#all memories of rose are slightly off slightly missing

[cherrycolored-punk]

best friend!eddie munson x fem!reader

Softember 🍂 prompt: “I used to have the craziest crush on you.” / “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

author’s note: working through this writer’s block pretty nicely (so far), and had to write this. Josh Milligan may or may not be based on real life travesties. Also, if you’ve never seen Some Kind of Wonderful, this is the scene I’m referencing.

warnings: none, only first kisses and sweet confessions. But still - this is an 18+ blog, minors go away!

w/c: 2.2k

Some Kind of Wonderful plays on the television, its image staticky and slightly warped on the barely functioning system. Still, you watch intently. The pivotal scene playing out, the first kiss.

“Amanda Jones is no minor-leaguer who will be swept off her feet at the touch of your amateur lips,” you mouth along with the actress.

It was safe to say you’ve seen this movie, this specific moment, numerous times. Much to Eddie’s chagrin, he hated when you won the weekly bet and got to choose the movie because it was either this or some Molly Ringwald torture flick.

He groans now, throwing his head back against the paisley cushion of his worn down couch. The one you helped him thrift when he moved into his own place. A small apartment close to the mechanic shop that became a second home to you, spending more time here than your own place.

“We’ve seen this a million times, can we please watch something else?” He grumbles, nudging your shoulder but you don’t pay attention. Gaze set intently on the moment the two finally kiss, a romantic push and pull of their lips. Sweet, and soft. Like you’d always hoped your first kiss would be. Instead, it was a nightmare and the memory of it made your stomach churn. Josh Milligan and his too slick lips and his invading tongue.

Bile rose to your throat and you fought the shiver that slowly crawled up your spine.

“Seriously, you know how it ends. Put something else on,” Eddie begged, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you.

You turn to him, mind still elsewhere and not entirely listening to his pleas.

“Do you think they’re actually like that?” You question, turning back to the screen where the two main actors are still embraced.

Eddie follows your gaze, eyebrows pushing together in confusion.

“Huh?”

He’s not entirely following or he’s playing dumb which he often did to get some sort of rise out of you. You roll your eyes, glancing back at him with an impatient glare.

“Y’know,” you nudge him, “the kiss.”

Eddie looks between you and the screen, feeling as though you’re talking in riddles.

“What about it?”

“Are they actually that good?” Your shoulders sag, the yearning for something just as sweet crawling into your chest. Completely overlooking the part where this is a kiss between friends.

Eddie swallows hard, cheeks blushing a pretty shade of pink as his eyes dance between you and the screen. Paying attention for the first time since the two of you initially watched the movie in the theater. Vaguely remembering the plot, the most important detail standing out. The one that you overlooked.

At the time, he’d wondered if your mind had ventured where his always had. Drifting to daydreams of you and him being more than just childhood friends. Deep down, he knew that was a pipe dream. Knew that you were too good for him in every way but the truth didn’t stop his mind now.

He tilts his head, a teasing grin slotting into place as he looks at you, “Wouldn’t you know?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Princess. Don’t tell me all-star athlete Milligan had amateur lips,” he repeats the line from the movie and you can’t help but laugh. Jaw a little slack in surprise but quickly twisting into a cocky smirk.

“You have been watching!” You push off the couch and point an accusing finger. Eddie scoffs, nudging your hand from his face with a roll of his eyes.

“You’ve made me watch it a dozen times, how could I not catch some of it?” He gives you a bored stare but you don’t miss the slight grin on his face.

“Still watched it,” you grumble under your breath, falling back against the cushion and watching the movie but Eddie isn’t going to give up so easily. The thought staying present in his mind, urging him to ask again. Ask, ask, ask until you give him an answer.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pushes you again, enjoying the scowl you shoot in his direction.

“Because it was a dumb question,” you sneer but lack any venom. Hell would have to freeze over before you admitted to being less than practiced in the kissing department. Something you knew he’d definitely make fun of you for.

His cinnamon eyes study the side of your face, the heat on your cheeks not missed by his suspicious gaze.

“I knew it!” He shouts suddenly, and you shrink under his innocent scrutiny.

“Knew what?” You tut your tongue, face twisting in feigned confusion. Attempting to cover the obvious.

“Is that why you broke up with him? Kiss was that bad?” He continues to tease, eyes glowing with mirth. Their intensity causing you to crack and break.

“You suck,” You groan, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes. Divulging every last detail of your first and last kiss as you avoid looking directly at him.

“It was so bad, Eds. He left a ring of saliva around my mouth and I swear to fuck he was trying to eat my face.”

Goosebumps rise on your arms and revulsion churns in your gut remembering the sticky ring he left behind when you’d finally left his house.

He laughs, a loud melodic sound that fills his living room causing you to break. You watch him with a glare, crossing your arms over your chest as you do.

“It’s not funny, Eddie,” you pout, and fuck, if he can’t help but find you cute.

His laughs quiet down and he tries to school his face into neutrality, but he can’t fight the smile from spreading across his lips when you look at him like that.

“It’s really not,” he shakes his head, dark curls brushing his shoulders with the movements. He meant what he said, it isn’t funny. A pretty girl like you deserves a good kiss.

“It’s probably my fault anyway,” you shake your head, a little flustered as the embarrassment creeps in and makes a home of your chest.

“I sincerely doubt that,” he scoffs, turning his body to face yours.

“I’m not exactly practiced, Eddie,” you admit with a roll of your eyes, playing with the hem of your dress and wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

Josh had been your first boyfriend, if you could call him that. Some lame-o jock with a nice car and a house to himself most of the time. You were seventeen and never been kissed. Just wanting to get it over with to say you had and you weren’t entirely sure the reason it sucked wasn’t because of you.

Eddie watches the side of your face, the nervous way you bite into your lower lip and stare into the shag carpet lining his hardwood floor.

“I can show you, if you want,” he offers suddenly, catching both of you off guard and you’re not entirely sure what he means.

He knows you better than anyone, can tell you’re confused by the upturn of your brow and the twist of your mouth when you face him.

“I mean, for practice,” he corrects, completely nonchalant and hoping the words are a lot more confident than he feels.

“That wouldn’t be weird?” You question, turning your body to mirror his. Sitting face to face and only inches apart. The smell of his cologne growing stronger, making your mouth water at the scent. Bergamot and tobacco, a small hint of his green apple shampoo.

“‘Course not,” he waves you off and sits a little closer, subtly wiping his sweaty palms along the tops of his jeans.

“What do I do?” You question, hands lifting and unsure of where to place them. Where you can touch him.

He grins, that megawatt smile that always had your heart racing. Less mischievous and more inviting than before, the dimple deepening in his cheek.

“Here,” he grabs your hands and wraps them around his neck, patting them softly. As though instinctively, your fingers curl in his hair. Wrapping dark brown waves around your fingers absently.

“And my hands would go here,” he grips your hips softly, your bodies moving closer until your chests brush and you wonder if he can feel how your heart thrums in your chest.

“Still with me?” He grins and you give him an uncertain smile, a small nod because the words are lodged in your throat.

“I’d tilt my face this way,” he moves his head, “and you’d tilt yours the other.”

You follow his instruction, gaze dancing between his cinnamon eyes and the plush of his lips.

He leans closer, and your eyes flutter close. Time slows until it stops altogether when you feel the gentle press of his mouth against yours.

Eddie’s lips are softer than you thought they’d be, mouth sweet like the chai tea he’d been sipping. He takes his time, focusing on your bottom lip and then your top one. A languid push and pull, his hand reaching up to cup your face. To hold you close. Making you melt where you sit, forget how to breathe as you follow his lead.

The kiss grows more intense, and you nip at his bottom lip without thinking. Tugging it gently, sucking it sweet and making him groan.

He pulls away when he hears himself, too afraid to get lost in how you feel, how you taste, when this is supposed to be practice.

His hands remain on your face, pale skin blushed and brown eyes burning with something you can’t name.

“I don’t think you were the problem,” his voice is just above a whisper, your hands still tangled in his hair.

“No?” You repeat, mind still mush. Still focused on his lips.

“Definitely not,” he shakes his head and you fight the urge to kiss him again.

This was just a lesson, you tell yourself and loosen your grip. Hands falling to your sides.

Inside, Eddie is fighting a silent battle. Debating whether to tell you the truth or keep it his best kept secret. How would he even tell you?

Hey, I’ve always had a thing for you?

Could we be more than just friends?

“That’s better than what I could’ve imagined,” or that.

Idiot, he squeezes his eyes shut. Avoiding your surprised gaze, hoping to whatever god that you didn’t hear him but knowing you definitely did.

“W-what?” You stammer, unsure if you heard him right. Did he just say that?

Eddie shrugs, “Oh, c’mon,” he says your name with a shake of his head, opening his eyes and glancing down at his lap. You watch him pick at the frayed hole in his black jeans.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” his voice is thick, lower than before and your face twists as you shake your head.

“Know what?”

The anticipation builds with every second that passes and he doesn’t respond. Building up the courage to say all that he hadn’t before.

“I used to have the craziest crush on you,” he laughs but it’s smaller than before. Your mouth goes dry and your palms sweat as you stare. Heart skidding to a stop because you never thought, never knew, that he felt that way about you.

“The look on your face tells me you didn’t,” he chuckles again, circling your face with one of his ringed fingers but still avoiding your gaze. You can see a hint of uncertainty there, a worry glimmering in them and you want to say something. Anything. To reassure him that you felt that, still feel the same. Have always felt the same but the words are lost on your tongue. Mind stuck on the kiss, his confession, and trying to pinpoint a sign or a clue.

With each passing second, Eddie feels more uncomfortable. More awkward than before.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t expect-“ he starts but you shake your head

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” You cut him off.

“Because you’re my best friend for some reason and I knew that was already an anomaly. No way you like the town freak as more than a friend,” he shrugs, using self-deprecation as a shield to lessen the inevitable rejection.

You swallow down any fear of repudiation that you’d held onto all of these years.

“So you liked me?” You clarify, trying to see if it’s present or past tense. He squirms a little under your attention giving himself away and you can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across your kiss swollen lips.

“Oh that’s funny to you, Princess?” He jokes but the color of his cheeks deepen until they’re a vibrant red.

“You’re so clueless for someone so smart, Munson,” you shake your head and he finally looks up at you.

You’ve always thought he was handsome, good-looking in every way. From the sharpness of his jaw, to the prominent apples of his cheeks and the roundness of his nose. The kind of cute that was hard to miss, hard to stop staring at when you started. Just like now. Your eyes trace over the freckles dotting his alabaster skin and to his lips. A small countdown in your head and when it reaches zero, you’ll finally have the courage to lean in. For this to be more than just practice.

Three

Two

One

Eddie meets you halfway, his hands on your waist and your hands holding his neck. A soft peck that blossoms into something more. Exploring the plush of his lips, memorizing the way they curve under your kiss. How he sighs, happily, as the seconds drag on.

No, kisses weren’t meant to be rushed or make you nauseous. They were meant to be this. A rush of excitement, the thud of your heart, the way the world around you fades away until all you can feel is Eddie. Your best friend Eddie. All the stereotypical descriptors couldn’t do this justice.

—

thank you for reading! xx el

[r0setyler]

thinking about how the memory tardis had one piece of rose in it, her missing poster, and how that is representative of rose's narrative, she's missing... there are pieces of all the other doctors, of yaz, of river, but rose's thing isn't the jacket donna found, isn't some sort of actual rose, but is literally just her missing poster, because even to the memory tardis, to the doctor, she is missing. where is she? have you seen rose tyler?

[pcr-alice]

DPxDC - Missing Persons

also on AO3

It started so quietly no one really noticed.

People were disappearing. A veteran from the mountains, a firefighter from the city, a surfer from the coast, and on and on. All gone without a trace. The local authorities investigated, of course, but they never found any leads. After some time, the people were simply written off as missing, and their communities moved on. They remained forgotten until the Justice League got involved. Their systems flagged the uptick in disappearances, and once a Bat took a look, they were immediately suspicious. It took another Bat before the link was finally found. And it took Red Hood disappearing to confirm it. The missing people all had previous close calls with death. And so the League followed protocol – they announced an investigation.

The disappearances stopped.

It was a relief at first. There were far too many people who fit the profile, and none of their analysis could discern a usable pattern from the previous disappearances. But as time stretched on, they got nervous. Surely whatever this was wouldn’t just stop once noticed? What was going to happen next, and when? Justice League Dark got involved. Only once John Constantine started poking around did they find a lead, and even then only thanks to dumb luck.

When Constantine was finally dragged to the town where one of the early disappearances occurred, he zeroed in on an old woman living in a care home. As it turned out, she was mildly magically sensitive. Apparently her grandmother was a witch or something of that sort. But crucially, she had suffered a nearly fatal heart attack almost a decade ago. And she was all too happy to talk about the ‘nice young man’ from her dream who offered to take her away.

She granted Constantine permission to dive into her memory to learn more. Whatever he learned did not make him happy. He said he’d be back after a quick trip to Hell and disappeared, much to Batman’s irritation. But true to his word, surprising some, he returned with slightly singed clothes and a book.

So here he was, chalking sigils onto the floor. Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern watched him work in silence, likely trying to wrap their minds around the fact that there was a so-called Ghost King who they were about to request an audience with. Constantine finished up his work and stood at what they all assumed was the front of the circle he had just drawn.

“I do all the talking, yeah? These ones can be tricky.”

Without waiting for a response, he waved his hand, magic glowing at his palm. The circle responded in kind, pulsing white then fading into a harsh, vibrant green. A large black, green, and red elaborately-decorated sarcophagus rose inside the circle, appearing to phase straight through the floor.

“Dramatic fuckers, eh?” Constantine muttered.

A thick fog billowed out alongside it, quickly surging out past the boundary of the circle. It spread upward, threatening to fill the entire room. Constantine cursed to himself and waved an arm, clearing out the fog around them even as it thickened throughout the rest of the room, obscuring the view of the ceiling and walls save for the door directly behind them.

A deep voice echoed through the room with no discernible source. Everyone tensed.

“Who would dare wake the sleeping tyrant?”

A pair of bright green slits appeared from the depths of the fog and widened into eyes.

“Eugh, it’s you.”

The voice lost its echo. It sounded annoyed but entirely human and...young? That didn’t stop Constantine from clenching a hand into a fist, charging magic and preparing for an attack. The eyes moved closer, revealing a pale face and snow-white hair that floated in an unfelt breeze.

“Peace, Hellblazer.”

A lanky figure stepped forward onto the sarcophagus from where they were floating. They wore all black save for their white gloves, white boots, and previously visible head. With an audible thunk they plopped down on the foot of the sarcophagus, one leg bent upward to rest their chin on and wrap their arms around.

