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greenglowinspooks · 22 days

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Honestly I think the fics where Danny’s a Kryptonian have a lot of potential, so here’s me throwing my hat into the ring

Danny was born a human. He was born to two loving (though slightly neglectful) human parents in the painfully mundane state of Illinois.

Then, he died, but he didn’t do it right. He became a Halfa; too alive to be a ghost, but too dead to be human.

Then, through strange, uncontrollable circumstances, that changed as well.

He had been heavily injured, missing a large percentage of body mass, and was at the cusp of either dying fully or just fading from existence.

(Perhaps it was an ordinary fight. Perhaps it was the GiW, or his parents. Perhaps it was a simple accident. That didn’t matter now.)

He fled, phasing through the ground, trying to bury himself as deep as possible.

(Perhaps he didn’t want to be unmasked in death. Perhaps that was already too late, and he just wanted his body be able to rest in peace.)

Unfortunately for him, he was in Metropolis, and ended up in a secret genetics lab below the earth.

Danny detransformed, completely exhausted, falling onto a table covered in different labeled specimen containers. He closed his eyes, and prepared himself for what would happen next.

And… nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Danny sat up, brushing off the foul-smelling liquid from the specimen jars, petri dishes, and assorted vials.

He felt…fine.

No, better than fine. He felt normal. Healthy.

He felt like he wasn’t missing most of his internal organs anymore.

Danny looked down at his stomach, and saw that the wounds that were killing him had completely disappeared.

(The blood blossoms, if there had been any, were still there, but they no longer hurt. At most, they itched a little, or maybe just tickled a bit.)

He wanted to question what in the hell had just happened, but he didn’t want to jinx it. He just quietly changed back to Phantom, going invisible and phasing out of wherever he had found himself in, ignoring the loud alarm system that had begun to blare when he broke the samples on that table.

Life mostly went back to normal after that.

If, like Danny, you ignored all the physical changes in a valiant effort to remain in denial that something was horribly wrong.

His skin was tougher, now; he didn’t get scrapes or cuts, even when he accidentally fumbled a knife while trying to cook. His ghost form was stronger, too; he was barely knocked down by his old rogues anymore.

He could fly, even in his human form. Though, admittedly, the flight was much different. It was like using a muscle he hadn’t known existed beforehand. He didn’t just ignore gravity or wind resistance, though he felt more graceful in the air now than he ever did as Phantom.

There were more powers popping up, lasers and cold breath, x-ray vision and super strength. His lungs and heart were larger, and he could handle temperatures much easier. He didn’t have to transform to handle the pressure and cold of space anymore.

His reaction time had improved, becoming much faster than ever before. His senses were much stronger, and he had even seemed to gain a sense of electric fields, like a shark.

The only thing that separated him from a Kryptonian was that he had developed electrokenesis, which he had never seen any of them use on TV.

So, surely, he was fine.

Everything was normal, he hadn’t been transformed by alien DNA in a sketchy lab, he had just had a really weird and specific metagene activation.

—

Clark Kent, Kal-El, was panicking.

It had been around a month and a half since a particularly brutal fight between Interpol and an unknown assailant, and it seemed that Interpol was determined to draw out whoever had scorned them.

Their method of doing this, of course, was trying to level the city.

He and Jon were doing their best to stop them, but with both Kon and Zor-El away on their own business, it was difficult.

And by difficult, he meant almost impossible.

Slowly but surely he was driving them back, but not without massive amounts of damage to the city, especially with only Jon on dedicated rescuing duty.

He was distracted, trying to draw a group away from a heavily occupied building, when a projectile hit him in the back of the head.

The world spun for a moment, and then it went black.

(It was, probably, then, some sort of Kryptonite-metal alloy. Interpol at its finest.)

He woke slowly, forcing his eyes open. He felt like he had been hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Clark jolted up, preparing for the worst.

To his shock, though, the city hadn’t been reduced to rubble while he was out.

Jon seemed to still be working on evacuation, either unaware that he had went down or forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Then, a lightning-quick figure flew into view, and Clark’s mind went blank.

He thought, for a moment, that Kara was back. But, no, that wasn’t right, she was supposed to be off-planet for another week or so.

Besides, this new figure didn’t move like her. They were lankier and more slender, and they flew quicker than any member of his family.

Their powerset was different, too; they focused mainly on using blasts of ice and electricity to drive enemies back, only occasionally using their strength or lasers—ones which came from their hands instead of their eyes.

He had woken up at the tail end of the fight, it seemed. The remaining Interpol agents were fleeing from the mysterious metahuman.

They stayed in the sky, motionless, watching them leave.

As if they could sense him staring, they turned.

They were small, still clearly young. Probably around Kon’s age, or maybe even younger.

Instead of the colorful clothing he had inherited from his family, the stranger wore black and white clothes which looked similar to a hazmat suit, their face covered by some sort of gas mask.

Interestingly enough, instead of the S-shape crest that he was so used to seeing, the stranger wore the letter D on his chest.

Kal’s heart sped up.

From up in the sky, he heard the stranger’s heart, on the left instead of the right, speed up in return.

But before he could say a word to them, they sped off, disappearing into the deep blue sky.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dcxdp fic #dcxdp fanfic #dcxdp prompt #dcxdp crossover #clark: NEW SON??#danny: fuckfuckfuck #bruce (sensing an adoption all the way from gotham): something just happened #btw this is a prompt and I would love continuations #however if you respond with bad dad clark content I do reserve the right to send the hounds to tear you to pieces

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dcxdpdabbles · 2 months

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Alley Boyfriends Part 2

It turns out pretending to be a fake boyfriend involved more planning than Danny had realized was necessary.

Personally, he was thinking he would occasionally be asked to hold Tim's hand in semi-public, tell people about maybe three or four fake dates, and be done with it.

Tim, on the other hand, created a backstory that would make any Dungeon Master weep in complicated worldbuilding joy.

"Why would we keep our relationship a secret?It has to be a valid reason for why we meet in a back alley most of the time but still go out in public to eat." Tim asked him, three notebooks spread around him. All three were written in code, but once they finished creating the tale to his preference, Tim planned on burning them.

Cause that was something people in Gotham did. He wasn't even joking. One of his coworkers invited him to a journal-burning just last week. He went to see what it was about, turns out it was this cities verson of a block party. There were a lot of little groups hudled around movaible fire pits, throwing in paper, laughing and drinking and just being merry.

He checked online to ensure he hadn't accidentally joined a cult. He hadn't; Gotham was just like that.

"I'm from the Midwest—a small town in the Midwest. Maybe I'm not out yet?" Danny suggests with a shrug, slumping in his chair to get comfortable.

Tim snaps his fingers at him with a manic light in his eyes. "That's brilliant. We'll have to go through all your social media to screen for any hints of you being in the alphabet mafia. Now, why would you worry about being spotted four states away? Internalized homophobia?"

Danny shrugs, watching Tim consider his notes, flipping between pages on all three notebooks. Apparently, to ensure their cover story worked, Tim needed to have a notebook dedicated to three themes. The first was their Mental choices—such as a profile of their personalities both before and after their "dating," when they fell in love, and how their upbringing affected them in romantic relationships.

Physical choice—such as how many times they held hands and where the dates were, their attraction types in the pshycal sense, and where they met.

Finally, there weres the Narrative choices—these were people outside their couple. Who saw what, when, and how?. Social media was in there.

"No. That doesn't make sense." Tim sighs showing him the Narrative one. On it are a jamble of words, written so tiny, even if they were noraml Danny would not understand them. "See? Your online humor is about thirty percent gay. Not to mention you've been to Pride in Gotham already."

Tim taps the other notebook, where, supposedly, he is gesturing to the proof of Danny being too comfortable in gay spaces to have internalized homophobia. Danny wonders why he needs this much information, and who the hell would look so far into their fake realtionship.

Once again he wonders who Tim is. Oh, he's been making coffee for the other for days now. Always having his travel mug ready to go at seven am sharp for the other to pick up in the Alley, and had texted him for quick meet ups to trade Heart Attak Coffee.

Sometimes they would send funny memes to each other, and ask eachother about their day. They messaged but it waswn't really deep.

It's also been too late to ask Tim for his last name. It would be embarrassing to admit he either forgot when the other told him or he forgot to ask. His mother would be horrified by his manners.

"It would be sense if we were closer to your hometown, but this would barely hold up against my employees, much less the family." Tim sighs taking a long sip of his coffee. At once, Danny watches his whole body relax, and his eyes light up.

He wonders about that too. Tim reacted to Heart Attack coffee like a ghost interacting with their Obsession.

Tim isn't dead or died from what Danny can tell, but he had obvious signs of death around him. Not enough to be liminal like Jazz, so he wasn't ecto-exposed nor haunted.

He has likely just been in many life-threatening situations. Danny had noticed back in Amity that people like firefighters, military, police officers, and the like- those whose entire jobs meant putting themselves at risk- had the sense of Death gently curling around them. Almost like a flirtation.

He seen a lot more people like that in Gotham, though ussally they were on the opposite side of the previous named workers and he realized that Tim had to be involded in something.

Something big, if the nice suits, expensive coats, countless flowers, tips, and free lunches were any indication. Should he be worried about being in a fake relationship with him?

"Oh! We're a secret because this is both of our first boyfriends!" Tim cheers after a moment. "We are both worried about two different things. I don't want to mess things up due unresolved attachment and abandonment issues not to mention my terrible self-worth and communication skills."

That.....is terrifying self-aware. Danny can only stare as Tim nods his head, flipping some pages and writing more notes down. He switches between green and blue ink pens whenever he is writting so he knows which note applies to who.

Danny thinks he's green.

"You, on the other hand, have a mix of fear of your family finding out, terrible self-esteem due to years of bullying, and fear of commitment. I think we both can play off feeling that if we can't be of use to people, they will leave us mentality, so we never set up proper boundaries just to be safe." Tip pauses, tapping the pen to his bottom lip, eyes focused intensely on his work.

There is a hint of....ghost in his eyes, gleaming just behind his humanity.

He is Ghost King, which means he does not control or know when someone dies, as that is out of his jurisdiction. Not everything that dies becomes a ghost, just like not every ghost has ever lived after all.

In fact, not all of his citizens were humans to begin with or came from humans.

He had command of demons, in the same sense that he did concepts like Time (Clockwork) because they were between Realms. The ones that fell between the cracks of the fabric of worlds were Danny's.

Still, he came to recognize that someone had the potential to be one when their time came. Tim was most definatily a ghost in the making.

That left the question. What would be his Obsession once Tim finished forming?

Something directly involved in his death like Box Ghost (Crushed by a box due to his co-workers' careless prank?) Or something he felt he should have been given in life like Young Blood (Too sick to enjoy his childhood like other children and resentful of neglectful parents who ignored his pain?)

Danny tried to picture it, but they could see a glowing figure racing about wanting coffee and being unnecessarily involved with event planning.

Then again, he thinks, watching as Tim takes small glances at him as if making sure he is still there. He might be Obsessed with routines and being needed by people.

It wasn't really about the lack of caffeine. Instead, it was about the fact Heart Attack Coffee had been a comfort since childhood. Tim needed to feel like he was in control. Danny noticed that the second the other had burst into tears after being denied the coffee.

It was like taking Ember's guitar. His soul had dimmed. That's why Danny gave it to him while carefully checking to ensure Tim wasn't being Overshadowed. If he was, then he would kick the ghost's ass in the alley, away from wandering eyes.

He shivers again when a coldness from his chest zips across his limbs. Ever since Danny developed his ice core, he felt that he had been susceptible to the cold. He still remembers the day his core formed, how he was shivering in the summer to Sam's and Tucker's confusion.

He often found himself piling on scarves and sweaters, even when outside of winter.

Gotham wasn't nearly as cold as Amity Park- they would get a lot of snow compare to here- but it didn't seem to matter to his core.

He gets up to drag over the space heater and figures he may as well get some hot chocolate. His stomach growls, reminding him food would be a good idea, too. "You want something to eat Tim?"

There is a grunt that he learned meant "Yeah, I can eat" from Tim's hunched-over form. He smiles, grabbinghe throw blanket to wrap around himself.

His apartment wasn't too bad considering it was close to Crime Alley. It was odd and a bit outdated, but it was enough space for one person, the hot water lasted longer, and there was no mold or break-ins.

It nearly made up for the fact the walls were paper thin, which did nothing to keep the bitter Jack Frost out; his landlord shut off the heat a few weeks ago for "maintenance" and did not turn it back on.

According to his neighbors, he always does so to save funds. It sucked, but none of them could afford to move away, Danny included.

It would be bearable if Danny's insides weren't literally freezing.

He starts to cook a nice warm soup, chopping up some chicken and noodles, mindful of Tim's continued muttering in the background. It's nice, like having his own white noise machine.

