#browns bay palms

[life-around-me-yura15cbx]

Rhopalostylis sapida

Nikau palm

The nīkau (Rhopalostylis sapida) is a palm tree endemic to New Zealand, and the only palm native to New Zealand.

4 Woodlands Crescent, Browns Bay, Auckland 0630

7PMR+HC5 Auckland

-36.7161190, 174.7411080

[userlando]

call me your fool — oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader [1.7k] summary: he's pretty good at making your legs shake, but he's even better at taking care of you in the aftermath. warnings: 18+ implied smut & explicit language, aftercare and fluffy banter a/n: wrote this initially as a blurb, but it took on a life of its own and I just kept expanding on it until I got this. thank you for all the love lately, it means the world to me!! please don’t hesitate to leave feedback <3

It feels like your breath has been stolen from you, sucking in air through your mouth because simply breathing through your nose isn’t enough. The ache in your lungs remind you of when you go for those intensive runs with your boyfriend, where your ten kilometre jogging makes you tap out as your side cramps, whining until he eventually leads you to the nearest shop to treat you for an ice cold drink.

The sweat on your skin lays like a film, clammy and warm and it takes a while for you to blink the spots away from your eyes. It takes even longer to turn your head where it lays on the pillow, finding brown eyes staring back at you with a smile dripping with so much amusement that you would’ve laughed if you had the strength to.

“You alright?” Oscar asks, like he hadn’t just rocked your world and simultaneously turned it upside down fifty times over.

There’s a lot to be said with the way your legs are shaking, splayed out in front of you on the bed. He eyes them up appreciatively before reaching for the covers to cover your lower half as best as he could. It makes your chest expand with adoration for him, a smile playing on your lips when he scoots closer to you.

“It feels like I’ve ran a marathon.” You reply after a beat, throat dry as you swallow. “Your stamina is on a whole new level right now.”

It makes him laugh when your eyes widen in amazement, reaching a hand up to smooth your hair away from your face. He watches your skin pebble at the touch of his hand, trailing a finger up the side of your throat to your jaw.

“The perks of being a formula one driver, I guess.” He says it so modestly that you laugh, your warm huff of breath hitting his finger when he thumbs your lower lip lovingly.

You accept the kiss when he bends to give it to you, a little chapped from the previous activities but you lick into his mouth like you’re starved. It makes Oscar’s stomach turn, how needy you always are for him. It makes him feel good. Great. Like he can conquer anything if he has you by his side.

He can’t help but trail his unoccupied hand up to grasp your throat, hearing you whine and feeling you swallow against the palm of his hand. You press into his hold, almost urging him silently to put pressure on it but Oscar knows that you’ve reached your limit for tonight, you’re way too sensitive and he’d hate to cross the line even though you’re asking for it so prettily. But he can’t resist his hand travelling down your sternum, feeling the pudge of your stomach and the way it dips when you suck it in, in anticipation. Like you’re waiting for him to touch your centre and bring you to the fifth high of the night.

He stops right over your bellybutton, smiling against your lips when you stop kissing him to glare. Your faces are too close and it makes the both of you go almost cross eyed. Oscar pulls back a little to get a better look at you, breath hitching in his throat at the way your eyelashes frame your eyes so prettily; How kissable your mouth looks. You look well and truly fucked, and Oscar’s chest inflates in pride because he did that.

“You’ve really missed me, huh?” He bites his bottom lip to keep the smug smile at bay, and you roll your eyes even though your mouth is twitching with a held back smile.

You act like you hadn’t missed him, but you really had. Granted, you’d only been away from each other for two weeks but they had felt like years. There was only so much video calling and texting you could do before you grew tired and sad, wishing that the distance between the two of you could lessen and you could touch.

Oscar knows how much you had missed him, not only because you’d voiced it out loud, but because he’d missed you just as much; If not more. That’s mainly why he’d skipped the dinner with the team in Singapore in favour of locking the both of you in his hotel room, determined to make the most of this night before the race sucked every ounce of energy from his body.

“Only one part of you.” You grinned as you palmed the top of his thigh, watching him squirm at your touch as you got dangerously close to where he was sensitive and spent.

He needed at least half an hour to recuperate, but there was no stopping the slight twitch in his groin when your thumb nudged him.

“You’re a shit liar.” He leaned his head down far enough to bite your shoulder, making you squeal with laughter. He always loved how ticklish you were.

“You’re a shit boyfriend.” You said with no heat behind it, the smile on your face defeated the purpose of it. “You’re supposed to be carrying me to the bathroom and draw me a bath. Where’s my bottle of water and the tiramisu you promised me, Piastri?”

Oscar’s smile grew wider the longer you rambled, watching you silently. He loved when you got into these moods, playful and teasing after sex. Especially when he’d wrung you dry of orgasms and could get his fill of you by looking at you, letting you playfully jab at him when just moments ago, you were begging for him to be nice to you. To let you come.

“You’re not allowed to leave this bed.” He said lastly and your eyebrows shot up in amusement.

“Oh really?” You sat up in bed and stared him down. “What if I starve to death?”

“Then you’ll just have to resort to cannibalism and eat me. I hear it’s a trend these days.” He offered and you stifled a giggle.

“That’s a generous offer, I’ll take it.” You said with a nod, scrambling to swipe away the covers so you could swing one leg over to straddle him.

Oscar’s hands immediately found your hips, placing them there as you palmed his chest for support. You almost got lost in his beauty, how he managed to look as gorgeous as he did beneath you. The pink of his cheeks and the redness of his lips, it was all too breathtaking.

“Now, where to start?” You posed the question to yourself, bending down and making a show of inspecting his body. Like you didn’t know every inch of it already.

Oscar suppressed laughter as you hummed.

“This looks like a good place.” You said, touching his collarbone. “But this does too.”

His breath hitched in his throat when your fingers stroked the delicate skin of his throat, right over his pulse. It jumped in excitement under your fingers, and you must’ve felt it but he didn’t have time to analyse your face before you bent down completely to mouth at his neck.

The way you licked and sucked was way too aggressive not to leave marks, but his nerves sang with pleasure and excitement because a big part of him wanted you to mark him up. It would make things more fun when the both of you arrived at the paddock tomorrow, and he’d surely go for a shirt that did fuck all to cover it.

Oscar stroked his hands up your naked back, mouth falling open in wordless pleasure as you found his sweet spot; Right under the lobe of his ear.

You were so into it, his heavy breathing in your ear and the taste of his sweat on your tongue that you barely noticed when one hand left your body. What you did react to was when his palm made contact with your asscheek, a resounding sound echoing in the room and you jumped at the contact.

Oscar was grinning when you sat up, eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock and he didn’t dare to blink as he gripped a handful of flesh in his palm; Watching your eyelids flutter in pleasure.

“No funny business.” He warned you and you opened your eyes to pout at him. “Don’t give me that look. I’m fucking spent and you are getting in the bathtub.”

“Aren’t you getting in with me?” You frowned sadly, finding one of his hands to grab.

He pulled it closer to his mouth and separated each finger to kiss the tips of them. The little loving gesture made your stomach tighten.

“I’ve got some room service to order, don’t I?” He smiled. “You wanted that tiramisu, no?”

You gave him a slow smile as you slid off his body, swinging both your legs over the edge of the bed and Oscar took a moment to stare at you. His eyes flitted from head to toe and you squirmed a little under his attention when he sucked his lips into his mouth; Like he was holding back on saying something.

He didn't have to say it though, everything was showing in his eyes and the flush that was creeping up his neck and blossoming gorgeously over his cheeks.

"I think I want a different kind of dessert." You said, stretching a hand out and wiggling your fingers dramatically.

It made your boyfriend smile, and eventually grab your hand so you could pull each other up. It was a struggle and your legs were still shaking like your legs were bambi on ice, which was a little embarrassing. Oscar placed both hands on your naked hips in silent support, guiding the both of you into the vast bathroom of the hotel room.

"What am I gonna do with you?" He asked the question in your ear, voice low enough to send shivers down your spine as you craned your neck to peer up at him over your shoulder. "So insatiable."

The grin that you were working to keep off your face finally broke out, and Oscar leaned his head down to press a kiss to it.

"With you? Always."

[mjlovescm]

Traces of you on my pillowcase, 🍋

A/n: idk how I feel about this one but I am clearing old one shots out, so enjoy!

Turning in his bed, Rodrick presses his face to his pillow. Snoring, he inhales deeply. A familiar scent fills his nose and your name rings in his mind.

A few minutes pass and Rodrick can’t fight it anymore. His eyes aren't open, but he's definitely awake. And earlier than he needs to be at that. Rodrick groans, glancing at his alarm clock. There's still two hours before he needs to drag himself out of bed.

Eyes still closed, Rodrick stayed in bed in hopes of falling back to sleep naturally. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, he gives up. Annoyed, Rodrick buries his face in a pillow and yells. Once he’s done, though, the scent is back, stronger this time.

Head still submerged in the soft case, the smell of you brought Rodrick back to the night before.

Cuddling in bed together, in matching pajamas, and eating ice cream. That was after Rodrick showed you how much he missed you by burying his fingers in you. But no matter how long you and Rodrick spent together, it was never enough for him. Because after those hours of fun, you’d have to go home, and Rodrick would be left without you again.

His hips shift against his bed, and it's clear Rodrick is more than awake.

“Fuck.” he whispers to himself, growing harder.

Again he turns, laying on his back and clearing the messy brown hair from his face. Slowly, Rodrick lifted his cover and found a great opportunity to be out like a light in only a few minutes. All thanks to you. Well, you and your smell.

He drops the cover, leaving his hand beneath it. Rodrick starts slowly, his palm gently grazing his boxers. The layer of clothes was an added touch to the overall sensations. The feel of the fabric against his sensitive skin sends chills through his body.

His mind as always led to you. Eyes closed, Rodrick uses his dirty memories of you to replace his hands with yours.

He envisions soft brown hands. Palming him with a mischievous smile.

“Already?” you’d question with a needy smile and dangerous eyes.

As if you hadn’t been working him up for an hour and playing innocent.

“Dirty girl.” He whispers to himself.

Quickly freeing himself from the now tight confident of his boxers, Rodrick continues to touch himself to the thought of you.

With a firm grip, Rodrick holds his dick in his hand. He groans at the feeling of his slow up and down pumps. He keeps this pace as pre-cum drips from his tip. With a wet thumb, Rodrick presses slow, deep circles against this sensitive spot.

“I know you like it sloppy.”

His mind plays your previous words back to him, forcing a noise from Rodrick.

“I love it when you moan.”

Sensitive, Rodrick’s hips push back into the bed. But still he continues to tease himself in your honor.

“Mmm, baby j- uh- just like that.”

His thumb leaves his tip, and Rodrick’s hands quicken. The pumps quickly grew faster and faster.

“Ugh-h y-y/n.” He moans. “Just like that baby.”

Wrist speeding up, Rodrick’s change in pace fuels more thoughts and memories of you. Filthy fantasies, either real or not. All of you. His beautiful, loving girlfriend.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He says through his teeth.

Again and Again he strokes himself, reaching a desperation he was all too familiar with. And with that desperation and speed comes a certain roughness. In the way he gripped himself, the way his hands moved. Fast and messy.

“Ye-yes.” Rodrick says with a shaky voice. “Keep fucking going ba-bay I- I-”

Rodrick turns himself into a stuttering mess over you. He pushes himself closer and closer to that sweet release. Without a second thought, Rodrick finishes saying your name. Praising the hypothetical you as he does.

Minutes pass, adrenaline dies down and sleep sets in. Rodrick turns to his alarm clock and feels a sudden sense of accomplishment.

“I think that’s a new record.” He tells himself.

Just as before, Rodrick lifts his cover and finds the mess he’s made of himself. Hands, fingers and sheets. Whether it was sweat or cum, he was covered in it nonetheless.

Instead of rolling over and calling it a day, Rodrick exits his room with a towel and makes his way to the shower. For a cleanup and… for round two.

Masterlist Drum Lesson, 🍋 Makeup sex, 🍋

[a-leg-without-fear]

No Fucking Way (pt.1)

have some absolutely adorable interactions with you and the students at the mansion (and a surprise guest)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: cursing, mentions of animals neglecting their babies, and a story so sweet my teeth hurt

Inspiration: This scene from X2: X-Men United

Series: No Fucking Way

Your feet pounded against the gravel path beneath you. Small rocks and dirt were kicked up by your well-worn sneakers. Warm sweat dampened the cloth of your sweatshirt around your arms and chest. The sun beat down on your flushed face as a cold breeze bit across your nose. 

It was an absolutely gorgeous, autumn day. Occasional spotted clouds glided at a snail’s pace across a great blue sky. Soft breezes made the great trees surrounding the mansion dance like sheets of amber linen. Red and orange leaves skittered across the yellowing grass fields.

You saw a handful of students out on the lawn enjoying the early morning air. Sybil, a brunette with the ability to see through others’ eyes, sat beneath a large willow by the fish pond with a notepad in her hands. Vienna sat beside her. A strawberry blonde, bright eyed girl who could channel electricity into the palms of her hands. The two exchanged ideas about whatever Sybil was jotting down in her notepad.

Yuna sat not too far from the whispering pair, fingers twirling above a quickly constructed tower of stones and blades of grass. Her usual deep brown eyes now glowed a subtle violet. The maroon hijab she wore wrapped around her neck matched the crimson hues of the changing leaves in the trees around her. 

Jane, a kind-eyed tracker, Matt, a red glasses-wearing fighter, and Mads, a short-haired plant bender, sat in a circle, enjoying their morning coffee and tea together. You gave Mads a quick wave as you jogged past, receiving a warm smile and a shower of flower petals left in your wake.

The gravel path led along the left side of the mansion. Emerald ivy crawled up the brick walls like arms reaching from the earth. An occasional window broke up the light colored bricks. Most had their curtains drawn, which you attributed to a large portion of the students being late risers. One or two had the curtains open to allow fresh sunlight into the shared rooms.

You caught a glimpse of Sapph through one of the windows. Her bright smile and blue eyes were almost radiant as she basked in the streams of sunlight. Vases of sunflowers sat on the windowsill in front of her. The light seemed to bend, refracting from Sapph’s palms and hitting the sunflowers’ leaves.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The students were happy, the day was beautiful, and you only had one more lap of the mansion to jog before you’d call it a day.

“MAAAOOOWWW!”

You stopped just short of the empty basketball court. The crimson asphalt was covered in crunchy leaves and green brush from the nearby bushes. Corded nets hanging from the steel hoops swayed in the breeze. You looked around you, trying to find the source of the noise.

“MaaooOOW?”

There it was again. Closer than before. It sounded like it came from an incredibly small source, whatever it was. Your sneakers crossed onto the asphalt, toes kicking at leaves and twigs. You let your eyes scan the area around you. The court was surrounded by a wall of hedges. About waist high to you, it helped keep the court clear of too much debris from the trees. 

The mansion sat against the hedges. Large, bay windows looked into a sitting area. Hira, a telepath, sat in one of the plush leather armchairs with a novel in her hands. A white hijab wrapped around her head, glasses peeking out over light brown eyes. Daniel, a light-haired strongman, and Jacob, a bearded speedster, sat on the green-clothed couch across from Hira. Dice and rulebooks laid on the coffee table in front of them.

A rustle in the hedges to your left drew your focus from the students inside. The lowest branches shuddered, small green leaves shaken off and falling to the ground below. You knelt on the asphalt and strained your eyes to see through the dense foliage.

“MoowwWOAAOW!”

That was the only warning you got before a tiny gray and white fur ball burst out of the hedge and landed five feet in front of you. Pointed ears folded back, blue eyes widened, arched back covered in long fuzz.

A kitten. A small, angry, fluffy kitten. No more than a few weeks old. 

You remained where you kneeled on the asphalt, palms upturned and resting on your thighs. You kept a neutral expression on your face as you blinked slowly at the small creature.

After a few moments the kitten relaxed. Its ears faced forward, tail sticking straight up as it approached you. You gingerly extended a hand for it to sniff. Its tiny, pink nose ran across the tips of your fingers as it grew acclimated to your presence.

“Hi, little one,” you said through a barely subdued, ecstatic grin. You had always wanted a cat. Ever since you were a kid, you dreamed of a tiny ball of purrs curled up in your lap and effortlessly improving your mood. Not to mention they were ridiculously easy to take care of.

The kitten took a few more moments to sniff at your fingers. Its tiny eyes squinted as it seemed to devote its entire being to assessing your threat level. Once it seemed satisfied, it rubbed its chin across your thumb. You could already feel the purrs rumbling in its throat.

It took everything in you to not explode from the cuteness overload. This little thing, this tiny itty bitty little thing, chose you. You could feel a swell of pure adoration overtake your chest, the gentle warmth spreading from head to toe.

The cat continued to rub on your hand, occasionally nibbling on your fingers with the sides of its mouth. You lifted your free hand in an attempt to pet the kitten. Moving slowly to not startle it, you gently ran your fingers across its fluffy back. An explosion of purrs, like a hive of angry bees, met your affection. The cat dug its little head into the palm of your hand. You took the hint, giving it gentle scratches on the soft spots by its ears.

“You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life,” you breathed in astonishment. The cat seemed to enjoy the compliment, pawing at your hands and attempting to climb closer to your face. You scooped its tiny body in your hands and lifted it to your chest.

Tiny paws kneaded at the fabric of your sweatshirt. Little needle-like claws pulled at the threads. The kitten looked up at you with squinted eyes. You carefully rose to your feet, doing your best to not jostle the miniature creature cradled to your chest.

The cat nestled into the crook of your neck. Its tiny nose puffed against your skin while a category-5 purricane buzzed in your hands.

You would die for this cat and you just met it a minute ago.

Mentally saying “fuck it” to the rest of your jog, you began to gingerly walk back inside. You avoided walking on the gravel to make as little noise and sudden movements as possible. The cat seemed to appreciate the gesture, with what miniscule amount its tiny brain could comprehend, as a small lick from its rough tongue passed over your neck.

You garnered a few sideways looks from the students on the lawn as you walked by again. Mads cocked her head, fairy themed earrings jingling, at the gentleness in your step and the backtracking in your path.

“You alright, ma’am?” she called out. Jane and Matt perked up at Mads’s exclamation. Jane looked up at you with curiosity written in her features while Matt’s dark brows furrowed.

A quick gesture to the buzzing fur ball in your hands was all the trio needed. Their expressions quickly shifted from confusion to utter joy. They whispered among themselves about the newest addition to the mansion as you passed by.

That method is how you seamlessly moved through the bustling early-risers inside the foyer. One perplexed look was met with a nod to the kitten in your hands and the students parted like the Red Sea. Excited murmurs spread through the students like wildfire. “Is that a cat?” “Oh my god, kitty!” “It’s so cute!” “I hope we can keep it!”

The last student you passed before reaching your destination was Bella, a time manipulator. She was just on her way out of the professor’s study, closing the heavy oak door behind her. A kind smile met yours when she looked in your direction. 

“Morning, ma’am. Need to see the- Wait, is that a cat?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Shhh. Yes, it is. Could you open the door for me?” you whispered. Bella lifted her first finger to her mouth, winking to indicate she understood, then twisted the brass knob and swung the door open before you.

“Good luck,” she whisper-yelled after you.

A grand office stood before you. Comfortable leather settees were positioned in front of a solid, mahogany desk. Rows and rows of bookshelves filled to the brim lined the walls. Trinkets and remembrances decorated available surfaces and empty wall space.

The professor, or Charles Xavier as you knew him, sat in his motorized wheelchair behind the large desk. His hairless head was lowered, blue eyes darting across the pages of a copy of House of Leaves. A single finger raised next to his aged face to acknowledge your presence.

“One moment, please. From both you and your new friend,” he said. A minute passed, seconds counted by the paws kneading into your shoulder, before Charles closed the book and met your gaze. A warm smile matched your enthusiastic one, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I found this little guy outside,” you began. The cat perked up at the mention of itself, eyes blinking up at you then looking at the professor. You ran a finger under the kitten’s chin as you continued, “He was an angry little fella, all bushy tailed, but he warmed right up to me. He was hiding in the hedges by the basketball court.”