“I mean you no harm.”

There was a pause as the others waited to see how Constantine would respond.

“We met?”

“No, but I know of you. And I must admit, I’m disappointed to see you working with the likes of them.”

They gestured to the others in the room.

“Yeah, well,” Constantine relaxed his fist but lost none of his tension, “Don’t meet your heroes.”

The stranger scoffed.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just enjoy seeing demons annoyed.”

There was another tense pause as the stranger lazily looked over all those present. Constantine broke the silence again.

“Who might you be, then?”

The stranger slowly dragged their gaze away from Wonder Woman and back to the magician. After a pause they spoke.

“You may call me Ambassador.”

“Ambassador to ghosts?”

“If you’d like to think of it that way.”

Constantine straightened his posture.

“We would like to formally request an audience with His Majesty The King to discuss what we suspect is ghost activity in our world.”

The ambassador stared back in silence with squinted eyes before sighing and thumping their forehead to their knee.

“Where to even begin…” they whispered to themselves.

“Okay, let’s start with this.” They slapped the side of the sarcophagus and looked up. “What part of ‘sleeping tyrant’ wasn’t clear?”

“I was under the impression His Majesty was recently crowned and well-respected?”

The ambassador pinched the bridge of their nose and groaned.

“Ancients...”

They hopped to the ground without warning, causing everyone to flinch into defensive stances. If the ambassador noticed, they gave no indication.

“The king is a tyrant, he is trapped in forever sleep again, and I’d like to keep it that way this time.”

Constantine opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted before he got a chance.

“Speaking of which, how’d you even summon him?”

“Summon?” Constantine choked out, clearly surprised.

The ambassador walked toward Constantine, making everyone save for him slide backwards a step. They looked down at the chalk marks on the floor.

“Ancients, this is archaic. Where’d you find it?”

After a few seconds of silence, the ambassador looked up at Constantine.

“Well?”

“Ah...Merlin.”

The ambassador raised an eyebrow.

“What? It’s bloody true!”

The ambassador huffed out a laugh and walked back to lean against the sarcophagus and cross their arms.

“Can’t fault his demonology, but this circle is Bad. I suggest you lose it.”

Constantine opened his mouth to speak, but was once again interrupted, this time from an unfamiliar voice echoing through the room.

“Lord Phantom.”

Everyone flinched as a set of black armor coated in purple flames stepped into view from the fog.

“’Sup Frighty?”

“The dark one is marked.”

The ambassador flicked their eyes to Batman and stared for several tense seconds.

“So he is. Just like the other one, but actually concealed. Must be barely contaminated.”

The ambassador squinted and tilted their head.

“Sure enough. It’s weak, but there’s a family bond there.”

Batman clenched his fist.

“Where is Red Hood?”

The ambassador straightened their head, unflinching and unblinking.

“Safe. And being cared for.”

Before Batman could respond, yet another voice echoed from the fog.

“These are the ones?”

The ambassador turned their back to Batman and groaned.

“Is anyone not coming?”

A giant, four-armed, blue-skinned, armor-clad woman stepped out of the fog with two sets of crossed arms. She had the smallest smirk on her face.

“Apologies. I wished to see those who would obstruct our evacuation.”

Superman and Green Lantern perked up and shared a short look of confusion. The woman turned her head to Wonder Woman, her smirk replaced with a grimace.

“I am disappointed to see one of my kin among them.”

“I thought she might be, but I wasn’t sure.”

Wonder Woman stepped forward.

“My Lady, I –”

“You were not asked to speak, Child.” The woman snapped.

Her voice shook the floor underneath them. Wonder Woman flinched and stared up at her with wide eyes. The heroes tensed for a fight. But to their shock, Wonder Woman slowly raised her arm to press a fist over her heart and bowed her head in deference.

“I will make my displeasure known,” the woman growled, voice still angry but no longer violently.

“Take Dora with you.”

“Do you think me unable to fend for myself, Little One?” Her mouth curved up into a fond smirk again.

“I know better than to doubt you,” they briefly smirked back, “but given my limited experience, I don’t hold them in high regard.”

After a pause they tacked on a “no offense”.

“None taken.”

The woman stepped backwards and faded into the fog. Superman took a step forward, eyeing the armor cautiously.

“Ambassador, my apologies for our unpleasant first meeting.”

He waited until the ambassador gave him a slight nod.

“May I inquire what your companion meant by ‘evacuation’?”

“Exactly what she said. Our kind are being hunted, and we are trying to save them.”

“In that case I must apologize again. We were not aware of this unfortunate situation. Had we been provided an explanation, we would –”

“Typical,” the ambassador scoffed, “your primary patron government is committing a genocide, and yet we’re at fault for not properly informing you.”

Superman was smart enough to bite back his standard “we’re independent” retort. Green Lantern stepped forward instead.

“If I may, Ambassador, my name is Hal Jordan. I am a member of the Green Lantern Corps. We are a wholly independent organization dedicated to peacekeeping across the galaxy.”

The ambassador looked him up and down slowly before turning their head away dismissively.

“I don’t talk to cops.”

The heroes were stunned to silence. The ambassador turned to the floating armor.

“Prepare the Keep. I’ll ward against this circle once the sarcophagus is back in its place.”

“My Lord.”

The armor bowed its head then faded into the fog. Batman stepped forward.

“We have no involvement in the violence against you or your kind.”

The ambassador turned to stare at Batman for several seconds, squinted eyes glowing brightly.

“You’re an excellent liar, Batman.” The fog crept forward and wrapped around their legs. “Unfortunately, I know you’re full of shit.”

“What points you to that conclusion?” Batman kept his voice neutral and steady.

The fog had risen to the ambassador’s chest. They scoffed.

“There are photos of you with Amanda Waller.”

Batman’s fist clenched harder.

The ambassador turned to look at Constantine as the fog enveloped them, leaving two glowing green spots.

“I suggest you not push this any further, Laughing Magician. There are some things in this universe that trump even your luck.”

The glowing green eyes closed, and the fog faded away, leaving an empty summoning circle and untouched room. After several seconds of silence, Wonder Woman finally raised her head and spoke.

“I must return to Themyscira, perhaps for some time. If that was who I believe it to be...something has gone very wrong.”

Superman glanced over the others, who were all still silently processing the encounter. He turned back to Wonder Woman to give her a nod, and she quickly walked out of the room.

Constantine reached into his coat and pulled out his flask. He unscrewed the cap with a heavy sigh and downed whatever was left. He looked tired and annoyed, same as he always did. But Batman could tell he was shaken.

He looked away from Constantine and back to the empty circle again. There was a lot of concerning information to process, but one key thing did slip through. The knight had called the stranger ‘Phantom’. He had come across that name once before. One of three legible words on a burnt piece of paper in an abandoned and destroyed facility. A facility that stank of a classified government cover-up. A facility Waller had sworn up and down she knew nothing about. But he had a lead. The other two words. Amity Park. A small town that only existed if you looked at paper maps printed several years ago.

He had to act quickly.

[p0orbaby]

In Vino Veritas

summary: you’re drunk, aitana is missing and whose house is this?

warnings: alcohol

a/n: this is cute, and it’s made me want to write for tana more

word count: 2.5k

-

The music pulses around the house, loud and relentless, like it has a personal vendetta against silence, and you feel it vibrating through your bones. It’s some mainstream electronic track, too cheerful for the kind of reflective mood tequila usually grants you. Everything around you is a little hazy, a bit too bright, and you’re squinting at it all, like you’re looking at the world through frosted glass.

The wallpaper here is too clean, too deliberately “vintage,” with little pink roses blooming in neat, identical rows. You imagine, briefly, peeling the wallpaper back, layer by layer, finding more roses, more decades of them, stacked on top of each other like memories no one wants to talk about. But that’s a thought for another time, another you, one not stumbling over someone’s overly expensive thrifter rug and nearly tripping on a pair of boots discarded in the hallway.

Where the hell is Aitana?

It’s around the fifth time you’ve drunkenly circled the house when you spot Sunglasses Guy, a figure that almost feels like a test placed here by some malevolent spirit—an obstacle on your journey. He’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter like he’s in a photoshoot, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. Indoors, sunglasses on, even though it’s dark outside. He’s got that air of self-importance, like he’s convinced that sunglasses are mysterious, that people look at him and think, Wow, who’s that? In reality, they’re thinking, Why is this guy wearing sunglasses in the dark?

He nods at you, a slow, deliberate motion, clearly trying to make you feel “seen” in some profound way, as if this is a moment the two of you will remember forever. But all you remember is your drink, the way it sloshes precariously as you shift your weight, and the way he leans in, smelling faintly of something vaguely woody and way too expensive.

“Do you know what NFTs are?” he asks, his voice low, a little sultry, like he thinks NFTs are the new “what’s your sign?”

You stare at him, and the words that spring to mind are “sunglasses,” “pretentious,” and, inexplicably, “parsley.” You’ve no idea where “parsley” came from, but your mind clings to it like smoke on cotton. “NFTs,” you repeat, as though it’s the punchline to a joke he hasn’t told. He takes this as an invitation to launch into what sounds like a memorised TED Talk, and you wonder, briefly, if you could just interrupt him by throwing your drink on his shoes.

“Aitana!” you yell instead, desperate, cutting him off mid-monologue, which he handles with a slightly indignant flick of his eyebrow.

“Where’s my girlfriend? Have you seen her?”

The phrase my girlfriend makes you beam internally. There’s a glow that forms when you think of her, a warmth that starts in your chest and blooms outward. She is, after all, the reason you’re here. The reason you even pretend to tolerate these kinds of social gatherings, with their sunglasses indoors and their endless monologues about digital assets.

He blinks, trying to recover from the abrupt derailment. “Uh, blockchain—”

“Ugh,” you mutter, interrupting again, giving him a very distinct dismissive wave, the kind of wave that says Please stop talking or I will find a way to escape this dimension entirely.

A girl nearby spills beer on your shoes. She mumbles an apology, not that you’re in a state to care; you brush it off. Aitana is the focus, the centre. Shoes don’t matter when you’re looking for someone who does.

Then, finally—finally—you see her. She’s leaning against the far wall, her posture so casual, like she’s posed there on purpose, like she’s an ad for the kind of life you’re pretty sure only exists in those short films that play before foreign films at independent cinemas. She’s listening intently to some guy in an aggressively patterned shirt, nodding along like he’s actually saying something worthwhile, and you can’t help but marvel at the patience it takes to look interested when you’re not.

“Oh my god, she’s so beautiful.” It’s supposed to be a whisper, but it comes out loud enough that a girl nearby laughs. You’re only mildly mortified; who cares? Aitana has just noticed you across the room, and now she’s looking at you with that expression, the one that melts your insides, that says, There you are.

You start walking toward her, though “walking” might be generous. It’s more of a determined stumble, like a baby deer on its first attempt at standing. Your brain registers that you’re approaching her, but your legs aren’t quite sure if they’re fully on board. At some point, you even have to pause and grab a nearby chair for balance, flashing a sheepish grin at a couple nearby who look half-amused, half-concerned.

“Aitanaaaa,” you call, drawing her name out like you’re serenading her. She’s already moving toward you, though, weaving gracefully through the crowd like it’s easy, natural. You think, Of course she’d come to me. Of course she’d know that I need rescuing.

“Hi, cariño,” she says softly, her voice lilting with that soft Spanish accent that, even now, sends a thrill up your spine. And it’s so gentle, so warm, like she’s wrapping you up in some invisible blanket. You lean into it, the warmth, her presence, like a moth to a flame.

“You’re so pretty,” you blurt out, your words tumbling over each other in their eagerness. “Like, stupid pretty. Like, why are you even with me?” Your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, as if the two of you are sharing a secret in a room filled with strangers. “I’m a disaster. I can’t even find the toilet in this place”

She laughs, this soft, lilting sound that feels like honey, thick and golden, spreading warmth from your chest to your fingertips. Her hand settles on your shoulder, steadying you, pulling you closer, and you realise how desperately you want to bury your face in the crook of her neck and just exist there, where things are quiet, soft. She smells faintly floral, and you realise it’s that same perfume she always wears, the one you borrowed once and promptly drenched yourself in until she told you, with a smile, that subtlety might work better.

“Why am I with you?” she echoes, the question hanging there between you, laced with a smile, with that familiar mischief. “Because I love you. And because you’re funny. And because you make my life interesting”

“Interesting?” You narrow your eyes, leaning back slightly, pretending to be offended. “I thought I made your life amazing. Like, top-tier, VIP-section amazing.” You’re about to launch into a whole speech, but your brain hiccups, lost somewhere in a thought that doesn’t quite finish. You grin at her instead, and she just shakes her head, amused.

She grins, and it’s that cheeky, self-assured grin that makes you both melt and want to argue. “That too”

It’s at this moment, this little pause, that you get an idea. It’s not necessarily a good idea, but it’s there, persistent, because your tequila-fuelled brain won’t let it go. “If you were a sandwich,” you say seriously, “you’d be the kind with all the best fillings. Like, avocado and caramelised onions and, like, artisanal cheese. And I’d eat you every day and never get bored”

She laughs, that infectious, melodic sound, and you feel a swell of pride that you can make her laugh like that, even in your current state. Her eyes soften, that look of adoration flickering there, just for you, and she reaches up to brush a strand of hair off your face. Her fingers are warm, soft, and your eyes flutter closed for a moment as they linger on your cheek.

“Come on, let’s get you some water,” she murmurs, her voice gentle as she takes your hand in hers, and there’s a comfort in that touch, in the way her fingers intertwine with yours.

As she guides you through the crowd, you find yourself staring at her hand in yours, marvelling at how naturally it fits, how perfect it feels, as though it’s always meant to be there. The thought makes you feel almost childlike in its simplicity, but you hold onto it.

“You’re the best, you know that?” you say as Aitana threads you through a crowd that’s moving with the sludgy, undulating rhythm of a creature with too many limbs. Faces pass by in flashes of laughing mouths and narrowed eyes, pupils blown wide by God knows what, maybe tequila, maybe… more. None of them matter, though. They’re simply the backdrop to this little tableau: you, lit up and fizzing, tethered to the only person in the world who’d think to take your hand and lead you to salvation (water) instead of just letting you unravel on the sticky floor of someone’s overpriced house.

She looks at you like you’re amusing, like she’s doing you this great favour by holding your hand in public. “I know,” she says, her mouth quirking in that way that makes your chest feel both hollow and unbearably full.

And then you stop—there’s an odd elegance to it, almost like a dance, because she half-turns, looking back at you as if she knew this was coming. Like she’s been expecting you to stop her and do something wild, something foolish. The patience in her eyes, well, it almost feels like she’s giving you permission to make an idiot of yourself. Again.

