#strange trails milestone✨ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

always-andromeda · 1 year

Note

La Belle Fluer Sauvage - afab reader first time with Edward Nashton? *puppy dog eyes*

this man will be the death of me i swear </3

Author’s Note | lmao, thank you for this one, anon. we're ending the milestone posts off with a bang (literally).

Warnings | smut (MDNI), unprotected sex, Eddie is a little bit nervy, a bit of his religious trauma is present, and this man is a little bit insecure over his body, nothing else I can think of!

There's about a million different ways that he sees this going. None of them end well. What if he doesn't get hard enough? What if he finishes too early? What if he doesn't make you come? Every worry piles up in his head as you kiss him slowly.

He should be enjoying this. Or is him not enjoying it a good sign? The nuns and priests of his youth had always warned against the sins of lust. Back at the orphanage, he'd never had enough privacy to try anything. And even now, as a grown man, he still feels the sting of eyes on him as he only just begins to savor the taste of your lips. Sooner or later, he always does. They seem to be molded just for him. And the idea of that scares him; how he could so quickly lose control of himself and get lost.

You feel him start to writhe beneath you and you pull away, immediately searching his eyes. You catch the indecision swimming in the murky depths behind his foggy lenses. Edward blinks a few times, clearing it away in seconds.

Thumb brushing over his bottom lip, you ask with a giggle, "Are you okay, Eddie? The lights are on but I don't think anyone's home."

He's so used to simply disappearing into the background. But with your soft gaze trained on him, he can never conceal anything.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, "I-I've never done this before."

"Oh..." you trail off and Eddie curses himself for his need for transparency. It only complicates things unnecessarily. You continue quickly as soon as he visibly winces, "That's completely fine! In fact, I don't have much experience either!"

"Still better than no experience at all," Eddie grumbles.

"Hey," you coo, grabbing his chin gently so you can gaze into his foggy eyes. "No experience and some experience are on the same level of validity. Everyone has to start somewhere, right? What kind of awful person would I be for making you feel awful for being a virgin? And you don't think I'm awful, do you?"

Eddie shakes his head hesitantly.

"Exactly!" you exclaim, pressing a kiss onto the tip of his nose. "Besides...I don't think you being a virgin is any fault of your own."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," you take a deep breath. "I mean that you are so handsome that I can't imagine anyone deciding to pass you up."

"Handsome?" he mumbles against your lips.

"Yeah, I think that everyone else had to have been dumb or something."

Dumb. For some reason, he likes the sound of that. Sure, he may have been a little standoffish before meeting you...but he likes the validation of his internal monologue. That maybe there wasn't something entirely wrong with him. Because you were looking at him with big, pleading eyes, trusting him to give you something that you could easily get somewhere else. Yet, you chose him. And that is as close to sacred as he thinks his being may ever get.

It turns him mad within moments; makes his lips press against yours with a newfound confidence that he didn't know he'd had inside of him.

"But you're not dumb," he mutters under his breath between frantic kisses, "You're not dumb."

He's met with you breathlessly giggling at him and pushing him back from you. "Let's slow it down a little. I want you to really enjoy all of this. I want your first time to be special, Eddie."

Every word leaving your lips has him hooked onto you badly. He's flopping around at the end of your line, practically at your mercy as you dismount from his lap and lay on your back on his bed. And that's another thing that still has him reeling. It's his bed that you're in. You lay upon sheets that he's so used to being tangled in alone; sheets that have soaked up your scent and your warmth.

You open your legs and motion for him to come to you. Keeping his eyes on yours, he does as he's told and kneels motionless before you. All you give him is a roll of your eyes as you laugh, "Come here, you dork. Just like when we cuddle, okay?"

Edward takes a deep breath. See, it's like cuddling. You can do this. He knows exactly what this act entails. He's seen enough porn and read enough articles to know about positions and so-called techniques. He'd never had the real life experience to actually get a grasp on how they worked.

But he knew the basics. He had one element and you had another and hopefully...they would...just...mesh together. Simple.

Suddenly the idea overwhelmed him again. He couldn't even begin to fathom what the inside of you would feel like. That was something he imagined would be far too good to feel. Planting his forearms on either side of your body, he makes sure he's not crushing you underneath him.

"Do you wanna undress me? Just to see what I look like?"

Eddie utters a small sure, trying not to seem too eager, lest you think less of him. This is normal. People get undressed all the time. You just happen to be in the same room as her...and you happen to be doing the work...yeah...normal. His hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up only a little bit before he's transfixed by your soft belly. As the shirt rises up your body and he sees more expanses of bare skin, Edward realizes just how unfamiliar this territory is to him. How he'd kept so much of himself hidden away out of pure shame. Yet here you were in front of him, baring it all.

But when he spots the underside of your breasts, he's gone; he's pulling that shirt fully over your head and dropping it beside his bed, hoping that if he keeps your clothes centralized to one place, you'll be able to leave quickly if you need to. He always embarrasses himself...he wouldn't put it past himself to put you in a situation where you'd need the convenient getaway.

In the moment, once your chest is exposed, he simply stares while chewing on the inside of his cheek. Then you make that light, airy giggle, "You know you can touch me, right?"

"Oh, uh, right. Sorry," Edward quickly mutters before reaching a hand forward and simply cupping one of your breasts.

You gasp, "Don't be sorry, Eddie. Just keep exploring, please?"

And that little pleading syllable rejuvenates his boldness. Before you know it, he's burying his face between your breasts and kissing your chest. He pays no special attention to one particular part but still seems precise in where his lips land on your upper body.

By the time he attaches himself to your pulse on your neck, you feel as though he's giving you life with his immense urgency and conviction. But put simply, Edward needs to leave at least one mark of his own on you before the end of this. He needed to see it in the morning and be reminded that he wasn't alone anymore.

"Do you think you want to start getting undressed too?" you suggest hesitantly, hoping that the request doesn't take him by too much surprise.

In fact, you're surprised when he pulls his own shirt off and balls it up before discarding it and getting to his khaki pants. He chuckles nervously when the zipper gets stuck briefly but manages to get them off with relative ease. The impulsive actions leave him feeling stripped down to his barest instincts. And that first instinct is shame.

You grab his hands before he can go to cover his own chest, startling him until you bring his hands to your lips and lay a kiss over each of his knuckles.

"Please don't be afraid of me," you say shakily. "I'm not afraid of what you think about me. You don't have to worry about me judging you either. I just want to see you. All of you."

Edward nods and lets his arms go limp. Considering he'd never been with anyone, you can't imagine him having been this naked for anyone else. And for about the hundredth time since you'd met him, you make a vow to yourself that you'll protect him and make sure nothing ever hurts him again. Though you'd never be able to control the world and completely protect him, you'd do anything to ensure that he'd have that small smile forming on his lips there forever.

"You don't think I'm ugly or anything, do you? You can say it if–"

"Edward, you're beautiful. God, I–" you laugh softly, "I love everything about you."

And with every fiber of your being, you mean it. Your longing eyes drink up every inch of his body. From his plump thighs and the dirty blonde legs hairs scattered over them to the gentle curve of his soft stomach all the way up to his pink nipples, pebbled from being exposed to the open air, your Edward is angelic. And you express your elation as you pull him back down on top of you, humming happily when your chest squishes against his. Together, your bodies just make sense.

"Now, when you push in, I want you to go slow? And if you get overwhelmed, you pull out, promise?"

"I swear, I will." Edward answers softly.

"Good...I'm ready whenever you are."

"Okay...okay..." Edward's hand trembles when he pulls his cock out of his boxers and grasps the base, starting to guide it towards your entrance.

He pokes the head in and relishes how your cunt seems to swallow just that little bit of him whole in warmth. Edward only pauses momentarily to groan before continuing the plunge. You plead for him to go further, insisting that he fill you all the way.

He can't bury himself completely at this angle, but even just this is more than enough to him. Surrounded entirely by wet heat, his hips buck involuntarily just from needing to throw a little bit of friction into the mix, causing you to let out a low moan. The combination of sensations render him suddenly motionless and speechless as he tries not to get too overwhelmed. No matter how much he wants to give in to the way his hips threaten to buckle against the pressure, Edward paces himself.

Once he acclimates to the new climate, he allows himself the luxury of movement. He moves barely an inch in and out, yet just the sight of your cunt taking him and gripping him tightly has him rethinking his entire view of this ritual.

This transaction is so strangely intimate. He gives a little bit of himself and you give a little bit of yourself. And here, he can fully trust you to treat the bits of him that you have with care.

"Fuck, Eddie, I need you to move, please."

Once more, your words overflow his cup and he's gone. His thrusts follow no particular rhythm, he just tries to focus on his breathing and match the timing of the two. With each inhale, he's out and with each exhale, he's in again, drowning in the safety that the blanket of your walls create for him.

The peak begins to form in your abdomen, but you don't hang onto it. Judging by the way Eddie's hips stutter, you know that he won't last long enough to see your climax fully blossom and you'd accepted long ago that this night would be just for him. So you prioritize squeezing down on him, taking him hungrily as he moves sloppily.

"You're close, aren't you?"

Edward is his own symphony of groans and moans that he tries to suffocate. He manages to force out a long and desperate, mmhhmmmm.

"I want you to cum on my chest, okay? Can you do that for me?"

For me. Those words bounce around his skull, shattering him completely.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Eddie's soft voice gets progressively whinier before he sputters a few curses and frantically pulls himself out, gripping his nearly bursting cock and giving himself some quick pulls before he shoots his warm load over your body.

He closes his eyes for the release, not wanting to see his spend land on your skin. Part of him feels that type of deposit is such a waste. But that's no matter for him to worry about now. The most pressing thought on his mind is the fact that he'd finally lost his virginity. He couldn't remember how many times he'd felt like he couldn't do a single thing right.

But being able to figure this little bit of life out, he feels the rush of serotonin that he normally would get from figuring out a riddle or some other puzzle.

Though his first urge is to flop down in exhaustion, the second he opens his eyes and spots his cum glistening on your stomach, he grimaces. Then he leans over the side of his bed, picking up his wrinkled shirt from earlier and using it to carefully clear away the little pools of seed from your skin.

"Did you...did you cum too?" he wonders aloud as he wipes you down.

You just laugh like he's told the funniest joke in the world, but he struggles to grasp the punchline. You just pull him back to your chest and let him lay there, nuzzled into your sweaty side as you breath heavily and stroke his hair.

He wraps his arms around your midsection and curls into you, practically claiming you as his new sun to orbit around. And as intense as his hold is...you can't help but be just as enamored as he is with you.

You reply softly, "Don't worry, we'll work on that bit later, Eddie." And already, the cogs in Edward's head begin to turn, figuring out ways to solve the latest puzzle before him.

