#he’s having the worst time of his life when it’s warm

[sugusatosluut]

Overworked and Overstimulated

Synopsis: You take on every job Cecil hands you as his overachieving daughter, but what could be more relaxing after work than getting high with your friends?

Warnings: Edibles, smut, threesome! MDNI💓

You returned back to the guardian’s hq, exhaustedly ripping your mask off of your head. Your father called you on four missions back to back because he had already sent the new guardians and invincible to space. You wanted to go sooooo bad, but he found it better for you to sit this one out. Coincidentally upon returning back, you had found out that they all made it back a few days ago and Cecil wanted you to handle everything until most of them recovered. Easier said than done. Usually it was about six life threatening issues a day, but to tackle four of the worst ones in one day was just a little too much.

You showered, then went up to your room. Dimming the lights, you changed and turned on your music as you took out a pot brownie. You deserved this, you worked too damn hard not to. Stupid GDA invested father using you as a machine.. but he was your dad and sometimes it was your fault for biting off more than you could chew. Typical of you to not say something yet act out when you’re overstimulated. Just typical.

As you got comfortable in your little room, Mark and Rex knocked at your door. What a surprise, they never approach you unless they need help, so maybe now’s not a good time to get high.

“Yo, y/n! Good job holding down the fort until we came back. I see the world’s got a new favorite nepo baby.” Rex chuckled as he grabbed a chair.

“C’mon Rex you know she doesn’t like that.” Mark nudged his shoulder.

“Sorry.. sometimes the social awareness just doesn’t que up fast enough in my brain. Anyways, whatcha doin? Taking the night off?” Rex asked as he played with the items on your desk.

“Yeah, my dad gave me four of the worst missions today. Just figured I’d mellow out in my room for the rest of the day.” You sighed.

“With a pot brownie?” Mark asked sitting in the edge of your bed and holding the ziploc bag containing your brownies.

“Uh-y-yeah. Well I was gonna wait til you guys left in case you didn’t need me for anything but this seemed important so I couldn’t eat one right this second.” You said nervously.

“Fuck that, this is your free time.. Mark and I have been off for a while. Let’s say we make this a group trip huh? I’ll pay you back for it later.” Rex said taking the brownies from Mark.

“I’m down, you don’t have to pay me back though Sloan. I’m content with this. Just quality time with my friends.” You said relaxing back in your bed.

You, Mark and Rex all ate a brownie, waiting for the effects to kick in.

About an hour later you were all feeling the effects. You had put some dumb chick flick on and both men were entertained. It was quiet. Mark was shirtless, with an arm wrapped around you and Rex was also shirtless laying on your chest. Before the high had kicked in you guys gave mark money to get snacks and he delivered. As you guys watched the movie, all that could be heard was the crunching of chips. Both of their bodies were keeping you extremely warm. The movie ended and all three of you were wondering what to do next.

“Basketball?” Rex offered.

“Let’s go. Me and you Rex.” Mark smirked at him.

The three of you went down into the HQ training center. Both boys were shooting hoops.

“This is boring, can we find a way to make it interesting?” Mark asked.

“Ask and you shall recieve. First one to score five shots wins a kiss from the pretty lady over there— and don’t tell me you’re not dying for a taste of that. The best things in life are things that you aren’t allowed to have.” Rex winked.

“I can reason with that as long as it’s okay with y/n.” Mark asked.

“We’ll— I don’t wanna sound desperate but I mean it’s perfectly fine with me.” You blushed. You were in fact the most desperate for this. The past flirtations between you and Mark and then you and Rex throughout your time at the GDA always got to you. Your dad always steered them both away.. well not just them, everyone—away. Mark and Rex didn’t really care, they were friends to the end. They stood up to Cecil which finally allowed you to go on missions, but Cecil drew the line at space. The old man knew better than to get between you and your friends. Yes, you loved your dad but there’s always a battle to be fought with him.

“You’re on.” Mark smirked.

Both boys played away and suddenly the score went from one to four. It was the final point for each of them.

“This one’s for you!” They both shouted together. The anticipation guided you to insanity. If Rex scored and mark felt jealous? It would ruin you. If Mark scored and Rex feel jealous? God.. it’s too much to handle. It’s okay to change your mind and everything, the boys would understand. You don’t want one without the other.

“Well looks like we’re both getting kissed. Both our baskets were made.” Mark smiled smugly.

How did you miss it? Oh well. You weren’t kissing them in the middle of the guardians hq, that would be an awkward moment you couldn’t come back from. The boys held their excitement until you all made it back to your room. Now it was really awkward for you.

“I know I’ve only gotten high with you guys once before but holy shit you look like you’re in a real predicament right now y/n.” Mark laughed.

Rex joined in on laughing, both of them were laughing a bit too hard, it was a little too contagious.

“You’re right, she’s as red as a fucking ripe ass tomato!” Rex was wheezing at this point. The laughter coming from your room was intense and anybody coming by your room could tell you were having a fun time.

You started laughing along with them and soon the laughing turned to joyous tears from your stomachs hurting so bad. After all the laughing, you rested your head on Mark’s shoulder again as you all made it back to laying on your giant bed that took up most of the room in your little box. Mark scooted you, letting you in between his legs as your back touched his chest. Mark played with your hair and Rex was up to something mischevious. Rex snuck himself under the covers, pulling down your lace panties and your pajama pants. You would have been way more alarmed in any other circumstance but for this one? You felt so at peace with both of them doing what they wanted to you. It was the best stress relief you had in a while.

Mark’s hands reached for your shirt, lifting it up off your body and kissing the back of your neck. As Rex started to eat you out your body started to tingle with numbness. The high was really intensifying all your senses. Rex’s tongue lapped and licked your little bud under the covers. To ease you, Mark grabbed onto your breasts, kneading them and kissing your neck. Rex’s grip on your hips stayed firm.

“I thought you both wanted a kiss.” You whined.

“We did, the high just feels too nice to waste on a little kiss. You getting overstimulated? I can tell by the way you’re squirming. Quit acting out.” Mark said firmly as his hands shifted positions, as one arm was now around your neck.

You whined and groaned until you started getting close, both boys were naked at this point, the temperature in the room getting hotter, the feelings more intense.. both boys were slipping in and out of you roughly as you were still whining, eventually the three of you would finish at the same time. You all hit the showers and you went back to your room in silence. Your body was now tired.

“Hey- uh.. thanks for that. If you ever wanna use me I left my number on your board.” Rex winked at you before deciding to leave.

“Leaving so soon?” You asked.

“Yeah.. unfortunately you’re not the only girl on my roster sweet cheeks.” He whistled.

“Alright, see you around.” You waved.

Well at least Rex admitted to wanting a late night booty call.

Mark walked into your room timidly.

“You leaving too?” You pouted.

“Oh stop pouting. I got you flowers. I wanna stay and cuddle. I was in space for five days I thought you’d miss me a little more.” He said.

“Now look who’s pouting.” You smirked.

Mark came into your room placing the flowers on your nightstand and laying down on top of you, his body weight giving you the utmost relief.

“I don’t want to share you again. That was a one time deal.” He complained.

“I understand, thank you for letting me experience that.” You smiled at him.

The room seemed to go quiet, you eyes started to shut and mark had one last thing on his mind.

“When are you gonna tell your dad about us?”

“Mark— go to sleep.”

[rex-rambles]

➤ HOMEMAKER | LEWIS HAMILTON

summary: if your past relationships have taught you anything, you'll never be a homemaker, as hard as you try - so what do you do when lewis comes home to you? (inspired by 'homemaker' by next of kin)

pairing: lewis hamilton x celebrity!reader

wc: 1.8 k

warnings: angst with a happy ending, discussions of negative past relationships

➤ MASTERLIST

You had gotten used to silence. 

It didn't matter that you had adoring fans, or paparazzi trailing you, photoshoots or interviews, when you were alone, you were silent. That's how it always seemed to be, anyway. 

You don't know how many nights you'd sat like this, not saying a word as you're curled up at the end of some guy's couch. Sometimes, you had a book. Sometimes, you had a mug of tea or coffee, clothes actually put away in drawers or closets.

Other times you were just passing through. 

You don't know how many nights you'd sat like this, phone left on the table in front of you, waiting for that text, that call, anything. It always started out sweet, the messages, the compliments, only to turn to silence in a few months time. If you had a dollar for every night you spent like this, you could buy an island somewhere far away to be silent in, but instead, you waste your time and your money on the rare chance that they come through in the end. 

They never do.

In your fantasies, they're knights in shining armour, who come home with flowers or a surprise dinner, but even you couldn't fool yourself sometimes. You don't think any of the guys you'd seen have ever fantasized about you in that way, either, because you already did it. You showed up, you planned surprises, you played the role of the loving, doting partner. 

Yet, despite it all, you weren't a homemaker at the end of the day. It wasn't even like you were trying to be some stay-at-home spouse, you just wanted a relationship that was real, that lasted, that you could call home.

But, no matter how much time, or energy, or god forbid love you put into a relationship, it didn't last. In the end, it seemed that you just housed people who liked you break your heart. Men saw a star, something to chase, but never keep. Marriage was never in the cards, something long, something stable either. There was a time you used to dream about it, of actually settling down and finding enough love somewhere to marry someone, but now, you'd seen the worst of enough men to be content with silence, with not throwing your life away for them. 

It didn't stop you from curling up on strangers' couches, or watching your phone. 

It just made it that much more pitiful. 

"God," Lewis's voice makes you jump, mug of tea rocking forward and spilling onto his probably ridiculously expensive carpet. Penthouse guys always splashed out on whatever cost the most, even if it didn't look good. "Shit, sorry babe." 

"Shit," You echo somewhat numbly, trying to rise to find something to clean it up with, and Lewis waves a hand, moving from the open front door to the kitchen, and you can't help but stare at it. 

The hallway is brightly lit at all hours, casting a warm glow into the darkened apartment. It's like a little glimpse into whatever heaven Lewis had come from, and you spare a glance at your phone on the table, no message waiting for you. You'd surprised him, by being here, and he'd surprised you by showing up.

Lewis returns with a roll of paper towel, dropping to your feet to try and pat down the carpet, and he spares a glance up at you. "What are you still doing up?" He asks, before noticing the door is open. "Can you get that for me?" 

"I was going to wait to see if you made it in on time." You answer as you slowly move to the door, pulling Lewis's luggage aside as you close it, casting the apartment in darkness again. For some reason, you can't bring yourself to turn any lights on, so you stand in the little front hall, staring at the shadows of Lewis as he does a fairly poor job of cleaning. 

"It's so late," He says, finally rising with his hands full of soaked paper towel. "You should be in bed. You should be at home." 

"I can go." Most didn't want you to stay, anyway. Some liked this little gesture, of waiting up for them, surprising them with their favourite, back home treats after long periods away, but you'd only been going out with Lewis for a month or two now. It might be overstepping, or it might just be another sign of commitment you can never have. 

"No, no." Lewis says, throwing the paper towel away in the kitchen and flicking on the overhead island light. It was a soft kind of glow that made Lewis seem that much warmer, and the dark that much farther from him. "I gave you the key for a reason, but it's almost 2 AM. You're going to ruin your sleep schedule." 

You move forward to stand in the shadows of the living room, wrapping your arms around his oversized shirt you'd adopted to sleep in for the past few days. "You're one to talk," You try to tease, though it doesn't quite reach your voice. "How many time zones have you gone through this week?" 

"That's different." Lewis says, coming to stand before you. His hands are gentle on your waist, pulling you close to him. "You really stayed up? For me?" 

"Even got those brownies you like from that bakery." You say, gesturing to the kitchen counter. Lewis glances over and a warm laugh bubbles out of him, echoing off the walls. Your hands come to smooth against his chest, as if to feel that he's actually there. It wouldn't last, history tells you. He'd be this sweet, for so long, and then he'd go. 

"Great minds think alike, hm?" Lewis moves to grab one of his bags, and he fishes out a somewhat crumpled container that he hands to you, a logo embossed on the top that you'd recognize anywhere. "There was that cookie place you liked, and I had a layover. I was going to surprise you with them tomorrow, but you sort of beat me to that." 

