#and even if it is - the distinction is so minute that it doesn't matter

[cherie-doll]

Jealousy Headcanons for cod men when they notice someone from you work place (a man) is starting to get a little too close/friendly with you to their liking🥹

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: They're Jealous

=͟͟͞♡ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

۶ৎ Not sure if you wanted these to be with established relationships or not so i just threw it in a bag, mixed it and got this; some are and some aren't

Price

It's probably nothing new for him to deal with, he was doing this before y'all even became a couple, keeping guys away from you

You're just the type of person most people find themselves naturally being attracted to after spending time together

He takes care of you so well, spending the moments he has spared and set aside just for you making sure you've got everything you need that it makes him irritated seeing someone else trying to replace him

They don't know you like he does, you don't gravitate or find yourself leaning towards them searching for comfort like you do with Price

And to show or add to your disinterest in this person he'll just use the intimidation tactic, wouldn't need to say much, just a simple look or stare communicates the message

Ghost

Simon recognizes he shouldn't even feel this smoldering fire growing within him

You're simply the cashier that he finds the least annoying because you're on minimum wage and couldn't care less about appealing to customers

But he doesn't like the looks your manager gives you every time he passes by, his jokes and attempts at flirtation are lame, even Simon cringes

Late at night, the hour before you close Simon comes in for last minute grocery shopping, it's just you and the manager, you stocking inventory near the back of the store, you sending shy glances in Simon's way, only to be interrupted by the pestering manager who doesn't seem to get a clue

His looming figure behind the manager who turns around, spooked and sputtering out a dumb question, asking if he needs something only for Simon to drop the bomb that you're his girlfriend and he needs to leave you alone

You may have felt a fluttering feeling in your heart that had you blushing in the storage room afterwards

Soap

Another friends with a blurred line where it's not distinct whether there are feelings or not, both of you too afraid to ask or confess

But it becomes all too clear when you're ranting to him about some guy who won't leave you alone and next thing you know his face is red, eyes set hard and looking far off

He's spent so long memorizing your favorite things, getting to know you, being your comfort and he just won't let someone else come and swoop you away when they barely know a thing about you, what if they only like you for your looks?

He stops himself at some point, feeling his heart thumping faster than it should, becoming all too aware that these feelings aren't normal between people who are just friends

And you know what? He's fine with that, he'll confront and come to terms with his feelings AFTER he takes care of something or someone that's in the way

Gaz

He won't hesitate at all to confront the person about it, doesn't matter whether you want his help or not

He doesn't get possessive nor claim you as his, but he doesn't appreciate someone getting too comfortable with you, it unnerves him

Would never place the blame on you, nor think you were liking the attention, he knows you probably thought them a friendly person until they crossed a line

Just imagine him holding your hand and kissing your forehead, you snuggling into him as he just says it's all taken care of and you think you wouldn't have to worry about going to work and dealing with that person anymore until he says he sent in your resignation letter

His tone doesn't even change so you probably wouldn't catch it at first, but maybe it's for the better!

On the bright side, you wouldn't deal with such bothersome people anymore

Roach

Roach boy gets sad, then a little mad and takes to trying to come up with all sorts of way to get rid of this dude

You find him up late at night tacking up bullet points on this board that has been scrawled over

You spend the rest of the night cradling his head in your lap, running your fingers through his hair trying to comfort him and listening to him rant all teary-eyed

Rubbing him in circles and just humming and nodding along like "mhm" to everything he says, it makes you mad knowing something like this set him off

So the next day you tell your junior off for inappropriate workplace behavior, you're fueled by seeing your boyfriend get hurt over it and he actually witnesses it happen and is all shy afterwards and you can't seem to figure out why until you discover he has a thing about you being dominant

Alejandro

Oh, he seethes at the thought of it

Seeing this guy's hand over you all the time even when he's right THERE, probably ticks him off even more when you come over to him with such a sweet smile when only a minute ago you were giving it to someone else

He's not necessarily pissed off at you, but it just gets him all riled up and he looses his rational mind

"Tell him to stop looking at you like that"

"Alejandro, I can't just tell him that!"

"Then stop looking so nice for him"

And if you don't take care of the problem then he'll do it himself even after you swear he's making a big deal out of nothing

Rudy

I can't imagine doing this to him i would cry-

You're trying so hard not to cause a misunderstanding and Rudy notices that but can't help being upset at this guy for not respecting you

He can't help but be worried for you every time he drops you off for your shift, his lingering hand on your arm as he pulls you in for a goodbye kiss for the day

Tries to hold you in the car as long as he can till you give him a smile that makes his heart do flips and assure him it'll be fine, but throughout the day he finds himself unable to stop thinking about the situation, so at around your lunchbreak he stops by

He walks in to see the coworker you told him not to worry about standing a little too close for his comfort

So Rudy just walks over and as soon as you see him your face lights up and you go right over to him and give him a sweet kiss as he hands you your lunch :)

Phillip Graves

Oooh, he would NOT let it slide

"Doesn't he know you've got a husband?"

"Phillip, calm down he's not asking me out or anything"

"But he wants to"

Phillip swears he's not misreading this guy, he must have other intentions if he lingers around you too much

You try to keep him calm before he tries to order an execution on the guy, if you've ever put a stop to his displays of affection in public before he's throwing that out the window and not holding back

That quick peck you give him? That's too chaste now, give him a DEEP kiss before he escalates it by grabbing both sides of your head and pressing harder against you until your coworker backs away

"Bastard better stay away, else I'll-"

"Okay, I think you've made your point Phillip"

If it doesn't work out, TRUST he will confront the guy in a dark parking lot and next time you're on your shift and wonder where the new guy is because he's late for his shift only for your boss to tell you he just quit

Makarov

FIRST, he'll pretend like he doesn't notice it, but he very obviously gives himself away

He'll be picking you up from work, because with the weather and all he doesn't want you to risk catching a cold, and when you walk out, your coworker who just so happens to clock out at the same time as you despite his shift ending an hour earlier than yours but he stayed behind hoping to walk with you

His eyes just stare at this guy through the black tinted car windows which cannot be seen through from the outside yet your coworker shivers making you believe it's this evening autumn air

Coworker is a bit disappointed and surprised when he sees you get into NOT THE DRIVER'S but the passenger seat of this expensive looking car because he was hoping to walk w/ you

Makarov doesn't even let you wave before he steps on that pedal, leaving the poor guy coughing in a cloud of smoke

THEN, it's obvious despite you telling him you barely interacted with this coworker that Makarov doesn't like it nor will he tolerate it

You quit a week later, he just reasoned that you shouldn't be working anyways

Keegan

I think you just notice when he's mad about something, like it bothers him enough to the point it feels like a thorn in his side but hasn't done anything about it yet

His jaw hardens, his hands clenched and in fists, slightly biting on his lower lip showing him in a pensive state

And when you ask him what's wrong he just shrugs, dismissing your inquiries because if he told you it wouldn't make sense

You're friends, not lovers, there shouldn't be a reason why he'd be mad if a guy does have underlying intentions about asking you out

These feelings that he believes are unrequited are no good for him, the longer he stays brooding, turning the thought over and over again feeling as if he's going obsessed and crazy over it to the point he's all tense and his actions are all repressed

Like he's holding you back, looking away when you turn to him and him staring at you when he thinks you're not noticing, all these things you notice but don't mention

It's driving him crazy and he's responding and giving curt answers to questions your colleague sends over text, phone calls or in person

"I just don't like the way he's talking to you, is all" makes it sound as if he were only looking out for you but it's obvious

König

Probably wouldn't even notice a guy was flirting with you, sorry but when in public he's less aware of smaller details in his surroundings, like he filters stuff out and goes on auto mode

You'd have to tug on his sleeve and when he FINALLY notices he just brushes the guy off like some bug on his shoulder, nothing big to worry about he'll go away soon

Sure, he doesn't like the idea of someone trying to take you away from him but all he does is keep your hand in his much bigger one and hold you extra tight :)

The only difference you'd notice is at home, he's a lot more clingy than usual, like a lap cat almost

Just laying on top of you, gently of course, falling asleep as he holds you, his mind off in a bliss as he knows you're there with him

Once you chose him he knows you're not going anywhere, he has that much trust in you <3

Horangi

Would laugh like it's some awful joke he was just told

Seriously, who would try that? Apparently that airhead who has excessive confidence thinking he could pull you, didn't he see the ring on your finger?

You're his fiancé(e), promised to him only, last time he checked it wasn't something someone else could try to bargain from him

The type to go "don't worry, I got this" while holding up a hand in front of your face, preventing you from taking further action

Next thing you know you see the poor, unfortunate soul walk out holding a tissue to his nose whilst Horangi emerges from behind with a smug smirk on his face, wiggling his eyebrows at you and asking what you would like for dinner

It was solved in less than 10 minutes, see? He's efficient

Nikto

For him, it's kind of like just disappointment, like he can feel his heart dropping slightly in his chest

Well, he couldn't be the ONLY one to find you attractive, he reasons, someone else must've noticed your charm, your kindness or something about you, things you've reserved just for him

But could that person reciprocate the quite acts of love he's given and dedicated to you? All that time?

Does the other person only glance over your features and not study them in depth? The soft curve of your lips when you smile, the eyes that shine for him...

Does the other person think of you more than just in a physically intimate setting? Surely, they'll never experience those acts of tender love like he does

And he feels like the luckiest guy in the world knowing he hasn't a reason to distrust in you

[jaewritesfic]

Melon!AU

Actual writing now, based on this post:

“What,” Tim breathes out faintly, “the fuck is that?”

Language, Bruce thinks faintly, though he doesn't manage to get it past his lips.

He is a man who prides himself on being ready for anything, but he most certainly didn't expect something like this when responding to the Batsignal tonight.

“That is a Pit Demon,” Damian's voice asserts through comms, grave in a way that betrays his collected mask. He's unnerved. “There is nothing else that could be.”

Bruce is unnerved too, though he refuses to show it.

Gordon had half the block cordoned off so no civilians would come through by the time Bruce and Tim - the closest at the time - had arrived on scene. The alley itself is blocked in by police cruisers, though the officers are staying very firmly behind the line and not approaching.

It's no wonder why.

The…thing backed into a dead end alley looks like it's made of smoke and shadow, all long sinuous lines and dangerous angles.

It's vaguely Humanoid in the sense that it has a long torso, arms and a head. The arms are too long, the fingers curved and wickedly sharp. The face is a well of deep shadow, a smooth slate broken only when it opens its jagged mouth to show off a full arsenal of fangs.

The only other facial features are the solid, glowing Lazarus green eyes. Wide and lamp-like, they give the distinct feeling that the creature's sights will not miss anything.

There are no legs. Just the sinuous curves and overlaps of a long smokey tail. It whips about with agitation.

Floating like mist on the water is a head of white hair, edges fuzzy and undefined like it can't decide whether it's a solid or a gas.

The creature lays with its chest nearly flat to the ground, propped up only by those horrifically sharp hands and poised like a predator ready to push off into a sprint.

Glowing Lazarus water seems to pool slowly beneath it, streaked here and there as evidence of past movement.

Bruce finally finds his tongue to question Damian. He can see his youngest standing on the opposite roof of he and Tim, the two buildings that form the alley their perch.

“You've seen something like this before?”

Damian hesitates. “...no. But there are stories of things coming out of the Pits. I doubt I need to explain why this seems to be one of them.”

With that color green shining out of its face and streaked across the alley? No. No, he doesn't.

“Do your stories have any clues on what to do when one shows up?” Tim asks, unable to tear his eyes away from the creature.

Damian scoffs. “Close your eyes and hope your end is quick.”

“Lovely,” Tim bites out, voice a little higher pitched than normal.

“We won't be doing that,” Bruce responds dryly, two taps coming through the comms notifying them of Black Bat's arrival.

Bruce looks up and has to search for her for a few seconds before he can make her out in the shadows of Damian's rooftop.

“I'm still five minutes out,” Dick comms in. “What exactly are we looking at here? Can Oracle give a visual with any cams?”

“I wish,” Oracle chimes in. “Even through the mask footage I have no idea what they're seeing. The feed is corrupted to hell and back whenever it's in frame.”

“Really? In person it looks like-”

Tim is cut off when the officers below make some kind of movement the monster clearly takes issue with, the snarl that almost physically ricochets off the brick walls making everyone wince.

It's like TV static and the crackle of lightning striking a tree, like glaciers cracking and shifting underwater all rolled into one.

The hair on the back of Bruce's neck stands on end.

“Fuck. It's like a living shadow, but all sharp and wrong and angry-”

“No,” Cass cuts in quietly, silencing everyone.

“...Black Bat?” Bruce questions lowly.

“Not angry,” she responds, as sure as ever when assessing a target - no matter what kind of target.

“Scared, hurt. Guarding chest, trying to hide it. Wants to scare us away, but making no move to attack. Posturing.”

The thing about Cass is that they trust her reads implicitly - her reads of people.

She wouldn't speak up if she wasn't certain, and she wouldn't be certain if she didn't see something painfully human in the creature below.

“...what do you suggest?” Bruce asks after a moment of tense silence, trying to reassess the creature and see what she sees.

He at the very least wants her opinion, so they can weigh it in formulating a plan here.

Cass keeps looking for a long moment, before she looks across the gap at him. “Needs help. Reach out - at least try.”

Masterpost

[midnight-mourning]

Siren's Curse (Of Bad Luck)

🐟🐟Midnight's DCA MerMay Day 13🐟🐟

this one was a treat bc i got to include pirates and i think you all know how much i enjoy pirates, also just a silly treat overall, enjoy!

Prompt: Hiiii Midnight!! :) For my request, Siren Reader trying to lure the boys to their death, but reader is really really bad at it. In their failure the three become really close. I want reader to be mad about it for a while too that they don't find them 'scary' after a while. The boys can be mers or human, does not matter.

DCFPU prompt used: Pirates

Word Count: 2214

will be posted to ao3 later this evening

🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊

The waves around you lap lightly across your tail and against the rock upon which you sit. The moonlight above peeks through the clouds in streaks. It's serene, soothing, would lull you to sleep if you didn't know better. Because moment's like these usually don't last. 

And much to your total surprise, it doesn't. 

Out in the distance, a ship slinks across the horizon towards you. Even from here you can make out the chatter of its crew, the creaks and groans of the ship as it rocks against the waves. You sense the nervous energy which winds around each person aboard like a vice. Feel the nervous beats of their tender little hearts. Almost taste their fear. Good. As they should be. It makes things that much easier for you. 

You've got a bit of an excited thrill in you yourself. This is what you were waiting on. The night would have—admittedly—been boring without someone showing up with the hopes of trying to pass you. And some of your most fun was being able to lull them into a false sense of security before ultimately—well, you're getting ahead of yourself. 

Unable to wait, you dive down into the water below practically without a sound. You swim with ease over to the ship, popping up next to the hull. Now much closer, you can make out the distinct mutterings and mumblings of the crew. All worried about sirens and curses and more. All of it relating back to you. 

