrop as he pressed a tender kiss against the crown of her head, a gentle act of affection that sent a shiver of warmth cascading down her spine. “If I take you home and fuck you stupid again, will you give me extra credit?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

Y/N’s eyes widened in mock outrage, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink that could rival the evening sky. “Robert Floyd!” she exclaimed, delivering a playful punch to his shoulder, the impact barely registering through the haze of laughter enveloping them.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” he laughed, his laughter infectious, echoing against the brick buildings surrounding them. But the teasing wasn’t done; he leaned in closer, a smirk playing on his lips. “Although...” he trailed off, leaving the words hanging in the air like a promise, and was rewarded with a flurry of soft hits from her.

He tightened his hold around her waist, stopping in his tracks and squeezing her tighter, their laughter mingling in a melody of youthful abandon. Y/N, unable to resist the magnetic pull between them, buried her face against his chest, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in her ears, enveloping her in a cocoon of safety and warmth.

“Thanks to that comment, I’m going to give your assignment to another professor to grade,” she said, lifting her head to meet his gaze, her expression feigning seriousness, yet a spark of amusement lingered in her eyes.

Bob’s smirk widened, his confidence soaring. “That’s understandable. You are very, very biased towards me, ducky,” he replied, leaning forward to plant another quick peck on her lips, their mouths brushing together in a soft and intimate connection that set her heart racing.

“Oh, I am indeed,” she agreed, her voice a mock solemnity that was impossible to take seriously. With a playful tug on his hand, she continued, “Shall we go home so I can show you how biased I am?” The sultry tone slipped from her lips like honey, sweet and tempting, causing the tips of his ears to burn a bright crimson as he stole a glance at her.

Suddenly, he found himself in a rush—the desire to be alone with her, to explore the depths of their connection, propelling him forward. The thought of returning to her apartment filled with shared laughter, whispered secrets, and the thrill of their newfound intimacy made his heart race.

As they weaved through the familiar streets, the golden light of the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows on the pavement, each step taking them closer to their sanctuary. Bob felt like he was walking on air, buoyed by the weight of Y/N’s presence beside him. With every shared glance, every soft touch, he was reminded of the warmth and brightness she had brought into his life, a light that pierced through the fog of his worries and anxieties.

Weeks turned into months, and when the semester finally commenced and all the assignments had been graded, a wave of euphoria washed over Bob. He learnt that Y/N’s lecturer friend had awarded him a high score, a testament to his growth and effort, and in that moment, he felt like he was soaring through the skies in his beloved F/A-18F Super Hornet. 

Bob cradled the subject of his poetry in his thoughts every morning, realising she was not just a muse but his sun itself, illuminating every dark corner of his mind and guiding him through the clouds of uncertainty. The world was suddenly a canvas painted with their shared moments, laughter echoing in the hallways of his heart, and he knew he would do anything to keep that light shining brightly.

*Click here for my Bob Floyd masterlist (including Rhett Abbott and Miles Miller), or here for the entire masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt @adriansboyfriend

[kinda-indecisive]

｡･:*:･ﾟ Your Journal ﾟ･:*:･｡

How I imagine the reactions of the LaDS guys when they accidentally find a notebook you’ve (MC) decorated the cover of with their name.

Part 2: The Xavier and Sylus Edition!

.•*¨`*•.•*¨`*•.☆.•*¨`*•.•*¨`*•.☆.•*¨`*•.•*¨`*•.•*¨`*•.☆.•*¨`*•.•*¨`*•.☆.

Xavier

~ ~ There’s nothing weird about it at all ~ ~

You found yourself spending time with Xavier on your days off lately, so naturally you’d grown used to his frequent cat naps during your time spent together. That’s why you didn’t mind when he'd dozed off at the table in the bookstore, leaving your backpack with him to use as a pillow as you browsed the shelves for your next book to share.

You also didn’t think much of the hazy little smile on his face when you’d returned to him, his expression still sleepy and content.

As you went from the bookstore to the restaurant for lunch you did start to grow suspicious by the excessive amount of pats he was giving you. Timid little pets on the top of the head that you first accepted with delight, slowly turning your cheeks hot with embarrassment after the thousandth pat within the hour.

Having stopped at the park to enjoy the sun’s warmth for a little while, you finally mention it.

“You’ve been extremely touchy today.”

“Does it bother you?” he inquires, a hint of concern around his eyes. You quickly reassure him that it doesn’t bother you so much as it embarrasses you. You typically enjoyed when he showed his affectionate side, but today it had all seemed a little excessive.

Hearing this admission, he falls silent, his chin resting on his palm as he looks out at the grass, watching the people in the park with a casual interest.

Though he doesn’t seem hurt, you worry he might have misconstrued what you said.

“What are you thinking about, Xavier?”

He hums softly, continuing to enjoy the sounds of the park. When he finally decides to answer, he turns toward you with his eyes averted and a sheepish look on his face.

“Honestly? I saw your journal today. In the bookshop. I was sneaking some stickers I bought you into the pocket when I noticed your little doodle of a shooting star and a fluffy little bunny. It was cute, so I pulled it out to take a picture of it and saw my name written all over it.”

Your face grows warmer and warmer the more he talks and, by the time he meets your gaze, you look away, covering your face in humiliation.

“You weren’t supposed to see that! That’s so embarrassing!”

You’re surprised when you feel his fingers slide between your palm and your face, gently pulling your hand away so he can see your face, “Embarrassing? What’s so embarrassing about it? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Stunned for a moment, you shake off your surprise and nod, “Of course we are.”

“Then I don’t think it’s weird at all that we think about each other when we’re apart,” he says, his voice a resolute hum as he turns away again, a sleepy smile returning to his face as he watches a bumblebee buzz by.  

.•*¨`*•.•*¨`*•.☆.•*¨`*•.•*¨`*•.☆.•*¨`*•.•*¨`*•.•*¨`*•.☆.•*¨`*•.•*¨`*•.☆.

Sylus

~ ~ Of course he’s going to tease, even if his cheeks are also flushed with a silly sense of satisfaction ~ ~

You arrived at his place looking disheveled and flustered, a look he typically enjoyed on you, though obviously concerning in tonight’s situation. You had somehow managed to shake off Mephisto’s watch and ventured somewhere on your own. Knowing you, he doesn’t like to imagine where you might have gone. And your flustered expression as you walked through his doorway and tossed your duffel bag to the floor left him concerned and in want of an explanation.