#strange trails milestone✨#paul dano #danonation #danocel #the batman 2022 #the batman #edward nashton #dano!riddler #the riddler #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #edward nashton x y/n #dano!riddler x you #dano!riddler x reader #dano!riddler x y/n #edward nashton smut #dano!riddler smut #riddler smut #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

269 notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 9 months

Note

Congratulations on your milestone! 🎉 I’d like to request Track 1 with Armitage Hux please 😊

Drowning

Track 1 - Crimson and Clover by Tommy James and the Shondells: Give me a character and I’ll write a short blurb or headcanons on how they would pine for you.

General Hux x F! Reader / 📼 ✨ mixtape milestone ✨ 📼

Thanks for the request, bestie!

This is kind of a continuation of this one shot I did forever ago, but you can read it independently! Warnings for some allusion to sexual content and language. Let me know what you think!

Armitage is surprised you're not in his quarters.

And then he's disappointed.

He has no right to either emotion—you were given your own rooms for a reason. Still, he'd become accustomed to your presence in his sitting area every evening, or warming his bed when he returned late.

The way a wife should.

But your relationship isn't that typical of a marriage, no matter what Armitage had first hoped for or envisioned. It was a childish idea that started him on the path, even if there were other, more logical, benefits that solidified his decision.

There's no logic in the way he's waiting for you to appear.

Half-stripped of his uniform, he wanders into the refresher, listless. Desperate to keep his head clear of the worst of his thoughts.

But you would never care for him. You'd float through his spaces and on his arm dutifully, the way you'd promised him in your vows, and give him nothing more. And he's not capable of a relationship that would involve anything more.

There'd be no fondness or gentle touches for somebody like him, with a repulsive exterior and worse soul.

You couldn't love him. Ever. He should give up on any hope of that now.

The water's cold from the sink, the way he likes it, pressing handfuls of it against his tired eyes, letting it drip down his neck and soak the collar of the thin shirt he wears beneath his uniform.

The sound of water grows louder, deeper—a heavy swish instead of a light trickle.

And then your voice, not imagined this time, though he often heard you when he was alone.

"I didn't think you would be back so soon."

Armitage whirls clumsily, and feels stupid for doing so, the edge of the counter biting into his palm where it lands.

Oh fuck.

The bathtub in his refresher is deep, and large, and never used—Hux could hardly find the time to lie down, let alone soak in a bath—so it's strange for him to see it full.

It's strange, despite its deepness, and the milky quality of the water that floods the air with the smell of flower petals and salt, how much of your skin he can see.

Hair hanging damp around your face, the water just kisses at the slopes of your shoulders, caressing your body in ways he's only dreamed of doing.

Hux means to speak, but all the air in his lungs comes out in a huff. Tongue brushing over his lips, he can taste the fragrance in the air.

Almost like it's you he's tasting.

Your head bows. His silence has spoken before he's had the chance, and now he's offended you. Again.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, swilling the water between your fingers, "I should have asked before I used—"

"No—" he interrupts you, hardly a whisper, but you defer to him as always. Hux wonders what it will take to stop you from fearing him.

"There's no need for permission," he continues, and then trails off weakly, unsure of how to put words to the rest of his thoughts. Afraid you could see all of it on his face—thinking about how the fabric of his trousers would pull heavily at his skin if he slipped into the water with you, if he'd even be able to find the curves of your hips or thighs in the water's depths.

He is willing to drown himself trying.

Your tongue runs smoothly over your lips, folding in between your teeth, "Oh. Thank you."

He's got nothing else to say—no words that will make their way out, at the very least—trying not to stare but incapable of looking anywhere but you. Your soft eyes. The slope of your nose. Your lips.

He notices the way they move around your next words, although the sound is drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. Probably for the best—it stops his gaze from traveling anywhere lower.

You're waiting for a response, but Hux can't give you one, cheeks burning. "What?"

The word comes out more snappish than it should. So off-kilter and so unused to feeling that way, he reacts on instinct, all of which are sharp and biting.

"Sorry, could you?" you point a hand in the direction of the counter, and the fluffy black towel that rests on it, "then I'll be out of your way."

"Of course," he responds, connecting the dots as quick as he can manage when his thoughts are so wild.

Hux ventures as close as he dares, passing the towel to you from a distance, like he might be sucked into the sweet water and your sweeter embrace if he gets too close.

You take it from him without touching him, and he's glad for it. Hux can barely keep on his feet with the soft smile you wear. Your skin on his would certainly be too much.

It's a sweet moment—one of few he's managed not to fuck up completely.

Until your expression falters, teeth caught on your lip. Hux has no idea what he's done to cause your discomfort this time.

"I'll just . . ." you start to slip from the water, and then it hits him, hard, like a punch to the gut.

A surprised grunt escapes Hux's chest, and he turns back toward the mirror, eyes shut tight to offer you some privacy. Nails cutting lines in the palms of his hands.

You would have let him see you. Would have stood bare before him as the rivulets of water traversed your body, would have let him watch, maybe even let him feel. Would have let his palms take in the softness of your skin, instead of the bite he feels now.

And Hux knew this already. No doubt you've been instructed to be a good wife from a time before you were old enough to listen—to offer yourself to your husband, to make yourself available whenever your he desires.

But would you? He feels there's a distinct possibility. And maybe even a possibility you'd want to.

A soft cough interrupts his thoughts, and he takes that as a sign to turn around, finding you with a towel wrapped tight around your body.

You fiddle with the edge of it, shyly meeting his eyes.

"Will I be seeing you in there?"

Your words are stilted, punctuated with pauses like you're picking around landmines—too shy to even say the word bed.

It's a fair question. Even on nights you stay in his quarters, you usually sleep alone.

He wants to say yes. Wants to so badly he feels it bubbling up in his chest.

"I- no," Hux says instead, tamping down the hope inside him. Not when the control he holds over his body is on such a tenuous string.

Your lips press tighter before you wish him good night. He's not sure if it's relief he see's in your features, or something else.

He hopes it was something else.

#armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x reader #general hux x you #my writing #starlightsearches mixtape milestone 📼

141 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 1 year

Note

Hey there sweets congratulations on 500 I’m so happy for u bbs!!! You 👏deserve 👏more👏 this is literally what I think about ur writing ✨

Also if u don’t mind me requesting “La Belle Fluer Sauvage” for Edward I was hoping if Eddie could be a sub ( I’m in need of more subby bottom Eddie) make him ✨extra pathetic✨ pls

( this request might of been influenced from that scene of sweat saying mommy)

Author’s Note | thank you thank you thank you oh my gosh, I will have you know, anon, that almost every time I have been feeling off about my writing these past few months, I have thought about this message and it makes me feel so much more confident. I hope that this is just the kind of pitiful behavior that you were looking for from our boy. <3

Warnings | smut (MDNI), gratuitous handjob lmao, uses of "good boy", "sweet boy", and "baby boy", lol, this man is so pathetic here, that's all I can think of!!

Edward trembles. But it's not quite fear that meets with the deep green of his eyes. It's more of a hesitance that leaves his mouth ajar. A soft breath marks the careful contemplation that runs through his brain.

You straddle his thighs, waiting for his response. And he's still surprised that you even asked the question in the first place.

Do you want me to touch you?

If he were to answer on his impulse, he would say no. He would probably collapse. The anxiety would bubble and brew until he wouldn't be able to give you any of what you want from him. But he bides his time while the nerves simmer down and hopes that you don't change your mind. In the time that it takes for him to talk himself down, he feels the blood rush straight to his cock.

It's so quick that he's sure he'll pass out. Edward nods languidly.

Upon noticing the burgeoning bulge in his pants, you laugh breathily and tease, "I need to hear you say it. C'mon, Eddie, I know you can do it, baby boy."

And that has him on the ropes. Has him catching his breath and sputtering, "Please, just touch me, please–"

"There you go!" you praise brightly. "What a good boy."

Though he hasn't uttered a single word in response, you whisper deviously, "I bet you have the prettiest cock in the whole world." And the certainty of the statement makes him melt once he realizes that you've probably thought about him like this before.

Edward wants to be ashamed at how his hips begin to squirm. The weight of his layers of clothing are too much. And before he knows it, you cut the cord, freeing him with a simple unbuttoning and unzipping of his pants. He's so hot that he half expects to hear a sizzle when you spit and let the saliva drip down on the length of him. Eddie is transfixed entirely on the delicate tendril as it drips down his taut flesh and disappears somewhere between his thick thighs. He sighs with relief when you finally get your hand on him. Your thumb brushes over the slit of his head and thus begins his slow ascent.

"I think I was right," you say.

Eddie manages to choke out, "Huh?"

"Your dick. It's one of the prettiest things I've ever seen."

Edward had never considered himself the most advantaged person. Not physically, at least. His pride and joy, first and foremost, was his mind. It's not like he was completely ignorant of what he held between his legs. He'd just never been the type to brag about it...or even know how to deal with it. That was proving to be a bit of it's own advantage, he thinks.

Because every bit of pressure that you apply hits him way more than it realistically should. Your hand is different; different than how his own would be. You're slow with your strokes, intentional with how you feed him bits and pieces of pleasure at a time. But he gets impatient, bucking his hips into your fist.

You swat his thigh and click your tongue. "Ah, ah, Eddie. I need you to behave, sweet boy."

"But I want–"

"I know what you want," you interrupt him. "But I'm going to give you what you need, okay? And if I'm going to do that, you need to sit still."

He nods then, a small, "Mhmm..." reverberating off the back of his throat.

Edward never would've shown himself this kind of mercy. He could never manage to be so slow and so intentional with his strokes; lest he think too deeply about the action he was performing and shy away from it.

The thought of a gentle touch and a loving gaze would soon be replaced by one of shameful stares and shared rooms with no privacy. He'd give himself quick, searing tugs that made tears sting at the corners of his eyes. He'd clench them closed tightly and rush through the affair before spilling unceremoniously into his hand. It would all be over before the jolt of pleasure had a chance to sink into his bones.

This is nothing like that sad ritual. The gratuitous attention and care you put into winding the arousal up deep into his belly encourages him to let out low, almost guttural groans that make you smile.

"There you go, Eddie." your voice is like honey mucking up all of his senses, grinding the gears in his brain to a screeching halt and making him dumb. Who'd ever heard of Edward Nashton being dumb? No one. The man who prides himself most on his intellect can't even find a shred of it to bring him back to some semblance of sanity. Maybe he's destined to always savor this; doomed to fail every time he may try to replicate this delicious drag of skin on skin.

He lurches and his belly trembles with ragged breaths as he feels the impending wave getting ready to crash over him.

"Please–" he sputters.

"What are you trying to ask for, hm? Be specific."

"I want–" God, he hates the way his voice sounds. He hates the whiny and distant haze that clings to his vocal chords. And more than that, he hates the tears that begin to fall from the corners of his eyes. But his opinion on them quickly changes when you press your lips against his soft cheek and kiss away the salty stream.

"I know what you need now. Come on, Eddie, be a good boy and ask me, will you? I just need you to use some manners."

Manners. Easy.

