#his nose??? the little scar across the bridge and on his chin??????

[naughtydogg]

ok personally i’m a longer-haired arthur enthusiast but…. the little wisps of hair curling around his ear 🥺

[1-ker0sene-1]

Poly 141 x Reader

Home is where you are

"What ye think she made this time?"

Johnny mumbles, dropping his head back against the seat behind him. Blinking tiredly up at the ceiling of the truck, a daydream clear in his eyes. Simon next to him stares out the window, sweat seems to practically seal his balaclava to his face.

"We'd be lucky if anything. It's three in the fucking morning.."

Kyle says from the passenger seat. Pursing his lips a bit.

"She should be sleeping.."

Price chuckles from the driver's seat, hand on the steering wheel, paying close attention to the road.

"She knows we're on our way home. If she made something. We'll be thankful."

His other hand is resting on Kyle's knee, his thumb rubs slow circles against him.

Simons foot taps on the floor of the car silently, brows tight together. The man just wants to go home, shower, eat whatever heaven you cooked and sink into that california king mattress. With all of you, all five of you together.

"Steaks."

He mutters.

"Hm?"

Johnny questions with a hum, Simon clarifies.

"On days we come home.. it's either steak or shepherds pie. She made shepherds pie last time so it's gonna be steak."

They all salivate at the damn thought.

"It's tha little things with ye huh Simon?"

Johnny smiles warmly, leaning on his shoulder.

It was another thirty minutes driving before they finally pulled into the secluded driveway. Their safehouse. Their home. Where you are. Filing out of the truck, bags over their shoulders. Covered in grime and dried blood, they didn't even let themselves clean up at base before going home to you. Walking forward, Simon slings an arm around Kyle's shoulder. Tucking the sargeant into his side as they walk to the house. Both Johns walking behind them, Price giving the younger a good slap on the back.

"Home, boys. Let's enjoy it while we can."

Price comes forward to unlock the front door, pushing it open for the four of them. Mumbling out a reminder to take off their shoes inside. Leaning down with a grunt to pull off his boots. The others doing the same. They can already smell what you're cooking, Simon was right. The smell of steaks is pretty clear, garlic butter, some kind of steamed vegetables and spices.

The house is clean. Warm. Low lighting, some candles lit. Everything about it screams home. John opens his mouth to call out for you, but he can feel his spine practically melt hearing you hum in the kitchen.

Johnny is the first stumbling forward, hopping on one leg as he throws off his remaining shoe. Eager to get back to you. Grinning as he comes around the corner into the kitchen. He melts. Seeing you there, in your chair dishing up their plates of dinner.

".. Hey lass.."

He mumbles, feeling like all the air left his chest.

You turn your head when you hear him, the brightest smile spreads across your face. Tossing the fork down from your hand as you turn towards him.

"Hey soldier-"

You beam. You don't even get another word in before Johnny rushes towards you, you let out a puff of air as he crashes into you. Laughing against him as he squeezes you to his chest, his face buried in your hair.

"Fuckin' missed ye hen.."

He whispers. You return with one of your own.

"I know baby.. I missed you too.."

You lift your head, kissing the scar on his chin.

"This bloke botherin' you love?"

You already know that voice immediately, smiling as you turn to look at Kyle. Who is quick at your side with Johnny, his hand cups the back of your head. Pressing a long kiss to your cheek. Taking a deep inhale of your scent through his nose. You smile warmly, your hand finds his bicep, giving a soft squeeze.

"There you are Kyle.."

You murmur, turning your head to press your own kisses across the bridge of his nose.

"Always here."

He chirps, kissing on your skin. His eyes bore into you, drinking you up. Johnny huffs, mumbling something about stealing all your attention. Earning a small tug on his mowhawk from you.

"Alright you two- showers. The both of you. You need it-"

You chuckle, giving them both a hug. Giving Johnny one more kiss on the jaw. Letting Gaz get one more kiss on your face. Watching them head past you down the hall to the bathroom. Kissing on eachother, bumping into walls. You shake your head at them with a smile.

Eyes flicking back to the entrance. You find Simon staring at you, his shoulders slack and sinking. Eyes half lidded and tired. The rest of his face under the balaclava. Your eyes soften, holding out your hand to him.

"Oh Si.."

He takes the invitation. Coming over to you. He would tower over you in height. But instead he falls to one knee in front of your chair. Hands resting on the arm rests of your chair. Your hands immediately cradle his head. Leaning forward to press your head to his.

"You're home.. it's alright now .. no more Lieutenant.."

You whisper against him. Your fingertips lift the edge of the balaclava, pulling it over the nape of his neck. Over the back of his head, nails dragging soothingly up his scalp as you take the fabric away. Making him shiver in vulnerability. Putting his mask aside on the counter.

Seeing your Simons face eases the both of you, cupping his jaw and lifting his head.

"I know doll.. I know."

He mutters, you kiss his temple. Caressing his skin. Threading your fingers into his hair.

"Go shower with the boys sweetheart.. I'll be in there soon."

You coo at him. He chuckles deeply, kissing your head between your brows as he gets up. Bumping your foreheads together one more time before walking to the bathroom.

"You're not gonna say hello to me John?"

You joke, turning your head to watch said Captain. Who was holding his hat in hand, leaning against the wall watching you. He's been watching you the whole time.

"Just seein' you with our boys darlin'.."

Pushing away from the wall he walks over to you. His eyes full of exhaustion, longing, warmth. Tossing his hat on the counter behind you. He leans down, callous hands hold your cheeks. Bringing your lips to his.

He's not as sneaky as he thinks. You know of his little demand to the boys. He's the first to kiss you. Each time they come home.

You kiss him back feverishly, as much as you've been calm and steady for them. You missed your men like hell. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing them tightly, beginning to work on the knots of tension in them. Emitting a deep groan from John into your mouth. You smile against his lips, feeling the scratch off his beard.

"Everyone's alright?"

You whisper against him. He nods, his hands finding your hips. Slightly lifting you from your chair and towards himself.

"No one's broken. .. Kyle's a little stressed. Y'know how he is.."

You nod, eyes still closed, continuing to brush your lips together.

"And you?"

"Just tired.. But I'm home. That's what matters."

John mumbles, kissing you deep again. Dipping his tongue past your lips, a soft sigh slipping out of you. Arms pulling him closer.

"Taking good care of our boys John.. You always do.. Making sure you all come home to me again... Our strong Captain.."

You can feel him sinking at your praise. The older mans knees want to buckle at your voice.

"Let's get you in the shower baby.. Hm? Get you washed and relaxed.."

You mumble against him.

You yelp as your lifted into the air by his arms, laughing openly as he carries you like a bride. Burying his nose to the crook of your neck. Carrying you down the hall, to the bathroom door. Where you can already hear the chatter of the men in the shower waiting for the two of you. John is grumbling against your skin.

"We need you darlin'. "

"Our boys and I need you bad.."

[familyvideostevie]

day after tomorrow

joel miller x reader

summary: joel drops you off and picks you up from the airport. you are definitely falling in love with him. 

warnings: modern no outbreak au, game!joel or hbo!joel, fluff, really just a fluff fest honestly, new-ish relationship, falling in love, sweet enough to make your teeth ache | 2.7k

A/N: this is a christmas gift for my dear friend @strangerfreaks who makes my life better in every way possible. i love you! hope you enjoy this <3

part ii here.

___

He's leaning on the side of the truck when you hurry outside with your stuff. 

"Morning," you call. It's barely that, sky still dark and air still carrying the bite of the night's chill. 

Joel straightens up and gives you a tired smile. Most of his smiles are tired but they're always genuine when directed at you. He tugs the backpack from your shoulder and presses his lips to your cheek, beard scratching your skin gently. 

"Howdy," he says in your ear before pulling away.

The travel mug Joel pushes into your hands is warm to the touch. 

"Tea," he says before you can tell him it's too early for coffee. His voice is deeper than usual, still warming up from sleep. It's not a cup from the local shop -- they're not open yet -- so he must have made it at home. "No caffeine before flights." 

"You remembered?" 

He gives you an unimpressed look and grabs your bags. They go in the backseat of his truck and he jerks his chin at the passenger door. "Get in. S'chilly."

It's also early. So early you were not going to ask him to drive you to the airport but when you mentioned you had to go on a work trip he offered. Insisted, actually, once he found out what time you needed to get there.

"You ain't takin' a cab that early," he had said. "Hell, you ain't takin' a cab home, neither. I'll pick you up."

This thing between you isn't new anymore, not exactly, but it's not solid yet. It doesn't have a name. But it's been a few months and you know what his sheets smell like and the feel of him pressed against you in the middle of the night and how he laughs with his head thrown back, mouth wide and eyes creased at the corners. He likes to take you on long walks around the lake a few towns over and you know all about his daughters even if you haven't met them yet. Your life feels a little more solid with Joel in it and the swell of your heart in your chest when you talk to him, when you see him, when he looks at you, is a welcome feeling. It's nice to want and be wanted in return. 

The inside of his truck is warm, your seat heater already turned on. The radio is down to a low hum and there's a silver cup similar to your own in the holder between the seats. Joel gets back into the truck with a slight groan and glances at you to see if you've got your seatbelt on before he clicks his. 

"Ready?" he asks. You nod. He settles his hand on your headrest and looks out the back windshield as he reverses the truck out of the driveway. "Shouldn't hit much traffic," he says. 

You take a sip of your tea and watch him as he drives out of your neighborhood and towards the highway. Part of you wishes you would hit traffic so you could look at him longer. Even in the dark you know his face pretty well by now. His hair is getting a little long, the dark threaded through with some grey and falling over his perpetually lined forehead. The scar on the bridge of his nose that you love to run your finger across and the bruises under his eyes from too many nights up late working on site plans and employee schedules. You don't think you've met a man who works as hard as Joel, and yet here he is driving you to the airport when he could be sleeping. 

Maybe it's because he's tired or maybe it's because it's dark or maybe it's because you're leaving for a few days but Joel lets you look without teasing. His eyes catch yours for just a second and he smirks.

"Why don't you drink coffee before a flight?" He takes a sip of his own thermos. You watch his throat work as he swallows and look away this time. The sky is starting to look purple out your window, the trees and fields and occasional buildings flying by too fast for your eyes to settle on anything. Joel drinks coffee like it's water. You're still leaning things about each other -- most days you find yourself thinking that you want to be learning things about him for the rest of your life -- and this is a new topic of conversation. You haven't had to be on a plane since you met him.

"I don't really like flying," you say. "Makes me nervous. I figure caffeine will just make it worse."

"Don't like it much either." You look at him again and find see smirk turn to a frown as he merges onto the nearly empty highway. "You gonna be okay?"

He asks like it's within his power to make flying something enjoyable, to cancel your work trip, to squash everything in this world that makes you nervous. Mostly you're just glad he's not teasing you about it. Maybe someday you can take a trip and be grumpy about it together.

"I'll be fine, Joel."

"Hm."

He rests an elbow against the window and rakes his hand through his hair.

"What are you up to this week?" you ask. 

He sighs. "Not much," he says. "Lumber shipment but Tommy's handlin' it. Ellie says her shower head is actin' funny so I'll go to her place and look at that. Probably sit my ass on the couch and try to watch a damn football game or somethin'."

"So what I'm hearing is you're going to miss me." It's meant to be a tease but it comes out a bit more earnest than you'd like. 

He sends you that unamused look of his but the mirth in his eyes betrays him, tells you he sees through it. You're learning that he's good at that -- seeing what you really mean, what you really want, who you really are, all the way down to the core. "Course I will," he says. "What man wouldn't miss cold hands bein' stuck up his shirt when he gets in bed?"

You scoff and Joel snickers. You could remind him how he usually catches your hands in his before you make it to his hemline on the rare nights he does wear a shirt, how he cradles your fingers and blows on them softly while rubbing them with his perpetually warm palms. The memory makes your breath hitch just a bit. 

It's only three days. Some conference your boss wanted you to go to in his stead. It won't require much of you -- you just have to attend a few panels, a dinner or two, and schmooze a little bit. You'll be back before you know it. You tell yourself it's silly to feel this apprehension at the distance, the time apart. But you're used to Joel by now and damn if you won't miss him. Used to him taking up space in your kitchen, used to his arm around you on the couch, used to his short texts and heavy gaze. You know by now that it's only a matter of time before you love him.  

"I'll miss you, too," you say softly. Joel eyes you, smirk turned soft again and reaches for you. He settles his palm on your thigh and you cover your hand with his. 

When you get to the airport aren't many cars around and you're pretty sure the attendants won't yell at you for idling. Joel seems to think the same thing as he gets out of the truck to set your luggage on the ground. You leave your now-empty to-go mug in his car and throw your arms around him when he gets to the curb with your suitcase. His chest rumbles in amusement but he hugs you back, one palm rubbing between your shoulder blades until you pull away. 

"Thank you for --"

"Nope," he interrupts you. "No thanks allowed." He hands you your backpack and you shoulder it. "I'll pick you up on Wednesday," he says. 

You wave him off. "I get in way too late, don't worry about it --"

His hand cups your cheek and the words sputter out in your throat. "I'll be here," he says again. 

"I'll call you," you say. "When I get there." It sounds like a question.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Please do."

"Thanks for the tea --"

"Now, what did I just say?"

You wrinkle your nose at him and he rolls his eyes before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss just a little though it remains chaste, mouths closed as his thumb strokes your cheek once, twice, before he pulls away. It's the kind of kiss that feels fond, feels familiar. A kiss that becomes routine and for a second you imgaine the press of your mouths a thousand times over just like this. 

"Safe flight, sweetheart."

You smile at him and grab your suitcase before you stand here kissing him all day. "Bye, Joel." 

6:04 am: you make it to your gate okay?

You send him a picture of your breakfast sandwich and the sun rising through the window, painting the sky purple and orange. 

6:05 am: don't text and drive!

He replies with a photo of a full mug of coffee on his counter. It's a silly one, a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat. You think Sarah got it for him as a gag gift. 

6:05 am: home already. let me know when you land

6:06 am: will do. have a good day!

The flight is pretty okay. You spend the bumpy moments thinking about Joel's hand on your leg and get through it just fine. A shuttle takes you to your hotel and you have to hurry a bit to be ready for your first panel. 

You're busy all day. So tired by the time you get back to your room that you flop on the bed with a groan. 

"Ugh," you say, face smushed into the sheets. You're tired and hungry and...you miss Joel and feel a little silly about it.

That sense of puppy love, as most people would call it, hasn't faded. Your feelings for Joel are more than the crush they were when you first started seeing each other but they still linger in the realm of infatuation. You like to look at him, to feel the solid warmth of him beside you, above you, underneath you. You like being near him. But you're also starting to love things. You love the way his voice sounds when he wakes up, the way he says your name over the phone, the way he asks you what you want, how you are, how your day was. You love to see him on your couch, in your kitchen, in your bed. You've started to miss him when he's not around. 

And what you said to him in his truck is true. You do miss him. It's an ache that sits in the center of your chest, an ache that feels like the best kind of bruise -- because it comes from something good. And because you know it'll be soothed soon enough. 

But, because you're only human, you doubt that it's as serious for him. Joel keeps his cards close to his chest and while you feel like you know him pretty well by now you also have so much to learn. So, though you really want to, you don't pick up the phone and call him. Maybe the next time you're away. 

7:54 pm: day 1 done! ready to get in bed. why do men talk so much?

He texts back immediately. 

7:54 pm: god knows. don't forget to order room service on the company dime. sweet dreams.

You laugh and do as he says. 

The rest of the conference goes the same. By day three you're exhausted and your face hurts from smiling at so many people. Your shoes are no longer comfortable and as soon as the closing keynote ends you're out of there, changing into soft clothes and taking the shuttle to the airport. You text Joel a picture of your airport dinner and then your eye bags and he replies with a cute that has you giggling a little too loudly in public. 

You just want to get home to him. Your own bed is a bonus. 

But then your flight gets delayed. Twice. Joel tells you not to worry, he'll pick you up in the middle of the night if he has to. Once you board you get stuck on the tarmac for another half hour before finally taking off. It's a decidedly less relaxing experience because you're so anxious to be home but you make it. When you land it feels like you're sitting in your seat for ages. You're tired and feel gross and you want to go to bed. Your phone turns back on and you've got one text waiting for you.

10:34 pm: i'll be by baggage claim

That was 15 minutes ago. He must have been checking your flight in the air to get here at a reasonable time. God, you want to touch him. You want to stick your nose in his neck and inhale. 

You try very hard not to run through the terminal to the escalator that goes down to arrivals. It seems to move really fucking slowly once you're on it. As soon as it gets far enough for you to see the baggage claim level and everyone waiting there your eyes search for him. You see some families, a few tired children sleeping in arms that hold them tenderly. A group of girls with a sign that reads WELCOME HOME RACHEL!

And then there's Joel.

Once you spot him it's hard to keep a smile from your face. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes glued to the escalator. Jeans, jacket, boots, and a firm set to his jaw that might be intimidating to anyone else but to you it's familiar. It's him. Once he sees you he stands a little taller and you see his cheek twitch. If someone wasn't in front of you you'd be down the steps in seconds but you wait until you're at the bottom to race forward. 

