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stevieschrodinger · 1 year

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Eddie goes zero to sixty when he wakes up. He expects to be dead, so the strong smell of disinfectant and boiled hospital food comes as a shock that, at first, he doesn’t believe.

But then the irregular bleating of the heart monitor next to him starts to sink in, the beeps sounding way too fucking fast and that stresses Eddie out even more. He tries to escape out of the bed, gets tangled in tubes and wires, agony burning up his side and through his stomach, practically falls out of the bed when his own legs won’t hold him.

The floor is rock solid and stone cold, and that just ratchets Eddie’s panic further, because now he’s stuck and he can’t escape and there are people – people he doesn't know – touching him, all talking all over each other and it’s so much, too much to handle, the overload -

“Holy shit kid,” a voice Eddie would recognize anywhere, mostly because he’s been warned by that voice so many times about getting caught dealing and carrying and, “Jesus, give him some room a second.”

“I thought you were dead,” Eddie rasps out, voice totally fucked.

“Yeah, well, thought the same about you kid,” Hopper answers, stoic and honest as always.

“I can’t stay here,” Eddie finds his hands twisted up in the material of Hoppers jacket.

Hopper nods, knowingly, “back into bed, give me half an hour.”

Eddie agrees, holds onto that, because the lights are too bright and the noises are all so fucking loud and even the sound of his own breathing is annoying.

“Kid,” Hopper raps on the door frame, and every fucking pair of eyes in the room swivels to him because literally everyone rammed into Max’s room is a kid to Hopper. He narrows it down a bit, looking at Steve, “Munson’s awake.”

Half the people in the room shoot up, Dustin’s fastest despite his fucked up ankle, so Hopper sticks an arm out, wraps him up, stops him even though the kid is screeching and wriggling in his hold, “just Steve, the rest of you stay here.”

There’s a roomful of complaints, but something in Hoppers tone must relay the urgency, because they do obey in the end.

“So, he needs somewhere to go.”

Hopper nods down at Steve, “Owen’s can wrangle it, but it’s got to be somewhere known, somewhere that has the space, somewhere...private.”

Steve gets what Hopper’s laying down, his place is the only place that makes any sense, “yeah, of course.”

Because there’s no question.

Eddie limps across the threshold, most of his weight supported on Steve’s shoulders. They take one look at the mountain of stairs and divert straight to the couch. Steve can see that Eddie’s in pain, that he’s restless, that he can’t settle, “what can I do?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Feel like there’s...fire ants or something, crawling all over, under my skin.”

Steve tuts. Not having a suggestion for that. Eddie’s face contorts again and he’s sweating. The nurse was very fucking clear about the pain meds, and Eddie can’t have any more for another couple of hours at the earliest. Steve doesn’t state that out loud; he’s pretty sure Eddie doesn’t need reminding.

He comes back with a cool sodden towel, feeling helpless, but the second it hits Eddie’s skin Eddie practically screeches and they know that isn’t the answer, so Steve throws it in the laundry.

“I don’t know what to say man, shower? Like, a hot one?”

“Dressings,” Eddie bites back, white knuckled and almost writhing now on the couch.

“Maybe...we should take you back, maybe they can-”

“No. Fuck no,” Eddie’s words bitten out, panicked.

“Okay okay,” Steve surrenders, palms up flat, “what then?”

Eddie’s eyes flick over the back of the couch, he can’t see the stairs from there, there’s a wall in the way, but his expression looks pained just at the thought, “I’ll try anything once.” He tries to make a joke of it, tries to make out that he’s okay, but he’s clearly in fucking agony and Steve has no idea what to do for him so he agrees readily.

Making it up the stairs takes them fully half an hour, Eddie having to wait, panting, on every single step. Steve’s never felt so helpless in his life (excluding that one time Max floated in the cemetery), it’s torture watching Eddie suffer, watching him try and keep in all the pained noises, only to fail miserably.

He manages a half hearted joke about King Steve giving him a sponge bath when they make it to the turn near the top, the wider step on the corner giving Eddie somewhere safe and secure to lean.

Steve doesn’t laugh, “how are you feeling now?”

Eddie swallows, throat clicking dry, “it’s worse. It’s like there’s...like something's under there, moving around,” Eddie draws in a hissed breath, face crumpling, “hurts. So fucking much.”

Steve doesn’t even know what to say to that, so they get moving, and those final four steps are worse than all the others combined. They shuffle through Steve’s bedroom and into the bathroom, and when Steve clicks on the light Eddie makes an agonized noise and Steve clicks it off again immediately.

“S’bright,” Eddie mutters, squinting at the floor, greasy, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. He looks ill. Washed out. No, gray. He looks like he’s gone gray in the dim light coming through the small bathroom window.

“Okay, okay, no problem,” so Steve turns to get the water going, trying to figure out how the fuck they’re going to do this considering Eddie looks exhausted and half dead already. He hears Eddie make a noise, there's a soft thump, and Steve turns back, concerned.

Eddie’s gone.

He’s just...gone.

His clothes are in a heap on the floor, bloody dressings mixed in, and Steve yells, hopping backward and nearly dragging down the shower curtain, when the pile shifts. Wings emerge. Tails.

Steve recognizes it instantly. It’s a fucking demobat.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck,” Steve backs away, edges his way through the door, thinking of the nail bat in the boot of his car. He usually brings it everywhere with him, when he can, but he was too concerned with getting Eddie into the house to think of it.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the thing as it flops around, trapped in Eddie’s clothes. Steve darts the rest of the way, scouring his room for a weapon and giving up fast; the kitchen, a knife; that would be easiest.

Steve runs for it, closing his bedroom door tight so the thing can’t escape. He runs down the stairs, grabs the biggest knife in the block and then takes the stairs two at a time on the way back up.

Steve opens his bedroom door cautiously, point of the knife sliding through the gap, just in case the thing is flapping around in his bedroom. It’s not, it appears safe.

But Steve knows the danger, he was nearly killed by just one of those things so he isn’t taking any chances. Steve waits a second with the door open...he realizes he can hear it. It’s not making the horrible high pitched screech that he’s used to, it sounds more like...well, it sounds like a whimper. It actually sounds kind of pathetic.

Steve creeps closer, only to find the demobat hopelessly tangled in Eddie’s clothes, it’s struggling only making it worse. Steve stands for a moment, staring. Eddie’s gone...and now that little creature is in Eddie’s clothes.

Eddie. Shit, Steve has a terrible feeling about this, “Eddie?”

Steve creeps a little closer, still pointing with the knife, “Eddie, man, if that’s you, you’ve got to give me something here,” Steve begs desperately. There’s still no response, “oh fuck me, I’m loosing my godamn mind.”

Steve kneels, moving a little closer, “Eddie?”

The Demobat’s strange, worm like head appears from under Eddie’s shirt and sort of...mewls. It’s pathetic, really. The open, rounded mouth in filled with rows of tiny, razor sharp teeth. It’s got four eyes, two above the mouth, and two more set behind that, and they all blink in turn, strange slits opening and closing slowly.

It makes another little noise. “Okay. Okay, lets, try...oh man I am so dumb. Dustin’s never going to let me live this down,” Steve slowly offers the back of his hand to the thing, reasoning that if it bites him, the wound won’t be too debilitating than if he looses a finger or something equally terrible. He waits, watching, poised to drag his hand back at the first sign of danger. He doesn’t need too though, because the demobat potentially formerly known as Eddie, snakes out a too long, thin black tongue, and licks a sticky smear on the back of Steve’s hand.

And that’s all. It sits still, staring up at Steve will all four of it’s beady black eyes, watching expectantly.

“Okay. Okay. I’m going to trust you. But if you bite me I swear to…” Steve mutters to himself as he carefully untangles the bat from the pile of clothing, it’s tails and wings well and truly wrapped up with the material.

It’s not awful. It feels kind of cold, but the skin isn’t like, moist, or anything, it’s very dry and kind of scaly. The wings are more leathery, and the tail is...well, it kind of feels weirdly hollow.

“Okay, I got you Munson. God that’s so weird,” Eddie’s body snakes up Steve’s arm a little way, wings flapping clumsily as he tries to right himself. Steve has to fight his instinct to throw the thing off, the last time a demobat was this close to him it nearly strangled him to death.

Despite climbing all over Steve, Eddie wraps his tail around his arms and chest...but not his neck. Not even close. Kind of like, even in this form, he knows.

Eddie ends up hooking the ‘elbows’ of his wings into Steve’s shirt and just...huddling there. Not doing anything, tail wrapped firmly around Steve’s arm, one wing against Steve’s chest and the other against his back, hugging Steve’s shoulder.

Steve stares at himself, and Eddie, in the mirror, “well, fuck.”

With no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do now, Steve heads to bed. It’s been a bit of a day, and whatever the hell this is can wait until tomorrow. He crawls into bed, carefully lying down. Eddie seems to get it, movements still slow and very clumsy, he shifts completely onto Steve’s chest, sort of walking on the joints of his wings, curling up.