“Ah, I see,” Charles replied. He lowered a hand to maneuver his wheelchair. The low buzz of the machinery heralded his movement as he rounded the desk to sit in front of you and the cat.

“I didn’t see any other cats around, but the good news is he seems to be old enough for solid food,” you said. The cat blinked slowly at the professor, its little nose sniffing the air in front of it.

“It seems his mother abandoned him. Weaned him off her too quickly and left him stunted. Poor thing,” Charles said, head tilting and lips pulling into a slight frown. You gawked at him.

“You can read the cat’s mind, too?” you asked. The abilities of the mutants around you never ceased to amaze. Especially one as powerful as Charles Xavier.

He smiled at the kitten, oblivious to your gawking, stretching out his hands to you, “May I?”

You gently lifted the cat off your chest, prying the tiny talons from your sweatshirt, and placed the furball in the professor’s hands. Charles lifted the cat to his chest and ran a gentle hand down its back.

“You’ll need to wake Rogue and Bobby, have them run to the pet store down the road. This one will need plenty of love and nourishment if he’s to thrive,” he said. You stared at him, dumbstruck.

“We can keep him?”

“He can stay, as long as he likes. Much is the same with the rest of those who live here,” Charles clarified. The little gray kitten nuzzled against Charles’s chin, the professor’s smile growing.

“Okay. Okay! Yes! I’ll go get Rogue and Bobby,” you said, absolute jubilation filling your lungs. 

You left Charles and the cat to continue their telepathic conversation as you raced up the giant, double staircase. Ornately carved wooden banisters ran along the edges of the stairs, polish shining in yellow circles from the chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. When the stairs divided into two sets, running opposite directions, you cut to the right. Your feet skipped over carpeted steps in your haste to reach your destination.

Once your sneakers landed on the second floor, you broke into a jog down the hallway. Door after wooden door flew by you on both sides of the hall. Paintings of peaceful landscapes and glowing sconces lined the wooden walls. A large window sat in the white wall at the end of the hall. Daylight streamed in and cast golden spots on the wood floors.

You stopped at the last door on the left. Rapping three quick knocks on the door, you bounced on your toes. There was a cat in the mansion. A cat! One that would live with you! You silently thanked whatever god it was that decided for you to be next in the cat distribution system.

It took another set of knocks on the door for you to hear movement on the other side. Bleary groans and rustling sheets leaked through the cracks in the door. You bit your lip in an attempt to quell your excitement.

The doorknob turned and a ruffled-looking Rogue appeared in the doorway. Dark hair just barely smoothed down, eyes squinted, robe hastily thrown over a nightgown.

“Vampire? Shit, what time is it?” she asked, grogginess laced in her tone.

“Doesn’t matter. We have a cat,” you said. Your smile widened as you waited for her response. Rogue eyed you, up and down, as she assessed her living alarm clock.

“Logan’s not a cat. We’ve been over this,” she said. She exhaled a puff of air through her lips to blow at the white bangs that fell over her eyes. You rolled your eyes playfully at the jab.

“Not Logan this time. An actual cat. A kitten,” you explained. Rogue’s eyebrows rose as her eyes widened.

“Wait, there’s a cat?” Bobby called from beyond the door. His blonde head popped up beside Rogue’s. The couple seemed to be much more awake now.

“Yup,” you said, annunciating the p. Bobby and Rogue looked at each other, smiles growing, before looking back to you. 

“Where is it? Can we see it?” Rogue asked.

“Charles needs the two of you to run and get cat stuff first. Like food, litter, toys. Anything you can think of,” you replied. At the first sign of them objecting, you continued, “You guys can get literally anything you want. Treats, cat towers, little obstacle courses. Just make sure it’s safe for a younger kitten.”

“We’re on it, boss!” Bobby said, happiness palpable and blue eyes sparkling, as his hand clapped on Rogue’s clothed shoulder.

“100%. This cat will be spoiled rotten,” Rogue confirmed. With that situation squared away, you gave the pair a quick nod, beaming at them, then took off back down the hallway.

The run back to the professor’s office was an even shorter journey due to you jumping down several steps at a time. A few students looked gravely concerned at your acrobatics. Especially Ash, who helped Jean with patching students up by being a walking pain-reliever.

Your hand caught on the doorframe of Charles’s office and you swung into the doorway, breathless. He and the cat were much like how you had left them. Tiny gray body tucked against his neck, both having their eyes closed.

“Bobby and Rogue are on their way out,” you said. Charles hummed in response, eyes falling open.

“This one’s taken a shine to you, my dear. Says you’re the first to treat him kindly,” he said, a proud smile painted across his face. You let out an incredulous laugh.

“Guess he really is one of us, huh?”

“More than you know,” Charles said through an amused chuckle. You approached the professor and ball of cuddles carefully, attempting to not disturb the little creature.

“Mrrpp?” the cat trilled. It squinted at you from beneath Charles’s chin, paws kneading into the back of the professor’s hands. You could almost hear its purrs from where you stood.

“Does he have a name?” you asked. You scratched beneath its furry chin as the cat stretched out its jaw into your hand. 

“I was hoping you might know one,” Charles said. He pressed the cat into your hands and you gladly scooped the little ball of love into your arms. You could feel the purrs emanating from the cat’s belly vibrate against your chest. Tiny, thin whiskers tickled along the underside of your jaw.

“Jeez, uh. I don’t know. Let me think on it,” you responded. It was hard to think when all of your focus was drawn to the fluffy creature cradled in your hands. Charles chuckled at your indecision.

“I’m sure whatever you choose, our newest student will happily respond to it,” he assured. He used his now free hands to dust cat hair off his crisp, navy blue suit. As you turned to walk out, Charles said, “Make sure to give him a bath. This young one’s lived outside for far too long.”

“Will do,” you said. You shifted your arms so you could better support the cat on your chest, then set a course for the upstairs bathroom closest to your and Logan’s room.

It seemed the news of a cat on campus had spread throughout the student body. A large crowd had gathered outside of Charles’s study. Students, an array of ages and stages of dress, craned their necks over their peers to try and catch a glimpse. 

“I wanna see!” Addie, a platinum blonde seven-year-old who could speak any language, called up from the space next to your hip. Your legs were framed by her and Ryan, a nine-year-old brunet with impenetrable skin. 

“Guys, the cat is very small. He needs quiet!” you said, voice coming out as a stage whisper. A hush fell over the group in front of you. Wide, hopeful eyes blinked up at you. You sighed, untucking the cat from the crook of your neck and holding him in front of you. At the sight of the small bundle of fur in your hands, a buzz of excited whispers passed from ear to ear. 

“Does he have a name?” Ryan asked. An echo of agreement sounded around the crowd.

“Not yet, so everyone start brainstorming!” you said. A renewed vigor filled the conversation as names were debated back and forth between students. You used the distraction to slip away, climbing back up the stairs and baring left this time.

This hallway was nearly identical to the one on the opposite side of the stairs. Wooden paneling covered the walls, patterned red carpet stretched down the middle of the floor, potted plants sat here and there. You knocked once on the first door to the right. Receiving no answer, you pushed it open.

Inside was a full bathroom. White tiles lined the walls and floor, the grout a cool gray. Warm patterned shower curtains hung from a steel rod suspended between two walls. A vanity mirror hung on the wall opposite the door. You flicked on the light switch, making the three globes above the mirror glow and send dancing reflections throughout the bathroom.

“Alright, fella. Let’s get you clean,” you said as you sat the cat in the sink. His little, furry body looked like a small sponge sitting in the white porcelain. A confused face looked up at you through squinted eyes.

“Mraow?”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not gonna like this part,” you responded. You leaned over, opening the white cabinets below the sink, and pulled out the unscented shampoo Logan liked to use. Straightening up, you noticed the cat had remained where you sat it. Prim, proper, posture like a little gentleman.

You smirked, scritching the top of his head between his ears. His face tilted up into your touch. 

“Such a sweet little guy,” you cooed. You gave him a few more well deserved pets before scooping his little body and turning on the faucet. You made sure the handle was turned to a warm, not hot, setting and the pressure was nice and low. 

The cat startled a bit in your palm at the sudden rush of water. A little paw raised, batting in the air between him and the running water. You dipped a finger in the water and brought it to his nose for proper inspection. A few sniffs, a couple licks, then his chin was rubbing on your fingertip again.

You took it as a good sign, dipping the same hand back under the faucet and letting the water coat your skin. Once enough water had gathered in your hand you lifted it to the cat’s back. He tracked your movement. Small, squinted eyes followed your hand as you placed your palm on his back. You felt the water droplets sink into the fluffy, gray fur and soak into his skin.

“This ok?” you asked, like the cat could give you an answer. The small creature blinked up at you. He seemed unbothered by the moisture. You gave him another palm-full of water to get him adjusted to the temperature, the sensation. Not a peep from this little sir.

You set the cat back in the sink, just the tail end of his back beneath the running faucet. He hunkered down into the smallest loaf you’d ever seen. Front feet tucked under his fuzzy chest, tail curled around his side, eyes blinking slowly up at you. You cupped water in your palm and let it run through his fur. Before too long you had a drenched, buzzing kitten in the sink.

“You are the strangest creature…” you wondered aloud. You popped the lid open on Logan’s shampoo and lathered up your hands. Thankfully, you didn’t spot any fleas or other parasites hopping on the kitten’s body. Washing out the dirt and grime shouldn’t take too long.

“Why are you hunched over the sink with my soap?” a gruff voice said from behind you. You smiled, looking over your shoulder.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you greeted. Logan leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He wore his trademarked white tank top and loose jeans buckled with a brown belt. His dark hair was fluffy and unstyled, long strands hanging in front of his wrinkled eyebrows.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. He pushed off the wall and stepped up next to you, his boots clipping on the tiles.

“Right. So, funny story,” you began. You ran your soapy fingers through the cat’s soaked fur. Logan’s hip leaned on the counter as he continued to stare at you. Jutting your chin down at the sudsy feline, you continued, “I found this guy outside and he made me think of you.”

“Made you think of…” Logan trailed off when his hazel eyes landed on the kitten.

“You know, with his cat ears,” you explained. You scrubbed at the kitten’s purring body while Logan spluttered next to you.

“Cat ears?!” 

“Yeah. Those hair floofs you get when you style your hair. They look like cat ears,” you said. You pretended to ignore the pure indignation spouting from the man next to you. A knowing smirk stretched across your lips.

“I do not have cat ears,” Logan argued.

“Yes you do!” Rogue shouted, voice echoing down the hall.

Your indifferent mask broke as you doubled over, cackling. The cat’s head tilted as it watched your face disappear below the counter. Logan huffed, arms folding over his chest again.

It took you a few moments to regain your composure. Giggles bubbled up your throat everytime you glanced back at Logan next to you. He rolled his eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he grumbled. But, because you knew him so well, you could see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to rinse off the cat sitting patiently in the sink. Warm water trailed through your fingers and washed away the suds gathered on the kitten’s body. Squinted eyes watched you, blinking slowly and serenely, purrs vibrating against your hands.

“Happy little fuzzball, isn’t he?” Logan said. The kitten turned its head to peer at Logan. You ran a wet finger between its ears, smoothing the fur back and washing soap away.

“He certainly is,” you hummed. When an idea popped in your head, you felt your grin widen and your gaze slip over to Logan next to you, “You know, he still needs a name.”

“So name him,” Logan replied instantly. A tentative, large hand reached into the sink and ran two fingers down the cat’s soaked back. The kind and delicate gesture only further solidified your idea.

“Actually… I was hoping you could name him.”

Logan’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, relaxed expression melting into pure confusion.

“What?” he asked.

this short story is kind of a tribute to the lovely, lovely folks in the murdock tuna team. i have nothing but love and an endless stream of thanks to give to them. you all have inspired me to be a better artist, a better author, a better person. love you, blob blob 🐟

[soullumii]

stranded | joel miller x f!reader

pairing: joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: you get stranded in the middle of a blizzard. joel comes to your rescue. you share a bed for warmth. things escalate from there...

warnings/tags: 18+ content, MDNI!, smutttttt yurrrr (vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex, dubious consent, lil bit of somnophilia, joel is packinggg), no outbreak!joel, modern au, implied age gap, soft!joel, pet names (peach, baby, darlin', sweet girl, sweetheart), lil bit of joel being jelly, cuddling to keep the cold at bay, fluff, NO USE OF Y/N

word count: 7.6k (idk what the fuck happened)

“Damn it!” 

You press down hard on the gas pedal, grimacing when your engine revs but the car doesn’t move an inch.

Your tires skid uselessly over the snow and your headlights reflect into a white wall of nothing—the snowfall so thick you can’t see anything in front of or around you, as if you’re trapped in a snow globe. The road is practically gone from existence.

The only thing you can hear is the wind whistling and the staticky sound of Carrie Underwood’s ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’ going in and out on the radio.

Yeah, you wish he would right about now. 

“Fuuuck,” you whine, eyes stinging with unshed tears. You hit your wheel in frustration, dropping your forehead onto the horn. It honks pityingly. 

Of course, the one time you were actually going out, you had forgotten to check the weather. 

You’re probably going to die out here on this back road through the woods. There’s no one around, not that you can tell, and you’re low on gas. You were going to fill up once you got out of the woods and back into civilization, but the blizzard had other plans.

Your stomach rumbles, crying out for the dinner you had skipped in hopes of having a hearty, post-sex meal with the hook-up you are—or were—on the way to see. Though, that’s certainly not happening, and the snacks you usually had stuffed into the glovebox are gone, your sister having stolen them last week after you dropped her off at school.

(Darn that growing goober!) 

You don’t have anything that might prove useful in this situation besides the long, slim heels on your pumps (which could be used in defense), and the thin peacoat wrapped around your shoulders. You check your phone to see if you can call a towing company, but of course, it has zero bars. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper, pressing the heel of your palm to your watering eyes. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” you say to yourself, picking your head up and rubbing away the tears in your eyes. You take deep breaths and put the car into park. “You’ll be fine.”

The sudden sound of a knock on your window startles you so bad you yelp, jumping in place as ice cold terror rises up your spine. 

You can hardly see who had knocked, only their gray silhouette in the white blizzard.

The stranger knocks again. 

“You alright in there?” The shadow asks, a hint of a Texan accent curling their vowels. Shit. It’s a man. 

You slowly grab your shoe from your foot, holding it so the heel faces the window, and snow blows into your face as you carefully roll it down an inch or two for precaution, because who knows if it’s a fucking cannibal-axe-murderer who preys on unsuspecting women stranded in the snow. Maybe he does this every year—maybe this is his prime harvesting place and time. 

Your eyes are wide as you peer through the opening warily, heel at the ready. 

He’s close enough now that you can make out a prominent scowl, hard brown eyes, salt and pepper hair…

…wait a minute. You’d recognize that glower anywhere.

“Joel?”

Your lungs suddenly remember how to work again, and you inhale on a shaky breath. The hand holding your shoe drops to your thigh in relief.

His brown eyes narrow. “Peach…? The hell are you doin’ out here?” He asks, and Jesus you forgot about that stupid nickname he gave you. It sends butterflies loose in your stomach. “It’s a goddamn blizzard.” 

You scowl in exasperation, though, at his obvious observation. “Yeah, I think I know that, Joel. What are you doing here?”

“I heard a honk, figured someone needed help.” He looks you up and down, his gaze lingering on the circles of mascara around your eyes. “Guess I’m right.”

You straighten in your seat, the gratitude you feel at his presence is overshadowed by the need to look self sufficient and capable, because you are. You’re a grown ass woman! So…

“I don’t need your help,” you huff.

He arches a brow. “Really.” It’s not a question.

You glower. “Maybe.”

Joel leans an arm on the frame of your car, and taps your window once more. “C’mon. Let’s go.” 

God, this is so embarrassing!

“Fine.” You roll up the window and turn off the car. Joel tugs the car door open as far as it can go and offers a gloved hand to help you out. You wobble a bit when you step out in your heels, grateful that Joel is there to steady you. Though, the feeling sours a bit when he huffs in disbelief at your shoes. 

You send him a glare, “I had plans for tonight, okay?”

“In the middle of a blizzard?” He deadpans.

“It wasn’t that bad when I first started driving.”

“Riiiight,” he drawls, “Well, I’m sorry to say, peach, but you ain’t driving in this mess anymore. You can stay with me tonight.” He says, closing the car door behind you. 

Stay? With him? 

“Joel, I couldn’t bother you with—“

“I wouldn’t offer if it was a bother.”

Joel’s as stubborn as a bull, more so than Ellie. And she is stubborn. You don’t argue, because it’s fruitless to argue with a brick wall like him. And, faced with freezing to death out here or staying in a well-insulated building, choosing the latter is obviously the right thing to do.

“Okay,” you relent and point to your trunk. “I have a bag back there.”

He raises a brow. “Heels and a bag…What kind of plans were we talkin’ about here?”

A hook up, Joel, you mentally drawl. Because…that’s exactly why you were out. 

Like hell you’ll tell Joel that, though, he’d disapprove. He’s always been the protective type. You’ve known him since your junior year in college, after your families practically merged. But you’ve never seen Joel as another dad. He’s always been…something else to you.

“A trip to Nunya.” You supply instead of the truth, crossing your arms over your chest to try and conserve some heat. 

“Nunya?” Joel’s brows furrow. 

“Yeah. Nunya business, Joel.” You give him a sardonic smile. 

He shakes his head and sends you a look you’re quite familiar with, the one that makes you feel inches smaller. And ten degrees hotter. 

Joel sighs in exasperation and wordlessly wrenches the trunk open. He slings your bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing.

(It weighs a lot. You’d know, you shoved five different erotica books in there, just in case your date failed to make you orgasm.)

(Though thinking about Joel probably would’ve been enough.) 

You lock your vehicle with a bemused glance. “What are we gonna do about my car?” 

“I’ll tow it out tomorrow,” Joel says. “Roads are a fuckin’ mess right now.”

You trudge behind Joel to his quaint cottage sleeping cozily between tall pine trees and chubby evergreens. The porch light is on, and the windows glow a comforting orange. Puffs of smoke drift up from the chimney. It looks warm and inviting, like straight out of a Christmas movie. 

You’re impressed at how close you managed to strand yourself to his house. Maybe Jesus really did take the wheel. 

Joel kicks the snow off his boots on his front porch, then opens the door, gesturing for you to enter first. 

When you breach the doorway with Joel at your heels, warmth settles over your cold-bitten cheeks along with an alluring aroma of meat and tomato and spices that hits you in a wave. You’ve never seen Joel cook anything other than Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, or burgers on Tommy’s rusting grill before, so this is certainly a surprise. It could be Sarah or Ellie’s cooking, but last time you checked, Sarah could cook eggs and Ellie could cook, well, nothing.

“So did you hire a personal chef to make whatever smells so good?”

He sets your bag down in the foyer with a grunt and shrugs out of his coat. “I made it.”

You can’t help the disbelieving laugh that bursts out of you, and the slightly offended look on Joel’s face only makes it harder to stop. You cover your mouth with your hand, but you’re absolutely positive he can see the mirth lighting in your eyes.

Though he’s offended, there’s a twitch to his lip, as if he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m perfectly capable of cooking.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” you try to stamp down your giggles. “Yes, you’re capable but… is it edible?”

Your stomach decides in that moment to start rumbling, and he smirks.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

You take your coat off and follow Joel towards the kitchen. As you follow, you take in his aggressively Texan decor and furniture. Paintings of cowboys and horses and mountains are hung artfully on cozy, beige walls. The Eagles’ discography drifts merrily in the air from an old record player. There’s a guitar stationed in practically every corner. It’s all so very Joel, though the random space ornamentals and butterfly drawings sprinkled about are so very Ellie and Sarah. It makes you smile. 

“Where are the girls?” You ask, because usually those little stinkers would be stationed at the dining room table, bickering over the answer to a ridiculously difficult math problem.

“At Dina’s,” he answers, taking off his gloves and dropping them on the table. “They wanted to play in the snow.”

