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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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To a Tea 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character: Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don't @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

“He’s here,” Jenna’s warning brings you attention away from siphoning what’s left off the peppermint leaves into the fresh tin.

You glance over without any other directive. He always waits in that same spot. Even if the table’s empty, he doesn’t sit right away. You give you co-worker a look and smile as you put the lid on the tin and slide it out of the way.

You wash your hands thoroughly before you grab the cylinder of disinfecting wipes and sweep around the end of the counter. You step out onto the tea room floor as his eyes find you, expecting you. You’ve adjusted to his ritual, almost compelled to it.

“Hello, Raymond,” you great as you approach the empty table for two where he sits with his back to the wall and his eyes towards the door.

“Miss,” he greets in his way.

He’s a bit uptight. Others might say worse but once you learn his quirks, he’s very human. Even if everything else about him is mysterious.

Sometimes you build stories about him in his head. His glasses, his neatly styled hair, and his combed beard suggest a man with an eye for his appearance. His suits might be better fit to library or a professor’s podium. Not sleek enough for a board room. Then you think he might be a writer of sorts but you’ve never seen him with a laptop or pen and most of the local authors don’t show up without one or the other.

You take out a wipe and take your time in getting every inch of the table. You back up as he removes his jacket and you back out of his way. He sidles around the and sits, shoulders set as he grips the table and straightens it.

Whoever he is, he’s very precise.

“Usual?” You ask with a smile.

He looks at you and reaches to pinch the arm of his glasses. The first time he came in, you remember you could’ve melted at his gaze. So stony and unyielding, you wondered why he was even there. Now, there is an ease to it. He prefers the familiar and you have become that.

“Yes, usual,” he agrees.

You nod and swiftly turn on your heel. You go back behind the counter as Jenna snoops from behind the cookie display. You shake your head at her as you wash your hands a second time. He will certainly note that as well.

You go to steep his cup of English Breakfast as the other woman nears and watches the steaming water at your side.

“Don’t know how you do it. He should just have tea at home.”

“Can’t complain for business,” you shrug.

“Why bother? All that fuss for a cuppa.”

“Maybe he likes the ambience?” You suggest.

“He said the lights give him headaches.”

“Oh?”

“Well, he pays his bill. That’s all I ask for,” you add a teaspoon of milk, measuring it out exactly and you move the tab of the bag to hang to the left of the handle.

“Mm, and he sures asks a lot of you, don’t he?” She crosses her arms.

“Jenna,” you look towards the till where a customer waits.

“Ugh, you’re such a bore,” she chides.

You go back into the tea room and cross to Raymond’s table. You set the cup and saucer before him.

“Enjoy,” you insist.

“Cheers,” he hooks his finger into the handle and turns the cup to an exact angle.

You lean back on your heel and he raises his palm, “do you... have any suggestions?”

“For?” You wonder.

“I thought to try something with my tea today. What do you recommend?”

“Well, were we thinking something savoury or sweet?” You reply breezily, “our cheese scones are delicious, and there is the chives and onion bake. I sneak one every Friday. Erm, there are the white chocolate shortbread on special and I think we’ve sold out of the cherry tarts. Oh, if you’d like a combination, there is the cranberry cheddar scone. I don’t mind it but I hate the crumbles.”

He considers you thoughtfully and crosses his arms. He mills the decision with his lips clamped. His blues eyes narrow behind his lenses.

“Do you have plain shortbread?”

“Of course,” you chime, “two for a pound.”

“Two will do,” he agrees.

You hold your smile and once more set off on your mission. He might be stringent, a bit repressed, but you’ve dealt with worse customers. More demanding, sometimes outrightt rude.

You dip behind the counter and grab a plate. You use the tongs to take two of the shortbread biscuit and place them on a clean plate. You take a napkin with you and once more emerge from behind the displays.

You approach Raymond as he sips his tea. You put the plate and serviette before him. He thanks you and adjusts his tie, letting his hand drift down his vest.

“Is that it, sir? Tea alright?”

“That’s it,” he affirms.

“Great, you know where I’ll be,” you chirp and spin.

You stop before you can bring your foot down as he calls your name. He’s only ever said it once. The first time you met. It’s always ‘miss’.

You turn to face him, “yes?”

“Your apron strings are uneven...” he says. “Just figured... I’d warn you.”

You nearly laugh. What an odd thing to worry about. You reach back behind your waist and feels the lengths. Sure enough, you’ve tied them entirely off kilter. You suppose you don’t pay too much attention to that.

“Thanks for letting me know.”

He nods and examines one of the cookies. Then his eyes flick up and keep you from another retreat, “I could fix it.”

“Oh, er, that’s fine,” you wave him off, “not a big deal.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” He wonders.

“Not really,” you shrug, “does it bother you?”

His brows raise slightly and he taps the cookie, shaking off the crumbs as much as he can. He leans forward and nibbles over the plate, making certain not to litter over the edge. He puts the biscuit down and wipes his fingers on the napkin.

“It does,” he says.

You won’t laugh at him. It would truly be at his expense, it’s just a very unexpected offer. You put your arms straight, “if you want.”

You near and turn your back to him. You sense him leaning forward as you stand stalk straight and watch the tea room. The smell of cinnamon and cloves fills the warm space, the shades giving an orangish hue to the din. There are low tables near the center with pillow seats, and the high tables along the walls. You know all the creaks and cracks better than your own home.

You feel him tug the knot loose and his fingers work agilely to tie a new knot. He lets it hang but just as quickly looses it again. You try not to move as he does it several times before he relents.

“There, ears and tails match,” he declares.

You step away and turn to send him a smile, “thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, only raises his cup and doffs it in a kind gesture before he sips. You twist away again. You should help Jenna before the rush begins. That’s the only thing about Raymond, he does take up a lot of time.

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #the gentlemen #drabble #sweet and spicy #au #series #to a tea

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valeriianz · 4 months

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hi! in the spirit of Dreamling Week, here is an updated masterlist, now with clickable links to tags to follow along with a series :) welcome to my corner of the fandom, where it's predominantly human aus!

in time, all of my fics will be transferred to Ao3, so if you're interested in that, follow along here! this list will (finally) include (some) links to fics ive tagged on in reblogs that i usually ignore... but not this time! :'D Everything here is complete unless otherwise stated: (wip)

G - T Rated:

tepid - 1.3k canon, Dream can get sleepy, too

Stay - 1.7k hurt/comfort, vague mafia vibes

the date that never ended - 1.2k humor, established relationship

You Know How That Thrills Me - 2.2k The Devil Wears Prada AU, + blog tag which includes fanart, here!

savvy? - 1.2k pirate au! Hob rescues Dream

daydream - 1.1k fake dating, UST, fitting room pining

Exit Wounds - 2.1k hurt/no comfort, infidelity, angst

call me back for more - 2k NYE, strangers to lovers, sexual tension

scratch a little itch - 5.6k neighbors, pastry chef!Dream and professor!Hob

The magic of the mistletoe - xmas fic, canon

Hob grieves over Dream - canon, vague comic spoilers, angst

Cowboy AU (snippet) - aka Charro!Dream, Mexican rodeo vibes + blog tag with lots of art and collaborators :)

spin the bottle - highschool setting, friends to lovers

Reason in the Noise - 3k+ (wip) musician!Dream, companion piece to Bolt in the Blue (but can be read as a standalone)

Retired!Dream with facial hair along with part 2! - canon(ish), domestic, light spice

The Parent Trap AU and part 2! - loosely inspired by the film.

Hob walks in on Dream dancing - musician!Hob and Dream dancing to his music. marshmallow fluff.

Personal Chef!Hob, single dad Dream - what it says on the tin, part two here! and my 'chef Hob au' tag full of art and recipes!

NYE and slightly possessive Hob - another obligatory New Years Eve fic

The Proposal AU and also a part two! - a couple silly romcom things in collaboration with valiantstarlights here's the tag for it!

Bday fic for ambarden - the night before college graduation, pining,

Road Trip - the start of an idea...

ASMR youtuber!Dream - an add on... Hob is a fan. meet cute

Hard of Hearing Dream - pining, bittersweet, friends to lovers

Spicy/NSFW fics under the cut!

M - E Rated:

Bolt in the Blue - 102k+ (wip) the epic band au, slice of life, fluff, touring. see everything related to this fic in the tag fic: bolt in the blue

skipping breakfast - 667w domestic and a lil spicy

obsession - 1.6k canon, making out on the dancefloor

Fin de siècle - 3.2k vampire hunter!Hob and vampire!Dream

parked - 1.1k canon, car sex, PDA

tease - 1.3k Dream has a vulva, Hob fingers him in a car

ushy gushy pussy Dream - and he refuses to get off Hob's cock

Mr. Gadling's Bodyguard - 11.7k The Hitman's Bodyguard AU, action, humor... second chapter does not relate to the film at all and is just smut

Savory & Sweet - 6k+ (wip) restaurant au, unhinged behavior

Let Me Down Easy - 21k photographer!Hob and model!Dream but they're exes. angst with a happy ending

never enough - 7.3k friends to lovers, love confessions, mutual pining

turn the lights off - 3.3k phone sex, side fic inspired by by the minute by issylra

kiss me properly (and pull me apart) - 4.2k Hob wears a butt plug all day (lol) inspired by this incredible art by messmonte

Dream stepping on Hob - power imbalance, PWP

Bathtub shenanigans - a bit of relaxation ;)

Hob as Sexy Santa - and Dream can't handle it

Celebrity Dream and his normie bf Hob - inspired by that 3am photo of Ferdie looking all sweaty and disheveled

One of Your Girls AU - an ask fic/prompt i sent to Gabe and she added on <3

Let Me Down Easy [deleted scene] - they get frisky the morning after

Dream can feel Hob's lewd daydreams

Bi-curious Dream - basically a summary/headcanon of what i think Dream having his bi awakening with Hob would be like. and then hardly-an-escape went and wrote a full ass fic about it. but im counting this anyway lmao

#my writing

btw i am so sorry, yes i did give up on including the word count. i just... gave up. but everything without a word count is most likely under 1.5k.

#dreamling #hob x dream #dreamling week 2024 #dreamling week #ahhhh holy guacamole ive written a lot #so weird to see it all at once #my writing

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 4 months

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Hail storms

Requested: No

Warnings: Spicy 🌶, Religious themes (Kyle’s), Oral Sex (Kyle’s) Toxic relationships (Simon’s), Angry Sex (Simon’s), Bondage (Alejandro’s), Spit Kink (Alejandro’s)

Characters: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Alejandro Vargas

Word Count: 1,448

A/N: New layout, woooooo!!!

Gaz - I’m Not An Angel

I wasn't always this way

I used to be the one with the halo

The weight of the gold cross on his clavicle burned as he watched you from across the pub, the sound of Soap’s laughter, of Price’s scolding words, of Ghost’s heavy breathing, it all faded into the background. Like the static of an old radio that you could never tune quite right. But you, you were clarity. The perfect pitch of some singer rising above the other soft noises.

He’d never had a one night stand before. Thought about it, prayed about it, but he could never bring himself to do it. Could never bring himself to let himself taste the sweet fruit of sin that he so often craved. The same one his pastor warned him of when he was but a boy, years before the man that sat in his place now. But he finds himself crossing that threshold now, the devil tugging him closer, a marionette on cursed strings.

“Hi.” He says, as he sits beside you, fingers trembling as he holds onto his mug of cheap beer. “I’m Kyle.”

But that disappeared when I had my first taste

And fell from grace

The taste of you in his mouth was sweeter than anything he had ever had, more than the grapes his mother used to pack in his lunch tin when he was younger, but yet you were also more bitter than the wine that followed communion bread. Innocence turned to pain and fear and blood. But none of it could ever be more holy than. No holy relic would ever be able to bring him to his knees the way flesh between your thighs did.

And when you ran your nails through the stubble of his hair, your eyes piercing and heavy as you stared down at him, he knew the cross he wore meant nothing anymore. A false idol, trying to take your rightful place in his heart. He squirmed impossible closer, tongue out as he panted for air, so desperate to keep tasting you that he was barely a centimeter away.

The chain of his cross broke easy under the grip of his fist, and he heard the soft ting of it hitting the floor, before it was lost to him.

It left me in this place

I'm starting to think, maybe you like it

Kyle woke last the next day, an unusual occurrence considering his line of work. The smell of freshly brewed earl grey curling pleasantly in his nostrils, rousing him from the pleasant warmth of your bed, flaccid cock hanging at his thigh when he slips out from beneath the sheets.

“Love?” He mumbles, feet dragging on the ground, feeling all too much like a newborn lamb, limping after its shepherd after just being born. Like the world was made anew, with you as his guiding light.

And that light led him to the kitchen, where you leaned against the counter, dangling his cross between your pretty fingers.

Meeting his eyes as you let it slip into the trash.

Ghost - I Miss The Misery

When you tell me you'll make it worse

(I'd rather fight all night than watch the TV)

The front door slammed open, your shoulder blades digging painfully into the hardwood as Simon rammed you into it, his hands ripping away at your clothes (clothes he bought you, clothes he loved on you, clothes he always loved to take off), your own tearing away at his skin, nails shredding away at skin like cheap paper, leaving raw bloody lines on his back that were sure to sting .

Some bitter and angry part of you hopes that the next time he tries to have a sleazy fuck with someone else, that they’ll see this. See what you do to him. And know that they’ll always be insufficient by comparison.

Cause no matter how hard you fought, no matter how loud you got. There was a simple truth you needed everyone to know about him.

He was yours. Now. Always. Forever.