A second wave of ice-ice cold races over his body. Danny glances at Tim, but it seems the other had gotten comfortable near his space heater, and it would be rude to take it across the room just because he was cold when his guest was already using it.

Maybe he'll buy a second one at the second-hand store on his next paycheck. He watches his soup boil as he adds some spices for flavoring, curling in on himself as the throw blanket seems to not be warming him fast enough.

He hates when he gets cold fits like this. They don't happen as often now that he pratice with his ice core but they effect his human side the longer he goes without ising his ice powers.

In a anti-meta city like Gotham he just hasn't found a safe place to do that yet.

Danny's hands ache from the trembles running through them- he slips on some gloves, trying to squeeze warmth back into it. He then goes across the room to the hooks by the wall after giving in, there he puts on a scarf, his coat and a beanie so his ears can warm up too.

"Are you cold?" Tim asks as Danny returns to the stove

Danny laughs from where he is stirring the soup. It is such an understatement he can't do anything else. "Freezing."

"Why not turn up the heat?"

"Landlord shut it off." Danny shrugs at Tim's look of disbelief. "It's okay I've gotten used to it. Just need to make a nest of clothes later to warm up. Soup will help too."

"Does he shut off your heat often enough that you've gotten used to it?" Tim's voice is strangely flat. Danny shrugs.

"He shuts off stuff, like the AC and electricity all the time. A month ago, he shut off the water; that was a rough two weeks." Danny jokes, thinking of how often he had to use the public bathrooms at the library to brush his teeth; he showered in the community gym. He tells Tim this. "Thank the Ancients for the Waynes. If it wasn't for them funding the gym, library, and laundry mat I probably would have it worse"

Tim stares at him for a long minute. Without a word, he reaches for his work laptop, which lay close to the side in favor of the notebooks two hours ago.

Danny isn't sure what exactly Tim does for work—he isn't sure it's legal, so he reframes from asking—but he does know that recently, he has been over to Danny's apartment a lot more to hash out the details and doing remote work at the same time.

He boots it up, fingers flying over the keyboard at a speed that still impresses Danny, even after seeing him type for the past few days. Assuming he returned to work, Danny returned to his own task. He carefully pours them both two bowls- mindful of his gloves- and warms up the mild for their hot chocolates.

They are not the healthiest of combinations, but both boys are comfortable with odd food choices. He caries the tray back to the table, blaket dragging behind him.

Tim stares intensely at the screen, nodding thanks to him when he puts a bowl down by his hand. "What do you think of this?"

Danny glances at the screen and sees a really lovely penthouse. It's spacious, overlooking Gotham's diamond district with five rooms, two baths and even a boucany pool and hottub.

It screams money, with its large arched windows, dark carpet, and grey pillars. He even spots a grand piano in the living room. Danny whistles, "Damn, I would love to live there."

"Okay, it's yours," Tim says, clicking the chat box with the realtor. He types out a quick agreement for the purchase and opens another tab with his private banker and lawyers, commanding them to have the place ready for him in two days—all without reaching for his mouse. An agreement comes through before Danny can do anything other than gawk as Tim adds his name to the owner's list.

Tim seems unaware of Danny's flabbergasted look of awe as he taps into a few more tabs, researching cleaning crews and moving companies. "We can move you on your day off. The cleaners can help you pack if you need it while you're at work, and the moving crew can get it over the city for you. I'm also buying this place. It's ridiculous that he just shuts things off. "

Just who in the world is this guy!?

____________________________________________________

Across the city, Babs stares at Tim's online orders. She has been told to keep an eye on himbecause Jasons worries about his suspected drug problem.

Everyone in the family has been somewhat uneasy about the possibility. Babs will admit her heart broke when she found hours and hours of him meeting the same shady looking teenager entering the same back alley over and over again.

He always came out looking flustered and a bit jittery, and she also thought it wasn't a secret lover like Bruce and Dick had hoped. She had always been a least optimistic, and her cameras- even the ones she hacked into to review recorded surveillance for the past three showed her the ugly truth.

Tim was an addict.

She had been working on her letter for the intervention they would be holding for him, typing past her tears, when this popped up. She blinks and takes her glasses off to wipe them before checking to see if she is seeing correctly.

But nope, the words stay the same. She slowly reaches for her headset and clicks it on. At once, her ear overflows with various voices from everyone on the field.

Tim is the only one not out currently, but she can clearly see why.

"Tim just bought a penthouse for Danny Fenton. He also has two sets of cleaning crews, one to Fenton's address and one to his own. Two sets of moving crews have been added to both addresses, each ending at the same penthouse. He's going to be living with him," She announces, silencing everyone at once. "Does that sound like drug dealer behavior?"

"Omg," Dick cries at once. Relief and joy overlap his voice as he screams into the mics "Love wins!"

"Let's not celebrate too soon. We still have to figure out what the hell those alley meetings are about," Jason warns. "If it is a drug dealer, moving in together will be the worst thing possible to T."

"Agree. We prob him but carefully so he doesn't catch on." Bruce comands "Act as ussual to get as much information out of Tim."

"So.....we throw him a house warming/investation on his boyfriend party?" Steph asks the sound of wind accompanies her words. She is likely grappling towards Danny's apparment to check on Tim.

She has gotten the habit of doing so ever since Danny has been flagged by Jason. Steph has reported the same thing evertime. Tim seemed to just been doing work at Danny's table, drinking teas and cuddling together in front of Danny's cheap tv.

She thought it was all very domestic, even when her eyes tracked every movement Danny made. Of course she couldn't get too close least Tim would catch on.

"Exactly."

#dcxdpdabbles #Alley Boyfriends #Part 2 #Dead Tired #Fake dating #Danny doesn't know Tim is a Wayne #Look Tim has nearly died A LOT #He would be a ghosts out of the Bats #No one asked for this but I couldn't help myself #Tim is attached to Danny #Danny in canon can't handle the cold of his core

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dollfacefantasy · 3 months

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Dream Walking ♡

pairing: rick grimes x fem!reader

summary: you catch rick having a wet dream about you. you both try to move on from it, but with it stuck in each of your minds, it's near impossible to just go back to the way things were.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, fingering, dub-con, age gap (20s, late 30s), wet dreams, somnophilia

word count: 5.4k

Since the prison fell, you’ve had time to think about what it is you miss most. The security of the fences was nice, so was the comfort of the thin mattresses. There were also the routines everyone had fallen into that filled your days with a sliver of how life felt before everything went wrong. However, the piece you missed most, the thing you craved on nights like these, was the privacy of your cell.

You took those months for granted at the time. The ability to retire to your own space once the sun set was long gone. Now you lie with the rest of the group on the floor of this barn, sleeping all together like a pack of wolves in a den.

It wasn’t that it was horrible. You felt safe with everyone so close. You also didn’t have to worry about anything going wrong in the night without your knowledge. It just wasn’t as pleasant as getting to be alone at the end of the day when both your mind and body are tired. How you craved the sound of the steel bars shutting and the feeling of the lumpy pillow against your head.

But all that lies underneath a pile of rubble now. There was no use wishing for another time you’d never get back.

You sigh and roll onto your side. The thunder and rain outside was keeping you up. Your eyes scan the dark room to try and find another open pair, any one of your friends who would be able to suffer along with you. You don’t find any, which is a good thing you suppose, but now you’re left to lay all alone in hopes of sleep calling your name sometime soon.

You were in the corner of the barn with your jacket tucked under your head. That’s the spot you’d taken up as soon as people were picking where to sleep. You liked having walls to your back. It was less space for something to hide or attack from. Some of your friends like Abraham and Daryl lie along the walls like you while others like Carl and Michonne rest near the center, wanting to be close to any potential threat.

Rick sleeps a foot or two from you. He’s on his back, one arm behind his head while the other is draped over his abdomen. You can hear the deep and even rhythm of his breath, and you know that he’s out cold at least for the time being.

After a little while he rolls onto his side like you had, and you think that you’ve found someone to share your struggles with. When you look over at him though, his eyes are still shut, his lips are still parted, and his body is still limp.

Your lips purse with disappointment, but your eyes soften. He needed the rest. He’d been stretching himself to the limit ever since your group had barely made it out of Terminus alive. You understood why. The group needed somewhere stable to call home. You just wished he wouldn’t put that responsibility entirely on himself.

You always liked Rick. He’d taken you in a couple months after the outbreak when you were scared and alone, shaking and covered in blood on the side of the highway. You’d just seen the final members of your previous group fall victim to the dead. On the verge of giving up and letting a herd claim you too, you saw him dash by. He was looking for a missing little girl. Instead he’d found you.

Even on the farm when everyone was fighting over everything all the time, you admired him like you did now. It was almost weird to think of him now compared to back then. The clean-cut officer friendly you’d met a couple years ago now sported shaggy hair and a beard along with eyes always scanning for danger.

The crush you harbored for him was as strong as ever though. Not one thing about that had changed. Unlike his hair, you hadn't grown out of it in the slightest.

You continue watching him while the wind and rain team up to beat against the wooden slats of the barn walls. Interrupting your study of his features, he grunts. It’s quiet; so much so that you almost miss it amongst the other noise. It seems ordinary enough, but he does it again. And then again as he rolls further to his side so that he’s nearly on his stomach.

“Mmmm…” he sighs, “Fuck.”

Your eyes widen a little at that, but you smile, wondering what was frustrating him in the world of his dreams. His lips smack idly against one another for a moment before he speaks again.

“Just like that, baby. Atta girl,” he murmurs.

And now you’re really interested.

Your hand flies to your mouth to stifle your reaction. You didn’t know whether to laugh or try to wake him. You knew that waking him up would be the right thing to do… but you didn’t want to just yet. He rolls his hips against the hard ground he’s sleeping on, which you know can’t feel that good. But he does it again. And he looks like a divine being as he does so, everything about him enrapturing you.

Another low groan seeps from his mouth, and a couple incoherent words follow. You bite your lip and look around again to make sure no one else is watching you. You couldn’t help wondering who he was dreaming of. Maybe Lori still crossed his mind every once in a while or possibly he harbored some secret desire for someone in the group. Perhaps it was just a plain old sex dream and he was envisioning some woman he liked before the world changed.

“Fuck…” he grunts again, “Such a good girl.”

Warmth simmers to life in your belly, and you find your thighs rubbing against one another. Those two words were a weak spot of yours, so of course he'd have to rasp them out like that. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined them falling from his lips but hearing it in reality was so much sweeter.

His arms shift around as he continues trying to find some relief against the dirt. By this point, a bulge has formed at the front of his pants, and the sight is enough to make your mouth water. You know this is wrong, perving on him like this, but you swear to yourself that you're gonna wake him up. Just a few more seconds. Though before you get the chance, he moans again.

Among some expletives and praise, your name floats into the night. The syllables leak out in a hushed manner, but they send a jolt through you regardless. Your eyes widen and the heat in your tummy creeps up through your neck into your cheeks.

"Just a little deeper, dolly," he slurs, "That's it."

This time you're unable to repress the laughter that bubbles in your chest. The sound is soft, but it's enough to rouse him.

His eyes flutter open, his pupils still laden with sleep. It takes him a few seconds to register all that's going on.

"What're you gigglin' about?" he grumbles as he sits up and rubs his face.

But as soon as he moves, he becomes conscious of what was so amusing to you. He feels it rock hard against his thigh and flashes of his dream run through his mind. You can see it on his face, the embarrassment over the fact that he'd been caught having a wet dream. Caught by the very person it starred.

"Sorry," you simper.

He tries to maintain his usual stern temperament, but you see his humility in the flush of his cheeks. He can't look you in the eyes right now. His mind struggles to grasp the words that would make this better.

"Grow up," he mumbles as he starts to roll the other direction, "You've never had one of those? How old are you?"

"Old enough for you to dream about apparently," you say with another little laugh as you go to lay down yourself.

"Shut up," he mutters before closing his eyes again.

A few days went by before either of you addressed it. That was Rick's doing since he pretty much avoided you as best he could after it happened. It made you a little sad, but it was understandable. You probably would've done the same if the roles were reversed.

The group had left the shack from that night in search of more food and water. The bunch of you stagger in factions as you walk along some train tracks through the woods. Maggie, Glenn, and Tara lead at the front while Michonne with Carl carrying Judith linger a little behind them. You're trekking along with Sasha and Rosita before letting yourself fall back so you can be besides Rick.

"Are you mad at me?" you ask.

He glances over at you. "No, I'm not mad at you," he states matter of factly.

"It seems like you are."

"Why's that?" he asks.

"Cause you've been avoiding me," you say with a coy smile.

"I haven't been avoidin' you," he denies.

"Mhm," you respond, "C'mon, it's not that big of a deal. Things don't have to be weird now."

His eyes remain on you as if trying to analyze your intentions. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything," he says.

"The only thing making me uncomfortable is how awkward you are around me now," you say with a little feigned pout, "Seriously, I don't care. It was just a dream. People can't control dreams. It's not like I caught you jerkin’ off to a picture of me."

