#drawing water is so damn weird

[lidoshka]

@feanorianweek #4: Curufin (and wife) - lovers

Their days were now filled with laughter and joy

+

@feanorianweek #4: Curufin (y esposa) - amantes

Sus días ahora estaban llenos de risas y alegría

[sysig]

Looking his very best, as much as he can anyhow (Patreon)

[cherryblossom-enthusiast]

Bloom (Joel Millerxf!reader)

A/N: Naaaah whoever decided Joel Miller should be played by Pedro Pascal did it for the people who have daddy issuesssss. Here’s something I whipped out because Pedro leaves in my mind rent free. Pleaseee give me some suggestions or prompts for things to write

I tried starting a tag-list but it literally burned in flames when I tried setting it up. Please just turn on notifications if you would like to be updated for @cherryblossom-enthusiast if you want to keep up with my writing :)

Synopsis: Joel Miller was neither friend or foe. You’ve barely talked to the man considering his reclusiveness. But you can’t stop staring and wanting. Turns out, he can’t stop staring and wanting you either. 

Warnings/ Tags: E (18+). Smut bby. Fluff, GrumpyxSunshine (Reader is a florist!), Unprotected PinV, Language, Dirty talk! Joel, Praise Kink, Rough sex, Fingering, SLIGHT spoilers

Word Count: 5.3K Words

Masterlist 

Your breath clouds your vision like a puff of white smoke.

Winter. The very word is a tragedy.

Food is harder to come by, light leaves much faster. The world is as bleak as it is and yet winter still cascades around you, turning everything black and white. A lifeless painting.

The chilly wind picks up and a shiver runs through your body.

“Y’good?”

The voice is lazy. Slow.

Warm.

Considering who it’s coming from, the level of warmth is a fucking marvel.

A hulking figure approaches your side. With a deep sigh, you turn your head and you’re met with the most tired eyes you’ve ever seen on someone. No shine, no luster, just an outpour of exhaustion from every small gesture he decides to do.

Joel fucking Miller.

You remember the first time you talked to him all too clearly.

You’d never been friends. Acquaintances even. Makes it a bit hard when the son of a bitch was as recluse as he was. They were the new residents of Jackson. Him and the girl he holds tight to his chest.

You were intimidated by him at first. Joel was all gruff words, long sighs, and blank stares. But the more you paid attention to him, the more you understood how he worked. Especially, when it came to the people he cared about. The man didn’t take shit from anyone. Nobody bothered him, and he returned the favour.

For the most part, that stayed true. Joel was the kind of person who always vied to stay invisible, be like every other person. Unaffected for the most part. But as you start to water your flowers on a clear-skied summer day, you hear him laughing.  

The richness of that laugh is still embedded into the deep recesses of your mind.

Joel wasn’t hard to understand as long as you really looked at him and boy did you stare.

You look over to his porch and there he is, “take no shit” Joel Miller with Ellie, teaching her how to play the guitar. You can’t quite remember what they were talking about. Something about “dinosaurs” and “T-rex hands”, but his adoration for the girl was so palpable, so intoxicating.

It was your first time seeing him so- loose. Like he actually gave a damn.

That’s when you knew Joel Miller would burn the world to keep that girl happy.

Ellie’s voice calling your name snaps you out of your thoughts. “How are you doing?!”

The tips of your ears burn, thinking about how weird it must have been staring at the pair for so long. “Enjoying this weather, how are you doing today Ellie?” You flash a bright smile.

She runs off the porch, practically hurling the instrument back at Joel. You hear an oof from the man behind her and you almost let out a small chuckle. Ellie stops in front of you, notebook in hand. The girl was always drawing or writing something. “It’s a great thing you came out,” she starts and pulls a pencil out from her back pocket. “I’ve been meaning to ask all about your pretty flowers.”

“Hopefully I have some answers.”

The girl babbles on about anything and everything she could think of. From what she thought were the coolest flowers, to what colours reminded her of planets. The conversation happens a while. You’d hit every single plant in your garden by the end of it.  

Ellie points at your rose bushes with the back of her pencil. She reminds you of a reporter. All serious, wanting to get a big scoop, thirsty for any ounce of information she could get. “How about those? What are those?”

“Ah,” you move away so she can have a better view. “Those are called roses.”

“Uh-huh” She writes enthusiastically in her notebook “and what do those mean?”

“Well, each colour means a different thing, but that colour specifically-“ you point at the flowers behind you using your thumb “red roses, mean passion, affection, and-“ you pause, trying to find the proper words “things akin to love.”

Ellie stops her writing and looks up at you. Her eyebrows are creased and she looks so ridiculously cute it makes you giggle. “Basically, you’d give it to someone you reaallly reaaallly like Ells.”

“Like- Joel?”

That gets a proper laugh out of you. “Not quite.”

She doesn’t seem to be satisfied with your answer but leaves the reply alone. In true Ellie fashion, she moves on by asking another question. “What flower would I be?!”

You pretend to think about it for a moment even though you know exactly what flower you would give her. Not that you’d given that particular question much thought, but you just knew. When you find exactly what you’re looking for, you squat to quickly pluck it from the ground and turn back to Ellie. You outstretch your hand “I think I’ll give you a yellow lilly.”

“What does this one mean?”

You ponder it, letting out a hmmm and place the flower behind her ear. “Well it wouldn’t be special if I had to explain it now would it? I guess you just have to brush up on your flower language.”

Ellie lets out a whine. “But you’re the only who knows anything about plants here!”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to bother me more.”

A wild smile blooms on her face.

“Ellie!” You turn to discover the owner of the voice behind you. Tommy Miller approaches your direction, carrying a bag of supplies and produce. “You said you’d help Maria with supper tonight!”

Ellie jumps. “Shit!” She runs towards Tommy without a single care in the world. Halfway, she calls back to you and thanks you for your time. Tommy lifts his hand to acknowledge your presence and in return you lift your hand back to wave goodbye. Before you know it, the pair disappears, Ellie eagerly asking Tommy if he knew what her new flower meant.

“She’ll be talking to everyone bout’ flowers for while.”

Shoulders tensing, you swivel your head to your side. Joel stands beside you, hands in his pockets, a small smile gracing his face.

It catches you off guard completely. In the months you had spent as his neighbour, Joel had never spoken even a mere sentence to you. There was acknowledgement, maybe a simple wave, that nod men his age do when they want to greet a passerby. But hearing him direct his words to you hits you like a wave. A tsunami of shock.

He seems to notice your plight and his once loose posture turns rigid. “Sorry,” he mumbles “I should stop botherin ya-“

You shake your head in defense. “No, no, it’s just-“ Letting the tension roll of your shoulders, you sigh out a laugh and extend your hand, introducing yourself.  He clasps it with his own and your arm goes limp. His hand is larger, the callouses hard against your skin. It should feel weird, uncomfortable even, but none of those feelings come to mind.

“Joel Miller, nice to meet you.”

Maybe you were silly for expecting more, but nothing really happens after that.

There were some conversations about small favours and errands here and there, but not to anyone’s surprise, Joel’s got more than one hard layer of rock. He’s as immovable as a mountain. You naturally went back to the role of spectator. Stupid little crush that wouldn’t go away.

How could it when he was the man that he was.

He repeats his question from earlier and it finally snaps you back to your current reality. You were in the middle of rounds during this god-forsaken weather. “Y’good?”

Joel wasn’t even supposed to be your patrol partner. You had gotten wind that your original partner caught hold of the flu and since Joel was otherwise wide open for the afternoon other than indulging other people’s requests, he took up the opportunity. The walk started off as awkward. You didn’t know what to say or how to approach him so it stayed quiet for the majority of the time, but the more you walked, the more comfortable it became. Usually, going out of Jackson’s walls still scared you. Having Joel by your side gave you a bit more re-assurance. You aren’t oblivious. Everyone knows how brutal he can become.

You shrug and look back at the vast expanse of land in front of you, overseeing from the cliff you were on. “’Just enjoying the natural splendour.”

Joel stays silent for a small while but replies. “I’d believe you more if you didn’t look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’d get into a ring and fight winter one-on-one”

The comment makes you scoff. “I’m tough as nails Miller.” You stare directly into his impenetrable eyes. “I’m sure I can handle a little snow.”

-------------------

Joel opens the door to a safehouse, making sure not to drop his gun until he knows for sure the area is safe. Once he’s satisfied, he leans the shotgun against the wall and motions for you to come in with a nudge of his head.

Both of you had been making record time getting back, but not even a racehorse could outrun the storm starting to brew. Halfway through your trudge back, Joel pats your shoulder, explaining that with the poor winter jackets the both of you were wearing and the wind whipping your faces, it’d be best to stop by a small cabin him and Tommy scouted a few rounds back. Not wanting to freeze to death, you obviously agreed to the idea.

It left you here.

Setting your bag down, rubbing your hands together, patiently waiting for Joel to start a fire in the hearth.

Joel.

Joel.

Alone with Joel.

He stands up from his crouching position and turns back to you. “You’re free to set-up your sleeping bag closer to the fire.”

“Oh, no- no, it’s alright.” You speak quickly. Almost too quickly. “You made the fire, I think you deserve to enjoy the fire.”

“But-“

“I insist.” You state it in a tone that says “that’s final��.

The man sighs. “Alright ma’am, whatever ya say.”

The two of you unroll your packs, splaying your sleeping bags so that your toes are towards the hearth. You take off your boots and sit on your make-shift bed. It was uncomfortable, you haven’t had to sleep on one in a while, but you’d gladly take anything over having to stay outside. Joel follows suit.

“Turns out I couldn’t handle a little snow.” You remark.

A small puff of air comes out of him. Coming from Joel, it may as well have been a full-blown laugh. You turn to take a glimpse at him and another small smile is on his lips. It’s only the second time you’ve ever seen one on him and it knocks all the air out of you just like it did the first time.

He’s distracted and that’s when you take the time to really focus on him. He looks softer in the firelight, the whites in his hair more prominent, his usual dark eyes having a glow to them. He looks less- burdened, and with that smile on his face, dare you say, despite your current situation, just the tiniest bit peaceful.

“You should do that more.” The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“What?”

“Smile.”

Like a toddler caught with the cookie jar, a crook caught in the headlights, Joel tenses and you mentally punch yourself in the face. His face goes back to the stoic front he usually puts on.

“Sorry, I was just-“ you start to apologize.

“It’s fine.”

Silence once again ensues. The air becomes as awkward as it was before.

“So-“

“What-“

You both talk at the same time.  Joel gestures to you, asking you to go first.

“I was just gonna ask what we could do to kill time.”

Joel shrugs and continues to stare at the fire. “We could always just sleep.”

“Nah c’mon-“you push “don’t be such a bore.” You ponder some more and think of an idea. “How about twenty questions?”  Your rounds partner says nothing, and you take the chance to convince him even more. “I’ve lived beside you a whole year and know nothin about you-“

“Probably for the best.”

Oh.

You understand. Of course, you do. But you can’t stop the small twinge of disappointment growing in your chest anyways.

When he makes the statement, you pull back. “Sorry, I just wanted to know more about you.” You fiddle with your nails. “Been staring at you for god knows how long and the most I’ve gathered is you like wood work.”

Joel perks up at your confession.

Dumb.

So dumb of you to admit that.

“You’re right, it’s better if we just go to-“

“No, let’s play.”

His sudden change of attitude to your idea throws you in for a loop. “Really? You sure?”

“That your first question you’re wastin’ darlin’?”

Your already tired brain short circuits at the nickname. “What?” No- I-“

The man has an amused look plastered all over his face. “Okay, well- shoot then.”

You think up of something stupid on the spot. “Favourite movie?”

“None. Got too many.” He answers.

“What? Well that’s not-“

“My turn.” He cuts you off once more. “Favourite flower?”

It doesn’t even take you a second to respond. “Oh easy, the lotus flower.” You ponder your next question. “One thing you don’t like?”

“Smiling.”

That gets a genuine chuckle out of you.

“Your thoughts on coffee?” He continues.

Your nose wrinkles “Bitter garbage.”

He puts his hands up to surrender. “I respect wrong answers.”

“Pet Peeve?”

He looks up at the ceiling and takes a moment to really think about it. “When I have nothing good to trade for coffee.”  He takes another few seconds to think of another good question before he hits the lottery. “Why don’t you like winter so much?”

A loaded and good question indeed.

You shrug. “Cause.”

You get an eyebrow raise. “Cause?”

“Cause I don’t know-“ You go back to picking at your nails. It’s become a habit, doing it every time you’re nervous. “The world already looks dead and winter comes along and makes it even more dead.”

“That why you like flowers so much?”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re not even letting me ask a question before you ask me another one?”

This flusters him. “No, I just-“

Embarrassed Joel Miller. Never thought you’d get to check that off your bingo card.

A wide smile breaks on your lips. “ I’m just kidding, Joel.” He lets out a sort of grumble and it makes you smile even wider. “That’s a part of it sure.” Your eyes haze over as you start to remember life as it once was. “My folks were florists” you start to explain “before all this shit went down.” It was a small shop, with wide glass windows, and plants of every kind. “Hated it. Didn’t want anything to do with em’ especially my father, some dumb teenage kid who thought it was embarrassing.” You scoff. “But taking care of plants was the only thing I was good at, held it to my chest like a life-line.”

Memories play in front of you like an old film. Sometimes you forget that there was something before all of this.

All this carnage.

All this wreck.

“Before my dad died, not to this, thank god, he kept on trying to take care of the shop.” You recall his pale ill-stricken face and frail hands.  “I got mad, made a fuss, yelled why he’d take care of some dumb flowers but not himself, and you know what he said?”

You remember his words, as clear as crystal, even twenty years later.

“Isn’t it a wonderful thing that these flowers still grow? Despite all the noise and all the chaos, something as beautiful and as frail as this is surviving. When I think of the way I’m helping that, I can’t possibly suffer.”

Joel stays silent at your admission.

You notice that you may have gone a little overboard.

Jesus- dump it all on him why don’t you?

Trying to make the mood lighter, you quickly change the subject. “Besides, when it’s summer, Ellie visits me more.” Joel Miller chuckles at the mention of the girl. You decide then it’s definitely one of your favourite sounds. “I like seeing the two of you together.”

“Hm?”

“You both always seem so lost in your own world. Nice to see, considering you got that grumpy scowl on all the time.”

“That right?”

“Uh-huh.”

He slowly nods, gazing back at the fire. “Some of us aren’t monsters and smile 24/7 like you do.”

You’re offended by the comment. “Wha- I do not!” You exclaim. “What’s wrong with smiling anyways?”

Even more chuckling. He’s getting real comfortable with doing that. “Nothing, when it comes to you anyways” he remedies “But you do it all the time, watering people’s yards, baking them an apple pie, hell, I’m pretty sure you laughed when you slipped on ice this morning. You got your emotions all over your face you know that? Infects all of Jackson.” He takes a slight pause. “Reminds me of Ellie.”

“Oh god, you saw that this morning?”

“Oh yeah,” He teases, words elongated in that Southern drawl. “Mitts flying into the air and everything.”

Your face practically feels like an oven. “How do you even know about all of that?”

Joel shrugs. “Cause.”

“Cause?”

“Maybe you haven’t been the only one staring for god knows how long.”

Time stops.

Suddenly, air doesn’t matter, heat doesn’t even come close to existing. A supernova could happen, and you’d sit here just as shell-shocked. Nothing matters other than Joel.

Joel and his stupid accent.

Joel and what he just said with that stupid accent.

You swallow thickly and bless your heart, you don’t know what comes over you, but you take a chance to keep pushing. “You think I’m gonna “infect you” with tons of smiles soon too, cowboy?”

He doesn’t reply all to quickly, and for those couple of seconds where all you can here is the fire crackle and the wind whipping outside, it feels like a brick ton is laid upon your shoulders.

“Maybe you already have.”

Goddamn.

All the stolen glances you’ve taken of him flashes in your mind.

“Joel,” you mutter. The man beside you continues to stare at the fire, refusing to make eye contact with you. “Joel.” You repeat, more firm with your tone.

He finally decides to look in your direction and God- your heart pounds so hard, you think it might just come out of your chest. Those eyes. Those damn coffee-coloured eyes of his that usually looks so cold, so despondent are the warmest colour of molten chocolate you’ve ever seen. You can tell he’s clenching his jaw and the view almost knocks you out cold.