You slowly take the cookies in hand, and silence rests over you once more. 

It was a regional bakery, a place you talked about loving as a kid. No one ever really cared about it, it was just a sweet story to share over desserts to make people think you had something to talk about. You spare a glance back up at Lewis, who smiles softly back down at you, and neither of you says a word. 

You had gotten used to silence, but you didn't know how to break it. You didn't know how to vocalize that he'd remembered, that, cracking open the top, he'd even gotten the flavour right, that he went out of his way to get them for you. You don't know how to think about this as anything other than doomed, but all the signs keep saying otherwise. 

Gently, Lewis's hand comes up to cradle your cheek, turning it so it's more in the light of the kitchen. "Are you alright?" He asks quietly, "Tired?" 

"I-" All words die on your tongue. You didn't know how to be anything other than what the world wanted to see of you, of a star with their equally famous partner, of being too much or not enough, never going anywhere. Every relationship had been some kind of car wreck, wheels spinning uselessly as you tried to move forward when all they wanted to do was press on the break. 

You didn't know how to love Lewis. You just knew how to pretend.

"You can tell me, you know." He says, letting his hand drop. "You've always got this look on your face, like you're so far away. Is it me?"

"You?" You manage to get out softly, "No." 

"Don't say 'it's me, not you'," Lewis says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "Give me something real." 

"You didn't text." You find yourself saying, and Lewis pulls back with a knowing look. 

"Didn't want to wake you. But this isn't about that, because you told me just yesterday I don't have to check in all the time." He moves forward until you hit his couch, and easily he lifts you up to sit on the back of it, cookie box now resting in your lap, and he leans his arms on either side of your legs. "So? You making up reasons to leave?" 

Maybe. You stare down at the open box of cookies, and as honestly as you can, you try to explain the strange sort of pulling feeling at your heart. "Most guys don't text. When they go out, or when they travel, it's just radio silence. They give me a time, and I stay up, and they don't show." 

"Most guys?" 

"You know my reputation, Lewis." It was every other headline, every other blurry photo. You were the one they called a heartbreaker, despite the fact you were the one who wanted these things to work out. "I'm not exactly a homemaker." It's not that you didn't try, that despite it all you wanted to have the perfect relationship, but that they didn't let you. "Men come into my life, and for a blissful moment, I convince myself it'll work out, and it never does. No one's getting down on one knee, no one's remembering anniversaries, they just leave. Because of me." 

"That's not because of you." Lewis tries to defend, and you shake your head. 

"It is." It's a gallant thought, to try and defend you like that, but at this point there is only one part of this equation that remains the same: you. "I'm too famous, or I'm not famous enough. I'm too clingy, or I don't care about their art. I'm too far away, I can't travel, I'm just not enough. And you didn't text." 

Lewis moves one hand to gently graze the side of your thigh, gently rubbing his thumb in circles. "So you didn't expect me to walk through that door. That's why I scared you." 

"I get their apartments all nice and ready, change the sheets, pick up a favourite of theirs, get a text about it the next day and they repay me for it with a fancy dinner to make us both feel less guilty." You admit, suddenly far too close to Lewis to stop.  "And you showed up. You remembered. Why?" 

"Why?" Lewis echoes, sounding rather surprised by the question. "Because it meant something to you." 

"No." No, it didn't mean something to you, that's not how your partners have ever thought. It had to mean something to them, a bribe, something to ease the guilt, something to help them, not you. "It meant something to you." 

"Yeah, you mean something to me." The words force the air from your lungs, and Lewis leans forward to gently press his forehead to yours. Maybe it was that he was a British gentleman, maybe that he was a different kind of a celebrity, maybe that he was older, but he was different, and you didn't know what to do with that. "I guess I've been out of the dating pool too long," He jokes softly under his breath, "Seems like the world has lost their minds." 

You try your best to laugh, a small, sad thing, and Lewis pulls back to stare at you in a way you fantasized about for years. "Lewis," You finally manage to say, "I...I don't know what to do with all this."

"You don't have to. Just let me care for you." Maybe that was how love worked, after all.

You didn't have to know how to do it, or how it worked, but rather, you just tried your best to care for those who meant something to you.

Lewis's arms come under your knees as he scoops you up, carrying you bridal style toward his bedroom, and for the first time, in a long time, you think that this might last. "And to begin, that means getting us to bed." 

a/n: LISTEN TO NEXT OF KIN!! Homemaker and Jekyll and Hyde are my favourites

[zenkindoflove]

Some Lady of Autumn focused headcanons I've had cooking up for a while. I thought about making a fic around this concept but I'm not sure that that will ever come to fruition.

So enjoy this headcanony drabble. It is pretty angsty.

CW: domestic violence, child abuse, suicidal thoughts

Lady of Autumn loves all of her children.

With each one she would cradle them at night, warm, inside her belly, knowing that this would be the only time they wouldn't know pain.

She loves their red hair, so much like hers and her sisters. She loves the way their toddler smiles shine, innocent and wholesome. She loves how they cling to her. How they call her Mama and look to her for her attention, always seeking her out.

She loves all of them. Even the ones that Beron twists the most.

She tries her best to temper it. To be the shield between the High Lord and his heirs. She knows if she tries to run with them, Beron will hunt them down forever. And when they are found, he would make sure she would never be with them again and they would be all alone. With him. So she stays and endures because she is the only thing that they have that is soft in their cruel worlds.

And they are all that she has.

Her world in The Forest House gets smaller and smaller as the centuries past. Her family gone. Her friends kept away. Only servants that call her Lady. A husband that calls her Wife. Children, grown males with hardened gazes, who call her Mother.

Her heart is forced to grows with each son that is born. It's a painful expansion but one she knows is needed to make room for each of them. For the small time that they are only hers, before Beron snatches them away to make them into the males he needs, she must give them her love. She prays for only boys, not knowing what life like this would be for her daughter. The Mother is kind even in this torture for that. And when her belly swells with the last one, the one she knows is not his, it's the first and only time she truly considers ending it all. What stops her is Eris walking into her room that night, like he understood what she considered doing. And as he stands there, taking care of her once again, she is reminded of him as a boy, toothless and pink cheeked, waiting for her to tell him another bed time story to stave off sleep.

She knows that to leave this world is to leave them alone. And she can't do that to them. She must endure, because to endure is to assure one more day that she is there to wipe the blood and tears from their eyes. To stay is to find moments where she can place a hand on Beron's arm, pulling his attention away from one of them, even if sometimes it means he pays too much attention to her later.

She loves all of her children because in that respect, a mother has no choice. She can choose not to love Beron. She can reject her mate, never telling him the secret that she harbors to protect him and her sons. She can live in isolation. But she cannot turn off her heart to them. They are apart of her, extensions of herself that she loves more than herself. And she will keep doing what she must. Not to protect them because at that she has failed miserably. Who can truly stand against power itself? But to do what she can to give them even the small moments of comfort or reprieve. She would do it all again, over and over, if it means that she can save that for them.

The worst and best day of her life was the one when Lucien got away. Lucien, her little sunshine. Even in the darkest hours of their family, Lucien never let it dim his light. When she was finally let out of her rooms and she had heard the news - that Lucien's lover was killed, he fled and made it all the way to Spring, Conan and Cael dead - she wept tears of relief and horrific pain. Relief because Lucien was safe. He was out of Beron's clutches and another High Lord had taken him under his wing, protecting him in his sanctuary. But pain for her sons, monsters in their own right, but monsters that she couldn't help but see the little boys they once were, hugging her around the neck as she wiped their tears off their cheeks. When they had to burn them, she clutched her hands to her chest, trying to remember what it was like to feel their little hands there, wanting to preserve that memory of them forever, and not what Beron had made them.

[rottenherbs]

Love Within the Forrest

Pairing: F.W x Ravenclaw! Reader  Summary: A rule-following Ravenclaw finds herself swept up in Fred Weasley’s spontaneous adventure into the Forbidden Forest, where laughter, rain, and a little hand-holding lead to something unexpectedly magical. W/C: 3.5k A/N: CUTEEE. I almost did like a secret picnic in the Forrest but this seemed more on a whim romantic — i apologize for my love and over use of italics [masterlist] Much love, Saige

Fred Weasley had a habit of sneaking into your life like a well-placed prank—unexpected, disarming, and impossible to ignore.  

It started with small things. A teasing comment as he passed you in the corridors. A stolen seat beside you in the Great Hall. A ridiculous joke whispered in the middle of class, just to see if he could get you to laugh.  

At first, you had rolled your eyes at his antics, dismissing them as nothing more than Fred being Fred. But then the teasing had become something softer. The stolen seats turned into casual conversations that stretched on longer than they should. And the jokes? Well, they still made you roll your eyes—but they also made you smile.  

You weren’t sure when the lines blurred between friendship and something else, but they had. And lately, you found yourself waiting for those moments, for the warmth in his gaze, for the way his fingers would brush against yours just a little longer than necessary.  

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything.  

But Fred had other ideas.  

---  

“You know, love, I think you secretly like me.”  

You glance up from your book, unimpressed. Fred is sprawled across the library table in front of you, completely unbothered by the glares from Madam Pince. His tie is loose, his sleeves pushed up, and his usual grin is firmly in place.  

You raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”  

“The fact that you haven’t hexed me for interrupting your studying. That’s got to count for something.”  

You smirk, closing your book with deliberate slowness. “Maybe I’m just plotting something worse than a hex.”  

Fred gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Cruel! And here I thought we had something special.”  

You shake your head, but the smile playing at your lips betrays you. “Fred, why are you really here?”  

His expression shifts, just slightly—still playful, but there’s something else beneath it now. Something softer.  

“I think you need a break.”  

You huff. “I’m fine.”  

“Liar.”  

You cross your arms, and he leans in, resting his chin in his hand as he studies you. “You know, for someone so brilliant, you’re absolute rubbish at having fun.”  

You roll your eyes. “Not this again.”  

“Yes, this again.” He grins. “And lucky for you, I’ve decided to take on the noble mission of teaching you.”  

You narrow your eyes, but he just wiggles his eyebrows.  

Then, as if the universe is conspiring with him, a distant rumble of thunder shakes the castle walls. The rain outside begins to pick up, a steady drumming against the windows.  

Fred glances at the storm, then back at you, and his smirk widens.  

“Perfect.”  

You give him a wary look. “Perfect for what?”  

“For a bit of living.”  

Before you can protest, he’s on his feet, offering his hand.  

You hesitate.  

Fred watches you closely, the usual mischief in his eyes tempered by something gentler. “Trust me?”  

And somehow, against all logic—  

You do.  

With a sigh, you place your hand in his.  

Fred doesn’t hesitate.  

His fingers wrap around yours, warm and solid, and then you’re running.

Fred leads you through the castle with a determined kind of excitement, his grip firm but not forceful. Every time you hesitate, his thumb brushes absentmindedly over the back of your hand, like a silent reassurance that you can trust him.  

And the worst part? It works.  

The storm rages outside, the rain pounding against the tall windows as lightning streaks across the sky. You pass more students in the corridors, their heads turning as Fred pulls you along, grinning like a man on a mission.  

“Everyone is staring,” you murmur, trying to ignore the way your face feels like it’s on fire.  

Fred glances over his shoulder, completely unfazed. “That’s because you’re holding my hand, love.”  

Your breath catches. He says it so casually, like it’s just a simple fact, like it doesn’t mean anything. But it does—at least to you. And maybe, maybe to him, too.  

Before you can think too much about it, Fred slows to a stop, turning to face you. His hair is already a little damp from the misty air, the ends curling slightly, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.  

“Alright,” he says, still holding your hand. “Time for a shortcut.”  

You barely have time to ask what he means before he’s pulling you into a dimly lit passageway behind a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. The space is narrow, the walls closing in slightly as the two of you squeeze through.  

It would be fine.  

Really, it would.  

Except that you’re still holding hands, and suddenly, you’re pressed closer than you have ever been to Fred Weasley.  

You can feel the warmth of him even through your damp robes, the scent of something undeniably *him*—cinnamon, something sweet, something warm—wrapping around you. Your heart stumbles over itself as you glance up, only to realize he’s already looking at you.  