You want to give them a little scare. Really rattle them before the main event. You open your palm then drag your claws against the wooden hull, the loud, abrupt scratching sound it makes all but halts the conversation above. You muffle your own snickering. You wait a minute or so, until they've started talking just a little more again, then start to hum. 

At this, they delve into harsh whispers, someone shouts 'Siren! It's a siren!' before they're hushed. Enough's enough, you've had your fun, so you shift from humming to singing. 

You've done this so many times now it's easy, though by nature your song comes to you without effort. It rolls off your tongue as smooth as the finest of silks, soft as the breeze and gentle as the sea on a calm day. You sing with passion, you sing of desire, and you sing for those who need it. 

As you sing you slowly work your way up the side of the ship, clinging to the wood and ropes as you go. You'll try to pluck off which ones you can that are within your reach, that should give the rest enough of a hint to leave and never come back. 

You've made it up the edge, spying an entranced sailor right within your reach. You shift your song to be more directed at him, hand outstretching lovingly. You're about to take hold of him, drag him down with you—only for cold iron to be pressed to the side of your temple, followed by a click. 

You waver, startled, but still keep your song up, perhaps it's someone who's got a bit of cotton in their ears, trying to resist. No matter, they'll succumb soon enough. 

But your voice practically dies in your throat upon seeing who—or what, rather—is pointing a weapon at you.

A person who wears the clothes of a man but looks nothing like it. With skin the color of the sun and shiny metal in his exposed joints. There's no hair on his head, which is instead surrounded by large orange triangles—which are pierced with small rings, again like the rays of the sun. A hat sits upon his head, and with the rest of his dress you surmise he's likely the captain. Nothing like any captain you've ever seen.

He's not human, that's for sure. 

Nor is the other man—other... captain...?—that appears from behind him. 

You can only stare in amazement, confusion, and slight irritation at the two of them. Suddenly unable to muster your song. The remaining crew is still very much dazed, and would remain so for at least a little while. 

The one with the gun clears his throat. "Not very polite to come aboard a sailor's ship without permission, Little Fish."

You swallow, still trying to keep your words honeyed beneath your reply. 

"Not polite to point a gun at someone for doing so."

You hear a few clicks, they're coming from his head, you realize. "Trespassing."

You glance up to the black flag waving from the mast. "You're pirates."

"Even worse, then." He tsks.

"If I'm trespassing on your ship, you're trespassing in my waters."

Head tilt. "You own the sea?"

"Something like that. This bit of it anyway." You press your temple more against the gun, annoyed. 

"Perhaps you'd be interested in sharing?"

"Not really—"

The other man—who had a blue and white face with inhuman red eyes—suddenly steps forward, trying to take the pistol. "This is a waste of time, I'll handle this if you won't."

You suddenly begin singing again then, and still to your dismay there's no effect on either of them, but the others on board are still pulled under your song, and using this to your advantage are able to create a distraction that allows you to dive back down into the water below. 

When you emerge again a bit further away—and hopefully out of range—you look back to the ship, where the two from before now stand clutching the railing. 

"I'll consider this a mishap and let you live for now, but next time, don't count on being so lucky." You grin, diving under the waves though in reality, you're both frustrated and baffled. 

It must have just been a fluke. An odd happenstance. Those occur sometimes, right?

Right?

As you would come to find out, apparently that odd happenstance was a common happenstance. But one that only occured with those two in particular. 

Captain Sun and Captain Moon—as you'd come to learn—were entirely unaffected by your singing. Worryingly so. No, confoundedly annoyingly so. 

They would appear every couple of weeks, always trying to get past you and always failing. But not because they were enthralled by you, no it was only their crew that was affected by you. Which made this whole ordeal that much worse for you. You couldn't scare them off for long no matter what you did! The pirate ship continuing to blemish your waters like an ugly thorn in your side. 

But while that was utterly annoying, the part that bothered you the most specifically was that no matter how much you sang, how well you sang, or what song you used, it did absolutely nothing to them. They always told you it was because of what they were—automatons and not human beings—but you refused to accept that.

They seemed to find it amusing even, your efforts that is. Which only fueled your frustration and almost led to them succeeding one day. Too baffled and embarrassed that you practically croaked out several times before you could reorganize yourself. 

Though you admit, you think part of it may just simply be... fluster on your part. In the months since your first encounter, they've made conversation with you, starting brief, but growing longer with each passing visit. You think to them it’s almost a bit of a game. To you it’s... something else. 

The feeling's quite unfamiliar to you and you certainly don't like it. The way your heart sometimes flutters when Sun banters with you, or when Moon threatens you, no longer with the animosity he once held. How you can't seem to take your eyes off them with every added visit. Coupled with your inability to get them under your spell it all makes you angry. 

Angry at yourself, and certainly angry at them. 

Such anger simmers under the surface with this latest visit of theirs. They skip the formalities, as they have the past few times. Instead anchoring their ship further away and using a long boat to meet you in your usual spot. Just the two of them, of course. Rub it in even more that you have no effect on them. 

"Afternoon, Little Fish," Sun calls out to you as they approach. 

You spare him a brief wave, busy sharpening your claws against the rock. "Captain Sun, Captain Moon."

"Formal today aren't you?" Moon chides. "Is something the matter, Star?"

"Perhaps they're upset it's been so long since our last visit. Got bored out of their mind without us to pester them," Sun snickers. 

"The gift we have might lighten their mood then. Maybe they'll even let us pass."

"Now that's wishful thinking." 

At that they both laugh. It only serves to make your anger flare further. 

Your claws scrape against the rock, agitated, but collected. "I have no need for gifts. Nor the desire for them." You go so far as to turn away from them once they reach you, feeling hurt at the confirmation that you're just an obstacle to them. 

There's quiet behind you, only the sound of shifting mechanisms that you once found intriguing, alluring even. Now they only serve to remind you that you're no equal to them. 

The hand on your shoulder instinctively makes you want to turn and fight. The closeness unfamiliar, frightening. You resist, however, out of something called 'common courtesy' as Sun once described it. 

"Have we upset you?" Moon asks, tone now concerned. 

Another hand, this one clasping yours in your lap. "We're terribly sorry if that's the case."

This closeness, the false worry in their words, it strikes deep in your heart. Deeper than even the wound of your inability to charm them. 

"Do you know the reason why I won't allow you safe passage through here?" you ask them, soft.

Sun's chin rests on your shoulder. "Because you find it amusing?"

"Because we're pirates and you find that morally abhorrent?"

"It's because it's my home." You sigh, eyes trained on the waters in front of you. "And it's my duty to protect it for those who can't. To keep them safe. I sing for me, and my own entertainment, yes, to a point. But I also do it for them."

"Why are you telling us this?"

You turn to Moon, bitterness written across your face. "Because I'm making it clear to you that no amount of anything will get me to change my mind about letting you through. So, toy with my feelings all you like, but it won't make a lick of difference."

"Toy with your—Little Fish, is that really what you think?" Sun raises his hand from your shoulder, reaching up to turn you to face him. 

You swallow. "Of course it is. You've made it abundantly clear all you see me as is someone in your way. Not to mention how you've wounded my pride with your inhuman ability to resist my song."

"Well to our credit we're not human—" You hear metal hit metal behind you, and Sun flinches. "But that's beside the point. I apologize on both our behalves that you feel that way, Love. Because it's far from the truth I assure you."

Moon moves closer, gentle, unlike him. "We initially intended to slip by you, yes. But that was before we met you, got to know you. Began to care for you."

"Do you think if we were just using you we'd keep coming back?" Sun raises your hand to his face, pressing a kiss to it. "Do you think we'd be this close with you, so open?"

"Isn't this what normal humans or automatons do between friends?" you ask bluntly. 

They both seem to freeze for a moment, sharing a glance. Then, they start to snicker, before bursting with laughter. 

You feel your face heat up, Sun speaking to you between fits of hysterics. 

"Not-not in the slightest, Little Fish. I would never hold, kiss, or cherish someone I didn't adamantly love. I doubt Moon would either."

"I have no frame of reference, how was I supposed to know!" you bluster.

Both captains continue to laugh at your expense, while you continue to process what they've said. 

Again, your face feels warm. "So, all this time you've been... courting me? And I didn't even know?" Your hands come up to your face, groaning.

Moon snickers, arms wrapping around you. "You were too busy trying to lure us to our deaths." 

"Which, perhaps you'd have better luck with if you didn't have to contend against these." Sun reaches into his shirt and pulls out a chain with a bright green gem on the end. It reflects the light of the day intensely, so sparkly it burns. 

It takes you a moment, but then it clicks. You gape, expression souring. 

"That's cheating!" Despite the confirmation of your shared feelings just seconds ago you now have the desire to throttle the both of them.

Still, in the laughter you now share with each other, you feel a sense of peace, of completeness, that you'd never experienced before. You relish in it. 

And in getting to snatch up those pretty amulets they're wearing just to prove a point. 

Though, you've suddenly lost the voice to sing. 

What a pity.

🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊

Thank you for the request @fishm0ther!! as i said very much had fun with it and i'm content with how it turned out ^^ thanks for reading!!

Masterlist post is here

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[alchemistc]

Harry twirls a lock of dark curls between his fingers. Tips his chin against Tommy's head and stares up at the ceiling. He considers not asking, this time.

The sex is good, and Tommy's funny, and if he closes his eyes he could imagine there could be something - Tommy twitches and shifts his hand lower like he might be gearing up for another round, and it breaks the fantasy. That's new.

"Tell me about him," Harry says, and Tommy's eyes tip up to glare at Harry.

"Making an assumption, there," Tommy warns, but Harry just raises an eyebrow. Six years of this and Harry knows better than to expect Tommy would show up at his door for any reason other than to get his mind off of something - someone else.

"So we're both asses," Harry intones. He needs to call the super, see what they'll do about the water stain on his ceiling. "Tell me about him."

Tommy sighs. Twists, drifts away to the second pillow, and Harry's done this enough times not to mourn the loss, exactly. It's not like he's ever told Tommy -

"He's too young. Impulsive. New."

Harry fails to hold in his snort. "Okay."

Tommy at 34 had been a fucking hurricane. Newly out, no holds barred, he'd jumped right into the deep end and let the storm whirl him around. They'd been friends, for the first six months, Harry a watchful presence while Tommy made it his mission to be more than the guy in the dark corner getting a risky blowie fifteen minutes before last call. To be out - not loud, that wasn't Tommy's style - but to at least be himself.

He'd lasted two months in a real, actual relationship before he'd shown up at Harry's door with a six pack and a box of condoms.

"He looks at me and sees this - cool suave guy -" Harry shifts, nearly interrupts because that guy is exactly what Tommy projects, even if he doesn't mean to. Fucking Scorpios. "- and I was falling for him."

Yeah. Harry can extrapolate from that. Tommy fell ass over tea kettle and then got spooked.

"He's just so fucking open with himself. No brainworm goes untouched, and he can't hide his emotions for shit, and he's so goddamn stubborn and so goddamn ready to bulldoze through every hurdle ahead without looking back at the damage, and..." Tommy trails off. One hand shifts down to hitch the duvet up over his hips, and Harry adds the duvet cover to his list of laundry. "I gave him too many chances to slow down on his own."

"What, did the kid ask you to marry him or something?"

"He's the Himbo," Tommy retorts, and it takes Harry a moment to make the connection. He whistles through his teeth just to watch the scowl fall into place on Tommy's face. "And the connection freaked him out so much he asked me to move in. To his bachelor pad loft." Harry waits. "It has two balconies, Harry. Two."

"...he knows you have a mortgage, right?"

Tommy shoves at his shoulder. "It doesn't matter. We're just - the timing wasn't right."

"Did you want it to be?"

That's always the thing he ends up hung up on, in Harry's experience. Tommy's scared out of his mind to be the right person at the wrong time. Always has been. There's probably some mommy or daddy issues hidden in there somewhere he hasn't explored. Tommy's eyes drift up to the water stain. "Don't these apartments all have the same layout?"

This is the shove-off. This is his hint not to push. "Yes, and I really don't want to ask how the upstairs neighbor flooded their bedroom. Back to the guy." He's never been one for acknowledging unspoken cues.

"Buck," Tommy says, and the name sounds harsh in his mouth.

"Buck," Harry repeats, and pictures Tommy's usual type - tall, light-eyed, more smiles than common sense. There was always something distinctive, too - freckles, a scar, weird shaped ears.

"I miss him."

It doesn't hurt the way it had those first few years, when Harry was convinced that eventually Tommy would see him as more than a friend to blow off steam with. Still. There's a twinge there, beneath his rib cage.

"So stop missing him. That's an option, isn't it?"

And Tommy does that thing - that frustrating, enchanting thing, where his whole body seems to hold the emotion flickering across his face. "I walked out on him. I dug the damn knife in just to make sure he wouldn't try to convince me to stay."

"Would you have? Stayed?"

Tommy's quiet. The sweat has cooled on his skin, and the lights coming in through his window dance across the skin of his shoulder, his chest, that stupid thick neck of his.

The phone he left on the bedside table is dark, but that doesn't stop Tommy's gaze flicking to it.

"Cards on the table, Tommy?" Harry sucks in a breath. Blows it out through his nose. "Once upon a time, I convinced myself you were it for me. That I'd be satisfied with what you gave me, and I wouldn't ask for more. I cut you out of my life for eight months when I realized how fucking dumb that was."

Tommy frowns. Harry hadn't really ever expected him to notice.

"I've seen you through shitty relationships, and one sided ones. I've heard all the bullshit you and Greg put each other through. I've been there for every fucking heartache."

And he'd offered up his body like it was absolution for always being fucking thrilled when a relationship ended.

"You called me Evan," Harry murmurs, and Tommy's eyes go wide. That's never fucking happened before. This thing wouldn't have lasted nearly as long if he'd ever heard another man's name in his bed before. "You should shower. Go home. Take a day or two, if you need it. But I know for a fact you wait this shit out, justify coming to me with time and space from whatever guy has you strung out. I know it's been a minute already, and I know you've never sounded so unsure about cutting someone loose."

Tommy's gaze flicks to him.

"Whatever it is that's got you so scared of this guy, figure it the fuck out. Because it sounds to me like you fell fast and hard and hit a fucking wall before you ever thought to tap the brakes. That's not fair to you or him. Call him. Text him. Show up at his door with a bouquet or an industrial size bottle of lube and figure your shit out. Together."

Tommy stares at him for a long, long time in silence.

"Them's the brakes, huh?"

Harry hates that he knows exactly what Tommy means. Still, he clarifies. "This is your forever guy." Six years of watching him flail and learn and grow and hurt and love and fuck. He knows a thing or two about Tommy and his flights of romance. Knows this lonely man has never sounded quite so lonely before. "You don't need me, anymore."

He's quiet as his eyes drift back up to the stain. "I'm not his forever guy." Harry can't actually refute that, considering he's never met the guy. But he knows Tommy. Knows exactly how captivating he can be. Knows Tommy's a sucker for that starry-eyed look that so often has meant not love, as Tommy reads it, but idolization. "What if I'm not his forever guy?"