With a shaky breath, you start to messily list all the things you’ve always wanted to say. “Tell me now if I’m taking this the wrong way so I don’t keep embarrassing myself, but I swear to everything I hold sacred, if I don’t kiss you right now, I’m going to have a very frustrating ni-“

A growl from Joel cuts you off and before you know it, he’s crossing oceans to get to you. A strong hand grips you by the neck, and firm lips plant themselves squarely on yours.

It’s pathetic how fast you keen under his touch, how fast you grab the collar of his shirt to draw him closer to you. You open your mouth to moan and he takes that chance to slip his tongue inside of your mouth. It’s dizzying, downright intoxicating the way Joel kisses you. The way you’re kissing each other is every look, every stare, every word that was ever left unsaid between the both of you that’s exploding into something cosmic.

You lift yourself up and straddle his lap. You press down and feel the growing hardness in Joel’s jeans. He groans into your mouth and you continue to press your hips down farther.

Joel stops kissing you. A needy whine escapes your lips. “Are you sure you want this darlin’?”

Your panting is heady. “Joel if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll have the liberty of fucking myself with my fing-“

You know you sound downright hopeless, but you’ve been wanting for so damn long.

He flips you down onto the sleeping bags so fast, you don’t even have time to finish. He rucks up your shirt and starts to pepper small kisses from the center of your breasts, down to your stomach. It makes you whimper as you continue to finish taking of your top.

Joel gets to quickly unbuttoning the rest of your clothes, peeling the jeans off of your body until all you have on is your bra and panties. He hovers over you and takes off his own shirt. He’s all muscle and hard chest. The mere sight of him shirtless drenches your underwear faster. He takes a few seconds to peer at your half-naked form. “Damn, you’re a sight.”

“So are you.” You admit in a small voice.

He wastes no time, delving back in between your legs. He slides down your underwear and immediately ghosts his fingers over your cunt. Shivers run down your body as your eyes close in bliss.

“You imagine it was my fingers?” His dark voice pulls you back.

“Ever since I first set my eyes on you Miller.” You heatedly reply.

“Great,” he pushes two fingers inside you making you boom a moan towards the ceiling. “Been thinking it was your fingers around my cock too.

He works into you, his fingers large and stocky. Joel starts off slow, languid, making sure to tease every reaction out of you. You don’t think it’s possible to get wetter than you already are, but every thrust of his fingers proves you wrong. He curls both at the same time, and your hips immediately lift from the pressure. Joel pushes you down with his other hand. “Na-ah darlin’,” That southern drawl of his is deeper, lazier than usual “I finally got you where I want you, you’re not going anywhere.”

As he keeps your hips down with his palm, Joel increases the speed of his fingers. “Why didn’t-“ you choke “you do anything earlier then?”

A mocking scoff leaves him. “You’re too good for me, doll. Got too many issues. “

“Then why now?”

“Because I’m still a selfish fucking asshole.” He groans, rotating his thumb around your clit. “And when you sit in front of me, all flushed and pretty, asking me to fuck you, how could I possibly have the strength to say no?”

You see Joel spit on your slit and it’s what does it for you. A rush of electricity passes through your body and it renders you senseless. You mewl and twist in his hold, but Joel makes sure to hold you through your orgasm.

Your mind is hazy, it turns into a mixture of fog and smoke, but your refuse to leave him hanging. After a few seconds, you prop yourself up and kneel right in front of him. Not breaking eye contact for even a moment, you take your hand and start to palm his length over his jeans. He trembles beneath you, jaw clenching as he lets out a groan. You slowly unbuckle his belt, pulling down the rest of his clothing and waste no time finally gripping him directly.

Shit, you knew a man like him would be big, but this is-

The sound that comes from Joel’s throat is devastating. Somewhere between pant and moan, losing total control. He thumps his head on your shoulder, seeking out the crook of your neck. You continue to work his cock, building up speed, tightening your grip. His tip leaks pre-cum and the way he bunches up your hair desperately, like he needs to hold onto something to keep from losing control only prompts you to keep going. The feeling of power is addicting. “Don’t mess with me” Joel Miller keening under your touch.

He suddenly pulls your hair and it’s enough of a shock to make you stop your hand and whine. “I know you’re having fun doll, but you keep doing that and I’ll finish. Waited too damn long for that to happen.” He grabs you by the hips and flips you over making you let out a small yelp. He positions you so that your ass is towards him. “Bend.” He orders.

So you do.

He palms your ass and gives it a spank. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to touch this? Flaunting it around-“ He squeezes “shoving it in my direction, wearing those pretty dresses of yours.”

“Ever think it was on purpose?”

There’s another slap to your ass to respond to your comment.

He lines up his cock to your entrance, gliding his tip to coat it in your wetness. You quiver, breath hitching, skin prickling.

“If I fuck you, there’s no going back for me darlin’, if you want me to stop you have to tell me right now.”

You groan in frustration. “Fuck me Joel, please just-“

He buries his full length into you all in one thrust.

You think you’re ascending to heaven, knocking on the pearly white gates itself. He gives you a couple of seconds to get accustomed to his massive size. “You okay?”

“Mmhm?” Is all you can make out, trying to nod your head that’s pressed up against your sleeping bag.

“Good,” he starts to move as you cry out in pleasure. “Tell me to stop and I will, but otherwise-“ He shoves himself even deeper. “I’m not holdin’ back.”

Joel sets up a brutal pace from the beginning. He grips your ass tight, making sure you’re taking everything he has to give and all you can do is let him. There’s nowhere for you to go as he drives his hips into you, fully filling you up with every fast snap of his hips. To say it’s overwhelming would be a complete understatement.

Are you sure this is the same Joel Miller? Cool, calm, composed Joel Miller that has everyone quaking in their boots the minute he holds a knife or a gun. Because right now, he’s so undone. There’s no pattern to the way he moves in you, no finesse, just pure want.

He places his hand that was on your ass to your scalp. He pulls you up using your hair and once you’re flush against his back, he grasps your neck, continuing his unrelenting tempo to your pussy. You tighten around him.

“You like that huh?” He comments in an amused tone. “Who knew the town sweetheart was so fucking naughty like this.” You want to try and come up with a witty response, but all that comes out is a garbled moan. “Actually, don’t tell me. I’d kill anybody who does know.”

His thumb raises to your lips and you take the liberties of sucking it into your mouth. His hold on your neck slackens and the sudden rush of oxygen to your head has you teetering on the edge of consciousness. He takes his arm that’s around your stomach and travels it down further to your swollen cunt. Joel starts to roll your clit between his fingers and you think you’ll really black-out then.

“God, such a good girl, even when taking cock.” He whispers into your ear. You clench around him even harder this time and he knows you’re close. “You gonna come doll? Gonna come on my cock?”

A needy whine escapes your throat. Each roll, each rut, each jerk, grows more intense as each second passes. “C’mon,” he coaxes “do it.” With one last pinch to your sensitive clit, your muscles tighten and heat spreads across your skin. Your walls flutter and as your eyes roll back, vision blurring, you are hurled into your climax. With a choked sob, you slump forwards and the only thing helping you stay up is Joel’s hold. He follows you shortly after, sputtering your name on his lips. Pulling out quickly, he comes on your back.

Joel slowly lowers down the both of you, making sure not to crush you with his weight from behind. It was so gentle, so benign you struggled to relate it to the man furiously fucking you just a few moments earlier. Nothing but your pants fill the air for a while. You’re sticky all over, sweat and come coating your skin. Your body was buzzing from both pain and pleasure, but you couldn’t care less.

You roll your body so you can look at him. Joel’s face was and wasn’t everything you expected it to look like. You expect the flush, the hair sticking to his forehead, the clench of his jaw. What you don’t expect is the softness in his usual impenetrable gaze.

“I’m sorry.” He grumbles.

Your eyebrows knit and you place a palm against his cheek. Joel all but melts into your touch. “What for?”

“For wanting you this much.”

Taking both your arms, you wrap them around his neck and pull him towards you. He lays against you, hie ear right beside your mouth. “Thank you.” You whisper.

“What for?

“Wanting me this much.”

You hear his sharp intake of air and smile. You continue to pet his hair, peppering small kisses on his forehead. “I want you too, Joel.”

“You shouldn’t.”  He mutters a tired reply.

“But I do.” You take a deep breath and let him know all your thoughts. “I want all your grumpy stares, and your grunted words- You pause to give him another kiss “Your silent kindness, and that rare smile of yours.” Joel doesn’t say anything back so you continue to talk. “All of it. Will you let me have all of it?”

He pulls himself back, just enough to gaze back at you, full of admiration. “Just let me have all of you too.”

The beating of your heart doesn’t speed, doesn’t flutter past the finish line, instead opting for a slow steady pace, But the feeling in your chest was so heavy, so full, that you couldn’t mistake it for anything other than devotion. You grin from ear to ear. “Who would be able to say no at getting a chance to annoy you with more conversation.”

He lifts an eyebrow, and it only makes your heart fill up with even more with adoration.

This man that you’ve been pining for, holding you close here. Now.

You don’t know what will happen tomorrow. Hell, you don’t know what will happen a few seconds from now, how this whole unpolished attraction between the two of you will buff out. The wind is still howling outside, whipping away at all the destruction and the carnage happening around you, but for now the world is still. The both of you are inside this cabin in the woods and for now, you don’t think, don’t plan, only exist and it is everything.

Maybe later you can hope that in this winter, something beautiful and strong can grow too.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s late in the evening when you finally get to relax the next day. Once the both of you had returned to Jackson, there were too many errands that had to be rushed in the time that you missed. Nothing else could be said other then a quick farewell between each other.

As you drag your exhausted body up the stairs of your porch, you almost don’t notice the flower in front of your doorstep, nearly stepping on it.

A wave of warmth comes rushing up from your toes.

You beam as you crouch and pick up a singular red rose attached with a note that says “Come over. We didn’t finish our game of twenty questions.”

- - - - - - - -

Want More?

[justluxy]

Weird Dreams - Part 5/10

Original author Tortilla_Feliz on wattpad, go support them!!!

Shoto Todoroki x Bottom Male Reader

Where you woke Shoto up when he was still in the middle of his dream with you

Warning: Smut (Characters are 18+) and exhibitionism?

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

-S-Shit... someone might see us here - You said between moans thanks to the strong thrusts that Shoto was giving you, hitting again and again that sweet spot that you liked so much

-Then- He licked your neck- you should be quiet and try to not moan a lot - He gasped and turned you around causing your face to crash into the grass, you and him were being risky by doing it in the U.A. courtyard

-C-Careful, damn it- You moaned as you felt all of his weight resting on you while he made you lift your fucking sore ass

-What? I thought you liked it

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

-Dumbass wake up!- You yelled at him, making him wake up. It was the first time he had left one of those dream unfinished -What's wrong with you dude?

-I...what happened?- He looked at you confused, he was blushing, shit his hard cock hurt too much, why it was hurting like that?He sat on the couch because he didn't want you to notice the problem between his legs.

-Well, I was stroking your hair, dude, it's really soft and you fell asleep, haha, you left me talking to myself, Shoto - You said laughing

-Yeah... I...I'm sorry- he muttered

-Hey dude - You whispered, drawing the attention of Shoto who was confused by your sudden action

-Yeah?- he whispered, being careful not to move too much

-I recommend cold water - You said and that confused him even more, what did you mean? and when you realized that he hadn't understood what you meant, you pointed to his crotch- cold water is good for that- You said, now slightly blushing

-I-I... - shit, he didn't know what to do in that situation, you realized his hard cock

-Seriously, someone is making you act like an idiot- You said between giggles -Come on, go before someone sees you like that and it gets embarrassing, I told you because I trust youbuddy, and because you always lend me a pencil when I don't have one

[pinecipitation]

Hiii could you possibly do like..smiling friends with a reader that’s on their period headcanons?

I GOT U BRUH TRUST ‼️

SMILING FRIENDS X GN!READER (with fem aligned anatomy, if you bleed then this you shall read‼️

word count: around 500

content warning: nothing I think

credit to @kryloxen for the what size joke in charlies bc they’re the funniest bitch I know

PIM: prioritizes treats and food

- he’s got sisters, he knows a thing or two because he’s seen a thing or two

- will be very understanding and empathetic, out of anyone he’d be the nicest

- would probably know ur week is coming before YOU know, and is prepared as usual

- I’m a huge candidate of baker pim, I believe he’d bake sweets and remake your favorite desserts just so you always have a sweet treat around

- he has enough knowledge on products to be able to pick up stuff in stores for you, but if he has to talk to an employee he’d stutter and blush a little, but my god he’s getting u ur damn tampons

- again, super into sweets and treats, will come back from the store with bags of anything you want and crave, he’s a very sweet boy

CHARLIE: prioritizes comfort and warmth

- “ayo i’m at the pad aisle what size pussy you wear?” hurry up he’s getting weird stares

- you’re always more than welcome to wear his oversized clothes and hoodies, he actually subliminally encourages you to but seeing you lounge around in his stuff makes him feel like he’s helping

- heated blankets, multiple blankets and pillows, hoodies, HIM even, everything about charlie’s home and charlie himself is warm, cuddly, and comfortable

- will ask a thousand times a day if you’re cold, if you’re hot, if you’re lying about not being hot, and is often on standby with either a warm drink or a cold glass

- always overuses the same “wings? wtf is it gonna take off” joke on pads

- jokes around too much to a point where it almost aggravates you, but at the end of the day, if he sees you start to get annoyed he will always offer himself as a cuddle buddy and offer couch time and a movie

ALAN: prioritizes peace and meds

- medicine cabinet stock full of any pain or sleep pills always, you’ve never had to make him go to the store at 11pm for anything

- like pim, will also know your week is coming sooner than you do

- always has meals and hydration prepared for you, is extremely into making sure you get every vitamin and protein your body needs in these trying times. like seriously he has a full water bottle that he needs you to finish daily

- is not afraid to yell at his upstairs neighbors to shut up, or a kid on the street to stop screaming. he values you and would rather die than overstimulate you even indirectly

- will always draw nice baths and include your favorite scents, again I see him as a huge hygiene person so trust he’s got that bath and body works set of whatever smell u smelled once and liked

- loves quiet time where you both are near each other but just sit on your phones respectively or watch a show on low volume in the background of something else. it’s like allowing yourself to do what you want, but still be near the other person

GLEP: prioritizes za

- would say ew and then offer you weed

[literaila]

still here 

tasm!peter x reader 

summary: there’s an ache in me, put there by the ache in you

(for @elysian-chaos)

warnings: angst, fluff, feeling unworthy, feeling useless, you know, seperation 

a/n: ‘tis the damn season is the best song ever. dont argue 

*

there's this little thing called stress baking. 

typically, stress baking is referred to as coping by making something delicious to scavenge on, instead of dwelling on the feelings scavenging you. and typically, it's done with a certain type of elegance--one that is made up of chaos. completely insane, yet completely in control. it's a messy dance, but perfectly choreographed. 

stress baking is a very reviving task. filling up the house with muffins and pies is not only good for distracting yourself, but also for making friends when you run out of room. or smiling at the cashier every time you have to go to the store for ingredients. 

it's something you've practiced for years. something you've become somewhat addicted to. 

but then there's baking while stressed. which, you swear, hadn't been your intention. 

brownies from a box were supposed to be easy. they were notoriously easy. a couple of eggs, some oil, and some water. the hardest part of your job was mixing, but you'd done it so many times that you zoned out while doing all of it. 

box brownies were supposed to be non-stress and quick. but when you burn the brownies and batter rises over the top of your glass pan, and the oven is dirty, and the apartment smells like burnt batter and oven cleaner--well, you have to reread the directions. 

you're a good baker. you've been making cookies and cakes for parties for years. you pride yourself on not needing measuring cups because you can eye a recipe by the gram. 

not that these brownies would agree. 

and it's already five-forty-five. peter is going to be home in the next fifteen minutes and this was supposed to be a treat. something good. 