An explanation you were stubbornly unwilling to give him.

Instead, you insisted you needed a shower. Like most things, he found it hard to deny you that right. You could tell he was bothered, however, by the way he waved you away without looking at you.

Still, you had the gall to keep him waiting.

Certain that you were testing his patience on purpose, he takes matters into his own hands. He’s holding your duffel bag in his lap with a bored expression when you return.

“Excuse me? What are you doing with my things?”

“You continue to poke around the N109 zone without a care in the world despite witnessing the dangers firsthand. You could at least allow me the reassurance of Mephisto’s watch. Yet you refuse and act coy about it when I ask nicely. You’ve given me no choice but to take matters into my own hands.”

With a bored expression, he reaches into your bag.

You call his bluff.

“Fine. Search all you like, you won’t find anything in there.”

His searching hand pauses for a moment as he gives you a dangerous look. Then, with an exasperated sigh, he removes his hand from the bag and tosses it back to the floor.

Feeling guilty, you suddenly have the urge to tell him a bit of the truth. However, his sudden change in posture as he lowers himself back toward the bag surprises you.

Heat fills your face immediately when you catch sight of what has caught his attention. Of what he so delicately lifts between his fingers and hangs in the air between the two of you.

“My my… what is this, kitten?” he asks, his voice a low rumble and a chuckle.

You dive toward him, but your bathrobe prevents you from performing any other rapid or complex movements. Besides, it’s not easy to take anything from Sylus’s hands in the first place.

“It’s nothing.”

“It definitely looks like something,” he persists, “Tell me, is that supposed to be Mephisto in the right hand corner? He’ll be delighted to see his likeness.”

“Sylus, hand it over. I’m not kidding.”

He allows you to snatch the notebook away from him and you clutch it close to your chest, obstinately stepping away from him and turning your back on him as you leave the room.

You return to the room a moment later to find him sitting where you left him, a smug smile on his face when you enter. You intend to scold him, but are surprised when you see the flush in his own cheeks that he quickly hides by clearing his throat into his hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I randomly had this thought a few months ago when I first started playing, but I hadn't really met Sylus in game yet, so I had to wait until I knew him better to share these. Hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading!

Part 1: Zayne and Rafayel Edition

[vervainandspritz]

EVERY INCH OF YOU

Raymond Leon x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: angst, smut, fluff

A/N: interact please!

Summary: The best day of the year turns out to be a nightmare, at first. At least until Y/N goes looking for safety within the so familiar arms of a man she pushed away. Was sacrificing their friendship worth it?

Y/N couldn't believe what was happening. Her eyes opened wide at the… sight, or more like the sound coming from one of the cabins. The party she attended with her long term boyfriend turned into the worst nightmare. All the time wasted, broken promises and times she defended him to her friends playing on the back of her mind, as the obnoxious sounds of Luke having sex with another woman made Y/N stop in her tracks, unable to breathe.

Only when tears spilled down her cheeks, she almost ran out of the bathroom, the door slamming shut. Her eyesight was completely blurry, only the blinding lights and familiar faces occasionally blinked through the blur, some people calling out her name or slowly making their way to her, wanting to talk probably until they saw the state she was in.

“Y/N!” She heard shouting from behind out of a sudden, and without turning around or thinking she pushed through the crowd, not wanting to see or talk to him. “wait! It's not like that! Please!”

Luke's voice became more distant as the distance grew between them, because she managed to escape much quicker being smaller in size than he was. She fell out the door straight onto the sidewalk, rain mercilessly pouring from the sky. Drenching her to the last thread in mere seconds.

Hearing the footsteps behind her, Y/N tripped lightly, slipping in her heels and twisting her ankle which caused her to groan weakly. Knowing she had little to no time, Y/N quickly took off her high heels, clutching them in her hand as she ran through the street barefoot, not affording to care what other people thought seeing her in such a state. Only a couple streets away she managed to catch a cab, jumping in on autopilot. After telling the driver the right address, she pulled out her phone from the slightly wet purse, wiping the screen and doing her best to stop sobbing, immediately clicking the right contact.

Are you home?

She sent mindlessly and a reply came less than two minutes later. On the other side of the screen, he furrowed his brows seeing the message. It was a well known fact that THAT day she was going to celebrate with her long-term boyfriend, so he didn't expect to hear from her anytime soon.

R: What happened?

He typed out, sensing something bad. After knowing Y/N for a decade, Ray knew her better than his own pocket, even though she cut down on the contact with him lately, because Luke felt insecure about their friendship. He couldn't say he was surprised, because he wasn't. Even though he never admitted anything, nor to Y/N or himself, he knew there was… something else to their friendship, and he never strayed from flirting with her whenever an opportunity appeared, despite knowing how pointless it was.

As soon as Y/N read the message, she knew he was home. If he'd be at work, Raymond wouldn't respond nearly as quickly as he did. Shoving her phone back into her purse, she didn't bother with an answer, instead wiped the tears off her face, gaining back some eyesight as she realised that she reached her destination.

After handing the money, she got out of the car, also barefoot, quickly making her way to the right apartment.

Water was dripping from her dress, hair and every single inch of her skin, making her look and feel less than presentable but at this particular moment, she didn't care. All Y/N needed right now was to finally make the right choice, and… finally feel beautiful.

Raymond was pacing back and forth in his living room, impatiently waiting for a text back that never came. He was quite worried, uneasy and absolutely stressed, so when he registered the knocking on the door, he immediately darted to the corridor.

The last thing he'd expect to see was Y/N, standing in the doorway barefoot, with smudged makeup and wet hair. But before he could ask, she walked in, dropped everything she was holding to the floor and her hands immediately clutched onto his shirt, pushing him onto the wall. Her lips pressed against his own tightly, immediately demanding access to his tongue, deepening the kiss. For a moment he froze, caught off guard by her sudden bold move. But then his lips responded fiercely, kissing Y/N back with bruising intensity as years of pent-up tension boiled over. One hand tangled in her hair while the other gripped the hip possessively, pulling her body flush against his hard planes. Neither of them cared about her belongings, or the floor getting absolutely wet. Raymond's mind went blank for a longer moment, but when he finally pulled back slightly, his eyes took in the sight of her teary face. He grasped her face, tilting it up to meet her eyes. Breathing deeply, clearly affected by the sudden closeness, Raymond asked.