It's probably a bit dramatic. You drop your suitcase and backpack at your feet in front of him.

"Hi," you say, and then you throw your arms around his shoulders. Joel laughs. 

"S'like you're comin' home from war, or somethin'," he says, though his hugs you back just as tightly. "Should'a made a sign."

"Feels like it." Your words are muffled by his shoulder. 

"That bad, huh?" His palm drags up and down your spine. "Let's get you home, then."

Neither of you pull away. "I missed you," you say softly. 

Joel breathes deep and pulls away, hand on the back of your head as he makes sure you're looking at him. 

"Missed you, too," he says gruffly. Then he kisses you. It's less chaste than your goodbye kiss but still perfectly acceptable for airport arrivals, you think. 

"You hungry?"

"I sent you a picture of my dinner!"

"Not what I asked." You shrug and tangle your fingers with his. His thumb strokes the back of your hand. "We'll get you somethin' on the way home."

"Do you want to stay over?" you ask in a rush, realizing too late he's got no reason to want to. It's late and tomorrow is a workday. "I'm just gonna shower and go to bed but I--"

Joel's nostrils flare. "If you want me to I will." Simple as that. 

"Okay," you say. He squeezes your hand.

You walk in easy silence for a few moments. Once you're in the car you'll ask how his week was, tell him about the gossip you learned at the conference. You'll look at him the entire drive to your place, drinking your fill of him after three days without. Yeah, you're going to love him. It's just a matter of time.

"Thank you for coming to get me," you say. 

Joel looks like he wants to argue but he allows it.

"Anytime," he says. It sounds like a promise. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[tinycozycomfort]

i found the door

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day seven of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: edging -> read her day seven here

summary: Joel is a beacon, the warmth sloughing off his chest keeping you in that hazy place between tired and restless—the brightest slice of your vision.

warnings/tags: edging, daddy kink, c*ckwarming, touch of somno, unprotected piv, age gap (joel is 50s, reader is not), dom/sub dynamics, the tone of this is: they're in love, bulge kink, name calling (slut) + pet names (sweetheart, honey, etc)

word count: 1.8k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: i am so hashtag nervous about this one but very big thank you to @pascalisbaby for encouraging me and listening to me complain every day 🖤

main masterlist

“What is she, sweetheart? What do we call her when she’s drooling like that?” 

Joel noses at your chin, puffy stripe of scarring across the bridge dragging colder than the rest, lifting a field of goosebumps in its wake.

You can barely mumble at first, the swipe of his thumbs along your ribcage doing little to ground you, focus washed out with the low light that pools in from the window. His hands are firm—even in their spread—pinkies dipping into the crease of your side as he keeps you seated atop him, sweat-damp sheets taut where they weave between the folds of your knees. 

You’re pliable over him, hiked up and lopsided where he’s fixed you high in his lap, the shape of his cock outlined inside you to the hilt. 

Nights like this—right before the onslaught of Wyoming winter—he likes to just let the time pass, to make use of his body while it’s still skin-warm, no cold to slow his joints or frost to stiffen his muscle. He wants to prove himself capable, spry, even in his climbing age, to make sure you both know how in control he still is of this vessel, of your pleasure. 

He does it in the slowest way—the only way he sees appropriate—unwrapping you in pieces, biting away at the minutes like they’re endless, peeling away at the doubts he only thinks you have for him. 

Joel is a beacon, the warmth sloughing off his chest keeping you in that hazy place between tired and restless—the brightest slice of your vision. The valleys of his hollowed cheeks are deep, his restraint bound there in the tense sinew between his molars.

Only when he feels you deflate does he rock up gently, nudging at the apex of your womb, never touching—just the suggestion of what he’s able to find within you. He lets you whine and plead until you’re at the steep slope of your orgasm before stopping altogether, letting it wane, over and over, the pause to recoup shortening with each near-miss—a loop of ‘almost’s and ‘just-so’s that remind you he can take away as much as he can give.

“Hm?” He’s encouraging as he draws you from your stupor, a lapse in his unkindness—some space for you to right your wrong.

“A slut.”

Joel rolls back on the knob of bone that ends his spine, curling his hips up to give you just the slightest bit of friction. 

“That’s right. Little pussy’s being such a slut for me.” He shifts up again, just a beat to punctuate his point, the squelch that follows sounding out in the silence as if on cue. “Don’t know how you don’t fall all over yourself dripping like that.” 

You’re humming again in response, the last two full words taking more of a toll than they’re worth, voice scratchy from just how much crying you’ve done. The little analog clock on the nightstand ticks, tallying the painfully long stretch that’s passed since he promised to fuck you; that and the hour, maybe—or well over—since he decided he was going to make you wait for it instead. 

He savors this—the chance to make you up like some sleepy, weak thing that he can dote on, that he can thaw between his hands and mold into all of his beloved shapes, syrupy and unwound and enamored. He loves you like this, at his mercy, the heft of his strength and his promise enough to carry you through to the other side of content. 

He needs you like this. 

Joel reaches down to where your middle scrapes the start of his chest, grazing his knuckles over the swell in your lower tummy, rubbing at the wide protrusion that evidences his excitement. He flattens his palm over it like a bandage, uses it as leverage to put some space between you so he can get a better view, carving out more room where he’s hooking into you.

“Look at that. Got me so deep inside you it’s trying to come out. You gonna keep it in for me?” 

You’re nodding before he’s even finished, ready for him to bring you to another barely-peak, shoulders slack so as to not work yourself up, hope strapped to the last notch. 

“Poor thing. Had enough, honey? Ready to beg for it?” 

You huff before thinking, “I have been.” 

“No—crying at me isn’t begging. You have to ask.” 

“Please.” 

“Please…?” 

“Joel, can you pl–” 

He scoops up the meat of your cheeks with his free hand, fingers scalloping the flesh in a tight grip, wedging the points between your teeth until it feels like he’s inside you; he has you by your soul at this point, his hold runs so deep. 

“I know my girl isn’t that dim. How many times have we practiced this, sweetheart? Still can’t get it right on the first try?” 

He’s dead serious—frown severe—but you can’t help the curl of your mouth, laughter bubbling at the base of your throat. What a horrible, mean man he wants to be. In reality, he loves you more than he’s able to say most days, only leaning back on this game of obedience and correction and reward as a crutch when he can’t find the words. 

“Sorry, daddy.” 

Joel angles his fingers back so that he’s hanging onto the hinges of your jaw, the broad U of his middle-to-thumb long enough to give you room to speak and breathe and scream. 

His hips start to cant, the sticky swing of his cock inside you pulsing outwards, a fresh wave of arousal pooling at the joint. 

“There we go. Go ahead with the rest, then.”

“Daddy—fuck, please.” 

His resolve begins to melt at just the mention of his newly-appointed favorite title, a thing that slides between completely earnest and a silly pass at something new, not completely settled into habit. Even so, it’s sticking fast, the sheen over his eyes and abnormal measure of his breathing proof enough. 

“Please, what, sweet girl? You need daddy to make that slut pussy happy? You need to come?” 

Your mouth is wide open, nothing coming out but brief, irregular puffs of air that keep you conscious. He’s enjoying it—hoists his chest up so he can get close to your face, unhinge his own jaw, mock you that much more. He fails to not smile, head bobbing has he continues to fuck up into you with all the effort his body, and this position, are willing to allow. 

The hand pushing into your stomach falls, twisting at the wrist so he can toy with your clit, struggling not to slip in the web of slick that’s yet to dry where you’re connected. He’s determined, though—switches his thumb for the flat section of skin between his last two knuckles, gliding along the bead of skin at your core until you’re slumping forward, unable to take the whole brunt of him at full mast. 

“Oh, honey. Can’t even get fucked right anymore, can you? What’s gonna happen when you can’t take this cock? What do you suppose I do with you, then?” 

“No, daddy. ‘M just tired. Don’t stop, please.”

“Half-awake and the only thing you can think to do is ask for more. Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

“Yes, more, more.” 

“That’s right. Tell daddy how grateful you are. Tell me how much you need it.” 

“Fuck, yes. I need you.”

The fingers on your face pinch harder, throbbing as your cheek contours to the line of your teeth. Joel shakes his wrist, your neck lolling in his clutch as he commands your attention.

“Hey, I let it slide the first time. Don’t use that kind of language with me, girl. Be polite to me for all I do for you.” 

You’re too close to the end to say anything other than sorry, sorry daddy, the pitch rising in time with his movements, the burn of your climax worming its way up your spine. He’s equally as close, descending into the force of his movements so quickly he abandons his half-hearted reprimand, lashes clumping and wet, the line of his brow shining with sweat. He works at your clit with unwavering effort, sliding ten-fold as you begin to meet his thrusts, the two of you fighting to be on-beat in the work-up.

“I’m gonna come. Please. Please, can I?” 

“What am I going to want to hear from you before you do, sweetheart?” He tucks the bow of tissue that separates his thumb to your chin, his longer fingers plucking at some of the hair that's tacked down with wet—another show of sympathy.

“I love you.” 

“How sweet are you, hm—when you want to be? That’s my perfect girl. Just one more time, now.”

“Joel, I love you. More than f—more than anything.” 

He manages a exhale—his best attempt at amusement in this state—at the way you fumble to catch your own error, too close to the edge to afford another mistake. 

You clamp down with both hands on the forearm clutching your face, like more of you on him can better emphasize your statement and he moans, a high, ragged thing that falls out before he can contain it. 

Eventually, he accepts, “I love you, too, honey. More than you know.” 

You’re right at the cusp now, cunt seizing around where he’s driving up into you and he aims to bring you there before he falters, “Come on, let me have it. Show me just how much you love me.“

It's just a slew of yes’s after that, body locking up as the crest of your orgasm washes over you in flashes of white, so intertwined with him you don’t realize he’s made his way there as well, the sear of his release a welcome addition to the flurry. 

He doesn’t stop until your breathing evens, dropping his grip to wind his arms at the small of your back. He envelops you the way he wishes he could have to begin with, with all of the raw affection he needs courage to produce. 

“I mean it. Really.” He thumbs at the bumps of your spine, a swirl of something like guilt threading through his voice. 

You’re quick to dismiss it, dropping your head into the slope of his neck, the chill of September flooding in now that you’ve halted. You bring an arm up, fingers pleating into the hair he’s grown out in preparation for the season—a cut you suspect he’s kept because you’d mentioned taking a liking to it. You shuffle closer, knees slanted inwards to cradle him.

“I know, Joel. I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

[sapphire-writes]

Girl In The Bar (modern hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 1 || masterlist || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: Your internship begins at Citadel General Hospital. But your first day does not go according to plan as a familiar face appears.

word count: 4.3k

note: here we go! my little celebration piece, the beginning of a new AU/mini-series! thank you so so much for all the love and support ❤️

warnings below the cut!

warnings: medical terminology, stitches/sutures, mentions of blood, concussions, nausea, referencing spicy times but nothing explicit in this chapter

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

You’d been preparing for this. That’s what you keep telling yourself as you stand outside the doors of Citadel General Hospital. Four grueling years of med school weren’t for nothing. Your heart beats steadily, only slightly quicker than usual as you take a deep breath to steady yourself. 

You can’t help but stare up at the large building in front of you, watching the sunlight reflect off of the many windows, obscuring the view of the occupants inside.

“Are you going in?” a girl says sliding up beside you, curly brown hair flowing freely around her face. She gives you a crooked smile, tilting her chin to signal you inside. There’s a faded scar across the bridge of her nose along with a dusting of freckles. 

“Can’t believe it’s the first day,” she sighs as the doors open and you follow her inside, “We met at the intern mixer briefly.”

The mixer was held a few weeks ago. You'd met most of the other medical interns and gotten a tour of the hospital. CGH is massive; it’ll take time to learn the lay of the land. You follow her down the hall towards the intern locker rooms. Scrubs wait for you and you hurriedly begin to change into them. Nettles scoops her hair into a large bun on top of her head, wrapping a scrunchie around the mess of curls. 

“Right,” you say, nodding as you remember her, “It’s Annette, right?”

“Nettles,” she corrects, “Family nickname. Though from what I’ve heard, they barely refer to us by our first names.”

“That’s correct,” a guy says, throwing on his scrub top, “Be prepared to change your name to whatever your last name is.”

The guy glances at you, cheeks flushing. He rubs his dark curls out of his eyes, adjusting his light blue scrub top before extending his hand for you to shake.

“Jace Velaryon,” he introduces, squeezing your hand, “Or just Velaryon I guess.”

“Do you know who your resident is yet?” you ask, just as a woman in dark blue scrubs enters the room. Her red hair is held behind a scrub cap decorated with silver eagles. She holds a clipboard tightly in her hands, tapping a pen against the metal.

“Velaryon, Waters, Martell, Snow, and…” she pauses, before reading your last name, “You five. Baratheon will meet you at the nurses' station. Three minutes.” 

You hurriedly lace your sneakers as a locker from across the room slams shut. A woman with long ink-black hair elegantly plaited down her back hurries forward. 

“Thank you Dr. Arryn,” she calls, as the woman leaves the room.

Another young woman hurries from around the corner of lockers, struggling to pull her thick brown hair into a ponytail, “She didn’t say Baratheon, did she?” she asks, as her hair tie snaps. 

You reach into the pocket of your scrubs, holding out the spare you have. She smiles gratefully as she accepts it.

“Sara Snow,” she introduces, “We’re sure she said Baratheon?”

“Sure did,” the girl with the braid says, her dark eyes wide, “Cory Martell. Nice to meet you all for whatever time we have left.”

Jace chuckles nervously as Cory fiddles with her braid, taking a sudden interest in the ends of her hair.  

“What’s that mean?” Jace asks, looking at you all as you don’t respond, “Hello?”

“Ballbuster Baratheon,” Sara says with barely an audible whisper.

“Ah shit,” Nettles says, tilting her head back as she groans.

“Am I the only one who is lost?” Jace asks, “He can’t be so bad.”

Nettles only shrugs but gives you a wink before pushing forward out the door. You hurry after her, the rest of your cohort stumbling not far behind. The nurses’ station is bustling with people; the phones ringing continuously. 

Cory stands up straighter, flipping her braid over her shoulder. 

“Do you see him?” Jace asks, looking down the hallway.

“See who?” a doctor comments, eyeing Jace carefully. 

She’s wearing similar blue scrubs and holding a clipboard, black hair cut bluntly at her chin. 

“Dr. Baratheon,” Jace comments, still looking off in the distance, “Heard he’s a hard ass.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow at him, fire in her cobalt blue eyes. She wets her lips, before folding her arms in front of her, holding her clipboard against her stomach. 

“Very interesting Dr. Velaryon, assuming the scary resident is a man,” the doctor comments, flipping through her charts.

Jace’s face turns beet red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sara glances at him, a pitying look on her face whilst Nettles attempts to hide her snicker with a cough. You elbow her slightly in the ribs and her eyes widen in feigned shock. 

“I didn’t—” Jace begins to ramble before being cut off.

“I didn’t ask,” Dr. Baratheon says, waving him off, “I’m Dr. Maris Baratheon, you may call me Dr. Baratheon. Not Maris, not Mari, not Baratheon. Is that understood?”

You all nod eagerly, mumbling your agreement, Jace looking rather pained.

“You’re interns,” Maris says, deep blue eyes scanning over you, “Runts—bottom of the food chain. Extensions of me-but don’t get in my way. When I move, you move. You will observe, you will listen and you will learn.”

She lets her gaze fall on each of you as she speaks, her tone not very friendly.

“You are my interns. My responsibility. You fuck up, it falls back on me,” she says, pointing her finger at each of you, “Do you think I like fucking up?”

“No ma’am,” Jace says, shaking his head back and forth. 

“Correct,” Dr. Baratheon says. 

The pager strapped to her waist beeps frantically and she glances down, before nodding; more to herself than to all of you. 

“Let’s move people,” she says, moving down the hallway.

You all begin shuffling behind her, quickening your pace to match the urgency of her walk. 

“I’m an idiot,” Jace says miserably, “She’s going to hate me forever.”

“Probably,” Nettles says with a snicker.

“She won’t hate you, she’ll understand you’re learning,” Sara insists.

“Oh yeah, she seems super understanding,” Cory agrees, but one glance at her reveals her sarcasm. 

Dr. Baratheon stops outside a room before turning back to the lot of you. You all nearly collide with each other trying to stop in time; Jace slams into Sara’s back and she pushes him with her shoulder. Cory reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small notepad and pen. 

“Who has been prepping my charts?” Dr. Baratheon asks, rolling her eyes at your scrambling. Your hand shoots into the air along with the rest of your cohort, “Good, you’re not entirely useless.” 

Dr. Baratheon opens the door, walking inside the airy hospital room. The windows are large, letting in rays of sunlight along with a beautiful view of the Honeywine River. It’s a clear day today, the blue water ripples and sparkles as some boats make their way further down the mouth of the river. 

“Come on in,” Dr. Baratheon insists, “Someone tell me what’s been going on.”