Oh. So you’re here alone with him. Anxiety prickles at the edges of your mind, sinking in your stomach.

“I guess I was the only one that didn’t know about the blizzard, then.” 

“You must be livin’ under a rock to not know about it.”

You grumble in protest, but your grievances disintegrate on your tongue as you enter the kitchen and near the simmering pot. You breathe in the aroma, the smell so powerful it's almost like you’re actually tasting it. 

You look over your shoulder at him. “Is this chili?”

He nods. “Want some?”

“Absolutely.”

He comes up beside you to open a cabinet. “Go ‘head make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll bring it out to you.” Your mouth dries at the sliver of skin that peeks out beneath his flannel as he reaches up.

You force yourself to turn around. “Wow. Such a gentleman, didn’t realize you were capable,” you say, your saccharine sweet tone doing well to mask how flustered you feel. You can breathe easier the second you exit the kitchen and enter the living room. 

His voice follows you. “A simple ‘thank you’ ‘stead'a this attitude would do you some good, y'know?"

"I know," you sing-song, grinning as you settle yourself down onto his couch, grabbing a blanket from a basket on the way. A fire crackles in the hearth and you study the flames with fascination as warmth spreads across your skin. You tug the blanket around you, pulling it up to your chin. 

Joel emerges a minute later and your gaze darts from the fire to the bowl he holds out to you. “Here.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you say emphatically, accepting the bowl and cradling it in your hands. 

He smiles, “There we go. Guess you do have some manners.”

You give him a half-bow. Joel just smiles in that familiar way, like you’re just so ridiculous he can’t believe it. It makes your stomach curl giddily. 

Having rolled up the sleeves of his flannel to his elbows, Joel’s forearms are on display, muscles flexing as he tosses another log into the hearth, and you drop your gaze to your chili, as to not get caught staring. He sits down in the armchair adjacent to you with his own bowl.

You blow on the steaming chili before taking a bite, an involuntary moan releasing from you the moment it hits your tongue—paprika, peppers, tomato, cumin. It warms your stomach pleasantly. Who knew Joel could cook so well?

“This is so good,” you mumble around your bite. 

He swallows his own chili down, pupils large as he watches you. “Edible enough for ya?”

You nod enthusiastically, “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, unconvinced, but he’s smiling at you again, and you can’t help but return it. 

Comfortable silence lapses between the both of you as you eat your meals. Joel finishes first, of course, setting his bowl on the coffee table and leaning into his chair with a satisfied groan. He throws an arm over the back, spreading his legs. You watch him while he watches the fire, heat licking through you.

Eventually, after you slow down, you speak again.

“Thank you, Joel, seriously, for letting me stay.”

His eyes find yours and he nods. “‘Course, peach. Wouldn’t’ve let you freeze out there.” 

You nod and glance around, taking in his cabin. A large, stone fireplace is set in the wall, a tree trunk coffee table stationed in the center of the living room, some handmade wood carvings of horses and other animals scattered about. There’s a drawing of himself sitting on the mantel, “To: Joel, From: Ellie” signed at the bottom. Your heart swells. 

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been here,” you remark.

“I know,” Joel says. “You should come around more often. The girls miss you.”

Your smile turns shy and you feel a spike of bravery. “What about you? Do you miss me?” 

He takes a moment to answer, a veiny hand coming up to rub at his beard as he leans on the arm of the chair. Onyx eyes drag down your figure. “‘Course I do, darlin’” 

Heat pools hot and thick between your thighs at that look, and you’re about to press him about how much he really misses you when a buzzing in your pocket captures your attention. Your phone. Guess you have some bars now. 

marcus: where r u?

Oh right, the hookup!

you: blizzard blocked the roads. won’t make it tonight.

marcus: ok. 

You scoff at the lack of depth in his response. Not even a “stay safe out there”? Jesus. You settle into the couch with a frustrated sigh, head thumping against the cushions, eyes falling shut as exhaustion creeps into you. 

Boys always thinking with their dicks. Why do you even bother?

“What’s that about?” Joel asks. You peek an eye open at him. Firelight dances across his tan skin. He gestures to your phone. “That gotta do with the real reason for your trip tonight?” 

You rub your temple, “Yeah.”

He hums. "...Listen, I know it's none of my business but—“ 

"It was a hookup, Joel," you interrupt, already knowing where he was going with that. He tends to do that, beat around the bush so much until you’re desperate to just say it. More desperate than he was to know it. You’d rather just skip that whole process. 

"Oh,” his brows furrow.

"Yeah," you repeat dumbly, fiddling with the blanket.

"There, uh, ain't no shame in that, darlin'."

You quirk a skeptical brow, "I know."

"Alright," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact with you. Awkwardness settles between you.

"Things are just a bit dry," you supply, though you have no idea why you're still talking, or why you described yourself and the state of your love-life like that because Joel doesn't need to know that. Nobody needs to know that

But it captures his attention, because he's looking at you again, though this time annoyance is written on his features, along with something else you can’t name, his eyes practically black. Damnit, you knew he’d disapprove, even if he claims there’s no shame in it.

“And you went to some random boy for that?"

You straighten on the couch. "Who else am I supposed to go to, Joel? You?” Sarcasm drips from your words. 

What the hell is he implying?

His gaze jumps to the fire, the muscles in his jaw clenching, his fingers flexing on the arm of his chair. "Never mind I said anythin'."

Your arms cross defensively over your chest. "I don't need your judgment, Joel.”

"I ain't judgin'."

"Sure sounds like it."

He stands abruptly, running a hand through his peppered locks. "I'm not, I just—listen, it's gettin' late. You should sleep. I didn’t have time to get the girls’ room ready, do you want my bed?”

You shake your head, "Couch is perfectly fine, Joel. Thanks."

“You sure?”

“Yes, Joel. I’m a grown woman who can handle her decisions.” 

"I know that.” Frustration laces his words. He sighs, hand coming up to rest on his belt. “Just... let me know if you need anythin'."

“You got it.”

He turns the living room light off on the way to his bedroom down the hall. You don’t watch him leave. 

Once he's gone, you change into your pajamas and settle yourself on the couch beneath a blanket or two. The crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside lulls you to sleep faster than you expect. 

-----

“Fuck.”

The aggressive shivers that wrack your body are what wake you up in the middle of the night. 

Your blanket is wrapped tightly around you, but it’s a thin, furry thing. Nothing like the down comforter you have at home. The fire has also gone out in the hearth, low flames flickering in the ash.

You pull the blanket up to your chin, curling in on yourself as the cold permeates your skin. 

Aside from the chattering of your teeth and the squall outside, it’s eerily silent in the house. You realize, now, that the whooshes from the heating system you had grown accustomed to before are gone

Shit.

You reach for the lamp on the side table, pulling down on the chain. It doesn’t turn on.

“Shit.” 

You sit up, blanket wrapped around your waist. The power is out. The snow storm must’ve knocked out a power line. It’s too cold to stay out here with only your thin blanket and the clothes on your back. And Joel had said…

Let me know if you need anythin’.

You really don’t want to bother him, but the goose flesh rippling across your skin and the pathetic way your lips are quivering, along with the shudders that wrack your body as it attempts to maintain homeostasis are not something you can just sleep through.

You tightly wrap your blanket around your shoulders and tiptoe down the hall. You can see a warm light from Joel’s bedroom, the flicker of a flame on the cream walls.

You slowly push the door open but hesitate at the sight of Joel buried comfortably beneath his comforter. You don’t want to wake him… but his room is awfully toasty from the fire crackling away in his own hearth. And his bed looks absolutely heavenly. 

You steel yourself and pad to the side he sleeps on. 

“Joel?” You whisper. He doesn’t respond.

You lean over to gently push his shoulder. “Joel.”

“Mm—“ His brows furrow, and he scrunches further into the blankets, reminiscent of a cat curling its paws over its head when woken up.

You push his shoulder again, a bit harder this time. “Joel. Wake up.”

He swats at the air, as if your hand is a fly buzzing around his ear. “‘M awake,” he mumbles against the pillow. 

“Joel—the power went out. I’m freezing.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes still shut. He’s no doubt rolling the words around in his head, trying to make sense of them through a sleepy haze.  

Then, when he does, he wordlessly scoots back and reaches for the comforter. He lifts it, offering the space next to him to you.

“C’mere.” 

You splutter, taken off guard by the invitation. “What? Joel—“

“‘M not askin’, peach. C’mere.” The last word leaves his lips like a command, and you straighten reflexively, apprehension holding your limbs hostage as want curls dangerously low in your abdomen at his tone of voice. That should be enough warning to not climb into bed with him.

You debate telling him to get his ass up and give you another blanket along with a couple more logs in the hearth so you can avoid any kind of proximity between you (lest you feel those capital-f Feelings), but you can practically feel the heat radiating from the bed and his body beckoning you in. 

Oh fuck it.

You let loose a shaky breath and hesitantly slip beneath the covers, facing away from him. You stay glued to the edge of the bed, careful not to let any part of you touch him. Your legs curl into your chest for extra measure. Immediately, it’s so much better. So warm. So comfortable.

And it smells like Joel.

You inhale the earthy and spicy scent of him that lingers on the linen as your head sinks into the soft pillow, but your inhale chokes off as Joel’s strong arm snakes around your waist beneath the comforter, his large hand burning like a brand when it settles hot over your stomach.

He pulls you into him, the sheets swishing as he tucks you into his body. Your back slots against his warm, broad naked chest. His bare legs intertwine with yours, his pelvis almost flush against your ass, only covered by a thin pair of briefs. 

Holy shit. 

You can feel everything. 

“Joel?” You question, voice quivering at the sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”

“Keepin’ you warm,” he mumbles against the nape of your neck. 

You do feel warmer, though it might not be entirely because he’s holding you, but rather because of how he’s holding you. He’s curled around you, like a koala around a tree, thighs bracketing yours. 

You can feel his beard scraping at the nape of your neck, breaths puffing against your feverish skin. 

His thumb is rubbing softly along the pudge of your tummy, palm branding your skin, his fingers dipping innocently beneath the hem of your shorts. 

You can barely breathe, or even think, heartbeat stuttering as arousal pools liquid hot and heavy between your legs. Every unknowing twitch from Joel’s fingers makes it worse. Every touch of his calloused fingertips against your skin is pure agony. Every brush of your ass against his pelvis has you throbbing. You stare wide-eyed into the darkness, gaze roaming the pitch black, as if something out there could make you forget about the ever-growing desire you feel for Joel. 

You can’t sleep like this.

It seems like Joel can though, appearing to already be deep in slumber. He hasn’t moved in a few minutes, his exhales even and slow against you. 

You try to ignore the wetness between your legs, ignore the instinctual urge to roll your hips back against him. You should just go to sleep. But this ache you feel, pounding and deep and relentless…You have to do something about it, even with Joel holding you close.

He won’t mind…right?

But how are you supposed to touch yourself with Joel’s hand in the way? 

You could just move it. That’s the right thing to do, but it feels too good, so hot and heavy on you that you just don’t want to, and as a result, an idea so absolutely fucked worms its way into your mind, lust and desperation destroying any last semblance of rational thought. You could…

No. No. You can’t do that. He’s a human fucking being, not a hand shaped vibrator. 

But… you really want to, and he’s asleep so…he won’t even know…right?

You make up your mind and slowly curl your fingers around Joel’s deadweight palm, biting your lip in concentration and shame as you carefully urge his hand further into your shorts. After each nudge of his palm, you wait to see if Joel gives you any sign of him being awake. But he’s dead asleep. After a moment, you keep going. 

This is so fucked, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you finally feel his thick fingers brush over your clothed folds.

“Shit,” you whisper, breathlessly, holding back a whimper. You manipulate his hand so that his palm is resting large and warm over your aching clit, while his index and middle finger are placed heavily above your heat. 

And then, you really say fuck you to your morals. 

You give an experimental thrust of your hips into his palm, shuddering at the contact against your clit. Then you wait to see if Joel reacts, your head tilting a bit to look over your shoulder. But Joel hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word. Good.

Confident he won’t wake, you rock your hips again and again, holding onto his hand with your own, pressing it down with each thrust of your hips to get that sweet contact. The heel of his palm bumps your aching clit with each thrust, and you bite back moans and whimpers well enough, but you can’t hide the deepening of your breaths as you climb closer and closer to your climax.

Everything else fades away as you just focus on that one goal. On crawling over the edge. You hardly feel the growing smirk pressed to the back of your neck, or the way Joel’s cock is now hard against your ass as you grind against his palm.

“F-fuck,” you huff, eyes tightly shut as you ground yourself in his presence behind you, the beat of his heart thudding against your spine, the rise and fall of his chest, the light, unconscious brush of his lips on your neck. Closure is on the horizon as you imagine him lifting up on his arm and leaning over to actually get you off, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he thrusts his fingers into your aching cunt. 

“Joel—“ you quietly moan. 

The moment his name slips from your lips, his hand suddenly pulls back, and you let out a frustrated groan (he can’t do that!), which quickly turns into a squeak of mortification (oh yes, he absolutely can!).

Because Joel is awake. 

He. Is. Awake.

And he knows what you were doing, his chest rumbling against your spine as he—is he fucking laughing at you?

“Needy girl, aren’t you, peach?”

Mortification ignites in your cheeks, nausea pooling in your stomach. “Joel, oh my god, I’m so sorry—“

His hand gravitates to your thigh, curling around it. He pulls it up, inserting his knee in between your legs and he griiiinds it into your clothed cunt. Your desperate apology is cut off by a reflexive wanton moan, your back arching as pleasure reverberates inside you.

“‘S okay, baby, I understand. So fuckin’ desperate you had to use me while I was sleepin’, huh? Didn’t get what you wanted earlier so now you’re searchin’ for somethin’ else, hm?”

His large hand finds your waist again, sliding down your stomach to inch beneath both your shorts and your panties now. You gasp as his fingertips find your clit easily.

“I’m just a ‘lil offended I wasn’t your first choice,” he chides, fingers slipping through your soaking folds. “But I like this much better than you findin’ some boy to get you off. You need’a be fucked by a man, darlin’. Ain’t that right?” 

His words send heat straight to your core, thighs clenching around his knee as he ruts it against you while simultaneously stimulating your clit with his fingers.

“Yes, Joel,” you moan. “Need you.” 

His teeth scrape against your throat when he growls, “Goddamn right you do.”

You can’t believe this is happening.

Joel slides his hand further into your panties, his middle finger curling in to sink into your soaked cunt. You choke on a gasp. 

“Who’s the guy?” He asks, randomly, while his finger rocks into you.

You can’t think as Joel inserts his ring finger alongside the other, stretching you so deliciously. “W-what?”

“The boy you were gonna see tonight. Who is he?” 

Who was it? Mark? Matt? And why does he care? You don’t know, you don’t care, only thoughts of Joel Joel Joel consume your waking being. 

“I—I don’t know, Joel. Please, oh my god.” 

He hums pityingly. “Poor thing can't even remember his name.” His other hand comes up to slide through your hair, gripping the locks at the nape of your neck. He tugs, and you melt. “I’ll make sure you don’t forget mine.” 

He doesn’t need to worry about that.

Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit as he thrusts his thick, long fingers up and into you, curling them to hit that spot that has your heartbeat dropping between your thighs, desperate and loud and begging for release. 

“Hhhoh— Joel!” 

“Tha’s right, baby. So goddamn wet. You’ve been dealin’ with this for awhile now, huh?”

You nod into the pillow on a broken moan as his fingers withdraw and sink into you at a steady pace, his thumb circling and circling and circling.

“Words, baby.”

You cry out, hands gripping the pillow. “Yes, yes. Joel. Been wanting this f’so long.”

“Should’a come to me first. Would’a helped you out a long time ago,” he drawls.

Yes you absolutely should have, based on how quickly you’re approaching your orgasm.

Your cries are so loud, but you don’t care, focusing only on your pleasure and the feel of Joel’s mouth on your throat. 

You’re finally getting what you want. And fuck, is it amazing.

Your eyes roll back as it all builds up inside you, Joel’s hand unrelenting as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re scorching, everything hot and intense, your stomach tightening, your legs stretching out as the pleasure builds and builds.

Fuck, you’re gonna cum—

It rips through you violently, eyes prickling with tears, your thighs clenching as your walls bare down repeatedly around Joel’s fingers, making him groan. 

“Good girl,” Joel murmurs, hand eventually inching out of you and your shorts to squeeze your thigh appreciatively as aftershocks run through you, thighs quaking and clit throbbing. “That’s what you needed, huh? S’it feel good, cummin’ all over my fingers?”

His fucking voice!

“Mhmm,” you hum in agreement, sinking into the sheets, eyes drooping shut as pleasure lulls you to sleep. 

He tsks, “Wake up, darlin’ I ain’t done with you yet.”

His beard scrapes against your neck as he moves to your ear.

“It’s my turn to use you.”

Your eyes shoot open. Fuck. 

Joel pulls your panties down your legs as far as he can, and you squirm to wriggle them off of you.

He pulls away for a moment, but when he’s back, the bare, hot, thick length of him is pressed between your ass cheeks, and a full body shudder runs through you.

Holy shit, he’s big.

He grips your thigh again, but this time he throws it over his own. And then you feel it, the slick head of his cock as he guides it through your folds.

Oh fuck.

“You okay, peach?” He asks, laying a gentle kiss on your shoulder. Now you have tears in your eyes for an entirely different reason. His hand slides across your waist and up beneath the hem of your shirt, palming your breast. Your nipples tighten. 

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow down a lump of lava. “Y-yes, Joel.”

“Good. Wanna give you all of me, how’s that sound, darlin’?”

You will take whatever, anything you can get from Joel.

“Good, Joel. Yes, please, oh my god.”  

“There are those manners.”

A desperate whine slips from your lips as he directs the head of his cock into you, slowly and carefully, his hand running up and down your thigh in comforting strokes. God, he’s stretching you so much, hot and thick and pulsing inside you. It’s almost painful, but it’s a welcome pain.

“Jesus, Joel,” you moan when he stops to let you breathe, “You’re so big.”

“I ain’t even halfway in yet, darlin’.”

“W-what?” How is that even possible? 

“You can take it.” He says, sliding in some more and fuck you don’t have much of a choice. but you can, and you will because he feels too fucking good, and you’re ready for him to make you feel it into next week.

“Is…is it all the way in yet?” You ask, thoroughly stretched and filled. 

“Almost, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”

That makes you clench down even more, and he releases a pained groan behind you. “Relax, darlin’, c’mon.”

You do your best and let yourself sink into the bed, taking deep breaths and concentrating on the crackling of the fire.

And then, he thrusts fully into you, filling you up completely, and your mind is right back to him, a soft cry slipping from your lips into the pillow.

 “There we go, tha’s it. Good job. Taking me so well,” he croons, stroking your side.

“F-fuck me, Joel, please move.”

He squeezes your ass in his large palm in retaliation to your command. “You use me, I use you, remember?”

But he listens anyway, likely desperate to move himself, because then he’s gripping your hip with a large hand and pulling back just to sheath himself fully into you once more, his cock head bumping against your cervix, and holy fucking shit.

“Joel!” You cry, and he leans over to kiss you, teeth biting at your plump lower lip as he thrusts into you again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He rolls into you at a steady, bruising pace, and you’re practically boneless as you just take it. Cries and whimpers and moans spilling out of you like a gas leak as he mouths down your throat, sucking and biting and oh my god this is way better than just getting yourself off on his hand. 

Then Joel shifts, pushing at your side to press your stomach into the mattress. You whine as he pulls out of you to situate himself behind you. He grabs your hips with both hands and pulls them up and backwards, easing himself back into you until your ass meets his skin, then he rolls his hips, driving his cock deep from a brand new angle.

All you can do is sob into the pillow. 

He’s so fucking big, so fucking deep you can’t think of anything else besides him and his wonderful cock, or the filthy things he’s whispering into your shoulder blades.

His large hand plants itself on your spine, and your hands scramble for purchase on a pillow.

“Sweet girl, taking me so fuckin’ well,” he purrs. “You were desperate for this cock, huh? God, I wish you could see yourself. Split open on me like this. Your little boy toy wouldn’t be able to fuck you like this, ain’t that right?"