“What happened?” In a whisper, his stomach churning at the sight of sadness drawn all over her pretty face.

Y/N just shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as her hands balled into fists, holding him close as if she was scared he'd completely pull away.

“Please. Please, Ray,” She managed to stutter out, before kissing him again. Y/N’s hands travelled underneath his shirt, tracing his muscles and freckles skin with her cold fingers, causing him to hiss quietly.

Raymond's eyes fell shut at the sensation, his heart pounding in his chest impossibly fast. He couldn't believe it was happening, her touch infatuating him like nothing else he ever felt in his long life.

Y/N clearly had no patience to take it to the bedroom, as she took off his shirt, then reached back towards the zipper of her dress, pulling it down. Raymond held her hips, pulling her close as he moved onto her neck, kissing and sucking marks on her skin. He felt like it was all a dream, completely helpless and weak trying to fight against the way her scent made him feel. Wrapping him from every single way, making him burn for more.

As her dress pooled down to their feet, his breath hitched, seeing Y/N reaching back to open her bra.

In that one moment his subconsciousness seemed to wake up, when Raymond saw a few tears streaming down her face. Clutching gently her hands, he pressed his chest to her own, keeping the material from falling, not letting her bare herself in front of him completely. Swiftly moving them around, Y/N ended up pressed to the wall. He held her wrists, caressing her skin as their noses brushed against each other once more.

“Tell me” he urged, seeing the sadness in the form of tears. She let out a quiet sigh, before burying her fingers in his hair gently.

“He… cheated on me.” She confessed quietly, feeling ashamed of her own choices that led to this moment. But he didn't let her drown, grasping her chin and tilting her head up once again. Their eyes meeting, and Y/n relaxed in the way he held her gaze. She braced herself for the upcoming pity she expected, like people always give hearing such a news.. but it never came.

“He never deserved you.” Raymond said, his voice a little rougher, almost tender despite the desire. “Not a single second he spent by your side.”

Y/N smiled through the tears, caressing his cheek with a hand for a second before pulling him to the bedroom. Pressing their bodies together once again, her hands running up and down his thighs as her tongue licked stripes over his pulse.

“I need you, Raymond. I need you to do what you have always wanted.” She whispered, breaching the silent agreement they had, to never address what was happening between them. Never cross the line, but it was too late now.

He groaned deeply, turning her around as his chest pressed to her back, greedy hands touching every inch of her skin like a man starved. Y/N was going soft in his touch, completely vulnerable and on his mercy, small gasps leaving her mouth with every kiss he was giving her.

Every touch, every whisper, every sound pushing past her lips was making him dizzy, his manhood throbbing so hard, he felt like he'd pass out when suddenly he heard her voice.

“Make me feel special, Ray. Please.” She almost begged, making his heart shatter with the tone of voice she used.

He stilled behind her small form, seeming to wrestle with himself for a long moment as he felt his throat tightening. He was never good at talking at… explaining his feelings. But Raymond couldn't get rid of the feeling that THAT was his moment and he couldn't afford to lose it. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper.

“You're so fucking special.” He stuttered out in a weaker voice, slightly trembling. His fingers held her a little tighter, almost like she'd turn into ash anytime. “No one can compare to you. In every woman I meet I look for you, but it's never enough. You're… you're a work of art, Y/N.” His voice turned more husky, but with each sentence it was easier to… talk. She was trembling in his hold as he turned her around, meeting her teary gaze once again. Taking a step forward, Raymond forced her to step back, her knee touching the bed frame while he slowly laid her down, climbing onto the mattress, gaze never faltering.

One large hand caressed slowly down her spine as the other reached around to cup her perfect breast, kneading the soft flesh.

“That pathetic boy never deserved you. He's a blind fool who couldn't appreciate perfection if it slapped him in the face.” He whispered into her ear, kissing her neck.

He rolled the nipple between his fingers, pinching lightly. “But I see you. Every inch of you, inside and out. And I'm going to worship you like the goddess you are, until you forget that worthless prick even exists.” As he finished, Y/N sighed deeply, stopping him with a hand on his chest, making him raise an eyebrow in question.

“Raymond, it's… it's not about him, I'm not heartbroken, just… I'm ashamed of the way I treated you. I should have never listened to him.” She confessed quietly, her lip getting wobbly at the pure beauty he was looking at her with. Raymond cupped her cheek, leaning down until their lips were brushing against each other. His eyes shone like never before.

“Forgiven” He whispered with a smirk, kissing Y/n deeply for a couple long moments, making her feel absolutely melty. Slowly pulling away, Raymond locked his gaze on her own, lowering himself onto her collarbone and leaving a little kiss, followed by another and another. Carefully making his way down, he kissed every imperfection, every lovely inch of her being. Slowly kissing away the sadness she held in her heart. “Beautiful” he murmured every now and then. Avoiding where she needed him the most and going lower until he caught her leg, lifting her ankle to kiss it too.

Only then, going up, Ray rubbed his rough hands up and down her inner thighs making her squirm.

“Patience” He growled quietly, lowering his head to kiss her in the right place. Y/n writhed in the sheets as he kissed, licked and sucked her delicate spots, bringing her to the verge of tears as eventually orgasm flowed over her mind so hard she became dizzy. Seconds later he hung above her like a raincloud, pressing his lips to her own, letting her taste the sweetness he got to finally try.

“Please” She squealed, unable to wait any longer, and he listened, lining up his cock with her entrance.

“You're so special. So–o fucking s–special” He stuttered out with a groan, slowly filling her up as she wrapped an arm around his neck, feeling the need to have him as close as possible. “To me” he finished quietly, squeezing his eyes shut at the heavenly sensation.

Raymond couldn't say that, not yet, he didn't remember how these words sound from his lips just yet, and Y/N understood it. He needed time to wrap his head around the change in their relationship. Kissing his jaw, Y/N pressed their foreheads together.