Fred’s smirk softens just slightly, his eyes flickering over your face like he’s memorizing something.  

“Blushing already?” he teases, voice quieter now, lower.  

You scoff, though it lacks any real conviction. “It’s warm in here.”  

Fred chuckles, but he doesn’t call you out on the lie. Instead, his free hand comes up, his knuckles brushing against your cheek—so light, so fleeting, you almost think you imagined it.  

Your breath catches.  

And then—  

“We’re here,” he says, stepping back like nothing happened, like he didn’t just steal the air from your lungs.  

The passage opens into a small tower landing, the wind howling through the stone archways. You step forward, blinking against the sudden brightness as lightning flashes across the sky. The storm is alive up here, the rain sweeping across the open space, the castle grounds stretching endlessly below.  

Fred turns to you, eyes shining. “Told you it was the best place to watch a storm.”  

You shake your head, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”  

“And yet,” he says, stepping closer, his voice dipping into something almost dangerous, “you’re still here.”  

You don’t know who moves first—if he leans in or if you do. But suddenly, you’re close again, and the space between you is so small it barely exists.  

The rain starts to blow in through the arches, dampening your robes, catching in your hair. You shiver slightly, and Fred immediately shrugs off his cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders without a second thought.  

“Can’t have you freezing, now, can we?” he murmurs, fingers lingering at your collar.  

You swallow hard, your hands clutching the edges of the cloak to keep them from shaking. “Fred—”  

Another crack of thunder shakes the tower.  

And then, before you can think, before you can second-guess—  

Fred grabs your hand again.  

“Come on.”  

This time, he doesn’t run.  

He sprints.  

You barely have a moment to react before you’re being pulled into the rain, the icy drops soaking through your clothes as Fred laughs—a loud, joyful sound that echoes through the open air.  

You gasp at the cold, but Fred just spins you, hands gripping yours, eyes locked onto you like you’re the best part of the storm.  

Your hair clings to your face, rain dripping down your cheeks, but you don’t care.  

Because you’re laughing.  

You’re laughing, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this alive.  

Fred’s eyes soften as he watches you, his hands still wrapped around yours. “That’s the look I was hoping for.”  

You blink up at him, breathless. “What look?”  

“Like you just found magic outside of books.”  

Your heart stumbles over itself. The storm rages on around you, but all you can hear is him.  

Before you can think too hard about it, before fear can creep in—  

You squeeze his hands.  

And Fred Weasley grins like he’s won something. 

Fred’s grip tightens around yours as he pulls you down the winding staircase, out of the tower, and into the open air. The cold air rushes against your damp skin, the rain pouring heavier now, drenching you both completely. But instead of shivering, instead of protesting, you laugh.  

It bubbles out of you, unfiltered and raw, carried away by the wind.  

Fred looks over at you, his eyes crinkling with something soft, something undeniably fond. “See?” he shouts over the storm. “Not so bad, is it?”  

You shake your head, rain streaming down your face. “It’s mad!”  

“Exactly!” He grins, tugging you along the slick grass, dodging puddles with an ease that only comes from years of mischief. “What’s the point of living if you don’t go a little mad every once in a while?”  

You don’t have an answer. Not because you don’t want one, but because—for the first time in your life—you’re starting to think he’s right.  

The castle looms behind you, warm and golden in contrast to the storm. But Fred doesn’t slow. Instead, he glances sideways at you, mischief gleaming in his rain-soaked lashes.  

“If you really want an adventure,” he calls, breathless, “we could take this a step further.”  

You narrow your eyes at him, still running. “What are you planning?”  

His smirk is positively dangerous.  

And then you see where he’s leading you.  

The Forbidden Forest.  

Your heart lurches as the shadowy treeline comes into view, dark and swaying under the weight of the storm. The rain makes it look even more foreboding, the trees looming like silent sentinels.  

Fred slows slightly, still gripping your hand, still grinning. “What do you say?” he asks, voice playful but laced with something else—something daring. “You wanted an adventure, didn’t you?”  

You skid to a stop just before the edge of the trees, your chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. The rain hammers against the leaves, dripping heavily from the branches, and for a long moment, all you can do is stare into the darkness beyond.  

Fred steps closer, watching you carefully, his thumb idly brushing against your hand. “We don’t have to,” he says, and for the first time tonight, there’s no teasing in his voice—just quiet reassurance.  

You swallow hard, heart hammering.  

Every instinct in you, every rule-following, well-behaved part of your mind is screaming no.  

But then you look at Fred.  

He’s standing there, soaked to the bone, eyes bright with something wild and alive. His hand is warm in yours despite the rain, steady despite the chaos.  

And maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s just him—but something inside you shifts.  

You exhale, grip tightening slightly. “You’ll keep me safe?”  

Fred’s expression softens, the storm forgotten between you. “Always.”  

And just like that, the last of your hesitation melts away.  

With one final glance at the castle—one final moment of who you were—you take a step forward.  

And Fred Weasley, grinning like you’ve just given him the best gift in the world, pulls you into the dark.

———— 

The moment you step past the tree line, the storm seems to soften. The thick canopy above catches most of the rain, breaking it into light drips that patter against the leaves. The forest is alive, breathing with the scent of damp earth and fresh rain.  

Fred still holds your hand, his fingers warm despite the chill, though now his grip is looser, more relaxed. He watches you out of the corner of his eye, as if waiting for any sign of hesitation.  

But to your own surprise—you’re not hesitating at all.  

It’s different here. The wild hum of the storm fades into something gentler, something almost magical.  

You pause for a moment, tilting your head up. The rain clings to the branches in delicate beads, dripping slowly onto moss-covered ground. Everything glows, like the whole forest is wrapped in glass. Even the air feels clearer, crisper.  

Fred lets out a low whistle beside you. “Blimey,” he murmurs. “Would you look at that?”  

You follow his gaze.  

The trees, ancient and tall, shimmer under the weight of the fading storm. Droplets cling to every leaf, reflecting the soft midday light like tiny jewels. Spiderwebs between branches hold dewdrops like strings of diamonds, and the ground is covered in small puddles, each one rippling as the last few raindrops fall.  

It’s breathtaking.  

For a long moment, neither of you say anything. The Forbidden Forest has never felt like this before—no longer a place of whispered warnings and forbidden dangers, but something alive. Something untouched, something waiting.  

Fred exhales beside you, running a hand through his dripping hair. “Alright,” he says, “I might have only brought us here for a laugh, but—” He gestures vaguely at the glistening trees, the glowing mist that still clings to the ground. “—I think we just walked straight into a bloody fairytale.”  

You smile, shaking your head. “Hardly seems forbidden when it looks like this.”  

He hums in agreement, then looks at you with that dangerous glint in his eye again. “Think we should keep going?”  

You hesitate, but not because you’re afraid. The part of you that would have insisted on turning back is quiet now, overwhelmed by the beauty around you.  

Fred tilts his head, watching you carefully. “No pressure, love. We can head back if you want.”  

You bite your lip, looking between him and the path ahead.  

Then, feeling bold, you lift your chin. “Just a little further.”  

Fred’s grin is instant, full of delight. “Merlin, I knew there was an adventurer in you somewhere.”  

He takes your hand again—not pulling this time, just holding—and together, you step deeper into the glowing forest.

————

The deeper you go, the quieter everything becomes. Not eerily so—just peaceful, like the world is holding its breath. The rain has nearly stopped, leaving only the occasional drop slipping from leaf to leaf before landing softly on the forest floor.  

Fred walks beside you now instead of leading, his hand still wrapped around yours, warm and steady. He swings your hands slightly as you walk, like this is all perfectly normal, like this isn’t the first time you’ve willingly stepped into the unknown with him.  

“Alright, tell me the truth,” he says, breaking the silence. “You’re not actually a rule-following, library-dwelling Ravenclaw, are you? You’ve been secretly waiting for me to drag you into trouble all this time.”  

You scoff, but you’re smiling. “That’s ridiculous.”  

“Is it?” He quirks an eyebrow, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Because you don’t look like someone regretting a single thing right now.”  

You don’t. You know you don’t.  

Fred watches you, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, and Merlin, does he know what he’s doing. He slows his pace slightly, giving you more space to take it all in. The forest is still glowing with the remnants of the storm, the mist clinging to the air, the trees standing tall like they’ve been waiting for you both to come along.  

You turn in a slow circle, taking in every shimmering detail. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this,” you admit, voice quieter now.  

Fred hums, tilting his head as he studies you. “That’s a shame.”  

You glance at him, brow furrowing. “Why?”  

“Because,” he says, softer now, “you should see more things that make you look like this.”  

Your breath catches.  

You don’t even know what you look like, but the way he says it—the way he’s looking at you—makes your pulse stutter. His eyes are warmer than they’ve ever been, no teasing smirk, no mischievous glint. Just genuine—like he means it, like he wants this for you.  

You turn away before your face can betray you, pretending to focus on the trail ahead.  

Fred doesn’t let go of your hand.  

The forest shifts as you walk, the path widening slightly. A small clearing opens up ahead, bathed in soft golden light filtering through the branches. There’s an old fallen log near the center, its surface covered in moss, and a patch of tiny blue flowers blooming in the damp earth beside it.  

Fred tugs you toward it. “Here,” he says, sitting on the log and patting the space beside him.  

You hesitate—not because you don’t *want* to, but because something about this moment feels… different.  

Not reckless. Not chaotic. Just *yours*.  

You lower yourself onto the log, and for a while, neither of you speak. The quiet hum of the forest fills the space between you—the drip of water onto leaves, the distant rustle of branches shifting in the breeze.  

Fred leans back on his hands, tilting his face up to the canopy above. “You know,” he muses, “if someone had told me this morning that I’d be sitting in the Forbidden Forest in the rain with you, I’d have called them mad.”  

You scoff, nudging his knee with yours. “I could say the same. You do know I planned to spend my evening studying, right?”  

He grins, turning his head to face you. “Yeah, well. Look at you now.”  

You roll your eyes, but you can’t fight your smile.  

Fred watches you for a moment longer, then shifts slightly, resting his elbow on his knee as he leans closer. “So,” he says, “what do you reckon? Worth breaking the rules for?”  

You exhale, looking around again at the glistening trees, the dew-covered flowers, the quiet magic in the air.  

Then, without hesitation—  

“Yes.”  

Fred’s grin is slow, spreading across his face like a sunrise. He lifts your joined hands between you, brushing his thumb over your knuckles in a way that makes your heart *trip* over itself.  

“Well, then,” he murmurs, voice soft and warm. “Guess I’ll have to find more rules for you to break.”  

And for the first time in your life—  

You want him too.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, hands braced against the log as you let yourself breathe—really breathe—in this quiet, enchanted world. The rain has nearly stopped now, leaving behind only glistening leaves and the scent of damp earth. The storm has passed, but something lingers in its wake.  

Something warm. Something new.  

You turn to Fred, who’s still watching you with that insufferably pleased expression, like he’s just won a bet you didn’t even know you made. He hasn’t let go of your hand, and now that you’ve noticed, you have no intention of letting it slip away.  

Instead, you shift, adjusting your grip so your fingers lace more deliberately through his. His eyebrows lift slightly, like he wasn’t expecting it—but he doesn’t protest. If anything, his grip tightens just a bit, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind.  

You won’t.  

“Alright, Weasley,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze before standing. “I suppose we should start heading back before someone sends a search party.”  

Fred groans dramatically but rises to his feet, tugging you a little closer in the process. “Fine,” he sighs, “but only because I do have a bit of an appetite for supper.”  

You hum, turning with him as you both start back toward the castle. The walk is easier now, the fear of the unknown having melted away into something familiar, something almost comfortable.  

Your fingers are still entwined, swinging slightly between you as you navigate the damp trail. The air feels lighter, the quiet hum of the forest wrapping around you like an old friend.  

Then, with a sideways glance and a smirk creeping onto your lips, you murmur, “Seems like you’ve wanted to hold my hand this whole time.”  

Fred stumbles.  

It’s barely noticeable, but you notice. His step falters for just a second, his grip on your hand momentarily tightening as he turns to you with wide eyes—before narrowing them.  