Steve lies there, staring at the ceiling in the dark, “I guess this is...maybe not the weirdest thing to happen?”

Eddie makes a soft trilling noise.

Fuck.

Steve wakes up slowly, very aware of the warm weight on top of him. He blinks, vision filled with a mop of brown curls. Eddie.

Steve is hugging Eddie. Eddie is mostly on top of him. Eddie is very naked under Steve’s hands and his very obvious erection is digging into Steve’s thigh and, “Eddie, you’re people again!”

Eddie lifts his head, squinting, opens his mouth and says, “mrrrrp?”

It’s eerily reminiscent of the noise he’d made last night, as a demobat.

“You’re a dude again, dude.”

Eddie blinks. It seems to take a long time to process before he finally, finally croaks out, “coffee.”

Steve wholeheartedly agrees.

Steve slips out of bed, Eddie either isn’t acknowledging or hasn't noticed his boner situation, so Steve figures there's some sort of bro code here and just ignores it too.

While coffee is brewing, Steve figures his only possible course of action is to call the smartest person he knows. He will never admit that out loud, but luckily Henderson answers on the second ring, like he’s been waiting for Steve to call him.

“Dustin-”

“Can I come see Eddie yet?”

Steve sighs, “I’m great, thanks for asking, so cool of-”

“Steve.”

“Yeah. Yes, come over.”

The little shit doesn’t even say goodbye. He just hangs up.

Steve takes a coffee up to Eddie, who is buck naked and sprawled ass up over Steve’s bed, “okay, Eddie come on, Dustin’s on the way.”

Eddie groans, crawling out of bed, Steve heads over to his wardrobe to dig out something for Eddie to wear so he isn’t obviously staring at all of Eddie’s nakedness. There’s a thump and a, “shit,” that has Steve spinning back around, Eddie sat on his ass on the floor, looking confused.

“You okay?”

“Legs. Apparently you can forget legs really fast.”

It hadn’t occurred to Steve when he woke up, but it does now. All of Eddie is pristine; there’s not a wound, mark, scar bruise, anything on him anywhere. Steve has to step closer, kneeling in front of Eddie to prod his chest, Eddie swats at him, “you’re all healed up.”

Eddie stops swatting at Steve and prods himself instead, “holy shit. I am.”

“Well...that’s a positive, right?”

Eddie hums, and Steve goes back to digging him out a sweater and some sleep pants and boxers. That’ll do for today. Eddie’s a little wobbly when he stands, so Steve hovers in grabbing distance, but Eddie gets dressed without incident.

Steve offers him the coffee from the nightstand, now cool enough to drink. Eddie takes an enthusiastic mouthful and Steve watches as Eddie’s face goes through a series of...something, his mouth obviously full of coffee. His face is definitely doing something. And then Eddie just opens his mouth, “bleaugh,” letting the coffee just...run back into the mug.

And then he hands it back. To Steve. Who takes it reflexively, “I’ll just...I’ll go and get rid of this.”

“Where is he?”

“Okay, okay, firstly, I need you to not freak out.”

“Steve,” Dustin stares at him, “saying that is guaranteed to make anyone freak out.”

“Yep,” Steve agrees, “I mean it though, Eddie is absolutely fine, I swear it.”

“But. There’s a but isn’t there, Steve why is there always a but with-”

“He turned into a demobat last night. Like just, was a bat. And I didn’t know what to do, so we went to sleep, and then this morning he was Eddie again.”

Dustin’s face is a process, before he finally settles on, “are you sure?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “yes, yes, I’m sure. He was Eddie, then bat, the Eddie again. It wasn't complicated, just fucking weird.”

“Right...so where is he?”

Steve opens his bedroom door to find...absolute carnage. His bed has moved, the mattress is off the frame, there’s blankets and pillows strewn everywhere, feathers swirling in the air.

“Eddie?”

Eddie pops up on the other side of the bed, shirtless and frantic looking, “I didn’t, I didn’t do anything, it just, it just...it just exploded.”

Steve stares, the feathers settling. Eddie’s actually naked again and appears to be building some sort of fort on the floor of Steve’s bedroom, Steve blinks, “the pillow doesn’t matter Eddie.”

Eddie nods decisively, “good.” Then, after a moments thought, “do you have more?” And then he’s back on his hands and knees rearranging his fort, like a feral racoon or something.

“Dustin’s here, do you want to maybe come and talk to him?”

“It’s the scientific method Steve!”

“We are not throwing anyone off a roof, anywhere, any time, ever.”

They both turn back to Eddie, watching as he eats another spoon of raspberry jelly straight out of the jar.

“You got any ketchup?” Dustin asks, going back to food again.

“That won’t prove either theory, ketchup is red and sweet.”

Dustin turns to him, “Steve, that is possibly the most intelligent thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Steve’s ready to slap the little shit at this point, but Dustin’s face is earnest. Apparently Dustin actually means what he just said. Like, sincerely.

So Steve lets it go, and Dustin suggests, “we need something sweet but not red, and something red but not sweet.”

“We should go to the store,” Steve adds, then stares at Eddie for a minute longer; he’s basically fucking the neck of the jar with his tongue, “I’ll call Nancy to go to the store for us,” Steve adjusts.

Dustin nods, turning the page of his notebook.

Nancy drops grocery bags on the counter while Robin hops up next to her, “so, I thought we could make red jello and add a bunch of salt or something, I got some soup for him to try, some more jelly just in case, and some more ketchup since you said he really likes that. Two tubs of salsa…”

Steve rummages in the bag next to her, when Eddie pops up next to him, Steve hadn’t even heard him come into the kitchen. Eddie wedges himself right in there, pushing Steve back with a hand and then...hisses. Hisses at Nancy. Like, makes a hissing noise and bears his teeth. Steve just moves, lets Eddie push him back, while Nancy watches, wide eyes and surprised.

She takes a few Steps back herself, closer to Robin, and tries a tentative, “Eddie?”

He just hisses again, before snapping, “mine!” at her.

And then he disappears, there’s a light thump on the kitchen floor. Everyone watches as bat Eddie extricates himself from his clothes, movements much better this time around. He half climbs and half flaps his way up Steve’s body, until he gets to around waist height and Steve grabs at the thickest part of Eddie’s body to help him out. Eddie climbs the rest of the way, draping himself around the back of Steve’s neck, tail wrapped under one armpit, Eddie standing on his wing joints on the opposite shoulder. He hisses at Nancy again.

“Holy shit,” Nancy says.

Dustin is frantically scribbling in his notebook.

Robin, once she’d got over the shock of Eddie’s transformation, laughed and laughed and laughed. Even Nancy was smirking at them. The way Steve was absently stroking over Eddie to keep him mollified, and that Nancy couldn’t come within ten feet of them without Eddie getting all riled up again.

“So, you and Eddie huh.”

Steve just rolls his eyes.

“He’s feeling plenty threatened by Nance,” Dustin adds, really, really, unhelpfully.

“Probably because they were a thing,” Robin speculates.

“So you and Eddie are like, dating?” Dustin asks, and whatever Steve’s face does makes Robin laugh and laugh and laugh again.

Eddie actually manages a graceful glide off Steve’s shoulder and onto the nest/fort/thing Eddie had constructed earlier. Steve was going to try and tidy it before bed...but from the way Eddie is wing walking across it, pathetically dragging the edge of a pillow in his tiny mouth, Steve guesses that he’s not.

It’s also been a bit of a day, and he can’t really be bothered.

He climbs into bed, Eddie flapping out of the way and then climbing his way carefully up onto Steve’s chest.

This is my life now, Steve thinks, as he stares at the ceiling.

And then gets winded, when the very small demobat lying on his chest is suddenly a full sized man again. Eddie nearly headbutts Steve in the chin and Steve rolls over to dump him off, panicked and with the breath knocked out of him. Eddie makes a pathetic and somehow accusatory trilling noise, like this turn of events is all Steve’s fault, before he rolls over and flops over Steve again.

Apparently, cuddling is a thing they do.

Eddie makes a noise like a purr when Steve rubs his hand up and down the naked skin of Eddie’s back.

So, yeah, this is Steve’s life now.