"Keep your voice down," he says, eyes flitting ahead to make sure no one had heard the topic of your conversation. He then sighs and runs a hand over his sweaty hair.

"C'mon, Rick," you say. You give his arm a little shove but do make a point to lower your volume. "I'm sorry for laughing at you."

"No you're not," he says and for the first time in days, he cracks a small smile.

Your face reflects his expression like a mirror. "Well... it was funny. But I still didn't mean to make you feel bad. It doesn't bother me or anything. I know dreams don't reflect real life," you reassure him.

He nods and remains quiet for a moment as the two of you continue down the tracks. You were slightly hoping he'd tell you his dream was based in reality. That he did want you while awake just as much as he did while he slept. But that was a wilder dream than the one that had caused all this.

He finally speaks and looks over at you again. "I appreciate you keeping it to yourself and not making a thing out of it."

"Of course," you beam at him, "I'm a good girl, remember?"

He gives you an unamused stare in response before lightly shoving the back of your head, guiding you back towards the rest of the group. Despite his outward annoyance, you could see the fondness return to his eyes.

It only took you a few weeks to make Rick regret his leniency in regards to your jokes. You still hadn't told anyone directly about his dream which he was grateful for, but people would probably find out soon enough with all your teasing and hinting.

At first, it seemed like you truly wanted to move on from it; leave what you'd witnessed in the past and forever wonder if the dream spawned from a place of true desire or just his brain fucking with him. Things were stressful enough for everyone during that week, especially Rick. The group had nearly succumbed to dehydration one day and struggled to find shelter for the next few.

But then you all had been invited to Alexandria. You and the others had been welcomed with open arms into a slice of the old world. Everything seemed to settle down for the most part. Your people were still on edge, Rick was ready for conflict at any moment, but no longer were you constantly worried about if you'd be able to find food or water.

And with things simmering down, Rick was pretty sure you decided that it'd be ok for you to turn the heat up.

It was after a week or so of being there that the jokes started back up. You'd reference the "good girl" part of it the most, but occasionally you'd mix it up and go for a "just like this, right Rick?"

Each little remark, every time your smug smile rose on your lips, the way you pranced around the community as if you knew a dirty little secret; it all compounded, a new stone being thrown at the glass that housed Rick's resolve.

Tonight he can't sleep. Everyone else in your group is passed out, exhausted from a long day. But he's wide awake. He feels restless. He shifts around on the sofa and sighs, rubbing his eyes.

Since joining Alexandria, everyone had begun easing up about sleeping arrangements. The first week, you all piled into one house and slept around the living room as if it was one of the sheds you'd been bouncing between before. But after some time went by, people began to spread out.

Everyone had basically claimed a house as their own by now, some sharing their's with a few other group members. Rick kept the one everyone had started off in. Carl and Judith slept peacefully in bedrooms of their own upstairs while he took the couch. Even though this place seemed like a paradise, he couldn't bring himself to trust it yet. He couldn't sleep in the master bedroom that was tucked away in the back of the second floor. It was the farthest from the stairs and all the doors. He'd never forgive himself if something happened and he wasn't in the position to protect his children.

Though they weren't the only ones in the house with him now. Peering down the hallway in front of him, he could see you. Despite how much you loved acting tough and teasing, underneath you were still vulnerable, and Rick wasn't blind to how you looked to him for comfort. When you came to him in the evening and asked to stay as everyone was heading off to their own beds, he couldn't say no. You could make all the bratty jokes and innuendos in the world, and he still couldn't stomach the thought of you feeling unsafe.

You were still sleeping on the floor against the wall. As much as you had missed your bed from the prison, you found yourself not ready to transition back to a mattress again when the time came. Rick understood. It felt weird going from the hard ground where you could spring to action in seconds to a comfy bed that cradled your form and kept you drowsy and unaware. At least in your place in the hall, you slept on some chair cushions he offered you so your body wasn't bare against the hardwood.

He watches you, taking in your sleeping form amidst the quiet of the house. A thin blanket covered most of your body, but he could still admire other parts of you from a distance. He could see the precious way your fingers curled around the edge of the fuzzy material draped over you. Your face looked so soft and delicate in its completely relaxed state. Your cute, plush lips were parted ever so slightly.

As his eyes raked over you, he felt something stir within himself. Instead of hearing your gentle breathing, the sounds his mind had created as you moaning in his dream played through his head. He tries to shake them away and think of other things, but you are all his brain wants to think about. If it's not you moaning or writhing in pleasure beneath him, it's how you giggle after telling one of your stupid jokes. It's the way your eyes widen with amusement when he growls "keep it down."

And if it's not that, earlier memories flicker through his internal vision. He can still remember the day he met you like it was last week. You standing there, bloody and shaking. Your eyes wide and darting around. So different from the you he saw today.

He sits up and scratches his jaw, feeling the skin that was now smooth from his recent shave. He still couldn't tear his eyes away from you. You had rolled over now, taking some of the blanket with you. He could see slivers of your legs and the roundness of your ass peeking from below the border of the blanket. Sighing, he leans back into the couch and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He had it bad for you, and he knew it. He just didn't like thinking about that fact or being cognizant of how pathetic he could be for you. Like having a wet dream. He hadn't had one of those in well over a decade before this last time. It was ridiculous.

It wasn't so much that he thought you didn't reciprocate. You were all but a petulant schoolgirl pulling her crush's hair for attention. Rather it was just that you were quite a bit younger than him, and it made him feel like shit. He supposed it didn't matter, being the end of the world and all. Things weren't the same as they used to be. It was a miracle to find anyone you could feel this way about now. But that didn't stop guilt from tying his intestines into knots every time he imagined anything more with you.

You didn't ease that feeling by toying with him so much either. Day in and day out, you practically begged for more out loud every time he came around you. His mind swirls with all the instances of your temptation, and in this moment, he really starts to feel that his guilt is unnecessary. It would probably return in full force tomorrow, but for right now, while he thinks of all the things you put him through, he feels like he deserves a little something for his troubles.

He stands up, and finds himself walking towards the area you sleep at the end of the hall. Any other man left in this world would have staked their claim on you by now. A pretty girl flagrantly throwing herself at the object of her affection. His honor held him back, but it wasn't like this was something so serious, right? Didn't he deserve to let go once in a while?

He crouches down next to you. At first, he only stares, but soon enough his hand follows. It starts on your shoulder, rubbing in a small circle. His palm then slides up and down your side. He can feel your muscles molding to his touch. Your body recognizes your need for him even when unconscious.

He maneuvers himself closer to you, sliding behind you on the cushions so that his chest is against your back. His hand stays on your body, continuing its slow, rhythmic movements. He keeps it over your shirt at first before slipping it beneath, exploring the skin of your midriff.

You let out a little sigh and shift a bit in your sleep. You still don't wake up though. He nestles his face against the back of your neck, taking a breath of your scent. He imagines what would happen if you woke up right now. He's positive you'd be startled, but he'd bet his life you wouldn't push him away.

He'd only ever been this close to you one time before. It was a couple days after the prison fell. Like right now, it was also at night. It wasn't sensual like he was trying to make this moment though. That time you'd had a nightmare. You woke up in tears, shivering in the pitch black of the random house you were shacked up in with him and Carl. It hadn't taken any words. He knew what you needed. He held you close like right now until you'd returned to the safe embrace of sleep. Unlike his wet dream, the two of you had never spoken about that since.

Testing the waters, his fingers dip below the hem of your shorts. They glide over your hip bone, pressing a tender massage into the skin. You like that. He can tell from the way you lean into it. You roll onto your back to be closer to him.

He really goes for it now. His hand slides to the front of you to cup your sex over your panties. He positions his face in the crook of your neck and lays a few soft pecks on your throat. His digits then start to move slowly.

They caress your pussy over the soft fabric shielding it from his raw touch. But even with the thin barrier, he can tell you feel the sparks of pleasure. Your hips wiggle a little bit. Your mind can't discern what exactly the sensation is right now. All you know is that it's starting to disturb your slumber.

You whine, the tender noise garbled and half-hearted.

"Shh-shh, sweet girl," he coos in your ear.

Upon hearing his voice, he sees your eyelids twitch as if they want to open. His middle finger slots itself between your lips and strokes with more precision. He can feel slick starting to soak through the garment. You whimper again. There's still a chance this could go so wrong, but that's part of what has his blood pumping down South to his building erection.

Your thighs part, your subconscious desire shining through. He chuckles against your neck and swirls the pad of his finger over your little bud.

"There you go. Let me in, honey," he praises.

Him speaking again is what finally draws you back into the waking world. Your eyes crack open. You're confused by what's happening; the warmth to your left side, the tingling between your legs, the raspy voice in your ears.

The moment reality clicks in your head is visible to Rick. Your eyes widen, as much as they can while your lashes are still heavy with drowsiness. Your head turns to connect your gaze with him. As he expected, the situation was jarring to you but not in a way that was completely bad. His movements slow, but they don't come to a full stop.

"Rick, what are you-"

He cuts you off by leaning in and putting his lips on yours. It felt different than you'd imagined. You'd become so used to seeing him with a beard that your daydreams always had his kisses feeling scratchy. You didn't update your ideas when he'd shaven clean. There's no scratch at all now. Nothing but his lips on yours.

His heart pounds violently within his ribcage. He pulls back, ready for your final verdict. He feels your thighs squeezing around his wrist.

"What are you doing?" you ask, your voice soft and hazy like you had asked if you were still dreaming.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he responds, "I'm givin' you what you want."

"Are you sure it's not what you want?" you ask.

Of course you'd still try to tease. Even when he so clearly had the upper hand.

"Oh I'm sure. You're not a mystery, sweetheart," he says quietly. He pauses for a moment but decides to to continue. "It took me having a wet dream for you to figure out you might have a chance, but I've known you've wanted me for a long time now just from how you look at me. Like you have little hearts in your eyes."

You bite your lip, both to suppress the moan bubbling in your esophagus and out of an embarrassment at how dead on he was. His finger works at you faster, sliding around in your arousal as he nips at your earlobe.

"You may as well have written 'fuck me' across your forehead, babydoll. Would've given me the same impression," he whispers.

You whine, and god, he can't get enough of how it feels to be the one teasing. For once, he's doling out the humiliation to you. You're the one with the shame boiling in your tummy and heat melting rational thought away in your brain. Your hips start to rock against his hand.

"Was this what your dream was about?" you whimper.

"No," he answers, smiling at your whiny tone, "That night you caught me I was dreaming about you sucking me off."

The mere suggestion makes your back arch and shaky breath exit your lungs. Once you're settled on the cushions again, Rick resumes filling in the details you hadn't been privy to.

"That's what got me. You were on your knees, looking up at me with those sweet eyes, pretty mouth full of cock. You were moanin', droolin' on it. You just couldn't get enough," he recalls as if talking about a memory, "I bet you love having a dick in your mouth, don't you? Lips like those were made for it."

You mewl again before nodding weakly. "I would've done it for you if you asked."

"I'm sure you would have," he smirks.

He leans in to give you more kisses as his fingers keep playing with your pussy. You keep rolling yourself into the touches. He's guessing you're getting close from the way your pace is picking up. He pulls back for a small break to catch his breath.

"Isn't this so much more fun when you're not being such a smartass?" he teases.

You pout at him as a reply. Your bottom lip wobbles as you struggle to maintain the expression. It was hard pretending to be upset when he was giving you everything you wanted.

"Don't look at me like that," he chuckles, "You're still a sweet girl. You just need the brattiness fucked out of you sometimes."

That wipes the pout away clean. Your lips part as you let out a tiny moan.

"Good girl," he croons.

But despite his praise, only a few moments later, he retracts his hand from your panties. You whine, and your eyes look up at him with a desperate urgency. He couldn't leave you like this. It would be deserved revenge for all your antics.

"Nuh uh, none of that," he murmurs as his hand goes to push down his sweats instead, "So spoiled, and I haven't even started with you yet."

You quiet down, just relieved he's not leaving. You boost your hips to push your shorts and underwear down. He watches with satisfied eyes at your attempt to match him.

"I want you cummin' on my cock before anything else, sweet thing. Think you can do that for me?"

"Mhm," you hum softly.

Your stomach flutters and your clit throbs when his cock is finally in view. Just seeing it makes your mouth water. It's hard all for you, angry veins spanning down the shaft to the swollen head. You reach for it, but he stops you by grabbing your wrist.

"You don't get to touch it just yet. It's going inside you first. Then if you're good, I might let you play with it later," he says.

In truth, this was the first bit of action Rick was getting in a while. Under no circumstances would he give you more ammunition for jokes by blowing his load from a handjob and then not getting it back up to fuck you proper.

