#maybe i'll shave off my eyebrows

[miguelhugger2099]

Hello sweetie, hoping you're doing well! What about bully punk Miguel and nerd pastel girl reader at college? (Miguel with 23 and reader with 21) Like reader was ugly and will have a glow up thanks to MJ and now Miguel tries to have her attention, they have a date and sweet and fluff smut!! (reader is virgin uwu) I'll let to you the creativity

Impurities

hello sweetheart you absolute DARLING i genuinely could be better but i hope ur doing great. i want to apologize for taking so long but i want u to know when i saw this i just about melted bc punk miguel is one of my guilty pleasures i adore him so much. this ask made me want to evolve it into a series i had like several different ways to make this but ahhhh i hope it's alright

Punk!Miguel x Pastel!Reader, Fluff and Smut, Word Count: 8,875 Art by: beawoodward on artstation !

You knew you weren’t the most appealing girl out there. You weren’t about to delude yourself otherwise. You knew what people said about you, how they looked at you. Your face could’ve been worse. Maybe some bushy eyebrows? You dressed…maybe a little different than most people. While the world was covered in grays and black, you opted out by showering yourself in the cutest pastel colors. You didn’t keep up with the trends and instead followed whatever you thought looked alright. It often led to some mismatching and awkward outfits but you didn’t think so! You entered campus with a light blue and pink striped pants with a pink belt and a baby blue sweater. Two low braids tied with white ribbons at the end and your white framed glasses on the bridge of your nose. Skincare was confusing to you so all you really did was wash your face with a harsh cleanser and hoped for the best which gave you some acne instead–making you pop them and leave some scars. You tried makeup but it just looked cakey so you settled with a messy and often uneven eyeliner. Regardless of your outfit, whether in a skirt or in pants, you were always decked out in some bright pastel colors and hair done in the same two braids. You held yourself close while walking around the halls, already used to people staring and calling you names from high school. College was a little more merciful, the whispers being just as loud but at least they’d never bully you to your face. You win some, you lose some. Your self-esteem had been damaged to the point of no return anyway, so any attempts of trying to prove you’re worth something would just be a pipe dream in your eyes. That’s why you push your glasses up and cling to your shoulder bag tightly in your fist as you pass by the usual group of boys to get to the front seat of your class. Your human biology class door was opened at the back so you’d have to pass the back seats to sit at the front. As usual, the group of boys were basically monochrome except for the little specks of red or blue if they ever decided to add color. But what was most noticeable about them was the so-called leader of said group. Unofficial–official– leader Miguel O’Hara, the senior who decided to take general education classes in his last year before graduating. His usual confident and toothy grin was on display, silver spider bites that his, also pierced, tongue would often play with. His big and heavy platform boots would rest on the chair beside him while his left elbow rested on the table, his hand combing through his long brown hair–shaved at the sides, mind you. He made sure to push his fringe back so everyone could see his double eyebrow and nostril piercing. Miguel’s hands were decorated with rings, big and small and his nails were short and painted black with some of it chipping off. His usual leather jacket with pins and patches, stretched and tight from his muscular build, was accompanied by a low red tank top with a spider symbol on the front. Black skinny jeans and a spiked belt that did little to actually keep his pants in place since the black and red band of his boxers were showing.

He listened mindlessly to his group of friends as they talked with each other, his fingers switching between playing with the dangling earring on his earlobe to his industrial bar. His crimson eyes glanced up when he saw you in your uncomfortably bright and awkward fashion sense. His friend tapped his shoulder and jutted his chin out to you before whispering something in Miguel’s ear that made him shove him away with a smile. Then they both laughed as quietly as possible, chuckling at what you decided to wear today: light blue overall shorts and a pastel yellow undershirt with white knee high stockings and white sneakers, your usual white ribbons at the end of your braids.

You usually sat alone at the front, placing your earbuds in to listen to music while you waited for the professor. Despite being at the front, you could still hear some faint chuckling and words being whispered from Miguel's group.

Still, you held your head up, taking out your notebook and expensive textbook. Clicking your pen, you began some light note taking before class started.

You sighed as you entered back in your dorm, dumping your bag at the door and kicking off your shoes. You faceplated down onto your bed while your roommate MJ looked over at you sympathetically.

You turn your head, cheek squished against the mattress. “I know that beauty is subjective and I'm not supposed to earn validation from anybody else but…” You sit up and rest on your legs, hands wringing in your hands with furrowed eyebrows.

“But…I want to feel pretty.” You admit softly, ashamed since you felt like you were betraying yourself.

MJ's smile grows and she eagerly jumps from her bed to kneel at your bedside. She takes your hands in hers and squeezes them reassuringly.

“You are pretty,” She insists. “But if you really want help, I can.” MJ tilts your head to look at her, a soft smile on her face.

You nod. “I do. I just want to know how to look like you.”

MJ shakes her head. “No. No, you already have your own beauty.” She places a hand on her chest. “I meant that I can help enhance it. No change to your core is necessary.” She pokes at your chest playfully and you both giggle together.

“You sure?”

“Positive.” 

You take a moment to look at her. MJ really was perfect–shiny straight red hair, clear skin that was painted with freckles and a winning white smile. You hoped she could work some magic on you.

“Okay.”

Your transformation didn't happen overnight. It took at least a few weeks for it all to come together.

MJ had dragged you to salons to get your hair properly taken care of. Gotten your eyebrows plucked, eyelashes lifted, an effective skincare routine–that you struggled to drill into your regular schedule–and a new wardrobe that still held your pastel look, just a little more flattering. She even helped you get some contact lenses so you wouldn’t need your glasses all the time! To tie it all together, you two spent nights practicing how to do your makeup that wouldn't look so wobbly and uneven. Each day, you improved yourself. Your tacky overalls changed into fitted jeans or flowy skirts. Your baggy shirts were now cute tops that hugged each curve. Tennis shoes into heels or cute sneakers and your hair came to life with a beautiful shine; your white ribbon still in your hair.

One day, you entered class like normal. Except there were very few whispers this time, almost nonexistent. Still, you don’t let it get to you and continue like normal–walking to the front of the class and sitting in your usual spot. What wasn’t normal was a figure coming up beside you and pulling out the chair next to you. Miguel slipped beside you in front of the class, tilting his head as he stared at your side profile. You tried not to react but you subconsciously glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

“Hey.” He smirked, his eyebrow raising and his lips curling.

“Hello.” You murmured back, opening your notebook to the next blank page.

“New look?” He asked, using his hand to brush your hair back off your shoulder and you stiffened. He noticed you still had the white ribbon at the back of your head. Miguel’s eyes glanced back down at your body. Nicely fitted flare baby blue jeans, a cute pastel green heart belt with a crop top white sweater.

“Looks good.” He purred. You held your blue bunny pen in your hand tightly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t understand why he was speaking to you. He hadn’t before–other than laugh at you–so what gives?

“Thanks.” You say curtly. Miguel places a hand over her heart in feign hurt.

“Don’t be like that, nena. You look so cute, I didn’t expect you to be so cold.” He teased. He crossed his arms and rested his head on them to look up at you while you wrote the rest of your notes down before class started. Miguel watched as your false eyelashes fluttered, making your eyes look bigger. The subtle blush on your cheeks and the concealer that hid most of your past acne. He could still see some of the scars which makes him huff a small laugh at how cute it kinda looks. Your lips were more plump than he remembered–a soft pink to them. He lifts his arm up to rest his cheek on his fist, his eyes still on you. “How about I take you out?” Your pen slips and leaves a slash right down your notes. “What?” “A date. Does that sound good?” You don’t look up, instead focusing on your task at hand. “No. Can you please just leave me alone?” Miguel doesn’t say anything else but you hear the chair he sat on scrape across the floor as he gets up abruptly. You hear the laughter of his friends behind you and Miguel snapping at them. Your shoulders hunch over–the natural instinct to hide from embarrassment overcoming you again.

Every week, in the same class, Miguel would try again and again and again to ask you out. Each time, you would decline. It had gotten bad enough where he changed his seat to move beside you, offering his help when he saw you were confused and overall just trying to get on your good side. You wanted to be strong, truly you did, but it was becoming too much. When Miguel had asked again, you sighed loudly and faced him. “If I say yes will you leave me alone?” Miguel broke into a wide smile. Once you finally agreed to a date with him, you truly weren’t expecting anything good. So you stood by the place Miguel wanted you to meet him at: a local diner that was pleasantly pretty looking from the outside. Still, due to your past experiences of being ghosted and stood up, you watched the time on your phone. You decided that you wouldn’t wait more than fifteen minutes max.

To your surprise, you didn’t have to wait at all. You heard Miguel call your name from your left, his lips curled into a confident smile. Subconsciously, you eyed him up and down. He had baggy black cargo pants, accompanied with chains on his right side. A DIY-ed t-shirt that was sprayed painted over many many times. Of course, his iconic leather jacket was littered with various pins and patches. When he was close enough, you saw just a bit of eyeliner surrounding his eyes; and a new septum piercing. For the people passing by, it was quite a sight to see. Compared to Miguel’s dark but proud aura, you emanated a more sweet and bright vibe. MJ had helped you pick out an outfit, excited that you approached her with the dilemma of going on a date. You wore a sheer baby blue crop top cardigan with a simple white tank top underneath. A slightly darker blue pleated skirt with white thigh high stockings and ankle strap baby blue platform pumps. You held a small purse in your hands and looked up at him through your  lashes. Your hair was pinned in a half up and half down hairstyle; your white ribbon at the back of your head. You thought it was a bit much, but MJ assured you that it was just enough. “Te ves muy hermosa.” Miguel speaks up, a grin on his lips. “All for me?” He teases with a tilt of his head. A piece of his fringe falling over his forehead. “Oh, please.” You look off to the side, ignoring the flutter in your chest when called beautiful. Miguel doesn’t take it to heart, instead going past you to open the door of the diner. He dramatically takes a bow, his arm ushering you inside. The theatrics make the corner of your lips quirk up and you enter inside, nodding to Miguel. You turn your head around to see the inside, wooden chairs and tables, a jukebox at the back with a shiny bar. “This way.” You stiffen when you feel Miguel’s breath by your ear. Before you could turn, he places his hand on your lower back and leads you to a booth by the window. He sits across from you, menus at the ready on the table. “You know, I used to come to this place all the time.” Miguel says, his eyes scanning the different options. “Used to be a hangout spot for me and the others in high school. College took up my time so it’s a pain in the ass not being able to visit more.” You glance up at him, shuffling in your seat. It felt a little weird to have him speak to you like this, as if he wasn’t teasing you a few months ago.

Luckily, a waitress comes up before you two with a notepad in hand. “Oh! A pretty girl! Didn’t know you were back in the dating scene.” She cackles to herself and pushes her glasses up. Miguel groans and rolls his eyes. “I thought you didn’t work Fridays, Lyla.” “Margo couldn’t make it, I needed extra hours–and now a bonus– I get to embarrass you. Everybody wins! Except you maybe. Waddaya want?” Lyla rests on one foot, her grin plastered on her face. Miguel’s smile was long gone, now snapping his order at his friend. You watched with an amused smile. They bantered like siblings. But what she said piqued your interest. He hadn’t gone around dating? You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Miguel call your name. His eyes were uncharacteristically soft. “Do you need another minute?” He asks. You stumble over your words and feel your cheeks burn. “No-no, uhm…” You look down at your menu and pick the first thing you see. “The, uh, chicken fajitas, please?” Lyla meets you with a smile and collects your menu. “Of course, darling.” She turns to take Miguel’s menu. “Couldn’t you have taken her to a nicer place? She’s all dolled up.” Lyla sticks her tongue out at him and walks away while Miguel’s cheeks burn red. Instead of facing you, he looks down at his hands and he picks at his black nail polish.

For once, Miguel had stayed silent. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he looked a little ashamed? Embarrassed? You could see him moving his spider bites nervously as he stares at anything besides you, his cheeks still tinged red. You pat your skirt awkwardly and clear your throat. “The…I like the diner. It’s got one of those retro vibes to it. It’s cool.” You give a small encouraging smile. For some strange reason, you thought his quietness didn’t suit him. Miguel’s eyes dart to yours and then at the window. “You think?” His hand reaches up to play with his dangling earring. It was almost cute. Just a bit. You chuckle softly. “Yeah, I mean. It’s like being in one of those time machines.” Miguel smiles. “Time machines? I think a time machine would look cooler than this dump.” You playfully smack his hand across the table. “Didn’t you say you used to come here years ago? Don’t call it a dump.” You fold your arms on your chest. You didn’t know this, but Miguel in that moment felt the tension he didn’t realize he had fell off his shoulders. “Eh, it’s a little bit of a dump.” He leans back and stretches his arm on the backseat. “But it’s like you said: a little retro.” Lyla returns with two glasses of water. “One for the cutie,” she places one on your side, giving you a wink. “And then Miguel.” She unenthusiastically hands Miguel the cup.

Miguel frowns at Lyla, a familiar bubble of jealousy brewing in his chest. “Lyla.” He warns. “What?” She stretches out the word. “Just being a good hostess.” She huffs with a pout and walks away. You giggle to yourself and Miguel notices. He’s quick to speak. “Ignore her. She’s always trying to be annoying.” He didn’t like the way Lyla was buttering you up, even if it was just a joke. He wanted you to smile at him like that. “It’s funny. I never thought I’d see you looking so bothered. How do you know her?” You smile and take a sip from your water. Miguel scratches the back of his head. “Middle school. We were in the robotics club.” You blink. “Robotics club? Really?” “Why’re you so surprised? What? A guy like me can’t be into things like that?” He smirks, placing his arms on the table and his pins rattle as he moves. “Well…kind of?” You smile weakly and laugh when Miguel pretends to be hit. “No, but seriously, robotics isn’t what I expected from you.” “Well, it was middle school. I’ve grown up into a man. This time I’ve taken an interest in being a geneticist.” He rests his head on his hand. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, nena.” He teases but you pause. That phrase is a little ironic for him to say, you thought to yourself. Shaking off that feeling, you continued to chat with Miguel. Talking about your interests, past, future and current studies. All while Miguel would try to sneak little touches, whether it be his boot tapping your heel or his hand brushing against yours when handing you a bottle of ketchup. After spending enough time at the diner, the sun was beginning to set. Before you left, Lyla convinced you to convince Miguel to give her a big tip and told you she hopes to see you again in different circumstances. Miguel holds the door open for you again and the bell dings your departure from the diner. His fingertips gently brush against yours, catching your attention.

“There’s…there’s this other place I wanna show you.” He bites his lip, peeling off the skin. His index finger loosely wraps around your pinky. “Sure…” You say hesitantly. He notices your hesitance. “It’s nearby. Just for a little bit and I’ll take you home.” The wind breezes through, giving you a glimpse of the cool air that will befall once nighttime arrives. You shiver and tuck into yourself to hide from the wind. Miguel takes off his jacket and slips it around you. Feeling the heavy material on your shoulders, you look up at him and feel the warmth go around your torso. Miguel’s eyes are focused on making sure it’s snug as it can be. It’s so large that it ends around your midthigh. He takes your little purse and pops the collar of his jacket up. “Put your arms through the sleeves so it doesn’t fall.” You blink and do as he says with a flustered expression. While shuffling your arms through the holes, you try not to glance over at him. His t-shirt was cut at the sleeves that showed off his toned arms. Despite the cold approaching, he seemed to be relaxed as he watched you, making sure you stayed warm. “Good?” He asked. Your fingers barely poked out, his jacket covering most of your outfit. And it was warm. It smelled like him.

With a satisfied smile, he slyly takes your hand in his and leads you away. You try not to focus too hard on the way his hand engulfs yours. After following Miguel in twists and turns, you eventually walk up a hill and at the very top stood a single bench with a view of the entirety of Nueva York. Your eyes widened and you let go of his hand to approach near the ledge, placing your hands on the railing. The lights of the city illuminated the night sky and acted as stars. You saw them twinkle along with hover cars that zoomed past you. “This is…” “Where I planned to take you another day. But Lyla pissed me off and I wanted to prove that I could take you somewhere nice.” He comes behind you and slings an arm around your waist. You look up at him with an amused smile. “Did you really take that to heart?” Miguel pouts his lips, his eyes looking off to the side. “I couldn’t let her make me look stupid in front of you.” You laugh, using the sleeves of his jacket to cover your smile. Miguel sees and he has a faint smile of his own on his face. He leads you back to the bench where you two sit in quiet comfortable silence after an afternoon of learning about one another. As you look over at the city with him, you couldn’t help but notice the nagging feeling in your chest. This was a date. A date that only happened because you changed yourself. A date with the person who laughed at you.

“Hey, Miguel?” You speak up quietly. He hums and looks over at you. “I…I don’t want you to be nice to me just because I got a little…prettier.” Miguel looks down at you with a frown. He stuffs his hands in his pockets while he looks back at the skyline. He says your name softly to grab your attention. “I’m not being nice just because you’re pretty.” You scrunch your eyebrows and scoff. “Yeah, I’m sure all those times you laughed at me was just you being a charmer.” “Laugh at you?” He raises his eyebrows and you look away. “Nena, I wasn’t laughing at you.” “Don’t lie to me, Miguel. I’m used to it. No use in sparing my feelings.” You sigh. “But I wasn’t,” He insists. He wants to reach for your hand, to touch you but he stops himself. “Really, I was…admiring you.” You roll your eyes. “Now you’re really being a jerk. There was nothing to admire when I looked…stupid and ugly.” “You did not.” He turned you to face him by turning your chin softly. “So you’re saying the way I looked before wasn’t stupid?” You glare at him but Miguel can’t find it in him to take it badly. “You were cute. The way you dressed and looked, it was awkward–sure–but it was adorable.” He chuckles but your frown deepens, feeling the tears bubble up in your eyes as you turn away from him. Miguel calls your name again. “I’m the last person to judge anyone for how they dress. Look at me.” Miguel flicks his multiple ear piercings, pulls on his snake bites, stretches his tattered and ruined t-shirt and slams his dirty platform boots to the ground. “A freak. You were just a cuter version.” “Then why did you talk to me now?” You murmur.

“Because you suddenly changed. I wanted to know what was up.” “And…the sudden date?” “Your transformation gave me the courage to speak to you. It was my chance–an excuse to talk to you.” Miguel says softly. “Though you did reject me twelve times. I was starting to lose hope.” “It was not twelve times.” “It felt like twelve times.” “...You have to admit that I’m…much more appealing now than I was before.” Miguel sighs. “Nena, the only thing different about you is clear skin and some clothes. Everything else is still you. You were pretty underneath, you just enhanced it. At your core, you’re still you. Bright and colorful.” He bumps your shoulder. You smile shyly and look in your lap. “MJ said something similar.” “MJ?” “My roommate. She helped me with, y’know, everything.” It was still hard to believe. Over two decades of being told otherwise was not going to go away by a single conversation but it still warmed your heart to hear something positive about you for once. You don’t say anything else and Miguel takes his chance to wrap his arm around you, bringing you to his chest. With flushed cheeks, you look out into the open where the skyline is feeling at peace and just a little pretty.

You two had arrived at your dorm and you faced Miguel shyly. Your eyes looked at the ground as you felt your cheeks heat up. “This is my place.” You state and Miguel chuckles, the sound of it sending your heart pumping. “I see that.” He says, taking a step toward you which makes you take a step back. “I had fun.” You whisper softly, your eyes landing on his chest. You see Miguel’s hand lift up to your chin and make you look into his eyes. Your cheeks burn since he keeps his hand on your chin to make sure you wouldn’t look away. “Me too.” He murmured, his red eyes looking like they turned a darker shade when he glanced at your lips. He takes another step towards you and you take another step back. You feel your head hit the door and realize you’re now trapped between it and him.

You hold your breath and can only feel the pounding of your heart in your chest and Miguel’s calloused fingers holding you still. Miguel then uses his other hand to hold your hip, his thumb trying to slide under your tank top. Your hands raise up to hold onto his biceps, shivering when your skin meets his. He was warm. “I…kind of don’t want this to end.” You admit softly. Miguel’s grin grows wider, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek which makes you weak in the knees. “Then it doesn’t have to, muñequita.” His hand leaves your chin to cup your cheek. He glances up above your head. “Your roommate home?” He asks. Your eyes never leave his face, your pupils dilating and a weird feeling starting to brew in your stomach. “No,” You squeak out and he looks back down at you. “She’s–She’s, um, out with her boyfriend.” Miguel hums, another glance to your lips. “Then…will you invite me inside?” He asks, leaning down so his lips just barely graze yours. Not quite a kiss yet. Your breath hitches and you nod a few times before speaking. “Mhm, okay.” You reach your hand behind you to grab the doorknob and twist it open. You stumble backwards but Miguel quickly wraps his arm that was on your hip around your waist. He then makes you walk backwards while he could shut the door behind him. You had your arms around his neck and looked up with wide eyes and a fast paced heartbeat. Miguel huffs out a chuckle. “You okay?” “Mhm!” You squeak. He squints down at you in playful suspicion but brushes it off. He bends down to where his lips brush yours again and finally dips low enough to kiss you. Your first shared kiss. You stumble with how to kiss, especially when the other person has piercings, but with someone like Miguel, you quickly learn and get the hang of it. Soft kissing noises sound between the small space of you two and he gradually moves from your lips to your cheek and down your neck. His arms around your waist tug you closer, bending you back and he moves you further back to where your calves hit the mattress of your bed. One hand rises up to pull his leather jacket off your shoulder, gently nibbling across your skin before reverting back to your throat. With his lips on your neck, Miguel could feel your pulse going wild, heartbeat going crazy each second. He decides to check in. “You okay?” he murmurs with a smile, his lips finding yours again for quick kisses. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve just–” kiss “Just–” kiss “Y’know, never–” kiss, kiss “Done this before.” He pauses, stiffening before he pulls back. “Wait. Are you saying this would be your first time…having sex?” Your heart sinks. That was bad wasn’t it? “No, it’s not bad.” Miguel shakes his head. You didn’t realize you voiced your concerns. “I’m just surprised, is all. Usually people have done it already.” You look away from him, visibly uncomfortable that he’s lowkey making fun of you. Miguel realizes the damage and quickly tries to fix it. “But there’s nothing wrong with it, nena! I didn’t mean–” He sighs, scratching the back of his neck. He looks around your dorm room. Your side is filled with cute things like plushies and fluffy blankets–a strawberry duvet all in the same hue of pastels.

“Look. We don’t have to do anything. I don’t…want to make it seem like I’m only here for that.” He shrugs his leather jacket back on your shoulder. “Because I do like you, nena. I’m willing to wait or if you never want it then it’s whatever. I just would really like a second date at least. Maybe at a nicer place like what Lyla said. Maybe I could clean myself up.” He gives you a weary smile. You stare at his hands that hold onto the zipper part of his leather jacket. For a while, you don’t say anything. “What if I don’t want to wait.” You mumble. You look up with some determination on your face. “I…I want to. With you.” Miguel takes his hands off you. “Wh–Are…are you sure?” You slip his jacket off you and let it fall to the side, stripping off the first piece of clothing from yourself. Your mouth is tight, heart hammering in your chest and cheeks feeling that familiar prick of heat up your neck but you’re sure of yourself. You want this. Miguel rakes his eyes up and down your body as you stand before him. “Alright.” He breathes out, undeniably attracted to you at this moment. “But this will all be at your pace, okay? I’ll make you feel good.” He purrs resting his hands at your hips and your facade crumbles slowly and you get shy again. He sits you down on your bed and he kneels before you, his hands on your thighs. He takes your right foot in his hands and carefully unbuckles the ankle strap of your pumps and slides it off. You cover your mouth, heart pounding at the intimate yet innocent act of him taking off your heels. He does the same with your other heel and sets it to the side.

Miguel then looks up at you from his lashes, his confident ones meeting your bashful ones. Taking your right leg again, he slips your thigh high stocking off you and does the same for your other leg. He places his hands on your knees and slowly spreads your legs apart to give you time to stop him. You don’t. “Come closer, mami.” He murmurs, sliding his hands up to grip the flesh of your thighs. You let out a weak mewl and scoot closer to the edge of your bed. Miguel bunches your skirt up, groaning and feeling his cock twitch in his pants when his eyes land on your pastel pink panties, a sweet little bow in the middle like you were a present for him. “Tan bella,” He murmurs, unable to hide the utter desire he has for you. You cover your face in embarrassment as he spreads your legs wider. His lips graze over your thighs, pressing kisses as he makes his way up. You feel your heart skip a beat everytime you feel his warm breath. Your hands clutch your strawberry sheets and he notices.

“You can hold onto me, mami.” He purrs and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“Wha…how do I..?” You feel stupid, your hands raising up and unsure of where exactly to put them. Miguel takes your hands and places him in his hair. His fingers curl around yours so you could grip onto his strands.

Feeling your face burn, the sight of you holding onto him while his eyes bore into yours. You instinctively clench your fists, his hair being tugged on in the process which makes him groan and close in his eyes. He likes a bit of pain, it seems

Miguel's hands return to your thighs, wrapping his arms underneath to tug you closer to his awaiting mouth and to keep your legs apart. “Hips up, mama.” He purrs and you do as he says, making him slip your panties off.

He discards them off to the side and delves between your thighs. His nose nudges your nub and you gasp, pursing your lips and gripping tighter on his hair.

“Miguel!” You whimper and he hums in response. You feel the metal ball of his tongue piercing curl inside you–it was strangely pleasurable. You didn’t expect it to feel so good. You rest on one hand behind you, the other still planted in his hair as you bucked forward on his tongue. Miguel the munch that he is, grins against your folds and licks a long stripe up before spitting and devouring your sweet nectar again. You felt the sudden slimy wetness hit your nerves and you yelped in surprise. Just as quick, you fall into submission when his skilled tongue swirled in little number eights. Your eyes were closed shut, your hand pulling Miguel closer to which he obliged. He then surprises you by sticking one of his thick fingers inside you. “Oh my…god.” You moan, your body growing hot and sweaty underneath all your clothing. “Miguel…” Miguel’s mouth moves in rhythm, his lips kissing your pussy as he drinks whatever your sweet cunt offers him. He could stay like this forever, cleaning your mess up and licking you for all eternity. His rings nudge your folds, the metal a stark contrast from his rough fingers. He pumps a second finger inside and it’s a bit of a stretch that feels good enough for you to thrust harder. “Mmm, yes…oh, I’m so close…” You mumble to yourself, chest heaving as you come closer and closer to climax. Unexpectedly, Miguel pulls away from between your legs. The pleasure being ripped from you and you struggle to lift your head as he pulls off you. The look in his eyes is different. More lustful, more hungry.