“I want to kiss you,” you announce, dead serious, as if declaring something truly revolutionary.

“We’re in the middle of a strangers house.” She says this lightly, but she’s already leaning in, her chin tilting, the light catching in her hair just so, like it’s the climax of some impossibly chic music video.

You want to tell her that kissing her here, now, with people everywhere and the taste of cheap tequila in your mouth, is the single most important thing in the world. That nothing in this moment matters, except her—your Aitana, who has somehow, against all reason and logic, decided to love you back.

So, when she presses her mouth to yours, soft, barely-there, like you’re made of fine china, you think you might just melt into the floor. The crowd around you recedes; they fade away, just shadows in the periphery, and it’s as if you and Aitana are standing in a bubble, suspended in time. You’re floating, really, an ethereal, drunk ghost of yourself. She’s kissed you like this a thousand times, but right now, it feels so outrageously perfect that you think, absurdly, that maybe you don’t deserve it. Like you’ve somehow won this cosmic lottery.

When she pulls back, you’re vaguely aware that your mouth is still open, probably looking ridiculous, but she’s smiling at you, all fondness and amusement, as if to say, “Yes, you’re a total disaster, but you’re my disaster.” It’s a little terrifying, if you think about it too long.

“See? This is why you’re the best,” you mumble, clutching her a little tighter, almost swaying in place.

She tilts her head, giving you this look that’s so completely Aitana, so fully her, it borders on cliché. “You’re a mess,” she says, but her eyes are bright, shimmering with something almost mischievous.

You shrug, proud, defiant. “I’m your mess”

“Yes,” she agrees, not even trying to hide her smile, “you are”

And with that, she’s tugging you along, moving with a fluidity that makes you wonder, briefly, if she’s choreographed this entire evening just for you. You’re half-convinced she’s orchestrated the entire universe to align with this moment—the sounds of people talking too loud, the stickiness of the floor, the faint scent of stale beer and expensive perfume all melding into a cocktail that feels uniquely yours. Aitana, your perfect Aitana, leading you through this mire like she’s guiding you through a rainforest or a canyon, somewhere treacherous and fraught with danger.

You stumble into what you desperately hope is the kitchen, but honestly, it could just as easily be a poorly-lit hallway or an oddly-configured living room. Someone has drawn a Sharpie mustache on a framed photo of a golden retriever; the countertop is littered with crumpled napkins and red Solo cups, each one bearing the lipstick marks of strangers.

“I’m gonna drink, like, four litres of water,” you declare, full of bravado, as she hands you a slightly dented plastic cup that smells faintly of gin.

“Good idea,” she replies, crossing her arms and watching you with that expression she gets sometimes, like she’s trying to contain her fondness, keep it manageable, as if loving you too much would somehow be irresponsible. Like her heart could actually explode if she indulged herself too much.

You take a sip, but you’re not really tasting the water. No, you’re watching her, the way she brushes a loose strand of hair out of her face with her pinky, the way her eyes are this exact shade of dark that you’ve spent hours trying to name in your head. Like burnt caramel, maybe, or wet soil. It’s frustratingly poetic, the way she looks at you, like she knows every ridiculous thing you’ve ever thought and loves you for it anyway.

“Aitana,” you say, fully serious, as if you’re about to impart some life-altering wisdom. “You’re my favourite person ever”

“I know,” she replies, but there’s something so gentle in her voice that you’re pretty sure she means it as much as you do. She reaches out, smoothing a stray hair behind your ear, a little gesture, the kind that’s both tender and practical, reminding you of the time she told you to cut your nails because you scratched her during a tickling fit. Practical, pragmatic Aitana, the girl who brings you plasters when you’ve tripped up the stairs and curses in Catalan when she stubs her toe but tries to blame the wall for it.

“No, but like…you don’t understand,” you say, stumbling over your words, the alcohol making you louder and sloppier than you’d like. You lean in closer, conspiratorially, like you’re about to reveal some great cosmic secret. “I’m so in love with you. It’s, like, a problem”

She laughs softly, the sound low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. She pulls you into her arms, your head pressing against her shoulder, and you breathe her in, that familiar scent that’s all her—floral and a little musky, layered with the faintest hint of some expensive perfume you’ve never bothered to learn the name of.

“It’s not a problem,” she murmurs, smoothing a hand down your back. “It’s perfect”

And it is. Perfect, that is. You’re here, tangled up in her, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic, messy cloud of tequila and love, and it’s perfect in this fragile, unsteady way. You’re her mess, her drunken mess, and there’s something so intensely beautiful about it, you think you might actually cry.

“I’m never letting you go,” you mumble, your words muffled against her shirt, which is soft and smells like laundry detergent.

“Good,” she replies, holding you a little tighter, as if she means it more than anything. “Because I’m not going anywhere”

[rroseselavyyy]

daylight - myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader

warnings: suggestive content, hints of smut

a/n: this fic is based on a reeeeeaaally sweet request I received a long time ago :( I literally have zero motivation to write, but I thought I could at least edit and then post something that has been rotting in my drafts 😩

"I'm coming!" You had just stepped out of the shower and get into your fluffy pyjamas when you heard the sound of your doorbell, running to the door with quick steps as you dried your hair with a slightly damp towel.

You opened the door slightly to see who it was, and when you realized it was none other than the love of your life you'd been deliberately avoiding for two weeks, you couldn't help but stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

It was weeks after you had a huge fight over something silly, leading to the events of your leaving him behind in your shared apartment, so you couldn't believe your eyes when he stood in your doorway with a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

He looked at you with those feline eyes and you could swear that a thousand stars burst open in your swelling chest, it was almost impossible not to be filled with joy at the fact that he was here to see you.

He placed a hand on your waist and pressed his lips to yours before you could say anything, for once the yellow roses became symbols of passion rather than farewell, like the burning heat that radiated from your bodies. His lips moved over yours in a way that said how much he missed you, manoeuvring you into your apartment by holding your waist and making you step back.

"What's gotten into you?" Eyes half-closed, you whispered against his lips as he pressed your body against the wooden door after closing it. "I missed you."

You tucked a sweaty hair behind his ear, your chest rising and falling against his as he studied your face with eyes as dark as the night sky. "Sex won't solve our problems, you know that, right?"

He giggled sweetly in your ear before pressing his lips to your cheek. "Is that all you can think about when it comes to me, doll? No wonder we can't even communicate our problems."

"You're practically pinning me to the door, you dumb fuck. What am I supposed to think?"

He said nothing and you, and you, never able to resist your burning desire for him, surrendered to his chaste kiss with an insatiable hunger. He swept you off your feet and wrapped his arms around your waist as you stood on your tiptoes. The long forgotten petals of the roses he had bought for you traced your footsteps as you held them loosely behind his neck with trembling hands and let him take you to your bedroom.

That's how he ended up in your bed that night. Soft and sweaty, like the perfect teddy bear to wrap your arms around.

He watched your eyebrows knit together as you muttered something against the pillow where your hair was shamelessly sprawled. As usual, you were arguing with the characters from the novel you had recently read, a tradition you had picked up even before you were still with him.

You never knew this trait of yours, that you were talking in your sleep, it was never even mentioned. Still, he knew it like the back of his hand. He knew it like the rhythm of your heartbeat which he had learnt after long nights of holding you in his arms, chasing away the nightmares.

Once upon a time, you were the reason he wanted to stop time until the sun came up. He loved to hear the secrets you kept, how you hated your professor, how you wanted to tear his hair out.

As his eyes traced the rose-tinted patterns from your neck to the soft flesh of your belly, the memory of last night's events brought a smile to his lips, a smile that brought a sky full of stars into his irises with genuine happiness.

He could never have fallen more in love with you as you lay there like an angel, the faint daylight coming through the curtains painting you in glitter like a second layer on your skin.

It was the moment he knew he needed you to the end of time, wrapped in his bedsheets, with his ring shining on your delicate finger.

[asharasasylum]

Bitter Sweet

♡  how it begun

author's note: Rafe doing blow backs in this creepy way has me literally foaming at the mouth i can't lie. anyway enjoy. warnings: dark fic!! allusions to non con and dub con. allusions to smut. step-cest. perv! Rafe. manipulation. drugs. slightly naive reader. 18+ pairing: Rafe x Step!Sister Reader

bitter sweet master list

“Are you still angry with me?” 

Rafe twisted his head around, finding you standing in the hallway, gazing over at him as you chewed on your bottom lip. 

You were supposed to be in the Bahamas with Dad, Rose and Wheezie, and yet a few hours before that he had found you standing in Barry’s yard with an overnight bag and a suitcase like you were about to take residence. He had been pissed at the sight, and you knew Barry’s lingering stares over your frame hadn’t helped. The memory made your stomach churn, recalling Barry’s leering eyes heavy on your bare legs as you made your way towards Rafe's truck. While Rafe hadn’t ever really played the protective older brother type, you were sure it wasn’t nice to see his so-called friend staring at you in that way. 

But Rafe wasn’t as tense now and you were sure the joint between his lips had something to do with it. 

“Come here,” he said, nodding his head for you to get closer. 

You could feel the corners of your lips tug upwards, but you fought off the smile as you stepped closer to him, not knowing yet if you were in his good books. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped an arm around your waist, yanking you down into his lap. You tried to slip away, making yourself comfortable but with Rafe's arm pressed tightly against your stomach and his darkened gaze narrowing at you, all you could do was relax into the position. 

Rafe exhaled, blowing the smoke to the side as he continued to just stare. You hated the silence between you. Rafe was only ever silent when he was stewing on angry thoughts, seconds away from speaking up about them. And that was never usually in the calmest of manners.

“Please I-” 

“Dad would kill me if he knew you were here,” he stated. 

His gaze hardened, jaw clenching and you shuddered at the sight of it. 

“You know that right?” 

You nodded, parting your lips to speak, to explain yourself but he simply wasn’t having it. 

“I already have so much on my plate.” His hand dropped to between your thighs, gripping one of them with a tightness that had you wincing. “And now you want-” He squinted his eyes, leaning in closer to you. “What is it you want?” 

“I was worried about you,” you told him truthfully. 

His eyes flickered at that and he leaned back into his seat, taking a long drag of his joint before his eyes settled on you again. 

“Dad has Rose and Wheezie,” you started, fingers tracing patterns against his hand, hoping to ease his tense body. “And Sarah—” 

Your eyes drifted at that, breath catching in your throat as you recalled your younger sister. You missed her. 

“Wherever she is— has the pogues.” You turned your eyes back to him and rested your hand on top of his. “And you need someone.” You shrugged. “I just thought I could be that someone.” 

Rafe rolled his eyes, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest as he breathed out the smoke, shaking his head. 

“Forget it,” you said, moving to stand up. 

But Rafe stopped you, holding you against him. “Don’t be like that.” 

“Do you always have to mock me?” You could feel your eyes watering and not wanting him to see how much he was upsetting you, your gaze moved elsewhere. 

You heard Rafe sigh from beside you before you felt his fingers curl around your chin, twisting your face to look back at him. His lips were curved into a knowing smirk, voice teasing as he whispered, “You’re sweet.” 

You weren’t entirely sure why but you shivered at his tone, goosebumps erupting over your flesh that you wished to hide. 

Sensing the tension in your body, Rafe’s hands rubbed up and down your thigh as he told you to relax. The word rolled off his tongue in a soft hum and it only served to make you more rigid on top of him. It didn’t stop him though and you felt heat swirl in the pit of your stomach as he shifted his hand up higher. 

“Rafe,” you squeaked, clamping your thighs tightly together. 

The humour seemed to drop from his face and before you knew it he was placing the joint to your lips. “Relax.” 

His darkened gaze had you wanting to appease him and after a little bit of hesitation, you took a hit. All while you sucked in the smoke, Rafe smiled but it wasn’t his usual mischievous smile, there was a wickedness there that you hadn’t seen before. One that had clenching your thighs around his hand a bit harder. 

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead Rafe pressed his thumb against your lips, making you hold the smoke until he dropped his hand back to his side with a satisfied sigh. 

Your lungs burned and you coughed as you exhaled, which of course made Rafe laugh once again. 

“You good?” He asked. 

You nodded in response but minutes later you weren’t feeling so good. 

You had only been high two times in your life before this, once when Sarah had convinced you to smoke some of Rafe’s stash that she had found hidden in the yacht and another time when Rafe had found out, and told you that he wouldn’t rat either of you out if you smoked with him as well. Both times you had fallen asleep quickly after, the high short lived as you drifted into a deep slumber. 

It was no different this time, your mind already slipping from the few hits Rafe had persuaded you to take. 

You were relaxed, a bit too relaxed. Your head rested against Rafe’s shoulder and your thighs were parted a tad, just enough for Rafe to slip his fingers under the bottom of your shorts. 

You should have protested and you went to but Rafe’s other hand was firmly gripping your chin, keeping your head close enough to his to bring his lips to yours. Before you could react, he blew smoke between your parted lips, closing your mouth once he was done and opening it a few seconds later. 

Rafe continued to do this for a while, only taking moments from your lips to take a drag from the joint. He had you firmly distracted, mind becoming so hazy that you weren’t really paying attention to the way his lips were pressing further into yours with each blow, or the way his fingers were lodged all the way into your shorts. 

Eventually he pulled back, and the weed in your system started to take full effect as you fell back. 

Your head fell back into the cushions, and while you tried to fight sleep, blinking your eyes at Rafe, you couldn’t. Your body felt numb as your mind became fogged and the last thing you felt was your hips lifting, as your shorts were being dragged down your thighs. 

reblogs and comments are always appreciated

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Dividers made by me

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Promise Woven in Silk

18/12: Letters & Lingerie Kink - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: suggestive letters, masturbation (m), p in v sex A/N: thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for checking my Tom Bennett was cunty enough 🤭

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Tom couldn't wait to be off this fucking boat.

It was a sort of slum in motion, but with the threat of being killed or drowned.

He made his own fun, practically forcing people's hands into betting on the day his canary laid an egg, pissing off the commanding officer and choosing rather colourful language when he was speaking to people of a higher rank than him. Not like he gave a shit.

But he only did those things because he was Tom.

It didn't make him really happy.

The only thing that managed to pull a smile to his face were letters with her handwriting on the front.

It felt wrong to call her a sweetheart so to speak. After all, at first there was no expectation of anything deeper, not wanting to get involved in something so trivial before he decided to disappear abroad. But it was exactly that expectation that drew him to her.

She wasn't desperate and needy. And yes, he'd tease her for it, but she was so fiercely independent, she turned her nose up at how a woman should conventionally act towards someone she liked.

He loved her for that.

He leapt onto the top bunk, checking the room was clear before pulling the sealed letter from his pocket, the paper slightly crumpled with her swirly feminine handwriting decorating the front.