Harry digs toes into the spot in the duvet where Tommy's knees should be. He shifts Tommy about half a millimeter. "He has a nickname you don't call him except when you're punishing yourself. He dated Abby and that shared history didn't scare him off. You'd never let yourself fall for a guy that wasn't throwing clear signs that it was serious. I'd put my odds on him doing something weird and wholesome every time he thinks about you until his entire two balcony loft is filled with trinkets or treats and he still can't get you off his mind."

Harry's never seen Tommy's face do that before. Not in the throes of a honeymoon phase and not in the worst of a bad breakup. It's some awful mixture between unbridled hope and abject despair.

Harry thinks it's probably fair to hate him a little, for that face. He's earned the right.

"If he kicks you to the curb, I'll take you to one of those expensive wine tastings you pretend to hate, and I'll let you drink all my samples too." It's not an idle promise. Tommy may pretend to hate it but Harry fucking loves wine tastings. "If he doesn't..." Harry shoots him a fond look, "...knowing your type I'm not invited to the wedding anyway, so I guess then I'd been seeing you around."

Something shadows his gaze for a moment, but he's quick to hide it, to smack Harry on the chest like they've just had a good game, to shift out of bed and into his briefs before Harry can blink. He doesn't love Tommy. Not the way he'd have liked to, years and years ago. Still, when Tommy shoots him the dorkiest finger guns known to man and scoops up the rest of his clothes to take to the bathroom with him, Harry still wonders what it's like to have him enough to love him fully.

---

The name catches him off guard every time he hears it. 'Evan' isn't hard to filter - Evan had been a popular enough name to immediately write it off but Buck wasn't white noise of a name

Buck was a character in a movie, an old grizzled war vet, a dog. The name Buck wasn't popular enough not to hear it every time it was so much as whispered in his direction.

The coffee shop isn't crowded, but it's not dead either. When the girl at the counter calls out an order for Buck, sliding three cups down the counter, Harry can't help but look up.

A tall broad shouldered hulk of a man smiles a dimpled smile at the barista, and Harry watches him palm two cups and grab the third one in one practiced move. He's cute, Harry thinks. Maybe his grandpa ordered, Harry thinks, a little harder, and then caves, following his path through the three-tops littering the lobby.

Harry catches sight of him without being noticed. He's grinning, one of those rare earnest ones that make his ears rise and his face crinkle like a Shar Pei, hand spread out over something lying open on the table. The little girl on the seat to his right is a surprise, but Harry hasn't spoken to Tommy in two years. Maybe he's had enough time to get his mind around the idea that he's nothing like his father. The girl responds to something Tommy says by palming at as much of his face as she can reach and turning to the man now approaching their table.

"Uncle Buck!" he catches, another firm tug at the part of his brain that's been stuck on this for too long. The man barely gets all three drinks on the table before the girl is launching herself up into his arms, and it's too late for Harry to turn away without notice. Tommy's gaze shifts across the room and lands right on him.

He looks like he might wave Harry over, and Harry would rather die than know whether Tommy would introduce him as an old friend, or by name like Buck should know it. He tips a smile Tommy's way. Raises a brow at the man - Buck - and gets lips being sucked behind teeth in response, and then a slow, subtle head tilt.

Good. Good for him. Harry's never wanted anything for Tommy but to see him incandescently happy.

Witnessing it from a distance is better.

Buck twirls his - niece? - flops her back down on the bench seat next to Tommy and bends to say something that includes a pinky promise. He's got a wine-dark stain just above his brow, and Harry can't quite hide the tip of his smile.

Harry's name rings in his ears as he picks up his drink, and he's halfway to the door, feeling proud of himself for not turning back, when he hears the chorus of three laughs erupting from the corner where he'd taken his last good look.

He'd seen the ring on insta, a week and a half ago. Just an uncaptioned picture of two bands balanced one over the other on a rock, a killer sunset sky blurry behind them. No tags. 102 likes and counting.

Harry pushes through the doors and only glances through the window to watch Tommy tip his head back in laughter for a second, before he's cleared the coffee shop and rounded the corner back to his office.

[angrythingstarlight]

I am convinced mafia!bucky has a special ring tone for his girls so he knows immediately to pick up because otherwise he’ll get around to answering it whenever he wants to (unless it’s from steve or sam and something is Really Wrong)

He does. Very few people have direct access to him. And even then, he's been known to make people wait until he decides their issues are worth his attention.

However when his wife or daughter calls him, he always answers. They're assigned a distinct ring tone and it's barely goes off before he's reaching for his phone. He could be in the middle of a multi million dollar arms deal and he's going to pick up.

Bucky is always patient with them, they get his undivided attention. No matter how he busy he is, Bucky is always willing to spend a few minutes listening to Bee ramble about her secrets and the drama unfolding between Mr. Tato and his rivals. Just like he's always willing to listen to his wife talk about anything and everything.

It's very rare that he doesn't answer immediately but it's usually for a good reason and he always, always calls back as soon as possible.

And he looks forward to the texts and pics Malyshka sends him during the day. Sometimes those pics are the only things keeping him grounded and holding him back from tearing a nuisance apart with bare hands.

And sometimes she sends pics that drive him wild and have him on edge, eager to get him so he get his hands on the real thing so he can show his pretty little wife what she does to him.

[faeiseavv]

competitive eater? more like pathetic yearner !

Sukuna Ryomen had the stomach of a monster—a built-in chamber of steel with acids enough to burn eighty buffalo wings in under ten minutes. After all, his title as the “King of Cuisines” wasn't miraculously earned through nothing.

Bold, masculine, and intimidating— Sukuna's aura was just hard to miss. His mere presence was a force that would dominate everyone on the field; let alone at the table. It doesn't matter how many platters you serve at him or how spicy and exotic the food may be, he's all downing it in one go.

No breaks.

No timeouts.

No 'i can't do this anymore' vulnerablity in front of live TV either.

He was unbeatable. Add that to his unsually attractive bad boy appearance and you'll find the exact reason why people love him.

The shock factor? Sukuna initially joined competitions because he was forced to. Yes, you heard that right. It wasn't because of boredom or some cliché passion.

He was forced.

It all started in highschool, back when he and Toji were broke and ambitious teens who'd jump at every opportunity to get money. It was stupid Fushiguro who dragged him into this ridiculous shit cause his ass didn't wanna be alone.

But somehow, the universe seemed to had other plans. Sukuna won the prize money without breaking a sweat, and no, it wasn't just first timer's luck. Unbeknownst to him, he was making a name for himself; champion after champion, unintentionally catching the attention of many people. From broke teen to whatever he was right now. It was honestly a win.

Then, you came. 

An angel sent to save him from dying on a a Sunday.

It was love at first sight for Sukuna who was definitely caught off guard. Fuck, he could even feel cupid's arrow lodged deep within the chambers of his chest, the vibrations of his heart drumming in his ears. You were perfect.

You waltzed in his direction, a welcoming smile on your lips. He caught a glimpse of your flawless manicured nails as you handed him the menu. Your oh so gentle voice sounding like a melody in his ears.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

Your first question. Your first interaction. A siren's voice that cursed Sukuna to lay wide awake at night thinking of no one but you. So, he returned to the restaurant hoping to see you again. Sometimes you were there, and often times you'd be gone for weeks. To him, your existence felt like a vivid dream. It was as if fate was playing dirty tricks on him.

It bewildered him that he was spiraling whenever he couldn't see you—something that he's never felt for a woman before.

This was just a silly little crush. A temporary feeling. He'll go back to normal soon, right?

Well...not exactly.

His visits were consistent to the point that the owner, who turned out to be your father, finally recognized him as the Sukuna himself. Your father, being the self proclaimed comedian that he is, framed Sukuna's photo to the concrete wall like it was a rare artifact that only the chosen ones would find. Kinda valid. It's not everyday you get to have someone like him as a regular you know?

When you finally come home for winter break after battling the stressful half of your last year in college, Sukuna was elated. He found out from your dad a week ago when he mentioned it during their usual chat. And he might've stalked your instagram too..

Whoops..!

You've never felt so confused in your entire life. Because 1) why was there a photo of a man being hung up as decoration inside the restaurant? And 2) why was the said man laughing with your dad like both of them were comrades from a century old war?

You remembered him from before. The distinct head of messy pink hair that contrasted to the blackened tattoos inked on his skin. He didn't look much older than you, probably just a year or two.

You could only smile as Sukuna formally introduced himself. His palms curled into fists, both drenched in sweat, likely from his attempt to play it cool like he wasn't waiting for this to happen.

“I see you've met my dad, is that really you on the wall over there?” you joked, easing the tense muscles on his shoulders.

Sukuna could defy the laws of physics right now and straight up melt into the floor, if only you weren't looking at him with those eyes.

He could've flirted with you back then. Could've asked your old man for your number. But he didn't, and he chose not to.

Chivalry wasn't dead.

Sukuna would make sure of that.

[loucifersbitch]

He can't breathe. 

It's been half an hour.

He's soaked through.

He can barely hear through the wind and the yelling and the panic.

He can't see as well as usual, as if his vision has been reduced to a small tunnel, his peripheral vision nearly nonexistent.

He's numb and probably cold - he stopped feeling it around the 10 minute mark - and he can't. fucking. breathe.

Suddenly he hears it. There's a pop followed by a bang and then he's running. He doesn't know if he yelled at the rest of the team or if they heard it, too, but they're all with him as he bursts through a bush and dodges a tree, nearly sprinting toward the area where the sound came from.

He may have long legs, but Chimney’s faster as he cuts across in front of him, yelling something over his shoulder that Buck doesn't quite catch. The rain is so loud and so heavy, but they run as fast as the terrain will allow.

And then it's in front of them, the yellow and white body of the helicopter mangled amongst the downed trees, a weak line of smoke pouring out of the tail and immediately doused by the downpour. And a gloved hand sticking out of the cockpit window, lying on the ground at an unnatural angle. Not moving. Too still.

“Tommy,” he croaks. It's then that he realizes he's crying - has been for a while if the gravel in his voice is anything to go by.

They should've gotten here sooner. They should've found the crash site earlier. They should've left the station as soon as the mayday call came in. They could've saved at least a few minutes by leaving their turnouts behind. They would've -

“I've got a pulse!” Hen yells over the rain. He hadn't even noticed her or Chim move. “It's strong! He's just unconscious. Possible TBI, obvious compound fracture to the left ulna and radius, a few lacerations that I can see from here.”

Buck releases a sob, and his legs give out, but two pairs of hands catch him before he goes down. 

Chim is climbing into the cockpit gingerly, trying not to jostle anything - or Tommy. After a few moments, he yells, “Ravi, I need that backboard!”

“I got him, I got him,” Bobby says as Ravi leaves Buck’s side. Buck leans into Bobby and turns his head to his other side where - Eddie, of course - is also holding him steady.

“We got you, Buck,” Eddie says. Then he adds, “And they’ve got Tommy. They’ll get him out, and we’ll all go to the hospital with him.”

“A-all of you, too?” Buck grits out.

“Yeah, Buck. All of us,” Bobby answers. “You know that’s what we do when one of our family is injured. Tommy’s family, too.”

Buck can only nod. He swallows roughly. He’s already lost the battle with his emotions, but he knows his voice will crack and he’ll break down again if he thanks Bobby out loud.

Time is moving differently than it should. Soon he finds himself in the back of the ambulance with no recollection of how he got there. But he has Tommy’s good hand in his own, and that’s all that matters right now.

Tommy’s cold and drenched, and his face is covered in micro lacerations, and there’s a distinct smell of fuel hanging in a haze around them, but Tommy’s here. His hand is as soft as it always is and his pulse is beating steadily under Buck’s fingers lingering on his wrist. Hen and Chim work nearby, running IVs and giving Tommy medications and moving around Buck without disturbing him. They set his arm as well as they can, and he can hear Bobby in the front seat call in their ETA to the nearest ER, letting them know what to prep for.

They’re almost to the hospital when Tommy’s eyes flutter open briefly.

“Ev-?” he starts to say, his voice raspy, but Buck cuts him off.

“I’m here, baby. We’re all right here. We’ll be at the hospital soon. We’ve got you.”

Buck doesn’t know if Tommy can even comprehend what he’s saying, but Tommy hums in acknowledgement before immediately passing out again.

Then the doors of the ambulance swing open, and Tommy is out of sight in seconds. 

part 1

part 3

part 4

[enlightenedfeline]

Tips for writing toddlers:

Here's a few things that have helped me write toddlers more accurately!

1- Questions. Toddlers (2-4) and children (5 and 6) ask a LOT of questions, so many that it becomes insufferable. It's easy to fall into the trap of making their questions seem annoying or uneccesary, but this is not an accurate deception of a toddler.

Toddlers show one of humans most natural traits, which is curiousity. We are always curious, we always have been, that's how we've come this far, and how we'll keep going.

Toddlers don't ask questions to annoy you, while this may be the case for older kids, toddlers have not yet developed the emotional maturity to actively want to bother people.

So while yes, you can and should make the toddler character's questions ridiculous, never make them downright stupid. Always make sure that there is some thought process behind why a question is asked, that there is something the toddler wants to understand, no matter how insignificant it seems.

The questions are insignificant to adult characters, but to toddlers they are great scientific discoveries they are embarking on.

2- Speaking. Your average toddler will not be forming full coherent sentences, so absolutely do not leave it up to them to make important revelations in your story.

Unless you are willing to take up a page or two of an adult character deciphering what they're saying.

Another important detail for writing how toddlers speak is that they are still learning how naming works, they will generally refer to things and people by their most distinguishable trait, no matter how rude it may come off.

3- Sharing information. A continuation to my 2nd point, toddlers are simply not good at sharing information. Even if they are more developed than others their age when it comes to speaking, they just don't know what information is and isn't necessary for telling a story.

Think of yourself telling your friend a story, you generally want to give your friend an overview of where you were, your mood, who you were with, and what happened. You probably wouldn't bring up what you had for breakfast that morning unless it's relevant to the story.

Toddlers don't yet have the ability to know what is and isn't relevant, so again, don't have your toddler innocently remember details that will change a character's perspective on life.

4- Attention. If my ten year old sister can't focus when I'm scolding her for more than 5 minutes, your toddler character certainly cannot focus for more than two.

This point supports my 3rd, toddlers don't know what information is and isn't relevant, this applies to sharing and receiving information. You have their full attention for a few seconds, and it gradually goes downhill after that until they're throwing a temper tantrum to be let go.

5- Personality. I like to think that babies have distinct interests, and when they're toddlers they build personalities based off of those interests.

Your toddler is not gonna be able to distinguish personalities, they will assume that everyone thinks the way they think, and feels the way they feel.

This applies to humans in general imo, but it's especially true in toddlers.

6- Empathy and sympathy. For this next point I will refer to empathy as simply feeling what others are feeling, and sympathy as being able to apply that feeling into comforting people.

There are few conditions where a human doesn't feel empathy, psychopathy being one of them, but generally your toddler will feel empathy for others.