"surprise! i ruined our oven, and now we're going to have to spend the next few nights at your aunt's house in your twin-sized bed until the smell of death goes away!" doesn't typically bring out any smiles.

and peter's been stressed lately, and you've been stressed about him. 

and now you're making brownies from scratch without butter--because you used it all on the last batch, oops--and the number of candles you've lit is a sure fire hazard. 

but if peter would just smile at you, pull you in by your waist and laugh while he kissed you with a chocolate mouth, it would all be fine. 

if there wasn't so much riding on this one (two) pan(s) of brownies. like being able to sleep comfortably tonight. 

you turned the oven down, found a new pan--threw the other one out because it was nothing but a source of disappointment--and cleaned the oven just enough to not draw any suspicions. but you could still feel the failure lurking. 

peter was going to come home to a chaotic house, and it was your fault. 

so you scrubbed at the counters. fixed the stack of bills on the table so that you couldn't see any of the stamps, folded the blankets, and even swept the kitchen floor. 

still, you knew peter would know. because he always knows. and maybe that was why he was acting so weird lately--maybe that's why you were acting so weird. 

the door opened when the timer on the oven went off. 

you'd wanted to watch peter walk through the door--so you could gauge how tired he was, how miserable--but maybe it was better not to know. to let him put on a mask while your back was still turned. 

"hey, baby," he said, as you were pulling the brownies out of the oven, setting his house keys on the counter and sighing. "i'm home." 

you peeked over your shoulder, giving him a hint of a smile--the same type he was giving you. "hey, honey," you said back, "you're home." 

peter walked around the island to stand right behind you, kissing the back of your head and stealing a look over to the stovetop. he clears his throat. "brownies?" 

you shrug. "thought you might like something sweet when you got home." 

you take off the oven mitt, not really wanting to look at him--maybe because you're scared of what you'll see, or maybe just because you can already feel his eyes tearing down your skin. 

but you can feel his breath on your neck as he chuckles. his exhaustion as he leans into your back. 

"i've already got you, though," he whispers one peck at the edge of your jaw, another by your ear. 

you snort and pull away, turning so you can look at him. and then you pretend to throw up. 

he laughs and pokes your forehead.

you're not looking at him and he's not looking at you. 

you turn back to the brownies. 

"did you drop something in the oven?" peter asks, leaning his chin on your shoulder. 

"no," you answer, a bit too defensive. 

"sure?" 

"am i sure that i didn't burn something in the oven, peter? yes." 

there's a beat. "...cause it smells like it." 

you headbutt him. "you smell like it. go shower. you can't eat these yet." 

"yes, ma'am," peter takes a step back, and you look at him again.  you can see the question in his eyes, and see your own reflecting the same question. 

what are you hiding? 

"we have some ice cream, too." 

peter moans, his head back. you roll your eyes at him. 

and you start cutting the brownies, worries, and chocolate chips sticking to the knife, listening to peter's footsteps, feeling his presence sticking to you like sugar, sticky and rich, his eyes keeping you on edge. 

you know you shouldn't feel stupid--peter doesn't actually know what happened, or care--but you do. because he knows, and because even from the split second you looked at him, you could see the strain on his skin, the pressure weighing him down, dragging his feet across the floor. 

you feel stupid just because you don't know what to do. so before he can close the door, you turn around. choosing reaction instead of pretending. 

"peter?" 

he pauses, his head whipping towards you. his eyes are as soft and loving as they always are--his attention remains the same, even when his energy doesn't. like he's wasting himself away just to take care of you. 

he swallows. "yeah?" 

"are you--" you blink, look away, try not to taste burnt brownies. "are you okay? you seem tired. was work… alright? 

peter smiles, shaking his head. "just the usual, bub. work and... work. i think i'll go to bed early tonight?" 

you raise a brow. 

peter clears his throat. "i mean, i think i'll take a nap tonight before i go out." 

you nod. "okay." 

you both stare at each other for a moment. he's far enough away that it's easier. you don't have to feel his emotions as he processes them. don't have to see them from up close. 

you hate yourself for being afraid of him. for being afraid for him. 

“d’ya want to join me?” peter asks, whisper slipping from his mouth, smile taunting from his lips. “we can cuddle and eat brownies.” 

you lick your lips, shaky smile enough. “you sure? i’ve heard i can be a bit distracting…”

peter’s laugh makes his shoulders shake. “you heard correctly,” he says eyes crinkled, “but i don’t mind.” 

you nod. you’re grateful for his ease. the careful reveal of his true face, the peeling of a mask. the admittance that not everything is perfect, no matter how small. 

“go shower. i’ll get the sugar.” 

peter kisses you on the cheek before he goes.

and at least you got a couple of smiles out of him. at least you can feel his kiss lingering on your skin. 

* 

it's not that serious. honestly. 

you hardly even think about it. you're not thinking about it. 

you're not dwelling on the smell of soft skin and the feeling of calloused hands running up and down your back, the tickle of a breath against your neck. 

you're not thinking about it at all. 

and if it's been a week--or a week and a half, or two, or three--since you last spoke, or shared the same space with peter, then it's fine. 

this is something you've grown used to. something you're supposed to be used to. 

peter has obligations. 

he has things he needs to fulfill--not just for himself, but for others, for the guilt that you can see rocking his bones all of the time, the shame in his eyes when he comes home a bit too early. he has places that he needs to be, if only because he won't be able to live with himself if he's not there. 

but then again, you're not sure how to live when he's not here. especially when the sink breaks. 

still, as long as you can feel him pull you into his chest every night, imagine him kissing your forehead before falling asleep, then it's fine. 

you're not thinking about any of it because it's fine. 

but you miss him. if only momentarily. 

he'll come back--you repeat this like a promise, like it's his voice whispering it to you--because he always does. 

space is good for the heart, some part of you swears. though you don't think you could think of peter any fonder than you already do. 

he comes in too late at night and is already gone when you wake up. he texts you updates--because you've talked about communication before--and tells you that he loves you through sweet little notes he sends during the day. 

if the thing he wishes to share about his life is the worm he found in his apple, then you're perfectly happy to listen (read). 

it's normal to miss the person you love most in the world. 

and it's normal for your boyfriend to disappear for fourteen hours each day, just barely cuddling with you for three hours before he's gone again. 

it's normal for you, at least

he’ll come back. 

and so, instead of thinking about peter, and wondering when he might notice the frayed edges of your relationship, you make sure that he doesn't have to worry about anything. 

you clean up after the two of you, running the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom, and packing him lunch on days you know he'll be gone for the office. making sure there's always something he can eat in the fridge when he gets home late at night, and texting him to know what he wants from the store. 

you make the bed and wash his clothes and hope that maybe it'll keep him from burning out. 

you hope that maybe it will keep you distracted enough to not ask him for anything. like love or support or a five-minute conversation. 

if taking care of him is the only way to keep him going--the only way to keep yourself going--then you'll do it. peter takes care of you enough. 

but even if you're not thinking about it, it's there. 

because you've just fallen asleep--which is extremely rare recently, mostly because you like to wait until you hear the window and then slow your breathing until you feel peter crawl into bed with you--and just woke up. 

woke up with sweaty skin and a headache. it's night ten and you're getting nightmares again. 

it's ridiculous that you can't even last two weeks without peter there. without him kissing you to sleep. 

and when you burst out of bed, you almost fall into him--almost scream because you're sharing the bed with someone else. 

tears are running down your face. your heart feels split open--like your dreams have revealed something inside it. 

but you look over to peter and he's there; he's still here. 

so you take a deep breath--chest caving in, body following--and you rest your head in your hands. 

if there's anything you want right now, it's for peter to wake up. 

it's for him to know all of this. 

you want him to appear next to you, leaning over your back like he's going to shelter from the world if that's what you need. rubbing your back and whispering in your ear. you want him in your house and laughing when you break the shower rod again. 

you want him to cuddle with you before he leaves, and cross his heart when you scold him while he crawls out the window. 

you want him in more than just your memory. 

but peter is snoring next to you, and so you sit there in silence until the tears begin to ease.

*

peter's not supposed to be home. 

he works until five, and then takes the subway home--and you're not expecting to see him anyway. he's been shoving his suit into the bottom of his backpack right as you pull it out of the hamper.

so it's not that unusual for you to be laying in bed, shoes and socks kicked across the floor, hands gripping for some stability, and eyes puffy and red. 

and it's not that unusual for you to squeak when the window opens, and spider-man's head peeks into your room. 

you can feel peter's wide eyes behind the mask. 

you're quick to wipe your face, throw on a clumsy smile. "peter," you say, exhaling. "what're you doing here?"  

a body crawls into the window, dirt and grime on clothes finger-tips reaching out to you. "what's wrong?" he asks, voice only slightly muffled. 

but you take a step back, moving away from him when he lands on the floor, leaving spots for you to vacuum up later. 

"what're you doing here?" you repeat, voice a bit harsher, a bit faded. 

"i need--" he reaches his hand out toward you again, retreating when you do. "i needed some more web fluid. i don't--" he shakes his head. "what happened?" 

"i, um," you wipe traitorous tears away again. "i think there's some more in the closet. i keep moving it when i'm cleaning, sorry." 

"you're crying," peter scolds. like you're being ridiculous. like you're not trying to save him the effort it's going to take to fix this irrational piece of you, these lonely broken bits. 

you bite your lip and look away. 

because although you can't even see his eyes--they are still scolding. they are quick and cruel reminders that you haven't talked to peter in two weeks. 

you turn towards your bedside table, pretending to organize the contents on top. 

you can hear peter moving. 

"what's going on, bub?" he says, soft enough for the words to crawl under your skin. he's taken the mask off. his voice is clear. 

"oh, nothing, you know," you pause, shrugging. "just the usual sad movie type of cry..." peter's hand reaches your back and you flip around, almost knocking over your lamp. 

"c'mon," he whispers to you, far closer than you'd been expecting. 

you try and take a step back, only meeting a dead-end. he's cornered you. "you should go, peter. you were just--" 

"this is more important."

you laugh. "some silly tears are more important than a collapsing building?" 

"you're more important," peter swears, his eyes so focused on yours, "to me." 

you blink and shake your head. gesture back towards the window. "go and save some people. you don't have to help me too." 

peter swallows, brows furrowed. "will you tell me what's wrong?"

"i can take care of myself, peter. you don't need to worry about it." 

"well, i'm going to." 

you roll your eyes. and then you break free of his hold, moving away from the table, from the cage he's built around you. "move along, spider-man." 

peter doesn't move any closer, but his limbs are tense. his face is concerned and hurt--you try and shield that out.

"i'm not leaving you when you're crying."

"i'm not crying anymore." 

peter scowls. "stop deflecting." 

you take a deep breath, throat dry and aching. "i'm not--" you clear your throat, shaking your head and looking away from him. "i'm fine, peter. but some people actually need you. go and save the day," you tell him. "i'll still be here when you come back." 

*

and you are. 

you're sitting on the couch, staring at photos peter took on the wall, wondering how to explain any of it. 

how to explain yourself without digging the two of you any further in this hole. 

you've been trying to prove just how little you need peter--just how useful you could be--and by doing so, you've put yourself in this situation. 

because you do need him. you just hadn't wanted peter to know that. 

so you're sitting on the couch, trying not to flinch every time the air conditioning comes on, or there's a footstep from the apartment above you. you're waiting for peter to climb in through the window, waiting to see how exhausted he is before he has to deal with you. 

and you've bitten your lip raw. completely eliminated any evidence of fingernails you once had. 

your heart stutters with every minute that comes by. 

and when you finally hear peter hop in from the fire escape, your heart stops completely. 

you wonder if he's going to change before he comes and finds you. before the inevitable happens, and you give him another reason to work so late. 

your restlessness must be audible because it only takes peter forty seconds before walking into the living room. he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. 

he's wearing a frown like a well-tailored suit. known and made for him. 

you're trying not to frown back. 

"hey," you say, putting on a smile, voice flighty and an octave too high. "everything okay?" 

"no one got hurt," peter says, the antonym to your tone. 

"good." 

apparently, your tight-lipped smile isn't enough to ease the tension in the room. 

"are you ready to talk?" peter asks, slowly stepping toward you, just barely meeting your eyes. 

you'd scrubbed your face after he left. sobbed in the shower as you washed away any of the shame you hadn't meant for him to see. you'd made sure that your eyes weren't puffy, and your eyelashes were dry before he'd got home. 

so when peter scans your face--as he's doing now--he shouldn't notice anything unusual. 

besides the facade you're putting on. 

you clear your throat, eyebrows lifted like you're unconcerned. "there's not much to talk about." 

peter's sullen face doesn't move an inch. "why were you crying?" 

"i already told you. i watched a sad movie," you wave a hand, "you just came in at the wrong time." 

peter sighs. he sits down on the couch next to you, keeping his distance. "don't lie." 

you frown. "i'm not lying." 

"you've got some pretty obvious tells, you know," peter whispers, giving you a hint of a bittersweet smile. "you don't have to talk to me. but i'd like it if you did. i just want to make sure that you're... okay." 

"i'm fine, peter." 

he looks away. "and if you're not then we'll figure it out. i just want to know." 

"well, you do." 

peter opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. 

he's sitting three feet away from you, but his hands are clasped together, his legs are opposite of yours, and he can't even look at you. 

you can feel it, as you push him away. as you try so desperately to hold him close without touching him. 

"okay," peter says, eyes meeting yours again. "i don't want to push you." 

no, but he should pull you off of this ledge. should keep you from falling any further than you already have. 

you shake your head, laughing. it's not funny. 

"what?" 

you close your eyes. count to ten. forget how to breathe, or how to speak to the person you love most in this world. 

"what?" peter repeats, but softer. 

you open your eyes. 

and then it all crumbles. 

you scoff. "can you stop looking at me like that?" you plead, breaking away, physically distancing yourself from him. 

"like what?" 

it's his fault, really, for coming home so early in the day. 

"like you can't deal with this. like this is exhausting." 

the tears sneak up on you, knocking you out before you even notice that they're there. 

peter's eyes are wide as he stares at you. "you're not--" he swallows, frantically reaching towards you. "this isn't exhausting--i'm not--" a moment, tears beginning to fall. "what do you--" 

you sigh, shaking your head. "you're always gone, and you come home exhausted every night after you think i've fallen asleep, and you only talk to me through text, and even now you just--" you stop, voice breaking. "if you can't do this," you say, softly, "then you should just tell me." 

peter is closer than he was a moment ago. "what?" 

"i know this is a lot of work, okay? and i know that you're already pushing yourself, so it's fine if i'm too much. if--if loving me is too much." 

there's a moment of silence, and you're almost sure that peter has already left. 

but then there's a thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. you can't open your eyes, can't face the reality you've been desperately holding off. 

"you're not too much." 

peter moves closer to you, his leg touching yours, his hands moving so that he can hold you closer. 

you couldn't push him away if you tried. 

"you're not too much," he repeats, the words sinking into your skin, his breath meeting yours. "i can't believe you would think that." 

you half laugh, half sob. peter wipes away those tears too. 

"you're the only thing keeping me going," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "i'm sorry i haven't been there. i didn't realize..." he shakes his head. 

"you shouldn't have to take care of me as much as you do," you whisper. 

peter nudges his head against yours. "hey. you take care of me way more than i take care of you. you clean up after me and stay up with me when i can't sleep. you help fix my suits, and do all of the laundry. and you never complain. you're practically my guardian angel." 

"that's all easy." 

"not for me," peter says, voice lighter than before. 

you shrug. 

"but you do all of that cause you love me," he adds, kissing your forehead again. "or, i hope that's why." 

"it's the sex." 

peter laughs, nuzzling his head into you. "well, at least you're honest. but, it's the same reason that i take care of you. you shouldn't feel... guilty because of that. you're no burden on me." 

"no?" 

"absolutely not." 

you bite your lip. try and believe peter. but honestly, you're most lovesick from how close he's holding you. how you can feel his skin and listen to him speak somewhere that isn't your bed. you're not quite sure that this isn't a dream. 

"hey," peter moves his head so you're looking at him. "we suck." 

you laugh, leaning your forehead against his. 

"i'm sorry it's been so long since we've... anything. it's been a rough couple of weeks." 

"for me too. it's not your fault." 

"you have to tell me if it's not enough, okay? i don't want you to suffer through it by yourself. if you need to talk to me--even for ten minutes--then you have to let me know." 