“Oh, now you’re getting cheeky,” he says, recovering quickly, though the corner of his mouth twitches. “Next thing I know, you’ll be pulling me into adventures.”  

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe.”  

Fred slows his steps, looking at you fully now, like he’s re-evaluating everything he thought he knew about you. Then, to your utter delight, he lets out a soft, breathy laugh.  

“Merlin’s beard,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I’ve created a monster.”  

You grin, feeling something light and warm bloom in your chest. “You love it.”  

Fred stops walking entirely, and before you can question it, he tugs you—gently but suddenly—closer. Your breath catches as you find yourself inches from him, your joined hands now pressed between you.  

His voice is softer now, his usual mischief tempered with something deeper. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I really think I do.”  

For a moment, you can’t breathe.  

Then, before you can process what’s happening, Fred steps back, resuming your walk as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just send your heart into an absolute tailspin.  

You exhale, regaining your footing, and after a beat, you tighten your grip on his hand, matching his pace.  

The castle lights are glowing in the distance, warm and inviting. Supper is waiting. The world is returning to normal.  

But you?  

You’re not sure you want things to go back to normal.  

Not now.  

Not when you’ve just discovered a whole different kind of magic—one that has nothing to do with books or spells.  

And everything to do with Fred Weasley.

[pink-ladybugs]

Harvest Moon Ch. 2

Farmhand Abby Anderson x Femme Reader

See ch.1

Inspired by:

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Description: Fluff, angst, friends to lovers, time skip. Abby Anderson farmhand AU. Modern AU.

Plot: You and Abby had been best friends since childhood. You basically grew up together in a small town in eastern Washington. However, a vicious fight separates the two of you. Only the most unpredictable circumstance can bring you back together. This is the second installation.

Author’s Note: Just some character/story building in this one.

─────── current day ───────

The last time you were driving down these long, winding roads was on your way to California. The fields and flowers used to be so vibrant then. Not now.

Rain pelts your windows as you think about all of the things from your childhood that you’ll have to face again. Your childhood home, white paint peeling off the old wood. The fields of wheat that rippled like waves on a windy day. And… Abby.

You planned to stay as far away from her as possible on this trip. You weren’t staying long. Just enough to get Dan back on his feet again.

The only doctor in Dry Creek had called you when you had just finished up your finals at Stanford.

“Dan had a heart attack. He’s been working himself to the bone on the farm. Refuses help from anyone. Said he doesn’t want to hire someone he doesn’t know personally.” He had said.

“Is he okay?” You asked panicked. The doctor sighed.

“He’s alright now but he shouldn’t be alone on that farm. It would be a good idea to come and take care of him. At least until he practices a healthier life style. He has a lot of blood clotting. If this continues, he could have a stroke…”

You knew it was true. Dan worked himself way too hard. Harder than a man of his age should. The fact that he only had a steak and a beer for dinner most nights probably wasn’t helping.

And that’s how you ended up taking your last semester off, frantically packing a suitcase to drive back to Washington and get him up and running again.

You pull into the long driveway leading to the farmhouse. No animals wait by the fence to greet you like they usually did. They all take shelter from the rain instead. You turn the car off once you reach the house. Your body doesn’t let you move.

What do I even say? “Sorry I havnt visited you in years and I only call you on birthdays and holidays. Sorry Ive been too busy to know about your heart condition. Sorry Im the worst niece in the world.”

You sigh and rest your head against the steering wheel. Then all of the sudden you hear your name called out.

Your head shoots up to find Dan on the porch waving you over.

“Get out of that car right now young lady!” He barks. Just like he used to when you did something wrong as a kid. You step out of your car and run through the rain until you get under the cover of the porch.

You stand in front of Dan like a child in trouble. Your tail tucked between your legs. Dan stands there for a moment. His stance is weaker than when you left. His beard is now more salt than pepper. You brace yourself for an endless guilt trip about how you abandoned Dry Creek… and him. Something you could never forgive yourself for.

Instead, Dan walks towards you and gives you a hug. A warm, tight, bone breaking hug.

“I missed you kid.” He says in his usual raspy voice. Your eyes sting as you pull away to look at him. You wipe the formation of tears from the inner corners of your eyes.

“What are you doing outside? You should be lying down and resting!” You say trying to ignore the heap of emotions you feel from his unexpected welcomeness. You swing your arm around his waist and walk inside. The smell of your childhood hitting you like a brick.

“Doc can’t tell me nothing.” He says giving you a crooked smile. You roll your eyes.

“Doc told me you’ve been a real dummy.” You say leading him to his leather recliner. “Don’t worry Im gonna have you healthy as a horse for harvest alright?” You say as you put a blanket over him.

“Im already healthy as a horse!” And with that, he bursts into a coughing fit. Your eyebrows stitch together in concern.

“You can’t work on that farm anymore Dan. It’s literally killing you. You’re not a young buck. You can’t go lifting hay bales and corralling the cows like you used to.” You say.

Dan looks away from you for a moment. A look of guilt passing over his face. “Well I may have gotten some help.” He says sheepishly.

“You did? Doc said you refused to hire anyone because you didn’t know them.” You say confused.

“Well er… I changed my mind. Just hired someone a couple days ago.” He says obviously hiding something. You quirk an eyebrow. You begin to ask him what he’s talking about before something in the kitchen falls and causes a huge crashing sound to ring out through the house. You rush to see what it is.

Pots and pans litter the kitchen floor. “The pan rack fell!” You call out from the kitchen. As you pick everything up you notice the horrible state of things. Ingredients and utensils sit on the counter, never put away. Old coffee stains decorate the kitchen island. It looks like no one had cleaned it in months. “Jesus, what happened to this place? It’s like the second I leave a tornado hits this house.”

Dan lets out a course laugh. “An important man like me cant trouble himself with chores.”

You walk back into the living room and place a hand on your hip. “Or general hygiene I see.”

Dan’s eyebrows furrow as he smells his armpit. His face breaks into a smile as he realizes you’re right.

“Shower.” You say pointing towards the bathroom. He nods. “Im making you dinner too!” You shout as you walk back into the kitchen.

“Steak with gravy and potatoes please!” He shouts back. “Crack open a beer for me too would ya?”

Is this man insane? You think to yourself.

“Not a chance!” You yell as you hear the shower turn on. You shake your head as you open up the fridge to find some vegetables. Surprise, there are none. You groan as you slam the fridge shut. You’ll have to go shopping. You grab your coat and your keys.

“I’ll be right back! I gotta go to the store!” You shout as you make your way to the door. You stop as something catches your eye.

Next to the door are Dan’s old, muddy work boots, but that’s not what caught your attention. Next to them are a tinier pair. The little cowgirl boots register in your mind as you realize Dan never got rid of them once you were too big to fit them anymore. Your heart clenches as you look at them for a second longer. Part of you misses when you fit into those boots. When things were simpler.

You lock the door and leave the house, hopping into your car to go to the nearest grocery store. A thought occurs to you as you drive down roads you know like the back of your hand.

Maybe I do still belong here.

You let yourself imagine being here again. Making more memories in a place that means so much to you.

But no, you have a different life now. One far away from here. Which is what you wanted…

This is only a short trip. You remind yourself.

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Thank you for sticking around for the second chapter!! I really appreciate everyone who reads these.

[rickgrimesdoingrickthings]

Rick melted when he heard Wren saying that. She loved him...- and she said it twice. It made him squeeze her a bit more and purr, nuzzling against her, feeling warm, safe, loved- everything was perfect. "I love you too. So so much...I can't even describe it, Wren." Rick muttered, clinging a little, not wanting to get up.

He chuckled when she said it again, his cheeks getting warmer- hearing that never failed to make him happy- "I love you too." He smiled, repeating it, his happy smile so clear on his face, his features so happy- and he looked so healthier. The wounds had healed, he was starting to recover the weight he had lost and even the brown of his hair seemed more lively, and the blue of his eyes and the red of his lips- he was being well fed by Wren. She had so many excuses to give him just one portion of the meals every time, but she never refused him food. All times he still felt hungry after a meal, somehow, she seemed to figure it out and provide him more food.

The fact she hadn't rejected him as he was also shone inside his heart. He got cuddlier and cuddlier, and romantic and sweet...and not even once she had pushed him away or told him to man up- he could be the little spoon when he felt he needed, and he could fill her with kisses and act clingy when he had more love to give. Rick felt safe being himself around her- at least his true, sweet self. He still feared she could fear or dislike him if she saw him killing, if she saw him in his feral worst. He had avoided all sorts of conflict so far, either following Wren around or working by building things or looking after the crops and animals. He was happy to have his farmer life back, but insecurity still resided in his heart. Last time he allowed himself to relax...the Governor took everything from them. Even though he was now dead, Rick knew there still was a dangerous gang around, not too far from their community. The horror he experienced while in their hands...he couldn't, just couldn't let them assault their town or attack people who went outside. He was afraid, he knew he would have to embrace violence again, and that it was just a matter of time. He wondered if Wren had understood all they had done to him since she had been the one cleaning and healing him since she found him half dead. He feared she could think he was weak if those men showed up and told everyone about how Rick had been a toy in their hands- until he violently killed two of the gang and escaped. He really wondered how much Wren had assumed or how deeply she had examined him days before. And he wondered if those men were still around. It was an unfinished business and Rick really hoped they just had decided to vanish from that region to never come back, otherwise, otherwise he wouldn't rest until he killed the remaining ones with his own hands- if they showed up, if there was any sign of them.

"Yeah, I'm ready for the run. It should be easy, but let's stay alert regardless." He kissed her cheek and waited on the bed, letting her decide when to get up. He had so many thoughts in his mind now he didn't even tease Wren- he would leave it up to her, if she wanted the morning to start normally or if she wanted to make it sweeter- "You know...I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, Wren."

@littlewrensx

Rick had never felt such a connection with a partner in his life. He felt so loved and so safe around her, cuddling and being close felt absolutely good.

Showering together that day helped them get used to intimacy, slowly he was getting less shy around her, bonding even more. All he did was rest his head against her shoulder and neck though, whenever he could; helped wash her hair and her back. His desire seemed to have settled, he wasn't as desperate anymore, since her softness calmed him, he now was getting more and more cuddly and affectionate.

They worked until the sun set, and as some days passed, the stable and the farm by Wren's place only got better. The animals were growing healthy and Hope proved to be a practical way to do quicker travels, the horse was docile and friendly, it was used to people and it seemed to be grateful for the treatment it got from them.

Carl accepted really well when Rick told him about his relationship with Wren. Carl already had been suspecting. He knew his father and also had realized how much of Wren's scent was on him every time he hugged his dad. Carl was actually very happy about it. He loved Wren and her place, it had become their home.

Another morning came, Rick cuddling her on bed, curled against her chest, wishing that moment lasted and lasted. He was awake, but decided to remain still, taking little naps. If heaven existed, should feel something like that.

@littlewrensx

[syluss-slut]

Go ahead and wrap your arms around me*ﾟ⁠+.｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

Pairings: vessel x fem!reader

Summary: You have a horrible day and need cuddles stat. Luckily for you, you have someone to look after these needs.

CW: nothing really. Just tooth-rotting fluff.

-------｡⁠*°.( ⁠T��_⁠T⁠)⁠＼⁠(⁠^⁠-⁠^⁠ ⁠)｡⁠*°.------

You were having the worst fucking day ever.

Luteal phase wasn't being kind to you, and this time it was abnormally vicious.

You've been having tummy aches the entire day, studying for the soon-approaching finals and the cherry on top of this disaster pie was feeling nauseous 24/7.

Safe to say, you've had enough of the day.

Finally stepping away from the study corner in your room, you stretch and rub your eyes.

You haven't seen vess the entire day as well; he was cooped up in his studio–probably composing lyrics.

You haven't had the chance to spend time with him and vice versa. With how busy your academic life was getting and his upcoming tour dates, the most you both have interacted is eating lunch together and finding each other in the kitchen at midnight for water or snacks.

The memory of these moments made you smile, an inside joke between the both of you being that whenever you couldn't spend much time together, fate somehow makes you guys meet during late nights by sheer coincidence.