You kick your bottoms all the way off as he rolls on top of you. He gives himself a few strokes of preparation before swiping his tip through your folds. A groan vibrates in his chest as the feeling of the warm, sticky fluid coating him. He lines himself up and sinks in. His hands move to the back of your knees, pushing your legs up to either side of your abdomen.

"Fuck, baby. You're tight," he grunts as he works himself between your walls.

You nod simply, still adjusting to the feeling of him stretching you out. Your walls flutter around him as if happy to finally have what you'd been craving for what feels like forever. He grunts again and tightens his grip on your legs.

A little bit more, and he's all the way in. He takes a moment to just feel it, your warm, wet, cunt sucking him in, embracing him like it was made to be his.

His forehead drops to press against yours as he begins to move. He thrusts at a moderate pace, but he makes sure to strike deep every time. Both of you are taking care to be somewhat quiet since it was the dead of night, but the sensations are strong with or without the noise.

"This what you been wantin', dolly?'” he breathes as the skin of his pelvis connects with your ass.

"Yeah, been wanting it everyday," you whimper, "I was hoping you'd have another dream."

"Oh yeah?" he asks, chuckling lowly between pants, "And you'd have been ready to help me out if it happened again, right?"

"Yeah. I needed it so bad. You don't understand," you whine. One of your hands rises up and tugs on his brown curls.

That draws a growl from him and makes him fuck into you harder.

"I do understand, pretty girl. Every time you ran that cute little mouth, I wanted to bend you over, spank that sweet cunt raw and then fuck it full," he mumbles.

Your eyes screw shut at the image he puts in your head. Your arms wrap around his neck and keep him close as can be. His hips rut into you with passion you'd never felt from anyone else before.

"That's all I wanted," you whine, clamping down around his length.

"You're gonna get it right now," he says and pounds against your hips harder.

They had morning after pills here. He'd seen a few packs in the infirmary. Cumming inside you one time would be fine. That's what his lust-driven mind told him anyways. He'd make sure to get some condoms before next time, because there would be a next time.

You wrap your legs around him and squeeze. He lets out a moan himself and slides his head over to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

"Fuck, baby. You ready?" he asks.

You nod eagerly as you approach the edge yourself. You slide one hand down to your clit, giving it a few strokes to make sure you could get there with him.

His nails dig into the flesh of your hips when he cums. His jaw clenches, and he grits his teeth, using everything in him to stay quiet. And you cum seconds later. The way you pulse around him milks him dry. He spurts rope after rope of pent up release into your wanting cunt.

You tremble and whimper beneath him, your eyes unable to decide if they wanna roll back or close tight. He gently rocks his hips against you the whole time until you're both sated. Once both of your bodies are ready to give out, he pulls out of you. He drops back onto his side like he had been before and puts himself back together.

You reach down and pull your clothes back into place. He wasn't sure what was gonna happen next until you turned to look at him. Once he has a look at your expression, he can see the part of you that loves to rile him up and tease is gone right now. The vulnerable one that lurks beneath the surface has the reins right now.

You curl up to his chest. You wanna cuddle and kiss as you come down, and he gives you that. He gives it to you until you drift off to sleep again. He's not far behind you. You'd tired him out enough that he felt he could pass out too.

He scoops you up and brings you back to the couch with him, imagining this would look better than the both of you crumpled up on the floor together in a pile of disheveled blankets. Having you tucked to his side like this was all he needed right now. He'd done more than let go tonight. He was letting you in.

But those were thoughts for tomorrow. Right now, he's content to doze off with you into a dreamless sleep. There was no need for dreams now that he had the real thing in his arms.

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x you #rick grimes smut #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes x y/n #twd x reader #twd smut #twd imagine #twd x you #twd x y/n

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godslino · 5 months

Text

HARD LAUNCH | minho drabble. established relationship.

“Do you guys have french fries?”

“Minho.” you hiss, nudging his shin beneath the table.

He cocks an eyebrow before turning back to the waitress. She smiles softly, laughing at the two of you.

“We do, yes.”

“Wonderful,” Minho grins, “We’ll have a side order of those too.”

“Perfect. I’ll put that in for you guys and check back soon.” The waitress says happily, collecting the menus and scurrying off to tend to another table.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, you groan, covering your face with your hands.

“Why would you do that?”

Minho chuckles, shakes his head probably. You wouldn’t know since you can’t see him.

“Do what?”

Still using one hand to cover your eyes, you pull the other away, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. “I told you I’d be fine. Why’d you have to ask for french fries? That’s so embarrassing.”

Minho hums. Unbothered. “You know what’s worse?”

“Literally nothing.” you mumble, returning your other hand to your face. It only serves to muffle your voice more. “This is humiliating. We’re in a nice restaurant and you ordered french fries because of me. Oh God. I’m going to hide in the bathroom.”

A good choice, you think. Minho’s in god damn slacks for crying out loud. Every second that passes is another second that your pity order of french fries is probably spending in the deep fryer, right next to the lobster tail and shrimp tartar that everyone else has a mature enough palate to eat.

Before you can move to get up and make a beeline for the toilet, you feel Minho’s fingers wrap around your wrists, pulling until your hands give way to your face. You crack one eye open and then the other, his amused expression coming into view.

“What’s worse than ordering french fries is me knowing you’ll be hungry if there isn’t something familiar for you on the table.” he says pointedly, like your reason for feeling embarrassed is unnecessary. “Besides, who said I didn’t want any?”

“Min, look around,” you say, turning your head to glance at the room, “The napkins are cloth. Cloth! Nicer than my bed sheets. We can’t be seen eating french fries in a place like this. I told you I’d be—”

“—fine. Because as long as you’re here I can do anything.” Minho recites, word for word, cutting you off.

Heat rushes to your cheeks immediately, spreads like wildfire when Minho smiles and leans on to his forearms. His button up tightens over his shoulders, hugs his arms, sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“Just like how you’re doing this for me, let me do something for you.”

You and Minho have been seeing each other for four months now, but even at that, you’re still not used to his straightforwardness.

Seeing Minho has been nothing short of a dream. What started as just interacting at parties because of mutual friends eventually gave way to him asking for your number, and then hanging out separate from your friend group, until one day he plucked up the courage to ask you out. Since then, the two of you have been inseparable, always spending every free moment together. Laughing, talking, even sometimes just existing in the same space. It’s nice. So, so nice.

“Shouldn’t I be the one blushing right now?” Minho teases.

“Shut up.” you say, tearing your gaze away from him.

He laughs again before reaching out and placing a hand on top of yours. Soft. Minho is unbelievably soft.

It’s the thing you love the most about him. But more than that, more than the delicate skin of his fingers or the brush of his lips against yours, you love the softness of his eyes.

Minho is hard to crack, his emotions shrouded most of the time. Not that he wants to be, but because that’s just how he operates, or so you’ve learned.

But despite all of that, his eyes are a dead giveaway. When he’s looking at pictures of his cats, or staring at you from across the room, or right now as steaming plates of some of the finest cuisine Seoul has to offer are being placed in front of him.

“Holy shit.” he whispers, staring in awe as the waitress walks away from the table.

“Is it rude for me to take a picture? Like, would anyone get offended?”

Minho scoffs. “Babe, I would be offended if you didn’t document this right now.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pulling out your phone.

“Do I get to be in it this time?”

You look up to find Minho pouting across the table. Another thing about your relationship— nobody knows yet.

You’ve been teasing about the possibility of a boyfriend for two months now, you and Minho only having made it official about a few weeks ago. The most anyone has been able to see are carefully positioned photos where only his hand or other inconspicuous parts of him are visible.

It’s not that you don’t want people to know. It’s just hard with his job and all. Privacy reasons.

"For someone who likes to claim that people won't give me a hard time because of your fame you sure do seem eager to test that theory."

Minho smiles mischievously. “Well, yes. But I’m also waiting because I want to show you off.”

You busy yourself with opening your camera app to stop the heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah, yeah. You big flirt.”

Minho laughs but obliges, scoots back to let you get a good few pictures of the food.

Photos aren’t enough to do it justice, though. So you opt for a video, scanning the table with your camera, only the bottom half of his torso visible across the table. A silk white button up only three-fourths of the way buttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

Minho watches silently, his face unreadable. And then, at the last second, he dips his head down so fast you don’t even realize what’s happening until his face is fully in the shot, a shit-eating grin pushing his eyes into crescent moons.

“Min!” you laugh, ending the recording.

He chuckles, straightening back out. “Post it.”

“Are you insane?”

“No, but I’m going to be if you don’t post it and then eat with me.” He nudges the plate of french fries towards you. “Come on.”

“You really want me to post it? You’re sure?”

Minho smiles. Soft. “Never been more sure about anything in my life.” he says, neither of you willing to address the weight of his words.

He grabs your hand, plants a kiss on the back of your knuckles. The resulting flip of your stomach is enough to give you the courage to hit post and tuck your phone away.

Whatever happens, you’ll deal with it later. Together.

[ tags: @102598s @skzstarnet @snowyquokka @jisunglyricist @itsgghowitsgg @alician87 @skzms @meloncremesoda @palindrome969 @ilychee08 @allaboutsan @legally-lixs @astronomicallyyy @doohnut @linocz @romancerry @djeniryuu @pinkpunkdynamite @pynchkilledme @stayceebs97 @candyquokka @liknws @beeracha @feelikecinderella @caitxx1 @lilac13 @sebastianswhore13 @classiclitandmemes @hyunverse @linosazuna @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @bubbly-moon @cookiesandcreammy ]

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tojisun · 5 months

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“ghost,” price’s voice rumbles in his ear, the faint static almost breaking through his focus. there’s a familiar cadence in his captain’s voice, one that drags against simon’s body in miasmic waves—it is, after all, nothing short of a warning. still, none of it matters, and simon continues to march on.

“the mission–”

“stopped being my priority,” simon replies, cutting him off.

there was nothing but a crackle. a quiet whirring. then, “you know this is not what they would want.”

he grunts. “good thing they’re not here then.”

simon slinks into the shadows, ducking underneath the balcony, his eyes frantic as he scans the parameters. it’s safe. quiet. too quiet, in fact.

“location?”

“south of the chapel,” gaz replies with no hesitation. simon hums to himself—price must’ve shifted his directives too, then.

“roger.”

he moves, his boots crunching against the gravel and filling up the dead passage way with just enough noise. there’s still a whole lot of suspicious inactivity, one that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise up, but he doesn’t get to dwell on the thought anymore. not when a loud bang rips through the silence.

his breath stutters, mind racing—that sound came from the shed.

his legs tense, muscles rippling.

“shots fired!” he reports before he leaps, devouring the vast space between himself and the sounds of scuffling. prayers form on the tip of his tongue, racing down his throat like scalding water.

he’s not even a religious man, but dear gods–

simon passes around the chapel, eyes cataloguing the lit rooms inside what he was told to be a desolate building, before tearing through the wooded shed. he knows he should’ve searched the area for any threat, should’ve probably waited for backup, but simon’s been running on overdrive, his emotions piling. spilling.

he tears the door open, guns poised for easy aim. only–

simon’s body buckles, throat constricting with the words he wishes he can say. but there is nothing else to be said. nothing but thank you’s.

because there, standing in the middle of the chaos, bloody and wounded and banged up to hell, is you. you weren’t even taken for that long but look how much they did to you. they hurt you.

your feet are soaked with blood, your boots and socks having been stripped off of you as though a part of their attempts at making you incapable of leaving. your face is swollen. marked up. cuts trace from the angle of your jaw to the side of your temple, leaving blood to trickle down to your neck, staining your tee. the gash doesn’t look deep, but maybe that’s all the blood covering the actual extents.

simon forces himself to breathe. to stay still.

(everyone has their own triggers, that’s what they were first told when laswell brought you to them.

“remember theirs and be careful,” she said before a pleased smile tugged at her lips. “mommy’s bringing home a new littermate. aren’t you all glad?”

the meeting ended there, just as johnny opened his mouth to complain. price passed around your file and simon memorized every line that night—your tell, your preferred gun, your morning beat.

somehow, he thinks that maybe that night was when his devotion to you started.)

simon watches—he’s always been watching you since the day that you arrived—as you compose yourself. the m9 is still gripped so tightly in your trembling fist, the metal quietly creaking at the pressure. it fills up the space in tandem with your ragged breaths, and he knows you’re still there, trapped in the depths of your mind.

alone. angry. scared.

“status?” price asks.

simon licks his lips. “unstable.”

he hears the faint crackle of johnny cursing from the other end of the line, and simon gets him. he really does. but he thinks they also just don’t understand.

you’re here. alone. alive.

your spiral is just proof of that. proof that even in your loneliness, amidst the pain, you clawed your way to survival.

simon hopes you two were back home—the barracks have been home for years now—so he can reward you. sweetly. fully. you deserve all that and more. deserve to be devoted on. to be adored. to be revered.

you were always beautiful, of course, but there is something sacred in seeing you like this: bloodied, angered, victorious.

he prays that your wounds will turn to scars, if only to give him a map of where to press his kisses from now on.