You shake your head. God, why did you even make that dick appointment in the first place?

You hadn’t even realized what being fucked by a “real man” meant until now.

Joel knows how to fucking deliver, you guess that’s why he’s so successful in his contracting business. He’s delivering you straight to that blessed release. 

You clench around the girth of him, the filthy sounds of your arousal echoing in his room along with the cracks and snaps from the fire burning steadily in the hearth.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you definitely will be able to after this because you’re mindless as he fucks you into oblivion.

“Joel, fuck—mmph—!” 

“Yeah, that’s right. Can’t say anythin’ but my name.”

His breathing has become more labored, desperate grunts escaping his lips as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s getting close, deep and gravely moans falling out of him as his thrusts become harder and more sporadic.

His hand sneaks around your front, spanning your entire stomach as he slides down to your soaking folds, his middle and ring finger finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and giving them a gentle tap before circling, using that same method from before that had you squirming.

You writhe on his length, legs falling out beneath you as your orgasm swells within you. 

“Please Joel,” you whimper into the pillow. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises. 

It’s there, filling your body, building and cresting and searing white-hot through your limbs. 

And then he thrusts a certain way, hitting that spot within you, and his fingers are circling and—

Yeah.

You fall boneless to the mattress as you come apart, your arousal coating Joel’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your release, stroking your spine. Pleasure floods through your body as the tension releases, and tears freely fall as you cry into the pillow.

Because goddamn it!

How can something feel so good? 

And then Joel’s pulling out of you and letting loose a long, satisfied moan as he comes all over your back, hot stripes painting you. 

He collapses next to you, groaning something about his back.

And you can’t help but laugh, delirious and soft, and Joel’s laughing too, brown eyes sparkling. His calloused hand comes up, runs his thumb along your jaw, and he’s smiling at you, soft and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

“You alright, peach?”

“Ohhh yeah,” you giggle, sighing with contentment.

You’re gonna be feeling this for days, just like you wanted.

Joel’s lips brush against your forehead gently, and you’re too tired to acknowledge it, slumber pulling you under far too quickly. You think you can feel the gentle swipe of a wet washcloth on your back before you pass out.

-----

“Fuck…”

The bed is empty when you wake, and a spike of anxiety shoots through you as you sit up. A fire still crackles in the hearth, a fresh log dropped in the ash. On the night stand is a note, beneath it, one of Joel’s t-shirts, your jeans, and a pair of your underwear. 

Mortification climbs through you as you read:

Peach,

My bathroom’s on the left if you’d like to shower. I hope you don’t mind, I went through your bag to get you some panties  underwear. Lot of books in there. You sure like to read.

Oh god, he found your erotica stack. The covers are not misleading, either, he definitely knows what kind of books they are. You force yourself to keep reading through the humiliation.

I’m out picking up Sarah and Ellie, I’ll be home soon. There’s pancakes on the counter. We’ll tow your car when I get back.

Also–about last night…we don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But, I want you to know that if you ever need something like that again, I’m here. And for anything else. I’m here. Always. 

See you soon. 

Warmth fills your body and you reread those last sentences over and over. 

Always. Does he really mean that? 

You check the alarm clock on his nightstand–it’s eleven fucking a.m. Holy shit, you haven’t slept that late in a long time. 

When you stand, an ache radiates through you, and memories of last night flit in your mind and along with them, a fresh new wave of arousal. You scramble for the shower.

You emerge fresh and clean twenty minutes later, smelling like Joel, having only his body wash and shampoo to use. Each inhale is practically torture, and the ache between your legs is just another reminder. Seeing yourself in his shirt makes it worse. You try and push it away.

You descend the steps, halting when you hear the sound of Ellie’s voice from the kitchen.

“And I was like, pew pew! And I got both of them out!”

Sarah’s scoff of disbelief follows. “Nuh-uh! You didn’t even hit me!”

You creep down the steps, smiling a bit at Ellie’s outcry of “Yes I fucking did!”, and then you hear it–Joel’s low laugh, the Texan drawl.

“You kiddos are gonna drive me crazy. Just eat your damn pancakes.”

“Why’d you make these in the first place? You don’t even like pancakes,” Sarah teases. 

“Uh…”

You decide you should probably help him out. “Hey girls.”

Three heads snap in your direction. The eyes of one skirting down your body, a blush creeping across his cheeks. The other two brighten in shock. 

“What are you doing here!” Ellie gasps. 

“We haven’t seen you in forever!” Sarah adds.

You enter the kitchen and come up behind them to pull them in for a hug, your arms hooking around their necks. You smush their cheeks against yours. Ellie grumbles, Sarah laughs.

“I know! I’ve missed you guys so much. I’m just super busy with being an adult and all that shit,” you say, letting them go so they can breathe. You round the island, grabbing a plate and stacking two pancakes on it.

“Well, stop being busy. We miss you,” Ellie says.

“If I could, I would.”

“Why are you wearing Dad’s shirt?” Sarah asks, eyes narrowing, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips.

“I–um–” the question catches you off guard, and you scramble for an excuse, eyes flicking to Joel desperately. He clears his throat and crosses his arms over his broad chest, now covered in yet another, dark flannel. How many does he own?

“Snowstorm stranded her here last night, and she didn’t have any clean clothes,” Joel says, definitively.

It’s not a lie at all, and yet, it feels like one.

Sarah and Ellie exchange a look that says, yeah fucking right. You shovel pancake into your mouth to try and cool down the blush in your cheeks. 

“Speakin’ of,” he continues, “I’ve got the tow dolly all hooked up so when you’re done, we can tow your car out.”

“Great. Thank you, Joel.”

His brown eyes flick between yours, his hand coming up to rest large and warm on your shoulder. “‘Course, sweetheart.” 

You finish your pancakes without any more embarrassing questions from the girls, thank God, and then you’re out in the snow wearing a pair of Joel’s boots stuffed with socks (they’re too big, but they’re better than heels) and bundled up in one of his coats, watching Joel tow your tiny car out of the snowbank.

It’s just as cold as yesterday, though the dreary sky has cleared into a baby blue, the sun bright and high above the clouds. The roads are clearer, the snow plows having come by not too long ago. 

You grimace as you hear your car groan and creak as Joel pulls it out of the snow, big puffs of it falling off the roof in clumps. Eventually, it’s on solid ground once more, and he tows it back toward his cabin. 

Back in the driveway, Joel hops out of his truck and double checks your car. He pats the roof of it when he deems it accetable. “All good to go, sweetheart.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you so much Joel, seriously.”

He nods, though he looks…nervous for some reason. “‘Course, darlin’. Glad I could help.”

You don’t really want to leave, but you’ve bothered him long enough, so you stroll to the driver's side and go to open it, but suddenly Joel’s hand comes down to keep it closed. You look up at him confused. 

His expression is hard, serious as he looks down at you. “Do you regret last night?”

Well. You were not expecting that. You thought that, maybe, it would just remain undiscussed. A blip. Something you both shared, but never spoke of again. You know your answer, though.

 “No. I don’t.”

“Good,” he says, eyes dark, “me either.”

He opens the door for you, pauses for a second then shuts it, voice desperate. “I just need to say this, before you go.”

You nod, encouraging him to go on.

He takes a deep breath, rakes a hand through his graying locks. Pinches the bridge of his nose, and shuts his eyes tight. When he opens them again, there's a hard determination in them. Your pulse quickens, your legs turn to jelly.

“I like you, peach,” he says. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me because of the whole single father thing. And, also because I’m me. But I just thought I’d tell you how I felt, because,” he huffs out a laugh, shakes his head, “I’m thinkin’ you might like me, too.”

Your hands are shaking, and not because of the cold. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket with how lucky you've been these past fifteen hours.

“I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, Joel," you confess. 

“Oh,” he says, breathless, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your own grin forming to match his. 

The breeze shakes the evergreens, drifting flakes of snow onto Joel’s graying hair. His nose is reddened by the biting cold, but his eyes are warm as he smiles down at you. 

“Not gonna lie to you sweetheart, I’m kind of glad you got stranded here.”

"Yeah, me too," you laugh, and then you pull him down to you, pressing your lips against his, smiling into the kiss.

This kiss is the exact opposite of the one he gave you last night. It’s careful, sweet, tentative. He reveres your mouth, rather than ravishes it. You’re both bundled in multiple layers, standing in the freezing cold rather than lying naked in a warm bed. 

And yet, it’s just as perfect, if not more.

Eventually Joel pulls back, hands heavy on your waist. He’s still grinning. His hands frame your face, his thumb running softly along your cheekbone. 

“Peach,” he says. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

[beansprean]

Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

And they lived happily ever after? LOL

Izzyguana AU part 5! (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Aerial shot of the hill where Izzy's grave is marked, a hill sweeping steeply downward behind it toward a small bay where the ocean laps hungrily at the shore. It is dark and raining hard in thin diagonal strikes. 1b. Close up of Izzy's grave marker from below as it is pelted by rain. Behind, thick clouds roll past, rumbling with distant thunder. 1c. Repeat. A loud clap of thunder hits just as a flash of lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating a gloved hand that suddenly punches, palm up, out of the dirt.

2a. series of POV panels on a dark background, showing the ramshackle porch of Stede and Ed's home. The wooden slat door is closed, but there is a gap in the wood above the doorknob where golden light is shining through, juxtaposing the cold blues and purples of the storm outside. There is a shuffling sound of uneven footsteps. 2b. Repeat, closer to the door now, the panel tilted as if the POV is tipping back and forth as it climbs the stairs. The footsteps are louder. 2c. Repeat, closer, now past the stairs, footsteps louder still. 2d. Repeat. Closer. A final thump. The shadow of a head and shoulders falls across the door. 2e. Repeat. The door creaks open, letting out a burst of warm light. 2f. Repeat. The door opens fully, blinding the panel with light.

3a. Inside the house, lit up in warm candlelight, there is a ramshackle wooden table holding a pair of oranges, a bottle of rum, and a pair of silver coins on the close end. On the far end, a lumpy, unfrosted cake on a plate with a single lit candle in the center. At the head of the table in front of the cake sits the iguana in a handmade high chair, a party hat of wrapped palm leaves strapped to its head. Stede and Ed are standing at the table on either side of it with matching party hats. All three look towards the viewer as the door is opened. Ed, wearing a purple tee and green lavalava, has a cup in his right hand and his left hand is frozen mid-cheer. He stares at the newcomer with his jaw dropped and eyes wide with shock. Stede, wearing his teal blouse and brown leather pants, is similarly frozen, leaning into the table on his left hand and holding up a cup in his right as he stares toward the door. A handmade banner stretched behind them reads 'Happy Rebirthday Izzy'. 3b. Reverse shot, chest up of the real human Izzy standing at the door, arm extended to hold it open. He is covered in mud and soaked by the rain, hair falling down into his eyes, and is wearing the cream shirt he died in, now made loose and transparent by the rain but still bearing a faint bloodstain on the chest. Izzy stares forward at the scene in abject horror and confusion, lip curled back from his teeth. 3c. Repeat of 3a, this time with human Izzy and the head of the table. Another candle has been added to the cake, the banner has been changed to read 'Happy Rebirthday Izzys', and a third orange has appeared on the table. The iguana side-eyes Izzy, hissing suspiciously. Stede has resumed his cheer, raising his cup with his right hand and reaching around the iguana's chair to place his left on human Izzy's shoulder. Ed is laughing happily, leaning his forehead into human Izzy's temple and cupping his head with his left hand. Izzy sits frozen and frowning in shock and bewilderment, eye twitching, Ed's party hat now on his head. Izzy thinks to himself, "...Is it too late to crawl back into my grave?" /end ID

[eyesthatroll]

gatorade kisses

pairing; matthew rempe x fem!reader

warning(s); highkey cringe… (don’t say i didn’t warn you), fluff, kissing, NOT edited.

word count; 0.95k

authors note; i fear i have become endeared to ny’s baby goon . don’t crucify me

"Don't be mad at me." Your eyes lift from the pages of your book, and you nudge your glasses to rest at the peak of your head, casting a discerning gaze over him. The remnants of game day attire have been replaced by sweatpants and a hoodie, and his once-styled hair now appears tousled, damp from the rain that drizzled outside. Positioned just before the door, his Air Forces firmly planted on the welcome mat, he awaits your reaction.

"Did you not receive my text, Matthew?" Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek, as you release a heavy sigh. Returning your attention to the book, you gracefully lower your glasses back down to your nose. Amidst the audible shuffling, possibly the thud of shoes meeting the floor, your eyes stay fixed on the pages before you. However, your concentration wavers, and you find yourself not truly absorbed in the text anymore, your eyes just dancing over the Sans Serif.

You feel a dip in the leather beside you, and before you can voice your protest, your book is swiftly snatched from your hands and deposited on the end table to Matt's left. "I was reading that," you huff, "and I explicitly told you not to come over."

"I take it you saw the game." He concludes.

"I didn't need to; it was all over Twitter." Meeting his deep brown eyes, bruised and tarnished black from countless hits to the face, you can sense the pain he's concealing. A longing to reach out and comfort him tugs at you, but the sight becomes unbearable, prompting a cringe and a quick turn away.

He was such a beautiful boy, and you hated seeing him banged up like this.

His hand gently presses into your thigh, a subtle squeeze accompanying his plea, "Will you please look at me? I'm sorry."

Tears pool at your waterline, and you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, striving to keep them at bay. Slowly, you turn your head back to him. "I don't want you to get hurt," your voice leaves your lips in a shaky breath.

"Hey," he begins, his hand gently grasping your arm, tugging you towards him until you're straddling his waist. "Hey," he repeats. His thumbs reach up, delicately wiping away the tears that have trickled down your cheeks. "I'm okay."

"You look like you're in so much pain." Your hand gently rises to caress his cheek, mindful of the bruised skin.

"I'm not." He attempts to reassure you, but the waiver in his voice betrays his words.

"Please don't lie to me." You murmur, a desperate plead to the boy in front of you.

He exhales a deep sigh, diverting his attention momentarily before speaking, "It only hurts a little bit."

Seeking his touch, you lean into his embrace, your head finding the crook of his neck as salty tears cascade freely, quietly. His arms envelop you, hands gently rubbing your back in an attempt to provide comfort.

After God knows how long, the storm within you subsides, and your sole focus shifts to the rhythmic cadence of his breathing, the reassuring sensation of his chest rising and falling against your own.

“It won’t always be like this,” he says, “I promise.”

Drawing back from him, you release a deep breath. "Listen, I don't mean to get emotional," you start, a strained laugh escaping your lips as you wipe your eyes with your palms. He joins in, sharing a laugh that mirrors your own.

“I just—if you tell me you know what you’re doing, or that you have people looking out for you, I’ll try not to worry so much.”

His head tilts ever so slightly, and his fingers extend, delicately tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You surrender to the warmth of his touch, and his hand lingers at your cheek, caressing gently. "The coaching staff is great, and so are the guys."

“I don’t want you being the league’s punching bag.”

“I can handle myself.” He defends.

“Matthew.” You huff out.

He sighs, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “Do you trust me?”

Your gaze softens. “Course’ I do”

“Trust me, then.”

Your teeth graze your bottom lip, nibbling softly as you mull over his words. After a moment of contemplation, you respond with a simple, "Okay."

He quirks a brow. “Okay?”

“Yes Matty, I’m trusting you to not be a dumbass.”

A snort escapes his lips, morphing into a full-bellied laugh—a sound you find utterly captivating. The reading timer you set on your phone chimes from the other side of the couch, an unwelcome reminder of the outside world and the passage of time.

“It’s late.” You comment, “You tired?”

He nods. “A bit.”

"Let’s head to bed, hm?" You attempt to shift away, but his large hands firmly grasp your waist, keeping you in place.

"Wait," he groans, drawing you closer to him.

"What?" you ask, a questioning smile playing on your lips.

“I believe you have something for me?”

Your brows furrow in confusion, your mind retracing the events of the day in an attempt to recall if you've forgotten anything. It's only when his lips form a pout that you roll your eyes at the boy in front of you, but lean in nonetheless.

His lips meet yours softly, moving with a gentle rhythm. His hands migrate from your waist to your bum, delivering a cheeky squeeze that elicits a gasp from you, granting him complete access to your mouth. The scruff of his facial hair lightly scratches against the area above your top lip, and you pull away to catch your breath, Matt doing the same. "You taste like Gatorade."

[the-californicationist]

The Window (4 of 7)

Ch 01 // Ch 02 // Ch 03 // Ch 04 // Ch 05 --- AO3 Link

Seeing him again had been a shock. They’d arrived late — not that you were checking on their flight or anything — and they were all a bit worse for wear. Usually, after any mission, good or bad, the flight home was cathartic. Everyone could breathe easy. They were going home to good food and infinite WiFi. It was cause for celebration, no matter how beaten and bruised they felt. But, this time was different.

Price was walking through the hangar while you were cataloging ammunition shipments, lowly desk work while your leg healed up, and he looked so small. Well, he still towered over all of the other soldiers in the bay - except for Ghost - but he just looked so pale and listless. His eyes were dull, staring at the ground, watching his feet take their steps, aimlessly driven to his next destination. 

Ghost followed him, equally distracted. His mask was off, and you could see his eye-black smeared all the way down to his mouth, like he’d been rubbing his face, fretting. Gaz had looked furious. He was tossing their gear like it had personally offended him, and he railed into one of the trainees for getting in his way. His warm brown eyes had turned cold and harsh, unfeeling. 

Soap was the worst. He jumped from the chopper and immediately started to scan the room, looking for you. He pulled one of the mechanics aside and you heard him asking for you by name, and as the man pointed in your direction, you hid behind the crates. Undeterred, he headed your way, so you crawled into the dark space between where he wouldn’t find you. He searched and searched, pushing aside heavy boxes and truck wheels, hunting for you. He became frantic, pacing back and forth, until Price called his name. His eyes lingered on the darkness where you were hidden, looking but not seeing. Then, glassy-eyed, he retreated, his gaze turning from desperation to unbridled frustration. 

It was when you’d been trying to sneak back to the barracks that Price had found you, chasing you through the base. You weren’t running, per se, but you were moving quick enough, and you had quite the head start. He, however, was sprinting, pushing people out of his way, calling after you. When he saw the look on your face, he knew he was in trouble. 

“Get back here, Sparrow! That’s an order,” he shouted down the hall. 

You turned around to face him, throwing up your hands in an exaggerated shrug,

“You’re not my CO, sir.”

“Spar — Get out of the bloody way!” He shoved a trainee into the wall, pushing past him in an attempt to follow you to your room. 

Price was panting, his chest heaving as he grabbed for you, his hands sinking into your soft flesh. You wrenched your body away from him and blocked him from coming into your room. He furrowed his brow and said,

“It’s Sunday. It’s my day.”

“I’m already pregnant. Your services are no longer needed,” you spat, “Much like mine, apparently.”

You tried to shut the door on him, but he blocked it with his huge shoulders, looking at you with a ravenous hunger in his eyes,

“I just got back from the fuckin’ sandbox. We can fight later, but I need you, little bird. Please.”

“And I need you to go fuck yourself… sir.” You slammed the door so hard that you thought you broke the hinges. 

You listened to the handle jiggle in the lock from Price’s audacity. Then, silence. 

Why was it the silence that hurt the worst?

Soap was at your door that night, banging on it, shaking the frame,

“Bonnie! I ken you’re in there. Lemme in. I jus’ wanna talk to you. Bonnie?”

Silence again, and then there was a slow, wiping sound against the door, like a big palm being slid down it. 

“Sparrow? Please.” His voice was so strange. It seemed small. Usually, Soap was the loudest, the most boisterous. And now, he sounded ill. 

You listened at the door, hurt and angry, but missing your men. Hearing Johnny beg was almost enough to make you unlock it. Almost.

Over the next week, they all tried to get back in your good graces. Gaz brought you flowers no matter where you were. He covered your desk with them, and you kept throwing them out or giving them away. He left them outside your door, sitting in the hall, complete with little handwritten cards: 

I’m so sorry, baby. Please text me? - G.