“If you’re gonna cum, I want you cumming around my cock.” He groans and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. Miguel stands up and gets into bed with you, shoving his platform shoes and pants off. While he gets on top, you rest back into your bed and your eyes become big and wide–darting between his face and between his legs. “Is it–will it hurt?” You bring your hands to your chest, clutching the fabric of your tank top. Miguel lifts your chin up to him. His eyes are kind and soft. “It’s not supposed to. I’ll make sure it won’t.” He grabs the waistband of your skirt and tugs it off your legs, throwing it with the other forgotten clothes. His hands make his way up your body, helping you remove the sheer cardigan and sliding your tank top up and over your head. Miguel chuckles at the heart patterned bra you wore. He leans over to kiss your neck and you sigh. The feeling of his lips sucking and tongue licking you was surprisingly pleasurable. Instinctively, your reach around his shoulders to hold onto him, your back arching to be chest to chest with him. Miguel’s hands go under your back, holding you up while he quickly unclasps the bra. Feeling the loss of your support, you whine but Miguel kisses you before you become louder. He places you back down on your back and finally removes the last piece of clothing. Miguel admires you from above, his hands at your waist, rubbing up and down your sides as he feels your curves. “Perfecta. Eres mucha mujer.” He whispers while trailing his lips along your collarbone. You whimper, feeling your cheeks burn and grow hot to the touch. His breath ghosts over your breasts and he stares up at you maintaining eye contact. Miguel notices something in your hair; your white ribbon, still tied in your messy hair. His heart swells and smiles, reaching up to brush your hair away.

He kisses down the valley of your breasts and around your nipple. He glances up at you every so often to make sure you’re not feeling any sort of discomfort. He can feel your heart pounding underneath his palm. Miguel wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks softly. You gasp and hold your breath for a moment while his cold tongue piercing swirled around your nipple, his spider bites and nose piercing pressed against the softness of your tits. You stare up at the ceiling as the warmth in your body flooded down to your core. “Oh! M..Miguel…” You whined, your hands curling in his hair where you felt most comfortable. Miguel flicks his finger around your other nipple, pulling and bullying it until it becomes erect and perky. Even then, he twists it and gropes your tit in time with his sucking and biting. Your hips buck up, feeling your pussy throbbing uncomfortably. When you hit his bulge, Miguel moaned and grinded himself to your soaked pussy in soft circles. Your juices left a stain on his boxers in your desperate attempts at relief. He lets go of your tits–leaving a small bite mark– and continues to kiss down your body. “Gracias a Dios por mandarme esta belleza.” He murmurs, digging his hands into the plush of your hips when he raises your thighs up. Suddenly, he stops and lets go of you. “Shit, shit, fuck–hold on.” He mumbles and gets off you. You feel cold and watch as he gets off the bed and picks up his pants from the floor and searches through his pockets. “Did I…do something?” You ask, worried you might’ve done something that made Miguel regret touching you. He shakes his head. “No, no–just–ah, there it is…” He chuckles to himself after finding his wallet and pulling out a small square packet. He pushes his fringe back with one hand as he gets back into bed. Miguel shuffles down his boxers after putting the packet between his teeth. “I’ll get you pregnant some other time.” “What?” “What?” You close your mouth and hear ringing in your ears. You were sure that steam would be coming out of your head at this point–your mind felt like mush with how easily flustered he made you. Miguel looks down at you and huffs a small laugh, letting you know he was joking. Maybe. Hopefully.

His cock springs free once his boxers are off and he groans when it slaps his stomach, leaving a bead of his precum on his tip. Your eyes shamelessly stare at him. You were by no means an expert when it came to sex but you grew both worried and aroused at how massive he was. “There is…no way it’s gonna fit.” Miguel rips the plastic with his teeth and rolls the condom on his dick to the base. For a moment, you’re disappointed that he added protection. Just for a moment, though. He breathes out and gives soft strokes to his shaft while looking at you from beneath him. He feels his cock pulse and throb, growing harder by the second just by the sight of your perfectly sculpted naked body. He thought you were divine. Placing his hands on either side of your head, he leans down to kiss you as if trying to ease your worries. “It’ll fit, I promise. It’ll feel so good, too.” He whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “I’ll go slow.” He takes one hand to lift your thigh up just enough to give him space to rub his cock between your wet folds. “Miguel…!” You gasp while you feel just how hard he was. He shushes you. “I know, nena. Look what you do to me. Feel what you did to me.” He buries himself in your neck, nipping at your skin and you tilt your head back. More of your arousal soaks his cock, creating wet sounds while you grind on each other and Miguel shudders. He bites into your shoulder and fights against his instinct to shove his cock inside and fuck you into your own mattress. Miguel kisses the spot he bit, his breathing labored and heavy. “Tell me if it hurts, mama, okay?” You nod, your eyes screwed shut. “Uh-huh…” Slowly, Miguel looks down and makes sure his tip splits your folds apart as he enters inside you. Your breath hitches and you tighten your arms around his neck. “Miguel!” You whine while he penetrates you. He kisses your temple and stops when only his tip is inside you.

“You’re doing great, nena. No te preocupes, lo estás haciendo bien.” He reassures you with a shaky voice. It’s clear he’s holding back. You whimper apologies and Miguel kisses across your cheeks to try and return your focus on him instead of the new stretch you’re feeling. He praises you in a mix of Spanish and English–ones you can barely hear. He moves his hand down between your legs and gently rubs your clit with your thumb in hopes of loosening you up. With the added stimulation, you moan and hide in his neck with your eyes shut. You weakly thrust up, feeling a bit of relief and allowing Miguel to push further in. “Good, good,” He purrs. “Just like that, mama. Just let me in.” He groans and hisses when you clench around him. Miguel’s thumb switches between a fast and slow pace, sliding in his cock easily until you cry out and dig your nails into his skin, leaving small crescent shapes. “Stop, stop–” You whimper. “I’ll pull out–It’s okay–” “No!” You keep him close to you. “No, I just–I need a minute.” You sniffle, your body slowly adjusting around his girth. Miguel nods and pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “Okay. Okay, whatever you need. At your pace, remember?” He rests his forehead against yours. You open your eyes to see his cheeks flushed, a bit of sweat running down his temple and he shakes with every breath. Despite his current state of desire, he’s putting you first–he’s putting your comfort first. “Thank you.” You whine softly. Miguel huffs, leaning down to kiss the corner of your eyes. “Don’t thank me for that, nena. Never.” Miguel continues to pamper you with kisses, murmuring about how beautiful you are, how well you’re taking him, how he can’t get enough of you. He nuzzles into your neck, rolling lazily over your clit and does gentle thrusts of whatever you were able to handle. After a few moments, you grab his attention by running your hands through his hair, fingernails scratching over his shaved parts. “Okay…more, please.” He lifts himself up and holds your hips with both his hands. His thumbs caress your hip bones as he pushes himself deeper. You moan and tilt your head back, biting your lip as the combination of pain and pleasure hits your stomach and through every nerve in your body. It felt like forever until he reached the hilt, the light smack of his balls hitting your pussy. Miguel smiles. “Good girl,” he licks his lips. “Mirame.” Your head tilts back down to see both of you finally connected. “Holy shit…” You whisper, the sight making you clench. Miguel moans and grips your hips tighter, his head falling forward as he takes a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t tighten around me like that.” “Sorry!” You squeak and he chuckles. He raises his head back up, hair falling in front of his face and a lazy smile on his face that shows his fangs–his piercings glinting in the dim moonlight. “Don’t be. It’s just, you feel so fucking good–you’ll make me cum.”

You cover your face and resist the urge to scream. The heat emanating from your face made you sweaty. Miguel takes your wrists and pins them to the side of your head. He cocks a pierced eyebrow up with a smirk. It softens when he sees just how flushed your expression is. “‘m gonna move, okay?” You gulp and give him the green light. Miguel looks down and slowly pulls out, watching your slick drench his condom covered cock. “Jesus…” He groans under his breath. He looks back up to see if there’s any sign of discomfort on your end but he’s met with your eyes glued between your legs as well. Your eyebrows are scrunched up in pleasure, mouth agape with shallow breaths while you watch him slowly ease out of you. Miguel’s eyes darken with lust and he pushes back in once his tip was kissing your heat. He watches as you roll your head back, your eyes rolling behind your skull when you felt his cock filling you up again. “Oh my God…” You moan. “Miguel…” Miguel’s heart jumps and his hands tighten around your wrists. Still, he’s careful. For a few minutes, Miguel continues his slow thrusting. He pulls out sweet moans and whimpers from you, getting you used to his massive size and stretching your cunt out to the shape of him. His tip nudges against your cervix and you jump which makes him grin. After those few minutes, you began writhing underneath him. The pain had subsided and now this soft stroking was sweet but it wasn’t doing anything for you anymore. Your hands clenched and unclenched into fists.

“Miguel, Mig–more,” You begged. “Faster.” “You sure?” He slows to a stop and you furrow your eyebrows in annoyance which he doesn’t notice. He’s about to ask again after your lack of response when you lock your ankles around his waist, shoving him back inside you. You and Miguel moan in unison, Miguel nearly falling on top of you if he didn’t catch himself by resting on his elbows by your head. His breath fanned your face and he looked down into your eyes with a heavy blush. “More.” You moan and Miguel quickly goes to work. He leans on one elbow and places his other hand down to your hip to start picking up his pace. Miguel attaches his lips to your chest, biting the plump flesh of your tits before taking your nipple in his mouth once again. Your hands go around his back, your nails raking down his spine that leave red streaks. He pushes himself further against you, folding you in half while he increases his speed, abusing your pussy by slamming his cock in and out of you. Your squealing and moaning becomes music to Miguel’s ears. He groans and licks his tongue around your nipple, lapping it back in his mouth to suck on it. His nails dig into your waist while the sound of skin slapping signaling just how desperate he is to fill you with his cock. “Atta girl,” He moans after moving up to your neck with wet open mouthed kisses. “Knew you could take all of me. Knew you would sound so pretty crying all over my cock.” He smirks, looking up to see your eyes rolled back, tears brimming your eyes in ecstasy instead of pain this time. Your pussy spasms around him as you whimper. 

“Mig–Mig–” You babble mindlessly. The only thing on your mind is Miguel, Miguel and Miguel. “So–so good…” You slur, vision going hazy while the lust clouded your mind. Miguel’s ego inflates, his dick twitching inside you. Even with a condom he could still feel your pussy contract around him, your warm walls sucking him in deeper. Your hips wiggle and buck weakly to match his thrusts but ultimately Miguel does all the work, sending your mind spinning while he practically fucks all your thoughts, fears, and insecurities from your brain—turning you into a dumb cock-drunk mess. Through the haze, you can hear your juices sloppily smacking between you and Miguel–an erotic sound of wet plaps, his balls becoming slick and sticky with your arousal. “God, you feel so good,” He moans, hips stuttering. “It’s like your cunt is just begging for my cum. You want it? Huh? This tight little pussy gonna milk me dry?” He quickened his pace, humping against you in fast short thrusts. You scratch his back, multiple lines of red marking his skin while your toes curl. “Yes, please, please, please–I wanna,” You babble through gasps. “It’s so good–I wanna cum–Don’t stop…!” Your voice becomes high pitched, your hips lifting to grind yourself on him. The both of you fucking one another exactly like horny college kids. Miguel growls, nipping at your neck to add more hickeys to your body. “Never. Holy shit–you’re so fucking sexy,” He cuts himself off with a groan, his sweaty forehead falling to your shoulder while he humps you. “Never letting you go. This pussy is mine.” His thumb finds your clit again, his fingers slowly being drenched with your messy juices that had spread all around your labia, smearing around your pussy with the help of Miguel’s unstable thrusting. His cold rings bumped against your hot skin, the difference in temperature becoming another factor in your raw lust.  Your screams of pleasure bounced off the walls. “C’mon pretty girl. Cum for me. I know you’re close.” He pants in your ear.

“Mig–gy!” You choke out, eyes squinted in ecstasy as Miguel helps you reach your climax. It wasn’t anything you’ve experienced before. White hot numbing pleasure waving through your body as you spasmed. Your orgasm shook your entire body and you clutched onto him tightly, your legs keeping him near, nails finding purchase in his back and arching your breasts up to his chest, nipples sensitive to the touch. Miguel followed right after: rubbing your clit faster and his balls ached with a tightness before releasing his seed into the condom, his cock twitching as it spurts out his cum. He moans loudly, his body shivering and shaking along with you but he still helps you come down from the high, pumping weakly as he empties himself. Your body falls limp, head lolled back while Miguel breaths heavily. He pulls out as gently as you can but your virgin cunt wasn’t used to such stimulation, each inch back caressed your sensitive nerves up until he finally left with a pop. Miguel’s hands shook as he took off the condom, body now covered in cold sweat now that the heat of the momentum was gone. He stumbled off your bed and tied the condom shut then dumped it in the small bin in your dorm room. He slipped back in your bed beside you, smiling to himself when you took deep breaths with your eyes closed. “Hey, you alright?” He asks with a soft wheeze. “Huh?” You barely heard him over the heartbeat pounding in your head. The blood flow goes through your body normally once again. “Hm? Oh. Mhm. Yeah.” Miguel chuckles, resting on one elbow with his cheek in his palm and brushes your sweaty hair back from your face. “Yeah? You were amazing.”

“Really?” You try to look up at him through the exhaustion in your eyes. Who knew sex could take all your energy? Miguel grabs your folded fuzzy blanket and unravels it to drape it on top of you two. “Really. I’m honored to be your first.” You blush at the reminder that you hadn’t had sex before and the reminder that you were no longer a virgin. You stare at his face while his hands caress your cheeks, his thumb rubbing the side of your neck right under your jawline. “Do you really like me?” You find yourself asking him. Miguel’s hand stops moving and he looks surprised. “Yeah,” He confirms gently. “I wouldn’t fuck you if I didn’t. I don’t have sex with just anyone.” He pulls your cheek. You frown and pout at him. “I'm serious!” Miguel chuckles. “I know, I know.” He tilts your chin up with his index finger and leans down to kiss you sweetly for a quick peck. He knows what’s really on your mind. “My pretty girl.” He hums as he stares down at you to admire the afterglow of your orgasm. “All mine. My pretty girl.” He dunks his head down to your chest, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in his embrace and snuggles you.

Your heart flutters. Pretty. It hits you then that Miguel really does think you’re pretty. You feel his ear piercings against your chest and the rings on his fingers running up and down the curve of your spine. His fingers find your white ribbon, crumpled under you and he twirls it around his ring finger. You struggle to hold back your smile as you hug him back, nuzzling your nose in his hair and falling asleep with the comfort of knowing someone genuinely finds you beautiful, inside and out.

a/n: im sorry i wasnt normal i just love a good trope and punk miguel i cant help but make him cute

[lotus-n-l0ve]

𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐞𝐞

— Peter Parker x Stark!Female Reader

☯ SYNOPSIS : When Peter's girlfriend pays him a little visit in Midtown High School and meets his long time bully, Flash Thompson.

☯ WARNINGS : Au, stark!reader, Peter is barely present in the fic, cursing.

☯ NOTE FROM LOTUS : Hey guys. I have been having such a bad writer's block that I couldn't write anything for past few weeks. I'm writing this to, hopefully, get over my writer's block.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The red Saleen S7 car, parked outside of Midtown High School, gaining curious glances from the students and passersby. You wait, sitting on the driver's seat, with your phone in your hand. The past week you were out of the country with your father so you had not seen him for the past seven days and barely got to talk to him.

So when you came back today, you wanted to give him a surprise visit. You came here, all confident, but now you were doubting your choices. Maybe you should just wait till school ends?

Fuck it. You are Y/N Stark, girl. Since when do you get nervous?

You checked yourself last time in the back mirror. Perfect as always. You throw yourself a flying kiss and put on your favourite pair of glasses. The car door opens with a click and you get down. It was not long before you were walking down the halls of Midtown High, making everyone stop what they were doing and gawk at you.

You chuckle in your mind. Of course you loved being the centre of attention. You were Tony Stark's daughter after all. Now there's one problem. You don't know exactly where Peter is. You look around the hall before your eyes fall on a boy, sitting with two girl on each side.

Without any second thoughts, you walk up to him, "Hey, do you know where Peter Parker is?"

Flash tore his eyes from the beautiful girls in his arm to the legs standing in front of him. He raised his eyes to your face. His gaze so disgusting that made you want to throw up.

"Talking to me, angel?" Flash stood up, abandoning the girls.

You roll your eyes at his pathetic attempt of flirting. At least he got the angel part right.

"I asked if you know where Peter Parker is." You deadpan.

"Peter Parker? Oh! You mean penis Parker. What do you need with him? I'm sure I can help you way more than he can." Flash wiggled his eyebrows at you, giving you a suggestive look.

You just stared at him, completely unimpressed and now angered. This pathetic flirt has the audacity to call your baby penis— wait a damn minute. Penis Parker? Something clicked in your mind.

"Are you Flash Thompson?" You ask before you could stop yourself.

Surprise flashed on his face before a smug smirk appeared on his face.

"Wow! I know that I'm famous but not much. Damn!" He said, running a hand through his hair.

You giggle at his ignorance as you take off your glasses. Folding it and keeping it safely in your hand bag, you step towards him, closing the distance between you two.

"Listen here you little shit." The smirk on his fell at your words, "If I ever hear from Peter that even got anywhere near him, I'll kidnap you, shave off your head, leave you on a deserted island and post your disgusting nudes all over the internet."

"Wh—"

"Shut up and listen." Flash gulped with fear, his face covered in sweat. The menacing aura around you looked scarier than the monster under his bed.

You say while jabbing on his forehead with your pointer finger, "Don't think of him, don't look at him, don't walk on his direction, don't breathe on his direction. Don't go anywhere around my boyfriend. Got it, you failed experiment of a chimpanzee?"

"Y-yes, I....um, I-I..... I under-understand." He nodded his head vigorously. Anything to get away from you.

"Good." You back away, giving him space to finally breathe in relief. Fuck! He didn't know Peter's girlfriend was this scary.

"Y/N?" The familiar voice of your boyfriend called from behind and your demeanour changed like lizards change colours.

"Hey, Pete." You walk up, giving him a quick kiss, "let's go, you are skipping class today. I missed you."

You linked your arm with him and started dragging him out of the school. Peter complied with you because he did miss you a lot too and skipping one day was not going to do any harm on him.

"I missed you a lot." Peter smiled down at you.

You left the school, leaving behind a embarrassed Flash. After you two left did Flash realised the crowd of students circling around him in the hallway. And they were chuckling while looking down at his pants?

Flash looked, "FUCK!"

His blue jeans were now dark blue, water spread on the floor around him. He had peed in his pants. His face turned red with anger and embarrassment. He should not have fucked with Peter.

FUCK!

© 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐔𝐒-𝐍-𝐋𝟎𝐕𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 ��𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 — all content rights belongs to LOTUS-N-L0VE. do not plagiarize any works and do not repost or translate onto any other sites.

All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.

[fullonfandomindulgence]

please clic for larger images, tumblr compression made these look all blurry. id below the cut

here i am still making mp100 comics in april of 2024. its just such comfort food. im highly normal about mob and tomes friendship

ID: three pages of black and white comics about Mob and Tome from the anime Mob Psycho 100.

panel 1: a leg and an arm extend from out of panel so that the hand on the arm can tie the shoe on the leg. lying on the ground is the other shoe, a cell phone, a keyring, and a polka dot carrying case. on the carrying case rests a sphere with a strange pattern on it. in the top right it says "January."

panel 2: a figure (its tome) pulls on a jacket. visible in front of her are a cabinet and a wall-mounted rack, all messy.

panel 3: with a door in the background, a closeup of tomes hand on her flipphone. the screen says "dialing."

panel 4: tome shrugs on her jacket and, holding her phone against her ear with her shoulder, smiles and says, "Oy, Mob! It's Saturday! Let's go telepath-hunting!"

panel 5: ritsu and mob sit on a blanket on the floor in front of a bookshelf. a little "pause" label extends from off-panel. both of them are holding controllers. ritsu leans against his hand, looking bored, as mob holds his cellphone to say "Hi Tome. Didn't we already find a telepath?" tome responds, "Oh, right."

panel 6: tome and mob dont really know what to say next. they both look cartoony and stupid. "..."

panel 7: tome, looking pained, curls a hand in the air in front of her and says, "Do you want to... walk around the city? Pointlessly?" mob says, "Sure, I guess that's what we normally do."

panel 8: tome looks mad. "No! We walk pointedly! In the direction of telepaths!" she points, pointedly. mobs eyebrows go a little down as he scratches at his face. "It's pretty funny that you were looking for so long when Takenaka was right next to you. For months. And then he left because you were too weird."

panel 9: tome, opening her front door, says, "Y'know what, Mob, maybe I'll invite him instead." Mob says "That's a good idea. Let's see if he can come with us."

panel 10: now exiting onto the walkway in front of her apartment, tome says, looking excited, "Actually I have been investigating something new. We should look for a haunted house!" mob thinks to himself, "Sounds like work..."

panel 11: mob looks skeptical and asks, "In the city?" tome responds, "Yep." behind mob, ritsu unpauses the game (ssb brawl) and starts thrashing mob (ritsu mains lucas, mob mains kirby)

panel 12: tome walks down the stairs of her apartment building to a concrete sidewalk with a row of trashcans nearby. she says, "My first guess is that new shaved ice place on 5th street." mob responds, "Oh." tome says "It's an old building! I think it's haunted!"

panel 13: mob, contented, says, "Okay. I'll meet you at the train station." pleased, tome responds, "Excellent!" ritsu looks back at mob with a mean smile on. the tv screen says "GAME!"

panel 14: mob yells, "Ritsu! What the heck!" tome, at a stoplight, replies, "Sure, he can come too." she presses the walk signal button. "BIP."

End ID.

making this comic i learned that you cant just put masking tape over your mistakes and re-ink on top of it bc the masking tape looks too dark when its scanned in. i guess ill just have to warm up more and be more deliberate when i ink like some kinda loser. or i could become truly insane and start gluing on little pieces of bristol

[hurtmemoreplease]

Bzzzzt.

"Hey," I said, a little hesitantly. "I don't want to pry or anything, but is something going on? Your phone has been going off all evening."

"Hmm?" My girlfriend glanced up absentmindedly. "No, it's just that butch I met last week. You remember me telling you about her, right?"

I nodded, but didn't say anything. I was a little jealous, I could admit. Things hadn't been the best between us, lately. I wasn't really feeling up to topping, and she had never really liked taking the lead, so we had stalled out a bit. I trusted her, of course, but I felt bad for not being the hard domme that she sometimes wanted me to be.

Bzzzzt.

She smiled at her phone again, then placed it face down on her desk and turned fully to me.

"Babe, I was thinking." She started, "Can I tie you up? Like, now?"

I blinked. "Are you sure? You almost never-"

"Yes." She cut me off, her gaze weirdly intense.

"Should I go shower and shave? It's been-"

She shook her head. "Just go lie on the bed while I grab the ropes and stuff?"

I gave her a look of surprise. "And stuff? Someone's in the mood."

She glared at me. I laughed and walked over to the other room, taking off my shirt and bra and tossing them over to the dresser.

I shimmied out of my pants and hopped onto the bed, taking the moment to stretch out my arms and legs.

I had barely waited long enough to feel cold when my girlfriend bustled in, her arms filled with restraints of black faux-leather and fuzz.

"Lie back," She commanded.

"Puppy," I said, and saw her visibly shiver in pleasure. "I don't want you to force yourself. What's going on?"

She shook her head and grabbed my wrist, wrapping a cuff around it and pushing it down. She clipped it to the bedpost, then repeated the process with the other arm.

I shrugged, as much as I was able. "I trust you," I told her, as much to mask my nervousness as to reassure her.

"Ugh," she said, then grabbed my jaw and gently pushed the ball gag into my mouth, my lips parting without any conscious input on my part. "Just be quiet."

The blindfold was next, and everything went dark. I felt her hand trail down my body, caressing my tits and lingering on the nipple for half a moment before twisting sharply. I gasped, and the pain stopped immediately.

I tensed, expecting another pinch, but there was nothing but the sound of footsteps. I tried to frown around the gag.

A gust of wind from the fan made me shiver, reminding me that I was very much naked and exposed.

I heard the sound of the apartment door opening, and tried to lift an eyebrow. I wasn't opposed to abandonment play, but it was a little unexpected.

The murmur of voices from the other room nixed that idea, though. I tried to imagine what she was doing, but none of the ideas jumped out. She could have been ordering a pizza? Maybe there had been someone at the door? She wasn't into netorare, was she...?

The number of possibilities slimmed rapidly as I heard two sets of footsteps approach, one much heavier than the other.

"Hey, what's going on?" I asked.

"Mm, mm mmm mm?" My girlfriend repeated, her tone not quite mocking, but unexpectedly harsh.

"So," an unfamiliar voice asked, "This is the gal, huh?" I felt someone heavy sit on the bed next to me. "Sure is a cutie," she said, and her hand rested softly on my exposed neck.

Jesus, I thought, as she started to tighten her grip, ever so slightly, her hand is huge!

My windpipe was barely constricted for a second before she let go, but that was enough to have me gasping and panting through the gag, a reaction that elicited a chuckle.

"This is gonna be fun," she said, then got quieter, like she was talking to someone else. "If you wanna go get ready, I'll get started."

Breath tickled my ear, and I heard my girlfriend whisper. "I've been waiting for this alllll week."

A pair of large hands lifted my hips, adjusting them so my legs were spread and I was even more exposed.

Something cold and wet pressed against my butt, and the suddenness of the sensation made me arch my back.

"C'mon..." my girlfriend pouted. "I want to hear your noises."

"What do you think?" The butch asked, "One finger or two, to start?"

"Start with two," my girlfriend replied. "If we try to work all the way up then we'll be here all night."

Her lubed fingers slid in, forcing me open. I gasped or moaned - maybe both at once. The sensation of her fingers pushing inside me, slowly, gently, filled my mind.

"-already leaking," I heard, the first part of the conversation lost.

She started to withdraw her fingers, and I made a soft moan of disappointment, instantly morphing into ecstatic pleasure when she pulled out with a pop.