“ghost?” you finally mutter, and it tears simon from his thoughts. your voice is a weak rasp, like you’ve been parched for eons, and despite that, it spills the tension from simon’s body, his muscles loosening up at finally seeing you return to the topside.

he wants to say your name. he wants to sound it out—aren’t names made to be chanted like prayers, anyway?—but he reels himself in and mutters your callsign instead. the name tumbles from his mouth with the desperation and the worry smothered under the guise of grace.

your lips twitch up in an attempt at a smile. they don’t really get to make it much because of the gash running down the corner of your mouth. still, it makes simon stumble over his feet until he is rushing past corpses and sliding into your space.

“can i–”

he doesn’t even get to finish asking before you’re falling into his arms, tucking in your bruised face carefully on the crook of his neck. he takes your bulk in his embrace, folding you to himself, before he rests his chin on the top of your head.

you fist at his vest, your other hand still tight on the m9, and simon can’t really blame you. even he still feels exposed to any danger from in and out of this shed even when you’ve taken out all of the enemies. so he holds you close and holds you tight, knowing every second is sacred.

he breathes you in, taking in the scent of the leather, gun powder, and iron. it all feels familiar to him; it all smells like you.

simon nuzzles the smooth part of his mask over your temple. then, “let’s go home?”

you shift until you’re peering up at him, and simon takes this as the chance to catalogue the extent of your wounds. his lips purse at finally seeing the gash; you would probably need stitches.

“okay,” you finally reply. your eyes wrinkle as you attempt to smile. “thanks for comin’ back f’r me.”

“always,” simon murmurs, feeling choked up as his exhaustion finally catches up on him. “y’know that, right?”

you hum, nodding, and that was that.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod x reader #cw guns #cw violence #suns #sooooo idk where this came from or why i even wrote it but ALAS

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miserycanary · 6 months

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MY HELL FOR YOUR LOVE ᡣ𐭩

♡⃛ ‘A Fixed Heart in Your Hand' alternative ending

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: alternative ending because I feel bad for hurting y'all

tags: hurt/COMFORT, fluff

"Sir? Sir!”

Ghost flinches as he realizes he’s been spacing out, the florist now looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you going to buy something or not?” she snaps, motioning at the display of bouquets. “Uh, yeah. Give me something with hyacinth and baby breaths,” he mutters, handing her a 100 bill. “Hyacinth? Never thought I’d see a day where a man knows a different flower aside from roses, tulips, and sunflowers,” the vendor chuckles, arranging the flowers neatly and covering them with a brown printed paper tied with a twine. “Ah,… if I know something, it’s about her.” The florist smiles, handing Ghost the bouquet and his change while saying, “Well, I can see that you love her dearly.” With a soft smirk, he replies, “That I do.”

You’ve always had a love for flowers. Going as far as to even beg him to make you a flower bed. Ghost didn’t like doing physical labor with him already getting beat from training at the base, yet when you flashed him that smile (and gave a toe-curling blowjob), how could he refuse? Since then, flowers as gifts have been rare between you two. Instances where he’d give you one are when you’re on a terrible period day or during milestones (the flowers coming from the patch he secretly planted months before).

It’s been two days since you’ve left the apartment, staying at your friend’s house, but Ghost insists on having you keep some of your stuff in the unit because, “well, you technically have ownership of the place since we shared the payment for this month.” It was a poor excuse, really, but it worked. Ghost knows you well enough to know that you haven’t broken up with him despite what you said. Leaving and staying somewhere else is something you do when you’re hurt and need space, and he knows that deep inside, you’re waiting for him.

Don’t get him wrong. He doesn’t think you’re “easy to get” and he did really regret everything. The last 2 nights without you knocked some sense into him. The night felt colder, somber, and… lonely. Something he thought he would never complain about. I mean, this man has been through worse situations and he prefers solitude, but not if it’s solitude without you. You’re the one thing he can’t live without.

He has sent you multiple voicemails, messages, and even money as an apology. He’d always drop off by your friend’s place with some poorly attempted home-cooked meal of your favorite dishes. Sometimes he’d be able to steal a glance at you when he saw you coming up to the unit right before he arrived, sending flutters to his heart and butterflies in his stomach like a high school boy with a crush.

Now he stands by the door, hoping he’d leave the place with you in his arms, and him in your heart again. Three knocks (you always say less or more than that are for psychopaths) and a call of your name. Simon couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard your familiar cry, probably from rushing and stumbling. The wooden door cracked open, and the adrenaline that rushed through his nerves just from seeing you again could knock the man dead. He couldn’t even say anything except literally melt and give you the warmest smile. “Hi,” he softly greets, pulling the bouquet out of the paperbag and handing it to you with another gift. It was a charm... a tree bark with your initials engraved. You chuckle, pulling out the letter sticking out.

One thing you learned about your Simon was that he’s not entirely good at conveying his feelings. I mean, that’s literally the reason for this fight. Yet he got out of his comfort zone, wrote you a fucking letter.

You look at him, tears in your eyes before jumping into his arms.

“I fucking missed you, pretty girl,” he mutters, holding you up by your ass and pressing a deep kiss on your lips. God, you taste like heaven; you taste like salvation. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pushes you closer, afraid you’ll slip from his fingers again.

From that day on, Simon learned one thing. That he would rather go through the depths of hell (talk about his feelings) than go through a day without your love.

| The letter:

‘To my darling flower, I’m sorry for even hurting you. I’m sorry I was a shit-ass about how I processed my emotions and got you involved. You’ve always told me that you’re there for me but I didn’t want to burden you. I always want you to be happy but my actions just did the opposite. I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything that day. That I didn’t even ask you to stay. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry that I let you go.

With this letter, I ask for your forgiveness and for you to have me back. I will be better because I cannot afford to lose you for you have my heart and soul. You are my whole life. You are the thing that makes surviving each day worth it.’

꒰ა ☆ ໒: Now you guys know why Ghost calls Y/N ‘flower’. This the comfort alternative ending because it was also requested. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist: @softestqueeen

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

#simon ghost x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley cod #simon riley call of duty #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #ghost riley #simon riley #canary’s symphonies #canary’s melodies

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angelbarelywrites · 6 months

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♡ slashers scenarios | sharing a bed

♡ fandoms; The Boy, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; very suggestive content, implied smut

♡note; swapped out billy in this one bc i can’t imagine him sharing a bed with someone and not getting literally pornographic

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire

> Once he decides he wants to share the bed, he finds the biggest guest room bed and brings all of the comfiest pillows and blankets he can to make it perfect

> For you more than him, but he doesn’t feel too hurt when you push half of them to the foot of the bed

> It was a lot even for a king bed

> You’re reluctant at first, not used to sharing a bed

> But you find he’s very hard to say no to once you’re in that deep

> He tries to give you space, but it’s not long before he’s wrapped around you, clinging for dear life

> And he almost immediately falls asleep like that, head tucked into your chest

> You sigh and try and relax, petting his hair

> And you fall asleep with your hand still tangled in his black locks, holding him close to you

> You wake up to him nuzzling your neck and practically whining

> “Baby…wake up…”

> You’d ask him what the problem was…if you couldn’t feel it against your leg

> You spend most of the morning still in bed, lazily fixing his predicament

Micheal Myers

> He doesn’t get why you want him to do this

> You know he doesn’t cuddle

> You know he usually gets restless and wanders at night

> But there’s no reason to say no, and even he can’t stand how sad your pout is

> You hum and stretch, tucking yourself in and look at him expectantly

> He takes off his boots and lays on top of the covers beside you, stiff as a board

> You have to coax him to even take the mask off, but he still won’t relax

> You quickly realize he’s used to high security psych ward bunks, not big comfy queen beds full of stuffed animals

> “…do you…wanna sleep on the floor?”

> He pauses.

> Shakes his head and closes his eyes.

> After you finally fall sleep, he sits up, intending on leaving

> But you look so peaceful…he can’t help to stay and watch you. Just for a little while.

> When he touches your cheek, you press into his hand. Maybe a while longer.

> When you wake up he’s still staring at you, hand long gone from your cheek

> But once you blink awake, it creeps somewhere else..

Thomas Hewitt

> He’s almost nervous of the idea

> Y’all are certainly intimate with each other - just as intimate as you would be if you were married like his mama was planning

> But what if the family noticed you were in there? He’d kill Hoyt for calling you anything nasty-

> When he sees you in skimpy PJs, he immediately forgets his worries

> He has a huge bed because he’s a huge guy, so when you curl up in it alone, it’s almost comical

> He’s staring at you as he climbs in after you, cautiously removing his mask

> His shoulders relax a little when you smile up at him, still so amazed you can stand to look at him

>“Hold me?”

> He grunts and takes no time in pulling you flush, spooning you. He’s more relaxed than he’s been in a while, sure he’ll fall asleep in no time

> Until you give a tiny sigh and shift your hips, innocently adjusting

> It doesn’t take much for you to set him off- he’s touch starved and obsessed with you.

> Along with feeling him against your ass, you can literally hear his breathing change.

> “…Tommy baby? Want me to take care of that?”

> It takes another two hours before you fall asleep, both sticky with sweat and sated, your head laying on his broad chest.

Bubba Sawyer

> He’s so happy to have a sleepover- even if you live right down the hall in the same house (I cannot imagine you dating him and being allowed to leave the farm tbh)

> He gives you an updated tour of his room- he’s very happy to show you the collection of polaroids of you he hung up.

> You were wondering where those went

> Finally he drops you on the bed, giggling quietly

> It’s old but comfy, and he has plenty of stolen pillows and blankets, and even some stuffed bears

> He strips right on down to his heart boxers, leaving his mask on for last

> He takes it off slowly, giving you that shy look he always does

> You grin and open your arms and he’s more than happy to scoop you up with a coo.

> By the time you’re settled, you’re curled around his back

> He loves being the little spoon, even if he’s a big brute

> When you wake up he’s bursting back into the room with some slightly burnt toast for breakfast

> It’s a sudden wake up call, but a welcome one

> And you repay him in tons of kisses, all over

Vincent Sinclair

> Like some of the others he’s hesitant

> But you want him to relax, he’s been working so hard- so you take him away from the studio, and into your room

> You’re not even letting him so much as sketch until he sleeps

> He tilts his head and is almost pouting, trying to guilt you - even more so once you help him remove his wax

> Until you coax him into his stomach so you can massage his back, that is

> You’re clumsy and certainly not a professional, but your hands on him is enough to melt away the stress

> He suddenly rolls over and grabs your hips as he hears you yawn

> It’s your turn to pout down at him

> But eventually you relent and let him cradle you close to his chest as he hums a nonsense lullaby

> You keep him trapped in bed the next morning as revenge, again straddling him before he can get up to leave

> But this time, you’re most certainly not yawning

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cu7ie · 1 year

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ა˚₊﹕take your time. ⊹

cw: virgin reader, gn!reader, don't even ask me what dimension this miguel is from. miguel being a good partner, unintentional teasing, reader is just shy! an: first miguel fic! woo!!! totally dedicated to @buttress atp

You still can't look at him.

You've been dating Miguel for months at this point. You're not moved in together (yet), but see each other as often as possible, spending nights in his apartment, folded under his arm and leg tucked between his.

He's very familiar with you, perhaps more so than you are him. Knows what you look like when you're positively elated, seen those so hard smiles that afterward you're complaining your cheeks hurt.

He's seen utter devastation, too. You'd mourned the loss of your dear departed cat in his arms, sobbing and snotty and cloyingly tender. Must've cried all the water out of your body that day, soaked the whole front of his shirt (the one time he chose to wear white) before dying off into the most pitiful whine. You'd grown too small to support yourself.

So he helped. Reassured you gently with the strokes of his hand along your back, getting you water, making sure you ate, spending the night at your house …

And you two have been dating for a while now. You've seen his highs and lows too.

Hardly this kind of low though.

He's seen you naked before. Not enough for this lifetime, but definitely on more than one occasion.

You're still so bashful.

When he joins you in the shower you can barely meet his eye, washing the front of his chest tentatively while he gently massages shampoo into your hair.

You get flustered when he catches you changing, covering your chest with your shorts and risking a friction burn with how fast you force your jeans past your thighs.

Your affections usually stop at kissing. It's clear to him you're interested, but you always seem unsure to start. You're a little self conscious, nervous about the space between you two - and right when it starts feeling better than just good, you pull away.

It's kind of like edging, bordering on torture, but Miguel knows how to be patient.

Eventually, you come back to him.

Before he found himself two fingers deep in you, you had ask him to fuck you once before.

Almost verbatim.

"Fuck me."

and, regardless of the fact that his cock jumps a little as you whisper it so close to his lips,

It sounds so strange falling from your lips like that. Abrupt and sudden like a clap of thunder in the dead of night, and his eyebrows shoot up - as quick as residual lightning.