Your heart hurts a little when you realise these moments haven't happened recently; and that regardless of living under the same roof you and vess had barely the time for each other.

Taking heavy steps you walk towards his studio, finding the door locked and the sound of muffled music.

Exhaling a breath you didn't know you were holding, you knock at it.

Knock

Knock

Knock

The music stopped playing and soon enough the door opened before you.

Wordlessly, you let your limp body fall in his arms.

Albeit a little amused, vessel hugs you back.

It felt so good to be in his embrace after so long, to feel the warmth of another body against yours.

Subconsciously you bring your arms up and hug him tighter.

"Everything okay sugar?" The deep timbre of his voice sounded, concern laced under his words.

Eyes still closed, you nod in a no and reply in a weak whisper.

"I need you"

Sometimes you yourself wondered how you could yearn for someone you quite literally live with, but that's something vess somehow understood.

With a comfortable silence and his hand in yours, he leads you towards the spacious couch in his studio–laying down and signalling for you to join him.

You need not be told twice. Wating no time, you get comfortable besides him.

Vessel pulls the blanket draped over the arm of the couch and pulls it over the both of you.

You snuggle further against him, the world around you melting away as his hands once again wrap around you in a secure embrace, finding purchase against your back.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks, still a little puzzled at your sudden clinginess.

Your emotions were already haywire, and vess expressing valid concern at your behaviour finally did it.

Overcome with feelings, you tear up and let out a choked sob against his chest.

"I missed you" you managed to let out through tears.

All the pent up stress and emotions finally caught up to you, and now you were crying in his arms.

"It's okay, it's okay love. I'm right here. Not going anywhere" he comforts you, the baritone of his voice soothing your frazzled nerves.

He pulls you even closer, tightening his hold against you. You let out a soft sigh when you feel vess caress your scalp from the back.

Leaving all your worries behind, you focus on being held by the love of your life, safe and warm.

With all that exhaustion–physical and mental, it was no surprise you drifted off to sleep easily.

Feeling your breaths go from ragged and uneven to laboured and even, vessel sighs and rests his chin on top of your head.

Even unconsciously–you nuzzle against the crook of his neck; making him smile before he drifts off to slumber himself.

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

Me as I write this:

[hokusu]

#dabihawks in post-war where things still get a little heated, a little 'you wanna fight or you wanna fuck' and they burn their house down every few years... only to build it back up from the grounds. 

For the first time in their lives, they deal with their feelings and the only two things that they know with certainty as they work through it is— it's love, in life or in death, and no one understands their specific level of trauma and insanity that they crave as each other. 

So they've got a lifetime of issues to work through, and more scars than they can count, but they love as hard as they fight and sometimes—in the heat of the moment, they burn down their house. 

And in those months, they'll bitch and moan about the house that they've burned down (again), about the time that they'll be outdoors, but there's mountains and rivers in the distance and the birds that chirp with them out in the open. 

Their breath evens out, the world and all of the raging inside of them slows and ebbs away like every fire eventually does. The sun will rise, in the wake of every storm. 

It's banter and digs, but it's also disgustingly fond and exchanged jokes like a secret, like love and–the sex is good. It always is. No one and nothing makes them feel more alive than when they're buried in each other, fucked over what's left of a desk, the smell of ash and cinders on their backs, their fingertips painted red, lips tracing desperation and the beating pulse beneath their skin. 

Through all the good, and all the worst—

They're alive. 

Right here. 

And whatever wound up mess of a feeling that's curled in their chest, whatever fucked up part of them that still exists, will always exist—Hawks dry heaving against an old wooden stump on what's left of their tree, or Dabi on the grounds, arm thrown over his eyes as he burns and cries but it's not blood—will have them come out better for it. Dabi's hand against his wings, brushing his feathers and holding him for all that he's worth. Hawks' gentle coos against his ears, feathers softly blanketing him and when the fire grows cold and the smoke goes out, all that's left are the stars above them. 

They breathe in the crisp cut of the night air. They scab, their wounds heal a little easier and the thought of their house—will always keep things interesting. 

A new layout. A cozier kitchen. Softer living room windows, an added study or lounge, something more aesthetic. Something ridiculous. Something straight out of a look book, or traditional. Childish, a tree house. More personal, more cottage core. 

They lay on a pile of rubble and sticks and stones, memories of the life they've built around them. It's nostalgic, it's insane. 

"I really liked that kitchen nook," Hawks muses against his chest, hands clutched against what's left of Dabi's shirt. Dabi's heart has evened out beneath his ears and Dabi is temptingly warm. 

Dabi hums, tracing his fingers through Hawks' wings, brushing ash from the tips, the stars a little brighter tonight, or maybe he's just finally looking up again. The promise is easy, "I'll build you another." 

"Let's put in another oven," Hawks voices, too. 

And Dabi can hear he's pleased in his voice. Can hear that this is Hawks' words for—I know what you want too.

Of course he does. 

And they'll be camping until they get their house back up, but they're laughing after the initial 'oh shit, we really did that again' and they have each other, will always have each other now, and that's the real home they know will never disappear. 

Because as everything they've always been, flammable and damning is an old habit they haven't learned how to curb past, but they'll make it work. And this grounds them. 

Burning it all down, again and again, a lot like burning out the old parts of them with the memories they don't want to remember, with the scars still beneath their skin, and it feels like carving a future out of their ashes. 

"I love you," one of them will voice. An apology, a promise. 

And the reply will always come, quiet and understanding. "I know." 

Love you too—implied, irrefutable, forever.

// tbc in a full fic 😭

(inspired by that unhinged ao3 tag post 'not so slow burn. its more like they set the house on fire and then pretended not to see it' and also I've been re-watching fma...)

[snowyshuanghua]

mdzs headcanon of the day #588 ! sorry yall i was writing up a lab conclusion

nie mingjue is a human heater. he’s never once had to use the blanket because he would overheat and die

[luvvictoria]

I've been thinking abt a poly!tf141 with a fem!reader who like is from the country side AND I'M CRACKING, OH LAWD!!!

Task Force 141 had seen you kill a man from 700 meters away. They had seen you tear through enemy lines with the precision of a seasoned warrior, your movements deadly and efficient. But what they hadn't seen—what they couldn’t wrap their heads around—was the life you returned to after every mission.

Because while Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz spent their leave in safe houses, military bases, or the occasional urban apartment, you?

You went home.

To the countryside.

To your massive, luxurious farmhouse nestled in the hills of a quiet village, where the air smelled of fresh hay, wildflowers, and the occasional whiff of cow.

And when TF141 finally visited, they were not prepared.

The First Time They Saw the Farm : "What the fuck—" Ghost had been the first to say it when you pulled up to your estate in an old pickup truck, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as you parked in front of a sprawling wooden house with a red-tiled roof.

There were animals everywhere.

A massive black and white cow lazily chewed its cud near the wooden fence. Chickens and roosters strutted about like they owned the place. A gray donkey stared at them with judgmental eyes. Two ducks waddled past as if they were on a mission. Dogs barked excitedly at the sight of you, tails wagging. A cat lounged on the porch, stretching in the warm sun.

And then—a fucking horse trotted up to you, nuzzling into your palm like a puppy.

"Price," Gaz whispered. "She has a fucking farm."

"A fancy one at that," Soap muttered, still stunned.

"You lot gonna stand there all day?" You grinned, tossing your duffel bag over your shoulder. "Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready."

They were bewildered. They had spent years with you, fighting side by side, seeing you covered in blood, sweat, and gunpowder—and now you were leading them up the front porch of your cozy countryside mansion like a perfect little housewife.

And the worst part? They liked it.

You, The Deadly Soldier and The Perfect Housewife

Soap had expected you to relax on your leave. Maybe sleep in, drink some tea, read a book.

But no.

You were up at the crack of dawn, slipping out of bed before any of them could pull you back in, dressed in overalls and a white tank top, heading out to feed the animals like it was just another mission.

"Morning, sweetheart," Price murmured, leaning against the doorway as he watched you toss hay to the horses.

"Morning, Captain," you teased, kissing his scruffy cheek before moving on to collect eggs from the hens.

Ghost watched in silence, arms crossed, as you scolded a particularly feisty rooster. "You peck me one more time, and I swear to God, I’m making soup outta you."

Gaz almost choked on his coffee when you turned around and gave them the sweetest, most innocent smile.

"You boys want breakfast?"

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a massive wooden table in your warm, sunlit kitchen, eating fresh farm eggs, homemade bread, and smoked bacon.

And Soap was ready to propose.

Domesticity With a Side of Chaos

Price: Loves sitting on the porch with a cigar, watching you work. He helps with repairs, fixes fences, and absolutely adores the peacefulness of your home.

Ghost: The animals are terrified of him at first (except the donkey—the donkey hates him). But the barn cats adopt him, curling up in his lap whenever he sits down.

Soap: Thinks farm life is the best thing ever. He learns how to milk a cow, names every single chicken, and gets way too attached to a piglet.

Gaz: "Babe, I love you, but this rooster is evil." (He got chased one too many times.)

And at night?

After a long day of farm work, you slip into something soft and lacy, curl up in their arms, and remind them that you’re not just a soldier, not just a farmer—you’re theirs.

They Never Want to Leave

By the end of their stay, not a single one of them wants to go back.

"You sure we have to leave?" Soap pouts, feeding the ducks.

"Darlin’," Price murmurs against your neck one night, arms wrapped around you in bed, "Ever thought about retirin’ here? With us?"

Ghost doesn’t say it out loud, but when he watches you laugh, your hands covered in flour as you bake bread, he knows he never wants to be anywhere else.

And Gaz?

He just sighs, watching the sunset over the hills. "I never thought I’d say this, but…I think I’m in love with farm life."

They were all in love. With you. With this. With the life they could have, if only they stayed.

Maybe one day.

For now, they’d enjoy every stolen moment in their countsyde paradise. But what if we make thing spicy ? A little bit, at least.

Ghost Was The First To Break

Ghost had held strong. Longer than the others.

While Soap got weak-kneed watching you bend over to pick up hay, and while Gaz couldn’t stop staring at your thighs in those tiny denim shorts, Ghost had kept his cool.

Until that damn sundress.

White. Light. Flowy. Just enough fabric to tempt, but never satisfy—clinging to your curves, slipping off your shoulders as you carried a bucket of water to the horses.

He had been cleaning his rifle on the porch, but his grip tightened the moment he saw the fabric sway with your every step.

And then?

You had the audacity to look over your shoulder and wink at him.

He dropped the rifle.

Soap Lost It In The Barn

Soap had always been shameless about his attraction to you.

But you?

You were even worse.

It was an accident—(was it?)—when you walked into the barn one night, looking for something. The others were inside, drinking whiskey in the house, but Soap had been alone, brushing down one of your horses.

And then he saw you.

Wet.

Covered in rain.

Your thin white blouse clung to you, completely see-through, nipples pebbled against the fabric.

"Lass," he had rasped, watching as you closed the barn door behind you, stepping forward, voice all honeyed and sweet.

"Johnny," you had purred, voice dripping with something that wasn’t innocence, "I’m cold."

He snapped.

The horse had seen things that night.

Price Was The Most Dangerous

Price was a man of control.

A man of restraint.

A man who knew how to bide his time.

But you?

You tested him.

You liked to push. You liked to see how far you could go before he gave in.

And God help you—you found his limit.

It was late. The others were asleep. You were making tea in the kitchen, standing on your tiptoes to reach a mug from the top shelf.

Price had walked in just as your nightgown slipped up your thighs.

It wasn’t fair.

The soft, white cotton. The little lace trim. The way your bare legs looked so smooth, so inviting—and the sleepy way you turned, so unaware of what you were doing to him.

You looked up at him, mug in hand, and smiled. "You want some tea, Cap?"

And then—his hands were on your hips.

Voice rough.

"You know damn well what I want, sweetheart."

Gaz Had It The Worst

Gaz?

Gaz was a goner the first time he saw you in nothing but boots and his shirt.

You had come in from the field soaked in sweat, hair messy, thighs speckled with dirt. You had tossed your muddy clothes into the laundry room, grabbed his green tactical shirt, and walked around the house like it wasn’t driving him insane.