I hate that feeling inside

You tell me how hard you'll try

“Promise I’ll get better.” He’s whispered in your ear countless times, curled around you after the latest round of angry sex, clinging to you like a lifeline, like he hadn’t had his hands curled around your throat not even half an hour ago as he told he how much you pissed him off, how much he hated you. “Never do it again. Promise, Love.”

And it was always a lie.

But he promised everytime, even knowing it was futile, fragile, already broken. Floating in the air like the moans you let out in the bedroom, under him with his teeth buried in your shoulder. Fucking you like he wanted to kill you with his dick. Headboard slamming into the wall so hard it cracked, brittle paint chips falling to the floor. And you couldn’t deny how god damn good it felt, everytime you fought your way back towards each other. Like opposing magnets, like heaven and hell.

But when we're at our worst

I miss the misery

The morning after, he was in the front room of the house, grouching and grumbling loudly about how he had to fix the hole the doorknob made again. His side of the bed was still warm from his gargantuan body, making you curl into it, seeking him and his heat out without specifically calling for him, though you knew he would come running with only a word from your sore lips. Eager to flee back to your side and crawl above you once more.

You smiled into the pillows, one full of teeth and mischief.

You couldn’t wait to do it all over again.

Alejandro - Do Not Disturb

Let's take our clothes off

I wanna show you my hidden tattoo

“This is cute.” You chuckled against his lips, back pressed firmly against the cool wall of his apartment, running your fingers over the crow tattoo that arched over his broad hip. The beady eye of the mischievous avian staring right back at you.

“Yes, what every man wants to hear during sex. Cute.” Alejandro laughed in return, darkened hazelnut eyes gaining a hint of amusement as he took your hand and placed it right on the patch of black ink. “Go ahead, touch it. You’re the only one that’ll ever get to see it.”

“Only me, huh?” You cooed in an almost mocking tone of voice, raking your nails along the razor sharp feathers of the ink bird. His skin jiggling pleasantly for you when you reared your hand back to give his ass a playful little slap, the sound of it reverberating in the room along with his grunt. “Well, aren’t I just honored?”

That nobody ever gets to see but you do

Oh baby let me taste ya, shake ya, tie you up and break ya

Hands tied above your head with a silk tie, his silk tie. A brilliant deep blue that stood out against the barebones gray sheets and pillowcases. Blue digging into your wrists in a delicious combination of pain mingling with pleasure. The same as his hips slapping against you with every inward thrust.

“Such a good pretty thing you are.” He huffs, leaning forward and pressing your knees to your chest, constricting your airflow just the smallest bit, white starbursts flashing behind your eyelids. “Letting me tie you up and have my way like this. Gonna let me spit in your mouth next?”

In response, you simply opened your mouth and let your tongue roll out.

'Cause I've been alone, left on my own for too long

Oh damn, too long, too long, too long, I say come on

“Come on.” He huffed, tweaking your nipple, grazing his teeth over the thin skin that stretched over your collarbone, a bruise or two sure to form with how rough he was being. “Come on, come on, come on.”

And come you did, with seizing muscles and flailing legs, a high pitched cry crawling out from your lungs and bursting out your swollen mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks in rivers as you throw your head back in ecstasy. Barely even noticing the way his hips started to stutter before he spilled inside of you, thick white seed covering your insides. Rolling his hips a few more times to really push it all in before he pulls out and collapses beside you, narrowly missing crashing on top of you.

“So….” You start after a few minutes of you both catching a breath, turning to him with sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin. “Round two?”

#cod #call of duty #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader

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tin-wufborf · 3 months

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Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 7)

Howdy! Welcome to part 7! I'm happy you're here! Thank you all again for showing this series the love and support you all have. I appreciate you all so much, and I hope you're all finding new favorites to add to your own collections.

Apologies for the delay in getting this part to you. To be honest, it's just been too fucking hot for me lately, so I've been spending less time at my computer and more time splayed out, letting the wind blow upon me. I'm a spicy bitch on an average day, but it's been 100+ degrees here on average for the past week and a half with the heat is showing no signs of going away anytime soon. So there may end up being bigger gaps between updates (like the one you just experienced) than I maintained previously. Fair warning.

Okay, that's all from me today. Let's get into, lovelies!

Smoochies and squeezies!

List and link to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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and the questions of heaven, for a sinner like me by doxa (G | 1/1 | 1,346)

“I'm Loki, son of Laufey,” Stiles chants. “And I'm going to burn down the world.”

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many beacons in the sea by orphan_account (T | 1/1 | 1,479)

Stiles has known all his life that he’s not like other kids. He’s special.

“It’s alright, love,” his mom says, leaning over him at night when he can’t sleep because his legs hurt so bad. “Just let it hurt.”

She kisses his forehead. He dreams of the sea. They go to the beach that weekend.

Stiles is a siren. He’s an anomaly, until he isn’t.

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Now when we're old by orphan_account (NR | 1/1 | 2,431)

Stiles' skin was soft, the years passing making it worn and thin; his bones brittle and fragile. He was still the man they all knew, but older. Derek's hair was grey and white now, his beard more straggle than stubble. His whole life could be read on his face, almost like a map, outlining his joys and tears.

We all know how their lives together began, but how did it end.

Believe it or not the ending is kinda happy.

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the secrets in our blood by orphan_account (T | 1/1 | 5,433)

//He’d never meant for it to go this far.

He really, honest to god hadn't. Like, okay, it's not like he'd expected a long life, but he'd at least hoped he'd have gotten the hell away from Beacon Hills before they found him.//

or, the one where Stiles is a demon and the same hunters who killed his mother (also a demon) find him.

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Wolf Cub by moodwriter (E | 1/1 | 6,946)

A strange wolf is not supposed to touch another pack’s cub and that’s why, on a rescue mission, it’s Stiles’ job to take care of the wolf cub who’s curious about everything and everyone. Stiles is not used to werewolf children, and the pack is not used to Stiles taking care of a child. Their Alpha gets very confused about this, too.

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The Dark Spark by Reia (E | 1/1 | 7,014)

He knows that Stiles is speaking to his wolf, to that animal inside that thrums with the need to maim and kill and take, take, take and he really shouldn't allow it, he shouldn't.

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but couldn't good be good enough by lazulisong (G | 1/1 | 8,044)

"His dad is probably going to tell Stiles not to hang out with us," says Boyd, taking a sip of his Coke.

Isaac gives Derek an utterly betrayed look, and Erica glares at him. "I told you not to wear those sunglasses!" she hisses.

"What if Stiles can't hang out with us any more?" says Isaac wretchedly. "What if Scott doesn't want to hang out with us because --"

"I said those were pedophile sunglasses!" says Erica, in a quiet, piercing whisper that makes Derek's ears hurt.

Boyd continues eating his gyro, which he has laid out on a plate like a salad on a piece of flatbread, methodically picking out the tomatoes, feta and lamb and laying them to the side to eat after the lettuce. Boyd would eat his gyro if there was a bomb going off.

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The House in the Middle by afullrevolution (2 works | G-T | 8,569)

1. Battle not with monsters (T | 3/3 | 7,590) Stiles laughed. Laughed because he understood what Nietzsche had been writing about. Because hunters were clearly monsters for all they claimed to battle them. Because Stiles had looked into the abyss and the abyss was staring straight back. 2. To Grandmother's House We Go (G | 1/1 | 979) There were always going to be repercussions for everyone involved, and then some.

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Hell to Raise by Mosca (E | 1/1 | 12,543)

Stiles is the last in a long line of pagan priests. Of course, the god in question is a sarcastic trickster who mostly just wants him to get laid. Of course.

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No Oceans Left by zoemathemata (T | 1/1 | 14,207)

Stiles has always been a merman. He just never knew how to tell anyone. He hasn’t shifted since his mom died.

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Hand of the Devil by shiny_starlight (M | 1/1 | 14,669)

For years, Hale and his family had escaped justice, but the day of reckoning had come. His comfortable life was about to come crashing down about his ears and Adrian was going to relish every single second of it.

Mob!AU. Derek is the head of the Hale Family, and Detective Adrian Harris is determined to bring him to justice, whatever means necessary.

Warning: Contains past!non-cannonical character death and non graphic description of injuries. Contains cannon character death.

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Do What I Dare series by FunkyinFishnet (3 works | T-M | 15,532)

Stiles has always known he prefers to wear women's clothing. He learns that the people who matter want him to be happy too.

1. Make No Conditions (M | 1/1 | 8,557) Stiles has always known that he prefers wearing female clothing, but not many people in his life know. He makes friends with drag queens, goes shopping with Lydia and Allison, and tries to work out if and when he can ever tell Derek about his wardrobe. Will Derek want all of him? Of course, it turns out that Lydia is right all along, about everything. 2. Get A Little Outta Line (M | 1/1 | 4,444) Stiles talks down a rival pack's Alpha, tells his Dad about werewolves, is confronted by Chris Argent, and communicates enjoyably without words with Derek. It's pretty awesome altogether. 3. Scent Of A Woman And A Man (T | 1/1 | 2,531) Stiles and his Mom love perfume. Stiles carries that love into his teenage years and once he and Derek become close, he finds he's not the only one obsessed with scents.

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Actual Puppy Derek Hale by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone) (T | 1/1 | 18,162)

Derek didn't know what was worse: the hunters, being trapped as a wolf, being hit by a car, or the fact that he had somehow become some kid's pet dog for the unforeseeable future.

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Der Yingl fun Erd un Blitz (The Boy of Earth and Lightning) by sofonisba_found (T | 3/3 | 18,741)

Miriam and John Stilinski had always wanted to have children. But when her illness prevented her from giving birth, and every conventional alternative option to raise a child was denied to them, they had to look for an...unconventional method. One that would give them a child that was himself far from ordinary in so many ways.

And soon after, in the town of Beacon Hills, a young werewolf named Derek begins to notice the scent of something different from anything he had ever known before in the air...

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Certain and Unsure series by dedougal (2 works | M-E | 20,475)

1. Make It Up As We Go Along (E | 1/1 | 11,388) Stiles was not expecting to find a baby on the kitchen table at Derek's. Not at all. 2. Left to Trust (M | 1/1 | 9,087)

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With The Hush of My Lips, I Wholly Confound The Skeptic by Unknown (M | 6/6 | 27,249)

My contribution to the Teen Wolf Big!Big:

It’s honestly his dad’s worst nightmare.

And it’s not like the doctors never told them that it could be hereditary, what his mother died of. They had. It’s just, after such a tragic thing like her dying had happened, they hadn’t thought anything could ever be worse.

Until they had found that stupid abnormality in Stiles’ stomach.

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The Importance of Turning Around Three Times Before Lying Down by otter (T | 10/10 | 30,493)

It’s like this dog has walked out of all of Stiles’ childhood dreams and into the real world just because Stiles wanted it hard enough. He is the most awesome dog ever, and he and Stiles have a bond. A deep, unbreakable bond because this animal is his soul mate, obviously. Now he just has to convince the dog of that.

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Of Love and Fairness series by JTHM_Michi (4 works | G-T | 38,833)

Life isn't fair and sometimes when people mean well they react without knowing all the facts. Families are a deep cavern of secrets and lies and the Stilinski family isn't different than any other. When the Alpha Pack came to Beacon Hills, they brought death with them and in the fallout, Stiles was kicked out and his father got a new child and a new wife. This is a story about life and family and all the hard things from both. Alls fair in love and war?

1. We Meet Again (T | 1/1 | 16,320) When Stiles was 17, the Sheriff kicked him out because the Alpha Pack was getting to be too dangerous for the newest additions to the Stilinski household. Now, eleven years later, Stiles is about to come face to face with his once kid step-sister and be forced to deal with this fact. Is it possible to forgive and forget? 2. But With A Whimper (G | 1/1 | 6,704) Rebecca Stilinski learns to deal with the reveal that her father simply isn't the person she grew up thinking he was. And how is it possibly fair that Stiles can have this wonderful life and his father still condemns him as some sort of shady character from a crime drama? The sequel to 'We Meet Again'. 3. Magic Musings (G | 1/1 | 6,274) Lydia has made for herself a perfect life. She has a degree from MIT, has won a Fields Metal, has gotten married to Jackson, and has a career where people call her ‘Dr. Martin’ with complete sincerity. She has a large extended family of friends and is a godmother to her best friend’s daughter and has two little boys who call her ‘Auntie’. Her life is perfect – sure, she and Jackson go through rough patches and sometimes her bills stress her out – but overall she has a good life. She never thought her wonderful life would involve Stiles as her quasi brother with Scott as their goofy younger brother (never mind that Lydia is actually the youngest) but life is strange that way. 4. Look The Other Way (G | 5/5 | 9,535) The small snippets from my "Of Love and Fairness" verse, including but not limited to: The original confrontation between Stiles and his father over the Sheriff's abandonment of Stiles in the past; A small glimpse of Derek and Stiles' wedding; and a meeting between Lydia and the Sheriff. And really anything else from this verse that I wrote that didn't make it into any of the bigger pieces. It would be better to read the other parts of this verse before this one.

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Dirty paws and furry coats by queerly_it_is (E | 1/1 | 57,621)

Stiles is eight years old when his dad brings Derek home.

[AU based on Disney's The Fox and the Hound]

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Indelible Marks by billtheradish (M | 87/87 | 275,695)

The house never burned. The pack is strong. Derek will never need to be the alpha, and his sister is a troll. (Actually, most of his family is like that.)

Derek is an apprentice tattoo artist, and Stiles isn't old enough to get ink of his own yet. But that doesn't stop him from being interesting...