Maybe the look on his face was what faltered you. The way his pupils constrict then dilate like he's really looking at you, into your depth, and probing for your intention with a breathy, "You sure?"

And you nod, a little slow.

"Y-yeah. Certain." Miguel arches his brow skeptically, lips quirking into a half-smirk as he turns his body to face you, his head leaning to the side as he looks you up and down slow enough to make you second guess. "Of course, Cariño - as you wish." And admittedly he's a little cruel, enjoys the way you curl in on yourself, imagines the heat burrowing into the apples of your cheeks, watching your breath catch in your chest as you stare him down. The moment lingers.

"Show me then." He props his arm onto the couch as his posture relaxes, his expression no greater than his polite smile, which still feels goading, in a way. "Show me how badly you want me to fuck you."

He knows right away you got a little too facey. You're a shih tzu glaring down a rottweiler and you've forgotten how to bark. It always gets caught up in you, desire tangled up in a net of worry, doubt. Can see it in your eyes, the way your lip dips down before you tuck it beneath a tooth, the aura of your gaze becoming more shadowed, more sensual.

"I'll… I'll show you."

"Mhm. 'Course you will."

Your finger hops up a little. You don't know where to put your hands so his thighs serve as a placeholder as you push yourself into his lap, the supple flesh of your lips meeting his, and,

ooh, his chapstick is lemon flavored.

Your kiss is so dear to him. It's dainty, lightens his heart because you're too shy for tongue kisses at first.

Or maybe you just don't know how. Still,

You slowly build yourself up to it that night.

Cautiously, your mouth parts a little more, ushered into a new sensation as your tongue maps out the roof of his mouth, the ridges of his teeth, slowly feeling him rise to the occasion, raising your chin and humming pleasantly into your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut, your arms coming up to wrap around the back of a pleasantly surprised Miguel's neck, and he moves to settle you in his lap.

Miguel's skin feels smooth to the touch.

He’s moved you to the bedroom, urged you to wrap your legs around his hips as he took the liberty of digging his fingers into your soft ass, irritatingly thin shorts keeping him from getting to feel you for real. You're convincing him well enough so far, your skin rippling hot wrought iron left in the sun, and the burn on his skin is delicious - so when he's ready to eat,

When he's spreading you out on the bed and has your shorts around your thighs,

He notices you're not looking. Your breaths are shaky and fast, eyes welded shut, cheek turned and smushing into your pillow. You're still apart from the light tremble in your thighs, your legs dangling over the side of the bed as he adjusts his position on his knees, face partially curtained by your thighs as his arms curl up under them to tug your sex closer to his waiting lips.

"Ay." He gives your leg a healthy shake, jolting you out of your stupor. "Still want me to fuck you?" There's amusement bleeding into him again, but his eye is measured, patient. You blink an eye open, look down at him, his head between your legs,

The predatory, slow lick of his lips makes your hair stand on end, and you buck up, propping yourself up on shaky elbows. “Miguel…”

“Hm?” He breathes so close to you that blood doesn’t know where to rush, to your head or between your legs. The dull throb of arousal that lances through you excites and terrifies, a nervous whine wheedling its way from between your lips, makes MIguel stop again. He feels your knees shake a little, still only one eye open.

On the inside, budding frustration. There are two wolves - the desire to be cool, calm, and reassuring clashes with its twin, the overwhelming desire to have what he wants and do as he pleases. He sighs, and represses the second urge.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” You breathe in good for once, a relieved sigh as he pulls your underwear back up and pats your thigh, maintaining a pleasant expression while on the inside the mourns what should have been, imagines the feeling of you stretched around his cock - the tightness of your warmth, fucking in and out of you and hearing you squeal as he rolls his hips, adjusts his pace.

Tucks his fantasy away till it's only remnant is the hard-on he's trying to will away as you beckon him to join you under the sheets.

But he’s patient above all. Joins you on the bed and holds you close, burrowing his head into your shoulder as your wrap your arms around his back,

And he leaves it alone.

'Could blue balls kill a man?'

He's not proud of his Google search history -

But it's been a couple weeks since he managed to get that far with you, and his hand hasn't been cutting it for a while now. And Miguel can sure as hell pretend he's not feeling as carnal as he is - that the chip on his shoulder is his increasing responsibility at Alchemax, the diminishing of his free time, lack of sleep …

But he feels no rage more potent than after he's came into his hand for the 5th time in two days, holding a shirt or a pair of your underwear up to his nose and huffing like it's paint. He's never been a junkie, but sometimes he's shaking he's so mad, that there's not more of you, enough of you, none of the soft, real parts of you.

And it's not your fault. You'll be ready when you're ready, and he just has to accept he might not make it to see that day.

But fast forward to right before bed that night. Yellow lampshade that turns the warm light dim, moonlight pressing through murky clouds and filtering into the window above the bed you two share.

You still take showers together, but now you linger behind to wash properly while he settles into his normal routine, playing with his balls and turning his head into your pillow.

He sighs to the sound of the creaking door, dripping water falling softly to the floor as you, towel wrapped around your naked body, step closer toward the bed.

You move from the front of the room, to the foot of the bed, til you're hovering over his side of the bed, this look in your eye like you've made up your mind about something. "What?" He flicks his head up, drowsy but not yet asleep.

"I think m'ready." Miguel blinks the tired out of his eyes and looks up, confused.

"What? Whaddaya mean you're ready?"

"I mean," the towel falls, and he sees your bare body - your skin still dewy from your shower, glistening in the light. "I'm ready to fuck you. For real this time."

"Oh? So you're fucking me now?" He sizes you up a second, before you're crawling over him, straddling his hips as your bare intimates are flush against his groin, your butt pressing softly into his cock as he gets a half chub, not wanting to fully commit yet, but you're not letting up …

And that's how he got here. Two crooked fingers deep, up to the second knuckle, scissoring your hole open and hearing all these new noises - ones he's never had the chance to hear until now. You're accepting of his touch, but seem unwilling to fully express how bad he's got you - your wrist folded over your mouth, every moan sludging itself in your throat because you won't let it be free. You won't let him hear it.

Your back’s on the bed and he’s laying on his side next to you, over top of you, and he has the perfect view of your cute face and ditzy expression, your eyes pinched shut as you mutter something behind your hand, cut short as he curves his finger inside. “Miguel!”

“What is it querido? I’m a little busy here…” Two fingers deep and you’re not as resistant as he’s expecting, so he feeds you a third promptly and it does not go unmissed how you clamp down on him tighter, your shuddering groan so lewd it almost beats the rational thought of preparing you out of his head.

The only thing keeping him from mounting you then and there is your inexperience. Laid bare for him in this moment, he rubs his erection against your side brazenly, distinctly unashamed with letting you know how badly he wants you.

“Have you been touching yourself, carino? You’ve been preparing yourself for me?” You inhale shakily, and Miguel slows his pace so you don't have an excuse, any reason to not answer. You're so adorable when you're embarrassed. A little wetness in your eye, and usually you get all pouty like you might cry,

But he's doing something alien to you, pressing up into your sensitive walls, eliciting a brand new reaction he's sure he quite likes.

You sniffle and answer slow. "A little… I was j-just practicing!" Your voice pitches up again, and instead of making his way further in, or adding a fourth finger, he stops.

So abruptly you whine, arch your back in irritation and only then do you look at him, see the shadows that have settled over his face,

and isn't he feeling a might slick, having reduced you to jerking limbs and whimpering and moaning in what felt like a few minutes, though he doesn't have it in him to feel smug.

Just hungry.

"...Miguel." Barely a whisper. Only because it's you does he hear it. "Be gentle with me, please."

"Yeah." The single syllable is drawn out, curving into a growl, husky and deep unlike any noise a man ought to make. "Right. Gentle."

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderverse smut #miguel o'hara smut #across the spiderverse #miguel spiderverse #atsv x reader #🌩️ L1GHTN1NG_STRIKE5.pdf

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jesslovesboats · 2 months

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Hello friends, I am back with more reading recommendations for your agonies! Next up we have the long awaited and much requested Sad Boat Fiction list. As with all of my lists, this is NOT exhaustive and there WILL be great books left off, and also you may or may not like these books! I only rec things that I've personally enjoyed or that come highly recommended by trusted friends, but taste in books is incredibly subjective, especially with fiction. If I missed your favorite, please add it in the comments or drop it in my DMs!

Now that I'm feeling more settled in my new job, I will hopefully have a lot more time to make book lists and do more virtual Readers' Advisory. I have lists in the works for women in polar exploration and companion reads for the HBO War series, but if there's something else you would love to see, please send me a message!

Classics of the Genre

At the Mountains of Madness by H.P. Lovecraft

The Terror by Dan Simmons

Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Dark Matter by Michelle Paver

Media Tie-Ins

Who Goes There? (Filmed as The Thing) by John W. Campbell, Jr.

The North Water by Ian McGuire

Cold Skin by Alfred Sánchez Piñol

The Terror by Dan Simmons

Graphic Novels

Whiteout by Greg Rucka

How to Survive in the North by Luke Healy

The Worst Journey in the World- The Graphic Novel Volume 1: Making Our Easting Down adapted by Sarah Airriess from the book by Apsley Cherry-Garrard*

*this is only fiction in the broadest possible sense of the term, but there is a shiny new American version of this book coming out with a gorgeous new cover and you should pre-order it immediately

Science Fiction

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin

Antarctica by Kim Stanley Robinson

Romance

Under a Pole Star by Stef Penney

The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley

My Last Continent by Midge Raymond

Inspired by the Terra Nova Expedition

The Worst Journey in the World- The Graphic Novel Volume 1: Making Our Easting Down adapted by Sarah Airriess from the book by Apsley Cherry-Garrard*

The Birthday Boys by Beryl Bainbridge

Terra Nova: A Play by Ted Tally

Antarctic Navigation by Elizabeth Arthur

*this is only fiction in the broadest possible sense of the term, but there is a shiny new American version of this book coming out with a gorgeous new cover and you should pre-order it immediately

Inspired by the Franklin Expedition

The Rifles by William T. Vollmann

Minds of Winter by Ed O'Loughlin

Solomon Gursky Was Here by Mordecai Richler

On the Proper Use of Stars by Dominique Fortier

Literary Fiction

The Voyage of the Narwhal by Andrea Barrett

Migrations by Charlotte McConaghy

We, The Drowned by Carsten Jensen

Inspired by the Classics

The Route of Ice and Salt by José Luis Zárate

Ahab's Wife by Sena Jeter Naslund

Modern Day Antarctica

How the Penguins Saved Veronica by Hazel Prior

South Pole Station by Ashley Shelby

Where'd You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple

Polar and Nautical Horror

Where the Dead Wait by Ally Wilkes

Dark Matter by Michelle Paver

Cold Earth by Sarah Moss

The Deep by Nick Cutter

All the White Spaces by Ally Wilkes

Dark Water by Elizabeth Lowry

The Deep by Alma Katsu

Happy reading!

#reader's advisory #sad boat #sad boat books #sad boat fiction #polar exploration #nautical history #read this

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jamilynfx · 19 days

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Stuck Again

Summary: You're stuck between your boyfriends in what seems to be the hottest night of the year.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Inspired by this post made by @dorkszn 💖

Warnings: implied sexual content, mentions of stabbing and biting, FLUFF ALL OVER

Part 2

It’s hot.

You don’t mean the usual, July kind of hot in New York when everything seems to melt like a neglected ice-cream cone. You also don’t mean yourself or your companions, even though they have a lot of hot qualities going on.

It’s the place that you’ve found yourself in, or, more accurately, a nest that one of your boyfriends insists on creating each night, no matter the high temperatures outside. With the AC unit barely working and a half-damaged fan, which was almost destroyed on purpose by Logan during one of his daily fights with Wade, tonight’s heat is unbearable.

And it’s not that you don’t like being warm. You’re more of a summer girl, enjoying extreme heat and the sun kissing your skin, your wardrobe full of dresses and skirts to catch a light breeze when outside, always the first one on a lounge chair to sunbathe and bask in the heavenly white heat of long, summer days. Your worst nightmare is deep winter, with agonizingly cold temperatures and activities like ice-skating or building a snowman, hands half-frozen and teeth clattering uncontrollably.

But tonight?

Tonight everything is too much, even for you. The heat is overwhelming and unpleasant, surrounding you from every possible angle.

The fan sounds as if it’s its last night on earth, definitely working overtime and below its paygrade. You can’t see Mary but her light snores fill the room accompanying Logan’s casual growling, deep and insistent in your ear. Wade is silent for once, his breath steadily brushing the skin of your upper arm and neck, the constant sleep talking temporarily simmered down.