Dearest Tom,

I hope you are settling into navy life well and are not causing too much trouble for the people who have the displeasure of being around you all day and night. 

He smirked. She knew him too well.

As I write this, my stomach flutters at the thought of your upcoming shore leave. I have been entirely too impatient to not tell you that I have concealed a great secret from you, one I should hope you will be pleased to uncover upon your return to me.

Picture me, with delicate lace trimming framing the curves of my body, meant for your eyes only of course. The fabric, as smooth as a moonlit ocean, holds promises of stolen moments where you are once again by my side.

I must confess, once you are back I scarcely think I could ever let you go again. The mere thought of you being here with me has a pleasant, exciting effect on my inhibitions. An effect, I dare say, you are keen to replicate.

I anticipate the shared warmth of our reunion, one I have no doubt you have sorely missed.

Yours in fervent longing…

He swore his mouth was agape, before a sly grin slipped onto his face.

Jesus Christ.

Tom's baby blues flitted over her handwriting, as if needing to commit the words to memory over and over to make certain he was reading the same thing.

His fingers gripped the delicate paper noticeably tighter as his mouth went dry.

Cheeky fucking minx.

Completely naturally, he brought the paper to his face, sighing longingly at the familiar scent of her perfume. She'd no doubt spritzed it a few times before sealing it, intent on torturing him even further as if the words alone had not done so.

Her scent flooded his mind, making way in his brain and pushing all the blood there south, his manhood pulsing almost uncomfortably at the memory of her.

The way he'd left her lingered there.

She had his white shirt around her shoulders and completely nothing else, her breasts peeking teasingly against the thin fabric as if to tempt him to stay when she knew he couldn't.

He'd almost jumped right back on her when she rose to her knees and plucked the post-coital cigarette from his lips to have a sweet, shallow drag of her own, her eyes aglimmer with mischief and sparkled with lust. 

And he's not ashamed to say that the image of her lips around the cigarette had him wishing they were around him instead. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, massaging the length that would not fit in her perfect mouth.

And so here, miles and miles from her, but unable to think of anyone or anything but her, he slipped his hand into his trousers, keeping her letter close to his face and pumped himself needily, imagining it was her grinding her hips atop him, her moist lips parted with those sounds he loved so much slipping forth.

He spilled himself over his knuckles in no time with a choked moan that he had to keep quiet.

It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Cheeky. Fucking. Minx.”

Tom practically skipped through off the train onto the platform, resisting the urge to break into a run as he played the route to her flat in his mind and how to get there the fastest.

It felt like he'd had a perpetual need for her ever since he read her words, which was more akin to pornography than an innocent love letter, having the desired effect of keeping him rock hard, fists clenched and jaw tightened.

God, she'd pay for that.

His boots thumped as he made his way up the back stairs to her flat, fists rapping on the door rapidly and excitedly, his chest feeling all tight and fluttery.

Every second there was no answer, his leg bobbed with anticipation.

Tom's tongue poked his cheek as the door slowly cracked open, a smile working its way to his face.

Her hair was waved over her shoulders, a satin dressing gown around her and tied at the middle, accentuating her waist, with her legs all bare and poking tantalisingly out beneath the rich fabric.

She herself gave a smirk, pulling the cigarette from her lips with two of her manicured fingers.

“Hello, sailor.”

Fuck, her voice.

She squeaked in surprise as Tom's tall form had to twist to force his way in, his bag forgotten to the floor with a thud, finding better purchase on her body as he surged down to meet her lips halfway. She smelled and tasted just as he remembered.

Bodies touching and smirking between fervent kisses, he mumbles between them, “Hello, beautiful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and equally sank to that spot between her thighs that grew moist, aided by the endless weeks without his presence.

“I can't believe you sent me such racy letters. You just want to get me in trouble, don't you... and believe me you're doing a fantastic job at it.”

She hummed, pulling away to look up at him, smirking as he plucked the cigarette from her to take a drag for himself.

“You've got to have something to look forward to on shore leave, Bennett.”

He grinned with all his perfect teeth, stubbing it out once he was done with it and running his tongue over his lips.

She scrunched her nose, her hands around his shoulders as she craned up to meet his misty gaze, “in any case, I don't know what you mean. My letters were perfectly well-meaning and innocent.”

He scoffed, the smoke leaving between his pink lips, blonde eyebrows raised, “innocent? Those letters could be classified as a war crime.”

Her lips part involuntarily, warmth gathering in her gut as his hands lay flat either side of her waist.

"Now, where's my promised prize? To celebrate my return.”

She bit back a grin, her hands sliding down his chest to the tie at her front, fingers pulling it loosely unbearably slowly.

Tom swore he ascended to heaven once the silk parted to reveal what she'd promised beneath, a delicate lacy number that seemed to drift over every curve and left very little to the imagination.

 “Now that's what I call a greeting and my reward.”

His hands assisted in pushing the silk off her shoulders, leaving her standing in her silk sleepwear, the front dipping right where the shadow of her breasts appeared.

He grinned like a schoolboy, raking in every piece of her he'd been unable to see for weeks. God, maybe even months.

“You know, I almost thought you were lying in your letter and you didn't actually have this... but you surprised me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as they both leaned in, dragging his nose over her cheekbone and placing several kisses, too chaste for his nature, along her jawline.

“I couldn't possibly do that to you, Tom.”

She giggled girlishly as his hands were now unable to stop their journey around her body, squeezing and moulding the flesh to his palm as he guided her to her bed. He stood, looking down as she lay there waiting for him with that honey-like gaze, biting her lip when she saw him work on his own clothes.

Once he got to his belt, she lifted her hands to the straps of her brassiere, to pull them down, until Tom tutted at her, kneeing her legs apart in reprimand, earning a confused expression.

He loved it when she looked all dumb like that.

He smirked, “Maybe I want you to keep it on. You look good in it.”

At this she lowered her hands, eyes glimmering with mischief as she watched him struggle with his belt.

She smiled smugly, “have you gone soft on me, Tom Bennett?”

“Soft is the opposite of what I am right now, love.”

A soft giggle slides past her lips as Tom looms above her, shoving his trousers past his hips as they snag on nothing, his eyes hardening  the more frustrated he gets. But it quickly dissipates, core clenching around nothing once he pulls himself from his underwear, hardly having to stroke himself to full attention.

His fingers creep along the side of her thigh beneath the delicate lace, swiping the pads of his fingers against her, grinning widely when he finds his words and actions have had the desired effect, her hips twitching upwards at his touch. 

“Oh, love. You’re fucking soaked for me.”

His ministrations become rough almost instantly, tugging the silk to the side and running the fat head of his cock, red and weeping against her womanhood. She watches the way his chest inflates and deflates with heavy breathing, at how the dog tag there glimmering in the low light around his neck, looking down between them, the air feeling hot and only the sounds of pure carnal desire rumbling in their throats. 

“Tom - please -”, she mewled longingly, trying to move her hips to gain friction as he teases her bud with the tip of his length. 

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest, “God I fucking love it when you beg. What do you think, should I make you do it again?”

She shakes her head quickly, closing her eyes and turning away with a warm face at the intensity of his gaze down at her. 

He huffs another laugh and lays atop her, pushing her leg apart with his knee and pressing a kiss to her temple, “It’s alright, love, too fucking impatient for that.”

Her mouth falls open, warmth flooding her as he pushes into her agonisingly slowly, splitting her apart on his length to slide into her slick walls. Tom can’t help but screw his eyes shut, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her perfume as her warmth squeezes him and her fingernails leave crescent-moon shaped marks on his back.

He barely waits to reach the end of her before he moves, his hips meeting hers softly at first, but increasing in vigour once he hears her tiny little whimpers, and the way she presses her lips together to try and be quiet. 

Ever stubborn. 

Skin meets skin with quiet smacks, neither needing to say anything (except for the occasional ‘fuck’ encompassed by a low moan from Tom) but just basking in this closeness they’d been deprived of in all the time they’d been away. He is sure he could stay between her legs all fucking day, squeezing the flesh of her thighs and tasting her lips on his. 

“Fuck - ‘m gonna-”, he moans lowly, his hand running up the nape of her neck and pulling the strands of her hair through his fingers, not enough to hurt. Her core tightens around him, head thrown back into the mattress, lips parted. 

“oh - fuck, yes-”

With a choked moan, he takes her over the edge with him, holding her so tightly that had he been in his right mind, he’d think he was hurting her. But she doesn’t protest. She only loosens her grip on him when his thrusts falter to a stop, but his length remains tucked inside her, shuddering when he feels her core clenching around him in the aftermath of her peak.

His normal attitude clouded by the haziness sex, he rests on his forearms above her, giving an exhausted smile that she returns. 

“That the greeting you were hoping for?” she asks, her breath coming in short, hot pants.

And just like that, the Tom Bennett grin returns, leaning down to capture her lips again, “Yes, but I’m not done with you yet.”

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[g1rlr0b1n]

Yet another commission by the amazingly talented @ookamihanta!!! Go check out their page to see more art!!! Their commissions are still open so go check that out as well!!! I highly recommend them!!! 👹

Gods and Demons (Preview)

Damian's preparations for departure were almost complete when Superman hailed him down. For a moment, Damian considered pretending he had not seen him, but ultimately rose to meet the two men who had now landed gracefully beside him and Goliath. He was familiar with the man known as Superman, but the second man was a stranger to him. He was tall with wavy dark locks framing a sharp jawline and piercing steely grey-blue eyes, he bore a resemblance to the other man. He had a pretty good idea now of who he might be. The man's attire was peculiar though, causing Damian to wrinkle his nose slightly in disapproval. He wore a black suit adorned with shimmering silver stars, his deep crimson colored cloak billowing behind him. The most unnerving part of his uniform however, was the obvious missing "S" shield in the center of his chest, leaving the skin underneath exposed for all to see. Damian quickly averted his gaze, focusing back on Superman. “What’s this?” Damian's features contorted in suspicion as Superman extended a piece of paper towards him.

“An olive branch” he replied calmly, then motioned to the tall figure standing next to him, Kal-El cleared his throat, “this is my son, Zod-El. He will be stationed in Tibet with you for the foreseeable future.” There was a moment of tense silence as if to allow for Damian to process the information. Then, Superman spoke again, breaking the stillness. "Consider him an ambassador of good faith," he said firmly.

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms, “Tt. More like a spy to make sure I behave," he retorted with a sharp edge to his voice. The Justice League's true intentions were clear, they had their own agenda, but he intended to manipulate it to his advantage. Despite their lack of trust in Damian's ability to change the League of Assassins, it gave them an excuse to keep him under observation and under their protection. They needed to keep Damian alive regardless of his intentions because the absolute worst case scenario for them would be for him to lose control. It was an obvious choice, he was the only option with ties to the Justice League and a genuine desire to make the world better, even if his methods had not been received well by them. He could only stand to benefit from such a relationship, nonetheless, he’d make them work for it.

Superman let out a weary sigh, his broad shoulders slumping in exhaustion, “you agreed to observation after the attempts on your life," he reminded Damian sternly. The mention of those close calls made Damian flinch slightly, the memories still fresh and painful. Ever since his grandfather’s passing things had not gone as smoothly as anticipated, with everyone with even the slightest of claims coming out of the woodworks, but he survived and he’d continue to do so. Of course, some extra protection would be prudent, even though he had managed to reunite his family giving him the most claim, the attacks still occurred. His mother had even begun to express concern, certain that there was a rat among his inner circle. Damian didn’t want to consider that, the notion that the people he cared for most wanted him dead. Although it was a reality that he hated to admit, he could probably benefit from an impartial set of eyes and ears. Yet, Damian was proud if nothing else and he refused to allow anyone to think him weak.

"That may be," Damian huffed, "but I never agreed to an indefinite placement and certainly not from one of your B-list cast offs." His lip curled teasingly as he surveyed the man clad in black in front of him. He was curious to see how he would react.

The man grit his teeth and extended a hand with a forced smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dam-”

Damian interrupted firmly, his piercing gaze fixed on the man's face. “You may call me The Demon’s Head.”

The man chuckled nervously as he pushed back some unruly curls from his forehead. “No offense but...” he hesitated before continuing, “I’d rather call you anything else.”

Damian's lips curled into a menacing smile, his pearly whites barred behind a mask of feigned politeness. "Then, may I have the pleasure of calling you Jonathan?" The man remained silent, his expression guarded. Damian pressed on. "surprised that I know your other name?"

He cleared his throat, his voice betraying forced calmness as he responded, "Not really...and it's just Jon."

The smile fell from Damian's face, replaced by a look of disdain, "I'd rather call you anything else." The lack of push back from his opponent was slightly off-putting, it was simply no fun if they just stood there and took it. But then again, what did he really expect from the son of the Big Blue Boy Scout, always so righteous and obedient.

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, like a thick fog that refused to dissipate. Goliath finally broke the awkward silence with a restless shift, his large frame causing the ground to tremble beneath him. "I see there's no point in arguing with you," he grumbled, casting a patronizing look at Jon. "If Super Slut is ready to depart, then we shall." With the grace of a seasoned rider, Damian pulled himself up and swung himself onto his fiery red companion, feeling the heat emanating from its powerful body. Beside him, Jon effortlessly lifted himself off the ground and into the air. The bat dragon spread its massive wings and with a few strong flaps they ascended into the sky.

[psiroller]

OkOk, so I know you’re currently in the middle of writing who knows how many more dunmeshi fics, but have you considered Tall-man x Tall-man Chillchuck and Laios yet? Maybe for a quick little drabble or something? I feel like that could go somewhere maybe.. If not this is just me rambling 😔, so feel free to ramble back and have a good day <3

oh anon. you found me juuust as i was raring up to procrastinate. you are in luck. CHILAIOS/656 WORDS/TALLCHUCKXLAIOS/CONSIDER THIS BREAK THE LOCK CANON

“Okay,” Chilchuck said, his voice deeper and rougher than Laios was used to. “What’re you staring at?”

Laios blinked. “You, obviously.”

“But aren’t you used to this shit yet? Do I look different now that you’ve changed back?”

Laios cocked his head. The changeling effect had worn off for Laios a few hours ago, but Chilchuck was still a tallman. Maybe because he was lower to the ground, he got a larger payload? Laios had made extra sure they’d scrubbed everything off him, so it was only a matter of time. Laios didn’t like to think about the possibility Chilchuck never changing back, but with his taller stature returned he could properly appreciate the differences. Chilchuck loomed over Laios as a dwarf and was still taller than him now. His cheekbones were higher, his face stretched along a taller jaw, stubble emerging so soon after a morning shave. Yet, besides the slightly sunken and tired look, Chilchuck’s eyes were still the same; pitch dark in low light, amber-brown in front of the fire, intense when met.