(This story is now out of buffer, but I will always announce when the next update will be, and am trying to keep to a regular posting schedule. Also, please be advised that this is essentially a rough draft. That doesn't mean it's riddled with typos, every chapter is edited, just that the overarching plot and side stories haven't had a chance to be edited in full yet--but they will be. An edited version of this story will be posted eventually, so if the current length isn't your cup of tea, just come back later.)

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#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fic rec list #sterek fic rec #fic rec list #rec list #fic rec #tin's rec lists

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choccyhearts · 1 year

Text

18+!!

i know im not the only thinking about renfield eating a bug before bedroom activities...

like, you bring it up to him once just as a genuine question; "what if you ate one before we had sex?"

he's flustered and speechless but secretly he's feeling tempted. he has experimented with his powers before, but that was mainly by himself to see of he could increase his pleasure

but if he did it with you, would he be able to hold back?

so one night, after some reassurance from you, he plucks a little gnat from his tin and washes it down with a glass of wine

next thing you know, you're both going at it like feral rabbits. usually, you're love making is soft and sensual, occasionally spicy but never this

he's able to keep his strength under control after a while, and he holds on to you securely as he thrusts into you. he's willing to try other positions, even lifting you up like a pathetic little rag doll

he's got you bent over a table and the wood begins to creak and wobble before collapsing -- of course, though, he holds you in place to keep you from falling

but its no biggie, he just moves you on to another surface. the only thing in his mind is how arousing it would be to take you on every piece of furniture he owns

but, after the couch splits in two, you ask him to just finish in the bed

and he's breaking the headboard just from how hard he's holding it -- like literally, just obliterated but he keeps going

he's humping you like some untrained animal, and in his mind he's thinking, "this is so dirty...so depraved...so sinful...so extraordinary". his mind is empty except for the need to cum. he needs it, and he needs it bad.

once he does, he slowly goes back to your sweet, gentle lover. his fingers run along your body as you both catch your breath. he's giving you soft kisses in your favorite places and asks if you need anything in a hushed tone.

he'll gladly help you with anything, especially the next day when your body is sore from all the poses and places renfield positioned you in. he's a bit embarrassed each time you remind him why you need him to carry you (although he isn't complaining). he feels a strong sense of pride, though, knowing it's all because of him

(bonus:

he most definitely got a noise complaint or two, his neighbors so concerned that one of them calls the police

rebecca ends up going to check on him and he opens the door red-faced, sweaty and breathing heavily, his pants hanging low from hasitly throwing them on.

it doesnt take a genius to realize what's going on, so rebecca, slightly amused, tells him to quiet down. renfield, obviously flustered, says he will try and closes the door as rebecca calls to him, "and you better be using protection in there!" )

#renfield #renfield 2023 #robert montague renfield #renfield x reader

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makeandshift · 6 months

Text

Hasan S/O // NSFW headcanons

as requested by this lovely anon. exactly what it says in the tin, so feel free to skip this if it ain't your cup of tea ❤️

ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜᴛ, ᴍɪɴᴏʀs ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴅɴɪ

Sooo gentle the first few times, definitely testing the waters to see what she likes (and not immediately scare her off).

His girl comes first, figuratively and literally. Nothing matters more than her enjoying herself.

Praise kink. Loves to hear he’s doing the right thing and definitely will tell her when he’s enjoying himself too.

He tends to get kind of handsy with her. Can never let the opportunity for a little grope or ass slap pass him by.

So much manhandling, loves lifting her up or throwing her on the bed. It’s part of the reason why he works out 💪

In addition to that: totally counts morning sex as warming up for his workouts.

There’s two modes when it comes to sex. Either he needs to fuck something out of his system, hard and fast. Or he’s enjoying the intimacy and could go for hours.

Such a tease when he wants to be. Can really drag things out until she’s begging, until which he has no choice but to give in because just look at her.

Probably tends to stick to the vanilla stuff because it’s a sure fire way to success, but totally keen on trying out different things as well. Literally up for almost anything.

Except sharing. That’s his girl and nobody is allowed to touch her.

Favourite place in the world is between her thighs. Doesn’t even matter if it is with his fingers, mouth or dick, just loves being there any which way.

Loves going down on his girl though. Would do it daily if he got the chance.

No qualms about wearing condoms, but will probably celebrate the day he doesn’t have to anymore. Breeding kink, anyone?

Appreciates and cherishes any and all nudes / spicy pictures he gets. Could literally just be some side boob and he is happy as a clam.

God forbid their texting history ever leaks, because it just goes from 0 to 100 back down to 0 so fast.

Literally could be talking about the weather and then suddenly it’s a vivid description of everything he wants to do to her. And then back to asking how that work meeting went.

#words words words #hasan piker x reader #hasanabi x reader #hasan piker smut #hasanabi smut #mature #blurbs #requests

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myobsessionsspace · 5 months

Note

Fun ask: Do you like unconfirmed but possible JiKook thoughts? So JK did GCF-T and used the song There For You - "But you gotta be there for me too" ending line. For 2019 summer, JM on vacation with friends, returned for JKs b'day, etc. JM made a travel vlog for that trip, using the song Come Thru - "Can you come thru?" ending line. (It always stood out to me as an odd choice for a travel vlog.) Soon after, JK began getting the tattoos that included the infamous "J M". Was that JKs answer to JMs question? Aside: the Vlog video concept reminds me of Closer Than This video theme. JMs Vlog -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dl3QLdm2uts

Hello Lovely,

Ooohhh you’ve asked THE question. Where do I stand with unconfirmed but possible Jikook thoughts or how I’d probably see it ‘Jikooker Theories’ & ‘Jikooker Delulu’ (said lovingly)?

TL;DR - I’m the worst with this. Honestly my jikooker friends get so frustrated when they delulu and then they’re like…Em?? How about you?? And I’m like…

The main reason I’m so enraptured by Jikook and everything around their bond is because I really don’t need to be into unconfirmed but possible thoughts.

Credit: factkm

You don’t need to squint to spot their unique duo in the midst of anything or anyone else. I don’t even need to put my glasses on to look at them and see that they’re different.

That’s what I like so much about them, they radiate in their actions and words how they feel about each other and how close and unique their bond is, whatever it is it’s closer than close and it’s the two of theirs.

Don’t get me wrong I find it fun delving into Jikook theories. I’m blown away by the intelligent minds that can spot certain connections and patterns. I’m only human too, so I’m a nosy cow. I eat it all up, their off schedule sightings and 1:23 theories etc. I studied psychology and am a lover of love, so of course I’m interested in getting as much information to draw conclusions and all that jazz.

One of many Jikook Icebergs. I love me some Jikook theories but…I above all love Jikook period.

But to me even if all the theories and unconfirmed thoughts of others are stripped away, Jikook give me enough to not need any of that.

It’s a funny balance, taking in others unconfirmed Jikook thoughts. Reading what people say, people thousand of miles away from Jikook, from different upbringings, backgrounds, careers, cultures, ages, genders. People who’ve never met Jikook on a personal level or been apart of Jikook’s inner most circle and not letting it become fact to you, taking their thoughts and opinions as gospel.

Jungkook is me sometimes when trying to get into Jikooker number theories 😩

I love all types of jikooker accounts, art ones, writer ones, historian ones, spicy ones, super investigative ones etc. I’m still figuring out myself how deep into unconfirmed jikooker thoughts I’D share.

I’d love the asks to help me discover what I would be able to answer. **SO ASK AWAY💜** and let’s see how that goes. It’d all be my opinion and my opinion only though.

If it’s not something plainly my opinion, I prefer to stand by everything being backed up by evidence from Jikook and those closest to them, like the members. If it isn’t a verified interview, from original content that can be referenced, from their vlives/weverse lives, sns etc I’m not too keen 😬

Very easily, unconfirmed thoughts can become fact in subsections of fandoms like shipping fandoms, solo fandoms etc. So I like to make sure I can find the first source from when/where/who it started from.

So in conclusion,

I love the fun of it all, the unconfirmed Jikook thoughts, the theories, the sleuthing and delulu.

I do try with my #Tin Foil Hat: Jikook (I’ll tag it so you can take a look if interested) but it’d maybe take asks that make me go for it in more depth?

But ultimately if it’s not from Jikook’s words, their overt and also their not so subtle displays and actions OR if it’s not from those confirmed as closest to them…then to me it’s nothing more than light entertainment that starts and ends there. Nothing that will shape how I view Jikook.

Thank you for you ask!

💜

P.S I think ‘Letter’ is Jimin’s GCF Tokyo/GCF Saipan and ‘Closer Than This’ is the fan song for the collective of BTS fans known as ARMY, cos you know, Jungkook is Jimin’s fan too!

#Jikook #Anonymous Asks #Tin Foil Hat: Jikook

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rwrbficrecs · 1 year

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September Faves

Enjoy these September recs from the team 🥰

Best Bar in The World by @pridepages (book-verse)

@heybuddy-drabbles: Well, I can now confirm that I'm 100% cerified a pridepages fan. The way she picks the themes of the original source and uses them in a different setting is just absolutely flawless, the same happens in Little Pages. It's gives you the same feelings of reading rwrb but also reading something new and different all at the same time.

My Brother’s Keeper by @indomitable-love (book-verse)

@janetical: Written in Philip’s POV, it tackles all the canon events in a frustrating yet heart-wrenching way. I knew what I was getting myself into when I noticed the POV, but I really did hate Philip less at the end of this fic. Everything is entailed in this little story: unresolved daddy issues and grief, internalized homophobia and Philip acknowledging Henry’s first time. It will make you cry, and it will end on a somewhat happy note.

For all the world to see by @everwitch-magiks (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This is a fic I couldn't put down! I'm always a fan of Henry being a writer in fics (so the description alone caught my eye), and the mix of cute moments with firstprince (and David) and plot twists had me hooked! It's also such an interesting look at the life of a writer and how difficult it is for them to have anonymity, which was especially interesting to me because of the writers strike in Hollywood.

he looks up grinning like the devil by @coffeecatsme (book-verse)

@read-and-write-: Also known as the frat boy AU, if you want some hurt/comfort that really does what it says on the tin. Don't be afraid because it is completely worth it!

written in the stars by @indomitable-love (book-verse)

@heybuddy-drabbles: This is just so beautiful. It's basically about Henry mostly. I didn't expect the "past" part would hit so hard but it did. I had to put it down a few times because it was truly heartbreaking but it has a happy ending. Don't be fooled like I was about it being all fluff. It's not, it's very nostalgic and they are apart for a long time but I still recommend it because, like I said, it's really beautiful.

Deep Blue by @myheartalivewrites (book-verse)

@thesleepyskipper: This was just a stunning piece of writing that does such a wonderful job of evoking images of the seaside cliffs, swimming in the cove and spending lazy days in the cottage above. At the same time, we get all that delicious pining and FWB to lovers fun within that beautiful setting. The spicy bits are beautifully done too! Highly recommend!

Rae of Sunshine! (series) by @three-drink-amy @indomitable-love @clottedcreamfudge @everwitch-magiks @the-amber-fox @villiageidiot @athousandrooms @welcometololaland @dustratcentral

@rmd-writes: I couldn't choose just one fic from this series gifted to me so I'm recommending them all, but every fic very much deserves the recommendation! Nine food-themed fics featuring everything from an exploration of Henry's life through food to chef!Henry to craft services trailer!Alex to matchmaker!Pez to the world's most cursed coffee habits from some of my favourite authors (and people)

What Do I Know? by @three-drink-amy (book-verse)

@babiemonk: The angst is so good I cried

Screw Your Courage to the Sticking Place (and forget macbeth is a fucking tragedy) by @celaestis1 (book-verse)

@babiemonk: So amazing, I didn’t want it to ever end. The angst was so good. The kidfic element was perfect. Possibly the perfect fic.

@dot524: I absolutely loved this one. Such a ride and I enjoyed every bit of it. I also really enjoyed the character of Alex’s daughter. Lots of complexity, great story arc.

God Save the Blessed American President Mom by @zipadeea (book-verse)

@babiemonk: This fucking broke me I cried for at least an entire day

@suseagull04: This is such an introspective look at Alex and Ellen's relationship (and Ellen as a character in general) and it's so good!

like father by rizcriz (movie-verse)

@indomitable-love: A really lovely and sensitively told conversation between Oscar & Henry, where Oscar catches Henry sneaking out of the lake house. This one got me right in my emotions. Very healing.

Bite Your Tongue On Purpose by Woodsarelovely (book-verse)

@darwinsfinchesx: Coffee Shop AU with a twist. This fic has some of the best dialogue I’ve ever read. It’s delightful, funny, and the characterization is on point. It leaves a big smile on my face every time I re-read it.

seldom what they seem by @jumpinginmuddypuddles (book-verse)

@gwiazdziarka: Sleeping beauty AU, where they don't need to fight with witches or dragons but there are... other problems. I love modern-day solutions to fairy-tale problems and here it actually just makes everything more complicated.

Mr. Bodypillow by @inexplicablymine (book-verse)

@gwiazdziarka: Yes, I recently recommended this one as wip, but now it's complete and I just need to bring it up again, because it deserves all the attention. Alex and Henry have the most amazing relationship here that goes outside of usual norms. It's also the warmest and the sweetest thing that I've read in a while. And it has great ace representation.

@read-and-write-: Is Ace!Alex very special to you? Do you want to feel like someone is wrapping you in a soft blanket? Then Mr. BodyPillow is for you! It's beautiful and will leave you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside

come pick me up by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This fic will both make you laugh and give you all the feels. An awkward first interaction when Henry requests an Uber ride leads to an instant connection and sizzling chemistry, all leading to a conclusion that, although satisfying, will leave you wanting more of this verse!

the winner takes it all by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@myheartalivewrites: A Tour de France, rivals cyclists AU! Keeping a lot of the book dynamics, Alex and Henry find themselves competing against each other on the Tour — and then falling into bed. This has everything: thrilling sports passages (even though I haven’t ever watched the Tour in my life!), romantic tension, a great read.