"Babe," he groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, watching you stretch, the hem of his shirt riding up to dangerous levels.

You blinked. All innocent. "What’s wrong?"

Gaz was a patient man. A respectful man. A man who was about to lose his goddamn mind.

"Come here."

You smirked, walking over slowly, pressing your hands to his chest.

"You’re so easy to rile up," you giggled.

His hand wrapped around your throat.

"And you’re about to learn what happens when you push too far."

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

a/n: a 2k word kofi reward featuring megalodon shark!hybrid smut.

You hadn’t been planning on going on a cruise, but when you won a ticket through a raffle, you didn’t want to give up your chance for some real rest and relaxation.

Work had been beyond stressful lately, and you were ready to sit by the pool and sip cocktails until you were plastered.

Unfortunately, things don’t always seem to go the way you envision them to.

The first two days were amazing, filled with great food and some fun under the sun. You felt rejuvenated, and for a while you really thought that you’d be able to go back to work as a whole new person.

But on the third night you were walking back from the bar and decided to lean over the railing, the salty wind blowing through your hair. It was nice, you were happy.

That was until you saw it.

Something shifted under the dark, choppy waves, the hint of something dark and gray beginning to emerge. At first you just assumed it was just your imagination. After all, you have been told that people start to hallucinate when they stare into the dark for too long.

But when the thing rose higher, causing the ship to rock slightly… that’s when you realized whatever it was, it was completely real.

Everything happened so fast. A voice came onto the intercom, saying something you couldn’t comprehend. You were too focused on the giant creature appearing before you, dark eyes landing on your form.

It was looking at you.

Terror shook your very being, causing you to nearly vomit in fear. Your hands gripped the railing tightly, your eyes wide and tears forming in the corners.

It was too dark to make out its form exactly, but you could see the glint of large, sharp teeth and that was enough to have your soul attempting to leave your body.

With a loud creak, it leaned against the ship, sending you flying off the side and into the dark depths below.

You woke up feeling rather… warm. Sunlight beamed down onto your skin, something cold lapping at your feet waking you.

Certainly that had been a bad dream and you were at home with your pet licking your feet to get you up and ready to make their breakfast…

But when you opened your eyes, you were reminded of reality.

The dark figure from the night before was hovering over you, the waves it created from rising out of the water lapping at your feet. The night before you hadn’t been able to make out its appearance, but now everything was horribly clear.

Before you was some sort of human and shark hybrid. Its eyes were beady, staring down at you like a predator glares at its prey. Scars covered its soft looking torso and muscular arms, his lower body resembling a shark’s tail.

But the feature that scared you the most, the one that had you crying in fear the night before was his set of razor sharp teeth, nearly the size of your arm.

You flinched when he lowered his head to sniff you, unable to even move. Was this it? You were going to be eaten by some strange, undiscovered beast before you had ever gotten the chance to truly live your life the way you wanted…

Years of working for a company you hated flashed through your mind, tears forming in your eyes. Only this time it was tears of fear, but of frustration. All that time wasted on making money to get by, but never truly making enough to live.

Preparing for the worst, you squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head. Your only hope was that it would be kind enough to kill you before tearing into your flesh…

Though, after waiting several moments, the only thing you felt was the creature’s soft breaths fanning over your body as it continued to sniff you. Its arms laid on either side of you… and it made some strange growling sound.

Soon, you opened your eyes when a wet sensation on your lower belly caused you to yelp. Oh god, it was eating you!

“N-no, don’t-“

But your cries of fear changed into a moan when he began licking further down.

No, he didn’t want to eat you… he wanted to eat you out.

His massive tongue made easy work of your clit, the very top of it pushing into your cunt and making you cum quickly.

After a while of this, he stared down at you, tilting his head before sinking back into the water. You were left feeling… confused.

While he was gone, you explored your surroundings. You were stuck on a small island, with only a few fruit trees and some birds as company.

You knew that some fruit wouldn’t keep you fed for long, but at least the shade provided some reprieve from the burning sun. If it hadn’t been for that, you would have shriveled up in the heat like a raisin.

The creature/shark guy returned as the moon began to rise over the sky. In his jaws he carried a wooden chest. He dropped it at your feet, nudging it closer to you through the sand.

“What’s this?” you asked, kneeling down to open it up. The chest held various meats and fish, enough to feed you for a while. “Oh… thank you.”

Your gratitude made him perk up, his tail wagging furiously and flinging sand everywhere. He lowered his head, nudging you gently before settling down in the water to watch you cook. It seemed he took great pride in the fact he provided a good meal for you.

As you ate your cooked meat, he slowly reached out his webbed hand, lightly rubbing at your chubby belly. You were too cute, all soft and fat, he wanted to keep you that way. It would ensure you’d produce healthy shark pups, and the very thought of your belly swollen and round during your pregnancy had his hard cock slipping out of his slit.

It was pure instinct. You were plump and well fed, meaning breeding you was the best course of action. He hadn’t found a female megalodon hybrid all mating season, and part of him wondered if he was the last of his kind.

“Soft…”

You were surprised when he spoke, his voice gravely and deep. It could almost shake the ground, and as he pulled you onto his own soft belly, you realized he was… aroused.

His cock was as thick as your arm, and nearly double the size. It would fit with some work… but just barely.

You didn’t know this though, your eyes wide with shock as he pushed the head against your cunt. “H-hey, that’s way too big! It’s not gonna-“

He paused, his black eyes glimmered. “Forgot. Need to get wet.”

He spread your legs apart, keeping them open as his thumb nudged at your clit. His hands were so big, his pinky was enough to stretch you out.

As he pumped his pinky in and out of you, slick started to pool between your legs. It felt so embarrassingly good, you struggled to keep yourself from cumming immediately.

When he considered you stretched out enough, he positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, nudging the hole before pushing in.

Nothing, not anything could have prepared you for the painful stretch as he bottomed out inside of you. Your legs were pushed as far as they could go, and you cried out in pain.

“G-gonna break me,” you babbled, watching your tummy bulge. “It’s t-too big..!”

But he seemed to lost in his own pleasure to hear you, fucking into your tight hole as you whined and squirmed. After a moment though, the pain shifted into a blinding pleasure.

Being stretched out so perfectly felt too good. He groaned into your ear, bouncing you up and down on his cock, using you like a fleshlight.

When his cum spurted into you, the thick, white ropes felt so warm it almost burned. You were filled up completely, gushing his cum even as he pulled out.

He was obsessed with how soft and squishy you were, especially after you had been filled with cum. The megalodon hybrid curled up in the shallows with you, letting you rest on his belly as he kissed your chubby cheeks.

Days turned into weeks, and after two months went by, your belly started to swell. Oh how he doted over you once it was clear you were pregnant.

“Eat, eat,” he’d coo, offering you yet another fish. “Baby needs it.”

Your tits swelled with milk after a bit, and he was fascinated by how sensitive they became. When he buried his cock inside of you at night, he’d take one of your nipples into his mouth and suckle a bit, teasing you… but not maliciously. No, he wanted to spoil and pamper his precious mate.

When you grew closer to your due date, your lover became clingy, never leaving your side for long.

You gave birth to a single, adorable shark pup… and he was excited to put another one in you as soon as possible.

About two years passed, and you had grown used to living on that little island. In the morning you collected fruit, watered your various plants that had been collected by the megalodon hybrid, then you would walk to the shoreline and wait.

“Mama!”

One of your little ones toddled out of the waves, his little legs struggling through the sand before he reached you. He hugged your legs, letting out a little purr as you ruffled his hair.

“H-hey, no fair! Mama, me too!”

Your oldest called for you from the water. He had a tail like his father, and couldn’t leave the ocean. “Shh, shh, I’m coming, baby. You know I wouldn’t leave you out.”

You waddled into the waves, being careful due to your pregnancy. Your other son joined you in the water, both cooing over your belly.

“Mama, when will the baby come?”

“Mmm… it’ll be at least a month or so.”

The younger one splashed his brother, causing them to dip under the waves and play. You laughed, spotting a dark shape coming from the deep.

Your lover emerged from the ocean, your two sons giggling and climbing up his back then jumping back into the water. He was a very patient father, letting them use him as a jungle gym as much as they wanted.

“Eat.”

He dropped another catch onto the shore, his eyes soft as he admired the extra weight you had put on over the last few years. His fingers traced your stretch marks, a smile on his lips.

“Again? I’m still full from lunch.”

But he was persistent, nudging you towards your fire pit so you’d cook. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

Your youngest toddled around the beach, playing with shells and blowing raspberries at his older brother as he sat in your lap by the fire. The two were always bickering, but you made sure to spend equal time with them.

As the sun set, the kiddos drifted off to sleep on a nearby reef as you and your lover kissed. “Mmm… getting big.”

You yawned, cockwarming him as he toyed with your sensitive nipples. He quite enjoyed how much softer you were now, even more so than when he first met you.

It felt nice, having him guide your hips over him, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. Being stuffed full of his cum had become addicting, and you needed to be bred almost every night to be satisfied.

You were sure that you’d continue having his shark pups well into the future. After all, he took very good care of you, always bringing gifts and yummy foods to keep you from losing that softness he loved so much.

In the morning, you’d start the day over. Although sometimes you missed the life you lived before all of this, you were content being bred and kept as his sweet little mate on that peaceful island.

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi

[2tarbell]

one order for a vanilla birthday cake pleaseee!

kook!reader texting rafe “what position have you got her in?” when he takes too long to respond to a text

happy birthday, angel 💓

BSF!RAFE + KOOK!READER ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

manicured pink nails tapped impatiently on the restaurant table. eyes glued to the bedazzled device with a glittery pout adorning her lips. this was so unfair. rafe would have a fucking conniption if she even thought about not texting him back. and now it’s been… seven fucking minutes? yeah, right.

the last time she left him on delivered for two minutes he was blowing her phone up and all grumbly the rest of the week, pounding her into oblivion for playing games. dont get her wrong; she loved it. being fucked within an inch of her life was her favorite pastime.

but now? rafe cameron was like the worst hypocrite known to man.

‘what position u got her in?’

‘Be so fr’

it brought a smile to her pretty face seeing his sassy reply. with a satisfied huff, she set her phone face down on the table. why not make him sweat? picking up her long island iced tea with a devious grin, she was right back into the conversation with her girls.

the table was alight with giggles and gossip — the pack of kook girls enjoying lunch together after before hitting the beach.

it was supposed to be an easy day, a break from all the confusion and feelings still swirling around princess and her tall, handsome “best friend”. and she desperately needed that. needed some semblance of normalcy before shit took off and everything on the island changed when the two most hated and loved rich kids finally get together.

so she didn’t even flinch when her phone vibrated once, twice, thrice. she only excused herself from the conversation with a smile when her phone buzzed in a rhythmic pattern — a phone call. bubbles of giddy excitement filling her tummy as ‘rafey’ showed on the screen with a point five angled photo of him looking pissed.

“‘kay— be right back, girls!” she sang, already standing with her phone in hand.

“he finally called you, huh?” melodie, a beautiful brunette in a lilac bikini top teased. the table giggled, all looking at princess and feeling a rush of girlish excitement.

“get your man, baby!” another girl, aliyah, borderline squealed.

princess flushed, feeling her body heat up at the prospect of rafe being ‘her man’. god, imagine! she waved them off embarrassedly, teetering away on her platform flip flops, pleasantly tipsy as she leans against the outside wall of the restaurant.

“hellooooo?”

her voice was sugary sweet into the phone, looking down at her nails and checking the polish for any chips. the warm timbre of rafe cameron’s voice rumbled through the speaker, directly pressed into her ear. she found herself wishing to feel his lips moving around the words and against the shell of her ear.

“you’re somethin’ else, dollface.” he mumbled and she could hear the smirk on his lips.

“aw, you didn’t say ‘hi’, rafe…” she pouted, biting back a laugh at the sound of his heavy sigh on the other end.

“hi. you’re somethin’ else.”