“You do,” Laios said, “but you don’t. I keep noticing little things.”

A blush rose on Chilchuck’s gaunt face, scratching at the nape of his neck. “Well, don’t get too invested. It’s gonna wear off soon.” He rubbed the pressure point on his temple. “Hopefully.”

“It will,” Laios assured him, and scooted closer. “But it’s fascinating… I wonder how the changeling spores decide what form to change someone into?”

“I guess whatever’s funniest,” Chilchuck said with a wry grin. “You saw Izutsumi.”

“I don’t think you’re funny looking, though,” Laios frowned, his eyebrows pinching together. Chilchuck pshawed at him and put a hand on his face when he got close. Laios pushed against it and wriggled, an over-affectionate dog held at bay.

“It’s supposed to make me look freakish to everyone else, so I die alone, right?” Chilchuck said. “Half-foot to tall-man makes sense. I’m twice the size of the biggest guy in my family. Imagine if I came home to my kids like this when they were young.”

He frowned at that, the dark humor sucked out of it by frank darkness. “And an elf to a half-foot,” he went on, trying to wipe the annoying concern off Laios’ face, “That’s gotta be a nightmare. We’re the lowest of the low to them, right?”

“Chilchuck.”

Laios was back in Chilchuck’s space, having evaded his hand, or Chilchuck had let him. It didn’t matter. Chilchuck’s hand found Laios’ shoulder but he didn’t shove. Chilchuck hated being observed so closely, but he made endless exceptions for Laios.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. Chilchuck honked out a laugh. “I’m serious!” Laios barked, and Chilchuck petered out. “I mean it, Chil.”

Chilchuck rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s a shame, since you’re never gonna see this face again.”

Laios held his face and turned Chilchuck to face him, to kiss him. Their faces fit together unevenly even though they were the same size now. Laios scratched his fingers through Chilchuck’s stubble and nuzzled their noses together, did that creepy thing where he opened his eyes to watch Chilchuck as they kissed that always drove him crazy. Laios reached up to touch Chilchuck’s ear, finding a nick in his ear that Marcille could never fully heal all the way, and Chilchuck grumbled as he felt—something like it, it was doing something for him, but maddeningly dull compared to his memory.

“That’s just it, Chil,” Laios breathed. “Seeing you like this, as cool as it is…” he grinned sadly. “I miss you as you are.”

When Laios brought up his other hand to cup Chil’s head, there was a rush of something electric. As he drifted back into reality, he was engulfed in Laios’ warm shadow, and they couldn’t easily interlock their hands. Chilchuck gripped the broad gap between Laios’ middle and ring fingers, and thanked the stupid mushrooms for letting them fit together properly again.

[loveforneteyam]

❝your mighty warrior❞ ( I. )

golden eyes

summary: you never thought you'd see your lover's golden eyes again. and when you did, he didn't recognize a single part of you. pairing: neteyam x omaticaya!reader wordcount: 2.8k contains: angst, major spoilers for atwow, mentions of character death, blood, memory loss, sad guilty lo'ak, lo’ak x reader is platonic! notes: the first part, here we go! if i get things with the timeline messed up just ignore it haha. my heart breaks for lo'ak in this, but i hope you all enjoy!

paskalin : term of endearment oeyä tìyawn : my love tanhí : small, bioluminescent freckles

masterlist | series

The water is still in the night. Its chaos—violent waves that crash and collide—disappears once the darkness blankets over the sky. The surface of the water reflects the stars, small freckles of light in the face of the ocean. Although gentle tides push and pull, the vast sea is silent as it sleeps.

There is a beat to be heard; a pulse from under the water, under the ocean floor, from the very core of Pandora. A strong, mighty rhythm that shakes the ground. But this heartbeat does not come from the Great Mother.

In the quiet of the night, the reflection of the sky in the ocean is disrupted. Calloused fingers break through the barrier, reaching past the thin veil. He grasps the air like a rope. The crown of his head splits the sea in half. The moon pulls him to her; his body, strong and powerful, ascends.

──

It was his mother who pressed his eyes closed when they were void of life. The blank face of your lover glared into your soul. The grip he had on your hand--desperately clinging onto you like it would heal the hole in his heart--vanished, and you were left to imagine his fingers were still intertwined with yours.

You remember the wave of realization on his father's face, how his ears slightly dropped and his bottom lip quivered when he noticed that the bullet had gone straight through his eldest son's chest. Crimson collected in his shaking palms. You knew then that there was nothing to be done. Nothing except to sit next to Neteyam, your prince, as his soul moved onto the Great Mother.

His funeral was inevitable. After the war was over, it was time for the Suli's to say goodbye. You stayed with his brother, Lo'ak's hands placed in yours, as Neteyam slowly sank deeper towards the ocean floor. His frame became smaller and smaller, until he was completely engulfed by luminescent tendrils. Your lover was no more.

The family struggled to carry on without him. You remained close with his siblings, thankfully. Kiri mourned by your side. For a time, it had been just her and Neteyam. He was born less than a month before her and she considered him to be her twin. Tuk was young, but old enough to understand, “He is with Eywa”.

Lo'ak, however, was almost never to be seen. If you managed to catch a glimpse of him, he was silent and reclusive. He even ignored Tsireya, who asked you multiple times if he was alright; you never had an answer.

Despite your great loss, the village of Awa'atlu continued on. Every morning, the fishermen and farmers rose early, the healers prepared their supplies, and the hunters readied their ilus to dive through the sea.

Life continued on as if Neteyam's soul had never been ripped out of your blood-soaked hands, as if his eyes had never looked their last to you. It broke your heart.

──

Although Jake Suli had finally recognized his youngest son for his true potential, it was too late. Lo'ak put the blame for Neteyam's death on himself. He accepted that he would forever carry that weight with him, no matter where he ran to or hid.

You knew that when he was nowhere to be found, he was somewhere far off in the sea on Payakan's fin. He stayed out late and missed ceremonies and Suli family meetings; it was Neteyam who always pushed Lo'ak to participate. But even when he laid underneath the stars on the back of Payakan, the ocean water gently lapping at his skin, the guilt still sat in his chest like the bullet in Neteyam's heart.

Without his older brother, Lo'ak ceased to exist. He refused to meet his eyes or even speak to his mother. He made himself an outcast before his family could. You recognized that the void in Lo'ak's life was the same one tearing you apart, so you felt that it was your responsibility to look after him.

"We must be strong," Neteyam had told you the night you left your home in the forest. You said goodbye to your family to be with him. He'd placed his palm over your heart. "In here."

It was eerie how you could still feel his touch as if he were right in front of you. Neteyam would've wanted you to stay strong for Lo'ak, and you would do anything to honor your mighty warrior.

Unfortunately, looking after Lo'ak wasn't easy when you could never find him. Two days had passed and you hadn't seen him once. You knew not to worry--Kiri noticed your concern and said she'd seen him with his tulkun just outside of the reef. "He didn't seem like he wanted to come back."

By that night, you'd given up. After a great feast held for the birth of Tonowari and Ronal's child, you separated yourself from the others and sat alone on a far-off shore. The ocean life illuminated the darkness around you, small specks of teal and gold light scattered in the water. Your feet had sunk into the wet sand as the calm waves kissed your ankles.

While the ocean held many wonders that continued to fascinate you, it left a bitter image burned into your memory.

There was fire off in the distance, gunshots and explosions, but they were all the least of your concern. You shook as you held his body in your arms. The water had turned violent, as if the Great Mother knew of the war taking place. Sharp, chaotic waves crashed against a rocky landing. Crimson pooled in the grooves of the rock, running down the sides to where it diluted in the vast sea.

You never allowed yourself to remember anything past that. The ocean had not redeemed itself just yet. You pulled your knees to your chest so your feet were out of the water. The silence of the night would never be peaceful; if it was quiet enough, you could still hear his voice in your ear.

Fortunately, the silence broke. Soft footsteps in the sand were trailing towards you, and wide, golden eyes met your small frame. Lo'ak had not expected you so far away from the village, alone, at night. "(y/n)," he froze. "What're you doing here?"

"Lo'ak," you let out a breath of relief that you'd been holding for the past few days. You stood and brushed the sand off of your legs. "I've- We've been looking for you. Your mother and father have been so worried."

He frowned at the mention of his family--of his father. He refused to even imagine what they could possibly think of him. "I was just out," Lo'ak tried to dismiss the topic and swiftly walked past you, his shoulder barely brushing yours. "I'm fine."

The remnants of your heart cracked once again. Even when a hand reached out for him, grasping onto his fingertips, he'd pull away. The fear of rejection--the thought of placing his trust in someone with only betrayal in return--was too great. Lo'ak would abandon others before they could abandon him.

"Lo'ak, please." your hand gently grabbed his shoulder to turn him back to you. He stood a few inches over you and refused to look down to meet your eyes.

There was a soft spark in his chest, and you could see the flame beginning to grow. "What do you want, (y/n)?" He retorted with a sigh.

"You know what it is, Lo'ak." You brushed your hand down his arm to meet his palm. You placed his own hand on top of his heart. He sighed, breath laced with heavy regret and guilt. Lo'ak knew that whatever he'd been hiding for the past few months would be coming up right there in front of you.

He practically collapsed onto the sand, feet set in the water and arms wrapped around his legs, but he quickly pulled himself away from the shore, just like you had earlier, once the memories began to feel too real. You sat right by his side and looked off to the dark horizon. The two of you stared with broken hearts. "Have you gone to see him?"

There was silence, apart from the gentle lapping of the waves and the village in the distance. "No," he regretfully looked down at his lap. "Have you?"

You shook your head, "No." Your response wasn't much better.

For as much as the two of you missed him, neither of you had gone to the Spirit Tree like the rest of the Suli family. The only images of Neteyam that you had left were the memories still burned into your vision. “I’m afraid to forget him,” Lo’ak admitted. He bit the inside of his cheek. “But I’m too scared to see him again.”

You looked to him with sympathetic eyes. For the first time since his brother’s death, Lo’ak broke. Three tears left a trail down his face to where they dropped off his skin and onto the sand. “I don’t know much about spirits,” you began. You set a firm, reassuring hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder. “But Neteyam loved us with all his heart. Even as he rests with the Great Mother, he loves us.”

He tried to nod along to your words as if he would better believe them. Lo’ak gently gasped before a quiet, broken sob left his throat, “I know it’s my fault.” His shoulders heaved. “If I hadn’t made him go back for Spider or- or if I stayed behind instead of him..”

“Oh, Lo’ak,” you cooed, turning towards him and engulfing him in a hug. He leaned his forehead down onto your shoulder. This was the first comfort he’d felt in months. “We can’t tell ourselves those things.”

His tears collected on your skin. “My brother,” he whimpered, “is gone.”

Your fingers gently caressed the back of his head, tracing over his braids. You shushed him, “There’s nothing we can do.” How could you affirm this to Lo’ak when you couldn’t even accept it yourself? You pulled away so you could look him in the eyes.

“I miss him too much.” Lo’ak wept.

Holding his face between your gentle hands, you nodded. Together, your tears soaked the sand beneath you; the two of you could’ve created an entire ocean. “I miss him, too, paskalin.” Your thumb soothed cheek and wiped away the tears from his eyes. “But we must stay strong for him.

“All we can do is remember. One day, we’ll be strong enough to see him, I know it. But for now, we must be strong,” You put your hand over his heart. The beat of his soul turned steady; you remembered how Neteyam’s slowed to a stop, and for the first time since his death, you pushed the memory away without a single tear. “In here.”

Lo’ak closed his eyes and calmed his breath, allowing the feeling of your palm on his skin to soothe him. He’d opened himself and poured out his heart. Now, he could heal.

The night continued on, and you stayed with Lo’ak throughout the dark reign. He could take however long he needed. You would comfort him through whatever war he created in his mind. The tide came in, brushing water against your knees, but the two of you remained.

Finally, he opened his eyes. “We should return to the village.” Before, Lo’ak spoke bluntly with a dismissive mask to cover how broken he truly was. Now, his voice was firm and strong.

“Are you sure?” You warned. He stood and you cautiously rode with him.

His hands, which had been balled in tense fists, released themselves. Lo’ak nodded, “I’ve been too focused on my brother that I’ve forgotten the rest of my family. Do you think they’ll forgive me?”

With a sweet, proud smile, you offered, "They already have."

──

The path back to the village was peaceful given that you and Lo'ak had come to terms with your grief. He had warned you that his parents would most likely be angry when you returned since it'd been hours since they'd last seen you and days since they'd seen him. You'd consoled him, "We'll get through it together."

It was strange that in Neteyam's absence, you and Lo'ak were able to replace the void with each other. Although he was only a year younger, you'd always felt a sisterly love for him, the same way that you felt for Kiri or Tuk. Now that your connection with Lo'ak had healed, maybe you could too.

Life ahead was beginning to look a little brighter in that moment as you walked on the shore.

But your peace was short-lived.

The village was close enough that you could see the pods, docks, and several Metkayina men with glowing lanterns that noticed you and Lo'ak approaching. They called out and, together, the two of you rushed to them.

"What is wrong?" Lo'ak prodded, trying to look past their broad shoulders at the commotion that was collecting in the village.

You tried as well but they were too tall compared to you. "You must come with us," one of the men said. The flames in the lanterns gently flickered but you could well enough see Kiri running in the distance. Her eyes were wide with fear like she'd seen a ghost.

"Kiri!" You exclaimed.

She pushed past the men and, out of breath, embraced Lo'ak. "Brother!" There were tears falling from her eyes, only you had expected her to happily cry at the sight of Lo'ak. Instead, she wept. "You must come. Come, (y/n)."

Kiri led you both back to the village, the men following after you to provide light. Almost every person in Awa'atlu--man, woman, young, and old--crowded near the shore. They yelled and gasped, cursing and praying. The three of you struggled to push past everyone, accidentally stepping on tails and toes and bumping elbows and shoulders.

Everyone seemed to look at you and Lo'ak with sympathy. Lo'ak sensed it as well, and looked just as confused as you were.

The crowd was like a hurricane, and in the center, the eye was calm. Jake and Neytiri kneeled on the ground, Tuk crying into her father's arm. Tonowari, Ao'nung, and a collection of soldiers held the people back. Ronal sat across from Neytiri, muttering a prayer with her eyes shut. Kiri ran to her mother's side. Tsireya rushed to Lo'ak as he collapsed.

Your heart stopped.

On the ground, where the ocean met the sand, a figure laid. He had strong legs and arms, a strapping abdomen, and calloused palms and fingers. There was a scar on the outside of his right thigh. Tanhì scattered across his body like the constellations reflected on the ocean.