Love-Love by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@myheartalivewrites: a tennis AU set at Wimbledon, which obviously holds a special place in RWRB hearts. Alex and Henry as rival tennis players who’ve hooked up once, and then end up as doubles partners. A quick read that left me all warmed up from the inside.

a flicker, a spark by acastle (book/movie-verse)

@daisymae-12: Wow I don’t have the words to truly convey how much I loved this fic. It diverges from canon at Kensington and the events that follow are so beautifully written. This fic made me cry over an OC, made me feel seen when I recognized parts of my own cultural background woven into a story, made my heart ache for everything Alex and Henry have been through and made me tear up some more. This is one of the most heart-wrenching canon-divergence fics I’ve ever read and I know I’m going to be thinking about it for a long time.

Baby, All At Once (This Is Enough) by @iboatedhere (book-verse)

@daisymae-12: This fic is such a lovely look into Alex & Henry’s life post-canon and had me absolutely melting from the softness of it all.

Will You Brie Mine? by @cha-melodius (book-verse)

@daisymae-12: A fic featuring cheese and Henry being the one to sell it, what’s not to love? This was such a sweet fic and I loved the interactions between them! @cha-melodius always writes such amazing fics, and this was no exception.

#monthly faves #rwrb fic recs #firstprince #firstprince fic recs

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shoshiwrites · 4 months

Note

I shall join you in the trash can my dear. For Jo & Bucky from the NSFW prompts (because I am unhinged about this):

[ UNZIP ] sender unzips/unbuttons receiver’s dress/shirt - s l o w l y 🫠

Emaaaaa! Thank you so much for this prompt, and for entertaining my Jo/Bucky ramblings at any time of day. It means so much that you're in the trash can with me on board. This was......... supposed to be a smut prompt and we ended up with............3200 words of Scenes I Really Needed To Write For Them Actually, comma mildly spicy 🙈 Bucky Egan x War correspondent OC. Also on Ao3!

leading with my heart again

She’s read the same page three times.

The coffee’s drained, and the cup of tea, and maybe she ought to stop now, now that her hand is shaking a bit holding the pencil, from the caffeine or everything she hardly knows.

A hotel bar with a hole in it. When she blinks she can still see the smoke. A few stragglers at the end of the night. Even though the nights don’t end here, they haven’t for years. Local drinkers. Society usuals. A handful of correspondents. Al Stern, a friend of Marian’s. She’d broken out a fresh bottle of gin in his honor. Blanche Aurand, narrowly escaped from Marseilles, her photographer friend. Salim? Jo’s met them all.

You’re scared, she wants to say. Like it’s not her own self sitting here, the ticking of the clock and the tap of her foot, her toes in her shoes. She reaches up to fidget with the tiny gold hoop in her ear.

The bar is gone now, and so are they.

She hasn’t heard much by way of Thorpe Abbotts lately. She’s trying not to let that bother her.

If Kay were here, she'd tell her to sit up straight and quit looking like a gargoyle. If-

“Thought I’d find you here.”

His voice is a momentary shock, and still familiar, like a sun-drenched room. He leans against the bar, nods at the man polishing glasses to let him know about an order — the bartender who looks too similar to the last. If she closes her eyes, she sees a white jacket covered in brick-dust, or blood.

She smells the major’s aftershave, through the smoke of the bar and the bitter coffee.

He dips his head, an explanation to what she imagines is her still-bewildered face. “Rang your office.”

She really does try to sit up straight, now. Suddenly ashamed, or something like it, of herself next to his freshly-cleaned uniform. Her slacks with a broken crease, a blouse with a wrinkle or two. Her hair’s a mess, or feels like it. “Oh.”

She blinks again, sees that he’s holding a metal tin in his hand — barley sweets, nestled in waxed paper — and a small bunch of torn green stems attached to white-petaled flowers.

“No cherry,” he says. He looks fondly annoyed, almost. “I told them a few packs of smokes oughta change their tune, but I think they were really out.”

He surveys the space in front of her, the rings of coffee and the scattered pages and the folded newspaper, the front splash of the dead. Her people, his people, their people. Everyone belonging to someone. She hears him clear his throat. Like he already knows the answer to the question, the one he doesn’t ask. Did you know them? Yes.

The barkeep’s looking at the two of them expectantly. “What can I get for you?”

She replaces the cup on its saucer, places the little spoon next to it and slides the whole operation towards him. “I’m alright, thanks, Louie.”

The major orders a whiskey, doesn’t let her put it on her tab. He’s not too insulted about it though, he knows her. The question’s silent again, when he’s got his glass, the nod of his chin. Who’re we drinking to tonight?

But she knows now, she knows you don’t ask. His eyes are dark here, in the fading light. The mask-marks, the circles under his eyes. The stray curl always out of place.

“So,” he says, gathering himself, setting the glass back on the bar with a dull thud. “How much time do you need?”

“Time?”

“To get all…” he gestures with his hand. “Unless you’d rather we sit around here all night.”

She taps her fingers on the bar, watches her watch and chain catch the light. Looks up at Major Egan standing there, wondering just how much Kay will kill her if she walks back out of this hotel in a plain black dress. “Depends if you like a girl’s hair with only a few knots or none.”

He makes a noise of dismissal. “I hope Kay won’t be too sore about me whisking you away.”

A remark about Captain Demarco takes shape on her tongue, but she swallows it. “Make it twenty, but I’ll be quick.”

Upstairs, she does what she can with her curls, washes her face and tries to shape her brows, reapplies her lipstick. The deep cherry color is hardly forgiving, and she has to concentrate to be careful enough with the lines of her cupid’s bow. For a brief moment she thinks of it smudged, on her teeth, on his mouth.

The dress she’d brought over is indeed black, cocktail-length, collared, with a little piped pocket, a bit of detailing. Maybe it’s a little dated, she’ll acknowledge that, but she’s tried to keep it tailored to the current style, fitted, hemmed shorter. Kay would try to send her out in something bright, rose-colored or teal, never mind that it’s October in London. She admires Kay’s boldness. Loves it, in fact, but it’s not for her.

The bracelet stays, the watch, her earrings, her mother’s medallion beneath the collar of the dress. Heels with thin ties wrapped ‘round her ankles, and her coat.

Hastily, she’d put the flowers in an empty bottle of Fernet-Branca, figuring Kay wouldn’t mind. He’d had less of an explanation for them than the tin of sweets, something about passing them on his way, something like a boyish smile. Just as quickly she plucks one, laces it into the back of her updo. It’s already been cut, anyway. She wonders where he’d got them, wonders if she’ll ask. She remembers the florist down the street from her apartment in Philadelphia, the spring flowers outside Pittsburgh. She can’t see it, but he will, standing above her.

Back down in the lobby, the tips of her fingers brush his shoulder at the low armchair, the last of his drink still in front of him.

“Now, aren’t you a sight.” It’s not the same voice as usual — quieter. Like he’s drinking her in, like the whiskey at the bottom of the glass. “Too pretty to be out with me, that’s for damn sure.”

She smiles, and she doesn’t even have to try, sure that her cheeks are a little pink. “Kay won’t be sore about me leaving, but she might have my head about this dress.”

He looks truly confused. “Why?”

Her hand gestures without thinking at the simple sweep of the skirt; she’s suddenly very aware of her legs. “Too boring.”

He makes a face. “Hell with that.” A small sniff, as he reconsiders. “Sorry.”

For the first time, she laughs. “I won’t tell her you said that.”

“Tell her whatever you want, you still look too good to be true.”

Now she’s really blushing. “A sight for sore eyes, huh?” The pendant rests in the dip of her collarbone, beneath the neckline of her dress. She feels it, feels the clasp at the back of her neck and the chain.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He stands, taking the glass, polishes the last sip of his drink.

She lets herself put a hand on his jacket. “Let me buy your next one?”

He reaches for her hand, for her wrist under the sleeve of her coat. “Now, I’ll have no more of that talk, Josephine.”

The streets are dark outside, an excuse to stay close to him. A door materializes, a small place with small tables, glowing candles and bottles of liquor and wine. It’s all very respectable, the twirl they take around the floor, and then the next, his hands at her waist, hers up around his neck. A bead of sweat works its way down the back of her neck, between her shoulderblades. He dips his head to ask if she’d like to sit, his temple damp and tacky before her mouth, in the warm room. They do, after another dance, sit and watch the couples sway from a table on the side, listen to the jukebox. I need no soft lights to enchant me-

She lets him buy her one drink, and then two, the dark rum color catching the candlelight at the bottom of the glass. She doesn’t feel under watch here like she does at the base. Though, there’d been plenty of moments there that maybe they shouldn’t have been allowed. They. She doesn’t know what that means, here in this war. You dance one night and find an empty space the next. Or someone else. His ankle nestles against hers under the table. She wants to kiss him.

What’s stopping her?

His eyes are so blue, and she knows she’s staring. “Got something for you. If- if you want it.” It snaps her out of it a moment, her brow furrowing as he reaches into his pocket. A small gold pin in his palm, the Air Corps insignia. The kind he wears on his collar. “Since I made off with that scarf of yours.”

The white one, he means, with flowers and Swiss dots. She’d worn it up. He’d taken it as a joke afterwards, smiling, a crack about it being prettier than the one he’d got, but not as pretty as Major Cleven’s. Buck’s. A joke, or so she’d thought. Her mistake to think a pilot’s lucky charms weren’t the most deadly serious things of all. She knows, now. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to think he meant it.

She could wear it, here in London. His pin. A person would know she had someone. Someone. She doesn’t know how to explain him, for all her words. Brave, like all of them. Brave and funny and flirting, the fiery death or the pretty girl. A heart she wants to curl up inside of. And he’s here in front of her, fidgeting, waiting for her to say something. Here, hands and shoulders and knees. It hurts to think of anything else. She would know who she had.

“See,” she says softly, meeting his eyes. She feels like a schoolgirl, watching him. “Knew what I was doing, wearing black and gold.” She reaches to touch his palm, about to take it and pin it on. He moves to do it himself, leaning forward. She shivers, the touch of his fingers at her throat, under the collar of her dress.

If you would only grant me the right-To hold you ever so tight-

Maybe it’s the light, or the drinks, or the music, or the fact that staying ten minutes past last call could have put her on the front page of that newspaper too. Every mission, the odds go down.

Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at her, like he’s hoping she’ll ask him for something he can give.

He’s so close to her now. Maybe-

“Mmph-” He tastes like spice and alcohol, the sweat of his upper lip pressed to hers. He releases the pinch of fabric in his hands, the pin now fastened to her lapel. It hardly takes a second for his hands to find her jaw. His touch loosens the tension of her shoulders, sparks warm and firelit in her belly. She stays, lets the kiss grow sloppier until her tongue is pressing against his teeth.

They only stop because she needs a second to catch her breath, to watch him smile at her like she’s somehow surprised him.

“Why are you smiling?”

He doesn’t stop. “I’ll give you one guess, Josephine.”

She thinks better of a retort, lets her cheeks go red and leans forward again, a noisy kiss against his mouth.

A voice in the back of her head sounds a warning, something distorted, through the sound of the music and the smoky haze. The singer’s own shines through, the brassy big band music that always makes her think of him. There I go, leading with my heart again- She ought to head back to the hotel now, before the night calls for another bar, another drink or three, a bed. And there I go, acting not-so-smart again-

She stands, smooths her skirt, adjusts the soles of her feet inside her shoes. “One more spin?”

Something falls out of his eyes; he looks like he wants to argue with her, but he doesn’t. A few seconds before he answers. “Early morning?”

She nods, and it feels like the worst lie. Even though it isn’t, she’s got a briefing with the Ministry of Information tomorrow, and plans to meet another source for coffee. Probably more drinks, she thinks. It would hardly be the first time someone showed up for a meeting hungover.

But though it’s unwise, I can’t disguise my love-

Afterwards, they walk back out into the cold night, the smell of his aftershave still in her nose. He touches the flower at the back of her hair. “You got your last dance, can I get a last kiss?”

It surprises her, the forlorn note in her voice. “Where did I use the word last, Major?”

He sighs, or something like it. “Don’t have to, it’s written all over your face.”

Her fingertips find his lapels, the top of her head nuzzled under his chin. “I would hope I’m less readable than that.”

A laugh escapes him, though it’s hardly full of humor. “You’re really not.”

Like you, right? “A shitty pokerface, remember?”

“‘Cept this time it’s not about the coffee.”

“What’s it about, then?”

He doesn’t answer, leans down and kisses her and steadies her with his hands, what she imagines is her own lipstick tacky against the sides of her mouth. He doesn’t stop, and neither does she. His hand burrows between her coat and her dress, hugging her waist. She presses against it.

They should be walking, or ducked under an eave, not out here like this after dark. This corner.

Her back automatically straightens when they hear a bicyclist go past, a little huff from his lips and hers as she breaks away.

“I can still bring you back-” he says belatedly, “if-”

He’s offering her this. Maybe she can admit it to herself now, wanting it too much to refuse.

She shakes her head. “It’s alright, John.”

There’s something in his eyes at that, no Major, just John. “I’m glad.” His voice is heavy when he answers her. Low. His fingertips press against her waist. “I’ve been thinking about this damn dress all night.”

“The dress?”

He smiles, the scratch of his mustache against her cheek. “Alright, the zipper.” He laughs softly, what he imagines her face must look like in the dark, under the cloud-filled sky. “Just bein’ honest.”