I felt my girlfriend's hot breath in my ear. "I'm such a bad dog," she told me, "I loovvvveee hearing your noises." Her breaths were heavy enough that I didn't doubt her.

"And when she told me she was lookin' for the type of woman that could break her owner in half, well..." The butch chuckled darkly. "I ain't gonna say no to a two for one deal like that."

She stuck her fingers back in me, but kept moving this time, punctuating her words by driving deep into me and making my hips buck.

"You can go ahead and start touching yourself, sweetheart, I'll tell her about the deal," she told my girlfriend, then turned her attention back to me.

I tried to focus on her words, over the sound of my puppy furiously masturbating right next to my face, and the sensation of the butch's fingers pounding me.

"See, your girl told me that you've a thing for collars, yeah? And it just so happens I've got one in my back pocket right now."

Her free hand caressed my bare neck, and I couldn't contain a moan. "But I ain't the type to let my dogs off leash." She laughed. "Just good manners."

A third finger slid in and my brain went blank.

"Back with me?" she asked, "Good. So, come morning, if you ain't interested, I walk out of here and neither of ya'll see me again. Understand?"

"Mmmm," I said, as calmly as the situation allowed.

She hummed appreciatively. "Puppy over there is right, your dumb little moans ARE cute. Now, if I can convince you before then to put this baby on, then I get both of you. Sound fair?"

"Well," she said after a moment of consideration, "Don't really matter what you think, huh. Good luck on holding out!"

[iid-smile]

flufftober — diluc ragnvindr

noticeable

synopsis: both of you notice things about each other all the time, especially when you both do your morning and night routines together. you know the exact steps he prefers when it comes to shaving his face, and diluc knows how you like to curl your hair.

a/n: um... pretend this came out yesterday because i literally FORGOT. then as i started writing, the og idea i had gradually faded out and i felt like i was on something as i continued... (ihateit) 😁

word count: 333

"hold still..." your fingers graze his jaw as you avoid directly touching the shaving cream spread all over his face. you make an attempt to raise the razor to his cheek again, but your hand shakes as you giggle for no apparent reason.

your husband can only huff as you fail for the umpteenth time to make a start on shaving his face, something that you asked to do. "i am still, darling." diluc lowly responds, his eyes glancing at your combined reflection. "or are you searching for an excuse to make me talk?"

"maybe." you hum, and quickly shake the excitement out of you as you press the metal to his skin. slowly, slowly, and with a light grip, you move the razor from his cheekbone down to his jaw. "oh! it came off smooth this time!" you turn his head to the side so he can take a look himself.

he softly smiles at the sight, finding your effort nothing but adorable. "good job." he praises you. "continue like that."

and continue you did. throughout, he constantly encouraged you and gave you advice. you insisted on washing his face too, but he wanted to do that himself. you've already done enough for him.

after he's done, he dries off his hands. "it's your turn." you can feel his warmth spread into your shoulders as he guides you to stand in front of him. diluc enjoyed doing your hair, mostly because it prevents you from getting shoulder and neck pain, but also because he's used to taking care of hair. have you seen his? a huge handful, but he manages. "anything specific you want me to do?"

"hm..." placing your hand on your chin, you pretend to think for a bit, though your choice was already set in stone. "can you make my hair look like yours?"

diluc raises an eyebrow. "like mine?" he pauses looking through the sink drawers.

"like fluffy. and a ponytail!"

"that will be... difficult, honey. are you—?" the two of you hold eye contact for just a split second, but he knows your facial expressions all too well. "you are sure. fine. i'll try."

"with the pink curlers?"

"with the pink curlers."

[whorediaries-09]

remember how I'd fly to you?💋 another one bc my mind RAN with ideas coquette-y!reader gives siri flowers and he's surprised because she remembered his favorite flower and reader doing lovey-dovey little things (taking care of him when he's drunk, washing his hair softly, giving him massages, making hot cocoa for him) while he stares at her in awe.

okay i kinda like how this one turned out 🎀

lavender haze;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- mutual pinning, tooth rotting fluff, alcohol. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- i just wanna stay...

the slut club

i feel the lavender haze creepin' up on me

'sirius did you get your helmet?' your startled shout echoes from your house. it's still carries its softness, the healing aura when it falls on sirius' eardrums. he hears your muffled pacing around in the hall. he wonders what you're searching for, sandals or his helmet. he doesn't think you'd like to get your soft bunny slippers dirty.

he bumps his black boot against the gravel of the road, twisting and turning around his motorbike keys. he hears your footsteps echo in your pretty garden as you approach him. his black helmet in your hands, a stark contrast against your pretty pastel colored dress you wore.

'how could forget your helmet sirius!' you scold. but there's no grimace in your tone, or anger. it's pure and raw, honey coated words from your vocal cords. he throws you a lopsided smile. one that makes your heart flutter and do somersaults against your ribcage.

'it ruins my hair,' he says. you knit your eyebrows together, standing on your tiptoes, sliding the helmet across his head. biting your lip, you clasp it under his jaw.

'well you'll have to shave it off if you...' you advise, shaking your head at the horrible thought. his smile softens, as he throws his arm around your neck, pulling you closer. you breathe in his warm scent of cedar and mahogany. his hot breathe fans over your face before he presses a soft peck on your forehead. you close your eyes as heat rushes under your skin.

'i'll be safe from now on, sweetie,' he whispers against your hot blazing skin. your hand crawls over his leather jacket, as you pat him, slowly moving away from his hold. because you're sure that if you don't you'll combust right then and there.

'promise?' you ask. he inserts his key into his bike, turning on the engine. patting his helmet he nods,

'promise.'

the 'just for you' remains silent.

******

you sink your knees into the mud, planting another healthy batch of gloxinias, heathers. daisies and yarrows. your garden isn't very huge, but it's not too small either. it's patched with pretty flower beds and well mowed fresh grass. the abyss of the soft hues of pinks, lavenders and whites melt to form a garden so very like you.

sirius thinks it's endearing how much you take care of flowers. he likes them too, especially the daisies. he wonders how it would feel if you braided them into his hair, but he doesn't want to pick your carefully cultivated flowers.

he doesn't want the flowers on his hair, he thinks. he just wants to feel your fingers running through the locks. and the flowers seem to be an excuse to keep something from you. something like a souvenir. something to keep near him, knowing how much love and effort you put in to grow them.

he sinks his hand into the packet of groceries, pulling out a tray of strawberries.

'hi sweetie,' he says, standing by you. you jump a little, seemingly startled by his sudden appearance. he doesn't blame you. he finds you adorable when you're surprised...well no he finds you adorable all the time. so maybe he'd done it on purpose.

his heart skips a beat as you stand up, wiping your dirty, muddy hands on your apron. your hair is tousled, messy. your eyes reflect the shimmer of the sun, but nothing beats the shine of your smile.

'i brought you strawberries,' he hands you the tray of strawberries. you smile at him, and his heart melts. he's so in love with you, he thinks. it's endearing, how much he wants to kiss your lips, comb your tousled hair, paint your nails with pretty pastel colors, pick out sundresses for you.

'thank you, pretty,' you say. he throws you a lopsided smile. his mind reels with the nickname you used for him...pretty. he's putty in your hands and you don't even know it. he's devoted to you and you don't even know it.

'i'm gonna make it into a jam, would you want some?' you ask.

'i'd love some,'

he doesn't really want you, he loves you.

*****

it was slow. it progressed eventually. when the looks in a crowded room began to wander about solely for him. when you laughed at the silliest jokes by him. when you wore his black leather jacket on a cold day, just to realize you'd like to submerge in his scent forever. when you held his hand for the first time and the sparks crawled under your skin. when the gray skies and beaches only seemed appealing when they were the shade of his eyes.

it took a lot of convincing from lily for you to realize. you didn't really have a crush on sirius. no, you didn't want him.

you loved him.

you'd broken a few flowers from your garden. heathers, yarrows and daisies. you'd tied them together, making a little bouquet. though you weren't sure he'd like it, considering the bouquet looked like a mess. a beautiful mess none the less.

taking in a breath you knocked on his door. you heard shuffling around in his hallway, before the door swung upon, revealing a shirtless sirius. his chest was clad in tattoos, which rather hid under the t-shirts he wore. his gray sweatpants hung low on his narrow hips, revealing his happy trail. fuck, you thought, gulping slowly. you felt the heat crawl under your skin to your neck and ears, your eyes drifting to your shoes.

the sight haunted you, in the best way possible. and even though you could stare at him all day, you were just his friend.

a friend who was hopelessly in love with him.

'hav-have i interrupted something?' you ask, even though no other shoes were visible other than his.

'god, no sweetie, i was hot,'

you are hot, you think wordlessly.

'you can look, i promise,' he says. his voice carries a teasing tone. you're sure you feel your heart burst out from your ribcage and your legs turn shaky when you look at him, leaned against his doorframe, his hand tucked away in his pocket. his smile burns through you, as you hand him the jam and the bouquet of flowers. he's visually speechless. his eyebrows knitted into an unreadable emotion. you wonder what he thinks.

'thanks, love,' he says, nudging his finger against his scrunched up nose. love...he says. he'd never used it before...

you want nothing but to sink into his arms and kiss him.

*****

he wraps his hands around your body. he's sure he smells like whiskey, beer and things you don't like. but you're soft, and he's drunk. he needs you, he needs the one he loves close by. he needs to feel your skin upon his. he needs to submerge himself into your scent.

'pretty, you're drunk,' your house smells so homely. he wants to sink in your cave and presence for an everlasting period. he wants to coat his eardrums into your honey weaved voice forever.

'i knowww,' he slurs. he hears you locking the door. you house smells of vanilla and sugar. he wonders whether he had interrupted your baking session. he wonders whether you're angry at him for drinking. but your beautiful eyes speak nothing. he knits his eyebrows, tucking your head under his jaw. he presses your head against his chest.

'did i interrupt something?'

'no,' you chuckle. he thinks it's the most beautiful melody he's heard.

'sirius, you should take a bath...i'll draw you one yeah?'

he blinks as you separate yourself from him. you guide him to your couch, telling him to sit down and open his shoes. he unbuckles the belt of his boots, before he hears the splashing of water against ceramic.

'sweetie, will you wash my hair?' he says, when he sees you waddle back into the hall. you play with your fingers clumsily, not quite meeting his gaze.

'you're sure?' you whisper.

'yeah,' he nods. his heart somersaults when you agree. so he walks into your washroom. the bubbles in the bathtub shimmer under the moonlight that enter through the window. your bath smells of watermelons and strawberries. he strips himself off his clothes, sinking under the hot water.

'love, you can come in,' he shouts. you slowly walk into your bathroom. he's thrilled, to say the least. to be soaked in your scent. to finally feel your fingers against his scalp. his heart flutters, when you kneel down beside him, grabbing the bottle of shampoo.

the silence is comforting, soaked in an effervescent of pure bliss and innocence. neither of you speak, afraid to jinx the moment. because it feels unreal, a haze. but it's real, your eyes boring into his, your fingers rubbing into his scalp. it's real, his hot breath fanning over your face. it's real, how he feels so close yet so far away. it's real, when he finally breaks the silence.

'i love you, sweetie,'

'you're drunk,'

'in love,'

*****

the smell of hot chocolate mixes with your spritz of cherries. you feel the hot gaze of sirius burn your back through you. he thinks there's nothing not to love about you. he's not drunk from alcohol anymore, but he remembers confessing. he remembers being drunk in love.

because he is, right now. and he wants to be all the time, if it's you he loves.

and he doesn't regret it, no. the poems he'd written about you would never compare to the ethereal love he feels for you. the paints melting on canvas could never capture your beauty. they could never capture how you made him feel. they could never capture the softness of your voice. they could never capture the feeling of your hair against his fingers. they could never capture the feeling of your body pressed against his. they could never capture the random scribbles of your fingers on his back. they could never capture the beauty of your eyes. they could never capture your sunny smile. they could never capture the taste of your jams or cookies. they could never capture the taste of your lips against his.

they could never capture you.

not when your lips melted with his, when you hand him the cup of hot cocoa.

[itsgrimeytime]

When you need to be held... || Rick Grimes (TWD)

It wasn't long before the lamp by his bedside turned on -enveloping just a corner of the room in a yellow gaze, and blue eyes fixated on you.

"Hey," you whispered, in the dark of the bedroom -it wasn't yours, and you kind of felt like you were intruding but... you didn't know where else to go.

"Hey," suddenly, he seemed more awake, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and sitting up -concern furrowing his eyebrows together. The blanket (a white duvet) fell below his chest, and you saw the surge of skin there and felt somehow even more embarrassed, "-everythin' alright?"

You opened your mouth to respond, eager to explain yourself -instead, your eyes flickered to the window where the night sky was beginning to light up and guilt grounded your words to a halt.

"This is so stupid. Look, I'm sorry I'll-"

Rick was quick to cut you off, the gruff nature of his voice only exaggerating with the sleep slur, "No, no, it's not. I can... I can tell it's not. You wouldn't be here if it was."

You pursed your lips, the weight of your shoulders heavy as you stood in the doorway -hesitating, "I don't... Are you sure?"

"I wanna know," he was fully sat up now, awake and aware, "-if you wanna tell me."

"There's nothing to tell, I just... Shit-" you were rambling, your face turning a damning shade of crimson -afraid to voice what exactly you came here looking for.

It wasn't like it was unfounded, you and Rick had this... thing. You were dancing around it -letting him do things at his pace, and it was slow. Not that you minded, and normally, you'd be fine. It was just dawning on you that maybe it wasn't the same for him, maybe the slowness was a sign all on its own. Your thoughts had only spiraled from there. But this night... you'd taken a leap.

"Y/N, baby," he spoke (that was new), rubbing at his tired eyes with a sort of grin that sent butterflies to your stomach, "-I can't help if ya don't tell me what's wrong."

And without warning, it bubbled out of your throat -open and vulnerable, "I'm just lonely."

His look from that wasn't one you could read, everything was still new between you two after all. And the surge in your stomach of anxiety at his silence wasn't exactly helping; still, you waited, almost expecting him to quickly ignore what you'd said without so much as another thought.

"I'm sorry," you continued -before you could think much of it, "-I just... It's stupid, but I was just thinking if I'd ever been held. Like if anyone had, you know, held my hand, or cared for me in a way that didn't need words. It's been so long and I just thought- Well, I assumed which isn't fair to you-"

"Sweetheart," he was whispering now, the low tone fitting for the intimateness of the space -you could see his clothes from the day strewn on the floor and a few stray bottles of shaving cream on the bathroom sink just out of the corner of your eye (it was so him, you felt dizzy), "-there's nothin' to be sorry for. C'mere."

"Rick, you don't have to-"

"Look at me," he spoke, motioning you to his side -effectively stunting your train of thought, "-it's not a burden to help. It's fuckin' far from it, actually."

"Rick."

"Y/N."

"You don't-" you paused, stopping your voice in its tracks, and just looked at him. He was looking at you in a way you'd just barely gotten used to recently, eyes fuzzed over in that affectionate way, and he'd folded back the blankets delicately. The pillow was untouched, it was... like he had waited for this moment. And maybe he had.

"There it is," he spoke, a warm smile smoothing across his lips, "-you get I want you here now?"

"You..." you trailed off, it felt so new, and yet every fiber of your being somehow felt natural -why had you waited so long?

Your next few steps were slow and unsteady, as if he'd jump up and tell you to scram like an old man in a cartoon -which was quite the picture now that you thought of it. Sinking into the bed, you relaxed there -trying to soak in the well... Rick all around you.

Before you could even move, he pulled up the cover over you -the rush of his woodsy scent flying over you in what felt a bit like a warm hug. As if testing it out, he pressed his hand against your waist -brushing his fingertips up and down your side. It was gentle, careful, an opening -he was asking you.

"What do ya need from me?"

There was a spark of embarrassment there -thrumming under your quick heartbeat, but it was quieter, "Just... hold me."

"Okay," he whispered, not needing any more direction than that.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple -languid and slow. But the movement was right then, it felt as if he was treasuring you. His hands gently brushed over your shoulders -leaving goosebumps in his wake, and then the pads of his fingers detailed the curve of your nose, traced your eyebags, and fluttered over your lips.

You laughed, a bit astonished at the situation you were in, but he was undeterred -other than the smallest of smiles blooming on his lips at the noise.

Rick leaned forward, slowly, kissing your forehead before dipping to the right cheek and then left -his stubble leaving a pleasant buzz among there. It was like a sign he'd done it, a little aftershock -keeping you grounded.

You hummed, a bit out of natural instinct and he bit out a laugh from it -a pleased one like he'd done something he was proud of.

His hands found a place to brush his fingers through your hair -just a touch of smoothing down the mess you knew there was. But he was doing it in such a way that felt like you were fragile, breakable, precious-

You only leaned into his touch as a response, sinking into the rough texture of his hands without an extra thought.

Using the hand that he had previously trailing there on your side, he pulled you to him your face laying neatly on his chest. The gentle movement of his breaths soothed you in a way you didn't know you missed, the warmth of his skin against yours creating a sort of fog in your head -much like the fluttering in your stomach but... peaceful.

Rick chuckled, trailing his hand down your back and pressing his lips to your hair like it was the most natural thing in the world -you hoped it would end up being, "Better?"

"The best," you respond, voice slurred in a way that it hadn't been just a few spare moments ago.

And something in you told you then, maybe he truly didn't mind you asking.

[luveline]

Maybe this is a dumb request…but could you do a fic where Roan is having a really bad day (for no particular reason) and she is just kinda being fussy and behaving differently than normal and Eddie tries to figure out what’s wrong and make Roan feel better while reader falls more and more in love with the both of them. I literally think that would be the cutest ever🥰

i kind of made it so there was a reason but i hope this is still okay! ty for ur request ♥︎ fem!reader

You know it's going to be a difficult day as soon as you wake up, plagued by the absence of a small body between you and your partner. You turn on one side to slap off the alarm, and then the other to wake Eddie yourself. 

He's disturbed by the sound of the alarm but not quite there, and so you cup his face in your hand and rub a pattern into his stubbly cheek with your thumb. 

"My love," you mumble, careful not to breathe any morning breath on him. "Up and at 'em." 

"No." 

You laugh quietly and rub your forehead against his chin. "Yeah, baby. You need a shave, and Roan isn't awake." 

"I can see that. Got a distinct lack of knees in my chest." 

"And morning kisses." 

"Well, you can fix that." 

You climb onto your knees, cradle his face in both hands, and plant a perfect kiss on the tip of his nose. His hand finds your neck, and the two of you linger in place like twin statues for a stolen moment. 

"You shave, I'll get Roanie," you say. 

"Yeah." 

You make for Roan's bedroom. Sounds echo from the bathroom, the faucet running, Eddie shaking a can of shaving foam. You push open Roan's door and shut it behind you, hoping for another gentle wake up call. It can be the difference between a good day and a bad one, to be woken up sweetly. 

Picking carefully over a mess of toys and clothes, you remind yourself to clean up her explosions when you have the time, and lower yourself next to the small lump in her bed. She's still so small. 

"Macaroanie," you sing lightly, hand dropped onto her back. "It's time to get up, princess. I thought we'd have a special breakfast this morning, but we can only do that if we're quick." You rub her back, brush her hair out of her eyes. 

She shies away from your touch and hides her face in the pillow completely. 

"Come on," you say, patting her shoulder.

"No," she grumbles. 

"Come on, baby. I'll make pancakes, okay? But we have to get up now and pick your clothes." 

"No." She moves her shoulder, throwing your hand off. 

You pull your hand into your lap, feeling rather dejected, and totally unawares of what's affecting her. Thankfully, Eddie appears like a saviour, opening the door with a small piece of tissue paper stuck to his cheek. 

"Eddie," you sigh. 

"It's tiny. I was rushing." He finds his place at your side and assesses his still in bed daughter with a puzzled expression. "She sick?" 

"Don't think so." 

He cuts between you and encourages Roan's head to the side. She makes her indignation known, and Eddie says, "Let daddy feel your temperature," in his softest, kindest tone. 

He presses first the back of his hand and then the front to her skin. Practised movements. 

"You feel fine," he says, dropping his hand. "Come on, babe. I know you're tired, but we gotta get this show on the road."

She doesn't say anything, only curls in on herself.

Eddie looks at you unphased. Where you feel hopeless, unsure of what to do even though it's not the first time Roan's been in an unhappy mood, he's a pro. 

"Go do what you need to," he says to you, arms sliding under a grumbling body and hoisting her up into his chest. "I'm on Roan duty today." 

He smiles. You flash one back. 

After you're dressed and ready for work you meet them downstairs, where Eddie's somehow managed to dress himself and Roan, and is now trying to aeroplane cereal into her mouth.

"I'm not a baby," she protests. 

"You're my baby," he says, ignoring her grumpy attitude. 

She's scowling so hard she's gonna have a wrinkle between her eyebrows, and it gets worse as you leave the house. You try to smooth it away when you part, leaning down between Eddie's car and yours to give her your usual farewell kiss on the cheek. She allows it grudgingly.

"Have a good day. I love you." 

She mumbles. You pout and stand at full height, where Eddie offers an apologetic farewell all his own, squeezing your shoulder until it aches in the best way. 

"See you at six," he says. 

You nod. He kisses you, and you don't see them again until you're home. 

You worry about Roan all day. She's a happy kid, she's well-loved. She's loving. It's out of character for her to be so grumpy so you chalk it up to tiredness. 

When you get home, you plan on fulfilling your usual routine; track down Roan where she's watching cartoons on the couch, hug her within an inch of her life, find your boyfriend in the kitchen and hug him too. Eddie works less hours than you so he can be there for pick-up duty, and he's home first each day without fail. But today, there's no sign of him. 

No Roan on the couch. No cartoons. No dinner bubbling on the stove top. 

You check for his car in the driveway again and feel your lips tug down into an unabiding frown. 

"Guys?" you call.

"We're up here!" 

You toe off your shoes and bump up the stairs two at a time, more worried than anything. 

"What's going on in here?" you ask, pushing open Roan's door first. 

They're in her big princess bed, under princess silk sheets. Eddie's swapped his mechanic's coveralls for comfy clothes, and Roan is in one of her nighties. They're both on their backs, though Roan's face rests against Eddie's chest. 

"My sweethearts," you say, more to yourself than either of them. "What's wrong?" 

He runs a hand over Roan's hair. "Can I tell her?" 

She shakes her head and hides her eyes. 

Eddie gives you a sympathetic, sorry pout. "How was work?" 

"It was just fine." You feel behind you for the doorknob. "I'll make dinner, okay? You guys stay where you are." 

Roan pushes up so she can whisper in Eddie's ear. 

Eddie hums. "Okay." He smiles, eyes creased with fondness, and says to you, "Will you come and lie down with us. We- I missed you." 

You rush to get changed and climb into bed with them, crushing Roan in a big love sandwich. Your arm curls around her on impulse, as if you could shield her from whatever it is that's irking her. She doesn't respond in any way, but she's letting you cuddle, and it's enough. 

You listen to Eddie problem solve in awe. He talks slowly, quietly, careful questions that don't probe so much as guide Roan into the answers you want to hear. How was school? And what was for lunch today? Yeah, you like spaghetti, was it as nice as the one we make at home? Aw, that's too bad. We can have spaghetti ourselves this week if you want.

He talks for at least an hour until he gets to the very root of the problem. 

"You were sitting with Melissa again?" he asks. 

You toy with a baby curl, twisting and untwisting it around your finger. Hunger gnaws at your stomach but you refuse to move. 

"Yes… She had her hair in braids again." 

"Yeah?" 

You blink, interest piqued. It's the most she's said of her own volition all day. 

"And everybody said she looked pretty." 

He looks over Roan's head at you with a winning smile, but quickly tamps it down when Roan looks up and between you both. 

"I think you'd look so pretty with braids in, Ro," you say. 

Eddie nods appraisingly. "So pretty. Is that something you want?" 

She seizes up a little, like she hadn't expected to get caught. "I don't know," she mumbles. 

Eddie beams. "You know you look amazing every day, don't you? But, babe? With braids in? I think you'd look so beautiful." 

"Super pretty," you agree with a hurried nod. 

"But dad doesn't know how to do braids," she says, sounding at a crossroads between happy and let down. 

You hold her cheek in your hand and push up onto your elbow. "I know how to do them, princess. Remember, I did them for your costume day? And daddy can learn." 

"I can. You can have your hair whatever way you want, Ro. You could shave it all off-" He stops at your broken-hearted gawping. "Or, you know, something less drastic." 

Roan smiles like everythings been solved. Then, too soon, her tiny smile fades back into indifference, and she curls up like a pill bug. 

You're lost. 

Eddie, not so much. "You don't need different hair to be pretty." 

"Nobody at school calls me pretty," she says. 

You hold your breath. 

"Sweetheart…" He sits up and Roan hides in the space behind his back. He turns around, scoops her up, and kisses the top of her head. "Is your mom pretty?" 

Your heart literally soars, worse when Roan looks over his shoulder at you and says, "Yes," without hesitation. 

"Do you tell her that every day?" 

"...No." 

"No, we don't. We don't always remember to tell her, but that doesn't mean she isn't beautiful." He pulls her face away from his collar to smile at her. "Your friends don't always remember to tell you, but that doesn't mean you're not pretty. But I'm your dad, and I'm literally the smartest guy alive, and I say you look pretty every day." He tucks a curl behind her ear. "'Kay?" 

Your heart is a puddle in your chest, melted. 

"Okay." 

"Feel a little better?" 

She deliberately visually, eyes up to the ceiling. "Can we have spaghetti tonight? They don't make it nice like you, with the bread." 

"They don't, huh?" He smirks, charmed. 

"They really don't," you say.

They remember you're there, and both of them light up. Roan wiggles to be put down and makes her way on top of your chest, a weight you wouldn't trade for anything. "Oof," you say, wrapping your arms around her. "There's my girl." 

Eddie makes spaghetti. You get your after school cuddle. All's right with the world, until that night when Eddie keeps you up late for braiding lessons. 

"I'm a deadbeat," he says morosely, hair full of clumsy plaits of different lengths and tightness. 

You shake your head, head heavy with fatigue but entirely sincere. "You're the best dad in the world." 

—

more eddie and roan

[pablitogavii]

Shaving cream

Summary: Pablo lets you try to help him shave hehe

Pairing:Pablo Gavi x Reader

Warnings: none/ cute Pablo / maybe slightly smutty?