Your prince. His ghost would forever haunt you. What had you done wrong? What had you done for the Great Mother to curse you like this? Just as you could feel your wounds beginning to heal, your heart crumbled again.

You fell to your knees, placing your hand over your mouth to cover the ear-splitting wail you released. You could fully see your Neteyam now. Just as you had remembered it, but his eyes were gently shut. Neytiri cried alongside you, and your heart almost broke even further until you heard her whisper, "Thank you, Great Mother. Thank you."

What was she grateful for? Jake noticed your confusion, and with a hopeful smile, he took your hand and placed it on Neteyam's heart. Underneath the weight of your palm, you felt a gentle pulse. A steady, soft rhythm that rocked your core. Your tears stopped, a cry stuck in your throat.

You looked down to his body and gasped. "Oeyä tìyawn," you whispered out to him, hoping he would hear it. Through just two words, your voice called out to him.

Golden eyes, that you thought you would never see again, opened.

His father gasped; his mother laughed; his sisters cheered, and his brother bowed with his forehead touching the ground. Neteyam's mighty heartbeat reached across Pandora.

"Ma 'Teyam," you smiled. You could taste your own tears as they reached the corners of your mouth. For the first time in months, you weren't crying from a split in your heart--you cried at the feeling of it healing. You were foolish to think the Great Mother would curse you. "Thank you, Great Mother."

Only two minutes had passed until you noticed the laughter and cheers of others had disappeared. The night had become silent again. Your smile fell when you recognized that Neteyam had not yet embraced you. In fact, he stayed frozen on the ground.

His eyes were still open, but they were wide and full of fear. Tuk reached for his hand, and he quickly pulled away with a scared gasp. He flinched when his own mother caressed his cheek. "Neteyam," she pleaded. Finally, his eyes met yours. You looked to him with desperate affection, practically shooting beams of love towards him. Your stomach dropped when you noticed it.

Your prince did not know who you were.

taglist: @m4nd0l0r @slythermania @angrypomeranianwifey @afro-hispwriter @neteyamsgirll @sopiasleeps @sassy-persona @islamovice17 @danyxthirstae01 @argentnoble @ilovehotd @freyabear @vxncxntt @loquatious-josephi-krakousky @virginslutsstuff @brooklynscherry-z @elvyshiarieko @sharni07 @sillyfreakfanparty @23victoria @froglogblog @neteyamoa @lilprettypetite @littlecurlyhairedbabe @theflowerofpandora @howcl @hlhl99 @dreamergirljen @tejas-kris @osumarusjade

[milliesfishes]

hiii i know you don’t write smut but i don’t think this falls under smut? but if it’s uncomfortable to write about please ignore!!

billy with reader who only feels loved when she sexualizes herself and how he would kinda comfort her about that. like maybe he comes home and shes all perfect for him even though deep down shes having a bad day and just wants to cry and he’s just like im not here for any of that stuff im here for you.

꣑ৎ౨ৎbilly when you feel like you have to sexualize yourself꣑ৎ౨ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Wrung dry from the day's demands, you collapsed into the kitchen chair, fanning a hand over your eyes and taking in a deep breath. The memories of earlier were frozen solid to you like icicles in the winter, and you were trying to melt them, let the water flow through the stream of your mind elsewhere.

To your dismay, it was fruitless.

It felt as though nothing could go right. You woke up an hour later than you had wanted, which had set you back on chores. When you tugged your dress on, there had been a sickening tear that announced a new absence of stitches under your arm. The porch outside that needed sweeping had been littered with cobwebs that caught the bristles of your broom and made you shudder at the texture. And on your way down to the garden you had tripped on a loose board poking from the steps, skinning your knee bloody on the way down.

Holding back tears, you continued and tried to find a silver lining. One of your tomato plants was blooming beautifully, although the rest had been consumed by pests. You had been able to finish your chores, although it was now almost sunset and you'd had to start supper late.

Soup was boiling on the stove, and you hesitantly rose to peer into the pot. Just about done. Billy would be happy to have a hot meal when he came home.

Billy would be home soon. Your eyes widened and you rushed down the hall to the washroom, where a little mirror was positioned over the sink. Looking at your reflection, you nearly cried. The day's events had indeed taken a toll on you. Pinching your cheeks, you reached for your brush and combed it through your messy hair. The tangles pulled at your scalp and you winced slightly, pushing through.

In order to finish your chores in a timely manner you hadn't bothered to swap out your torn dress, and now you debated quickly rifling through your collection to change it. But when the familiar sound of heavy bootsteps on the porch graced your ears, you disregarded it, deciding to keep your arms down.

The door swung open, a creak announcing Billy's arrival. You plastered a sweet smile to your face and took in a deep breath. Be his girl.

Instantly when you saw him some of the tension melted away. He set his hat on the wall hook, unfastening his gun belt and slinging it over the chair by the door. When he saw you, a broad smile lightened his face, and he held his arms out. "There she is."

You ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck and letting him lift you off your feet. It took all but two seconds for you to remember your dress and you winced but moved on. Billy buried his face in your neck, pressing a kiss there that made you giggle. "Been missin' my girl all day."

"I missed you too," you murmured, ignoring the way his gentle touch made you want to cry. There wasn't any way you would dream of telling Billy about your train wreck of a day. Not when he was out risking life and liberty under the watchful eye of the law. Your problems paled in comparison.

The least you could do was give him something nice to come home to. Whether it be kisses or your bare body later.

With that in mind, you pulled back and nudged his nose with yours, making him smile before you caught his lips in a kiss. He obliged eagerly, shifting you so he was holding your thighs up, his hips between them. You pushed down any feelings of negative variety, focusing on the kiss. He needed to feel good. That was your priority.

Billy broke the kiss, giving you a fond look. "It smells good, didja make somethin'?"

Nodding, you kept your smile pressed in place. "It's on the stove."

"Ah!" He set you down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his side, smacking a kiss on your forehead. "You'll turn me into a kept man, darlin'." As he pulled you into the kitchen, you felt as though you were batting away your feelings with a stick. They kept rebounding, but you were able to keep them at bay.

Dinner was a painful affair. If it hadn't been Billy sitting across from you there was a more than likely chance you would have broken into pieces. He chattered about his day, grinning broadly at you through mouthfuls of soup.

Inside you were boiling, about to spill over. The sunset was a brilliant orange through the window, and you stared at it for a moment, getting lost in the stark fall color painted on the cerulean sky. The same blue as his eyes. You breathed in once, frustrated at yourself. Why were you still upset? Billy was home, it was all okay.

Even though you told yourself this over and over, the feeling did not dissipate. And you stayed quiet, nodding at what Billy was saying absentmindedly.

It was only when you realized he had stopped talking that you looked back at him, eyes wide. His brow was knitted, and you chided yourself. You stopped paying attention and now he's worried. He shouldn't have to be worried because of you.

"You okay, angel?" Billy reached for your hand, squeezing the fingers.

"Yes." You nodded, pasting the smile back on. "Yes, I'm fine. Everything is fine."

He didn't look convinced, and you panicked, standing up and going to him. Slotting yourself between his legs, you took his face in your hands and brushed some of his hair back, searching his eyes. Billy gazed up at you, blue eyes showing nothing short of devotion. You internally breathed a sigh of relief. He loved you. He still loved you.

Billy's hands found your waist, and he pulled you down to sit on his thigh, legs tucked primly between his. He watched you for a moment, fingers stroking your sides. You felt a jolt of anxiety, worried that he was worrying.

Leaning in, you kissed him soundly, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. His stubble prickled your skin, and you pressed your chest to his, making him grunt. One of Billy's hands found your lower back, pushing you into him. Your mind calmed just slightly at that; thankful he still wanted you.

Taking his other hand, you used it to cover one of your breasts, lips moving fluently. Billy paused, nuzzling your nose before he dove back in. You shifted on his lap so you were straddling him, your movements methodical. The feeling of dread was mounting in your chest, as if there were a solid mass poking your ribs.

You tried to ignore it. But before you could stop, a choked breath escaped your lips, and you pulled back, chest heaving as your eyes fell to his shoulder. In an instant Billy's hands were on your waist, rubbing carefully. "Sweetheart?"

The tenderness in which he delivered the name sparked tears in your eyes, and you refused to look at him, nodding hastily. "Yes. Yes, everything's fine. I'm fine, I'm-" your breath hitched, and you blinked rapidly, risking a glance at him.

Billy was frowning, eyes brimming with concern. He moved his hands soothingly on your waist. "Baby...what'sa matter?"

"Nothing." You leaned back in and kissed him. His lips nudged yours, but his expression didn't change, eyes not closing. You grew tense with anxiety again, taking his face in your hands and kissing his nose. Then his lips again. Billy remained looking at you.

It wasn't working. You reached for his hand, tried to position it on your breast again, but he lifted it to your face, settling his palm on your cheek. The way he was watching you made you want to crawl into a hole and bury yourself alive. He thumbed your temple, looking at you like you were a code he wanted to break. When he spoke, it was a single word. "Angel." You swallowed, and he continued. "Angel, what'sa matter?"

"You wanted to..." you tried once more to put his hand on your breast. But he shook his head and repositioned it on your face, causing your cheeks to fill with color.

"Not if you're not feelin' good, sweetheart." The way he said it only dug a deeper chasm inside you. Guilt overwhelmed your senses as you figured you had done something wrong.

That was when you broke. The dam all but crumbled, and your cheeks flooded with the tears you'd been wanting to shed all day. You hid your face in your hands, too ashamed to look at him. "I'm f-ine."

He was pulling you in now, hand on your crown carefully guiding your face to his shoulder. Billy held you tight to him, and you broke down, shivering between his arms.

"Shh," he soothed, rocking back and forth. "Deep breaths, honey. Deep breaths. I've gotcha. It's okay." Billy traced shapes into your back, noting when you untensed. "There you go. Atta girl."

You kept your head where it was, almost hiding from him. Against his shirt, your cheeks flushed with humiliation. He was never meant to see you like this. The thought was what made you sit up fully, hurriedly wiping your eyes and avoiding his. "I'm sorry, I'm-"

"'s okay...sweetie..." Billy squeezed your sides gently. "Nothin' to say sorry for. What happened?"

"Just had a bad day." You waved a hand, setting it on his chest alongside your other one. Rubbing him there slightly, you tried to smile. "I'm okay."

"Hey-" Billy's hands framed your cheeks, and you stopped, worried you'd done something wrong. He held you still for a moment, letting the silence fill the air. Then, quietly, "'s okay to have a bad day. You can tell me."

You felt something pinch inside of you, brushing your bones with words you'd never been told before. Billy furthered it, saying, "Baby...you don't have to pretend it's okay."

Now you were stripped bare in front of him, down to the core. Billy smoothed your hair, tucking some behind your ears. Your bottom lip trembled, and he hushed you gently, rubbing your back. "Why don't you go lay down for a minute, hm? And I can clean up here?"

You began to protest, but he shook his head, tilting his head to press a kiss to your temple. "Go get ready for bed, mkay? I'll be along."

Shamefully, you let him stand you up, sending you off with a kiss to your hairline. You tearfully prepared yourself for bed, removing your torn dress and setting it aside for mending, donning a nightdress and getting under the covers, lying on your side and shutting your eyes.

Billy joined you in practically no time, the sounds of him removing his work clothes and setting his boots aside evident. When he pulled the covers back and rested a gentle hand on your hip, you turned into him, nuzzling against his bare chest. He wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

As he held you, the feeling that you had been shoving at all day began to melt. And when you opened your eyes, he was already looking down at you, face calm as you began to relax. Billy pressed his lips to your hair, sheltering you in his arms. When he spoke, it was softly. "You don't have to worry 'bout bein' okay all the time. Don't want you to be hurtin' so bad 'n feel like you have to hide it." He swiped a thumb over your cheek. "Don't hide it."

You took in a shaky breath, burrowing into his arms. "I just wanna be happy for you. Make you feel good. You have so much to worry about."

"Honey-" Billy braced his hands on your cheeks, searching your eyes. He touched his lips to your nose, making you smile just a little. "Havin' one bad day doesn't make any difference. You're always so happy, my happy girl." He softened when you leaned into his palm. "'m not here to use you, sweetheart. I love you. 'm here for you."

"For me." you repeated it quietly, and he kissed your forehead, nodding.

"For you," he affirmed. "I love everything you give me because it's you."

Something warm was blooming in your heart. You breathed in once, suddenly understanding the magnitude of how much he really loved you. Somehow in all your time with him you'd never realized he was here to stay. A secret voice within had convinced you that it you weren't perfect he would use it to leave.

But Billy wasn't a man who tossed things aside. He'd been running all his life and now he wanted to stand still.

He wanted to stand still with you.

"I love you," he whispered, tucking your head under his chin. And for the first time you realized he wasn't saying it to fill the air.

It was a promise. one never to be broken.

As he brought you close so your ear touched the space over his heart, you felt that promise being fulfilled. You gave him devotion and so he would return it. Was that what love was? Looking up at Billy, you wondered to yourself, amazed at this new discovery.

You felt it in the way he watched you. He said it again, sparking something that felt like springtime in your heart. "I love you."

It soaked your tongue like sugar, a true smile sweeping away the dust your false ones left behind tonight.

"I love you too."

[borderlandsresearcher]

MK1 Girlies x Reader:

What She Smells Like 🪷

WOMEN LOVERS COME GET Y'ALL FOOD!!!

CW: suggestive, mentions of polyamory, gn reader, not proofread.

(A/N @ the bottom)

Kitana

-lotus flower, cherry blossom, rose

* Kitana's fragrance is a comforting mixture of various native Edenian plants, as she spends most of her free time frolicking in the palace gardens. Every night she is greeted with a warm, steaming bath, littered with petals from her favourite flower. She loves nothing more than soaking in the essences of her homeland, feeling connected to both herself and nature.

* When she's on duty serving her sister, the leather from her armour overwhelmingly distracts from her natural scent. She found a way to kombat this by leaving small flowers in her pockets and spritzing on the perfume she made between each break.

* When you're not around, she misses your scent more than anything. She'll steal one of your shirts and cuddle with it until she falls asleep. She has gotten too used to you being around, and it devastates her everytime you leave.

* Because of this, you leave behind a bottle of your perfume for Kitana each time you know you will be gone for a long period of time. She is slightly embarrassed when she finds out you know about her habits, but is grateful for your thoughtfulness.

Mileena

-dark cherry

* Smells like you/Tanya let's be honest

* She tries her best to maintain a consistent scent by using various products, ranging from perfumes to body creams to lip gloss!

* Her scent may be a little overwhelming at times, but with the amount of running around she does it tends to wear off throughout the day.

* She sweats quite often, especially during training. Neither you or Tanya seem to mind, expressing that you both love her no matter how smelly she is after training 😆

Sindel

-lavender, sage

* She bathes in various flowers, similar to Kitana.