"okay." 

"do you promise?" 

you nod against him, nose brushing his cheek. "i promise, peter." 

peter smiles, satisfied. he groans, pulling you even closer to him. "i love you, bug. so much." 

you can barely hear him because of how tight he's hugging you. it sort of hurts, but mostly heals. 

"i know," you say back. but peter probably can't hear you, because you say it right into his shirt. 

*

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

[cherrycherryking]

i read your model!reader scene and can i just say absolute 10/10 for how you draw and write wally just phenomenonal!!!

may i suggest a sort of reversal where reader tries gifting wally a lil painting they did for him? maybe of him or of a flower that reminded them of him?

thank you so much <3 reader doing (or trying their best) to do a drawing of wally is just so sweet? thank you for requesting!!

┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴

wally darling x gen!reader

Making a Drawing for Wally

✧Wally had drawn you before, you knew from the times he would ask you to model for him or because you would catch little sketches of yourself in his sketchbook.

✧Maybe you're quite good at drawing, or maybe you aren't. Point is that today you felt more than compelled to draw him, could be as a little thank you or just because he was pretty.

✧Julie and Frank (but mostly Julie) had intercepted him to talk about some...case? they were on, something about one of Frank's book going missing.

✧You tried not to stare too much, Wally was pretty quick to notice people looking at him and being catched while drawing him suddenly felt a little embarrassing.

✧God. Uh. How were you supposed to draw his hair?

✧He pulled the hairstyle surprisingly well, but any time you tried it just looked weird, you closed your eyes to remember but instead your brain jumped to that one time it got completely ruined after Barnaby threw a water balloon to his face.

✧Now you're going down memory lane! That was such a fun day actually, even more so when Sally-

✧The high pitched sound that came out of your mouth was completely justified and no one could tell you otherwise.

✧You look to the side, Frank and Julie disappeared down the road to keep with their search.

✧In all honesty Wally knew where you were, even if it was for a second he felt your eyes on him and would have come to say hi either way, why wouldn't he?

✧So now he was leaning forward close to your face and making that damn eye contact. Without moving an inch his glance moved down just a tiny bit, and he quickly catched what you were doing.

✧"Aww! You're drawing me?" his drowsy eyes came back, excitement in that calm voice of him. "Well yeah- but is not as pretty as your drawings, or you-"

✧To say he was flattered was the least. With all the joy in the world Wally told you how good it looked no matter what you could say, and before you could ask him he offered himself to be your model.

✧Needless to say, after sitting besides you under the tree you could feel his stare once more. This time though it didn't make you as nervous as usual, maybe because it gave you an excuse to watch him and analyze his features for so long. Wally looked happy and you could swear his cheeks were just a little more blushed than usual.

✧Whether you think you got him right he's going to be over the moon anyways, sitting close to you arms touching as he talks about how you definitely should draw more often, specifically draw him.

┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴┬┴

sorry it took me so long!! something possessed me to do friendship bracelets for wally and julie and if i'm not stopped probably eddie too.

idk how well i write wally sjdksdf i want to capture that "lights are on, house is empty" and "oh hes a little fucked actually" that he has going on, so any advice would be really helpful :)

[hitlikehammers]

'who did this to you?' established Steddie, post-S4 🖤💙💜

The bruising’s stark, like footprints on new-fallen snow punished through to the long-dead grass. It draws the eye, insistent; screams to be seen:

“Who did this to you?”

Steve’s eyes are bright, voice low even as he delicately moves Eddie’s stretched-low collar to follow the line of broken vessels near the surface, a few stray snags of already rusty red, lines that follow the trails of mottled purple-blue. Steve smoothes barely a touch from the pad of his thumb just below the marks to trace them where they color neck to chin, up to the silver-light scarring on his face.

And honestly: it’s a ritual almost, now. But, like, it’s so different from how it used to be. Or even how it was before that, before them at all.

Before things ever ended like this.

“Names, babydoll,” Steve coaxes, but demands all the same; he’s learned over time not to bring the full weight of his steel to the fore in every moment—the resolute promise in his bones to protect Eddie at all costs doesn’t disappear, maybe does the opposite even, maybe just grows strong as what they have has grown, too; but it doesn’t burn so bright when it’s expressed in Eddie’s vicinity. Maybe to spare him.

Maybe as a strategic move on Steve’s part, who’s maybe finally learned that if he’s going to go beat the shit out of anyone, he should one-hundred-percent not let his boyfriend or his platonic soulmate—or also Wayne—about it in advance. So:

“Sweetness,” he nuzzles carefully, where Eddie’s skin’s not water-colored in burst-blood; “give me names.”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums, so easily softened and lulled by Steve’s careful adoration, the way he rubs his nose, his cheek against Eddie and just breathes—it carries Eddie into a soft, comfortable space always, no matter what’s happened; no matter what’s been done.

“Don’t have to,” Eddie sighs out, kinda pathetically desperate in how he leans into Steve’s…just Steve. Steve-Steve-Steve. So he just kinda sighs, because…Steve.

“You know damn well who it was.”

“Don’t play coy,” Steve warns, though its airy, diaphanous, even though Steve doesn’t stop for a second from nuzzling into Eddie’s skin; even but Eddie knows better than to entangle Steve’s softness for Eddie with his broader intentions, the heat behind his words, and the ultimate question:

“Who,” and Steve’s breathe so hot, so close to Eddie’s ear as he whispers, sends fucking shivers down Eddie’s spine; “did this,” and then he’s leaning to run his mouth back along the bruising, the damning trail of damage: “to you?”

“Steve,” Eddie sighs, can’t help but crane his neck to Steve’s careful attention, almost cataloging of the dark splotching, and Eddie can’t help it, it’s not like it even hurts, not really, Eddie knows hurting—

He’s not weird if he kinda feels like most hurting’s worth the high of Steve’s tender care like this, the buzzing flame-like licking across his skin.

Steve doesn’t even make contact with where it could even possibly sting, but fuck if it doesn’t make Eddie light up wild from the pit of his belly.

And fuck if Steve doesn’t know it.

“Mmm-nope,” Steve pulls himself back when Eddie’s reckless, lets out a full-ass fucking moan. “No distracting me,” Steve bites with a glare before he catches Eddie’s gaze and looks down pointedly, points so only the whisper of his touch follows the trail:

“Who did this,” and Eddie is weak, he’s weak because he shivers and when Steve draws his barely-a-touch back, away, he whines. Fuck, yes: he whines, Jesus.

Weak, you understand?

Also, if you don’t understand: fuck you. Eddie would like to see anyone—man, woman, or otherwise—do any better.

“You know,” Eddie keeps with the whining, Jesus fuck, seriously: “I said”

“I think mostly you’ve made noises.”

“Steve,” Eddie…does not break his whining streak. He’s tight in his thighs, and it’s not…he’s gonna need to address that soon.

He’s gonna need someone to address that for him, really.

“Hmm?” Steve leans in, and for the first time he does touch the bruises, tastes them on the flat of his tongue with barely any pressure like he’s collecting evidence, searing proof into his own flesh.

“What’s that now?”

“Steve.”

And he tilts his head at his name, which is less of a whine now—win—but breathy as fuck, still. It’s a process.

“Who did this to you, baby?” Steve asks, eyes wide, innocent and encouraging now as he pulls back and buries his hands in Eddie’s mess of curls, massages as his temples, his scalp.

Fucking dirty pool, right there.

“Steve,” Eddie bites out. Like literally bites his tongue as his head tips back, inescapable for the perfect circles being traced across his head; “Harrington.”

And yes: soon as he gets the words out, the name in full, he stops fighting how just Steve Harrington’s hands are deciding to undo him, this time.

“Hmm, sounds familiar,” Steve hums a little, clicks his tongue and bites a bit at his lip; “but you say it so soft, sweetheart, like maybe you’re hesitant or somethin’,” Steve shakes his head, and tips Eddie’s face toward him a little more full-on, thumb on Eddie’s subtly swollen lower lip:

“Are you one-hundred-percent sure?”

“Absotively posolutely,” Eddie enunciates carefully, never breaking eye contact as he lets his tongue flick out to Steve’s touch and watches those pupils dilate quick to drown that hazel gaze.

“No doubt in your mind?” Steve pushes, relentless, but leans in, leans to breath open mouthed against each bruise:

“Only one,” Eddie sighs, and maybe it sounds frustrated, over the interrogating but hell if he can be over any single goddamn thing about this man.

And it’s the truth. There’s no evidence but Eddie knows Steve leaves his trusty bat at a different angle against the wall the days after Eddie so much as mentions being hassled, or only just slipping the asshats looking to resurrect Jason’s pursuit—the coincidence of every single threat disappearing, suddenly keeping the eyes on the ground if they pass Eddie by, changing course overnight when the bat shifts ever so slightly?

Eddie’d be more concerned, if there was ever any real damage to Steve in response, but in reality he only ever went to put the fear of god in those assholes, he swears he’s never even let a single one of them move quick enough to even try to pull anything on him in return, and well.

Hop doesn’t condone it but he never works too hard to find evidence, and Steve never does anything the technically breaks any obvious laws, so. Eddie thinks it’s Hopper’s way of showing he cares.

But then there’s…this.

There are mornings, like this, when Eddie wakes with bruises around his neck like a chain, a heavy one in the center of his chest like a pendant, little red dashes here and there, barely visible but particular points of interest for Steve when he wakes Eddie up with gentle but unceasing kisses where the bruising doesn’t survive the night so bright, so tender, sucks the blood back up to Eddie lips and leaves them gorgeously numb before he inspect the purple marks: perfectly shaped to his lips.

The tiny red marks perfectly lined to ?i>his teeth.

All of them sucked and nipped so sweet, never hard enough to mark for force but only through persistence, dedication, painted with the single-minded kind of worship Eddie never even considered having focused on him.

So it’s kind of a wondering way that he reaches, reaches out and thumbs Steve lip in return, marveling a little when he tilts his head and takes Steve in for a breath, just basks in him:

“Only one man alive allowed to mark me up,” Eddie whispers, and there’s love in every syllable. Even that’s not really enough but.

They both know.

And Steve’s grin curve slow and satisfied, leaning in to presses his lips, open-mouthed to Eddie’s that he’d already kissed plump as he woke, long before the breaking light through the windows now, catching in Steve’s gaze, had dared fort with the horizon line; he leans right there and breathes hot into Eddie’s mouth:

“Damn fucking straight.”

For @cranberrymoons, who requested the quote 'Who did this to you?' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credits here

💫 ao3 link here

[serve-corps]

Ciel Phantomhive x fictional fem reader

This is a ciel x reader where the reader is a fictional character in Ciel's world, however it is the same in the readers world. Both if them are madly in love with the characters in the book and suddenly, the reader stumbles and falls in front of Ciel's desk as she appears from mid air.

Ciel flips the pages of his favourite book for the umpteenth time, re-reading the description of his favourite character, (your hair colour) hair, (your eye colour) eyes, adorable teeth, an even cuter smile that wasn't seen often in the books. This was the main book he loved because his favourite character got the most screen time in the story here, being the main character's sister AND best friend made her seen in nearly all chapters, however, this one describes the most about her, her actions, humour, appearance, habits, hobbies, he re-read every little thing about her, god he felt like he was obsessed with her. 

He sighs and closes the book with half lidded eyes, that book was his go to distraction from work, stress, or anything really. he became so absorbed in this character that he registered he'd taken too much of a fondness to her.  

Some would perceive this as absurd, but he would do anything to meet this girl, he fancied her more than he loved Elizabeth that's for sure. He would sacrifice anything to see that girl, he would happily kill his cousin for her to even be real and his fiancé in Elizabeth’s place. 

The bluenette rested his head on his hand as he tapped his quill on his paper, he was doodling on the back of a pointless document that was going to be thrown soon enough, he drew the best he could of her soft features, hair, eyes, smile, body shape while he was softly smiling at his drawing, his eyes snapped up to in front of his desk as a weird noise could be heard, almost like the swirling of water as a black and white rift started to manifest in his room, it became large enough to fit a human through and he stood up at attention, alarmed, believing this to be the work of an arch angel. 

Just as he was about to utter his contracted demons name, 

"Sebas-!" 

A girl fell through and landed with a hard thud on the wooden floor, her body lay still on the cold ground as the earl looked bewildered at the girl who just appeared in his study. Once she was through, the rift in the air; the swirling of black and white snapped shut. Gone for however long. 

The boy quickly shoved the book into his desk draw that had a lock on it, putting the key in his pocket alarmingly fast. he walked hastily to the girl on the floor who upon further inspection was unconscious, she was very pretty; now that he was looking at her, he blushed and stared a bit at the girl on the floor who looked to be in pain, even unconscious. 

As he leaned closer to her, he took a knee to observe her better, she looked familiar, but he knows he's never met her. her features look like something he's heard of before, (your hair colour) hair, (your face shape) face, (your fashion sense) style of clothes, but no... that would be absurd.... 

The boy was confused, so confused in fact that he didn't notice the girls scrunching face and flickering eyes start to open. 

You jumped up in surprise, shoving the boy staring at you so he was far away, he fell flat on his arse and yelped, you scurried away backwards from him, your first instinct was to get the fuck away from anyone near you. 

The boy was just as surprised as you looked panicked, your eyes were darting in all directions, trying to gather where you were, you slowly gained your senses as you now looked at the boy in front of you who was still sat on his arse but staring at you in panic and confusion. 

This was obviously some sort of study or something in your eyes, it reminded you of black butler, specifically Ciel's study, and look! There's even a Ciel to go with the room! 

wait a god damn minute... that's Ciel fucking Phantomhive.... Am I dreaming? what da fuqu??? 

You sat up so you were no longer leaning backwards and tilted your head to the side as you looked at Ciel, showing you were confused. There was pink dusting his cheeks as he looked away and coughed into his hand. hmm... 

The boy stood quickly and looked down at you menacingly as if to say he's the one in charge. what a power trip amirite?  

"Who the hell are you? Why on earth are you in my manor." He asked calmly, but the hint of a threat as well as curiosity was hidden in his tone, he stares at you with a squinted eye while slowly making the connections to his favourite character, you did come through that weird portal, could it be? 

You stuttered as you looked up, wondering how in the fucking hell your sat before THE Ciel Phantomhive, the earl and the cutie patootie of your favourite show. You're a simp for his entire being, you were attempting to shift just to see him in person, did it work? No, this is too real. This must be real life.. 

You took a deep breath as you looked him in his eyes- well...eye and stated your name, modestly of course. 

"Y/n, Y/n L/n. Now who in the devilled fucking eggs are you?!" You raised your voice at the end, you started to get up off your knees and stood up, you were leaned back but definitely taller than the boy. 

Ciel's eyes widened at your name however he quickly glares at you, it adds up. Your name, eyes, hair, body, attitude...is it? 

He wanted to clear this up, to make sure for definite, he walked back around to his desk and asked you to sit down by gesturing to the chair opposite his. He was pacing back and forth. 

To you, this felt like an investigation of sorts, like he was the detective, and you were a case for him to crack wide open. Well, you wouldn't be opposed ;) AHEM.  

You sat there slumped, leaning your head back as you let it roll, regret hit you like a freight train as when your head rolled, you hit the wooden back of the chair and your head shot up, you rubbed the back of your head to sooth it. Stupid funking chair... 

"Your name...your body type...your hair, your eyes even.... The book said you were (your height) tall..." the boy mumbled as he paced a little bit. 

You stopped shit talking the chair as slowly raised your head to him, now it was your turn to squint. See? It's not just the pirate that can do it. 

You stared daggars at him as your voice was heard softly and wearily in the quietness of the room. 

"I am (your height) tall... how did you guess that so accurately...?" You were wondering if it could be possible that he either was THAT good at estimating height or if you could also be a story in this world, just as he is in yours... 

"SECONDLY! I asked you who you are!" You pointed at the boy while glaring at his confused face. 

"My name is Earl Ciel Phantomhive, the owner of the Funtom company and the owner of this estate. Now... do you perhaps have a brother? And what's his name. As well as your closest friend's name...this will confirm you suspicions of you..." 

Jesus, he talks in essay paragraphs... 