His tone is less polite and more pitiful as he manages to get out his request, "Please, will you let me cum?" For good measure, he adds a string of weak pleases to the end.

Eddie catches you smile adoringly, feels your wet lips against his cheek again as you praise, "Good boy, go ahead. I want it all over my hand."

Before you can fully finish the sentence, you feel the warmth dripping down your hand as his seed spontaneously spurts from him. He spasms through the release, letting every little wave of pleasure hit him so hard that he's not sure if he'll ever fully recover.

But you coax him through the aftershocks, you lay his head on your chest and hold him there. He hears your heartbeat pounding rapidly and smiles, taking it as a compliment that he made your heart race even a fraction of the way you made his go completely wild. As the sound slowly fades, he hears another one: the faint sound of sucking as you stick each of your fingers in your mouth and taste him. Then a low, delighted hum of approval. Your other hand goes towards his head, he feels your fingers weave through his hair and caress his scalp.

You finish sucking on your last finger and you pull it from your mouth with a light smack.

"Was that alright, Eds?" you ask, a hint of uncertainty tainting your tone.

Edward nods lazily, too exhausted to form a cohesive thought that could even begin to describe the cloud he's sunken into.

There's a trace of your saliva that transfers to his exposed skin as you run your hand along his side. Though the man normally towers over you, a part of him feels truly held like this with your fingernails just barely ghosting over his skin. Combined with the mind-numbing climax from a few minutes prior, his eyelids start to droop.The sound of your voice, whispering his name and the words my good boy over and over again serve as his lullaby, sending him off to dreamland as his eyes close.

242 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 1 year

Note

Can I request La Belle Fluer Sauvage for Klitz & AFAB reader,, Where the reader’s been hearing people on campus saying horrible things about her looks so after she breaks down in front of Klitz one night, he decides to show her how much he loves her body 🥺

Author’s Note | ahahahaaaaa, this was one hell of a piece to write. I tried to keep the description of the readers body very vague so that anyone could apply themselves here. but like lmao, this movie takes place in the early 2000s where fuckin heroin chic was a thing and you could literally be completely average sized and still called fat?? so like, it all works out in the end lol.

Warnings | smut (MDNI), oral (female receiving), some light overstimulation, Klitzy gets a liiiittle pussy drunk oop, the description of reader's body is kept vague but folks at the beginning are disparaging and call her a cow ;-; (so if this is triggering to you, maybe consider skipping this one; take care of yourselves, my loves), that's all I can think of!

The second you feel his hand graze your lower back and his lips meeting yours, you feel guilty. It's a touch that you should be familiar with by now. The sensations are the same; a chill runs up your spine and a hum begins to swell in your throat. But the emotion that wells up in your eyes makes you twitch with frustration.

Clenching your knuckles, you wait to just melt into it; for everything to come together perfectly and suddenly make sense. Because you don't like associating Klitz with these worries. He's not your problem, not really. But the longer he lingers the more you remember the sound of those girls snickering.

You remember passing by them in the lunchroom, remember the way they tried their best to look sneaky as they stared in your direction. The part you remember most are the words. They've played on a loop and bounced around the inside of your skull like a screensaver all day ever since you heard them.

"God, what a heifer. Does she really need that much food on her tray?"

"She might not need it, but you know cows, they love to graze."

Then came the stifled cackles as you walked away as quickly as you possibly could away from their table. Body moving on autopilot, you went directly towards the lunch table the tripod had unofficially claimed as their own. Only this time, you didn't meet the greetings of any of the boys as you sat down. You couldn't even bring yourself to eat any of the lunch you'd taken.

Part of you wishes that Klitz had just ignored your silence. But he's never been that kind of boyfriend. Even if he has no clue what to do, he's always worried about you, especially when you don't respond to him placing a hand on your knee under the table.

Not wanting to embarrass you in front of his friends, he figures that he'll ask later. He figures that maybe math class is getting you down again or maybe you didn't get enough sleep. And he figured that the second he kissed you in his bedroom when you both got back to his house, you'd respond then.

But you make none of the happy little sounds he's used to. No contented sigh as his lips attach to your pulse point on your neck. You can tell he's trying so hard to get you hooked, but the only thing that is snagging are your own insecurities.

"Klitzy, stop," you blurt out suddenly and sit up properly, scooching away from him until you're practically on the edge of his bed. He stays rooted in place, watching as you pull your knees up, minimizing yourself as much as you possibly can, it seems.

Klitz doesn't dare to move a muscle when he questions you, "What did I do?"

Your gaze is glued to the plaid pattern of his rumpled comforter. Blinking fast, you answer, "You didn't do anything."

He has a hard time taking the answer at face value. "Okay..." he utters slowly, waiting for something more to leave your mouth.

That's when you swallow thickly and explain, "I just...I don't like my body right now. And if I don't like it, I'm not going to expect you to like it either."

"Oh–" that catches him off guard. He chews on his lip, bites into the flesh so hard that he flinches slightly. Klitz is all too familiar with those days. Because he knows what he looks like. He's well aware that he's not built like the guys at school are. And some days he's proud that he isn't one of those mindless meatheads. But especially in the days before he had you, he often had those same days of complete self loathing.

Those days were soothed by your soft voice calling him handsome, your fingers running up and down his arm, and your lips marking up his chest and throat with smears of glittery lip gloss and hickies alike. All of those things he'd once found to be detestable...he could grow into them.

Klitz tries again, "Do you think I'm ugly?"

Finally, you look at him, worry flooding your wide eyes, "No! Never! I promise you, I'm just–"

"Then why would I find you ugly?"

"Huh?" your brow raises.

"Listen, I might think that I'm ugly sometimes...but you don't. I feel the same way. Even if you think you're ugly...that doesn't stop me from thinking that you're the prettiest girl in the entire world."

Your eyes fall to your legs again as you smile slightly. "Agree to disagree then, I guess." you say with semi-amusement.

Klitz is careful with how he closes the space between you both. He slides forward a bit more, the mattress shifting as he gets closer. "That doesn't sound like a fair compromise," he teases.

"Then what's your idea of a fair compromise?"

"How about I try a little convincing first? You haven't even let me plead my case," his lips are inches away from yours again, hungry to prove their resolve on your skin.

You bide your time before his mouth hits their destination. "What's your case again?"

His breath warms your skin and makes goosebumps flourish all around your shoulders. "I think that you're the prettiest girl–" he kisses you chastely. "–in the entire world."

You chuckle playfully. "Okay, proceed," rolling your eyes, you want to be surprised how quickly he can sway you. How simply the sight of his eager smile as he gets between your legs makes your stomach flutter with elation. Klitz's nimble fingers make quick work of the button and zipper on your jeans and you giggle as you raise your hips to help him pull them down.

Momentarily, you curse yourself for not wearing anything special underneath them. Yet Klitz doesn't even seem to notice or care that these aren't some delicate lace panties. He still pulls them off with the same delicacy as if they were. And something about that makes you want to sob. But you push that down as he reaches for one of the pillows leaned against his headboard and places it right underneath you, getting you at a better angle for his mouth.

His dimples show as he kisses your thighs. Regardless of the texture and appearance of your flesh, they are ever present and betray all of his enthusiasm for his current position. But that smile is soon replaced as his lips part to let out shaky breath.

"Can I see you?" he asks tentatively, licking his lips nervously. "Please, baby?"

Watching his pupils dilate to the size of saucers as you spread your legs slowly, you can't help but laugh a little. It's absurd. It's absurd how often you forget about this feeling and absurd how quickly he fuels your fire with simple gasp. And it's absolutely fucking absurd that you feel that damn sob rising up your throat again. It's as if he was looking at you for the first time all over again. Maybe that's the benefit of his inexperience. With no one else to compare you to, he couldn't possibly be disappointed, right?

"Fuck," the single word comes out with the force of a freight train, like it was just waiting somewhere deep in his chest. It's something carnal and full of worship as licks a stripe up the center of your cunt, parting your folds and getting a taste of the musky arousal beginning to pool between your legs.

The second it hits his tongue he curses again, breathier this time. As much as he wants to take his time, as soon as he's gotten that little bit, he's keen to dive back in completely.

Without another thought into the action, Klitz plunges his tongue into your hole, desperately fucking you with it. His nose nuzzles against your mound and his hair flips wildly as he buries his face into your more and more like you're some sort of non-renewable resource. Like if he doesn't get his fill now, you'll run out of that sweet, tangy nectar that he so loves. And if the guttural groans and moans are anything to judge, you start to believe that he's truly been wanting this for a while.

That want only deepens as his arms hook around your thighs and raise you just slightly from the pillow, getting you closer. And that's when you finally make the contented sounds he likes to hear; the high pitched curses as you pull at your own nipples and the sharp gasps with every bump of his nose against your clit. You're so flushed, so swollen, and so ripe for him. And so close, so quickly.

He's everything you need and more, pleading his case as if he were mere moments away from a death sentence. As if you believing those ideas that you weren't worth any of this would actually kill him. That's how fervently he embraces you; all of you. Like if he didn't love your whole being with his entire being, he wouldn't even be himself.

The thought pushes you over the edge, sends you careening into a climax that practically makes your eyes roll back into your head. You finally let out that sob you'd been holding back. And the relief of it all fills your bones with warmth, even through the startling tinge of overstimulation as Klitz continues on, so lost in your cunt, that he'd barely even realized that you'd finished on his face.

You gasp, "Klitzy, too much!" and push back on his shoulders. Once he pulls away from the intense entanglement, you see his hazel green eyes are dazed behind his fogged up oval lenses and the bottom half of his thin face is covered in you.

He blinks hard a few times and wonders aloud with confusion, "Wait, you came?"

All you can do is throw your head back on the pillow and chuckle to yourself. God, part of you is glad that the rest of your peers are too stupid and superficial to see how attractive he is. Because you can't imagine any of the big, bulky, popular guys at your school being nearly as persistent and passionate as he is.

Klitz flops over beside you, bringing himself to you until he can look you in the eyes again. One of his hands reaches forward to brush some of your disheveled hair back behind your ear.

He whispers, "So...did I convince you?"

"I'm not sure," you joke. "I think I'm gonna need convincing on a regular basis now."

"I can always do that. I was captain of the debate team during sophomore year." Klitz replies matter of factly.

You can't even bring yourself to cringe at the little quip. Because you could never find him unappealing. So instead you smile coyly and giggle, letting him pepper your face with little kisses even though his lips are still wet from you.

"Don't worry," he says, "As long as you need me to, I'll keep trying to convince you."

#strange trails milestone✨#paul dano #danonation #danocel #the girl next door #timothy klitz #timothy klitz x reader #timothy klitz x you #timothy klitz x y/n #klitz x reader #klitz x you #klitz x y/n #timothy klitz smut #klitz smut #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

180 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 2 years

Note

La Belle Fluer Sauvage with Edward Nashton… what do you think are his favorite ways to get off when the reader isn’t home…

Author's Note | anon. if you were looking for something sweet and smutty. I am so sorry. I took an already dirty request and added a whole other layer of absolute filth and unhinged behavior. you have been warned, y'all. also this is the one morsel y’all are getting today. you all can thank cass for this!!