Not just other humans, but animals and maybe objects as well.

Empathy is a strong feeling, and you need to learn (yes, learn) sympathy to know how to deal with it. Toddlers are empathetic, as humans are naturally, but not sympathetic.

If one of their parents is crying or stubs their toe, the toddler will feel upset and not understand why, which could result in a tantrum. I will dive deeper into tantrums a little later in this post.

But keep in mind that our empathy develops as we age and mature, so toddlers are not fully empathetic, they just have the stepping stones to empathy. Which is essentially just: this person got hurt, if that happened to me i would feel sad, now i feel sad because that person is hurt.

Toddlers will generally only feel empathy for pains that they have felt, because they can not yet comprehend hypothetical scenarios. So if a toddler is dealing with a pregnant woman for example, they may seem apathetic, only because they don't understand what that feels like.

7- Intelligence. It's not unlikely for a toddler to show high levels of intelligence, but remember that an intelligent toddler is still a toddler at the end of the day.

Their intelligence may inflate their little ego, but it won't make them act more mature.

8- Tantrums. Toddlers are known for throwing temper tantrums, and you likely won't be able to avoid writing one if your toddler character appears frequently in your work.

Unlike tantrums babies throw, toddler temper tantrums aren't done out of necessity. Well, they kind of are, but they are done out of a necessity that adults can't comprehend.

Babies really only cry when they feel something bad, something that is unlike their natural blob-like state. Hunger, thirst, tiredness, a full diaper, or a need to burp, you get my point.

Toddlers are similar to babies in this, except what they view as a necessity is not always necessary for their survival. A toddler probably wouldn't cry for any of the above reasons, they wouldn't cry to alert you, because they will probably have a better method of communicating those basic needs to you.

Unlike babies, toddlers have emotions that they can kind of decipher, your average toddler will be able to connect a reason for their emotion, unlike a baby who is only crying out of instinct.

So essentially, toddlers are seasoned babies. They do cry out of necessity just like babies, but their reasons are much more personal to them rather than to evolution.

Your toddler will tell you when their hungry, but if you offend them with the wrong colored plate they will scream at you to change it.

Because in their mind, this isn't the plate I wanted, I'm sad because this isn't the plate I wanted, I want the plate I wanted not this plate.

That's their thought process for most temper tantrums.

Another common reason for tantrums is just that they have no control of their life, and to an extent they're aware of it. Normally the parent chooses when they sleep, when they wake up, what they eat, when they drink, when they go out, what they wear. And these are all completely normal things, but it does get overwhelming, especially for mini humans who just discovered that there are emotions and feelings aside from the ones they need for survival.

So toddlers, like babies, only cry when they feel something bad. But the difference is they have more complex emotions, so a lot can feel bad, sometimes all at once, and they are yet to learn how to handle their emotions aside from crying.

So, don't make your toddler character's temper tantrums random, there is always a reason behind it, there is always a reason behind misbehavior.

I'll end this post off by stating that toddler behavior is almost never random, they are about as random as your average adult, what makes them seem random is the fact that their thought process is disguised beneath layers of tantrums and endless questions.

The most accurate way to write a toddler character is to just try to think as a toddler for a few seconds, it's much simpler than it sounds, and will give you a more realistic deception of a toddler. And you should always aim for realistic deceptions of age groups, especially when it comes to younger children, because this adds a layer of depth to your story.

The final thing I'll leave you with is advice. There are parents everywhere, if you want to understand how to better describe toddlers, just ask mothers and fathers who have/had toddlers, they'll likely offer you a perspective you never considered before.

Something I personally love to do when I write toddlers is read the scene to my mother, this helps me point out dialouge and internal monologue that is too complex for a toddler.

This turned into an information sharing post rather than a tip post, but that's mainly because I can't tell you exactly how to write a toddler, but I sure as hell can tell you what to avoid when writing one.

I'm in no way a psychologist or a child specialist, a lot of the tips I've given are observations I've made from remembering when my younger sister was a toddler, and just interacting with toddlers in other enviroments, as well as writing toddlers myself.

Expect more posts regarding writing children in the future ^^

Maybe some of this advice will help, maybe it won't, either way, I hope this feline has enlightened you!

[kiame-sama]

Lately I've been haunted by NRC employees.

Reader is dozing off somewhere

NRC Staff: *Wakes Reader*

Reader: *Not yet awake, said in a whining voice* Dad, let me sleep for 5 more minutes.

After regaining consciousness, Reader continuously bowed his head to apologize to the NRC staff.

Reader: I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude to you. 😳😰😰

He doesn't even look up from the form he is filling out, still somewhat smiling from being called 'Dad'. "I know you didn't, little one."

He knows you're stressed and you are upset with yourself for snapping at him, but he isn't even worried about being snapped at. Instead, he is filling out an official appeal to make himself your legal guardian. Of course, he has to tell his daughters that they have a new little sibling, but he is sure they will take it in stride.

Oh. OH. You think he's your... Well, it is unexpected, but he is certainly not angry about it. You calling him dad is all the permission he needs to start treating you like his child.

He will be buying you clothes much like his own and taking you to the tailors to get them fitted. He will NOT be accepting any complaints from you on the matter either. He is YOUR FATHER and he is taking it more than a little seriously. Your 'pet' Dire Cat is going to get a makeover too. By the time Divus is done with you no one will be able to question who your father is.

At first, Coach Vargas isn't sure he hears you properly. He wonders if you are just being sassy or if you are actually confusing him for your father figure. Either way, he takes it in stride and decides he is going to be the best parent you could ask for. After all, you are the only non-magic student and you have zero family outside of Grim.

Once Vargas decides he is your father, there is no going back. From orange slices for snacks to checking in on how your homework is coming along, he will be 100.10% your father.

Sam is shocked. He's only 25 and you think he is your father? Well... I mean, it isn't like he has any issues being your father. If anything, he sees himself as more of an older brother to his kind little Imp.

He's going to throw himself into any education he can find of being a good guardian/father even if he feels he is a little too young to take care of someone else like that. You'll find that he's too fond of you to take your money now and he will be inviting you to any holiday he has outside of campus. Perhaps you shouldn't have decided that he's your parent, but by golly he has to make sure you are safe in such a rowdy school.

I have the distinct feeling he is a Fae of some kind- likely a crow/raven- so he won't really understand that he shouldn't take a child of man to parent as many Fae have the desire to take humans as their own young. You don't really have anyone to take care of you other than Crowley and the other staff members, so why not take this baby bird with no wings and feathers as his own.

He is not a good father and it will show, but he will try to be a good father at least. He does forget that humans need more to survive than the occasional food and affection. He will encourage all of the staff to treat his little chick as his own and will be the father that cares when it is convenient for him, taking a kind of "takes a village" approach to taking care of his new ward. He is your official guardian, after all, so you may as well just call him father or something similar. Isn't he just the best father to ever exist? What a great guy, right?

[jaskwritesthings]

"Busy," Silco mumbles, attention fully on the reports of Enforcer shift schedules and patrols in front of him. They frustratingly conflict and Silco isn't sure if it's a failure of their own intelligence recon or proof that no matter how high and mighty some may seem, shift schedules will always be a chaotic mishmash of throwing stuff at the wall and seeing who sticks.

Vander hums in acknowledgment but still continues to trace the line of Silco's spine through his shirt with slow, gentle kisses. Silco gave up the uncomfortable chair at the desk a long time along to stretch out on his front on the lumpy mattress, Vander seems to have taken it as an invitation.

"Busy," Silco warns when Vander shows no sign of stopping. Vander sighs, resting his head against Silco's back for a moment before levering himself up to cover Silco's stretched out body entirely. He hooks his chin over Silco's shoulder.

"They aren't magically going to change in your hands," Vander points out and Silco stubbornly keeps studying the pages in his hand, refusing to admit Vander's right.

"I'm trying to make sense of them, find the pattern."

"There isn't one," Vander says, nudging Silco's cheek with his nose needily.

"Oh? So sure?" Silco asks, leaning away enough that Vander nearly pouts.

"I've seen you threaten to stab someone with a pick for trying to alter a shift schedule even by twenty minutes, the Pilties certainly aren't any better than us at that," Vander reminds him and Silco chuckles.

"They could..." Silco teases even though he's already putting the papers down, giving it up for the night though still intent on making Vander work for his attention.

"The great canary of Zaun giving topside a compliment? The world is ending," Vander teases right back and even the idea of it has Silco's back up like a spitting cat.

"Well if you believe that then perhaps it's time I go to bed...alone," Silco says icily, already slipping out of Vander's loose cage. He doesn't get far before he's being slid back into place beneath Vander, face up this time as Vander presses apologetic kisses into his neck.

Silco could still leave, Vander wouldn't stop him, not really, he's never used his strength against Silco and he never will, so if he really wanted to go he could without issue. Silco's not really mad though, well, not mad enough to leave anyway, Vander will just have to work extra hard for his forgiveness after that little comment. He stays, offering nothing, no words, no sighs, just laying there, waiting.

Vander raises up enough to look Silco in the eye, and gets a distinct 'I'm waiting' look in return.

"Forgive me?"

"Hmmm," Silco ponders dramatically and Vander huffs on a quiet laugh at his partner's theatrics.

He kisses Silco's cheek, "I'm sorry." Kisses the other and then, ridiculously, the point of his nose making Silco scrunch up his face.

"I'm not a child," the look Silco gets in response deserves the pinch at Vander's waist as Silco glares, "I'm not a child so you better apologise like - you- mean- it," Silco punctuates his last words with some very pointed twisting of the pinched flesh. Vander groans, only half of the sound could count as pained.

"As my Birdie commands," Vander whispers finally leaning down to devour Silco in a biting messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and none of the gentle soft touches from before.

[pyronovas]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 ╳ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Two: Chivalry, Secrets & Hot Tubs (Week One)

[strangers to friends to lovers, age gap (56/mid 20s), forced proximity, no outbreak]

(Series) Content Warning: a very, very lonely joel miller. copious amounts of lusting, tension, joel is an excellent cook (food, alcohol, ect), hot tubs, impromptu snowball fights, awkward situations, deep talks and tragic backstories (specified within chapter warnings, deeply depraved smut/sexcapades and the inappropriate use of a dining table (also specified within chapter warnings), nicknames of endearment (no use of y/n)

quick note: i love all the reblogs/feedback and that you're all enjoying this as much as i am <3 and a huge thank you to @swiftispunk for being the best and looking over the first chapter for me, i am completely scatter-brained and forgot to mention this when i posted last monday, so tysm han and pls go check her out if you haven't! & follow my fic update blog (@pedgitos) and turn on post notifications so you don't miss any updates/posted fics!

Chapter Summary: Settling in is easier than you expect, but it does come with a fair share of challenges. A week filled with getting to know one another and some moments shared, your week doesn't end on the best note, leaving you with a choice.

Chapter Warnings: (8k) no outbreak, grumpy!Joel, domestic shenanigans, Joel being naturally assertive, cooking dinner together, reading is good at encouraging Joel, one hot tub & two stubborn individuals, also...one bed trope incoming

You wake up refreshed, like you’ve been born with a new reverence for life—alright, it might be a bit of an overstatement but it’s a wonder what a decent night of sleep could do and you’re feeling that this idea, playing house with a stranger—though it wasn’t much like that anymore—wasn’t the worst choice. And it reminds you of Joel, having left him in the chair last night, not wanting to burden him but you can only imagine the ache in his bones, his back, the discomfort of sleeping in a chair all night. 

You lay for a moment, bleary eyes adjusting to the early morning light. The morning sunshine wasn’t strong here, blanketed out by a stark white snow that covered the ground, it muted out most colors and left a cool, but bright blue that shined through the window above your bed. 

It was peaceful. No cars, no buzz of strong electricity outside your window, people and their idle conversation a few floors down from your apartment window. Not even a bird, really. But, there’s a distinct clearing of a throat from the living room that has you stirring in bed, rising lazily as you move with the same enthusiasm. 

It was a fresh week. The first official week of your vacation and you were going to start it off on a good note, clambering out of the bed and slipping on a pair of fluffy slippers to keep your toes from freezing off, not bothering to glance in a mirror on the way out—not that you needed to, it didn’t matter. It was early, you were still trying to shed the sleep from your body and you could care less. Plus, it wasn’t like an old t-shirt and sleep shorts was some foreign concept. 

When you peek around the corner, arms crossed tightly over your chest, you can spot Joel’s head tilting to one side, hand kneading at the taut muscle in the center of his back where his neck starts to begin and then you’re stuck watching as he stretches his arms out wide, working out all of those muscles. Every single one. And you’ve been silent for far too long.

Yeah.

Clearing your throat softly, you approach from behind and keep your distance, announcing your presence like you hadn’t been lingering for a minute or two already. 

“Morning,” You greet politely, resting your weight against the edge of the island, taking in full view of a freshly awoken Joel, eyes still puffy from sleep.

He looks very…gentle. Surprisingly, so. It softens his rigid demeanor significantly and you have to silently talk yourself out of glaring at him for too long, “I didn’t want to wake you—I’m so sorry.”

Jeez—you two are getting good at that. Apologizing, afraid to step on each other’s toes. 

“Not your fault,” Joel massages his bicep with the heavy pressure of his thumb, looking slightly pained as he rolls his shoulders, “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“Yeah, but I forced you to stay up, so—”

“You didn’t,” Joel quickly shuts you down, “I’m a grown man,” there’s a laugh hidden somewhere in there, but Joel continues, “don’t blame yourself for my own irresponsibility.”

It’s too early for this. You force on a fake smile, void of any real emotion at this hour, running on fumes and the smell of coffee. Speaking of—you sniff, eyes searching for the smell like a dog would track a scent, and Joel is already pointing in the direction you should be looking for when your eyes land on him.

“I already finished it off on my own,” Joel admits, pointedly taking another long sip before resting the mug back on the counter, “I can get another pot goin’ if you need it.”

There’s an inclination to let him, seeing him assert himself so easily and offer, but you shake your head, “I think I can handle a coffee maker,” You assure him, meandering around the kitchen in search of the coffee grounds, ignoring Joel’s tracking of your movements, waiting for a moment to interject and point you in the right direction. You spot them a moment before the urge comes with a soft aha!

“I needed to make a drive into town,” Joel tells you after you’ve gone through the steps of starting your own batch of coffee, “pick up some more food, figured you might wanna tag along.”

He’s not asking, only assuming. But to be fair, his assumption is right. 

“Sure,” You reply cooly, pouring yourself a hefty cup of coffee to sip on, letting your body take hold of the caffeine, “...how far away is the closest town?”

“Hour and a half.” Joel answers and you almost have the nerve to go wide-eyed on him, but then you remember just how deep into the woods you both were and that it was necessary.

Truthfully, there was a more concerning matter at hand.

“How’s your music taste?” 

Joel has the gall to look offended by the question.

“I’m leavin’ in thirty,” Joel ignores you, “don’t think I won’t hesitate to leave you here.”

Okay, noted: Joel wasn’t much the morning person you assumed he was.