A girl sits on the hospital bed, tubes, and wires twisting away from her, a stuffed lion held tightly in her small arms. Her golden hair lays flat against her head and though her skin is pale, she smiles when Dr. Baratheon enters the room. A woman you assume to be her mother sits beside her, looking tired as she holds a cup of ice. 

“Cerelle Lannister, nine-year-old female,” Nettles begins, lacing her hands behind her back and straightening her shoulders, “Admitted while complaining of fever and muscle spasms localized to the lower body.”

“Thank you, Dr. Waters,” Dr. Baratheon says, walking to check the chart at the foot of her bed, “How are we feeling this morning Cece?”

Dr. Baratheon’s voice changes as she talks to Cece; it takes on a more caring, comforting tone. Cece smiles nervously, turning her flushed face to her mother. 

“She’s okay,” her mother answers, “The spasms seem to be about the same. Nurses said her fever broke last night.” 

“I’ve eaten so much ice, my tongue is numb,” Cece says, sticking her tongue out, “See? I bet it's blue.”

Sara giggles at the action and you can’t help but smile too. You hate seeing such a young kid in the hospital, it makes your chest tighten. 

“No blue tongue. But I guess you’re not interested in ice cream for dessert later?” Dr. Baratheon teases. 

Cece’s eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously.

“Let’s not talk crazy now,” she squeaks, “I am always interested in ice cream.”

“Just making sure,” Dr. Baratheon says, cracking her first smile of the day, “Dr. Snow, how would you proceed?”

Sara stiffens at the sound of her name, clearing her throat. 

“Muscle spasms can indicate an overuse of the muscle or perhaps an electrolyte imbalance,” Sara begins, as though reciting from a textbook, “I would make sure she’s getting enough fluids and rest, get some labs done to confirm.”

“And after that?”

“Potentially a CT scan and MRI to rule out any potential nerve damage that may be contributing to the spasms.”

“What about the fever?”

“Fever is an immune response that indicates potential infection,” Cory interrupts, “We want to rule out a viral or bacterial infection.”

“Which first?”

“Rule out the infection first,” you interject, causing Dr. Baratheon to turn to you, “More likely bacterial than viral. Ms. Lannister doesn’t have symptoms.”

“Alright, yes,” Dr. Baratheon agrees, “What should we do if we think it's bacterial?”

“Gather a culture,” you continue, “Skin, nose, saliva. Run labs for those as well to rule them out.”

“Well Cece,” Dr. Baratheon says, turning back to the child, “You’ve got a competent group of doctors caring for you. We’re going to do our best to get you better.”

Mrs. Lannister squeezes her daughter's hand. Cece smiles shyly, holding her stuffed lion closer to her chest. 

You stand in line for lunch in the bustling cafeteria. Quick lunch, and then off to run for labs for Cerelle Lannister. Different options are laid out in front of you as you drag your tray alongside Jace’s. He’s still moping-- has been all morning. Sara rolls her eyes at him as he drops a banana onto his plate.

“You need to chill,” she tells him, reaching for a turkey club. 

“How do I come back from this?” Jace asks, reaching for a cup. He moves to the soda machine, choosing to fill it with cherry coke, “She wants me dead.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tell him, fighting a smile.

“I’m serious!” he says, eyes wide, “She could make or break my entire career based on this slip-up, put me in the pit for the year.”

You decide on a chicken Caesar wrap before scanning the cafeteria for a free table. You spot Nettles a few tables away, leaning back in her chair and munching on a bag of potato chips. She waves you over and you motion to your colleagues to follow. 

“So you’ll do the time, pay your dues, all that jazz,” you console Jace.

“Yeah, but--shit!” Jace yelps as you reach the table, his cup falling to the floor. Reddish brown liquid blooms on the white floor and Jace groans, “This day keeps getting worse.”

“C’mon, let’s get some paper towels,” Sara says, putting her tray down and grabbing Jace’s arm.

Nettles watches them walk away, unmoving from her spot as you take the seat beside her. 

“What a drama queen,” Nettles comments.

“I mean, if I pissed off Ballbuster Baratheon, I’d be pretty upset too,” you tell her, giving a sympathetic smile.

“You’re too smart to make that mistake,” Nettles comments, and a pleasant prideful feeling lodges in your chest. 

You smile at her.

“Thanks,” you tell Nettles and she shrugs.

“Just being truthful,” she says, “I briefed everyone before we started. You’re rather impressive.”

“You briefed everyone?”

“I like to know who I’ll be working with,” she says nonchalantly. 

You nod, impressed by her dedication. You take a bite of your wrap, wincing slightly at the soggy texture of the lettuce. It’s edible. You doubt you’ll have anything to complain about when the hospital is working you into the ground. Your eyes scan the cafeteria as you chew, taking in the other doctors in the cafeteria. 

Your eyes drift over to a pair of residents near the vending machine; a man and a woman both with strikingly platinum blonde hair. The taller of the two has it pulled away from his chiseled face and into a low bun. As he turns your heart drops into your stomach. 

“Shit,” you whisper, feeling the blood drain from your face. 

“What?” Nettles asks, examining her half-eaten sandwich, “I mean it's bad, but not that bad. They have hot dogs on Fridays.”

“Not the food,” you explain, “The doctor.” 

Nettles follows your gaze toward Aemond as he’s lost in conversation with the other resident. Her eyes flicker between you two, eyebrows raising to her hairline. 

“You know him?”

“Know who?” Cory asks as she arrives, sitting in the empty chair beside you, “This food looks nasty…”

“I need to go,” you tell them, standing with your tray, “I need to--” It’s too late when you realize you’d stepped right into the spilled soda, your feet going out from under you.

You drop onto your back with a loud thud, head smacking against the linoleum floor.

“Fuck! Are you okay?” Nettles asks, crouching beside you. You blink rapidly, stars in your vision from the impact, “Shit, Y/N you’re bleeding don’t move! Head injury, you could have internal bleeding-”

“I’m okay,” you insist, trying to sit up, “I’m just….woah.” A wave of nausea rolls through you and you lean back against the ground, “Maybe I do just need a moment.”

Your vision blurs but you can see his lean silhouette in the distance. Through your haze, you swear you see his body language change, his posture stiffen, and your lunch lurches in your stomach. 

“You’re concussed,” Jace insists crouching beside you, “Don’t move. You’ve cut your head too…”

“My head?” you ask, bringing a hand to your temple, feeling wetness on your palm, “Fucking hell.”

You’re staring blankly at the ceiling, mortification settling in your bones as your colleagues chatter around you. 

“What is going on?” Dr. Baratheon’s voice echoes through the cafeteria, “Y/L/N?”

“Yes Dr. B?” you mumble, earning a chuckle from Cory.

“I’m going to let that one slide because you’re likely concussed,” Dr. Baratheon says, “Velaryon, Waters, get her to a bed.” She grumbles, moving on with Cory and Nettles, “I’d like to keep my interns in one piece please.”

The night before the first day of your internship you couldn’t sleep. Call it nerves, call it excitement, one thing was for sure; there was no way you were finding sleep at a reasonable hour. So you decided to grab a drink. Something to calm your nerves. 

Just a few blocks from your studio apartment was a small hole-in-the-wall bar, the Dragon’s Den. One drink to calm your nerves, that’s all you needed. You’d sat at the bar alone for a while, sipping your wine and reading yet another smutty romance on your Kindle.

You’d noticed him come in, of course. It was hard not to notice him. 

He was truly beautiful; with striking platinum hair braided away from his face and down his back. Chiseled jawline, long straight nose, and those eyes. One violet, one blue, watching you from across the room. Your cheeks warmed as you buried your nose back into your book.

He’d caught you staring. 

He’d joined you at the bar; slightly awkward, but confident enough to strike up a conversation with you. Ask what you were drinking. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, and count the veins winding their way up the back of his hands.

“You’re a long way from Riverlands,” you’d commented as he’d told you where he was from.

“My sister dragged me out,” he’d told you, “I’ve just recently moved back here, to be closer to family.”

“I have a new job starting tomorrow,” you’d told him, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you.

“Congratulations,” he’d said, smiling as though he genuinely was happy for the stranger he met at the bar.

He’d bought you a drink, saddled up next to you. Listened intently as you spoke to him about your hobbies, your interests. Watching you the entire time with intense focus. 

“I don’t normally do this,” he’d insisted as you pulled him towards you outside the bar.

“Me either,” you agreed. It didn’t matter if it was true or not; it's what people say when they make reckless decisions. 

Fingers fisting into his button-down shirt, you’d pressed your lips eagerly against his. You hadn’t been kissed like this in forever. Hadn’t been touched like this, been fucked like this. 

You’d brought him home, walking the short distance hand in hand taking breaks in between for him to press you against the brick walls of the buildings you passed, let you wrap your legs around his waist as he kissed the life out of you. 

You’d stumbled into your apartment desperately peeling the clothes from your body and his. Greedy hands, greedy mouths, and lipstick smeared across his cheeks and chest. Fingers, tongue, a combination of the two, and then his cock splitting you in half, pounding you into the mattress. 

He’d made you cum five times. 

Five times, during a one-night stand. You could barely feel your legs as you drifted off to sleep. 

You’d woken early the following day, stumbling out of bed and into your small kitchenette as the lanky stranger gathered his things. 

“Aemond,” he’d told you, with a shy grin as he entered his number into your phone.

How anyone could be shy after that bedroom performance was beyond you. 

“I’ll text you,” you’d promised him, as he opened the door.

“Have a great first day.”

Somehow, Jace and Sara get you to a bed, secluded with some curtains. You can’t believe he’s here. He’s a resident. In every hospital possible, it had to be this one. By the looks of it, he wasn’t expecting to see you as well.

The curtain opens and an attending enters the small bedside area, flipping through the papers on his clipboard. Dark hair and eyes he glances up at you, a small smile on his lips. 

“Not every day an intern lands in a hospital bed,” he comments, ushering you forward. 

You sit up, groaning slightly at the throbbing in your head. 

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” you grumble, and he flashes you a grin. 

“Follow the light,” he softly commands, clicking his penlight and moving it in front of your face.

You blink, but obey; following the bright light. 

“Good,” he murmurs, “Now follow my finger.” He does the same motion with his finger, “Pupils look good, any pain?”

“Just where I hit,” you tell him, “Will I need stitches?”

“Just a few,” he says, bringing a gloved hand to move your hair, “A small split. Bleeds a lot more than it's worth.”

“Not my first rodeo,” you tell him, as he reaches for some gauze, “You’re the neuro attending?”

“One of them,” he comments, applying some dap gauze to your wound, cleaning it gently, “I’m Dr. Cole.” 

You tell him yours and he nods, a glimmer of recognition in his eye. 

“I read your resume,” he muses, discarding the bloodied gauze, “Your thesis was very interesting.”

“Thank you,” you told him, remembering your research, “I enjoy research a lot.”

“Plenty of opportunities here,” he says, removing his gloves, “I’ll have Dr. Targareyn come stitch you up.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, “Can’t I just use some butterfly bandages?”

He shakes his head, pursing his lips.

“Don’t want to scar up that pretty face,” he comments, “Targaryen doesn’t mind, he enjoys the practice.” 

You chew on your lip as Dr. Cole leaves the room. Several moments later the curtain opens and Aemond steps forward. He’s just as beautiful as last night and your pulse quickens remembering your time spent together. 

“Hey,” you manage as Aemond clears his throat. 

Aemond stands awkwardly stiff, before moving to the stool Dr. Cole previously occupied. He doesn’t speak, just uses his long legs to pull himself closer to you. He readies a tray, grabbing a suture kit and lidocaine. You watch his tense, calculated movements before he turns to you. 

“This may sting,” he murmurs, as the tip of the needle enters your skin causing you to wince. 

The lidocaine works fast, and the area begins to tingle with numbness. Carefully disposing of the needle, Aemond grabs the suture and begins his work. You can feel his hands on you, and watch his face as he stares at his handiwork. 

He won’t meet your eyes. 

“We didn’t know,” you tell him, feeling the tugging of the sutures, “Aemond-”

“No,” he answers, “You’re right of course. No harm, no foul. But this can’t happen again. I’m your superior.”

“Superior? It’s not like you’re an attending,” you tell him. 

“No but I’m in a position of power and authority over you,” he continues, “The implications of a workplace relationship between the two of us would be an uneven distribution of power.”

“Okay, we slept together once,” you tell him, “No one’s saying we’re in a relationship-”

“Then you agree,” he counters, “We shut this down before it really starts.”

That’s not exactly what you were thinking as you reminisce about the previous night. Staring into his eyes only makes your cheeks grow hotter, a nervous sweat begins to form on your brow. 

“Is that what you want?” you ask, your heartbeat suddenly noticeable; a gentle flutter against your ribcage.

“It’s not about want,” Aemond insists, avoiding your gaze and focusing solely on his suturing, “It’s about being dutiful, and doing what’s right. What’s expected of us.”

Goodbye guy in the bar, you think to yourself, heart sinking slightly at the thought.

“Yeah, sure,” you tell him as he cuts the final stitch, “I’m not going to say anything.”

“You’re all set,” he tells you, moving to stand, “Think you can take them out on your own in a week?”

“If not, I know where to find you,” you quip.

Aemond stands next to the tray of instruments, freezing as he awkwardly glances at you sideways. His posture is tense. You let out a nervous breath at his startled reaction. The sex god you met last night is nowhere to be found. He flexes his hand before shoving it into the pocket of his white coat. 

“That was a joke,” you tell him, earning a curt nod, “One week. Got it.”

You hear the sharp voice of Dr. Baratheon call your last name before the curtain is yanked back. Her eyes find Aemond immediately, lips forming a tight pout.

“Dr. Targareyn,” she says apprehensively, as though she’s watching him very carefully. 

Aemond nods acknowledging her before she turns to you.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” you assure her, “I have to run those labs for Cerelle Lannister-”

“Martell is covering that,” Dr. Baratheon cuts you off, “You have a head injury. I want you home for the remainder of the day.”

“Dr. Baratheon-” you insist, but she holds up her hand.

“Come back tomorrow,” Dr. Baratheon tells you and reluctantly nods. 

You suppose going home isn’t the worst idea. 

“Let’s get you an Uber,” Dr. Baratheon says.

“I can drive her,” Aemond says suddenly. His eyes are wide before he casts his gaze to the floor as if he can’t believe the words left his mouth.

You watch him carefully.

“Okay,” you tell him. 

Aemond’s car is nice. Clean, like he just bought it. He very well might have, now that you think of it since he moved to the area so recently. The ride is silent besides the sound of the air coming through the vents. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, as he pulls up to your apartment complex.

“No drinking any alcohol,” Aemond says, still not meeting your eyes, “Make sure to get plenty of rest and monitor your symptoms. Do not feel any pressure to come back to work tomorrow if you’re not up for it.”

You nod and his gaze flickers to your face. He wets his lips, tongue darting out quickly. It might be the concussion, but you can remember how it felt. How he tasted. Fuck. 

“I got it,” you assure him, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He nods, unlocking the car doors before getting out. Aemond walks around the front of the car, opening the door for you.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists, and you nod, taking the hand he offers. 

He remembers your unit. The entire elevator ride is full of tension as you wait to reach your floor. As you walk down the hallway. As you get to your door.

You turn to him, wanting to invite him inside if only for a cup of tea to thank him for being so kind. If only to keep him near your longer. 

But Aemond nods curtly as you unlock the door.

“Have a nice day, Dr. Y/L/N,” he says, turning on his heel and heading down the hallway. You watch him flex his fingers again, before shoving them into his pocket. 

“Goodbye Aemond,” you call, and he pauses, hand outstretched to press the elevator button.

His head dips for a brief moment before he straightens up as the elevator doors open and he disappears inside. Your heart hammers as he turns, giving you a nod once more, before the doors close obscuring him from your view. 

You exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Before tucking yourself into your bed, you lean against your window which gives a view down to the front of the apartment. Clouds have gathered and fat drops of rain begin to fall, splashing onto Aemond’s car still parked below. You watch as the lights come on, but he stays idling a moment more.

Your phone vibrates. 

Reaching for it you can’t help but smile as you see the message.

note: hope you liked it!! again, thank you thank you THANK YOU for all the love and support for my silly little stories, y'all are seriously the best for real 🥹

Series Taglist: @witches-of-discovery-a @mooncalvin @rwdkarla, @spinachtz, @arcielee, @castellomargot, @bellaisasleep, @wintrr13, @angel6776, @watercolorskyy @hogwarts1207, @gibbsgirl7, @high-on-darren-criss, @theshatteredideal, @elizarbell, @hiraethrhapsody, @helaenaluvr

[fanaticsnail]

Gua-Sha

Masterlist here.

I've felt I have severely neglected writing for the green-haired swordsman while I've been catapulted with hands bound, riding aboard the Mihawk-Sanji-Buggy train and he was in desperate need of some attention.

Warnings: fluff, lots of fluff, facial massage, lymphatic drainage, pining, mutual pining, not beta-read (I'm sorry). This song was on repeat while writing, for all those who (like me) like songs to coexist with their fics.