Warnings | smut (MDNI), male masturbation, stalking, Edward is fucking unhinged y'all, that's all I can think of!!

He doesn't take the time to pull out one of his polaroids. Besides, Edward doesn't need a picture. Not when the warmth of your skin still emanates from your mattress. Not when the fitted sheet wrinkles in just the right way that he can imagine you writhing on top of them, possibly right where he lays now.

You breath deeply. It's a shuddery, bone chilling sound that runs through his mind. Flashes of your fingers disappearing down under the waistband of your underwear. Your eyes softly closing as you moan. Your head sinks further into the pillow.

Hand around his cock, he can't quite imagine you touching him. He can't fathom how soft your fingertips would feel. Regardless, he can't have himself spilling so quickly. He must savor this; must draw it out and lean into the pleasure the way you do.

He just knows from looking at you that you don't like it fast. You want to be taken care of, don't you? You want something akin to the firm grip he has on himself as he drags the weeping length back and forth in his fisted hand.

Oh, please, please, please, you whimper, yeah, right there. Then comes the faint smack of something wet; your own fingers circling over your clit. You gasp at the pleasure you bring yourself.

Edward pumps a bit faster, practically fucking his own hand. It would never feel like you; but he'd have to make do. His free hand grips the sheet beneath him and he grits his teeth through the searing arousal in his belly. Nothing compared to this. Not his own bed. Not even using one of your pairs of underwear. Though that was a close second. He couldn't find a pair when he’d first come into the room. He'd scold himself later for showing up on laundry day.

But he can't help it. He can't bear being away from you for too long. Especially when he's got new material to use. You leave in the morning for work and before the condensation on the mirror from your morning shower even has a chance to clear, he's there. Exploring. Both your life and himself.

You're gonna make me cum. Oooh my god--

Of course he'd make you cum. He'd do it over and over again as many times as you needed if only to hear those ruined little whimpers over again. He needs them on a loop. He makes a quick mental note to see what he can do about that. He'd have to research how to make a track like that. It shouldn't be that difficult to-

Oh, Eddie...

Edward lets out a guttural groan and his hips stutter as he hears you say his name once more. As you cry out, your fingers speeding up, bringing yourself closer. His movements getting sloppier, he knows you weren't kidding. You're close. And he has to rush to the finish before the recording ends.

Three minutes had felt like a lifetime and he couldn't remember the last time he'd lasted this long. The first few times he caught the sounds of you touching yourself on a recording, he'd nearly cum in his boxers. Now he thrusts faster, chasing the crackling sound of your high pitched whimpers through the phone speaker beside his head. It's like you're right there with him as he spills his seed out over your bedsheets with a final groan and slumps back on the pillow.

Edward pauses the recording and stares at the ceiling. Chest heaving through the shimmering waves of residual pleasure, his hand shakes as he lets go of himself. He'd usually been so careful about laying out a towel before doing this. But he'd been so eager to use that recording...

He'd caught you taking care of yourself on more than one occasion. It was inevitable, considering the recording device he'd placed in your bedroom was on at all hours of the day. Most of the time he got useless silence or mindless chatter. He'd take notes on your plans and various phone conversations, keeping a keen ear open for talk of someone else.

You'd been good on that front. But he hadn't had any clue just how good you'd been. How those few encounters with him on the elevator and in the coffee shop had been enough to get him on your mind. You'd said his name. You'd cum on your fingers and imagined it was him.

How...sweet. How pure. What raw and unearthly beauty.

Edward could almost cry at the thought playing over and over in his head. If it's him you want so badly, it's him you'd get. Before too long, he'd take care of you. He'd be with you in your bed and he'd swallow all of your cries and quell every ache you could ever possibly have.

201 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 2 years

Note

Fool for Love, Edward Nashton baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!! brain is very foggy yk the biz!!!! but maybe sick-fic??? eddie comforting reader who is sick, exhausted, depressed whatever, gimme the comfort darling!!! aLSO we have discussed how much eddie would enjoy being with someone shorter yk!!! so pls!!! eddie!!! give my short ass some love!!! other than that go buckwild babey do whatever i jsut wann b held

Author's Note | storm. my absolute beloved. my short king. I love you terribly and I'm so so so excited to finally fulfill this request. your support and your love has impacted me in a way that I don't think I'll ever be able to explain or repay you for. genuinely adore you with all my heart and I am hoping and praying this insane dose of comfort hits the spot for you. 🥺

You'd insisted Edward go to work; maybe spend the next week at his own apartment this time. With the limited amount of sick days Edward has saved up in his arsenal, it would only end up being a disaster. He'd get sick and if he didn't take time off, he'd have to trudge himself miserably to work and struggle through the sniffles and coughing fits. It's something he could've easily avoided if he wasn't insistent on being right by your side through all of it.

He also insists that he knows how to take care of you better than any doctor could. And you bet that's not far from the truth. He didn't like talking about his past much. He lived in it often enough in his mind. You're the escape. His safehouse. But based on the little he's let you in on, you figure the harsh winters had turned him into a self-sufficient person. Someone who could stave off the bitter cold and the pervasive rot in order to survive.

But this doesn't simply feel like survival. This feels like living--thriving--as Edward puts himself at your disposal. A continued rotation of mugs of warm tea with honey comes through your door. He'd managed to make sense of your mess of a hallway closet and picked out every blanket you owned. The weight of his care is almost deafening.

Even when he's silent for hours at a time, he seems to sense exactly when you need help getting up to go to the bathroom or when your mug of tea is getting low or when you're too cold or too warm. The day is already half over and Edward has spent all of that time, waiting hand and foot on you.

"You don't have to do this," you chuckle hoarsely. "You should really go home before you get yourself sick."

"I have a strong immune system, bunny. No need to worry your little head." he replies absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the morning paper's crossword puzzle laid across his raised knee. His fingertips gingerly graze across your spine before the flat of his palm lays protectively on the small of your back. The gentle assertion over your being could knock the breath out of you and send you into yet another coughing fit.

Your strained throat struggles slightly to voice the internal spiral you're going down. "Why shouldn't I? You've wasted the day away sitting with me...and if I get you sick...you'll have to take more time off...and I know that you don't get paid time off. I just do-"

Edward's voice raises, "Wasted? You think I've wasted my day by taking care of you?"

Rephrased that way...it almost sounds like an insult. You find another way to begin profusely apologizing for the implication before he scoffs.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be." From where you lay on your stomach, you can't see his expression. But you can picture his round cheeks flushing from the vulnerability; could picture him looking down through his glasses at his lap in order to regain some composure.

You feel him shift as he lays on his side and pulls you into the warm alcove in his arms. Instinctually, you melt into his grasp. In just those few seconds...nothing else seems to matter. He envelopes your figure quickly with his own lumbering height. His long arms seem to cradle your existence. And it quells an ache you didn't even know existed inside.

Head already fogging up from the feeling of his body wrapping around yours, you mumble, "I don't think anyone has ever loved me like you do."

He giggles airily--almost to himself--and kisses your hair, "Good. Because I can assure you...there's no one else like us in this entire world. That's why I can't lose you."

The intensity might've unnerved you if you were in your right mind; if you weren't half loopy from cough syrup and from Edward's suffocating passion. But now...now it just feels normal. It feels like home.

#strange trails milestone✨#paul dano #danonation #danocel #the batman #the batman 2022 #edward nashton #dano!riddler #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #edward nashton x y/n #dano!riddler x reader #dano!riddler x you #dano!riddler x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

170 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 2 years

Note

Okay so you got me obsessed with college!dwayne now so how about Hurricane (johnnies theme) with him? Or if you have to many requests with that prompt The World Ender is good too. He’s just so ugh and I’m so glad you got me thinking about this cause now he lives in my head rent free lmao

Author’s Note | thank you, Sam, for giving me an excuse to vent how much I hate my English professor <3 and also thank you for being such a lovely friend i love you so so so much mwah mwah mwah you're the best!!

"I swear to God, Dwayne, I am going to drop Professor Dixon's class and there's nothing you can do to stop me." you grumble from your place on Dwayne's couch.

With your legs kicked up over his lap, Dwayne hardly acknowledges you, opting to prop his book on your shins.

You sigh, "I saaaaid, there's nothing you can do to stop--"

"I heard what you said." Dwayne cuts you off with a steady tone, "You're not going to drop the class."

Chewing on your bottom lip, you reply, "I absolutely will, Dwayne. Professor Dixon is an asshole."

Dwayne blinks slowly, finally glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. He knows you well enough by now that he gets how you're picking at him. You're just begging for a drop of his attention. So he bites.

"What did he do now?" he drones.

You blink on like a lightbulb, always eager when Dwayne gives you the chance to rant to your heart's content. Something about the way he listens silently reassures you that he's actually absorbing what you say.

"So he finally graded our essays, right? What did you get?"

Dwayne pauses, knowing his answer will only set you off more. "An A..." he trails off.

You let out a choked laugh, "Of course he did! But that's because he likes you! He thinks everything you do is perfect."

"What? Did he not like yours?" he looks at you head on now, picking apart your strained expression.

"Oh, gee, I think he loved it, Dwayne. He said that my analysis of the literature was uninspired and that I should really work on being more concise." You reply with a spitting edge in your tone. It's a bitterness that brings Dwayne back to his childhood home; reminds him of his mother and Richard passive aggressively arguing.

Normally he'd roll his eyes at your drama. But he catches the way your eyelids flutter, blinking back the imminent tears. And as soon as he sees that, all the cynicism drains from his body.

Dwayne begins to reassure you, "Hey, I'm sure if you talk to him about it, he can show you what he didn't like and--"

You cut him off coldly, "Yeah fucking right. Dwayne, you went over that paper with me. You said to me yourself that you thought it was great. But of course he didn't think it was great. Because no matter what I give him, he's already decided that I'm not worth it and it's fucking frustrating."

You'd come across professors that rubbed you the wrong way. But this was different. This was a person who made you almost despise the subject that you loved with his pure, unadulterated indifference. It killed you seeing Dwayne actually getting along with him in class, engaging in debates that you knew you were just as capable of participating in.

It's not Dwayne's fault exactly. You don't like being so angry at him over something he can't control. But it's not like you can waltz into Dixon's officer and chastise him over his questionable teaching. That would only prove to him that you were some raging child who wasn't fit for the world of academia.

No, if you were going to get through this class, you'd have to grin and bear it. Take the insults to your intelligence and to your being. Which meant venting it all out to Dwayne. And suddenly, that response seemed terribly unfair to him.

You turn away, resting your elbows on your knees and pinching the bridge of your nose. "I shouldn't be taking it out on you. I'm sorry, Dwayne." You sigh and hide your face from him, not wanting him to see the tears that are still threatening to spill down your cheeks.