-

Joel immediately realizes how little disregard you have for touching things that aren’t yours when you reach for the makeshift box of cassettes tapes placed in the backseat of his truck—the thing was old, riding on it’s last leg, but it was something Joel would cherish until it was unsalvageable, torn seats, dents, and all.

“Ain’t gonna find anything you like in there,” Joel assures you, “None of that pop stuff they’re always playin’ on the radio these days.”

The tables turn on him suddenly, seeing your face contort into a similar emotion that he gave you earlier. Bewilderment, shock, annoyance. You scoff at the comment.

“Says you,” You retort back, sifting through the different cassettes until you find Joel trading glances between you and the road in front of him, almost worried you might chuck his collection out of the passenger side window, “Joel, eyes on the road.”

Joel enjoys a lot of country, which isn’t a total disbelief. But, it wasn’t something you shared the sentiment on, flicking away a handful of country artists you’ve never listened to and reaching some of the good stuff—older rock music, some classic 80s, and late 90s.

You pluck one out carefully, prying open the cassette case with gentle hands before sliding the tape in, allowing the low hum of the music to fill the car. There’s a brief moment of respite before Joel smirks to himself, thumb tapping against the steering wheel.

“What were you saying?” You look at him pointedly, shifting slightly in your seat.

Joel looks away briefly, biting back a chuckle, “Fine—I’ll give you some credit. Foo Fighters aren’t terrible, but you skipped right over Bruce Springsteen, so…”

You scoff in disbelief, “You don’t get to criticize me with that atrocious collection of country music,” You stare down at the box in thought, eyes brimming with a mischievous that Joel knows of immediately, he’s seen it before. Not with you, but he knows, “you know, maybe I should just do you a favor and—”

You can barely get a hand on the window roller before Joel’s hand is gripped tight over the box, trapping your other hand in his grip as he warns, “I’m not above leavin’ you stranded in the cold.”

Your grin is nothing but evil and Joel finds that there’s something about you that infuriates him in a way that is hard to describe, not in anger or rage, but a level that he thinks he could match. A game of back and forth that he could play into—but you’re quickly relenting regardless of the threat and placing the box on the floorboard.

“Already tried that,” You retort, “didn’t work too well for you, did it?”

Fair is fair. Joel doesn’t poke the beast.

Instead, he takes the chance to ask a question.

“So, what exactly was your plan?” Joel asks curiously. “You comin’ out here with no car and all?”

You shrug nonchalantly, “Didn’t really have one, but I would have figured it out.”

Joel shakes his head dismissively, subtly resembling a face of disapproval.

“Hey, you don’t get to judge me, okay?” You don’t wait for a response, “You can have whatever assumptions you want about me, but don’t try and act like you know anything about me.”

It was another reminder. Joel didn’t know you, but you didn’t know him either. You reign your frustration in slightly, quick to defend yourself but aware that not everyone handles confrontation in the same way—if Joel was quick to anger, you didn’t want to stoke the fire. 

“I’m not,” Joel argues, his voice calmer than you expect, thinking back to the saddled rage his voice held the night you arrived, the threat that lingered with every word, “I’m not, alright?”

“Then stop that.” You comment, waving your hand in a vague motion toward his face, “Stop looking at me like—”

“Like what?” Joel interjects, eyes more pensive as he looks over at you.

“Like—like I need a fucking lecture on life or my choices,” You tell him, a hint of pleading in your voice, “I’m not some kid who doesn’t understand how life works.”

“You’re not a kid—” 

“Good, great that we established that,” You lean back in the seat more comfortably, arms crossed over your chest as you keep your eyes on the snow covered road, “now shut up so I can enjoy the music.”

Thankfully, Joel does just that.

-

Conversation falls flat until you arrive at the store in town a while later, Joel fetching a cart and pushing it your way before he stops you suddenly, hand over your own again—a touch that normally you would flinch away from, but he’s already done it once before and the thought doesn’t even cross your mind.

“I’ll catch up,” Joel tells you, “I forgot somethin’ in the car.”

You glance back briefly, knowing that the walk isn’t that far. 

“Oh, I can wait. It’s fine.”

Joel doesn’t say so much, but the look in his eyes goes a long way. A silent plea for you to go with it and don’t ask questions—again, you didn’t have any right to. You nod quickly and wander off toward the store as Joel trails away.

It’s then when your phone starts to vibrate away in your pocket, the sudden availability of service sending a barrage of notifications your way—you’re terrified to take a glimpse, but you do anyway. It should be no surprise to bear witness to the many, many texts from your mother wondering where you’d run off to, but there’s a tinge of guilt settling in your stomach.

You send her a quick, dismissive text to explain that you were fine and enjoying your time, but no elaboration on the things she wanted to know, because really, there was nothing to tell. And if you did decide to expel the details of your trip, mentioning that there was no boyfriend and it was just a stranger you met in the middle of the woods, well…that wouldn’t go over smoothly.

You also find a quick, heated moment of frustration to send an unpleasant text to the owners of the cabin, still polite enough that it wouldn’t warrant your ability to work things out—and you decide that calling would reach them faster, that somehow they’d magically find a way to appear and fix things, but there’s no answer. Only a voicemail that gave vague details about being away on their own vacation.

Just your luck.

Great. You sigh deeply, shoving the phone away into your pocket and returning to the land of obliviousness as you step inside the small market.

You fend for yourself for a while, throwing several random necessities in the cart as you go, enough sustenance to spread over four weeks and manage meals the entire trip, also a few more bottles of alcohol don’t hurt, looking for a few hard liquors that catch your eye and adding them to the growing supply of items. 

You’re lost in concentration of the ingredients on the back of a box dinner when Joel’s voice startles you back to the real world, eyes jumping up to look at him and he spots the panic immediately.

He nods slightly when you recognize him, “Sorry, keep forgettin’ how jumpy you are.”

“You’re just ridiculously fucking quiet,” You tell him, breathing out a long sigh as you toss the box into the cart, “everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Joel assures, doesn’t elaborate. Okay, cool. You weren’t going to pry, no matter how much your instincts told you to. He scans the cart casually, “Mind tradin’ off?”

You lend him the lead and follow, watching as he pointedly finds things, like he’s reading off a list in his head and moves around the store with a purpose. It’s only slightly annoying that you have to keep pace with him, but he’s suddenly speaking out to you as he’s glancing over something on the bottom shelf, “Are you allergic to anything?”

“No,” You responded, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “Why?”

“Grab some of that fresh rosemary,” Joel says, pointing out somewhere behind you and you whip around, eyes searching furiously and coming up empty, “—find it?”

You’re a little dumbfounded as you search the shelf of fresh herbs, Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching behind you as he reaches over your shoulder and plucks the exact thing he’s looking for with ease, “Hey, I had the right idea.” You defend, noticing how amused he looked at your befuddlement, “And you didn’t answer my question, either.”

“Well,” He tosses the small, plastic package in the cart, still tucked up at your side and you can feel his body heat, the solid wall of his chest against your shoulder, “don’t like the idea of accidentally killin’ you if I cook something you’re allergic to.”

“Well, what if I’m lying?” You challenge and Joel shoves you aside gently to grab the cart, hands on your shoulder as he shifts you away—and when had things gotten so…touchy?

Truthfully, Joel finds it easier than telling you, noting how quickly you quiet down when he asserts himself and does rather than asks. He knows if it made you uncomfortable you wouldn’t have had a problem speaking up immediately. 

“Look at me,” And there’s a deep timbre to his voice that has your chest sparking like a fire, eyes connecting with Joel’s for longer than you’ve ever allowed and it’s like he sees right through you, but he’s searching for something, “—you’re not lyin’.”

“But, if I was?”

Joel nearly leaves you in the dust, but turns to look at you with a subtle grin.

“Well, now I know you’re not.”

–

The ride back is easier, much easier—and Joel doesn’t fault you when you fall asleep halfway through, the heat of the car and the low hum of the music like a perfect mix as you curl in on yourself. Joel wakes you with a gentle hand on your shoulder when you finally make it back, allowing you a moment to shake the grogginess away with a word over his shoulder as he opens his door.

“Careful over that patch of ice on your side,” Joel instructs, “gettin’ colder so it’s slicker than it was a couple days ago.”

Careful. You roll your eyes carelessly, nudging the door open with your shoulder and hopping out, boots hitting the hard ground—your first mistake was underestimating the slickness and Joel’s warning, because the moment you take your first step it’s all downhill. Literally.

Luckily though, like a moment of divine faith as you pray that you don’t hit the ground, Joel is right at your back, arms slipping under your own as he plants his feet firmly and catches you. One arm crossing somewhere over your midsection and the other wrapping around your shoulder, a large palm holding you steady as he helps you back to your feet. You can feel him on the brink of making a comment, eyes looking down tenderly into your own—

“Don’t ask.” You warn him bitterly, face scrunched up like a kicked puppy, shrugging him off lazily. Joel doesn’t argue, making sure you’re steady before he allows you himself to fully let go.

Joel shakes his head subtly, a nuisance of his, and rounds the back of the truck to reach for the bagged groceries, “Fine, I’ll just say I told you so then. How’s that?”

Worse. 

-

Joel never asks for help, doesn’t even seem bothered when you stand there aimlessly, watching him stow away the groceries like he already had a game plan and you feel slightly useless, but it does give you a good opportunity to watch without any explicit reason or excuse. 

There’s an obvious purpose to Joel’s movement, clear that he’s used to doing a lot of heavy lifting and keeping up, probably prefers organization over clutter, and has a certain inclination to do things himself, always. And you can’t help the way your gaze clings to his face, noticing something a little off—not good or bad, just slightly different. You hadn’t noticed it this morning, but with the extended amount of time your eyes lingered on him, you realize he’s cleaned up a bit, shaved his beard down to near stubble, a subtle difference…but you notice.

You’re not sure how long you’re stuck in this state, arms resting against the counter as you stood there, practically useless, thinking about what Joel looks like on a regular basis, when he isn’t cooped up in a cabin in the dead of winter. You want to see that side of him, crave it. It’s an insane thought that doesn’t make sense, eyes widening suddenly at the realization of the thought you’re having—

“You still with me?” Joel’s voice calls out in the haze, muffled slightly as you come back into focus, eyes landing on him. “Think I lost you there for a minute.”

“Oh—no. I mean, yeah. I’m still a little tired, I guess.” It’s a bold face lie, but Joel seems to believe you. “Why?”

“I was sayin’ I need to go chop up some wood for the fireplace,” He explains again, “then you went all wide eyed…”

“Oh, okay,” You nod jerkily, “...do you need help?”

Joel immediately declines. No surprise there.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Joel suggests, “I can manage just fine on my own.”

Sleep sounds great, but it doesn’t happen. 

You try—you do, but the splitting of wood, the strong crack of the axe catching the wood outside of your bedroom window, it isn’t exactly soothing to the ears. So, you find yourself wandering into the kitchen, peeking between the curtains with a wild curiosity that reminds you of when you were younger and trying to catch a peek of the cute boy next door, a bashfulness replaced with a deep, insatiable hunger that you didn’t know existed until this moment. 

Joel was attractive, you could easily admit that. But, seeing him now, it’s a done deal. There was a deep pit of despair in your mind and you were stuck at the bottom with no way out.

It’s almost abysmal how easy he makes it look, the axe he’d brandish as his weapon of choice against you swung over his shoulders, the unfortunate lack of skin stretching over taut muscles as he went through the motions, covered up by thick layers. But, you get the idea. 

There’s a slight pout forming on your face before you catch yourself.

He slices full power through the wood like it was eager to give way to him. You also find that his face tugs up in a scowl after every swing of the axe, a soft sigh of exerted energy as he tosses the logs to the side and starts up again. You could watch for hours. But, you settle for the few more minutes he spends collecting the wood before you’re scrambling back into your bedroom like you had been there the entire time.

Unfortunately, Joel isn’t oblivious. Still, he spares you the embarrassment. 

There was no reason for him to entertain whatever he thought might be going on. He couldn’t.

-

The next few days are uneventful, though that was to be expected. It allows you time to really settle in, usually curled up on the couch watching the fire crackle away until you thought your eyes might melt away, or reading a book that Joel always seemed to be trying to catch a peek at. There was an innocent curiosity there that you could appreciate.

You also learned that Joel only took his coffee one way, offering up your services to refill his cup while you refilled your own, sugar lingering over the rim and he’s quickly pushing away the small container of crystalized goodness. 

“Joel, come on–” You grimace but relent, placing the cylinder of sugar on the counter.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” Is all he offers, almost challenging you to take a sip.

You accept, obviously. But, it isn’t without consequence.

The moment the bitterness hits your tongue you’re scrambling away, forcing the mug into Joel’s waiting hands and spitting out whatever putrid liquid remained in your mouth in the sink.

It’s the first time Joel actually laughs, a full on chuckle that isn’t very receptive on your end.

Joel apologizes with dinner that night, a gesture that wasn’t expected or needed, still you’re thankful nonetheless. But, it offers you the realization of just how good a cook Joel can be.

Steaks grilled to a perfection that only came with repetitive practice and learned techniques, vegetables sautéed and seasoned to an enjoyable level, and a side of pasta that if Joel told you he made from scratch, you would’ve believed wholeheartedly if you hadn’t seen him dump the entire box of pre-made pasta into a pot of boiling water.

You’re halfway through dinner, chewing thoughtfully on a bite when you finally break the long, but comfortable silence that had blanketed over you both.

“So, Joel,” There’s a tone to his name that catches his attention, eyes flicking up to meet yours mid-bite, “what do you do for work?”

At this point, your nosey tendencies take hold.

There’s a scrunch to Joel’s nose before he speaks, almost as if he considered feeding you a lie alongside the beautiful meal he’d made. He settles for a simple answer.

“Uh, carpentry.” Joel tells you after a long pause, “I—build stuff for people, businesses sometimes.”

That explains some of his sturdiness, his practiced strength that came from, probably, years of hard constructive work and building. It also explains why he’s also working away at his hands, rubbing out the stiff joints and knuckles.

“I know what carpentry is, Joel.” You deadpan, but there’s a playfulness lingering in your voice. 

You assume he’s used to explaining himself often, which is why he forces it on you so easily.

“And you?” Joel asks suddenly, “College? You’re about that age, right?”

You snort softly at the tone he offers, slightly patronizing, but all in good fun.

“I’m taking a semester off,” You answer indifferently, remembering how disappointed your parents had been about the ordeal, but you were suffocating, “I’m not sure what I want to do anymore.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Joel assures, “can’t fault you either. Never went to college so I don’t have an opinion on it.”

There’s no judgment on your end, but for the sake of conversation, you bite.

“Any reason?” You ask curiously, wondering if you'd receive the similar sentiment that it’s all just bullshit.

“Didn’t have the money,” Joel answers simply, “didn’t have the grades, either. I thought I could start my own business out of carpentry, but…”

But…you lean into the table slightly, hanging on his words.

“You need a lot of money for that,” Joel finishes, “and, I mean, I’m livin’ comfortable now, but that idea took a lot of money that I didn’t and still don’t have.”