Word Count: 4,438

Sitting in a reclined position on a deck chair besides the great green-haired swordsman; you brought the jade-coloured, smooth rock back up to your jaw. You raked the sharp surface from your chin upwards towards the left-hand side towards your ear as you felt the drainage of lymphatic glands pool down the crevasses of your throat.

Closing your eyes, you repeated the movement several more times before lulling your head over to the other side and repeating the technique; dragging the jade piece along your outer jaw to pool the liquid down your throat causing you equal amounts of relief.

As you brought your hands up to begin dragging the stone against the bridge of your nose to glide across your cheekbones up to your temple; the swordsman opened his eye lazily to glance at you. His eyes raked from your skilled hands drawing the stone against your cheeks to your parted lips as you gasped at the relief the massaging movement provided to your flesh.

“What is that thing?” he asked lazily from his position beside you on the bench. Looking down on him with half-lidded eyes; you allowed yourself a moment to trail your eyes over your crewman. His chest was exposed to the sun with his buttoned shirt relinquishing their duties to contain his muscular torso. His scar from the battle with Dracule Mihawk present to all who cast their eyes onto him, glistening with the silvertip eclipse of healed skin.

You looked down at his lazy eyes as he arched his brow up to you to re-emphasize his question. Rolling your eyes, you drew your unoccupied hand to your neck to stabilize your ministrations against your nasal trail.

“It’s called gua-sha,” you informed him with a breathy tone, closing your eyes to focus on your movements, “it’s for lymphatic drainage of your face. Really helps me relax after my watch shift.”

Zoro hummed in response, his eyes zeroing in on your fingertips as they continued to drag the coarse side of the stone ritualistically over your face repetitively. His eyes, fully opened now, focused on how methodologically you maneuvered the object against your face to syphon the collected pressure within your muscles downwards into your chest to dissipate the gathered fluid.

Feeling the burning eyes drilling into you, you sighed a little in frustration at the attention before turning to look completely at the swordsman beside you. Your eyes met with his, his sights focusing on the object clasped within your knuckles rather than your eyes. Furrowing your brows cautiously at him, your brow arched upwards in question.

“Did you want to try it?” you apprehensively asked him, holding out the small, smooth stone in the palm of your hand to present it  to him. His brows furrowed at your words, staring at the object in your outstretched hand before drawing his eyes up to gaze into your own.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” he shrugged, his lip and jaw protruding dismissively as he arched his shoulders upwards. Your brow increased in its position against your forehead at his words, before dissipating into your lips gathering in a soft smirk.

“Would you like me to do it for you?” you asked him, gesturing first to the stone before beckoning him to recline against your lap, “I’ve got the technique nailed to a fine art.”

He arched his own brows up at your question before internally arguing with himself to find some semblance of danger in adhering to your offer. Once finding no such threat, he turned to look up at you with an almost soft expression.

“If you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind it,” he shrugged again before inching himself towards you; halting as his upper arms and forearms brushed with your thighs, asking; “so, how do you want to do this?”

The swordsman and yourself had nothing more than comradery in your established friendship: he the first mate to the captain, you an explorer who’s paths aligned with your current captain’s adventure to the Grand Line. You can admit to yourself easily enough that Zoro was easy on the eyes; his moss-coloured hair, his golden piercing and his warm chestnut brown eyes drawing you into him completely. His rough exterior was begging to be peeled back to reveal the warm, beautiful interior you had only been graced with encountering once he received injury beyond his natural healing ability.

“Come over here then,” you beckoned him with a playful grin, gesturing for him to rotate to lay on his back with his hair falling into your thighs, “lay down and relax, your settee awaits.”

He let out a sharp exhale of a huff of breath before he did what you asked of him: his head reclining against your thighs as you smoothed your hands over his forehead to draw back the emerald locks from obscuring your view. He hissed in a small grunt of surprise against your fingers brushing his hair away, prompting you to flinch away in response.

“Sorry, Zoro,” you uttered in a low tone, “I should’ve asked if it was okay to touch you before I did. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He sighed with a light laugh in response, gazing up at you with his hazelnut coloured orbs; “it’s fine,” he reassured you, “you’re gonna touch that weird rock on my face anyway. Go on, touch me,” his smirk twinkled within his in his roguish teasing.

In response to his playful taunt, you smoothed your fingertips against his face to prepare his skin for the gua-sha jade stone. You placed the stone to lie against his chest before you relinquished your hold on it, opting to bring your fingertips to his cheekbones. His brows furrowed as he gazed up into your eyes before flittering them shut under your skillful fingertips soothing his stubborn and aching muscles beneath his cheeks.

Behind closed eyes, his jaw hung slightly agape as his lips parted to huff out small pants of relief as he relished in your touch. A warm blush rose to your cheeks at his vocalized breaths, which you managed to bully down to the recesses of your chest. You were merely anchoring your fingertips to prepare his skin to receive the smooth stone, but he was already breathing sighs of relief under your ministrations. The pressure within his facial muscles, particularly his brows, were incredibly tense under your fingers. You rotated small circles from your thumbs and forefingers, drawing them from his pointed brow to his temples and down the frame of his cheeks towards his jaw.

Zoro’s brows furrowed deeper, his thoughts swirling beneath his eyes at your touch. He could admit to only himself that he appreciated your presence beside him and often found himself falling beside you at meal times, accompanying your watch-shifts, and falling his body between yours and harms way in defense. To him, you were beautiful; so incredibly and unashamedly beautiful. Your drive in ensuring the wellbeing of the crew was one of the major attractions he felt to you, acknowledging your external beauty as secondary to your heart. Now that your touch was freely given to him, he relished in every single moment of it; never dreaming of the instance occurring and now not wanting it to end.

You reached down to his throat to collect the smooth stone within your grasp with your right hand while your left continued to caress his cheek within your hands.

“Are you okay with me starting with the gua-sha stone now, or would you prefer my fingers for a little while more?” you asked him in a small voice to not break him from his relaxation.

He hummed in response, truly processing the question you were asking him. His eyes flittered open to meet with your own, his right hand reaching up to clasp your right wrist containing the stone. He traced small circles with his thumb against your skin, his lips falling into a small and apprehensive smile.

“I like it all so far,” he admitted, his eyes shutting in a slow blink before reopening to meet with your own orbs, “but I do like the way your fingers feel on my face. They’re-,” he paused, attempting to find the words he wanted to give to you, “-they’re warm. You’re warm.”

Again, you internally screamed at yourself to contain the rising heated blush within your chest to bully it away from your cheeks. While Zoro did not particularly have a way with words, his sincerity is what held you beneath the clasps of your gentle, circular movements.

“I-I don’t have to use the stone, you know,” you informed him, gulping back your hesitancy to rise an aura of confidence in its wake, “I can do this with just my hands if you like. It is easier with the stone, but I have the ability to make do without if you’d prefer?”

He hummed in response as your fingertips found his cheeks and forehead beneath your thumbs. Closing his eyes once more, you felt less self-conscious beneath his gaze. Placing the stone back down, you began to trail your fingertips over his jaw towards his throat to massage his face; draining his lymphatic nodes downwards to collect the liquid within his throat. His Adams-apple gulped at the sensation, his breathing becoming heavier at your unwithheld pressured caress.

Your fingertips trailed to the scruff of his neck, opting to use your thumbs to trace against his jaw in long, drawn-out strokes. His jaw fell slack as his lips parted, a sigh falling in relief and satisfaction from your skilled ministrations.

Focussing completely on the task at hand, you neglected to notice Zoro reopen his closed eyes to watch your concentrated expression. Your attentiveness and dedication to massaging his face and neck drew a small blush to the ears and cheeks of the masterful sword-wielder as he gawked at you with admiration.

“Zoro?” your low tone shook him from his trance, eyes meeting with your lips first before floating up to meet with your orbs, “do you want the stone?”

His breath hitched as he processed a bombardment of thoughts immediately flooding to pool within his brow: “if the stone is used, he won’t get to feel your fingertips on his cheeks,” “he wants to feel your hands touching him, tenderly tracing his skin against your hands,” “if you don’t use the stone, you might catch on to his affection for you and shy away from him in response,” “if you don’t use the stone, it’ll be weird, right?” “the whole reason you’re touching him is because of the weird stone,” “he doesn’t want to make it weird, he wants to always be close to you,” “why are you looking at him like that?” “your smile is so enchanting,” “why are you laughing?”

“Zoro,” your small, playful giggle drew him from his thoughts as you rolled his name slowly over your tongue, “if you keep thinking so hard, you’re going to undo all of my hard work and I’ll have to start over.”

He felt a slow bead of sweat trickle from his temple to fall within his hairline, the stress of his indecision causing his breath to halt within his throat.

“Hey, woah big boy,” you chastised him, bringing your hands to his cheeks to focus him beneath your palms. Your hair cascaded down to fall around your face as you held his attention, prompting you to flip it over your shoulder with a huff of your breath before drawing your head down to stoop lower.

“This isn’t meant to be a stressful experience,” you informed him, a warm smile falling to your lips as you looked at him through your eyelashes, “if you don’t like it, let me know and I’ll stop-.”

“-Don’t stop,” he gasped with a low rumble of his chest, cutting off your sentence with his command. Taken slightly aback, your eyelashes fluttered in confusion. You gulped against his command, noticing the way your body responded to his vocalisation with your body becoming rigid and alert.

As the first mate aboard the Going Merry, Zoro was accustomed to giving orders to the crew in lieu of Luffy as he slept off the over-consumption of food. You would follow his direction as he lead you in battle, informed you of watch shift rotation, ordered your attacks in combat; but there was something different about his tone. It was a the tone of a desperate request, not a direct order from a commander to a subordinate; but an apprehensive invitation spoken in the tone of a lover.

“Zoro?” you whispered, his name falling from within your mouth with a small sigh. His eyes were drawn immediately to your lips as you called his name, his right hand reaching up to fall against the scruff of your neck. His firm touch felt foreign, but not unwelcome as he gaze fell back into your eyes.

“Use the stone if you want,” he uttered slowly, his chestnut eyes falling back to your lips as his own parted with a small sigh. His fingertips trailed from your neck back upwards to drag your hair over your ear to fall it further away from your face. His rough callouses atop his strong hands traced the shell of your ear softly as he drew it away to fall back onto his chest, lacing with his other as he again shut his eyes awaiting your touch to return.

You shook the rising warmth from your chest and the tingles against his touch back to contain beneath your heart as you slowly retrieved the stone from its position lying on his upper chest. Your eyes lingered on the small opening of his shirt, noticing a small hitch in his own breathing as your touch fell slightly against his skin in the retrieval of the gua-sha stone.

Holding your thumb and forefingers against his chin and jaw, you began raking the harsh side of the gua-sha stone against his jaw to travel upwards to his ear before falling it down towards his pulse and down his throat. Every motion and movement was slow and deliberate, an action you had mastered while perfecting your techniques against your own face every night. Pushing back the growing feelings within your chest, you opted to empathetically fix your sights on Zoro’s face; visualising it as your own instead of his.

Zoro was a writhing mess internally, forcing every rising feeling of attraction to you to retreat down to return within his broody heart. He was okay with his affections for you remaining unrequited, but the way you were touching him, pampering him, was forcing his heart to drum harshly and deafeningly against his ribcage. He was hoping, praying, you were too enamoured in your task to notice how hot his brow was becoming beneath your skillful touch and the rising pink blush falling to his cheeks.

He was not accustomed to getting this worked up beneath the hands of a woman. You were everything he wanted, but never knew he truly needed. His eyes flittered open to sneak a small glance at your face; sighing in relief as he noticed the way you were truly focussing on the task of relieving his jaw of tension instead of meeting your eyes with his own.

You were so beautiful. Your actions were so skillful, your hands relieving him of a lot of the tension he never knew he carried so prominently atop his face. Zoro felt as if he was in a realm completely within its own; the crashing of the waves rocking the ship as he lay completely secure and comfortable against your thighs. He unlaced his hands on his chest, opting to have them fall to his sides to relax himself against your ministrations further.

“Is this okay, Zoro?” your voice asked him in a hushed tone, attempting to not disturb him from his peaceful recline.

“Yeah,” he hummed in response, his lips parting as his eyes floated shut once more to truly enjoy your touch. You snuck a glance to his shut eyelids, noticing how relaxed he was becoming behind his eyes.

You began raking the gua-sha stone against his cheekbones to fall up to his temples and down the frame of his face. Repeating this action several more times, you switched to the other side, tilting his neck with your thumb and forefingers to get a more desired angle as your eyes gazed half-lidded against his face. As Zoro released a small sigh in pleasure, you found yourself also sighing through empathetic joy at him fully relaxing beneath your ministrations.

Laying the stone flat against the centre of his brow, you drew it outwards to his temple and down the side of his face to his pulse. His breath hitched as he felt you pinch his jaw with your thumb firmly, relishing the feeling of you taking control of his body. You halted your movement, noticing his small sharp inhale of breath beneath your hands and flinching yourself away in response.

“Are you okay, did I pinch you a bit too hard?” you asked him, placing the stone down beside your chair in favour of using both of your hands to reassure him with your touch.

His eyes flittered open to meet with yours, his pupils blown as his gaze rapidly floated in indecision of focus between your eyes. His gaze retreated to fall against your lips from your position above him as he rose his left hand upwards to lace within your hair at the back of your head; levering your stoop to lower your face to fall closer in proximity to his own.

You shrieked in surprise as he met your lips with his own, your noses falling to one another’s chins in this sudden passionate embrace. His lips lazily commanded your own to open to receive his tongue, playfully dancing with your own as soon as you succumbed to his unspoken request. Sharply inhaling through your nose; you laced your fingers against Zoro’s outer jugular, feeling the pulse located beneath your fingertips as you tilted your head to deepen the unrestrained kiss further.

Zoro groaned against your lips, arching his other arm upwards to fall it behind you. His hands grazed your jaw before roughly tugging your hair to hold you firmly within his strong grip, rotating his chin against your nose to deepen the kiss further. You spread your hands downwards to fall on his broad chest, fingertips toying at the collar of his shirt to tease his skin beneath it.

Your hair fell slightly to frame the two of you in the intimate embrace, Zoro smiling against your lips as he felt the small strands dance against his cheeks. You tilted your head to the side, beginning to feel the strain from this stooped position against your neck and attempting to alleviate the tension with the small position change to no avail.

“Zor-o,” you murmured against his lips, him groaning in response to you calling his name. He released your hair from his clutches, opting to slowly trail his fingers down your jaw before clasping your wrists within his wide fingertips. At the release of his hands from your head, you suddenly broke from the kiss and stiffly arched your back upwards and lulled your head backwards; unintentionally giving Zoro an unwithheld glance of your chest. His blush deepened against his cheeks as he watched your chest rise and fall with your sharp panted breaths before concaving down to look at him again with your posture falling.

As his eyes met with yours, he shifted in his position laying against your lap to fall onto his stomach before pushing up into a crawling position against the chairs.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, his eyes franticly searching yours for reciprocation of affection, “I should’ve asked. Your hands just felt really nice on my face and I read a bit into it. I know it was something I asked for, but you just made me-.”

“-Zoro, relax,” you commanded him, his breath halting in his throat at your words. Your warm smile welcomed him alongside your half-lidded eyes, right hand reaching to thumb his cheek as your forefingers toyed with the shell of his ear. You smallest finger toyed briefly with his golden piercing before ushering him once more to return his lips against your own.

As your lips met for a second time in a more comfortable position, you sighed in contentment as he relaxed into your embrace. His palms fell to your hips as you cradled his cheek within your right hand, your tongue darting out to deepen the open kiss further. He lunged his chest further forward into you from his hunched position beside you, before effortlessly lifting your body from its seated position to sit atop his lap reclined in the bench he was laying atop moments prior. A small squeak of surprise fled from your lips as your thighs and knees straddled his thighs, your hips being held firmly in place beneath the firm grip of the swordsman.

His lazy kisses against your lips began to fall to the outer corner of your lips and trail down to your jaw; only to completely halt as you pushed on his pectorals firmly to break from his flurry of kisses. His eyes widened in concern before widening further in surprise as you trailed a relentless attack of small kisses against his throat and neck. His Adams-apple bobbed in response, his jaw falling slack as your hands travelled slowly from his chest upwards to cradle the scruff of his neck; drawing his head to lull back to reveal more of his neck to you. Your teeth began to playfully bite and nip at his exposed neck, soothed by your tongue and lips swirling against the infliction.

Zoro growled at your rough kiss, nudging you with his chin to draw your eyes again to meet; his forehead pressing against your own. Your eyes met with his lips as he drew it into a soft and bashful smile. Your eyes fluttered at the expression, heart soaring in adoration at the revelation of his softer side breaking through his coarse exterior. He was sunshine at last; his commanding aura faltering to warmly welcome you within its realm. Heart racing, eyes darting and breath hitching; you made to bring your lips against his once more, halting only in apprehension to your next thought.

“Zoro?” you asked him, your breathy vocals blowing against his lips in desire.

“Yeah?” he replied with his own question, his breath matching your own in the dance between your bodies.