“I love you too”

[atangledfate]

Stop Saving People, sometimes he wanted to do just that to, just leave it all behind. But Surge was right he could never do that. not just because of a promise he made to her, but he couldn't bare the thought of someone else dying when he had the power to stop it. Surge and he were different, built different, and he didn't want to be like his father. He was already to much like him with all the drifting from place to place. But if he just stopped being the good person then who would he even be? He still felt so much anger deep down at himself for being so damn weak.

He sighed

" Guess you got me there, i couldn't sit and watch knowing i could do something. Guess we are just built different... "

He snorted at Surge as he stretched his arms behind his back

" You do know the locked me up before right? didn't stop them then... guess things are a bit different now... but you are right, let's motor... i dun wanna think about it anymore. Let's just cross that road when we get there..."

He gave surge a glance considering Kit and he felt like she missed his point entirely. Kit seemed so attached to her. Could he even exist with out her? He remembered how he acted when he thought she died... it was sad to watch.

" Surge... all i know is... When he thought you bought the big one. He broke ya know... he couldn't function. I hope he's better now i hope he's grown. But i don't think he'll handle this as well as you are hoping... i'm just--- worried about you two ok? its just--- who i am i guess..."

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck

" Eh what ever, i'll keep my word so let's go before i say anything else stupid..."

===============================================

Back then, when Kit thought that Surge was gone. It almost felt like he and Tails could have been friends then. But fate wasn't so kind and, the shock of Surge being alive had only drove a wedge between them again. He couldn't expect Kit to set aside his personal feelings though but it would have been nice wouldn't it? Just to have someone brainy to talk to. It was always hard knowing you couldn't win someone over. But it wasn't the first time he'd felt this way--- it happened to often in the orphanage.

" No... it's fair... i get it. Let's just focus on the task at hand yea... "

Deep down though it did kind of hurt that Kit wasn't interested in being a friend or a comrade. Though it did feel better knowing there wasn't any hate there anymore. Maybe it was a s good a step forward as he could hope for.

" I doubt he'll be ok with closing the doors entirely. Though making a check point with some defensive features sounds good. Yea... i wonder what her limit is... were at least ten or so at a glance...that's alot of back up if we had to. Though... i have zero clue how good she'd be in a fight. "

" Hmm though maybe she doesn't need to fight... just look like she can fight. If enemy sees enough units they won't be so keen on busting in all willy nilly. Let's head back inside and see what we can work out with the doc and his nurses... besides, keeping the injured safe should also be a priority "

"Then stop saving people and you'll get that wish real fucking quick. Though we both know you aren't going to do that, so you're stuck with it." Surge was sure Sonic could easily focus on only bashing Eggman's bots, though he always went out of his way to save people. "They don't got to like you to admit you're considered a hero on Mobius. At this point if they lock you up then entire planet will be up in arms." The tenrec was sure that's the last thing GUN needs to deal with.

"No, though I'm sure a lot of people would see it has a start. Besides, I'm sure it's better than when I was staying in run down Eggman base's." Surge then rolled her eyes with Sonic bringing up they'd want to use her. "Of course they'd want to use me, though telling them to bite me is easy enough. Whenever they ask for my help it'll be on my terms, not there's." The tenrec wasn't going to be used by GUN or anyone else ever again.

"And you can cut the crap on trying to guilt trip me with Drippy. Use you're head a little bit. Do you really think I'd ask you to take him home if I wasn't sure someone would be there for him. I ain't going into detail, though you'll see what I mean." Surge was clearly trying to keep hush hush about it. The tenrec's attention went to the Mother Wisp now over the base and then to hearing Lanolin's orders from her comm.

"Well, guess everyone is coming back to the base so GUN is about to have more fucking problems. Let's just go to the checkpoint already. I'm sure between us and the giant fucking Wisp whoever is in charge might actually come down and talk to us." Surge was guessing on that, though two people moving at the speed of sound and a Wisp that big should hopefully motivate them to talk.

===========================================================

"Then we can stop talking about it, and you can hopefully accept the fact I don't want to be your friend." Kitsunami couldn't say they were enemies anymore, and was sure they'd be more times down the road when they'd form an alliance once again. "If this is about the time I called you and Sonic a liar I'm sure he was convinced that Surge was actually gone. I was also too shocked to see Surge still alive to even consider the device was hurting her." The fennec was willing to admit his mistakes.

"We would if Lanolin would've approved my plans for secret bunkers that didn't show up on the blueprints. The only place would be the sewers, though Belle Bot would then be too far underground." Kitsunami's main reason for wanting the bunkers was pure paranoia, though it looked like they would've come in handy. "It's a mute point, though maybe here is the best. A few people are battle ready, and we're also here. Not ideal, though it's the best plan I got."

"With all that said, it might be wise to start barricading the door. Assuming the head doctor wouldn't have a problem with it. I recall them mentioning the nurse's ability, though that can only go so far." Kitsunami was clearly assuming the worse which would be a fire fight breaking out.

[oddp1ant]

A handful of loose reflections I wanna put down before time moves on, things change etc

One, Viktor. The biggest thing I'm feeling right now is grief. We knew he was doomed from the start, to lose parts or all of himself, but seeing it happen still hurts. I was unsettled during act 1, feeling so much of him was already lost with little fanfare - would the narrative just move on? I'm actually mollified by this second death, seeing it delivered with narrative and emotional weight, even if we haven't gotten the (Jayce's) reasoning for it yet. Plus, I'm fairly confident we've yet to see his final evolution. So again, he was already (mostly) gone, but now it's like the narrative has acknowledged it, too. Even less will be left off him in his final form, but by god, I hope it's his wrath. If he's truly left an empty shell for the arcane I think I'll cry.

Second, Jayce. What the hell man. Explain yourself. Ngl I love him so much, seeing him get cut up with a chainsaw and apparently run through the arcane autoclave was oddly satisfying. Both him and Mel felt a bit, idk, like they'd gotten a PR treatment in arc 1? Like I love the "my place is here in the lab with you" and "Viktor will return to us" as much as the next guy but both of these characters have been very shitty to Viktor very recently and erasing that feels too cheap. I'm glad to see Jayce return to making Big Swings in the worst possible direction. I only wish he'd said something to Viktor before. Well. Y'know.