“So, you waste it on month long vacations in the middle of the woods,” You surmise humorously, nodding in approval, “can’t say I blame you, either.”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, chewing around a bite as he speaks, “Your turn.”

Right. An eye for eye. A question for a question. He's watching you expectantly, waiting for you to give a response to the same question you asked him. 

“Oh—I work out of this bookstore in downtown Austin.” You admit, finishing up the last few bites of your food, scraping the plate nearly clean. “It pays the bills and then some. I like it.”

There’s no compliment needed for the food, all the evidence of it gone. But, you feel the need to appreciate it anyways.

“Thanks for this, Joel.” You speak again, softer this time. 

“It’s no big deal, darlin’.” Joel assures you, holding up his hands in a feeble defense at the compliment, clearly something he doesn’t welcome easily. “Just food.”

“It’s been...months,” You tell him, “since I’ve had any type of home-cooked meal. Take the damn thank you, Joel.” 

He smirks at that, seeing the threatening fork raise before you utter those final words.

“You’re welcome.”

And he means it.

–

You force Joel to stay seated while you clean, knowing it was the least you could do after he spent so much time preparing and cooking dinner. There’s a solid few minutes of arguing before you have to physically shove Joel back into his chair despite his protests, hands pressed into his shoulders as you threateningly speak down to him.

 “If you move, I’m locking your ass out in the cold.”

Joel wouldn’t mind, but you’re silently hoping that he’ll just listen.

After all is done, tossing the damp washcloth to the side, you sigh with a newfound relaxation.

There’s only one thing that might top off this night, making it almost the first perfect day here.

“That’s it, I’m getting in the hot tub,” You decide, squeezing tenderly at the tense muscles of your neck, thankful that the owners had a small alcove connected to the cabin that allowed for you to enjoy the hot tub from the safety of the cold, “join me?”

You’re not sure what inclines you to ask so openly, but you don’t second guess it.

“While I appreciate the offer,” Joel starts, “I don’t think I brought the proper…attire.”

He’s still seated where you had him planted and it makes you laugh softly at the idea that he was taking it seriously, which—yeah, you did threaten the possibility of hypothermia on him. 

“Fine,” You relent, rounding the corner of the island closest to him as you quickly call out over your shoulder, “but, there’s still a couple of chairs in there if you need the company.”

He didn’t need just anyone’s either and didn’t need, so much as wanted.

He wanted your company.

A while later, you’re already waist deep in the hot tub, figure hugging white bikini tied back securely, arms resting against the side furthest from the door as you press your chin against your forearms and staring out the wall of vast windows that line the room, allowing a view of the snow storm outside, coming down in a flurry that seemed to only be gaining in strength—and Joel, well, he’s still sitting in that stupid chair.

He’s allowed himself too much time in his own head, thinking over the events of the past few days. His call to Sarah was pleasant, a much needed moment of peace when he hears his daughter’s bright, hyper voice on the other end. When he doesn’t have her for the holidays, it’s hard. The calls are sparse, the communication is clipped, and it feels like he’s being forced away from her, knowing that she’s growing older every day. That he is growing older.

He’s allowed a lot of his life to slip away, when he wasn’t working to pay bills and put food on the table he was usually drinking, bar-hopping with Tommy at his old age to hide the pain he felt everyday, mentally and physically. There’s a problem brewing under his skin, using the company of his brother and alcohol to cope with loss he feels so viscerally everyday. The life he could’ve had.

He feels pitiful, miserable—only took this damn trip to get out of town by the suggestion of Tommy, away from all distractions, hoping for a refresh to clear his head. But instead, he met you.

He had no clue what the fuck to do anymore.

Joel’s never processed emotions well, feelings or anything thereof. 

But, here he was, lusting after you. 

He knows it’s the excitement, the taboo idea around sharing something special with a stranger. Someone who knows nothing about you, someone who doesn’t have the leverage to judge. Someone who doesn’t have to know about all the wrongs he’s committed and bad choices he’s made. 

You’re not privy to the fucked up version of Joel that belongs in his hometown, cooped up in his childhood home that he inherited from his parents, filled with too many now painful memories that he’d made with Sarah when she was younger—when he still had her.

He can’t help the way his mind races every single second of the day, constantly worrying, always trying to busy himself with something, anything to keep that lingering cloud of anxiety away. But, when he thinks about you, even something so mundane as the way you squint to get a closer look at a paragraph of the book you’ve probably read a thousand times, his mind goes quiet. 

Because, frankly, he’s fascinated by the idea of you. That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t actually real. He’s halfway leaning toward the idea that he’s had a full mental break and this is all an illusion he’s cooked up in his head, but then he reminds himself that you are just as full a human as himself. There is a reason for this, even if there had to be some other force at play. 

Maybe you needed this as badly as he did.

A fresh start, no judgment.

And that’s why he decides to follow you, the moment he catches a glimpse of you as you turn the corner to take the steps down into the room that connected to the kitchen, a full glimpse of skin and body that he’s tried to keep his mind off of, despite how openly you stare at him.

There has to be something there. He can’t have imagined all of this.

You feel his presence when the creak of wood gives him away, one hand shoved into his front pocket and his other arm helping him stay upright as he leaned against the doorframe. The steam billows and settles like a cloud over the bubbling hot tub but does nothing to hide how see-through your bathing top is and the slick slope of your breasts, his eyes trailing down toward the small bow that was sewn to the midpoint of your top and know he’s staring at your chest, very openly—Joel’s immediately regretting his choice.

Your eyes follow his but you dare not speak, afraid to startle him.

Now who was the jumpy one?

“Change your mind?” You ask curiously, shimming the expanse of the hot tub as you grab onto the opposite ledge, resuming your previous position, closer to Joel now. If you reached out you could touch the edge of his flannel and soak the trim, maybe even pull him closer, but you resist the urge. “It feels amazing. I’m serious.”

It wasn’t a ploy to get him in, but it wouldn’t hurt. He doesn’t respond, eyes staring at the soft wave of the water as it hits your side, his posture rigid. 

Maybe you’d broken him.

“Joel,” You call out with a soft nudge to his thigh, as far as you could reach with your fingertips, cutting into his line of sight, offering a friendly smile, “just strip down to your underwear and get in.”

“I don’t think—”

Oh, for christ sake. 

“You wouldn’t have come over here if you weren’t at least thinking about enjoying the benefits of the hot tub,” You argue, “so stop being grumpy and strip. I won’t even look.”

It shouldn’t sound as gritty as it does, a playful venom in your tone as you sink back slightly.

It makes Joel feel like he’s back in high school, flirting with who would eventually be his ex-wife and mother of his daughter, but there’s an assertiveness that intrigues Joel, your willingness to put yourself out there without fear. Take a leap, a jump, and hope that someone will catch you. 

Joel caught you, he just needed someone to catch him.

You spot his fidgeting, the wheels and cogs in his mind turning and he just needs that shove.

Just enough.

You rise over the edge, palms pressed flat to bear your weight and squeeze your breasts together, belly button nearly level with the water as you’re close enough to see the fine details of his face, giving him a look that Joel couldn’t deny.

“Get. In.” You stress the words, making direct eye contact. “You can thank me later.”

Finally, he moves. 

You sink back slightly into the pool and wade the water until you hit a corner, watching briefly as Joel works away at the buttons on his flannel, quiet air filling with an unspoken tension. You try to busy yourself with the view outside, something that didn’t require you to look in the vicinity of Joel for a second, knowing that the moment felt more intimate than it needed to. But, it doesn’t stop that sparse glances over your shoulder to check on him, now barefoot and pulling his shirt over his shoulders, the fabric pulling and obscuring your view of his face and his view of you, staring so starkly at him in that moment.

It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. The freckles that speckle his shoulders, nearly invisible from this distance because of his tanned shoulders and the unevenness of the tan as it continues down his arm, varying in shades of intensity, undoubtedly from hours of working in the sun. There’s also a smaller patch of hair on his chest that with his short cropped beard, seems to be trimmed down too. His strong build doesn’t throw you off, though—solid muscle that flexed across his stomach as he yanked his shirt a little harder to get it over his head fully, not built in a way that rippled down his abdomen, but showed a sturdiness to his figure that had your body humming to a tune that reached down to your core, thighs squeezing together under the water. 

Joel passes the shirt off into a waiting arm chair, clothes slowly piling on the cushion alongside your towel and he pops the button on his jeans, still unaware of your…innocent observation. But, the moment the jeans stretch over his thighs you swallow a little too hard and you’re immediately averting your eyes when he looks up briefly. 

Like you’d been caught. 

Joel clears his throat like a warning, as if he hadn’t felt your eyes on him the entire time, and swings a leg over carefully, a view of the black briefs that molded to his skin perfectly and hugged his backside in a way that feels criminally illegal…and you’re staring again.

He hisses at the sudden change in temperate, but inch by inch he lowers and adjusts, eventually huffing out a low groan, eyes closed, when he finally settles on the seat inside of the tub.

Suddenly, this felt like a terrible idea.

“See?” You break the revered silence for him, “Worth it?”

“Almost forgot how you just bullied me in here.” He jokes—full on fuckin’ jokes before cracking an eye open to catch your reaction, a subtle look of disbelief on your face. “I’m kidding, darlin'.”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the seat under the water and you smile, a half-hearted roll of your eyes thrown his way before you relax too, for a moment.

“This is so weird,” You speak softly, after a while, and Joel looks slightly puzzled as he opens his eyes fully now, perking up slightly as he adjusts himself, chest rising over the water slightly, his arms hanging over the ledge with his fingers gripping the ceramic—and you’re gaze is drifting again, mostly to his hands, but you mask it as you look away briefly, down the hall or out the window. Literally anywhere but Joel, “it’s just—not how I expected things to go.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Joel replies with an underlying amusement.

As the quiet settles, slowly drifting closer to one side, where you originally were when Joel came searching for you—voluntarily, he lingered and waited, waited for the push you gave him—Joel joined alongside you, burrowing himself in the closet corner nook and enjoying the view in silence.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Joel comments, “everything alright?”

Everything was fine and you couldn’t make complete sense out of it. The ability to be so inherently comfortable with someone you’ve only known for a little under a week, the attraction you felt despite your own rational thinking telling you otherwise, the urge to connect openly and without fear of judgment. It terrifies you.

“Can I ask you a question?” You ask quietly, “Like…a real question, not those superficial ones that we’ve thrown at each other.”

Joel doesn’t like the sound of it, but there’s also the inclination that he could feed you a total lie and you wouldn’t have any idea otherwise.

He nods, fist resting against his cheek as he turns to look at you and suddenly the pressure is on, your heart racing in your chest at his sudden, full attention.

“Earlier…you said you forgot somethin’ in the car,” Joel’s fist clenches unknowingly under the water, an instinct to bury his reaction, “I know it isn’t my business, but I was just curious what is was.”

Joel, against every fiber in his being that tells him to deflect, gives you a straight answer. It’s almost startling how easily it comes out, like he’s lifting a weight off his chest that he’s carried for years.

“I had to make a call,” Joel admits, “to uh—my daughter, she’s back home with her mom.”

Your brow pulls together in confusion, “Wait, are you married?”

Joel somehow amidst the heaviness of admitting his truth still laughs, quick to defend himself from your next question.

“Oh, not at all. Never, actually.” Joel responds, “We…I never married her mom, it was obvious pretty quickly we weren’t going to work well together.”

The answer is simpler than you expect, different too. Part of you wondered if he was pleading his own case to the owners and was just as unsuccessful as you, but this is much more vulnerable.

And despite your ability to lie, and his own, neither of you can force it.

You don’t pry further, feeling like it may push things too far. Too personal.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Do I scare you?” Joel asks suddenly, almost like he’s been anticipating the moment too.

You’re almost sure the expression you return makes you look insane, feeling the implication that he might, that he thinks—it’s so far left field that it throws you off.

“No—no,” You quickly reject any lingering doubt he has, “I mean…the first night, maybe. But, now…no.”

“Oh.” It’s all Joel can muster, unsure of why he was expecting a different answer. That you would say yes and whatever shroud of thought he had about this moment you were sharing was only out of fear, that you were just trying to be polite. 

“Look, I get jumpy because you sneak up on me,” You answer, “and you have this…presence about you,” Okay, not the best wording, “not scary or anything, just…strong.” Big, like a wall. Like, if anyone were to ever approach you wrongly, Joel would attack without question. And maybe the fact that he would do that should scare you, but instead, it entices you.

Joel sits with the implication, burdened by his own mind. 

You can see him lost in thought, speaking with a comforting surety, “Thank you…for telling me.”

The truth. Thank you for telling me the truth.

The next stretch of time, what feels like an hour, is spent in a comforting silence. You think Joel is nearly falling asleep but then he moves, make a comment about how the snow won’t let up and eventually you’re forcing yourself out of the hot tub, reaching over the side to snatch your towel and sending all of Joel’s clothes descending to the floor in the process and as if you had a death wish on Joel, your ass pops up at an angle that is physically impossible to look away from.

Joel is a gentleman, he swears. He was raised to respect and care and always put women first, but there’s a split second where he can’t pull his eyes away, feels like he’s just caught a glimpse of something he shouldn’t have, but then you’re turning your head over your shoulder and you definitely catch him—you could ruin the moment and say something or you could ignore it.

Fortunately, you save Joel some embarrassment, covering it with a sly smile as you apologize for dropping his clothes and take the final step out and wrap the towel around your body.

“Shit,” You quickly realize that in the midst of your pushing Joel to join you that he didn’t have a towel, “stay here—I’ll go grab you a towel.”

Joel wasn’t eager to move anyways, admittedly. Sporting half a hard-on under the water, he wouldn’t subject himself to the scrutiny of your gaze or what implications it would make, thinking every horrible possible thought to will it away—luckily your timing is perfect. 

You quickly gather his dropped clothes and pile them in the chair as you toss the towel his way, ignoring any and all chances to glimpse at his wet body, back turned as you quickly excuse yourself away in fear of the idea that you might say something unforgettably stupid.

-

The walk to your separate bedroom is quick, swift, like a desperately needed escape. 

But, as fate would have it, the moment you open the door and wretch the towel away from your body there’s a loud pop! to your left and a spark on the outside that has you halfway on the floor and slamming into the wall out of both shock and an attempt to shield yourself from whatever unseen force was at play, yelping out loud in the process.

From an outside perspective, you can understand why Joel doesn’t hesitate to come running.

He runs straight into your back, bare chest pressed against your know bare shoulders and leaving you half-dressed in front of him, scared out of your wits and willing to grab onto whatever was nearby to keep you upright—fortunately, Joel’s arm is the perfect anchor as your hand wraps around his wrist and squeezes.

“What the hell?” Joel inquires, slightly out of breath as he searches your face for any signs of injury, “What happened?”

You both look at the culprit—the heated window unit that was no longer expelling heat, and while the cabin was still heated, it didn’t reach the bedrooms well enough that you weren’t shivering without some type of additional help. You sigh in frustration, eyes turning up towards the ceiling as you feel no shame, too frustrated to care as you lean into Joel’s chest.