Her mouth hovers at the corner of his jaw. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“What else do you expect?” Her chest feels like it’s full of butterflies, when he asks.

“That…you won’t stop talking.” She kisses the spot under his ear. “Please.”

He snorts. Maybe she’s imagining it, the slightest breathiness to his voice. “Now tell me what you really think of me, Josephine.”

Can I? she thinks. “Well, what do you expect?”

He pauses, considering. “That you’ll keep kissing me. Makin’ me blush.”

“I make you blush?”

“Like a tomato, Josephine. ‘Least it feels like it. One flash of those knees and-” She smacks him lightly across the lapel. “Hey.”

“I guess I told you not to stop talking.”

“Yes, you did. Now where was I-”

“My knees.”

“Right.”

A few more couples make their way outside, swirls of perfume and rum and sweat, almost bumping into them. She knows what she’s asking, now. “Maybe we should, uh-”

“Maybe you’re right.”

His hotel is closer, they’d walked by it on the way. She tries not to duck her head in the lobby. He kisses her on the landing of the stairs and again outside the door, forehead lingering against hers.

It’s a large room, larger than she expected, certainly not the little thing she and Kay share at the Highgate, the wallpaper peeling by the radiator. There’s not much of him here besides a bed that’s half-made, a garment bag by the front leg of the desk.

“It’s a nice room,” she says, trying to banish the wobble in her stomach.

He makes a noise that sounds almost like a laugh. “They know how to charge officers around here.”

“Still.” She reaches back to fidget with the clasp of her necklace. “I uh-”

“Something wrong?”

No. “It’s been-” She’s suddenly embarrassed, left ignorant as to how this is supposed to go. Not ignorant, just-

“Can I get you a drink? We could get something sent up.”

“No, thank you.” It’s probably too late, anyway. He takes off his jacket, drapes it over the back of the small chair at the desk. She takes a deep breath. “I suppose you should kiss me again.”

He smiles, deep and wolfish. “You suppose, huh?”

“Yes.” He does, lets her thread her fingers in his hair. “Suppose I should let you sit, too,” she says.

“However you want, sweetheart.”

She wants to slap herself for what comes out next. “Really?”

He looks at her like she’s a little bit crazy. His eyes are gleaming in the low light, dulled against the closed curtains. “You say jump, I say how high.”

She shakes her head before she can stop herself. Her voice is small, and wanting, and she feels suddenly like she’ll fall apart if he doesn’t keep holding her. “Please, just kiss me.”

Don’t make me think. Let me forget everything except you.

“Just say the word,” he says, but he’s already got his mouth on hers.

She’d stopped caring about her lipstick hours ago, and to hell with everything else now. She’s in his lap, here in a locked room, his hand high up her thigh and her own pressed on top of it.

Soon, her dress is around her hips, and he’s got his hands on the top of the zipper, stopping when it catches. He presses a sloppy kiss to her neck, the dip of her collarbone, exposed. She helps him open the rest of the dress, awkwardly, twisting an elbow. He stops, and looks at her with a hazy stare; two kisses, one above each breast, and one to St. Christopher between them. She undoes his tie, not quite an easy task when he’s lavishing kisses on her shoulders. Keeping his promise. She ought to, too. She presses her mouth to the freckles dotting his chest, and one for his crucifix, another for the medallion. Maybe, she thinks, they should use the rest of the bed.

“I’m glad I stopped by,” he says, quiet and rasping and a little bit breathless, his cheeks a shade of coral in the light.

“You found me,” she says, and it sounds like thank you.

He seems to consider this, his hands stilled under her dress. She can feel him, underneath her. It sends a rush of sparks through her chest, her stomach, her hips. “I did.”

“You did.”

I trust you, she wants to say. But she doesn’t, doesn’t know what to say next. Only brings a hand to his cheek, and his curls, only kisses him again.

#masters of the air oc #mota oc #bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #rosies-riveters #i know there are typos in here i am SURE #my brain has been. an on fire garbage can for the past few weeks. i'm not entirely sure how this fill happened. but it did #and i'm very ! over them tbh #answered #jo's tag #motaverse #shoshi writes

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whimsicalpolitical · 4 months

Note

hello!! would love 'remembering little details when shopping for them (certain brands of tissues that don't irritate their nose, flavors of cough drops/lozenges they prefer, etc.)' with ross!!! 🫶🫶

tysm!!! love your blog sm it’s sickening. I hope it’s good! 💗💗

────────────────────────

You’re lying in bed, feeling the weight of the blankets pressing down on you, your head a throbbing mess. The room feels stuffy despite the cool spring breeze sneaking through the slightly open window. Your phone buzzes beside you, and you reach for it with a groggy hand.

‘Went to the store for a quick shop, back in 10 x’

You smile weakly, set your phone down and nestle deeper into the blankets, the fever making your eyelids heavy. The room feels like it is gently spinning, but knowing Ross would be back soon gives you a sense of comfort. You let your eyes close, feeling a little bit of peace seep into the feverish haze.

The next thing you know, you hear the door creak open and the familiar sound of Ross's footsteps padding softly across the floor. He peeks into the bedroom, his concerned eyes tracing over your figure. Your eyes aren’t open, that’s why he walks to the kitchen with the brown bag he brought.

You could hear him boiling water and the rhythmic sound of him chopping ginger. Soon, the warm, spicy aroma fills the air, and he walks into the bedroom with a steaming mug and the brown bag.

He sits down beside you, your eyes finally opening, soaking in his appearance. “How are you feeling, love? Any better?”

You sigh, the fever still making your thoughts hazy. "I still feel like shit," you admit, managing a weak smile.

He nods, brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. “Made you ginger tea, how’s that sound hm?”

"Lovely," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

"Here we go," he says, offering you a warm smile. "Should do the trick."

You take a cautious sip, the heat and spice soothing your sore throat immediately. "Mmm, it’s perfect. Thank you."

“Brought you some other things,” he turns his back and lifts the brown paper bag on his lap.

He lays down tissues on the bed first, “eucalyptus-scented one’s, they don’t irritate your nose ain’t that right?” He waits for your nod, your heart already swelling with affection.

“Cough drops, honey lemon flavored,” he lifts a pick into the air before laying them down next to the tissue, “found ‘em after rummaging through a whole bunch of halls.“

You giggle weakly, taking his hands into your, “you’re a lifesaver.”

“S’ not everything,” he dips his hand back into the bag, “I got the good soup, none of that rubbish from last time.”

He winks, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small tin of your favorite lozenges. "And these, your favorite. Couldn't forget those, could I?"

Your eyes light up at the sight of the tin. "You remembered! You're the best."

He smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "Just doing my duty, love. Now, let’s get you feeling better.”

His lips lean down from your forehead to your lips but you turn your head away quickly, “No, you’ll catch it,” you protest.

“Don’t be daft,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek and gently turning your face towards him, “don’t care about that.”

Before you can argue further, he presses a tender kiss to your lips, lingering there for a moment. The warmth of his lips comforting, helping you relax.

“There we go,” he says, brushing his fingers through your hair, “now just relax will you? I’ll look after you.”

“Soup now or later?” He asks, running his hands through the side of his tucked up hair.

“Laters fine.”

“No rush, whenever you’re ready.” He hands you the mug again and watches as you take a sip.

“Anythin’ else for you?” His hand is still brushing hair away from your face.

“Could I have a cuddle?”

Ross chuckles, already setting all the medical products on the nightstand, “could you have a cuddle hm?”

You can’t help but laugh at his playful teasing.

You sit up, giving him the hint that he should get in behind you. He groans as he struggles to lift one of his giant legs around you, as you settle between his thighs, leaning your head back against his stomach.

He lets out a soft sigh, his fingers gently stroking your shoulder. "You're exhausted, aren't you?" he observes quietly.

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you relax into his embrace. "Yeah, I am. But being here with you makes it all better."

His arms tighten around you, offering silent reassurance. "Rest now, love," he whispers, his voice filled with tenderness. "I've got you."

His lips come down to your ear, “when you’re awake we can watch the show you’re crazy about, good?”

He hates ‘The Hills’, he hates the drama and he thinks it’s ’proper boring.’

You smile, “sounds perfect.”

#the 1975 #ross macdonald #ross macdonald fluff #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald x you #ross macdonald x reader #the 1975 fic #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #✿rossmacdonald

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bettyfrommars · 1 year

Text

Stop the World and Melt with You

Part 6: Meet Me in Hawkinsgate

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: A lot will be explained in this part, but there will also be more questions left to ponder. We get a glimpse of reader from the past, another Traveler shows up in Hawkinsgate, and secrets are revealed through a comic we borrow from Dustin. wc: 4.3k

Masterlist

A/N: I've been staring at this for way too long and I just need to post it🙃 This part is bitesize because I feel like there is a lot to take in. If it goes the way I've planned it, we'll have two more chapters after this, and you won't have to wait as long as you did for this one 🧡

18+ONLY, MDNI, this is a mindbender, fear of the unknown, mention of zombies, interdimensional travel, circus freak show, no smut in this chapter but I have a spicy blurb on its way to do with the version of Eddie and Reader introduced in this part.

“Cold-hearted orb that rules the night

removes the colors from our sight

Red is gray, and yellow---white

but we decide which is right

and which is an illusion.”

- Twilight Lament, The Moody Blues

---Somewhere Else---

The Crossroads is a place for various interdimensional Travelers to wait while on the way to their next location or assignment. A place to get their “passport stamps” and figure out which portal they’d need to take to get to where they needed to be. The atmosphere made it feel as if you were conducting business on one of Saturn’s rings; nothing but stars and infinite universe around you. There's a row of doors arranged in an arc, all of which seem to be floating in the air, all with numbers above them. You're waiting to take number 4.

The version of you from another dimension took a turn around, hoping to spot a place to drink at one of the vendors inside the floating establishment. This version of you has a few more visible tattoos scattered from head to foot: each a passport from a parallel universe or pocket of time you have traveled to. It was your job, like all of the other Muses, to bring back inspiration for the Storytellers. There's music playing over the speaker system as you waited; it was an instrumental version of Melt with You by Modern English. The song is interrupted by the tin of an electronic female voice announcing the departure at gate 9.

You’d been staring up at the monitors, checking the time for your portal, but you stepped back in haste, and there he was: the boy you would soon know as Eddie Munson.

You didn’t recognize him but also, you did---in a way you couldn’t explain. The sight of his face knocked over a tiny domino in your soul and the rest went tumbling.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he gave a crooked smile, putting his hands up, palms out. This version of him has strange tattoos as well; a few designs at his temples, lines above one brow, a series of numbers and letters on his throat. He wears a black leather jacket over a shirt that reads: Hellfire Club. “I should watch where I’m going.”

“No, no, it’s my fault,” you stammered. “I’m running late so I was worried---”

“Worried that you’d miss me?” He interjected.

The forwardness of it caught you off guard and you stifle a laugh, tucking your chin. “Something like that.”

You turn back to face the monitors, thinking he’d head off the way he was going—but he didn’t. He stayed close and waited as a group of human and non-human beings passed between the two of you.

“So,” he stepped up closer as the crowd passed, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Of all the Crossroads in all the universes, you walk into mine.”

You turned and gave him a curious look, not understanding what he just said or why he was saying it to you. Your eyes flicked from his tender chocolate orbs, down to his soft lips and back again.

He leaned back, noting your confusion, and tilted his head. “Humphrey Bogart? Casablanca? Of all the gin joints in all the---” he could tell it wasn’t ringing a bell. “Wait, you’ve never watched Casablanca?”

You gave a few tight shakes of your head, a scowl creasing the skin between your eyebrows.

“Oh, sweetheart, we need to fix that,” he patted around in all of his pockets. “Do you have a pen?”

You weren’t sure where this was going, but you were fascinated by him. Muses weren’t allowed to take any form of physical identification with them through the portals—-hence the inked passport stamps that were usually invisible to most non-travelers---and the only things you had on you were gum and lip gloss.

He checked the inside pocket of his jacket and made a sound of triumph. He procured a black, felt tip marker and popped the cap off. “Mind giving me your number? For educational purposes. We can watch Casablanca, and maybe get some decent food back on the mainland. What do you think? Could you stare at this mug while you eat?”

You were reaching for the pen as he talked, and he offered his palm to you. In a line from his pinky to his thumb, you wrote your name and phone number without another word, and then capped the pen and handed it back to him. Eddie watched you; the curves of your face, the way your eyelashes fluttered, the way the tip of your tongue rested on your top lip as you concentrated. He wanted to commit you to memory.

He turned his hand to look at what you wrote, and then met your eyes over his fingers. “Have we met before? You seem so familiar to me.”

He had chunky, silver rings on his fingers, and the air surrounding you felt electric, you could almost taste the tang of the static on your tongue.

“Oh, I think I’d remember you,” you smirked, trying to mask the depth of your attraction to him.

But then a loud chime sounded and the electronic female voice sounded over the platform, letting everyone know that the portal for Gate 4 was opening.

“That’s me,” you swallowed, flushed. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” you quipped, a sudden pain shooting through your chest at the thought of never seeing him again.

Eddie felt flustered, he didn’t want you to go. “Hey, I’ll call you,” he promised, showing his palm. You gave him one last look over your shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. When you stepped over the thresh hold to your portal, you realized you didn’t even know his name.

And you really hoped he could call.

----------

You became aware of your surroundings before you were fully awake enough to open your eyes, trying to hold on to the image of the boy in your dreams as hard as you could---but then he was gone. As intense and real as the “dream” had been, it was now a pin prick of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, and you tried to squint but then it was gone as soon as your consciousness came to the surface.