Your mind searched for the most appropriate way to phrase your next sentence, remaining with your forehead pressed against the swordsman’s. Your mind raced with all of the different ways of phrasing your intentions, attempting to find a small bridge between confessing your undying love for him and attempting to remain aloof in expression.

Sensing your unease, Zoro broke his forehead away in its proximity, his left hand rising from your right hip to thumb your chin with his index finger cradling your jaw. He sighed roughly, his eyes falling serious with his lips parted.

“I like you, okay,” he admitted in a small frowned growl. Your eyes widened as he stole the words you were searching for before you could ready yourself to articulate it.

“W-What do you-,” you began, your words halted by a chaste kiss pressed firmly against your lips before retracting as hastily as it was presented.

“-Shh, no talking,” he ordered you, eyes darting to focus on the both of yours, “let me finish.”

You immediately felt your posture again change at his commanding presence. Although you were situated in a dominant position atop him straddling his lap, Zoro remained as forever the first mate; completely in control.

“I like you,” he admitted again with a nod, retracting his thumb and fingers from your face, “I have for a while now.”

Nodding along silently to indicate understanding, your brows extended upwards in the centre of your forehead in sorrowful question.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he frowned at you, looking away from your face.

“Like what?” you asked him in a small whisper, your face angling to the side to retrieve his gaze to no avail.

“Like I’m some wounded dog,” he growled, his teeth baring in a small snarl, “if you don’t like me back, that’s fine. I don’t care-.”

“-Zoro, shut up,” you ordered him, prompting him to turn back to face you, his body rising upwards with his torso brought flush against your own as his face fell closer in proximity.

You giggled at his intensity, prompting confusion to rise against his brows.

“I’m literally sitting on your lap,” you informed him, looking down to your position against his body. He trailed his eyes down, focussing on where your pelvises met atop one another’s before drawing his eyes back up to your own.

“Yeah, so?” he shrugged, “I was the one that put you there. If you don’t like me back, it’s fine-.”

“-Zoro, shut up,” you ordered him again, pressing a small kiss on his left cheekbone before falling your forehead back to meet with his own. Your eyes fell shut as you both breathed in each other’s air, bodies relaxing as your hearts began to fall within a similar beat and rhythm.

You drew your right hand to sit on his chest, grasping his right hand within your left hand and drawing it up to fall against your own chest. Both of your cheeks began to flush, the new giddy feeling of mutual adoration rising within you both as your hearts thumped loudly against one another’s open palms.

“Feel that?” you asked him with a whisper. He nodded in response with a small hum, his eyes shutting with his brows furrowing in the centre of his face.

“It wouldn’t beat that fast if I didn’t return your affections,” you confessed, prompting the swordsman’s eyes to reopen to meet with your own, “nor would I still be sat on your lap if I didn’t love you.”

His breath hitched in his throat; the lilt of your spoken ‘love’ circling in his brain as he began to overthink and fixate on the word. His face began to harden in thought, a whirlpool of questions, statements and hyper-fixation beginning its dancing cyclone behind his frown.

“There you go again overthinking,” you pointed out, your index finger reaching down to playfully flick his chin, “now I’m going to have to start all over again.”

[gardenofnoah]

all the times i told you

this will be the last update for this series for a while. i have like. one more lose end to tie up and i want to make sure i take the time to do it justice. i also want to focus on some other wips so until then here's some pwp. <3

wc: 3.4k. tags: feelings, fluff (so much fluff), pwp, smut, oral (reader receiving), terms for anatomy are used, afab reader but no pronouns used, bkg is a big sap

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the bed is still warm, but you notice his absence immediately.

you blink, easing your eyes open despite the sting of sleep, and it’s dark in your bedroom still—the sun hasn't reached the horizon yet. your heart drops a little—you wonder if a nightmare has woken katsuki.

stretching a bit, you roll over until your feet hit the floor, grabbing for one of his discarded shirts and pulling it over your head. shutting the door behind you quietly, you pad down the hall to where you think you’ll find him.

when you turn the corner, he’s there—the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head, leaning against the countertop of your kitchen. he's nursing what you hope is some kind of herbal tea. you lean against the doorframe and he turns to you, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners at your presence. he seems okay—lacking the scowl that usually accompanies the dreams that wake him from sleep.

“hi,” it’s whispered, a little unwilling to shatter whatever serene silence he has going on right now. he grunts his own greeting, reaching an arm out for you. you curl underneath it like you were born to do it—tucked into his body like the last piece of a puzzle. you feel him everywhere, his body moving to encircle your own. it’s a dance you do every time—there’s comfort in knowing he’ll always hold this space for you. he sets the mug down behind him so he can hug you properly.

“why’re you up?” his voice is muffled in the crown of your head, and the brush of his lips makes your eyes close. you lean into him, resting your temple over the beat of his heart. sometimes it’s strange to hear it—strange to hold the knowledge that katsuki, who is always so much more, relies on something as silly as an electrical impulse to keep him upright. you try not to think about the thing that almost took this moment from you. your hands slip under his sweatshirt, and he rewards you with a contented little exhale when you press into the muscle of his lower back with the pads of your fingers.

“i didn’t know where you went,” you tell him softly, and there’s no underlying accusation—it’s never a you left me underneath, because you know he will not. there is certainty in that—that he has gone far and has fought every time, even when he was his own adversary, to make it back to you. you shift to rest your chin on his sternum, blinking up at him. somewhere in the silence, it’s only an i will find you, wherever you are that’s echoed between you.

even in the dark, vermillion eyes meet yours and hold you there. a sliver of moonlight stretches across the scar tissue that creeps over the bridge of his nose. his gaze gets a little hooded when you rock up on your toes to press your lips to the scar on his jaw.

you return to your spot above his heart and close your eyes, content to let the fuzzy weight of silence blanket you. katsuki reaches up to cover the back of your neck with a warm palm, fingertips pressing softly to the sides, searching for any tension like it’s unconscious movement. you let out a soft sigh of your own and press into him again, half hoping the whole of him will open up and let you inside. it’s never close enough.

when you look up at him again, his gaze is somewhere out the window—the soft moonlight illuminates something like a held tongue twisted onto his expression. you pinch his side lightly, calling him back to you.

“what is it?” you murmur softly, ever perceptive despite all the times he wished you weren’t. but if he minds now, his face doesn’t show it.

no, when he gives you his eyes again, he gives you everything—more open than you’ve ever seen him, it shakes something foundational in you. you hold him tighter, mostly to keep yourself upright. you feel a hand curl around your jaw, keeping you there—he’s a tide that drags you out where you can’t touch, and you don’t fight him at all.

“want to keep you,” he rasps, and it’s silly—the smile spreads slow on your face and something similar—fond—takes over his own.

“have you not done that?” your voice is a little breathy from the way his thumb traces the curve of your jaw. he shakes his head minutely. you watch the crease form between his eyebrows as he mulls over his next words, and you fight the urge to smooth over it with your touch.

after another moment of silence, he decides to take the leap: “what do you think about gettin’ married?”

you balk, but catch yourself before you make a face. "is that why you were awake?"

he scoffs, like it's ridiculous of you to even suggest that, but his lack of response is more telling. and you try, really try, to keep a neutral expression, but the grin that splits your face betrays you. “are you proposing to me?”

Clicking his tongue behind his teeth, he bends a little to tap his forehead to the crown of yours. “i wouldn’t do it like this, you fuckin’ bozo. just…wanted to talk about it.”

he pauses, pressing a kiss to your hair. he’s much quieter, then, “wanted to make sure you wanted it, too.”

something inside of you aches at that—at the way he’s still a little unsure of himself. you know that he knows you love him, but sometimes it’s not enough to win out against the weight of all of the people that turned away from the child vying for affection—for care— even all of these years later.

“i think i’d like it better like this,” you tell him honestly, eyes crinkling when he leans back to meet yours again.

“at 3 am in our kitchen?”

"is that what time it is? jeez," you mutter, nuzzling into the hand that still holds you, “but yeah, i think it'd be nice.”

you watch a host of emotions twist his expression before he settles on what appears to be something just short of lovesick—or as close to it as his stoic face allows. you don't say it out loud, but he hears it anyway. you feel him shift—the hand that cradles your jaw moves to the back of your head, pulling you to him until you are just shy of his lips, hovering over yours.

“marry me.”

your lips curl at the corners again, and you fight the urge to scoff at him. really, he didn’t ever need to say the words—you’d have done it if he dropped the paperwork in front of you and told you to sign.

“okay,” you whisper, letting your eyes flutter closed as you feel his mouth on yours before you’ve gotten the full word out.

it’s soft, unhurried—his lips are full and warm against your own. you feel your own need sizzle beneath your skin, but you’re content to kiss him slow—to let it spark until you’re fevered with it. you’d stay here forever if it meant you could feel him like this, gentle and wide open and anchored to you.

he pulls back but doesn’t go far, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your brow bone, your eyelids—it makes you giggle, and the sound snaps the last thread of uncertainty in him—he slumps into you a bit with a shaky exhale but you hold him there, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

“katsuki,” you murmur, pressing your lips to the curve of his throat, “take me to bed.”

there’s something important about the way he looks at you then, like he’s trying to commit the moment to memory. you smile softly, shaking your head—there will be many moments like this one. time will move forward and the weight of it will ease off of you. nothing has changed, not in any way that matters—you’re still linked together in the same fundamental way as you were before, and there’s no legal document that can hold a candle to that. by the way that he softens, you know he feels it too.

you let him walk you back to your bedroom, soft laughter in every press of his lips to yours. in the absence of giddiness, there’s only a promise between you—one that he swears to you by the swipe of his tongue over your bottom lip as the backs of your knees tap the bed. you answer it in kind with the scrape of your teeth against his own.

he pulls back while you climb onto the bed—you tuck your legs underneath you and reach for him. he crawls to you slowly—there’s no hurry. for the first time, neither one of you feel any sense of urgency—there’s no sign of the threat of tragedy that so frequently looms over your bodies when you find comfort in each other. when you reach for the hem of his sweatshirt, he lets you pull it off of him. when your fingertips brush against the scar tissue marbled across his chest he shudders, eyes never leaving yours. resting your palm over the raised skin that stretches over his heart, it kicks back at you and you’re so, so grateful.

“i love you,” you tell him, and it’s loaded, dumped over his head like warm water—his hand covers yours and he pulls you to him with the other.

“i love you,” whispered against your mouth, and you taste it—honeyed and full of all of the years of hope, grief, and everything that came in between.

he pulls you onto his lap, lips still pressed to yours. you feel a warm hand slip under your shirt and you let him pull it off of you with the other—you don't have time to feel the cold air of the room on your bare skin because his hands have replaced the fabric. chest to chest, you loop your arms around his shoulders and pull him a little closer.

“soft,” he murmurs, absentminded and gentle as his lips trail barely there kisses down to your jawbone. you tip your head back in a sigh, tangling your fingers in the short hairs at the base of his skull. he rewards you with a shuddering breath against your skin, the arms around you tightening until there’s no room for a breath between your bodies. even then, his mouth is lazy as it trails down your throat. there are no bruises sucked harshly into your skin—only a soft tongue as it brushes over your windpipe.

you untangle from him to lay down—he follows you dutifully, slotting himself beside you. he props himself up on an elbow as he rakes his eyes over you—his usual hunger replaced by something like weighted adoration. you scoot toward him until your chest presses to his, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

it’s only a gentle brush of lips before he lets you go, content to drag the pads of his fingertips up your side, ghosting along your rib cage and reveling in the way you shiver. he touches everywhere with no destination in mind. his eyes linger when he reaches the curve of your hip—he presses down, anticipating the soft give of your body but still letting out a soft sound like it’s pleasurable to him, too. you shift to throw a leg over his hip, and he moves a thigh between yours—you settle together like gears as they turn.

you’re bare and all heat against his thigh, and it pulls a sigh from you both. he continues his exploration of your body otherwise—his palm trails flat over your rib cage again, this time skimming up to cup your breast. your eyes close at the warmth and you reach for him, fingers trailing over his shoulder and down what you can reach of his back.

it’s a new exploration of familiar terrain, for both of you—content in the brush of fingertips and mouths over sensitive skin, each little sigh and breathy groan feeling syrupy and sweet against your ears. you feel the light scrape of teeth over the junction of your shoulder and your neck, and your hips kick on their own, dragging you over his thigh. you feel him flex underneath you and roll your hips again—a slow grind, heated and slick over him. you reach between you to palm at him through his briefs.

he lets out a slow breath through his nose, eyes fluttering closed as your fingers curl around him. half hard, he rolls his hips minutely to meet your touch until he’s twitching in your hand. you reach up and under the fabric, brushing your knuckles over the head of his cock.

you sigh out his name, still pressing your dripping sex to his thigh. he stops you only to grab you by the hip and promptly rolls to his back, taking you with him. he keeps you on his chest for a moment, pressing another few kisses to your lips before he realizes he can’t touch you like he wants to like this. caught up in the way his lips form themselves around yours, he pulls a startled laugh from you he dumps you off of him, sitting up to arrange you where he wants you.

“katsuki,” you gasp through a giggle, “what are you—“

and suddenly you’re facing the opposite way, sprawled over his chest again and spread open for him. you feel his breath over your folds and you let out a little moan, pressing your face into his stomach and nuzzling into the wiry hairs of his happy trail.

“this okay?” you hear him ask, his fingertips tracing up the backs of your thighs. it makes you laugh again—it’s silly, the whole thing.

“yeah.”

his palms smooth over the backs of your calves, up to your thighs—and they’re warmer than before.

“are you using your quirk?”

“yeah,” he says, and you hear the soft smile in it, “feel good?”

you sigh your assent, snuggling further into his belly. “s’nice.”

his palms smooth over every inch of your legs, and he lingers at the junction of your thighs to your ass, fingers pressing in a gentle massage. you squirm a bit, arching your back until your clit catches on his chest. you roll your hips to chase the feeling, and his groan vibrates beneath you.

“so fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathes, "can't believe you're mine."

you feel him reach under your hips, ignoring the little squeak you let out as he drags you further up his chest until you’re hovering above his mouth.

he presses his face to the inside of your thigh and breathes you in, and you settle onto his chest, eyes closing at the feeling. you reach forward, not needing to see to know exactly where he is, wrapping your fingers loosely around the girth of him through this briefs. he shudders underneath you, hips rolling minutely to meet your hand. you feel him kiss up your thigh, and you suck in a breath when he swipes his tongue in a long stripe through your folds.

it’s a slow thing—neither one of you are really trying to make the other cum. open mouthed kisses follow the trail of his tongue until it pokes out again against your clit. you let out a weak moan, feeling your walls flutter as he drags his tongue over the little nub. your fingers find the heated flesh of his cock underneath of his briefs and it kicks in your grip—you hear him groan as he tips his head back, his fingers replacing his tongue against your clit.

“i love you,” he groans, lazily thrusting up into your hand. you pull down his briefs as far as you can, giving him more room to fuck up into your hand. you watch through hooded lids, a little fascinated by how smooth he is between your fingers.

“so good t’me,” he murmurs, taking your clit between his thumb and forefinger and stroking the tiny length of it, “feel so fuckin’ good.”

if you could see him right now, you’d see the fascination mirrored on his face—you’re so swollen, and he’s captivated by the wet heat—he presses the pads of his finger to your clit, reveling in the way you keen as it rolls beneath his touch.

he alternates between stroking and gentle circles—it occurs to you that he’s only toying with you, and you’re content to let him. your fingers drift down the underside of his shaft, cupping his balls loosely in your palm. it pulls a rare whimper from him, and you squeeze gently to hear it again.

“d’you want to cum?” and it comes without its usual taunting tone—he’s genuinely asking.

“yes,” you rasp, pressing your face into his stomach again, “on your tongue.”

he groans at that, and its only a second before he’s on you again. he mouths over your clit a few times before he opens it, sealing his lips around it and sucking you in.

“katsuki,” you breathe, pushing your hips back, chasing the feeling, “just—oh—just like that.”

it’s a gentle pulse—where he’s usually feverish, forcing your pleasure from you, he now coaxes it out sweetly, and something about it is so overwhelming you think you might cry. all it takes is two little flicks of his tongue, and you are undone.

it’s not earth shattering, but you feel it everywhere—you press your face into him and whine as it washes over you in a wave of lapping static. “love you,” you gasp, shuddering on top of him, “love you, katsuki, i—“

his own moan around your sex cuts you off, and tethers you to him—it could be minutes or hours before you finally ride out the rest of your high. he leaves gentle kisses where you’re now aching, tongue gently swiping away the mess you’ve made. it feels good, warm and featherlight, and you let out a relieved, sleepy sigh as he smooths heated palms up the backs of your thighs again.

“c’mere,” he whispers after a moment, voice hoarse with something that sounds a little like emotion and not exertion.

“don’t you want to cum?” you ask through a yawn, which makes him chuckle.

“don’t make me beg to hold ya, asshole.”

that makes you smile, and you let him arrange you again until you’re on your back next to him. you sit up slowly, stretching both arms above your head. you sigh when you feel a palm smooth over the stretch of your ribs.