It’s your usual sleep arrangement, Logan comfortably situated behind you, your naked back flush with his bare chest, his arms hooped around your belly and mid-section like a vine, his large hands on your waist, leaving you literally no space to move or escape without waking him up. Wade is glued to the front of your body, your legs tangled together like roots of a crazy tree, your head resting on his shoulder with your face hidden in the crook of his neck, and Wade’s other arm slung over you and Logan, to have you both within an arm’s reach.

Logan isn’t a fan of Wade stealing you all for himself, especially if he does it in that obnoxious, you won’t do shit about it, peanut way, which causes low, unamused grumbling on better days and scratching or outright stabbing Wade on not so good ones. It’s more of expressing difficult feelings through violence than real hatred but Logan wouldn’t be caught dead saying out loud that he secretly enjoys when Wade hugs you both the way he’s doing it now.

Sure, there are nights where Wade is the one to squish you from behind like a sponge but, most of the time, he prefers to be in front, chest to chest or tits to tits,if you were to quote the man himself, leaving your behind to Logan’s exclusive use. Too bad Wade ain’t ever really tits to tits, it’s more of his head resting on your shoulder or right between your cleavage, which dangerously overlaps with him drooling all over your breasts every other time. It isn’t that unpleasant but you fake-complain in the mornings when it happens, just to see Wade be slightly embarrassed for once. Your legs always end up entangled, little Mary resting somewhere in between the three of you.

And while having two private heaters is heavenly during the cold, winter months of the year, now it seems to be a not-so-funny joke. Both Wade and Logan love to sleep naked or with just one item of clothing on them, Wade sometimes choosing to sleep only in Logan’s t-shirt. Yes, it doesn’t cover anything, and on days like this you’re grateful that Al is actually blind. Sleeping naked isn’t a downside per se, but now it makes you feel oven-hot, the heat that radiates from everyone suddenly too overwhelming to enjoy it.

To make matters worse, you’re sticky. Sticky with multiple layers of sweat, droplets of it actively trickling down your side and back, your hair plastered all over your neck and forehead making you even hotter, especially with Logan’s beard buried in the crook of your neck. The place where Wade’s arm rests on yours is soaking wet, little beads of sweat running down to drip, drip, drip right onto your hip and sheets. On the top of it all, you’re sticky like that, too, a mixture of bodily fluids splashed all over your thighs, lower belly, and chest, a rather messy testament to your before-bedtime activities, which made you delirious with pleasure and forced you to fall asleep right after Logan’s hushed ‘night, princess.

You’re stuck.

You try to focus on falling back to sleep but it doesn’t work. There’s no way you’re not going to wake up Logan if you start moving but you can’t stay like that, feeling like a lobster being thrown into boiling water. The final straw is Mary, who changes her position mid-sleep and covers your feet with her little body, making your temperature skyrocket.

You grunt, wiggling carefully to free yourself of Logan’s arms. Wade is still asleep when he slightly turns away from you both, leaving you a bit shocked that he dressed into his Hello Kitty boxers for once.

You’re in the middle of sliding down Logan’s chest, his arms level with your tits, when Logan’s hoarse voice makes you stop all your abrupt movements.

“What is it that you’re doing, bub?”

Fuck.

“It’s too hot in here. I need out,” you whisper quickly, your hands coming to rest on his huge arms. You’d think he’d let you go but it’s not that easy. Logan slightly loosens his grip on you, only to slide you back up and hide his face in your sweaty hair. You manage to twist your body towards his face. “I’m serious, Lo. I need a cold shower, right now.”

The urgency in your tone gets his attention. He lets you go with an unhappy growl that makes Mary perk up.

“Want me to go wit’ ya?”

You kiss him on the lips, just a little peck but that seems to do the trick.

“No, I’ll be quick. Sorry about waking you up.”

His only answer is another low growl but the crease between Logan’s brows straightens, then completely disappears, right when you’re kissing Wade’s sweaty forehead.

Your visit to the bathroom is quick but Mary follows you anyway. She sits right in front of the shower curtain, yawning a total of six times before you finish showering. The water is cold on your skin, a bit of a shock after being surrounded with extreme warmth, all stickiness and hotness going down the drain in a matter of minutes. Dry and ready to go, you pick the dog up with one hand, placing her under your left arm.

“Look at you, standing guard and all,” you whisper words of praise as you go back into your small, stuffy room, Mary wagging her tail happily.

Ten minutes are enough for Wade to force himself into Logan’s personal space, now that you’re not their buffer. His hello kitty cladded hips are perfectly aligned with Logan’s naked ones, his hand fondling Logan’s tits, his face halfway in Logan’s hair.

“Come quick, baby girl, and save me,” squeaks Wade when you put Mary down on the edge of the bed. That’s when you see it, Logan’s teeth buried in Wade’s arm, the same one which Wade used to feel Logan up. It’s nothing serious if there’s no blood, so you lie down in between them, forcing Logan to let go of Wade’s flesh.

“Gods’sake, behave, both of you.”

You put your head on Wade’s chest, finding your way back into a comfortable position, Logan’s hands immediately on your hips. Wade makes a big stretch, “accidentally” extending his arm to embrace you both.

“Thought he’d bite it off but I’m safe when you’re here.”

Logan buries his nose in your neck, growling lowly behind your ear, probably something about slicing Wade’s arm off, but it’s too incoherent to know for sure. He doesn’t move away from Wade’s embrace, though, which is enough for you to smile happily, watching as Mary finds her spot in between Logan’s feet.

Stuck again.

Exactly the way it should be.

#deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #poolverine x reader #deadpool x wolverine x reader #deadpool 3 #wade wilson x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wade wilson x you #dorkszn #writing #mine

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ange1heavensent · 1 month

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In the Dead of Night

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Pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

w/c ≈ 790

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Natasha was startled awake, another nightmare. She sat up against the headboard, leaning her head against it, trying to regain her composure. After some deep breaths and scanning of her surroundings she came to the conclusion that she was safe, in your shared apartment, with your sleeping form right beside her. Natasha also knew that sleep would not come easy for her at this moment, still on high alert and she needed to calm herself down.

So, Natasha did what she usually does after a nightmare. She carefully climbed out of bed, doing her best to not wake you, because honestly it would do more bad than good for her right now. If you were to wake, you would be adamant about her getting back in bed and laying down in your arms. Something she normally loved, there was no place better on earth than being wrapped in your arms, but right now she just needed to be alone.

Natasha walked out of your bedroom and into your kitchen, the routine used to consist of her making coffee and then to sit down to think and breathe. Nowadays, rather than to make a cup of coffee, Natasha made a cup of chamomile tea. You were aware of Natasha’s little night time routine, after questioning her about the cold half-full coffee pot you would find in the mornings, and you suggested that a caffeinated beverage may not be the best for a good night's sleep. So, now Natasha’s night time beverage has changed to tea.

The apartment was dark, except for the warm kitchen illuminating the small space. It wasn’t fully quiet either, traffic and the last people making their way home after a rather successful night out could be heard. The noise from the streets of the city that never sleeps, had a calming effect on her, while she was sitting by your kitchen table. The cup of tea was now empty and her thoughts were at bay. She was ready to go back to sleep.

The empty cup was left in the kitchen-sink, but instead of making her way back to your bed, to you, she decided to lay herself on the couch. She took your decorative pillows and propped them up on one side of the couch and wrapped herself in your blanket which rested on the couch arm. The outside noise lulled her to sleep immediately.

You woke up to a twilight sky, you weren’t supposed to wake up at this early hour, but your unconscious felt that something was out of place. You turned towards Natasha’s side of the bed to discover that it was empty. You scanned the room, the en suite bathroom light was off, the covers next to you felt cold and the bedroom door was slightly ajar. You decided to investigate her disappearance. Stepping out of your bedroom, you found the sight to be endearing, Natasha sleeping on the couch, blanket pulled all the way up towards her neck, she seemed to be at peace.

What you decided to do was selfish, but you couldn’t suppress your need to have her close. You slowly and carefully made your way towards her, lifting the blanket from her hold and meticulously climbing in. You laid on top of her, she stirred a little from your movement, but it did not wake her. Your head was placed on her chest, her heartbeat, her warmth and soft snoring, washed a sense of calm over you. Nat would ever admit that she snored, not even a little bit, but she did and you found it adorable. Your eyes fluttered closed in no time.

When Natasha woke up a second time, due to the early morning sunrays seeping through your living room windows, she felt fully rested. She could also feel the extra weight on top of her, but it never worried her, she knew it was you. The warmth, the smell and soft hold you had around her brought her peace, she never wanted to interrupt this type of peace and luckily for her she didn’t have to, at least not today. It was Saturday and neither of you had anything planned. The two of you could stay like this all day and you probably would. She buried her fingers in your hair lightly scratching your scalp, she felt your stir, then slightly stretch and yawn. “Good morning sleepyhead” she said softly, her raspy morning voice and comment, making you bury your head deeper into her chest. A smile spread onto Natasha’s face when she heard your mumbled “good morning Nat” against her chest.

The two of you would definitely stay like this for the rest of the day.

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff x you #marvel fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff fluff #marvel #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow x fem reader #black widow x female reader #natasha x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x fem reader #black widow fluff #ange1heavensent

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auroralwriting · 3 months

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clean 1

tfatws! bucky barnes x stark! reader (no use of y/n)

after the fight with john walker, you can tell bucky's arm was bothering him. so, you make a trip to see him.

word count: 1.6k | warnings: strong language, multiple parts, part two

Your suit was practically scarp metal after the fight with John Walker. He had tried his hardest to absolutely obliterate your suit. Thankfully, Tony had done a great job of designing it. With a few hours of repairs, it would be good as new.

The one thing you worried about was Bucky's arm, specifically the metal one. You saw how Walker had thrown Bucky across the room into wiring, causing it to shock Bucky's whole body. It made you uneasy to think about wether or wether not the arm was in tact, that and the fact that if it wasn't, it could very well lead to a lot of pain for Bucky.

So, using Friday, you found Bucky's new address. He'd taken residence in a small apartment in Brooklyn, thankfully, not too far from where you were reclaiming the Stark Tower. One car ride later, and you stood outside Bucky's apartment feeling more nervous than you thought you would be.

While Bucky and you weren't on bad terms, it was fair to say he was still uneasy around you. I mean, he had killed your parents, and your only living relative (minus the small Morgan) was also dead. You'd been a baby when The Winter Soldier killed Howard and Maria, so how could there be any bad blood between you and Bucky? You didn't even know what you had lost. That and you were more down-to-earth than Tony, realizing quickly the guilt and shame Bucky felt for his mind-controlled actions.

Using up the last bit of confidence you had, you knocked on Bucky's door. It took less than a minute, and Bucky's surprised face was staring back at you.

"Uhm, hi," You said awkwardly.

"How'd you know where I live?" Bucky asked, confused.

You held up your phone, Friday's screen appearing. "Just a quick scan of all James Buchanan Barnes in the area. Not very many," Your joke fell flat as you stood awkwardly while Bucky processed what was happening.

"Why're you here?" He asked.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay after the fight with Walker." You replied. "I saw you get thrown into all those wires, I saw all the sparks."

Bucky gave a small shrug, "I'm alright."

You eyed his arm suspiciously, "That arm causing you any pain?"

Both eyes now fell on Bucky's arm. You looked back up to Bucky to see him staring at it still. "It's been better," He sighed, his reply honest.

"I can fix it if you'd like?" You suggested. Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head at your words, "Or not!" You quickly added. "I, uh, don't want to make you feel weird..er than you probably already do."

Bucky went to move his arm, and you saw the traces of pain etched into his features. "It'll be alright."

"Our fight isn't over yet, Bucky." You argued. "You should be at your best." You took a deep breath in, finding more confidence from deep within, "I promise I won't judge you if that's what you're worried about. I mean, Tony literally had a hunk of metal plunged in his chest, and he made me clean it out all the time, it was really gross and-"

"Alright, alright," Bucky held his hands up. "I don't wanna hear about Tony's gross chest-hole. Just, come on in." The door opened all the way as Bucky walked inside. You trailed behind, slowly shutting the door behind you as you observed the apartment. It was really empty, just a small couch and a coffee table in front of it. The kitchen looked rather bare, too.

You took a seat on the couch, Bucky sitting next to you. You set your toolbox down in between the both of you, putting some space between your bodies.

"I need to see the connection point, if you don't mind?" You said softly, looking to Bucky's covered shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," He muttered as he hesitantly slipped off his shirt. You quickly noticed the healing scars on his shoulder, all around the joint, but you made sure to pay no attention to them as you hovered your hand over his arm. "It's fine," He said, watching your hesitantcy.

The metal was cool on your hands as you felt around it, looking for the weak point. Once you found it, you grabbed your tools and began to work at it. You weren't used to working in silence, so you tried to make some conversation.

"Steve, uh, used to tell me a lot about you." You said. Bucky raised a brow at you as you continued. "You were his knight in shining armor, or something of the sorts."