There is more of this series on AO3 - Stevieschrodinger

#stranger things #eddie munson #creature eddie munson #magic eddie munson #steve harrington #long suffering steve harrington #steve and dustin #dustin henderson #hopper to the rescue #bat eddie munson #steddie #steddie headcanon #stranger things headers #nancy and robin

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

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𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑨𝑩𝑰𝑫𝑬

** gif by the amazing @inklore who made this for me, love u bby thank you so much!!!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: smut, hurt/comfort

word count: 3.5k

summary: a retelling of the third episode but with you in it. Starts with Ellie reading Bill's letter.

warnings: spoilers for episode three, oral (giving), shower sex, piv, lots of emotions, hugging joel because he needs it, soft!joel

a/n: i'm still fucking crying tbh

“August 29, 2023,”

“If you find this please do not come into the bedroom. We left the window open so the house wouldn't smell. It will probably be a sight. I’m guessing you found this Joel. Because anyone else would’ve been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps hehehehehehe Take anything you need. The bunker code is the same as the gate code but in reverse. Anyway, I never liked you. But still, it's like we're friends. Almost. And I respect you. So I’m gonna tell you something because you’re probably the only person who will understand. I used to hate the world and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong because there was one person worth saving. That’s what I did. I saved him. Then I protected him. That’s why men like you and me are here, we have a job to do. And god help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep—”

Ellie’s voice trails off, making you look up from the corner of the wall your eyes were digging a hole in. She presses her lips together, eyes moving away from the heartbreaking letter. Joel’s eyes snap up, and without saying a word he snatches the letter from her hands and reads it for himself. You have the urge to come close and peer at the words as well, but you don’t dare. You zero in on his expression; the crease between his brows deepens, the corner of his lips pulling down. He swallows.

“Stay here,” he croaks, heading to the door.

It slams shut. Leaving you and Ellie inside, you turn to her, “What did it say?” you ask despite having a solid guess of what the answer might be.

Ellie doesn’t look up. Her stance is relaxed but the tension tolling over her shoulders is visible. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and answers, “Tess,” she says. “Bill was telling Joel to keep her safe,”

“Oh shit,” you whisper instinctively. Ellie nods.

“My thoughts exactly,”

You drop your bag, the sudden relief of it being gone making you feel lighter than ever. You know he’ll be mad if you try to talk about it. But you also don’t have it in you to leave him to wallow in his own self-pity. Joel is a protector. And from what you’ve heard, Bill was also one. Protector to protector. The message was abundantly clear and Joel had failed again and again. You hate to word it like that, but you know that’s what he’s thinking. He’s thinking about Sarah, about Tess. About Tommy who might be already dead. Now, he has to deal with you and Ellie. You, he found in Boston with Tess, covered in bruises and cuts, ration cards stolen and beaten to a pulp.

You turn to Ellie one last time, she’s already staring at you, it’s slightly unnerving. “Wait here, don’t touch anything that might kill you. Stock up,”

“Aye Aye Captain.”

And you leave.

The sun is shining, not a single cloud in the sky. Your eyes lock onto Joel as soon as you step over the threshold; his back turned, letter in hand, shoulders slumped. He looks around the neighborhood, then back down to the letter. He repeats the motion a couple of times as if he can’t believe what’s happening around him. You follow the path his eyes draw, looking around and back at him. You wonder if this neighborhood is similar to the one he used to live in.

“Hey,” you finally call out, your voice sounding scratchy. Joel flinches, he crumples the piece of paper and stuffs it in his pocket. “Are you okay?”

“We need to get out of here,” he answers, fingers tightening around the key, he heads to the garage. You follow.

When the two of you are inside, you see his resolve finally starting to crack. He pops the hood open, looks inside, and slams it shut. Pressing his palms into the smooth surface, his head falls, body shaking with his every breath. Your steps are silent as you approach him, your eyes trail over the roundness of his shoulders, the dip of his shirt.

You bite down the inside of your cheek, not stopping until you feel a sharp sting. Holding your breath, you place a hand over his shoulder, gently squeezing.

He flinches, it’s the most minimal reaction, something you only felt because you were physically touching him. “Is this okay?” you ask.

Joel nods, his swallow audible. “Yeah, it’s fine,”

“Can I hug you?”

He tenses under your fingertips. You don’t make a move until you feel the small nod he makes. “Sure,” his voice cracks. “If you want to,”

Some part of you wants to ask ‘do you?’ but of course, you don’t. Of all the months you’ve known him, he’s never once verbally asked anyone for anything. If you give it, he’ll take it. Your hand smooths a path down his arm, the other rounding his waist. You take a deep breath as you press your forehead between his shoulder blades, you feel the steadiness of his heartbeat.

Joel is still tense but less than before. Your fingers curl around his wrist, and your other hand lays right above his heart, nails softly biting into the fabric of his shirt.

Much to your surprise, his hand covers your own, thick fingers lacing into yours. It gives you courage. It gives you hope. You press further into him, hug him with your entire body hoping that the warmth you provide is enough to soothe him, even for a second.

“Sorry,” he grunts out, squeezing your hand, he brings it to his lips. His mustache tickles your skin, and he eases his lips into you, something between a kiss and a press of skin. “I don’t know what to do. I’m so angry all the time, there’s a weight on my chest that never leaves. You understand?” you nod and he continues. “I’m not like Bill. Not in the way he thought that I was. I’ve always been afraid—Even after…”

You feel him shaking his head, and your grip around him tightens. You do understand. You’ve felt it too, but he made it easier, help you lift that weight despite not being a man of many words, his presence gave you strength.

You want to stay like this forever. Holding him, feeling him. He’s incredibly warm.

“I’m not strong enough,” he lastly says, whispering your name right after. “I can’t keep you or Ellie safe,”

You feel the brush of lips over your knuckles. He allows you to cradle his scruffy cheek. It feels like a dream almost, which makes you acutely aware of how much he must be hurting right now. Your heart breaks.

“You are,” you whisper, fingers moving along his beard. “We’re going to stock up, find Tommy, and get Ellie to the fireflies. Then we’re done. Maybe we can even come back here,”

He scoffs, “How are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Hopeful,”

“It’s because I have you.”

You know he’s confused. You can feel it simmering under his skin, face heating up under your hand. He’s confused as to how something positive could be spurred from his existence. But it’s the truth. And he needs to hear it. He needs to know that it’s not only grief, and sadness, that follow his every footstep like a shadow. His strength gives those around him a chance to grow, a chance to be more human. Allowing them to live and relax while he carries the burden.

His methods might be brutal, and the words he says might cut deeper than a knife ever could, but it comes from a place of a twisted sense of love.

“We should head back inside,” he murmurs and pulls at your hand. “I’ll make the truck battery and we grab what we can while it charges,”

“Okay,” you take a step back, already feeling the ache of not feeling him against your person. “I’ll go check on Ellie.”

Joel doesn’t say a word, nor looks at you, he only nods.

You still can’t fucking believe it.

Hot fucking water.

You’re impatiently sitting in one of the guest bedrooms, Ellie is downstairs, already taken her shower and Joel is still inside, a soft slow of steam slithering its way out of the cracks of the door.

You sitting there and waiting for Joel to get out isn’t probably the most efficient thing to do but you can’t help it, you feel giddy. Your leg bobs up and down as you wait. The mere thought of having warm water rolling down your tattered skin makes your heart leap to your throat—

The running water stops and your eyes fly to the door. A couple of minutes later it opens. A wet, clothed, Joel makes his way through the steam. It looks mystical, almost.

He stops when he sees you.

“What are you doin’ here?”

“Waiting to use the shower,” you grin, not shying away from openly raking your eyes up and down his body. “Looking good, Miller,”

He rolls his eyes and pushes his hair back, your pussy bottoms out at the way his biceps bulge from underneath the flannel. “Well, I’m done now. Have fun,”

Joel moves towards the door and you jump up barely in time to catch his wrist. He raises an eyebrow, eyes dropping to meet yours. His skin is still damp, if you were a cat you’d be purring by now.

“Sit down,” you choke out. “I—fuck—This is hard. I want to—”

“Don’t hurt yourself tryin’ to come up with words,” he teases and you look at him completely flabbergasted. Joel Miller actually sounds amused. It’s a goddamn miracle. He twists his hand so it’s him holding you instead, locking the door, he moves towards the bed, urging you to follow him as if this was his idea from the get-go.

“What do you want?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. You’re standing between his spread-out legs, a chill runs up your spine. He reaches out and touches your chin. “Tell me,”

Instead of telling, you slowly sink down to your knees, fingers moving to unbutton his jeans. He spreads his legs wider as you tug them down, you trail your fingers up his thighs, feeling the soft hairs tickling the pads of your fingers. Joel’s breath hitches, muscles tensing under your touch. He’s semi-hard when you take him into your mouth. His hips buck up as you swallow, swirling your tongue around the head.

He grows harder with every lick. Your chin strains as you attempt to swallow him whole. You manage to take only half of him, your eyes squeezing shut at the pressure. Pulling up, you gasp for air. You kiss the side and flatten your tongue against it. Joel cradles your head, thumbs drawing slow circles, he guides you back down to his cock, pushing you further down.

“That’s it,” he breathes out heavily. “Just a bit more, always so fuckin’ good to me,”

He forces your gaze up, and his cock twitches above your tongue. You whimper at the way he caresses your skin, so tender, so gentle. “You are too good to me,” he repeats his words from before. “I want you to know that. I ain’t the best with words but…yeah. I’ll try to make right by you,”

If it wasn’t for his cock in your mouth, you would’ve smiled. Your heart feels so full that it overflows, the muscles of your stomach taut as you sink down, taking him until you feel the soft curls against the base of your nose. Joel holds you there, flush against his pelvis, heavily breathing as you swallow around him again and again. Spit trails down the corner of your lips, nostrils flaring as it gets harder to breathe.