* During the mourning period of her late husband, she would burn many plants in his honour. She did this so often that the smoke would rub off on her, following her throughout the day.

* When she's feeling down, she allows her daughters to braid flowers into her hair, the aroma complimenting her feminine aura.

* Just like Kitana , she craves your scent whenever you aren't around.

* When Jerrod returns as Ermac, she is overjoyed. She now gets to revel in the warmth of her lovers, appreciating each of your unique scents.

Li Mei

-lavender

* Li Mei learned all of her beauty tips from Sindel, including proper perfume application.

* Sindel gifted her with a vial of lavender perfume from her personal collection for her to sneak into the Umgadi inner sanctum, although she never used it ...

* That was until she was disgraced, and she deeply missed the smell of her empress. She wore it as frequently as possible, and as she climbed her way up the ranks to First Constable, she was able to afford as many bottles of liquid lavender as she desired.

* To you, it was simply the scent she enjoyed. But to her, it was a reminder to whom she serves, and the memories she had lost along the way.

Tanya

-Almond, vanilla, coconut

*The Umgadi are strict on cleanliness, but not so much on luxuries such as perfumes or scented creams. It borders on the line of vanity, which they frown upon. Fortunately, Edenian women tend to value their hair above any other beauty aspect, a trend indirectly started by Empress Sindel.

*The Umgadi embrace this tradition, and allow for the sisters to indulge in frequent haircare, as long as it does not distract from their duties.

*Tanya takes advantage of this. She not only wants to look, but to smell good for both you and Mileena. She works scented oils into her hair, perhaps a bit more than what she actually needs, but anything to make an impression on her lovers. And if you're lucky enough to get some alone time together, she'll let you do it for her, as well as returning the favour.

*Begins to smell like you/Mileena if she's around you long enough.

Ashrah

-dragons blood, rose

* Demons emit a strong musk depending on their mood.

* When she's happy, she'll smell of dragons blood and roses, which is the one you are most accustomed to, seeing as your presence brings her joy.

* When sad, she smells of rain and moss. It is your least favourite scent for this reason...

* When she's lustful, she'll smell of cinnamon and other spices. You and Syzoth are the only ones to have witnessed such a scent.

Nitara

-blood orange, amber

* Despite what you may think, Vaternians care quite a bit about the way they smell, as they are always seeking a potential mate.

* Although, these scents will usually consist of things that attract their own kind, such as human blood.

* But for you? She goes the extra mile. Bathing herself with citrus, spending the few coins she has on exotic Sun Do spices to rub into her clothes, and even changing her diet to animal blood as to not attract others. You are the only mate she desires.

Khameleon

-Tea tree, peppermint, coconut

* Like Tanya, she takes advantage of this loophole. Before she met you, she never really paid attention to how she smelled. The only requirement was that she was clean and presentable in the eyes of the royal family.

* When the two of you started seeing each other, she started to notice little things she normally wouldn't in other people. Your scent, the way you breathe, the way your heart beats fast when she lay on your chest during those rare private moments-- she noticed it all.

* All she wanted was for you to see her the way she sees you, so she goes to Tanya for advice. Now, the girls pamper their hair together, giving each other knowing looks as they do so.

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

A/N: Hope this was alright, lemme know your thoughts and whether you agree with my choices or not!!! I am open to constructive criticism :)

[swifty-fox]

Would you be happy to share a little bit of John's head space when he was arrested, unable to reach Gale (not even knowing if he was safe) and then when Curt told him he'd got in touch? LOVEEEEEED this part. Prison tropes are yummy #chapel au

(p.s. I hope he was loyal in jail too!)

ask and ye shall receive (sometimes)

Now on Ao3!

The cops chip his tooth clean off throwing him over the corpse of the Corolla. He watches the white bone bounce away as pain blooms vivid and sharp across his face. Cursing before the sensation truly registers, still processing the sharp crack he cusses out the hands roving over his body, dragging his arms roughly behind his back, cold metal clinching tight around his wrists.

“It was a con. It was my fuckin hand in my pocket! There’s no goddamn weapon if you’d listen to me for just a second you stupid fuckin’ pigs.”

There’s a gun pointed at him. He’s not used to the reversal. His side throbs in phantom memory.

Folded into the back of a cruiser like dirty laundry he leans back uncomfortably on his cuffed hands and runs his tongue over the jagged edge of his tooth again and again, shuddering at the pain of it. 

He pictures Gale on a bus to California, staring out the window and playing with his braid until the flyaways outmatched the hair tie. Usually, he was frowning slightly, unless he had a gun in his hand or he was looking at John, and John imagines himself pressing a thumb to the imaginary furrow of Gale’s imaginary brow. 

It’s soothing enough as he breathes and watches the cops rip apart the car, scattering his and Gale’s entire life across the roadside. 

He shouts, knowing they won’t hear him, “There’s no fucking gun!”

-*~*-

They don't quite rough ride him but a few of the red lights have his chest hitting the front seat for how he can’t catch himself with anything but his already sore face. He cusses them out for it every time.

-*~*-

He’s given some fresh from the bar bushy-tailed lawyer who can’t be any older than he is. Veal’s convinced he’s saving his life, arguing for time served on account of his lack of a permanent address and he smiles at him with teeth and tells the judge to go fuck himself. 

It’s stupid. He can hear Gale sighing in his ear. Gale with his serious face and eyes that went electric and feral with a gun on his hand, a mask over his face. Quick clever Gale who had only ever missed a single camera in all their time together. Gale who is in California, waiting for a partner in crime who will never show up now. 

They hit him with the full fifteen months, of course. John sits as the courtroom slowly clears, eyes fixed unseeingly at the desk and thinks he’s made the worst mistake of his life.

-*~*-

Gale, Gale, Gale. 

If he were a less secure man he’d be disgusted with himself how often he spent thinking about his partner in crime. The whip of his braid in the wind and the white slash of his teeth when John got him to truly smile. The taste of his sweat and the way he was slow to wake in the morning. Quiet and unspeaking as John slowly coaxed him from bed with his lips and soft murmurs. Sweet and slightly vacant until they got a cup of coffee in his hands. 

He runs over the last moments of them together, the animal panic in Gale’s face, the soft growl behind his kiss as John drank him down in the shadows. The stiff broad line of his shoulders as he boarded the bus.

Tucking the snowglobe into his bag when he wasn’t looking, John’s fingers shaking. 

He’s used to leaving. He’s left his family and he’s left friends and towns and places all over. He’s left girls in bed and boys in rest-stop bathrooms and he’s left a fair few morals at his father's grave too. 

Leaving Gale, or Gale leaving him, feels like it had been the most enormous thing he’s ever done. He’d waved the bus away and then sat in their car until the sun rose, trying to convince himself to turn the ignition and put the car in a direction that was not after Gale.

It was a good plan. 

It’s not Gale’s fault that John never knew how to keep his mouth shut, never believed this stupid little car that had been his home, and then their home, would ever give out on him.

John wonders how long Gale will bother to wait for him. He wonders if he’ll try to make his way back to their usual haunts, if he’ll cut and run like he’d been ready to do before John had whisked him away. 

He calls Curt every few days, leaning against the phone booth and working his teeth over the inside of his cheek. 

“Ain’t heard anything, Bucky,” Curt says voice as tender as it ever could be. 

“You’ll tell him?” John asks, as stupid as the question was, “If he calls you’ll tell him I didn’t mean to not be there.” 

-*~*-

The worst part, aside from the fact his heart is outside his body and somewhere in California, is that prison is boring. It’s not awful, Nebraska isn’t exactly a hotbed of violent crime, but even so John is sure to carry himself with every inch of his size, turns up the swagger in his step and drapes himself into chairs with a sprawl that shows off how little he cares, how confident he is in his place. He doesn’t start anything, but he doesn’t frame himself as someone easy to push over either. 

A lot of time is wasted away with physical activity. Basketball or wall ball with himself or teaching himself how to do chin-ups until his arms shake. It pays off. He wonders if Gale would like it.

He calls Curt, and Curt tells him he’s heard nothing and John spends his nights fantasizing about breaking out and somehow finding his partner in crime in the vastness of America to deal with it. 

-*~*-

His bunkmate is a rail-thin man named Hamilton. He’s got a gold tooth and a fucked up face and looks like the sort of guy who carries a knife just to show it off but he’s friendly and easygoing as they come and found a way to bring up his wife in every conversation. It’s charming until it gets annoying.

“The hell’d he even do?” He asks another inmate even though it’s considered bad manners. 

Douglass shrugs, carefully sketching his way through a letter, “His sister’s boyfriend put hands on her, so Ham took a hammer to ‘em.”

John taps out a cigarette,and offers one to Douglass because it’s the universal way of making friends, even behind chain-link fences, “Is his wife really in the circus?” 

“Fuck if I know.”

-*~*-

“Anything?”

“John, I promise you’d be the first to know.” 

-*~*-

Sometimes, rarely, and only late at night, John prays. They’d taken his father's crucifix with the rest of his personals and its absence was heavy around his neck. It’s more to his father that he prays anyway, rather than God. Asks him if he’d be proud – doubtful. Or if he’d think there was still time to save John – more likely. 

Remembers his big hand wrapped around John’s small one, tugging his balking form towards the church.

“Why can’t I just confess to you? Why do I have to do it with Pastor Coyne?

“Because as your father I’d be tempted to discipline or lecture you, Bucky. This is for you to be forgiven; for you to forgive yourself.”

He preferred his father’s God. But that God had been lowered into the ground right alongside Pastor Egan’s casket.

Look after him dad, he doesn’t have anyone doing it now. Needs it more than I do that’s for sure. Just make sure he’s among friends.

-*~*-

In the less romantic sense, he thinks about Gale a lot. It’s a gentleman's understanding, taking care of one’s needs; quiet and unobtrusive as possible. He’s heard Ham’s hitched breathing enough times during night or knowingly squeezed a few extra moments in the showers to allow the other man privacy. What a man does under the rough wool blankets they’re given is his own business. 

John thinks about Gale. About the wild pout of his lips that were the first thing John noticed. The hollow of his neck and collarbones, the way both fit perfectly between his fingers. How Gale’s eyes rolled as John squeezed tight, uncompromisingly trusting. The flushed curved of his cock sliding down John’s throat, splitting John open as Gale slipped elegant fingers into his mouth and made him suck the flavor of the leather wheel off them. 

Pulls himself off to the image of Gale’s broad tanned shoulders, speckled with water and braid tucked teasingly to one side. He’s smiling at John, glancing over his shoulder with the sun turning his lashes wispy and clear.

-*~*-

He gets prison ink, bored and reckless and maybe a little angry. Thick black stars on the front of his hips, and the constellation of the moles on Gale’s face on the inner corner of his elbow. Nonsense dots to anyone else but he knows they’re accurate down to the millimeter. 

It should be. He’s had three years to memorize them.

-*~*-

“John.” Curt says, voice short and shocked and clipped. He’s breathless, a little giddy in the pitch of his voice and John’s stomach drops right down through the concrete floor. 

“Is he okay?” are the first words out of his mouth.

-*~*-

Five minutes he speaks to Curt, five minutes before he hands up and dials the number he’d said aloud until he had it memorized without risk of failure. His hands don’t shake, but his heart feels like it’s about to give out and he’s worrying the inside of his cheek like a dog with a bone, the flaws gone raw and bloody. 

Gale Gale Gale.

It’s a mantra in his mind, a hail-fucking-mary and for once he barrels right past the memory of his father and thanks the big man directly. Because Gale is alive and Gale is whole and Gale has fucking found him. His fingers slip on the numbers, the phones connecting before it barely has the chance to ring and then John’s suddenly unable to breath as he hears a quiet exhale that’s as familiar as his own face in the mirror.

“Gale?”

A quiet sound of confirmation, thick with breathless emotion. The creak of plastic as the phone is gripped too tight. John presses his forehead against the top of the booth as if he might escape through the line itself and be back at his partners side.

“Hi doll,” He croaks, unable to keep the first smile in four months off his face, “Hi sweetheart.”

[joansjusticiar]

We belong together | Kuvira x F!Reader

Summary: The morning of your wedding, Kuvira gets word that you are planning to leave her. But she finds you where she left you- in your room getting ready to be married.

Word count: 800

A/N: With possessive I went the sort of toxic route… so TW for toxic relationships/abusive relationships. Please don’t read if these topics are likely to trigger you in any way, shape or form! Also first time writing possessiveness and it was sort of a struggle, so I apologise if this isn’t what you meant!

The persistent twinge in your upper arm flared up once more, throbbing with quiet protest as you sat and stared at yourself in the luxurious vanity Kuvira had gifted you. Frigid morning air chilled your bedroom, puffing the curtains up before they normally deflated, again and again. Goosebumps rose on your arms, unwinding as they stood. 

Hideous shades of green and yellow swirled together on your upper arm, tainting your otherwise flawless skin; a stark reminder of Kuvira’s claim on you. You were her bride to be and she could do whatever she pleased. Even if that meant hurting you in the process. After all, everything she was doing was for your own good- to protect you from those that wished you ill intent. 

You stared at the nasty bruise on your arm. She hadn’t meant to do it, not really. It was truly an accident and she had apologised profusely afterwards. She had just gripped you a bit too hard. That was all. 

She entered the room with a bang, narrowed eyes looking for you, widening in relief as she saw you. She stalked over to you quietly before wrapping her arms around your shoulders and resting her head on top of yours. 

“Kuvira?” You questioned softly. “What are you doing? You know it’s bad luck to see me before the wedding.” 

Kuvira hummed as she lifted herself off you. She reached for the hairbrush beside you, carefully de-tangling your hair with deliberate movements. “Can I not come and see my beautiful wife-to-be?” She questioned. 

“Well… I suppose. But you’ll be seeing me shortly- you know, when I walk down the aisle.” You hummed. 

“I missed you..” she admitted. “I had this terrible feeling that you were about to leave. Leave me.” 

Your heart sank at her words, your pulse beating just that bit more erratically as you locked eyes with her in the mirror. 

“You wouldn’t do such a thing, would you?” She asked, waiting for your response, tightening her grip on you ever so slightly. 

“No..” you whispered back. 

Her stony expression faded just as fast as it came, replaced with a pleased grin at your words. “You see… I knew that guard was lying- why would you have any reason to leave me? I give you everything you will ever need in life- that’s why I knew that there was no other choice to get rid of her.”

You reached up for her arms still entwined around your neck and pulled them down slightly so that you could swivel in your chair to face her. “A guard?” You questioned carefully, your voice even as you tried not to give anything away. 