But Dwayne freezes, staring at your back. Watching how it rises and falls with every shallow breath you take to try to calm yourself down. For a moment, he's not entirely sure what to say. He thinks if he tries to touch you, you might just snap at him again.

Tilting his head back and taking a deep breath, Dwayne thinks he might understand it. Then again, maybe he doesn't. Either way, it's the exact kind of thing he hates. That's the one part of college he will ever understand. The performance of it. Sometimes he still feels like he's in high school, dealing with petty professors that sometimes just decide on a whim how they'd feel about a student.

He hates elitism and exclusivity. He hates how it impacts people like you, seemingly at random.

He lifts up his head and says clearly, "Well, fuck him."

You glance back at him, "Huh?"

"Fuck. Him. If he's going to do that shit to you, we're going to make him regret it."

With most of your adrenaline having already faded, you say meekly, "What are you talking about?"

Dwayne replies firmly, "Tomorrow, you and I are going to the head of the department and filing a complaint. And if Dixon tries to give you shit about it, I'll make sure he knows that he can shove his opinion right where the sun doesn't shine."

"You'd really do that? You'd stand up to him?" you ask carefully.

Without missing a single beat, he answers, "Of course I would." Dwayne moves closer to you, choosing to rub your lower back. "Listen, no one gets to make you feel like you're worthless. No one. Especially not when I'm around."

You like the way his palm molds to your spine and focus on the continued, rhythmic circles that soothe your temper. Staring at him directly in the eyes, you finally manage a smile. "Thank you, Dwayne." you say softly before leaning fully into his side and closing your eyes, focusing on his touch and the promise for tomorrow.

#strange trails milestone✨#danonation #paul dano #danocel #little miss sunshine #dwayne hoover #dwayne hoover x reader #dwayne hoover x you #dwayne hoover x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

106 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 2 years

Note

Congratulations on 500!! You earned it! For a request could you do prompt: “The World Ender” for Alex/Barry? There’s a lot of stories where the reader is helping him, but not really anything for the other way around!

Author's Note | this concept is actually so creative?? like wow, anon, I hadn’t actually thought of something like this too much before!! so thank you so much for the request!!

Being roommates with Alex should be simple, in theory. He's used to living small. Minimizing himself until he's barely noticeable. Call it a product of his childhood, but he usually feels the most useful when he's quiet. But he's not sure if he actually enjoys that existence. Or if he'd simply lived it for so long that it was all he knew.

This is why it really isn't easy being his roommate. Having known you for practically half his life, he's well aware of how...spirited...you can be. You live in a way that he's not used to. So far removed from how Holly had raised him to be: broken apart until he fit into any mold the world could throw at him.

He has a hard time expressing it, but in a strange way, he's grateful. Being around such a strong personality brings him out a little more. You don't overwhelm his senses. He's tuned into your energy; how you move, how you breathe, how you speak. He can't say that about many people. And you wouldn't think he'd be so analytical just from looking at him. But that's one good thing the silence gave him; his intuition.

It's how he knows something is wrong when you come through the front door and sit down on the couch. You don't say a single word to him, just stare blankly at the cooking show he'd clicked on when he got home from work.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his tone soft.

Within seconds, your cold demeanor washes away. You head falls to the back of the couch and you close your eyes, letting out a sigh that you wish could flush out your nerves.

"Pullman fired me today." you reply quickly.

Alex's heart drops to his stomach. You'd worked so hard at that job; picking up all the extra hours they gave you in hopes they would see your dedication and reward you in some way. Of course they didn't. In their eyes, you're nothing special. Just another cog in the machine that could easily be plucked and tossed to the side. The world has plenty of other cogs that will fit just fine; thank you.

Alex has always been supportive of you. Every time you vented about the stress, he did his best to listen and to offer comfort where he could. But this was a different hurt that he hadn't felt radiating off of you before. And as he searches through his mind for some way to help, he thinks of the best idea.

Wordlessly, he rises from the couch, leaving you behind only for a moment as he heads to the hallway closet. Flipping on the yellow hall light and scanning over the shelves, he searched for the right blanket. He runs his hand down the stack, feeling each texture until he gets to a large quilt. He distinctly remembers you using it one night when you and him had a movie night a while back. It's perfect.

You hear the sliding glass door leading to the backyard open and close but ignore it. A handful of minutes later you hear it again. And when you open your eyes, Alex stands beside you, nudging your shoulder with a gentle hand. "Come outside." he says simply.

Figuring he must've found another frog outside, you follow. But instead, you find yourself standing on the porch, looking out over the small patch of land that constitutes your background. Right in the center of the lawn, Alex had laid out the blanket perfectly; no wrinkles or folds in the fabric.

As he sits cross-legged on the left side of the blanket, he motions for you to join him.

You take the spot beside him, grateful that the stifling summer air has faded into a comfortable breeze. The lush green grass was all the more comfortable with the blanket placed over the top of it.

"Look," Alex points up towards the endless night sky. "Stars."

"Stars." you conclude. For a little while, your pain blows away as you lay back on the blanket, bringing your hands behind your head. You stare into the void of the universe. And, funnily enough, the memory of Pullman calling you into his office and curtly informing you that you'd been fired...it seemed so meaningless. But in the most comforting way possible. These were the moments that mattered most to your soul; not stupid job and your idiot manager.

"Does this help?" Alex mumbles.

He feels euphoric seeing you smile even a tiny bit as you answer, "Yeah. It does. Thanks, bud."

This quiet isn't the kind of quiet that the world forced him into. This is the kind of quiet that heals. The kind of quiet that makes him feel like he can exist safely and peacefully with someone. That he can be useful in a brand new way.

#strange trails milestone✨#paul dano #danonation #danocel #prisoners 2013 #prisoners #alex jones #barry milland #alex jones x reader #alex jones x you #alex jones x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

132 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 1 year

Note

Hiiii lovebug i was wondering if I could request Fool for Love for our beloved Edward Nashton like just give me something so sickly sweet like I wanna throw up fluff ☺️

Author’s Note | let's pretend that this scenario doesn't run rampant through my mind almost all the time 😀

Eddie my love, I love you so. How I've wanted for you, you'll never know. Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long...

You can only imagine the way his expression shifts as the lyrics begin to play through the speakers of your phone. Setting the phone on the kitchen counter, you turn to face him. Edward's cheeks are flushed bright red.

He's not an idiot, he knows exactly what you're trying to do to him. But, damn, it works. It's working so well. His insides are all jelly as you approach him slowly, placing a hand on his chest and the other on his side. Normally, he'd tense up at that bold touch. Instead, he goes mushy; practically melts into your body and lets you hold him closer.

"This is how I feel about you, you know." You whisper low and slow with your cheek against his chest.

"Oh," Eddie swallows hard, burning up under the decadence of this moment; the way that intimacy hangs thickly in the air.

Eddie, please, write just one line. Tell me your love is still only mine. Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long...

"Does that surprise you? Me loving you?" You begin to sway with him gently, not following any particular rhythm or rules aside from the confines of the small kitchen. His apartment is modest, barely any signs of his own personal touches, save for pieces of furniture and art he'd thrifted.

It's impersonal but necessary. Life had taught him not to make too many attachments. He replies to you distantly, "You've never said that before," he hesitates to repeat it himself for a second longer. "Love..."

"Is that too much?" You ask, tranquility and resignation dripping from your raspy tone. Like it would make no difference if he didn't say it back; like you would still be thinking it regardless. It's something of a promise, he believes. A promise that your feelings are an immovable fact, something he'd be stupid to be blind to.

Edward shakes his head languidly before leaning down to kiss your hair and whispering, "No...it's fine. It's...good."

And then you bless him with the sound of a soft giggle.

Eddie my love, I'm sinking fast. The very next day might be my last. Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long...

Edward finally lets himself sink. Though the second he begins to drown to the bottom of this pool, he feels less unencumbered than he'd ever been before. This love didn't take the form of rocks in his pockets like his youth had been. Instead, it becomes an oxygen tank. It's fresh air that fills his lungs and lets the fire inside of him start to breathe again.

He's not ready to let the words free just yet. For now, the feelings can masquerade as infatuation; they can pretend that they can be dealt with easily. But he knows the true name of what he feels.

With the smell of the pine scented candle you'd lit earlier on in the night, dishes from dinner filling the sink, and the sun having disappeared beyond the view of Gotham's cityscape horizon...he can start to see this place in a new light; he can start to see you in it, making it a home, a picture he can someday love too.

108 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 1 year

Note

you're my fav paul blog anf writer 💖 do you have any headcanons for brian wilson? I just wanna squish his cheeks and protect him, also chubby paul is best paul 🥰

Author’s Note | thank you so much, my dear!! chubby Paul is the best Paul oh my gosh. such a lovely spherical man. <3 I'll be filing this one under the Fool for Love category since no prompt was specified!! hope this hits the spot for you, anon!!

A Disclaimer | As with any characters that I write who are based on real people, I would like to say that the Brian Wilson I am writing about here is not meant to reflect the real life Brian Wilson, merely the character Paul plays in Love and Mercy!

Eyelids heavy and vision blurry, you can hardly stay awake. But it's worth it. It's worth having these little hours with him. You wish he'd get some sleep, but this is alright too. Your Brian, stationed at his piano, working out the little song that you're sure is playing in his head while you sit with him.

"Sweetheart?" he nudges your shoulder, "Did you hear that bit?"

You blink fast, eyes taking a second to adjust to the black and white keys in front of you. As much as you love the way he plays, you can't remember for the life of you what just came out of his magical fingertips. You hum and nod faintly, only to hear Brian chuckle.

"What're you laughing at?" you begin to whine.

But your tone only makes Brian's light teasing continue. He rubs slow circles on your lower back that only make your eyelids droop further. His arm curls around you, pressing you closer into his pudgy sides. He's so warm. So soft. God, he's just like a pillow. You whine once more, "Whaaaat?"

"Nothing...you're just very sweet when you're about to fall asleep, that's all." You catch his lips curl slightly; see his eyes crinkle at the corners. Resting your chin on his shoulder, you just want to get a better look at his soft features.

You huff and barely manage the energy to scrunch up your nose at him. "I am not falling asleep." you conclude with a defiant cockiness.

"Oh yeah? Then what did I just play?"

Your mind goes blank. But Brian doesn't hold it against you. He just shakes his head and smiles again before resting his hands on the piano keys once more.

He coaxes the sweetest sounds from the instrument, exercising the only kind of control that he can with his pressure as his fingers dance over the keys. His ability to simply come up with something off the top of his head always sweeps you off of your feet. When he adds his voice into the quiet song, you swear that it's enough to send you off to dreamland.

Brian hums faintly, making up a melody where lyrics would be. And somehow, even without lyrics, his voice hits just as hard as if he'd delivered pure poetry. His voice is honey, slowly encasing you in a saccharine haze. Your eyelids droop even more.