When he releases you, you pull away with a pop, your lungs burning at the sudden influx of oxygen. You wrap your fingers around the shaft and start stroking him, he moans loudly, hips thrusting into your hand.

“I want you to cum down my throat, Joel,” you purr. “Use me,”

And he does.

The more desperate he becomes, the more stifled his groans get. He thrusts into your mouth, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat. You can’t breathe, you can’t think. Joel fucks deeper into your mouth, balls heavy on your chin as his thrusts become shallow. Your eyes roll back, your consciousness teetering on the edge of blacking out completely.

With a moment of desperation, you cup your mound, rubbing at your clothed clit. The friction isn’t nearly enough and you let out a moan around his length, the reverberations making his hips stutter.

Joel spills down your throat with a grunt, he presses his molars together, rolling his hips into your mouth. You swallow greedily. He tastes bitter, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting yourself on your knees to push him deeper down. He hisses, cock pulsing between your lips.

“Jesus Christ,” he slurs, head falling back. “Jesus fuckin’ christ,”

He pulls you off with a sharp tug, looking down at you between heavy lids. “You good darlin’?”

You slowly nod, lips parting with a soft sigh. Your mind is in a deep haze of lust, your body aching to be touched, to be filled. You want to say something, anything, but you’re lost for words.

“Shit, alright come on— Up,” he grabs you by the arm, helping you to stand on your feet. You shoot him a confused look, which he answers promptly. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Is it alright if I help?”

It takes you a moment to understand the question and answer, “S-Sure.”

You stand in the bathroom naked with your arms crossed in front of your chest. Joel wraps his arms around you slowly, still hesitant to touch you. He rests his chin above your shoulder, his torso bare, you sigh blissfully at the skin-on-skin contact.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, moving his hand down your stomach. “I thought you were excited,”

“I am,” you shudder when he drags his nose up the column of your neck, his lips following the path back down.

“Do you want me to go?”

You shake your head, “No.”

He murmurs an ‘okay’ into your skin and gently nudges you forward so you get in. The tiles are cool and slippery. It feels absurd being in such a homey-feeling bathroom after so long. It smells like lavender.

You stand there, too stunned to move until Joel joins you. He stands behind you, leaning over, naked body pressing into yours, he turns on the faucet, playing with the degree of the water until it pours warm over your skin.

“How’s that?” he mutters.

“Good,” a giggle falls from your lips. “It feels so fucking good. Unbelievable,”

Joel starts washing your body, the touch of his hands has fear behind them. A fear that you might vanish at any second. His fingers trail over every inch of your skin, exploring every curve and valley. You close your eyes, relishing in the sensation of having him this close. He washes your hair, taking his time, massaging your scalp. He moves down to your back, running his hands over your spine, kneading out the tension from your muscles.

His hands move to your front, lingering over your breasts, sending shivers down your spine. He takes his time, leaving no spot untouched. The water cascades over your bodies, swallowing you and hiding you both from the tainted world outside. Wet lips trail the slope of your shoulders, fingers slipping between your folds. He drags them between your slit, circles your aching clit, and repeats. Your head falls over his shoulder, your soft moans drowned by the sound of water.

Joel holds your chin and turns you until you’re facing him, he closes the distance, molding his lips into yours. His wet tongue follows the seam of your lips and you open up for him, he moves his tongue over yours, licking the inside of your mouth. He swallows your moans and whines as you start to grind down against his palm.

His tongue presses deeper, and your legs tremble. He grinds the heel of his palm into the sensitive bundle of nerves, groaning into your mouth when slick gushes into his hand. His cock lays above the curve of your ass, hot and hard.

He grinds into you, his cock pressing insistently between your cheeks. His hands grab your hips, pulling you closer to him, and his mouth moves across your shoulder and neck. His lips find your ear.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his breath heavy and hot against your neck.

“It is. I want to feel you Joel, every inch of you,”

His hands reach up, cupping your breasts, massaging gently. His thumbs circle your nipples and they harden beneath his touch, your breath catching in your throat. You roll back into him, your body craving more of his touch— of him.

Joel’s hands move down your body, his fingers tracing every inch. “Turn around for me,”

You move without hesitation. He takes a step back, letting his hands trail over you. You take a step forward, closing the gap between you and he takes you in his arms, his mouth finding yours. His tongue slips between your lips and you moan into his mouth, lost in him.

You allow your own hands to explore his body as well. He’s firm, arms strong and thick, hips narrowing as your fingers trace a path down within the water droplets that cling to his skin.

Affectionately, you caress his stomach. You gently press the pads of your fingers into the soft flesh, loving the way his chest heaves.

The water continues to pour down, creating a soothing background noise. He pushes his cock between your legs, moving through the slickness and sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

You move together, bodies entwined and breaths mingling. He lets out a low moan as you press your hips against his. His hands move to your back, his fingers tracing the line of your spine. He pulls you closer, his lips claiming yours again and again and again— He moans as he fucks your thighs. The bulbous head of his cock catching against your clit, the corners of your vision fade to black. Your head buzzes.

Joel continues to roll and grind, cock slipping between your legs with ease. During it, he slips into you, stretching you enough that the pain easily bleeds into the pleasure. He holds you, cock twitching as your flutter around him. You’re dripping and making a mess of him, he feels it. You know that he does by the way he bites into your skin, his growl vibrating across your body.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet,” he says, licking the water off your skin. “Feels so good inside—Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good. I don’t think it’ll ever be enough,”

“S-Shit Joel,”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your hips meeting his with each thrust. He holds your gaze, fucking himself deeper, harder into you. Pleasure licks the bottom of your spine, heat rolling in your stomach. The water washes away the sweat but you still burn. Joel’s hand moves up to the back of your neck, his hand big enough to press his fingers into both sides of your throat.

You nearly go limp at his hold, knees bucking at the pressure. But you trust him, and you aren’t at all surprised when he keeps you up, pounding into you as his lips slither down your neck.

He moves his hand lower, skimming down your stomach and cupping your sex. His thumb circles your clit, and you gasp as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

You’re teetering on the edge, ready to come undone, when Joel suddenly pulls out. His fingers don’t stop, pinching your clit. You cry out his name as your orgasm rips through you, he holds you close as your body jolts. Your body is left confused, empty, yet still clenching as if Joel’s cock is still inside.

It’s so intense that tears roll down your cheeks, pleasure ripples over your skin, unfiltered whimpers falling from your lips. Your gaze drops to his cock, your eagerness to please loud in your mind. You notice that he’d already came, seed mixing with the water.

“I got you don’t worry,” he mutters, lips brushing your forehead. “You’re alright, you’re with me,”

You blink up, eyes finding Joel’s. A lazy smile spreads across your face, the water beating over your skin now cold. “Was that good?” you ask, kissing the bald spot on his chin.

“You know it was,” when you give him a knowing look, he sighs. “It was good, thank you, darlin’”

“I’m glad to hear that,” you grin, hands moving up his arms. “Now let’s get cleaned up one last time and get the hell out of here.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #hbo the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader

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briarpatch-kids · 11 months

Text

My fancy disabled shower and bathroom are done! It's zero threshold and has both an overhead and a shower wand on a sliding bar. (Also featuring the shower buddy bathroom wheelchair!)

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wordywarriorwrites · 2 months

Text

Blowing Bubbles

Title: Blowing Bubbles | AO3 | Rating: T | Masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader

Summary: Your stay-cation isn't exactly going as planned...

Warnings: Kissing. Mildly spicy thoughts/behaviors.

A/N: This is the second fic I've written for Hawk and Frankie. Here is the first. If people show interest and the muse sticks with me, I might continue writing little drabbles for them. :o)

“Hawk, what are you doing?”

Frankie’s sudden appearance just inside the living room threshold prompts you to glance up so fast that your neck crackles and pops like dried wood. You let out a hissed curse – not only at the pain, but also because you know you’ve just been caught.

The oversized mug at your elbow is steaming with your third (maybe fourth?) serving and the table in front of you is covered corner-to-corner with tools and supplies of various kinds. There’s really no hiding what you’re getting up to – especially not when it’s zero-two-hundred, and you’re so damn jittery from too much dark roast and exhaustion that you’re practically tap dancing in your seat. You really should’ve eaten the toast you made for yourself, but you just got so wrapped up in it…

“Por favor, cariño,” he rasps. “Come to bed.”

“Five more minutes,” you counter, refocusing on the remaining bits and pieces spread out in front of you. “I’ve almost got it this time.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I know, but--”

“And the day before.”