It felt so real, though. So real that you tossed in bed with tears wet in your eyes, trying to get it back, screaming into your pillow. The pillowcase that smelled strongly of bleach and a hint of age old body odor embedded deep in the pillow itself.

The dark of night lasted for the next 24 hours in Hawkinsgate, as if it were a movie set and someone forgot to turn the lights on. It was noon, and you were sitting behind the motel reception desk, staring out into the street lights of the dark town. Claudia bustled in with one of her cats in a pink carrier after taking it to the vet. There was a young boy with her who offered you a gappy grin with missing front teeth. He had a trucker hat that sat squished on his head of curls.

You’d been doodling on the inside of the phone book, about to go and put a load of sheets in the dryer, when the boy with Claudia marched right up to you. He was a teenager, but you weren’t sure of the age.

His eyes blew wide. “Is it true you’re one of the Travelers?”

“Dustin,” Claudia called to him as she came around the desk, marching toward the back room.

Nailing you with an enigmatic grin, he pulled a rolled up comic out from under his arm and slapped it on the table. His hands working to smooth out the pages before he pointed to a face on the cover.

“Isn't that you?”

Your eyes hesitated on him before following to where his finger pointed.

The likeness caught you by surprised and made you step back, but you never took your eyes off of it. You held it up, attention flicking over the details in the artwork. It wasn’t you, exactly, but, indeed a version of you: legs wide, arms crossed, exposed skin dotted in tattoos, way more than the few you had now, standing in what appeared to be a desert wasteland with two moons in the sky.

“Where did you get this?” You asked, wondering if someone was playing a trick on you. “Did Eddie put you up to this?”

“Eddie?” Dustin’s generous smile widened, cocking his head. “How do you know Eddie?”

You only handed the comic back when Dustin reached for it. “I’d let you keep it,” he shrugged. “But it’s the newest issue and I haven’t read it yet.”

“No, it’s okay,” you shook your head. “I understand. Could you maybe, tell me what happens in it?”

You could tell that the kid was emotionally mature for his age and he quickly caught on to the source of your distress and took his tone down to more of a calm reassurance. “I’ll just leave it on the desk for you when I’m done, okay?”

A part of you wondered if reading such a thing was a good idea with the fragile state of your blank brain. Dustin came around the back, following after Claudia before she shouted his name again.

“Hey,” you turned to face him now that he was behind the front counter. “Who writes that comic? Do you know?”

“Oh, no one knows,” his face was serious, and then he turned to keep walking.

“Of course no one knows,” you said under your breath. “But, where do you buy them? There must be a way to trace it back to the creator?”

He adjusted the strap of his backpack. “I’m sure there’s a way,” he looked down, thoughtfully. “These issues just show up like everything else around here, but I can ask a few people.”

You told him how much you would appreciate that, and he repeated his disbelief that you also knew his friend Eddie.

---------

That day, another Traveler wandered into the motel; the first one since your arrival. You caught sight of the bright pink hair immediately, followed by the black ink markings from her nose to her throat, and on her hands as well. You scrambled to your feet, eager to make her acquaintance. She was hesitant, her eyes shifting to take everything in, just as you had that first day when you arrived.

The second she saw you, her eyes blew wide, and her mouth dropped open.

She knew your name. “What are you doing here?” She asked, spinning in a circle. “Where are we? Where is Lorelei?”

Your heart started racing and your mouth dried up. “Where do you know me from? How do you have your memories?” You were coming around the desk, racing towards her now. “Who is Lorelei?”

She had on a ripped, threadbare, white tee with no bra and worn jeans. She pulled a knife from the hilt at her hip and held it up. “You’re not safe here anymore,” she warned, eyes darting around as if she expected a monster to come flying out of the walls.

“Not safe from what?” You begged.

The confused look on your face turned to a horrified one when an invisible door slid open behind the pink-haired girl, exposing an infinite blackness, and she turned, jumping threw it as if she knew exactly where it led to.

“No, wait---” you screamed, stretching your arm out as if you could catch her, but then the invisible door slid shut again and there was nothing but air there. You waved your hands frantically around over the space.

--------

Eddie came to meet you on the roof of the motel that night, because you asked him to, because you needed a friend. The roof was angled, but not drastically, with a perfect sitting ledge. You each had pillows behind your heads, laying side by side, knees bent, staring up at the sky.

You were feeling more and more at home in Eddie’s presence; eager when you knew you would get to see him, and fearful when you had to part ways. Even so, you didn’t want to care for him, and tried to push away the feelings at all costs. You could sense him holding back as well; reaching out to take your hand, only to pull away, and swallowing words that hovered on parted lips, left unspoken.

You told Eddie about the pink-haired traveler and he chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“She knew my name,” you mumbled, replaying the short interaction over in your head for the hundredth time that day.

“I’ve seen Travelers come and go that fast,” he said. “One second they’re in front of you, and then they’re gone the next---poof.” Eddie decided not to say out loud what scared him the most, and that was the fact that, once you remembered who you were, you would disappear in the same way. He wondered how quick he’d have to be to dive into the void to go with you. “Maybe she came to give you a message?”

You hadn’t shared with him her message yet, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to. But then you felt the side of Eddie’s hand slide up against yours and you realized you didn’t want to have any secrets from him.

You swallowed back a tickle of emotion in your throat. “She said I’m not safe here anymore.”

In a heartbeat, Eddie took your hand, intertwined his fingers, and pulled it to his side, tucking your arm close. “Hey, that’s not true. You’re safe here with me.”

It was the first time you’d ever held hands, and you could tell he’d been working up the nerve for days. You were grateful for the touch and it made the sides of your mouth dance up, even under the weight of such disturbing circumstances.

Elbows planted, you looked over at your two hands locked together and the dark blue sky full of scattered stars beyond. “I do feel safe with you,” you told him. Even though whatever was happening to you felt much bigger than either one of you could fathom in that moment, and it wasn’t fair to put such a big job on Eddie, you were comforted by the thought.

You scooted closer to him, and placed your head on his shoulder. Eddie brought the back of your hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Why do the stars and the sky look so real?” You asked in a whisper, watching the way the stars flickered, and clouds hovered around the moon.

Eddie turned his head to find your profile. “You still think this is a dream?”

It didn’t feel like a dream, but maybe we all traveled in our dreams to very real places and then forgot it all once we opened our eyes. You hesitated, not sure how to answer him, working your jaw. The air was wet and cool, bright with the smell of rain on concrete and forest pine.

“Sometimes I worry that I’m going to wake up any second and forget this place,” you failed to catch the tremor in your voice. “That I’ll forget you.”

An unexpected tear ran down your cheek, and Eddie felt the wet drop hit the side of his neck.

“Hey,” he said, squeezing your hand, pulling it across his stomach. “Can I tell you what I think?”

“Please?” You urged.

He wanted to tell you about the dream he had about a group of circus people that came through a place called Hawkins, Indiana to set up a show on the outskirts of town. In the dream, Hawkins was his hometown, the place where he had grown up, and it was similar to Hawkinsgate, but also nothing like it. The dream felt so real, he could still smell the popcorn and hear the cackle of the Bearded Lady on stage, beckoning to any passerby. The circus rolled into town on old caravans and rusted cars compiled of junkyard metal. There was a Ferris wheel and various freak shows and a fire-breather and a strong man and a fortune teller. Eddie went with his buddies Gareth, and Jeff, because they wanted to see the clowns on stilts, and maybe get a glimpse of the peep show.

They peeked inside a hole in the red and white tent when they heard the sultry music, just in time to catch sight of a voluptuous blonde woman spinning tassels on her huge breasts before they were shooed away by one of the barkers. He had a fully tattooed face and a metal bar pierced through his tongue.

“Yo, sorry man,” Eddie and the boys held their hands up in a form of surrender, unable to contain their laughter, and the barker spat on the ground at their feet, sneering to show his silver teeth.

Eddie went in to see the psychic in the purple caravan on a dare. The boys teased him and said he wouldn’t, and so Eddie said, “hold my jacket” and made his way inside, through the beaded curtain in the doorway, stopping in his tracks at the sight of the older woman sitting at a round table in front of a crystal ball.

“It’s you,” the older woman said, looking up at him only briefly. She had long gray hair, and her eyes were mismatched: one was bright blue and the other was milky white with no iris or pupil. “I was starting to think you’d never show up.”

“Do I know you?” Eddie looked around the space cautiously, making sure the two were alone. The air was smoky and smelled like the floral dank of incense.

“Please, Eddie, sit,” the woman said in a young voice that did not match her elderly exterior.

Eddie stepped back. “Wait, how do you know my---”

“There’s no time for that,” she interrupted him, shuffling a deck of tarot cards in her hands. Her eyes repeated the gesture of motioning for him to sit. “There’s a lot you need to know and we only have a few minutes.”

Stiffly, Eddie took a seat in the squeaky wooden chair across from her, hoping that the boys were right outside and not back at the peep show without him. She made a clean stack with the deck of cards and set it to one side.

“So,” Eddie’s eyes flicked around after a full minute of silence. “How do we do this?”

The next thing he knew, Eddie was headed outside again, squinting, his head blurry and his eyes dry.

Gareth and Jeff had been giggling over a joke when Eddie stepped out of the caravan and stumbled, his eyes glossy. They got serious immediately and went to help him stand as his knees buckled.

“Damn, what did she do to you?” Gareth frowned, watching Eddie take long blinks and shake his head as if trying to wake up. Jeff looked around nervously, wondering if he should find help. Gareth tried to see in through the beaded curtain, but it seemed like the old woman was gone and the caravan appeared empty.

When Eddie stepped out, he felt like everything was the same, but also very different. He was still in Hawkins, but there was something...off about it. The boys asked him over and over what the old woman told him, but he couldn’t remember, he just knew he felt woozy. His stomach growled and he figured it was because he was hungry.

The next morning, after the dream---the visions of you started. The dreams, the whispers, the way he knew every inch of your body, every mole, every tattoo, even though he’d never seen you naked before; not in this reality, anyway. He stepped over a torn front page of the Hawkinsgate Gazette in the grass in his dream, and he stopped to pick it up, wondering why the name Hawkingate looked so familiar, but also so wrong.

There on the roof of the motel, Eddie wanted to tell you that he’d been thinking and dreaming about you ever since.

After that, the other Travelers started showing up in Hawkinsgate. Just like you, they were plopped there without much of a memory of where they came from, and seeing them around became normal as well. The entire town seemed to be designed around them in fact, as if Hawkinsgate was an airport from which people took off to their various destinations.

Every time he heard about a new Traveler in town, he went looking, hoping to find you. He was about a week away from losing hope when you showed up at the gas station that day in tears.

The one he had been waiting for and pining over this whole time.

Eddie wanted to tell you all of that on the roof of the motel when you started to cry.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Eddie asked and you begged him to tell you something, anything that was remotely comforting.

He slid his fingers up and down between yours before intertwining them again. “I’m not sure why or how I know this, but no matter where you go, you’ll always have me. If this is a dream and you wake up, I’ll be waking up with you.”

---------

You finally got your hands on the comic book with your likeness on the cover and hurried back to your motel room on your lunch break so you could lock the door and dissect it in peace.

The woman who looked like you in the drawings was apparently a Muse who worked for a group of people called The Storytellers. You had a gift for collecting inspiration and experiences in other dimensions and worlds and passing them on. The amount of knowledge your character had acquired through her journey was vast. She knew how to speak several languages, she knew karate, knife throwing, chess. She knew how to cook French dishes you didn’t even know how to pronounce. There was another Muse in the comic named E who looked remarkably like your Eddie. Long hair pulled back, a loose strand hanging down his cheekbone.

In the comic, your character and E had traveled through many dimensions together, and you were on the run from a group of lizard people called The Kreel. They were reptilian in nature with a human appearance, but for their lizard eyes that flicked out of their human lenses every so often. They did not emote and they did not experience compassion, and they were waging a war with the Storytellers, so that the Kreel could control all creative consumption. The Kreels wanted all of the powers of the creators for their purposes alone; to create worlds that would benefit them only.

Your character and E had jumped from dimension to dimension, from world to world, gathering inspiration for the Storytellers, while simultaneously evading The Kreel.

The final page of the comic book left you with a cliffhanger: in modern day, in a quiet dessert town off the grid in New Mexico, The Kreel found the location where you were your character resided, and were closing in. You were supposed to meet E that night, when he was back from his recent trip, but there was no time to get a note to him. The next best thing you could do was go through the portal to Hawkinsgate and wait for him there.

Hawkinsgate was the safe haven; a place undetectable to Kreels. It was created by a group of Storytellers when the war began.

You typed the location of the portal into the gps on your phone.

With a tight blink of concentration, you imagined a hoard of zombies into existence to block the The Kreel from you in their masses, while you made your escape.

You watched the home you loved disappear in a cloud of dust in your rear view mirror, as a van full of lizard Kreel soldiers went to battle with the flesh eating zombies in their haste to get to you.

The character that looked like you in the comic book wailed and sobbed, driving away as fast as they could, fearing they’d never see E again.

You frowned at the page as you finished reading, your lungs starving for air after holding your breath for so long.

At the very end, your character reminded herself in thought bubbles that she’d lose her memory once she breached the Hawkinsgate portal. The Kreel could pinpoint brainwaves when a creative’s thoughts were particularly active, so everything had to be wiped clean for their safety. The girl in the story cried again, thinking about how she wouldn’t remember E, and how she hoped he’d show up there too, just like they had planned.

But, they wouldn’t know each other.

“Meet me in Hawkinsgate,” alone in your motel room you felt the warm breath against your ear, heard the words as clear as day. It was Eddie’s voice, and it sounded like he was right there next to you. “Meet me in Hawkinsgate….”