"Um... I do have a brother and his name is (brothers name or made up name) I don't know how that's relevant, but my best friend is called (best friends name)... Am I... Fictional in this place? This is just a hunch, please don't treat me as if I'm insane!" You started to panic as you shouldn't have spoken of your theory aloud. 

"You're actually completely correct...if you come from the future, the 21st century maybe, then you must be her..." He pulls out the previous key from his pocket and unlocked the draw, reaching for the book he treats as if it were sacred. He hesitantly hands it to you; you quickly skim through the pages. The silence nipping and gnawing at his swirling thought if your reaction... 

Safe to say he was shooketh when you slowly started to smile and that graduated into a soft giggle, it was adorable, much more adorable than the book described it as... The description paled in comparison to your real characteristics...They only caught a glimpse of your true beauty. 

"Hehe...little earl, your going to laugh at this...you’re actually a fictional character in my world too! Hahaha! The show nor the manga did your looks justice! Your even cuter in person!" 

The boy looked at you shocked and flustered, still attempting to register the preposterous idea that maybe, just maybe you felt the same as he felt for your character.  

You were hunched over, your shoulders bouncing up and down as you tried, TRIED to keep your giggling quiet, reaching into your trouser pocket, you pulled out your phone and went to your gallery, you have hundreds of photos of the boy in question, you pulled one up and placed your phone on the table, spinning it so he could see it the correct way and pushed in towards him. 

You rested your head on the desk and hit the wood with your fist, your laughing now silent wheezing, holy shit, you never thought you would ever be described in such a formal way, sounded straight outta a mix of twilight and a horrible history's combination. It was fucking hilarious, "thus the pleasing complexion of her face luring in the devil himself to her chambers" WHAT THE FUCK?! HAHAHAHA!  

As you were on the brink of tears, the blue eyes boy in question looked at your phone in wonder as he listened to your melodic voice ring through his ears; oh how he wish he could hear that laugh more often, looking at the photo of him that looked drawn, very commendable art work, as he picks up your phone in curiosity, his fingers accidentally swiped to the left, which showed the photo on the next page, it was one of Ciel being flustered and embarrassed with the words cutie, my boy, dearest and my husband surrounding it with little pink and blue hearts scattered around it, safe to say, Ciel got the answer to his previous question, you liked him too...he realised that dragging his finger across the screen changed the photo, he marvelled at the technology advancement but he had focused on finding out how in love and enamoured you were with him as he was with you. Art that seemed like they were done by you because of the written words (Y/n) Phantomhive written in your handwriting on a photo, and another with writing saying (Y/n) + Ciel... 

"Hmm so I was correct...(Y/n) you really shouldn't have handed me this." He held the phone to you, and it was a drawn photo of you and Ciel lost in each other's eyes, you didn't say you were a bad artist, but you were rather embarrassed about being caught. 

"I- I'm so sorry Ciel! I mean earl! That uh, that's not meant to be seen by you... Oh god that's embarrassing!"  

The earl stood up and walked around his desk once again, this time he pulled your chair back a bit and leaned down to be face to face with you, he slowly reached for your hand and placed your phone in it, smirking at your pink face. 

"Alright, don't act so smug! I saw the hearts around my name in the book! And those little drawings of me on your paperwork!" You said with your own cheeky grin.  

He blushed and looked away, leaning away from your face, 

"Well now we know we both like each other maybe a bit too much..." 

"But that makes it feel like we've known each other more than just this meeting, doesn't it darling..?" You say with a soft voice as you reached for Ciel's cheek, stroking it softly as he gazes into your eyes, pink dusting his cheeks as he seemed lost in them. 

Ciel gulps and takes a deep breath and let's it go, "you have no idea how much I am infatuated with you (Y/n), you always plagued my thoughts however I welcomed them...I would have sacrificed anything to see you in person and my desire came true...I'm not sure if I'm dreaming anymore, maybe Sebastian will wake me in a bit, I don't know..." he says as he's still lost in your eyes, his eyes flickering to your lips as he is face to face with you, you grab his waist and pull him so he's pinning you to the chair and standing over you, his eyes half lidded as he feels as though he can finally achieve his dream of kissing his crush, fictional or not, she's sat right here...right Infront of him...he'd be an absolute idiot if he didn't make the most of this opportunity, you must be thinking the same thing if you both discovered each other in those stories at the same time, you've loved each other for months, years even but you never met. He read that story years ago and he’s still hooked onto you. 

You held Ciel by the waist as your other hand stroked his cheek, he leaned into your hand making your heart melt at his affection. Both of you were in love with one another, that was obvious, the elephant in the room had been addressed, it was a thing of who was going to make the first move. Ciel couldn't get any redder as his long-time crush was drowning him in affection and he never wanted it to end. 

You slowly sat up straighter to move your face closer to his, your breath softly mingling with his as his eyes flickered from your own eyes to your delicious looking lips, he wanted to kiss you desperately but he was still unsure, you face got even closer, lips ghostly brushing against each other's, sparks flew between the contact as you could no longer wait, you used your hand on his cheek to finally make the full connection. 

Both of you melted as the kiss was full of love, not lust. The kiss being innocent as you both bathed in the feeling of each other's lips against one another, you sighed into the kiss as you push him even closer to your face to savour the moment, his lips feeling like clouds as you reach heaven, his taste being of earl grey with vanilla sponge, his scent overtaking your mind, driving you crazy with the gently fruity scent of his favourite tea and sugar, an addicting scent.  

Your heart was pounding in your chest and so was his, he was so flustered as this was his first kiss, he was unsure what to do but simply said, he was enjoying every second of it. his face felt as though it was set ablaze, his hands leaving the chair he was leaning on and entangled themselves in your hair and the side of your neck as he felt pure love. 

Both of you pulled away softly, eyes opening to look at each other with love filled gazes, you undid his eyepatch, he freaked out and stuttered telling you not to until you said, 

"Ciel, there is nothing I don't know about you, in the least creepy way possible. I know about your contract, I believe both of your eyes are beautiful, I could stare at them for hours and not get bored..." you chuckled breathily as you were still trying to regain yourself. 

He calmed at your words and let the eyepatch fall from his face as his eye slowly fluttered open with his soft eye lashes framing the purple iris that stole your breath away, you strained up a bit to kiss his eye as he closed it, you lips made contact with his eye lid and the boy became a stuttery mess, cute... 

He stayed flustered so you grabbed the back of his head again and smashed his lips against yours, he let out a surprised noise, but melted into the kiss again, this time more confident. he had on hand leaning on the chair, one entangled back in your hair and he placed his knee between your legs to keep his balance.  

The boy lets out a Shakey breath as you kiss him albeit a little bit more passionately this time, you kept ending the kisses quickly only just to start kissing him again and again, he was loving it, it was addicting to him. 

You both pull away with flushed faces and panting as you both regain your composure.  

"Ahem...I guess we should establish some sort of relationship from this, shouldn't we?" the flustered boy asks, he gets off from practically being on top of you, leaning against his desk as you stutter out an answer. Cute... 

"O-of course! Only if you want too though... I'm not sure how I got here and how long I'll be staying however..." 

Suddenly an all too familiar voice cuts in. 

"That would be both of your doing, the divine beings themselves accidentally separated two soulmates into different dimensions, this is their apology." Sebastian says in his well know smug voice. he is very punchable you know. 

Ciel shouts at his demon butler to get out while his face gets redder at the thought of his pet demon teasing him for this later. You chuckled at the boy you love’s embarrassment, the demon doing the same thing however, he very quickly bowed to you mentioning how it was a pleasure to meet you and is pleasantly awaiting your stay at the manor. Noice.  

The earl sighs and shakes his head as the butler walks out, he turned to you and asked, 

“So, my lady, do you wish to stay in the phantomhive manor with me? If you're my soulmate, I will happily explain to Elizabeth that I have found something that makes me smile and I'm sure she will understand.” Ciel says to you with a soft smile, with affectionate eyes draping over you. 

“Of course! I would be more than happy! - I mean- Ahem... If that's alright with you?” 

“It most certainly is my dear, my life feels as though it might actually improve for the better, I thank you angel.” 

You stand up and walk over to Ciel who was leaning on the desk, cornering against it, you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled into his chest, showing him your gratitude. The earl smiled as his heart fluttered in his chest, being flustered by the affection. He wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you back. 

“Hey, Ciel?” 

“Yes, my dear?” 

“I love you...” 

“I love you too my sweet angel” 

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS ACTUAL PILE OF SHIT  

Sorry, that's mean, this Victorian pile of shit <3 i sorta did this because my friend got me into posting on tumbler even though I'm only used to posting on quotev atm, but big thanks to her for giving me motivation to do this even though Ciel isn't really a sought-after character. HOWEVERRRR i will post other characters that fall within the feminine category such as Armin Arlert, Koby from the live action one peice, Rimuru Tempest even! I might do some women as well such as haruhi fujioka because gawd dayum she’s a ray of quiet sunshine. PEACE OUT MY BABYS i will also probs do a part 2 of dis but smutty, hint hint, nudge nudge  

[espinosaurusrexex]

All the Words I Can't Say

College!SteveRogers x Female!Reader AU

summary: Steve can't help it. He is just so enchanted that all he ever draws is you. Too bad he will never actually talk to you, though - that's too scary. But Bucky always says he has to face his fears some day...

a/n: I have a playlist for College!SteveRogers. It was originally for another fic I’ve written, but apparently I can’t not imagine him awkward and love struck in any college universe. So this serves as a general College Stevie AU vibe :) 

word count: 2.6k

warnings: awkward, love-dazed Stevie, fluff?, swearing, and so sorry (but it's giving slight stalker vibes... it really wasn't my intention he's just so obsessed)

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ･

He dreams in color. They are the words he can’t say, painted on a canvas.

Blue fades in clear water. Like a feeling warming you for a second, a spark. It’s beautiful, Steve thinks. He loves it when his brush does it. He feels like a wizard when the pigment dissolves into the clear again - as if it had never been there before. Hidden in the masses of molecules, disguised only as long as it stays in its entity. Not too much - too much is never good. 

Another drop lands in the water, but now it starts to taint in washed color. Steve still loves it - it’s still magical. But there is something he loves even more. And it’s right there in front of him - not really. But almost. Depicted in oranges and browns, purples and blues, yellows, greens and reds - your eyes stare back at him with adoration. And Steve’s heart skips. Then it clenches and stops. It always does that... when the admonition flashes in his mind. 

It’s not real.

He has to remind himself too often. But he can’t help it. It’s too comforting to live in his fantasies - warm and safe - all he ever needed. Now it hurts with every stroke he dares. It’s not like he hasn’t done it dozens of times before. A notebook filled with sketches hidden beneath the mattress in his bedroom serves as proof of this. It never does anything other than remind him of what will never be a reality, though. You in his arms, you with love painted on your face for him. 

His thumb strokes over the dried paint on the canvas but a part of his finger still smudges it. Damn it, he hasn’t checked his fingers. Now there’s purple on your face, out of place and destroying - but daring all the same. It looks quite beautiful beneath your eyes, makes them shine brighter, makes your smile softer somehow. 

Steve sighs. The purple streak is going to stay for now. He washes his brushes out in the sink, recapping the bottles of paint scattering the studio he’s in. And before long, he flicks the lights off and locks the door. Professor Potts gave him the key for ‘when he needed to let it all out again’. He needs to show her some work soon.

It’s dark out when he reaches the path to his dorm. Stars shine as bright as they can against the unrelenting city lights. It’s hopeless. Just like Steve’s track of time when he paints you, the stars don’t stand a chance. It’s well over midnight when Steve unlocks his room. Bucky would be up. He has been out, drinking with Sam. But even if he would have stayed home, he probably couldn’t sleep... like always. So, Steve doesn’t bother being quiet. 

“Another late-night date with the canvas?” The brunette peers over his phone, though his eyes hold concern for Steve. He has told him hundreds of times before. Go out. Meet people. Don’t dig yourself deeper into this hopeless crush. But Steve never listened. He likes his hopelessness. And, besides, even if he tried to get over you, he knows it wouldn’t be possible. 

His smile finds the ground before he disappears into the bathroom where his sunken eyes stare back at him. He would be dreaming about you tonight - he always does when he paints you. And he looks forward to it, too. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You pass by him once again. It’s weird, because Steve swears he’s smiling, but his mouth won’t listen. He looks like an idiot. If only he could talk to you - Yeah, no. that isn’t an option. Because just thinking about it makes his heart go crazy fast. It’s scary because you’re so beautiful. And he knows he shouldn’t size himself down to leagues and scales, but how can he not when literally all of college is all about it? Bucky says he should grow some balls and ask you out or leave it be. But here’s the thing: he can’t leave it be - and he can most definitely not talk to you. It’s too scary - too foreign.

His brush dips back into lilac. He embraces the smudge now. Hated it for a while - but then it grew on him. Now it needs more shades. His tongue darts out as he tries to precisely draw along the curve of your cheekbone. He gets a little excited and his hand wants to shake, but he can hold it steady, he has practiced it enough.

Now another stroke. And another. Steve finds amusement in the color pouring onto his canvas. The smudge might have been the best mistake he’s ever made. Then again, there are no mistakes in painting. Accidents are meant to happen. They show the painter what their mind wants to see. 

“Is that... me?” Steve’s hands go flying and the brush throws purple all around him.

Oh no. Code red code red code red - that’s a fucking code red!

You just stand there as Steve flinches with the wooden brush hitting the floor, paint sprinkles covering your face - stunned, silent. This is a nightmare. He’s holding his breath. Really, there’s nothing he can do but hope he won’t pass out from the way your eyes bore into his wide and shocked. Though there is a softness in them still. You’re not angry - at least he doesn’t think so. Maybe, if he’s still a little longer, he’ll just disappear. 

That doesn’t happen. Obviously. Because god hates him.

His mouth opens, but there is not a sound formed by his tongue. He should apologize - he needs to apologize. God, but your eyes look too pretty with the purple accentuating your skin. He’s not even mad about it. He could look at it forever, look at you forever. Not that he doesn’t already do exactly that for the majority of his day. But still. 

“Are you okay?” You blink out of your trance and now Steve is panicking even more. “No need to apologize, by the way, I’m fine. Just got caught in a paint grenade.” Your eyes wander down your body and now Steve can see the fine blotches of lilac seeping into your shirt. It's white - shit. 

“I-” He’s trying, he really is. But something isn’t working up there. He just short circuits - wires smoking and all. It’s a complete mess. No wonder he can’t talk. And then your pretty gaze - he just needs to feel it and he’s melting away and, oh shit did you just see the painting? There are several stages of disaster but on a measure from failing a test to your mom dying, this is a six on the Richter scale. Why can’t he just say something?

He opens his mouth again and a weird noise escapes his tongue. What the fuck was that? By the look on your face, he can tell you’re just as surprised. But then your shoulders sag and you sigh.

“I shouldn’t have startled you like that, that was my fault. But this,” your gesture towards your shirt, “this is yours.” He swallows thickly, you seem to be really mad about that shirt. “You really speared nothing but that canvas.”

Now his body turns to the project propped up behind him. The canvas, right. You stare back at him, and now that you actually stand so close before him, he’s impressed at how lifelike he made your portrait. He’s surrounded by you, staring him down, but somehow your presence calms him. One last look at the purple smidge beneath your painted eyes and the breath returns to his lounges. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says when he spins back to you.

A small smile is placed on your lips and it reminds him of the series of sketches he made while you were laughing with your friends the other day. “Oh, so you can talk.”

“Sometimes,” he mutters to himself but he’s sure you’ve heard it. He turns to look at the painting again as he curses his carelessness. He can’t even stop you when you step forward to have a closer look at the artwork yourself. It’s too late now, anyway.

You reach forward but halt just in time. Unlike Steve, you didn’t smear the paint on your fingers all over the piece. “It’s very good.” 

Of course, it is. He puts everything in his paintings. All the things he can’t say. And, as he just noticed, that’s a whole lot.

“Thank you.” It’s small but it slips past his lips with ease. He never likes to accept compliments, but it’s different when you give them. He seeks your approval, especially now that you have caught him shamelessly reaping a piece of your privacy with his obsession.