Come to the main hall? We just need to talk. - G.

You ripped his notes up and tossed them in the trashcan irreverently. 

Johnny had been a little less subtle. At the end of a long day, he’d be waiting outside your door, sometimes alone, sometimes with the others, trying to get you to listen to him, 

“C’mon, bonnie. Dinnae shut us out. Please, lass.”

You had become an expert at the cold shoulder. 

Ghost, fitting with his quiet demeanor, wouldn’t beg. In fact, he wouldn’t say a word. But, he followed you everywhere, haunting your office, stalking you at the gym, sitting at your table during briefings. One time, he cornered you in the elevator, riding with you past his own floor, his eyes burning into your skin. 

And then there was Price. Other than his presentations during mission briefings, you hadn’t heard his voice since that very first day. But, he was always around. His smoke gave him away. Your room reeked of his tobacco, and when you were working, you’d smell it in the air. But, when you’d look up to spot him, he was nowhere to be found. 

That didn’t mean he failed to reach out to you. He was always on your phone. He called you every morning when he woke up, and he called again every night when you went to bed. You never picked up, but as you lay in bed watching his smiling face pop up on your home screen again, this time, you did.

You didn’t say hello. You just waited to hear what he had to say. You needed to hear him again. Anything. Just a hello. 

“Sparrow, it was me. It wasn’t them. You have to forgive them. I was the one who —”

You hung up the phone and cried into your pillow hard enough to make yourself sick. 

After that night, things got so much worse. Your emotions were raw, and everything made you terribly sad. Your body was in desperate need of someone to care for it, and your hormones were going absolutely haywire. You were either nauseated or horny, and there was no warning which would hit at any given moment. 

You found yourself sneaking out of work early, hiding in the shower, furiously coming on your hand over and over, thinking - wishing - that it was Soap's or Gaz's mouth instead. When you lay in bed at night, you desperately ground your hips into your dildo, riding it like you wanted to ride John and his men, wanton and soaking your sheets.

Eventually, you had reached your limit, and you met Soap, Gaz, and Ghost in the mess hall. They were all sufficiently apologetic, and they were curious as to what had changed your mind.

“Dinnae get me wrong, lass. It’s been hard without you, and I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but… why are you forgivin’ us?”

“Price told me what he did. He said it wasn’t your decision to take me off the team.”

“That’s not true,” Ghost refuted, earning himself a swift nudge from Soap and a glare from Gaz. 

“Shut up, mate. Do y’know how long it’s been since —” Gaz hissed, but Ghost interrupted him.

“The captain was the one who fought to keep you on the task force. He was out-voted.”

“Out-voted? There’s only four of you. Should’ve been at draw…” you observed.

“Exactly. We all voted against him. You’ve no bloody business on the field right now, and you know it. You can barely sit here with us for ten goddamn minutes before you’re sprintin’ off to wretch in whatever can’s the closest.”

You averted your eyes from him, trying to process what he was saying, and feeling the sting of shame when you had to admit that he was right. This first trimester had been an absolute nightmare. You were a sweaty, puking mess here in the offices, and you shuddered to think of feeling this way out in the Urzikstani sands, getting shot at, eating nothing but MREs and instant decaf coffee. 

“We just wanted the best for you, birdie,” Gaz reached out for your hand and held it in his, “We know how badly you want this baby, and we…” He looked at the others for a moment and said, “And we’ve fallen in love with you, Sparrow. We can’t lose you. Let us take care of you.”

You were so tired, and you needed to release the tension you’d been holding inside of your chest, so you relented. 

They followed you back to your room and sat you on the bed, kissing you so deeply that you could feel their hunger. They’d been waiting for you. 

All of them were dripping with precome, and you watched as it stained the thick canvas fabric of their pants, making you wonder if they’d even touched themselves in the time they were apart from you. 

They began to strip themselves and you, kissing every bit of your skin, leaving purple marks from their aggressive desire. Gaz held your hand to his crotch and rubbed it across the front, making you feel his hardening rod, encouraging you to stroke him. Johnny was busying himself with your pants, aching to put his mouth on your molten core, and just the thought of his tongue was enough to make you shiver. 

Ghost bent to suck at your nipples, peeling your shirt and bra off in one go, and you held his head, cradling him with as much affection as you could muster, but as you looked up at you, he knew there was something wrong. 

“Hey, stop.”

The others, as if burned, immediately stopped their worship of your body and looked up at you. 

Ghost continued to pry,

“What is it, love?”

“I just…” You could feel yourself start to cry. 

“You miss him, don’t you?”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You may have forgiven Simon, Johnny, and Kyle, but you missed John. You needed him there. Without him, even their kisses felt hollow. 

“We’ll bring him back to you, dinnae fash, hen,” Soap reassured you, throwing on his shirt. 

“C’mon, he’s in the gym. I saw him with his bag,” Ghost followed Soap out of your door, hard as a stone and trying to adjust himself to something a little less indecent. 

Gaz kissed your lips, his full mouth warm and tasting of cinnamon sugar,

“Be right back, pretty girl.”

You waited five minutes, then ten. You decided to lay down, just for a moment, and before you knew it, you were out. 

You weren’t sure how long you slept, but you woke up in someone’s arms, opening your eyes and watching as he lay you in the big, combined bed the five of you shared. You turned to see his face when you felt him crawl into the sheets beside you, blinking the sleep away and trying to catch your bearings. 

“John?” You croaked, struggling to find your voice. 

“Shh,” he whispered, “Go back to sleep, little bird.”

“They told me…”

“I know. They bloody well shouldn’t have. You need them. You’re both going to need them.”

“I can’t be mad anymore, John. I’m so tired. I just want you all back. Please,” you clutched at his chest, drawing him closer to you in the small bed, “Don’t leave me again.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Sparrow. Here. Feel?”

John’s huge cock was half-hard, and he fit it inside you, slipping it into your wet pussy, squeezing himself through you, just as he loved to do, letting you warm him up. The shock of it went right to your head, and you gasped, hiding your face in the fur of his chest, letting his arms wrap around you protectively. 

“I’ll stay right here, birdie. As long as you want me to.”

“Aye,” Soap’s voice spoke up in the darkness, deep and low, “We all will. Tha’s a promise, lass.”

One by one, each of your men came back into the bed, laying their heavy arms over you and each other, bodies and limbs tangled and gripping at whatever flesh they could find. 

You felt Ghost’s hand slide over your hip, resting his hand on your belly protectively. Gaz leaned over Price to kiss you before settling his arm over the captain’s ribs, his arm cradling your arm as you cuddled with John. Soap’s feet were wrapped around yours, keeping them warm. 

As he hardened inside of you, John kissed your forehead softly. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, John.”

A part of you was still upset at how heavy-handed they had been with your independence, but you felt your smooth muscles fluttering against John’s cock, and it was getting harder and harder to hold onto the anger that you so desperately wanted to let go of. 

As they all settled in to sleep, you decided to try and rekindle the bond that had been broken. You rocked your hips forward, sliding your slick body up and down Price’s fat length. His eyes shot open, burning into you with a dark passion.

“Little bird?”

Your lips found his neck, trailing wet kisses up to his earlobe, taking it in your mouth and suckling at his skin. 

“Not tired, love?” Simon asked, planting his own kisses on your shoulder blades, coaxing your hips to rock back and forth, chasing your high. 

“You need us, innit tha’ right, lass?” Johnny’s fingers reached over your hip, following Simon’s and then trailed down, finding your swollen clit and rubbing slow, tight circles around it, making you soften around Price like an opening bud, petting your petals until you practically unfurled for him. 

“Ungh, Garrick. What are you… “ Price growled through gritted teeth. 

You watched as Kyle licked his hand and tucked it behind John’s back, heading for his tight asshole, fucking him gently on his fingers. 

“Keep fucking our girl, Cap. She needs you,” Kyle told him, “I’ll take care of you, sir.”

“I’m not as patient as the sergeant is, lover,” Simon rustled under the sheets to find his cock, and he held it in his fist, pumping it against your plump ass cheek, “Will you let me in?”

You turned over your shoulder and let him kiss you, feeling his soft lips slide against yours, giving him your tongue to suck on as his hands kneaded your sensitive breast. 

“Yes, Si,” you whispered, “Anything you want.”

You thought his reaction to your words was a little over the top, but Ghost was reacting to Soap, ducked below the sheets, eating his asshole, shoving his tongue deep in the tight opening, prepping him for more. 

Simon tucked his cock between your legs, spitting on his hand and rubbing it on you and himself, lubing you up in a messy, frantic sort of way, too desperate to care about finding a bottle of gel somewhere in the room. 

Johnny was already rutting into his lieutenant, making Simon’s cock leak and jump, excited and drooling for its own warm hole. When you felt his head touch your asshole, you sighed at the tingling electricity building there, eager to be stretched by him. Finally, he popped into your ass, and he began to fuck himself up into you, inch by inch, filling you up. 

Price was grinding his fat dick inside of you, and he groaned when he felt Simon join him on the other side, making you even tighter, forcing the captain to struggle to fit. 

Soon, all five of you were fucking each other at the same time, moaning and kissing and licking one another’s skin, twisted together in a wet mess, and you had never felt such pleasure before. It was as if you were all on the edge, ready to come at the faintest breath of an orgasm, waiting for the spark to ignite the whole room into an explosion of ecstacy. 

“Mmf-fuck!” Simon’s hand wrapped itself around your neck, “Your fuckin’ arsehole feels like heaven, love.”

“Dinnae stop, Si. I can feel when you bottom out in her. Makes you so tight, mate,” Johnny begged him, pinching the lieutenant’s nipples between his fingers over and over, teasing him relentlessly. 

“You alright, little bird?” John asked you, kissing you softly, barely dragging his lips across yours, dreamily moving against you harder and harder, chasing his pleasure, “Fuckin’ Garrick is takin’ away my stamina every time he rams into me like that. Gonna make me come too quick, Gaz.”

“Sorry, sir,” Kyle smiled, giving you a wink, as he licked and nipped at the same earlobe that you had, remembering how much he loved that spot, “Feels too good to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” you moaned, wrapping your hands around John’s shoulders, holding on for dear life, “Don’t ever stop.”

While you wait for the next chapter, please consider checking out my other work. Thank you!

[luvjunie]

— Unforgettable ( 1 )

part one • part two • part three • part four

pairing: e-1610!miles morales x fem!reader

contains: miles rizzing you up after knowing you for two seconds, a beef patty changing the entire course of trajectory for your life. nothing too major

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 1,634

a/n: this was originally going to be one long fic but i decided to split it up, and i’m estimating around four, maybe five chapters in total. also, chapter one is cute but i thought i should let y’all know that two of them will contain some angst/conflict! this is the first series i’ve ever written so it won’t be the best, and i’m still deciding if i like how i mapped out the rest of the story so please bear with me if updates are a tad irregular 😅

next

To think, a damn beef patty is what started it all.

A beef patty that had tumbled out of your hands, down the sweater you’d just taken to the laundromat— your favorite one, at that— and onto the dirty bodega floor when a hard surface came in contact with you on your way to leave.

“Oh shit—“

“Jeez, what the hell man!”

You lunch gone and your good mood with it, your head lifted a great distance from the murder scene at your feet to meet the apologetic face of who had committed this unjust crime against your rumbling stomach.

“I am so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going…” The boy in front of you murmured sheepishly, palm dragging at the back of his neck.

Lips pursed, your forefinger and thumb pinched at the bridge of your nose as you willed yourself to refrain from cursing him out. New york already had enough of that, you decided as he continued apologizing.

“It’s my fault. I bumped into you, it’s fine.” you grumbled curtly, clearly irked. Shifting the blame onto yourself was your best attempt at keeping your anger at bay. The last thing you wanted to do was cut up in this nice man’s shop, especially not on a Sunday.

With a heavy sigh and a scratch to your brow, you crouched down and swiftly scooped the discarded meal off the floor with a napkin. Great, money down the drain.

“Let me buy you another one.” He said to the top of your green adidas beanie, palms pushed together to accompany his plea.

“No need.”

“I really wanna buy you another one.”

You shot up and tossed the remnants into the trash, your frustration evident in how much forced you used. “Dude, it’s—“

“I’m buying you another one.” he insisted, chin raising when he hollered at the clerk. “Yo, Lenny, lemme get another beef patty, man.”

He shuffled past you before you could decline again, the man behind the counter already sliding a fresh one past the register after having witnessed the run in.

You stared at the back of this stranger, brows furrowed incredulously. He was nice, which was unusual for someone in this city, so your innate response was to be annoyed at his persistence. People were always bumping into you and ruining your day, but no one had ever offered to fix it before.

“That’s the last one I got for the day, Miles.” Lenny, the owner of the shop informed apologetically, his Jamaican accent heavy on his tongue. He knew the boy usually came into his store around this hour for one thing, and it was always for one of his beef patties.

“It’s cool, don’t sweat it.” Waving him off, Miles slapped the cash down onto the counter and snatched the pastry up.

“Here,” He turned to you just as you were brushing your hands off onto your dark-wash jeans, breath held with what he hoped would be a peace-offering, extended out to you. “I’m sorry, again.”

You looked up at him, then back down at the patty in his hand before you gently accepted it, the pads of your fingers lingering in his palm when you did so.

“Thank you,..” trailing off, you blinked up at him, a silent request for his name. He was tall, kind of lanky, and had the prettiest brown eyes you’d probably ever seen. They stared back at you, appearing puzzled before he put the pieces together.

“Oh!— Miles.” he answered with a warm smile, hands tucking into the pockets of his jacket. It was green, your favorite color.

“Thank you… Miles.” you returned his smile with a smaller one, something about it contagious.

Caught up in the way you said his name for a moment, it wasn’t until you were already halfway out the door when he realized you hadn’t told him yours.

“Wait! I didn’t get your—“ he called out to the air, the bell on the shop’s door a taunt of his failed attempt. “Name.” he murmured, shoulders falling with a sigh.

He felt eyes on him and turned to the side, lips smacking against his teeth in annoyance at who’s stare he’d caught.

“Don’t be mad at me, man. You gotta step ya game up.” Lenny threw his hands up in surrender and stifled a laugh, shaking his head at the boy.

Even though he had nothing to be smiling about when he exited the small store—seeing as he was out of five dollars and still hungry—Miles found himself walking home that day with a smile etched onto his face, a little pep in his step and something to keep his mind busy.

Nothing happened, that was obvious, but for some reason he felt like this wouldn’t be the last time he saw you.

—

Exactly one thing was on your mind the next time you entered Lenny’s shop, and he already knew what it was before you’d opened your mouth to ask after approaching the register.

Well, maybe two things, but the second one wasn’t necessary to get into.

“Comin’ righ’tup, sweetheart.” He nodded at you.

“Thanks.” You smiled sweetly, idly tapping your hands against the counter during your short wait.

The white parchment paper cradling your all time favorite snack slid over to you a minute later. You paid quickly, your stomach rumbling just from smelling the savory treat.

Just as you went to turn around, you spotted that same boy who’d ran into you a week ago and nearly ruined your day. Miles, you remembered his name was, as you stuck an apprehensive hand out in front of you, patty pulled close to your chest and brows raised in warning.

“Chill,” He laughed, his hands shooting up in defense. “I’m out your way this time, promise.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, his playful demeanor rubbed off on you. “You better be.”

“Please don’t tell me you got the last one.” He pleaded with hopeful eyes, but wishful thinking never did much for him.

“She sure did.” Lenny called from behind the counter, eyeing Miles closely to see if he’d take the bone he threw. He then ticked his head to the side with a slightly widened stare, as if urging the disappointed boy to make a move.

“Woops.” Using your fingers, you ripped a piece off the patty and popped it into your mouth, shrugging as you brushed past Miles, who had just caught on to what the shop owner did for him.

With your back to him as you pushed the door open to outside, you missed the two fingered salute Miles shot towards the man as a thank you.

He followed after you, swiftly shouldering himself through the closing door and sliding outside, into step with you.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you my number for half of it.” He offered with a boyish grin, long legs able to keep up with ease.

You nearly choked, steps halting when you spun around to face him. What made him think you wanted his number? And maybe you did, because you definitely thought he was cute, but that was besides the point since he didn’t know that.

“Are you flirting with me?” you asked, and he perked up a bit.

“Depends. Is it working?”

You rolled your eyes. “How about my name first?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the side of the building a bit. “I kinda assumed that was a package deal, seeing as I’ll need something to save your contact under.”

Okay, you’ll admit it, that was smooth.

You put your hand on your hip, patty in the other with your head tilted in thought. “Somehow, I feel like this deal benefits you more than me.”

“That‘s possible.” Miles chuckled, and you can’t believe that’s all it took to convince you. How pretty he looked when he laughed. How good your name sounded rolling off his tongue when he’d repeated it back to stake it within his memory.

You quietly hummed to yourself, contemplating. You’d never accepted a guy’s advances this easily, and figured you’d test him in a way he’d most likely fail.

“Quick, what’s my favorite color?”

There was a pause.

“Green.”

Your jaw dropped. “What— How in the hell?” You gaped at him. “How did you know that?”

“You give away more than you know with your eyes.” He grinned. “Saw you eyeing my jacket last week, and you’re doing it again today. And your beanie, too.” With a raise of his eyes from yours, he pointed out the forest green hat pulled snug over your head and your hand mindlessly went to touch it. “But honestly, I was only like, seventy percent sure, so maybe you can call it a lucky guess.”

You quirked a brow. “Oh, so you think I’m checking you out now?”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind.”

Well, you’d managed to lose at your own game, fair and square. Holding his gaze for a minute, you had to restrain a smile from splitting through your calm and collected facade and shooed away the urge with a clearing of your throat.

“Phone.” You held your hand out, beckoning him for it.

Fetching it from his pants pocket, he did the same to you with his other hand, palm upwards. “Patty.”

Huffing in frustration, you awarded him the half he earned and snatched the device, ignoring the triumphant look on his face as you punched your digits in.

—

It was pitiful. It barely took anything for you to take interest in a guy in general— but even if your standards were ridiculously high, there was no doubt that Miles would have weasled his way into your thoughts regardless.

You’d checked your phone at least six times in the past hour in hopes of seeing a text, coming up with unconvincing excuses like checking the time, or the weather— all while blatantly pretending to be oblivious towards the possibility that a message from an unknown number might just be there, too.

And then it came.

[Unknown]: Best patty I’ve had in a while. Food always tastes better when it’s not yours :)

He had you on your stomach, features pulled into a hopeful smile with your legs fluttering in the air off one message. You’d remind yourself to get a grip in due time.

Who’s this?

You knew damn well who it was. But you wouldn’t be who you were if you didn’t play hard to get.

[Unknown]: Damn, you forgot about me that quickly?

You clicked the info button in the top right corner of your phone and saved him as a contact before you replied.

Maybe. Remind me of your name again? Micah, right?

[Miles]: Okay, now that’s just hurtful. I do not look like a Micah!

You laughed to yourself at that, flopping onto your back as you typed a response. In the back of your mind you wondered if things would progress any further than this conversation.

But if only you could’ve time travelled and spoken to your future self, because she would’ve told you that forgetting about a boy like Miles Morales, or trying to, would be impossible.

tags: @cctoma

[pumukli74]

Let's savor the moment

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x femreader/ you or whoever you want

Warnings: I think 18+, vowels and consonants, commas and periods and lots of love, unprotected sex

It was morning, there was endless silence around me. I stretched sleepily on the fluffy carpet spread in front of the fireplace, my fingers hid in the snow-white fluff with a pleasant feeling. I felt a muscle fever in every part of me, a smile appeared on my face thinking about the events of the past night.

He was worried about me, but I returned home safely.

My son and I luckily escaped the car skidding on the icy road. My hands and my already happy thoughts slid to my slightly bulging stomach. Yes! I am sure that I will present my beloved soccer player with a boy.

Wandering down the empty corridor of the hotel, Jobe let me into the room with a wide grin on his face and a gracious wave. Now I know where the brothers disappeared to after Jude arrived. The sides of the huge, hardy acacia tub were painted golden yellow by the fire in the fireplace. The steam completely filled the room. The heat stung my skin like sharp needles, but it had nothing to do with the warmth of the air.