“pretty baby,” he murmurs, distracted by you, not quite meeting your eyes.

“you old sap,” you whisper back, reaching to poke his cheek. his face twists into a playful scowl, and it’s the only warning you have before he yanks you down with him, covering your face in wet kisses as you squeal.

“sick!” you screech, shoving at him without any sort of real fight behind it, “let me go!”

“not on your life,” katsuki laughs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “love you.”

it softens you immediately, and all of your earlier emotion simmers beneath the surface when you repeat it back to him. he looks at you with a love you can taste and for a moment you lose track of everything—your only focus on him and his warmth around you.

it is unfortunate then that he also sees you at peace and you watch a shit eating grin spread across his face for only a second—

“no, whatever it is, no—“

but he’s faster than you, and you screech again when you feel his fucking tongue in your ear—

“what is wrong with you—“

and then he’s laughing, clearly pleased with himself and you think that you could deal with his antics if it meant you could listen to the sound of it for the rest of your days. you think you’d let him keep you up at ungodly hours if they ended like this—tangled in his warmth and more in love than you thought you could be. watching him, with the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, you’ve never been more certain.

“i’m excited to marry you,” you tell him, and it flusters him a bit. you grin, and he shoves your face away so you don’t see the way his ears turn red at the tips. you do anyway.

“i’d fuckin’ hope so.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

read part 3 here

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

[peppered-moths]

strangler fig

grian vers. / scar vers.

cw: mildly dubious consent

That’s how little that reputation board meant.  Grian’s fingers curl around the flint and steel.  He lights sparks absently, watching as they char small holes into the already flimsy bridge he’s sitting on.  The moon rises, slow and languorous, washing the server in shades of pale gray.  He kicks his feet over the edge. 

It’s what he’s been wanting to say to Scar since… since.  Well, he’s said it now, and that’s all that really matters.  Grian shakes his head, clearing the thought from his mind.  Sparks jump as he drags the flint and steel together.  One lands on his hand, burning into his skin.  Grian winces, half-hearted.

“Careful,” a voice chides.  Danger flashes in his mind faster than he can think, and he’s already on his feet, whirling to point his sword towards the intruder.  

Scar grins back at him from the shadows, green eyes flashing.  “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”  He raises a hand, dotted with pale scars across the knuckles, as an example.

It takes a moment for Grian’s brain to catch up with everything.  He doesn’t lower his sword, even though his wrist aches and he knows the point is trembling.

“Like you’d care about me getting hurt,” he grits.  “Go away, Scar.  It’s the middle of the night.”  He can’t deal with this right now.

“What, I can’t make a friendly visit to my neighbors?”  Scar’s using that smooth, salesman’s voice, the one that always makes Grian wrinkle his nose.  He steps down from where he’s been sitting on the railing, not unlike a cat, and smiles even wider like he thinks Grian will fall for it.

“You have to schedule an appointment,” he tells Scar flatly, waving his hand in the direction of the top of the mountain.  “We’re not available.  Go home.”

“Aw, can’t you make an exception?”

“No,” Grian snaps, this time gesturing with the point of the sword.  Scar pouts, but moves closer anyways.

“Hey,” he says, “I mean it.  Leave.”  This should be the part where Scar goes.  Sometimes with head hanging, sometimes with tight, angry shoulders, sometimes with someone else, but he always listens.  Grian can count on him for that much.

Scar does not listen.  He tries to skirt the edge of Grian’s blade, but he turns the point back on him.  He’s seething now, and has half a mind to plunge the sword into Scar’s heart, green name be damned.

Still, he gets closer, until Grian’s sword is hovering above the fragile skin of his throat.  It’s too much, and he shuffles a half-step back, only for Scar to keep following, to deliberately press the underside of his chin into the sharp point.  A thin rivulet of blood, dark in the night, spills down Scar’s collarbone, soaks into the edges of his vest.  It makes Grian feel a little dizzy.

“What’s your game?” he hisses, like he’s the one in control of where the sword ends up.  “Or do you just have a death wish?”

Grian can deal with Scar on the other side of a blade.  He can hurt him on the other side of a blade.  Any closer, and he starts remembering bruised knuckles and blood at the corners of his mouth.  Any closer, and Grian starts wanting to touch him.  So he holds Scar at swordpoint.  Whatever mind game Scar thinks he’s playing, he won’t back down for a little blood.

He just smiles again, the scars on his face rippling silver, and Grian wants to scream.  He’s not sure why he doesn’t really; Mumbo and Skizz would be awake in seconds, and Grian wouldn’t have to deal with the danger that is Scar in the moonlight.

“What if,” Scar says slowly, “I said I was apologizing?”

“Then you can do it in the morning.  But you’re not here to apologize.”  That much is obvious by the way Scar continues to grin, like it’s all some massive joke.

It does stop him continuing to inch towards Grian, though, and he looks like he’s contemplating for a moment.

“You’re right.”

“Hn?”  He’s distracted by another bead of blood tracing the hollow of Scar’s throat.  Remembering what it’s like to wrap his fingers around it.

“I’m not here to apologize,” Scar tells him cheerily, and there’s something in his eyes that stops Grian short, struggling for something to say.  He places two gentle fingers on top of Grian’s sword, pushing it down, away from his neck.  Grian’s hands are shaking.  He offers no resistance.  Scar presses forwards.

“Stop,” Grian says.  He doesn’t beg.  He doesn’t.  “Stop.”

“But you don’t really want me to, do you.”  Scar takes another step closer, something intent in his eyes.  Grian moves backwards in tandem, until there’s nowhere else to go, just the two of them on an unsteady bridge, his heart pounding in his throat.

“I don’t think you really even care that I killed you,” he continues, and Grian presses his hands against the wooden railing, desperate for something to ground him.  He doesn’t know when he dropped his sword, only that it’s shimmering on the ground far away from him and far too close to Scar.

“I hate you,” he says.  “I hate you.”  It’s something not unlike a prayer, something that he wants to be true so very badly.

With a careless movement, Scar kicks the sword off the bridge.  He stares in dismay as he watches it hit the ground far below, then realizes too late he’s taken his eyes off Scar.

“I think I know exactly what you want.”  And then he’s too close, armorless and throat bared, blood still running, and Grian wants to kill him.  He wants to run away.  He’s pinned down by green eyes, too knowing.

“Don’t,” and it’s barely a shaky breath.  He can’t muster up the force to say anything else, to want anything else.  Scar leans close, intent as ever.  

Scar’s lips are still soft.  It feels awful.  Grian hates it, even as he returns the kiss, heartbeat staccato.  The wooden edge of the railing digs into the small of his back.  He’s never felt so trapped.  He presses his thumbs into the divot of Scar’s collarbone, settles his fingers around his neck, tries to feel in control.  It’s even worse that Scar lets him, humming against his mouth.  Grian doesn’t know why he’s doing this.  He doesn’t know why he’s letting Scar do this.

Scar tilts his head against Grian’s hands, brings his own down to settle on his waist.  It’s this touch, somehow, that jolts Grian out of whatever fugue he’s in.  He presses harder into Scar’s throat, forces him away from his lips.

“What the hell do you want, Scar,” he says, voice rough from kissing.  His mind still swims a little bit, but he’s aware enough to recognize the fact that Scar is trying to seduce him and desperate enough to want to fall for it.  He wonders, vaguely, if this is Scar’s way of convincing him not to hunt him down the moment he goes red.

Scar just swoops in again, even though Grian bites sharply at his bottom lip.  He doesn’t want this–not right now, not like this, not here, whatever it takes to make him go away and let Grian lick his wounds.  Scar’s fingers curl, near-possessive, into his waist.

When they finally come back up for air, Grian takes his chance and shoves Scar away from him, immediately moving a few steps away.  Scar’s hand goes to his throat, smeared with blood and already darkening fingerprint-shaped bruises.  Grian steadfastly ignores the way that makes him feel, the twist in his stomach and the nonexistent matching bruises on his knuckles.

“Go,” he says, trying to minimize the shaking of his voice.  “I don’t care what you want.  Just leave me alone.”  Scar opens his mouth.  Stops.  His lips are reddened, probably from when Grian bit him.  He doesn’t look like Grian thought he would, like the cat who got the cream.  He just looks a little lost, as if he’d expected something more.  Too bad for him.  Grian can admit to Scar being a damn good kisser, but he still remembers hitting the ground, the pain that still lingered in his jaw as it fractured.

“I– Grian–”

“I really don’t know what you’re not getting,” he spits.  Scar stares for one more second, eyes brilliant in silver etching.  And then he turns away.  Grian does his best not to watch him go.  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and tastes a hint of coppery blood.  It makes him grit his teeth.

He can’t help remembering the way his hands fit around Scar’s throat as he starts the trek down to recover his sword.  Next time–there wouldn’t be a next time.  Grian had hated it, every moment of it and the way it made him feel.  The copper in the back of his mouth stings.

He’d show him.  He’d show him what it’s like to fill his mouth with blood, to get stabbed in the back.  What it was like to feel helpless. Next time, he thinks, staring at where Scar’s back had vanished.  Next time.

[daamri]

If you can’t see it, feel it. (JOHNSHI DRABBLE WAHGEGSGGEHD)

A/N: I love these two so much.. been brain rotting about them and my friend recommended I post this.. this is my first time posting on tumblr please be nice womp womp

(๑>◡•๑)(๑>◡•๑)(๑>◡<๑)(๑•◡<๑)(๑•◡<๑)

“I wish I could see your face.” Kenshi blurts out, arms crossed and face flushed.

“Oh, you are drunk.” Johnny huffs out with amusement, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. 

Kenshi pouts, “No – I mean it. It’s been.. I haven’t seen your face in ages, and I won’t ever be able to..!” He then shifts to further sink himself into the corner of the couch. His hands reach up to grab the blindfold, ripping it off in frustration as if it was an attempt to get his point across.

“I mean.. You are missing out on a pretty handsome face,” the other man laughs, placing an assuring hand on Kenshi’s shoulder as he looks into.. his eyeless eyes. Slowly, Johnny drags his hand down Kenshi’s bicep until his elbow, then up his forearm until it wraps around his wrist. 

“If you can’t see it…” Johnny starts, pulling Kenshi’s wrist until calloused fingers meet a chin with slight stubble, “then why not feel it?”

Kenshi swears he can feel his heart swell up and explode.

His curious fingers brush against a sharp jaw, his rough thumb coming up to feel the depression of a cupid's bow before brushing against a small slit on the upper lip.

“What is this..?” Kenshi queries with a puzzled look, thumb continuing to brush against the scarred tissue.

“Mm.. ‘S nothing, a little scratch from an old fight.” Johnny shrugs, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. He wonders silently if Kenshi can feel the gradually increasing warmth in his cheeks.

Johnny watches as Kenshi’s palm comes up to gently cup his cheek, the pad of his thumb stretching to drag down his nose bridge, feeling the arch of it. With hesitation, Kenshi experimentally brings up his other hand to the back of Johnny’s neck, combing up into soft brown locks. The hand that previously cupped his face trails down to his throat, nails grazing lightly against his adam's apple. 

“You’re.. going a bit further than my face, eh?” Johnny awkwardly laughs out, shifting slightly from the swordsman’s touch.

“Am I? Well, I couldn’t see that.” Kenshi bites back, lips twitching into a slight grin. His lips then press together into a thin line, retracting his hand before adding, “I mean, I’ll stop if you want—“

“No, no. It’s…” Johnny tightly clasps his hand around Kenshi’s wrist, pulling it back to its original position situated just below his jaw. “It feels nice.”

(๑>◡•๑)(๑>◡•๑)(๑>◡<๑)(๑•◡<๑)(๑•◡<๑)

AND THATS ALL. I mostly wrote this while being bored in Physics 😴

[tsel-bas]

UNDERNEATH THE DEEP SEA (A SUBSYSTEM!)

⚠️WARNING⚠️ HEADMATES MAY NOT TURN OUT EXACTLY AS DESCRIBED. ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING CAN BE CHANGED TO FIT YOUR SYSTEM.

MOST SUBNAUTICA CENTERED TERMS BY US.

CW: SOME FACECLAIMS HAVE MULTIPLE SETS OF EYES. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO SUCH THINGS, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

⋆SYSTEM/GROUP NAME: LEVIATHAN TRIO, LOST RIVER SOCIETY, DEADZONE COLLECTIVE, OCEAN'S PREDATORS, ABYSS LURKERS

⋆NAMES: HUNTER, ZYLO, ANZOR, BOREAS, KYRA, ECLIPSE

⋆PRONOUNS: HE|HIM, HY|HYM, HX|HXM, SHE|HER, SHY|HYR, SHX|HXR, SIE|SIER, THEY|THEM, THXY|THXM, THEI|THEIM, IT|ITS, IX|IXS, EY|EM, AE|AER, XEY|XEM, XAE|XAEM, NE|NIM, VAE|VAEM, DAE|DAEM, 💧|💧S, 🌊|🌊S, 🔵|🔵S, 🔴|🔴S, 💢|💢S, 🟢|🟢S, ⚪|⚪S, 👻|👻S, 💀|💀S

⋆GENDER: TRIGENDER (MALE, FEMALE, SUBNAUTICAEAN ), SUBNAUTICAGAMEIC, LEVIATHANGENDER, SUBTERRORIC, DEEPIC, PHOSDYPHOTIAL, OCEANBODIMENT, MARISTROCEN, SUBTHALASSOGENDER, FEARCEALONAUTICA

⋆ORIENTATION: ABROSEXUAL, NAUTIALLION, SUBNAULLION, LEVIATHAN4LEVIATHAN, SUBAUTICAN ATTRACTION

⋆OTHER IDS: SUBNAUTICAIPSESE, NAUTICAEAN, DEEPSEAQUE, ALAB, 4546BHEARTHIC

⋆ORIGINS/MODIFIERS: SUBNAUTICADAWN, GAMTIEN, BLURIAN,

⋆SYSTEM IDS: SUBSYSTEM, SUBNAUTICAPLURID, APICONSCIOUS,

⋆AESTHETIC/THEME: SUBNUATICA SYSTEM THEME,

⋆TITLES (CAN ALSO BE USED AS SYSTEM NAMES): THE FRIGHTENING ONES, THEY WHO SEEK THEIR PREY, PREDATORS OF THE DEEP, DESTROYERS OF THE ABYSS, PROTECTORS OF THE WATERS, DANGEROUS ONES, RAVAGERS OF THE LIVING

⋆NAME: REAPER, RIOT, KARMA, ALARIC, VELKAN, MAGNUS

⋆PRONOUNS: HE|HIM, IT|ITS, IX|IXS, EY|EM, XAE|XAEM, RED|REDS, VI|VIOLENCE, ANGER|ANGERS, 💢|💢S

⋆GENDER: TRANSMASC BIGENDER (DEMIBOY, AGENDER), AQUASHIFTIEN, HYDROBODIMENT, GENDEROCEAN, TERROREGOCOMFORTIC, BEASTBOY, REAPERLEVIANAUTIC

⋆ORIENTATION: GAY

⋆TERMS: MASCULINE, NONHUMAN

⋆AGE: 257

⋆ROLE: AVENGER, COLTENOIR

⋆SOURCE: @/TSEL-BAS, SUBNAUTICA

⋆SPECIES: REAPER LEVIATHAN SHAPESHIFTER

⋆HUMANOID APPEARENCE: -LONG, DARK RED HAIR TIED BACK INTO A BRAIDED PONY TAIL. BANGS THAT PARTIALLY COVER THE EYES WITH SIDE STRANDS COVERING THE EARS. -FOUR FIREY RED EYES ARRANGED IN A SQUARE-LIKE PATTERN. ONE EYE FOR EACH "CORNER" OF THE SQUARE -SLIGHTLY PALE SKIN CLOSER TO TAN THAN COMPLETELY WHITE. -POINTY ELF-LIKE EARS, SHARP SHARK TEETH, AND TWO SCARS, ONE RUNNING THROUGH THE LEFT MOST EYES, (RIGHT SIDE OF THE VIEWER) AND THE OTHER ACROSS THE BRIDGE OF THE NOSE.

⋆LEVIATHAN APPEARENCE: -SLEEK, WHITE, ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY FOOT LONG BODY WITH EIGHT RED FINS AIDING IN SWIM SPEED, AND PROTECTIVE ARMOR. TWO PECTORAL FINS, A DORSAL AND VENTRAL FIN ALONG THE ENTIRE LENGTH OF THE BODY, AND FOUR FINS AT THE END OF THE TAIL. -THERE ARE SCARS ALL OVER THE BODY, SOME DEEPER THAN THE OTHERS. -FOUR LARGE EYES THAT DON'T ACTUALLY SEE VERY WELL, LEADING TO THE EXTENSIVE USE OF ECHOLOCATION AT NIGHT. - A LARGE, HARDENED FIN-LIKE STRUCTURE ALONG THE FORHEAD ALONG WITH WHAT LOOKS LIKE A LARGE CHIN JUTTING OUT BELOW THE MOUTH. -FOUR RAZOR SHARP PINCERS CONNECTED TO THE SIDES OF THE HEAD USED TO GRAB PREY WITH JUST AS SHARP TEETH.