Your absentminded grunt. His put-out sigh. The refrigerator hums lightly and the floorboards creak with every other step he takes toward the kitchen. Bare feet patter along the tile, and then, he’s standing over you – the broad, muscular form of him distorted by the headlamp magnifier you’re wearing. A blurry cutout of sinew, Frankie is lit up by a tiny row of LEDs, and his eyes morph, all comically large, before his visage starts to become clearer.

“You look like a mad scientist,” he remarks, deft fingers working to remove your headgear and scoot your mug of black-one-sugar aside. “Even your hair is wild.”

“I think the term you’re looking for is sex hair,” you quip back, unable to hide the smirk crawling its way up the left side of your face. “And I lay the blame at your feet for that.”

A flicker of pride, and then, a furrowed brow. Frankie crosses his arms over his chest and props his cute ass up against the table, but it’s not until his expression morphs into what you’ve dubbed his “frowny, grumpy face” that you know he’s no longer thinking happy thoughts. A man of careful consideration, he weighs his words, practically rolling them around in his mind and mouth before finally speaking.

“We had plans,” he says, succinct, but not unkind.

You rub the back of your neck and stare at your lap, “And I’m ruining them.”

“No, baby, not that – never that. It’s just…A whole week together. Just you and me. That’s what we agreed to. Remember?”

You fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt and nod, your mind recalling the hours-long conversations the two of you had, going over the pros and cons, weighing up the mutual fears and excitement. The serious lack of alone time and the desperate, mutual need for a break – that’s what ultimately clinched it. You and Frankie would have your own, private staycation, while at the same time, a very excited Isabella would be with her grandparents for a getaway at an out-of-town water park/resort.

You and Frankie never have the house to yourselves, and the two of you had plans to celebrate via unabashed orgasms, eating pizza naked in front of the TV, and taking prolonged showers together. No chores. No projects. No plans to go out or catch up with friends or even grocery shop…

But instead of a distraction-free, sexed-up weekend, full of takeout food and Netflix shows without singing cartoons, you’ve been tinkering with Isabella’s damn bubble blaster. You’ve allowed an easily replaceable, three-dollar toy to take up entirely too much of the infrequent, precious alone time you get with the man you otherwise can’t ever seem to get enough of.

You repair helicopters, for crying out loud. And you’re good at your job. In fact, you’re so good at it, the exorbitant salary you pull isn’t just for your mechanical skills – people also hire you on a contractual basis just for your opinions. Shit, you could buy Isabella a plethora of brand-new bubble blasters. Hell, you could upgrade to one of those fancy machines they use at clubs and in movies, but there’s something about fixing this particular butterfly-themed bubble blaster that you simply can’t let go of…

“The replacement parts you’re putting in this thing are more expensive than the toy itself,” he says, voice gruff with sleep and perhaps a hint of agitation. “And with how she plays with her toys… You know it’s not gonna last long.”

Frankie’s remarks prompt you to glance at the table’s surface again. Every inch is covered with a mess of trial-and-error, and the presence of all that’s accumulated – like the multimeter, soldering iron, repair kit, and empty supply packages – simply makes you shrug.

A deep inhale. A long exhale. Frankie closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose – the picture of an exasperated partner who really wanted to get laid without fear of interruption and maybe – just maybe – eat first and sleep in late for a change. You feel terrible for getting caught up, for allowing your obsessive, one-track mind to take over, and you would apologize for it if not for him speaking first.

“I love the way you love her,” Frankie says, tone now warmer, more understanding. “I may not get why you’re doing this, but… I love you. And I love you more for loving her.”

You find it difficult to keep the tears at bay – especially when he looks at you, all soft, soulful eyes full of adoration and even deeper admiration. Frankie has always had the uncanny ability to see you, to get you right down to the marrow, and it would terrify the hell out if you weren’t so in love with him.

“It’s her favorite,” you say, hoping that somehow explains the reasoning behind the sudden madness that’s gripped you. “And I just… I should be able to fix this for her.”

He scratches at the hairs along the column of his throat, “I know, cariño. I know.”

A long pause, and then, you press your luck. “Does that mean I can have five more minutes?” you wonder, sticking out your lower lip and batting your eyelashes for good measure.

The sound that escapes his throat is a combination of a bemused groan and a warning growl. You know you haven’t exactly won, but you haven’t lost, either. Frankie is a man of compromise who always has a caveat, and you know it’s coming when he leans forward, cups your face in his hands, and stares at you in such a way that you’re powerless not to meet his gaze.

“Last chance,” he says sternly. “Then, it goes in the trash. That’s an order.”

You lick your lips and nod slightly, “Yes, sir.”

Frankie’s pupils expand, and his smile wide enough to reveal his dimple, then, he’s kissing you – a relentless, frantic demand of your mouth that’s all possessive and purposeful. Then, he’s slow as syrup when he pulls away, the epitome of stark contrast when he drops a chaste peck to the middle of your forehead and calmly sets a timer on his wristwatch. He doesn’t hover – he simply hands you the headlamp magnifier, wishes you luck, and leaves you to it.

With your heart racing and the clock ticking, you set about reassembling, working off your own drawings of internal components and how the toy had been put together before you started tinkering with it. You slide the battery into place and close the compartment. With a flick of your thumb, the power button slides from off to on, and the colorful lights built into the handle come to life.

The bottle of bubble refill twists neatly into place. You slowly press down on the trigger, and the enclosed blower fan comes to life with a high-pitched, mechanical whir.

“Alright, come on,” you murmur, watching as the soap dribbles pathetically down your wrist and along your forearm. “Come on, baby, come on…”

A strange gurgle. A death-rattle-type wheeze. Then, one, big bubble gives way to dozens more, and you don’t realize you’re on your feet or that you’ve even left the kitchen. Suddenly, you’re jumping on the bed, practically screaming your victory at the top of your lungs, jostling the hell out of Frankie and covering him, the blanket, sheets, and pillows with glittery bubbles.

When you eventually stop your crowing, you’re panting, and your mouth tastes like soap. Frankie’s laughter has slowed, and he’s trying (and failing) to brush the glitter out of his hair and mustache. There’s no denying you’re still giddy and wound up as all hell, but still, you’re careful when you step down from the bed and even more mindful of where you place your prized work, opting for the top dresser drawer and nestling it safely in a pile of socks.

“I did it,” you exhale, mind settling in its relief. “I actually did it.”

“M'proud of you,” Frankie grins sleepily.

You sigh and happily crawl into strong arms covered in soapy sparkles. You let yourself bask in for a moment, permit yourself to soak up Frankie’s sincere compliments, revel in your achievement, and think of how happy Isabella will be. It feels good – good in a way that’s entirely unexpected because the motivation was different.

“I do love her,” you whisper, the words tumbling out like a confession against the soft cotton t-shirt covering his chest.

A beat of silence. Then, you feel warm fingertips beneath your chin, coaxing your eyes up until his gaze meets yours. Frankie cups your cheek and his smile – the one reserved just for you – fills you with such warmth, such comfort, that you can’t help but smile at him in return. His kiss is brief, but tender, and then, he rests his cheek against the crown of your head and holds you just a little bit tighter.

You nuzzle his chest and sigh, “You think she knows?”

He chuckles and nods slightly, “Yeah, cariño. She knows.”

#frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fan fiction #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #wordywarriorwrites

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not-goldy · 7 months

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Umm but Tae cross that line tho. You said you can't support taennie because what Tae doing is unfair to her I.e pushing tkk by namedropping JK while not claiming his gf and indirectly nodding his Fandom to attack her. Which is disrespectful for both Jikook and his relationship with Jennie.

I agree about JM coz personally the only member I take seriously when they speak about love and commitment is Jimin. Because when he says it he means it 101%.

Tae crossed that line with whomst?

Shipping and fan service is a normal part of Kpop and a member name dropping another member is not crossing the line in my opinion.

The part he's not protecting his alleged girlfriend is a very valid point. There's no excuse for that I agree. And yes I can't support that at all because I wouldn't want to be Jennie in that situation.

And showing love to the same people hating on your SO is wrong on every level. I would have deleted my account and only showed up on live if Hybe forced me to. I would make shitty music dissing my fans and drag them to hell if they don't buy or stream it🥲

Stream this song called my fans ain't shit armya.

I'll shave my head bald.

Wear socks for masks in public

And I'll gave a butched tattoo on my forehead.

Like forget the Y. Jx write Armpit on my neck.

Drop she's better than you out of no where.

Ipost and delete "love you armed robbers" and repost with the correct fan name so you know I meant yall.

I'll be such a terrible idol you'll regret stanning me. That's how petty I actually am.

Oooohhhh, you mean Tae's behavior is disrespectful to Jikook because of the way he acts with Jk sometimes?

I mean.... yes and no.

Stay with me alright,

People are allowed to do whatever they want. Just because there's a boundary or wall don't mean it will keep people out. Sometimes people go over walls, burn down and break walls.

When that happens it is up to the individual to take steps and actions to address those breaches and to prevent them from happening again.