"I guess I was," Bucky gave the smallest hint of a smile. "How'd you learn how to do this anyways?"

You shrugged as you grabbed a new tool, "Tony taught me everything I know. Engineering, chemistry, physics, you name it."

"It must've been hard, just you two." Bucky said softly.

Looking up, you shook your head, "Don't start that," You said.

"But it's my fault-"

"For the last time, Bucky, that was the Winter Soldier, not you. I do not blame you, there's no reason to keep hurting yourself over this." You cut Buck off, voice slightly sharp with intention. Bucky's eyes fell on the other side of the room as you sighed, "Tony would have forgiven you, too. He just needed time."

Bucky scoffed, "He had five years."

"Of which we were gone," You countered. "I forgive you for him and myself, okay?"

“Don’t say that,” Bucky shook his head. “Just.. don’t?”

You set down your tool, staring at him. “Do you want proof?”

This gained Bucky’s interest, “Proof?” He asked, voice laced with doubt. “What proof?”

“Who do you think protected your whereabouts in Wakanda?” You asked, “Steve and Sam were on the run. Of course Tony knew you were there. I remember when he got the call. He just sat there for a while, thinking. When we talked about it, he said he was glad you were getting help.”

“What else did he say?” Bucky said with a knowing look in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, “It’s Tony, Buck. He says anything and everything and means almost none of it.” Bucky didn’t expect you to use his nickname. He liked the sound of it coming from your voice.

“That doesn’t mean he forgave me.” Bucky said.

“Well I do, okay? So stop being such a grump. I’m trying to be your friend, just let me, would you?” You sighed as you began to work on his arm again.

The soldier gave a small sigh, “Stop wasting your time on me when you have a company to run.”

“Stop trying to push me away. Also, Pepper’s helping me run it, so I have all the time in the world.” You argued.

After a brief moment of silence, Bucky spoke again. “I’m still not sure I’m safe to be around,”

The honesty surprised you, making you glance up at him to observe his face. “I’m literally face to face with your arm, tool inside it, and you wanna say you aren’t safe?”

Your comment made Bucky give a small chuckle, “That’s not really what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” You asked.

Bucky gave a shaky breath, “In Madripoor, when I had to take down those guys when I was pretending to be.. him,” Bucky explained, “It’s like I could still feel him trying to break free.”

You set a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, making sure to avoid his scars. “Bucky, Wankanda said you’re a free man. The Winter Soldier’s gone.”

“Maybe I’m just so used to violence now.” Bucky offered, “Maybe it’s who I am.”

“No,” You replied quickly. “You are Bucky Barnes. You’re Steve’s best friend, Sergeant Barnes. You’re Sam’s friend, my friend, and you’re a survivor. You’re one hell of a fighter, you’re a victim who pushed through all his pain and suffering to become a better man, and that’s exactly who you are.” Your words left Bucky feeling like he could cry, but he just looked away. You didn’t know whether what you said was right or wrong.

“Thank you,” Bucky muttered as you began to work on his arm again.

“It’s no problem, Bucky.” You responded. You silently worked, trying to ignore the burning sensation of Bucky’s eyes poring holes into your head.

"This world doesn't deserve you," Bucky muttered as you worked. You simply hummed in reply, making Bucky's forehead crease. "I mean it, Stark. You're one of the best people in this world."

Rolling your eyes, you put away the last of your tools. "Bucky, I'm just being a decent person."

Bucky's eyes burned with a new passion, "No decent person would do all you've done for everyone you've ever come across." Before you could protest, Bucky's metal hand grabbed your chin softly. "Don't even try to argue, I know it can be hard for a Stark but can you hold your tongue?" When you didn't reply, Bucky continued. "You're so humble, so fuckin' sweet. I mean, you came all this way just to fix my arm."

"And to check on you," Your voice came out babbled as Bucky's hold on your chin was still present.

"I don't deserve your kindness," Bucky admitted, "But here you are, giving me all of it." His eyes bore into your own, his own actions betraying his mind as he slammed his lips tightly onto your own. It took you by surprise, but you happily returned the heated kiss as Bucky's hand slithered behind your neck.

"You deserve all of it, the whole world," You mumbled as you pulled away breathlessly. "The world did you dirty, and I'll be the one to wash you of it." With your words, Bucky felt his eyes water as he kissed you passionately again.

Once you pulled apart, Bucky wiped your lips with his thumb, a small smile on his lips. "Does that mean you're gonna stick around?"

"Yeah," you giggled, "I think it does."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fic #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #bucky x you #bucky x reader #winter soldier #sebastian stan x reader

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hansslut · 3 months

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experimenting with bsf!paige 🎀

“have you ever kissed a girl?” was what seemed like an innocent question, nothing weird, just your ( totally drop dead gorgeous ) best friend ( who you'd makeout with in a heartbeat if you weren't best friends ) asking you a simple question.

until it wasn't, when the weight of the question really hit you.

“um, no? i'm, i'm straight?.. yeah, i'm straight, why?” you asked while rubbing the sweat off of your palms on your jeans anxiously, your voice shaking slightly.

paige chuckled and smirked as she noticed your nervous moves and the tremble of your voice. “nothing ma, just wondering bout something..” she said with a husky voice, glancing at you before continuing. “would you ever wanna kiss one?” she smirked once again, shifting and getting a bit closer to you.

your breath hitched and you gulped loudly, making paige giggle a bit. “i-i haven't really thought about it, ya know but uh.. i guess i'd like to try it sometime?” you continued talking with a shaky yet more stable than before voice, you were pretty sure you had your anxiety under control.

“wanna try?” the question proved you completely wrong. you felt like you were gonna throw up from anxiety, your mouth agape a bit, your lips and hands shaking as you tried to come up with a response. “with uh, with, with who?” you managed to say, sweat starting to cover the back of your neck.

paige licked her lips with that stupid fucking smirk she always wore and you always wanted to slap from her face. “with me, i mean, we're best friends, if you want to try it with someome, who's better than your best friend that you know you can trust, hm?” she spoke, the tension in the room so thick you could cut it with a knife.

her words sounded pretty logic if you were being honest yourself. you wanted to try, so you'd try it with your best friend. “s-su-sureee?” you said awkwardly, dragging the e at the end while you gritted your teeth and cursed yourself from the inside for stuttering. you had to say yes as soon as possible before you chickened out and said no.

you swear you've never seen your best friend happier before. a bright smile on her face as she patted the empty space next to her on the bed, signalling for you to scoot closer, and you did, your hands clutching the bedsheets nervously. “so, um, how do we do this?” you felt your confidence growing a bit as you saw her usual silly smile, making you remember that she's just your best friend.

“just go with the flow, mkay?” she said quietly as she put one of her hands on your cheek, caressing it with her thumb, as she leaned closer, and smirked yet again. “got ya all nervous, huh babe?” she teased and let out a deep chuckle before leaning in, closing the distance between your lips.

you hastily pulled your hands away from the bedsheets, putting them in your lap as you didn't know where to place them. paige chuckled against your lips and took your hands, putting them on her shoulders while one of her hands was on your cheek and the other on your waist, pulling you closer

finding more comfort in the position you were in, you kissed her back, your plush lips interlocked with hers. you felt her squeeze your waist as you leaned your head to the side to deepen the kiss, her teeth grazing your lips teasingly, making you whimper and grasp her shirt a bit, pulling her again even closer.

“p...” you muttered as she pulled back and then immediately crashed her lips on yours again, her tongue playing with yours as she smirked,her hand reaching under your shirt, caressing the bare skin.

“ya like it baby?” you heard her deep voice mutter against your lips and subconsciously nodded quickly.

you were so damned.

#paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige x reader #paige buckets #wnba basketball #wnba #wlw #sapphic #smut

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joelslastofus · 5 months

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[SUMMARY: Joel deals with upsetting his overly sensitive eight month pregnant wife.]

Fluff

“Baby girl, open the door” you could hear the defeat in his voice but you didn’t respond. Joel knew he fucked up and he knew he had to fix it fast.

It was 3:30 in the afternoon, Joel should’ve been here by now. Here you sat in the waiting room looking at the clock every other minute, even waiting for a ring from your cell. It was your eight month sonogram appointment. Yes, Joel had been present for each and every sonogram but this was your last one and you wanted him there. Maybe it was your hormones but you could feel the heat in your cheeks as each minute went by and not even a call from Joel. This wasn’t like him yet it still set you off. When the doctor finally called you, you could feel tears forming in your eyes knowing Joel wouldn’t make it in time.

“Maybe he got caught up today, sometimes our job can get hectic, I’m sure he ain’t mean to miss it” Tommy spoke as he drove you home. He was nice enough to pick you up when you called him in tears that Joel wasn’t there. Sarah sat silently in the back, she knew how much this meant to you, she also knew her father didn’t do this selfishly.

Not saying a word you walked straight to the room closing the door shut. Tommy and Sarah giving you your space as you waited for Joel to show up.

A half hour later Joel rushed in through the front door throwing his bag aside.

“Where is she?” He looked around as Sarah pointed at the bedroom. Tommy and her both raising their brows not knowing what to expect.

You heard the front the door close, you knew Joel must’ve been home. The second the handle of your door turned you pushed yourself up as fast you could and rushed to the bathroom. Joel walked in, attempting to stop you from closing the door, reaching you a second too late, you slammed it in his face without saying a word. Locking the door shut you turned your back to it.

“Baby girl, open the door” you could hear the defeat in his voice but you didn’t respond. Joel knew he fucked up and he knew he had to fix it fast.

“I tried to get out of work as fast as I could, honey, I swear. These assholes delayed me then my phone was dead. I was in the other side of town, I came out rushing as fast I could” he explained.

Still no response.

Upsetting a pregnant woman was the last thing Joel wanted to do, upsetting his pregnant woman was something he could not ever have. You were under a lot of stress, anxious about giving birth, your sensitivity at an all time high Joel did his best to keep you calm but clearly failed at it today.

“Honey, please…ya know it ain’t good for you and the baby to get upset like this,” you rolled your eyes wiping away a tear.

“Fuck” Joel mouthed silently rubbing his forehead. He knew how important this was for you, he knew how much you wanted him there.

“Open the door, baby” Desperation in his voice when you suddenly opened up. His dark brown eyes widening with guilt noticing how puffy your eyes were, knowing you had been crying.

“Aw Jesus, baby” he whispered.

“You know today was the last sonogram-“

“I know” he whispered with sincere understanding eyes. His voice was gentle as he took a small step forward.

“I wanted you there, I..I wanted you to see him-“

“I know, baby”

“Did today even matter to you?!” You yelled as you felt yourself about to cry all over again and he could see it.

God damn those hormones.

“Of course it did” he took a step closer to you.

“How could you even ask such a thing?” You began to sob covering your eyes, his voice coming out more aggressive than he meant to.

“Shit, baby I’m sorry” he took another step closer slowly pulling you towards him. You took a deep breath wiping your tears.

“I…I don’t even know why I’m so upset” you looked down feeling a bit embarrassed. A soft chuckle escaping his lips as he held you, gently he kissed your forehead.

“That baby boy of ours is doing a number on you, honey” Joel whispered as a million things ran through your head.

“What if…what if you don’t make it on time to his birth? I can’t do this alone, Joel-“ you began to panic.

“What if-“

“Look at me” he gently tilted your face up at him.

“Ain’t no one or anything stopping me from seeing my son be born, ya hear me?”

You nodded in silence as you looked away.

“It was such a frustrating day, not to mention that damn man at the pharmacy got my vitamins wrong again” you walked around him towards the bedroom.

“Not again, ya need me to go over there and say somethin’ to him?” You could hear the playfulness in his voice.

“Joel” you turned to him rolling your eyes placing your hands on your lower back for support. He attempted to hold back a smile, the sight of you eight months pregnant with an attitude was something else.

“Are you laughing at me?” You asked as he quickly turned serious and shook his head.

“No mam” he took a step towards you as you tilted your head looking up at him.

Joel was forever teasing you.

“Ya know, after how upset you had me today, I highly suggest-“ Joel reached in his jacket unexpectedly pulling out your favorite pack of chocolate cookies you hadn’t found anywhere near by in weeks. You gasped with excitement making a big grin appear on his face.

“Where did you find them?!” You grabbed the pack out of his hand excitedly ripping the wrapper apart. Joel watched as you eagerly took a bite, closing your eyes, sighing with pleasure. It had been weeks that you were craving them, Joel had gone around every neighborhood searching for them, it was the only good thing that came out of working on the other side of town.

“Oh…Joel you’re the best” you continued to devour the cookies making him laugh.

“Oh I’m off the hook now huh?”

“Mmmmhm” you rolled your eyes back enjoying the taste.

“Anything for you mama” he whispered leaning in with a kiss as you sat back on the bed enjoying your snack.

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller fan fic

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