Speaking of Mel, I absolutely love the arc she's getting. Even just the fact that she's getting an independent arc, tbh. Most beautiful woman in the world is also magic? Gays stay winning.

And it feels almost redundant to mention but. The sister arc. Suffice to say I'm chewing drywall. The scene in the glow mushroom tunnel. Vander. Possible Vi Jinx Cait teamup in act 3. Love me some natural character/relationship development!!!!!!

Side note: love the ambiguity whether Vander is actually at least Vi's bio dad. Get it, you dog.

I'm not ready to talk about Isha.

Finally, I'm feeling a peculiar kind of melancholy for the diverse but largely congruent Divorce Era fanon that sprung up in between seasons - the visions of Machine Herald and Defender of Tomorrow built from an amalgamation of League and Arcane, making a shared space for creators to play in that has birthed some of my very favorite stories. It's been so, so much fun and I'm floored by how much of it was really founded in shared fandom interpretation and imagination. Now that Arcane canon has set out its own, unique direction, I wonder if this nebulous genre and its characters - a Machine Herald that is neither of League nor Arcane but all our own, the meeting and friction points between Jayces Giopara and Talis - will fade into the past, a weird limbo between the solid pillars of canon, or if its grounding in league lore will keep it alive.

- Honorable mention to the fics where arcane-adjacent and league-ish versions of jayvik meet and fuck absolutely nasty about it. You're the real ones. I could (and have, thank you to my very patient, non-fic reading friend) talk for hours about the complexity and depth of character explored in robotfucking timetravel porn. And none of it, not just the stories but the shared framework and subtext they're based upon, would exist without the beautiful minds of fans! Thank you ily.

[glisten-inthedark]

I think the most exciting thing about Byler for s5 is that by episode 1 any Byler doubts for Byler fans should be assuaged

The moment Mike shows romantic interest in Will, we know.

I truly believe that the Duffer Bros will not kill either of them off. For one thing, they are well aware that that will be the bury your gays trope and will look and be extremely bad. Especially if they were to reveal Mike as having feelings for Will and then kill him off, that would be extremely egregious. Then they’ve said that s5 is a Will-centric season, that the show is going to come full circle, we know Noah cried during the final episode table reading and both David and Charlie framed it as a heartwarming thing not as a sad thing when talking about it so I think it bodes very well. Also, like I think you’ve said (?) Hopper’s speech in s4 about everyone he loves gets hurt essentially gives the Byers + El plot armor, because any of them dying now after that would be like confirmation of this in Hopper’s eyes and potentially push him away from the Byers “for their safety” and make him feel like he’s the black hole in their lives.

So, the second that we see Mike harboring feelings for Will or pining after him or any 👀👀👀 interaction where Mike is being weird, or flirty, or suspiciously shy, or flustered, or any obvious or even fairly subtle but notable instance of him behaving like he’s pining after Will,

We know. Byler doubters out there, we’ll know! And I’m so excited for that moment to happen!

[additional staving off the Byler Doubt note]

It would also be incredibly stupid and make absolutely no sense if they were to reveal Mike as having feelings for Will, and then pair both of them with some random person or put Mike back with Eleven after making it clear that he does actually have feelings for Will. Like them deciding to stay friends or Will going “actually never mind I moved on you and even though you, my best friend, and the previous love of my life are now confessing to me or pining after me, I’m going to set all my sights on this new random dude”

The moment we see Mike pine for Will in s5 it’s all over

Hello!

Ok, Tumblr has something against me because I spent like 5 minutes writing a response and this little shit just refreshed and I lost the entire thing.

Firstly, oh yes! The moment we see Mike pining for Will, it'll all be over. I understand some people might be concerned over logistics or timing or the love speech or how people might perceive the time and all of that, but I know the writers can use so many things to their advantage to show that the story was always meant to be this one.

Truthfully, I can't imagine a world where they'd kill either of them, not only because they know about the bury your gays trope, but because of how deeply they made Will feel towards Mike - which is also why I can't conceive them giving him some random dude to fall for when they could have done this last season and it'd be much more feasible -.

Because at its core, Stranger Things is and always will be a love letter for all of those who were outcasts, for those who were treated differently for things outside of their control - whether it was their race, their gender, their appearance, or their sexuality -. And we know what some people claim, what they say about being in the 80's and blablabla.

But imagine the message it'd send: "You know that boy who believed he'd never fall in love? Well, he was wrong. And you know that boy who thought he was a mistake? He is wrong - he is not a mistake for liking other boys -. And you know that boy who tore his heart out because he didn't believe he could ever be loved back? He was also wrong, he was loved back. He is loved back. You know that boy that didn't think he'd get a happy ending? He was wrong, he has it now".

This isn't just a message for those who grew up in the 80's, is a message for general audiences and for anyone else who tries to tell LGTBQP+ children and teenagers that happy endings aren't meant for them.

I could go on and on about how the UD might signify the Shadow (Jung) or even ourselves as a society about how the monsters besides representing puppetry are representations of things within ourselves we refuse to touch on but that's another story for another post lmao.

My point is, that killing either of them would just further solidify things that I truly feel they are trying not to cement in their own show.

And the crazy thing about the whole "another random love interest" is that it makes no sense with the story even they set up. From the scripts, is safe to assume Will has had feelings for Mike since he was at least 13 years old (probably even before then), and we don't even have to look at the scripts to know that. We can assume so due to how far he was willing to go to make Mike happy.

I was talking to my friend about it and I realized that the van scene is Will's "Little Mermaid" moment. To clarify: Little Mermaid was written by Hans Christian Andersen and was supposedly meant as an allegory for the feelings he harbored for another man who by that point was married to another woman. Is Will sacrificing his own voice, his own fin, and his own feelings - turning into sea foam - just so that Mike could be happy.

I said it before and I feel like a broken record for reinstating it, but the writers themselves made it clear that Will truly loves Mike. Is not an infatuation, is not a crush, is not limerence, it is unconditional love. He said it himself, that he'd always need Mike aka he'd always love him. He was willing to sacrifice himself and his feelings for him - and sure, we could argue that he could stand to learn to be a little bit more selfish - but the essence of what makes love true is that it isn't selfish, is that is willing to let the other go.