“Shit.” It’s all Joel offers as a solution, not that you were expecting one. But, still, it would be nice.

“Yeah, shit.” You echo, pushing away from him suddenly to gather your damp towel and a change of clothes, padding your bare feet toward the living room, but Joel is grabbing your wrist before you get too far from him.

“Hey, woah,” He starts in a calmer tone, “you can take my room—I’ll drive into town tomorrow and see if I can get ahold of the owners, we’ll figure something out.”

“I already tried calling them,” You admit, “Earlier. Straight to voicemail and something tells me they won’t be answering their phones until after the holidays.”

Pulling away again, you continue your way toward the living room and gather a few pillows and blankets, tossing them on the larger couch beside the fireplace. Joel doesn’t seem to entertain the idea, following on your heels as he gathers each item you throw in that direction and you finally reach a point of full, unrestrained frustration. 

“Joel, cut the shit.”

“Take the room,” He offers as a counter, “I can sleep on the couch.”

With his back? Not a chance. But, he offers anyway.

“Fuck off,” You chuckle bitterly, “I’m not forcing you out of the bedroom.”

“Then it looks like we’re sharin’ the living room.”

You close your eyes, toss the blanket aside and breathe, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to not completely lose it on the man standing opposite of you.

Chivalry be damned, Joel wasn’t giving in.

Fine, two could play at that game.

“I’ll take the bed.” You quickly agree, but there’s a lingering ultimatum.

Joel waits, sees the thought brewing behind your pensive eyes.

“But, so will you.”

“Now—”

“No,” You interject, putting your figurative foot down, suddenly vividly reminded of your vulnerability as you stood there, still slightly damp and in a swimsuit that did nothing to cover your body—it was the reason Joel’s eyes were so pointedly stuck on your face, never lingering elsewhere, “either we both sleep in here on the couch or we share the bed.”

Joel’s hands shift to his hips, towel tight around his waist and you’re too annoyed to admire the way his muscles tense and flex with the movement, the underlying thickening desire settling beneath the surface.

You match his stance, daring him to challenge you.

A small part of you wants him too.

—

“Anyone ever told you you’re damn stubborn?” Joel asks, trailing behind you as you enter his bedroom, a clone of your own but with a small bathroom attached.

“All the time.” You answer truthfully. “I’m going to shower and sleep—no funny business.”

Meaning if Joel did sneak away into the living room to offer up the full amenities of his own room, he would feel your wrath tenfold.

Joel resigns to the idea and gathers his own pair of fresh clothes before disappearing into the bathroom down the hall, leaving you both to a moment of levity.

There’s no anticipation to the arrangement—but the idea is there, burrowing into the back of your mind. 

You’re sleeping with a stranger…someone you knew little to nothing about, but it was your choice. And you trusted your gut. 

Joel was safe, he was good. 

You relax under the spray of hot water, a different heat to the one you enjoyed just a while ago, the type that allowed your thoughts to roam, and you laugh softly at the sight of Joel’s shower supplies, knowing he was stuck with whatever you brought—it wasn’t something you thought about in the moment, but there’s a brief realization that he was sharing a moment similar to your own, scowling at the sight of your fruity scented body wash that you left on the shelf there. It wasn’t a huge deal, Joel wouldn’t fuss over it. 

But, it also lends your mind to roam more.

As if his bare chest wasn’t already at the forefront, and his eyes as they had stared at you so unabashed until the moment he was caught, all innocent looks with deeper intentions that invaded your mind like a plague.

You were so fucking frustrated—annoyed with him, the state of your life, this stupid vacation. With the suds gone and the water drowning out the silence you allow yourself one—just one moment of selfishness...

And as if the house was the biggest tattletale of them all, the floor creaks on the other side of the door.

“Joel?” You call out curiously, as if an intruder in the middle of nowhere was even likely.

There’s several seconds of silence before Joel finally answers.

“Yeah?”

“Your body wash sucks.” You goad lightly, hoping to ease the earlier frustration that had grown between you both, and while you can’t see him, you can hear his laughter on the other side of the door.

“Can’t say yours is any better.”

You smile to yourself, the way he responds with fondness that he tries to hide.

When you finish up and dress, peeking your head out before you move to open the door fully, Joel is already on his side, turned away. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be bothered. The small blanket of division rolled and wedged in the center of the bed like a barrier, a warning. 

Keep your distance and you both may manage to survive the rest of this vacation.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, i love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!

[venustrvck]

OLIVER AIKU X F!Reader

wc: 1.1k

tags: smut, f!reader, dry humping, mention of Oliver's other flings by reader who doesn't have any particularly strong opinions on the matter, Oliver calls reader 'princess', reader spends the whole fic on Oliver's lap bless

His hands cage your ribs, thumb caressing the flushed skin under your shirt as he holds onto your waist. Oliver’s stroking thumb on your skin, his lips on yours, and your tongue in his has your blood singing. You rock on his lap as you surge forwards, breaking the kiss with an obscene sound and latching your lips onto his jaw.

Oliver groans, hands flexing on your waist. You nose your way down to his collar, teeth grazing soft flesh— you pause, gently extricating yourself from his skin, “Mm, were you with Sara-chan earlier?” You ask, looking up at him from under your lashes. His hands stutter on your waist and he huffs out a laugh, “You know, it’s a little scary how you can always tell.” “She has a distinctive perfume.” It’s strong and it lingers, heavy with vanilla and sandalwood, and its all over his shirt. You suspect she all but bathes in the stuff, for it to leave a scent trail like that. You nose your way back in. “’S not just her,” he says, as his throws his head back, hand hiking up your skin and fingers splaying over the small of your back. “You can always tell, whether its Sara-chan or Kei… you’re terrifying.” You hum, but you’re not really interested in carrying on the conversation. You’ve just discovered the tender spot where neck, shoulder and collarbone all meet, and you fully intend to sink your teeth in. You do. Oliver’s grip on you tightens, fingers pressing into your skin. “Fuck,” he swears. You agree. He’s hard, bludge prominent in his jeans, you can feel it from where its standing proud against your clit. You rock forwards, rubbing against him, spine tingling in pleasure. Good. Good. This is good. His cock is thick and large, framed by the seam of his jeans, the friction of it against your clothed clit is heavenly. It would’ve been overbearing if you were naked, the friction of that line-stitch on your bare skin too much to bear, but clothed like this? It’s good. It’s really good. The way the edge rises, ridge catching on your clit as you grind against it... the pleasure of it is indescribable. It fills your clit up with blood as heat pools down your groin and pleasure sparks with its every slide. His cock presses against your underside, too, pushing against your opening.

You feel so full even without him splitting you open. It’s perfect.

You grind yourself against him, over and over, moaning into his skin and he rocks up into you, his fingers bruising your flesh. His breaths come out in shallow puffs, and you can tell that he has his lip between his teeth, with every hint of sound trapped in his rumbling chest. You can just imagine him, eyes squeezed shut, thighs and hands tense as he gives himself over to pleasure. You sneak a peek, and yeah — there he is, eyes squeezed shut just like you thought they would be, worrying kiss-bruised lips between his teeth and jaw clenched taut in tension.

You press forward, pushing down against his cock and your core throbs as you hitch your hips, sliding up and down that seam with the delicious pressure of clit pressed against cock. It’s a delicious grind that has you kneeing in pleasure.

You work your lips up, until you’re against the under side of his jaw. Oliver’s beard brushes your cheek. When you suck, you can feel it fall slack, and a deep groan is released from his chest. His hands spasm on your skin, and he slides them down until he’s got fistfuls of your ass. “Shit,” he says, “Are you trying to kill me?” “I like hearing,” you murmur. Your teeth graze the undersize of his jaw as you latch on again. “Roger,” he says, squeezing your ass in assent. His next groan comes out loud and clear. You pass the next few minutes like that. His hands on you, squeezing, touching caressing as you grind against one another and you worry your mouth over his skin. The sounds of sex fill up the room, his moans intermingling with yours, and your pants leave you wondering whether you’d find the windows fogged over once you’re done — realism be damned.

Suddenly, Oliver's hands on your ass grip with purpose, and he hikes you up against him. His hips thrust upwards, his cock kissing your cunt with every movement. If he was fucking you, he'd be slamming into you.

You hold onto his shoulders, and it's your turn to throw your head back and moan, loud and unrestrained. You love it when he gets like this. Forceful and dominating as he takes what he wants. You can't move with how tightly he's holding you, but you don't mind, it feels so good and the friction has your toes curling. He always makes it good for you. You can feel your body tensing with your impending release.

Oliver squeezes your ass, and you can feel his chest reverberate with the strength of his groan. Wetness blooms between the two you, soaking your underwear. You wonder if he got any on your skirt. You don't care.

His hands gentle on you as they slide up to your hips and you lean close enough to share breath, panting your pleasure into his mouth. You ride him through the aftershocks of his orgasm until your release overtakes you: a second wetness blooming between the two of you.

You take a minute to regain your breath and you can feel his thumb stroking circles onto your hipbone. His voice is raspy when he speaks, “Feel alright?” he asks, and when you nod he smirks, cocksure, “You fell apart so beautifully in my lap, and I didn’t even fuck you.” The words are teasing but they come out with a breathless quality that he either cannot or does not bother to conceal. “I could feel how hard you got, and I didn’t even get naked,” you shoot back as you straighten and stretch on his lap. He leans back into the couch, smile broadening. His hands go up to your waist and trace the arch of your back, “That wasn’t a complaint, princess.” “I know.” The way he held you, the sounds he made, the way he drove into you… he was worked up. Very worked up. The breathlessness you caught in his voice when he said that… you know it’s awe. He had you on his lap horny and wanting, all pretty and dolled up, and free to touch. You’d have gone crazy with it too. You lean in and press a kiss to the underside of his lip, “Thank you, this was nice.” You had a meeting to get to and the drying ejaculate connecting the two of you was getting uncomfortably sticky. You didn’t have much time to linger. You barely had time for this, really. Before you could extricate yourself from his lap, Oliver’s fingers clasp your waist. “Your spare underwear is my drawer,” he says, “Bedroom closet, second drawer to the bottom.” “Thanks.”

You could wash up here, then.

[guiltysungho]

— favorite flavor

genre : tags. fluff, highschool crush, reader is super shy

pairing. highschool!woonhak x highschool!gn!reader

wordcount. 1338

a/n. didn't really expect this to be this long, it's mostly one sided yearning and woonhak's cheerfulness

Spring was coming to an end, the days kept getting brighter, you would find yourself smiling more often, hopeful for the hot summer days. Still there was school you had to go through that stage before reaching any sort of freedom, so you studied.

In class you studied, at lunch you studied, on breaks you studied, you wanted that taste of living after putting in all the work so it was fine. However once the last bell of the week rang, you let yourself breath. You enjoyed your walks home where you could soak in the beauty that the sun brought to the world. So you were looking forward to it on such a sunny day.

It was an unfamiliar sight, the truck, it was blocking the alley you usually took on your way home right at the school entrance, impossible to ignore, that was the first obstruction. An ice-cream truck, it wasn't a bad idea, it would make your stroll more enjoyable.

So you approached the van with a cheerful greeting, there was a large variety of flavors, some you had never thought of before, you scanned the display meticulously from one end to the other to make the perfect choice and there it was, not your flavor but your second obstruction.

"Oh sorry" you were sure you had bumped into him too consumed by the different picks, yet he was the one apologizing and with a bright smile on his face. With a quick head bow you return the apology before return to your scanning, at least you tried to.

His voice was distinct in the small space, chatting to the truck owner about which flavor would be more interesting to take, he had this light to him whenever he spoke a smile would appear on his lips as if he couldn't do one without the other.

"Are you also having a hard time choosing, young lady?" you turn your face back to the owner who had noticed you looking at their other customer, you shake your head taking a quick glance at the flavors one last time before pointing to a random one, in a hurry to escape.

"Cherry-banana, that's a good one" the owner agreed picking a cone for your single scoop of ice-cream. You look over to your company ruffling his hair from the complexity of the decision, it was cute, you think as you turn away. Stretched out for you over the counter was your cone, it had already started to melt, he saw you gawking again, you were a lost cause.

You quickly take it from him, pay for the treat, leave the stand and make your way home. After a few licks you had to throw it away, you weren't sure if it was the flavor or something else but it tasted like neither cherry nor banana. So you wouldn't be visiting that spot again.

And you tried not to but he was always there every Friday, he would greet you with a tummy turning smile that made your heart pounce till you reached your fresh air conditioned bed sheets. You would buy one cup of ice cream each time, the taste never got better but you kept going back even if all you got was a smile and shitty ice cream.

He would always pick the same thing, chocolate mint, have a small chat with the owner about their respective days and then he would leave. Sometimes you'd be there when he left and he'd say bye waving his hand to you and you would mirror it, that was really all you could do around him, stare and wave.

"You should talk to him" you had been looking in the direction he walked away for the past few minutes before their voice brought you back. You smiled at the suggestion, you realized you had never had to talk to anyone first so that was a fairly challenging task.

"I'm okay"

"I think a tear rolled down your cheek when he walked away" they teased, for all you know it could have been the truth but you weren't in control of your body when he was around, so it was hard to say.

"School is almost over, it really doesn't matter"

"Just try, he's really nice and you might be surprised"

You hadn't fully made up your mind the next week, you had tried to centre your focus on other things that would be useful for your future, but the owner was right he wasn't mean, he was very welcoming. You just had to use words, even boring small talk would be a big step.

Friday once again and he was already there only this time he wasn't alone, you glanced at the owner who shrugged in response, they were probably his friends. He finally noticed you in between all the attention his friends were taking up.

“Hi.”

Spoken only for you, his head turned in your direction waiting for that moment when your eyes met to whisper it, his smile growing as you lift up a hand to greet him back. Your eyes are back on the display but your mind was blank, what was that?

He was gonna make you miss out on your freedom, is he gonna pay for your tutoring fees after distracting you so much from your student duties? It was so annoying, so why did you go back?

Standing there as usual, tight lipped even though the words where right at your throat, then the owner spoke up.

"You guys are in the same class right? You're always together" they smiled at the horrified expression on your face.

"No I don't think we are, this is just a coincidence" He laughs quietly, putting a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, glancing at you for confirmation.

"More like fate" the owner corrects as they hand you your ice cream cup, you furrow your eyes at them shaking your head in disapproval, only for him to continue.

"Wait? Do you know his name?" you sigh shaking your head before looking over for him expectantly, he turns away immediately hiding his smile with his hand.

"You want to know my name?" his head tilts as he asks pointing to himself flashing all his teeth at you.

"I do. What's your name?"

"Woonhak. Don't worry I already know yours"

"Why?" you ask nervously.

"Curiosity. It's really nice hearing your voice." he thought for a second before answering, hearing those words you thought, that was going to take a toll on your grades, "Don't feel shy around me anymore, okay?"

"I don't know if I can do that" you felt an urge to walk away from the situation, not that it helped, he simply followed.