⋆BIRTHDAY: DECEMBER 12TH

⋆PERSONALITY: -NEGATIVE: CARELESS, ARROGANT, BLUNT -POSITIVE: ADAPTABLE, EFFICIENT, AND PROTECTIVE.

⋆DESCRIPTION:

MEET RIOT, YOUR NEW BITCHY PROTECTOR WHO IS ALWAYS GOING AT THINGS HEAD ONE WITH LITTLE FORETHOUGHT. OFTEN SAYING WHAT'S ON HIS MIND WHICH MAY NOT BE SO POSTITIVE UNLESS IT'S TALKING ABOUT IXSELF.

EASILY ABLE TO ADAPT TO NEW AND POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS SITUATIONS, GETTING THINGS DONE QUICKLY. ESPECIALLY IF SOMEONE HURTS REDS HEADMATES.

EY ABSORB THE SYSTEMS ANGER TO DEAL WITH IT XAEMSELVES, OFTEN SEEKING OUT THE PERPATRATOR OF THE HARM TO THE SYSTEM IS APPLICABLE. OTHERWISE, VI STAYS BY ANGERSELF TO DEAL WITH THE RAGE IN A HEALTHY MANNER, OFTEN TAKING UP KNITTING OR CHROCHETING PROJECTS TO PASS THE TIME AND RELIEVE STRESS.

⋆FACECLAIMS:

⋆NAME: GHOST, REVENANT, PHANTOM, GHOUL, NYX, NIGHT

⋆PRONOUNS: AE|AER, VAE|VAEM, DAE|DAEM, HAUNT|HAUNTS, VOI|VOIDS, AB|ABYSS, ⚪|⚪S, 👻|👻S, 💀|💀S

⋆GENDER: LIBRAFEMININE, GHOSTLEVIANAUTIC, HORRORCOSMIUM. FERALBODIMENT, SEABOMINATION, GHOSTTHING, VOIDTHING

⋆ORIENTATION: BI-LESBIAN

⋆TERMS: FEMININE, NONHUMAN, OR NAME ONLY.

⋆AGE: 1325

⋆ROLE: SILENT WATCHER, SPACE SOOTHER

⋆SOURCE: @/TSEL-BAS, SUBNAUTICA

⋆SPECIES: GHOST LEVIATHAN SHAPESHIFTER

⋆HUMANOID APPEARENCE: -WAVY, THICK, LIGHT BLUE HAIR TIED UP INTO TWO BRAIDS, STARTING OUT THICKER CLOSER TO THE SCALP BEFORE THINNING CLOSER TO THE ENDS. -SIX, NON-UNIFORM EYES SCATTERED AROUND THE FACE. THE IRIS OF EACH EYE IS YELLOW AND LARGE ENOUGH TO ALMOST COVER THE SCLERA. THERE ARE NO PUPILS IN THE EYES. -PALE WHITE SKIN CLOSER TO BEING ACTUALLY WHITE THAN ANYTHING. ABSOLUTELY ZERO MELANIN. -FIN LIKE EARS SIMILAR TO A COMMON MERMAID OR SIREN WITH SMALL AND THICK HORNS MATCHING THE SKIN COLOR. THE HANDS ARE MORE LIKE CLAWS DUE TO THE SHARPNESS OF THE NAILS AND THERE IS A SCAR ON THE LEFT SIDE (VIEWRS RIGHT) OF THE FACE PASSING THROUGH TWO OF THE EYES AND TOUCHING A THIRD.

⋆LEVIATHAN APPEARENCE -THREE HUNDRED FIFTY-ONE FEET OF HOSTILE TRANSLUSCENT FLESH AND MUSCLE. GLOWING INNARDS AND APPENDAGES ON THE SIDE OF THE HEAD SOMEWHAT RESEMBLING THE HORNS OF LONGHORN CATTLE. -SCARS ARE LITERED ALL OVER THE LENGTH OF THE BODY FROM FIGHTING OTHER GHOSTS OVER FOOD AND TERRITORY. -TEN GLOWING YELLOW EYES AND A BEAK-LIKE MOUTH FOR LURING IN AND TEARING INTO PREY. -EXTREMELY FAST DUE TO THE STREAMLINED BODY AND SHEER AMOUNT OF MUSCLE IN IT ALLOWING THE BODY TO PROPEL ITSELF FORWARD AT HIGH SPEEDS.

⋆BIRTHDAY: NOVEMBER 17TH

⋆PERSONALITY: -POSITIVE: BALANCED, CAPABLE, AND POWERFUL -NEGATIVE: FIERCE, HUMORLESS, AND REMORSLESS.

⋆DESCRIPTION:

REVENANT IS USUALLY CALM AND COLLECTED. PRECISE AND CAPABLE OF MANY THINGS, BALANCING TASKS WITH EASE. AE IS QUIET, BUT LEAKS OFF A SILENT POWERFUL AURA TO EVERYONE WHO INTENDS TO HARM THE BODY OR THE SYSTEM.

IF PROVOKED VOI MIGHT ATTACK, VERBALLY OR OTHERWISE TO GET REVENGE ON THOSE WHO HARMED VAEM, THE BODY, OR THE SYSTEM AS A WHOLE. DAE FEEL NO REMORSE FOR THE ONES HAUNT HURTS, AS THEY HURT THE ONES AB CARES FOR THE MOST.

⚪ SILENTLY WATCHES THOSE IN FRONT FROM A SPOT IN CO-CON UNDETECTED, WAITING FOR A MOMENT TO SWITCH OUT TO PROTECT THE SYSTEM. WHILE IN THE HEADSPACE HOWEVER, 👻 SOOTHES FELLOW HEADMATES WITH 💀S MERE PRESENCE, ALLOWING FOR ONES AFFECTED BY THE OUTSIDE TO CALM DOWN AND RECOLLECT THEMSELVES.

⋆FACECLAIMS:

⋆NAME: DRACONIA, JASPER, CORBYN, FANG, CHAOS, THORN

⋆PRONOUNS: SHX|HXR, HY|HYM, SIE|SIER, THEI|THEIM, IT|ITS, BLAZE|BLAZES, DESTRUCT|DESTRUCTION, PRO|PROTECT, NE|NIM, 🟢|🟢S,

⋆GENDER: TRANSFEM AGENDER / GENDERLESS, ELDRAGONIC, DRAGONLEVIANAUTIC, SEADRAGONLEVIATHANMONSTERENBYIC, FIREBODIMENT, COSMELDIANEU, AQUAVULCANICGENDER

⋆ORIENTATION: SAPPHIC

⋆TERMS: FEMININE, NEUTRAL, NONHUMAN

⋆AGE: 734

⋆ROLE: LIMIT BREAKER, ADVOCATE

⋆SOURCE: @/TSEL-BAS, SUBNAUTICA

⋆SPECIES: SEA DRAGON LEVIATHAN SHAPESHIFTER

⋆HUMANOID APPEARENCE: -THICK GREEN DREADS WITH A BIT OF A SIDE PART THAT GO DOWN TO THE SHOULDERS. -FOUR YELLOW EYES IN A SQUARE LIKE FORMATION. BIGGER EYES IN TOP CORNERS, SMALLER EYES IN BOTTOM CORNERS. -BROWN SKIN LIGHTER THAN MILK CHOCOLATE, BUT WAY DARKER THAN WHITE. (FINALLY SOMEONE WITH MELANIN! /VSILLY) -LONG, POINTY ELF-LIKE EARS AND RAZOR SHARP TEETH TO EASILY CHEW UP FOOD. NOSE HAS A DIP IN THE BRIDGE CLOSER TO THE TIP OF THE NOSE.

⋆LEVIATHAN APPEARENCE: -THREE HUNDRED SIXTY-SEVEN FEED OF GIANTNESS. FRILLS AND SPIKES ALL OVER THE BODY ALONG WITH GLOWNG SPOTS LINED UP ON THE UNDERSIDE OF THE BODY RESEMBLING THE HEAT OF A FIRE. -SCARS SOMEWHAT MINIMAL DUE TO THE ISOLATED STATUS OF THE CREATURE. OCCASIONALLY THERE WILL BE TERRITORIAL FIGHTS WITH OTHER SEA DRAGONS, BUT NOT OFTEN ENOUGH TO GAIN MANY INJURIES. -TWO SETS OF GLOWING YELLOW EYES WITH TWO APPENDAGES SIMILAR TO THE ANTENNAE OF A BUG WITH BIOLUMINESCENT ORBS AT THE TIPS. -EXTREMELY FAST SWIMMER DUE TO THE STRENGTH OF THE ARM-LIKE FIN APPENDAGES USED TO PROPEL THE DRAGON FORWARD LIKE A HUMAN SWIMMING.

⋆BIRTHDAY: MARCH 3RD

⋆PERSONALITY: -POSITIVE: CONFIDENT, DILIGENT, RESILIANT -NEGATIVE: SARCASTIC, SELF-CENTERED, STUBBORN

⋆DESCRIPTION:

JASPER IS CONFIDENT IN EVERYTHING THAT SHX DOES, OFTEN LEADING TO MAKING THINGS ABOUT HYMSELF. SIE FREQUENTLY REPLIES TO THINGS WITH HEAVY SARCASM WHEN BEINGS ASK OR SAY SOMETHING THEI THOUGHT WAS OBVIOUS.

HOWEVER, WHEN IT COMES TO STEPPING UP TO DO ITS ROLE, BLAZE DOES IT CAREFULLY AND CONCISELY NO MATTER THE CHALLENGE DESTRUCT IS FACED WITH. IF YOU TRY TO GET PRO TO STOP DOING SOMETHING THAT MIGHT BE HARMING NIM, 🟢 WILL PUSH IT OFF IN AN EFFORT TO COMPLETE THE TASK AT HAND.

SHX BREAKS THE LIMITS OF THE BODY WHEN SOMETHING NEEDS TO GET DONE AND CONSTANTLY ADVOCATES NOT ONLY FOR THE SYSTEM, BUT OTHERS WHO DO NOT HAVE THE VOICE TO STAND UP FOR THEMSELVES.

⋆FACECLAIMS:

[bettermiya]

Rituals

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

Continuation of Through the Wall.

WC: 631 words.

Triggers: Kidnapping, Bondage, Non-Con Touching, Stockholm Syndrome / Yandere adjacent. MDNI.

Summary: You're too tired to fight back. Horror!AU. The Boy!AU.

7:00 PM - DINNER

He unshackles your wrists from the headboard and props you up on pillows. Your dinner is always on an antique tea tray, usually arranged on mismatched, chipped china. The utensils and plates are always very clean. He likes to feed you himself, even though your hands are free. He will cut your meat into perfect little squares and spear them with the tines of the fork before bringing it to his painted lips and blowing despite keeping the mask on. You never see him with it off.  He offers you the bite of food, and you take it.

Like the mother of a small child, he watches you chew dutifully and waits until you swallow before he gets you another bite. He makes sure each bite has a bit of sauce or gravy, if there is any. If you ask very nicely, he will let you cut your own food and feed yourself, but he watches closely from where he sits on the edge of the bed, right beside you. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt and wrings his hands and picks at his nails. He doesn’t like being so still with you so close to him.

He has his own plate of food, but he does not touch it until you have finished eating. When it is his turn, he cuts his meat or spins his noodles, but he only mimes the gestures of eating. He brings each bite to his mask and stops it an inch away from the painted mouth, making quiet eating sounds into the mask. He pretends to swallow. After a few moments, he will rub his stomach and put your empty plate beneath his full one and carry them to the small table in the corner of the room farthest from you.

He comes back and repositions your pillows. He lays you back down and fits your wrists back into their soft, leather shackles. Grabbing the pile of blankets, he tucks you in and presses the smooth wood of the mask to your forehead in a kiss goodnight. On nights when he is in good spirits, he will read to you in a low, scratchy voice half muffled behind the mask. The books are mostly children’s books, but if you ask nicely, he will bring books from the house’s vast library. Sometimes he asks you to read those books to him.

On nights when he is in bad spirits, he often paces like an agitated, caged animal. Back and forth. Back and forth. Across the little room where you now live. Sometimes, he simply lays beside you and pets you. His big, strong hands stroke your cheek; his calloused thumb trails gently down the bridge of your nose until your eyelids get heavy and fluttery; he rubs circles across your stomach. When he thinks you’re sleeping, he will move away to the table in the corner where he put his dinner. If you pretend to sleep and watch through slitted eyes, you can watch him remove the mask.

It is hard to make out his features in the heavy shadows at the edges of the room. Sometimes in the flickering candle light, you can see glimpses of his strong jaw, strange raised scars across his cheeks and mouth and eyes.  If you are very quiet and still, you can watch him eat his meal. He eats slowly and deliberately.  When he is finished- or if he notices you are awake- he puts his mask back on and goes to your bed.

He climbs in beside you, drapes an arm over your middle and tucks your head under his chin. He stays there all night. Sometimes he hums. Sometimes he mumbles. Sometimes he quietly snores.

He does not leave until you are fully awake.

[gottagho-st]

kissy prompt 32 withhhh lus and phantom 👀🤗

EEE okay here goes <3 definitely got longer than i intended but i hope you like it 🥹 they’re v precious to meeeeee

also if there’s any mistakes - no there’s not (i didn’t proofread this so my bad)

32. a kiss to wake up

slight cw: scars/mention of scars, but other than that it’s pretty much just fluffy morning ghouls :))

under the cut cause of length 🫶✨🦇

The warm caress of the morning sun flooding into her room was a gentle nudge awake, enough to tug her just towards consciousness, but not pull her entirely from the comforting haze of sleep. With a sigh, Cumulus rolled to her other side, attempting to tug the blankets further over her chest - but being met with resistance upon doing so. Her sleep-soaked brain took a moment to register that such a task would normally be done with ease, and once she realised her relaxed face scrunched into a slight frown. She tugs again, a little harder this time, and is met with the resistance once again. This time, though, it is accompanied by a grumpy ‘mrrrp’ from the ghoul curled into a ball on top of the blankets.

His hair is mussed from sleep, and his body continues to rise and fall in the gentle pattern of his breathing, a soft puff of air escaping from slightly parted lips on every exhale. Cumulus’ frown is wiped from her face the moment her eyes land on the pulsing lights across his lavender cheeks, replaced by a fond smile at her little bug who must have joined her for comfort during the night. He has an open invitation into her room whenever he likes, and she has always indicated that she’s happy for him to wake her - but clearly last night all he wanted was to be close.

Cumulus reaches a hand of manicured claws down to gently rake his hair away from his face, the disturbance causing him to shift - arms reaching out to stretch slightly and give her better access for head scratching. she leans in closer to nuzzle against him, soaking up some of his warmth, and starts a gentle purr. This is a perfect way to start her morning, if you ask her.

Phantom’s eyes remain close, still blissfully clingy to the thread of sleepiness, but he responds to her purr with a crackly attempt at his own. At this, Cumulus’ smile widens and she bends toward him to press a feather of a kiss onto his forehead. a quite chirp is her only response, so she continues - another kiss pressed against the scar slashing through his right eyebrow, again to the bridge of his nose. Mismatched eyes crack open to gaze up at her, and she continues with her worshipping lips, pressing devoted kisses to every scar and pulsing strike of lightning that dances across his cheeks. Her lips brush against the tip of his nose, and he tilts his head up in an attempt to get a proper kiss from her, whining when she just giggles and kisses his chin, and then along his jaw. Phantom squirms with impatience, making quiet but desperate noises to which Cumulus finally relents, pressing her full lips lovingly to his own, and holding for a breath. The kiss is short, but filled with her adoration and affection for her little Bug, and his purr amps up in response. He steals another kiss before she pulls away gently, still caressing the hair at the base of his neck.

“Goodmorning my little Lovebug” she whispers, and he giggles at the way her breath tickles his cheeks.

“‘mornin’ Lussy,” he smiles brightly up at her.

Yeah, this is certainly one of her favourite ways to wake up.

[findmeinthelake]

Golden Mirror

Silco X Reader fic <3 (gender neutral)

Rating: G

TW: Injury/slight gore Contains mostly fluff/tension <3

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. 

It was supposed to be safe.

It was supposed to be secure.

But no.

Of course it went like this.

No one like you is allowed nice things.

Not for a minute.

You screamed, clawing at the mercenary that was sent to kill you.

It’s okay. This was expected. That’s what he said.

You knew the risks.

The cold blade slashed at your face, cutting deep and cutting fast. It burned, tingling as whatever substance was on the knife sunk into your skin. 

You thought you screamed before, but this was a new type of pain. A searing sensation that ran across your cheek, using your veins to spread the awful concoction across your body.

And the screams grew louder.

Were they yours? Or were they from the mercenary? 

A buzzing sound clouded your head, black filling your eyes as the blue dots danced around. 

Is dying supposed to hurt? Or is it oddly comforting like he says?

This was more confusing than comforting.

Everything begins to spin, around and around, jumbling your brain. The screams fade into shouts, and the searing pain is masked with a strange soreness.

Your hands hurt.