“Mhm,” she hummed in affirmation, nose leaning in to rub against your own. “She said that you were planning to leave- right before the wedding. Seemed to think she’d have a chance of settling down with you once you escaped.” 

“I see…” your fingers rested against her cheeks. Soothing circles rubbed into the soft skin there as you tried to placate her brewing wrath. Yes. You were planning to escape. And, yes. It was supposed to be now. 

But something had stopped you. For once you thought about the life you shared with Kuvira, you could only focus on the good. Your mind went straight to the pure love you had shared before she donned the title of ‘Great Uniter’, before she had uprooted your lives, so placed you from your families. Before she had made you solely depended on her and only her. 

Perhaps your hesitance came from the memories of before. 

Before all this madness started. Before Kuvira became somebody you couldn’t recognise. Before the woman that you loved became a… monster. 

Perhaps your hesitance came from you knowing, deep down, that Kuvira was only doing what she believed to be right. 

A whisper of your name brought you out of your musings. Her eyes once sharp and judging held a certain lilt of insecurity- and if you looked closely enough, you could see the tears that threatened to fall. “You didn’t answer me..” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” You confessed, because you had been too caught up with your own thoughts to take any notice of her. 

“You-“ her voice cracked ever so slightly. “You are mine, aren’t you? You’ll never leave me? Never stop being mine?” 

Your eyes stared into the green of hers. Today you had chosen to stay but you weren’t sure if that would always be the case, so, instead of answering her verbally, you pulled her into a kiss. One that could hopefully convey the feelings you were so desperately trying to present to her on a silver platter. 

And hopefully, she would buy into your ruse for just a while longer. Just until you finally made your love to escape from her clutches. 

A/NII: Again, I’m not really happy with this but oh well.

[violentdelights-violentendss]

Bath Time

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Tangerine

Synopsis: You successfully manage to drag Tangerine into a bath after a long and strenuous job.

Requested by: I lost the username…I’m so sorry!!!!

Warning: Nothing.

(So sorry this is maybe too short and very bad, but I just wanted to post something to show you guys I’m alive and currently working on all your requests!!! Please send many many more! I love writing all of them!)

You were cooking in the kitchen, making a plate of carbonara for yourself. Tangerine’s necklace was heavy in between your breasts. He always left it with you when he went on jobs.

The bacon sizzled in the pan, making you come back from your memories. You took one out of the pan, dropping it in your mouth. The juicy flavor covered your tongue, even if scorching.

As you hummed along to the song playing on your phone, the door squeaked open. Instantly, the music was too loud and the sizzling of the bacon hurt your ears. Fear slithered down your spine, freezing you.

Dry and heavy steps started trudging towards you. Silently, your hand shaking, you grabbed the knife on the counter, stepping quietly towards the wall of the kitchen. You gripped the knife just like Tangerine had taught you to do, ready to stab the intruder that had come in your home.

The steps were getting closer to the kitchen. Your hands started trembling even more, and you clasped the knife tightly to not drop it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a shape flickering closer. Without waiting, you twirled away from the wall, ready to attack the man.

“Darling?” Called a familiar voice.

Slowly, you opened your scrunched up eyes. In front of you, Tangerine stood in all his bloodied and exhausted glory. His clothes were covered in blood, and the bags underneath his eyes were bigger than when he had left. Your trembling knife was pressed against his throat. The knife tumbled from your hand, falling at your feet.

“Tangerine?” You stuttered, fear still clawing your jaw shut. The man didn’t reply, but wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer, hiding his tired face in your neck. You didn’t hesitate to embrace him. You didn’t care that the blood, his or someone’s else, was soaking into your white shirt.

He stayed silent for a second before you heard his tire voice croak out, “Missed you, love.”

“I missed you too,” you whisper back, holding him tightly against your chest. You inhaled his perfume, letting your hands tangle in his curls. “Come on, we have to get you in the bath.” You gently grabbed his hand, supporting his fatigued body and carrying him towards the bathroom. Tangerine followed limply, his feet dragging on the floor.

You reached the bathroom, heaving and panting, delicately sitting Tangerine down on the toilet seat. His eyes were glazed and his head hung low. You spun towards the bathtub, flicking the tap open and turning it to choose hot water, which soon started pouring into the bath. Grabbing one of the bath bombs you kept tidily on the side, you dropped it in the water, watching as it dissolved, turning the water a sunset pink, the room now smelling like roses.

As the water gurgled, filling the bathtub, you knelt down in front of Tangerine. “Darling, I’m going to start undressing you.” You whispered calmly, not wanting to trigger his fight or flight responses: it had happened once when he was in this state and it had not been pretty. Tangerine didn’t seem to see you, but your words must have gotten through to him, his head nodding slightly.

You started unbuttoning his vest, slowly peeling it off his sweat-covered body, gently folding it. Then came the button-up shirt that was splotched with blood — a gruesome painting. You reached his pants, unbuckling his belt. You tugged them down with the boxers, helping him to stand so he could safely get into the bathtub.

Tangerine let himself be moved, as if he were a puppet, once loved and now forgotten. He sunk down into the water, leaning heavily against the side of the tub, eyes pointed to the ceiling, lost in memories of the mission you were sure were going to haunt his already tormented dreams.

You quietly started washing the encrusted blood off his face, body and hair, humming a quiet lullaby to soothe his tired mind. After a while that Tangerine had been soaking, listening to your quiet voice and feeling your warm touch on his skin, he seemed to snap out of his daze, slowly blinking awake. “Hey, Tan.” You welcomed him back, watching as he seemed to come back alive, warmth flushing his cheeks.

Tangerine looked at you as if he were seeing you for the first time, his eyes starting to glimmer with tears when his heart realized he was safe. Immediately, you were pulled into his arms, and into the water, simply embracing him as tightly as he needed. “God, I thought that…for a minute, during the mission, I wouldn’t make it back.” He croaked in your ear, pressing a kiss to your lips, his tears falling onto your lips, running down to nestle on his necklace.

You shivered at just the thought, pressing him closer. “You’re here now. You’re here. Safe.” You said, gently rocking Tangerine in your arms, hoping to reassure him.

You stayed, embraced, in the cooling water for hours. When you later tried to move, Tangerine simply held you closer, pressing soft kisses against your neck. You sighed, getting comfortable, knowing it was going to be a long night. But you were ready to be there as long as Tangerine needed you, and Tangerine loved you till the end of the world and back: you two were going to be together for all eternity.

[josephseedismyfather]

Kinktober 2024 - Dirty Talk

Evangeline & Joseph 💛

Hey friends! It's been a minute since I've been able to share some writing. I had grand ambitions to complete an entire Kinktober list, and I still think I will, it'll just take longer than I was hoping. Shouldn't be surprised, I am the world's slowest writer.

Will be throwing under the cut, because MINORS DNI. This isn't as heavy as it could be. But still. Please do not interact if you're a minor.

Prompt from this post.

"It's just... I miss you," Evangeline purred over the line, a melodious song that resonated in Joseph’s chest even through the cheap handset. He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing her face. Her beauty was an ethereal thing, a delicate balance of innocence and fire, her deep blue eyes reflecting a captivating and slightly unnerving strength.

"God guides us," his voice a gravelly rumble, "We are all connected, Evangeline. Even when we are apart."

"I know, Joseph," she replied, a breathy sigh escaping her lips. "But it's been so long since we’ve seen each other…" Her voice was like honeyed wine, intoxicating. He could feel it starting to work its way under his skin, could hear the tease in her tone, the way she knew exactly what to say to stoke the fire that burned just beneath the surface.

He said nothing, though a pulse of heat throbbed in his chest. A flicker of desire he tried to extinguish. The memory of the last time he touched her burned brightly, his body tightening as he thought of how soft her skin was.

“Mmm,” she hummed softly, her voice low, as though tasting his discomfort. “Always so composed. Always so in control. But I bet, if I were there with you…you wouldn’t be.”

Joseph’s breath hitched despite himself, eyes falling shut once more as he tried to center himself. She was temptation incarnate, and she knew it. His silence only seemed to embolden her.

But her voice was seductive, reaching him in ways that sermons and scripture never could. "You don’t have to resist, you know. Not with me. I just want you." The last word lingered in the air between them, thick with promise, with sin. "Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to give in? Just once? To let yourself feel something other than duty?"

His jaw tightened, fingers curling around the receiver, knuckles going white. He shook his head, though she couldn’t see it. "I cannot."

"I think you’ve been dreaming about me. Thinking about me. I bet you think about my lips when you close your eyes at night. About what I could do to you if you let me."

He imagined her, naked and trembling beneath him, her dark hair fanned across the pillow like a raven's wing. The heat rose in his throat, making it impossible to swallow. "Evangeline, please," he pleaded, his voice hoarse. "Don't tempt me with such things."

"I'm not tempting you, Joseph," she said, her voice a silken caress. "I'm simply asking you to be honest with yourself."

He clenched his jaw, her words a firestorm in his mind. He wanted her. He wanted to be consumed by her, to lose himself in the heat of their embrace. "Evangeline," he whispered, a guttural rasp. "I..."

"Do you feel nothing for me?"

A wave of longing washed over him, so powerful it almost knocked him off his chair. "Of course I do, Evangeline," he breathed, his voice rough with restraint. "You know this."

There was a smile in her voice now, teasing, tempting. "You want to. You know how good it would feel, Joseph. To let go. To let me have you." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, and every word seemed to stroke the fire he tried so hard to keep buried. "I bet you’d be so… hungry for it. All that control you hold so tightly, it would just… melt away. I bet I could make you feel things you’ve never allowed yourself to feel before. All you have to do is say the word."

Joseph’s breath came a little quicker now. He could feel his resolve slipping, just a little, like a stone beginning to roll down a hill, picking up speed. "Stop," he said, his voice quieter now, coarse around the edges. "You don’t understand."

"I understand more than you think," she murmured. "I know you’re tired of being the Father all the time. Of holding everything together, of always having to be so… perfect. It must be exhausting. Just imagine, for once, you let yourself be free. Imagine my hands on you, my lips… Imagine me doing everything you've been thinking about but refuse to say."

A shudder ran through him. He could picture it now, too clearly. Her touch, her lips, her body against his… He felt the heat rise in his chest, burning away the last vestiges of his control. His mouth was dry, his pulse pounding in his ears. He had been holding back, but not just words. Desire, temptation—things he had buried under the weight of his duty. His mission required absolute control, and yet here she was, prying open the lock he had sealed so tightly.

He turned away from the window as if the sight of the compound could tether him to his faith, his purpose. But it was her voice—sultry and knowing—that filled his head now, drowning out the righteousness. He inhaled sharply. "I am not a man to be swayed by lust," he muttered, though the words were starting to sound hollow, even to him.

Her laughter was soft. "Oh, but you are, Joseph. I can hear it in your voice. You think about me, don’t you? How I’d look, kneeling in front of you. You imagine me with my lips around you, don’t you?"

Joseph closed his eyes, letting out a slow, controlled breath, though it did little to steady him now. The images her words conjured were sharp and vivid. He could see her, just as she described—on her knees, her lips parted, teasing him with those soft, full lips. That pink lipstick she always wore, smudged against his skin. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his composure.

"You’re trying to lead me astray, woman," he said, his voice harsh now, nearly trembling. His resistance was thin, fraying at the edges.

"I’m not leading you anywhere you don’t want to go," Evangeline whispered. “I want to feel your hands wrapped in my hair, your fingers wanting to pull me closer as my lips brush against the tip of you, my tongue circling, eager for a taste. I want you to lose control with me."

"Stop it, Evangeline," he choked out, his voice gruff with a hunger he couldn’t hide.

“Stop what, Joseph? Stop making you think about how my hips would squirm being so close to you? Stop making you consider how my fingers would trace those scars on your stomach?” she asked, the question a dangerous game. “It’s all I think about when I’m away from you, Joseph.”

He felt his heart pounding in his chest, the beat mimicking the rhythm of his desire. “I…” he started, the single syllable a surrender, a declaration of his longing. He leaned back against the chair, a shiver of anticipation snaking down his spine. Letting the sensation wash over him, he pictured her as she spoke. His body hummed with need. “Evangeline,” he breathed, her name a sigh on his lips, the weight of it heavy on his tongue.

She knew. He heard it in the rustle of her breath over the phone, in the knowing inflection of her reply. “Joseph, my darling.”

There was a pause, a long silence on the line, as Joseph wrestled with himself. "I want you. I…I need you." A confession.

The words came out a low growl, torn from somewhere deep inside him, a place he had locked away for so long. And as soon as they were spoken, a floodgate opened.

A soft gasp, her breath quickening on the other end. He could almost see it—her eyes wide, her mouth trembling, her body yielding to his command.

“I would wear my hair down for you. I know you like that,” Evangeline whispered, barely able to contain herself. “Perhaps we’d be in your office, hidden from prying eyes. Me, on my knees, looking up at you. You can see the devotion I have for you.”

His pulse pounding in his ears, Joseph shifted in his chair.

She pushed on. “My hands tugging your shirt from your pants, cool fingers against your stomach. Your ‘lust’ scar. Don’t you want to show me your sin, Joseph? I’m beginning to wonder if it’s true.”

The pout at the edge of her voice immediately made him hard, his erection straining against the zipper of his pants. “Go on.”

Her laugh was teasing, with a hint of victory. “I’d unbuckle your belt, push your pants down just enough to touch you. Wrap my fingers around your cock. Don’t you think my nails would look so pretty as I stroked you?”

Her words were like a siren's call, pulling him toward the forbidden depths of his desires. His hips pushed up into his hand before he realized what he was doing, yanking it away quickly.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Joseph could hear the smirk in her voice, “my lips would be on you quickly. Pressing kisses along you before I take you within my mouth. Your eyes on me as I slowly take all of you, inch by inch, until I can’t take anymore. Moaning around you, my mouth so wet and warm and begging for you to fuck it. You would, wouldn’t you?”

Her voice a smoldering ember, Joseph groaned, losing himself in the details. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“You would. You’d gather my hair in your fist and push hard into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat,” her moan was quiet but unmistakable. The tension between them crackled like a live wire, sparking and burning through him.

Her laughter was low, and wicked, sending a shiver through him. “I’m so wet just talking about it, Joseph. I want to feel your hands on me, rough and demanding, pushing me down, holding me where you want me.”

The images her words painted were so visceral that he could almost feel her body giving in to his strength. His voice was thick with desire, trembling with the weight of his need for her. "I want to see you, hear you, feel you. I want to take you apart piece by piece until you're begging for more."

Her breath caught on the other end of the line, and he could feel the power shift, feel her own control slipping away now, just as his had. The game had turned, and for the first time, he was the one in control.

“Joseph,” Evangeline breathed, the sound of his name on her lips like gasoline to the fire already blazing inside him. “I want you to take me apart.”

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