Where you try a peaceful settlement and that fails cutting people off completely or keeping your distance becomes the ultimate solution.

Does that ring a bell with any ship dynamics in BTS to you? Ding ding ding

Tae "disrespecting" someone's boundaries is not what's important. It's that person enforcing those boundaries or allowing it that matters.

After all JK is not a child any more and so he shouldn't and wouldn't allow things he's not comfortable with. And in that regard, what may be a hard limit to you may not be a hard limit to him so he might allow it.

It's the same with JM and every body.

I think from Tae saying he wouldn't be willing to do red line tattoos with his members, it's safe to say he does understand some sort of limits or boundaries when it comes to relationships.

His limits may not however be the same as every body's.

For instance while he said he wouldn't do the red line tattoo at all JK didn't mind. He was willing to do it save for a few modifications.

It doesn't mean JK has no sense of boundaries because he is the same individual who said he wouldn't be okay with his SO feeding his friends perilla leaves or whatever.

Those two have different sense of boundaries.

Tae tend to be very liberal, carefree and has a lower social threshold. When he was younger the members used to say he had zero sense of boundaries and we could all see that too most times.

A reminder, he's the same person he stripped young Jk naked in the shower so he could have that male bonding experience and stop his shyness.

Yet he is also the one who wouldn't share his close friends with his band mates and said he likes girls that looked mean (unapproachable) on the outside.

So we know he has some sense of boundaries too. It's just not what you'd expect.

What is a boundary to you might not feel like a boundary to him. I recall him posting TKK photos on his birthday when Jk had gone out of his way to edit himself out of those pics.

The environment a person is raised in has an impact on their understanding of social dynamics and so we all have unique social needs and boundaries.

When it comes to Jungkook, he does put up boundaries where he feels he needs to and allows things he feels he's comfortable with including his one bandmate nibbling on his neck 🙃

He"ll quick punch us in the throat if any one of us tried that shit🤧

And I don't know if Jimin will be down to bump dicks with us- or it's just a jikook thing. Idk idk😩

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cain-gunn · 29 days

Text

every whisper, of every waking hour || self-para

TWs: drugs, alcohol, depression, anxiety, grief, ghosts/hallucinations, etc.

ft. @mack-montresor

Cain sat crumpled against a brick wall. Even from here, he could still feel the rhythmic thumping of bass through the building’s exterior. The night air was a bit of cool reprieve against the sweat that was beaded on his forehead. Cain reached into his pocket, fumbling for his phone that he only hoped was still on him. The night hadn’t started out this way, but here he was: alone and trying to make sense of the world as it spun around him.

It was only hours ago that Cain’s phone lit up on his nightstand. He was just getting out of the shower, throwing on an outfit and running a little product in his hair, his toothbrush still hanging out of his mouth as he tapped on the keyboard of his phone.

> Rome: Still coming, right?

> Rome: Gunn, if you don’t show up to this thing and I have to deal with Angie and Jovian by myself, I swear I will go to your apartment just to punch you in the face and then drag you out anyway

> Cain: Lol chill, man. I’ll be there. You didn’t get Angie a present, right?

> Rome: Fuck no. It’s not even her actual birthday

> Cain: Cool

> Cain: Meet you there in an hour

District Zero was the same as it always was. Which was to say that it looked entirely different from any other time he’d been there before. The theme of the night was Casino, and smoke hung thick in the air as Cain descended into the catacombs. The belly of the club was a well-oiled machine of card tables and slots games, all running simultaneously. At the door, Cain met a waiter dressed in black tie. He accepted an outstretched drink before crossing the threshold. In classic D0 fashion, the drink was laced with something– ether, probably– and he could feel it as it wrapped its way around his nerve endings with every step he took. He was buzzing by the time he found his friends in the crowd. “Gunn!” Rome called, jogging to meet him halfway. Rome grabbed Cain by the shirt, leaning in close to whisper. “Big news,” he announced. “Apparently, Angie and Jove are off again. So, if you’re trying to hit that, tonight is the night, buddy. You’re too pretty not to be getting laid,” Rome said solemnly, patting Cain on his cheek before he released him, straightening up again. “Lay your cards on the table, Gunn,” Rome concluded, swirling his pointer finger through the air to gesture to the games around them as he walked back to the group. Rome was clearly pleased with himself, so Cain swallowed the urge to point out that the pun wasn’t great.

Hours passed, drinks flowed, and Cain continued to indulge. It was all he did these days– indulge in drinks and drugs to push away the implacable feeling that clawed inside his chest. Cain won a lot of money on blackjack, and then lost all of it and more in poker. He broke even at the slots and decided he needed a break from the gambling. “Hit the smoking room,” Jovian suggested. So, Cain wandered until he’d found it– the source of the haze whose tendrils had coiled to every corner of the club. But beyond the entrance of the smoking room, the air was so thick with it that it was hard to see his own hand in front of his face. Boxes of cigars lined the entrance. Cain didn’t read their names or descriptions before he plucked one up. The attendant lit it for him as Cain went past, and he settled on a couch at the back of the room with the laced cigar against his lips.

Figures moved through the haze– indistinguishable silhouettes. Cain watched them with removed curiosity as the cigar burned away between his fingers. With each inhale, Cain felt less corporeal. The room, the people, his own body– none of them seemed to hold shape, remain solid. He stared blankly into the cloud of smoke, until a face emerged. “Mack?”

“Kiss-ass,” she scoffed, offering acknowledgement with her arms crossed. “Another night in your fancy Capitol club?”

Cain smiled at the sound of her voice. “I don’t remember you complaining about it last time we were here,” he countered.

“Is that why you keep coming back?” Mack asked, and amidst the haze — both physical and mental — it was hard to tell if the question was genuine or a taunt. “Besides, we’re not here, Cain. I’m dead.”

Cain’s smile fell, morphing into a worried frown. A deep crease settled between his brows. Mack was dead, wasn’t she? Had that been a dream? Was this one? “Then what are you doing here?” He wondered.

“You’re the one hallucinating. Maybe you should ask yourself.” Mack’s head tilted, and as someone walked by, they passed unknowingly through her. “It’s better this way though. I’d be disappointed if I knew.”

Cain blinked as the figure moved right through Mack. Delayed from the drugs in his body, he jumped up a moment later. Her form had shifted, broken apart by the person who—for a single moment in time—shared space with her. He lifted his hands as if to piece her together again. He couldn’t save her from the disease that had taken her, but maybe he could hold her body together now. There was no need. Mack came together again all on her own. Still, she eyed his hands, which hovered, not quite daring to see if she had a corporeal form.

Hallucinating. It made sense, but he didn’t want it to stop. He hadn’t heard Mack’s voice in months. If this was the closest he could get, then he wanted to stay here as long as he could. But her words cut at him like glass. “Disappointed?” He swallowed thickly. “I haven’t even done anything,” he reasoned. He, too, was a ghost moving through life.

“Exactly.” Mack brushed by, spectral form passing through. “You’ve done nothing.” She took his seat, head tilting, observing, as ghosts were wont to do. “No, you’ve actually done plenty, haven’t you?” Enough to conjure her. Ether, and alcohol, and empty affection. Every night bleeding into the next morning; every day spent languishing in bed. Starting again to be functional, to make him fun, to make him forget. “I thought you were better than this.”

Cain watched her as she moved behind him, taking over the seat he’d just jumped out of. Everything was moving in slow motion, but his heart leapt, meeting the pace of a wild horse. He collapsed into the seat beside her, twisted to look at her straight on, but still not brave enough to reach out his hand. The thought of moving through her body—of touching her without feeling—made him sick. “What do you want me to do?” He asked, his voice teetering on begging. “There’s no point—” to tuning into the world. It was all awful without her. “I’m not.” As it turned out, he wasn’t better than this. Every good Mack hoped he’d be, he wasn’t. He was as spoiled and privileged as she’d imagined. The least he could do was live up to that, lose himself in it. “At least doing this brought you back to me!”

“Fuck, do you even hear yourself?” Mack’s face scrunched with disgust. “It’s not me, Cain. You didn’t bring me back.” She had died in the arena. Cain had watched. He’d sent her every kind of medicine he could. But it had been too late, fated from the start — and this too wouldn’t last. “And I can’t stay. I’m not supposed to be here, and neither are you.”

It’s not me. I’m not supposed to be here. “I know,” Cain admitted, his voice low. It was a shared secret between the two of them, that she had never been there at all and wouldn’t remain. “Just don’t leave,” he pleaded with her. “Not yet. I…” All the things he hadn’t been able to say to her. They’d never really said goodbye, too preoccupied by thoughts of see you later. “I was supposed to get to love you.” And neither are you. “I don’t wanna leave,” he protested feebly. “I hate it out there. I hate everyone. I don’t give a shit what they do with Eleven or anywhere else.” None of it mattered to him. “You were supposed to live, and then, I wouldn’t have to hate everything so much.”