Your eyes sway to him and then back to your portrait, and Steve is enchanted by the way your skin looks when the light hits it just right. He makes a mental note to draw you like this when he gets home - that is if you haven’t forbidden him to do so anymore. But who is he kidding? He’ll do it anyway, it’s an addiction.

His feet take him closer to you, and soon he’s gazing over your shoulder from a foot away, watching you watch the painting that’s looking right back at him. He’s trapped in the gaze he created and it’s taunting him: This is a mess. Then why doesn’t it feel messy?

Steve is so close to you, he can smell your shampoo, the faint remnant of the perfume you put on this morning, probably. It’s intoxicating, it draws him in and he can’t take his eyes off of you. His fingers are itching to touch you. He can imagine his hand moving your collar away to trail kisses from your shoulder to your collarbone - stop it, Steve. His face is heating up and his hands clench beside his body. 

“How long have you been working on this?” You spin around now suddenly, those lively eyes stare back at him, more intense - more real than he’s used to. And Steve can’t handle it, but his body isn’t looking away either. 

“Not that long,” he whispers as his focus lands on a moderate splatter of lilac beneath your eye. It’s not a lie, he’s memorized your features. Steve doesn’t even register your answer, he’s fixated on that little purple drop of color on your skin. It has a hold on him, he can’t do anything. 

“Why are you staring like that? Do I have something on my face?” It’s a silly joke, but Steve can’t tell you that you do. It would risk you swiping it away. And he can’t have that. Not when he wants to do it himself. He can’t do that, though, the purple spot is mocking him. And then, suddenly, like a bystander, he watches his hand move towards your face. He can’t stop it, it’s like an accident - he just needs to look, but he can’t do anything about it either. 

When his thumb finally makes contact with your skin, the world around him freezes again. There you are, so close before him, he’s touching your face, and it’s nothing like he thought it would be. He’s calm - so calm. Why is that? What is wrong with him?

Steve can hear your breath hitch when his fingers settle beneath your ear, his thumb resting next to the droplet of paint. He can finally feel his heart beating again, it’s getting faster now. He moves to wipe the lilac from your face, but he’s betrayed once again. The paint leaves a smudge beneath your eye and Steve is having flashbacks from the night before. 

Now you look just like his painting - his vision mixed with the perfect reality presented before him and he’s not sure, he can handle it. The world seems to spin when you take his hand from your face and look at the color on his finger. Then your eyes flick back up and his gaze locks with yours. Is this really happening? It feels so surreal.

The moment takes over Steve’s brain. It’s like he’s in one of those movies Sam likes to watch. There should be some piano queued in a second and then the main characters lean in to finally kiss in the rain. This won’t happen here, this is reality. But somehow, Steve isn’t so sure about it as soon as he thinks it.

Your eyes are still staring into his, wide, and it’s as if you’re not quite sure what’s happening either. If you feel anything like him at the moment, you must be captivated by the atmosphere that has been built around you. Steve is sure it can’t just be his big fat crush on you. It’s something new, something that just happened - the moment you took his hand in yours. 

Oh wow, you are leaning in. Panic surges up his spine. He can’t do it, not like this. This isn’t supposed to happen. You’re the princess and he’s the rat living in the peasant’s walls. But suddenly you're lips connect with his and it’s so simple, so effortless. He’s questioning everything at this point. Maybe you’re a witch and he’s a black cat. You are a little wicked, after all. And the way this feels - you and him - it’s like you belong together.

The hand that is still holding his guides him to your waist where it’s placed with promise. Steve can feel the paint transferring to the white cotton beneath his fingers but he’s too busy trying not to faint. He has done this before. He knows how to kiss, but he feels like a toddler with training wheels now that he gets to actually taste you. When your hand snakes around the back of his head, however, he regains consciousness. Your fingers press into his skin and he finally moves his lips in unison with yours. He can taste the minty aftertaste of gum on your tongue when he dares to explore it and he’s sinking into you like melted chocolate. Your breath tickles his cheek and when he pulls you a little closer to him, a surprised huff escapes your kiss. 

Then your hand slips from his neck and pushes gently against his chest. He pulls back, dazed eyes staring back at you. He’s yearning for more, whatever this was, and he’s chasing to stay in the universe you catapulted him into for a second longer. 

Your gaze travels over to the portrait again, then back to him and your thumb grazes over his sweater. “You owe me a new shirt.”

“Anything you want.” It’s a husky whisper in which his eyes stay fixated on the movement of your lips. He would say yes to about anything right now. His brain is mush. 

“It’s a date, then.” It looks like you want to nod, but you’re still staring at him with those tranced eyes - Steve can’t get enough of it.

He swallows thickly. “Okay.”

And then you just smile and leave him standing there, longing for a second more of your presence. But you have turned the corner faster than he can register and that’s when reality is setting back into his brain. It’s like he is snapped out of a vivid daydream, but he can still taste the mint on his tongue and he still has the purple smear on his finger. This was real, this actually happened. 

His eyes get caught on the painting once more. Intensely staring back at him with mockery: You’re an idiot. He knows that.

“Shut up,” he whispers to the drying paint on the canvas as he moves to pick up his brush again. But now that he has had the real thing, his drawings don’t do you justice anymore. 

I know it's a little weird, but I like it. I hope you do, too. You are welcome to share your thoughts - reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 💙

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[bambiimutt]

hiii!!! Can you do masky as a father figure to edgy emo/scene teens? 👀

Father Figure Masky

Of course I can my love!! I actually haven’t thought of doing something like this so I’ll give it a shot!!

ೃ࿔*:･

Not any tw’s if I missed any please let me know. Just some wholesome Tim! Lots of fluff!

-I feel like he probably finds you in a Library. He doesn’t go often but when he usually spots you. you’re always reading a book or sometimes drawing. He never sees your parents so he assumes you must be old enough to be out on your own.

-he’s typically in there for.. well not really anything. To get away from the noise. From the typical people. He usually sits in a corner, book in hand slightly slouching in his chair, legs crossed over each other. His satchel usually sits beside the squeaky chair, occasionally he pops a pill, swallowing down water and going back to whatever he’s reading.

-you come in one afternoon, grabbing the book you’ve been reading the last couple of weeks and heading towards your spot. But when you arrive you’re met with a few teenagers from you school. “Shit.” You’re quick to turn on your heel before they see you and try to find some other quiet corner to sit in. And when you do someone else just so happens to be sitting there.

-you clear your throat. “Uhm..” Tim looks up from his book, eyebrow cocked. It’s you. “S-sorry. Uhm. Do you mind if I sit here. I won’t bother you or anything.” He’s silent for a moment, his fingers curling at the page before he closes the book. You’re quick to roll your eyes when you don’t get a response “hellooo?” You wave your book in his face before he speaks “g’ahead” he moves up slightly and watches you carefully. He takes note of your funky hair, how it isn’t natural. The piercings on your face and the clothes you wear.

- this is all where it kinda started. You’d start sitting with him whenever you knew he was there, he’d learn why you were always here, how your parents just never treated you the greatest and the only way to escape was to come to the library.

-you finally ask him one day why he takes so many pills, why he needs so much medication. And oddly enough he feels okay to open up to you about those things.

-I think he would feel some sort of comfort. He likes that your different then others. In a way you’re like him, but maybe not so violent. And he tries to keep that part of him away from you. He tries to just be the happy him, but it’s hard when he’s been out all night blacked out stalking innocent individuals.

-he ends up buying you some art supplies. He first took note of your artistic skills from the moment he seen you. He likes the weird things you draw, it almost eases his mind to know he’s not the only one with weird stupid scary thoughts.. though you are more of a edgy teenager.. he’s just not normal.

-your name in his phone is kiddo. He probably sends you stupid fucking memes he finds on the internet that he thinks are so Hilarious but they’re actually so fucking cringy.

-Calling him dad for the first time. Yeah it kinda just slips out and he’s shook. You think he’s angry, uncomfortable but he’s in pure SHOCK. Really? You look at him like that? That’s so… sweet. He cares for you deeply and wants to see you go far. So the fact that you see him like that.. damn you might have just wiggled right into his heart.

-it takes him some time getting used to it but at some point he fully allows you to call him dad. He’ll pick you up from school, he’s always the one to listen to you when it comes to bullies at school, he buys you lunch, makes sure you have school supplies that you need. You call him asking him to pick you up because you don’t wanna be there anymore? He’s on his way.

-“can you take me to the MCR comeback concert?”

“Fuck no.”

-Trust me he’d love to take you to those things but his money goes to his medications and his house, he’d rather have a roof over his head then be surrounding by teenagers crying and screaming. Butttt.. that doesn’t stop him from buying you things that you’re interested in. Band shirts, new hair dye, comics, etc.. he even goes out of his way to make sure you have new things, new phone.. whatever you want. I think he’s taking the dad role straight to the heart.. but it makes him happy.

-if you were ever in a situation to be put up for adoption. He’s 100% willing to adopt you. But if you’re old enough to be moved out, he’s got a bedroom all set up for you.

-he takes his road trips.. and fully takes pride on the fact that he listens to dad rock. He sings horribly to the music while you groan and plug your ears, and searching frantically for your headphones “dad please! Shut up!”

-he does let you play your music majority of the time though, and he actually doesn’t mind any of it. He thinks it’s pretty cool.

-“I bought hair dye..” you look at Tim and sway side to side, hands behind your back. He stares at you from the couch before shutting his eyes and sighing “alright, grab a plastic bag and get to the bathroom.” He always dyes your hair. And he’s always wrapping the damn plastic bag around your head too tight. “Gotta make sure that dye stays in there” and gives you the meanest dad back slap.

-if you ever graduate, he’s in the back of the stadium watching you proudly from afar. And of course he has gifts for you, what kind of father would he be if he hadn’t. Once you’re both in the car he’s got a small box and a large bag ready for you. Some new clothes, items and those damn concert tickets you always talk about.

-he’s a good papa. He’d never judge you for your interests nor what you looked like. He thinks you’re super bad ass and he’s proud to be such an important figure in your life.

[pixiestickie]

so . i did something ^}*#*}*%+%

(more parts might come and if that happens this post will be the masterlist)

ramble ⏬

so . ok here goes nothing. first things first.

this is like the “fisherman meets mermaid and they are in love” AU trope but jamil isnt a fisherman: he pretty much retained his canon life, aka he is a servant and one day he found a merman and he just hangs around him to escape from his shitty life situation (and the merman is completey enamoured).

so, apart of NRC not happening, more details about the canon divergence should be revealed at a later date

thiat is the info about the au out of the way. ill just do personal rambling here esp bevause im insecure about some things about this so you can stop reading if you want.

this is a trope ive seen around a lot, especially on twitter, so ive had this idea since a bunch of months ago. i then proceeded to forget about it until i saw a twitter post about this same exact trope again except it was with fucking miguel o’hara but thats besides the point. the original post that made me get the idea were 2 ocs (they had the blood-cut-to-call-merman idea. I completely stole it from that. im coming clean) and i was like “wow do you know who else is a mermaid? azul fucking ashengrotto”

ok so no the art style i used. i started using it really recently to doodle stuff, since 2 days ago actually im so serious. i tried using it here as well bevause its an easy art style, really quick to draw with it and also looks good. or so i thought. because im now having doubts about wether it looks good or not and i fear it might just look weird. i kinda wanna hear if people prefer this art style or my “actual” one from my other posts

this style looked way better when i used it to doodle stuff, but i dont think im capable of using it in comic format. the style i was going for is mostly evident in the colored “poster” because ive actually redrawn the comic sequence a bunch of times so the style was lost there. I do like how the “poster” looks but im not sure if y’all would agree so id love to hear wyt

now the biggest part. ive never made comics in my life!! so these are going to look so damn akward. u can already notice it here!!!!! crowd starts booing

also i cant draw water and also i dont know how to draw azuls octo patterns bc the material we have of his design are so vague and fragmented but his patterns are not easy to draw so im struggling and i need to make a reference of him for myself 😭😭

[ghostboneswrites2]

Bit || One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

A/N// This was the first one shot I ever posted here! This was the story that started everything lol

Summary: You were bitten before he found you.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: sad, death, profanity

        The sounds of the forest lulled you in and out of sleep. Sun rays rained down through the leaves. A lovely sight when you could manage to open your eyes. Your back against a tree, sweat beading over your forehead, you winced in pain. Your whole body ached. Down to your very bones, pain was present. The fever was raging, boiling you from within. You scolded yourself internally. How could you let it come to this?

        You recalled the chain of events that led you here. You knew you were taking a risk when you tried to loot that old store, but you had no idea just how bad it could get. The coast was clear when you went in, but somehow there were tens of them when you came back out. You ran as fast as you could but there were just so many. Eventually you slowed down, got tired, but they didn't. They never did. They were mindless killing machines. Exhaustion meant nothing to them.

        They caught up with you. You fought. You fought hard, but they won. They always did. This time, you were just the unlucky loser. You got bit, but you took it down. The adrenaline and fear from the bite kicked you back into gear. You ran again, and didn't stop until the fever debilitated you. Damn, was it fast. A single bite, and your life was over. What a sick joke.

        You thought you heard footsteps in the distance but you made no effort to investigate. You were already gone. It was probably a straggler, coming to finish you off, or a person strolling by that might show you some mercy and put a bullet in your skull. No, not a bullet. They wouldn't draw that much attention to themselves. Maybe a quick knife through the base of your skull, that would work nicely.

        A crunch snapped your eyes open, and a pair of long, grungy gray jeans stood before you. You followed the pants up to a shirt, then up to a face. It was hard to make out with the bright sun behind it.

        "Ya bit?" A gruff voice asked. It was weird how it sounded like you were under water, or like they were a mile away. You held your arm up, displaying the wound. You dared not look, but the smell told you all you needed to know. It was bad. "'M sorry." They grunted sympathetically, turning and walking away.

        "Wait." You croaked. They stopped. "Don't let me die alone." You begged.

        The person stood for a moment, back turned to you, seemingly considering your request. After a few moments they turned back and sat down against a tree right across from you. Down at your level you could make out the stranger as a handsome archer with his crossbow sat right beside him. His knees were up with his hands rested on top of them as he eyed you curiously, a hint of sadness in those narrowed eyes.

        "What's your name?" You asked.

        "Daryl." He said.

        "(Y/N)." You told him, coughing a little.

        "How'd ya get bit?"

        "Looting a store. There was too many."

        "'M  sorry." He repeated.

        "Yeah, me too." You chuckled, humorlessly. You groaned at a random ache. "You know, my dad always told me pain lets you know you're still alive. I don't feel so alive right now."

        "My brother always said the same thing." He confessed. "How long ago ya get bit?"

        "Don't know. Fever's getting bad though. I'll be out of your hair soon."

        "Ain't botherin'  me. Got nothin' better to do." He shrugged.

        "Really? Nothing better than watching me die?"

        "Nah. Shouldn't have to do it alone." He told you. You offered a weak smile.

        "Nice guy. Cute too. Wish we met under different circumstances. got a cigarette?"

        He tossed you one, and a lighter. You lit it and resisted a cough, enjoying the burn in your lungs as they filled with smoky chemicals.

        "Sound like my brother. Askin' for a smoke in your last moments." He said.

        "Brother sounds like my kind of people." You croaked.

        "Nah, he was real ass." He said, sadly.

        "Was?"

        "He was bit, too."

        "Sorry to hear it. All my family's gone."

        "Sorry to hear it."

        "Nah," you smiled sadly. "They died in a crash. Before all this. Glad they didn't have  to live this way. Or, die this way, in my case. Just hate that their memory and mine dies with me."

        "I won't forget ya." He assured. 

        "Guess that's  worth something." You rasped. "Thanks for staying."

        "Surprised you didn't ask me to put you out. Looks like it hurts."

        "Yeah." You nodded. "Hurts bad. To be honest you're the first friendly face I've seen in weeks. Might as well enjoy it 'til I can't."

        His throat tightened a little. He was sad for you. To have felt so lonely you'd suffer to the end just to feel the presence of another person.

        "'M sorry." He said again.

        "Don't be." You told him. "Got nothing to be sorry for. You're here with me now, that's more than I could've asked for. You got a group or somethin'?"

        "Mhm. Got a prison we took. It's safe. Fences, walls, gardens."

        "Damn. Now that's somethin' I would've liked to see."

        "I would've took you there." He said. 