So presenting someone else - especially when they could have done that already and not have Will be this deeply in love with someone he feels he can't have - would be so shallow and frankly stupid after everything they have set up.

I always joke that if Byler is queerbaiting, is the stupidest case I've ever seen because why would they put so much detail, thought, care passion, into it if it'll amount to Mike going right back to where he was before and for Will to end up with someone he can't love as much as he already loves Mike. How is that fair to him?

Anyway, I get passionate about this - as if you couldn't tell already lmao - so I'm sorry if I got sidetracked.

I hope you have a great day and (:

[jifloulette]

➳ you've changed a lot ever since, i'm still stuck in the same place we left.

itoshi sae runs into you and he sees what changed with you ever since he left you.

warnings ; implied breakup, angst with a hopeful ending

the first time sae sees you again was in the convenience store by the school he used to go to.

he vaguely remembers you waiting for him by the gate, greeting him with a beaming smile and a wave. he chuckles a bit remembering that. he also vaguely remembers how you would show him your favorite snacks and drinks to get at that same store, telling him that if you ever get mad at him, he should buy these for you and he'll have your heart. he tries to remember more memories the two of you created but it's no use, the thought of you at the back of his mind is all a blur. was it you he was with at the beach? was it you he was with as he went to buy ice cream? was it you that screamed his name so loud at his games? was it you who he kissed under the fireworks? maybe if he hadn't tried to push you away then you would see how much he appreciates you, how much he loves you. but at the same time, he impulsively erased any memory of you in his brain. it's like you were some specks of dust in the corner of his room that no matter how much he cleaned it, it'll still come back. it's funny, no? seeing you with different people whom he didn't recognize, looking at them with that same smile of yours, arms interlocked with each other, happily chatting about who knows what.

the strange thing he noticed is that the snacks you bought and ate were different than what you used to buy with him. he was confused, what do you mean you don't buy the packaged mochis anymore? the hi-chews? the lychee ramunes? to be fair, he did leave you behind as well for 4 years. who knows what happened and what changed in you within those 1,461 days? it was a long time to wait for someone who broke your heart, you were bound to get tired of waiting. it's not like he ever tried to reply to your messages and calls daily, most of them left delivered and in voicemail. another thing he noticed was your hair. you had let it grow unlike when you were with him. you used to cut it whenever you noticed it getting longer, saying that you didn't like having long hair because it was a hassle to take care of. oh and, your hair was a different color too, from h/c to a lighter color, it fit you that's for sure. oh, the things he'd do just so he could run his fingers through your hair just like he did back then.

it's like he was stuck in time, he couldn't move even if he wanted to. he stayed there, looking at you. seeing how you were slowly losing your teenage features. you were way taller, hell, you might've been a few inches taller than him. the next thing he knew was that his legs were on autopilot. they walked towards the convenience store. you were going to see him sooner or later, but fuck, he wasn't prepared. he doesn't even know what he's going to say once you see him. were you even going to notice him at all? were you going to ignore him the same way he did to you? "sae? is that you?", it was only when you talked that sae realized he had gone inside the store. you waved to the boy as you walked closer to him. he noticed your voice was deeper, it was still beautiful to hear though. even after all these years, he still loved hearing your honey-like voice. "it's been a minute, huh? how have you been? i thought you were in Spain?" you ask, "oh.. uh, i'm doing well. i just came back here to renew my passport for a good 3 days. got hungry so i went here." he replies, "so, you won't be here for long, huh." you added. "i missed you." you suddenly say, catching him off guard. "i.. did too." sae returns, hearing your friends call for you, you quickly say goodbye to him. "wait a bit, guys! uh, i guess this is goodbye, itoshi sae?" you tell him, "goodbye, y/n. i'm sorry i couldn't love you the same way you loved me." sae states, the last part he whispered. time was cruel for letting the two of you talk for only a minute or two, he'd do anything he could just to let you stay for a few more minutes.

with that, you had left with your friends. god, if only he stopped you. if only he said that he could ask his assistant to give him a week or so to stay in japan, maybe then the spark that was once firing with love and passion between the two of you would be relit. it was his fault for leaving you with the mess of heartbreak anyways, he was cruel for doing that to you, he knows that. sae thought that he had moved on, but it was just a façade he created to hide the guilt of leaving what the two of you could've been behind. he had left but he had never moved on, you had stayed yet you were the one to move on first. so, a question lingers in his mind as he gives the lady his ticket, which of the two of you really left the other?

the second time sae sees you again was at the airport.

all of a sudden, he heard a voice shouting his name. a voice he knew all too well. it was your voice, calling for him. he stopped dead in his tracks and looked back, seeing you wave at him with that same light in your eyes. he quickly runs to you, his assistant saying that the flight will leave soon but he could care less. "w-what are you doing here, y/n?" sae asks you, "well.. you did say you were going to stay for only 3 days, i also asked your mom about when you were going to leave so here i am!" you answer, smiling at him. he quickly dropped his bags and hugged you, oh so tightly. he didn't care if people were around, you were here with him after all. he thanks whatever god is out there for giving him another chance to hold you like this again. maybe, just maybe, he can relight the dying flame between the two of you.

©🇯​​🇮​​🇫​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇱​​🇪​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​, do not steal, translate, or repost any of my writings anywhere else.

[stellocchia]

i was wondering if you have any ideas for how hopper chara would look besides being yk chara + if you have any other theater au ideas you wanna share :D

Sorry it took me a while to respond, but I actually wanted to try and design Hopper, so here's a look at them:

Humans are not my strong suit, but I'm satisfied with how they came out!

The glitching gets more or less intense depending on how much determination they've managed to accumulate. If the determination gets too low, they become translucent and lose their corporeality (is that what it's called?).

As for other details on the AU:

Gaster is the director. He's the boss here, meaning he chooses the play they're gonna perform, assigns the roles, and directs all the behind the scenes stuff too. He does not act because he feels that his appearance is too unsettling for people (he's just very insecure).

Asgore only looks behind the scenes. He works on the lights, the costumes, the props, and the scenography. He has too much stage fright for acting, but he likes keeping busy, so the behind the scenes stuff is perfect for him.