Until you realize it's something new. Something you're sure you haven't heard him and the boys go over before.

"Are you writing your own stuff again, baby?" You ask faintly. The idea strikes you with just enough joy that you perk up just a little. You know how difficult it is for him to convince the guys to take a chance on his material. And you hate how often he has to stifle his ideas and make it more palatable for the label. More marketable.

Midway through a chord, he falters. His hands go to curl around the seat of the bench and he dips his head. And in the resounding silence, you hear him sigh. It's a sound filled with despair. An echo of whatever turbulence the simple question caused him.

"No...you know what the boys want me to work on." he sniffs bitterly, "Certainly not this stuff."

Your hand lays over one of his. Your fingers can't quite cover his own longer ones. In the dark you feel him let go of the wooden bench and instead squeeze your hand. As heartbreaking as his reply is, the little action convinces you that he's not spiraling. Not yet, at least. He's just upset; just in need of some direction.

Throat dry and voice quiet, you manage to croak out, "There's nothing wrong with this stuff. I think that it was the start of something really wonderful. Besides, you should be allowed to work on what you want."

Brian lets out a soft whine, "But I'm not, sweetheart." Panic seeps into his tone. "If I don't have something to give them...then I lose it. If I lose it--"

Suddenly alert and taking on a newfound sternness, you interrupt, "You aren't going to lose it, Bri." There's a pause where you search through your muddled mind. You struggle to grasp onto coherence when you continue, "I think you've forgotten that...that band doesn't own you. You made them what they are. Without you...there wouldn't be record deals and tours and albums a-a-and...and the music! That music wouldn't be the same if you hadn't helped make it."

Brian's eyes close softly. And for a minute, he doesn't respond. With each second, you wonder if he's having an episode; if he's hearing those sounds that he describes to you sometimes. But his hand squeezes yours tighter, showing you that he's still there.

You keep going, already feeling hot tears begin to well up, "You're only a man Brian. Not a band, not a song, or just a face on a record. You're a human being and you're allowed to have things that are just for you and no one else. What's the point in creating if you stop doing it for yourself?"

All you hear is him breathing. His back slowly rises and falls as he processes your words. And behind the messy hair that falls over his forehead, you see his eyes open. They stare at the ivory keys in front of him. Then he nods.

Looking back at you, he says, "I think it's time for both of us to go back to bed." He smiles with pursed lips. "We need it."

Searching his expression, you don't find anything repressed. No tightness. No strain on his features that hints him holding back how he really feels. Because you know good and well that he tends to do that. That he sees himself as a burden; much too big a load for you to handle. You return your own sweet little smile.

Somehow, that's enough. It's enough to finally put you to sleep. And though he knows that the worries will come back--they always do--he won't be alone. He may just be a man but he also has you.

#strange trails milestone✨#danonation #paul dano #danocel #love and mercy #brian wilson #brian wilson x reader #brian wilson x you #brian wilson x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

52 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 2 years

Note

La Belle Fleur Sauvage for Brian Weathersby? I have seen absolutely ZERO nsfw for him and I am just DYING to see what your take on it is. Imma give you free range on this one bby. Tear it up 💖

Author's Note | ooooo boy...I have teeeeensy bit of a soft spot for Brian and it's purely because of how bad this man gets beat up in this movie...oopsie...thank you for giving me free reign though!!!! this concept simply kept bouncing around in my brain lmao.

Warnings | smut (MDNI), unprotected sex, overstimulation, nothing else I can think of!!

When you waltz in, Brian knows he's in trouble. He didn't even realize just have much time he'd wasted on paperwork. Normally he'd be counting down the minutes until he could close up the store and go home. But of course the one day he actually has plans outside of work is the day that about a dozen people decided that they needed a mattress.

Why anyone would decide they wanted a mattress about the cost of a used car, he had no clue. He still manages to sell seven mattresses. A good day. A very good day. Until you walked in, of course.

"Didn't think you'd be having this much fun without me," you tease humorlessly, approaching his desk. Stacks of papers litter the surface of his work station.

"I'm so sorry, I've been completely swamped today." Brian clicks the pen he holds and avoids your hard gaze. He tries again, "I meant to call and tell you I'd be late. But everything just..."

You finger runs up the length of a particularly large stack of papers, "Piled up?"

Brian sighs before giving you a purse lipped smile, "Something like that."

You nod once. Simply accepting the halfhearted excuse. Brian waits for you to say something else before you swivel around on your heels and begin to walk along the row of remaining mattresses on the sales floor. You hand presses down on each one for a few seconds, teasing the firmness as you seemingly decide it's too hard or too soft. He watches you with a quizzical look as you seem to finally find one you like. You press both hands on that one and bounce a few times.

Then you crawl up on it, that little dress you're wearing, riding up just enough so Brian catches a glimpse of the back of your thighs before you turn around and lie on your back. Deciding to entertain whatever you're trying to do, Brian gets up and slowly makes his way towards you.

He hears you breath out contentedly as you ask, "How much is this one, Bri?"

Brian chuckles. As if you'd ever be able to afford it. Nonetheless, he replies, "Ten grand." He's got practically every price memorized. There's not much else to do when he's surrounded by the numbers every single day.

You scoff, "Jesus Christ, who buys these?"

"People with money to burn, I guess."

Head raising for a few seconds, you smile slightly, "Wanna test this one out with me?"

"Test it?"

You rub the spot beside you, "Yeah, have you never actually tried one of these bad boys?"

Brian shakes his head defensively. But he still brings his knee up to the bed and carefully crawls up it. He doesn't need a ten thousand dollar bill to pay if it gets damaged in some way.

"Oh, don't be such a dork," you laugh and grab him by the collar of his dark sweater. Before he can possibly move in time, he collapses on top of you, knocking his nose into yours on the way down.

Your face scrunches up at the impact and you nuzzle your nose against his.

"Hi," your voice is small and sweet. There’s a pang in his stomach. Brian stares into your wild eyes and blinks hard when you draw your knees up and press them into the sides of his torso.

You add quickly, "Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?"

The sentiment nearly knocks the air from his lungs. He shakes his head solemnly.

"Really?" your thumb and index finger grab his chin, "That's a shame." you whisper. Your lips engulf his in a slow, lazy kiss as he closes his eyes and sighs.

Using the leverage from your knees, you make him flip around onto his back and straddle him. The little weight that you put on him presses him down into the mattress. He'd never really felt one of them. It's different, his full weight sinking into the luxurious cushion. He's not sure if he can feel the ten thousand dollars it would cost to own the mattress in its Swedish glory. But he can feel your hips grinding into his own. He feels himself harden at the sheer friction of your clothed cunt against him.

That dress does nothing to spare his imagination. Nothing keeps his mind from wandering as you hum into his mouth. Before he can think about it more, he's hitching your dress up a little further and undoing his belt.

"Oh?" you sit up properly so Brian can struggle to pull his pants down. "You really want to test this bed out, huh?"

Brian can only inhale deeply as you reach into his underwear and pull his cock out from the confines of the waistband. He has to stop himself from bucking into your hand. Just watches with bated breath as you lift yourself up, slip your panties to the side, line him up, and slowly sink down.

The way he stretches you hits sharply and Brian caresses your thighs until you're almost seated on him. His tip barely brushes something inside of you and your head lolls back as you adjust to the fullness. As disappointing as his time management was, this certainly wasn't disappointing.

Brian keeps his eyes clenched closed, concentrating on staying still for you. As much as he wants to move you, he stays as patient as he can, trying not to think about how warm you feel. How just a little bit of grinding had made you so ready for him. He tries not to let that thought get him too cocky.

Then you gently rock on him. You struggle to keep your knees planted firmly on the soft mattress so Brian takes it as his chance to hold onto you and help you bounce, thrusting slightly to meet your movements. He watches your face change as he digs deeper inside you.

"This good for you?" he asks quickly.

"Yeah, just keep going," comes your breathy response.

Finally, for a few seconds, he stops worrying about the forgotten date. About the mattress. About the ten thousand dollars. The only thing he hears are the squeak of springs and your heady moans.

The coils in your own belly tighten impossibly. It all builds to a peak so quickly that you don't have time to prepare yourself for the impact. Your hands stable themselves on his chest.

Brian almost wishes he'd waited long enough to get fully undressed. The mattress is so soft and so warm. He already feels the sweat forming on his hairline as he gets higher and higher. And just as he thinks about the possibility of staining the mattress, your cunt contracts around him. Your hips convulse. You hold onto his sweater with balled fists. And with one last whine, you're there.

But you're still moving. Still riding him through the stinging overstimulation that makes you jolt and cry out. Wordlessly, Brian moves to take you off of him, but you hold on and stay seated.

"It's okay, Bri," you sigh, "Just keep going. Just...keep...going."

He's so close. And with you gently clenching him, he knows he doesn't stand much of a chance to last much longer. But he'd take the frustration of a missed orgasm over the way you wince in pain.

"No, no, get up," he says urgently, prying your knees away from his sides and pulling himself out.

Your hand immediately goes to pump his red and rigid cock. But he grabs your wrist and repositions it on his chest.

"Why won't you let me finish you?" you ask with a furrowed brow.

Brian lets his head sink further into the bed as he thinks up an excuse. "I don't want to...stain the bed." He breathes hard, trying to ignore the empty ache between his legs and the hunger that still lies dormant in his belly.

You lightly slap his chest, "You're such a hard ass."

His chapped lips form a small smile, "I know. You can make it up to me after our second date."

"Second date? We didn't even have our first."

"This wasn't our first?"

"I can't believe you. The first time I fuck on the first date and he doesn't even cum," you say sarcastically and roll your eyes.

Brian sniffs at the small jab, "Take it as an apology."

You fiddle with a loose thread on his sweater and as he watches your fingers pick at it, the erection thankfully dies down. He's only had a little taste of you. And he wants more than a missed date and a quick fuck on a mattress that hundreds of other customers have laid on. So much more.

Brian clears his throat, "About the second date. Maybe we could have dinner at my place. I've been told I'm a pretty good cook."

"Oh, he's pretty, he can get me off, he can cook...what else can you do?"

"Je ne fais pas grand chose d'autre."

Your eyes light up, "Where have you been my entire life?"

Smiling once more and only offering a little laugh, his arm around your shoulder pulls you closer into his side. He wondered if the scent of your arousal would be enough to consider the mattress ruined. Yeah, then I'd take it, he thinks to himself as he eyes flutter closed.

#strange trails milestone✨#danonation #paul dano #danocel #gigantic #brian weathersby #brian weathersby x reader #brian weathersby x you #brian weathersby x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

82 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 2 years

Note

Prompt: Way out There

Character: Klitz

(this prompt idea was too good I couldn’t resist!)

Author’s Note | ugh, I loved writing this. just the right amount of fluff and angst, ugh, I love it. thank you for this pairing request, anon!!