Brown eyes decorated with gold flecks flashed at me as soon as he heard my footsteps on the worn stone floor. I stood next to him and knelt down.

- Hello, baby! - I greeted.

Jude stretched out in the tub and soaked himself. My hungry eyes ran over his face, then hungrily followed the line of his arms and chest. Many years of training carved flexible muscles on his body. To get my attention back, he took my hand. Our fingers intertwined, then he leaned towards me and pressed a soft kiss on my wrist.

- Jump my beauty! - Jude issued the order. - Come here next to me!

- But I'm dressed.

- In clothes, then - he nodded, and I, like a dutiful lady, got up and climbed into the tub next to him.

I slowly sunk into the water, resting my head on his shoulder and with a soft sigh I nestled into the embrace of my love's arms.

- I'm glad you're finally back - Burying my face into his neck, I inhaled the scent of his skin while drawing different shapes on his chest.

- What did you promise me? How do you take care of yourself, right? - Although he was whispering, his reproachful, rumbling voice still felt like a roar. The deep vibrations ran through my body, igniting the last spark hidden in my chest into heat, forcing the silently singing heart to move. - You're driving me crazy! - His long, slender fingers were on my face, his forehead pressed against mine. Her hair smelled like a memory, pine, rain-soaked earth and sky-splitting lightning. - I almost lost you - He reminded me of what I wanted to forget. I reached for his hand, and he let me hold it, and then I stroked the calluses of his fingertips.

- I'm not that fragile. Anyway, that great English prince of mine is looking after me - I looked at him. My fingers easily ran up his neck, following the sharp line of his jaw. - And fame obliges you - I continued with a smile. I pressed a kiss to the center of his palm before he could pull his hand back. The pair of chocolate eyes flashed and darkened.

- The little one is naughty. I'm about to teach you good manners! - he pulled his mouth into a grin.

I held my breath, waiting for our lips to touch as he leaned forward in the water. I felt like I would give Jude everything he wanted. I was getting more and more impatient, waiting for him to kiss me again, for his tongue to touch mine.

Jude grabbed my face with both hands to pull me back to him and stuck his tongue in my mouth. I felt trembling that he wanted me with his hands, his mouth and his whole body.

He ran one of his palms along my back to take off my bra. He was breathing almost as raggedly as I was as we kissed.

His mouth wandering over me wasn't enough to keep reality at bay. I wanted him completely.

- I'm a lucky man - he breathed into my mouth. - And I won't let anything stand in our way - he caressed my hips before grabbing my butt. - So help me take off this damned dress!

Grinning, I began to undress, my wet clothes landing on the floor with a loud thud as I ran my mouth over the tense muscles and tendons on his neck. I took off all the clothes I had on. I ran it down my leg, off my ankle and that's it. There's nothing left.

Jude gasped again as he scanned me. I was there naked and I wanted to die. His labored breathing pulsated in rhythm with mine. I rose with him, I fell with him - always together.

Before long I found myself on his cock, resting on his chest. My face was hot, burning with the emotions that rushed at me. I heard the soft words in my ears, felt his breath on my neck, the bite of his teeth on my collarbone. Staring at his beady face with beads of sweat, I rode Jude, sometimes fast, sometimes slowing down my movements. I felt it was a matter of minutes and we were done, but the dice had turned, meaning that our body, throbbing with lovemaking, could not yet receive the long-awaited release.

- We're not done yet - I heard Jude's voice from afar. Are we not ready? What more could you want? I could sense what he might want, as his stiff cock still filled me inside. - Yes, it's still me - a majestic smile spread across his face.

He helpfully reached out to me, helped me out of the tub and led me to the double bed.

After lifting my legs onto his shoulders, his hips went to work again. After a couple of quick thrusts, he was playing on my nerves, slowly, but pushing deeper and deeper.

- Faster! - I gritted my teeth, but he just laughed and shook his head.

- We'll get to it - Screw you, Jude Bellingham! Only you can do it, and I'm hanging here between hell and heaven. I reached for her shapely bottom to urge to move faster, but he grabbed my arms and pinned them to the covers above my head.

- Please! - I looked into the mercilessly grinning face. He wasn't really impressed by my pleading look. He didn't react to my protest, he pulled out of my pleasure-hungry body.

I almost sent him to hell when he turned me over and hit me on the bottom and penetrated me from behind. Holding my hip tightly, he started moving. After a while, I felt like a man on a stake. How true. He almost impaled me with his cock, he was moving so hard inside me. My body cried out for salvation, my arms began to shake, I could hardly hold myself. My brain went numb from the lustful intoxication that came over me. Jude made his final moves towering over me, our skin meeting with a loud snap. I fell into the deep chasm with my head thrown back, almost whimpering, my love followed me with a loud moan.

- Be sure to tell my mother if you need help! - It was always difficult to avoid Jude's searching gaze. The eternal mission impossible.

- Okay - I nodded forcedly. As he stood there facing me, his powerful figure, his pupils dilated, I saw a destructive storm in his eyes, swirling emotions behind the fire raging inside him. I tried to close my eyes and turn away, but I couldn't compete with the impossible. The heat from his body could even seep through his clothes and it made me feel very vulnerable. Just one look, and I immediately rubbed against him like a kitten longing to be touched by its owner.

- But really! - Before giving me one last hug, he kissed me on the temple and grinned as he told me the simple fact. - I love you.

Then my boyfriend was no longer there, his huge figure was swallowed up by the suddenly risen gray fog. And there was nothing left but crumpled chewing gum paper lying on the cobblestones.

( english isn't my first language ) - just the usual

stay with me-50 likes ,made me cry , thank you very much everyone

[steviewashere]

My Kingdom For a Kiss Upon His Shoulder

Rating: General CW: None for this one! Tags: Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Steve Harrington Loves to Bake, They are In Love Your Honor, Bartender Eddie Munson

For @steddie-week | July 4th Prompt: Trade | WC: 661

Title from Jeff Buckley's "Lover, You Should've Come Over", but tweaked it to make it gay.

🍪—————🍪 “Trade?” He asked, holding out a freshly baked cookie. It was a new hobby Steve had picked up and Eddie adored it. Not only did it put him in a cute, pastel blue, short apron; but it also made him produce baked goods from thin air all the time. He took up on baking as a means to put negative thoughts and energy at bay. It suited him. Made him especially domestic; especially sweet.

Eddie hummed at the offered cookie. “I don’t have anything to give back,” he pointed out. Gestured with his empty hands to hammer the point.

Steve came to him then. Shuffling over the kitchen tiles—they were cracked and probably needed a good wash, but they were home, oddly enough. They lived in their own apartment now, so coming home to Steve baking, to him humming a song in that sweet, crackling, raspy way he does, and to him exhausted and soft on their dilapidating, thrifted sofa—it was all like coming home. Because it was home, Eddie supposes. And it was warm, warmer when Steve finally met him in the kitchen’s doorway.

“How ‘bout a kiss?” Steve asked, soft, drenching. The way his cookies are when paired with a tall glass of milk.

He smirked gently. His insides were like raw honey. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been treated so…considerately. Doesn’t think he’s ever been wanted in this tender, small way before. “Mmm, okay,” Eddie murmured, “gotta warn you, though. The manager let me eat a couple baskets of garlic fries.”

Steve was close, not enough to touch noses, but enough for his warmth to hit Eddie like a stray ember. He’s ready to be engulfed, but he waits. Fires don’t start without effort.

“You have a little bit of beer?” Steve whispered. His breath smelt like chocolate chunks and coffee.

“Half of a banquet. Manager’s giving me a raise, had to celebrate,” Eddie responded just as softly.

Then, no warning needed, Steve leaned in. Closed the gap. A quick peck, nothing more. But Eddie licked his own lips when they pulled apart. Whatever spit had slicked Steve’s lips tasted just as his mouth smelled—sweet milk chocolate, their dark brew instant coffee, and mint chocolate chip ice cream; something to fill a craving while he waited for his cookies to bake, Eddie could guess.

The cookie was placed in Eddie’s left palm, fingers forced to wrap around the golden, crispy edge. Crumbs litter the webbing between his fingers, but if he plays his cards right, maybe Steve’ll clean that up for him. “Made them the way you like,” Steve spoke softly, “brown butter with chocolate chunks instead of chips. Eat it and soak up the bit of alcohol, okay?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, sweetheart. Promise me something, though?”

Steve’s hand closed around Eddie’s and the cookie. He hummed imploringly. Eyes relaxed, a shimmer to them, a sheen of indulgence to him.

Eddie swayed close. Nose to nose. Kissed Steve just because.

“Promise you’ll let me trade a kiss to have you tonight?”

His nose was rubbed against by Steve’s. Their foreheads accidentally knocked together, not hard enough to cause concern, something closer to a cat’s love-tap. Now that he was closer, Eddie could smell his floral, professional shampoo and his new bergamot body soap and the peach cleanser he used on his face. An arm slung itself around his waist, drawing him in closer. Finally, the fire was engulfing him. Eddie sweated with anticipation as he laid his own arm across Steve’s shoulders.

“You already have me, Eds.”

“Good,” Eddie whispered, “because I’ve been wanting you all day. Want you all the time.”

Steve hummed at that. Sweet, raspy, low, crooning. He gently swayed them side to side as if there was music, but it was only their breath, only the thrum of their refrigerator. And that was enough to persuade Eddie to trade another kiss for a lifetime of Steve’s love.

🍪—————🍪

[kidasthings]

Echoes of Eden by Kida

Noa x Mae - #illbewithyoufromdusktilldawn

Chapter 4: https://www.tumblr.com/kidasthings/751482584388829184/echoes-of-eden-by-kida?source=share

Chapter 5

“I think we are being watched.”

A pair of brown eyes widened in alarm and Mae’s companion stopped mid-chew.

Mae held a single digit up to her lips, signaling for silence. She motioned up towards the branches above, indicating the problem was coming from that direction.

The one being shushed lifted his head, turned it sideways, and listened attentively.

“Hear that?” Mae whispered.

The telltale sign of talons on tree bark broke the quiet. Scritch, scritch, scritch.

The woman’s friend flared his nostrils, agitated.

Both listened for a bit more, but once the woodland symphony resumed, Mae relaxed. The small vellus hairs on the back of her neck no longer stood on end; her suspicions on the origin of the voyeur were further confirmed when she heard the distant cry of a hawk in the northern skies.

Mae reached out, smoothing her palm down her horse’s long neck. The animal began to resume chewing, head held high, ears pricked. “It’s gone.”

Biscuit let out a whuff of relief and dipped his head to the ground. He began lipping at the short grass surrounding the tree she had tied him to; the tired woman made a mental note to relocate him. Earlier, she had made a short visit to the meadow where the other horses were stationed to let Biscuit drink. The horse had readily consumed half the contents of the water basin before Mae surmised that the old idiom wasn’t holding its weight in … well, water.

Apparently, you could lead a horse to water and make him drink.

..If he was thirsty enough.

Mae untied Biscuit from the live oak and led him towards a pepper tree with long, sweeping tendrils. There was enough room on one side to provide good shade, while on the other the sun reached the earth and produced deeper, thicker grass. The human adjusted the length of the lead so her mount could access both sides, tying it off in a tree knot.

She patted his flank approvingly. “Just stay there until we can get you to the stream.”

The bay gelding merely snorted and swished his tail before presenting her with his hindquarters.

One side of Mae’s face hitched up.

It was late in the day now, and the longer shadows cast by the setting sun had her weary bones aching for some sort of relief. It would be nice to get out of her stiff, grimy clothes and take care of a few hygienic necessities. Travel never smelled good on anyone. While scouting for more water sources for Biscuit, Mae took the time to circle the perimeter of her camp and radiate outward.

She had briefly considered the lake, but that was too exposed for her needs. She needed a smaller outlet, something more private and easily accessible. Not two-hundred paces further south did she hear the soft burble of a brook, upon initial inspection. Following the sound to the southwest, she came across a small stream that further widened the longer she walked. After forty minutes or so she discovered a small falls where eddies of swirling water pooled momentarily at the top. Here the water was a little over mid-waist deep.

A perfect spot for bathing. Success.

Mae took comfort where she could; she was not one who could access a bunker or underground hideaway. Those options had been revoked once she discovered her immunity after taking up with her parents’ mission to stop a simian despot bent on acquiring old human technology. Sure, she still assisted her people who lived in the bunker near the ruins of the city once known as Los Angeles, but they would never allow her back inside.

No humans, immune or not, were ever allowed inside once they left. It was too great a danger for those living within the bunker to risk exposure.

She remained a vagabond, not part of this natural world or the sheltered one she grew up in. Mae had been sentenced to die the moment she stepped outside with her parents; their mission to end Proximus Cesear and his machinations had been ultimately successful.

For her, anyway.

Not so much for her parents. After escaping capture from the coastal ape kingdom, both had bled from their noses for many days. Soon they succumbed, destined to become mute, dumb beasts, but her father had not allowed it.

Mae could still hear the double pop of a silencer in a meadow not too far from their campsite. She had arrived far too late at their shared camp after bagging a deer for dinner.

Aggrieved, she had no time to bury them; Sylva and his hunting party started hunting her.

Mae found she had to stifle a choked sob. Shaking her head, she willed the memories to the back of her mind and shifted her recollection to more current events.

Not long after, starved and desperate, she came across an ape village and decided to steal to survive. Her stomach had turned on itself for days, her body was frozen, and she thought nothing of taking a horse blanket and some cooked fish.

And then she found Noa. Or he found her.

A ghost of a smile skated across her lips, and she retraced her steps back to the waterfall, leaving her current campsite at the edge of the village – and in Biscuit’s capable hooves.

A little reminiscing did wonders to shorten the walk, and soon she stood before the inviting pool of water at the top of the small waterfall. Mae turned in a full circle, debating just how comfortable she was with bathing.

The air was warm, if a bit humid. The forest was still filled with birdsong, and the rough rumble of the falls lulled her into a sense of safety she rarely felt anymore.

Mae removed her short jacket first, confirming the outline of the key remained in her interior pocket. Her hand brushed across Caesar’s medallion on the way out, causing her to wince.

Quickly, she neatly folded the outerwear and reached for her tunic next. It slid easily up and over her head, revealing an off-white chest binding. From there she shimmied out of her pants, slipping them off leg by leg. Beneath that was a simple, woven undergarment that was the same shade as her binding. It was said that once upon a time these things were made of softer material like cotton, but agricultural practices had been severely stunted when the last of the non-feral humans were driven underground. Other plants that grew easily under artificial light, like hemp, had taken their place when it came to creating clothing.

Tellingly, she left the medallion hanging from her neck.

Once everything was set out against a warm, flat rock, Mae took stock of her lean form. She ran a hand over a jutting hip bone, the piano keys of her prominent ribs, and the deep indent of her collarbone. Scars littered her body, some still forming from the previous few months. Beneath her untrimmed fingernails, grime collected. Mae’s eyelids lowered, a frown forming on her face.

The first step into the swirling waters felt like pure bliss. Mae sank down, eyes fluttering shut as she sat in the water with the sun-warmed boulder at her back. The water was cold, yes, but it made her feel temporarily weightless. She felt her body relax, buoyed by the strength of the current. It was not long before she was ducking down below, fingernails scratching at her scalp as she scrubbed her greasy hair.

No soap, but she did her best to improve upon hygiene with what was available. She scrubbed at her skin furiously with sand from the streambed, starting with her arms to the very tips of her toes. When she resurfaced with a great gasp of air, a fluttering of wings not a few feet away alerted her to the fact she was no longer alone.

Mae’s eyes rounded out in their sockets, then normalized when she realized it was Noa’s eagle, Sun. He perched on one of the low stones edging the opposite side of the stream, cocking his head at her as if he might deduce the reason for her impropriety. Mae bit her lip and splashed at the bird half-heartedly.

“Go bother someone else,” she said, effectively dismissing him. She propped herself up against the rock at her back, upper arms spread out with elbows at right angles, forearms pointing down. She shook her wet hair, sending water droplets scattering in the air like iridescent prisms.

The eagle hopped forward a couple of times, shifting his head so that he gave Mae a side-eye.

She returned it, then laughed a little. “Did he send you here to spy on me?” she asked, feeling a rare moment of levity.

The eagle opened his beak.

“Yes.”

Mae spun around in the water.

Now at her back, Sun hissed and took to the air. Noa stood on the grassy bank before her, so close she could see the amusement in his expression. He held out his arm, and his bonded eagle alighted there, wings unfurled for balance.

“Noa!”

Noa said something in muted tones to the bird on his arm. Sun ducked his head, puffed his feathers, and nipped warningly at Noa’s closest ear before leaping off the ape’s arm. He became airborne quickly, swooping past a stunned human woman still partially concealed in the stream. Gaining height, he was soon lost to the clouds.

Noa watched the bird until he was nothing but a small dot in the sky before relaxing both shoulders and approaching Mae with open curiosity. Her discarded clothing did not escape his notice; the brunette, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten she was only partially clothed until that last, terrible second.

“T-Turn around!” she stuttered, dropping to the deepest part of the pool. She made a spinning motion with her hand to illustrate her request, the other strapped firmly over her chest.

To Noa, a creature that did not burden himself with the concept of nudity, the entreaty was odd indeed. “Why?” he asked, frozen mid-step.

“I-I don’t have my clothes on! It’s not right,” Mae informed him impatiently, making that circular motion with her finger once more in the air. “Turn around.”

Noa looked exasperated, but also intrigued. For the first time he glimpsed Mae without clothing, save for a few scant pieces. She was oddly designed, especially for an ape: the human female sported two prominent mounds on her chest that remained there without the need for lactation, a hairless body with pale, soft skin easily cut like the underbelly of a fish, and a strange, flat face. Other oddities included the long terminal hair growing from her head, the lack of a rounded, pink rump that signaled estrus, and short forelimbs on vertically statured body.

She couldn’t climb, wasn’t very strong, and her small, flat teeth didn’t allow much room for eating tough meat.

She was so unlike an ape that he could only come to one possible conclusion.

Mae was ugly.

And yet –

..she wasn’t.

There was something hypnotizing about her large, crystal blue eyes and her animated features. Each expression was more generous than the last, conveying most of her emotions all too clearly. This was not as easy on one of his kind, whose features were less mobile in quality. It captivated him, repeatedly, trying to read the minute moods that drifted over her countenance like cumulus clouds on a windy day.

There was a grace in her. Not unlike that of a deer, her long legs allowed her to move with a fluidity none of his people possessed.

There were other qualities that he found admirable, too. She was intelligent, frighteningly so, and the depth of that intelligence was still a mystery to be solved. Despite her ever-changing face he could not always decipher what she was thinking, or what she might do next. She was a conundrum. He could trust her in some things, but not in others. She had saved Soona’s life, but then endangered all of their lives. For Raka she might have laid down her own. Would she do the same for him?

What did it all mean?

Puzzled and deeply uneasy by that dangerous line of thought, Noa turned away. He heard Mae step out of the water and imagined the water sluicing down her hairless body as she stood.

Behind Noa, Mae shook out her clothes with trembling fingers and hurriedly dressed. She had not expected him to find her here, not in her wildest dreams. Grimacing, the human woman removed her soaked chest binding and tossed it on the drying rock before she pulled on her tunic and jacket. Double-checking on the presence of the hidden key with a quick pat, Mae kept her piercing eyes on Noa’s furred back as she stripped out of her wet underwear.

Noa began to turn back around.

“HEY!” Mae shrieked, one leg in her trousers as she hopped awkwardly on the other.

Noa jumped, but obediently (and quickly) turned his attention back to the tree line.

It took a few more minutes, but Mae eventually got her pants up and secured at her waist before she collected her wet bindings. She hated being naked beneath her clothing, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

“You can turn back around,” Mae stated crisply.

Noa shook his head, turned, and shot her a small, gentle smile.

Mae found her mouth run dry.

“Uh,” she began intelligently, “what are you doing here?” She could feel her heart rate pick up, running a breakneck race with the thoughts galloping through her head.