“hiii. why’s that?”

his laugh came through the speaker, all deep and settling into her bones like it always does. she hears the tick, tick of his blinker, meaning he’s driving somewhere in that big truck of his.

princess looks around at the marina, taking the sight of obx residents enjoying the still warm, early fall weather. hot enough to take a dip without the water being freezing yet. rafe continued on as she flitted her gaze around the area.

he ignored her question, instead asking his own.

“checked your location. you tipsy right now?”

a giggle escaped her glossy lips, head lolling slightly, “mmm, maybe… why?”

“go back in and pay. sent you one fifty.”

she froze, pulling the phone from her ear and seeing an apple pay notification. he always did this. not like she could just use her dad’s card or anything.

“rafe cameron—“

he cut her off, hanging up after and not letting her protest, “hey— pay and then come back out. know i’ll let ‘chu make it up to me, a’ight?”

it was like a reverse walk of shame — explaining to her friends why she was leaving early and why she was covering the whole tab. walking back out with her purse on her arm as the familiar rumble of his truck approached, petulant in the way her arms were crossed. he pulled up right before her, rolling down the passenger window and smiling in that frustratingly charming way. dickhead.

she hung up with a guffaw, not believing he actually showed up when she was hanging with her friends. the possessive gesture makes her heart jump then fall. very boyfriend of him.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

“oh, that’s how you talk to someone who just paid for your lunch? get in.”

she scoffed, amused at his gall. even more so at the fact she listened — shoes clacking against the pavement. rafe leaned over the console, opening the door for her. he looks good and smells better. that cologne she bought him for his birthday last year that he seems to be wearing a lot recently. an intoxicating smell that makes her feel drunker.

a plaid button up, rolled up to the elbow and exposing strong, veiny arms causes her mind to wander as he leans closer to her.

“hey, gorgeous,” that low drawl sends goosebumps over her body, paired with a half smile that’s so pretty.

comfortable in the seat she’s become so familiar with, he closes the gap between them. giving her a kiss so casual and natural, it makes her fluffy lashes flutter rapidly. sticky gloss transfered on his mouth that he doesn’t even wipe away.

she’s even more confused when flowers are thrusted into her arms. princess blinks at him like a fish — feeling a warmth settle in her chest at the sight of her favorite blooms wrapped haphazardly in brown paper.

“they, uh— they were in this ugly fuckin’ plastic. know you hate that so… yeah,” rafe shrugs it off as he pulls out of the parking lot.

princess decides this is technically a kidnapping. especially because she’s never been more confused and lost in her life.

he leans back in the seat, driving with one hand lazily, confidently. a glimpse of blue eyes at her and she’s smiling wildly, bringing the flowers to her nose to smell them. princess leans over and kisses his cheek, feeling drunker on the moment and smell of his skin.

“i— thank you, rafey…”

rafe takes notice of how small her voice is, how vulnerable. he nods, switching hands to rest one on her leg. large, warm palm soothing her and pulling her out of her mind before she can even begin to cause herself to spiral.

he clears his throat, squeezing the plush, smooth skin of her thigh, “cowgirl.”

her furrowed brow is adorable. looking up from the bouquet in her lap and over at him in question. there’s a drunken slowness to her, a haze. he hums and pushes his hand higher — marking a mental note of how easily her legs spread to make room for him.

“that’s what position imma have you in.”

[adelheidvonschicksal]

The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[thriftedtchotchkes]

how do you sleep?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

word count: 3.3k

“Whas’wrong?”

You didn't mean to end up here again. It's the third night this week you swiped Joel's key from under the doormat and found yourself standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Can't sleep," you reply, barely above a whisper. Exhaustion seeps into your voice, permeating your limbs the longer you remain standing.

He already knows why you're here. Ever since you, Joel, and Ellie arrived in Jackson and were offered homes of your own, rest evades you more than it ever did on the road. It's too quiet here, and your racing mind fills the silence with the horrors of a life lived in constant fear.

You know you're safe now. You know that, but it's not enough to convince your body or quell the ever-present tightness in your chest telling you to run, to hide. Your fears are more potent in the dark, and the shadows creeping from wall to wall have sharper edges. Teeth that threaten to tear you apart and rip away everything and everyone you've fought so hard to protect.

The walls and floorboards creak with life that shouldn't be present in an empty, two-story home—too big for a single person, and yet still yours—and quickly begin to sound like impending death.

Nowadays, more often than not, you seek out a different kind of shelter. The familiar, comforting embrace of the man who kept you warm and protected through harsh winters and from monsters prowling in the night. That's where you belong.

Crisp bedsheets rustle in the dark and then you hear Joel pat the mattress twice—an invitation to occupy the space beside him, the one he always leaves empty just in case.

"Well, c'mon then. Hurry up," he grumbles, still half-asleep. But he isn’t frustrated. He's tired, just like you, and he'll probably sleep a lot better knowing both of his girls are resting soundly under his roof.

You trudge over and waste no time burying your face in his bare chest, breathing in pine and cedar wood shavings before exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. Throwing a leg over his thighs, you mold into him, rubbing your cheek into coarse curls and marveling at the calm, steady rhythm beneath you.

It feels good to be home. You're not sure why you let Maria give you an entire house to yourself when everything you could ever want or need was right across the street. Every time you end up back here, you wonder. And every time you leave, you wish you'd stayed.

He wraps you up in his arms and tugs you into his side, murmuring your name with soft lips that tenderly caress your forehead. They're so warm, just like the rest of him, and you find yourself aching to feel them on yours. It's a line neither of you have ever crossed, but tonight's been rough.

For what felt like days, you were forced to watch as your worst nightmares came to bloody fruition. You were dragged through the most brutal outcomes of events you already survived and could do nothing more than pray you'd wake up soon. When you finally came to and checked the clock, it had only been an hour and a half since you'd passed out. The moon was still high in the sky, taunting you with the promise of more. More dread, endless brutality.

Joel can make all of that go away, if only for a few hours. He always does, but tonight...you don't want to talk about it tonight. You don't want to think about it, about anything at all. You just want him.

You'd feel selfish asking for more if there wasn't already something between you. Something nurtured and gradual that's been building for months, beginning on your travels across the country and coming to an unignorable head here in Jackson.

Back then, it was stolen glances while you bathed together in streams and fleeting touches in your shared sleeping bag under star-filled skies. It's more intimate these days. He holds your hand when you're anxious, and you kiss away the frown lines and frustrated wrinkles that mar his skin.

Every day, you skirt the line between platonic companionship and whatever's starting to simmer below the surface. You're scared to hope he feels it too, but the thought of remaining in this undefined middle ground scares you even more.

The furnace drifting in and out of consciousness next to you radiates with an addictive heat you've told yourself to ignore for a long time, but it's quickly becoming an impossible feat. Pressed into his side, you're trying and failing not to writhe against him. But he's starting to notice.

His hips jerk every time your core drags against his bare thigh, a slow, repetitive grind you really shouldn't continue, but feels so fucking good combined with the slick pooling between your legs. You should stop—really, you should—but his breathing's changing and hitching, catching in his throat every time the growing tent in his boxers meets the friction of your inner thigh.

Then, he gasps something cognizant and urgent, and you know you've been caught. His hand snakes down to your ass and traps you against his side with a grip so firm, plush skin spills between his fingers.

“Woah, hold on there," he breathes out heavily, and his gaze drops to yours curiously. His eyes are wide open and alert, shining with the faint reflection of moonlight streaming through an adjacent window. Bright and yet pitch black as his sleep-addled brain struggles to catch up with his body. "What's goin' on with you tonight?"

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, debating whether or not to ask for his help. His expression is gentle but otherwise unreadable, and there's a chance this could go very, very badly. Maybe you'd be better off apologizing, but you don't want to. You're not sorry for needing him.

And the longer he waits for an answer, the more his body convinces you that he wants the same things you do. His hand is still on your ass, kneading as he urges you to rock into him, but he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. Then, his thigh flexes and a rush of wetness coats your already soaked underwear. His expression falters, and you know he can feel it.

His voice is tighter when he speaks again, but that tinge of concern is still there. He wants to make it all better, but he can't unless you tell him how. Your hand tenses where it lies on his chest, and he covers it with his own.

"What can I do? Just tell me how to help you—whatever it is, I'll do it," he murmurs, brushing his thumb reassuringly across your skin. You tilt your chin up and suddenly you're close enough to breathe his air. Closer than you've ever been and yet still not close enough.

"I need you to...," Fuck me. But it sounds too crude. A quick fuck isn't what you need right now. You need to be full of him, to hold him deep inside you and keep him there for as long as this night will allow. "...make me feel safe again."

"Tell me how," he repeats as you struggle to bite back a moan. He's working you against him intentionally now, encouraging you up and down his leg, and it's making your brain go a little haywire. "What do you need, baby?"

"Joel," you whine at the endearment, an intense heat building at the apex of your thighs. That's new. You want to hear him say it again, to devour every word as he buries himself inside you over and over. You will him to understand. "I need you."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, steeling himself before nosing into the hairs at your temple. The gesture is so tender and affectionate even as he bucks into your thigh, and it's painfully obvious how hard you're making him. He nods slowly and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.

"Okay, baby. I got you," he murmurs, his lips trailing down to your eyelids, then the apple of your cheek. "I'll make it all go away, alright? M'gonna take care of you."

And you believe him. He rolls you onto your back and you gasp as his entire weight presses you into the mattress. It's more than just comforting. You feel protected. He's shielding you from this horrible, broken world, somehow managing to prove that there's still goodness to be found. And it's on top of you, broad and strong, and wanting you just as badly as you want him.

Big hands cup your cheeks and his lips meet yours, so much different than the familiar press against your forehead or the top of your head. You're in unknown territory, but he guides you carefully and moves slowly, taking the time to explore and savor. The taste of spearmint begins to overwhelm your senses as the kiss deepens, and you lick into his mouth impatiently, already craving more.

But after years of quiet observation, Joel knows better than anyone how to temper you. Ducking down to bury his face in your neck, he kisses along the underside of your jaw, regaining control of the pace with a sharp, halting suck. And while he refuses to let your urgency rush him, he still allows your hands to roam his skin and tug at his boxers, letting you take what you want—like his only goal is to make sure this lasts long enough for him to fulfill his promise.

A disgruntled groan bubbles in your throat, and you feel him chuckle. "Y'know, patience is supposed to be a virtue," he mumbles, amused, his beard scratchy and grounding against your skin. You huff in response.

Tonight doesn't feel like a night for virtues. Not when things are finally changing in your favor. After so much time, so much running, you actually have somewhere to go—and stay. You're not running away anymore. You're moving towards something that feels real, and dependable, and safe, and you're doing it together. And now that you're so close you can taste it, you're done waiting.

"You're really gonna start caring about virtues now?" you ask skeptically, slipping your hands past the waistband of his boxers to grab his ass.

He hesitates, then huffs out a quiet laugh. "Fair enough."

And with that, you both know the time for talking is over. Something shifts and you're on the same page, ready to take as much as the other is willing to give.

Joel begins to drag your shirt up to reveal more, but suddenly feeling stifled, you take over and remove it completely. The look on his face makes it more than worth it. It's not the first time he's seen you naked, but as his eyes rake over your bare curves, it feels like it could be. Reverently, he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply before charting a path lower.

His mouth feels hot as he laves and nips across your collarbone, and he shimmies further down the bed until he's just barely ghosting the swell of your breasts. You gasp, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a bruise below your nipple and soothes the sting with his tongue. Licking a wide stripe past the darkening mark, he captures the bud between his teeth, another hand sliding up your stomach to cup your other breast while he alternates between swirling and sucking.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire. The ache between your thighs worsens the longer he continues, but instead of squeezing them together for relief, you wrap your legs around his waist and tug him onto you. By now, you're so wet, there's no way you're not soaking right through your underwear and into his boxers, and you hope he can feel it. If your increasing volume isn't enough of an indication that you need him inside you, then maybe this will be.

He lets out a pained groan into your chest, and you clench in satisfaction. He immediately grinds down, thrusting into you like he's forgotten about the layers of clothing still separating you. You don't bother to remind him.

Bucking him off, you quickly wrench down your underwear then reach for his, yanking them off while he sheds his t-shirt. Your fingers close around his cock before his shirt hits the floor and he startles before melting into your grip, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting around a cross between a sigh and the neediest whine you've ever heard.