You were cuddling with Pablo on the couch after he returned from his training for the last part of the season and when he nuzzled his face into your neck his growing stubble tickled you making you giggle in response.

He moved his head looking up at you curiously and you touched his face feeling his growing stubble under your fingertips as he realized what you were referring to.

"We came back from Sevilla so late and I had training early in the morning so I had no time to shave, nena. I'm sorry.." he said and you smiled thinking he is adorable that he thought you cared about such silly thing. You would love him even with a full grown beard (maybe not that much hehe).

"Let me do it?" you said and he was caught off guard raising his eyebrows while his smile grew. He wouldn't even let him mom help him when he first started shaving but seeing those big eyes of yours made it impossible to refuse.

"Fine..but you have to be careful not to kill me" he said and you laughed at his comment jumping off the sofa and reaching your hand for him.

"Right now??" he said whining still feeling his legs hurt after intense leg day training.

"All you have to do is sit and I'll do everything" you say as he stood up grabbing your hand and walking towards the bathroom.

"I love the sound of that nena ;)" he winked sitting on the edge of the bath smirking suggestively and you rolled your eyebrows at his snarky comment grabbing his shaving cream.

"Maybe take off your shirt so I don't get shaving cream on it?" you say and he kept his smirking face and you knew he was going to keep teasing you about every little comment.

"If you wanted to check out my abs, all you had to do was ask nena. They are all yours mi amor.." he took his shirt off quickly and you couldn't help but check out his fit body (he was your boyfriend after all) but then return your focus on the task at hand after leaving a quick peck on his lips.

You applied some shaving cream on your hand before gently applying it onto his face while his hands rested on your hips as he did his best to make you distracted, que fofo!

"You look like Santa now, bebé" you smile washing your hands before he pulled you back to him puckering his lips signaling he wanted a kiss.

"We will get shaving cream everywhere if you keep distracting me!" you smirk down at him but couldn't resist to give him a kiss whenever he asked careful not to get shaving cream on your face.

"Alright, now be still so I don't kill you" you used his words and he chuckled when you took his shaver form its case walking back towards him.

"Maybe it's better is you sit on my lap...that way we are same height and your hand is steady?" he suggested although you knew exactly why he suggested this position but you innocently smiled straddling his lap and sitting down before starting to carefully shave his face.

"Tu eres tan bonita.." he said and you stopped looking into his eyes giving him a smile as a 'thank you' before continuing to do your work.

"I really like your lips..and your dimples when you smile..and your hair when it's all crazy right when you wake up..and your eyes when you really want something from me..and.." he kept complimenting you and you felt your cheeks get red as you felt yourself getting distracted.

"I literally have a razor against your neck..stop distracting me if you want to live" you say and his hands start massaging your hips..damn it Pablito!!

"If you kill me, who would watch Disney movies with you, scratch you back before falling asleep, let you play with my hair whenever you want...or please you, mi reina? hm?" he was kissing your neck at that last part and you pulled the razor away closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling he created.

"Let me finish this amor!!" you whined and he smirked nodding his head and raising his hands up in surrender before sitting back and letting you continue.

In order to reach every side of his face evenly, you had to move a bit on his lap from time to time and Pablo certainly reacted moving himself in 'discomfort'...it was hard enough not to think about how gorgeous you looked while helping him shave let alone feeling you rub against him from time to time..it was torture!

"I almost cut you! Stop moving Pablo!" you say and his hands grip your hips making you stop once more to look at him in frustration since you were almost completely done.

"You try staying still when you are grinding on my dick princesa!" he said grunting when you moved to sit on top of him hitting your core to his now clearly aroused crotch.

"It's cute how you get horny so easily cariño.." you teased and he grabbed the razor from your hands standing up with you in his arms (legs wrapped around his waist) before cleaning his face with a towel and taking you to the bedroom as you chuckled at his silly actions.

Again, short but sweet ;) <3

[cuntycheol]

Passion Pallette (Y.JH)

Summary: You need an inspiration for your next artwork. Luckily Jeonghan has a lot to spare.

Genre: Artist!Reader x BF!Jeonghan

Themes/Warnings: Boyfie, slight long hair Jeonghan (we must prioritize his sexy lil evil mind babygirls) , the following contains NSFW content(heavy on smut, straight to the point, love use of cameras, , mature language, overall it's just things we good girlies want men like Jeonghan to do) MINORS DNI!

Songs- Angels by Chase Atlantic, So Wet by Elita, Often by TheWeeknd, Feel That by Junny, 34+35 Ariana Grande, Close with Desires by Thuy, Wet by Jooyoung&Superbee,

WC: 3.5K

A/N: Happy Hannie Day<3 speciaIly for our 1004 boy. Tbh I don't think so I'll ever be sane when Jeonghan's got black hair. Blonde Hannie drives me bonkers but HIM? I would devour every single pride of his phhhew~~ enjoy this lowkey philosophical scrumptious piece caratdeuls!! Hanniehae💜💜

"Fuuu-uuck This won't do" you let out an agitated, low yet soft grumble resonates in thick air among stenches of erasers, fresh papers, acrylics and graphite pencils.

With tousled hair and pencil smudges on your hands, Y/N definitely embodied the tormented artist archetype in a world where questionable AI and digital art has taken over. Your eyes darted critically across each failed attempt, a mix of determination and irritation etched on her face. Despite the exasperation, your sketches hinted at an inexplainable beauty that seemed to elude your grasp. The past hour unfolded with a string of complaints, grappling with the current sketches, that seem to fall short of expectations in a creative mind disrupted by the stark reality of the artistic struggle.

Meanwhile Yoon Jeonghan, your smart-mouth, overly encouraging, sharp yet short-tempered boyfriend provided a contrast as the calm in your artistic tempest; occupying the quiet corner of the room perched on the bed in his usual white shirt-grey sweatpants, with his phone in hand and snacks as companions.

It wasn't a brand new thing for him to see you covered in pencil smudges, a few shavings stuck to your wooly clothing and beads of sweat, followed by smears of paint intact on your skin. Swallowing the last bits and dusting the crumbs off his finger, Jeonghan, engrossed in whatever had captured his attention on the screen, abruptly paused. He clears his throat, as a sign for you to turn around in his chair, and lean back, both of your hands on the arms of the chair; a worn-out disappointed expression plastered on your face meeting Jeonghan's unaffected lazy sunday cool and chill vibes, all while fidgeting a pencil between your fingers.

Somehow, a minuscule atom of irritation seemed to dissipate from your demeanor just by seeing him exist.

He arched an eyebrow with a playful smirk gracing his lips "Perhaps the profound muse for your next masterpiece lies in the gripping scenario of that snobby neighbor attempting to assemble something, which seems like a drawer to me. That's interesting. Hanging a hammer be pulling his jeans though" Curious, you turned your head to observe exactly whatever Jeonghan had claimed the neighbor to be doing. Tucking a strand of his newly growing hair behind his ear, he wore a lazy smile on his everlastingly beautiful face.

He continues, "well, since you're seeking for your savior, I'd say you take a good look around this room. Maybe your next stroke of genius could be inspired by the epic tale of my lone sock that always goes missing in the laundry. A true masterpiece in the making" He bites into his crackers whilst he rubs his chin and you roll your eyes, silently comply according to his suggestion. Your gaze shifts from the failed crumples of sketches on these white sheets, to the walls adorned with your vibrant creations among ivory canvases.

You realize that you do,have a discernable mood to your work. Your artistic endeavors, mostly landscapes with a touch of fantasy or nature, displayed a restraint from the chaotic realm of "multicolors on a canvas." Unless a particular idea sparked your imagination, your aesthetic embraced simplicity, classic elegance, and a penchant for monochrome. Safe to say your aesthetic was always something that's not too much work. Something that radiates simplicity, classic and monochrome.

Your distinctive perspectives, where focus and pressure converged on the canvas, propelled you towards an 8-week apprenticeship among renowned artists in the enchanting city of Paris. During this artistic sojourn, you didn't just participate; you left an indelible mark with your meticulous approach and unwavering passion.

Jeonghan as well tagged along your journey. He possesses an enchantment for photography, turning moments of your artistic journey into captured treasures. His lens became a portal to the nuances of your triumphs, framing the dedication etched on your face during meticulous strokes, the palpable joy of artistic breakthroughs, and the undeniable chemistry between you and your boyfriend amid the vibrant backdrop of Paris. What went on in the streets were no secret, but what went under those sheets certainly were.

Each photograph was a narrative, telling the story of your artistic evolution. The peculiar enchantment of Jeonghan's photography wasn't just in freezing moments; it was in capturing the soulful connection between artist and muse, the shared joy, and the unspoken dialogues spoken through brushstrokes and stolen glances. Among these visual tales, a particular photograph held a special place. Attached near your Paris Masterpiece artwork, it became a center of the collage photo-set. This photograph encapsulated a moment of shared triumph, where you and Jeonghan, in the city of love, converged in a harmonious blend of creativity. The collage itself became a visual symphony, each candid frame resonating with the echoes of your artistic journey, all with the ever-present, enchanting gaze of Jeonghan.

Your boyfriend's sharp remarks were that each of your piece has always radiated not just simplicity but a timeless beauty, where the pressure on the material seemed to extract the essence of your creative soul.

However, on this particular day, a subtle roadblock seemed to challenge your artistic flow, leaving you searching for that elusive spark amidst the familiar canvases that held the stories of your passion and precision.

Following Jeonghan's suggestion, you survey the room until your eyes land on him. He's immersed in his phone, savoring the crumbs off his lips with a casual yet endearing demeanor. In that moment, a realization dawns – a silent connection between the imperfect sketches scattered around, the vibrant stories on the walls, and the living work of art himself, your boyfriend, on the bed.

He, the constant cheerleader, has observed your artistic reverie. According to his shrewd observations, whenever you zoned out, you stood in a particular position-arms crossed, head tilted at a precise 75 degrees, and your lower lip caught between your teeth. All accompanied by the rhythmic tapping of your right foot. According to him, it's the hottest and weirdest thing ever.

"What?" He questions, because at this point you've most certainly lost in your thoughts. He rise on his knees,adjusting his waistband while calling your nicknames. eyes still didn't move. "Y/N? Hey Y/N? Babe? Baby!!" His soft vocals exhaust on the common affectionate names he often calls. Finally, you snap out, a downward smile suggesting a revelation.

You meet Jeonghan's gaze with eyes that now hold a bright spark, silently claiming, "Well, I have an idea." Clasping your hands together, you take a deliberate breath, a pencil poised smirk slowly overshadows your expression, "I've found my muse. And it's you!"

Jeonghan, who was now sipping the life out of his juice raises an eyebrow as loud as an 'objection' in court, "Oh, have You now? Think you can capture my snack-induced radiance." You flash him a teethy grin, "I don't think so, I know so. Your carefree vibe is a challenge, but there's nothing I can't do."

Jeonghan can be a hassle sometimes. When he willingly agrees to something, he plays hard to get. It's so frustrating at some point you have to fuck it out of him. It makes him equally attractive and annoying. You toss your book onto the white blankets, with the title "Simplicity meets Seduction" which is a part of your new artwork theme. Lets be honest, nothing ignites the fire- a lava in you unless it's Jeonghan. The warmth of lust pools in your body whenever he gazes at you, touches you. You don't boost his ego much but the way he handles you, forces you to do add some catalyst in his already sky-high mentality. He's equally the meanest and the kindest person you've ever known.

"Simplicity and seduction, interesting" he scoffs "you definitely know how to take a challenge. Since you're adamant, I'll let you do the honors. Ask and you shall receive my permission for a tester sketch" he fixes his posture, grabbing a lollipop from the jar of candies he loves to keep at bedside. You lean towards him, capturing his now frozen body between your arms, and meet him at eye-level, "Hannie, do you mind being my model for my artwork.." you move towards his ear for a whisper "please?"

The effect is immediate – a swallowed gulp, a beetroot red face, and his gaze darting toward the window as if seeking refuge in the bright corner of your creativity sanctum, all while holding the lollipop between his lips, contemplating the fragility of his sanity.

With a wicked grin, you add, "Oh, I can already see the artistic brilliance oozing from this 'tester' sketch. Brace yourself for your immortalization, Hannie."

Sitting between Jeonghan's legs for the next hour, capturing every meticulous details. Defined face, long lashes, gravity defying, soft loose strings of hair. Cheekbones subtly accentuated, with the faint mole that adds the sophistication. He looked a whispered tale of care.

Throughout the process, Jeonghan couldn't help but steal glances at you, his gaze lingering on your focused eyes and the loose button-up cardigan that slipped off your shoulders, revealing collarbones equivalent to a blank canvas begging to be painted.

"Here," you say, breaking the artistic spell, showing him your sketchbook. "Took you forever...phewweee" you hand it over, both of your hands linger dangerously close to his middle, a move that was evidently driving him crazy. Another strong gulp betrays his inner turmoil as he shifts his gaze to the book, his lips parting in anticipation.

When he sees your work, his eyes widen, and for a moment, he's utterly speechless. The sketch, beyond expectations, captures not just the physical features but the essence of Jeonghan's charisma. The defined face, the playfulness in his eyes, a shade of graphite to enhance the blush he had earlier, the tousled crown of hair – it's a mirror reflecting the unique cocktail of sophistication and mischief that makes Jeonghan, well, Jeonghan.

He continues to examine the sketch with an appraiser's eye, and his expression shifts from playful to genuinely impressed. "This is more than just a sketch. It's like you captured the essence of a moment, frozen in time. The daisy, the playful expression – it's a piece that breathes life."

As he sticks it over the headboard, he adds, "Perfection deserves a place of honor. And this, my dear, is perfection." His compliment is laden with a sense of appreciation that goes beyond mere words.

"This is simplicity at its finest, and you know how it meets seduction?" He smirks, that is a signal of danger His tone holds a hint of admiration, his eyes lingering on the sketch as if unraveling its secrets. "Follow"

As you follow him, his grasp on your wrist adds an unexpected thrill and the exact "warmth of lust" pools in your veins. He leads you to his perfect yet contained studio.

"You're an artist with a wicked touch, turning the ordinary into a seductive masterpiece." He continues, each remark a dance of words that adds another layer to the charged atmosphereIn his studio, surrounded by the remnants of his photographic pursuits, Jeonghan's remarks don't cease. He positions his camera at a distance on the tripod, capturing the two of you against a rich, simple pearly beige background. Jeonghan's scent wraps around your senses, leaving you without control over your escalating feelings.

Standing behind you, he wraps his arms around your body, creating an embrace that feels like a hypnotic spell. It's more than a mere hug; he decides to unravel layers, unbuttoning your cardigan to expose the glistening skin of your collarbones and shoulders. Soft, sloppy kisses descend from your ear to your neck, rekindling familiar sensations. Without hesitation, he nibbles on your skin, each touch tinting it with the subtle intensity of his teeth, and a soft whimper of pleasure escapes your lips, the dance of his actions rendering you momentarily lost.

The timer he had set on the camera, ticking away while you were in a delightful haze, finally clicks, capturing the perfect shot – a half-shot from the nose. His slender fingers rest on your left side, and his mouth on your right collarbone, creating an intimate composition that radiates a sense of closeness. Another timer is set, this time his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his thumb teasingly between your lips. The camera goes off once again, capturing a moment that transcends the boundaries of conventional photography.

Jeonghan, with a voice laden with appreciation, murmurs, "This, my dear, is the beauty of our connection. Every click of the camera is a testament to the warmth we share, frozen in time for eternity. You're a canvas, and we're painting a masterpiece of shared intimacy." Once again the camera goes off. The final shot was a distance shot of his deprived lips between your breasts, while he fists your hair. Again the shot comes out perfect as ever and he didn't stop.

With a jerk he lifts you up, and kisses you feverishly. Desperation dripping the dews off the fresh grass. You could almost feel his erection had he held you a bit lower. Everything about a horny, flushed, swollen lips Jeonghan drove you insane. "Yoon Jeonghan" you moan.

"You're truly an artist" he pants, "to be making such fuckable faces"

"What's stopping you from fucking me then?"

"You're right" he smirks "it's been a while I've heard you beg, and rammed myself into that cunt of yours babygirl" Against your better judgement you began imagining it. Jeonghan's large hands squeezing your thighs, peeling them apart. His mouth on your breast, biting and sucking in turn, tongue running over your hardened nipples. Nails digging into your skin, shoulders wedging between your legs. Fingers working you open just enough to fit his dick without causing you pain, careless otherwise. Life does flash beneath your vision.

"Want it?" You could only nod in response.

Jeonghan definitely isn't the most patient one. One moment your tongues dance against each other as he keeps you distracted, while he takes you upstairs, which isn't a long journey from his studio, to the next where you're already out of breath, and lay flat naked on your bed, while he tosses his clothes off. Chilly air and his lustful gaze have your nipples hardening and a shiver running down your spine. As if he can sense your thoughts, his eyes move downwards, onto your breasts before going lower. He hums, pleased. He holds up his camera, and gets another shot, and all you see is flashes. Placing the camera aside, his attention draws all to you, for you, towards you. You could read his mind through his eyes.

 You gasp as he tugs at your legs to pull you closer. His face hovers over your covered core as you feel his warm breath and it is enough to make you lose your mind. “hannie, please.” You plead.

He grins evilly, clearly enjoying this as he presses a kiss on your covered pussy. Then his mouth trails down, between your thighs where he takes his sweet time nipping the flesh, making you whine in pleasure.

pulling back just a little and thrusting back in. “Feel good?” He breathes. You almost choke on your words. "Stop being a ppm.pp.paintbrush" He laughs; movements are slow, taking way too long to mark the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. He licks and sucks at the blooming marks and stops when a wet patch forms in your panties and your moans increase their pitch. “Desperate, aren’t we?” He whispers, hands reaching for your soaked panties to peel them off. The cool air on your core makes you shudder and release another whimper. “I- I need you Jeonghan, please.”

He hums and suddenly licks a stripe from your core to your clit, eliciting a scream of surprise from you. Your hands immediately fist in his hair to pull him closer and you are scared he is going to ask you to let him go but he doesn’t, busy sucking your pussy. He devours you with no break, tongue working skillfully to tease your opening and your clit. Your pussy gushes more and more at each of his movements as you keep chanting a series of pleases.

He slides a finger inside you, slowly, as your cunt greedily takes it all in. He curls it inside you simultaneously tonguing your clit and you wail in pleasure, tears brimming in your eyes. He enters another finger and then another before moving the three of them tirelessly inside you, curling them against your sensitive spot that has your whole body shivering. That feeling paired with him torturing your clit brings you close to your orgasm.

“J-Jeonghan…I'll cum.” You breathe and much to your disappointment, he gives you one last suck before pulling away with a satisfied smirk. “Jeonghan!” You call for him, half wanting to smack him from taking your orgasm away from you. The man has the audacity to laugh. “That’s what you get for being too perfectionist. Being mine"

"I'll blow...hnmmmmmmmmyour brains" you roll your eyes, in pleasure.

His habit of pushing your buttons to your peak irritated you so much, you muster your fucked-out energy and pull him by the neck over you, and swiftly roll yourself on top of him. Your sweaty body slithers down Jeonghan's pale, beautiful body down towards his cock, and as you promised, it was Jeonghan who was so loud with his whimpers, moans all while he was helpless and feeling his senses pop out of his ears. He was melodic. He was whiny. You loved to take him all your capable of.

Oh fuck-” Jeonghan grunts, head lolling back as you feel the grip on your hair strengthen. “Fuck, that feels so good.” His praises make your pussy leak as you start bobbing your head with new vigor, one of your hands trailing down to rub yourself, the sinful sight of Jeonghan moaning making you extremely needy. That one shiver he does, is a clear sign he's dangerously close and with a pop, you move your mouth off. He opens his eyes, moving the sticky hair off his forehead to look at you.

"Hannie" your soft voice, paired with the needy, doe-eyed look you give him is enough to make Jeonghan lose his damn mind. With a growl, he captures your lips in a bruising kiss as his hands move to line up his cock to your pussy. “You asked for it.” He warns and that’s all you get before he’s pushing his entire length inside you, a high pitched shriek falling from your lips as an overwhelming feeling of fullness consumes your entire body.

He pulls you on his chest by your arms, and rams himself in you. "Ride it" he whimpers and you do not hesitate to hold his hands and bounce on him.

With a swift turn, Jeonghan turns you, pinning you below him. He increases his pace, his sharp thrusts hitting so deep inside you, your whole body shakes. Mindless babbles fall from your lips as your hands clutch into his back tightly, your nails digging into his skin which makes Jeonghan hiss in pleasure. His sweet words paired with the way his lips venture down towards your breasts, sucking and biting while one of his hands plays with your oversensitive clit make you release a loud cry of his name.

Soon after, you come for the second time, your orgasm brain numbing, making your toes curl and your whole body twitch. Jeonghan feels you tighten around him as you come and he can’t hold back either as he fills you up for the second time, calling your name softly, his warm breathes fanning your face.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’m gonna last long.” He mutters, eyes moving onto your face, the fucked out look on you making him groan, as he buries his head in your neck, painting the skin with pretty marks. He didn't even spare your lips and mercilessly nibbled onto them until they're red and swollen. He held pride in himself and at this rate, your heart was godspeed.

His soft whisper sends shivers down your spine and without thinking, you nod, holding him tightly, burying your face in his neck. Your brain has stopped functioning properly long ago and all you can feel are the way Jeonghan’s hips snap into you and the warmth radiating from him. You feel vulnerable yet safe at the same time as you hold his body close to yours and breathe in his sweaty scent.

Soon, your orgasm is brain numbing, making your toes curl and your whole body twitch. Jeonghan feels you tighten around him as you come and he can’t hold back either as he fills you up for the second time, calling your name softly, his warm breathes fanning your face.

Your ears ring and you are too tired to move a muscle as you lie there, with Jeonghan panting harshly on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight. For a while there is silence, nothing other than the harsh breathing of you both before you feel Jeonghan soften and slide out of you, making his release drip down your pussy and you wince. "No paint is of this consistency as my cum" even with zero energy, he made you laugh a little too hard, your ribs ached. The "tester sketch" had long fallen on the carpet, and the sheets were wet.

He helps you to the bathroom, carefully takes care of you and himself and back to another lazy position on the couch, because none of you had the energy to deal with the bedsheets.

"When simplicity meets seduction..." he strokes your hair, hugging your tinted body closer to his stiff chest "an artistry in shared intimacy blooms" he completes. "Those photos, are your reference for the artwork. Make better use of it, babe" "I don't see why wouldn't I" you snuggle closer "anyways simplicity and seduction won me a good sex and dirty sheets"

"That's the harmonious convergence of elements that generate a symphony"

There he goes. Good thing is you've love him endlessly.

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 10

Hello Dear Readers! Here comes the new chapter, it's 6239 words, so be prepared.

What do you think about a game? It's almost Threshing. If you can guess (correctly or close to that) what kind of dragon and/or what kind of signet Aelin will have, then I'll answer one question in private about the story. Even if it'll be a spoiler. Good luck!

Don’t underestimate the challenge of the Gauntlet, Mira. It’s designed to test your balance, strength, and agility. The times don’t matter for shit, only that you make it to the top. Reach for the ropes when you have to. Coming in last is better than coming in dead.

—Page forty-six, the Book of Brennan

I look up, and up, and up, and I can only blink.

“Well, that’s…” Ethan swallows, his head tilted just as far back as mine as we stare at the menacing obstacle course that’s carved into the front of a ridgeline so steep, it might as well be a cliff. The zigzagging death trap of a trail rises above us, climbing in five distinct switchbacks of 180-degree turns, each increasing in difficulty on the way to the top of the bluff that divides the citadel from the flight field and the Vale.

“Amazing.” Liam grins.

Ethan and I turn, both staring at him like he must have hit his head.

“You think that hellscape looks amazing?” Ethan asks.

„I mean look at that. I heard a lot of stories about this, but it’s so much more complex. It will be a real challenge.” Liam grins, his blue eyes dancing in the morning sun as he rubs his hands together, shifting from one toned leg to the other in glee.

“Challenge? Yeah, sure we can go with that.” I laugh at him. “At the gym in the challenges you don’t have a real opponent, it was way too easy for you.”

“You’re one to talk.” Ethan stares at me. “You’ve never lost either.”

“Well…yeah” I scratch my head.

„Still not sure why they call it the Gauntlet,” another squadmate - whose name I don’t remember - says from my right, blowing into his cupped hands to ward off the morning chill. The sun hasn’t touched this little crevice, but it’s shining above the last quarter of the course.

“To ensure dragons keep coming to Threshing by weeding out the weaklings.” An obnoxious girl says, maybe her name is Vila? At some point I should start memorizing their names. But they are fucking annoying.

I shoot her a glare and then shake it off.

“Knock it the fuck off,” the first-year snaps, earning the entire squad’s attention.

My eyebrows lift. They’re really annoying.

“We have such a lovely and cohesive squad.” I murmur to Liam. “What is his name anyway?”

“Do you really not know their names?” He laughs at me. “We’ve been squadmates for a while.”

“I know your name, Ethan’s and Vila’s too. Oh and there’s Theo and Zanaya.” I list.

“That’s all?” He grins “You know my name because we’re friends. Ethan is my friend and he hangs out with us during classes, so that doesn’t count.” He counts the names on his fingers. “And the only reason you know Vila’s name is because she annoys you. Theo and Zanaya don’t count either. They’re the squadleader and his executive.”

“Fine. I admit it. I don’t know their names. “I give in. “They die like flies. We’re the smallest squad.”

“Then why do you think it’s called the gauntlet?” I hear shouting behind me.

God. They’re still arguing.

„It’s called the Gauntlet because this is the cliff that guards the Vale,” Professor Emetterio says, walking up behind our squad, his shaved head glinting in the growing sunlight. “Plus, actual gauntlets—armored gloves made of metal—are slippery as hell, and the name stuck about twenty years ago.” He cocks a brow at Vila and the man next to her. “Are you two done arguing? Because all six of you have exactly an hour to get to the top before it’s another squad’s chance to practice, and from what I’ve seen of your agility on the mat, you’re going to need every second.”

There’s a grumble of assent in our little group.