“I know,” her voice dropped, losing its harsh tone. “I’m sorry, Cain. I tried, I— I really did.” Her expression fell, as her mask had months prior, the vulnerable parts of her exposed. It was his memory of her, of her rare softness. Could anyone else recall that of her? “I wanted to get to love you too.”

She wavered, hand lifting as though to reach out, to test the limits of their visitation. “But you know better now.” There were truths Cain could no longer deny: that the districts were treated unfairly; that they weren’t safe, even in victorhood; that Mack had been sick long before she’d been Reaped, denied access to that which could have spared her life. “It wouldn’t have mattered, even if I won.”

Cain wanted to tell Mack that he didn’t want to know better. That he would trade everything he knew to not feel this pain he’d been running from. He wanted to tell her, but it wouldn’t have been the truth. One night with her had been worth all the knowing, all the pain. “I didn’t wanna know,” he admitted. It was a truth that had been so plain his whole life. The Games, the districts, the systems in place, they were all flawed. No, not flawed, designed to oppress and divide. The system was working exactly as it was meant to, and if that was true, then everything he knew about his home, his parents, himself… it all changed. He hadn’t wanted to face it until he was facing it with her. The thought of trying to be the version of himself that Mack had seen scared him more than anything he’d ever done, and doing it without her felt almost pointless, but Cain considered—really, for the first time—that it was still worth doing for her. “But I’m glad you put up with me long enough to tell me. You could’ve just killed me in the training center and been done with it,” he laughed softly.

She laughed too, the sound like an echo, coming from odd shadows and edges of the room. The noise faded, tapering off. And in the midst of grief, the kind that qualified as unfinished business and kept souls tethered to the earth, Mack choked on breath she no longer had, heart skipping an invisible beat. “I miss you—“ A confession, tearing her asunder. Mack braved the unknown, slipping forward, and it could have been the air circulating in the room, or a wisp of smoke from his cigar, or her lips, soft but sure, catching his. “But it’s time to go.”

Mack’s lips touched his, feather light, but Cain could’ve sworn he felt the warmth of her. It was a moment in time so short he knew that it was real. His imagination would’ve been kind enough to let him linger in it, but in this reality, Mack was already slipping away. “Not yet,” he asked, bargaining with the unknown—his mind, her ghost, some higher power—whoever was the one who decided. “Just let me hold you. Stay for one more minute.”

“Cain,” his name answer enough, encapsulating all things: I’m sorry; I wish I could; it’s not up to me. Mack longed to be held. Though — as a figment of his mind — she merely reflected his desire to hold. Still, she tempted fortune, risking sacred contact once more. Mack’s fingers brushed his chest, over the fabric, near where his heartbeat thrummed. A vertical line. Half a rectangle at the base, facing down. This is the place. Safe. “My world’s not meant for you,” she whispered. “Not yet.” There were rails to ride, endless roads to traverse. Another lifetime and another intersecting arc she had to see through. “Train’s leaving. You know me. Can’t stay in one place for too long.”

Mack winked, standing, the crowd abuzz as the revelry raged on. They moved around and through her, and in the sea of celebration, taken over by the swell of the living, Mack was gone.

Cain watched as Mack’s figure slipped into the haze, never to return. He jumped from his seat, bolting a few steps forward to chase her, but she was already gone. “Wait,” he cried, tears spilling over his lashes and darting down his cheeks in hot streams. “Wait for me.”

Cain’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Two missed calls and a text:

> Rome: Couldn’t find you, so everyone bounced. Call you tomorrow

Cain was alone again. His friends were gone, Mack was gone. He was swimming through fog, and there were a hundred people swimming around him, and he was utterly alone. Suddenly, a heat crept up the back of his neck, bringing with it a wave of nausea. Cain bit back against it, but he knew he couldn’t fight it for much longer. He had to get out of here. Cain wandered out of the dense haze of the Smoking Room, retracing his steps back through the casino and through the twisting catacombs until he reached the city again. His balance was unstable and everything was spinning around him. He couldn’t make it stop.

Cain collapsed against the brick wall, closing his eyes to stave off sickness another minute more. He couldn’t get home like this. Everything whirled around him so violently, Cain didn’t even think he knew where home was anymore. He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone again. He went into his contacts, calling the only person he could think of that might actually pick up.

#drugs tw #alcohol tw #depression tw #s/o to lena for collabing and writing the mack parts!!#self para #135 #ah135

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zoonotic · 11 months

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this heat and humidity where i live is so fucking awful. i’m not doing well mentally and haven’t been for months, so this heat is making my irritation threshold basically zero. i cannot take it. i cannot. i’m literally sleeping in the living room of my house on the wildly uncomfortable sofa bc upstairs where my bedroom is has no AC at all. every morning i wake up feeling gross and sweaty and sticky—like i just went to the gym and worked out for 2 hours, even if i had taken a shower right before going to bed. i cannot fucking wait for summer to be OVER. i’m sick of walking outside and feeling like i’ve just stepped into a sauna.

#it literally just started and i’m over it #i’m so over it #so irritated by the heat that i could just cry #.txt

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skips-is-asleep · 1 year

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Psionic Headcanons And Rules

Can't get this out of my head, here's the rules I semi-strictly follow when writing Sollux for RP or writing fanfics. I hate when people write Sollux's powers are being able to do anything at any point in time with no restrictions, so these are the restrictions I place upon him to make everything more interesting. Some of these are popular/universally accepted, some are perhaps a bit controversial ;)

Once again, Pink text is for tangents but more often than not, Sollux specific headcanons

Psionics have to look at whatever they're using their powers on. The only exception is that they can use it on themselves at any time, but this is my explanation for why voidrot (what happens to Sollux after his big fight with Eridan if u didn't know) blinds them. Sometimes I break this rule but I try hard lol, it depends on what I'm writing

Psionics + Water generally do not mix. The rule of thumb is that psi doesn't work when is under water, so under active water flow/rain/shower or submerged in water. They can still grab wet things, but if the thing is underwater, they can't grab it. Also things being underwater impacts how they see the thing, see rule 1. This is ultimately why I think Solllux has a fear of the ocean/drowning because it's the one place his powers will fail him and he has zero control of what's happening. He's not usually a control freak, but when you can't even control your own breath supply???

Speaking of water and rain, psionics can't use their powers in lightning storms and also can sense where lightning will strike. 8/10, it's on them. They are person shaped lightning rods and can be struck multiple times if not under cover. It doesn't kill them, but it does hurt and they will get sick and not have access to their powers for a few days after. Due to high EM in the air anyways, psionic's powers are highly unpredictable in this setting. They often flail and whip and become their own little bolts of lightning with little control over it.

Psionics have power caps and need recharging, so to speak. They use sleep and food to replenish their energy just like non-psionics do and having low power impacts their overall mood and physical as well as psychic abilities. They also have a cap of energy they can use at any given point in time before they'll be done and need to rest/eat. If they go past this threshold, the risk for voidrot is increased significantly.

Voidrot is essentially like your laptop being at 1% and not being able to charge past it. Yeah you could keep it plugged in, but it's never going to go to full power and you shouldn't unplug it for long periods of time or use it for pretty much anything. A voidrotten psionic uses their powers, and they'll die.

There is a particular spot on psionics that if pinched, will temporarily subdue their powers. Think of it like putting a kink in a hose, it stops the water from flowing, but as soon as you let go, it'll start flowing again. Depending on the psionic, they might have a temporary lack of control of power.

This is the spot, I don't know much about biology but my logic is that the neck is like the main "wire" feeding the energy down from their brain to the rest of their body.

This weak spot is a HEAVILY guarded secret among psionics. They all have an unspoken agreement that they don't tell anyone about it, even other lowbloods, because should anyone else overhear it or the information spread around, it could be extremely dangerous for them as a population. The only other people that know this are ascended highblood adults, trolls that hunt psionics to bring them to their ascension.

Because this is so heavily guarded, lots of psionics don't even tell each other. They often find out about it themselves in private and either dont mention it to anyone else or seek out other psionics to discuss it.

When psionics get captured, a special device will be placed here to constantly squeeze this area for easy transport. This is also where injections for psionics happen to measure their "voltage" for lack of better term and also where permanent wiring will go when they are helmed as well as other areas.

This is so important, I know everyone thinks it's so so hot, but psionics would not feel good in the bedroom. They're not like hands, they can't stroke or insert or whatever else people make them do. I see it more as a cloud of energy that can pick things up or tools that can disappear. They can hold things, like people (up or down) or items but I think that's about it in terms of adult fun to be had with them.

Psionic energy isn't literally electric energy, but it is very similar and can be very easily converted into literal electricity. Psionics can hold open sockets or plugs and charge various items, or they can hold batteries and feel if they have a charge left on them. Stronger psionics can charge items to full power and precisely tell how much charge is left, but this takes more effort or is impossible for weaker psionics

Psionics can sense each other, but only in relatively close proximity. Think of indoor grocery stores as the general radius we're dealing with. Outside is very hit or miss, but small indoor spaces are a yes.