Finals week always blows. Especially when you've got a three month vacation until the rest of your life begins. With him going to Yale and you staying in your hometown...Klitz is determined to make the long distance thing work.

But between the hours of studying and the seemingly endless amount of pamphlets explaining every aspect of his future university life...he hasn't had much time for you. So he comes to cherish the quiet moments where he gets to soak up your presence.

Head on his chest, lying on the basement couch in his parents house, you say suddenly, "Klitzy? I want to go to Vegas."

"And do what?" he chuckles nervously. Knowing you, you already had a plan in mind.

He loves you. And you give him a confidence he can't remember ever having before. Which is why when you whisper that you want to run away with him, he has to say yes.

And before he knows it, he's sitting in the driver's seat of his car. You're in the passenger side, already squealing about all of the lights and the slot machines and the music. All poor Klitzy can do is swallow the lump in his throat and go along with the plan. He can't break your heart again.

The second you two get within view of the packed Vegas strip, he knows he's a goner. You, on the other hand are buzzing; dragging him along the sidewalk and pointing out the giant hotels.

He's just glad that as enthusiastic as you are about this place, you and him can't get into any of the casinos. Because he's already taking a gamble leaving midway through the day to spend the day in Las Vegas with his girlfriend. If his parents knew about how irresponsible he was being right now, they'd be horrified.

Even more horrified when you and him pass by a twenty four hour chapel. You gasp upon seeing the twinkly lights of the sign and suggest, "Klitzy, we should get married!"

"Babe, we should definitely not do that."

"Why?" you pout at him, already starting to wilt.

"Because we're teenagers. And I'm going to Yale an--"

You interrupt him harshly, "I know you're going to Yale. Everyone knows you're going to Yale. Jesus, you don't have to rub it in."

"I'm not trying to rub it in!" he objects.

"Sure, whatever." you huff defiantly and begin to walk away, finding an alcove tucked in between hotels.

After a few seconds of mentally kicking himself for bringing up the dreaded college talk, he follows your trail and finds you seated on a bench pressed against the shadowed side of one of the buildings. He always walked right past the little nook, it was so dimly lit and unassuming.

Plopping down right beside you, Klitz stays quiet.

"You know, I'm really gonna miss you, Klitzy." you sniff into the silence. And for a second, Klitz wonders if the way you're shivering is just because of the cold. But it takes all of a few seconds before you're almost sobbing into his shirt and holding tightly onto him like he might fly away.

Taking your face in his hands, Klitz wipes away some stray tears with his thumbs, "Hey, what's going on?" He'd been concerned about how erratically you'd been behaving practically the entire time but hadn't wanted to put too much thought into it. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea as you were breaking down in front of him.

"You're going away. And I can't do anything about it. You're gonna find someone else and leave me in the dust. And I don't want that to happen."

Klitz presses his forehead against yours, "I know it's gonna be hard to do the long distance thing. But it'll be worth it, because it's you. You know what they say; distance makes the heart grow fonder or something like that."

You take a stumbling breath, regaining only a slight amount of composure, "Are you sure you're really okay with doing long distance?"

Klitz has a whirlwind of emotions and anxieties swirling around inside his head. For one, how you're so sure that he'll leave you, he has no clue. He could never just find someone else; you're already his someone.

If anything, he's found himself worrying that you'd move on. You totally could move on and find someone who was more in your league. Someone more popular or more likely to be successful than a nerd like him. But that's just his cynicism talking. And for once, he's not going to let those fears win.

"I am perfectly fine with long distance," he reassures you. "Besides, we're here together now. Wouldn't want to waste tonight being all sad. What do you say we go and have some fun?"

You gaze into his eyes so deeply, Klitz feels like he's never been properly looked at until your eyes had done so. You sniff back some of the remaining mucus stuffing up your nostrils. "Yeah, you're right. God, Klitzy, why do you have to be so sappy and smart?"

Klitz chuckles, "I've always been a man of many talents."

"Well, then, care to demonstrate one of them?" you ask, raising your brows teasingly. Klitz only returns with a perplexed look until you explain, "Kiss me, you dork."

And because he loves you and you give him a confidence he doesn't think he's ever had before, he does.

#strange trails milestone✨#paul dano #danonation #danocel #the girl next door #timothy klitz #klitz #timothy klitz x reader #timothy klitz x you #timothy klitz x y/n #klitz x reader #klitz x you #klitz x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

114 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 2 years

Note

Robin Buckley and ‘Way Out There’? Your writing is so lovely, you deserve every 💞

Author's Note | thank you for giving me the gift of this request. I adore Robin with all of my heart so I am happy to give her the love and life she deserves!

Robin knew from the second she met you that Hawkins wasn't nearly large enough to contain you and her. With both of your personalities combined, she always saw the two of you going far away. Where? Who knows. But she rotates through different cities, states, and even countries in her head.

She thinks you and her would do well in some sort of commune somewhere. Until she remembers that she's absolutely terrible at...most kinds of manual labor. Besides, it's just you she really wants.

She wants to be somewhere where she can take you to a diner and share a milkshake and fries with you; watch your nose scrunch up when she dollops whipped cream on it. Wants to lay out a blanket in a backyard and stare into the inky sky with you. Wants to count all of the freckles on your arms and memorize their placements. Wants to live somewhere where she doesn't have to call you just her best friend.

Because even though you are her best friend, she much prefers the sound of the title: girlfriend.

The conversation starts small. Just a little dream held between two girls under the shadow of sheets at midnight. Small giggles and rambling plans that Robin swears she'll make happen. She'll start saving up what she makes from the Family Video. You and her are going to buy a Volkswagen camper with the cute little stripes running along the side and you're going to travel across the country in it. Every night will be a sleepover.

You giggle at her, "Baby, you don't even have your license yet."

"Oh, technicalities..." she lowers her brow indifferently and sighs before kissing you long and hard. You smile against her chapped, puffy lips. You wish this could be forever. Just you and Robin, peppering kisses on each other's faces and daydreaming.

But Robin's idea of forever is slightly different. Because she's serious. And when she has her mind set on something, she gets it done.

Nearly a year later on graduation day, you look so beautiful. So smiley and excited as you accept your diploma. And Robin is ecstatic that before too long, she'll get to call you hers.

Before you have the chance to toss your cap, Robin's hand finds yours in the crowd of your peers. She drags you out of the auditorium and nearly stumbles when you reach the grass outside. But she's looked forward to this day for far too long to worry about scraping her knees and the way you giggle, "What are we going, Robin?"

Your eyes go wide when you see it: that cream colored Volkswagen camper with the orange stripes on the side that you'd only seen in your mind's eye.

Once she pulls the blue graduation gown over her head and shakes out her hair, Robin digs a hand into her front pocket. Out that hand comes with a set of keys, shining bronze in the early morning sunlight; the keys to your future.

"C'mon, loser, are you getting in or not?" Robin stands, waiting expectantly and holding the passenger side door of the camper open.

You smile and rush forward, pressing a wet kiss to her freckled cheek and saying, "Of course. I'd go anywhere with you."

Just that one sentence fills Robin with enough euphoria that she's sure she'll never feel sad again. It's just Robin and you, her girl. And she's taking you to the Gayest city in California: San Francisco.

#strange trails milestone✨#stranger things #stranger things 4 #robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

97 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 1 year

Note

Hi! Could I please have the World Ender prompt for Jay from Okja? Thank you and congrats on 500!

Author’s Note | ahahaha, I didn't expect for this one to make me wanna cry but lmao, I almost did ✌🏻🥲✌🏻

Jay thought every kink had been worked out of the plan. Impulsivity puts him on edge when you're in the field. He hates the deep unease that settles into his bones when you're on your own, fulfilling your own part of the mission. He knows full well that you can take care of yourself, of course. But there are always surprises. That's why improvisation is always key.

At the very least, you escaped with your life. That's what he reassures himself with as soon as he gets his team out of the botched mission. Housed in a basement of ALF sympathizers, the base that he and his crew flee to isn't one of the more popular ones.

The ceiling is low and dust falls from the rafters, filling the lungs of all the inhabitants and making their throats raspy for days. But Jay is still grateful for even the smallest escape. He helps you lie back on the bottom bed of one of the bunks.

Across the room is the rest of the team. Silver and Blond sit together on a bottom bunk, talking quietly with one another. Red lies on the top bunk, reading one of the many novels she is obsessed with; it's one of the few things that calms her nerves. K is kicked back on the single cot in the room, merely closing his eyes for a second of rest.

Though Jay knows his whole crew is reeling from the surprise attack by the Black Chalk, the only one on his mind is you. You and the way you've been holding your side ever since one of the Black Chalk men had beaten you with his baton. Jay's jaw goes tight at the memory. Seeing you crumple to the ground, hearing you cry out in pain.

He's reminded of it again when he gently attempts to lift your shirt to inspect the area. Because that's when you wince. You don't even have to make a sound for him to know the pain you're in. In a way, he's proud of you for being able to put on a brave face. At the same time, he wants to rip something apart.

Jay squints through the dim lighting of the basement, only to see faint bruising already beginning to bloom over your delicate skin. The sight fills him with an insurmountable rage. Suddenly, the room is too small to contain him. His breathing gets uneven as he stares, zeroing into the bruises so hard that they begin to go blurry in his vision. I should've gotten to you sooner.

Then you grab his wrist. His fist trembles slightly from how hard he's clenching it. Your first assumption is that he's just disappointed in himself. Though the attack isn't one that he could've planned ahead for, Jay still expects himself to be able to achieve the impossible.

You murmur, "Are you okay, Jay? Do you want me to give you some space?" You try to sit up, holding back the yelp that threatens to escape you when you put pressure on the wound.

In a voice so quiet and calm that it's almost frightening, Jay says bluntly, "I don't want space. That's the last thing I want from you."

Nonetheless, it reassures you. So you settle once more on the thin mattress, staring at the bunk above and only occasionally letting yourself glance over at him for the next minute.

Jay sits on a folding chair at your bedside. And his gaze still hasn't left that spot on your side.

You're hesitant to break the silence but you do it anyway, wanting to give him comfort in whatever way you can. "At least we got out of there." Is all you can manage.

Jay rubs his face frustratedly, "We should have known that the Black Chalk would be waiting. It was naive of us to believe otherwise."

You lay a hand on his knee firmly. "Jay, we used the information we had and did what we thought was best. What matters is that we're safe."

He finally looks you in the eye, his green eyes a blazing forest fire. "If I had lost you–"

"But you didn't," you interrupt quickly, stopping the spiral dead in its tracks. "You didn't. That's all that matters, right?"

He remembers his breathing exercises and puts them to use. You smile slightly and rub his knee when you notice the tension fade with each of his measured breaths. Being so important to a person as passionate as Jay can be bittersweet. His love and his wrath seem to be intrinsically linked with each other, both intense and addicting. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

"That's all that matters." He repeats your words, more to himself than to you. Because sometimes he hates having this life. He believes in his morals with every fiber of his being. But if they ever came at the cost of your life, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

But that day wasn't today. He will adapt. He will get better at trying to predict the end before it comes. He will make protecting you into an art, one that he has perfected. He'll do anything and everything to make sure that nothing like this happens again. That's all that matters.