— — ( • ) — — 

“Wake up.”

You groggily opened your eyes, the green hue of the room too bright. It was weird. How did you get here?

He walks over. 

What’s his name?

Silco. How could you forget?

“You took a nasty beating.” He murmurs, waving the doctor, whom you barely remember, out of the room. “Hit your pretty little head.” He smirked.

You groaned, rubbing at your temple. 

“I thought I was-”

“Dead?” He hummed, looking over his shoulder at you. “Mm. Strange, isn’t it?” Silco paused, grabbing his syringe and injecting shimmer into his scarred pupil. “It feels out of body- like you are floating.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, your vision coming back to you.

Ah, yes. You were at work.

At home.

Silco walked over, tilting your chin up. “Singed isn’t the best doctor, but he is a genius.” He spoke, examining your face. He roughly handled it, his hands a comforting soft compared to your calloused face. 

“How bad is it?” You ask, wanting to see a mirror. Everything felt normal, so, it must’ve been numbed. 

He pulled the gold mirror from his desk. It was the one he stared at so many times while applying his makeup to conceal his horrible scarring. 

You looked. 

It was a gash from the side of your head to your nose, an ugly mark on your face. 

“I’m no stranger to facial scars.” He spoke, his demeanor growing softer than you’d ever seen it. Usually he was a stone cold man. “I’m biased, of course, but you don’t look bad.”

“You don’t look bad” Of course it was a half assed compliment.

With a nod, you accepted it. You knew the risks.

He traced his fingers along the mended wound. “I did the stitches.” He smiled, admiring his own work. “Singed handled the whole, well, chemistry.”

“Thank you.” You muttered, feeling the bumpy stitches. 

Why was he more talkative today?

He stared at you, a blank expression on his face. 

“Just remember to put ointment on it.” He muttered, walking away, pinching the bridge of his nose and scolding himself.

You slid off the couch, looking after him before he left the room.

Strange.

[lifesver]

@t4mpered said: post-house, things we talked about. :( danny looking like shit because he just beat the hell out of someone that was giving leland grief for his scars. the dust has settled and it's just them. busted nose, swollen black eye. leland apologizing and danny's way of saying he doesn't have to isn't through words, but by cupping his face and first gently kissing one of his face scars, lips lingering there, and then pressing their foreheads together.

it shouldn’t have bothered him so much — a jab. just a joke. from one of the guys on his team. it's not like he hasn't heard it all, by now. the range from silent pity to disbelief. it’s just that he can wear long sleeves, he can button his collar. but he can't hide the long, jagged frankenstein split, from his chin to his cheek — ( where knife dug and pressed and split and you struggled and sobbed and it didn’t matter and you shouldn’t have come to this stupid party it was stupid it was — )

— it was stupid. it didn’t matter. it doesn’t fucking matter, what anyone else thinks.

because leland feels like a string pulled too tight around these people. wants to snap, wants to bite the head off of anyone that wanted to talk like they knew anything. anything about what the hell happened to him. to his friends. to maria.

and his ears are ringing when he slips away, back into the clamour of the party inside. he feels like he can't get air into his lungs, like he’s taking big swallows of nothing. the back of his neck burns. embarrassment, anger. that he could hardly say anything to defend himself, back there. his jaw just wired itself shut. like it always does, when he feels like crying. worse, probably, was that people had turned to look. he feels their eyes on his back, now, as he cuts through the crowd.

( he’d seen danny shift away from the wall, silent, in his peripherals, but leland couldn’t look at him. he feels julie’s hand on his shoulder, her eyes on him with concern, but he doesn’t stop to hear what she’s said. )

he finds an unoccupied bathroom at the end of the hall. the music, the clamour, the voices, fade back into something muffled and underwater — manageable, behind the door leland rests his back against. he stares up at the ceiling fan, for what feels like minutes, or an hour. watching it spin, spin, until he can breathe again. until he can peel himself away from the wall, ground his hands on the countertop.

his mirror image feels like a disconnect in his brain, still, when he brings fingertips up to his own cheek. presses at the darkening bags under his eyes. pulls at the indents in his skin. almost healed, now. part of him wonders if he could make them bleed again, with enough pull. maybe he should have had another couple shots. maybe he could have enjoyed this party, then.

the sound of someone entering the bathroom behind him makes him freeze. spikes cold, nauseous panic in his chest, before he meets danny's eyes in the mirror. julie had probably told him where to find him. a beat, where his mouth opens, and then closes, uselessly. where danny carefully closes the door behind him, and leland can see him properly in the yellow light. the way it catches on his sharp edges. leland almost laughs — it doesn’t flatter either of them.

leland sees the bruises. in an instant, expression furrows, and falls. he turns slow, hands finding danny's forearms, and making their way up to cradle his jaw. quick, checking him over. ❝ jesus, danny, ❞ he whispers, taking in the darkening purple around his eye, clouding across the bridge of his nose. what the hell did he get into? silence, understanding, without danny having to say a thing. and he did this for you, says a little voice in his head. he stuck up for you and got in a stupid fight for you and — and leland's shoulders sink with his guilt. jaw tightens again, desperately trying to tamp down the harsh sting in his eyes. his heart feels like a little paper ball, steadily crushed in someone’s fist. leland gives a rapid blink, shaky breath, and a very brave attempt at mitigating the situation; ❝ i… i hope you gave it worse than you got, gaines. you look like shit. ❞

it doesn’t work great — danny doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, gently, which cracks him right down the middle. he feels himself falling apart again. he can’t stop the tears. leland drops his hands, fingers curling into palms at his sides. frustrated and overwhelmed. ❝ s — sorry, god. it was dumb. you didn’t need to — i don't know — i don't know why i'm so... ❞ emotional. sensitive. aren’t you always? danny knows that. must have known, must have seen—

leland ducks his head with a weak laugh. but he can’t really breathe. his hair falling down in curtains over his eyes, and he wants to hide from danny. but now it's danny's turn to cup his face, lifting his jaw just so he can kiss over that long, ugly scar above his lip. where it branches across his cheek. and leland’s eyes flutter closed. danny tips their foreheads together so gently, and it makes him take a sharp, shuddering breath against danny. leland’s hands find nervous purchase in danny’s shirt, when he peeks up at him again.

and admittedly — there’s a dumb little glow of warmth in his chest, thinking about danny decking some idiot — for him. not the first time. that was just danny, looking out for them. for him. there’s a joke on his tongue, something about his knight in shining armour, defending his honour. but leland doesn’t have the heart to make it, right now.

instead, he gets his breathing under control, as he anchors safely on danny’s steady eyes. ❝ hey, tough guy. ❞ leland offers, soft, sorry. terribly fond, and thankful for him in this moment. with a wobbly smile, leland takes one of danny’s hands in his, gives a little squeeze. ❝ can we… get out of here? please? ❞

[cosmosmoonie]

Distressed Badger and A Wild Cat - A Tarzan! Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart AU writing.

this is written from the perspective of badgerclops (or as i like to call him badgerporter) in this au! Also it is after the baboon chase scene from the disney film, cuz i just wanted to keep this a bit shorter lol. Btw, this was just written for fun and because i couldn’t stop thinking about tarzan au’s and mmhoph hehe. anyways, enjoy!!!!!

☆

.

.

.

What is going on?!? First the baby baboon and now a wild naked cat guy who can talk to monkeys? I knew the Emerald Jungle was weird but I never knew it could be weirder! I clinged onto the tree walking on the narrow edges and hanging on for dear life. At least my claws were able to hold me for awhile, but the longer I cling on, I will fall off the tree wall. I know my Robo-Arm can escape this but I just got this thing! I don’t know how to use it at all! “It’s okay Badgerclops…just shove it all down.” I took a deep breath and climbed to the left of the big tree.

I climbed reaching the left side to see the other side of the tree branch on the other left. I gazed at the big L shaped branch. The only thing I could hear is the birds chirping and my heart racing. “You can do this Badgerclops! Just shove it all down like you said…” I said to myself. I moved my feet one by one slowly trying to get to the tree branch. I was on the edge of the tree wall holding on with my own claws, I saw the dirt falling off to the ground as I kept moving. But then my legs lost grip and fell to the edge of the other tree branch. My hands were tightly pressed onto the other other tree branch. My face was forcefully looking down at the deep jungle floor. I’m doomed! I’m forced to be posed like a bridge until I finally hit the ground!

“Hmph, well at least it didn’t get any worse-“

CRASH!

“…Obviously it can.”

It was all over. Only the rain and thunder could take me away. I looked down at the jungle floor again but it wasn’t. I saw his green sharp eyes looking at me, messy black fur that you can barely see the hundreds of dirt and scars all over his body. The orange dried paint on his face getting closer. I screamed by seeing his face again. I tried to stay back flailing my arms like wheels trying to get away from him. But he quickly crawled up the to my face closer than you can imagine and booped my nose pushing me back to the edge of the L shape branch.

I fell safely to the branch but the craziness wasn’t over yet. He crawled up to me in all fours sniffing me as if I was some piece of food. “Get away from me man!” I pushed him away with my foot making him back up a little. But he wasn’t phased at all, he casually lifted up my foot spectating it. This guy is so small but can lift me up easily! “What are you doing?” I asked. He started to touch two of my toes moving it around. I start to have a laughing fit as he kept moving it around. “Hahaha! Stop! That tickles!” His eyes start to widen a little and scootched over to my stomach reaching it with his paws. “…Hehe, get off, g-GET OFF!” I kicked him in the face when he lightly fell on the branch into a puddle of water. He got up again back on all fours shaking the water out like a dog. He starts to crawl to me again giving me the big stare.

“Dude, stay away from me! Y’know your gonna get your butt kicked if you-“ He was way closer to my face breathing down my neck. He tried to put his hand onto my chin with his face all focused. I lifted my robo-arm and tried to slap him across the face. But without hesitation, he immediately stops me grabbing my robo arm with his paws. Even though I wanted him to get his hands off me, I didn’t try to let go this time. The cats eyes were so focused and so intriged by my arm. He looked at his hand as if he was trying to look for something he wanted for a long time. He let go of my arm putting his paws on mine. His paws and my hand were matching despite my fingers looking a bit longer than his. He looked up at me with his eyes sparkling like stars in the night sky. I looked at him back seeing the sight of his eyes being so interested by my presence. All we can both hear was the light raindrops.

He let go of my hand slowly crawling to my chest. I panicked as I thought he was going to headbutt me. But no, his ear twitched and eyes widened again. He was listening to my heart beating. He put both of his hands onto my head and slowly grabbed my head onto his chest. I listened to his heartbeat thumping and his warm smile. I lightly pushed him away brushing my own fur with my hands because I lost it during the wild baboon chase. “Nice heartbeat I guess, It’s very nice.” I start to mind my own business combing my own fur. But he was thinking of somethting. He slowly opened up his mouth a little and…

“…I-It’s veryy…nice.”

“Huh? You can talk?!?”

I couldn’t believe my ears he suddenly spoke out of nowhere copying my own words! The words he said we’re slurred and broken but it was so interesting to hear. He scooted back lifting up his two hands smiling and lightly opened his mouth. “Maaouh.” he murmured. I was so confused, was he speaking all animal like again? He went a bit closer to my face putting his hand on my chest again. He struggled a little trying to speak again. “M-Maoo..” he sounded like as if an actual house cat tried to speak. Mao? Like as in THE Mao Clan?!? Could he be part of the Mao Clan family? I responded to him back repeating him back “…Mao?”

He jumped in excitement while grunting. He seems happy that I understood him. I realized something, that was his name he tried to say to me. I’m pretty sure he is apart of the legendary Mao Clan. He might be a runaway maybe? But he seems unaware and doesn’t know about the clan…it will be hard to know what happened to him.

“Oh I see!” I said with intriguement. I lifted myself up looking at him with excitement as well. He starts to mimic me again “…Ohh I see…!” He was touching me with his paws again this time on my shoulder trying to speak again. “Maoouh, Oh I see!” he thought my name was that. I lightly pushed his arms and he got confused.

“No no no, I’m Badgerclops.”

“No no no, I’m Badgerclopss…”

Mao isn’t going to understand me at all is he? But I calmed down and went closer to his face and he copied me back. I put my fingers on his chest trying to get him to say my name, pointing to me.

“Badgerclops, Mao, Badgerclops.”

“Badgerclopss…”

“Exactly.”

He touched my chin again. Mao finally understood me! The rain suddenly came to a stop and the two of us looked at each other in the eyes. BANG! The loud shotgun startled the two of us. Mao jumped on a vine sticking onto the tree. It was the sound of Rufus’ shotgun. I told him not to mess around with that thing. The man might shoot something! “Rufus!” I gasped. Mao didn’t understand the sound but mimicked me back. “Rufus…!” He thought Rufus was a sound of a gun shot. I ran up to Mao. I had to talk with him slowly this time to make him try to understand me a bit more. “Can. You. Take me. To my…camp?” I asked pointing to the direction to the location of the camp. Mao still seemed to not understand what I said. But instead he perfectly made the sound of Rufus’ gunshots. Impressive. I guess he did understand! “Yes! Rufus! Impressive you can mimic everything dude.”

Mao lifted himself a little to carry me up to swing me to the camps. But I wanted to go to the camps in a more simple way, but I guess we can’t do that. Mao is such an interesting guy. I still wanna know about his ties to the Mao clan, I have a long way to go do I? “Um, maybe at least…CAN WE WAAAALK?!?” Mao already boosted himself from the vine carrying me one handed. He went on one vine to the other and started to mimic me again, “CAAN WE WAAALK?!?”

.

.

.

☆

aaand that’s it folks! This is my last post about this au. and hopefully i will post here eventually if I had the motivation to haha

[bikananjarrus]

trick or treat!

hi! to help soothe the pain of rebels s4, here is some tender kanera fluff <3 this is part of an immediate post s3 kanera fic i’ve been working on that hopefully maybe will get finished soonish lol

//

“You don’t need these,” her pads of her fingers brushed featherlight over his eyes, the scar across his lids and bridge of his nose. “I know it’s not the same. And I know there’s no way I can ever understand what it’s like for you, not being able to see. But you see me in a way that no one else can.”

Kanan worried at his bottom lip to try and keep his chin from trembling. He knew she was trying to comfort him—and he should’ve known it would work. It soothed him to know that his lack of sight didn’t bother her. That was something she’d made clear from the moment he’d returned from Malachor, but hearing her express it now eased something inside him that he’d long thought haunted.

But still, something else gnawed at him.

Hera could tell, too, because she said, “Talk to me. What else is bothering you?”

“I just…” he smoothed his hands down her sides, fingers bumping over the lines of her bra, then down the smooth skin of her sides until he reached the waistband of her basics. And maybe that was his answer. It wasn’t about seeing her naked—not really. But she was beautiful, and he loved her body. He wanted to be able to worship it in the way she deserved. He sighed, cheeks heating. “It seems shallow, but—I miss looking at you. Seeing all of you. I can touch you,” he pressed his thumbs gently into her hipbones for emphasis, “feel you. I know what you look like, but I miss really, truly seeing you.”

He heard the slight hitch in her breath. Then, with a thumb sweeping once over his cheek, “It’s not shallow. I would miss seeing your handsome face, too.” He smiled a little at that, and she pressed on, “But remember what I said—you can see me in a way no one else can. Through the Force.”

He blinked. He—hadn’t thought of that.

Hera took one of his hands, pressed it against her heart so he could feel the beat of it against the flat of his palm. “You can see me—feel me—through the Force. So, tell me what I look like through the Force.”

His breath left him in a shaky exhale. His eyes welled up with sudden tears. How did he even begin to describe how she felt in the Force?

Kanan closed his eyes, focusing on the beat of her heart, the rise and fall of her chest as she inhaled, exhaled, inhaled. He matched his breaths to hers, sinking into a semi-meditative state. The warm light of the Force surrounded him, surrounded her.

Tell me what I look like through the Force.

“You’re brilliant,” he whispered in answer. Like all the stars in the galaxy had made a home inside her heart.

“You shine—you’re so bright.” Like a beacon calling him home.

“And you feel like…” the corners of his mouth pulled up as a sense of peace washed over him. The fullness of his chest ached with every ounce of love and devotion he felt for her.

She was so grounded, an anchor for any instincts that told him to run and run and never look back. Never get attached. Because that’s when the bad things happened. She held him in place, dependable as the earth underfoot. And at the same time, she soared—as wild and open as the space between the stars.

She was light and hope. He’d spent a year in the dark now, but he would recognize her anywhere, no matter how far. She was threaded into his very soul; her signature in the Force as much a part of him as his own presence.

He would never be able to put that all into words, how the Force felt when it enveloped her, intertwining with the Force around him. But he could try.

He swallowed, not even sure how loud he was speaking as he said, “You feel free. You’re like the sky, the wind.” Like a breath of fresh air whenever he felt like he was drowning. “You told me once that flying is like a feeling and that’s what you feel like.”

He didn’t open his eyes until he felt wetness splash against the hand he still held against her heart. He heard Hera’s slight sniffle and he reached both hands up to cup her cheeks, wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

//

ask box trick or treat (fic writer’s edition)