Psionic Involuntarily Sparking (PIS) is kind of like dogs tail wagging. It's a sign of high energy, and the type of energy that's being displayed is dependant on context. Dogs tails can wag when they're happy, highly stressed or angry, PIS can happen the same way. Some psionics drop the P and call it IS-ing, some embrace the unintentionally humor and call it pissing. #onlypsionicswillunderstand

Psionics can concentrate a stream of power to zap things with about the same power as exposed wiring or open circuits if that makes sense. Depending on intent and the power of the user, this could be a light shock or it could leave a mark. In a fic, I utilized this in a way so Sollux could concentrate his psionics into a powerful laser, like you'd see in a gun in Fallout/sci Fi movies.

Psionics have a glow to their eyes that, when "fully charged" it's about as bright as a phone on full brightness. As they get tired or malnourished, this glow will diminish and can go completely dark (voidrot.)

Wearing eyewear that matches your eyes is semi-common fashion trend among psionics, but Sollux's serve a dual purpose in that he often gets photosensitive when he uses his powers too much in a given session.

Psionics horns are very sensitive, but in a bad way. Their powers go out of their brain out through their horns and are, as a result, painful to the touch most of the time. Depending on how much they've used them in a given evening, it can range from a slight soreness to excruciating when touched. The only time their horns wouldn't hurt is if the user abstained from using their powers for at least a full day.

Psionics don't HAVE to use their powers every day.......but it's difficult not to and there are consequences to not using your powers for long periods of time. Psionics commonly experience Build Up, where their tank is too full. This manifests differently depending on the user, often hyperactivity, but it's completely normal to be irritable or overemotional when experiencing build up. In Sollux, this almost always is the cause for coding binges, or other projects that he'll sink tens of hours into in one given session. It's sort of like forgetting to take your ADHD meds and then creating your own choose your own adventure game instead of sleeping for three straight nights.

Most psionics are not psychic in other ways. For them, that's their draw, but Solllux, like always, is just a special case.

Psionics are measured from a very standard tier, I'm sure I don't have to explain what it looks like. What goes into deciding which tier a user goes into is based on a couple things. Raw power, control, endurance, longevity, and consistency. Sollux is S tier bc I think its funny. Psionics are given a tier at first pupation and have to check in every so often to complete tests and receive an updated score.

#homestuck #sollux captor #psionics #headcanons

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mas-ai · 2 years

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We need to talk about Ai.

Okay, so listen - I'm both a needy simp and someone who struggles with sleeping for a multitude of reasons. I'm a massive sucker for sleep/nighttime/domestic headcanons and so I'm self-indulging here BUT ALSO.

▶ Ai is incredibly in tune with everyone's mental health, even if he doesn't really understand it - but he does know when someone is or isn't responding predictably based on the data he's collected for that person. This is amplified for Quartet Night, since moving in with everyone. Reiji's disappearing act and facing the potential disbandment of Quartet Night was devastating in a way Ai himself doesn't realize. He was literally created for Quartet Night, to sing, to be an idol. It is coded into his existence. Written into his DNA. HE LIVES FOR QUARTET NIGHT. I think since that whole situation, even though he's still very much himself and very blunt and honest and can come off as borderline uncaring, fighting or sensing stress beyond a certain threshold has him completely zeroing in on anyone who's marked as abnormal by his systems. I can come up with a whole slew of headcanons on Ai being Team Mom, but we're going to focus on sleep HC.

▶ The second Ai detects something wrong, his Team Mom programming activates.

▶ One of the most important things to mental health is sleep and just laying down isn't enough. Being an idol is extremely taxing physically and mentally and we know from SL that they're all extremely focused on looking after themselves so they can be the best they can be for their fans. So sleep quality is very important. Deep, restful sleep.

▶ Ai loves exploring scents and has an entire collection of oils, both essential oils and fragrance oils, not to mention he probably has a small collection of bath and shower products (not that he can use them but he gets them for research purposes and he just likes nice-smelling things). So the moment he realizes someone is a little off or tensions are high in the QN apartment, he diffuses it - literally - with calming/soothing oils in a diffuser and getting luxury baths ready for everyone. He's meticulous with what goes into them from scents, to bubble bath, bath bomb, salts, oils, candles, everything. It's endearing how well he knows them and what they will like and what will help them feel at ease.

▶ Reiji's certainly picked up that this is one of Ai's love languages and how he shows affection, so he's probably the most moved.

▶ Ranmaru drops whatever fight he's having with Camus because he doesn't like Ai near water and usually winds up helping, which results in Ai teaching him about all the different things even though Ranmaru doesn't know the difference and Ranmaru asks some questions that prompt Ai to do more research (why does x scent go with y, what the heck is bath milk, wait whats this body scrub the label fell off and the scent is so good even though it's probably like fruity floral and ranmaru doesn't realize, hey wouldn't it be fun if we released bath bombs in our colours and favourite scents for fans to enjoy) and so even though it doesn't really register that he feels loved since Ranmaru is showing interest in what Ai likes.

▶ Camus doesn't pay attention at first, but has noticed the quality of the baths are extremely relaxing and he's found several new products he genuinely enjoys and while he'd never begin to say anything about liking it, he's tried to make a few himself and they're never as nice as what Ai can do - so he picks fights with Ranmaru just so Ai will start up his little routine sometimes.

▶ The above can absolutely turn into a full QN thing, where Ranmaru will make snacks to have after the bath. Reiji will set up the living room with blankets, pillows, and a nice movie. Camus will make teas, which, Ai also wants to learn about. He'll follow everyone around like a puppy asking why they're doing all those things - and they'll humor him for a while. But Reiji is the one who really catches him off guard with, "AiAi, we do this for the same reason you turned on the diffuser and ran the bath. Why did you do that for us?" Cue Ai having a small crisis and then questioning why he started that and then he realizes he loves his bandmates. QN simps so hard for each other and Reiji is the only one that realizes it and it makes Reiji so, so, so happy when others are showing affection and care for one another.

▶ Ai doesn't get in the bath, as he's not waterproof - but you bet he'll be keeping anyone company who wouldn't mind having him. A selection of music, or he'll sing himself - tell a story, or just sit in peace and quiet. He rests his head on the side of the bath and sometimes dozes off a little.

▶ You can't tell me that Ai doesn't have the cutest, softest sleepwear complete with a robe and fluffy socks or slippers. He'll make sure anyone he's looking after has just as cozy, cute sleepwear.

▶ He is THE BEST to snuggle up with to rest.

▶ He'll ask ten thousand questions when first climbing into bed about sleep preferences from the side of the bed to the texture of the pillowcase, and optimal sleeping positions. Wait - why is his hair being played with? Why is he being touched? What is spooning? Why does he feel so … Oh. This feels nice. Yes. He likes this.

▶ By default, he runs a little warm temperature-wise as he is a robot, but if his systems detect that you're too warm he'll cool off and regulate temperatures throughout the night. If you're too cold he'll be able to heat up and be a heating pad.

▶ Usually cuddling with a human involves an arm or leg being shoved in an uncomfortable position where you can't feel it after a while and pins and needles after finally getting blood flow back to it, but this isn't an issue with Ai. Reiji needs some deep-pressure hugs or to be laid on for a little while? Ai can do that for hours. Camus likes to be held and have his hair played with until he falls asleep? Ai's hands are happy to keep playing with those beautiful strands all night. Ranmaru likes to rest his head on someone's chest but constantly worries he's uncomfortable or crushing? Ai can handle it. Anyone wakes up in the middle of the night and needs to toss, turn, roll over, get up, or anything? Ai won't be bothered. You won't disturb him in the slightest.

▶ Ai is able to detect when anyone is having nightmares or isn't comfortable and over time, predict those things. He won't know at first, as it will take time for him to gather data, but eventually, he can tell from the way Reiji's breath hitches that he's having a nightmare and needs to be stirred awake gently or he'll soothe him. He knows when Camus isn't really sleeping all that well, worried about work and not letting himself fully relax and is just barely asleep waiting for his phone to go off or his alarm to wake him - Ai snuggles into him all warm and cozy and Camus just melts into a deeper sleep. He knows when Ranmaru's uncomfortable and needs to shift around or wants water and he'll just grab the cup he set next to the bed. If someone's sick he'll know the time to stir them and give them their medicine.

▶ A night with Ai is one of the most soothing, relaxing, and peaceful - and absolutely the best sleep you've ever had in your life.

▶ Ai does this all happily and willingly, but then the next morning doesn't see the purpose in any of it and thinks it was a failed experiment. Until everyone's working much harder, way better, and everyone is so much more productive and happier.

▶ QN loves each other so much and sleeping next to Ai would be the best experience.

#utapri #mikaze ai #uta no prince sama #headcanons #my headcanons #utapri hc #quartet night #my writing #my posts #somft #soft content #qn loves each other sm none of them even realize just how much

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