“As you know, hand-to-hand challenges are on hold for the next two and a half weeks before Presentation so you can focus here.” Professor Emetterio flips a page on the little notebook he carries. “Liam, you’re going to show them how it’s done, since you’re the best of the squad. Then Aelin, Jake, Ethan, Rio and Vila.” He finishes calling out every name in our squad, and we file into order. “You’re the smallest squad so far. You need to work hard to remain intact. If you’ll lose two or three more cadets then you’ll be dissolved and you’ll be assigned to another squad. Wait here for a second.” He walks past us, waving at someone high up on the cliff. No doubt that someone has a watch.

We wait silently, thinking about what he said. I don’t want to be assigned to another squad. I like it that Liam is my squadmate, and I’m starting to like Ethan too. There’s no guarantee all three of us will be in the same squad.

„Here we go!” Professor Emetterio walks to the head of our line. “You’ll get your time at the top of the course, if you make it, but remember, you’ll still have nine practice sessions before we rank you for Presentation in two and a half weeks, which will determine if the dragons find you worthy at Threshing.”

„Wouldn’t it make more sense to let first-years start practicing this thing right after Parapet?” Ethan asks. “You know, to give us a little more time so we don’t die?”

“No,” Professor Emetterio replies. “The timing is part of the challenge. And some words of wisdom, before you start.”

“There are ropes every six feet that run from the top of the sheer cliffside to the bottom,” he says. “So if you start to fall, reach out and grab a rope. It’ll cost you thirty seconds, but death costs you more.”

Awesome.

“I mean, there’s a perfectly good set of steps over there.” Vila points to the steep staircase carved into the cliff beside the wide switchbacks of the Gauntlet.

“Stairs are for reaching the flight field on the top of the ridgeline after Presentation,” Professor Emetterio says, then lifts his hands toward the course and flicks his wrist, pointing at various obstacles.

The fifteen-foot log at the start of the uphill climb begins to spin. The pillars on the third ascent shake. The giant wheel at the first switchback starts its counterclockwise rotation, and those little posts there? They all twist in opposite directions.

“Every one of the five ascents on this course is designed to mimic the challenges you’ll face in battle.” Professor Emetterio turns to look at us, his face just as stern as it is during our usual combat training. “From the balance you must keep on the back of your dragon, to the strength you’ll need to hold your seat during maneuvers, to”—he gestures upward, toward the last obstacle that looks like a ninety-degree ramp from this angle—“the stamina you’ll need to fight on the ground, then still be able to mount your dragon at a second’s notice.”

The posts knock a chunk of granite loose, and the rock tumbles down the course, smacking every obstacle in its path until it crashes twenty feet in front of us.

“Whoa,” Rio whispers, his brown eyes wide as he stares at the pulverized rock.

„What if we can’t make it up?” Vila asks from my right, securing her long hair in a loose braid, her usual haughtiness not so in-your-face today. “What’s the alternative route?”

“There’s no alternative. If you don’t make it, you can’t get to Presentation, can you? Take your position, Liam,” Professor Emetterio orders, and Liam moves to the beginning of the course. “After he makes it past the final obstacle, so everyone can learn from this cadet completing the course, the rest of you will start every sixty seconds. And…go!”

Liam is off like a shot. He easily runs the fifteen feet across the single log spinning parallel with the cliff face and then the raised pillars, but it takes him two rotations inside the wheel before he jumps through the lone opening, but other than that, I don’t see a single misstep in the first ascent. Not. One.

He turns and rushes toward a series of giant hanging balls that make up the second ascent, jumping and hugging one after another. His feet back on the ground, he turns again and heads up the third ascent, which is divided into two sections. The first part has giant metal rods hanging parallel to the cliff wall, and he easily swings arm over arm, using his body’s weight and momentum to swing the bar forward and reach the next bar hanging half a foot higher than the previous as he climbs the side of the cliff. From the last bar, he jumps onto a series of shaking pillars that make up the second half of this ascent before finally leaping back onto the gravel path.

By the time he reaches the fourth ascent, the spinning logs, Liam’s made it all look like child’s play, and I start to feel a bubble of hope that maybe the course isn’t as difficult as it looks from the ground.

But then he faces a giant chimney formation rising high above him at a twenty-degree angle and pauses.

“You got this!” I yell to encourage him.

As though he heard, he sprints toward the leaning chimney and flings himself upward, grabbing onto the sides by forming an X with his body, then starts hopping up the conduit until he reaches the end and drops down in front of the final obstacle, a massive ramp that reaches up to the top of the cliff’s edge at a nearly vertical climb.

My breath catches in my throat as Liam sprints toward the ramp, using his speed and momentum to carry him two-thirds of the way up the ramp. Just before he starts to fall, he reaches up with one arm and grasps the lip of the ramp and hauls himself over the edge.

Ethan and I cheer for him. He made it. In an almost flawless approach.

“Perfect technique!” Professor Emetterio calls out. “That’s exactly what you should all be doing.”

„Aelin, begin!” Emetterio orders.

Be with me, Zihnal. I haven’t spent nearly enough time at temple for the god of luck to care much about what happens to me right now, but it’s worth a shot.

I bolt up the first part of the ascent, coming to the spinning log within seconds. My stomach feels like it’s being stirred by this balance beam from hell. “It’s just balance. You can balance,” I mumble and start across, jumping off the end to land on the first of four granite columns, each one higher than the last.

There are about three feet between them, but I manage to leap from one pillar to the next without skidding off the ends. And this is the easy part.

I jump into the rotating wheel and run, leaping over the only opening as it flies by once, then watching it come around. Timing. This one is all about timing.

The opportunity comes and I seize it, racing through the opening and turning back onto the gravel path of the second ascent. The buoy balls are just ahead.

I start to hum to calm myself. The music always helps me.

I spring from the edge of the path onto the first ball, grasping it up top. The immediate strain on my shoulders makes me tense but it’s bearable. Not bad.

Throwing my weight, I force the ball to rotate, swinging me toward the next one.

I repeat the motion, grasping from one ball to the next, keeping my eyes on the chains and nothing else.

I still hum as I reach the fifth and final ball. With one last swing, I throw myself sideways, releasing the ball and landing on the shoulder-wide gravel path and I almost hit the wall with my head.

It’s all momentum for the next ascent.

I line my body up with the first metal rod and get ready to sprint forward.

There are three iron rails in front of me, each lined up like a battering ram toward the next.  I then launch myself towards the first. At least the texture gives me something to keep hold of as I work my way hand over hand.

The first clang of iron as the rails meet makes my fingers slip, and I gasp.

I throw myself to the next and move across the rail with the same hand-over-hand motion.

My right hand loses purchase and my weight swings me into face-first of the steep mountainside, my cheek slamming into the rock. A high-pitched ringing erupts in my ears and my vision darkens at the edges.

“Aelin!” Liam shouts from the top.

My other hand is still holding the rail. I can do it.

I’ve survived seven weeks in this damned quadrant, and this course isn’t going to beat me today.

I immediately start the hand over hand to get me to the next one, until I finally let go, landing on the first shaking iron pillar. My brain is rattled as the thing shudders violently, and I leap to the next, barely gaining a foothold before jumping to the gravel path at the end of the ascent.

I reach the twisting staircase posts jutting straight from the side of the cliff face.

Each three-foot-wide timber rotates from its base in one of the steepest sections of the course. I quickly calculate. I need to do it with one go. If I stop they will probably roll me off.

I bounce on my feet, dredging up whatever courage I have left. Then I run. My feet are quick, making contact with each post only long enough to push off for the next, and within a few heartbeats, I’m on the other side.

I hear someone cry out and my head snaps toward the voice, just in time to see Jake wobble and slip on the rails. The air freezes.

“Jake!” I hear Vila screaming.

Our eyes meet, shock and terror filling his wide black eyes as he falls. Halfway down the cliff.

Shit.

“Aelin! Come on, you’re almost up here.” Liam shouts at the top.

I look at him and nod. Yes, I can do it.

I face a giant chimney formation rising high above me at a twenty-degree angle and pause.

God, it’s really high. But if Liam could do it, then so do I.

I sprint toward the leaning chimney and flings myself upward, grabbing onto the sides by forming an X with my body.

Okay, now I need to climb.

I start hopping up the conduit slowly, maybe a little too slowly, until I reach the end and drop down in front of the final obstacle, a massive ramp that reaches up to the top of the cliff’s edge at a nearly vertical climb.

Fuck. It seems the most difficult obstacle of all of them.

But I can’t give up now. It’s the last one. I can do it, I just need to be fast.

I sprint toward the ramp, using my speed and momentum to carry me almost all the way up the ramp.

Just before I start to fall, I reach up and I can grab onto the lip of the ramp with one arm.

My god. I did it.

I reach up with my other arm and haul myself over the edge.

As soon as I stand up, Liam is there and sweeps me into his arms.

“You were great Aelin!” He laughs. “You did it!”

I still can’t believe that it’s over. I hug him back and start laughing too.

“Yeah. It seems I did it.”

“How’s your face?” He pulls back and look at the side of my face. “You hit it pretty hard.”

“It’s not that bad actually. I mean, later it’ll hurt probably.”

“Then we will get some ointment later.”

I nod and then we watch the others.

Ethan has made up his way to us. He was the slowest of us who made it to the top, but it doesn’t matter to me. He did it, and we survived.

Rio made it too. He did a great job and since then he bahaves as if he was already chosen by a dragon. And naturally Vila argues with him about this too.

Vila had to use the ropes at the shaking pillars. She almost fell down like Jack.

Shit. We lost Jack.

There are only 5 of us first-years left.

***

The sun burns my eyes as we stand in morning formation.

“Calvin Atwater,” Captain Fitzgibbons reads, his voice solemn like always.

First Squad, Claw Section, Fourth Wing. He sits two rows behind me in Battle Brief. He sat.

There’s nothing special about this morning. Our first trial on the Gauntlet has made the roll longer, but it’s just another list on just another day…except it’s not. It’s not like the first day anymore. I know more than half of the names as they’re called. “Newland Jahvon,” he continues.

Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing.

We have to be in the twenties by now. How can this be all there is? We say their names once and then go on as if they never existed?

„Aurelie Donans.”

Shit. She was Vi’s squadmate. She told me what happened yesterday. Watching one of your friends falls to death? It’s cruel.

I look at Violet and see that she ripped open one of the scabs along her cheek. A trickle of blood follows as the next name is called.

***

“You’re sure about this?” Dain asks Violet the next night - as I approach them - two worried lines between his brows as he clasps Violet’s shoulders.

“If her parents aren’t coming to bury her body, then I should be the one to handle her things. I’m the last person she saw,” She explains, rolling her shoulders to adjust the weight of Aurelie’s pack.

Every Basgiath parent has the same option when their cadet is killed. They can retrieve the body and personal effects for burial or burning or the school will put their body under a stone and burn their effects themselves. Aurelie’s parents have chosen door number two.

“And you don’t want me to go with you?” he asks, palming her neck.

She shakes her head. “I know where the burn pit is.”

“Besides I will be there for her.” I say and stand next to Violet. “Now hands off. We have more important things to do, than listening to you.”

“Cadet Melgren, do I need to remind you that I’m a squadleader? Show some respect.” He growls at me.

“Respect must be earned. And I think it sends a completely different message that you coddle Violet, squadleader.” I raise my eyebrows.

“It’s okay, Dain. We should go.” Violet says then we start to climb the stairs of the academic tower’s turret past the Battle Brief room and up to the stone roof, going by a few other cadets on their way down.

„I never got the chance to ask you if you made it all the way up,” I say.

She shakes her head. “I got caught at the chimney formation and had to use a rope to get back down. I’m too short to span the distance, but I’m not thinking about that tonight. I’ll figure something out before the official timed Gauntlet on Presentation day.”

“I help you. We will figure something out, together. You’re not alone, Vi.” I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.

The burn pit is nothing more than an extra-wide iron barrel, whose only purpose is to incinerate, and the flames burn bright against the night sky as we stumble out onto the roof.

There’s no one else up here as Violet slips the bag from her shoulder.

I stop a little further away from the pit. She wanted to do it alone, and I will respect her wish.

“I’m so sorry,” I hear her whisper, as she flings it up and over the metal edge of the bin.

The flames catch and whoosh as it becomes more fuel for the fire, just another tribute to Malek, the god of death.

Instead of walking back down the stairs, I make my way to the edge of the turret where Violet stares at the sky.

It’s a cloudy night, but I can make out the shadows of three dragons as they approach from the west and even see the ridge where the Gauntlet lays, waiting to claim its next victim.

It won’t be me.

I stand here, patiently waiting for Violet to be ready to go back, letting minutes tick by before the bells sound for curfew. We climb back down the stairs without a word.

We walk through the courtyard, empty but for a couple who can’t decide if they’d rather kiss or walk near the dais.

“I don’t want go back yet.” Vi whispers while avoiding my eyes.

“Then we won’t. Come, if I remember correctly there’s an alcove over there.” I smile at her softly. Understanding the pain, that makes her want to hide.

We’re heading for the alcove where Dain and Vi first sat after Parapet.

It’s almost been two months, and we’re still here. Still waking every morning to the sunrise. Doesn’t that mean something?

I wonder as we sit in silence, watching the stars on the sky.

The door that leads to the tunnel we took to cross the ridgeline to the Gauntlet this morning opens along the courtyard wall, just left of the academic building, and my brow furrows. Who would be returning this late?

Sitting back against the wall, I let the darkness conceal me as Xaden, Garrick, and Bodhi—Xaden’s cousin—pass under a mage light, headed in my direction.

Three dragons. They were out…doing what? There were no training ops that I know of tonight, not that I’m privy to everything third-years do.

“There has to be something more we can do,” Bodhi argues, looking to Xaden, his voice low as they pass by us, their boots crunching on the gravel.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Garrick hisses.

My scalp prickles and Xaden stops mid-step ten feet away, the set of his shoulders rigid.

Shit.

He knows we’re here.

Instead of the usual fear that spikes in his presence, only anger rises in my chest. If he wants to kill me, then fine. I’m over waiting for it to happen. Over walking through the halls in fear.

“What’s wrong?” Garrick asks, immediately looking over his shoulder in the opposite direction, toward the couple who definitely decided making out is more important than getting into the dorms by curfew.

“Go on. I’ll meet you inside,” Xaden says.

„You sure?” Bodhi’s forehead puckers, and his gaze sweeps over the courtyard.

“Go,” Xaden orders, standing completely still until the other two walk into the barracks, turning left toward the stairwell that will take them to the second- and third-year floors. Only when they’re gone does he turn and face the exact spot where we’re sitting.

“I know you know we’re here.” Violet says and moves toward him. “And please don’t prattle on about commanding the dark. I’m not in the mood tonight.”

I try to suppress my laughter as I walk next to Violet, standing between her and Xaden.

“No questions about where I’ve been?” He folds his arms across his chest and studies us in the moonlight. His scar looks even more menacing in this light, but I can’t seem to find the energy to be scared.

“I honestly don’t care.” Vi shrugs and makes her way toward the dorms without another word.

“As much as I enjoy our conversations, I have to go. It’s curfew after all.” I say.

“Are you going to tell someone that we were out?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No. I don’t care what you do.” I cross my arms. “It’s probably the best if I don’t know anyway.” I mutter silently.

He cocks his head to the side. “You really don’t care, do you?”

I just shake my head.

“What are you doing out after curfew, Sunshine?”

“Counting the stars, what else?” I retort. “How about you? Feel like sharing?” I ask mockingly, knowing he’s not about to answer me.

“The same.”

Sarcastic ass.

“Look, are you planning to kill us or not? The anticipation is starting to annoy the fuck out of me.” I ask.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he answers, like I’ve just inquired about his dinner preferences, but his gaze narrows on my cheek. There’s still a bruise from yesterday’s Gauntlet practice.

“Well, could you?” I mutter. “It would definitely help me make my plans for the week.”

“Am I affecting your schedule, Sunshine?” There’s a definite smirk on those lips.

“I just need to know what my chances are that Violet and I are going to make it through alive.” My hands curl into fists.

The ass has the nerve to smile. “That’s the oddest way I’ve ever been hit on—”

“Not my chances with you, you conceited prick!” Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I move past him, but he catches my wrist, his grip light but his hold firm.

His fingertips on my pulse make it skitter.

“Chances at what?” he asks, tugging me just close enough that my shoulder brushes his biceps.

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t understand. He’s a damned wingleader, which means he’s excelled at everything in the quadrant, even somehow managing to get past his own last name.

“Chances at what?” he repeats. “Do not make me ask three times.” His ominous tone is at odds with his gentle grasp, and shit, does he have to smell so good? Like mint and leather and something I can’t quite identify, something that borders between citrus and floral.

“At living through all of this! I have to figure it out how Violet can make it up the damned Gauntlet. And there’s my own problems I have to deal with, and here you are, annoying me.” I half-heartedly tug at my wrist, but he doesn’t let go.

“I see.” He’s so infuriatingly calm, and I can’t even get a grip on one of my emotions.

„No, you don’t. You’re probably celebrating because she’ll fall to her death and you can kill me anytime, we saw that on the mat the previous time.”

“Killing you wouldn’t be any trouble, Sunshine. It’s leaving you alive that seems to cause the majority of my trouble.”

My gaze swings up to clash with his, but his face is unreadable, cloaked in shadow, go figure.

“Sorry to be a hassle.” Sarcasm drips from my voice. “You know the problem with this place?” I tug my arm back again, but he holds fast. “Besides you touching things that don’t belong to you?” My eyes narrow on him.

„I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” My stomach flutters as his thumb brushes my pulse and he releases my wrist.

I answer before I can think better of it. “Hope.”

“Hope?” He tips his head closer to mine, as if he wasn’t sure he heard me right.

“Hope.” I nod. “Someone like you would never get it, but I knew coming here was a death sentence. It didn’t matter that I’ve been trained my entire life to enter the Riders Quadrant, but it isn’t a guarantee that I will survive it; but when General Melgren gives an order, you can’t exactly ignore it.” Gods, why am I running off at the mouth to this man? What’s the worst he’ll do? Kill you?

„Sure you can.” He shrugs. “You just might not like the consequences.”

I roll my eyes, and to my utter embarrassment, instead of pulling away now that I’m free, I lean in just a little, like I can siphon off some of his strength. He certainly has enough to spare.

“I knew what the odds were, and I came anyway, concentrating on that tiny percentage of a chance that both of us would live. And then we make it almost two months and I get…” I shake my head, clenching my jaw. “Hopeful.” The word tastes sour.

“Ah. And then you lose a squadmate, and you are reminded that you can’t help Violet, and you give up. I’m starting to see. He holds my gaze locked with his. “Here’s the thing, Melgren. Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Not hope that we live? Just plan for death?”

“You’re supposed to focus on the things that can kill you so you find ways to not die.” He shakes his head. “I can barely count the number of people in this quadrant who want you dead, either as revenge against your father or because you’re just really good at pissing people off, but you’re still here, defying the odds.” Shadows wrap around me, and I swear I feel a caress along the side of my wounded cheek. “It’s been rather surprising to watch, actually.”

“Happy to be your entertainment. I’m going to bed.” Spinning on my heel, I head toward the entrance to the barracks, but he’s right behind me, close enough that the door would slam in his face if he wasn’t so unnaturally fast at catching it.

“Maybe if you stopped sulking in your self-pity, you’d see that you have everything you need.” he calls after me, his voice echoing down the hallway.

“My self-what?” I turn around, my jaw dropping.

“People die,” he says slowly, his jaw ticking before he drags in a deep breath. “It’s going to happen over and over again. It’s the nature of what happens here. What makes you a rider is what you do after people die. You want to know why you’re still alive? Because you’re the scale I currently judge myself against every night. Every day I let you live, I get to convince myself that there’s still a part of me that’s a decent person. So if you want to quit, then please, spare me the temptation and fucking quit. But if you want to do something, then do it.”

What an annoying prick.

I open my mouth to retort when I hear footsteps.

We turn around and face the man whom I know too well. He’s the aide of General Melgren.

Fuck, he must be back. I can feel my face turning as white as a ghost.

Xaden must see it too because he steps in front of me without a word. He’s trying to protect me?

“Wingleader Riorson I need a word with Cadet Melgren, leave.” The man says to Xaden without a glance at him.

“She’s in my chain of command. I don’t see why I should leave her here.” He crosses his arms. “If you have something to say then do it in front of me.”

“Fine.” The man nods and stares at me. “General Melgren wishes to see you. He returned from the front and like’d to hear your report.”

My god. I didn’t prepare a suitable story for him. I will be in big trouble, if not worse.

“I understand, I’ll be there.” I nod.

Without another word the man turns around and leaves us alone.

“What’s all this about?” Xaden looks at me with an unreadable expression.

“Nothing. You heard him. The General wants to see me. I have to go.” I say and try to walk past him to the doors but he grabs my arm.

“Nothing? I don’t think so.” He leans closer. “You look as pale as a ghost.”

“It was a surprise, nothing else.” I try to lie, in hope that he lets it slide. I don’t want him to find out.

“Why don’t you call him father?” He observes me. “You always call him General. He’s your father isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. It’s just that we’re cadets and it wouldn’t be appropriate.” I yank my arm and he releases me. “Now if you excuse me, I have to go.”

I walk out the door, towards the building where the offices are located. I feel nauseous. Everystep on the stairs is harder. I’m scared.

I stop in front of his door. Breath in and out. Then I knock.

“Enter.”

I open the door and enter his office. The air is chilling because of the open window. I stand in front of his desk and wait until he’s done with writing whatever he’s writing.

“What happened since we talked last time?” He puts down his pen and looks at me with a cold gaze.

“The challanges are over for now, we started practicing on the Gauntlet.” I try to keep it short.

“How many challanges did you lose?”

“I didn’t lose a single one.” I reply in an emotionless tone. I need to lock up my feelings as usual. This is the only way to survive it. Later…later I can think about it.

“That was expected.” He nods with approval as he stands up and walks around the desk. “The Gauntlet?”

“Yesterday was our first session, I made it up on my first try.” I answer.

“And what about that Riorson kid and the other marked-ones?” He raises an eyebrow and stands in front of me.

I gulp.

“There’s nothing that’s worth mentioning.” I try and hope so hard he’d accept it.

He grabs my arm tightly and yanks me toward him.

“I will decide if it is worth it or not.” He squeezes my arm tighter. It will leave a bruise. “Do you understand, Cadet?”

“Yes, General.” I reply quickly.

“Good. Now tell me what you know.” He releases my arm and I try not to show that it hurt.

“They attend classes like anyone else. They don’t stand out.” I say the basic facts that anyone can know. I don’t want to betray Liam and his friends. “Most of the other cadets are avoiding them. Some of them are good at studying while others at fighting. They seem pretty normal to me.”

“Hm. And Riorson?” He asks with a calculating look.

“We don’t have much common classes. At Battle Brief he’s observant and clever. At the gym he’s strong and quick. He spends a lot of time with the leader of the Flame Section, Garrick Tavis.” I say only what’s neccesary to ease his suspicion.

“Do you ever see them in groups larger than three?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

The night at the tree. Images flashes through my mind. But… they didn’t do anything wrong.

“No. Never.” I shake my head.

“I see.” He looks at me with a gaze that makes me chill to the bones. “That’s all you could gather the past weeks? I heard you’re friends with Colonel Mairi’s son.” He spat the word friend as if it’s a disease.

“I’m close with him because of his relationship with Xaden, and he’s a first-year too.” I lie to him. I can’t bring more attention to Liam. He’s truly a good person. “He’s a pretty private person, but slowly opening up. Maybe later I can gather more information. I don’t want to look suspicious.”

“And the daggers? Did you see them with the marked-ones?”

“No, they mostly use the ones they earned at challenges.” I’m curious to why that strange dagger is important to him. “If I know what they are, maybe I could search more efficiently.”

“That’s above your paygrade, Cadet.” He says towering over me. “You’re dismissed.” He leans on his desk.

“Understood.” I say and turn toward the doors.

There’s a sound, a dagger cutting through the air. Instinctively I turn around and lean to the side.

I was almost too late. I feel the dagger grazing my cheek and then the blood.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He knows that I lied to him?

In the blink of an eye he’s there and squeezes my neck.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you’re alive is because of my mercy.” He leans closer and cuts off the air supply when he squeezes harder. “I expect useful information from you. If you have to then use your body. You’re only worth is your usefulness. I don’t need people who are useless.”

There’s a knock on the door behind me. He glares at me a moment longer then releases me and pulls out his dagger from the door and sheetes it.

I start coughing and try to squeeze enough air in my lungs through my bruised throat.

Damn. I almost died.

The General is already sitting at his desk when another knock sounds.

“Go, I have better things to do.”

I open the door and see General Sorrengail.

“General.” I greet her in a rasp voice.

She looks at my cheek where the blood still flows with a raised eyebrow then toward my neck.

Shit, I didn’t think. She’s not stupid. I have to get out of here.

I exit the office and without another word I’m stumbling down the stairs.

I need to go out. I need air. My thoughts are fuzzy. I almost died. The sentence repeats again and again in my head.

But depsite of it, I still can’t bear the thought of betraying the marked-ones. Liam. Xaden. I…like them.

But what if it’ll cost me my life?

[rainofaugustsith]

So in the conversations about cures, there is one thing I'd like to reiterate: It is absolutely bleeding exhausting to have abled/not chronically ill people going on about cures and how they can fix you.

It's often the first fucking thing people do after you tell them what your illness is - they immediately pile on with the unsolicited advice about just how you can fix yourself. And 99.9% of the time, I guarantee you it's absolute trash that shows no understanding whatsoever of your condition.

Prayer. Kale. Juice fasts. Untested supplements not approved by the FDA that somehow manage to cure things like sickle cell anemia. Have you found Jesus (and I specifically say Jesus because Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists - well, just about everyone else - usually will NOT try to convert you or insist you just need to pray harder to their god to be magically cured)? Maybe if you lost some weight or took up yoga? There's this guru I listen to. On and on and on.

And often, if they don't think you are desperately trying everything and anything random people throw at you, why, you must not really be sick. You don't WANT to get better because you're not trying organic lettuce fasts and crystals to cure your genetic disease that isn't even understood well by most doctors.

Most of us get angry about even one unsolicited comment or criticism. We think it's rude when someone snipes about appearance or clothes. So why is it okay to pepper disabled and chronically ill people with your half-baked cures, or think they even want them?