Killer is an actor, but he also helps with the costumes because he discovered when giving it a try randomly one day that he actually quite enjoys the process.

Hopper also takes part in the acting, but also helps with the lights and whatever technology there is. They're an iPad kid, they're good with that stuff.

Mettaton of course is the star of the show. He always tries to get the main roles (all of them. He'd play both Romeo and Juliet if given the chance basically). He also always insists that they should try doing a musical because he's a big fan of those, but so far he's never had any luck

Undyne loves acting but she's unfortunately really not good at it. She's got so much passion though that Gaster always gives her a role. Though, for the most part, she tends to take care of dance choreographies and whatever other physically demanding stunts she manages to convince the others to put in.

Also, I mentioned it before, but all of them had some troubled pasts.

I mentioned that Hopper was locked in a never-ending fight with the Player. However, with the cast of their world being unaware of the Player's existence, they were just left with the feeling of unease around Hopper given by the fact that they'd been possessing them. After getting rid of the Player, Hopper couldn't handle the constant suspicion and distrust from everyone else, so they tried to erase themselves... Thankfully, Core found them in time and offered them an out.

Asgore is from a classic AU and he's still dealing with the grief of losing his kids, his wife, and having to kill all those children. He's especially awkward around Color because he can see the human souls and the guilt that resurfaces paralyzes him every time.

Undyne comes from a Dancetale AU. Unfortunately, she was always just as aggressive as a classic Undyne which ended up making her rather unpopular in her world. Especially since she was just as rough with Frisk as she's always been and, well, with Frisk being the savior of monsterkind that was... quite something. That said, she doesn't particularly care about what people think. She's got a girlfriend and a best friend in her Papyrus and those are all the people that matter to her.

Mettaton is from an Underfell AU. He was built exclusively as a murder robot and he can't fight to save his life. It goes without saying that he was considered a failed experiment and he was sent to be dismantled. He managed to talk his way out of the execution but only just barely, though that did mean that he wasn't front and center when the human came in, so he managed to survive their rampage. All the survivors were led out by Core, but Mettaton avoids them all as much as he can. He does, however, get along with the Flowey from his world who also did manage to survive.

Gaster is just a cryptid ngl. My guy is supposed to be scattered across time and space but he said 'no' to that. Nobody is quite sure what his deal is. He's there though. And he's got a passion for theatrics and literature. He sometimes mentions things like "I'm banned from most AUs" or "I lost my teaching license due to The Incident™". He's such a weirdo, but it's hard not to get along with him.

[dykedvonte]

This was an ask from skull anon I accidently posted early so ignore that here is it actually completed. Crew voice claim first!

Anya - Janine Ditullo. She doesn't really have any big roles but she's Brendan's mom from the show Home Movies. She's snarky in a way I think Anya would be before anything went down.

Curly - Craig T Nelson. Specifically as his role Coach. Think he also has a sort of middle age voice

Daisuke - Greg Cipes but specifically when he's voicing Kevin Eleven as a teen and his voice has that deeper register. I think he just sounds a little punkish.

Jimmy - Steve Buscemi specifically in Parting Glances. I don't think his voice is loud but more shrill? He's a nasally fellow to me whose voice is intimidating because it shouldn't be so when he says stuff it just sound wrong. Like Randall Boggs. He'd be on his kin list. He's scarier when he's quiet.

Swansea - Ed O'Neill just because I think Jay (Modern Family) fits his general demeanor but also Al (Married with Children). Sort of rough, dry and tired but with that sort of comfort only a dad could have.

Now for other general stuff:

Anya knows how to finger quilt, tried to show Daisuke but he just can't get it, secretly smug about it.

Curly is like a gym bro sim. A good distressor for him is either jogging around the Tulpar or like working out like a freak in his room.

Daisuke has a shitty moped he bought himself after a summer of mowing lawns. It was his first purchase with his own real money and he got attached cause his parents were super proud!

He also thinks it makes him look badass even though it sputters every time he starts it.

Swansea likes taking pictures with his family and wife and even the crew but treats it like a whole ordeal. Fusses about people fixing their faces but is always happy with the results no matter how goofy

Jimmy refused to let Anya sleep in medical after crash. He explained it as not wanting to "disturb" Curly...

Swansea once accidently called Daisuke one of his kids names when he got irritated with him. Made the kids day in a way

Curly does not react to any level of sour, likes citrus and calls it sweet and refreshing, war heads are like jolly ranchers to him.

Anya has a very nice singing voice and Daisuke happily jokes and encourages her to get into the indie scene. Did choir as a kid

Jimmy knows a bit of Spanish through osmosis from jobs he's worked. Mostly knows how to talk shit and directions

Tells Curly he's mostly just saying basic stuff but its real vitriolic towards him that he just translates to like general compliments/jokes. He is still just a WHITE man

Anya reads who done it mystery murder books and makes fun of all the obvious twists and how they glaze the detective MC.

Curly lets Jimmy sit in the Captain's seat because when he doesn't Jimmy is noticeably meaner and more scathing to him.

Anya was planning to get a cat after a conversation with Curly about feeling lonely living in her apartment. Was gonna name it Polle as an in joke before everything happened....

Sexuality speed round: Anya is bi no real preference, very open about it. Curly doesn't label himself and kinda just goes with the moment. Daisuke is bi but a larger preference for girls, has a friend that everyone thinks he dating tho. Swansea had experiences in his youth and that's all he'll say on it other than a few comments here or there. Jimmy is straight but in a way where you here him talk about gay people and know he's current experiences... like the other day.

Yeah heres some more I always hold back cause like what if y'all don't want all of them at once? I think they all had family dinner as a crew but it always felt like an awkward thanksgiving with your family from a wide political spectrum... ergo Jimmy always said some shit and make someone storm off from the table.

[iconoclast-infidels]

"Already chosen paths walked cannot be un-walked."

That's how he would put it. It wasn't quite what Dmitry said, but the subtle difference was intentional.

Nico often spoke to Dmitry with careful wording even for as blunt as the guy could be. He knew where his lover's sensitivities lied by trial and error over the course of their lives together.