“Sun,” Noa said, pointing to the darkening navy blue above them. “He led me … here. Are you … alright?”

“Of course.” The reply was brusque, and inwardly Mae winced when Noa looked taken aback by her tone. “I mean, I wanted to get clean.” She motioned sheepishly at the stream.

Noa nodded, swallowing. Despite the fur covering his throat, she could see his version of an Adam’s apple bob a couple of times.

“Are you sleeping … out here?”

Mae found herself dropping her eyes to the ground before her. She smiled wistfully. “No, I’m staying at the edge of camp, near my horse.”

Noa opened his mouth as if to protest, but instead he looked away and switched tactics. “Come,” he told her simply, motioning over his shoulder for her to follow as he started heading for the forest. “I will … walk with you.”

“I’ll be fine, Noa,” Mae said, a little annoyed that he thought her unable to find her way home. She clutched the damp bindings to her jacket, transferring the wetness there. That only served to annoy her further, so she made a sound of frustration that had Noa glancing back over his shoulder with a raised brow ridge.

She shook her head at him, motioning for him to lead the way. He did, and the two advanced back to the game trail that led to the edge of the stream. They walked quietly through the woods, fireflies winking in and out of existence like dying stars. The crickets and frogs began to sing, a mulled chorus that accompanied them on their journey. A fox ran across the trail before them, a flash of red that dove beneath the underbrush. It was such a clear, pure night that Mae could not help but to take in a deep, steadying breath. Noa moved ahead of her, not too far, and she took the time to examine him from behind.

He was such an anomaly, really. Mae didn’t know many personalities as altruistic as his. No, scratch that, she knew of no one as selfless as he. It was an undeniable dichotomy, that unselfish nature found in none other than an ape rather than a human being. It had her questioning the best and worst qualities in her own species, comparing them against him, a monkey.

And yet, not.

Mae could not consider Noa conventionally attractive in any sense, not with that low brow, flat nose and body coated in thick hair. She could not understand her body’s reactions to him whenever he was near, the heightened heart rate and awareness that made her want to lean closer. It was terrifying, those reactions, and more than a little deviant.

Shit.

She couldn’t be attracted to an ape, surely. It had to be his giving nature, the security and trust he so blindly offered repeatedly that drew her like a moth to a flame.

She looked up to him and valued noble qualities that were hard to come by in a world where humanity had fallen. It was as simple as that.

Mae tipped her head to the side, a fall of dark, damp hair falling over one shoulder. Overhead, the dark shape of a nocturnal bird spread its wings and soared over them both. She swore she could hear the hoot of an owl.

Chewing her lower lip in contemplation, Mae concluded that she was just too tired to be considering these abstract, impossible thoughts.

After all, humans and apes were not the same. Humans and animals did not mix, no matter how smart they were. Noa was other, another species, and she should not be humanizing him.

Noa slowed down now that they were closer to the village. “You can stay … with me … in case of rain?” he offered, pointing upwards.

Mae saw no clouds, but his offer threw her off.

“You want me to stay with you?”

“It is safer … than outside in the woods.”

Mae chewed the inside of her cheek. It would be nice to be out of the wind and elements. Without realizing it, she blurted, “Okay.”

Noa gave her a tight smile, then made a motion with his hand to divert left.

-And Mae was left standing there, adrift like a buoy at sea, unable to understand why she was the beast and he the beauty.

Notes: Last preview chapter to be posted to Tumblr! If you want regular updates, please read the story over on AO3: Echoes of Eden - Chapter 1 - Kidasthings - Rise of the Planet of the Apes (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]

[mamasturn]

send you away, major gale cleven

pairing: major gale cleven (masters of the air) x black fem oc (eden marie cleven)

content: eden is anxious about having to be separated from her husband when he reveals that he has to serve in England.

an: I was burnt out from writing elvis content, but, now we're on masters of the air content, yay!

“I’m sorry, baby, but I gotta go.” His voice was a song sung by an old church choir; soothing, warm like her mama’s hugs, then it got disruptive. Like the snares of the drums as the song reached a climax. “They need us in England.” 

The pained look on her face would be engrained in his mind forever. There would be no way for him to forget it. Her thick eyebrows eat in a deep frown, pushing the rest of her features further down. Her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, glistened with tears. She refused to blink. The gentle rivers would transition to monstrous waterfalls with no dam to keep them at bay. And her lips, full and swollen from tender kisses, quivered as she clenched her jaw to keep her composure. 

“For how long?” Her voice was quiet. Gale sighed heavily and ran a heavy hand through his hair. If he had an answer, he’d give it to her. But, his silence spoke loud enough. She hummed and brushed his hand off her lap and began to trudge upstairs. A defeated sigh came from him. 

“E,” Gale called out. He followed her up the wooden steps. “Eden!” 

His large hand palmed their bedroom door that threatened to push him out. The lamp on her side of the bed was on, the blankets on the left side were pulled back, and she stood in front of the mounted mirror brushing her freshly pressed hair. Her sad expression had morphed into one like stone. He could see her jaw tick as each second passed. 

Gale took slow steps toward her. He could only imagine what she was thinking. Her husband, whom she’d only been married to for six months, was being shipped off to England to assist them in bringing down Germany. How coulde she not be upset? 

Gale stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His advances didn’t keep her from wrapping her hair and tossing her satin scarf around her head. He leaned down, nose brushing against the shell of her ear. Eden’s breath hitched. His lips followed, pecking at the sensitive area below her ear. He pulled at her skin with his teeth and she whimpered softly, her hand falling on top of his. “Gale…” A warning. 

“Talk to me,” he pleaded. “Please.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said after some time. “I knew what I got into when I married you but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m scared, Gale!” Finally, she turned to meet his gaze. So big and blue, they were. Filled with sympathy and remorse. 

“I knew what I was getting into when I married you, but still! I gotta send my husband away and I don’t want to think about the day where someone could knock on the door telling me--”

Gale shushed her softly and pressed her body against his in a tight embrace. His warm hand gripped her chin and tapped softly. She met his eyes. “So let’s not think about that. I leave in three weeks. We’re gonna focus on making these three weeks worthwhile, and we’ll cross the other bridge when we get to it. But I’ll always be with you one way or another, you know that, darlin’. You do know that, don’t you?”

Eden nodded. Gale raised an eyebrow. “I know, baby.” 

Gale hummed and drew invisible lines along the bare skin other thigh. The lace of her slip tickled her leg. His hand inched up slowly. “How about we practice for that final send off?” 

Eden smiled knowingly and broke away from him, peeling the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders her bare body on display. “C’mon, we’ve got all night.” 

All night indeed.

[trulyumai]

fruits make the man

—pairing: General Acacius / Reader

—Synopsis: The first time you met the general was embarrassing but he was such a good sport about it! After all, how could he resist such a beautiful maiden?

—warnings: None. Pure fluff for the soul.

Enjoy!

The first time you met General Acacius, it was a complete and utter disaster. It was midday and you had been smack in the middle of the markets that paraded around rome. 

Your hands were overwhelmingly full, the basket that lay upon your hands covered in dried fruits, breads and cuts of meat. The streets were ever so busy. People pushed and shoved, desperate to be the first ones in line. 

All it took was one harsh shove for you to go plummeting down, your precious edibles falling alongside of you. No one bothered to stop, the fruits were squished in an instant, no matter how fast you tried to grab at them. 

You would have been trampled alongside the juicy delectables, if it wasn't for the hand that reached out to rip your form from the dirty ground. Out of breath and covered in mud, a garbled voice drew you out of the adrenalized accident. 

“-ou okay?” Gods, did you have to lay strewn about in front of such an image of a man? 

He was gorgeous. 

Up to the tips of his brown and graying hair, past his wide shoulders and down to the burly legs that held his frame above yours. 

“W-what?” you breathed, hand coming up slowly to push away unwanted dirt and sweat from your brow.

The soldier (which you assumed from his stature), only sighed. With you now standing upright, his arms removed themselves from your dress and already you missed the warmth they gave. 

“I asked if you're okay. Took quite a fall, hm?”  Acacius would have laughed if it were anyone else. 

But in front of such a beauty as this? He kept his mouth shut and bit down hard. Hard enough to draw a taste of blood that littered across his taste buds. 

“Oh… oh! Yes, I appreciate the help!” trying to laugh it off you grabbed at your (now torn) basket and fiddled with the bottom. Eyeing your crumpled fruits, the man reached down for an untouched piece of bread. 

Only… you had done the same. 

Both of your heads collided and the pain entered with a quick flash. Moaning out your hand went to meet with the soon to be bruise, only for it to interact with General Acacius' downturned face. 

“Oh my heavens- please forgive me!” It was pathetic how quick a couple tears came loose, brushing delicately past your long lashes. 

The man stood up, now with the bread in his palm as his other veiny hand rubbed the stricken cheek your hand came into contact with. Such a strong smack with such little hands.

Not being able to look at the man, you waited. Sucking in a breath, terror infused with you. No way you would get out of this alive. To hit someone of his stature, not once, but twice?!

It was unheard of, it was- 

Laughter broke you out of such thoughts. General Acacius let out deep chuckles, soothingly rubbing his cheek in the process. 

“You're a little clumsy aren't you small one?” With pinkened cheeks you held your hand out, awaiting the man to hand over the food. 

Still laughing, the man bent over once more, grabbing at whatever could be salvaged and placed in your basket. The wicker groaned out in protest as he loaded it more and more, swiftly he took it from your hands with one arm, placing it just beside his hip. 

“I'll help. Wouldn't want another accident would we.” His voice was deep, gravally. Still smiling at your shorter form, a pout found its way across your plump lips. The man shamelessly caught sight of them before meeting your gaze. 

“I, I'm sorry I didn't mean to.. You know.” Acacius' hand moved to and fro, already it has been forgiven. You hoped all soldiers of his stature would be this merciful. 

“Which way?” He had to lean in, the crowds were getting thicker, louder for the both of you to hear each other properly. Not being able to depend on your voice, you pointed with small hands, to the other side of the bay where your little home resides. 

His thick shoulders molded against you as he escorted the both of you out of the market. Bumping and glaring at anyone who dares dismiss your modest frame. Even going as far as to shove a larger man, one that had almost elbowed you directly in the face as he backed up with drunken intention. 

The citizen turned around, already balling up his fists for the perpetrator that laid a finger upon him. He saw you and almost spit out a laugh- until his gaze caught the golden and white shimmers by you. 

With wide eyes and mouth agape, the man bowed. You couldn't hear what he was saying, only assumed it was some form of apology before he scurried off in the other direction. 

You could get used to this. It would make grocery runs so much easier. A little smile graced your features as the two of you walked side by side.

With a large palm placed upon the back of your spine, Acacius resumed his guide, keeping you out of harms way. Keeping an eye on not only your basket of goodies but the soft form that molded against his side briskly.

Yeah, Acacius could get used to staring at such sights.

He was glad he made the decision to come to the market today.

[valeriianz]

Smutty fic idea prompts - 36 is just perfect for Dreamling please?

36: A rolls sleeves up/takes shirt off, revealing body hair to B. B has no idea how to act normal around A anymore.

Hob dresses up as Sexy Santa for a staff party and Dream absolutely loses his cool <3

-----------

These days, Dream finds himself as the newest addition to Johanna Constantine’s friend group. It’s quite nice of her, if not a little presumptuous, to drag him along to nearly every social outing and local music show in order to introduce him to as many people in her network as possible. The only reason they are still friends, Dream and Jo, is the small mercy of her not putting up a fuss when his social battery has been drained and he awkwardly dips out.

The best thing to come out of these adventures, at least, is meeting Hob Gadling.

Hob and Jo go way back, or so she’d announced the first time he and Dream had met. At a bar where the lights were low but Hob’s natural charisma and warm smile had radiated through anyway. They got along immediately, exchanging intellectual conversations where Hob had surprising takes and kept Dream’s interest; kept the dialogue fresh and spontaneous. Dream didn’t even need to contribute much while sharing a space with Hob, he could simply sip on his gin something-or-other and listen as Hob went on passionate rants about revolutions or human invention over the past centuries– each time they met up he’d go down a 100 years. Or complaining about how washed up Shakespeare was (an argument Dream allowed himself to fall into and they’d talked about all night, much to Johanna’s chagrin and massive eye roll, muttering a very clear “nerds” under her breath).

Chemistry aside, Dream also couldn’t deny how… effortlessly attractive Hob was.

Deep brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with barely contained mischief, chocolate dark hair with brush strokes of greys that unfairly complimented his face, and a seemingly permanent five O’clock shadow that Dream never imagined would leave him staring and daydreaming… alas, he’d discovered quite a few new things about himself around Hob.

Like how he’d imagined on more than one occasion, how easily he’d be able to lift Dream, how those broad shoulders and chest, thick biceps that even a cable knit sweater couldn’t hide– might manhandle his own body, lifting and bending him into submission. Dream ached with it; the possibilities. Was dying to kiss Hob’s plush mouth, his gaze fell to it enough, or feel the stubble of Hob’s jaw under his own palm, under his lips, along the inside of Dream’s thighs.

Hob was everything Dream was not; roguish, masculine, and unbearably kind. It was no wonder Dream had developed a crush from their very first meeting.

And maybe Hob was interested too, if you squinted. He always offered Dream a ride home, set his hand on the small of his back, his shoulder, and never seemed to stop smiling in his presence. Dream was never very good at picking up cues though– his prior relationships had been him making the first move, striking immediately at what he wanted, courting in the most by-the-book manner, before he was ultimately either rejected or caught up in a love affair that burned out before the year was up.

He didn’t want to do that with Hob. Dream held back, kept his desires at bay… because he truly enjoyed Hob’s company. It would be devastating if Hob rejected him, or worse, fell into a relationship and then realised Dream was… too much, too fast, too methodical. Dream wasn’t sure he could handle not having Hob in his life now that he’d met him. He was determined to keep him around, even if it meant remaining friends. Dream could work with that, could suffer quietly and go home after a long night of drinking or dancing and being subjected to Hob’s ever-present smile, his unwavering gaze, the warmth his body radiated, even feet apart. Could hold onto those images and sensations and close his eyes, take himself in hand, and work himself to climax in the safe darkness of his own bedroom, clenching his teeth and imagining how it might feel if it were Hob’s hands on him instead.

All of Dream’s self restraint comes crashing down about a week before Christmas, at the staff holiday party Johanna had invited him along to.

Because Hob is sitting on a large red velvet chair at the back of the venue, surrounded by cotton snow and boxed presents, wearing absolutely nothing but a Santa hat, explicitly short red and white trousers, and black boots.

It’s a mockery of what you’d see at perhaps a mall: Santa waiting to greet children and ask what they want for Christmas while his elves putter around and keep order. This is…

Obscene, is what Dream’s brain provides before it completely resets and replaces the word with animal noises.

He’d overheard Hob and Johanna talking about this, how they had a “sexy Santa” every year (because Jo’s office was mostly comprised of women who voted on it every year, vastly sweeping the competition to the point of tradition). And to save on money this year, decided to find a Santa who would do it for free, hence Jo asking Hob to do her a solid.

Dream felt heat rush through his entire body, unable to look away as Jo, Matthew, and him walked out of the foyer and into the thick of the party. Dream heard Johanna speaking, but couldn't decipher her words, his brain wiped clean by the reveal of Hob’s body, something Dream had only imagined in the safety of his own head, and kicked himself over the exclusion of hair.

So much body hair. Thick, dark hairs covered Hob’s chest like a pelt, rolling down his abs and scattered out around his soft belly. It was enough to make Dream’s mouth water, a ringing sound began in his ears, making him dizzy as he forced one foot in front of the other.

Dream had only met Hob a couple months ago, while the weather had just turned cold and they’d both only seen one another buttoned and bundled up in high necklines and long sleeves. To see Hob nearly completely nude was a shock to Dream’s system. And holy shit, Dream wanted. He had to know how those thick hairs felt between his fingers, digging them in while he sat on Hob’s lap, grinding his hips down while his own naked chest slid along Hob’s. What sounds Hob would make while Dream petted and pulled and rubbed his cock along the swell of Hob’s furred stomach.

And then Hob spotted them coming in, his smile dazzling as he stood up and waved.

Giving Dream a fantastic view of his legs, which were just as thick and strong as Dream had fantasised, and just as hairy as his top half. As well as a view of how those pants rode up enough to make Dream question if the man was wearing underwear.

Dream stumbled to the nearest restroom, locking himself in a stall and attempting to breathe and calm his erratic heart beat.

Friend, friend. Hob is your friend. Dream chanted to himself, keeping his hand out of his pants and taking deep breaths as his blood circulation regulated itself. Don’t make it weird.

Dream didn’t know how to socialise on a good day, and how with a half naked Hob in the building– shamelessly on display and humouring drunk female staff as they boldly sat on his knee– Dream felt himself shutting down entirely, spluttering and stumbling over his speech with enough velocity that he feared he'd glitch and spark out, setting the place on fire. Or at the very least, melt into a puddle of goo, the remains of his dignity soaked into the hardwood floor.

Dream tossed back drink after drink, matching Jo’s pace if only to distract his wandering thoughts, losing his jacket somewhere in the scuffle and rolling up the sleeves of his black button down.

Johanna’s laughter snapped Dream back to the present, looking down at the red solo cup in his hand and Jo standing across from him, visibly swaying on that spot. Dream doesn’t remember what he’d said to elicit such a reaction, but felt his lips curl anyway. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You, dreamboat!” Jo’s laughter simmered down to a pleasant chuckle, if not a little devious. “I thought– nah, can’t be. But holy shit, you like Hob, don’t you?”

It took several long, embarrassing seconds to figure out what Jo just asked him. Dream felt warmth spreading up his ears.

“Of course. He’s my friend–”

“Nonono–” Jo stepped into Dream’s space, landing a heavy hand on his bony shoulder. “You like him. I can tell, because you haven’t spoken to him all night.”

Dream swallowed. The alcohol was affecting his brain, sloshing it around and rendering him speechless.

Johanna smirked. “Am I wrong?”

“You’re a menace, Constantine.” Dream said, pushing her hand off him and sliding his gaze sideways to find Hob rubbing the tops of his thighs. It’d been well over an hour since they’d arrived, Dream wondered how long Hob had been sitting there, playing a role he clearly wasn’t enjoying anymore.

Jo inclined her head.

“He likes you too.”

Dream’s head snapped back to meet Jo’s eyes, searching for that tell of humour or sarcasm, and finding none.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “He told me not to tell you. Thinks your eyes are ‘dazzling’ and your hands are pretty–” she makes a face at that one. “And that your hair looks– and I quote– ‘like raven’s feathers’.”

Dream swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“When did he tell you this?”

Jo huffs a sigh, taking a sip from her beer, her lips making a smacking sound off the bottle’s mouth.

“The night after I introduced you two.”

Dream’s heart flips over at the revelation. 

Johanna winks and shoves at Dream’s shoulder. “Now go say hi before you break his heart.”

Taking Johanna’s advice seems like a death sentence, but Dream is just drunk enough to summon courage, finishing off his drink and setting the empty cup on a random surface, before forcing his shoulders back and finally making his way towards Hob.

The smile that breaks across Hob’s face once he spots Dream is staggering, and it strikes Dream down more so than before, informed with the knowledge that Hob might like him as much as Dream does.

Dream slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks, affecting nonchalance as he finally stands before Hob.

“Hello, Hob.”

“Hey, Dream.” Hob tugs on his ear, looking up at Dream. His entire body seems to relax, even slouching a bit in the chair. “Was surprised to see you here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I know parties aren’t really your thing.”

Dream hums, his eyes selfishly taking in their fill. This close to Hob, he can catalogue every hair, curve and freckle in greater detail, storing the information away for later.

And with Hob looking up at him, giving the illusion of superior height, an unmistakable flicker of arousal begins low in Dream’s belly. 

“I can be persuaded, from time to time.” Dream smiles, coy. The alcohol gives him a confidence boost and relaxes him further. “I apologise for not visiting you sooner.”