Imagine how you'd feel if the moment you left your house, people started picking at, say, the shape of your eyebrows. Maybe you could bleach them? Shape them? Shave them off? If only you'd let us help you! It comes from a place of love! Imagine that's all you heard all day long the moment someone saw your eyebrows. You'd get sick of it really damn quickly, and you'd probably really resent that people's first instinct was to tell you what they felt was wrong with you and that they were within their rights to tell you how to fix it.

You might feel angry or upset that they were not accepting you as you were.

That's how it goes with cures, folks.

The only time I as a chronically ill and disabled person am interested in hearing about treatments is if it's coming from someone with the same/similar condition and we're talking and comparing notes. But interesting thing, then it's usually shop talk, it's not 'BUT YOU NEED KALE AND PRAYER.' Do I talk to other people with my illness about the meds they take, what works, what doesn't? Sure. But key things: we've both agreed to participate in that discussion AND we both have the condition in question, AND nobody is picking at anyone else to do anything. Those discussions often end "well, that's great it works for you! Good luck with it!" and it's fine.

I'll be honest, if you could tell me tomorrow "Rain, we have a 100% certain cure for something you have" would I sign up? Fucking yes. But am I waiting around for that cure? No. Because most illnesses don't have cures. Some have treatments, and some don't. Some of us know this. I'm doing my best to live my life as it is, as I am, in this moment, and that's what I want people to understand. I want to be accepted as I am in this time, just as we all do.

[annasinterests]

don't look at me like that unless you mean it

smiling, having fun ♫ feeling like a number one

|| series masterlist || main masterlist ||

a/n: god dayum this took me so long to put out and i sincerely apologize friends!!! my family's been in town and i've been planning trips with my bf for the next couple of weeks so i've just been sooo busy. to make up for it, enjoy the longest chapter i've written yet :)) i legit had so much fun writing it but i also fussed w/ it a ton because i wanted to get it just how i envisioned it. nuff' ramblin' from me, love y'all, enjoy !

word count: 9.8k (i had over 10k written b4 editing but still omfg!)

pairings: joel miller x f!reader

warnings & tags: minors dni, cursing, joel/reader/tommy being cute, tommy being an instigator lowkey, mutual pining, joel and reader going on a lil 'date', sexual themes, mentions of alcohol/being drunk, honestly kinda self-indulgent esp on the music parts, angst RAAAAAAAAH — please tell me if i missed anything!

Friday. Thank God.

As the morning light painted the sky in soft hues, you opted to savor your coffee on the front porch with your feet kicked up on the deck railing, basking in the quiet before the day's festivities consumed the town.

The early hour granted you respite from the scorching sun, sparing you the discomfort of the sweltering heat that would undoubtedly arrive later. Dressed in a small tank top and shorts, you relished the cool breeze that gently brushed against your skin. Tilting your head back, you closed your eyes, allowing the sounds of chirping birds to serenade you and the warm rays envelop you in a soothing embrace.

You thought back to last night with Ellie, how much fun you had with her even though you passed out before the movie was even over. It was the perfect start to your two days of rest, and it prompted you to commit a rare act of self-care by pushing off your new workload until the new week started.

You always did something on your days off for Jackson, whether it was doing a few favors for neighbors or finding yourself in Maria’s office all day. Nothing ever to give yourself the time you deserved.

And maybe it was selfish– irresponsible, even– but you needed a real break, and when would you get that if not today? Tonight promised laughter, music, and camaraderie. All your problems and issues would still be there tomorrow anyway.

"Put some clothes on, would you?" You jerked your head forward to meet Tommy walking up with a grin on his face. You rolled your eyes.

"I'll put on more clothes when you shave off that disaster you call a mustache."

He put his hand over his chest that shook with laughter and took the vacant seat next to you. When you offered him coffee, he politely declined, chuckling when you insisted that you could add whiskey to it for him. "I actually came to ask a favor."

He watched as you peered down at the imaginary watch on your wrist before giving him a skeptical look. “Tommy, if you’re asking me to work, the answer is-”

“No! God, no.” You let out a thank fuck under your breath. “It’s for tonight.”

You raised your eyebrows as you drew a sip from your coffee. For tonight? He took your silence as a cue to continue.

"Joel tells me that you've got quite the music collection. I was wonderin' if I could borrow a couple of your tapes or CDs or whatever y'got?"

You thought about it for half a second, but pretended to be in deep contemplation. He grew antsy, attempting to seriously reason with you, and when you couldn't hold it together any longer, you hid your grin behind your mug as you watched him realize that you were fucking with him. You got up from your seat and signaled for him to follow you inside as you grabbed cassettes for his cause.

Joel had been in the kitchen pouring himself a cup from the pot you had already brewed. You peered around the corner to set your mug on the counter, flashing him a bright smile before quickly scurrying off, catching a glimpse of how his face dropped from a smile to confusion upon hearing more footsteps in the house. You giggled once you heard his groan, followed by 'Jesus, don't you know what time it is?'

You picked through your pile, grabbing tapes that you were certain would be winners. Once content with your selection, you brought them back to Tommy in the kitchen. His eyes and smile widened at the handful, carefully taking them into his possession. Joel, still clearly waking up, watched the interaction with a dull curiosity over the rim of his mug, flickering his gaze from you, to the cassettes, and lastly Tommy.

Your eyes lingered on the tapes, a small smile brought to your face at the pure nostalgia they held. You knew each track on each tape, word for word. You remembered when you heard them for the first time, what life had felt like, and when you found yourself listening to them the most. Normally, you'd feel hesitant to lend out your most prized possessions. They’d been with you ever since before outbreak day, and the one constant you had since the beginning that got you through your toughest times. But this was Tommy, and you didn’t have to think twice about whether or not you could trust him.

"Wait, I almost forgot!" You snapped out of your thinking to go and retrieve another part from your pile. You handed him a small deck of index cards binded together with twine in what was your own way of personally cataloging. "It's already in order, by cassette and song title, so you can figure out if there's something you don't wanna play.. or whatever you got planned." You lazily gestured.

The brothers exchanged a look before turning their attention to the cards. Joel set his coffee down and took the thin stack from Tommy, reading over it together as they glanced back and forth between the cardstock and the tapes. The corner of his mouth curled up as he skimmed over the songs, making it impossible for you not to smile either. You sheepishly looked down while rolling your feet from heel to toe with your hands behind your back, feeling like a kid showing their parents a piece of art they made at school.

"Had the world not gone to shit, you could’ve been a mean music curator.” Joel waved the cards between his thumb and forefinger, a suppressed laugh leaving your lips.

“Yeah.. damn, these bring back some good memories. Buncha’ old ones on here, some even way before our time.” Tommy motioned between himself and Joel.

The small smile on Joel’s face grew bigger, his face becoming more lively at a realization. “Y’know, ‘lotta these were popular bar songs. You were just shy of eighteen back then, weren’t you?”

Tommy quickly caught on to Joel’s train of thought, matching his grin. You stared at him with a subtle smirk, knowing that he knew he was right, and only asked to make it a point that he knew that. And in a way, you found it kind of.. hot? He was keenly aware of your timeline and able to make the connections that no one else really could. He didn’t have to do the mental math like Tommy probably was after he said it. You felt a surge of heat in your cheeks and on the tip of your ears as their gaze on you persisted, waiting for you to answer.

“.. I may or may not have snuck into them..”

Their voices overlapped with elation, to which you stuck up a middle finger for each Miller.

“Sounds like you were living on the edge,” Tommy peered down at Joel’s hand, “..of seventeen.”

Before you could open your mouth to scold Tommy for popping the corniest joke in all of the apocalypse, he and Joel fell into their own fit of laughter, bumping shoulders and elbowing one another. So proud and smug of their joint-effort to expose your rebellious years. But you found yourself grinning, not at the joke, but at them.

You shook your head, letting out a mix of a laugh and sigh, “Alright, you boys had your fun. Now Joel, why don’t you do your big brother duties and show Tommy the way out?”

He raised a brow at you, bringing his mug to his lips, “Must I remind you that it was you that brought him in here, not me?”

Tommy raised his hands up in defense as you glared at Joel, “Alright- I’ll see myself out.” He winked at you as he walked past, “Give you a break before ya’ gotta deal with me tonight.”

You and Joel walked him to the door, exchanging goodbyes until later this evening. Just before stepping out, Tommy suddenly turned over his shoulder to you. "Oh! Before I forget– Are you seein’ anybody?”

You froze at his question, your smile slacked and your eyes widened. The residual feeling of laughter in your chest subsided quickly as if it never existed in the first place. He held up his left hand, “Not for me, obviously.”

You rolled your eyes, then narrowing them at him. “Yeah, no shit. What, are you playing matchmaker for me?”

“Not for you, someone else.” A shit-eating grin appeared on his face. “So, are you?”

The short answer was no. You were too busy with leading your life in Jackson.. And being hopelessly in love with his brother.

“Uh– no. I’m not.”

Joel's gaze shifted towards you, your words evoking enough of a reaction out of him, to which Tommy caught and raised an eyebrow with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. They bounced between you and Joel as if he had caught a whiff of the unspoken agreement you two held. You felt your cheeks go hot again, knowing that your words hadn't gone unnoticed by either of them.

He bid a final farewell with an unconvincing nod that left you both standing in the foyer quietly, which was luckily cut short by Ellie coming through the back door, giving you both the perfect excuse to forget all about.. whatever that was.

She rubbed away the sleep in her eyes, murmuring a good morning to you and Joel as she made her way into the kitchen, both of you treading in after her. You inquired about the basics. How'd you sleep? Want me to make you something for breakfast? Do you want orange juice? What are your plans for the day? Joel watched as you engaged in conversation, admiration and warmth flaring in his chest as you seamlessly transitioned into your role as a caretaker.

You were receptive when she shared her plans for the day, further inquiring about smaller details of her schedule. He watched as Ellie became more animated the more she got to talk about her day ahead, especially as you encouraged her.

"What about you guys? Don't you both have off today?" Ellie faced in her chair so that she could clearly see you both.

You exchanged a glance with Joel before you both shrugged your shoulders. You hadn't realized that he had the day off as well, if you were being completely honest. As you thought about it, it occured to you that you hadn't gotten to figure that part out, since Tommy and all. When you confessed that you hadn’t planned anything for the day, Ellie’s eyes squinted in deep thought for a moment, then looked back at you both, “Why don’t you guys do something together?

You straightened up at her proposal, mildly thrown off, sharing another look with Joel before you both attempted to give a series of excuses, which just came out in a mess of jumbled, almost incoherent words.

“Oh, come on! You guys almost never do anything together.”

You folded your arms in defiance, but it came off more as a pout. “Yes, we do.”

“Sitting at home together doesn’t count.” You opened your mouth to disagree, but nothing came out. “Go out! Have a date or something.”

You nearly choked on your coffee as Joel sighed, speaking with caution, “Ellie–”

“Anyways! I’m off to Dina’s for the day.” She beamed and laughed in victory as she watched you two writhe in place. You could hear the smile in her voice as she left out the back door, “You kids have fun tonight, and make good decisions!”

God– first Tommy, now her. It couldn’t have been past nine yet.

You hand cradled your elbow, the other hand covering your eyes as your thumb and middle finger kneaded at your temples. Okay, maybe she was right. Maybe you and Joel didn’t spend proper ‘quality time’ together, but it just wasn’t something that either one of you were accustomed to. Before Jackson, the most you were able to be alone outside of your apartments were during smuggle runs, which was definitely not the type of recreational activity that she was referring to, and once you picked her up and finally settled here, your lives were centered around her and your respective jobs for the community.

Joel crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway that bordered the dining room, staring at the back door and then subsequently at you. You hadn’t noticed him looking, still hiding behind your hand to mask your embarrassment, and saw how his eyes raked over your figure, taking in how little clothes you were wearing. The black tank top was a deep cut halter that exposed your arms, chest, and just the littlest bit of midriff. Your shorts matched in color, the fabric just hovering over the higher part of your thighs with slits up the sides.

It was a good thing for him that you had your eyes covered. You weren’t able to see how his tongue poked over his bottom lip and his eyes that were drawn to your cleavage that was accentuated by your arms drawn together. Even with your fair share of scars, your skin looked so perfect and soft under the glow of sunlight through the window, so much that he could barely keep himself back from touching you, wanting to trace the contours of your arms with his fingers and hold your face in his palms again.

His heart thumped in his chest as he wondered what it would feel like to rub your legs against his under bed sheets. How it would feel to press his fingertips into the soft flesh of your hips–

“Joel?”

His head jerked up slightly as his eyes darted to yours. “What?”

Irked, you threw your hand away from your face in an exasperated manner, “Do you wanna come?

He stared dumbly at you, stuttering, “Do I- w-what?”

“To Lake Falwich! Weren’t you listening?” You threw him an incredulous look as he shook his head to himself, apparent to you that he in fact hadn’t listened to a damn word you said.

Lake Falwich was located off of Elk Creek, an area you and Joel switched off on patrolling. You’d found the place when you went off-path during your first summer patrol, deeming it as another little hidden gem of Jackson County. Over the years, you grew fond of it and made it a point to frequent it whenever beyond the walls, but you hadn’t been yet this season.

“Uh, yeah– Yes– Sure.”

You didn’t know what had gotten into him in the last few minutes, but you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed seeing him all flustered and not being able to keep eye contact with you. How the tables turned for once.

“I’ll be ready to head out in ten.” You began to head towards the stairs for your room, but stopped at his side and placed your hand on his shoulder, curling your fingers over the muscle, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

A grin adorned your face as you walked away, leaving Joel to hang onto the sensation that burned his skin where you touched him and force himself to calm down from the excitement growing in his pants. He hadn’t really known what he’d just gotten himself into with you, and you were pleasantly surprised at his answer as you half-expected him to come up with some reason to not go.

But one thing was clear to you both: It was definitely not a date.

Your hands draped near the straps of his pack by his hips as you rode out, brushing against his belt and jeans every so often. It wasn’t a difficult route by any means; fairly smooth and clear of any obstructions.

Being the passenger gave you the opportunity to be immersed by your surroundings rather than having to focus in front of you. You got to pay attention to the small things, like the rhythmic beat of the horse’s hooves against the ground and the scent of pine mingled with the earthy aroma of the forest. The trees towered above you, their branches forming a natural canopy that filtered the sunlight, casting dappled shadows on the trail. Every so often, the trees would give way to open meadows, where wildflowers swayed in the gentle breeze.

When you weren’t being captivated by nature, your attention was drawn back to Joel. The heat had caused his hair to curl at the nape of his neck that was slicked with sweat, seeping into the collar of his dark gray shirt that stretched across his shoulders and back with more splotches of sweat. Now and then, you’d get a glimpse of his profile when he scouted around. You felt like a teenager getting to hang out with her crush that she’d had since elementary school, your stomach doing flips just from the proximity alone.

The ride itself was filled with comfortable silence, punctuated by moments of look there and did you see that? with every passing mile. You could get used to this– having these little outings together.

You could hear the rushing water before you could see it, the sound of it growing louder and louder until it finally came into view. When the landscape presented itself before you, you felt a child-like thrill growing in your chest. The clear water shimmered with a vivid turquoise hue that seemed almost unreal, partnered with tall limestone walls that framed the lake. Smaller stone structures and boulders formed near the base of the waterfall, enticing you to explore and conquer their heights again like you’d done in the past. The vegetation extended all around the area, mosses and ferns clung to the rock walls in a tapestry of greenery. It all gave you a sense of simultaneous exhilaration and peace.

Eager to get to the water, you dismounted from the horse before Joel could hitch it, causing him to call out after you in protest and watch you with a careful eye as he got everything situated. You stood at the mouth of the lake with your boots kicked off when he joined you, slowly following suit.

“So.. What do you wanna do now?”

With the heat, there was only one thing to do.

“Jump in.” You pointed to a ledge that was a considerable height up. “From there.”

He met where your finger signaled, then back to you with a quizzical look. “Don’t you reckon that’s a bit high?”

You shrugged your shoulders and threw a smile over your shoulder as you walked away from him, earning a scoff and one of his typical disapproving head shakes. His eyes stayed on you as you made your way, widening when you started to peel off your clothes piece by piece.

First off was your tank top, slipping it effortlessly over your head, then the undoing of your belt and shimmying out of your jeans. You’d stripped down to only a sports bra and underwear, both of which happened to match, which was very much unplanned. Through each removal of clothing, Joel couldn’t help but have his eyes glued to you. He became restless, running his hands through his hair and turning around just to face back to you because he simply couldn’t keep his eyes off you. And when you looked back at him, you felt a little boost of confidence in seeing how he kept his attention on you.

You ascended the rocks, reaching your desired spot and standing proudly, waving your arms above your head at a miffed Joel. The air was filled with a refreshing mist, carrying the fragrance of damp earth and the invigorating energy of the cascading waterfall. The lake below you offered a new perspective on how high you really were, and for a second, you considered that Joel was maybe right.

But fuck it.

Your legs propelled you forward, curling up as you plummeted, and your shouts of joy drowned out by the thunderous roar of the falls. The water engulfed you, prickling your body with its cold touch. Submerged beneath the surface, you held onto the sensation of being weightless, listening to nothing but the ebb and flow of the currents and feeling them weave through your fingertips.

You emerged from the depths to the sun’s warmth on your face. When you refocused your vision, you saw that Joel was standing in the same spot as before, now with his arms crossed against his chest. You swam closer to the shoreline.

“Come on, water’s fine!” He shook his head. “It wasn’t a question, now get your ass in here, Miller!”

He rolled his eyes and huffed, shaking his head once more before pulling off his shirt by the collar and tossing it aside with his boots and pack, and despite being in the freezing water, you flooded with heat at the sight of him. You’d only seen him in small increments when tending his wounds, but now you could finally know what he looked like underneath those damned clothes.

Just as you suspected, his shoulders were strong with muscle, and the prominent veins in his hands and forearms traveled upwards through his biceps. His chest and abdomen were toned and had an even layer of hair, and you basically drooled at the definition of his hips and the trail of hair leading down that was secured by a belt. Beyond his attractive features, though, you saw his scars of survival. His torso littered with healed lesions, many of which you cared for, and a significant mark near his side that reflected the time of his near-death.

“Don’t splash me now, alright?” He stifled a laugh as he undid his belt, which took all your self-control to not watch his hands and think ungodly things. Once he stripped down to his boxer briefs, he stepped further into the lake, wincing at the coldness as he got deeper. When the water reached his thighs, he sucked in a sharp breath and hissed, “Shit- That’s cold.”

You were too busy gaping at how muscles tensed and contorted to make a stupid remark. He delved deeper into the lake until he fully submerged himself, surfacing quickly and shaking out his hair, which was doing things for you. In all the years you spent with him, you didn’t think that he could possibly get more attractive, nor did you think that you’d ever be like this right now, yet here you were.

In what was supposed to be a little fun getaway from all the stresses of the world, you found yourself seriously lusting for him in this moment, which was a stress all on its own. You were alone in a very much secluded area, only an article of clothing or two away from being naked, moreover. The very thought sent you over the edge, making you physically ache where you wanted him the most. How easy it’d be to just close the distance and get lost in him for hours.

The fact that you couldn’t do that, though, pained you viscerally. You couldn’t keep looking at him, or else you’d do something stupid, so you closed your eyes and spread your limbs out to drift on your back. You focused on your breathing, honing in on how your body bobbed with each inhale and exhale and letting the water guide you in any direction.

The next few hours were spent floating, challenging Joel to swimming races, and jumping off the rocks to see who could make the bigger splashes. You found yourselves in lots of banter and bickering, especially when you did a flip off of a ledge and Joel was very displeased that you could’ve hit your head. All you could feel was pure, unadulterated happiness. Together, you were having fun. Real fun. Enjoying each other’s company and nature’s playground.

A while after you returned to drifting on your backside, an unfamiliar sensation across your back and thighs caused you to flail and frantically look around. Sheer panic rose as you realized that you’d drifted off into the deeper end, and you tried to calmly but quickly thrust yourself back into shallow waters.

“Somethin’ got you scared?” Joel had been awfully calm with an arrogant grin on his face, and his laughter rung out clear in the air as he watched you go through the motions of panic, confusion, and finally disdain.

You feigned indignation. “Don’t be a dick.”

Once your feet touched the solid floor, you waded and found a spot to sit in the safety of the shallows, pulling your knees up and resting your arms on them. As Joel drew in to join you, you watched as the water lapped at his waist, drawing your attention to the band of his boxer briefs that seemed to hang dangerously low on his hips and how they clung to him in a way that’d have all the women in Jackson ready on their knees for him. His body swayed with a subtle rhythm and cadence that was uniquely his; full of purpose and so.. virile. You averted your gaze to the sediment of where you sat in an attempt to rid yourself of the thoughts you were having.

The clearness allowed you to examine its composition of pebbles and rocks of all kinds, and you picked up handfuls of them to admire their different qualities, quickly getting wrapped up in recognizing unique patterns and markings. Joel watched as you threw the ones you didn’t like further into the lake, like it was a process of elimination until you found the best one.

When you liked one, you wordlessly handed it to him without taking your attention away from the ones in front of you. There was a serene grace in your actions, as if you were entrusting him with something fragile and precious, and he took notice of the care in which you handled each stone. He’d give it a once over, his fingers gliding over the surface, before dropping it back into your hand. There was something about you doing this, yielding to human nature’s innocent curiosity, that made it so much more than just a seemingly mundane exchange to him.

Your eyes met his briefly, and you saw he was truly relaxed from how the hard lines of his face were softened. The sun shone on him in where you could really see the depths of his eyes; the green-gold that seeped into a lighter brown around his pupil, creating the most beautiful iris structure you’d ever seen. His skin held a perpetual tan with freckles all over his shoulders, a feature that you weren’t necessarily familiar with. Waves and curls formed near his ears and forehead as his hair dried, most of it disheveled and left you wanting to run your fingers through to tame it. Your eyes drifted to his body for a moment, overly cognizant of how much bigger he was compared to you. With a tinge of a smile, you turned back to your little stones, gently placing them back in the water in a decision to leave them where they belonged.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed this,” Joel’s voice filled the silence, “we should get goin’ soon. Promised Tommy I’d swing by to help set up a couple things.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. If there was one thing about Joel, it was that he always showed up for Tommy, no matter how big or small it was. Even if it was a five-minute task or a project that Tommy was entirely capable of doing on his own, Joel was always there. You had that in common with him, back when you had your brother.

As you were about to stand, Joel hovered over you with an extended hand. You clasped it with your own as you gained your balance, but when doing so, your eyes caught a glimpse of something slithering right under your feet. You yelped at the sight, tightening your grip around his hand, and he instinctively pulled you to him, wrapping a protective arm around your waist while acting as a shield between you and the potential danger. He scanned the water, catching on to what you saw: a plains garter snake.

At the sound of his chuckle, you braced yourself against his chest in confusion as his arms were still around you. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s not-” he loosened his hold, but his hands still splayed over your waist. “It’s harmless, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Oh.” You bowed your head forward in relief and slight embarrassment, and a faint smile played at his lips. Your hands were still on each other, almost as if you were trying to play it out as long as possible until either you pulled away or he did, which winded up being the former. You drew back to yourself, stepping backwards as he released you. “Thanks.”

You both retrieved your belongings and set up on a flat bed of rock to dry out, another comfortable silence enveloping you once again as you bathed in the warmth. With your arm slung over your eyes, you could only sense Joel’s presence beside you. You slid your arm up to peer at him, his eyes fixed on the lake. His legs were drawn towards his chest with his forearms on his knees, his chest rising and falling in calm breaths. There was a peacefulness in his expression, a sense of contentment that mirrored your own. You smiled before covering up again, but he caught you at the last second.

“What’re you thinkin’ about over there?”

You brushed off his question. “Who says I’m thinking?”

“If there’s one thing about you, it’s that you’re never not thinkin’.” You sat up at the accusatory words, arching your eyebrows in disbelief. “Go on now, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I..” a grin spread on your face, “..was thinking about how much fun your shift must’ve been with Fitz yesterday.”

You giggled as he let out a groan, successfully diverting away from where the conversation was leading. “Oh, it was a fuckin’ shift alright– and I don’t wanna talk too much about work, but he shouldn’t be bothering you anymore.”

You faced him and leaned back on your hand, eyeing him, “Joel, what did you-”

“I took care of it.” He left no room for you to speak, his voice stern. He softened a moment after once he realized how it came out a little too sharp. He lowered his attention down to his hands, rubbing his thumb into his palm, “..Not s’pose to treat a woman the way he does, especially when it’s you.”

A moment came and went in where it looked like he regretted his words, fearing that he may have revealed too much, or maybe not enough. But what you felt was incomparable to anything you’d ever felt before, hearing him tell you– blatantly admit to you that he regarded you differently than other people, and that if someone crossed you, they were crossing him too. You always knew he had your six, but this was different than that.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was doin’ that? Or Tommy?”

Those dumb, beautiful eyes conveyed a genuine concern that immediately made you feel guilty for not saying something sooner when you very well could’ve. At the same time, you didn’t want to fuss or make a big deal out of it. It was better that it was you than someone else, like Joel. So you tolerated it, because you were still able to do your job even with an annoying fucking twat as your partner.

“I never took him seriously. I thought he’d just stop if I ignored it enough, but.. clearly not.” You gave a half-suppressed laugh, knowing how ridiculous and naive it sounded out loud. He sighed at your answer, making you fidget, “I know! I know. You’re right– it was stupid of me-”

“Sweetheart–” his hand on your leg and delicious southern drawl shut you right up, “nothin’ stupid about you tryin’ to keep the peace. Just.. let me know next time, okay?”

All you could do was nod, dumbfounded by this new, open protectiveness towards you. He knew better than anyone else how you could handle yourself, but he still couldn’t help but feel that it was his job to keep you safe and be your advocate when you weren’t your own.

Without another word, he rose and offered you a hand up, indicating that enough time had passed and you should get going if you were going to be on time for the party. You accepted the gesture again, but he held your hand longer this time as he guided you down the rocks so that you wouldn’t trip, a chivalrous act that also gave an excuse to linger on your skin.

A hot shower was what you needed to scrub the freshwater off your skin and out of your hair, also to give you some much needed relief from having to control yourself the whole time you were with him, but of course you did that after he left since you shared his bathroom.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over Jackson. The vibrant energy of the evening pulsed through the town, the streets alive with people as they made their way to the most popular establishment, laughter and music floating through the air. You’d gone through about four outfits before ultimately deciding on a ribbed henley tank, jeans, and sneakers

Just before running out the door, you checked yourself in the mirror to smooth any stray hairs away from your face. With a smile, you stepped out, falling in with your neighbors who’d been on their way over as well, engaging in conversation on the short walk there. There’d been a crowd gathered outside the Tipsy Bison, people mingling and sharing stories, some already on their second round of drinks.