#strange trails milestone✨#paul dano #danonation #danocel #okja #jay okja #jay okja x reader #jay okja x you #jay okja x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

47 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 2 years

Note

Hurricane (Johnnie's Theme) for brian wilcox <3

Author's Note | this is the first thing I've ever written for Brian? and he's so...woof. Oh my god. I'm falling in love with him, I think. Also, lmao, pretend you are a naive, boot licking new hire, pretty pls. 🥺 it's for the immersion. also. i got three requests for Brian. so I made them into like a mini trilogy. this is part one of that trilogy. next part will be out in an hour!!

Training a new hire is always a fucking nightmare. Especially since you like to be extra independent, arguing that you don't need much instruction. Which is probably why they hired you, now that he thinks about it. It feels like welcoming a pig into the slaughterhouse.

Brian watches you diligently clean tables and imagines all of the cute little buzzwords you probably put on your application. Self sufficient. Independent. Hard worker. All things that made some corporate asshole sharpen their knife before deciding they'd sink their teeth into your innocent flesh.

He chuckles bitterly to himself. Welcome to Mickey's. Hope you like getting barely paid minimum wage, cold French fries, and shitty customers that will hold you personally responsible when the promotional item they're asking for is no longer available!

You're so unbearably bubbly. God, he can't stand your squeaky customer service voice every time you serve someone. And he can't stand how you seem to actually care about this hell hole. Sorry, princess. Working overtime isn't getting you extra brownie points here.

You try so fucking hard. Harder than he ever has in the year he's been working there. It's almost enough to make him pity you.

So he makes sure that when you ask for fries they're extra hot and when you ask for an iced coffee to get through the morning it's extra cold. He may not understand your work ethic in the slightest. But, hey, coworkers stick together...right?

You clock in early every morning and always offer to close. And Brian really shouldn't let you close. Leaving a new hire alone to close; a female hire, at that? Bad idea. But you insist. And what kind of idiot would he be to turn that down?

The first night he lets you close on your own, he drives straight home and falls dead asleep on the living room couch. But the nightmare he has is unnerving.

You lock up the store for the night. Some creep is waiting outside. And he doesn't like to think about what happened next. He remembers seeing some girl get killed like that a few years back. The guilt of there being even a chance of that happening to you is overwhelming.

So when he clocks in the next morning and sees your smiling face as chipper as ever? The balmy feeling of relief eases the tension he's kept in his shoulders and jaw from the moment that nightmare startled him awake.

He almost tells you no when you offer to close again that night. But he can already picture your enthusiastic grin dissolving into a pout. Begging him, "Please, please, please, Bri? I did everything right last night!"

How is he supposed to explain to you that he absolutely can't let you close up again or else he'd pretty goddamn sure that the nightmare he'll have tonight will probably be worse. The more he thinks about it, the more he's sure you'll probably think he's a fucking weirdo. That makes him keep his mouth shut.

This time, he doesn't leave. He sits in his car and waits for you to close up. He might as well be helping you. It would make the job go by faster. Instead, he watches you carry out your little tasks. He almost expects you to be performing too.

But your shoulders slump as you leisurely mop up the floors. He watches you move back and forth-- almost solemnly--until you disappear into the back.

A solid ten minutes goes by before Brian sighs and gets back out of his car to check on you.

And there he finds you. Out by the dumpsters in the back of the building. Back slumped against the brick wall and face buried in your hands, Brian doesn't think he's ever, ever, ever seen you so much as frown at him before.

"Hey..."

You almost jump at the sound of his low voice and quickly swipe away your tears. There's no use pretending that you weren't crying your eyes out next to the dirty, dank dumpsters. You know that your under eyes are probably puffy and you can already feel snot running down your throat.

So you sound congested when you ask, "Oh, hey. I thought you left already?"

Brian skips the question. "What are you doing out here?"

You scoff, "Well, what are you doing out here?"

"I came to check on you. You were taking too long."

Your brow raises slightly. Was he watching you?

Brian notices your concern and raises his hands defensively. "Technically, I'm not even supposed to let you close up alone. If Tony knew I left you by yourself, he'd be doing a lot more than writing me up."

"Please don't take away closing time from me." your gaze fills with bereavement. "It's the only time I get to be by myself. I just...I need it."

Alone time? You want to risk getting kidnapped or attacked for some alone time? It's almost...sweet.

"Why?"

You lean your head back on the brick and stare up at the blinding light that illuminates the back door. "I haven't exactly had much to do this summer."

"Me neither."

"So...I'm saving up for college. My parents can't afford to send me and I don't want to be in a shit ton of debt. So my hope is that if I prove myself to Tony maybe he'll--"

"Give you a raise? A promotion to corporate? Some office in New York where you can manage the rest of Mickey's worker ants?" Brian laughs. "Yeah, tough luck, kid. You're in the rat race with the rest of us."

"Wow, way to be encouraging." you smile sarcastically.

Brian likes the attitude. It tells him that you have a personality outside of the little worker bee you normally are. "I'm just being realistic. Because none of those corporate fucks give a shit that you clean more toilets than the rest of us and get the best ratings on the customer service survey. Hell, they'll probably make you employee of the fuckin' month. But don't expect any better than that. To them...we can all be replaced."

"Oh, so nothing matters and I should just give up? Does that sound better to you?"

"No, that's not what I meant." Brian rubs his temple and settles down beside you on the concrete. Your thigh touches his and his knee knocks gently against yours.

He swallows heavily before he says, "You do what I do. You do the bare fucking minimum, you take that shitty paycheck, and you get the fuck out of there. You don't owe them your life."

That...makes sense. You nod slowly. Wait a few seconds and ask coyly, "Then what else am I supposed to do with it, huh?"

Brian looks at you then. Even without the obnoxiously yellow visor on, his gaze is shadowed by his dark hair. And even though he reeks of stale grease and ketchup...he's by far your cutest coworker.

And with a wolfish, shit-eating grin, he answers, "Waste it away with me, of course."

#strange trails milestone✨#danonation #paul dano #danocel #fast food nation #brian wilcox #brian wilcox x reader #brian wilcox x you #brian wilcox x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

84 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 2 years

Note

Hi Meda! I might try to sneak in one more request before your Milestone Event is over? If your requests are filled up or you’re done for the day that’s fine too!

Fool For Love - Edward Nashton x Reader

Fluff Prompt First Kiss

—> And it’s the first kiss for both Reader and Eddie so it’s extra special!

Author's Note | me @ myself: oh, a cute little drabble, sweet! me, 45 minutes later: oh almost a thousand words. okay. thank you sm anon, this made my heart so soft.

It's been long enough. Four dates is enough, right? Edward has never been quite sure about pacing. He thought the third date was it. That was until you'd turned his face and given him a chaste kiss on his cheek before waving shyly and receding into your apartment. The innocent action had left him feeling a little too warm for the rest of his walk home. He'd almost hesitated to wash his face that night, worried that he'd wipe away the feeling of your soft lips.

But there they are again, inches away from his. And he wants to lean down. He wants to hold you in his arms and kiss you until the breath runs out of his lungs and his lips are cracked and dry. If he didn't care about making a fool out of himself, he would do it.

"Well...goodnight, Eddie." your smile is pulled taut. You wish you had the guts to pull him down by his silly collar and just kiss him like you'd wanted to the week before. But he'd been so quiet the whole night that you were starting to wonder if he even liked you. He was quiet all the time in the office. You thought that if you'd just given him a chance and asked him out...he'd show you some new facet; some new bright and bubbly aspect of his personality. If anything, he's only more thoughtful than you'd first believed. He cracks silly little jokes that take you a second to fully catch them. And his eyes look kind behind the thick lenses that he nervously adjusts every few minutes.

Edward returns his own little grin, "Goodnight..."

He might not have been the most outgoing person, but he makes your heart pound out of your chest nonetheless. You just wish he'd show interest outside of agreeing to every one of your dates. What if he's just agreeing because he doesn't know how to let you down gently? What if he's just going along with it and hoping you catch a hint? The idea mortifies you. So you wave once again and get ready to practically fall into your apartment and collapse in bed.

But his hand grabbing your wrist and the sound of his voice stops you as he starts to ramble, "I'm sorry...I don't know if I'm just not reading things right but...I really wanted to kiss you tonight. I've had a wonderful time these past few weeks and I thought you were too. But you can tell me if I'm taking things too fast--"

"Then kiss me."

"Huh?"

You repeat yourself slowly, "You're not taking things too fast. Kiss me, Eddie."

His fingers intertwine with yours and you realize just how much his large hand engulfs yours. With the night time chill of Gotham fresh on your skin, he warms you up with his breath as he moves closer. Closer than he'd let himself get before. He savors the desperation in your eyes as you wait patiently for him to follow through.

As he hesitates just slightly, you whisper, "Please, Eddie. Don't make me wait for the fifth date."

And with that, he grabs you by the chin, tilts your head, and leans down to finally press his chapped lips to yours.

Your mouth feels nothing like his hand had when he'd practiced as a child. He's brought back to a far away time in his own boyhood where he'd lie under the thin sheet of his bed and pucker his lips, pressing them to his fist. He didn't have a particular crush he'd imagine. He'd just pretend it was someone who could love him. Someone who could hold onto him the way your hand did.

Your cold hand lays gently on the same cheek you'd kissed the week before. It sends a chill up his spine but he doesn't care. A few seconds later and he snaps out of it, reminded that he needed to do something other than keep his lips planted on yours.

He's never done this before. So he's sloppy, almost losing his breath before remembering that he can breath out of his nose. Your tongue swipes across his mouth and he panics momentarily before parting his lips. Eddie nearly chokes when he feels the warm muscle slip into his mouth and brush gently against his own. That's when he forgets to breathe and flinches away.

You're startled at the lost contact as a string of spit trails from his lips from yours.

"Are you okay?" you ask with worry. You hadn't anticipated getting so hooked on the taste of him so quickly. The black coffee he'd ordered with dinner didn't disgust you in the slightest. Instead, it only made you think about what it must be like to kiss him in the morning when you'd both be getting ready for work.

Edward swallows hard and purses his puffy lips, "Yeah...maybe we could...slow it down a little bit."

You sigh in relief and giggle. "Whatever you want, Eddie. I'm okay with that."

You press one last kiss to his closed mouth for good measure before you leave him, breathless on your doorstep. You insides seem to sparkle when you get one last look at him. Wide eyed and a little goofy looking. That's how you like him.

As the door closes behind you. Edward reaches a hand up to touch his face. He swears he just swallowed fire, the way his whole face burns in elation. Maybe by the fifth date he'd be a little better prepared.

119 notes · View notes