Samael however held no stake in simple truths taking offense. So, when Dmitry mentioned Nico never asking about certain things the archangel would say, "Boundaries aren't lines people have to be told not to cross. They're held by the people who keep them. Some people learn not to cross them faster than others. Others push against them." Dmitry could take that as he would. Maybe Nico wasn't as polite as he thought. Maybe he just learned where the pushing points were and unlike intrusive people decided not to dig after learning it by Dmitry's boundary lines, they were ones he wasn't supposed to cross. He only didn't try to break them open. Disinterest and respecting the boundaries he found already in place were two different things.

So, was Death of the opinion Dmitry should share the information with Nico?

This was becoming far more than a Death walk again. It was becoming a closer walk with thee. It held the air of friends having a good heart-to-heart. The thing with that was Samael did not get involved with that sort of direct type conversations and advice for a very simplistic reason. He wasn't supposed to interfere with humans in any direct way. He could give a little push, have some influence, but it was behind the scenes.

He didn't go around talking directly to humans about their everyday lives like he was the Dear Abby section of a paper. He was no Chatty Kathy. Dmitry was cutting through Death and pushing him more into conversations of life, return to life, not on his death bed conversations. Once someone was on their way, they usually had questions of the beyond. That wasn't what was happening here. Dmitry's walks weren't the usual walks Death had with souls. Maybe that was because this wasn't a walk with a human? He knew he was coming right back. It wasn't a true death. He contemplated whether he should take a time out and transfer this conversation to a venue and avatar more suited to talk of life.

Samael needed to get it out of his head this was a death walk despite Dmitry's time running out and just consider it spending time with an angelic brother. It became increasingly difficult when this was the only angel who didn't seem to know what God wanted from him or what his job was. God works in mysterious ways was never truer than with this special repeat visitor. Angels had limited free will so the concept was foreign, whatever was going on with Dmitry as a special case. Who said there was nothing new under the sun?

Then the more Dmitry talked one thing became clear. Dmitry seemed certain he was meant to take care of Nico. Whatever else God wanted from Dmitry could stay in the Limbo of Samael's mind. If Dmitry felt he knew this one thing for sure with all certainty, Samael would not doubt him. He gave him the benefit of the doubt. He would go with he was Nico's guardian. Those types of callings and feelings were strong.

So, when he was asked whether he should tell Nico about his first death Samael stayed shrouded in black after all. He'd consider changing avatars if the conversation went elsewhere for too long.

"I was there."

He looked down at the mystery before him.

"As his lover I'd understand wanting to safeguard them. Your vulnerabilities are your own."

He had turned to him for a reason. He actually bent down on his knee before Dmitry and leaned on his scythe for support. It would appear as someone would a proposal blocking the path of the walk. Death stopped to say something extremely personal, his own vulnerability on the line.

"Look closely at this shroud. I deserve to wear it. It is heavy and it was costly. The wife I once had's reputation is demonic and foul. Never would I change Lillith's freedom of choice even as I lost her. She would not repent as I did. She loses no respect from me. Do not underestimate the strength of someone with free will. When you take away their knowledge you limit their choices."

Then came his point.

"As his guardian I think someone of his ambitions would gain insight he might need for the choices his path may put before him. Your boundaries may blind him."

Dmitry looked up at the rain, suddenly yanked out of that dreamlike haze by the drops hitting his face so suddenly. He did not wake up, though. Not yet, not now. He was still in that realm with Death, in a space between, even if time had now resumed its usual course. Samael was powerful, but even Dmitry knew that Death had no say over time. Not really. Not beyond ordained moments, spelled out second by second in God's great design. He did not hold any hard feelings toward Samael over it, even if that space of timelessness was well-wanted.

He looked back to Sammy as the archangel continued speaking. He reached out instinctively to touch the scythe, not doing so only because he thought better of it when he saw his own hand in the air. He knew better than to intrude like that, curiosity-bitten as he always was.

He sat on the sandy ground below, taking in the words that Samael was saying to him. In the words of the great Marty McFly, this was heavy. There was Samael, echoing something Nico had pointed out forever ago. He wasn't close to death. He wasn't burdened by it, either. It was what drove his purpose. Nico had seen that, and though it had taken a long time, Dmitry had sort of grasped that Nico had meant this. Why did it keep escaping him, then? Why did he keep forgetting? Maybe that was it? Maybe that was the point? To keep his intentions pure, or something? He couldn't possibly pretend to fathom knowing the answer.

God's wrath, though? That, he could not understand. He didn't really think of himself as wrathful, let alone divinely so. He just had that insatiable drive to do something, to not sit and watch while people suffered, to not just be on the sidelines when he had the means to help. He couldn't just watch. He was angry, yes. But he could not comprehend being afforded divinity, and he understood even less the idea that his purpose revolved around it. He'd have to sit with that for a lot longer than this conversation could last.

But guardian, this he could accept. He thought of himself as Nico's guardian angel too. Every person has one, Nico included, and he hadn't seen any other angels near Nico. No, it was his own duty; he had to watch over Nico. He never talked about that to Nico; it didn't seem necessary. But Dmitry did, suddenly, remember that he had accepted this charge previously in Samael's presence. By its very nature, that conversation, and likely this one, and any number of other conversations between worlds, were not for him to remember. There could be nothing to obstruct, nothing to impede, nothing to hinder. What he didn't have to know, he wouldn't remember. It was a grace to be afforded that; it made things simpler, tumultuous as it was not knowing.

He took Samael's warning to heart, though. It was no light caution, not coming from that angel in particular. Dmitry lifted his gaze to meet Death's flames for eyes sitting in a skull devoid of flesh. "I know. I don't say this lightly: I feel it in my very soul, it's him. He needs me."

Aftr a moment of silence and more thought, he spoke once more. This time it was quiet, vulnerable. It was a topic he'd never really talked about with Samael himself, not since it had happened.

"The first time I died, were you there? Before, I mean. Were you watching? I remember it was cold. I don't think I could have chosen differently. I've never talked to Nico about it and... this time, I want to know what you think. I feel like I should, maybe I should tell him? He doesn't ask me certain things and I think it's because he knows I find it difficult to talk about, but this... I feel he deserves to know. Do you think I should tell him?"

[taegularities]

some men are textbook villains fr

[sysig]

Very cool and not at all uncomfortable vent sesh (Patreon)