You feel that telltale whoosh between your legs again, and after pumping him a few times, you guide him toward your entrance. In the back of your mind, you know you're taking a risk without a condom. You should be safer, more responsible. But it's Joel. It's always been Joel.

His eyes shoot open once he realizes where you're leading him, but you only bite your lip and nod, your expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. An unspoken agreement passes between you, a quiet understanding cultivated through years of friendship and now something more. Then, he presses inside and your mind goes blissfully blank.

No more horrors, no more fear. Just Joel keeping his promise and doing exactly what you trusted him to do. He encompasses you entirely, pressing the length of his body flush against yours as he works himself into you. The stretch was nothing you ever could've anticipated, but it grounds you in the present moment. It's everything you told yourself not to hope for when you showed up on his doorstep tonight.

His movements are slow but powerful, and he rests his forehead on yours, eyes alert and acutely aware of every change in expression. The intensity of his gaze and the slick sound of him burying himself to the hilt should make you self-conscious—it's all you can see and hear, but that's the point, isn't it? To get lost in the way he drags so perfectly against your walls and grinds his hips into yours on every thrust, slow and steady.

He's attentive, cataloging whenever he makes you moan a little louder or your eyes roll, and repeats it again and again until you're writhing underneath him. Your nails rake down his back and scratch at his scalp, and he jerks forward whenever you're a little too rough, hitting so deep, it feels like he's grazing your cervix. But the longer he continues to give you everything you want, the more his body trembles with the effort of holding himself back.

You know Joel, and you can tell when he's resisting an urge. His biceps tense where he's propped on his forearms, bracketing your head, and there's so little space between you, you can feel his abs flexing every time he plunges back inside you. He needs more and you want to give it to him.

Lifting your head, you bridge the tiny gap to meet his lips. "Joel, c'mon. You can fuck me harder than that, I'm not gonna break," you mumble between open-mouthed kisses. That catches him off guard.

He accidentally lets himself go for a thrust or two, and you're cut off by a moan, your walls squeezing him so hard, it's painful. Somehow, you manage to recover just long enough to gasp out the rest. "It's okay if you need something from me, too. Just take it. I trust you."

For an agonizing moment, Joel pauses to observe you, waiting for something in your eyes to contradict the permission you just gave him. But when he doesn't find it, he shakily exhales the breath he'd been holding and his head drops to your shoulder. The groan that follows rumbles so deeply in his chest, it makes your stomach drop. Then, without warning, his hands are gripping your thighs and he's rutting into you like a caged animal finally set free.

There he is. The man who never hesitated to gun down anyone who threatened the safety of his loved ones and did whatever it took to bring his girls home.

Recognition washes over you and fills you with a familiar feeling of security. It's something only Joel has ever been able to give you. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his hair, hoping to return even a fraction of that feeling.

As he gives into his body, he starts to ramble, his words muffled and lost to your delicate skin. But you don't need to hear him to know what he's saying. With every thrust, the bed frame rattles and gets the message across loud and clear. Your heels dig into his back, encouraging him forward, begging him to keep going, and he obliges, quickly reduced to helpless grunts and curses.

The room gets increasingly hotter and more humid, and the cool air flowing through the window isn't nearly enough to provide relief, but neither of you seems to care. You're a little in love with the way your bodies slip together, sweat and slick intermingling seamlessly.

Everything is so wet, and it feels incredible—your skin against his, your walls pulsing around his cock. He's molding into you, so close that you can't do much more than swivel your hips into his, and it's sending you hurtling toward the edge faster than you can fully process. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs your clit just right, and when he adjusts the angle to fuck you deeper than before, you hit your peak.

You dissolve into a whimpering mess beneath him, desperately riding out your orgasm as he groans and abruptly bites down on your shoulder. Releasing your legs to grab your waist, he forces himself impossibly further inside you and grinds into your spasming walls until he's coming with you. He gasps his way through it, stilling while he lets you milk him dry, then collapses on top of you and gathers you in his arms.

For a while, you both struggle to catch your breath. The mattress is bare save for the fitted sheet, your clothes, pillows, and blankets having been kicked or tossed onto the floor. It feels nice like this—to savor the winter air cooling your bodies and to just be held. Without letting you go, Joel lifts his head to kiss the teeth marks he left on your shoulder apologetically and then shifts higher to press his lips against the underside of your jaw.

"You alright?" he asks gently, his voice a little gruffer than usual from the exertion.

"Mhm," you hum, nosing into his temple. "More than." He sighs and almost sounds relieved.

The thought makes your heart ache. If he's worried he crossed a line, well. He did. You both did, but it was a long time coming and you don't regret a thing. You squeeze him a little tighter as if to tell him, and he allows himself to melt into you briefly. Then, he draws back to cup your cheek and guide your lips to his.

He kisses you slowly, taking the time to appreciate the sensation of your mouth against his without any urgency. "Feel better?" he murmurs after reluctantly parting from you. You keep him close.

"I don't think we have to worry about any more nightmares tonight," you reply with a small smile. He returns it, eyes crinkling fondly, then rolls you onto your sides to settle in for a good night's sleep.

As you start to drift off, you hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath that you don't quite catch. But it sounds a lot like, "Might be time for you to finally move in."

thanks for reading!

[karlachismylife]

Simon Riley got his fingers fucked up. Time spent under Roba's torture messed up the joints, made his digits barely able to flex and curl and left him with chronic pain, especially once the temperatures start to drop. It's alright, not the worst thing he came out of that encounter with, he can live with it. Doesn't bother him even that much.

It's just that Simon Riley used to love knitting.

Soft, creamy white, thick yarn turning into volumunous sweaters with huge warm collars his mother and his brother's bird could wear, safe from the nasty winter chill. Stripey socks, comfortable hats, long fluffy scarves - he could and would do it all.

Roba took it from him. Knitting needles became almost impossible to hold properly, struggling over the yarn mess for more than 15 minutes pisses him off and makes him never want to pick it up again. He can barely make a couple rows of a shitty excuse of a scarf, let alone finish a single thing.

And then Soap brings his LT over to his family home for their joint leave - two whole weeks in a household full of bustling life, hearty food and loving banter. In the evenings, when Johnny and all the younglings of the family have already spent their buzzing energy and are snoring in their beds, sometimes piled up like tired puppies, Simon and Mama MacTavish both are kept up by their insomnia. In a pleasantly dimly lit living room, this beautiful woman with white hair and noble profile sits, kitting - soft white wool of Highlands' best sheep turning into a sweater in her hands.

Simon comes to sit with her, calmed down by the sounds her needles make and the hypnotizing movements of her hands. First couple of nights he just lets it lull him to sleep before Mama MacTavish sends him off to wam bed with her snoring son already sprawled across it like a starfish.

Then Simon picks up needles himself. It's a slow, torturous process, his grip slipping, threads coming apart, frustration and anger at his useless fingers building - yet Mama's hands always come to rescue. She soothes the pain in his fingers, helps fix uneven loops, tells him stories of Johnny's childhood to distract Ghost from his angry mind. It works.

By the end of the leave he presents Soap the ugliest knitted hat with pompoms stitched to it in a row resembling a mohawk, and you bet Johnny wears it all the time, flexing in front of everyone who sees him in this monstrosity. He takes it to all the places he shouldn't, stubbornly unwilling to part with the gift, and loses pompoms - yet somehow Simon constantly sees new ones pop up on the hat.

It's Mama MacTavish stitching them on, because she knows, Simon needs a little help with this painstaking work for now.

[sodapoppp]

˚୨୧ 𝗷𝗼𝗲𝗹 𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿 ⋆｡˚ ⋆

a list of my favorite joel miller fan-fictions ༊*·˚

౨ৎ getting the poison out by @cum-a-calla

"in which you’ve been acting up all fucking day and Joel has to put you back in your place with a punishment tailored to fit the crime."

౨ৎ ride by @beardedjoel

"you try to grapple with feelings for your parents' friend while getting absolutely railed by him"

౨ৎ just this once by @punkshort

"After yet another argument with your dad, his buddy across the street is there to help make you feel better."

౨ৎ ain't right by @celiababy

"You have a major (borderline obsessive) crush on Joel, and you're on a mission to fuck him."

౨ৎ rotten by @alltheirdamn

"Joel decides to surprise you with something nice, but you're not in the mood. He's quick to fix your attitude, and put you in your place."

౨ৎ an old toy by @ilikemenolderthanmyfather

"Joel gets kidnapped and used like a toy, and best of all, he gets the save a hoarse ride a cowboy treatment."

౨ৎ bigger in texas by @gutsby

"Joel won't fit."

౨ৎ i know who you are (series) by @punkshort

"A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way."

౨ৎ made of ice by @starlitscars

"One stormy night in the safety of Wyoming, it occurs to Joel that even though life has turned his heart into a slab of ice, there's a soft, melting spot buried deep inside... Only reserved for you."

౨ৎ stiff by @gutsby

"At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in."

౨ৎ independent contractor by @lady-djarin

౨ৎ fine line by @paulyenvol6

"Very angsty and lots of dom!Joel with daddy vibes and subby reader."

౨ৎ shaping you by @joelswhcre

"joel miller teaches you pottery, but his hands are more interested in molding you than the clay. slow, teasing, and messy in all the best ways."

౨ৎ sleepless nights by @preciosapascal

"another sleepless night in jackson for both you and your neighbour Joel."

౨ৎ hunger by @joelswhcre

"you wake to the weight of joel miller between your thighs, hungry and aching to claim you. he’s been patient, but now? now he’s going to take."

౨ৎ keeps you up all night by @joelswhcre

"joel wakes up hard, again. and there’s no way he’s letting you sleep through it."

౨ৎ world's worst chauffer by @ilikeevilblondes

"Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, ends up getting roped into picking you up from a party. Without the key to unlock your house or anybody to let you inside, Joel offers to let you sleep at his place for the night. Needless to say, the both of you don't do a lot of sleeping."

౨ৎ texan tensions by @pedroscowgirl

"Your dad's buddy learns you how to play the guitar"

౨ৎ breaststroke by @ilikeevilblondes

"Joel, single dad extraordinaire, is struggling to teach his daughter how to swim. You end up teaching Sarah over the course of a few weekly swimming classes. One fortunate day, Joel accidentally stumbles upon a rather intimate situation involving you in the shower rooms after hours. He’s about to leave, but right before he can, he hears his own name spilling out in a desperate moan from your lips."

౨ৎ i will not ask and neither should you by @cherry-coloureddfunk

"you should have hated him"

౨ৎ drabble by @daryltwdixon

"angsty Joel thinking he doesn't deserve you"

౨ৎ somehwere only we know by @josephquinnswhore

"joel has been the only constant in your life since you’ve been at Jackson. But you don’t know if you deserve him despite his persistent efforts."

౨ৎ borrowed time by @aurorawritestoescape

"Joel and you are enjoying an ideal vacation together. Warm ocean, white sand, soft kisses, and hot sex make it feel like paradise. But as your time here is running out, the thoughts that you‘ve been trying to keep at bay start eating at your soul."

౨ৎ how the cookie crumbles by @egcdeath

"when you come back home to austin to help your sister with her bakery, you end up in an arrangement with your high school crush that ends up being far more than you bargained for. "

౨ৎ a glimpse of heaven by @ozarkthedog

"joel secretly watches you shower."

౨ৎ damp, dirty, his by @pascalispimp

"Joel’s been through a lot, but mysteriously damp flannels? That’s a new one. When he sneaks home to investigate, but what he finds is far filthier than he imagined. His housemate’s got a thing for his shirts… and from the way she’s moaning into one, she’s got a thing for him too. And Joel’s got every intention of making it worse."

౨ৎ dream scape by @joelswhcre

"it’s just a dream—you’re sure of it. because there’s no way joel, your best friend’s dad, is actually between your legs, making you fall apart on his tongue. right?"

౨ৎ give up by @talaok

"Once again you've found an excuse to invite your neighbor over, except for once you might be able to make him look past your age difference and have a little fun."

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-> as i was curating this i realized most of it is smut... i promise ya'll i do not have a problem

-soda