Hob waves it off. “I honestly didn’t expect you to. I know this is… a lot.” He gestures to himself and laughs self-deprecatingly. “I only agreed to be Sexy Santa because I owe Jo a favour.”

“It’s a fetching look on you,” Dream says, flinging himself into the deep end. He bites his bottom lip as Hob actually looks twice up at Dream, his smile falling into something like disbelief.

“O-oh. Really?” Hob laughs, but it’s small, doubtful. Dream will have to remedy that.

Dream takes a long breath, grounding himself, licking his lips before speaking what he’d wanted to say to Hob all night.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask Santa what I want for Christmas?”

The prettiest pink flush rises up Hob’s cheeks. His lips part as his eyes rove across Dream, down and up.

Despite what Johanna said, Dream feels himself shake with nerves as he tips forward, touching the top of Hob’s thigh before slowly lowering himself onto it. His eyes never leave Hob’s as he goes, silently asking for permission and receiving a nod once he’s fully seated.

Hob’s hand instantly curls around Dream’s narrow hips, holding him steady, locking him into place both upon his lap and in his gaze; wide and dark and focused.

Dream crossed one leg over the other, settling his hands on his knees, which inadvertently causes him to sway that much closer to Hob. He can feel the heat of his body, this close. Can smell something sweet and earthy, like sandalwood and pine, mixed in with something tangy that makes Dream’s mouth water. He has to hold back the urge to close the gap between them and shove his face in Hob’s chest, into the crook of his neck, under his armpit and lose his sanity. Abandon all pretence and inhale Hob like a wild animal, scent and mark him with his teeth and tongue and–

Hob swallows. Dream watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs, fascinated.

“Are you messing with me?”

Dream cocks an eyebrow. “You think me capable of jokes?”

Hob laughs, soft, wonderful. “You are. You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

His thumb is pressing into Dream’s side, caressing back and forth, sending spikes of electricity through his veins and heating him up from the inside.

“No one thinks I’m funny,” Dream says matter-of-factly. 

“Well, you make me laugh,” Hob says simply, his other hand coming across Dream’s front to lace his fingers together, forming a snare around Dream that ignites something within him. “You challenge me, keep me on my toes… keep me guessing.”

Dream’s heart beats so hard against his ribs it nearly hurts. He wonders if Hob can hear it, how he makes his blood race a mile a minute. 

“I’m being very serious,” Dream takes a breath. “But if you deny me, I’ll just say I’m drunk.”

Hob laughs again, his hold around Dream tightening and nearly causing Dream’s knee to bump into Hob’s crotch.

“Are you drunk?”

Dream is very aware that they are in the middle of a party, and although the people around them seem to be paying them little attention, it would probably be inappropriate to follow the path enticing him to resituate himself on Hob’s lap to instead straddle him. To grind his barely contained semi against Hob’s flimsy excuse for shorts, while winding his arms around his shoulders and kiss him stupid.

Dream leans forward, brushing his lips along the shell of Hob’s ear and lowers his voice.

“Not enough to not know what I want.”

Hob groans, Dream can feel the vibration in his own chest as he pulls back just enough to see how his eyes have fluttered shut, swallowing again before opening his eyes and focusing on him.

“And what do you want, Dream?”

“Whatever you’ll give me,” Dream wets his lips. His hands venture up, tentatively brushing his knuckles against Hob’s bronze skin, fascinated at how snow-white his own appears against it. His fingers uncurl as he dares himself to properly touch; pushing into the soft flesh at Hob’s sides and drinking in the unmistakable sound of a choked off whine from his friend.

“I’ll take anything, Hob.”

“Holy shit–” Hob whispers, his head lolling back, exposing his throat which Dream violently refuses to latch his mouth on to.

“Okay…” Hob clears his throat, his eyes swinging over to gauge Dream again. His pupils are blown wide, hunger clear in its depths. “Okay.”

He’s looking at Dream’s mouth as he speaks again. “Meet me out back in 10 minutes?”

Dream bites back a smile and nods, his heart soaring as he climbs off Hob.

Johanna gives him a knowing look as Dream stumbles back into the crowd to find his jacket and coat, managing a wave (great, now he owed her a favour as well) before all but running out of the building to make good on his promise to Hob.

Hob makes good on his offer as well; indeed giving Dream everything he’d wanted. All night.

[bees-making-art]

Beat of the Heart, Chapter One: Electric Feel

This is the start of my silly little LoganxGN!Mutant!Reader story! It will loosely follow the plot of the first x-men movie. Basically just switch out Jean for reader as the center of Logan's romantic affection. Reader has a described power but other than that no physical description. Reader is also a medic/scientist like Jean and Hank. This is also cross posted on A03 if you want to read it there!

“So, do you know what happened to the new arrivals?” you ask Jean, who walks beside you to the in-school infirmary and research bay.

“Not much. I haven't had the time to talk to Scott or Ororo yet. All I know is that one is a teenage girl named Rouge and the one, we will see now, is a man.”

As you reach the door, you give a little hum to show her you're listening. You press your hand to the sensor. The device takes a minute to scan your palm before flashing green and opening the doors. 

Beyond the door is a sort of ‘mud room’ that holds lab coats, gloves, masks, goggles, and other lab safety clothing. You and Jean both grab your respective lab coats (which have your name embroidered on the inside) and a pair of disposable gloves. Once the equipment is on, Jean compels the glass doors open with her mind, and the two of you walk in. 

Immediately, you see the man Jean was speaking of lying on one of the many infirmary gurneys. Completely ignoring him for a moment, you gather a clipboard with pencil and paper to take notes and fill out the general form you have for everyone in the school. Only when you are beside the gurney with your note-taking supplies on the metal table do you really take in his features. 

The first thing you notice is that this man is handsome, but you bury that thought in favor of taking actual notes. The man has dark brown hair that is tousled but seems to have been styled into two little animal-ear-like points. His skin is a light tan, which is clearly due to working in the sun. The man's eyebrows are naturally shaped into a furrow, giving even his resting face the appearance of scowling. And on each side of his lower jaw are mutton chops that truly only a man as handsome as him could pull off.

His chest, arm, and stomach muscles are well-defined. You guess this is from the same work that gifted the man his lovely tan. Said places are also covered in a smattering of dark brown hair. It curls out from the center of his chest to the edge, down the valleys of his stomach, and disappears under his pants and over his forearms.

During your inspection, Jean puts little circular, sticky sensors on the man's chest in preparation for the examination machine. Once the sensors are in their correct places, she takes his blood pressure before grabbing the pen on the table to scribble down his results. 

You try your best to stay focused on the task at hand and not be distracted by this stranger's attractive visage but it's difficult not to when you have to focus on looking at him. Jean takes notice of your ogling and can't help herself but to smirk, giving your bicep a little nudge. You turn to face her, immediately annoyed at the expression you find on her face. 

“Looks like someone is enjoying their research,” she teases in a quiet tone. She uses her powers to hand herself a syringe from the metal table next to the bed, inspecting it to ensure it wasn’t tampered with or damaged. 

You roll your eyes at her comment, write down your observations, and fill out the parts of the form you can. The clipboard is set to the side as you grab one of the man's arms, lifting his hand up to inspect it and the pocket of his elbow for any scars or markings. You don't give her the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you simply elect to ignore her comment. 

Jean notices this and giggles as she grabs the man's other arm, lining up the syringe with the crook of his elbow. You place the hand you were holding back onto the bed. With clipboard back in hand, you write that he only has a few faint scars across and in between his knuckles, evidence of fighting but none of injection drug use. 

The two of you make eye contact, and after a shared nod, Jean begins to slowly press the needle into his skin and pierce the vein.

What happens next occurs in mere seconds. First, the man's eyes shoot open and flicker between you and Jean. Then he's standing up, pulling his arm away from the shot, the other hand curling around Jean's neck. He’s now standing behind her with his syringe-free arm wrapped around the other to secure it.

The man's eyes dart across the room before landing on you. You mentally note to write down later that his eyes are a deep brown with a speck of Hazel. But nonetheless, you raise your hands to your head to show you have no intent to harm the man.

“Hey! We’re not trying to harm you! I promise we were simply checking you and possibly treating you for injuries that you might have sustained from the crash and fight. We mean you know harm,” you try your best to convince the feral-looking man. 

His eyes flick around your face and then the room once more. A noise that sounds more like an animalistic growl than what a human makes leaves his mouth as he lets go of Jean with a shove and rushes out of the room. 

Jean coughs and catches her breath, her hands gently holding her own throat as you lower your hands back to your sides. You let out a sigh as you pick up the tossed syringe, placing it next to your clipboard on the table. You walk to Jean and put a comforting hand on her back.

“Well, he’s going to be a fun one,” you grumble, only half sarcastic. Jean’s laugh in response makes a smile cross your face. You pat her back before returning your hand to your side. She stands up straight and smiles at you in return, a quiet ‘thank you’ whispered into the back of your mind. You nod then look to the door where the man had left.

You shake your head and peel off the plastic gloves sticking to your hands, tossing them to the trashcan nearby. The lab coat slips off your shoulders as you place it onto the gurney nearby. Jean follows suit as you walk towards the glass door, beridding herself of her lab clothing and taking long strides to catch up with you.

“At least he has a pretty face to look at,” you hum, a laugh bubbling in the back of your throat. A giggle shoots out of Jean, tossing her head back in the laughter.

“I knew you were checking him out!” Jean teases, making your cheeks redden. 

You wave her off as the two of you exit out the second pair of doors, facing the long hallway to the stairs and elevators that lead upstairs. The two of you decide to split up. Jean checks out the rest of the basement while you head upstairs to look through the rest of the mansion. 

As soon as you reach the floor level of the estate, a familiar, comforting voice enters your mind. ‘The new mutant is in my office. Please meet us there for proper introductions,' Charles speaks. You assume that he sends the same message to the rest of the X-men. 

Luckily for you Xaviors office is only a few minutes walk from where you are currently. You waste no time in walking up the stairs past the many students and down the hall till you reach the ornate door at the front of the professor's office, a little golden plaque displaying his name about a foot and a half above where the handle is. 

You turn the handle and slowly push the door open, taking care not to accidentally hit the new mutant if he was standing right in front of it. Once you see that he is not there, you open the door all the way, leaning left against the door frame. You cross your arms in front of your chest. A smirk spreads across your face as you notice the jacket the man has seemingly ‘borrowed’ from the changing room in the basement. 

It's a blue-tinted medium gray zip-up jacket. And even though he's turned away from you, you know that there is a blue X-men patch on the left side. The hoodie seems not fully zipped as the fabric is not fully covering his shoulders and slipping down his back, perfectly showing just enough skin to tease your imagination. And god, does it look amazing on him like that.

Charles gestures to you with his left hand, a permanent soft smile on his lips. The man turns to face you. And it reveals just what you were expecting; the zipper is only up to about his sternum. Zipped up just enough to not show off everything but still down enough that you can see his clavicle and his chest that's painted with dark brown hair. It makes you want to slide your hands into the jacket to feel what you cannot see.

But hearing your code name coming from Xaviors mouth pulls you out of your thoughts. You push them far back as you give the man standing before you a little wave, meeting his eyes for the first time since entering the room. The deep, woodsy color is something you are slowly becoming acquainted with. A similar smirk to yours is plastered on his face as his eyes sweep over your form. If you didn't know better, you would say he was checking you out. 

You put your hand out in front of you, presenting it to Logan for a handshake. 

“Or you could just call me by my real name, Y/N. It's nice to meet you again.” This gains you a chuckle from the man and a playful eye roll from Charles. The jacket-donned man clasps his slightly bigger hand to yours and gives a half-hearted shake. 

“Names Logan, some call me Wolverine, but I'm willin’ to guess you already knew that, sweetheart,” the tone in which he says the pet name sends a shiver up your spine. And his damned smirk paired with it isn't helping your goal to not get flustered. 

So, why not return the favor? At least in some way. Using a bit of energy you always had stored away just in case, you give Logan a little shock. It’s nothing more than one of those prank hand buzzers. But it does get you the desired result, a wince paired with a hiss as he pulls his hand away from yours. 

Logan looks down at his hand to find not even a wound to be healed. His gaze turns back up to connect with yours as your smirk turns into a grin. You hold up the hand you just used to shock him, making the ‘devil horns’ with your thumb out. In between the two digits, a small, faintly purple-colored electrical current forms between them.

Logan's eyes drift to it as his hand returns to his side, then back to yours. He rolls his eyes at your unbidden glee. He tries to give off the impression he is not impressed, but you can see the hint of a smile playing at the edges of his lips. 

“I can control electrical currents, manipulate them to make machines do what I want. I can take their energy, store it in my body, and send it back out just like that.” You return the energy you were using back into your body, veins in your hand and arm glowing for no more than a second. Your arms are back to being crossed, along with your shoulder being pressed against the door. 

Logan's mouth opens as if he is about to say something, but he shuts it as Scott and Ororo appear in the doorway behind you. They are closely followed by Jean. Who, unbeknownst to you, slips her hand into Scotts.

You move further into the room so that the other three don’t have to stand in the doorway behind you. Ororo is the first to introduce herself with a little wave and her usual kind smile. They each tell Logan their names, code names, and their powers. Jean is the only one able to show it as she lifts a pencil off Charles's desk. 

Throughout the entire exchange, Logan keeps an unimpressed look on his face. But it's a little more genuine than with you. You can’t help but giggle a little, covering your mouth with your hand to pass it off as a cough. The two of you meet eyes again, and Logan's lips twitch into a smile at your actions. 

Charles notices the two of you no longer paying attention to the others and claps his hands together. All the heads in the room snap to face him as he wheels around to be in front of his finely carved wooden desk. 

“Y/N, since the two of you appear to be getting along, please show Logan where his room is and give him a tour of the school.” It sounds like a gentle request, but you can tell from the look on Xavior's face that he is a bit miffed at your behavior. 

A blush blooms across your cheeks as you nod.

“Will do, professor,” you respond not a moment later. Your tone is much like that of a student who was just scolded by a teacher, and in some ways, your relationship with Charles was like that.

You turn to face the door to walk out. As you turn your head, you catch Jean's teasing smirk. You roll your eyes at her antics. You nod your head towards the door and only start moving when Logan follows. You only glance at him briefly as you quickly turn to exit. Storm bumps your shoulder almost imperceptibly and winks at you. You narrow your eyes in return to her gesture, waiting for Logan outside the hall. 

Once he stands beside you in the hall and the door is closed, you huff and drop your shoulders from where they had been practically pressed to your ears. You feel almost like Logan is looking at you, but you don't bother checking. Taking a step forward, you begin your tour of the institute. 

The air around you is filled with awkward tension. And part of you is tempted to let it stay that way lest you become distracted by Logan again. And his stupidly good-looking stolen jacket. However, despite your valiant effort, your eyes flit to Logan's face. 

From his side profile, you can see his defined jawline through the facial hair and subtle frown lines that stretch from the edges of his nose to the outer corner of his lips. 

Catching yourself, you return your gaze onward. You find yourselves at the top of the staircase before the entrance. You perk up a bit at the opening of conversation.

“This is the entrance to the school; you can access most of the inside areas from here. The kitchen is through there, the student dormitories are down that hallway, and the teachers are opposite. Classrooms are upstairs, as are the rest of the dormitories. Downstairs is where the infirmary, laboratory, and battle practice rooms are,” you explain as you walk down the stairs, pointing to each of the doorways and stairs to tell him what they are. 

“We were holding you in the infirmary early if you couldn’t tell, but we also occasionally use it as an extra lab. We have a library and a few common rooms on this level that connect the dorms.”

Turning to Logan, you see him nod, his particular way of showing you he was listening. You flash him a grin and head to the teacher's rooms. Walking down the hallway, you pass by a few students, to whom you give high-fives as you pass.

“I'll show you the room we’re providing you while you're with us. And I’ll tell you whose room is whose in case you ever need any of us.” Logan raises an eyebrow at this but doesn't comment. He just simply follows.

The hallway is mostly just a long series of doors. However, it is occasionally broken up by large windows with couches in front of them, bookshelves, and small tables with decorations and plants on them. As you pass by the doors, you point to each, telling Logan whose room it is and how to remember it.

“These two are Jean and Scott's rooms, though usually they are in one or the other. They’re the first room, so it makes them easy to find. This room right here is Ororo’s, and Hank’s is across from it. You haven’t met him yet ‘cause he's on a mission right now, but he’ll be pretty hard to miss when he returns. Hanks always has blue fur at the threshold, and you can usually hear music from Ororo’s.”

There's a bit more hallway that you two walk before you reach your door, and by some gracious being above, where Charles decided to put Logan. You smile upon seeing the familiar door to your room.

“This one is my room,” you say while pointing at the door. “It’s probably going to be the easiest for you to remember because it's right across from where you will be staying.”

A smirk spreads across Logan's lips, and he turns to you. “And I’m sure that was by complete accident; it's definitely just a coincidence.” He nudges your shoulder teasingly as he walks to the door of his new room.

You chuckle and roll your eyes at his insinuation. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But no, I don’t have a say in how rooms are picked; that's all Xaviors doing. Trust me, if I had any say, I would be on the top floor with my window facing the backyard.”

Logan's smirk never leaves as he opens the door. The nod he sends your way gives you the impression that he doesn’t entirely believe you. He steps inside the room, looking around. You walk in behind Logan but stay near the door. 

“All the rooms have separate bathrooms, so don't worry about sharing. Right now, all we have is basic clothes for you, but feel free to get yourself some new ones. The closet's that door right there if you do,” you point to each door after explaining their respective purpose.

The room is in its basic cookie-cutter style, which all of them start with: plain off-white walls with wood paneling and crown molding. A window facing the outside has a plain queen-sized bed right under it. All of the cloth in the room is the same cream color. It gives the feeling of a hotel.

Logan turns to face you after sitting on the bed's edge. Arms propping him up from behind and legs mildly spread.

“What? Don't want me wearing your fancy X-men clothing?” Is his only response to anything you said. You smile and roll your eyes at him, one of your hands resting on your hips.

  “No, I just got the impression that you wouldn’t want to wear Scott's hoodie,” you gesture to the gray zip-up, which, in your opinion, looks better on him than it ever has on Scott. "And he won’t be too happy about it either. “

The way Logan looks at you can only be described as incredulous, disgust, and dread all rolled into one. It almost makes you laugh. But you manage to keep it at just an amused smile. 

“You're just saying that to get me shirtless again.”

You give him a shrug with your hands raised, “You don't have to believe me, but I can bet you $100s that Scott's name is on it.” The man grumbles under his breath about something you don’t quite catch as he unzips the jacket and strips it off. 

You’re tempted to look, but you peel your eyes away to show Logan you are being truthful and don't just want to see him shirtless. As you look away, you’re reminded again of how bare the room is. 

“You can also decorate how you like. Charles just asks to keep it child-appropriate in case one of them has to come in here.”

Logan chuckles and shakes his head as he tosses Scott's jacket to you.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I won’t get anything too ‘adult’.” He makes quotation marks with his fingers as he says, ‘adult.’ You smile in return as you catch the jacket. You drape it over one of your arms, willing everything that you don’t blush or start glowing. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to show you earlier, but the laundry room is further down the hall. It has a little plaque, so you won't miss it. You know, for whenever you do get your own clothes.”

You expect him to laugh at your retort, but he gives you this quiet smile instead. Not a smirk, a genuine smile, albeit a very small one, but a smile nonetheless. It makes a bundle of butterflies spread through your chest. Much like the blush, you try your best to suppress the feelings. You don’t need your powers giving you away this early.

All he says in response besides the smile is a simple, “thanks.”

You smile wider in return and give him a little nod. You turn and exit through the doorway, turning to him once you're past the threshold. 

“I’ll be across the hall or in the lab if you need anything.” You close the door behind you and walk over to your own. You let out a relieved sigh once in the safety of your room. A faint purple glow begins to emanate from your veins. A result of you releasing the hold on your powers. Once the light fades, you take a moment to collect yourself before leaving to return to the lab.

Hope you all enjoyed! I can't promise a consistent schedule but I'll aim for a chapter a week. Thank you to my friend c20w for beta reading! And credit to strangergraphics for the beautiful banners!