"Why not? I'm a really good listener"

"You're really persistent"

So you let go, just a bit more for that time after school on Fridays, hoping all your growing feelings wouldn't infest your mind with thoughts of all the new things you had learnt about him when it was time to think about solving equations.

It didn't get easier, you found yourself thinking about him more often than not, and his attention remained purely platonic which only left you daydreaming. At that point you had probably tasted all the flavors at the stand, just for him.

"I'll see you guys next summer i guess" you glance over to Woonhak, a spoon in his mouth as he smiled at you before you both wave goodbye to the ice cream truck for the last time, ever.

"I might come back seriously" Woonhak insisted taking another spoonful of his ice treat, you were convinced he had gotten the only good flavor that you couldn't even try because you were allergic to mint.

"Mint choco is that good?"

"Oh, no it's terrible. I've just gotten used to it"

"What? Why did you keep coming back for it?" your obvious surprise makes him laugh.

"I kept coming back for you, dummy."

[poketextures]

Poll ended so I couldn't vote BUT as someone who has and is writing multiple stories where MissingNo exists (hello Pokepasta fandom) I want to chip in based on what I've established in my stuff :)

MissingNo, to me, feels like static. Or more like... Brain static. Like your brain can't make sense of what your nerves are telling it so it can't really process... Anything. You know you're touching it, you can see that your hand is... On it? In it? It's hard to even look at the thing, like your eyes reject its very existence. You know there is some form of contact but your brain can't decipher it and instead you just... Feel nothing. Or maybe everything. The most distinct maybe-feeling you can identify is feathers. If you were to point your Pokedex at it, it would register as "Bird/Normal- or Bird/Glitch-Type" (that's canon) so you figure the feathers make sense. But it's more like... The concept of feathers

When you finally pull back (how long has it been? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Years? Everything feels so cloudy now) you feel pins and needles in a way you never have before. It permeates everything. It's in your hand, yes, but you can almost feel it in every inch of you. Anyone who touched you for the next few hours would get a nasty static shock. You're electrified in a way that doesn't make sense. You're not really part of your world anymore. That glitch did something to you and you're not sure it can be fixed. You might later describe it as touching the screen of a CRT TV, or what TV static would feel like, or even the concept of battery acid. But none of that can really capture it. It's a feeling not meant to be experienced by your world and you know it

Anyway I'm half asleep and about to collapse so this probably makes no sense but. That's just my 2 cents on the matter :}

"2 cents" you say as you drop a solid gold bar on my desk (fantastic elaboration, I love it)

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

PLEASE WRITE THAT ONE SHOT FULL PERMISSION GRANTED

— @girlishwhimsies

TYSM @girlishwhimsies for the prompt this was SO fun to write!! fic under the cut!!!

Ponyboy has no idea how long he's been sittin' in front of the TV. Too long, Pony's sure Darry would think. But it doesn't matter because Darry's workin' a late shift and it's just Two-Bit who's watchin' the box with the same intent, vacant look. Hell, even Soda's curled up in a blanket creamin' Dallas in a game of poker 'n absently watchin' when Dallas spends too long scowlin' at his hand.

(Pony can see clearly he hasn't got shit and he only tears his eyes away every few minutes to shake his head at Soda that Dally is bluffin' harder then Pony claimin' he ain't got homework. Dallas hasn't noticed yet.)

When Pony hears Darry's truck pull up in the driveway he gets the sudden, violent feelin' that he's forgotten somethin'. Somethin' important. He furrows his eyebrows, looks over into the kitchen. Oh shit.

His heart climbs right up into his throat, does a flip, and dives all the way down to his toes. Oh shit, oh shit. Pony is on his feet in a millisecond, jarrin' Dallas as he confidently bets on a hand of shit.

"Look out, Pony's off to the races!" Two howls but pulls his feet up as Pony jumps straight over them. He's not payin' attention to anythin' but gettin' into that kitchen before Darry does. As he passes the door he flips the lock, wrestin' with it when it doesn't go smoothly. Damn Darry 'n his insistence on never lockin' the thing.

"Pony?" Soda half rises, startin' after Pony as he ducks his entire head 'n shoulders into the icebox. "Everythin'-" He cuts himself off when Pony reemerges with the frozen solid chicken they were meant to be eatin' for dinner in forty-five minutes. For a moment, they both just stare at each other, Pony in horror, Soda in amusement.

Then Dallas lets out a long, low whistle as the truck door slams and grins that smile that shows off his silver fang. "Oh, you're capital F fucked." Then Soda cackles so hard he plops back onto the floor.

"Don't laugh." And Pony would normally kick his ass for that but right now he's too worried about the imminent threat of bein' hung up by his thumbs or locked in the shed until he's thirty. "Soda get over here. How do I thaw it out?" And he's got that whine crawlin' into his voice he hates but there are simply bigger fish to fry. Or birds to thaw.

Soda slides across the floor in his socks, ditchin' the blanket 'n throwin' it over Dallas. He rips it off 'n tries to whap Soda with it as he goes by, missin' to Two's great delight.

"I dunno, Ponykid, blow on it?" Soda leans down 'n huffs hot air onto it. Pony throws his head back 'n doesn't even care about the whine that peels out of his throat. He's dead. Darry was gonna kill him.

"Blow on it? Soda that ain't gonna work!" Pony rips the chicken away from where Soda is still puffin' at it. The door knob rattles 'n they can all distinctively hear the aggravated sigh from Darry even through the wall. Bad sign.

"Wait, I have an idea!" Soda snatches the bird back, slips 'n slides his way back into the living room with Pony hustlin' behind him. "Two, get up." Two-Bit takes in Soda holdin' the raw meat by the plastic-wrapped leg like a fish and Pony's face like a man at the gallows.

"Boys, unlock this damn door!" Darry already sounds irate.

"Yeah, Dallas go let Darry in." Soda pipes and Pony whips around wavin' a hand at his throat and frantically shakin' his head. Dallas shoots him a shit-eatin' grin again and gets to his feet, pointing towards the door.

Pony does the only thing he can think of 'n jumps on him.

"Wait, is that-" Two leans away from Soda, who waves the chicken around again 'n makes a face.

"No, it's Darry's million-dollar check yes it's dinner. Now get your ass up!" Pony abandons Dallas, grabs Two by the wrist, desperately tryin' to haul him up. Dallas instantly gets back on his feet and goes for the door again. Pony chooses between the imminent of two threats and goes for Dally again.

"What the hell do you want me to do about it?" Soda takes up Pony's spot wrestlin' Two-Bit up. Soda is far more successful.

"Sit on it!" Soda drags Two up, throwin' the bird down 'n then pressin' on his shoulders to try to get him back into the couch on top of it.

"Oh, I see. You only want me for my hot ass, you dog!" Two arches up so his back is against the sofa but his backside is nowhere near. "I'm not lettin' you throw me under the bus for this!"

"We're not throwin' you under the bus- we're throwin' you onto the bird!" And Two snickers, thrown off his task of keepin' his ass off the couch. Soda tosses himself full force onto Two's lap, bucklin' him back down.

Dallas wrangles Pony off, finally, and throws the lock on the door. Darry scowls, knocks Dallas' gently up the head since he has the misfortune of bein' the one closest to him. Dallas opens his mouth to bitch but Darry shoots him a look and he settles for mutterin' under his breath.

"Now, what the hell is goin' on here?" He drops his keys on the table 'n takes in Pony sprawled on the floor, Soda across Two and Two still wrigglin' for all he's worth against the cold.

"Nothin'." Both Soda 'n Pony say in unison. Darry looks between the two of them once, twice.

"I don't think I have the energy for whatever the hell you four have goin' on so I'm gonna go fix dinner 'n y'all better be back to sorts by the time I'm done." Darry kicks off his boots 'n places them neatly at the door, disappearin' into the kitchen.

"Uh, Darry? About that-"

"Ye- ouch!" Two manages to roll Soda straight onto the floor, shootin' to his feet. When he turns around, his lower back is pink from bein' in contact with the freezin' chicken. "That shit is cold!"

Darry stops, turns back around, blinks once, twice, opens his mouth, shuts it, tries again. "Pony, is that the chicken I told you to thaw when you got back from school?"

"Uh, would you believe me if I said no?" Darry rubs a hand across his temple, looks at the chicken on the couch with bewilderment. For a moment Pony swears they're all holdin' their breath. Then he laughs. Head back, hand grippin' the doorway laughs.

"Goddamn, Pony, what am I gonna do with you?" He grabs Pony by the front of the shirt, ruffles his hair, drops a kiss to a temple. "Kid, did you try to thaw that shit out by puttin' it under your brother?" Pony pouts a little and shakes his head like he can't believe Darry would have thought somethin' like that of him.

"No, Soda tried to thaw it out by puttin' it under him." Darry howls again, grabs his side and then Soda, pullin' him in 'n givin' him the same kiss.

"You boys are gonna be the death of me." He shoots Dallas a grin 'n Two tries to look put out, rubbin' the cold spot on his back still, but he can't make it stick and he ends up smilin' too.

"C'mon Darry, you know you love us." Two sidles up beside Soda, tryin' to nudge him out of Darry's arms. Darry releases Pony solely to cuff Two up the side of his head but pulls him in, too. He squeezes Dallas' shoulder and he stops scowlin' 'n grins.

"Well, I don't think anyone's eatin' chicken tonight." Darry laughs and returns to the door, snappin' his keys off the table. "Who wants to go out for Dairy Queen, instead?" They all hoot 'n holler, even Dallas. Soda even turns a cartwheel right there in the middle of the living room and Darrys in such a good mood he doesn't even tell him off for it.

"And I'll tell you what, y'all can even get milkshakes. Dinner's on Pony!" Pony's jaw drops open 'n Two grabs Soda 'n they both make a break for the truck. Gleefully yippin' about orderin' half the menu. Dallas howls 'n follows them out, pullin' Soda straight out of the air when he goes for shotgun.

"Aw, c'mon Darry-" Darry ruffles his hair and chuckles.

"I'm kiddin', kiddo." Pony will swear he never feels relief like he does in that moment ever again. "Just promise me next time, remember to take the chicken out of the fridge, yeah?"

[banjomelodies]

As a major Yusuke fan, the fact we know little to nothing about Madarames actual treatment of his students and pupils drives me up a WALL.

Plagiarism, yes. That's the main focal point of his abuse - take children in, use them as an art factory, dispose of them and ruin their futures so they never have a chance to out him. Neglect is also likely an aspect, considering Yusuke mentions how they all used to sleep huddled up as there wasn't enough space in the shack for everyone (while also mentioning that sleeping in the campers roof tent wouldn't be as bad, so, debatably might not have had a bed? Or it's more a reference to close quarters). I also think it's vaguely implied that Yusukes "Art over Necessities" comes from Madarames influence - as he never has enough to feed himself, never has enough for bus fare, doesn't have running heat, or water, or air conditioning, and lost the ability to use his phone for a while because he blows money on stuff FOR his art. But .. but what else.

His shadow and palace suggests he barely saw his pupils as people. Referring to them as livestock and that it was a necessity to do this to them, like killing a cow would be, absolutely none of his pupils, not even Yusuke, were represented by a cognition, but rather paintings on the wall. Which I always took as him thinking all of his pupils are inherently his art as well, if not because they all paint FOR him, but because of the fact he also molded every single one of them into what he needed them to be, with Yusukes painting standing out the most in size because he was the one groomed into it more heavily. I think even Yusuke sort of eludes to it. How he disposes of art if they no longer serve a purpose, which he equates back to the pupils (which I vaguely remember Shadow Madarame actually saying, too, but listen. I haven't seen his Palace dialogue in a hot minute.) There's also vague mentions of "consequences", if a piece is unfinished by a certain time slot. Which I'd imagine he wouldn't kick a pupil out immediately for being late, especially since Yusuke is his last standing pupil, so what are the consequences?? Physical abuse? Verbal? Mental? Neglect? Like taking away food sources?

I feel like you can probably use some of his battle dialogue to sort of paint a picture (hehe). As he makes comments about defying elders, so maybe he used his age against his younger pupils to make them feel bad if they ever got too verbally rowdy against him ("You dare defy an esteemed elder?") obviously with the "esteemed" part showcasing he was higher in society than them, so essentially a gaslighting technique. He calls everyone brats, and yells that crying isn't going to help them (verbal abuse, maybe?), "It seems you need a good whipping to understand!" Obviously the implications there should be obvious. But of course, battle dialogue is a little funky to use, because what is generic battle dialogue directed more specifically at the Thieves and what would actually be how Madarame looks at those he thinks need to obey him? But then there's stuff from his will seed dialogue that I think definitely helps paint a bigger picture → "It doesn't matter who painted it, all who matters is who unveiled it to the world!", "If my name didn't grace that painting, it'd be worthless", "Nosy pupils have to have their eyes plucked before they become a real problem", "a good pupil devotes their whole being to their master". And really, those do say a lot about things he either has said, or thought, about his pupils. Arguing against the true painters identity, saying that their paintings would've been worthless if he didn't put his stamp on them, that he believes when a pupil starts getting too nosy, he has to do something to them before they threaten his being (likely by kicking them out and getting them banished in the art world, though, it's hard to entirely say), and the last one is .. really more interesting to me. I'm not entirely sure how to take it, but, the fact he'd believe that about what was likely mostly children, is definitely a thing to pin.

There's also the phan site request you get after Madarames exhibit - which just says "He teaches them nothing and bosses them around. He treats them inhumanely, as if disciplining a dog." Ties into our dehumanizing livestock thing again, but disciplining dogs is pointed out. Which could mean many things - harsh verbal corrections, neglect of care (ex: withholding food), and physical discipline. Three common abusive ways people discipline animals.

I really, really wish the game put more depth in how deep Madarame went with how he hurt children. It's definitely a mix of psychological abuse, general neglect (if he didn't have beds for every student, I really really doubt all of them are being fed or looked after medically either) which could've also resulted in rather dehumanizing situations, possible verbal abuse, he likely has had moments of love-bombing, just to bring students back to seeing him as loving parent and mentor. But a lot of those are also just, vague, it's not directly canon?!? Like nobody in game directly says Madarame beats kids, neglects kids, insults kids, or yells at kids. It's vague comments off to the side, like in Strikers, where Yusuke casually throws out that plenty of pupils slept on the floor in a pile, or in Mementos conversations, where he also throws out that the sounds of the shadows reminds him of Madarames shack (which .. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN), and then it's immediately brushed off or met with uncomfortable followup dialogue.

I don't think it's out of the ballpark to think other things happened. Maybe not Kamoshida levels of things. But I can definitely see why people also associate physical discipline to it. Maybe not full on beatings, but, I definitely see it. And I do personally think it makes sense, to where I actually headcanon it.

TL;DR: There's no direct canon confirmation of further abuse in-game beyond psychological, but instead vague implications of neglect, possible dehumanizing, possible verbal abuse, and maybe a chance of physical. There's room to argue that anything or nothing more than that happens due to a distinct lack of mention of it.