        "Too bad." You coughed. "Too bad, indeed"

        You were getting paler by the minute. Your eyes could barely open. He took in your features, noting to remember your pretty face. He wouldn't let you go forgotten, because that was what he told you. Your breathing was so shallow he couldn't see your chest rise anymore.

        "Ya still there?" He asked.

        "Mm." You grunted. "Still here."

        "You wanna be buried?" 

        "You walk around with a shovel?"

        "Nah. Prison's not far. I can bury you there, next to our people."

        "Oh." You breathed. "That's real nice." 

        "We bury our people." He said, recalling Glenn's words that day outside Atlanta after the camp got attacked by walkers. Daryl was gonna burn all the bodied, but Glenn insisted their own people be buried properly. He'd be sure to extend that same sentiment to you.

        "That's good. Humanity prevails, and all that shit." 

        "Somethin' like that."

        It grew silent again. He watched you closely. 

        "(Y/N)?" He called. No response. His heart sped up. "(Y/N)." He said, louder. You were gone. He swallowed the lump in his throat, ignoring the feelings of despair as he stood and walked over to you. He gently pulled your head forward and plunged his blade into the back of your head. He looked you over, noticing a rope necklace around your neck with some wooden beads strung over it. He untied it from the back of your neck and tied it around his own, before he lifted you in his arms and carried you to the prison.

        When he arrived, he got plenty of questioning stares. Rick approached him.

        "You know her?" He asked.

        "Just met her. She was bit. Asked me to stay." Daryl said as he laid your body down gently on the grass. It took him over an hour to dig your grave, and a good while to fashion a marker for your grave. He stood there over your buried body for a while, wondering what life could have been for you if he found you earlier, if he found you before the bite, if you lived to see another day. He wiped the signal tear he shed for you before retreating inside, to his cell, to seclude himself and mourn the potential that was lost with your life.

[flanaganfilm]

I tend to get obsessed with scenes where actors have a particularly outstanding performance. I find myself revisiting them over and over again just to relive the moment. Several examples of this, but one that I just love is in Midnight Mass when Kate and Zach are on the rowboat. What's it like experiencing that live, during production? Are you aware in the moment of how special it is or does that become more evident in post? Love to hear any and all details behind the scenes of how those get made. Also curious what scenes from your favorite movies/TV standout as particularly compelling performances by the actors.

This scene is a strange one, because it was the first thing we shot of the whole series. We had been shut down since March 2020 when the initial COVID lockdown hit, and were the first show in North America to go back into production that summer. We didn't know how to do that, and were juggling constantly evolving safety protocols as we tried to figure out how to shoot in this new world. Because a lot of our sets weren't ready to shoot when we came back, we opted to start easy - on our stages, with blue screen work. The boat scene is shot entirely on blue screen, we didn't even have water - the boat was gently rocked back and forth by grips. Kate and Zach were asked to do this huge, heavy, insanely difficult and emotional scene ON OUR FIRST DAY. I had asked them a few weeks prior if they'd be okay with that, as I was worried - they hadn't built their characters yet. They hadn't put a single scene down to draw from. But both said they'd do it, and so we threw them into the deep end.

(That's DP Michael Fimognari in the boat, trying to adjust lighting through his goggles) It was a VERY weird day. We were all wearing KN95 masks and goggles, the actors had to wear full masks and face shields when we weren't rolling. It was absolutely surreal and just about impossible for anyone to get into any headspace that felt like we were doing scene work. I had been fitted with modified motorcycle goggles, as I needed eye protection to be near the actors (it was all more than a bit ridiculous.) There was a ladder on set - you can see it behind Michael in the picture above - and I started the day by climbing it to address the cast and crew. About ten words into my speech, my goggles completely fogged up and I couldn't see anymore. I had to be helped down the ladder by several grips. I remember the first rehearsal was insane because the actors weren't allowed to take off their masks, per Netflix safety protocols. I was also required to wear my mask and goggles throughout, so giving direction to actors who couldn't see my face was a brand new and deeply strange thing (I'd continue to work this way for the next two years, we all got used to it, but this first day was fucking WEIRD). Kate and Zach couldn't even really hear each other through the masks to rehearse, as it was such a quiet and intimate scene. I was standing a few feet away and couldn't hear a damn thing. It was additionally weird because all of the elements of the scene outside of the boat wouldn't be added for many, many months as we got into VFX. There was no water, no stars, nothing at all to look at but hanging blue curtains and masked crew members. I don't know how Kate and Zach were able to put all of that aside and deliver the performances they delivered - oh wait, I suppose I do know. It's because they are exceptional actors. Kate later told me she was so outside of her comfort zone that she had to just dive in and trust every single thing around her. The scenes in the boat ultimately came together beautifully, but I did apologize to both of them later in the shoot. It wasn't fair that we asked them to do that, to start like that, without letting them build any foundation. But both waved it off. Production is chaos, and that particular production was the very first out the gate with COVID, so everything was crazy. They took all of that vulnerability and uncertainty and discomfort and fear and turned it into a handful of scenes that roar with honesty. It's among my favorite moments in what may always be my favorite Intrepid series.

[neverchecking]

hello! would it be possible to request yandere sage to a reader who got split from the chain but has a switch with them?

I adore your headcanons for him and I honestly would just love to see some more of him, perhaps he's trying to figure out if they're yiga or not since y'know only they see him as link without zelda and they just show it off reluctantly?

SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE-YOU ABSOLUTELY FUCKING CAN.

Ahem. Yes, you very much can request my precious baby boy.

For those of you who don't know, Sage is the Hero of the Zonai, A.K.A. The Link from Tears of the Kingdom-- if we go down the route that he's a different guy from Wild. So TotK spoilers.

Anyway, look whose got his own banner! SAGE DOES-

CW: Talk of death, but nothing happens (Bc Sage won't let it happen)

He was very...unsure of you, to put it lightly.

Which was rare in and of itself since he knew most things. He knew how the Gloom hands would react should he hit them with a Dazzlefruit. He knew the exact force he would have to throw a splash fruit for it to burst in a splash of water. He knew the exact amount of force required to bend a Yiga's arm before it snaps a lot.

But he didn't know anything about you. Which put him on edge.

You came out of this weird...void thingy that he had never seen before and you dressed weirdly. You had began to call out desperately for names the second you had collected yourself (He had no clue who Wild or Twilight or Wind were, but whoever named those poor fools needed to be fired. Those names were awful.) . He watched you stumble like a newborn fawn, full of naive innocence and blind trust in the world around you.

What a fool you were.

Still, he couldn't look away. He didn't move from his place perched in a particularly tall tree, but he didn't let his attention wander from you. He couldn't. It was like you were...magnetic, drawing him in to your orbit just to keep him there.

Somewhere above him, the light dragon let out a warble. His ears flickered in that general direction, but otherwise he paid it no mind, clicking the claws on Rauru's hand against the bark of the tree.

You seemed so hopelessly lost, wandering about. It certainly didn't seem like you were the traveling type, so why you were out here, he had no idea. You would killed before long. He wondered how you would die. Something fast and quick? An electric arrow from a Lizalfos? (They had been getting unexplainably stronger now that he thought about it.) Maybe one swift hit from a Horriblin? Or maybe it would be something long and drawn out. Maybe a Frost Gleeok would freeze you so badly Hypothermia took over your limbs before freezing your lungs. Or maybe a Fire Gleeok would roast you alive before you even had the chance to register they were there. Perhaps the King himself would do both before shocking your battered form to hell and back. Or maybe the Gloom hands would grab at your flailing arms and legs, holding you still while they drained the life force right out of you.

Something full of anger lit up in his gut at just the thought of you getting hurt. He had no reason to get so livid at even a scratch on your form, but for some reason it had him snarling to himself, as if daring the universe to test him.

He wouldn't put it past Hylia at this point, that vengeful bitch.

It seemed she took his challenge to heart anyway, just as you slipped out some strange device about the same size as his Purah pad. You were so immersed in the damned thing that you didn't even hear one of the trees moving around behind you. Which was beyond him since they weren't quiet.

You didn't even look up until the shadow was looming over you and he was jumping from his tree. Riju's power sparked to life as he pulled out his bow, stunning the tree with enough power it fell with a pull of purple smoke. Something began leaking out of the discarded log, black and viscous, as it always seemed to do these days. It didn't make any difference to him, they all died the same anyway.

You had fallen onto your ass as he approached, watching him like prey would watch the predator. Nothing but wide eyes leaking with fear as he loped upon you. It made his gut swing with something foreign as he eyed you. He wasn't stupid. He knew the Yiga would go to some, frankly, extraordinary lengths to have his head on a stick. Whose to say they wouldn't set up some form of act where they attacked each other just to garner his attention?

He held out his weapon towards you, the Lynel horn glinting in the light as it prodded against your neck. You vulnerable and fragile little neck. You looked like you were about to cry at the action.

Unrelated, he pulled back just a bit. His snarl remained just the same. "Who are you?" He barked, daring you to avoid his question. Your...device was discarded at your side, which you quickly grappled onto as some form of protection. He'd have to remain weary of that. If it was anything like his Purah pad, it would be of an annoyance. Especially if you were a Yiga. They were able to replicate the Thunder Helm for Din's sake. (That was a mess and a half to retrieve.)

You swallowed hard, wincing away from him before fighting the urge to look up at him. His heart stuttered at the positively broken look you showed. You were so scared and so frightened.

He was supposed to be a hero.

(A part of him argued that he was the hero. Had been the hero. And look where it got him? Right back at the start. Fighting for his life once more. Fighting for someone who wouldn't do the same for him. Fighting for a Goddess who only used him as a pawn only to discard him when he was done.)

There was no way you were Yiga. You couldn't have been. None of them would've ever looked up at him like that. Nor could you have been a puppet of Ganon. Puppets and Yiga would burst out into an offensive attack the second they caught sight of him.

You didn't pose a threat.

But that didn't clear your name. "I asked you a question. I expect an answer." He allowed ultrahand to light up Rauru's arm in a warning red.

You blinked before shakily swallowing, holding your device to your chest. "...Y/N."

So that was your name. It was a nice name. Suited your features well and rolled off the tongue. Each syllable seemed built for your very being. He repeated it, using the tip of his weapon to tilt your chin up to face him again. That same, Goddess damned, look was sprawled on your features as he looked over you. You didn't seem injured outside of a bandaged wrap around your lower neck and left shoulder.

You had been hurt. Perhaps it was under that Wild's watch, whoever they were. They were unfit to care for you it seemed. He would happily take over if it meant you didn't get hurt any longer.

"You're...Link, right?"

He blinked, weapon staggering for a second. How did you know who he was? No one knew who he was anymore. Not without that wretched Zelda beside him, giving him a title he felt disgraced his very being. The swordsman. it was all Mineru called him and it burned something bitter in him.

He pushed the weapon further against your skin, watching it turn a harsh red before flashing to white. "What's it to you?" His teeth were bared as you tried to pull away, if only to breath just a little. He didn't let you. While it made his gut rot and knot at the thought of hurting you, he couldn't risk his own life. Not when he had a duty, Not when he had a vengeance. A vendetta.

"I can explain!" You hurriedly called, making him pull back once again.

"I would do so quickly."

You shook in your spot as your showed him the device. It seemed to have a selection of boxes, each holding a different picture. The one you hovered over read something in a language he couldn't read, but there was a picture of him. Right there. This was your explanation? It was pitiful. He almost did away with you, if only to move on, but you spoke before he could.

"You're Link. The wielder of the Master Sword. I- I'm from some other world. I, along with a group of others, are travelling to fight a dark magic that has been effecting many Hyrules across time. It's evidently effected yours." You gestured to the log, which now had an inky puddle beneath it. "We're here to help."

He pulled the weapon away, but didn't raise his glare from your form. "I don't need help."

"I never said you did." You let out a sigh full of relief. "But sometimes having someone watch your back is nice. I know you haven't had that person for you, which breaks my heart. This adventure is your second, third if we count...Ya'know..." You trailed off as his eyes narrowed. Were you talking about the Calamity? The Calamity he fell to? "You haven't had help, which I can only imagine as exhausting."

You were speaking nonsense. Nonsense that made him bubble with understanding of a sort. It was a clumsy attempt, but you were trying to offer support to him. Support he had never had previously.

He could kick his past (Three minutes ago) self for ever dreaming of hurting you, even if it was for his own personal safety. The thought of having someone offer just a tad bit of help to his battered and broken from, riddled with gloom, had him feeling a bit lighter.

He wouldn't trust you right away, he had gotten burned one too many times from doing that, but he would get you to a stable. Ensure you were safe from infection and whatever else before he made a decision regarding you and him in any sort of capacity.

Maybe take you to your group if only to see if those filth were worthy of your presence.

He would ensure you were safe in his, nevertheless. If he had to do away with the others, then so be it.

If he wanted to keep something, he would need to cling to it.

And this was just the start of his grip on you. Whether you knew it yet, or not.

[glowingbadger]

Guarantee y'all didn't expect Shane to be my next target lmao but I've started a new sdv game and he's just such a sweet man and I want nice things for him. As the kids say- poor little meow meow

CW for a brief alcoholism mention

And damn Reader-Chan is a lot more forward in this than I usually write them lol but that's kinda necessary with a guy like Shane tbh.

Shane (SDV) x GN/AFAB Reader

A roll in the hay

NSFW 18+

Shane nudges open the door of your chicken coop with a bucket of fresh water in one hand and a hay bale balanced on his shoulder with the other.  You look up from where you’d been securing a new hinge on the smaller rolling door, and smile at the sight of him.  Truth be told, you’ve been looking at him a lot lately.  The healthy flush and subtle sheen of sweat on his skin pair nicely with the worn-in jeans and t-shirt he’s wearing to help you work.  His posture is straighter these days, and it draws your eyes up to strong shoulders that you hadn’t noticed were so broad until recently.  You’ve noticed other things, too- that he shaves more often, though by late afternoon he’s regained that five-o-clock shadow you’d always thought was strangely handsome on him.  That he positively glows and smiles in a way that brings creases to the corners of his eyes when he talks about Jas, or all the progress he and Marnie have made with the animals.  That he spends less time at the Saloon and more visiting you.

“Over here good?” he asks, shaking you from your thoughts.

“Hm?  Oh- yeah, that corner’s perfect, thanks,” you straighten up and brush off the front of your shirt and shorts, with a brief ‘whew!’  Then, you take a look around the newly-immaculate coop with your hands planted proudly on your hips. 

“Man, this place is looking as nice as the day Robin built it.  I really appreciate your help today, Shane.” you smile, catching the way he fidgets with the pocket knife in his hand as he bends to cut the bale of hay loose.

“Nah, it’s no big deal.”

“Well it is to me.  Afterall, I’ve got assistance from the Valley’s foremost chicken husbandry expert.” you’re sure to add a note of grandeur to the title.

“‘Foremost expert?’  C’mon,” he says with a short laugh.  In a practiced motion, he cleanly cuts the ropes around the hay and pulls them free, adding, “You give me way too much credit.” 

“And you give yourself no credit,” you reply, crossing your arms in a faux-pout as he rises and turns to you, “So I have to give you enough for the both of us.” 

He sighs, but he can’t seem to help the way the corner of his mouth curls into a grin.  With his dark brown eyes cast low, he tries to act like he’s focusing really hard on closing up his knife and storing it back in his pocket. 

“Well, y’know,” he mumbles, “I’m… happy to help with anything you need, just ask.  I’d like to be more reliable- at least for Aunt Marnie and Jas, and, uh… for you.”

Your smile softens, and you step closer to him, but before you can speak, he adds,

“Sorry, that must’ve sounded weird.  I- I’m gonna get this hay taken care of.” 

You almost laugh- he’s just too sweet, but you can’t risk making him feel more self-conscious.  So, stealing just a moment longer to watch him grab the nearby rake and start work in the corner, you decide to give him a bit of space and head into the house for some water. 

Shane has just finished arranging the fresh hay in a pile in the corner of the coop by the time you come back with water bottles and towels for you both.  You toss one of each to him with a nod, which he lurches back a step to catch. 