Through the doors you were immediately greeted by a wave of warmth and liveliness. Your eyes danced around the bar, jumping from full booths and high tables, to the large alcohol selection behind the counter guarded by about three barkeeps if you were counting right. The air was filled with a thousand different scents, ranging from beer and cigarettes to perfume and aftershave. And lastly, the sounds which brought it all together, the clinking of glasses and hum of conversation, and of course, music. Your music that people were enjoying.

Searching the crowd, you spotted familiar faces and friends scattered throughout the place, engrossed in their own circles, but the one person you actively sought out was nowhere in sight. Your efforts slowed as you heard a picking of chords grow louder over the speakers, causing a wild smile to grow on your face.

♫

I looked out this morning and the sun was gone Turned on some music to start my day I lost myself in a familiar song

♫

“I closed my eyes and I slipped awaaay!” Tommy appeared at your side two shots in one hand and unopened beers between his fingers in the other, slinging the arm around your shoulder as he pushed the small glass into your hands.

Without hesitation, you threw the shot back with him, feeling the instant burn go down your throat. You both popped off the beer caps off a nearby counter, a party trick you’d gotten quite good at over the years, before rushing over to the middle of the floor to join the rest of the party and sing your hearts out to your first song of the night. You could barely hear yourself over the speakers and fellow singers, saving you from the embarrassment from being incredibly off-key. Your body reacted instantly to the music, finding the rhythm and constantly moving in accordance. That was the other thing about music, you felt most comfortable in your skin when you listened and danced to it, being able to fall in with whatever played. In between the verses, you hurried over to the bar to grab more shots and beers, slamming doubles back before pulling each other back to the floor.

You and Tommy locked arms and pressed back to back while holding up your bottles in a toast-fashion, switching off during the last chorus and refrain and holding out the longer notes.

♫

It’s more than a feeling (More than a feeling!)

When I hear that old song they used to play (More than a feeling!)

I begin dreaming (More than a feeling!) ...

♫

The alcohol was slowly but surely taking over, a key indicator being the warm, fuzzy buzzing that flourished throughout your body. You clung to Tommy’s shoulder and leaned towards his ear during a break between songs, “Tommy, this is way better than I thought it was gonna be!”

He looked at you with wide eyes and a grin, “I know right! Joel really helped pull it together before we opened the doors!”

You smiled at the compliment towards his brother, then furrowing your brows. “Where is he, anyway?”

You both looked around for a moment before Tommy steered you off to the side, yelling that it was too hard to see from the middle, and your efforts were put on pause again as you winded up near a large group of patrolmen that grabbed Tommy’s attention. He dragged you with him to socialize, though you mainly watched from the outskirts of the circle, smiling and nodding along where the conversations went as you didn’t have much to say or add.

When you went to drink from your bottle, you noticed the lightness of it and realized that you needed another, giving you the perfect excuse to slip away and look for him. You checked over your shoulders as you squeezed your way through to the bar to request your next drink, and it didn’t help that the room was dimly lit and was accompanied by flashing strobes.

The barkeep slid you a bottle across the counter and you swiftly popped it off, taking a swig before turning around right into somebody. An apology flew out of your mouth before you could even see who it was, their voice catching your attention and making you look at them.

“Hey, no worries! Both still got our drinks, yeah?”

Samson flashed you a grin, his hand light on your arm but enough to keep you steady. You raised your beer to him, his eyes flickered between it and you before raising his own and tapping the neck of your bottles together. You both took another swig.

As you got into conversation, you moved away from the bar towards the wall where there wasn’t much action going on. You talked about how nice the place had been transformed for the night and shared your favorite drinks, occasionally dropping a drunk-story from your youths. And the weird part? You found yourself genuinely enjoying his presence. With the way he kept eye-contact with you and made you feel like he was actually listening and comprehending the words falling out of your mouth, laughing and giving you verbal cues that he was following along, it made you see him in a way you hadn’t before.

You were.. enchanted. If it had been any other man, they’d dominate the conversation, going on about themselves the whole time and forcing you to listen. But with Samson, he treated you like an equal. He never cut you off or interjected to relate, waiting until you were entirely done or if you allowed him to weigh in between your thoughts.

“By the way–” he wiped his mouth of any residual beer, “I don’t want this to come off as weird, but you look incredible tonight. I don't think I’ve ever seen you dress in anything other than like, work clothes– and not that you look bad in that!” You giggled as he tripped over his words, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade. “What I’m trying to say is that I think you’re very beautiful, and I don’t want you to think I’m like Fitz.”

Your fingers brushed against his arm, furrowing your eyebrows at him for thinking such things, “Awh, Samson! You’re nothing like him, I hope you know that.”

He smiled down at his feet before back at you, “I know the other day you said that you and Joel weren’t a thing, and Tommy told me you weren’t seeing anybody– so I guess I’m just triple checking here– is there someone in the picture?”

So this was who Tommy was playing matchmaker for.

Your heart slowed and you fought to keep the innocent smile on your face. Was he approaching you at the bar when you bumped into him? Was he pretending to act like that just to segue into this? Several things ran through your mind as your eyes drifted away from his, and just when he was about to call you back to attention, the devil himself appeared: Tommy.

He swooped in around Samson’s shoulders, nursing a beer in hand. He held a smugness in his demeanor, surely you thought it was about the scene he’d set up until he spoke.

“Looks like you may have a roommate for the night.”

He jerked his hand behind him to a woman leaning against a pillar with Joel standing mere inches in front of her. He stood still with his hands to himself, but dropped his head closer to hers with a clear smile on his face. She beamed up at him with a look you knew all too well, not even attempting to conceal her attraction to him. She laughed too much for your liking while gripping his bicep, probably sneaking in some flirty comment with a double-meaning. Good fucking God.

You thought maybe you had a breakthrough at the lake, but this proved that you clearly didn’t, and you couldn’t believe you were stupid enough to think that what he said had any depth underneath it. Joel cared about you– this you knew. He cared in the same way he cared for Tommy and Ellie. But somewhere along the lines you’d gotten it confused with love, something he had for them, but maybe not you. Samson’s words replayed in your head in a painful reminder.

You said you and Joel weren’t a thing… Tommy told me you weren’t seeing anybody.. Is there someone in the picture?

Your eyes widened then narrowed, your jaw wiring shut as your chest began to heave. Tommy’s grin fell as he watched your features morph into something between resent and heartbreak, his eyes nervously peering from you, to Joel, to Samson as the alcohol took a momentary backseat.

He’d always sensed something between you and Joel after you settled in, though he knew that neither one of you would ever admit to your feelings for each other out of stubbornness. But he saw the way Joel looked at you after saying you didn’t have someone to call your own this morning, how his big brother almost looked offended by the truth of your answer. The reality was that Samson was interested in you, but Tommy had seen it as an opportunity to put pressure on the status between you both, and now he saw that it didn’t go in the direction of which he hoped and it was clearly affecting you.

“Oh, y’know he won’t take ‘er home! Never’s taken anyone. Not like that with him. Too chickenshit.” He tried his best to play off his earlier comment to put you at ease, but by the way the gap seemed to be closing between them only made the green-eyed monster rear its ugly head in full force.

You cleared your throat as you broke away, grabbing three shots off a nearby high table and handing them to the two men before you, needing to wash down the bitter taste in your mouth. “Oh, Tommy, you must’ve mistaken me for someone who cares. Who knows if I’ll even be going home tonight?”

Samson’s face lit up in surprise as you wiggled your brows at him and grabbed his hand to lead away while leaving Tommy open-mouthed as he saw right through your spite. Breathless curses left his mouth as he watched you disappear through the crowd, a frustration growing towards you and Joel for being so goddamn stupid about each other.

The barkeeps fed you two more shots and another beer. The alcohol was definitely hitting now. A few minutes ago, you were properly pissed off, wanting to storm up to Joel and give him a piece of your mind and telling the woman to go kick rocks, but now you were all over Samson, turning up the charm for him. It didn’t matter anymore if he just wanted to fuck, because maybe you’d just let him. He let out a chuckle and smiled, prompting you to tilt your head at him in question.

“The music tonight has been so fucking good,” he drank from the bottle, a smirk forming on your face, “I mean, when was the last time you heard this song?”

The bass riff and guitars let you know exactly what song had been playing, a long-time favorite of yours. You could’ve answered 'a couple months ago' to his question, but you took silent pride in knowing that he was another person impressed by your picks. He understood your cue as you turned your head to the middle of the room and back, placing his hand on the small of your back as you weaved through people. You wrapped an arm around his shoulder as he drew you closer to him by your waist, moving in sync to the beat.

♫

One of these nights One of these crazy old nights We're gonne find out pretty mama What turns on your lights ...

♫

If intimacy, yearning, and sex was a song, surely it’d be this one.

♫

Ooh.. someone to be kind to In between the dark and the light ...

♫

You sang out with your heart, pressing your body into Samson’s, but knowing the lyrics were about him. And deep down, you wanted him to hear it and think of you. Think of how you were the daughter of the devil himself and the angel in white, the woman he’s been looking for with a little of both and how she is in sight.

Around you were all couples reflecting exactly what you’d been doing, some doing more but your eyes didn’t linger on them long. You caught the faces of work friends and neighbors totally focused on their person as you swayed around, smiling at their fun. Eventually, the whole room sang along, an imperfect harmony to your ears that you couldn’t get tired of hearing tonight.

As the song winded down, Samson held you closer and craned his head down until your foreheads and noses were touching, still swaying to the guitar riffs. You took it a step further and pressed your mouth to his, your hand cupping his cheek and fingertips grazing his hair. You hadn’t expected anything out of it other than the feeling of your lips on someone else’s, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Your tongues found one another every other kiss, deepening as they went. His warmth kept you glued to him, and you found yourself taking a liking to his taste of alcohol and.. mint, maybe? Definitely something with an icy, refreshing hint.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been kissing, or kissing enough times that it was leading to straight-up making out, until you heard clear hoots and whistles during the switch between songs. When you pulled away, his lips were noticeably more plump compared to earlier, and the tingling sensation on yours let you know that they probably looked the same. You bit your bottom lip as you looked around at the ones cheering you on, the corners of your mouth curling up, but you broke out into a complete grin once you saw his face.

♫

Off with your head Dance til you're dead Heads will roll Heads will roll ...

♫

You’d almost tripped over your own two feet, discreetly looking over Samson’s shoulder from left to right to make sure you were seeing things right, and the excitement you felt when they were? Unmatched. And almost as if it’d been planned, the perfect song was playing.

If he’d been giving you or Samson a death-stare, you couldn’t tell, but either way, you loved seeing the scowl on his face. His fingers tightly curled around his beer that if he did it any tighter it’d break, the hard lines on his face prominent to you even this far away. You situated yourself to the side, giving him the perfect view as you brushed your nose against Samson’s, giving him your best doe eyes before melting into his mouth again, making sure that Joel could see the smile on your lips when you broke away and went back for more.

Your body winded up as the song progressed, building up to the drop and heavy riff. The strobe lights blinked quickly enough to cause a stroboscopic effect on everyone’s movement, perceiving them to move slower than they actually were. But when you looked back at Joel, he stayed completely still, his eyes locked on you between the several bodies that separated you from him. He looked so.. menacing.. that it made you shiver and throb. A wicked grin spread on your lips.

♫

Off, off with your head! Dance, dance til you're dead!

♫

Turning around, you pressed into Samson and grinded your backside into him. His hands were off you as quickly they were on you, frowning at the absence, you spun around and saw why: Tommy, again. You’d suspected something bad from the way his gaze fell back and forth between you both and he had a strong hand on his shoulder, but were eased when Samson held up a finger to you and smiled.

As much as you wanted to dance, you also wanted another drink, the empty bottle in your hand now warm from holding it for so long. Sliding shoulders through the floor, you looked between the bar and the bathroom, choosing to make the pitstop before continuing on. Pushing in the door, you were relieved there wasn’t a line, darting into an open stall to squat and do your business. As you finished, another body entered the bathroom in heels that clicked and echoed until they stopped in front of the sink, to what you imagined was a woman checking her makeup. When you got out, you saw their reflection in the mirror– indeed they’d been checking their face, but it’d also been the woman that’d been smitten with Joel. You paid no mind to her other than your initial glance, ignoring her presence and harshly scrubbing the soap on your hands.

“That older Miller’s somethin’, ain’t he?” Your hands froze under the running water. “I only got a taste earlier, but I bet he’s real good in bed.”

The fuck does she mean she got a taste earlier?

Your face must’ve been showing too much of a reaction based on the stupid fucking smile on hers and a snobbish laugh. Not even bothering to dry off your hands with paper towel, you rubbed them against your jeans and threw the door open to leave, storming up to the bar and impatiently tapping your fingers against the wood as you waited.

Fuck her, and fuck Joel. And you know what? Fuck Tommy, too. If he hadn’t brought it to your attention, maybe you wouldn’t have seen it. Then you wouldn’t have downed one too many drinks and legitimately considered sleeping with someone as rebound off hurt feelings, and then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t be feeling like all kinds of fucked up right now. You blinked back the burning in your eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry over this right now.

The lights returned to their original dimness and calmed down on the strobes, allowing you to search around a bit easier for any of the three people you found yourself with most tonight, but had no luck. Samson and Tommy were out of sight, and you didn’t have the slightest idea of what he pulled Samson away for. As for Joel, he moved from the last spot you remembered him in, or was it over there? You shook your head. It didn’t take much contemplation to decide on going home, you had your fun, but it was over, and you were too far gone to spark it back up in any capacity.

You held your arms tight to your body as you embraced the cool air on the walk to Rancher Street, a fair distance from the Tipsy Bison. The lightness in your head caused you to stumble quite a bit, wishing that either your house was closer or that someone would’ve walked with you. Other times when you drank too much, though it didn’t happen very often, either Tommy or Joel were right there at your side to get you home safe, but you wanted to throw yourself in someone’s yard and pass the fuck out rather than be alone.

Stomping up the porch, you caught yourself on the doorknob last minute as you tripped, fumbling it open and pushing inside. You ungracefully dropped to your ass, tugging at the aglets of your laces in the dark until the knots came undone and kicked your shoes off. So focused on keeping yourself upright, you hadn’t noticed Joel staring at you while leaning against the entryway of the living room with his arms crossed.

“Wasn’t expecting you.” His tone was deep and flat. You scoffed as you got off the floor, face contorting as you mocked him.

“I live here, don’t I?”

“Alone, I meant.” You shook your head as you walked past him, but he grabbed your wrist and held you in place, feeling the heat of his glare on your back. “You gon’ tell me what the hell that was back there?”

You met his eyes over your shoulder. “That was me having a good time. Same as you with that lovely woman.”

“Bullshit.” He shot back. “That wasn’t the same.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed while yanking your wrist back, turning into the kitchen and bracing yourself along the island, “s’hardly a difference.”

“Really?” He followed you, his frustration apparent in the way his jaw clenched. “‘Cause it sure looked like you were all over him tryin’ to prove somethin’.”

You pointed at yourself, “I don’t have anything to prove to anybody!” you snapped, the words coming out slow but loud, “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous.”

His eyes darkened, slowly taking a step towards you, “I am not-”

“Then what the fuck is wrong?” You staggered around the island on the emphasis of the curse, throwing your hands up, “I didn’t do a damn thing, and you’re losing your fucking head!”

“You didn’t– Wow.” A wry laugh came out his mouth. He waved you off, his tone dripping with bitterness. “I ain’t gotta explain myself to you.”

“And neither do I!” You retorted in defiance, your arms grandly gesturing. Your cheeks were hot with anger now, more so than before. “I can do whatever the hell I want, Joel! I don’t need your fucking permission!”

He dragged a hand down his face, turning away from you before whipping around and meeting you at the end of the island, raising his voice at you. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re insufferable!” you seethed as you pushed his chest, his hands seizing your wrists, “Acting like you have some fucking claim over me when we’re not even together!”

The silence after your outburst was deafening.

His anger faltered as a flash of pain crossed his face, quickly making your own frustration subside. The hard lines on his face deepened, a slight frown and somberness settling upon it. His grip on your wrists remained firm, but there was a hint of vulnerability in his touch. You wanted to blame the alcohol for making you so mean, but it was really the floodgate of feelings that’d been repressed for far too long.

You huffed, “Joel, I-” he interrupted you by tearing his eyes away from yours and releasing your wrists.

The pang in your chest was unmistakable. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. This was the part where everything was supposed to come out, to confront the truth of your feelings, but instead he was backing away, retreating and shutting down that conversation before it could even begin. You said his name again, but he simply raised his hand and continued to walk out of the kitchen.

Fuck– No. No, no, no. Your dejection passed and your temper flared up again. No, he doesn’t get to just walk away.

“Joel!” You called out, your voice tinged with frustration and desperation, “Joel, stop!”

But he didn’t. He kept walking, putting more distance between you and fueling your determination. Your heart was pounding as you quickened your pace to catch up with him upstairs, his arm just out of reach before he slammed his door in your face. He didn’t respond when you pounded on the door and demanded for him to come out, your temper mixing between anger and hurt.

“Screw you, Joel! I’m so tired of this– whatever the fuck this is!” Your voice trembled, feeling a punch to the gut when you remembered an obnoxiously accurate point he’d made to you once before. “I-I fucked up– but people do things when they’re scared!”

Your eyes stung, and it hadn’t dawned on you yet that you were potentially jeopardizing everything by blabbering off, but you couldn’t stop now.

“I can’t- Fuck-” a ruined sigh forced itself out your lungs, your thoughts moving too fast for you to comprehend, “If you’re gonna break my heart, do it now, because I can’t-”

You didn’t know when he’d opened the door and stepped out, but you stopped your rambling as soon as you saw him. The silence fell heavy, the only sound being his boots stepping towards you until his chest was nearly touching yours and his breath fanned over your skin. Your eyes darted around his face, from his eyes, to his nose, lips, beard, and back to his eyes again. Just the slightest inch forward and you’d be touching him, the fact making you shiver and fiercely pulse between your thighs.

Your heart ached when you saw the raw emotion in his eyes– an amalgamation of sadness, yearning, lust, and tenderness– all things you grew to be familiar with when you found yourselves running in circles. You couldn’t stand the way his eyes flickered between yours and how his warm hands were slowly reaching up to cup your face. And how you could now feel his chest pressed against yours. And how his lips parted. And that fucking look on his face.

“Joel,” you quavered, “don’t..”

But he knew.

A soft, broken breath escaped you as it was all suddenly becoming too real, reaching the point of no return.

“Don’t look at me like that unless you mean it.”

His lips crashed into yours.

[luveline]

hi baby!! could we get sirius comforting shy!reader that’s a bit embarrassed of her body hair? maybe she’s trying not to shave for the first time? thank you ily

hi! im not sure she's as shy as you wanted but i hope it's OK, thank you for requesting! ♥︎ fem!reader

"My darling," Sirius says, sweet and silky and only half-joking. "Move over, please." 

You snap out of your movie-fuelled reverie and shuffle over with an apology, making room for him to stretch out on the sofa beside you. He does so without remorse, more comfortable with you now than he'd be by himself. 

"What did I miss?" he asks, smelling like garlic cloves and olive oil, the dinner he's just set to simmer.

"Want me to rewind?" 

He buries his face in your shoulder. "No," he says, breath hot on your skin, "just tell me what happened." 

You start to explain, sinking down with his weight. He listens, hand flattening over your stomach and squeezing gently when he likes what you've said. 

The movie goes on and Sirius gets bored, fingers running along the edge of your t-shirt. You squirm, knowing exactly what it is he's about to do, and usually you'd love it — he slides his hand under your t-shirt and gives your tummy a good old-fashioned loving. You sit up to discourage him and he takes no notice, fingertips pushing under, pads a split second from feeling your naked skin. 

You slap your hand over his. "Wait." 

He raises his eyebrows, surprised. "What?" 

"Uh." You thread your fingers through his. He's resistant. 

"What? You don't want me to touch you?" he asks. Sirius is straight-forward when he wants to be. Which is usually when you want him not to be. 

"You- Uh. You remember that conversation we had?" 

He stares at you. "You realise we spend a lot of time together?" 

"Right," you say. You have a lot of conversations. "About my-" You hate how shameful it feels to say aloud. "My stomach. My body hair." 

He tries to pull his hand out of yours, an eagerness on his face that makes you want to leave the country. "I remember. You didn't shave? Let me see." 

"No," you moan, face hot, trying very hard not to laugh at his enthusiasm. "No, get off." 

"Please?" He tugs your t-shirt up before you can stop him. It's so dark in your living room that there's no way he can see it clearly, the beginnings of hair growing back in. "Nice." 

"Sirius, please don't," you plead, words coming out in an embarrassed mumble.

"Can I touch you?" 

You sigh and deflate. Trust him to be so awfully serious when he needs to be. He's endearing, and the worst, and you love him and want to shake him by the shoulders. Body hair isn't anything to be ashamed of, as he'd said emphatically and sincerely, but just because he says it doesn't erase years of self disgust. When you're taught so intrinsically to hate it, even his unwavering affection can't convince you otherwise. At least, not straight away. It had taken more than a few words for you to make this decision. 

"Yeah," you mumble.

"You sure?" 

You smile at him. "Yeah, Sirius. You can touch me." 

He lays his hand flat over your stomach. You cringe, wondering if he can feel your short hair, wondering if he hates it, if he'd tell you if he did. He doesn't say anything, only gives you your usual squeeze and tips his head back. He waits for you to meet his eyes and smiles, so wide his eyes squint shut. 

"Love you," he says, hand climbing up. 

"Love you," you say. Then, "Are you… sure it's not gross?" 

"Positive. Next question." 

"Seriously, Siri, I know you're my boyfriend and you love me but if it's gross I'll get rid of it."

"Do you want to?" he asks. 

You chew on your lip. You do want to shave it. You feel prettier when you're bare-skinned. But you also want to learn to love your natural body, because you know there's nothing wrong with the way you are or the things your body does.

"I don't know." 

He lifts his hand, peering down his nose at your stomach. "Don't bite me, but I think it's cute." He runs a fingertip down your navel. "Little crab trail." 

You yank down your shirt over his hand. "Shut up." 

He laughs, hand clamping down on your hip so he can press a mass of kisses into the curve of your neck. "Love you," he says between them. "Love everything about you." His hand drifts back to your stomach and you slap it. "Ouch. Don't bully me. Just wanna touch you." 

"Insufferable boy…" You melt a little under his touch. "Thank you. For not caring." 

"Of course. You're perfect the way you are." He leans backward into the sofa cushions and strokes your stomach gently. "You know?" 

You refuse to answer. 

He shrugs. "We'll get there. You're perfect to me. And that's what's important."

You elbow him in the side.  

[blessyourhondahurley]

Suptober day 10 - Hands on Me

The concluding second part of The Liminal Moment, in which Dean gets his massage, and maybe changes his life?

Suptober prompt: Close Shave

(Read on AO3)

“Welcome to The Liminal Moment. My name is Castiel. I'll be your masseur today.”

Dean's head, muzzy from days of pain and bad sleep, spins in place. Bobby sent me over here for a massage? Like, a massage-massage, or like a “massage”? Nah, he wouldn't have sent me here if this was a happy-endings kind of place, would he? I mean, I would be one hundred percent okay with getting a happy ending from this guy, look at him, damn. Those eyes, those lips, that hair... That stubble! I usually like a fella with a close shave but wow I kinda wanna rub all up on him! Oh shit, what if I get a boner while he's working on me? Would he freak out? Yell? Call the cops? Fuck. This is crazy, I should go. I don't belong here. But... God, a real, actual massage sounds amazing. If he could fix my back, or even just make it hurt a little less... It's not getting any better on its own, that's for sure...

He's so up in his own thoughts that it takes him a moment to realize that they've walked into a different room, and Castiel is speaking to him.

“... right here and I'll be back in a few minutes,” he's saying. Oops.

“Um, sorry, I was kind of freaking out internally and I didn't hear anything you said. Run that by me again?”

The man gives him a kind smile. “Let me guess, this is your very first massage?”

“Yeah, and ten minutes ago I didn't know I was gonna be doing this, so... I'm pretty lost here.”

“Got it. Don't worry, I'll talk you through the whole process. Feel free to ask any questions you have, at any point. I want you to feel totally comfortable.”

His voice and his manner are so soothing, so patient, that Dean lets his guard down. “What if I–” Then he stops himself, too embarrassed to continue.

Castiel cocks his head and gives him a considering look, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Shit, that's hot, Dean thinks, which only makes the question he'd been about to ask more urgent. Oh, fuck it. “What if I get, um, excited on the table? I'm not tryna be a perv here but you're a really good-lookin' guy, and I'm not used to bein' touched if it's not for, y'know...” He shrugs and trails off, mortified.

“Sex?” Castiel finishes, and Dean's palms start to sweat. He nods dumbly.

“I can assure you, you're not the first person to be concerned about arousal during a massage. Our bodies can react in so many unpredictable, uncontrollable ways, and you're right that most of us only ever experience focused touch during intimacy. You may have an erection at some point during the next hour, you may not. If it does happen, I promise that I will not be shocked or offended. You also might fart, or burp, or cry. I've been a masseur for many years, and I'm not afraid of anything a body can do. You don't need to feel shame or worry here. This is a place to relax and let yourself be cared for. Do you have any other questions before I give you my little spiel again and we get started?”

Dean shakes his head. He's already starting to tear up a little bit from the aura of calm, peace, and acceptance that radiates off of this lovely man. He makes a mental note to thank Bobby profusely for sending him here.

Castiel continues, “Alright, so, this is the room where I'll be giving you your massage. In a moment I'll step outside, and you can disrobe to your level of comfort. You can strip down all the way if you like, or if you prefer you can leave your underwear on. Since I need to work on your back I do ask that you take off your shirt and pants. If your feet tend to get cold, you can keep your socks. Once you've undressed, please lay tummy-down on the table with your face centered here in this padded hole, and cover yourself with the sheet. You can leave your clothes on the chair over here and I'll be back in a few minutes. Sound good?”