You jumped up off the bed and threw the magazine, making it land against the wall with a smack before it fluttered to the floor, landing face down. You were panting, trying to find your breath, a whimper escaping the back of your throat. You could feel the emotions building hot behind your eyes.

And then, you screamed.

#Eddie Munson #Stop the world and melt with you #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson series #eddie munson x reader #twilight zone #mystery #sci-fi

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cowgurrrl · 1 year

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Blueberry Pancakes

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!fem reader

Summary: The morning after [4.5k]

Author’s note: thank you for being patient also I was going to write more of the spicy spice but I got lazy so this is what you get lol fic named after this song

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, June putting her theatre minor and knowledge of NYC to work, Joel being needy, ✨opening up emotionally✨, smut (oral f receiving), we’re coming to the end of our time in NYC :(

Joel pressing kisses to your face is the first thing you feel when you wake up. You lazily reach for him, not even bothering to open your eyes, as you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him. "Good morning," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep, and you hum. You smile and open your eyes to see him, messy hair and all, bathed in sunlight. Tattoos previously hidden by his shirt are now on full display, and your fingers drop to trace the inky lines. He kisses your nose and tucks some hair behind your ear. "I ordered us room service."

"Did you get me a bagel?"

"No, 'm a complete idiot," he says sarcastically, and you laugh. "What d'you have scheduled for today?"

"I have to make an appearance on the Tonight Show, but other than that, I'm free all day. Why?" You ask, and he smiles before ducking his head into your neck and kissing you more. Maybe it's because you never let yourself notice, or he didn't let you see, but Joel Miller is incredibly affectionate. You'd be an idiot not to let him worship you like you're the one who hung the moon and the stars.

"Because my sound mixing guy said he doesn't need me to come in, so I have," kiss. "The whole," kiss. "Day," kiss. "Off." He lifts his head to kiss your lips again but is interrupted by a knock at the door. He sighs, and you laugh, already pushing him off you so you can open the door.

"I love how you're acting like you're not the one who ordered it," you say as you grab his Lakers shirt from the top of his suitcase, the hem of it hitting the tops of your thighs, and open the door to grab the two plates covered with a tin dish at your door. Joel sits up to watch you close the door behind you and set the dishes down on the table. "What?" You question his lingering eyes, and he shrugs.

"You look ridiculously hot wearin' my clothes."

"You just like it because you know I'm not wearing any underwear."

"I mean, that's not entirely wrong." He gets out of bed to pull on a pair of boxers from his bag and pads over to you, rubbing sleep from his eye. He's a sight to behold like this. All tan skin, hard muscle, and delicate black lines adorning his body. He wraps his arm around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder as you pull out your phone and take a picture of the beautiful breakfast spread. You post a vague Instagram story in which you can clearly see the two plates in front of you and the slightest peek of Joel's hand in the frame. "D'you like causin' chaos, or am I a bad influence?"

"It's a little fun to watch them freak out." You admit, and he laughs. He presses a quick kiss to your jaw before releasing you to pull your chair out for you. You sit down and flip your phone face down on the table as Melanie texts you a screenshot of your post with a thumbs-up emoji. She can wait.

You and Joel eat the breakfast he ordered for you and talk. You tell him about coordinating with the cast of Red Dirt Girl for the premiere and show him a picture of you and Lilly together on set. He explains how sound mixing works and why he wanted to come all the way out to New York to work with this one guy when there are plenty of other sound mixers in Los Angeles. "I've worked with him a long time," he tells you. "I don't trust anyone else." You talk about wanting to visit the places you loved when you lived in the city. It's been years since you've been able to come back and just have fun. You're secretly really excited to show him your old stomping grounds.

"Can I ask you somethin'?" Joel asks as you take a sip of coffee.

"Go for it."

"Before last night, when's the last time you had sex with someone?" There's no malice or amusement in his voice. He's genuinely curious. You sigh and stare into your mug.

"A year ago. Maybe longer."

"Wow."

"What?"

"Nothin'. I just can't believe that."

"Why? It's not like I've been dating since I came to LA. I work all the time. I'm never home, and when I am, it's not like I'm doing anything exciting." You say, and he shrugs.

"You're a beautiful woman. Smart. Funny. Not to mention rich and famous," he says, and you laugh. "I thought men would be climbin' over each other to be with you."

"Men are also intimidated by a woman who makes more money or works more than they do."

"Why do you work so much?" He asks. "People obviously like you if they keep hirin' you. Realistically, you could take a year-long break and just relax for the first time in God knows how long."

"I've always worked a lot. In college, I worked two different jobs, and when I graduated, I took almost every role or position I was offered because I couldn't afford not to. I think it was a way to keep me moving, keep my mind off of my family back home or the lives my friends were starting without me. Because I was in the city and so far away, it felt easy for them to forget about me. But they can't forget about me if I'm making new movies or shows or doing interviews."

"Is that somethin' you're afraid of? Being forgotten?" He asks, and you nod. You're not sure why you're divulging this much information to him so early in the day. You blame the way he looks at you.

"It's why I bite my tongue or play into the celebrity antics or sign a contract to date a rockstar," you say, and he smiles. "If I'm always giving them something to talk about, they can't throw me away." He reaches for your hand across the table, and a little shock passes from his fingers to yours.

"Well, you, my dear, are anythin' but forgettable,"

"Thanks,"

"'M serious. Those people would be fuckin' idiots to let you pass 'em by, and I'm sorry nobody's told you that." He says, squeezing your hand like he's trying to press the words into your skin. You bite the inside of your cheek as your brain catches up to what he's saying, tears pricking in your eyes embarrassingly fast. You stand, cross to his chair, and straddle him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands rest on your bare thighs, his thumbs tracing patterns there.

"Where've you been hiding this whole time?" You ask quietly, like if you say it too loud, the reverie will break, and everything will go back to the way it was before you came to New York.

"Could ask you the same thing." He whispers, and you smile. You lean down and kiss him, slow in your movements. You play with the curls at the nape of his neck and just relish in the feeling of his lips on yours. It's dizzying how his stubble scratches against your skin, the hair already coming back in even though he just shaved the other day. He trails his hands upwards until he barely grazes your inner thighs, and you put your hands on his wrists to stop him.

"As much as I would love to do that again," you say against his lips. "I've got a list of places to visit today, and we can't do that if you keep getting handsy."

"A list? You're so official." He asks, and you hum as you slide off his lap. You plant your feet and move toward the bathroom, but he snags your hand before you can get far and keeps you close for another second before letting it go. You can't suppress the giddy smile on your face as you start your skincare routine and plan an outfit in your head. The hotel room is quiet, and both of you are comfortable enough to slip into domestic silence as you get ready for the day. Or, at least, you would've been if you hadn't moved closer to the mirror to put sunscreen on and noticed the mark on your neck.

"Joel Miller!" You shout. He appears in the doorway a second later with a confused look on his face. "Are you a fucking teenager? Look at this!" You point at the hickey bruising your skin, and he smirks.

"I don't remember you tryna stop me."

"You're a menace."

"Yeah, yeah." He says as he reaches around you to grab something, smacking your ass and running before you can get payback, and you laugh. You call a ceasefire long enough to get dressed, but you do steal one of his white button-ups and pair it with jeans. When you come out of the bathroom with the tiniest bit of makeup on, wearing his shirt, he plays at his knees, giving out.

"You're gonna kill me," he groans. You laugh and shove him out of the way to grab your bag.

"You're dramatic," you say as he kisses your cheek. You grab his hand and all but drag him out of the hotel room, sneakily leaving money on the nightstand for the poor housekeeping staff who has to wash the sheets while you're out. You expect him to drop your hand once you're out on the streets, but he doesn't; if anything, he walks closer to you and wraps his arm around your neck to kiss your temple while you wait at a crosswalk. One of the things you love about New York is how easy it is to blend in among the massive amounts of people rushing from one place to another. Nobody gives you or Joel a second glance, and if they do, you're already several steps ahead of them, and it's too late for them to say anything.

"Did you live around here?" Joel asks as you turn down 2nd Avenue, and you laugh.

"I was way too broke to live anywhere near the Upper East Side. I lived in a three-story walk-up in Hell's Kitchen with four other girls from NYU."

"How far's that?"

"Hell's Kitchen?"

"Yeah." He says, and you look up at the street signs to figure out where you are.

"Well, we're on 2nd and 83rd, and I lived on 9th and 51st, so a really long walk from here, but we could cut through Central Park or take the subway. Or, if you really want to be LA about it, we could get an Uber," you say, and he nods. "What do you wanna do?"

"It's been a really long time since I was in Central Park," he says, looking down at you and squeezing your hand. "Wanna give me a tour?" You smile and begin guiding him through the familiar route. You tell him little bits of history that you remember from the various times you went on sight-seeing tours with friends and family, pointing out the roof of the Dakota and telling him that Yoko Ono still lives there once it comes into view. Joel tells you what Sarah and Ellie are up to today as you cross the street into Central Park. Apparently, Sarah and Ellie are spending a girl's day at the Los Angeles Zoo and then getting dinner with Joel's brother later. He lights up and shows you a picture of the girls smiling together in front of the zoo signage. He shoots back a picture of the park, and you watch him type out a dorky dad message about making good decisions.

Central Park is gorgeous this time of year. The flowers are starting to sprout into a rainbow of colors as the last bits of bitter cold finally disappear. Somebody's playing music at Strawberry Fields like they always are, but Joel being Joel, stops and listens to the young guitarist with tattoos painting her arms. You lean on him, holding his bicep, as you stand there and listen to him hum along to the song. You stay there for as long as possible, ignoring sideways glances and growing whispers, and clap when she finishes singing. Joel drops two hundred dollar bills in her open case before disappearing with you down the path, away from lingering eyes and tilted iPhone cameras.

You take him on a bit of detour but, thankfully, find the path emptier and quieter than most. The birds chirp and swoop low over your head as they gather materials for their nests. The sun shines through the trees the way the movies make it seem like it always does, and it just feels easy. Joel slides his hand into your back pocket as you listen to him ramble about how important it is to support young artists because they get so discouraged. You think he could probably talk about this exact subject for hours until you stumble out of the path and into the decades-old theatre. He pauses, taking in the sight of all the seats and the skyline peeking out behind the trees, and you smile at his reaction. You walk him down to the front of the stage and turn him around to look at the entire theatre. Even though you've been here hundreds of times and seen pictures of your friends here, the magnitude of Delacorte Theatre never ceases to take your breath away.

"I used to do Shakespeare in the Park here." You say, running your hand over the smooth surface of the stage.

"Really?" He asks, and you hum. "You like it?"

"Loved it. I remember every second."

"I never did understand what those plays were about."

"Didn't you read Shakespeare in school?" You ask, and he laughs, shaking his head.

"I'm from Texas, and I had a baby before a degree. Do you think I read Shakespeare?" He says, humor in his tone, and you have to fight the instinct to ask about Sarah and how he ended up a single father at twenty-two.

"You should try it. It's really not that hard once you understand the rhythm and everything." You say instead, and he furrows his eyebrows at you.

"What d'you mean?"

"It's kinda like a song. You speak the words in iambic pentameter and give them meaning as you say them. Every sentence should be a revelation like you've never had the thought before, even if you've read it a million times."

"Iambic what?" He asks, and you laugh.

"Here," you say, facing him. You put his hand over your heart, your own hand resting on his wrist, and give him a second to adjust to the beating. "Feel it?" You ask, and he nods. "That ba bum ba bum ba bum is how you stress the syllables." You take a deep breath and recall an old monologue from the depths of your brain. Then, surrounded by the ghosts of your past and the thousands of people who've ever walked the stage, you fill Delacorte with words older than the city itself. You keep yourself in time with the steady pulse in Joel's wrist and do your best to make every breath count. After years of auditions and callbacks and no after no after no, this, performing for him, is the scariest thing you've ever done. He stares at you once you're done repeating Helena's lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and his jaw moves as he thinks.

"What's it mean to you? Not what the books tell you it should mean." He asks quietly.

"It's her admitting her faults. She's saying, "I know I fucked up, and I'm sorry. I can't take back what I've done, and I hurt you, but I love you, and because I love you, I'm letting you go." She's trying to say goodbye. Give their friendship meaning even when Hermia is furious at her," you say, and he nods. "The last person I dated was in that show with me. He played Oberon and was a complete asshole, but he broke my heart. Said I'd never make it in the industry. He actually broke up with me on closing night. This is the first time I've been back since." You say. He doesn't ask why you're telling him this or question the story. He just pulls you close and hugs you. He rubs your back and presses his lips to the crown of your head, and for just a second, New York City quiets down.

"Fuck that guy," Joel says against your hair, and you laugh as you look up at him.

"Yeah, fuck that guy." You agree. Then, just as quickly as the smile took over his face, he turns pensive again.

"Thank you for showin' me this."

"You're welcome."

You linger in the theatre for a few more minutes, reflecting on the journey your career has taken, before continuing your trek through Central Park. You walk past the children's playground where yuppie moms or their nannies watch over the screaming kids climbing the jungle gyms. Joel tells you about the time Ellie broke her arm because she was dared to climb as high as she could on the play structure. She was ten.

"Cried the whole way to the hospital." He shakes his head.

"You or Ellie?"

"Are you kiddin'? Of course, it was me," he says, and you have to stop in the middle of the sidewalk from laughing so hard. "I can't believe you're laughin' at me! My baby girl was hurt!"

"Aw, you're tearing up now!" You say as you swipe your thumbs underneath his eyes. "Oh, honey." You giggle as you kiss his cheek, resting your hands on his face.