“Thanks,” he says with a heavy exhale.  He sounds exhausted from the day’s work, but pleasantly so, and you smile as you watch him wipe his face and hands clean with the towel.  Truly, it had been a huge help to have him around to help with a few things you’d been putting off, though you suppose he’s used to this kind of work.  The chickens are content to mill around in the fields outside until you finished, and two people had made for surprisingly light work all things told, so you feel you both have earned the chance to catch your breath and relax.  

Shane stretches out his arms, one and then the other, and you note for the third or fourth time that day that he actually has some impressive strength hidden on that physique of his.  You’d only recently started to take note, but it makes sense; carrying around product crates at Joja every day for so long- and now at Pierre's -not to mention the work he does to help Marnie with her own chickens, it follows that he’d have built up some muscle under his soft exterior.  Looking at him once again causes a familiar flutter in your stomach, and you smile to yourself.

He takes a swig of water, then glances over at you.

“Something on my face?”

You shrug.

“No, sorry,” you make your way towards the hay piled up in the corner and plop down onto the floor, then lie back against it, reclining comfortably with your hands behind your head and legs crossed out in front of you.  Shane follows your lead, careful to keep a respectful distance as he settles on straw beside you.  

“I was actually wondering,” you turn on your side towards him, closing half of that distance, “What suddenly inspired you to come help me out today?  Like I said, I appreciate it, you’ve been a huge help- but I figured you’d want to relax on a day off.” 

His eyes scan your face for a moment, then he looks blankly back up at the ceiling.

“Well you know, you’ve done a lot for me.  Been there for me, listened to me ramble about stupid stuff, and, uh… just figured I’d try to do something for you.” 

You smile warmly at him, but he goes on,

“And, well…” he sighs, running a hand through his dark hair, “Truth is, It’s also… been one of those days, actually.  When I start feeling like… hey, a drink or two, what’s the harm?  And I guess- if it were actually one or two, that would be fine, but I know myself.” His expression darkens, and he sighs again, heavier this time. 

“So you needed something to take your mind off of it,” you say.

“Basically, yeah,” he turns back to you wearing a wry smile, “Sorry to make you babysit me.  I guess that’s pretty lame, huh.” 

“Not at all,” you shift closer to him, “I’m really happy that you trust me enough to come to me with this.  Besides, isn’t this a huge step forward?  Reaching out and doing something productive instead of falling back on bad habits?”

“I… I guess so.” he almost looks unsure of whether he can allow himself to smile at this or not, and his eyes shy from yours. 

“Shane,” you’re lying closer to him now, your bodies in that strange space where you can feel one another without touching, “I want you to know that I’m really, really proud of you.” 

His eyes flicker down for a moment, you think towards your mouth, and his face is visibly pink. 

“Man.  How do you always know exactly what to say?  It’s… totally unfair.” 

When you bring a hand gently to his cheek and lean closer, he seems to freeze at first, until he leans towards you at the last moment before your lips meet.  Shane’s are soft, his kiss slow and incredibly tender- though tentative still.  His hand rests over yours, but gently, as though he’s not yet sure whether he should touch you.  When your tongue grazes his lower lip, he gives a breathy moan that you only barely hear, and briefly, you part from the kiss.  You rest your forehead against his, and he whispers your name with audible disbelief.  He’s trembling just a little.  His hand reverently brushes your hair from your face. 

Without a word, you kiss him again, harder this time.  He can’t hold back a low groan, and the sound squeezes around your heart and warms your body.  You only break from him for a moment to sling your leg over his hips, straddling his lap and pressing yourself to him.  At last, he wraps those strong arms around you, holding you close as your tongues tease one another and your nails dig down his chest from atop his clothes.  Your pulse is pounding, and you can feel from his chest that Shane’s is too.  Yet when your hands run down his torso to ease his shirt upward, he halts, breathless.

“Y/N, wait- you… you don’t have to do this.” 

You feel his touch abandon you.  When you look curiously down at him, he’s doing his best to appear stoic. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” his eyes dart away from you, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do and everything, but… it wouldn’t feel right to go this far.  Just to, y’know, cheer me up or whatever.” 

Your heart aches as his words sink in.

“Shane,” your tone is gently admonishing, “Is it really that hard for you to believe that I like you?” 

He takes a breath, his face burning red.

“Well, uh… ki- kinda…” 

Wordlessly, you take his hands in yours and guide them to your waist.  He looks up at you, surprised, confused, and eager despite himself.  Then, you guide his touch along your sides- slowly, so he can feel each inch of your body as it passes under his palms.  When his hands reach your breasts, you encourage him, pressing his touch more firmly to you, squeezing soft flesh until you feel his cock, hot and hard between your thighs, throb conspicuously in response.  

“Shit, sorry, I-”

“Don’t apologize.” 

You grind your hips down onto him, rutting your warmth against his erection and wishing dearly that there wasn’t so much damned fabric between you and him.  He looks gorgeous like this- flush-faced, muscles tensed, watching you with rapt attention as you encourage him to touch you as he likes.  At last, it seems he no longer needs direct guidance; his hands cup and massage your breasts, firm but never rough or forceful.  Now and then, he lets his hips shift against yours, creating that wonderful friction between you.  You lean down and kiss him again, deeply and firmly, willing your feelings to reach him.  You know that words and platitudes would do nothing for a man like Shane.  You’re determined to show him how earnestly you want him. 

Once again, your fingertips play at the bottom hem of his t-shirt, slowly pulling it upward.  When your lips part from his, he’s softly panting, his breath hot and eyes hazy.  You linger near enough that your lips brush his when you speak,

“Please, Shane?” 

He nods, and you give him enough space to tug the shirt over his head.  Clumsily, he shoves the shirt beneath him to avoid scratching his back against the hay.  You think for a moment that maybe you should take this to your bedroom- but damn, he just looks too good laid out on the straw beneath you, hair mussed out of place, flushed skin still dewed with the slightest hint of sweat.

You can’t help yourself- you press your body to his and kiss down the column of his neck, stopping to bite here and there, reveling in every mark you gift him along the way.  He groans out your name, hands running along your hips, gripping the swell of your thighs, even bold enough at last to grab onto your ass and pull you against him.  Only after you’ve kissed and bitten and caressed to your heart’s content, dragged your nails down his chest and felt him arch against you, do you finally pause.  

“Wait just one second,” you whisper in the heated air between you.  Then, you get to your feet to undress.  He watches you in a state of restless arousal and lingering disbelief as you strip for him.  You’re tempted to prolong the process and really savor his adoring eyes on you- but you find you’re too eager for what’s to come.  So you remove shorts and flannel and undergarments, leaving yourself in only your work boots and returning to his lap as quickly as you can.  

“Wow…” Shane’s hands run the contours of your body as he takes you in, and you smile down at him.  

“Do you believe that I want you yet?”  Your tone is playful, but the question is at least partly sincere.  

“I dunno,” he can’t tear his eyes from your body, “Seeing you like this honestly makes it even harder to believe.  You’re just- you’re so… wow.  It feels like a dream.  Or like I’ve lost it and this is all in my head.” 

As he speaks, your hands run down his front to undo the button of his pants.  Then, you hold his gaze as you slowly drag down the zipper.  Your touch firm but gentle, you free his rock-solid cock from his boxers and let out a happy little moan at the sight of it.  On the larger side of average length, extremely thick and pleasantly veined, it’s an incredibly tempting sight.  You stroke it once with your hand, then again and again, less tentatively each time.  You enjoy the heft and shape of it, and the way Shane catches his breath at your touch.  He’s sensitive- each brush and caress of your hand, each teasing motion of your fingers, has him blushing and biting back his voice.  You consider prolonging this too, but the raw lust you can see blazing in his eyes despite himself, the way he stammers out your name when you grip him more firmly and precum slickens the head of his member- it’s far too erotic to resist.

You position yourself carefully over him, the head of his cock nestled between your lower lips- but you don’t let him enter you just yet.  Instead, you sway your hips against him, rubbing his entire length against your needy cunt.  He moans aloud, his fingers gripping tight at your thighs, his member twitching.

“Does this feel like a dream?” you say with a grin.

“No, it- it feels good,” he manages, “So damn good…” 

You continue grinding against him, bulging veins and the ridge of his crown all stroking you sinfully with each pass.  Before long, you’re able to angle yourself so your clit rubs against his cockhead as your hips sway, and you let out a pleasured whine that sends a shiver through him.  By now, he’s coated in your arousal, his length glistening with your release.  

“Can you feel how wet I am for you?”

“Nngh, yeah,” he groans, “Fuck, so hot…”

For a moment, you feel his hands at your hips trying to guide you onto him, his body bucking slightly towards you, seeking you out.  You smile and place a brief kiss to his lips, then say,

“You can stop holding back now, Shane.” 

His arm wraps around your midsection, warm and sturdy, and he turns you onto your back.  A few awkward moments pass in a frenzy as he shifts his discarded shirt under you to ensure your comfort, and you fumble a hand to the side to grab the condom from your shorts’ pocket.  He seems surprised that you’d had it on hand, but opens it and rolls it down onto his length regardless. His brow is handsomely furrowed as he guides the tip to your entrance.  You watch him in a blissful haze, arms wrapped loosely around his broad shoulders, and you gasp as he begins to push into you.  

“Ohh..!” 

Each inch of his thick cock stretches you wonderfully as he thrusts forward, and your head tilts back, your toes curl.  Once inside of you, he hooks an arm under one of your knees, holding your legs spread open as he fills you.

“Fuck, you feel even better than I imagined…” 

Your face warms at the thought that he’d fantasized about this- perhaps even pleasured himself to the thought of you.  You’ll have to pursue that train of thought later- right now, you can’t think of anything but how damn good it feels to finally have him.  To feel his body start to move in tandem with yours, massaging the bulging contours of his cock into you.  To see him looking at you like you’re some unearthly beauty.  

You pull Shane down to you and kiss him, your tongue sliding into his mouth and coaxing him further.  With a groan, he drives his hips forward, stuffing you full of him until you’ve taken him to the base of his throbbing member.  Gasping and whimpering blissfully into his mouth, your nails rake along his strong shoulders and into his hair.  Somewhere in the back of your pleasure-dazed mind, it occurs to you that if anyone happened to stop by the farm today, they’d easily hear your cries through the flimsy walls of the chicken coop.  You quickly decide that you don’t care; in this moment, nothing is more important than showing Shane how you feel about him.  He needs to know that he’s cared for, wanted, desired.  

He pulls away from your kiss, and on instinct, you tug him back down to you with your arms around his neck.  At first, he relents, relaxing back into your embrace and kissing you over and over while he bucks into you at a steady pace.  Eventually, however, he decisively straightens his back to kneel over you, his thrusts slowing but never ceasing- you’re not sure he could bring himself to stop rubbing himself against your clenching inner walls.  Just when you’re about to question him, he brings a hand between your legs, his thumb fumbling a bit clumsily at first until he strokes across your stiffened clit.  

“Ohh… fuck, right there..!” 

“Like this?”

“Yeah- ohh, yes, just like that!”

Shane takes your direction well- a bit unsure at first, the moment he finds the right pressure, the right pace, the right angle, he memorizes your preference.  Your legs wrap around his midsection, pulling him close until he’s sheathed deeply in you while his fingers tease your clit.  His free hand grips at your thigh as he watches you squirming and arching beneath him.  He’s entranced.

“S’that good?”

You nod, biting at your lower lip.

“So good, Shane… c-close- I’m gonna..!  Mmmh!” 

“Fuck-” he exhales, his hips bucking more forcefully into you, “Let me feel it.  Please, Y/N, I- I wanna feel you cum..!” 

Your thighs are trembling, your cunt squeezing tight around him.  Eyes hazy, you manage to meet his adoring gaze as you inch closer and closer to the edge.  Your hands scramble to grab onto anything, and only find the hay and his shirt beneath you.  He’s massaging your tender clit just right, his cock stretching you perfectly.  Shane is determined to satisfy you- his focus is relentless, reverent affection openly shining in his eyes.  Soon, gasping his name, your eyes roll back as you’re swallowed in a wave of mind-numbing pleasure.  And it seems bringing you to this blissful release breaks through to something in him.  

Before you’ve even fully recovered from the aftershocks of your orgasm, he lowers himself to you and wraps an arm around your waist.  His cock draws out from you nearly to the tip, then slams back in, forcing a desperate cry from your lips.  The next thrust is every bit as forceful, and you’re certain he’d be pushing you away from him if he weren’t holding you so close.  Shane maintains this pace, fucking into you with long, powerful strokes of his cock that never become fast enough to numb you to the sensation.  Your limbs feel weak, your head fuzzy and thoughts scrambled.

Shane’s lips find the crook of your neck, spoiling you with deep, erotic kisses.  When he marks you, it’s not the precious, playful little love-bites you left him; his marks are dark bruises, his teeth pressing to you until just before the pain becomes too much and leaving you branded with his lust.  Your nails scrape across his back, and in the moment, neither of you even notice.  Swollen red lines left as souvenirs will be a lasting reminder of your shared passions. 

“So tight… nngh, fuck-” he grunts your name against your skin, “Dunno… how much more of this I can take…”

“It’s okay, Shane,” you say softly between gasping moans, “I- I want it..!  Please-!” 

His kiss presses you down against the bed of hay.  His hands run up your sides, pulling you back against his thrusts, ensuring that the head of his cock hits deep with each push.  Then, panting for breath with his forehead resting on yours, you feel his climax in every part of his body on yours.  You feel the way his cock swells and lurches with each spurt of cum.  The way his hands hold almost painfully tight at your waist.  The way his muscles tense, his frame shivers, his voice stalls between grunting moans.  He’s gorgeous- and you can’t help breathing out his name as your own body feels both boneless and weightless beneath him.  Then at last, you exhale in unison, bodies still tangled together as muscles go slack.

You imagine you look an utter mess.  Stray bits of straw poke through your hair, to say nothing of the sweat shared between your body and Shane’s.  You’re marked up, red in the face and short of breath- and you can’t recall the last time you felt so wonderfully satisfied.  Gazing up at Shane as he regains his bearings- to some measure of success, anyway -he looks about the same as you figure you do.  It’s a cute look on him. 

“Always knew you had that in you somewhere,” you say with a coy, if hazy grin.  

“Did you?” his voice scratches awkwardly in his throat, but he returns your smile, “You’ll have to catch me up, cause apparently you knew where today was going a whole lot better than I did.” 

Perhaps just now remembering that his cock is still inside of you, he carefully pulls out, stifling a groan at that last precious moment of friction.  He removes the filled condom while giving a short, incredulous laugh.

“I mean, you even had this thing on hand.”

“Grabbed it when I went inside for water,” you say with a casual shrug, “Watching you working up a sweat out here got me thinking.” 

Shane repeats that same laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand.

“You’re a weird one, you know that?”

“And you don’t even know how hot you are,” you reply, unshaken. 

“There you go again,” he huffs out as he collapses onto the hay beside you, “Saying stuff that makes me crazy.”

Without a word needed between you, Shane loops an arm around your waist and pulls you on top of him, and you gladly follow.  Evidently, he no longer cares about the scratching of the straw at his back.  You figure it couldn’t compare with the scratches you’d left to linger there, anyway.

“I’ll keep saying it until you believe it,” you lean in, still smiling as you kiss him once more.  At long last, he kisses you back in a way that feels certain and unafraid.  When you draw away, his hand has come to cradle the side of your face, and he looks at you.  Just looks at you.  You can only imagine what he must be thinking, but when he finally breaks the silence, he says,

“Shit, what time is it?” he glances at the door but can’t seem to get his answer from the light peaking through the cracks, “I promised I’d be home for dinner… Not that- I’m not trying to- I- I wish I could stay, honest,” he stammers, and you laugh.

“Shane, it’s fine, I know it’s important.  Why don’t I walk you back?  I can vouch for you.” 

Those dark eyes search your face for a silent moment.  

“You could… stay and help me whip up some dinner for everyone.  If you wanted.  No pressure,” he quickly adds, “I’m not trying to make this more than it is, unless you want to, but this is fine and I won’t push you or anything, it’s just… Jas always likes it when you come over.” He lets the sentence end lamely, his voice flat. 

You can’t help laughing, and you press a brief but tender kiss to his lips.

“That sounds great, Shane.  But we should probably be wearing more clothes and have less hay in our hair, first.”