Dean nods, already toeing out of his boots. Castiel turns to a small table in the corner. He lights a cluster of honey-colored candles there and clicks a small remote. Soft music begins to play from unobtrusive speakers set around the room. On his way out the door, he dims the lights.

Pain slows him a bit, but soon he's down to his socks and briefs, and climbing gingerly onto the table. Once he's laying face-down, there's no way he's going to be able to twist himself around to grab the sheet, so he holds the thing around his shoulders like Superman's cape as he goes.

Then he's prone on the table, and just this, just being able to lay completely flat like this without suffocating himself in a pillow, makes the tightness in his back start to ease. He lets his arms hang down off the sides of the table and something in his spine shifts a little. He sighs and updates his mental note to include buying Bobby a six pack.

There's a soft knock at the door, and Castiel comes back in.

“Ready?” he asks, and Dean gives an affirmative grunt. “Oh, before I begin, do you have any preference on fragrance? I like to use a scented oil, but I can do unscented if you are sensitive?”

Dean makes a little “whatever” gesture with his dangling hands. He hears the sound of a cap being snapped open, then skin rubbing on skin as Castiel oils and warms his palms.

Then the massage begins. It's a revelation.

Castiel starts with broad strokes down his back. He's just spreading on the oil, not even digging in to the muscle yet, but it's like every nerve in Dean's body fires at once, and he realizes how skin-hungry he's let himself become. He wasn't lying when he said he's not used to being touched outside of the bedroom. And maybe, as he's gotten older and the hookup scene has lost its enticing glow, he hasn't really “entertained” any callers in a while, bedroom-wise. Endorphins flood into his system and he feels like his body starts floating off the table.

As the hour goes on, Castiel works the muscles in his back and shoulders in a firm, steady pattern. Time passes in a patchouli-scented blur. Maybe he gets hard, maybe he doesn't. It's not anything worth noticing, for either of them. He definitely makes some weird noises. Grunts when Castiel hits a particularly sore spot, moans when he works it loose, little huffs and snuffles when he applies extra pressure and pushes the air right out of him. Dean doesn't have it in him to be embarrassed, and Castiel doesn't draw attention to any of it.

The pain drains away, and Dean melts down onto the table like butter. Screw thea six pack, he's buying Bobby a goddamn pony.

He's close to dozing off when he notices that Castiel has gone from deep massage back to long, light strokes of his skin. At last, he rests his broad palms on the middle of Dean's lower back, right where the pain used to be the worst, and just holds them there for a minute.

“We're done,” he says softly. “How do you feel?”

Dean gives a long, low moan, too blissed to make words.

“That's what I like to hear,” Castiel says, and Dean can hear the smile in his voice. He feels the sheet being tugged up over him again, all the way up to his ears. “I'm going to go out now, but you can feel free to lay there until you're ready to get up. If you want to rest, or even take a little nap, go ahead. When you're up and dressed, come out to the reception area again.”

There's the sound of the door opening and closing, and then there's just soft music and the smell of patchouli, and Dean lets himself float for a while.

Eventually, he rolls carefully to his side, and he's amazed to feel no pain in the movement. He sits up, and his back gives no complaints. There's a bit of residual tightness when he bends to pick up his boots, but compared to the agony he was in before he's basically been the recipient of a genuine miracle.

When he exits the room, Castiel is sitting behind the reception desk with his phone in his hand. He types something, then smiles up at Dean and reads from the screen. “Bobby says, and I quote, 'don't bother showing your Ken doll face around the shop the rest of today, idjit. Go home and take it easy.' I would only add that you should have a snack when you get home, drink extra water tonight, and stretch a little before you go to bed.”

Dean nods and reaches for his back pocket. “Will do. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. This one's on your boss. He's been a regular customer of mine since I opened, so I gave him a deal. I do hope I'll get to see you again sometime, though?”

The look Castiel gives him then holds hunger, a spark. It's clear he's not only asking if Dean wants to make a followup appointment. Maybe Dean wasn't the only one thinking about erections today. He grins and leans on the desk. “Cas, I would love that.”

[the-french-belphegor]

I finished another fic for the @critter-genfic-events's bingo card! "Beach day", this time. I swear I did mean it to be funny and only funny, but then it was also Vox Machina post-campaign, so "Missing someone" ended up being A Thing. Plus "Found family" because that's unavoidable when Grog and his gnomes are concerned 💜

I'll be posting this on AO3 shortly here if you prefer to read on AO3!

—

Grog wiggles sand between his toes and squints at the Marquet sun shining through a passing cloud.

“Oh man,” he hears Scanlan sigh from the chaise lounge thing next to him, “this is the life.”

Meh, Grog thinks, just a little.

Sure, it’s a nice day out, and it’s great that they finally got everyone for a little vacation weekend in the Bay of Gifts – even Keyleth, who’s very busy being leaderly, and even Vex and Percy, who have their hands full with Whitestone but mostly with little Vesper. (Grog still calls her ‘Whisper’, because it became A Thing, and to be fair she’s a fairly quiet kid, in his meagre experience.) Now the girl is napping with her dad under the shade of the parasol after burying Grog into the sand (with helpful pointers from her mum, her uncle Grog and her auntie Keyleth) and playing in the shallows with her auntie Pike and her uncle Scanlan. That’s a lot of things to do, and the little mite is all tuckered out. So’s mostly everyone, it seems, except for Trinket, who is having fun chasing seagulls in the distance.

And Grog is slowly but surely getting bored.

Of course, that’s the moment his insides choose to give a twinge at the lack of Vax shenanigans. One of the many things Grog misses about the guy is that you’d never get bored when he was around. Sometimes not getting bored meant getting half your beard shaved off or various belongings stolen for a prank, but… well.

Pike, Wilhand and Scanlan all say that it’s normal to still be sad about Vax even now. Privately, Grog wonders if it’s stupid to miss some of the truly infuriating things Vax did, like the beard thing. He has a feeling the answer would be “no”, but there’s no way in hell he’ll ask.

“Hey Pike!” he calls out, mostly to distract himself from the oncoming boredom but also from being sad on what’s supposed to be a fun day out. “Wanna go fight the sea?”

Pike is in the process of gathering Vesper’s discarded beach toys and eyeing Percy – who is currently fast asleep near his daughter – with Vesper’s shovel in her hand and a gleam in her eye. Just as Grog is starting to think pranking Percy might be a good distraction as well, she turns to him and grins.

“Sure, buddies. How d’you wanna do that?”

“I was thinkin’ I could walk into the waves and just, like, not budge. Or put you on my shoulder and then see how far we can go till you get splashed.”

“Okay, yeah, that sounds nice,” she says, nodding. “Scanlan? Wanna come with?”

“Eh,” says Scanlan from under the hat covering his face, “I had my share of the ocean earlier. Might work on my tan for a little bit.”

“Come on,” says Grog, because the first time they took a beach holiday Scanlan wasn’t there and their second trip to Dalen’s Closet was, well, A Lot – way too much to just let loose and have fun afterwards, “I have two shoulders. That’s one for Pike, and one for you. It’s huh. Balance.”

(He’s really proud to be able to say a number and not hesitate even a bit. Long sentences with lots of letters still elude him, but he’s starting to know numbers well.)

One of Scanlan’s eyes peeks out from under the hat, along with a smile.

“Aw, big guy. Okay, for balance then, but on one condition.”

“What’s that?” asks Pike with something sharp in her grin, like she really wants to laugh but she’s saving that for a better moment.

“My hair stays dry.”

“That’s it?” says Grog, eyebrows raised. He was expecting something a lot less simple.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

That sounds pretty fair, so Grog agrees.

So maybe walking into the surf isn’t quite fighting an entire ocean, but the three of them manage to make it fun, just like Grog thought they would. Pike stands on his left shoulder, hanging on to his head, and shouts at every wave just as loud as he does; meanwhile, Scanlan sits on his right shoulder, beating a rhythm on his chest with his toes and humming a vaguely familiar tune. There may be something magical at work there, because Grog is feeling a tingling warmth along his spine and into his ribcage, like they’re in the middle of a battle and Scanlan is singing to give him inspiration. That’s nice of him to do that. Maybe it’ll give Grog and Pike an edge.

(Even wearing no armour at all and with waves rolling up to his chest, Grog always feels just a little invincible with those two on his shoulders.)

“You know what, Grog?” says Pike after a while, settling down on his shoulder and grinning at him, her cheeks red and her chest heaving. “That was really fun. I think we could all do with some screaming at the ocean once in a while.”

“Seconded,” says Scanlan, who didn’t do any shouting and mostly either chilled with his eyes closed or looked at Pike like he does sometimes, all soft eyes and slight smile.

Pike gets the same sort of look every now and then. It’s this kind of little details that tells Grog that one of these days the guest bedroom in Wilhand’s attic might become a real guest bedroom again (that and the fact that dawn often finds Pike and Scanlan tiptoeing out of each other’s room). As long as they keep most of the lovey dovey stuff out of sight Grog is fine with it.

“Well, I’m smart like that,” says Grog with a grin, like a joke where only he knows the punchline. Which is kinda the case, actually, if the joke is The little bits are dating and Grog did notice. “I got lots of good ideas.”

Scanlan leans his back against Grog’s head and nods.

“You sure do, buddy. And you guys definitely win in my book. Eat your heart out, ocean!”

“Hey guys!” They all turn – which means the gnomes have to turn a second time because they’re facing the wrong way now – to the beach, where Vex is standing with her hands cupped around her mouth. “Keyleth says there might be some jellyfish in the water by now, have you seen any yet?”

“Some what?” asks Grog, and promptly steps on something squishy.

It’s like walking into a bramble bush. The sole of his foot is fine, but tendrils sneak up his ankle and fire up a prickling pain that instantly runs up his whole leg. The surprise, more than the actual sting, makes him bark a shout and instinctively jump back, but this is uncomfortable as hell.

His shoulders suddenly feel somewhat lighter. Oh shit, he thinks with a flash of fear, old habits taking over, Scanlan should float but Pike’s in heavy armour, she’ll go straight down—

But they’re on vacation, not adventuring – no weapons, no plate armour, just sun hats and bathing suits. When he whirls around he spots Pike easily treading water not far from his elbow. The waves rolling in towards the beach make her go up and down, but she’s completely unfazed.

“You okay, Grog?” she asks, looking a little startled, and Grog isn’t even sure if that’s from being thrown off her perch or on his account.

“Sure,” says Grog, not that sure. “Except, uh, question. Can people die from jellyfish?”

“Well,” says Pike reasonably, “that depends on the jellyfish. I saw some really big ones on the Broken Howl, like big big. But the ones around here just burn a little.” Then her eyes zero in on something ahead of her and her nose crunches. “Yikes. Yeah, you can tell Vex Keyleth was right, look.”

The first and last time Grog saw a jellyfish, it was in Vesrah. Two kids were poking a small blob with a stick until their father told them to stop. What’s floating close to the surface five feet from them is still a blob, but it’s got long thin tentacly things that look like a bunch of transparent seaweed. They’re trailing underneath like it doesn’t know what to do with them. It’s creepy, and it’s weird to think these are why his ankle and calf are stinging like he kicked through embers without a boot on.

Grog scoops Pike up, holds her up out of the water, and makes his way to the beach, trusting Scanlan to meet them there.

When he’s close enough to talk without shouting, he tells Vex, who’s been watching them curiously, “Yeah, maybe don’t let lil’ Whisper into the water just now. There’s at least a couple of the suckers out there. I even got bit, look.”

“Stung, Grog,” Pike corrects, hanging on tight to his arm to avoid toppling over when he lifts his foot. Oops. “Jellyfish don’t bite.”

Vex throws him a look, complicated and quick – worried-sharp-relieved – then grins.

“You know, I’ve heard you can treat a jellyfish burn by having someone pee on it. Not that I’m volunteering, but perhaps if you ask—”

It’s the way she says it. Something flashes in Grog’s mind, like he’s realised something isn’t right but his brain is taking a while to catch up on what, exactly. (It happens.) It’s not that it’s wrong for her to say that – although in the old days Grog wouldn’t have put it past Vax to bring it up instead – so much as she shouldn’t have been the first to say it.

Fortunately, Pike’s brain works much better and faster than his. Her eyes go wide real quick and she exclaims, “Wait – where’s Scanlan?”

A small sliver of cold creeps its way up Grog’s spine. Oh. Shit.

“Didn’t he swim to shore?”

“He didn’t,” says Vex, tense and sharp once more, but worse, like she used to just before a fight. “I would’ve seen him.”

“Well, he has to be somewhere, he can’t just – oh gods no.”

Pike’s voice goes sideways on the last word like someone tripping and falling down a flight of stairs. Grog looks into the same direction and goes cold all over.

There is a shape bobbing along in the water a little ways behind the waves crashing onto the beach.

Grog runs.

He does kind of end up fighting the sea for real today after all.

When he reaches Scanlan, what feels like the next second but also so much time later, the gnome is floating belly down just under the surface of the water. His arms and legs drift a little in the current, like the jellyfish’s tentacle things did. It looks so much creepier. But not as creepy as the way Scanlan lies completely still when Grog picks him up, arms and legs at odd angles like his limbs and joints are missing strings. Both his eyelids and his lips are a little bit blue.

At least there’s no blood. It would bring back real bad memories if there was blood. Well, it does, because this is not the first time Grog’s carried his second best little buddy cold and lifeless like that, but the absence of blood makes it a bit easier to push those memories away.

Pike takes charge as Grog limps out of the water, white seafoam frothing around his calves. Her face is nearly as pale.

“Lay him down,” she says, her voice steel under the usual warmth, and Grog does. He watches her press her ear to Scanlan’s chest, tip his head back, open his mouth, and blow into it. And look, Grog usually doesn’t like it much when they start getting kissy and too wrapped up in each other, but it’s the last thing he’d mind right now. This is the worst kiss he’s ever seen. He’s not even sure it counts as one.

Pike lays her hands flat on Scanlan’s chest and her arms find a steady rhythm – “…three four five six come on eight nine ten—” and Grog winces when he hears something crack. Pike with her gauntlets and her mace and the Blessing of the Everlight is strong, second only to Grog in strength in Vox Machina, but even without she’s a force to be reckoned with. Scanlan’s going to feel that when he wakes up. If he wakes up.

They can’t lose somebody else that’s theirs. They can’t.

Sometimes people go and you never get them back, Grog remembers Kerrek say to Keyleth once, that time Scanlan was dead and Grog spent a very complicated few hours grappling with the fact that all those powerful spellcasters couldn’t bring him back right now. Kerrek had looked surprised way before that when Grog had told him that when someone died, they just brought them back. Like that was usually not the way of things. Like sometimes even people you knew and loved a whole lot just died, and that was it, no Revivify spell, no resurrection.

Grog hadn’t really understood that before Vax died and then became feathers.

If Scanlan dies now, for real, is he going to become feathers, too?

Just as the terror starts to give way into rage – that’s always been Grog’s default way of handling things like that, mostly – Scanlan’s body gives a lurch and he upchucks more liquid than Grog’s ever seen him down in one go in all their years of tavern hopping.

The next second he hears Keyleth yell, “Turn him on his side!”

She’s motioning the water out of Scanlan’s lungs with her hands even as she’s full-on running towards them, spraying sand where her feet hit the beach. In the distance, Vex talks urgently to Percy sitting up next to Vesper before following her, almost as fast.

By the time she’s standing nearby, Keyleth is drawing out the last of the water and replacing it with air with complex arm gestures, long fingers flexing fluidly. The second she’s done, Pike flips Scanlan on his back again and smacks her hands flat on his chest with a flash of intense light that makes Grog see bright spots for a while. A heartbeat later, Scanlan is coughing and retching as if it would make more sense for his insides to be outside. Between dry heaves he takes big gulps of air that sound painful.

But at least he’s breathing.

Grog’s knees suddenly feel like jellyfish tentacles. Sea salt burns in his eyes, and wiping them doesn’t really help. He spares one furious thought towards the ocean – I still won, motherfucker, you don’t get to keep him, just a fleeting remnant of rage – before sitting down on the sand a lot more abruptly than he means to.

From there he catches some soft whispers, some in Gnomish he doesn’t understand, some in Common he does – “It’s okay, you’re okay”, “Slow down, deeper breaths”, and “I know, sorry about your ribs, babe, hold on a sec” – as well as the faint glow from Pike’s fingers as she runs her hand gently along Scanlan’s back. Scanlan’s breaths do come easier after that. (So do Grog’s, incidentally.) He still looks a wreck, though, his soaked curls all over the place, ashen-faced under his tan and half covered in a fine layer of sand. So much for keeping his hair dry. Oops.

“Are you gonna be okay?” asks Keyleth, her voice trembling just a little.

“What the hell happened?” Vex’s voice sounds clipped and almost angry, so sharp it could cut through diamonds but also kinda like it could break if she wasn’t careful. It only does that when things get bad.

Scanlan blinks up at her; he looks at Pike, at Keyleth, and at Grog, and blinks again.

“Good… question?”

It’s because of the jellyfish, Grog realises, and only notices he’s said that aloud when everyone turns their eyes to him. He concentrates hard on not voicing the niggling doubt that it’s his fault more than the jellyfish’s. The squish and the burn might have startled him, but letting both gnomes fall was on him alone. And that… that sucks. A lot.

Pike helps Scanlan sit up, one hand in his and the other still on his back.

“We were just messing around. Grog stepped on a jellyfish – by the way, you okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” says Grog, even though his ankle still burns a lot, kinda, because he’s – they’ve all – gone through way worse during battles. Fortunately they’re not battling anyone, so Pike still has plenty of magic, and he almost immediately feels the familiar warmth of a Heal spell down to his toes. The next second the red welts on his skin are gone. “Thanks, Pike. And, uh… sorry for getting your hair wet, Scanlan.”

“That’s… a way of putting it, I guess,” mutters Vex.

Scanlan stops brushing wet sand off his face, still looking a little dazed. He looks up (and up, and up) at Grog and waves off the apology with a slightly shaking hand.

“Eh, it’s fine. I probably should’ve told you I can’t swim in the first place.”

Everyone stares at him in a stunned silence that Keyleth finally breaks.

“Wait,” she exclaims, “you can’t swim?”

Scanlan gives half a shrug. “Just never learned, I guess. And I learned Polymorph years ago, so I can just turn into something that swims better than I ever would anyway.”

That does nothing to placate Keyleth, whose voice climbs straight up.

“But – how did we not know that?!”

“It never came up!” protests Scanlan, eyes wide, almost defensive.

“How the hell did that never come up?”

“Guys.” Pike’s voice is clear and sharp; it’s not brittle like Vex’s was, but it’s a fine edge that slices easily through the rising tension before it turns back into her usual soothing tones. “Thank you,” she says to the two women. She opens her mouth, closes it again, and finally just says, “You know. Just… thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Vex says in her normal voice, but her face is pretty pale for all that she just ran a bunch of yards to go get Keyleth. “And Scanlan?”

Grog almost expects him to look up and go “Oi?” with a small smile that could mean pretty much anything. But he just looks up at Vex and doesn’t smile. His eyebrows go up a bit.

“A soon as we can find a body of water that doesn’t have waves in it –”

“Or jellyfish,” adds Grog, whose takeaway of the misadventure is that those things are more dangerous than ocean waves. One corner of Vex’s mouth twitches.

“– or jellyfish, we are teaching you how to swim, darling. And that is non-negotiable.”

Scanlan’s face is still a bit white, his voice still a bit raw when he nods and says, “Understood.”

“I mean it. I hope you can handle a crash course.”

“Well,” says Scanlan, sounding a little more normal, “you know what they say about old dogs and new tricks, but I—” Vex’s eyes glint, “—yep, okay, swimming lesson, no prob.”

Vex flashes a satisfied smirk, but it only stays up for a second. The next moment she’s hugging Scanlan, and it’s over just as quickly before she mutters, “I’d better go and inform Percy that nobody died, thank the gods…”

And it’s like Grog can hear the ‘nobody else’ hidden in that sentence, clear as day.

After she leaves, Scanlan looks at Keyleth with one of those smiles that mean he’s being serious.

“Thanks, Kiki. You know, you’re pretty awesome.”

Keyleth looks less spooked now. She gives a short snort of a laugh and unfolds her long lean body from where she’s sitting on the sand.

“Yeah, well. I spent a long time learning these spells, so. I’m glad you’re okay, Scanlan,” she adds in a softer voice before following Vex.

It’s when her back is turned and she’s a few feet away that Pike – who’s been so still Grog almost expected her to start vibrating – grabs Scanlan by the shoulders and then throws her arms around him. Doesn’t kiss him, just goes straight for a tackling hug that seems to drive the air from his lungs (again).

“I thought you’d Dimension Doored to the beach,” Grog hears her say in his hair, a little muffled, because after a second of surprise Scanlan is hugging back, just as tight. “I thought you’d swum back. You should’ve said you couldn’t, you… I should’ve checked… Holy shit, Scanlan. That was so fucking dumb.”

But she’s trembling a little as she says this, so maybe it’s not really dumb to be scared still, even though everything is okay now.

…Well, kind of okay. No matter what happens, Vax will stay dead. Which means Vex, and Keyleth, and Scanlan, and Pike, and Percy, and Tary won’t really be okay okay for a long time. They’ll still have those moments where they go quiet and still and kind of fragile, like they’re made of glass you can’t quite see through. Like Grog, when his memory betrays him and he thinks I gotta show this to Vax, or Vax will go nuts when he hears that – and then he remembers that Vax is gone and they’ll never get him back.

Maybe that’s part of why Pike is holding Scanlan so tight, and why Scanlan is murmuring to her in Gnomish looking like he just smacked his head into a wall.

And since there’s no kissing involved, just ‘holy crap you’re alive I love you you’re alive’ hugging, Grog picks up his gnomes for some hugging of his own.

The thing is… well. It’s like this. It’s Wilhand and Grog and Pike and Scanlan, living in Wilhand’s house. It’s Grog and Scanlan and Pike, going to taverns and sometimes – less often than they used to, but still sometimes – going home so smashed they can’t walk straight. It’s Pike and Grog and Scanlan going to Vasselheim via teleportation circles; Grog and Scanlan check in at the Slayer’s Take headquarters while Pike drops by the Temple of Sarenrae first, Pike and Grog fight at the Crucible while Scanlan sneaks them some inspiration from the stands, and Grog and Pike and sometimes Scanlan take a contract from the Take to kill some big beast that doesn’t hold a candle to a dragon or a god but is still fun to fight.

The thing is… Grog knows gnomes live a long time. The particulars are unclear and not really interesting to be honest. He just knows that one day, he’ll be too old to fight anything – which sucks, so he hopes it won’t last a long time – and he’ll die for good, and Pike and Scanlan will still be young compared to him. That’s not scary in itself. Grog Strongjaw has never been afraid of dying (especially not since the two halves of Kevdak’s corpse hit the cobblestones of the Westruun town square). But Grog Strongjaw has learned to fear death like he used to before he learned about resurrection spells, whether it comes from the fingertips of a snarling god or the whisper of raven wings. Revivify doesn’t always work, and it gets harder if you died and got brought back more than once. And then sometimes they’re just. Gone. (They could have lost Vex for good as well at the not-wedding a couple of years ago. Sometimes Grog looks at her playing with Vesper, or slumped against Percy with her head on his shoulder, and the thought goes through his brain and leave ice in its wake for a while.)

The thing is… They’re not always out of harm’s way, but they are safe now.

They killed dragons. They thwarted a god. They lost family. They’re entitled to safe, now, right?

None of them are allowed to die before Grog. Not for real. That would just be unfair.

(Especially because of a stupid misstep and a stupid jellyfish.)

So yeah. The gnomes hug each other, and Grog hugs his gnomes.

“Hey, Scanlan,” he says when the two break apart – slightly – and make themselves comfortable against his chest without even thinking about it, out of habit.

“Yeah?”

“Are you mad we didn’t know you can’t swim?”

Something complicated flashes across Scanlan’s face for a second, but then he shakes his head.

“I’d be mad if I’d told you and you’d forgotten,” he says, and Grog believes him.

“I wouldn’t forget a thing like that.”

“I know, bud.”

“We’re gonna teach you, anyway,” Pike points out as the three of them make their way up the beach towards the others, the towels and the parasols. “And no Polymorph allowed. You’re not cheating your way out of this one.”

“That’s not cheating, that’s just… creative thinking! Swimming is boring – why would I want to swim when I can turn into a porpoise instead?”

“Why didn’t you do that earlier, then, instead of giving us all a heart attack?”

“I was taken by surprise, obviously!”

“Wait,” says Grog, “how the hell do you turn into a purpose?”

“P-o-r-p-o-i-s-e, buddies. It’s an animal. Kinda looks like a dolphin.”

“Dolphins are usually purposeful, so that tracks.”

“You’re not helping, Scanlan.”

“Yeah, you’re not helping me cultivate my litter-a-see, Scanlan.”

Grog isn’t sure (yet) how to spell ‘literacy’ and he mostly means it as a joke anyway, but Scanlan’s whole face lights up with delight, so maybe it means he stuck the landing.

Of course this is where Vesper’s little voice pipes up to ask what ‘literacy’ means, and what’s a porpoise, and then what does a jellyfish look like, because she’s a curious little one and she loves to know things and figure things out. Scanlan spins a tale on the spot for her that only looks like what actually happened if you tilt your head and squint really hard; at some point a giant whale is involved and Pike, Vex and Keyleth swing down from an airship to save the day. Percy’s eyebrows shoot up from behind his glasses at that, Keyleth laughs, and Vex grins and takes a mock bow before returning to scratch the spot behind Trinket’s ear.

Vesper listens to Scanlan with increasing awareness that this is A Story – firmly in the land of make-believe, where no one dies, nobody is ever in real danger, and all’s well that always ends well – and gives dramatic gasps and laughs at the right places.

Pike plops Scanlan’s hat on her head and settles behind him to comb the sand and the knots out of his hair with her fingers as he talks. Sometimes she smiles the same soft little smile Scanlan had earlier, while she and Grog were screaming at the ocean.

And Grog?

Grog settles on the ground, wiggling sand between his toes, and watches his family being alive.

—

Raise your hand if you love Grog Strongjaw and his gnomes 🥰

Me a couple of months ago seeing this post:

"Ooh, that's great! Great potential for comedy!" So I jotted down these lines -

“Wait, you can’t swim!? How did we not know that?” “It never came up!” “How the hell did it never come up??

- and then a couple of months later came up with the fic above 😅

Hope you liked!