"Yeah, you should feel bad for makin' me cry."

"You're just a big softie."

"For them? Always." He says like it's the easiest thing in the world. It stops you in your tracks. You know countless men with children who never tell their kids how much they love them or even show up for them. But here's Joel Miller crying about an accident that happened four years ago because of how much he loves his daughters.

"Sarah and Ellie are really lucky to have you as their dad." You tell him, and you swear, more tears glisten in his eyes for just a moment. He clears his throat and turns to kiss the inside of your wrist.

"Thank you." He says, and you nod. He tucks you under his arm, and you guys finally cross the street out of Central Park.

Once you're close enough, you take Joel to your favorite pizza place in Hell's Kitchen, where you can still get a slice bigger than your head for a dollar. He's only slightly surprised at how fast the man behind the counter talks, but you chalk it up to him being in California for so long, where every syllable has to last three seconds longer. You miss New York, you realize, as you walk through the streets with him. It's an ache so deep in your heart that it makes you wonder why you ever left. But then you pass the building where you auditioned for an off off off off Broadway play and got called back, but when you showed up, the casting director just looked up and went, "Who are you?" That's enough to make you remember.

Still, as you take him by your old apartment building, the restaurant you waitressed at until the day before you left for Los Angeles, and the subway station where you jumped the turnstiles too many times to count because you didn't have enough money for the train fare, you think you want to retrace every step you've ever taken on this earth just to make new memories with him. With Joel, everything is made fresh and exciting again because you've never gotten to experience these things with him by your side.

A dangerous and stupid thought wiggles its way into your brain as you take the subway back to the Upper East Side, his body stabilizing yours as the car jolts forward and shakes, even though you're way more accustomed to the train's movements than him. You shoo it away before it becomes anything more, chalking it up to nostalgia and vulnerability. But when the subway emerges from the depths of the dirty, underground station and chugs its way through the elevated track, sunshine beaming into the cars and making Joel's eyes look like halos, it returns.

"What?" He asks, and you shake your head. "You're starin'."

"Maybe I just like looking at you."

"Weirdo."

"Weirdo." You copy his deep tone, and he gives you a look. The subway doors open at your stop, and you and Joel tumble out of the car. He trusts you to guide him through the crowd and out of the station, holding his hand as he walks behind you. Traffic has picked up now that the work day is over, and you and Joel have to run between cars to make it to the hotel resulting in getting tagged in a picture of you and Joel running through the street with the caption, "What the fuck just happened!!!" As you approach the hotel doors, a group of young girls' eyes widen when they see you and Joel together. Joel notices and offers a very quick hello before ducking inside the hotel lobby, a chorus of excited voices echoing behind you.

When you make it up to your hotel room, you sigh and fight the urge to crawl back into bed, your walk through the many neighborhoods finally catching up with you. A garment bag hangs in the open closet, and you unzip it to find the Cinderella blue dress your stylist got for you to wear tonight. It's short and has little flowers embroidered in the skirt, and you smile at how cute it is. "What time d'you have to be at the studio?" Joel asks, basically reading your mind as he comes up behind you to look at the dress.

"Couple hours. I need to take a shower and get ready soon." You say, turning to face him, and he smirks.

"Want some company?"

"Sure."

"Wait, really?" He asks, and you laugh as you move into the bathroom, kicking your shoes and socks off by the sink. You turn on the shower and start unbuttoning your shirt when you notice him still standing by the closet.

"Oh, my God, you're like a teenage boy. Yes, but hurry up!" You say, and he almost immediately pulls his shirt over his head and rushes into the bathroom with you. He's on you in a second, his hands flying to the button of your jeans, and you smile against him. "I really did mean just shower." You're half-joking, and he seems to realize it because he hums and pushes your pants down.

"Course, let me just help you outta these," he says, dropping to his knees in front of you. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him before you, guiding your legs out of the denim, but when he presses gentle kisses up your knee, you know you're done for. He takes his time, nipping and licking at the skin of your thighs like nothing else matters. He carefully guides your leg over his shoulder as he traces the fabric of your panties, his lips ghosting over you. Your hand lands in his hair as you stare down at him, his big hands reaching back and palming at your ass. He presses a gentle kiss to your clit, and you let out a shaky breath. "Still wanna take a shower instead?"

"You're an asshole." You say, and he hums smugly against your pussy, smirking as he finally tugs your underwear down and slides one deft finger through your wetness. You're dripping from his teasing, and you don't even have the heart to be embarrassed about it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like it when I'm an asshole," he says. For half a second, you think he'll make you beg like he did last night, but then, without warning, he leans forward and licks hungrily into you. His mouth is hot and slow as he tastes you for the first time, all but moaning as you coat his tongue. He licks broad stripes through you, his nose bumping against your clit every time, and you shiver despite the sweat forming on the back of your neck. You grip his hair between your fingers and gasp when he slips two fingers into your pussy. You're still a little sore, but he gives you a second to adjust, focusing all his attention on devouring you like a man starved. "You taste so fuckin' good, baby. Been thinkin' 'bout this since you stole that fuckin' cigarette from me." He mumbles, his stubble scraping the inside of your thighs perfectly.

"I thought, oh fuck," you moan as he starts moving his fingers inside of you, the drag of them making you see stars. "Thought you hated me."

"I thought you hated me," he says, moving to kiss your inner thigh and look up at you. The muscles in his forearms flex as his fingers curl, and you whine. His mouth is back on you, drawing tight circles into your clit with his tongue, and dark eyes hold your gaze. Everything around you melts, the water hitting the tile behind you becoming nothing more than white noise as pleasure swims through your veins. "But we just had to figure each other out. Huh, pretty girl?" You clench around his fingers, and he chuckles lowly. "I knew you liked it when I called you that. Did you go home and touch yourself after I dropped you off? I would've come inside to help you, you poor thing." He makes a sympathetic sound, the vibration making you buck your hips.

You can't even formulate a response as his fingers stroke at your walls, grazing that spongy part inside you enough to make you throw your head back. He sucks your clit between his lips and hums against you again. You moan his name over and over again, the sound of your voice echoing around you. Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, and you hold onto him for dear life. "If you let me fall, I will never fucking forgive you." You manage, and he laughs.

"I've got you, sweetheart." He says as he wraps his other hand around your waist, pressing you closer to his mouth. His fingers pump in and out of you steadily, and he licks at your clit again, the slightest scrape of his teeth making you shout as you come. He doesn't let up. The filthy sound of his fingers fucking you through your orgasm mix with your shaky moans, and you have to literally pull him away by his hair for him to stop.

"You're gonna kill me." You breathe as he stands and kisses you.

"You're dramatic."

#one for the money two for the show #rockstar!joel miller #the last of us au #the last of us x reader #the last of us fluff #the last of us smut #joel the last of us #joel tlou #tlou x reader #tlou smut #tlou fluff #tlou au #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x female reader

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dathomirdumpsterfire · 10 months

Text

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥

Want to be on the tag list? -> Comment with 'tag me!' Have an idea for next chapter or clicked the wrong option? -> Reblog about it! Check the bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is below the cut!🔥

~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 16 ~

Obi-Wan is just about ready to begin figuratively climbing the walls…

…scratch that, he's just about ready to literally climb the walls.

‘Come with me…’ Maul’s voice echoes in his mind.

“No,” he says aloud, pacing circles around the magma ball. “No.”

But gods, does he want-

“No.”

The jedi spares a moment to be angry at the circumstances. Every jedi was met with challenges on the path of life. It was supposed to be that way. They were chances for self reflection and growth. But how many jedi had their mortal enemy return from the grave looking like something out of a wet dream -no pun intended- and kidnap them, only to change their mind and decide they just want companionship and sex? They just want him to stay with them, forever, simple as that.

It's absurd. It's enticing. It's sad. It's sweet.

It makes Obi-Wan want to punch something.

It makes him want other things too…

“No.”

He has to leave. He has to. It's only a matter of time before slick scales and stress levels mix him up into a cocktail of poor choices. Obi-Wan wants to rail Maul into the ground. He wants to see what all that mess at the apex of his tail tastes like. He wants to get on his knees and-

Blast it! It's time to try escaping, with or without help from local fauna.

The jedi walks to the water's edge, and gathers his mental fortitude. He knows he's unlikely to succeed in getting to the sparkle of his lightsaber crystal, or to somehow find his rebreather. However, Maul's force signature is far away. Now is a good time to explore, and hope, and trust in the force.

Obi-Wan jumps into the frigid water, grimacing as it rises around him. He swims as close to the exit tunnel as he can, and starts taking deep breaths, trying to hyperoxygenate a bit.

Then, he dives.

What follows is a slow and cautious exploration of the nearby tunnels that serves as a double blessing for how it takes his mind off Maul. He swims one way, and finds nothing but tunnel that goes on further than he can see. The jedi returns to air, catches his breath, and goes out again.

The other direction offers a split in the road. One way leads to a dead end, the other hits a second divide. Again, he reoxigenates, and despite the terrible cold he goes back down for a third attempt.

Then a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, a seventh… a hour passes and the chill sinks into his bones. He finds two more air pockets, not quite as fresh as the algae and moss crowded caves, but still breathable.

And then, he stumbles across another ‘room’.

Obi-Wan breaches the water's surface and finds himself in a trove. He crawls up onto land, and looks around curiously. This cave is a series of smaller rooms that connect, with an exceptional number of pock marks in the walls. Perhaps millennia ago this was living coral? Whatever the case, the larger pockets have been turned into shelves, and these shelves hold myriad items.

Droid parts, sea shells, and pearls as big as his head. Tin cans, fabric scraps, and a silver platter. An entire trombone, half rusted, sits in a footlocker without a lid. There's a pile of datapads which all look to be out of charge, and a statue of some long forgotten nubian queen. These and more, a flee market’s worth of curios.

His most unexpected find is an area of sand, which seems... combed? Gemstones and polished rocks in shades of blue combine with patterns in the sand to create a garden of sorts. Many of the stones are no bigger than a bean. The largest is a chunk of lapis lazuli the size of his fist. Obi-Wan ponders the rock garden for a few minutes before moving on, not quite sure what to make of it.

A sith with a sense of artistry... that's just... odd?

From what he had seen in the archives, the sith of old stuck to geometric patterns and flat colors. Their ideal temple was a barren monolith or an angular ziggurat with either no decoration, or, records of horrible deeds carved in words. Sometimes pictures.

Yet... Maul had made a lovely little garden, in shades of blue and white and beige. Strange.

Obi-Wan turns away from the mystery, and goes digging through the droid parts to see if there's anything that could boost his comm signal. It's a possibility, there's a lot to work with here. Rather than take anything, the jedi memorizes what he sees and makes note of it. He will plan what to take and where to hide it to work on before risking revealing the direction of his thoughts.

At the very back of the caves is a large cubby of stone that looks like it was carved into the wall with a lightsaber, then carefully sanded smooth.

On a shelf beside it sits a saberstaff. Obi-Wan can feel the song of the kyber from here, now that he listens. Two notes in harmony, one longing and angry, the other spiteful and determined. The jedi knows this blade, and has no desire to touch it… but it's good to know where it is.

He shakes his head sadly at the sithly melody, and sits down at the edge of the cubby, exhausted and sluggish. Obi-Wan rests his elbows on his knees, needing a minute to gather his strength. Even with a jedi's ability to propel himself with the force and slow his heartbeat, it was still a long swim back.

Emotionally Obi-Wan feels a lot better though. He's mapped a significant amount of tunnel, found three places to get air for further exploration, and most importantly he's gotten his mind off-

Oh, kriff.

The jedi master groans, flopping backwards onto the smooth stone with a wet smack, exasperated with himself. Truly? Truly. A single stray thought about beautiful black scales, and he's back in the thick of it like he'd never left.

Obi-Wan covers his eyes with a shaking hand, hiding from reality for just a moment. Two moments. Perhaps five moments…

He sighs, removing his hand to look up at the ceiling. This is, inconveniently, when he realizes his fingers are very pale. Bother. He needs to get up, and… and swim back to the radiant heat of the magma ball.

Just the thought of it is dreadfully tiring, and he is comfortable here. Very comfortable... So very…

Oh no.

He knows exactly what being sleepy when one is very cold means. The jedi curses under his breath, forcing himself upright. His vision is slow to catch up with where he's looking. He's pushed too far, and now his body is paying the price of that.

Obi-Wan draws in the force to support himself, and rises unsteadily to his feet. Every bone in his body pleads with him to lay down. He denies the instinct in favor of a survivalist mentality.

The problem? He is much too cold.

The solution? Getting out of wet clothes and closer to warmth, or barring that, some kind of insulting material.

He thinks through a mild fog, and recalls the cloth scraps. Obi-Wan goes hunting around in the treasure trove as he pulls off his belt. He dumps his clothes onto the floor, managing to lay them out to air dry for what it was worth in the relative humidity. Then he gathers up every last scrap of fabric he can find.

The pile of scraps. A sail cloth. Half a tarp. His best find is a pair of old wool socks, which he puts on right away. The lot of it he piles in the cubby, and curls in on himself in the midst of it. Obi-Wan knows he just needs to warm up, then he can put everything back, and return to where he was supposed to be. Maul's force presence was still far away. He wasn't in a rush…

…and that's part of why the jedi falls asleep precisely when and where he really shouldn't.

Obi-Wan wakes sometime later with his head tucked under a pointed chin. A scaled tail curls around his naked legs, and a lumpy magma hemisphere radiates heat against his back.

... kark.

Obi-Wan can't deal with this right now. He's beyond exhausted, possibly a bit ill. The jedi master takes a deep breath, and just... goes back to sleep, held close in red and black arms.

To be continued...

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